He called himself Lord Anubis.

Other titles  were irrelevant, for he was the lord of his reborn kingdom. The place of  a king was on the throne, to rule. The place for a subject was to obey.

His  subjects surrounded him. One waved a censer of incense at all times,  keeping the small chamber filled with a stirring magical aura. Another  knelt beside him on her hands and knees, quietly spreading incantations  to the greatness of Lord Anubis. Both of them were his loyal, unyielding  subjects, clad in thick black rubber and gold. Countless other subjects  patrolled the halls of his hidden temple. Anubis held up a hand,  ordering them quiet and still.

The entity cut an intimidating  figure of black rubber and golden trim. His legs were scaled by shining  lines of precious metal. His waist was covered by a black rubber shendyt skirt, though anyone below him could see the black rubber bulge beneath.

A human body lay before him. She was neither ruler nor subject. The woman was to be Devoted to him in mind and body.

She  started to flit her eyes open and gazed at what he knew was his  unyielding beauty. An incredibly powerful and chiseled physique. An  exotic mask of black and gold and purple. Two glowing eyes of  vermillion, the lenses accentuated by golden trim to form a simulacrum  of flowing face tattoos.

The woman looked up at him, staring at an ankh emblazoned across his chest. Her eyes went wide, then narrow.

“I know what you want,” said the jackal. “And you will get it.”

She tried to speak, managing only a quiet groan through the cloudy fog of incensed air.

Lord  Anubis stared at her. His servants, his subjects, were already  beginning the process of Devoting her. They ran oil up and down her  body. Anbus joined them, running his fingers across her soft, supple  flesh. He enjoyed the sensation of her heat, her twitching toes, her  eyes shutting and opening as they coated her in a growing gloss.

Such  a pity. She was quite pretty. Lord Anubis wondered if he’d ever be able  to touch her again. Perhaps one day she could join him as a subject.  Perhaps he should entertain her now; induct her into the ranks of his  chosen followers. Maybe she’d even enjoy one last orgasm.

No… she wouldn’t be given such a privilege. What was a king without laws?

He  ran his hand to her face. She mewled slightly as he placed his massive,  gloved hands over her visage, gently closing her eyes and covering her  mouth.

===

Freya had been a powerful  mistress. A wealthy oligarch. She was fed by the labor of unseen  masses, bathed by the sweat of her fellow man. Haughty, jovial, vain,  and eager to pollute the world with her fumes and fancies, Freya was  surprised when her touristic adventure had ended with her kidnapped and  bound.

Lord Anubis had selected her, of all those they had  captured, to be transformed to a Devotee; not a simple drone or  follower. She was being prepared in a dark chamber lit by soft,  smokeless torches. The drones’ incense had kept her paralyzed for the  process; it was long enough for her growing defiance to be kept at bay.

She  was not passive when they began. Accompanied by his loyal priests, Lord  Anubis had taken to the ritual with gusto - in part because they could  tell that Freya was trouble. She needed to be tamed; the woman was making squeaky, pathetic mewls of refusal at every turn.

The  stone altar held Freya’s nude, oiled body. At three ends, priests to  Lord Anubis quietly bowed their heads; at the fourth stood the  rubber-suited jackal, with one hand extended. He held it aloft, then  pulled up in a motion that pointed to the heavens.

Black rubber  summoned from the aether, pouring over Freya’s body like a waterfall. It  coated her with supreme, practiced elegance. There was no splashing, no  obscene mess of writhing mortality. It was turned to a hot liquid by  his hand, and everywhere it touched it became solid and sturdy and  thick. A  millimeter of black magical rubber quickly covered Freya’s  body. She shut her eyes, slowly starting to move her arms and legs in  languid self-gropes.

It felt warm, squishy, and bizarre to feel  her skin so ensconced! A thick layer over her body made movement feel  different; in its own way, safer, warmer, slower.

Anubis’s arm,  still aloft, held until Freya had time to feel her new permanent suit.  Then he brought it down, bringing with it a torrent of energy from his  claws that sent the unsuspecting Freya’s mind alight.

A second  layer formed over her body. It was monumentally thicker, harder,  heavier. Her legs were ensconced in a much less practical coating that  did more to restrain than accentuate. She started to bend her legs,  testing it the cloying rubber, and realized that to do so was far more  difficult than she imagined. It was more rigid, and textured as if to  shelter her from the grim desert sands.

Her chest and neck simply  disappeared as magical rubber locked and sealed around her form,  forevermore obscuring them under its thick, pungent power. Freya started  to struggle, feeling her arms locked in a comfortable resting position  and then solidified in place. Lord Anubis had locked her torso in an  ultimate, semi-spherical, semi-curvaceous bubble. Ichor and magical gold  filigree lined her chest as another layer appeared over her body,  locking her in place and sealing her fate.

Freya tried to squirm.  The golden bands tightened. She started to flex her arms, as if trying  to escape a hug - only to realize that her body was compressed by  squishy, stretchy rubber. She started to scream, but Lord Anubis was  behind her, placing a powerful hand over her mouth.

“Mnngghhh! Nnng-nnggh!”

Lord Anubis watched her twitch as the magical rubber solidified  its hold over his mummy. He casually moved his clawed fingers up past  her mouth, over to her nose, cradling her in his arms. She mewled again,  her eyes fluttering as he cut off all air to her lungs for a few  precious seconds. Enough to her to mewl and blush at it, and to treasure  the scent of rubber in her nose from his hands.

He had  shown her far too much intimacy and affection already; those devoted to  Lord Anubis were not to be coddled, but to be converted.

Freya  was magically lifted into the air, wherein black bandages wrapped  around her body before melding together. She was gently lowered from the  altar into a waiting sarcophagus - one far more form-fitting and tight  than anything built before. It just barely fit her; compressing her  flesh and rubber coating into a hard-case that could - and just might -  contain her for the rest of her life. Atop her face was a layer of  magical rubber, and atop that, Lord Anubis anointed her with a magical  mask and sculpted headdress.

The servants brought her from the  altar to a quiet alcove deep in the catacombs of the palace, far from  torches and prying eyes. Mummified and bound and sealed; safe and  secure. She would soon be utterly and completely devoted to Lord Anubis.

===

Warm  was the tomb. Anubis had ensured nothing less than utter, complete  enclosure. Layers and layers of his loving rubber encased Freya so  utterly and completely. Outside, she was still; a statue to his power in  black and gold. A death-mask of gold, a headdress of blue, and an  unending coffin of black would keep her as the property of the  jackal-god forevermore.

Within was a growing sensation. She felt  it stir, ignoring it for a time. To be so utterly deprived was to be  outside the normal functions of mortality. No sense of time, no sense of  body save her own thoughts and emotions.

Time passed. She felt  the sensation’s seed begin to grow. It welled deep inside her. Slowly,  Freya understood that she felt arousal. A sick, sexual thrill at her  entombed fate. She didn’t understand where it came from. Maybe it was  inside her all along, only now brought out by a lack of stimulus.

Time  passed. The sensation spread. Slowly, like a vine creeping up a house,  she could feel her being subsumed with heat. Perhaps she did have  some semblance of movement. Maybe she was violently squirming and  struggling against her rubber tomb; she couldn’t tell. But that movement  wasn’t merely resistance. It was a growing reaction to her accursed  needs. She wiggled her toes in delight.

Time passed. She could see  outside herself. A magical aura of expanding warmth. A fever that had  overtaken her entire body. Freya saw herself from afar, a rubber statue  that squirmed and begged and beckoned. She was deeply in love with her  situation, even as she was deeply angry, fearful, and indignant at the  thought of using her as a battery. A horny moan escaped her  throat; a guttural sound that begged for… something. She didn’t know  what. But she knew that she had a craving, an urge that wouldn’t go  away.

Time passed. Freya envisioned the tomb; saw it in her third  eye in bliss beneath black and gold. She pictured Lord Anubis with  another toy; another of his adherents, but not her. He needed to  regenerate his strength and relax after the painstaking process of  sealing her up as his eternal Devotee. Lord Anubis took another toy -  another jackal - in his hands, rubbing over his body before lifting him  up and carrying him to a lounge. He took the drone in his lap, rubbing  his bulging groin against the drone. The drone shuddered with delight at  the very thought of being used by Lord Anubis; of  feeling his master’s manhood against his own or inside him. The drone  squealed in delight in its deep rubberized helmet. Freya understood what  she wanted.

Time passed. Lord Anubis paid her a visit. Freya thought that she was hallucinating. Surely, surely her  lord was not here to give her release of any kind. And yet, here he  was. The jackal had opened her tomb, and with the wave of his hand, had  removed her mask, exposing her face.

 Anubis stared at her through  his mask. She was not as pretty as she was when she’d been encased -  she was prettier. It wasn’t her painted lips or sweet cheeks but instead  her eyes. They were glassy, glossy; glazed over and glowing with a  corrupted, arcane blue. They were the eyes of an object; a servant,  utterly without mind or resistance. She only looked at him, giving him  the loving stare of a needy and obedient rubber slave.

Anubis  stepped up close against Freya’s mummiform, cradling her head in his  hands. He slipped his thumb inside her mouth, and she suckled on it with  gusto. She didn’t need words to ask - she wanted to be used. But she tried anyway.

“Please… please, let me go.”

Anubis tilted his head.

“Let  me out. I’ll do anything. Use me. Abuse me. Let me - let me…” she  stammered, halfway torn as she begged for release of any kind.

The  jackal-king allowed her a few minutes of observation before stepping  back, leaving her moaning, groaning, and still horribly horny. His  powerful body and mask were the last thing she saw before the mask  reappeared and her world once again became eternal rubber and eternal  edging.

===

Time passed.

Lord Anubis stared at her case, recently brought from the catacombs for his viewing.

He  knew what she was experiencing; beneath the stillness of her mummified  visage, she was trapped in an orgiastic hell. She couldn’t cum, no  matter how hard she tried. And surely, she had tried. The magic that  kept her as his Devoted object brought her up and down like the sun.  There was not an endless escalation of arousal, but instead a gentle  rise; edging, edging, but never going over the precipice before a  decline. Sometimes she’d be left utterly wanting and needy. Other times  she’d be gently brought down, as if laid on a bed of pillows. But never,  never would she experience orgasm. Such was the fate of his  dearly Devoted; to be eternally edged, building up a charge of energy  from which he could feed, but not allowed over the edge.

…until  now. He held out his hands at her tomb with an ankh in one hand and a  staff in the other. It was time to give her a reward for her devotion.

For  so long, Freya - nay, not a name, merely his Devoted - had been edged. A  battery for his power; brought closer and closer to the precipice but  denied it.

Inside her tomb, Freya could feel something changing.  She was wrapped completely in tight latex, without touch or impressions;  no stimuli or disturbances from the outside world to give her thoughts  of escape or resistance.

Her world was pure lust. Within her mind,  shutting out all other thoughts, was Lord Anubis. And with him burning,  searing through her mind and body, he removed her mask. Her eyes  opened, sharing their glassy, devoted stare. Lord Anubis removed her  from the tomb, carrying her to his bedroom. It all became a blur as he  mounted her, using her, connecting with her. Freya knew only two things;  that he had given her the gift of his manhood, and that he had given  her an a titanic orgasm.

Knowledge fled away into feeling. The  mummy’s body shuddered. She rode it for long seconds, twitching,  flexing, grunting, mewling, pulling tighter than she had ever imagined  at the heavy latex that mummified her from head to toe. And then,  another. At the very thought of her cumming, she was bringing  herself to another orgasm. Eyes rolled. Toes twitched. She grunted and  gulped, riding it to another as she shook.

Lord Anubis drew all of  it into him. Her magical aura had become a thing of indescribable  beauty. All those long eons of edging charged her into a battery of  unimaginable potency which he eagerly enjoyed. That orgasm connected  them in a way that no mere drone possibly could. He felt himself growing  younger, stronger, more virile. He was emboldened, continuing his  intense and animalistic use of her body and mind.

When he  had had his fill - with his loving mummy as well as with other drones -  he ordered her to be returned to her tomb. She had become a very, very useful  toy. It would be impossible to ever fully let her go. Perhaps someday  she might be made a concubine; one of his loving wives. But perhaps not.  She was so incredibly powerful, living a life of endless edging and  rubber mummification.

Lord Anubis craved an army and a kingdom. He  would soon be travelling, and need quite a bit more power. This toy  would accompany him; close at his side and endlessly edged, begging, and  being slowly and completely broken to his loving, cruel will. He ran a  hand over her case, privately aroused at the thought of using her once  again.

She was making him very powerful indeed.