PART 1 - THE TOMB

Somewhere in the dark corners of the world, there was a monument; dusty and ancient and old when civilization was young. Within that monument, a chanting and ever-growing legion, devoted and dedicated to their endless leader. Within that monument, a tomb that served his growing power. Within the tomb, a source and repository for his power.

A heavy stone wall sealed it, closed shut and now grown old with the dust of years since its enclosure. The dark lord, who called himself “Anubis,” had not opened it since the thing within was entombed. But, as the living god of the dead, the tomb was not to contain death. It contained life; living testaments to his immortal energy.

For within the tomb was a sarcophagus containing a woman. Her name had been inscribed on its stone exterior, but it had grown dusty and sand-bleached over time and it had been unspoken and forgotten. The living creature within was utterly, completely, and forever ensorcelled to the will and desires of Lord Anubis, and thus her name was now irrelevant.

Symbols on the exterior told a tale of who she had been , and what now lay within the aged cenotaph.

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The woman’s eyes flickered left and right. She was panting. She was almost hyperventilating. Somehow, she knew that it didn’t matter what she did - she could scream herself silly or pant until she passed out. There would be no, no, no escape.

She couldn’t even start a cunning plan, for the woman was so utterly, intensely, impressively immobilized. Movement was possible, but escape? That was an impossibility.

Lord Anubis was an unknowable creature who claimed lineage to the ancient gods. His height was superhuman. His body was a chiseled statue in black and gold. He bulged with arcane power, wearing a jackal-mask and headdress. When he wished for a certain degree of dignity, he kept himself packed up in a bulge emblazoned with a golden ankh. When he wished, though, he knew he could have as much fun as he wanted with his retainers and servants and drones.

The drones were converts; some willing, others unwilling, to his pharoah-cult. Permanently sealed in magical black rubber, and ensorcelled with gold trim and aesthetics. All of them bulged in need, all of them ready for use when allowed. The higher-ranking ones could enjoy the fruits and bodies of the lesser - but Lord Anubis hadn’t allowed any such flippant pleasure as of late.

There was an interloper in his midst; a woman whose name he hadn’t bothered to learn, who had claimed interest in the strange otherworldly cult. She’d been captured while investigating a back alley; caught, stripped, interrogated, and found to be made of a certain something that deemed her worthy of more than others. If she’d been weaker or less interesting, she’d no doubt be sentenced to mummification as a living encased sacrifice to his power… or ending up as another faceless, rubber-sealed acolyte. Instead, she’d become a Devotee.

The woman had been dipped into the pool of Primal Water; hung from her legs and slowly, agonizingly slowly dipped in a deep and dark pool of arcane rubber. The magical black latex clung to her skin, shaping her as it was shaped by her form. It hugged her curves, sealing and tightening until it covered all but her face. Oh, she had struggled. She had begged the entire way through, first threatening and then making desperate pleas. The obedient servants of Anubis had taken no heed of it, dipping her over and over, sealing her fate as she was magically covered and coated.

They shaped it into a second skin before inscribing arcane gold symbols. Her fate was written all over her; she was going to be more than a mere sacrifice or obedient drone. It was something far more beautiful , prestigious, and terrible.

To her horror, they had only begun her bonds. The drones were all obedient creatures, and no matter how she begged they would not listen. Her arms were restrained, captured within an intense and bulging Kneph-jacket. The woman’s arms hugged tight against her waist, heavily rubberized and restrained and then coated again by the bulging and vaguely spherical Kneph. It was rimmed with gold and inflated with strange gases. The drones knew them well, but the woman only knew that it felt hot and heavy. The pressure - and her pleasure - seemed to increase on its own, with her inflatable bondage kept tight by snaking straps that locked, welded, and sealed.

Days passed. The woman was subjected to rituals of isolation and stimulation that drove her to the brink of madness until her Final Day. When she awoke, all that was free was her mind and her face, and both would soon be reduced to an extension of Lord Anubis.

The woman’s rubber-sealed body was subjected to a second and unyielding layer of strict mummification, save for her face. The wrappings - dipped in exotic resin - would tighten, stiffen, and seal her form, preserved for all time in beautiful black and glorious gold. Arcane symbols written on her suit would now be protected and preserved - critical to the ritual. Once dried, her wrapped body was placed within a far larger inflated cocoon. This would be her tomb; her fate. The woman as she was would never emerge from its rubbery embrace. Tightly layered and trapped within high-pressure bonds of rubber and magic, she was locked within her sarcophagus and the final steps of the ritual were prepared.

The lid remained off, but it didn’t matter. The stone tomb and steel straps held the woman tight; her body bulging and brutally packed inside a mummification so sensually tight that she felt like she was going to be turned to diamond. As she came to wakefulness - just in time for the ritual - she felt her lips quiver.

Lord Anubis was staring at her, parading over her tomb as magical incense filled the air. She wasn’t able to beg this time. Her mind and spirit were already being entwined with his; she could see strands of fate weaving between them, lit by the incense and spun by his will. He leaned over her, his glowing eyes burning into her soul. He stared at her; she stared back at her eldritch lord.

In that moment, her fear was burnt away, leaving only Desire.

More than anything, more than everything, she wanted him. She craved to be used by him. She craved touching his body, his manhood, his spirit. She wanted to be his everything - his anointed high priestess, yet also a denigrated slave-toy to be enjoyed and discarded. She wanted to be filled and fulfilled by the towering Lord Anubis. Nothing else in her mind mattered.

And so, the woman’s wishes - all of them - were granted. An ancient curse; a cruel fate; a blissful and affectionate blessing. Lord Anubis gave all of these and more to the woman, now mummified, rubberized, and doomed to be entombed. Her glossy eyes flickered with arousal as he fit a massive plug between her lips, followed by a perfect and permanent golden death mask.

She almost went over the edge. The room crackled with arcane power. Drones and obedient observers twitched in their cloth and rubber, excited by the prospect of the woman’s enclosure and entombment. Her quivering lips covered, the jackal-god-made-flesh finally sealed her face with the mask. It mated and sealed perfectly with the rest of her rubber. It was exquisite. Elaborate. Eternal.

The woman was sentenced to be his battery. His receptacle. His unending object of affection and desire and power. From the moment they’d first met, Lord Anubis knew that this woman’s soul was meant for something greater. She had a big heart, boundless energy, and intense desire. She was perfect. There was a sacrifice to be made, of course; her freedom was the cost. But Anubis knew that she’d never object to a role as valued as his power source, his receptacle, his jar, his object.

And so her sarcophagus was sealed and her tomb closed. And in her blissful entombment she realized the horror of her situation. The energy welling within her made her needy, needier than she’d ever been in her life, in her existence. Any time Lord Anubis gained in strength, he transferred it, in part, to his battery. It was shaping her, molding her, vitalizing her, and - just as she’d dreamed - filling her with bottomless lust.

But he could not bear to release that energy; not yet. And so, to her unknowable horror, she was trapped, mummified, rubberized, entombed, and edged. Edged, over and over, edged until she screamed and begged and found no release. In her immortal interment, she was generally kept in a peaceful and dreamlike slumber… until the time came to be charged. Every time it felt new, like the first time she was being used. She tried to resist, during these rare moments of wakefulness, squirming and groaning and begging. Her mind still reeled, and no matter how much she tried to resist, every time she was overcome. Body first, then mind; her spirit belonged to Lord Anubis.

How she CRAVED his touch. How she NEEDED it. And it never came. Images would run through her head of being held down and used, of endless hours being a servile series of holes for the Lord’s use. She could do nothing with it, nothing at all as her head spun. Every time, Lord Anubis would overcome her defenses and fill her soul with his essence.

“PLEASE…” she’d beg through gagged lips, never to be answered. Her aura and energy becoming something just as unknowable, eldritch, and unimaginable as her master. Her life reduced to one of lust and arousal. Sessions of strange sleep and vicious need. With every edging session, she understood more and more her role. Visions flooded her head; the glowing symbols across her body keeping her young and healthy, molding her, and preventing her from ever, ever achieving climax. Thoughts falling away, save for a need to be used. Orgiastic bliss at the precipice. A glossy, gorgeous battery.

There was one visitor, who appeared only on rare occasion. A hidden passage inside her tomb-room allowed Lord Anubis to occasionally visit his wonderful battery. These visits were hidden from his followers, for he would hate to ever let them know he had pity or sentiment.

On these rare occasions, the battery would find her tomb opened and her mask removed. He stared at her glossy eyes, watching her suck her gag, watching her ageless face welling with need. His massive hands stroked her cheeks, removing the plug just to hear her beg. It was musical, the moans of pleasure and desperations for relief. While the form of the mask would vary, the result was always the same. The Lord would gently stroke his beloved battery before filling her mouth and sealing her face once again with an exotic mask. There would be no relief.

Thus was the fate of the woman. Wrapped tightly in thick latex, with no imperfections or stimuli or disturbance from the world outsider her tomb. She was finally and totally isolated, leaving only pure lust. Only the voice of her Master, the ancient Lord Anubis, greeted her. Only the aura flowing through her body in the form of pure and endless arousal.