Meretrix Augusta

Prologue: A Room of Mirrors

Black entered the tiny room and fell to his knees in awe.

It was a sweltering day in the smog filled city of Bangkok. A travel journalist, Black had been trying to find inspiration to write a positive article about the seedy shit-hole. Tourism was the city's main source of income and officials had given him quite the 'gift' to help him appreciate the area. He clutched the case holding his laptop tightly. He had barely come off the plane when someone had snatched one of his bags and made of on a growling scooter, leaving him choking in its fumes.

Thank Christ it was the last day. He was sick of being offered drugs, whores and, well, that was basically it really.

Then he stopped, regardless of the people bustling around him, and found himself gazing at a shabby looking building across the road. There was nothing special about it, as drab as the other buildings around it. For no reason he could give, he felt his member rise stronger than it had done in months.

He did not know why he walked to the building, why he had opened the door without knocking, stepped in without invitation. He just felt compelled to do so. It were as though a siren had called him without using a melody. The closer he went the stronger his erection became. When he entered it was so painful he felt one of his hands lower in an effort to relieve the pressure.

Then he saw the silent siren that had called him, lounging naked on a mat at the other side of the room. She looked human but Black knew she was not. She was beautiful, but not in any supermodel way. There was some subtle manner to her movements, a carefully set expression on her face that had him utterly wanting her. "Hello." It was a simple word, but said so perfectly, toned in just the right manner, that Black thought he was going to swoon with lust.

Briefly, Black noted that, save the wall the siren was against, everywhere else was full of all manner of mirrors. From small hand mirrors to large dressing mirrors. The room was so crowded with them he was sure that if one was sent toppling the rest would follow like dominoes. Countless visions of his pathetic self returned his desperate gaze, he returned his eyes to the beauty before him. "Please." He whined, "I'm going to die." The pain and desire was excruciating. He was certain she was the cause of it. He badly needed release, he badly wanted her.

"Do not be silly." she chided, "I have been watching you. You are a writer, are you not?" Black could only give more pleas in response. The woman Black thought must be a siren took it as a yes, "Good. Open that contraption will you and begin typing. My time draws near and I wish to do justice to a story those clouts Juvenal and Pliny failed to achieve."

Compelled, Black unzipped the case, brought out his state of the art instrument and booted it up. He sat cross-legged and rested it on his lap as it ran. Without further encouragement he logged in and opened a new document. "Please..."

"Type what I say word for word. It is going to be hard, your language is incredibly bland and unfit for the likes of her, so some of my tongue will be necessary. I will do my best to keep it legible." Black felt his erection ease of slightly, the pain fade. It did not matter, Black wanted her still and would do whatever he could to please her. She was his queen now, as far as he was concerned. "Type." she commanded, and Black found himself laying his fingers upon the familiar keyboard eagerly.

1: My Awakening

I am not like the others you know. To your kind this profession is a mere job, you work the hours, earn the money and go home. For Lilitu such as I it is a way of life. It is who we are, what we are. As such, I, Scylla, feel it best to give a brief account of what I call my 'awakening' before I detail my most remarkable experiences with the empress.

My father was a soldier, rarely did I see him for he was oft stationed in some far away land. So I lived with my mother tending to the household as I grew up. Often my parents had tried for a son but I remained an only child. Like most young people my greatest love was for the stories of myth and legend that so many told. When my father did return I would make him tell all he knew of wherever he had been. Little did I know one such story would set me on the path I travel now.

As I trailed my mother in the marketplace I overheard a filthy looking man preaching against the depravity of the empire, how if we did not change our ways soon the end would come. He seemed to notice me and mother and pointed at us, screaming that vanity is sinful, that mirrors are in fact portals to a realm of depravity. My mother, of course, ignored him. But the idea of mirrors as portals stuck with me. I believed in the mystical, you see, and so wanted to see something a such.

My mother owned a lovely copper mirror, crude compared to the mirrors of today but for the time very good. When noone was around I would neglect my chores, sneak into her room and stare into it until my eyes hurt, hoping to see that other world. I did this countless times, but to no avail.

It happened when I was at the baths. I rose out after cleansing myself and saw my reflection upon the waters, more clear than the beaten and polished metal that were mirrors back then. I admired my naked body and, for an instant, I let my mind wander to darker thoughts. I imagined the wonderful things men might do to me and how beautiful I would look as they did it. I was indeed vain, but only because I had the right to be.

It happened for a second, yet that second will remain with me forever. The waters turned dark and something else looked back out at me. It was a woman, so voluptuous and perfect that I nearly dove back into the baths after her. Naked and shameless, arms wide to embrace me she seemed to beckon. She was smiling at me lovingly, then she was gone. I tried to conjure back that image, I thought of what I had done to bring it and repeated it. But no matter what I did the image never returned. I was desperate to be with this woman, to be as shameless and perfect as her. I wanted to be her and be with her, yet that glorious vision did not return.

Both elated and disappointed, I returned home. But that night I had an unusual dream. It was of that woman, naked upon a throne, laughing as the city around her burned. She waited with glee for the attackers to charge into the room, when they would use her as a common whore. As those bloodthirsty barbarians entered she opened her legs in greeting. Before the first one reached her, I awoke.

I should have felt fear but instead it was the first time I felt aroused. The beauty of that woman hypnotized me. The depravity of her a fascination. I both longed and feared to be in her place, to have those men around me, ravaging me. That dream would stay with me from then on, as it was meant to, for it was only much later I would understand the message of it. For now I was content to know that the mysterious woman was watching and guiding me. I was enflamed. My thoughts grew more and more depraved and my loins burned to be used.

Despite the constant scolding given by my parents I wore less and less. It was a joy to wander the streets and have eyes roam my body, knowing they were picturing obscene acts with me. But I surrendered my virginity to none of them. Whilst I yearned and planned the day when I would open my legs to the world I wanted my first time to be something magnificent and taboo. Something fitting for one such as I.

Eventually I seduced my father.

It was not hard, he had returned from a long campaign and my mother was at the market. He must have been to the tabernae for he swayed slightly, clearly drunk. Taking opportunity of my mother's absence, I wore nothing as I tidied the house outside, knowing the locals would tell her and get me in trouble, but staring at me lecherously nonetheless. I delighted in their sly glances and felt my body tremble with readiness when I saw father appear. I sensed the entity I had seen in the baths stir within me and I knew it was time.

I took him inside and knew a simple gesture would have him on me. His drunkeness and months of frustration had him just about ready to fuck anyone. I pretended to get him wine, bending over and reaching across the table. Just like that, he was inside me.

I heard some say the first time is painful and underwhelming, but for me it was the ultimate release. His phallus glided into me easily, as though my body had moulded itself for this moment, him pounding me like the whore I strove to be. I clasped the edge of the table and felt his strong hands clasp my now ample breasts as he fucked me mercilessly. I knew this was what I was for, that this is what I would dedicate my life to, I wanted it to never end, nor would it. All too soon he flooded my womb with his seed, before I orgasmed, and stumbled to the bed where he collapsed into a drunken slumber.

Quietly, I went to him, untied the pouch at his belt and took a single obol. Smiling, I admired the dull coin and secreted it away. Payment taken, I was now a prostibulae. I walked out to the streets to begin my profession.

It was like a dam had finally broken. I rarely returned home after that, I felt little need to sleep and the few coins I earned kept me fed. I was a diobolares. Men needed only toss a couple of coins at me and I was theirs. I never seemed to be satiated, there did not seem to be enough men in the world to satisfy me. Whilst the others would retire for the night or day I would continue, taking client after client into me, no act forbidden.

My mother died of fever shortly after my awakening. With this I returned home and made it into something akin to a temple and a brothel, all in homage to the entity I dedicated myself to. My father had no objections, whilst guilt ridden at first I soon had him besotted and willing. I needed only wrap myself around his member and he would agree to all. The locals, sensing the deity within me, began leaving offerings at the door.

It was as I whored myself from this temple that I began to notice I was no longer like the others, in that I could not be considered human. The most obvious first sign was my maniacal lust, I could fuck more than most women and feel little in the way of exertion. I did not bleed each month either so little hindered my appetites.The second sign was when I realised I had not eaten or drank for several days yet was as healthy as ever, instead I had an unending craving for semen that seemed to rejuvenate me whenever I partook of it. Thirdly, I rarely slept, the odd occasions I did would be for a few minutes, and these would bring visions of a world I would later learn to be my true home.

Whilst it was a remote village, the occasional traveler came and it was from one eastern visitor that I learned I was something called Lilitu, something akin to a succubus but much more. As soon as I heard the term I new it to be correct, the tone and sound just seemed so right to me. The way the word made the tongue move was appropriately similar to what some men did with theirs to me. The deity I envisioned had turned me into Lilitu, the embodiment of everyones' darkest fantasies and repressed longings.

Naturally, there were those who feared me and kept away. Some, mostly the wives choosing to blame me for their husbands' infidelity, grouped together and hired a rabbi, apparently knowledgeable on creatures such as I. I watched with amusement for a while as the shambling old man spouted nonsensical words and wrote on some parchment just outside the temple. I could not help but laugh at the guilt ridden fool.

Yes, guilt ridden, ashamed of his own desires, terrified of his own lusts. As Lilitu I learned that I had a deeper understanding of people than they did themselves. I stepped out, naked as always, and opened my arms wide in invitation. For a brief moment I saw the wretch's longing, then saw him recognise it in himself, then watched him shriek and flee in horror of his urges. Of course, he blamed these urges on me trying to bewitch him. With him gone, I returned to my delights.

Yet as the months went by I grew restless. It was but a remote village I dwelled in and the same people would come day after day. The temple grew claustrophobic and I longed for the open sky. I ceased to orgasm and knew it was time to reach for new heights. So, during one of those rare moments when I was alone, I stole into the night, naked save for my sandals.

I traveled at night, pausing only at crossroads to offer my services. People back then held a fascination with crossroads, seeming to think there was a mystery there. To one such as I the reason was obvious as to why they were drawn to such places, just open your legs and you yourself are the crossroads. It was a joy to feel new people inside me, but I knew they were all limited in their imaginations, in their perversity. I sensed my deity pushing me to a certain place and was well aware it was the only place where I could experience true decadence.

Eventually, I made it to Rome.

2: My Empress

Rome was almost as restrictive to our kind as the world is today. Whilst I got to know many more delights, I had to tread carefully to not be caught up in the stranglehold of rules and regulations. For Rome was very much run on money. Whores were required to register themselves and pay a tax on their earnings, these workers were considered meretrices. They were required to wear yellow togas so they would not be mistaken for the 'virtuous' ladies.

I, on the other hand, was a proud diobolares, a street walker who never charged more than two obols. Why bother charging when their semen is enough? Being a cheap whore thrilled me, and it felt right to offer myself at a price, albeit a low one. I learned that men were naturally drawn to me by my aura so I never lacked for work. I never registered or paid the tax on my small earnings. I never stayed in a brothel but wandered the streets naked, a predator in her natural environment. Nakedness was a sign of slavery there, yet I loved how their eyes would roam me. My body was my pride, my vanity would allow for no concealment. Of course, I would have to flee from authorities on occasion, but there were many women who operated in a similar manner and I soon got to know the streets better than many. I was never caught.

Over the next few months, however, particularly during the festivals of lupercal, I began to be renowned for my skills. More than that, however, I began to be renowned for my endurance. I would work through many clients in one night in a way the others could only envy. Despite not being licensed and registered, I earned a name for myself and many a curious noble or wealthy man would have their servants scour the city for me, wishing to see if the rumours were true. I never disappointed, nor did I reveal what I truly was.

One day, however, I was was given not so much an invite as a challenge. A well attired servant located me and stated that a wealthy noblewoman had heard of my famous stamina and wished me to attend a bacchanalia she was holding. Although illegal, such secret parties were actually very common. It was the fact that this woman claimed she could outdo me and wished me to attend to see who could outlast the other that surprised me. Not one to back down, I readily agreed.

I arrived at the lavish building. Various wealthy men and women were in attendance, many whom I was familiar with. I was well acquainted with the decadence of such festivities and felt at home. It was the hostess and challenger however which shocked me. She was a tall woman with long black hair, dark eyes and olive skin. Very beautiful and exotic. She wore no clothing, already prepared for the antics ahead. But the way she held herself revealed her aristocratic upbringing and nature. I knew her at once.

It was the Empress Valeria Messalina.

I could tell the moment I looked at her, confirmed by the tingling sensation of her touch as she greeted me. She was Lilitu like me, a follower of the same deity. From the sparkle in her eyes I could tell she knew what I was also. I could hardly believe it, for I had never before encountered one fo my own kind.

The empress of Rome was Lilitu.

I had heard vague rumours of her promiscuity, never had I imagined them to be an understatement of the real thing. She greeted me warmly, but also with a competitive air. Empress or no, I refused to be intimidated and displayed my confidence, which well pleased her.

Without further ado, I was led to a room with two lavish beds and numerous men waiting in drunken anticipation. With a servant dressed as cupid each to keep tally we set to, taking one man after another. Erect phalluses never ceased to excite me. The way they grew hard, promising to ruin me and grant me their sacrifice made them seem divine, yet I should stress that I never felt beholden to them. No more than the lion did to the antelope. Always it was the men who would beg for me, never the other way round. The more men a Lilitu slept with at one time the greater her arousal and hunger becomes. As such that competition was a true delight.

But I was dismayed, as I eventually began to tire I saw the empress set to each one as though it were the first. I spurred myself forwards, I took more men than I had before. But, alas, once I reached what would have broken most I was forced to concede and proclaim the empress the champion. It seemed there was still a limit to how many men I could take back then, my transition still occurring. The spectators gave a round of applause as I rose and made ready to bow to the empress in a sign of respect.

She did not stop. Laughing at me she continued taking men into her over and over. When it became clear she would go on for some time I simply accepted wine from the aquarii servants and watched in admiration. An efficient woman, she began taking several at a time, once I recuperated I began preparing those who awaited their turn, ensuring they were fully erect for her. As I focused I thought I could see a shadowy figure with her on the bed, feminine in form, whispering things into the empress' ear. Words that spurred her on beyond her limits. Was that the goddess, a messenger, or something else?

As the night wore on and some of the participants slipped away Messalina was forced to rise when there were no men left to pleasure. Even after such acts, covered in their seed, she looked regal, like the goddess come to be amongst us. I begged to become her copae, a servant who also whores in her free time. Messalina seemed pleased and accepted my offer, so my time as the empress' slave girl began.

******

I woke the next morning on a simple mat by the royal bed. As the first rays of dawn shone through I looked to Messalina lying naked beside me.

Like me, she preferred a simple mat on the floor to the lavish thing beside us. It was a preference I acquired from the filthy things I opened my legs on for coin and seed. I wondered if the preference was common to my kind, since she must have been raised surrounded by luxury. I trailed a finger down the curvature of her body, beginning at her shoulder, admiring her olive skin. As I reached her thigh I detoured round to slip into her vulva, damp and ready despite being asleep. With a serene gasp her eyelids fluttered open and, smiling, she drew closer, crushed her breasts against mine and pushed her tongue down my throat. I felt myself flush with a feeling I was unused to and responded eagerly. When she finally broke away I asked, "What are you?"

Giggling she straddled me, legs wide apart, dark eyes drinking me in and dark hair trailing down, "A whore, like you."

I accepted this calmly, placing a hand on each of her thighs, "You are empress."

She rolled those lovely eyes, "Yes, but first and foremost I am a whore. Not like those desperate things out there, but a creature like you. Do not deny it."