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This is a former Premium Access Exclusive, now available for all. It’s a bit “out there,” portraying (essentially) the mandated watching of a reality show to decide who the omnipotent, omni-horny Eternal Emperor will choose as his Goddess to rule at his side. Rather than the normal trope of a lucky guy steadily gaining power, this one is much more about the competition between power-hungry, gorgeous women as they plot, scheme, and connive to win the Eternal Emperor’s favor.
Blurb:
When Divinity Kneels…
They could level cities with a whisper. They could bend nations to their will with a single glance. They possess intellects that could unravel the mysteries of the cosmos before breakfast.
And yet, here these beauties are—desperate, trembling, aching to be noticed by Him.
The Eternal Emperor owns everything. The world. Reality itself. The very thoughts in your head belong to Him if He wishes to claim them. But ownership grows dull without entertainment, and so He has devised the ultimate competition: seven women, each transformed into living perfection, each granted powers that would make them unstoppable in any other circumstance, will compete to earn the ultimate prize:
The title of Goddess. Immortality at His side. The privilege of existing in His presence forever as His One Bride.
They know the odds. Only one can win. Alliances form and shatter. Brilliant strategists abandon reason for a chance at His smile. Women who could command armies with their beauty alone debase themselves for a fleeting moment of His regard.
The cameras are rolling. The clock is ticking. And He’s watching.
In *The Empire’s Next Top Goddess*, witness the intoxicating spectacle of absolute power meeting absolute devotion. See what happens when women who should be worshipped themselves learn that worship only flows in one direction. In His world, there are only two types of people: those who serve Him, and those who don’t exist at all.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of INTENSE transformation and bimbofication, mind control, lactation erotica, breeding, and an unfiltered view of what a sadist with omnipotent power would make of a world that exists to please him.
The First Thousand(Ish) Words:
The show premieres on a Wednesday at 7 PM. Viewing is mandatory, except for those working shifts in the mines, factories, and pits; while their lack of viewership is understandable and skipping shifts is punishable by various forms of maiming, torture, and death, those not watching will still be punished with longer, more miserable shifts to illustrate to them the importance of participation.
The Empire Comes First.
These simple four words squash all complaint, just as they squashed a world under His Titanic fist: The Empire Comes First, and that’s that.
The first shot of the new hit show smashes onto the screen with a wide panning helicopter view of His Mountain Estate. Spectacular views in every direction. The estate itself is built into the rock, featuring elaborate, interconnected, luxurious pods replete with sky pools, swimming pools, tall windows, chapel-esque ceilings, floating staircases, and fountain-filled gardens.
Then, a long shot of the incredible, vegetation-laden park between all the different housing pods. There are trees of every kind, mostly the sort that look like a blast to climb. The park itself is the envy of every city in the world and larger all by itself than most small towns. He is the only Male allowed in His Estate, as is right and proper. Beautiful Owned pieces of property, mindless and obedient aesthetically-pleasing women wearing tall heels and lingerie and swimsuits, happily orgasm as they follow orders and tend to the maintenance of the illustrious property.
The entirety of the mountain’s substantial runoff has been diverted away from the once-prosperous city below, devoted entirely now to running the Estate’s fountains and keeping the gardens green. The city itself, once home to millions of souls, is now little more than a highly-populated water filtration complex hundreds of square miles in area. It is dark, swamped in a dense chemical smog, and heavily patrolled by cybernetically-enhanced overseers with poison-coated whips. Three other nearby rivers have also been diverted hundreds of miles away from their original deltas and instead through the complex; now, thanks to tremendous technological achievement, the water from all of them easily run up the mountain to keep the Eternal Master’s Estate flourishing.
That the rest of the region now suffers from permanent drought is of very little consequence, as the Empire-owned news was quick to illustrate in its nightly review of the One True Master’s illustrious achievements.
Slowly we move away from the helicopter, revealing that there is another camera nearby, perhaps on a drone, and that the helicopter we’ve been seeing is full of His Potential Empresses—eight smiling, mind-bendingly gorgeous women with shining hair and perfect bodies that have never known an ounce of hardship. There is enough room on the helicopter for each of them to walk around, socialize, make nice, and even take part in the onboard yoga classes offered by the stewardesses. None of the Potentials do, of course; they’re not grouped together out of friendship, after all.
The helicopter lands on an enormous concrete landing pad. Nearby there is a massive hangar filled with dozens of his personal aircraft—of which the gas-guzzling, enormous chopper the girls fly in on is just one. The real hangar is beneath the estate, located inside the mountain itself with an entire chained-and-leashed regiment of his militarized, chimeric creations, gnashing their gene-spliced teeth and desperate for the excuse to unleash their torrent of war on a world deeply enslaved and terrorized by Him.
As the girls get out, the camera moves to establish all eight of them, each one fundamentally gorgeous beyond belief. They wear a rainbow of colors, coordinated, each hoping beyond hope to catch his eye, his attention, his favor. Tiny skirts, minidresses, high heels, thigh-high boots, and elegant touches of jewelry are the order of the day. Though none of them quite get along, they know an opportunity to present themselves when it presents itself, and strut in perfect time aligned left-to-right in ROYGBIV coloration. There are, the viewer will notice, two girls in red.
Theme music rises; the title of the show flashing over the heads of the girls:
THE EMPIRE’S NEXT TOP GODDESS
At the edge of the landing pad, the girls stop, pose and wait. The camera pans over each of them in turn.
Of course this was filmed weeks ago; by the time the viewers in their undoubtably slum-apartment homes are watching, the Master has already made his choice and has been breeding her and fucking her brains into mush for days. So then, as the camera slides over each girl, we are treated to short Talking Heads segments, displaying the girls in front of bright, cheery backgrounds in colors complimentary to their own outfits.
We begin with Lindsay, wearing red. Her dress fits tight over her fetching form, and her face has a natural “come-hither” vibe from her pronounced cheekbones.
[LINDSAY “THE NO-NONSENSE BABE”: I’m so truly lucky to be here. I can’t wait to show Master how I can love him and be such a good wife for him. Truly!]
Then, also in red—but a deep blood red and much more daring in the cut to show off a rather more substantial bust, is a staggeringly sexy burgundy brunette:
[LAURYN “THE GOODY TWO-SHOES”: I don’t really care about any of these girls. There’s going to be one Goddess, me, and that means I’ll make the rules. Also, what is going on with this girl wearing the same color as me? That’s an insult, and I’ll make sure she knows.]
Next, in a tight, hot orange-plaid rendition of a school girl’s outfit, complete with thick white thigh-high socks.
[FELICITY “THE GOOD GIRL”: I am hearing SO much negativity from these other girls and I totally don’t get it. We are here! In front of HIM! Oh my god! It’s a dream come true. There’s time enough to be competitive later. We’re all gonna be great friends, I’m sure of it.]
Bright yellow sundress, legs that end somewhere on the bottom of the mountain, a face that could melt the sun, and a thick, perfectly coiffed blanket of silky golden blond hair.
[BRISA “THE INFLUENCER”: Hi Brisa Babies! As you know, in a few weeks when I’ve won, the package I sent out last week to all my Triple-Platinum Club Members had inside of it one-hundred and fifty of my special Brisa Bucks, which will allow YOU to buy a little bit of my time. Ten whole seconds with your new Goddess just for five hundred Brisa Bucks! If you want more, just send your wages my way. I know you use those to pay for food and there’s hardly enough as it is, but you can starve a few more weeks just to make me happy, can’t you?…]
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