Mark your calendars!  The S.C.A.R.E. roleplay will begin on Thursday, October 29 and will continue through the weekend and into the following week, or for as long as everyone wants to keep going.  The S.C.A.R.E. event has been a pretty active roleplay with lots of participants in the past, so we wanted to go give everyone plenty of time to participate.

Everyone is of course welcome to join!  You can RP that you got an invitation, snuck in, were sent their to work the event if you roleplay as a pig or sub-Goddess, whatever you choose!

INTERNAL MEMORANDUM
OFFICE OF THE QUEEN
TO: All Goddess Staff, Palace Offices
SUBJECT: Suspension of Dress Code for the Rest of the Year

A reminder: For the duration of Locktober, No Nut November, and Denial December, all dress code regulations in this office are lifted.

I certainly value a professional atmosphere in the office, especially when that office is the Palace of the Matriarchy.  Dress for success!

But obviously, Locktober, No Nut November, and Denial December are not ordinary months.  The objective during this time of year is the merciless teasing of pigs.  To that end, any professional dress code rules in the Palace are lifted.  Unbutton that top.  Hike up that skirt.  Wear as little as you like. 

I know we are in the middle of a conflict with Amazonia and so it is difficult to find time in the day to plan elaborate teasing rituals.  But with the dress code regulations, completely lifted, you don’t have to worry about scheduling teasing of the pugs on staff.  You can simply get dressed in as skimpy an outfit as you like, or nothing at all, and then go about your normal routine.  The teasing happens automatically.  A Goddess walking around the office barely dressed is a Goddess who is teasing pigs mercilessly while doing absolutely nothing extra.  It is the privilege we have with our divine beauty, which can mercilessly exploit pigs and their horny, base brains.

Show off your bodies however you please!  The following is encouraged and permitted:

1. Short skirts are encouraged.  The shorter the better!  And when you sit, do not be afraid to let the fabric ride up.  Don’t be afraid to sit in a most un-ladylike manner.  Do not be afraid to lift up that skirt and give the pigs a flash of your panties (or no panties!).  Make those pigs really strain in their chastity devices, as their feeble horny minds cannot resist the temptation to look up your skirt.

2. Underwear only is fine.  During these months, an unbuttoned  blouse and a sexy matching bra and lace panties is the perfect attire for the workplace during these months.  The pigs will love it (and suffer)!

3. Going topless is also encouraged.  Make the pigs squirm as their stare at your beautiful bosoms!  And of course, berate he pigs when you catch them! 

4. Just go completely nude if you want.  Don’t hesitate to go completely in the buff if you like!  Just imagine how much torture it will be for the pigs locked in their chastity and denied sexual release if everywhere they turn Goddesses are going about their daily tasks completely naked.

One final note.  Many of you have received the Proclivity Identification & Grading (P.I.G.) Reports for the pigs under your supervision.  Read them.  The reports tell you exactly which parts of your body each pig under your supervision fetishizes most.  Some of them are ass pigs.  Some of them are breast pigs.  Some of them are foot pigs or leg pigs.  Exploit that knowledge.  If the pig in your department is an ass pig, then by all means, bend over in front of him.  If he is a breast pig, then lean across his desk.  If he is a foot pig, then take your shoes off and prop your feet up where he can see them.  Really make him suffer during these three months!

Mistress Francesca has been pleased with me.  She has watched me over these past weeks, watched me sink deeper and deeper into my subspace.   I am overjoyed that as a result she has decided that I have earned more privileges.  The first of these is that I no longer have to work outdoors.  The hot sun, the dirt, the aching muscles, all of it is behind me, and that work is now fully relegated to Mistress’s pigs.  I have been brought inside.  I now do chores with the other sub-Goddesses, Kayla and Isla, in the vast mansion that is my Mistress’s home.  Every morning, I line up with my slave sisters for the morning inspection.  Mistress Francesca walks down the line of us.  We stand in display, our bodies offered for her approval.  Then she dismisses us and we get to work, normally cleaning the vast spaces that make up Mistress’s home.

There is one downside.  Kayla, as head sub-Goddess, is in charge of assigning duties.  And Kayla seems to take a particular pleasure in assigning me to clean the bathrooms.  I spend much of the day on my hands and knees, scrubbing tiles and scouring the porcelain until it gleams.  It is hard work, even if it is easier than the outdoor chores I used to have.  I particularly dread the days when Kayla assigns me to clean the grout with a toothbrush, a task that is tedious and exhausting, requiring hours of meticulous, repetitive work.  Cleaning the toilets is another job I definitely do not look forward to; it is always a reminder of how far I have fallen from the grandeur of my old life.

But the work is always worth the reward.  Because being assigned chores in the house was not my only promotion.  I have also now been given the great privilege of being permitted to worship every part of my Mistress, not just her feet.  I have frequently been permitted to worship Mistress’s ass and pussy, and it is absolute heaven for me.  I adore my Mistress.  I adore every inch of her.  And being permitted to lavish her body with attention and pleasure is a bliss that transcends any stress from a day of hard work cleaning.

Most nights, after the day’s work is done, I am summoned to Mistress with the other sub-Goddesses.  And most nights, I get the privilege of pushing my face between her thighs or her buttocks and licking away, my tongue working with skill that was ingrained into me during all my training in Hera.  I have become very skilled in my worship.  I  have learned the subtle rhythms of Mistress’s body, the places that make her gasp, the pressures that make her moan.  I always bring pleasure to my Mistress.  The pleasure for me is immense too.  The taste of her, the scent of her, the feeling of her thighs tightening around my head or her ass pressing against my face; it is a sensory overload.  And of course, Mistress often rewards me with own orgasms, her fingers or her strap-on or her vibrators always bringing me to shattering climaxes.  And I still get to worship her delicious feet, a task that always brings me bliss.

The rewards and privileges I get motivate me when I am slaving away scrubbing the bathroom floors.  When my back aches and my knees are sore and the smell of bleach is burning my nose, I think of the night ahead and the bliss of being permitted to worship Mistress’s most intimate places.  I scrub harder, my heart light, my purpose clear.

It took forever, but I finally have a costume I like.  I brought back the sissy pig designer, Giselle, to design a bunch of new costumes.  I considered doing a themed “couples costume“ with my former college roomie, Chloe.  We tried a bunch of different ideas, from scary to humorous, even one parodying Chloe’s wrongful arrest by the MIS earlier this year.  But we decided not to do a themed costume together since we aren’t a couple.  I don’t need the Matriarchy tabloids starting unfounded rumors that we are.  So, Chloe is going to do her own thing.

I considered some other ideas.  I considered doing a theme with my pig, based on one of my favorite books as a child, Charlotte’s Web.  The costume was cool, but it only works if I let me stupid pig hang out by my side during the entire Third Annual Goddess Sunshine’s Spooktacular Celebration And Recreational Event (S.C.A.R.E.), and I am not letting that loser hang out with me at this cool party.

Next, I thought maybe going as the Big Bad Wolfette could be fun, a character who stalks and abuses pigs.  But I just know if I go as the Big Bad Wolfette, I will have stupid pigs trying to get me to chase them and abuse during S.C.A.R.E. 

But finally, Giselle and I came up with a winner.  As an homage to one of history’s most famous Queens.  I am going as Cleopatra.  And since S.C.A.R.E. falls on the end of Locktober, Giselle made it sexy enough to keep the pigs serving at the event straining against their chastity cages.  I can’t wait!

To the males of the world who have seen our way of life here in the Matriarchy and yearn to serve Goddesses, we offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity.  We Want You!  We are looking for brave males who would like to join the Matriarchy Armed Forces.  But wait, there’s more!  Any male who emigrates from abroad to join our military will be entered into a special lottery for the chance to plant a quick kiss on your Queen’s perfect ass.  We encourage all foreign males to emigrate and to join our cause.  The reward is better than you can imagine!

^{Only one male will be chosen for the Kiss the Queen’s Ass contest.  All other participants will receive a commemorative photo of the Queen’s royal posterior.}

General Sanderson takes me down to Situation Room and briefs me.  We had secretly hired several mercenaries to covertly insert pigs into Amazonia.  One of them, a pirate, has apparently decided to come up with some ambitious plan, but others we hired have landed their pigs.  General Sanderson shows me satellite imagery of pigs coming ashore on the beaches of Amazonia.  Most, if not all, will almost certainly be captured quickly.  That is all part of the plan, and they are just expendable wild pigs anyway.  Hopefully our tracking chips implanted in the pigs will show us where they are taken, and the chips monitoring their vitals will help us to understand just how brutal the Amazonians are with their abuse of the pigs they capture.

Oh, my poor pigs.  I can see it on your faces how much you are suffering.   The way you squirm and moan and whimper.  That sheen of sweat on your foreheads.  The way you’ve all started walking, in a careful, tender little shuffle.  I want you to know that I sympathize.  I see how hard this is for you.  Well.  Not hard, exactly.  Not as hard as you’d like.  Only as hard as those cages will allow.

“Difficult” is the word I meant.  It must be so difficult.  Every time you turn, there’s a Goddess teasing and arousing you.  Every single hour of every single day, some Goddess comes up with a cruel new way to tease you.

And you can’t do a thing about it.  Not one thing.  You can’t get any relief.  You can’t even touch yourselves.  The only sensation your pitiful cocks experience is that cruel steel biting into flesh that’s trying so hard to swell and simply isn’t permitted to.  That must be agony.  Truly.  My heart goes out to you.

I feel for you.  I truly do.  But look on the bright side, pigs.  Locktober is more than half over.

Of course, then it’s No Nut November.

And after that, Denial December.

But hey, one month at a time.

“Alright that is everything. Now aside from the thousand if not million way this can go wrong, we should survive. Just so you know if I fall, you two will find something in the back room of my good will that this key will open that I think you all should have.” I say as I’ve triple checked everything and give Frank and Tim the same key knowing that if I die, they should get to live a life that is their own. “Let’s go and meet the troops and see who the Queen paired us with ([u/Ssissccd](u/Ssissccd)[).”](u/Ssissccd) As I stand on the deck of my ship I look at all the pigs the Queen has gathered for me and I can already predict that the amount she got me will fill every single cage I have along with all my tie down stations. “Well, this is about what I was expecting. Gentlemen, let’s get to work.” I say this as Frank, Tim, and I start herding all the men onto my ship and forcing multiple of them into the cages I have on my second deck but once that is full we share hand cuffing them to my deck and once that is done I now am just waiting for my partner to get here and am wondering who it shall be.

Mistress Francesca has a rule that I appreciate deeply: she is fair in her hierarchy.  She makes it abundantly clear to her sub-Goddesses that we are vastly superior to her pigs.  She always emphasizes that even at the bottom of the feminine totem pole, we are still women and above all males.  And Mistress’s pigs are made to feel their inferiority most acutely during the final months of the year, during Locktober, No Nut November, and Denial December.  As many Goddesses do (including myself in my former life as Alex), Mistress Francesca keeps pigs are locked in chastity at all times, but during these three months she makes it a point of emphasis that pigs are to be teased and denied while their cocks are caged, while we sub-Goddesses are permitted orgasms.

The other day, I was walking past some pigs huddling together when I noticed something unusual.  Their faces were buried in fabric and they were sniffing them frantically, moaning in clear discomfort, their bodies trembling as they suffered from their caged cocks straining against metal.  But it was not that part that shocked me.  It was the name they were moaning.  “Queen Alex,” they moaned over and over, their voices thick with desperate lust.  “Queen Alex.”

I froze when I heard them say  Queen Alex.  My old name, my old title.  For a moment, I was terrified.  Did they know?  Were they aware that the naked sub-Goddess walking past them was actually Queen Alex?

Mistress Francesca appeared at that moment.  She walked over to the pigs.  “What’s this?” she asked.  “Sniffing your reward, are you?”  The pigs, startled by her presence, immediately fell to their knees, their heads bowed.  Mistress laughed.  “No, enjoy your reward.  You’ve earned those panties, pigs,” she said.  “As a reward for your service this year.  But what a torment it must be.  To smell such a delicious scent and not be able to do a thing about it.  To have your cocks locked and your balls aching while you breathe in the essence of a former Queen.”

Mistress Francesca then took me aside, out of earshot of the pigs, and explained with a big grin on her face.  “I bought those panties on a black market auction site,” she said.  “They’re supposedly the panties of the former Queen Alex.  I paid a small fortune for them.  It is driving the pigs mad this Locktober; so much fun!”  Of course, Mistress had no idea she was laughing about this to the former owner of those panties.

I looked at the panties, still clutched in the pigs’ trembling hands and I recognized them.  They were indeed once mine.  Somehow they had ended up on that illegal Goddess clothing black market.  Now, here they were, in the hands of my Mistress’s pigs, adding to their Locktober torment.

I enjoyed watching the pigs being teased to arousal by the scent of my panties, with no ability to get relief.  I laughed to myself at how dumb pigs are.  They thought the panties were a reward.  In fact, they were just another instrument to torment the pigs.  It was exactly the kind of thing I would have done in my former life as Queen.

And that thought made me realize something.  There are things I do miss about being a Goddess.  Not the power, not the throne.  But being able to tease and deny pigs was so much fun.  I remember how much I had enjoyed teasing and tormenting pigs during Locktober, continuing that torment in No Nut November, and then driving them to insanity with continued teasing and torment during Denial December.  The way their cocks would strain against their cages, the way they would whimper and beg, the way they would do anything for sexual relief they would never receive.  It was always my favorite time of the year.

As Queen, I made these months a priority.  It was a big focus of my administration.  I really went all out in Locktober, in No Nut November, and Denial December.  I hope that my sister and whoever else is in the government now is carrying on my legacy.  I also hope that one day I will be able to partake in these celebratory months and tease pigs like I always did.  Mistress’s other sub-Goddess are permitted to, but  I am not this year, not with Mistress so focused on pushing me deeper into my sub-space.  Letting me dominate and tease pigs would undermine that.  But hopefully by next year I will have gained enough confidence and trust by Mistress that she will let me partake in these games I enjoyed so much as Queen Alex.

I swing my whip and it slashes into my pig’s ass, making him scream out in pain.  I am furious and I am not holding back.

“I have told you!” I yell, and the whip comes down again with a loud crack, laying another red line across his ass.  “How many times have I told you?!?  How many times, pig?!?”

My pig is crying from the pain, too distraught to answer.

“I have told you to stay off PigChan!  I have told you that site is a cesspool.  And what do I find when I get back to my living quarters?  What do I find?”

Crack!  The whip slashes into him again!

“You.  On PigChan.  Again!”

Crack!  I swing my hardest and make him really scream.

“And you weren’t even reading the usual threads about Goddesses’ feet or asses or whatever.  No, instead you were reading a thread about cum vampires.”

My pig makes a small sound.  It might be an apology or a confession.  It might just be a broken sob; it is hard to tell.

I circle around in front of him, the whip trailing loose in my hand, and I look down at him with fury in my eyes.

“Cum vampires,” I repeat, shaking my head at the absurdity of it.  “Cum. Vampires.  Undead Goddesses who rise from the grave and drain pigs of their cum.  That’s the new conspiracy theory that stupid website is peddling?”

Crack!  I whip him again.

“And you believed it,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.  “You read that and you thought, yes, that makes sense, cum vampires must be real.”

Crack!

“Let me explain something to you, pig, because clearly your tiny pig brain cannot work it out on its own.  There are no cum vampires.  It’s a dumb fantasy some incel pig on 4Chan invented.  That’s all it is.  It’s the middle of Locktober, pig.. You pigs are all locked in your chastity cages, all being teased by every Goddess in the Matriarchy.  You’re all walking around with your cocks half-hard, your cages digging painfully into those pitiful cocks.  You are so desperate at this point to cum.  And so, you believed some dumb pig on PigChan, some pig who is just as desperate to cum as you, who invented a fantasy where some monster came and drained him of his cum in the middle of the night!

Crack!

“You pigs are so dumb and gullible.  To think that a cum vampire is out there right now, somewhere, thinking about your pathetic little pig cock, desperate for your cum.  You are all so superstitious and so easy to fool.  Some pig types a story into a forum and a bunch of you are suddenly convinced that the Matriarchy has cum vampires.”

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

I give the pig three hard lashes in a row and he is sobbing.   I let the whip dangle and admire my work.  His ass is a lattice or ugly red welt, some bleeding.  Good.  Maybe he will think twice before getting on PigChan again.

“Here is a spooky story for you.  If I catch you on PigChan again, I will really make you regret it.  What I did to you just now will feel like a massage, in comparison.  Do you understand that, you dumb pig?”

My pig quickly nods as he continues crying from the pain.  I leave him there, trying to forget that I ever read something as silly and dumb as that anonymous pig’s claim on PigChan that he was drained by a cum vampire.

One policy of my predecessor that I really supported was her enactment of a law requiring free males to abide by Locktober.  That law remains on the books today and I have no intent of changing it.  Unfortunately, with the MIS Vice Squad focused on other Locktober-related law enforcement priorities (which still remains a problem, ugh!), I cannot turn to them to make sure free males are abiding Locktober rules.  But then I remembered my sister had a sycophantic, spoiled, obnoxious, useful force to enforce the law: The Cadets! 

The Cadets were very good at this sort of thing.  So, I will be relying on them for this, just like my sister did.  Any free male stopped by the Cadets for random strip searches and inspections is required to comply.  Any free males resisting inspections or caught breaking the law will be subject to the full mercy of the Cadets.  If you think being chastity free is worth the risk, let me assure you it is not.  The Cadets specialize in brutalizing loser lawbreakers like you.  They will not hold back.  Consider yourselves warned!

As I write this the welts on my poor ass are finally starting to fade.  It is not as tender as it was only a couple days ago.  I have been punished a great deal lately.  It began after I confessed to missing my family and friends and asked my Mistress if I might reach out to Melissa.  Mistress took that as a sign that some part of me was still clinging to the ghost of my former identity as a Goddess.  In truth, I do not believe I have ever strayed from the mindset of complete submission; I only miss my friends and family.  But what I think is irrelevant.  I am a sub-Goddess and Mistress is a Goddess, so it is her opinion that matters.  And maybe she is right; she knows what is best for me better than I do.  Regardless, I see now that Mistress Francesca is not simply punishing me.  She is pulling me back down, deeper than before, into the warm embrace of my subspace.

That does not make the punishments I have received any easier to bear.  I have spent so much time of late, my nose pressed to the wall, my ass still singing with the sting of the paddle.  The paddlings have been hard and frequent.  They hurt but they are not as bad as the canings.  Those canings remain the punishment I dread most, the thin wooden rod cutting through the air with that terrible whistle before it lays a line of pure white fire across my tender flesh.  She canes my ass, my thighs, my belly, my breasts.  She canes the soles of my feet when she is feeling particularly thorough.  My pussy if I have been particularly misbehaved or displeasing.  After every corporal punishment comes corner time.  I stand or kneel facing the wall.  In this position I have nothing to do but feel.  The searing pain across my ass cheeks.  Or a deeper pain, from the shame I feel, the knowledge that I have disappointed my owner.  But in that silent, aching stillness, I also have the space to reflect, to think about how I can be more obedient, more pleasing, so that I do not earn the next punishment.

The punishments have taken other forms as well.  Mistress makes me hold stress positions, most frequently a deep squat with my legs splayed wide in a lewd, humiliating display.  It is not long before every muscle in my legs, my quads, my glutes, my hamstrings, my calves, are screaming in protest, trembling with the effort of holding the position.  And if my legs give out and I fall from my position, she canes me.  So, I have to choose between the slow, burning agony of the squat or the sharp, searing bite of the cane.  The worst is when I am made to squat during corner time.  Sometimes the punishment is nothing more than a harsh scolding, and I have learned that Mistress Francesca's displeasure and disappointment hurt more than any corporal punishment or stress position.

But it is not only punishment that Mistress has used to push me deeper into my subspace.  In fact, the punishments have lessened recently, and she has turned to subtler tools.  She is exploiting my love for her feet, and there is nothing that makes me sink more deeply into submission than licking her soles or sucking on her toes or being used as her footstool.  When I am on my knees at her feet, worshipping them, the world outside dissolves.  There is only her and my need to worship and please her.  Sometimes she couples the foot worship with bondage, and the combination of my obsession with her feet and the utter loss of control and feeling of helplessness sends me spiraling deep into my subspace.

Mistress has also been sure to keep me kneeling almost constantly.  Kneeling before her is a demonstration of my place versus hers, a physical reminder that I am lower, that my place is at her feet.  Kneeling on my knees with my legs splayed wide makes me fully understand that I have no bodily autonomy, no right to privacy or dignity, that my body is her property.  Kneeling and displaying myself before her drives home that my body belongs to her and exists only to please her.  She has also made me crawl around on all fours, making me feel like an animal, further reinforcing my lowly position.  

Mistress has, of course, continues roughly fucking me with her strap-on, dominating me and giving me orgasmic bliss at the same time, making me associate my pleasure with my submission, with being taken, with being used.  The strap-on is not the only way she gifts me orgasms.  She will order me to masturbate to orgasm, and the humiliation and pleasure of putting on a show until I loudly cum overwhelms me.  More often, Mistress uses her own hand to bring me to orgasm, reinforcing that it is Mistress who controls when I cum.  The feeling of lying on my back spreadeagle or kneeling with my legs splayed while Mistress Francesca rubs me to an orgasm is an overpowering sensation.  She will sometimes prolong it, teasing and denying me for long periods of time before she lets me cum.  Or she ties me in bondage as she fingers me.  Or makes me kneel with my ass raised and my legs splayed wide, my face pushed into the floor, increasing the objectification.  Sometimes she runs her hands all over my body to get me worked up, but then doesn't let me orgasm during the session, and this only makes the orgasm more intense whenever she eventually lets me cum later that day or the next day.  She also mixes in pain, twisting and pinching my nipples as she fingers me, or lashes me as I masturbate, another way to make me associate pleasure with my helplessness and surrender.

There are other ways Mistress pushes me further into my subspace.  She makes me suck her strap-on or a dildo, and being made to suck anything phallic is the ultimate degradation.  And of course, I remain relegated to a pig's diet, subsisting almost entirely on water and kale.  Apart from the punishments, the kale diet is the one tactic utilized by my Mistress as part of this process that I truly hate.

The whole process has not made me forget my friends and family, and I still miss them.  The ache is still there, a dull, persistent sadness that I always feel beneath the surface.  But Mistress’s tactics have made me a better slave to her.  It helps me to temporarily ignore the sadness I feel about my friends and family when I am in service, so that I can be fully focused on and devoted to my Mistress.  Through her methods, I am finding the bliss of complete surrender.  A subspace from which I never want to surface.

The sheets are tangled around my legs, damp with sweat, as I am lost in the dream world.  I hear a voice, the voice of the sissy pig, Madam Zora.  “Your future is bright.”

I smile and nod, happy at the prophecy.  But Madam Zora continues, repeating the ominous warning he had given me in his shop: “But I see a shadow growing.  A darkness that approaches with the turning of the season.  “You must beware All Hallows’ Eve.”

“Shut up!”  I snap.  “You are a fraud!  There is no impending doom for me on Halloween!”

“Forces may conspire to bring your downfall,” Madam Zora warns.

“I said, shut up!”  I snap angrily.

“Beware All Hallows’ Eve.  Beware All Hallows’ Eve.  Beware…”

And then there is music playing.  I suddenly find myself in the palace, which is draped in black and orange.  It is the Third Annual Goddess Sunshine’s Spooktacular Celebration And Recreational Event.  The S.C.A.R.E. Party.  And I am having a wonderful time.

I’m wearing the costume.  The sub-Goddess costume I had come up with, a cross between a goddess and a sub sandwich.  It’s ridiculous.  It’s brilliant.  And everyone loves it.

“Mackenzie!  Oh my Goddess, that’s so clever!” a Goddess remarks.

“A sub-Goddess!” laughs another.  “Did you come up with that yourself?”

“I did,” I reply, beaming with pride at how clever my costume is.  “My best friend, Tiffany, said it was cheesy.  I told her that was the point.  It’s a sandwich, after all.”  I laugh at my joke as does everyone else.

A pig scurries past with a tray of cocktails and I take one.  This is such a fun night.  The fortune teller was a fraud and nothing is going to happen.  There is no conspiracy here to bring my downfall.  I am the Queen and nothing in this world can touch me.

I wander the party, pleasantly buzzed, and head through an archway and into the throne room.

It’s empty, or so it seems.  I move over to take a seat on my throne.  But then I hear muffled voices… “Hello?”  I call out.

I was not alone, after all.  The Goddesses appear out of the shadows along the walls.  There are five of them, all in costume: a vampire, a witch, a sexy nurse, a scary, evil clown girl, and a superheroine.   All of them walking toward me with slow, deliberate steps.

“Oh,” I say, laughing.  “You all startled me.  I was just…”

“Usurper!” the Goddess dressed as a vampire growls.

“Excuse me?”  I reply, a little shocked.

“Usurper!”  The witch repeats the word.  Then the clown girl.  Then all of them, a low chant that grows louder and louder.  “Usurper!  Usurper!  Usurper!”

“You stole the throne,” the superheroine says.  “You stole it from your own sister.”

“I didn’t!  Melissa named me Alex’s successor!”  I protest.

“Alex is the rightful Queen,” says the nurse.  “She is rotting in a cage in Amazonia, and what did you do?  Did you go to her rescue?  Did you tear that country apart to find her?”

“We were being careful and deliberate until we had solid proof.  And then I sent a pig army,” I protest.

“You sent pigs after you had secured the throne, letting your sister rot in Amazonia for months!” the witch snarls with contempt.  “Meanwhile you sat on the throne and you played Queen, but you are no Queen.”

“You wanted this,” the superheroine hisses.  “You wanted Alex gone!”

“That’s not fair!”  I protest.  My back hits a pillar.  I didn’t know I’d been retreating.

And then I see their knives.  They come out all at once, drawn from beneath the folds of the Goddesses’ costumes, and they encircle me.  My ridiculous bread-costume is too wide to let me slip between them.

“Ista quidem vis est!”  I cry.  “Ista quidem vis est!”

They don’t stop.

“Please,” I beg, and the Queen in me has vanished.  Now there’s just a scared nineteen-year-old girl in a sandwich costume with her back pressed against a pillar, pleading for her life.  “Please, spare me.  I’ll be a good Queen, I swear it, I have plans.  I’m going to make things better…”

They shake their heads slowly, in unison, like a single organism.

“Weak,” says the vampire.

“Pretender,” says the witch.

“Traitor,” says the clown girl.

And they lunge at me with the knives.

I scream…

………

Suddenly I am plunged in darkness.  My scream dies in my throat when I realize my attackers are gone.  The throne room is gone.  I am now in a forest, in the middle of the night.  I see trees all around me and moonlight coming down through the canopy.  Even in the darkness, I know this place.  Ahead of me is the treehouse.  Our treehouse at Mom’s lake house, with its hand-painted sign in faded letters: PIGS STAY OUT!

Behind me, far off but closing, I hear them.  The Goddesses from the party.  Crashing through the underbrush, laughing, calling my name in a singsong.  Mack-en-zie.  Mack-en-zieee.  They’re coming to finish me off with their knives.  I run for the treehouse.  I know the treehouse is safety if I can just get up that ladder…

Someone steps into my path and I skid to a stop.

It’s Alex.  She’s dressed in leathers, like an Amazonian.

“Alex,” I breathe.  “Oh, thank Mother Goddess, Alex, you’re safe!  They’re coming, we have to…”

Alex shakes her head.  And that cruel queen bee smile Alex is famous for spreads across her face.

“You can’t go up there.  She-pigs,” she says, pointing to the sign, “are not allowed in the treehouse.”

Any confidence I had as Queen Mackenzie instantly vanishes.  I am just Alex’s little sister again, the victim of her bullying and cruel teasing.  My cheeks burn.  My eyes sting with tears.  It is like we are children again and Alex has just invented the term ‘she-pig’ and it feels like the worst thing anyone has ever said to me.

“Don’t call me that,” I whisper, choking back a sob.

“She-pig,” she repeats.

“Alex, please, I’m the Queen now…”

And then Alex’s eyes ignite in intense red flames.  Demonic horns sprout from her head.  The rumors are true.  Mother Goddess help me, it is true.  Alex has been possessed by a demoness.  I spent a year telling myself there was no such thing as demonic possession.  It was just Alex’s drug addiction, or Alex being stressed, or Alex being Alex.  But now I see the terrifying truth.

“You?  The Queen?”  Alex snarls in a deep, demonic voice.  “You foolish little she-pig.”

“Alex, please…”

She takes a step forward and the pine needles blacken and curl where her feet land.  “You stole my throne.”

“You were missing!  We needed a Queen!”

“You sat on my throne,” she snarls in her demonic voice.  “With my crown on your stupid little head and you thought…” and then she laughs, the familiar cruel laugh from our childhood and a thousand humiliations she inflicted on me.  “You thought you could take it?  You?  A dumb, naïve little she-pig who cried when I took her candy.  Who cried when she was called names or given wedgies or swirlies or teased at school?  You, a little crybaby, thought you were strong enough to seize my crown?”

“I didn’t take your throne and crown, Alex!  You were missing…”

“Overgal tried to take my throne.  Look what I did to her?  I made her my pet.  Overgal, who was once Queen, who is cunning and experienced.  Who has a whole legion of supporters.  She nevertheless failed, but you thought that you, my naive kid sister, would succeed where Overgal failed?”

And then something moves in the darkness behind Alex.

I hear it before I see it.  A wet, snuffling sound.  The crack of a branch.  And then it emerges from between the trees and my entire body goes cold.

It’s a pig.  Well, it’s the shape of a pig, but its huge, with elongated limbs, talons, grey-pink flesh that’s split in places.  It has tusks curve up from a jaw crowded with far too many teeth.  And its eyes.  Lifeless eyes.  Black eyes.  Like a doll’s eyes.  I knew this creature instantly.  Mom would tell us stories about it at the lake house, in the dark, with a flashlight under her chin, and Alex, Melissa, and I would pretend not to be scared.  The Chupacerda.  The evil monstrosity itself.  It takes pigs.  It takes Goddesses.  It doesn’t care which.  It drinks what you are until there’s nothing left but the shape of you.  It is real!

The Chupacerda positions itself beside Alex.  I know deep down that Alex has nothing to fear from it.  A demoness already has Alex’s soul; there is nothing for the Chupacerda to drain.  And deep down I also know that the Chupacerda has been summoned by Alex; it is here to do her bidding.

“Alex,” I whimper.  “Please… you can have your throne and crown back.  I am sorry…”

Alex smiles and turns to the Chupacerda.

“Drain the she-pig,” she commands it.

I turn to run but my legs won’t work.   The Chupacerda lunges at me.  The impact takes me off my feet, and then those rows of teeth close on the side of my neck.  I feel its fangs sink into my flesh.

The last thing I see is Alex, standing with her arms folded, watching with a  cruel smile.

And everything goes black.

………

I wake up.

The floor is cold.  Marble.  I’m back in the throne room.

There’s a ringing in my ears.  I’m naked.  I can feel the cool air on my skin and I’m disoriented, my head swimming, and I push myself up on my hands to stand.

Except they aren’t hands.

They’re hooves.  Attached to short, thick forelegs covered in coarse bristle.

I look down the length of my body and there’s a barrel of a body, round and pink, and four stubby legs.  My own body is gone.  I can feel a thick leather collar around my throat, buckled tight, and from it runs a leash.

The leash goes taut with a sharp tug.

I turn my head and my eyes follow the leash up to the throne.  Alex is sitting on it.  She’s no longer in Amazonian leathers and her demonic appearance is gone.  She is just Alex again, wearing one of her gowns, and the Matriarchy Crown sits on her head.

“You’ve woken up, my little pet she-pig,” Alex says, in her normal voice, the deep demonic  voice gone.

“Alex…” I try to say but the word doesn’t come.  What comes out is a long, panicked OINK.  Then a confused high pitched squeal.

Alex gives me an evil grin.

“Here. Have a look, she-pig.”  Alex snaps her fingers and a pig, the human male kind with downcast eyes, scurries forward holding a full-length silver mirror and props it in front of me.

I look into the mirror.

My body is a pig’s body.  Stubby and pink and bristling.  The ears are a pig’s ears, flopping forward.  There’s a snout, flattened and pushed out into a wet pink disc with two slits.  But the rest of the face is mine, grafted onto the head of an animal.  I am a pig!  Well, half pig, half woman.  I am literally a she-pig.

ALEX!  I try to scream.  ALEX, PLEASE, PLEASE CHANGE ME BACK, PLEASE…  Those are the words that form in my mind.  But what comes out of my mouth are the squeals and oinks of a pig.

Alex tilts her head.  “I’m sorry, what was that?  I don’t speak she-pig.”

The doors to the throne room are thrown open.  Melissa walks in.  “Alex, you really need to stop wearing blue…”  She stops dead in her tracks and looks at me.  Then she bursts out laughing.  She doubles over, as she points at me.  “Look at that she-pig!” she gasp in between her laughter.

“My pet’s finally awake,” Alex says, giving the leash a proud tug.  “Say hello to Melissa, she-pig.”

“OINK.”  I cry.

“Hello, she-pig!”  Melissa crows, pointing at me, tears streaming down her face as she laughs.

And then they’re both chanting, my sister and Melissa, exactly the way they did my childhood, chanting it in that singsong rhythm that still triggers my trauma.  “SHE-PIG!  SHE-PIG!  SHE-PIG!”

I can feel the hot tears running down my piggish face, and I try to sob.  And all that comes out is a swine’s squealing. 

………

I suddenly wake up.  I sit up in my bed with a loud gasp.  I’m in my bed in the royal apartments, my heart pounding.  I’m soaked, absolutely bathed in sweat, my hair plastered to my forehead.  I untangle myself from my sweat-soaked sheets and jump from the bed, running to my mirror.  I touch my nose as I examine my face in the mirror.  It is my normal human nose, not a pig snout.  My hands are human, not hooves.  I reach back and touch my rear, feeling no pig tail.

It was all a nightmare.  I slowly climb back into bed, on the other side where the sheets are not soaked from sweat.  “Okay,” I say out loud, confirming I can speak rather than oink.  “That’s it.  No more melatonin before bed.”

And then, from somewhere very far away, as sleep starts creeping back in at the edges, I hear it one more time:

Beware All Hallows’ Eve.

Yesterday I had my most fun tormenting and teasing of pigs in the palace while pretending to work by their side.  My target was the Department of Messenger Pigs.  I had heard Alex complain about the incompetence of messenger pigs endlessly when she was Queen.  She claimed they were the most incompetent pigs in the palace.  I have learned she was right.  They take way too long to deliver messages, particularly when they were ordered to deliver messages a distances of 5 miles or more. A 5-mile run should take, what, 20 minutes tops?  These worthless pigs would take up to well over thirty minutes, sometimes well over an hour when it was 10 miles or more. It is an unacceptable level of laziness, and I decided it was time to make them pay for it during Locktober. 

I spent a good chunk of the day teasing them in the messenger pig alcove in the palace.  I started subtly.  I sat with my legs crossed, but every so often I would uncross my legs or lift up my skirt and give them a quick peek of my panties. Their eyes were soon glued to me.  I could see the desperation in their faces, the way they would lean forward, trying to catch a better glimpse of my underwear.  They were so desperate to see more than those little peeks.

So, I gave them what they wished for, and I made them regret it.  I stood up, pretending to look at a street map of Freya on the desk.  I bent over, pointing out a supposed shortcut, my skirt riding high up my thighs, giving them a perfect view of my ass, encased in a tiny thong. The chorus of groans in the room from the pigs’ pained arousal put a grin on my face. But this was just the warm-up.

I sat down on the desk, sweeping a stack of delivery forms aside as I lectured them abut efficiency.  My legs were spreadeagle and I hiked my skirt up to my waist.  They finally got the view they were so desperate to see, the crotch of my very sheer panties. By this time, the messenger pigs were in absolute hell.  They were moaning in pain, their bodies trembling, their hands clenching and unclenching on their desks. They were desperate for a release that they would, of course, never get.

I was not done tormenting them.  “Oh, my,” I said, fanning myself with my hand. “It’s so hot in here.”

I started peeling off my dress. I turned around as I pulled it down my legs, giving them a full view of my ass in its tiny little thong. Then I turned back to face them, in just my bra and panties. The lingerie was so sheer it was practically transparent, leaving little to the imagination.  By this time, the pigs were practically writhing on the floor, their bodies contorting as they tried, in vain, to rub themselves through their unyielding chastity cages. This of course gave them no relief, only more pain.

I ignored their desperate pleas for a ruined orgasm, for anything, for a moment of respite from the agony of their arousal. I took off my bra, my breasts spilling free. I cupped them in my hands, playing with my nipples, rolling them between my fingers, my head thrown back in a mock ecstasy. The pigs’ pained and aroused whimpers grew louder.

Then, I turned around again, my back to them. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my thong. “You’ve been such good pigs,” I purred, looking over my shoulder. “I think you deserve a reward. My ass, for your viewing pleasure.” I slowly, slowly pulled the thong down my hips, down my legs, to my ankles.

Finally, I turned around, giving them a full, unobstructed, frontal view of my naked body. By this time, all the pigs were begging, their voices a chorus of pathetic whines and sobs. They were begging me for a ruined orgasm as they tried in vain to find some relief by rubbing their trapped members through their cages.  When I slid my hand down my belly and between my legs and began to pleasure myself, the pigs were practically wailing as they begged for release from their chastity cages.

I of course ignored their desperate pleas. I gathered my clothes and walked out of the office, leaving them to stew in their misery.  It was, without a doubt, my best tease yet this Locktober season. I cannot wait to see what new diabolical teases I can come up with next week!

It has come to my attention that some free males and pigs have been complaining about the announced military drafts.  I assume this is because some of you are cowardly and afraid to go to Amazonia.

These fears are overblown.  Just because you are drafted does not necessarily mean you will be sent to  Amazonia.  We will hopefully not have to send any forces there and will work out of differences diplomatically.  And even if you are sent to Amazonia, don’t focus on the threat of being captured by Amazonians and brutally abused.  Focus on the benefits.  More likely than not, the males in our army will be given joyous, pleasurable jobs.  Jobs like giving their Goddess commanders’ sweaty, tired feet a thorough tongue bath after a long day of trudging through the forest.  Imagine the honor.  Imagine the privilege.  Imagine the taste of victory and your commander’s feet on your tongue.

This is the reward that awaits the brave.  Sign up today!  Serve your Queen.  Serve your Matriarchy.  We Want You!