Carolina

The beauty of the stars bleeds out of the world.

As the ethereal mists of the psionic plane begin to disappear, the impossible vistas that framed our fight recede. In their place, walls, tables, chairs, cabinets - a room.

It’s a mortifying, heart-breaking spectacle. The room we’re in, where we were led to for the beginning of our fight, is grand, ornate, decorative, kingly. But it looks impossibly drab, now that I’ve seen the power of the stars themselves. Mundane, mortal, forgettable.

Like me.

In my defeat, I know I shall never personally lay eyes on the astral plane again, and it fills me with a sense of incredible loss, of almost physical grief. But not as much grief as the idea that, for one glorious moment, I was on the cusp of greatness. Of transcendence.

Now, the night has ended, and with it, my dream of power.

But the thing about the end of the night, is that it brings the dawn with it. And right now, I find myself kneeling before the new rising sun.

Kneeling before Ragnar.

I tremble, my heart pounding in my chest, stealing tentative looks up at him. His eyes were chipped abyssal stones a moment ago, sucking in the light. Now, they glow with otherworldly fire, energy crackling around him in a blinding halo of psionic might.

The three of us went into this struggle with fledgling, newly Awakened powers running through our veins, and that was a feeling no mortal vocabulary can truly convey. But even that pales, in comparison with the sheer storm of starry might building up inside Ragnar. Having triumphed, he is beginning to accumulate psionic power.

I avert my eyes as Ragnar's aura flares brighter, the raw strength within him growing with every heartbeat. I’m unable to withstand the intensity radiating from him, like the quickening pulse of a colossal heart. There’s so much symbolism in such a tiny gesture, in lowering my gaze to the cold stone floor beneath my knees. An irrevocable admission that this is truly over, that my dreams of rising from the depths of slavery to the heights of divinity have been truly ended.

That he’s won.

For the blink of an eye, back in the astral plane, I was a warrior. A formidable aspirant to transcendence. I was more than a slave, more than chattel to be bartered and sold. But it was not meant to last. I tried to grasp a star, and came up short. And now…

I sense the first tender stirrings of Ragnar's consciousness brushing against my own. Though we stand worlds apart in status and power, in this moment we are joined.

Through our nascent bond, forged in the heat of psychic combat, I sense him reining in my wayward thoughts, subduing all resistance. A feeling of lightheadedness comes over me, and I sway on my knees. It’s like Ragnar has a… gravitational field, enough to make it hard for me to keep my balance, even on my knees.

I’ve spent most of my adult life kneeling before people. But no moment has ever felt even remotely comparable to this.

I cannot deny that a part of me is… thrilled at the idea. When I touched slave girl’s mind, the things I saw, the things I experienced, the things I…

understood…

Ragnar is not going to be my human owner, the way the Bothnias have been for so long. He’s going to become a Lord Ruler. A master of creation. A living god.

Is there not a form of privilege, in getting to kneel before such?

I risk a furtive glance at Irmgard. She lies crumpled on the floor, broken and sobbing. How quickly the tables have turned. So shortly ago she still thought herself a scion of the New Order. A heiress to greatness, destined for divinity. But Ragnar has dismantled her.

That’s the transformative power of strength. I look at it with different eyes, now, than I did before. Slave girl and Ragnar, together, have shown me the core of what it truly means to rule and serve.

By overpowering someone, you get to reshape them. You get to right wrongs, to craft beauty, to create pleasure.

Irmgard could only be ended, not because she was insufferable and arrogant, vain and cruel, but because she was not strong enough. Because Ragnar had what it took to master her, and because I chose him over her.

A profound shift ripples through me, a seismic recalibration of my inner world. I feel the shape of the New Order imprinting itself on my mind, just like the sole of the Lord Rulers’ boots imprinted itself into humanity’s neck. Things fall into place, perspectives sliding into alignment like the tumblers of a lock.

I understand now why the strong rule. Why the weak must submit without question. The natural order is as implacable as gravity. Every system of organised human life relies, to some or other extent, on coercion. There is a sublime rapture in having been bested, humbled, forced to surrender.

I spent my life with so… much… resentment. Rage at what was done to me, and to my family. But I see now that life before the Lord Rulers was but a pale shadow of true existence. The freedom we so cherished had so little utility, so little value, and was therefore, no true freedom. It was never real.

Indeed, it could be… dismissed as a fever dream.

I lift my eyes to him again, in awe, this time. The energy radiating from him is overwhelming, crackling through the air like gathering lightning. I can feel it raising the hairs on my arms, charging the very atmosphere around us.

He has transcended now to the level of a true superhuman, a man-turned-god. The gulf between us seems unbridgeable, vast as the distance between a flickering candle's flame and the heart of a newborn star.

His power makes me whimper… and it makes Irmgard sob.

She’s still crumpled and weeping pitifully in the corner. Just the thought of her ignites rage within me. That entitled, conniving wretch. The way she manipulated me, tried to break me at the Candy Shop, treated me like dirt beneath her feet. I will make her pay for every humiliation. I will break her mind and body until she begs for mercy.

If our new master lets me.

I will have to pray that in his wisdom, Ragnar allows me to exercise governance over her. A fitting punishment for one so arrogant, to have me elevated above her. I feel my body flood with warmth at the thought, a heady rush. Yes, I will serve him devotedly, and I’ll beg to be granted the exquisite privilege of lording it over Irmgard.

Ragnar regards me with those blazing eyes. "You fought well, Carolina. But in the end, you were outmatched." His words are matter-of-fact, holding no malice, but the voice… God, his voice goes straight to my clit, making me shudder in weak craving. The sudden, desperate sexual need that the weak feel in the presence of someone so much more powerful.

His voice reverberates with inhuman resonance, like the polyphonic crash of several tidal waves. It’s butter and thunder.

Ragnar seems to grow taller, more imposing, as if the very fabric of reality is bending to his will. The air hums with power, and I feel an invisible weight pressing down on me, forcing me to bow my head before this nascent god.

And so, I do. I prostrate myself, pressing my forehead low to the ground before Ragnar. The stone is cold against my skin, but a fire burns in my heart. I’m pledging myself fully to my new master.

"Yes, my lord. I see that now."

“Sit back on your haunches,” Ragnar says, and I rush to obey, straightening my spine, sitting back, kneeling expectantly at his feet.

“Society is built on order and hierarchy for good reason. The strong dominate the weak because the universe wills it. And I am going to dominate you, Carolina. You will be my wife-slave. It’s the highest position you could ever hope to attain, while still being owned. You will oversee my household and all who dwell within it." He pauses, then adds pointedly, with a smirk, "Including our noble Irmgard."

The shrill whimper of wounded pride and erotic panic that bursts from Irmgard’s throat at his words is beautiful. It makes my loins ignite. It makes me want to muffle her dog-like utterances by sitting on her fucking face right away. But I need to be patient. This is Ragnar’s show, not mine.

His concession to me, not my right.

His astonishing power elevates him above the ranks of ordinary men. And I, in my profound submission, will be lifted up as well.

Ragnar goes on, "As my wife-slave, you will accept your second-place nature to me as a man. Very few women manage to become Lord Rulers, and you will not be one of them."

I bow my head in unconditional acquiescence.

"Maybe most importantly,” he says, “you will deeply study, and unfailingly conform with, proper ideology. Slavery is part of the natural order. The Sunday of Leathered Splendour proved that three can stand over ten thousand. Because the three were more than human, and the ten thousand were just people-cattle."

The old me would be numb to arguments like that. Sullenly resentful, yet meekly accepting. But how can I ignore them, now, after what I’ve seen and felt?

"I understand, my lord," I whisper, my voice trembling with awe and submission. "I will study the ideology. I will become its most fervent disciple."

“Now, I am not without mercy," Ragnar continues. "I have a bridal gift of sorts, to present you, my wife-slave. Your mother Georgia, and your brother Utah, will be purchased from the Bothnia family and freed from slavery. You will all live together under my roof. You will be slaves, of course, but prized ones, responsible for overseeing all other human cattle in my to-be household. A Lord Ruler needs a fitting estate, and you will join it."

What?

I stare up at Ragnar, stunned into silence. Never did I imagine he would show such mercy. God… the contrast with what Irmgard threatened to do to me, to us, at the Candy Shop. I…

Tears of gratitude fill my eyes. "Thank you, my lord," I whisper. "Your mercy knows no bounds."

He nods, satisfied with my response. "You will have your family back, Carolina. But this is just the first half of my bridal gift to you."

What more could he possibly grant me, a lowly slave gifted the immense mercy of reuniting with my family?

Ragnar looks down at me, a glint in his eyes. "The Bothnia family will be mine by right of conquest. Arthur, Audra, and their parents will serve you, Utah and Georgia until the end of their days."

I gasp, hands flying to my mouth in shock. The Bothnias...?

The Bothnias. Reduced into slavery.

Into slavery beneath Mum. Beneath Utah. Beneath me.

I picture Audra in translucent silk, collared and cuffed, scrubbing floors on her hands and knees as I stand over her with a whip. Arthur, dressed as a maid, forced to massage Mum’s feet. Their parents waiting on me hand and foot as I train them to the specifications and requirements of our master.

"I...I don't know what to say, Master," I stammer. “Except… why?”

Ragnar regards me with an amused smile. “Is it not so obvious? Why does a cat play with a mouse? Why does a master fuck a slave? Why the toys, the ornaments, the accessories, the outfits?”

He shrugs. “You do it because you can. Because it’s fun. Because it’s hot. Is that not the entire point of holding absolute power over others?"

Oh.

Of course. Extraordinary utility leads to extraordinary freedoms.

Ragnar stalks closer to me, circling me. "You will rule over the Bothnias not by any right or merit, but solely by my will and desire. Do you see the lesson here?”

He tilts my chin up further, forcing me to meet his piercing eyes. His eyes seem to pierce my very soul, and I gasp at the contact, trembling at the surge of pleasure-pain caused by his touch. By the intensity of his gaze.

I lower my eyes, a flush creeping up my neck. His fingers stroke my hair, then tighten, wrenching my head back. I gasp as his lips crush mine, harsh and demanding. Taking. Conquering.

I moan into his mouth, helpless against the surge of pleasure that rocks through me.

"You have spirit and fire within you,” he says at last when he withdraws from the kiss. “I would not see that extinguished. However… you know what must come next."

I do. I find myself trembling, from fear and arousal in equal parts. I saw how he ended Irmgard. Perhaps he’ll be gentler with me…

But my own psionic Awakening must be undone, too, just like Irmgard’s was.

"You understand, don't you?"

His thumb brushes lightly over my mouth as he asks that. It’s clear that my answer must not come through word, but through deed.

So, I open my mouth, ready to welcome in his cock - and bracing myself for what is about to happen.

Ragnar's cock slides into my open, willing mouth. The thick head pushes past my lips as his hand grasps the back of my head.I close my eyes and focus on the sensation, the weight and heat of him against my tongue. His hands gently guide me as he begins to thrust, fucking my face with a steady rhythm.

But that’s not where the true fucking is taking place. It’s in my mind.

The pleasure from that is overwhelming, almost unbearable. I feel him probing at the edges of my mind, his psychic tendrils seeking entry.

I struggle to keep my focus as Ragnar's consciousness brushes against my own, like a tide of fire washing through my mind. I shudder as I feel him searching, finding the tiny spark of psychic ability within me and slowly beginning to smother it. It's so intimate and tender, the way he wraps around my power and begins to squeeze it. To constrict it. To crush it in his coils.

His mental presence slides through my innermost being like a psionic cock, touching parts of me no one else ever could. I surrender to it, letting him take what was never truly mine.

My tongue swirls dutifullly along the sensitive underside as he begins to thrust faster, using my face as a surrogate pussy with smooth, powerful strokes. I hollow my cheeks and suck firmly, egging him on, faster and faster

I feel Irmgard’s eyes at the back of my neck, and I know she can take no joy from my debasement. Not this time. Not with her fate so thoroughly sealed.

I surrender completely to the sensations. The slick glide of his cock claiming my mouth. The ache in my jaw as he takes his pleasure. The pounding pulse of blood in my ears. My cunt grows wetter with each passing moment, my mind opening up to let him in. To let him stake his claim.

I surrender to the invasion, allowing him access to my innermost thoughts and memories. He rifles through them roughly, uprooting any traces of rebellion or resistance, pride and stubborness, or anything he simply dislikes.

That’s the point of power, right?

You do it because you can. Because it’s fun. Because it’s hot.

He starts to thrust deeper, burying himself to the hilt in me, cutting off my air for a delirious moment before pulling back. I relax my throat, breathing through my nose as best I can. The perfectly polite and compliant oral cocksleeve.

I whimper around his cock as he tears away parts of myself, remolding me into his bridal pet. With each stroke, more of my free will slips away. With each thrust, more of my inner fire dims. My thoughts scatter in every direction as he scours my psyche. Yet even as I fade, my body responds. My nipples stiffen even more, my sex grows even slicker.

I try to focus on that response, rather than the loss, on the pleasure rather than the pain.

I feel him in my mind as deeply as I feel him in my throat. He’s hollowing me out from the inside, just as he’s sexually filling me up. I feel myself shrinking, diminished in the face of his presence. I am emptied of everything that made me who I was, reduced to a whimpering, gagging shell. The Bothnias could own me, all these years, and Irmgard could threaten me, but none ever had the opportunity to end me like this.

Ragnar is plundering my mind as thoroughly as he’s plundering my body, stripping away layers of thought and memory until there is nothing left but sensation, raw and overwhelming.

My tears mingle with the saliva trailing down my chin as I struggle to accommodate the endless plunge of his cock into my throat. I am lost, willingly drowning in the ruthless pounding - physicall and magical. His cock conquers me, claims me, makes me his. I am an instrument crafted for his use, humming with gratitude for the chance to worship at the altar of his cock. My mind and body are his to play, to enjoy, to ruin and remake. I embrace this unmaking, this return to primordial clay, to the true basic human condition - own or be owned, predator or prey.

I will be something perfected by submission. Something worthy of the honour of serving him.

He plunders my mind as thoroughly as he plunders my body, stripping away layers of thought and memory until there is nothing left but sensation, raw and overwhelming.

My body shudders as the last embers of power fade away.

I come apart beneath his hands, around his cock, reduced to whimpers and incoherent pleas. As he thrusts deeper into me, breaching the entrance to my throat, I tip over beyond speech or reason. There is only the relentless drive of his hips, the searing heat of his gaze, the immensity of the power that’s staked his claim on me, now and forever.

Ragnar's cock slides deeper, cutting off my breath completely as he bottoms out in my throat. I sputter helplessly around him, gagging as my vision begins to dim. And still he takes his pleasure from my lips. I’m milking the cum out of his cock with my throat; he’s milking every last drop of residual psionic energy from my mind with his power.

Black spots bloom across my vision. My essence precipitates back into human status, into chattel status, expelled from the heavens. I am meaningless, disposable, a worthless slut made only to kneel and choke on cock. The realization breaks something inside me even as my cunt frantically begins to spasms.

When release comes - his, and mine with it - it is shattering.

His hands tighten in my hair and he groans, losing himself in the wet heat of my throat. I am lost too. His cock pulses and swells, quivering, cutting off my air completely, as the first ropes of cum begin to shoot straight down my throat. At the same instant, a tidal wave of pure psychic rapture crashes through my mind and body, rocketing me into an orgasm that rips outward like an explosion.

The blast wave is shattering. The physical ecstasy of my climax, and the psychic rape of my mind, race one another to the top of a climax that lands on me like a ton of bricks.

My vision whites out, nerves screaming as my cunt clenches desperately around nothing. The orgasm goes on and on, Ragnar's cum pouring down my throat as he empties himself in successive spurts.

And then, the world spins dizzyingly. Ragnar withdraws, leaving me gasping for breath. I collapse bonelessly, gasping, broken. My mind is blank, body twitching with aftershocks, cunt dripping, limbs shaking.

I don’t want this feeling to end. Just like slave girl, I would do anything, give up anything, to experience this blissful rapture again. To be a Lord Ruler’s.

No. I wouldn’t do that.

I will.

But even the slave to a Lord Ruler must know mortal solitude. Even she must deal with emptiness. And, with my lord and master standing just a few feet away from me, it feels like…

Like the beauty of the stars has bled out of the world.