Chapter III secrets laid bare

I recognized Lord Baird instantly. He was sitting in an upholstered armchair
by the hearth, alone. I briefly wondered what he had done with my body. I
quickly lowered my gaze as I padded in my bare feet to his side. I knelt,
knees splayed wide, before him, fixing my gaze on the flagstones. I felt my
face blush, and the embarrassment spread tellingly as my chest flushed.

"Good morning, slave Alisha. I trust you are becoming accustomed to your new
duties. I know they are hard; I lived through them three long days." He took
me by my forearm and pulled me between his spread pantlegs. "But then, I had
the luxury of knowing I would be free. You must harbor no hope of that, my
dear."

He took my right wrist and brought it forward to the right arm of his chair.
There was a leather strap attached to the back of the chair, and he fastened
my wrist to it. He repeated the procedure with my left wrist, in effect
forcing me to embrace his waist. I found myself staring at his broad chest;
he wore a robe over his torso, which was now parted, and I was acutely aware
of his well- developed musculature. I wondered briefly if they'd been
enhanced, then started as something huge graced my belly. I glanced down
worriedly, and saw that his pants were unfastened, and his cock pressed up
against my naked abdomen, the tip between my exposed breasts. It was huge, at
least 14" long in earth measurements, and as thick as my admittedly slender
wrists. Dear God. I swallowed hard, and tried to avoid looking at it. I
stared instead at his rockhard pectorals, angry at myself that I was already
wet as a lake and breathing raggedly.

"Certain personalities are more suited for the tasks a slavegirl must endure.
You may be surprised to know I have had complete access to your personal
records, young lady." I forgot myself and stared up at my captor. He slapped
my face and forced my head down again. "Tsk. Another beating for you. Don't
forget your place, slavegirl." He began to caress my right breast. The slap
he had given me hurt; my face was red and I could taste blood, but God, it
had turned me on.

My personal records. Shit. The last thing I needed Lord Baird to know. I hung
my head in shame as he continued, realizing he had known from the beginning.

"Those trips to the holosuites? I have transcripts bursting with tales of
your helplessness, your feminization, your enslavement. Whether or not this
is against your will, it is entirely appropriate that you inhabit this frail
young slavegirl's body. More so than the original Alisha, you can be certain.
You belong on this godforsaken planet, my little fuckslave, in this little
cunt's body, and when I make you suck my member, remember I've done you a
service, putting you in your rightful place."

I was unable to speak; I turned crimson with embarrassment. He spoke well,
and he guided my mouth over his cock with the casual assurance that I,
slavegirl that I was and had become, would do my best to please him. As I
took his thick, hot member into my mouth, I wondered at his ingenuity. How
had he gotten my personal logs? How had he decrypted them? Who was his ally?
His hands were in my red hair, one hand held the braided leash and controlled
my movements. His cock was hot and throbbing, and he lifted his pelvis to
thrust it into the back of my throat, which could only take four inches of
his huge member. I was distractedly aware of the fact I had not eaten yet,
and that his come would be my first nutrition of the day. His knees gripped
my waist, pressing my tender, soft, whipstreaked breasts against the insides
of his muscular thighs.

Oh how it was true, and I had tried to suppress it! In my fear of being
trapped here, in this young girl's duty-bound body, and out of a sense of my
own duty to the Confederation and my job, I had tried desperately to ignore
how well my present predicament paralleled the fantasies I had programmed
into my holodeck back on the ship. The most current one, which I ran many
times on the trip to Acteon, involved my being in this very position, a
slavegirl on this medieval planet! The only differences were, perhaps, that
in the program I was a brunette, and that instead of Lord Baird subjugating
me, I had willingly become a slave in order to spy on him. In the program, he
found me out and stripped me of identification and communications, rendering
me indistinguishable from the other slavegirls.

But the wonderful thing about a fantasy is that it ends, and you are returned
to reality at its completion. I gagged on Lord Baird's enormous cock, and it
hurt, and I could not escape it, and he clearly enjoyed my discomfort. There
was nothing I could do about it, and the effects of the slave's drug,
breakfast or no, still swam in my blood, intensifying what I now admitted was
my natural inclination to submit. My cunt, still unfamiliar to me, still
untouched by my own hands, was sopping wet. At least in the holodeck I was
allowed to relieve my need for pleasure by my (programmed) knight masters.
The men here, however, didn't adhere to the programmed behavior I had given
their virtual proxies; they had their own desires, their own agendas, and my
needs were, at best, entertaining and not to be fulfilled. I was beginning to
realize that my pleasure was merely a method of controlling me.

In the instant that he came, as I swallowed his hot, viscous juices, I
realized that I was now more enslaved Princess Alisha than I was ever
Laurence Joo, Interceder, and that as time passed I would become even more
so, until I was only an enslaved Princess of Acteon. The thought terrified
me, and I think Lord Baird (Tyron Beale, I tried to remind myself) knew I was
afraid, for he laughed as he spurted into my mouth, forcing my head down over
his engorged cock.

Chapter IV a slavegirl's epiphany

I lay on my side, on the cold flagstone floor, my wrists tied behind me with
a leather strap, my heart slowing, as I recovered from my Master's
mouth-fucking. His come had been hot and thick, with a strange, pungent sweet
taste and odor, and I could still smell it on my lips. Lord Baird had his
bare foot between my legs, idly caressing my shorn pubic mound, as he read
the scrolls brought before him by an advisor.

My hair was beginning to come loose in wild strands from its tight braid, and
a lock of newly freed red curls fell in my face. I didn't try to blow it
away; I was beginning to realize I didn't have a right to make even simple
decisions like whether or not my face should be obscured by my own hair. My
jaw ached anyway.

My nipples were rock hard, like little stone pebbles. Strange, I thought, and
gazed at them, protruding like thick knobs from my heavy, soft breasts; my
right breast pressed into the flagstone, the other rested lightly on the
first, compressing it. Strange to have such malleable, soft, tender things
riding so prominently on my body, as if meant for display and use. The
holosuite did a very good job of simulating these things, but I'd always
known the body wasn't mine; there was no sense of permanence, of reality. Now
this body, these soft, beautiful tits, this shaved cunt were the extent and
full description of my world. A free citizen's world extends to his or her
possessions, activities, and associates. I had my body, and by whip,
restraint and drug I was to be continually reminded that my world revolved
around the uses and abuses of my body. I was a slave, my body my world, and I
didn't even own myself. The very form I was confined to, this young slave
princess's beautiful, tiny jewel of a body, was the possession of another.

I felt hungry, and was beginning to tremble. It frightened me. I felt a
little weak, and in need of something, I did not know what.

"Ha! The Council is granting me the lands east of Ermyl, 20,000 gerds, and
all of the slavegirls owned by nobility therein. That's 300! Well, I hardly
need so many. Put a phrase in here reducing the debt of the noblemen to one
slave each, the most highly valued slave. Exclude wives. If they have a
sister, however, who partakes of the slaves' drug, she must be sent to me.
They are to be delivered to my castle by spring. I'll keep, oh, maybe ten,
and with the rest buy the loyalty of the barbarians to the north.

"Counter with this and a request of 30,000 gerds. There, that's done. Genaro,
get a valet to take this little plaything away. I understand the King has
need of her in the afternoon. Wouldn't want to upset the King, you know."

A moment later a valet approached. "Kneel at attention, slave," he commanded;
I quickly rose to my knees, careful to spread them wide. "Bend forward and
give me your wrists." I obeyed, pressed my face to the flagstone. I was
acutely aware of the way this position exposed my newly shaved, smooth cunt.
He removed the strap and replaced it with the leather cuffs, which he
attached to each other. He pulled me upright and buckled my collar around my
neck.

"Stand, slave." I rose gingerly to my feet. He unbraided my hair, removed the
leash. He turned me around to face him and attached a leather leash to my
collar. His hands, I noticed, were rather smooth, well manicured, and smelled
of soap.

He turned on his heel and began to march toward a large arched hallway. He
jerked the leash, hard, and I was dragged behind him, forced to match his
rapid pace with my shorter step, almost a jog for me. He ignored my
discomfort, and the hall echoed with the sharp thuds of his boots and the
softer, much quicker padding of my bare feet.

I had, for a short while, begun to think that I could serve as a slave with
some dignity, some gracefulness at least, but, in forcing me to run behind
him, the valet renewed my profound embarrassment: my breasts, already so
unfamiliar, bounced and jiggled ridiculously on my slender frame, my hair
fell around my face in absurd ringlets. I squeaked little yelps of
discomfort, or astonishment, or some mixture of both, and I was ashamed to
have done it. A young boy, maybe sixteen, laughed at me as I was marched past
him, and made a comment about plowing my shorn furrow later. He probably had
as much right to fuck me as the King, I realized; I was part of the common
harem, available to all who needed satisfaction. And though he was only
sixteen, he was now biologically my elder; in addition he was a great deal
taller and stronger than me, so diminutive and fragile was my build.

It was hard to concentrate, I was feeling so strongly this need, this hunger.
There was another hall. More slavegirls. We stopped at one man's request, and
he played with my cunt, teasing me. A courtyard. I was lost.

Then I was kneeling in a long line of kneeling, naked slavegirls. There was a
bowl in front of me. It contained some sort of gruel.

Someone gave the signal to eat, and I bent forward and lapped up the gruel,
which tasted sweet, like applesauce. I began to feel clearheaded, and ate
more vigorously, dispatching my meal as fast as I could.

It was a few moments later, as I was bent forward over my bowl, sweet, sticky
bits coating my mouth, as I drifted into a sort of blissful, very compliant
state, that I realized the nature of my hunger was addiction to the slave's
drug. An addiction so compelling that I knew that so long as I remained
Alisha, I would need the drug, and so remain a slave. A knight loomed over
me; I instantly knelt at attention, head lowered. He bade me stand. I found
myself on my feet, legs spread wide, dizzy. I couldn't help noticing the way
the man smelled, musky and deep, and I found myself staring at his crotch.
Good God, I was practically coming, and all he'd done was order me to stand!
He laughed as he guided me by my leash out of the slaves' dining room.

"Young princess, I am Sir Begnir, a knight of the King's Court." he said,
patting me on the head as he pulled me alongside him, "And you are just about
the cutest, horniest little piece of royal meat to come through here in a
long, long time. You're a natural. Just the King's type." I winced as he
pulled the leash closer to him, and wrapped his well-muscled arm around my
shoulder. "Which is why we're going to my chamber first - what's good enough
for the King is good enough for me - and besides, a little warm-up for this
evening is in order." Suddenly he steered me down into the outer courtyard.

He dragged me behind him, past the smithy and the stables, to the Inn. He led
me through the tavern, where early evening drinking had already begun, and up
the stairs to the guest rooms.

I recognized the knights' room. It had been mine the night before. This was
the room in which I had been channeled, forced into this collared, cuffed and
leashed little redhead's body. By Tyron Beale. By Lord Baird. By my own
weakness, my own desire.

Soon enough I found myself in the same predicament young Alisha/Beale had
found herself in with me: As I worked my mouth inexpertly over the valet's
thick cock, he traced with his finger the tattoo on my left breast which
marked me as a fresh slave.

I spent some time with my collar attached to a ring set in the corner or the
room at kneeling height, while Sir Begnir left to attend to other duties. I
was, of course, a model of obedience.

Later, when he returned, he threw me on the bed, detached my wrist cuffs and
attached them to the ring set in the headboard. He pulled his now naked,
massive frame over me, put his mouth on my breast, bit hard. I moaned, and
clenched shut my eyes. His cock rammed into me moments later.

This time I found myself again looking into the eyes of a man as he hovered
over me, in the last throes of his orgasm. He reached up with his left hand
and forced my mouth open with his fingers. I stared up at him, wide eyed.

"When I spit, little one, you will come," he whispered, his semen still
seeping into me. "One, two....three," and he spit into my open mouth and
laughed gently. I came instantly, screaming open-mouthed, his spit curling
back to the base of my throat. I remembered, half blind with tears, that at
this point Alisha/Beale had been freed; I harbored no hope of escaping from
this delicious but terrible torment. I shuddered and bucked under the valet's
weight, unable to close my mouth because of his intruding fingers. He sank
his teeth into my breast, and bit again as I helplessly rode the throes of my
long-awaited orgasm.

As he was buckling up his breeches, humming to himself, I lay panting on the
bed, my flesh hot and sweaty, utterly limp. I knew that in a moment I would
be brought to attention again, but for now I savored the rest, the aftermath
of the intense pleasure I'd felt with the knight's cock in me. I watched him
as he buckled his mail over his broad chest. I felt deep gratitude to him for
letting me come.

That was my little epiphany: I was grateful to my Master, in spite of, or
perhaps because of, my mistreatment. And oddly I felt the first twinges of
loyalty to this household, and its King, and began to feel that Acteonese men
were some special, Godlike breed.

Chapter V The King's chambermaid

It was late afternoon when I was delivered to the King's quarters, which
overlooked the ocean. The valet led me onto the cobblestone patio and wrapped
my leash around a wooden hitching post, like a horse. He pushed me to my
knees.

Over the stone rail of the patio I could see the bright ocean, which crashed
against the cliffs on which the castle foundations were laid. A three-masted
ship was coming into harbor, with the dark blue standard of Lord Baird's
emblems flying.

My wrists were free, but I had been instructed to keep my arms folded behind
me, so that my hands touched my elbows, and I kept them there, as commanded.
The washerwoman, Madame Marion, had washed me again, and attended to my
toilet (an embarrassing affair for me), and I could smell the perfume which
had been daubed on my neck and breasts.

I heard footsteps behind me, and stiffened slightly.

"We, on this planet, are not so ignorant as you might assume, young Alisha."
I recognized the King's voice. His hand touched my shoulder. "I know who you
were, slave, and I know what Lord Baird did to you. I don't know what name
you have for him, but I have an understanding of what he wants here, and
intend to stop him. You can rest easy on that score.

"It is a secret known only to a few that we have been visited by humans from
another world. We keep it a secret because the truth would be...troublesome,
to say the least, to the common folk." He knelt beside the hitching post, to
my right, and looked down at me.

"But...but if you know, then you must help me, please," I whispered. "I was
not meant to be...this," I finished, lowering my head, blushing, and not
knowing what else to say.

"No. No, actually, I don't feel any obligation to help you. By all reports
you are shaping up to be a fine slavegirl, and slavegirl is what you are now,
from this world or not. Your comrades found your body by the ocean at dawn."
I started at that. "They will attempt to remove Lord Baird from this world
again, I'm sure, but in their eyes you are dead. So you are stuck in this
young princesses' body, and this body happens to be my property. You belong
to me, and will obey me.

"You are distressed. The news of your own death shocks you? It matters not.
You know as well as I that you would never have escaped this fate anyway." He
stood up again. He removed my leash, and bade me stand. I rose to my feet,
head hung low. "Come. You will massage and tend to me as I meet with my
staff." He turned on his heel and walked back inside his chambers. I
hesitated, then followed, my arms still crossed behind me.

I couldn't help but notice how tall and muscular he was, and how handsome, as
I fell in step behind him obediently. I began to think about my fantasies of
my capture and subjugation, and how closely my life had come to paralleling
them. Here I was, a beautiful young slavegirl, servant to a King! I began to
think of my body as it used to be; my more heavily muscled frame, my
strength, my cock. I suddenly felt keenly the absence of my member, once so
integral a part of me, a friend which I'd been quite happy with, and which
had served me well in my sexual life.

I'd spent my entire life as a man, after all, and, barring what my fantasies
may have entailed, I would have been content to live as a man. Now my body
was, well...more passive. I had no cock with which to conquer another.
Instead I had these folds of skin, soft and malleable, with a hard nub I'd
felt but never touched with my own hands, and a soft mouth at the center of
it all, inviting and open, though still somewhat virgin. And hips, and the
bone structure that comes with them. And breasts, these strange, soft things
on my chest, that men seemed fascinated with, and were supersensitized, it
seemed, to the slightest touch or abuse, and which I found bewildering and
comforting at the same time, now an integral part of me. And these brown, now
stiffly wrinkled and erect nipples jutting from their translucent warm
cocoa-colored aereolae, such an odd color for me, since my skin was so pale
and pink, so thin I could see my bluish veins running through my breasts,
just under the surface. I remembered young Alisha's body as I had used it,
and recalled that her cleft had been darker as well, earthy but delicate. Now
my sex was clean-shaven, and so I was sure my brown cleft was even more
evident.

And to the King my discomfort and unfamiliarity with my own body must seem a
welcome novelty, I thought. He took off his robe, it was hot still anyway,
and sat on a backless chair. He bade me kneel at his feet, and planted one
bare foot squarely between my breasts for me to massage. I took his calf in
my hands, and began to knead it. He is surrounded by willing slavegirls, and
I am the only one who has known the pleasure of being a man. Or is it that
taking me as a slave is like conquering a warrior in battle? I imagined, as I
massaged his thick muscles, that, if technology like the exchanger were
widely available on Acteon, all wars would end with the conquered as
slavegirls, in chains. That war, like sex, is a form of exerting one's will
over another.

He wore breeches of golden weave, intertwined with red rubies and crimson
thread. The calves were wide, and as I began to knead his upper leg, I saw
that they were thick as my head. There was a scar along the back of one. The
leg was hairy, although, sneaking a peek up, I saw that his torso was
hairless.

I heard a voice announce the arrival of his advisors. They walked in, and
stood behind me.

"My Lord," each said, in deference.

"Welcome. What news? Asger, you first." The King gave me his other leg.

"Your Highness, reports from our fleet indicate that Lord Baird is making his
presence known around the Tirnese Archipelago. There are approximately three
thousand warriors ready to land, mostly footmen, but they estimate two or
three dozen of those cannon as well. The Tirnese have not built
fortifications to withstand these new weapons, though they are laboring
mightily, and have taken your advice about the trenches and fort design,
especially with bastions. It is difficult because each island must be
fortified individually, and each cannot support the other; their fleet is no
match for his. They ask for your advice. I am leaving tomorrow. If Your
Highness were to offer considered words for me to bring back, in the way of
committed support or otherwise, I would be most grateful."

"I will think on it. The Tirnese are important to me, make no mistake. But I
will give you word tomorrow morning.

"Fornith, what say you?" the King enquiried. I couldn't look up at at the
advisors, slavegirl that I was, but I listened closely.

"All goes well in the central provinces. The only setback is in the making of
steel. The smithies are having a hard time keeping up with the demand, and
the coke operations are minimal at best. Our best engineers are working on
the steam engine, but they are philosophically opposed. You know, My Lord,
that the code has forbidden mass production, and though through the Watchers
we have gained insight as to its benefits there is still much prejudice to
overcome.

"We have produced thirty cannon, and eight hundred balls for the defense of
New Hope. They are in place as we speak."

"Thank you, Fornith. Aeowulf?"

"Your Highness, New Nippon and York are behind us, reluctantly. They fear
Baird's new weapons, and got a taste of their flying machines last year. New
Boston is siding with Baird, out of fear or opportunism I cannot say yet, but
I think we can count them as foes. They are nearer to his territory, so feel
his pressure more. My advice would be to conquer New Boston before it is
reinforced."

"Merlin?"

"Lord Baird is here, now, under the pretence of peace talks. I would advise
killing him now, even as he is using your delectable slaves and drinking your
wine. He is well defended with those uncanny fireshooters, as he calls them,
although amongst themselves his guard calls them 'lasers', but he thinks
himself invincible, which is his weakness. They number twelve, but they are
human.

"And there is another way, as well. He still has the body-changer, which he
used to entrap this young slave." I reddened. I hadn't known my fate was so
well known. "If this were to be spirited away, it could be used to similarly
entrap him. I already have a slave in mind, an olive skinned beauty with a
very accommodating mouth. And I'm sure young Alisha will provide instructions
as to its use..."

"Thank you. Thank you, all. We will meet in tomorrow morn. You are
dismissed." The advisors filed out. The door shut.

"You see, young slave? You are too valuable to allow you to regain manhood. I
will use your body, and later, your mind.

"But for now, I will use your body." He pulled me up and forced me to
straddle his lap. My groin pressed against the bulge in his breeches. "Cross
your arms behind you, little one." I complied, and suddenly his mouth was on
mine, his tongue in my mouth, probing. I returned the kiss clumsily. I hadn't
been kissed by a man before, and was unused to the forcefulness, the
authority of his mouth. His left hand was at the back of my head, guiding me,
the other held my ass. My breasts were crushed against his pectoral muscles,
my legs were splayed wide, and convulsed involuntarily.

He broke off the kiss; he pushed me off his lap and stood. He towered over
me. "Lord Baird is not the only one who knows of your 'fantasies', little
one. The watchers are in my employ as well. And you had better serve me as
well as the Watchers say you served my simulacrum. On the bed, on all fours,
ass in the air, slut." He slapped my ass, prodding me toward the oak posted
bed. I hurried to it, climbed on, and assumed the position he desired. "Grasp
your ankles, slave; I want to see your face buried in the sheets." I obeyed.
The sheets were smooth red silk, soft and sensuous. I didn't want to think
about the spectacle I presented to him, my cunt so openly exposed. He was on
me then, and it took only a moment for his cock to bury itself inside me. I
gasped as he pushed my face into the silk. I could smell the odor of sex in
the fabric; doubtless I was not his first diversion of the day. I felt so
tight, and it hurt a little, his spreading me so. I could feel him deep
inside me, pushing my insides apart. I grasped my ankles as tightly as I
could, to keep from sliding onto my stomach. He fucked me slowly, and I
realized he was going to be thorough.

I remembered the holosuite program. It had been on my mind since the King
placed his foot between my bare breasts; from that moment until now he had
mimicked the plot of the program. And the program touched all my hotspots:
being forced to perform menial, but very intimate tasks, humiliation before
my peers (though my crewmates were the company in the program), a good,
thorough, rough fucking. And then I remembered what happened next, the stage
at which I always halted the program because I didn't have the courage to see
it through.

Suddenly I panicked; I brought my arms up and tried to crawl forward on the
bed, I wasn't sure where. The King swiftly and deftly grabbed my wrists and
pulled them behind me. He yanked me back to the position he wanted me in, my
ass in the air, easy to fuck. He took the sash from his robe and bound my
wrists with it.

"Did you remember something, little Alisha?" my Master whispered, chuckling
as he resumed leisurely ramming what I was sure was an absolutely huge cock
into me. "This isn't a theatrical presentation any longer, slave. You must
play your part through to the end. And after, for that matter. There is no
epilogue to your story now, and no intermission. I found the transcription of
your fantasies so compelling that it pleases me to follow them through to
their logical conclusion. A room has been prepared for your punishment. I
assure you it will be very painful." Oh God, I thought, and I felt the panic
feed my arousal almost immediately, partly because I knew that, in my heart
of hearts, what was about to happen would push me over the edge in so many
ways, would make me truly a slavegirl in a way that the holosuite program
could never have done simply because I still had power to stop it; partly
also because the drug still coursed through me, intensifying my already
deeply submissive inclinations.

And so a thirty seven year old man became even more, in heart and in mind, a
submissive fourteen year-old princess. Slave Alisha. Dear Jesus. I felt my
cunt begin to convulse around my Lord's thick cock as I rose slowly and
inexorably into an orgasm so tremendous that I felt faint. My eyes greyed
over. He twisted my breast meat in his hand. I hardly felt it, but screamed
anyway.

Chapter VI The Punishment and an enslaved Queen

I came to on a soft fur rug. A valet was fitting a sort of bridle over my
head. He slipped a cock-shaped gag into my mouth and fastened it there so
that I couldn't dislodge it. I felt it take up the whole interior of my
mouth. My breasts felt sore, compressed; I realized with chagrin that, in
keeping with my fantasy, he'd clamped them between two horizontal bars, which
were brought together with bolts and butterfly nuts. And I felt filled below,
too. A harness kept a large plug in my anus. My pussy was left free. I knew
why.

My wrists were cuffed to the harness at the back of my waist, so the valet
had to help me to my feet. He led me out of the King's chamber and to a small
alcove at the end of the hall, dimly lit but exposed to the rest of the hall.
There was a thick stone phallus, about sixteen inches long, on a stone
pedestal. He lifted me up, positioned me, and lowered me onto the spike.

My own weight drove the shaft into me. I moaned in anguish. He wasted no
time, but hobbled my ankles, fastening them to a ring set in the back of the
narrow column, which effectively denied me use of them, and brought my whole
weight down on the phallus. There was a wide flare at the end of it which
kept me from sliding further, but it was clear I would be impaled on this
horrid thing until someone chose to free me. The perfect Acteonese slavegirl,
with all orifices filled.

There was another pedestal, with an identical phallus, which I was unsure
about, until the King arrived with another slavegirl in tow. Her restraints
were identical to mine, and he positioned her on the shaft in the same way,
so that she faced me. Her knees, in fact, just grazed mine, and her pained
face was only a foot away. The King rectified this. "By all rights you should
both be fully plugged; but I think we will make do with the two of you being
forced to kiss." He removed my gag and the other woman's (for she was perhaps
twenty five). He strapped our head harnesses together in such a way that I
couldn't turn my head from her, nor hers from mine. We were both forced to
lean slightly forward, lips inches from each other. She was distraught.

"Alisha, meet my Queen, slave Elene. Elene and I married six months ago; she
was free then. She chose two nights ago to eat of the slave's drug, however,
perhaps because she was jealous. Now, of course, she is my slave, as well as
my Queen, although she no longer is allowed her Royal garb or privileges.
Though, of course, she is quite submissive now, she is having a hard time
getting used to her new duties. I thought the two of you would serve your
punishment well together. Malcolm here will watch you to make sure you kiss
passionately and continuously until the sun sets, which is in about an hour.
If you stop he will whip you. He will whip you anyway, at sunset, and quite
brutally, but you would do well to avoid his lash until then.

"Elene, tonight you will sleep in the common slave's quarters. Alisha, you
will sleep in my chamber tonight, though not on the bed. That is the only
privilege left to my dear fallen Queen Elene. Malcolm, take care to keep them
in line. They are unruly and disobedient little slaves." With that he turned
on his heel and walked away, leaving the young Queen and I staring at each
other. She was very beautiful, a brunette with long straight hair, and
because she was quite tall, she was forced to bend down further to meet my
gaze.

Our mutual fear of the whip brought our lips together almost instantly. She
tasted of come; I suspected she'd been used by someone recently, but her lips
were willing. I had to admit that, though a girl myself now, I found her
closeness, her forced intimacy, and her vulnerable shuddering arousing. Her
lips melted under mine, as Alisha's had, and the dozens of other girls I had
used in my weeks as a man on Acteon; it was an almost involuntary reaction in
a slavegirl. But mine parted willingly, eagerly as well, and I let her tongue
dart over mine as our soft mouths caressed each other. Her hair smelled of
incense, and her breasts grazed against mine, their stiff points tickling my
own sensitive flesh.

The head harnesses did not allow us much mobility, and our noses pressed
against each other as we tried to overcome our mutual restraints to lock our
mouths together. She tasted sweet, even with the leftover jism, and she was
trembling out of fear.

I wondered at our mutual predicament: I, once a man, was condemned to this
slavegirl's slim body and its duty by another's machinations. She had been
born female, and had lived all her life on a world where free women, though
accorded the respect and privileges of society, were not the focus of the
male gaze in the same way that women on earth were, and in a way were
secondary to their enslaved counterparts. On Acteon mothers often encouraged
their daughters, once they turned fifteen, to take the drug and so be
desirable to a man. True, there were the Amazons to the South, a culture of
free women to which females of Acteon who could find no rightful place would
flock. But this slavegirl, this Queen, had waited until she was twenty-five,
and already married, before she finally succumbed. Her king must have made it
clear that he found slavegirls like me much more palatable in bed.

Forced to kiss, we found ourselves hungry for each other's taste. Her lips
were full and soft, and her breath was rapid. I loved the way her eyes
clenched shut as my tongue probed her mouth, and felt for an instant a man's
pleasure at seeing a girl succumb to his advances. But as I leaned forward
against her the thick stone phallus shifted inside me painfully, and my legs
involuntarily jerked against their restraints as I tried to right myself. The
valet pushed me back, and my face flushed as he pushed our faces together
again. I could see in her eyes that she saw what I had felt then: a momentary
sense of freedom, tightly encapsulated, held in check by my circumstances.
She kissed me more tenderly then, compassionately, and I realized that I
couldn't look at her the same way again. I couldn't view her in the
possessive way a man does, because I was physically incapable of possessing
her. She was still beautiful, and her skin aromatic and soft, and I still
desired her, but the desire was now a more diffuse, elusive thing, perhaps
even more powerful than before but hard to focus.

By sunset I felt worked up into a lather, hot, sweaty, and distracted. My
companion was panting, her cheek resting against mine.

The harness came off first. Then the valet began to remove slave Elene's
restraints, starting with her ankles. He lifted her off the phallus and stood
her on her feet. She was shaky and weak. He detached her wrists and
reattached them in front.

She stared down at his hands as they worked, breasts rising and falling.
Though she was tall, the valet towered over her, and she looked terribly
frail in his shadow, naked, pink and helpless. He dragged her by her cuffed
wrists to a ring set high in the wall. He raised her arms over her head and
fastened her cuffs to the ring with a steel lock. He kicked her legs apart
and pushed her face into the stone wall.

"Don't move, slave," he commanded. Then he turned to me.

In a few moments I, too was splayed out against the wall. My cunt felt loose,
distended from its abuse. I looked down at the morning's whipmarks on my
breasts, still tender, and knew my ass still bore the same marks. I was
exhausted. I'd already been whipped once today, and three men had used me.
I'd been shaved. My hair had been fashioned into a leash. A sixteen year-old
whelp of a boy, even, had proven himself my superior, in the hallway. I was
tired, and scared.

He used a bullwhip. The force that a man can put behind a bullwhip is
tremendous, I discovered.


He didn't draw blood. But I was led, later, after a meal in the slave's
dining quarters, to the baths again, and my groom, a new man named Johan,
allowed me to twist around to look at the deep purple welts the whip had
raised on my buttocks and the backs of my thighs.

After I was cleaned and perfumed again I was sent to the King's Chamber once
more. My keeper and I passed Elena in the hall. She was on her hands and
knees, scrubbing the flagstones with a sponge and a steel pan filled with
suds. A valet was whipping her lightly. I could hear her sobbing as I was led
past, my head lowered.

Part Two

Chapter VII

The King held audience from his bath. He stood in the center of the spring
fed, steaming pool, lined with stone, while his visitors stood to one side,
facing the window. The water came up to his waist. I, on the other hand,
knelt in the bath up to my shoulders, directly beside him, holding a golden
chalice of red wine above the churning water. My wrists were shackled to my
collar, which forced me to hold the chalice directly in front of me, the rim
just at eye level. Another slavegirl, whom I recognized as the girl whose
pallet had been next to mine this morning, stood behind the King, her slim
legs spread wide, her hands moving slowly across the King's broad, muscled
back. She was swaddled in leather restraints. She was quite short, and her
nose was level with the middle of the King's back. Her jet black hair was
rolled into a bun, and though clearly her tribe was originally of pan-Asian
stock, with some French thrown in (almost certainly she was born in New
Tokyo), her build was almost identical to mine: we were exactly the same
height and weight, with narrow, sloping shoulders, wide hips, narrow waisted,
heavy breasted, with large, sensuous lips. It was clear to me by now that
this was the King's favored shape in a slavegirl. Sirini massaged his royal
person, reaching up to knead his shoulders with her tiny fingers. She
alternated this therapeutic touch with sponging and hot krissi - a musky
smelling nut-based oil reserved for men. Free women used slith, which was an
oil made from fruit; slavegirls used esclava, a pungent perfume which was
extracted from pressed flowers and designed to spread rapidly and last for
days, so that the slavegirl, if she ran, would be given away by her odor.
Both Sirini and I smelled sweetly of esclava.

I was relieved, at least, that my body, now marked on breasts, buttocks and
thighs with the bluish-black welts of a thorough whipping, was concealed by
the soothing, swirling spring water. But strangely I found I was jealous of
my fellow slave, Sirini, though her mouth was gagged, though her cunt and
anus were filled with polished stone phalli, strapped in with a harness,
though her cuntlips were weighted with clamps and she was blindfolded, and
had to perform her work unseeing, I was now beginning to understand that this
kind of punishment was a form of attention, of favoritism, and I was jealous
of the attention that she received, and of the privilege she enjoyed, of
touching the King's flesh.

The King's advisors each spoke in turn. It is the King's privilege to receive
his advisors at all hours of the night, in any manner, when they are called
by him; so the advisors come to him in his bedchamber, or while he takes his
bath, or while whipping a girl.

It is customary to ignore any slaves if they are present, for slavegirls are
more or less incapable of betraying their masters of their own volition,
while they are in their owners' custody. If it is decided that a slavegirl is
to be sold, the girl is brought to her owner's magician, who, through a
combination of drugs and hypnosis, selectively edits the girl's memory. She
leaves the household in a state that makes her completely incapable of
providing any useful information to a potential enemy.

And so though all in the room knew of my original status as an Interceder,
who could potentially make much more of the information they imparted than an
ordinary slavegirl, if he ever escaped his feminine prison, they nevertheless
spoke candidly, as if I were no more a piece of furniture, a little
receptacle into which the King had placed his wine goblet. I understood the
mentality, and as a man had found myself adopting Acteonese male behavior and
custom quite naturally. Slavegirls were to be used and ignored, no matter how
clever or stupid. One looked for intelligence in a slave, because an
intelligent girl understands more fully her helplessness, and responds to it
more acutely, abandons herself to it despairingly. But beyond that her
intelligence was irrelevant to her function, and wasn't really even thought
about by Acteonese men.

In my few weeks on Acteon as a man, in my Knight's guise, I had found that
slavegirls were by and large as intelligent as their male counterparts, and
had at first wondered how they had gotten themselves into the situation they
were currently in. But after a few days I simply fucked them, as any
Acteonese Knight would.

"How did he escape?" the King demanded.

Asger spoke. "We had put guards at every escape route, and had assuredly had
him trapped, your Highness. Indeed, when we had subdued his guard we had run
his body through, even as he slept, we had naturally assumed that we had
killed him. This was the good news that I was to bring to you tonight.

"Alas, I cannot bring you the good news I had hoped to.

"There was a slavegirl in the room, the little blonde Bostonian, Helen,
chained to the headboard of the bed. I didn't think much of it, and I had her
returned to the harem. I only realized my mistake later, when Begnir didn't
show up for his night watch. My suspicions aroused, I checked with the harem
valets. He had taken Helen to his bedchamber.

"We found the girl in Begnir's bedchamber, hanging by her wrists, in the
spread wings position. She was sobbing, and claimed to be Begnir. I assured
her that I didn't believe her. I had her whipped and returned to the harem;
the valets are under instructions to disabuse her of the notion that anyone
will believe her. It seemed the best thing to do. That was four hours ago;
she has ceased her protestations, so I think she will adjust rapidly.

"But it's clear that Lord Baird escaped in Begnir's body. How he will
convince his people that he is their leader, we don't know. Perhaps that will
prove impossible, so maybe we have succeeded in stopping him temporarily. The
fact remains that he has escaped."

Fornith next spoke. "We have sent out search parties to the neighboring
towns, and have hope that we will at least pick up his trail - he has had
several hours to make his escape."

"Very well," said the King. "We will next assemble a host near New Boston. I
intend to quell that threat, no matter what body our enemy inhabits. You are
all dismissed."

The advisors took their leave.

"Adam. Take Sirini to the harem. She bores me." He thought for a moment, as
Adam dragged the blindfolded girl out of the bath. He laughed quietly. "Bring
the slavegirl Helen to my bedchamber. She will serve me alongside young
Alisha here.

"Yes. That will prove entertaining." He took the goblet from my bound hands,
drank deeply, and put it aside. "All right, little bitch, get thee to the
bedchamber. When I come, I want you bent over on your knees, in the center of
my bed."

I obeyed, and stepped out of the bath. I made my down the hall, dripping wet,
and ducked through the servant's archway into my Master's bedchamber. I
climbed onto the bed and fell forward, unable to brace my fall into the
mattress with my hands, which were still chained to my collar. I spread my
knees wide, my face and breasts pressed into the red silk. The King's valet,
Adam, spent some time arranging my hair around my head. He also inserted a
red wax-stemmed rose into my anus - a sign that I had already been broken in.
Once he was satisfied, he left. And so I waited.


I waited for a very long time - it was impossible for me to tell time even by
the moon's position, since I must keep my head buried in the silk bedspread.
The King may have had other matters to attend to; no one bothered to inform
me. Adam brought in Helen after about a half hour and pushed her down beside
me on the bed, bound identically. She gave no protest; I could only assume
that the effect of the slave's drug had overwhelmed her, as it had me. I
could hear the young girl sobbing softly, whispering to herself piteous cries
of denial: "this cannot be happening to me, I am NOT a slave. I am a MAN!"
She was quickly reduced to dejected, piteous cries as Adam brought ten quick
strokes of his crop down on her exposed buttocks. She didn't speak after
that, and I knew how she felt - stripped of her manhood, and not even having
her former status acknowledged by her former colleagues - it was almost
unfathomable. And yet I knew she must understand that it was impossible for
her former colleagues to treat her any differently, that the only honorable
way for them to deal with her misfortune was to behave as if the man who had
been wronged no longer existed.

I lay beside the young girl in silence, knowing that only a few hours
earlier, she had been a young Knight by the name of Sir Begnir, and had
deigned to allow me to come in his inn chamber. I snuck a peek at the young
girl, knowing I might be whipped if Adam noticed. Now the little slave knelt
forward, her face buried in the silken sheets, her wrists bound to her collar
like mine, her life as suddenly abject and helpless as mine. Her long blonde
hair had been carefully arranged by Adam around her head, and I saw that her
breasts, pressed against her elbows, had been rouged. Apparently Adam had
decided that Helen's sudden transformation constituted a sort of pristine
virginity, for he had inserted a white stemmed rose, the stem waxed to blunt
it, into her anus. It was the common symbol for virginity; when slaves are
bent over on the trading block, intact girls are marked so with the white
rose, while those who have been taken but once are marked with a pink rose.

The little slave's chest rose and fell rapidly as her tiny ribcage was racked
with sobbing. No one comforted her. I found it remarkable that the men of
Acteon could so thoroughly become engrossed in the aesthetic positioning of a
slavegirl, her posture, her decoration, and completely ignore her cries of
misery. Adam had carefully brushed Helen's hair out and spread the glossy
mane about her head as she dampened the bedsheets with her tears. He
scattered black rose petals over the bed and our bent bodies, over the
carpeted floor, and out the door, which he shut behind him.

Helen swore softly, lifted her head and looked about her. Reassured that no
valets were present, she looked over at me. She sat up, back on her haunches,
her hands still pressed against her sternum, chained to her collar.

"I don't know how you can stand it," she whispered. "This damned slave drug
has nearly unmanned me, or what's left of me. I know twenty ways to
incapacitate that insufferable dandy Adam, but couldn't bring myself to lift
a finger. I'll admit the valets have admirable skill with the slaves, but
I've always thought them a unfortunate necessity. That bastard forced his
cock down my throat before bringing me here. The cretin told me I must come
when he unloaded himself in me, and this terrible drug fairly compels me to
obey such mandates." She shuddered.

I still knelt forward obediently, but spoke softly, "You did the same to me,
Helen."

She winced at my use of her name, and glared at me. "Though I may answer to
that name, under threat of punishment, yet I am still Begnir. You, my little
one, are not a man, and never have been. You forget I know as much about you
as our King. Your conduct while inhabiting a man's body was hardly honorable;
to secretly wish to be divested of your manhood is to forfeit all claim to
the rights of men. You are in your rightful place, slave Alisha. Were I not
so unmanned I would show you your duty. You will address me as Sir, slave.

"I am a warrior, slave, no matter how I may appear, and no matter how I may
cry and bleat as any slavegirl. Those are only the forcible effects of being
drugged, and being feminized. This was not to be my fate, and I will not
succumb to it. I will escape, and you will help me." There was a fresh tear
tracing a wet trail over her cheek. She was a tall, willowy girl, with a
boyish face and small breasts, and her smooth, high and melodic soprano voice
belied her defiant words.

"I intend to track down Lord Baird and regain my body. I will imprison him in
this form, and keep him as a latrine slave. I am confident that I can find
him. But I need your help to operate the changing device. You will help me,
slave." She gazed down at me, awaiting an answer.

"I...I meant no offense...Sir." It felt odd to use such an honorific for such
a fetching young blonde, but her imperious manner, however incongruous,
seemed to be affecting me; I felt wet. "But if you want me to help you, you
have to help me too. I want to get back to my ship. Once back among my people
I can regain my former sex. I know you find it hard to believe, but I do want
my manhood back, and since my former body is dead, I will need to return to
my civilization to effect the change."

Helen stared at me. "You ask much, slave." She lowered her eyes. "And yet I'm
in no position to dictate the terms of our agreement. I promise to help you
back to your natural state at the end of this.

"I have a plan. Much as though I dread the prospect, we will have to wait
until after the King has used us, and gone to his midnight audience - they're
still planning the assault on New Boston.

"There's a secret passage in the lower dungeon that leads to the woods north
of the castle. I know where master keys to the slave bracelets are kept. I
will steal clothing from the washer rooms. I can pass for a boy - we'll have
to bind my breasts close to my chest, but I'm sure I can pass - oh, yes, and
crop this damned hair," she muttered, exasperated with hair that she was
incapable or brushing back. "I will claim to be Sir Begnir's squire, sent to
fetch him.

"You, however - well, there's no way to conceal your shape, you're too
obviously a Bendari female. You must remain a slave." I knew she spoke the
truth - only a blind man would mistake me for anything other than a
slavegirl.

"There are caves in the hills that the woodland to the north runs up to. We
will spend three days there, purging ourselves of our addiction to the
slave's bane. I can't be encumbered by it, and your natural...inclinations
will mask the fact that you're no longer under the influence. I must warn you
that this will be painful. But it will pass.

"Then, my little one," Helen smiled as she whispered, "we begin the hunt!"