Queen Jenny's Touch

I can feel you approaching long before I see you. As a Queen Megami, your aura of sexual power is naturally immense. Without even casting spells, every penis goes hard within a mile of your presence. Even women grow wet around you. The bodies of your citizens automatically acknowledge the authority and power you have over them. With just a tiny notion, you could have every person in your country similarly hard or wet, and you sometimes amuse yourself doing just that at random intervals. Everyone knows when this happens they are to stop what they are doing and pray to you.

My body, however, is especially attuned to you. Within the borders of your country, I am always diamond hard, so hard it hurts. In the seven years since you have taken over the land, I have never had a single orgasm, only clusters of soul-crushing edges. And whenever you approach me physically, the pressure intensifies until I can barely form thoughts. All our exchanges are from you speaking, and me thinking, with you reading my mind.

Men in your Queendom already have it rough, being constantly teased and denied to empower the women of your country. Even the sweetest of mistresses will send their man to “work” as energy generators all day, then tease him all night to refresh themselves. The luckiest men get the occasional break and releases between shifts. The rest, however, suffer endlessly and exquisitely.

I suppose I could be considered lucky, in a way, and unlucky in others. To be chosen as the Queen’s personal toy is quite an honor. The honor, however, comes at the cost of sanity. So cruelly you treat you toys, breaking them to pieces, then threading them back together just so you can break them again. Any other Sex Mage would have failed to fix me after so much trauma, but your miraculous Megami powers have not yet found that limit. No matter what you do, no matter how thoroughly I am crushed, you always manage to piece me back together, so you can tear me apart again.

You enter the room where you’ve kept me ever since I was picked. I have no idea what you see in me, but I seem to bring you endless amusement. You step into the room and smile at me. From my corner where I cower, I gasp, my body surging. My cock cannot possibly get any harder physically, and yet all the blood tries to rush straight in my organ. Lightning sensations shoot through every nerve in my body, and my whole body jerks, hip-first, towards you, instantly trying to cum, instantly crushed against the edge of your indomitable will. I open my mouth to scream, but I have no breath.

Your smile widens as you slip off your dress, exposing your perfect nakedness to me. That’s all it takes for the pressure to red-line, and I already start to go comatose. Your power doesn’t let me, however, your will forcing me awake to enjoy every agonizing moment of your sexual omnipotence. You take a step toward me, then another, slowly prowling forward like a jungle cat towards a mouse, playfully enjoying the overwhelming, growing terror your sheer presence brings. Every step spikes the pressure and sensations up another notch. By the time you are near enough to touch me, I am literally dying from the sheer sensation overload, with only your power keeping me alive.

Then you reach out to touch me, and my world goes white, and I know nothing more than pure, endless, sexual agony. The space of years passes with every second, Even your power cannot keep me from reaching a headspace where the sensations and pressure are too immense for my feeble mortal brain to comprehend. I have no idea how long you use my body for you pleasure, enraptured by the energy of my suffering, and the sheer joy of your sadistic urges. It feels like eternity within you.

Eventually, something gives, and I feel the pressure and sensations abate. I come slowly aware, shivering and weeping on the floor. The first thing I can comprehend when my senses can focus again is that I’m laying on the floor of my room again. I can’t tell if mere minutes have passed, or days, or months, or years. You’ve kept me in this windowless dungeon with no way to tell the passage of time, and your magic warping my perception of such anyway. You could have kept me here for only a month, or it could already have been decades. All I know to gauge anything is the number of times you’ve visited me, and I’ve already lost track. All I can do is try to recover, and brace myself for you next visit, for the next blessed touch of my Queen.