Author: The Duchess

Good day, I trust you’ve slept well, recovered from Mistress Lilly’s anal bobbing for apples, and gathered your strength for the next stop on the Halloween blog train: Ebony Femdom Dungeon – Caryatids in Ecstasy. This will be your journey into the world of the Ebony Femdom Dungeon. What will happen to you? (shrug) I cannot say for certain, it’s best you see for yourself.  If by this time you have still missed any stops on the blog train, go back to the station and start with Mistress Constance.  You may now enter the Ebony Femdom Dungeon. Enjoy your stay…..

Ebony Femdom Dungeon – Caryatids In Ecstasy

As the tour guide led the group up the grassy hill, explaining the historical relevance of many of the eroded statues and columns, the small group looked around. One man in particular seeming uninterested in most of the artifacts. “Here we will enter the underground temple and bath house.”

The man raised an eyebrow, seeing the tunnel entrance carved into the side of the hill. The entrance was narrow, and they had to enter single file, down the stone carved steps opening up to a wider walkway. Once they reached the inner temple, many gasped and commented, marveling at how well preserved the interior was compared to outside.

Running water could be heard throughout the marble chambers, and there was a large pool in the center, surrounded by stunning marble caryatids, supporting the ceiling. There were rows of them, but what made them so breathtaking was how realistic the sculptures were.

Every detail of them, all women, some curvy with wide hips and full breasts, others more slender, even their clothing was sculpted in such a way that the fabric flowed and clung to their bodies as if they were real.

Caryatids In Ecstasy

“These are the ‘Caryatids in Ecstasy’ named such due to the various erotic poses of each feminine form. They do appear almost to be alive and in the throes of pleasure, as they uphold the ceiling of the temple.”

“It is unclear exactly how old the temple is, or how it remains so well kept, while all that surrounds this area is in ruin. Some say it is because devotees still bring her offerings. The only thing we do know, judging from the architecture and phenotype of the statues, is that this was a temple of worship for the once mortal, deified African Goddess, named after the safsaf Willow tree.”

“The species of willow tree is native to South Africa and parts of the Congo, Egypt, and has also been seen in some areas of the Caribbean. Because of this, it is difficult to track down the exact origin of this Goddess, but she appears to be worshiped in many different areas of the world. Some myths believe she was an Ebony Witch Caribbean born to mixed Creole parents, others say she is an ancient Congolese deity, with some arguing that she is Egyptian.  Even more of a mystery, is how she ended up being worshiped in Greece and Rome.”

“A more prominent story is that she traveled to Greece as a free woman, then Rome, and worked in the temple as a priestess, and also – since the Romans were known for their unusual fetishes – as a Dominatrix and companion to those who could afford her time and expertise. She was also a healer and well versed in herbology. In that regard she was also a knowledgeable conjurer and chastity witch. There are some artworks depicted of her, some with lovers, in the few preserved Roman wall paintings. Yet very little else is known about her, and her transition from mortal, to Goddess.”

Alen listened intently, his eyes scanning the walls, and sculptures, some with their arms raised, heads thrown back, expressions of bliss on their well chiseled features. Others had a hand, or both, disappearing between soft thighs, their positions so realistic he was almost tempted to reach out and touch them.

Curiosity Leads Back To The Ebony Femdom Dungeon

The tour concluded, with everyone heading back up to the surface. Alen turned back with a look of longing, staring at the curvy caryatids as they pleasured themselves, oblivious to his want. Finally he returned to the group. But later that night in his hotel room, he decided to do something daring, slipping into the night with a bottle of wine, and seeking out the hillside and its mysteries. The hotel he stayed at was not far from the ruins, which made it a popular tourist attraction. He walked for several minutes, he knew the area from memory, and made his way to the hill entrance.

Upon entering, the very first thing that struck him as strange, were the lit torches illuminating the inner temple. The tour guide was correct, the place didn’t look several hundred, or even thousand years old. Surely someone must be tending to it. As soon as he stepped into the center of the underground temple, the air felt weighted, echoing drops of water, rippling of the still active and well fed fountains from the aqueduct. And though it was probably just air from the tunnels, it sounded like something or someone was breathing.

Alen turned to look at the beautiful caryatids, gazing upon each one in all their splendor, when he noticed something else strange: An empty column. As if one of the caryatids were missing, and he could not unsee it, once the realization hit. His mind had to be playing tricks on him. Maybe the space was empty all along, the architects never finished this lone unfilled column, but no… all of them were filled before, he was sure of it. Scrambling for his phone, he scrolled through all the pictures he had taken, one of them being the missing caryatid. The picture confirmed there was in fact a statue in that exact spot.

Where Did The Missing Caryatid Go?

A chill ran up his spine, when after hearing the wind howling through the tunnels, he heard a woman’s playful laughter, and then nothing. Alen walked toward the empty column, immediately getting the hair raising sense that he was being watched. He turned but saw no one, but the other statues. The carytids had not moved, yet.. they seemed to have changed positions slightly. One of the statues had her head tilted towards him, licking her lips in invitation, her eyes appeared to be looking right at him. Alen laughed at himself, “statues can’t move,” he thought, and maybe he was tired and just needed to head back home.

“Are you here to make an offering Alexander?”

The husky woman’s voice coming from the direction of the empty column, made him jump. Alen turned to find a woman standing in front of the column, staring at him with curiosity in her eyes.

“Uhmmm… sorry, I’m not.. my name isn’t Alexander.” he replied. “Who are you?”

The woman ignored his question, stretching languidly and rolling her neck. Her body was covered in a sheer white Grecian one shoulder dress, with layers of fabric that clung to her curves. Alen found himself staring at the way she moved, turning to him once she’d finished stretching.

“So what are you calling yourself now, Alexander?”

Baffled, he shook his head, “my name is Alen… who are you? Where did you come from?”

“Hmmph,” she replied, “Alen, Alexander, close enough. Where is your offering?”

Catching himself staring at her once more, he snapped out of it long enough to answer her. “I don’t have an offering. I came here earlier with the tour group.”

“And you did not leave an offering then either?”

Confused, Alen asked, “what um.. what offering do I need to leave? And why won’t you tell me who you are? I didn’t see you with the group earlier.”

“Yes you did,” she offered, smiling. “You have much to offer me… Alexander.”

“My name is A-”

“Your name tonight, is Alexander.”

Encountering The Goddess Of The Ebony Femdom Dungeon

He felt silly, this woman countering him so matter of factly, yet something in her tone, was having its own affect on him. “So… are you one of the devotees here or something? That why you’re wearing white?”

She took a step forward, the light illuminating her silhouette obscenely through the fabric that clung to her as she moved. “I am, no devotee,” she began, “people come here, to devote themselves.. to me. As have you.”

Her brown skin had an ethereal gleam to it, sparkling in the light, she chuckled. “People don’t return here in the middle of the night, unless they wish to leave something.”

Finally, she spoke to his earlier question, “I have many names. Duchess, Goddess, Mistress, Madame, Domina, along with my given name. Willow. And I am she.” She turned, gesturing to the empty column. “I don’t concern myself with… tourists.”

Alen had never taken much stock in the supernatural. But his curiosity made him less cautious and much more inquisitive. He rambled on, asking questions about the tour guide’s statements.

“How are you able to move from that column?” Alen asked.

“I can move, whenever I choose,” she replied.

“Am I the only one who can see you?”

“I reveal myself to whom I choose, as well,” she answered. “I know your tour guide comes here with different groups, I do not show myself to those unworthy masses. And no, you are not the only one, and I can tell you have your doubts… so…”

The Duchess stepped backwards, moving in such a way that she appeared to be retreating in reverse, like a movie being rewound, her dress moving up and off the floor, and then she stood in place, only for a few seconds, returning to her position in marble form, and then… her station went direct. Marble skin returning to its glistening brown luster, her long black hair swinging behind her.

Can All The Caryatids In The Ebony Femdom Dungeon Move?

It occurred to Alen that he could just be drunk, but looking down at the sealed red wine, he realized he hadn’t had a drink in several hours, and that he’d just watched a woman turn herself into marble.

Things began to unravel quickly, and soon everything he saw and heard would stop making sense. And sense… in her presence, would become irrelevant. “So you really are her? This place must be magic, but… forgive me I was told you’re a Dominatrix, too.. this place doesn’t look like a Femdom Dungeon, not like any I’ve seen.”

Willow laughed at his ramblings, “this place is whatever I deem it to be. Dungeon, temple, bath house, brothel. I am an art dealer, and the art I sell comes at a high price. Always has. So do you wish to have “that” experience? Me as your Dominatrix?”

She waited patiently for his answer, his realization that she was offering him a night of naughty deliciousness, in exchange for…..

Alen replied quickly, “yes… what’s your price?”

In an instant her body was pressed against him, backing him into one of the caryatids. The hard marble yielded to his body, the heat of her body and the warm to the touch marble, arousing every nerve in his body. He could feel one of her thighs pressed firmly against his groin, the heat of her mouth on his neck, as she leaned in to whisper in his ear.

The Price Of A Night With The Duchess

“I want… the proceeds from the sale of your house. The one you inherited and hardly ever use. Every single acre of the land that comes with it. Sell it all.”

Alen balked, “my home? But that home was-”

“Given to you by your elders, and formerly a plantation. Honor me, honor all those who suffered on that land, and sell it. Think of it as liberation from your ancestors misdeeds. Surely that price will be fitting to honor me. And.. the deed to your New York condo, as I am looking to relocate soon.”

She was right, though he had no clue how she could know about the house or its history. He felt a growing sense of shame, remembering the stories he’d been told about what happened in that house. And yet his privilege never allowed him to have a second thought about how dishonorable owning such a piece of land, would seem to someone such as the woman who stood before him.

While he didn’t think of himself as a bad person, Alen would have never in a thousand years thought to sell his home for a night with an ancient Goddess, but something in her voice, and the softness of her body, and how quickly she moved, made him instantly weak, for whatever she could offer him, and with every passing second, he found himself wanting her more. And he didn’t need the house, he hadn’t visited the land in years, sure he could just sell it for this Goddess, it’s just a house after all.

At least she hadn’t asked for his soul.

An Honorable Sacrifice Made

“Pick up your phone. You will have enough signal, to do what is needed to be done.”

Surely enough, reaching into his pocket, he found his phone, made a call, sent a few texts, and within the following 24 to 48 hours, his house would be on the market, and the paperwork to his condo would be transferred over. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Anyone else he would have laughed in their face, but for some reason he couldn’t resist indulging this Goddess, his mind emptied as soon as she caressed him. He needed whatever light, shone from her glowing skin, and all he could do was say “yes.”

“Take my hand.”

She gave him an hour, but what she did to him, seemed to last an eternity. Alen lost his clothing, scattered on the mosaic floors, giving himself completely to her “art.” Everything around him began to shift, though he could not see what forces were in play. She led him to the marble altar and laid him down on his stomach. Beneath him, there was a hollowed space where his cock hung freely. Whispers of fabric appeared out of thin air, a thin, stretchy nylon was wrapped around his head. A silken gag in his mouth. He soon found himself encased in this sheer fabric. He could still breathe, but the stretchy nylon around his face made it impossible to see more than lights and shadows.

Bondage And Teasing

Once his entire body was cocooned in fabric, except for where his member hung exposed beneath him, the teasing began. Something tickled his feet, trailing up his legs and thighs, the sensation made him squirm and cry out, just as the tickling reached the crease of his backside.

As her hands played and delighted across his bound and exposed body, an echoing giggle could be heard from beneath the table, just as a warm, slippery hand wrapped around his cock. Alen shouted, gasping from the confines of his silken gag, as he was stroked and edged. He tried desperately not to lose control, but the hand was skilled in its teasing, and those mysterious fingers knew just where to rub, touch, and press. Hearing an excited squeal and laughter coming from beneath the table, along with unintelligible murmurs.

Whipping And Pain Play

Shortly afterward, and without warning, something struck his thighs with a stinging snap. He cried out again as the whipping with palm leaves began, and the teasing under the table continued. The stretchy sheer fabric only slightly dulled the sensation, allowing for the whipping torment to last longer, and when the whipping was done, the fabric was ripped open by sharp nails, digging into the fabric over his thighs, buttocks and back, revealing delicious red welts.

But her torment of him wasn’t done. The hand that did not belong to her or him, continued bringing and keeping him right on the edge, and then the heat of something slippery entered him, simultaneously, as something prickly brushed over his now exposed skin.

The Sting Of Nettles And The Desperate Need Of Relief From Agony

His muffled cries only encouraged her further, “have you ever played with nettles?” she asked, a teasing tone in her voice. She knew he couldn’t answer, as whatever was plunged into his depths began moving in and out at her hand. His mind raced, with memories of foraging in the woods, being told which herbs were used for healing remedies, and that one in particular it would be wise not to touch. He didn’t have to wonder for long, what prickly plant she’d brushed across his skin. First it began to itch, the spread of it turning to a mild burning. The agony of the itching and burning with no way to relieve it. Alen wailed pitifully as the stinging inflamed his skin. When he tried to wiggle off the table he was held fast. An intense variety of sensations taking over.

Tastes, Sensations, And The Pleasures Of Ecstasy

She ungagged him only to allow him to beg. When the begging was satisfactory, the next wave ensued. Alen was terrified. Would there be more whipping, more pain, the itching and burning was so intense that his eyes began to water. He was taken off the table, blindfolded and led to the bath, soothing herbal waters relieved his nettle punishment. Delicious fruits and berries filled his mouth. His pain play continued with hot peppers burning his mouth. Alen moaned in discomfort, which was met by mocking laughter, and then milk, honey, soothed his tongue. The exploration continued with flesh, delivering tastes, feelings, and sounds, as his mouth, fingers, and cock were used to pleasure…. how many women were present he could not know. Soft fleshy thighs pressed against his face, plump aroused lips rubbed against his open mouth. Mounds of flesh and moans of ecstasy smothered him, as these women used his body. He surrendered to all as the Goddess of the temple, turned him every which way but loose.

Pleasure then pain, agony then ecstasy, again and again, she would swallow him whole spit him out and then devour him once more. Time was non existent as she took him to the depths of hell and resurrected him into the throes of passion. She rode him and fucked him and made him her whore, turning his world upside down. If there were 64 positions in the Kama Sutra she showed him 72 more, contorting him in ways he hadn’t known were possible. His body becoming a vessel for all she would delight in.

Denial And Longing For More

He began to feel as if he was going mad, when finally his hour came to an end. Once released, Alen looked around, disoriented and could not see anyone there except the Goddess. Her teasing, tormenting and taking pleasure from him, far surpassed anything he had ever experienced, with any woman. And he found himself craving. He dropped to his knees begging for more time with her.

“Dearest Mistress of all my desires, please.. I beg you do not release me. Please allow me more time with you.”

She looked down at him, caressing his damp, sweat covered face, and chuckled, “It’s Duchess, now.. to you. And your hour, is up.”

Appearing just as she had when he entered the temple, she smiled and allowed him to continue his pleading, clinging to her body, and lowering himself to kiss her feet. “You need to return home and finalize my, “offering.” Handing him a paper scroll wrapped with a blue ribbon with a blue wax seal, and gave him his instructions, “you will find everything needed on that piece of paper. What name to use, where to send your offering, and when to have the condo ready for me. I will see you soon, Alexander.”

The Disappearing Ebony Goddess In The Temple

Alen looked up, and found he was alone in the temple. The only indicator that his encounter was real, was the slight lingering itchiness and redness on his back and thighs, and the ache in his cock. The paper did indeed have all the information. Turning toward the missing caryatid, he discovered she was missing no more. The exact likeness of The Duchess, head held high, posing and staring into the distance. Her curves just as they had been against his willing body.

A year passed since he sold his home and handed her the deed to his condo. He saw her very little and only in passing. He would return to his new home after checking on her and hearing strange noises and laughter, coming from the condo she now owned. Crestfallen, his life returned to normal, with the occasional questioning and disbelief that he would give away his properties and such a large body of land. He would always deflect, changing the subject and insisting he was happier with such a burden gone. He told no one about the ethereal Mistress that turned him into a human pretzel, made him sing like a canary, and showed him the vast spectrum from pain to pleasure. He remembered every detail vividly, and knew no one would believe his accounts. But no matter how surreal his memories of her were, he could never replicate the sensations. He went to several Mistresses who specialized in pain play, visited companions, but none could replicate her touch.

Return To The Temple Of The Ebony Femdom

He returned to the temple a month later, on the anniversary of their meeting. The temple was the same as before, not a statue or painting out of place, torches lit. Studying each of the caryatids, he stood in front of her statue, looking longingly at her marbleized beauty. Finally, he turned to leave.

“You’ve served me well, in and out of the dungeon, Alexander.”

Alen whirled around to find her standing before him. “But, how are you… here??” he asked, noticing the once again empty space. The Duchess held out her hand. “I know I have been distant,” she cooed, luring him into her arms, his head against her breasts. “It is time for me to give you, your reward, for being such a loyal devotee.”

Gently easing his head from her chest, she guided him over to the empty pillar space. “Your place, is with me now.”

Feeling a slight sense of unnease, Alen protested, “I don’t understand..” When he tried to move from the spot she led him to, he found his feet held fast. “What’s happening??? I can’t move… help me!”

The Duchess smiled and stroked his cheek, “I am helping you, beloved. As I said.. your place, is with me now.”

Alen watched in horror, looking down and seeing his feet become marble, spreading upwards across his body.

“You will guard my temple, as all caryatids do, from enemies, and protect it from trespassers. You will never grow old. You will never feel pain. And you will always be welcome, to the pleasures here. My greatest Telamon, Alexander.”

By the time she finished speaking her words into him, his body had been transformed, now a strong, perfectly sculpted male atlas. Even more beautiful than he had been in living form. The Duchess smiled at her newest creation, took a look around at her frozen, immortal beauties, and exited the temple, ascending the steps to the surface.

Something Strange In The Temple Of The African Goddess

A month afterward, another tour group visited the temple. The tour guide reciting the history of the African Goddess temple same as she had before. When they reached the inner bath house, the tour guide facing the group, then turned as she was speaking.

“The caryatids offer not only beauty, but support to the…”

The tour guide gasped, seeing what stood before her. “That’s not possible! There’s never been a male statue in here…” her voice trailed off, staring at the perfectly chiseled Telamon. The group murmuring among themselves. Once the tour was done, the tour guide made a few calls. “I need to know what’s going on! It’s just there as if it had always been. I don’t know where it came from, no one could have stolen the female statue or placed it without being seen.”

Returning by herself, just as the sun set, she stared at the male statue, taking a few pictures for her report, and shaking her head. “Not possible..” And as she turned to leave, heard a man’s voice, calling her name. The sight she saw when she turned around, made her drop her phone, her face turning white as a sheet.

This Concludes Your Stay At The Ebony Femdom Dungeon – Caryatids In Ecstasy

I hope you enjoyed your visit to the Ebony Femdom Dungeon – Caryatids in Ecstasy. You can return as my thrall any time you desire, by calling me at 1-800-601-6975 and asking for Duchess Willow.  Now it’s time for the LAST STOP on the Halloween blog train, get ready for Mistress Kennedy and the den of sissy bimbo vampires.

Duchess Willow

willow@enchantrixempire.com

Follow me on Twitter X @DuchessWillow_

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