Summary: The story of a slave who is addicted to her master. A Conqueror story.
Disclaimers: There is graphic sexual content in this story between two women, so be warned, if this is not your thing, run away. Despite the fact this is a Conqueror story, there is no violence in this fanfiction. There are some bad words though!
Authors Note: I came up with this story a few years ago, not actually based on Xena. But when I found it again, I rewrote a whole lot of it and turned into a Conqueror story! I'm also writing another Conqueror fic, which is going to be more of a novel, whereas this is only one short chapter, but that won't be posted until my other stories are finished! I do hope you guys enjoy this one though. If you want to email me about this story, my email is jacklavigne13@hotmail .com
One dictionary defines gluttony as greedy or excessive indulgence, and the God's have decided it is a deadly sin. I myself, think it's an addiction. One that I have, and refuse to let go of. l'll almost certainly go to Tartarus, but from what we are doing, I think I'm going anyway.
To be honest, I should hate you, but I don't. You are my master, but you are so much more to me than that. And I know, deep down, behind the Conqueror's mask, I am more to you than just a slave. I remember the day you claimed me as your own. I stood in a line of women, slaves waiting to be sold, in the city of Corinth. I was nervous and scared as I stood there with the unforgiving sun beating down upon my naked back. All I had on was a small scrap of cloth, tied around my hips, to hide my most private of parts. I remember how ashamed I felt, wondering what my betrothed would think of me if he saw me now. Perdicas, the man I was supposed to be marrying. I cared for him deeply, but he never ignited such feeling's in me as you did, when I caught your eyes in the crowd of people that surrounded me. I watched as you turned to a soldier that stood besides you, whispering in his ear and then you disappeared into the crowd. Moments later, the shackles were removed from my wrists and ankles, and I found myself in a room in your castle.
My first few days of being a part of the Conqueror's household when by quickly. I washed dishes, scrubbed floors, polished the armor of your soldiers and many other meaningless chores. I would catch glimpses of you watching me from a distance, but then I would blink and you would be gone, leaving me alone and feeling empty.
I remember the first night I was called to your chambers. I was still so innocent and naive then, despite the things I had witnessed since being enslaved. I opened the door to your quarters, finding you gazing out of the window. You said nothing, ignoring me as if I didn't exist as I knelt on the cold floor, waiting for my orders. I was on my knee's for almost a candlemark before I heard your voice for the first time.
"Take off your clothes, slave."
That was the beginning of my addiction. From the moment I heard your voice, I was no longer Gabrielle of Potadeia. I turned into someone else, someone that I hated and envied all at once.
I cannot get enough of you and I should feel ashamed for wanting you to myself so often, but I don't, I won't, and I can't. I shouldn't try to keep you to myself so much, but I need you so greatly, want you so badly. The feel of you touching me is a high so powerful I'm afraid of the withdrawal. I need to feel you against me. I whisper to you as your body rubs against mine, sometimes over it, sometimes under it, but always against mine. You steal my breath with your kisses, your lips capturing mine, stealing my moans and sighs of ecstasy.
You say my name with a certain tone in your voice and I'm instantly damp and full of desire. I think of you and the way touch me, both emotionally and physically. I imagine your hands on my body, caressing me, teasing me, moving over my skin and between my legs and my body wracks in spasms When you look at me, with your sapphire eyes full of desire, I am no longer me; at least, I am no longer the me the rest of the world sees. I am only like this when I am with you, the person that will beg and command in the same breath, the me that screams your name over and over again with exquisite pleasure. I am the me that is like a junkie in need of her next fix, which is you.
Gluttony is a sin and I should probably give you up. I should stop my obsessive indulgence in you. I should endure the withdrawal, and always be the person the outside world sees: Gabrielle of Potadiea: A slave, nothing of worth to anyone. I should, I should, I should, but I can't.
"Fuck me, My Lord, please," I whisper in your ear as you do just that and drive your fingers wildly into me. When I'm alone, I think of you and do things with my fingers, wishing they were yours. I bring myself to release thinking of you. However, it is never enough, it never feels as good as when you bring me to the brink with your fingers- or mouth and then take me over the edge.
No one but you knows the me whose eyes go black with desire when you moan, deep in your throat. No one but you knows the me that shivers with passion when your eyes do the same. I go to you, promising myself that this will be the last time, I allow myself greedily treat myself to you, that this will be the last time I come to you and rip your clothes from your body, and devour your skin with my lips and tongue. Because I am a slave and I know that I shouldn't want you, but I do. I want you so badly that it hurts.
This will be the last time I taste you, my lips closing over the soft skin, the last time I entice the gasps from your lips that bring prickles of anticipation to my skin. This will be the last time you slide your hands up my thighs and slip under my knickers, making me moan in painful pleasure, the last time you pull the dress over my head and slide my knickers down. This will be the last time your hands caress the aroused peaks of my breasts and down the slope of my stomach back to that juncture you were teasing before, but are now enjoyably torturing, the last time you lure the sigh of your name with your lips on my skin. The last time I open myself in a silent command that you follow by slowly grinding your core against my own. The last time you leisurely start to move, pulling sounds of pleasure from my lips. The last time we move together in an unhurried, burning crescendo, that shatters us into a thousand tiny pieces of pleasure that wrenches cries of satisfaction and completion from both of us. The last time we will lay entwined, breathing erratic as we come down from this fix. The last time I'll watch your eyes change from the darkest sapphire back to their color of sky blue that always catches my breath.
I swear to myself that it will be the last time that I do all of these things and enjoy it. It will be the last time that I'll do what you ask of me because you command me to, not because I want to. It will be the last time that I gaze up at you with passion and love, instead of the blank stare that a slave should wear. It will be the last time, I swear it.
The same dictionary defines addiction as devotion or surrendering of oneself to something habitually or obsessively. I surrender myself to you, Xena, and though I say this will be the last time I know it wont be. I cant give you up. I wont stop my obsessive indulgence in you because I know I can't endure the withdrawal. I need to be the me only you get to see: Gabrielle of Potadiea, The Conqueror's Whore.
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