TITLE: The Chosen
ARCHIVE: AJCS, Constellation, WWOMB and ALJ. Anyone else, just let me know where.
RATING: NC-17 (see warnings)
WARNING: S/M ! Intense D/s relationship concerning "headspace" issues with religious overtones. Dubious consent! Bondage! Not for the faint of heart or leary.
CATEGORY: BDSM slave fiction
DISCLAIMER: While Ren Pics and Flat Earth Prod own these characters, I think that they'd fall over in a heap if they found out what I was doing to them. No money, no profit.
SUMMARY: Joxer muses about his life as Ares' "Chosen".
It's odd how quickly one can adjust to things that would have once seemed impossible to live with when one is merely given a purpose, a reason, to endure such things. And all of us who are Chosen must find that purpose within us. Devotion. Love. Lust. Fear. ... Pain. The paths to that inner purpose are many, but the destination is the same. Submission. Servitude. Willing slavery.
It's my belief, although I only have very few facts to support that thought, that the servitude that all Chosen live in is different, not merely from individual slave to individual slave, but also depending on the particular Ghod that we are dedicated to. I, for instance, am the Chosen of Ares, Ghod of War and Violence. My submission to him is as complete as the submission of the Chosen to, oh say...Apollo. However, it would be to my ultimate shock and surprise if I were to find out that Apollo made the same type of demands on his Chosen as Ares makes on me. Despite the fact that I honestly believe that Apollo is gentler with his Chosen, I would *never* want to be separated from my Ghod. Ever.
Of course, it's interesting to see how different people react to me when they realize that I am Chosen. I often wonder how it is for the Chosen of other Ghods, or if Ares' worshipers are unique in their views. Some ignore me as if I were invisible, beneath their notice. Many are lewd and obvious in their desire for my body, even if they would never have the courage to tempt Ares' wrath by taking what so obviously belongs to him. Most of the warriors simply treat me with an odd mixture of pity and contempt. As if they saw me as a failed warrior who was now handed the worst punishment combined with the greatest rewards all at once. They would be correct. In a way.
The Chosen aren't failures, although that's how most people see us. No, I have never, am not now, nor will I ever be a great warrior. I know that now even though I once spent a great deal of time and effort to avoid that fact. I wasn't born to be a warrior; I was born to be one in a long line of Ares' Chosen. It's that simple and that complex. The Chosen are special in that they are born a very specific way in order to fulfill their destiny. We, all of us, were born with all of the talent of one of Aphrodite's greatest Priests or Priestesses. We were, literally, born with a gift for pleasing our partners in matters of love and sex. What's more, we were all born to *serve*. It is natural for us to submit, just as it is natural for us to breath air, drink water and love our Ghod. For while our...talents lie clearly in the bedroom, our hearts and souls do not belong to the Goddess of Love. Our souls literally cry out for the Ghod we were destined for. In my case, that Ghod is Ares.
It was only after Xena and Gabrielle left for India so that they could both heal and redefine their relationship that my life changed and took the path I am now on. Left on my own with no direction and little idea of what I wanted, I somehow ended up at Meg's. And while part of me still yearns for that long gone dream of being a warrior, I wasn't there because Meg needed me to save her from some bandit or Warlord. I was there because I needed work. Trust me when I tell you that starving is not an enjoyable pastime.
I worked there for four months when the compulsion hit. It still sort of rankles me a bit to this day, although I'm grateful that it happened. I had been under the spell of enough Ghods to recognize one immediately, although I wasn't strong enough to ignore it. Fighting the compulsion with my entire being the whole way, I soon found myself leaving Meg's and walking across the length of the town until I came to a small light gray stone Temple dedicated to Aphrodite. She appeared to me in person, which was odd. I'd seen Ghods before, but never without Xena or Hercules around. It was then that she told me that I was destined to be one of the Chosen. I was devastated at hearing this because I knew then that I'd never become the warrior that I dreamed of.
Normally, the Chosen realize their path on their own, but my ambition to be a hero like Xena blinded me from my true nature. Seeing my despair, Aphrodite gave me a choice. I could begin my training as a Chosen, or I could continue as I was. She warned me that I would never be able to obtain my true goal of being a great warrior, but that there was a certain dignity in attempting the impossible.
After three weeks of agonizing over my decision, I came back to her Temple and agreed to the training. I think the only thing that allowed me to make that choice was that as a Chosen, I was still Ares'. If I had been destined for any other Ghod, I don't think I could have borne the news. And so, it began.
In the simplest terms and the most uncomplicated ways, the Chosen are the bodyslaves of the Ghods. Sexual servitude and absolute submission to the Ghod's every whim becomes the only purpose of the Chosen. Aphrodite handles the training personally. To be honest, after working at Meg's for several months, I had erroneously believed that there wouldn't be a whole lot that I would need to learn. I was so wrong that it wasn't even funny.
There is a world of difference between sucking off a warrior or bending over the edge of my cot for a farmer in order to make a few denars then there is with being the Chosen of a Ghod. For one, a Chosen doesn't have the option of saying "no" to their owner while a prostitute can, and will, turn away any customer that they don't trust or like. There is no saying, "I won't do *that*, so pick something else." to your Ghod. Submission is the only option. Denial of self is imperative. In fact, no one even calls me 'Joxer' anymore and hasn't since I began my training. I am merely 'Chosen'. There is one Chosen in each generation for each of the Ghods. In this generation, I am Ares' Chosen and it is his will that determines my reality, not my own.
I had to learn so many things in order to fulfill my role as Ares' Chosen. Aphrodite was well versed in, not only the duties and responsibilities common to *all* Chosen, but also in those personal quirks that were purely for Ares' enjoyment. Which made sense when you stop to realize that she has been one of his lovers for many centuries and has personally trained every single one of his Chosen.
Though I found it odd at the time, my first lessons were on how to serve my Ghod. I needed to know how to dress him and undress him for a multitude of scenarios. Everything from getting him ready for battle, for a meeting of the Twelve on Olympus to getting him ready for bed. I learned how to properly bathe him and wash his hair. I was also trained in the intricate rituals of serving him food. The rituals of service are many, varied and layered with ancient custom and detailed niceties that must be observed. You think that serving a fine meal and wine for a King and his noble guests seems daunting? Try serving food and drink to the Ghod of War when he is entertaining his parents. Spilling wine on the Queen of the Ghods is not advisable.
Part of my training was purely physical and often involved Cupid's help. Not for sex, although we had many many frank discussions about that topic which ranged from mild, to humorous to down right smutty. No, Cupid never laid a single inappropriate hand on me. He did help me in other ways, however. Simply put, he set up an exercise regimen for me. Not to learn to fight, but to strengthen and enhance my body. To, bluntly put, build up my endurance, which was nothing to sneeze at after years of wandering around behind Xena. He trained me very hard and I was often left exhausted after our sessions, but I came away from those lessons with better balance, more flexibility and the ability to withstand a great deal of strain.
Throughout the entire year that I spent training with Aphrodite, it was continuously drilled into my mind that I was entering a profound type of personal slavery. I was taught the proper way to kneel, to abase myself, to stand and to always put my Ghod's pleasure above any of my own wants or needs. I was continually warned that Ares' was, literally, the personification of Violence. It was his Ghodhead and that colored every aspect of his life. He had three children, Love, Pain and Fear. And just as violence beget them in a literal and physical way; Ares' would need to give those things to me as much as he needed to feel them from me. It was too integral a part of his personality for it to be any other way. It was an intimidating concept, but I thought that I could handle it. After all, didn't I just spend an entire year being trained to be his Chosen?
I look back on my innocence, my selfishness and my pride with a great deal of humor and shame. I was filled with pride. Arrogance. No one who knew me then would have seen it, not even me. Now however, I can see it for what it was. I was so proud that *I* was Ares' Chosen. That I would have something special with him that no one else would. At least, not until I was dead and another Chosen was born. It was my belief that I could walk into Ares' Temple and he would be swept off of his feet with desire and love due to my careful training and that my service to him would make me special. Oh, how very wrong I was. How naive.
The servitude of a Chosen doesn't raise him or her up, it breaks them down. It shatters them into a billion shimmering shards of light and life to lie in a heap at the feet of their Ghod, humbled and grateful to be there. I would do anything that Ares bid me to do and I would do it to the best of my abilities for no other reason than he asked. I am his. Utterly.
My breaking at Ares' hands was not slow, nor was it gentle. I arrived at his Temple in Thrace wrapped in the heavy black and silver robes of the Chosen of War, my body nude underneath except for a fine layer of shimmering scented oil. Walking inside, I had almost expected to be manhandled and shoved aside by the larger stronger warriors the way I had always been before. This time everyone, warriors and Priests alike, stepped out of my path. Under the deep hooded cowl of my cloak, I snickered with glee at the deference I was being shown. Filled with my own self worth, I made my way up to the altar and knelt down in front of it to await my Ghod's will.
I waited for over four hours.
That right there was a humbling experience that dimmed my arrogance greatly. For one thing, it was painful on my body. My knees began to ache from the cold hard stone and my back throbbed with the stiffening of my muscles and I wanted to shift and fidget in order to get comfortable. I didn't. Somehow. I think it was my pride that kept me so still. Now, I can kneel in perfect stillness for three times as long without a single twitch, although it is no longer pride that keeps me so. It is, instead, a great and abiding fear of disappointing Ares that holds my muscles in check. I don't fear the punishment, well, not anymore, but his disappointment in me when I fail in my duties to him is crushing. At that time, however, it was pride.
It also didn't help that everyone ignored me. Everyone merely went about their business as if I wasn't there, kneeling in supplication before the altar. Warriors placed weapons and trophies on it and other supplicants placed fruit and other gifts upon its surface. Candles burned out and were replaced with fresh ones by the Priests. At one point, a group of young acolytes that were being trained in the martial arts came in and kneeled around me so that they could complete the day's devotions. Chanting and hymns rose up around me in honor of Ares and still I stayed where I was, waiting.
Finally, just when I began to worry that Ares' wouldn't come to claim me as his Chosen, the air in the Temple became heavy and weighted. The flames of the candles flickered wildly and static electricity built up around the room, frizzing everyone's hair. The scent of ozone burnt in my nose sharply and a bright flash of light followed closely by a shimmering cascade of blood red sparks appeared out of nowhere. My ears popped loudly and for a brief second reality wavered and shimmered. Suddenly, Ares was there, standing on the far side of his altar in front of his Throne. My eyes were supposed to be cast down, gazing at the floor, however I couldn't help but look up at him, even if only for a second. He was beautiful. Bronze skin over heavy muscle, silky raven curls framing a painfully beautiful face that was twisted with cruel arrogance and black leather decorated with silver metal. Power and supreme confidence radiated from him making it clear that all those who worshiped him would only ever be a pale echo of his magnificence. I was *proud* to be his Chosen, to bask in his reflected glory.
I was ignorant and innocent. I was about to learn my first lesson in humility.
Staying still and awaiting his pleasure as I had been trained, I barely flinched at his arrival. For a long moment, he merely gazed at me in what seemed to be almost disinterest. Fear fluttered in my heart as I wondered if he would reject me outright, but then he walked around the altar to stand in front of me. I shivered. His lips twisted into a parody of a smile at my involuntary reaction and he reached down with one hand. He placed a single finger under my chin and with the slightest pressure, ordered me to my feet. Rising, I stood before him and tried desperately not to tremble. I was both terrified of being sent away and so aroused by this barest and most casual touch that my erection was heavy and painful as it throbbed between my legs.
Pulling his finger away from my chin, he flicked his fingers in a small elegant gesture. A wash of power tingled over me even as the broach holding my clock undid itself and the ties binding my robe closed came apart. The clothing that I had been painstakingly dressed in by Aphrodite slid away from me and slithered to the floor at me feet. I wore nothing underneath but a sheen of oil and I was suddenly very aware of the fact that many eyes were one me, watching me as Ares' dispassionately studied my naked body. Humiliation burned through me and my cheeks blushed a bright red. I wanted to run and hide, to demand that he let me put my robe back on. I didn't want any one to see me like this, exposed and vulnerable. He smirked at me.
"You are *mine*, Chosen. Never forget that. If it pleases me to display you, then I will. If it pleases me to hide you away, then I will. You no longer have any say in anything that happens to you. You gave up that right the instant you stepped foot in this Temple. I *own* you."
And for the first time, I believed that. I was his. At the time, I thought I was trained to be his Chosen, but I was wrong. I had only the merest idea of what my servitude would be like for I had yet to be broken by my Ghod's hand. To be quite honest, I didn't truly understand what it even meant to be broken. Really broken. I thought I did. And after Ares disabused me of that idea, I thought I had learned. Since that time, my Ghod has broken me over and over again, but I digress.
That first day, he didn't ask or tell me what to do, he simply arranged my body to his liking and he even took the time to explain what he was doing. I didn't understand or appreciate it at the time, but looking back now, it was a kindness. With firm, yet gentle hands, Ares' calmly and almost indifferently bent me over his instantly empty and bare altar and shackled me to it. The restraints that appeared out of nowhere around my wrists were padded leather and they were tight enough to prevent chaffing. Mostly. I was bound in such a way as to have my chest resting firmly against the cold bloodstained stone of the altar's surface so that it was supporting my weight and providing my balance for me. I couldn't lift or move my arms at all; they were pulled far out to the sides and slightly over my head. I could feel restraints around my ankles at well. They were connected to chains that didn't let me swing or kick my legs, but to this day I don't know what they were attached to. I assume it was the altar.
By this time, trembles of fear shook my body and the beginnings of panic blossomed like black icy flowers deep in my chest. My training warred with my instincts and I was very confused. My training as a Chosen told me that if my Ghod wanted to chain me and bind me, then I would submit. Not just that, but that I should be happy and willing to offer up my submission. My instincts told me to run far away and hide. When Ares' leaned over my shoulder and blindfolded me with a paddled strip of leather, it was the hardest thing I had ever done to hold my head still and not jerk back. And he knew that. He chuckled softly and not unkindly in my ear and then spoke to me in a soft and oddly comforting voice.
"Don't worry Chosen, you can let yourself go. Fall, I will catch you. Don't pretend to control that you don't have. Just sink into everything that I do to you. Let the sensations become you even as you become them."
I'll admit that what he said to me didn't make sense. Not then. It does now. There is something rather freeing in being tied down and blindfolded. Sounds like it should be the other way around, but it's true. When I'm tied down by my Ghod, I am set free. I no longer have to concern myself with anything. Just feeling, experiencing what he does to me. I don't have to think about all the proper forms and etiquette for serving wine to Zeus, nor do I have to hold a pose for hours against shrieking muscles and fatigue. I don't have to worry about anything but my own emotions and existence. I am free to just...be. Of course, that first day with Ares I didn't have any type of experience to compare and contrast with, so I was terrified by my lack of control and I felt exposed and humiliated by all those staring eyes.
Ares' started out, for him, rather gently I must admit. He materialized a flogger that was made of the softest suede leather. He ran it lightly over the skin of my back and it almost tickled. Then he hit me with it. Pain blossomed across my skin in a bright flare only to sink into my body as a bloom of warmth. Over and over, Ares hit me with that flogger. He used a steady even rhythm that traveled from my shoulders, down my back and over the curve of my ass to my thighs.
I'm not sure how long he hit me, but in comparison to what I am used to now, it was not a lot. Still, by the time he dematerialized it I was crying, tears streaming out from under the blindfold and quiet sobs hitching in my throat. I felt battered and bruised and I was sure that I was covered in welts. Since then, I've taken beatings that have made the strongest and fiercest of Ares' Generals and Warlords wince and go pale while I myself arch into the whip, begging for more pain and struggling not to explode in orgasm from it. At that time, however, I wasn't devastated on an erotic level, but totally shattered on a physical one. I had yet to be torn asunder emotionally; although I don't think I would have believed anyone had they told me that at that particular instant. Once more, I would have been wrong for what came next stripped my soul bare and remade me into a completely new person.
His voice a whispered hiss in my ear, I could only shake and moan a wordless plea for mercy.
"You are *mine*! You exist only for my pleasure. Your pain is a gift to me; your every breath is devoted to me. Your body, your mind, your love and your hate are all mine to enjoy as I wish. You shall suffer for my pleasure and you will bleed at my whim. Your only happiness will be in serving my needs, no matter what those needs are, no matter what you must sacrifice to fulfill them."
Then, before the last word was even sifting into my dazed mind, Ares leaned up and rammed his thick shaft into my tight and unprepared anus. Burning pain lanced from my rectum to sizzle up my spine and light up every inch of my flesh with raw agony. I screamed. That much I do know, although my memory is hazy from this point on. I know that I thrashed in my bondage, fighting to get away, fighting to escape...fighting to get closer and push back against his violent thrusts. My vision was non-existent and my body only knew his touch...his painful and agonizing touch, but my ears...my thrice-damned ears could hear the shocked murmurs and groaning laughter as the warriors and the priests in the Temple witnessed my degradation and humiliation.
That, I think, more than anything else was the catalyst that transformed me from Joxer into Ares' Chosen. I could not escape him and the pain he poured into me, but I could escape those witnesses. I could ignore them, tune them out, make them cease to exist for me. Banish them from my mind until there was no one and nothing beyond Ares. And so I did the only thing that I could do. I delved into my own mind and my own pain. I *became* my agony. Somehow, in giving myself...all of myself, over to the pain so that I could offer it up to Ares, that pain transformed into a burning aching kind of pleasure. A sensation so intense that it made all things before it pale in comparison.
My world turning inside out on itself, I found that I was fighting my bonds, pulling on them hard enough to bruise and chaff my wrists, not to escape, but to push back on Ares. To impale myself on him harder, to force him deeper into my twisting body. Not for me, never for me, but for him. My only need, my only goal was to bring him pleasure, to make him let go and loose himself in me. To come. Not to end my torment, but to please him, to bring him happiness.
And when he did reach that pinnacle of pleasure and spilt himself deep within my body, it was only right that his sharp white teeth would clamp down hard at the base of my neck, drawing blood through my suddenly torn skin. I didn't even think; I merely tilted my head to the side, submitting to his brutality as easily as I draw breath now. He owned me, utterly. I was his.
I don't really remember any details beyond that. I do know that I spent the rest of the afternoon at that Temple in the main room, worshiping him in the way that only his Chosen can. I knelt at his feet, suckled from his cock; I gave up my mouth and my ass to his pleasure again and again. Tears flowed from my eyes, both from the agony that shuddered through my body and from the beauty of loving him, worshipping him and devoting my very soul to his tender cruelty.
That was over three years ago and I am still serving my Ghod as his Chosen to this day. I will be until the day that I finally die. Most Chosen die of old age, but I know that my fate is different than that. I don't mind, though. I will die with my beloved Ghod's hands on my skin and his cock buried deep inside me. I will pass from this life serving his pleasure and I could not ask for a more perfect death. But that is still a long way off. For now, I will continue to serve, my submission to his desires complete.
I am the Chosen of War.
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