Chapter XIII Emancipation Denied

In the afternoon we set out: Lord Begnir and his bodyguard (still under the
impression that Begnir was Lord Baird) riding in column in front, while the
slavegirls brought up the rear in three slave cages.

I thought of my rapidly approaching emancipation with some ambivalence. I
had, in all honesty, grown used to my role here on Acteon, had recognized my
accidental feminization and enslavement as the inadvertent fulfillment of a
fantasy so complete that I couldn't have orchestrated it myself. Here I was,
a pleasure slave of Acteon, beautiful, diminutive, powerless, thoroughly in
the control of another - it was what I had always fantasized. And yet I had a
duty, a responsibility to my people, that I could not in good conscience cast
aside.

I knew that I must once more become a man, and take my place among the
Interceders of the Confederation.

The journey to the secret location where I had stashed my craft took three
days. At sunset the entourage set up camp. Or, more accurately, the men
ordered the slavegirls to set up camp, and drank wine while I and the other
girls pitched tents, prepared the meal and fed the pack animals.

Lord Begnir had said that he would treat me no differently than the other
girls, lest suspicion be aroused, and, to my delight, he proved true to his
word. I was beginning to worry that I would return to the world of men
without once more experiencing the pleasure of, well, of being roughly fucked
by a powerful man.


I began to remember, by the third day, as I yet again was forced to polish my
Master's saddle, that being a man had its pleasures too. There was always the
holosuite.

At sunset we reached the clearing where the craft lay hidden. Lord Begnir
ordered camp to be made, and led me into the underbrush by my leash.

To our surprise, there were two men standing in front of the ship. I
recognized them as Watchers.

The taller man spoke a few words, and Lord Begnir halted. I looked up at him
and realized he had been hypnotized - a skill Watchers cultivate.

"Greetings, slave Alisha. Or would you prefer Mr. Joo?" said the smaller
Watcher, smiling. He was in his fifties, and though bald, was quite handsome.

"I am, in some measure, both," I admitted. I felt vulnerable, since my wrists
were still bound behind me, and Lord Begnir, though mesmerized, held my leash
tightly. "Are you here to bring me back?" I asked.

"We have watched with great interest your trials and tribulations, slave
Alisha. It has been the subject of much discussion and debate. It was first
decided that some attempt must be made to rescue you, but when it proved
clear that you were adapting so easily to your enforced slavery, we
reconvened and changed our determination. We decided we couldn't throw away a
rare opportunity to have a Watcher among the slaves.

"We are here to notify you that you have been transferred. You are now in the
Watcher division." The taller Watcher injected me with a hypo. "Nanobots will
set up a transmitter in your brain, and will monitor everything you hear and
see."

"As you know, a Watcher holds his or her position for life. You will carry on
as Lord Begnir's property, until such time as he chooses to sell you.

"Lord Baird has been liquidated. The crisis is over. There is no more reason
for anyone to know who you once were, so we have taken measures to ensure
that no one recalls what has transpired. Lord Begnir no longer remembers his
brief sojourn as a slavegirl, and believes you simply to be a slave he
purchased a few days ago.

"Analysis of your files reassure us that you will prove most appropriate for
your assignment. You have to understand that we have never been able to
obtain volunteers to put themselves in your position.

"All information sensitive to our mission has been erased from your memory,
especially passcodes, names, and locations. You will find you know nothing
useful to divulge to natives of the planet."

I watched as my craft disappeared, the shielding warping it out of this
dimension. The Watchers calmly walked away down a wooded path.


Lord Begnir came to with a start.

"Where was I?" he asked himself. "Oh yes. Drape yourself over that log,
slave. I intend to use your ass."

Chapter XIV A Family Reunion


That was five years ago. I am now nineteen, and so am legally allowed some
freedoms, although Lord Begnir still takes pleasure in using me, aged though
I am. For the first time in five long years, I can transcribe the unusual
circumstances which led to my transformation from Interceder to Acteonese
slavegirl. In the many seasons between the events which placed me in this
body and my putting pen to paper, the Watchers have never contacted me,
although every whipping, every misuse of me has, I am sure, been completely
documented. I am a Watcher as well as a slavegirl, but being a Watcher by
definition means to immerse oneself so thoroughly in the culture under
observation as to almost forget one has any other identity. In this sense I
have been quite successful.

I started writing this account three months ago, after my Master permitted me
use of the library for one hour a day, between washing duty and dinner
service. I have left it untouched for the past few weeks because I realized
that I had nothing more to say on the matter. I had thought the account was
complete. I love Lord Begnir for reasons even he doesn't know, since he
doesn't remember his brief period of enslavement, his vulnerability, when he
first trained me. He doesn't know that I continue to be amazed and cowed by
his self-assured masculinity and confidence, and his practised and thorough
control of me. Yet I felt there was no reason to write an account of these
past five years. There's nothing to report, really. A slave's daily routine
varies little.

I am taking up this journal again, however, to note a startling and emotional
visit, that for the first time in five years caused me to regret my
enslavement.

The valet had informed me this morning that a nobleman was to dine with the
Master this evening, and that after I finished with my washing duties, I was
to report for a bath, as I would be called to dance after the meal.

Such pronouncements have long become routine to me; Lord Begnir taught me
early on that I was first and foremost an instrument of pleasure, and put me
through a rigorous training regime with a dancing instructor, to train me in
the ways of the Shimi dance, and a Tea Master, to learn the Tea Ceremony. So
I knew what was to be expected. I would dance the Shimi dance, which, at the
end of the drumming, would leave me kneeling, naked, wrists and ankles joined
behind me with self-locking hasps, between the spread thighs of our
illustrious guest. My owner would then offer my body to him.

A tall figure appeared next to me a few moments later. I continued my
washing, heedful of my duty.

"Alisha, look up at me," the stranger commanded. I obeyed, turned to face the
stranger, still holding my master's dyed cape, which I had been scrubbing. I
lifted my eyes to his.

And saw Laurence Joo gazing mildly down at me.

I was speechless, and put down my wet laundry. I didn't know whether to cover
my naked body in my surprise, then remembered that my hands were chained to a
waist-belt, and so I was helpless to hide myself. An ankle bracelet kept me
from approaching him or retreating, so I must stand there, exposed before the
stranger.

He wore traditional Nobleman's garb. Five years had treated him well; even at
forty-two he was handsome. He smiled. It was a wicked, mean smile, and I was
taken aback.

"Kneel before your superior, slave." I immediately obeyed. After five years
of slavery I no longer questioned orders.

"I happen to have some business with your owner, slave, some wool to trade,"
he said after a moment. He lifted my breast in his hand, dropped it.

"Quite fetching. It suits you." He sat down on the bench beside the wooden
washing trough.

"You - you are the true Alisha," I whispered, suddenly realizing who this
was.

"Yes, my little one. Or rather, 'was'." He chuckled as he fingered my cunt,
which, as usual, became awash with dampness at his touch. "You are the true
Alisha now."

"After Lord Baird had stolen my body, he knocked me unconscious and must have
thrown me in the river, assuming he had thus disposed of me. But I awoke to
find myself a man, lying at the riverside some miles away.

"I was overjoyed. You surely must understand now what it means to be a slave,
to be completely controlled by your masters. I could move at will, with no
one to command me to stop! I could wear clothes! And how unusual that was -
even though I had been enslaved only a few weeks by the time my body was
stolen, I had been prepared for my fate since I first flowered by being kept
naked in my father's household. Clothing, to me, even the rough cotton garb I
had awakened in, was something I had been taught to consider myself not
deserving of, something free people were entitled to - something unreachable
and almost godly to me - and now I strode freely about, fully clothed! What
pleasure!

"These were my first joys - motility, freedom to say and do as I pleased. I
entered the nearest village and found that, with the ready cash Lord Baird
had carelessly left on my body, I could rent a room at an inn and begin to
decide what to do with my life.

"After satiating myself on all the pleasures forbidden a slave - wine,
roasted meats, coffee, and yes, even the comfort of a rented slave at my beck
and call, I had some time to reflect on my situation. I decided to discover
what exactly had happened, discreetly, so that I would not be forced to
become a slavegirl again. I learned that Lord Baird had used my body to steal
yours, then switched yours with his, which I had been kept in while
unconscious. I discovered that you were being kept a slave in my stead, and
that no one was concerned with my whereabouts, since it was assumed I was
dead. This suited me.

"It reassured me even more when I discovered how clearly well suited your
temperament was to take my place, and felt secure that our role reversals
would be permanent, since it was unlikely you would try to escape an
enslavement for which your mental weaknesses were an iron trap.

"I worried considerably, then, when I discovered that you had disappeared,
but a few well-placed bribes among the Watchers assured that if you ever
surfaced, you would be put back in your proper place.

"I came to tell you that what happened to us was, in my opinion, just. I no
more deserved the life of a slavegirl than you deserved to be free. I am a
successful businessman now, as I would always have been had I been born male.
I have my own house, and my own slaves. I am happy, as I well deserve to be.

"As, I believe, are you, incredibly. But I am glad for that. It will make
things easier. I need your services, slave, and am going to offer to purchase
you from your Master in order to obtain your compliance. The fact that you've
taken so well to your enslavement pleases me; I imagine you haven't been able
to disobey an order in five years."

"No, Sir, I haven't," I admitted. "May a slave ask a question?" I asked.

"Certainly, girl," he replied.

"Why me, Sir? Why not another slave?" I asked.

"I will explain later, my pretty one. But for now, simply know that one
reason is that you were a victim of Lord Baird.

"You have been isolated here, and your people, until recently did not know
you lived. Lord Baird had bribed the Watchers to conceal your identity and
bury you so far within Acteonese society that you would be impossible to
find. He then killed his collaborators, so that no one would even know what
you looked like, if by some chance they discovered you existed.

"Your people, however, managed to track me down, and hired me to recover you.
They were quite pleased to find me, since few of Lord Baird's victims lived
and still were aware of their abuse. Your master, for instance, remembers
nothing of his misuse. I agreed to help find you on the condition that they
not attempt to force me back into your body.

"You see, Lord Baird lives. Your people are not sure exactly where or who he
is, but they are certain of one thing: he let you live on purpose. They
believe he is using you as a 'fail-safe'. I understand it's a term from your
culture, but I get the gist. He has established some kind of special link to
your body, so that he can transfer himself to it instantaneously, without
devices. In the event he, finally, is captured or killed, he will overwrite
your consciousness and become you. Presumably he has an escape plan going
forward from there.

"It's quite clever. You are an Acteonese slavegirl with an impeccable
pedigree and a history of complete obedience. In addition, any scan would
show no exchange devices. There would be no question of your authenticity.

"Indeed, that's all you really need to know. But I will tell you more later.
After you have danced for me." He chuckled, patted my ass and headed off
toward the castle.

I cried as I scrubbed my Master's bedsheets in hot sudsy water. I didn't know
why I was crying. I only knew that Laurence Joo was going to buy me, and
there was nothing I could do about it. I knew that it is the fate of a
slavegirl to occasionally despair at her helplessness. It passes.

It was only that I had been happy here, serving my Master. I was skilled now,
in my prime. Over the past five years I had lost the babyfat of my early
adolescence and had almost fully grown into the classic Bendari slavegirl's
weak, womanly shape. It had only taken two months before I had finally, fully
broken; at first I submitted with my body and my desire, but my mind seemed
separate from the life I was required to live. My Master, of course, had
sensed this, and for two months he devoted much time to breaking me. What he
did amounted to daily concentrated torture combined with sleep deprivation -
I was only allowed one hour of sleep per day - and the results were most
efficacious.

Even so, fully broken, several years passed before, one day, I caught myself
in the middle of a thought and realized that, for a moment, I had forgotten
that I was ever male. I had been remembering my father, who had sold me when
I was fourteen; I was thinking about how he had had his most highly regarded
slavegirl spend an hour with me every day to show me the rudimentaries of
slave posture, etiquette, and so on. I was in the middle of recalling this
memory when I suddenly became aware that it wasn't mine.

After Alisha's memories began to surface (a well documented long-term effect
of body exchange is that the original inhabitant's memories, and to a lesser
extent personality, become available), it became easier for me. It helped me
to stop thinking of myself as a man in a girl's body. And by now I had even
forgotten what I had looked like as a man, so there was a long moment before
I had, with a dull shock, recognized Laurence.

As I rinsed the linens in warm water, I thought of his cock and tried to
remember what it had been like to be on the giving end of that wholly
foreign, bizarre and fascinating piece of equipment, that part of a man's
body that my Master had spent many long hours training me to pleasure. I was
deeply intimate with the way a cock felt in my hands, in my mouth, or in my
cunt or ass, but I couldn't imagine what I would do if I had one.

I wondered if Laurence planned on using me, or selling me, when whatever he
wanted me for was over and done with. My Master's secondary occupation, his
hobby, was the training of slaves; he was known in the region for the
exceptional results he provided. As his personal slave, and a Bendari with an
impeccable pedigree, exceptionally beautiful, I would command a high price at
market. I knew that my Master would have no problem parting with me, however;
once my Master had fully trained me, I became his favorite for several years.
But now there was a new girl, Shalli, that he seemed to dote over.

Once again my fate was being decided for me by Acteonese men. I momentarily
longed for a civilized, complicated, neurotic Confederation man, one who
would open doors for me, treat me with dignity. To an Acteonese man, I was
chattel. Supernally beautiful, hypersensitized, cowed, obedient chattel.

Strange now, I thought, how even in my fantasies, my longings for freedom, I
was still female. I only wished to be free. Being a man no longer interested
me. I no longer knew what it meant, any more than I knew what it was to be
free.


I danced for my Master and his guest that night. I danced the slow, sinuous
slii dance, which is done with one's ankles and wrists bound in silver
chains. As the dance progressed, the stylized dance movements incrementally
restricted me; the dance is a form of self-bondage in which the dance steps
are designed to loop the chains many times around the girl's limbs. Toward
the end of the dance, my wrists tightly bound behind me in ten loops of
chain, with the chain's wrist hasp falling with the aid of a hip thrust into
place and locking, I took three short steps toward the guest, knelt before
him, knees spread wide. I lifted my crossed ankles off the ground and twirled
slightly, once. The last length of chain swung hard around my right ankle and
fell neatly into the hasp, locking finally, tight enough to keep my thighs
forced apart.

Mouth open. Laurence's cock at the back of my throat. My heart pounding.

Laurence bought me the next day.

Chapter XV New Tuscany

I was grateful for the canopy over the hitching post. The sun was baking hot,
and I had been hitched here for well over an hour, kneeling on the dirty
carpet rolled out onto the dirt street. The tender kept watch over me and
another girl from his bench. The other girl was hooded. For my part, my new
Master had positioned me over a pony block, a sort of miniature sawhorse with
a tapered edge rail on top. The tender had adjusted the height of the
instrument so that it lifted me slightly off my knees, and my whole weight
bore down on my clitoris, which was rammed up hard against the wooden rail.
He had then chained my ankles to the top of the rail in back, so that my
heels were face up, well behind my ass. A wide leather strap went around my
shoulders, above my breasts, and back to the ring where my ankles were
fastened. This prevented me from falling forward. My wrists were chained to
my collar. Twin daubs of honey had been placed, one on each nipple, and
spread, so now flies tickled my breasts.

I had done nothing wrong. This was simply to please Laurence. I had found my
new Master to be surprisingly sadistic for a former slave. Perhaps buying me
and abusing me thoroughly was his way of punishing me for having ever been in
possession of his body.

Laurence was inside the coffee hut, meeting with business partners. Women
were permitted in such places, but slaves were not, and so here I was.

I had been watching passersby, out of the corner of my eye, to pass the time,
and to take my mind off the excruciating pain in my crotch, which I could do
nothing about.

It was like any busy street on any planet; there were messenger boys,
gentlemen merchants, knights, bakers, wives and so on. The free women
interested me. I had been isolated in Lord Begnir's castle, and had only seen
slavegirls for five years, so the physical differences were considerable. For
one thing, some were quite ugly. The pretty ones were dressed smartly in what
must be the latest fashions. They tended to lift their breasts and expose
their cleavage, which in general was more ample than my apple-sized mounds.

What was most remarkable to me is that the free women seemed to feel no
affinity for the slave girls; it was if we constituted a third sex unrelated
to, and in competition with, their own. Possibly it was due to the jealousy I
thought they must feel, that we slaves, for whom the skills of lovemaking are
a professional duty and our only real purpose, naturally are more appealing
to a man than a free woman. There was genuine anger as well, that in order to
truly compete for men's affection you had to renounce your freedom and become
the thing you hate: a slave.

I, in turn, envied them their right to speak and do as they pleased, more or
less, and for their clothing. I thought bemusedly that even if I were
permitted to wear clothing I doubted I would find anything my size. Women's
clothing was cut to emphasize a woman's non slave-like assets, such as broad
shoulders and large breasts. If one had a slave-like body one ended up being
a slave anyway, so tailors ignored this body type.

In addition, as a preventative measure tailors who make women's fashions
treated their fabrics with an herbal concoction, related to slave's bane,
which is harmless to free women, but which causes an allergic reaction in
those who have taken slave's bane. The first time a girl eats slave's bane,
if she was free before, her new Master commands her to wear the dress she
came to him in, to demonstrate to her her changed condition. Her throat
tightens, her eyes water. Her limbs grow weak, and she collapses to the
ground, temporarily paralyzed.

This essentially meant that there wasn't an article of women's clothing on
this planet that I could wear. People generally didn't think much about this;
a slave wearing clothing cut to her size and shape was as incongruous and
bizarre as, say, making a dress for a doe. A naked slave was as natural as a
naked wild animal.

My Master had explained that if Lord Baird had been keeping me as a
fail-safe, then he must also be keeping tabs on my location. One could do
this rather easily, since slavegirls are registered and their ownership
documented. All he needed to do is pay the clerk in the village where my
former Master's castle was to notify him of any sale and the identity of the
buyer. My Master assumed that Lord Baird would at least check on his secret
escape route, and he hoped to catch him then. So I was essentially bait.

I hoped it worked. As much as I sometimes despaired at the abjectness of my
situation, I hardly wanted to be "overwritten". Although my life was the
property of Laurence Joo, still, it was a life. I was alive, a living,
breathing, thinking human being, albeit not in the body I was born with.
Laurence seemed happy with the trade in any case, and, to be honest with
myself, I was happy too. Inhabiting a body bred so carefully that you find
yourself constantly riding the keen edge of arousal can make thinking
coherently a chore, and I had been slave long enough that it was hard for me
to imagine acting of my own free will, independent of any command. Still,
this body, this life, with all its inhumanly crippling restrictions, was now
me, and I more or less enjoyed being used.

I had been bound in this position long enough to have lost all self
restraint, and sobbed softly as I tried vainly to shift the bulk of my weight
from my compressed clitoris. It is the usual problem, I thought to myself, my
cunt getting me into trouble.

So it was a surprise when, after a sickening bout of dizziness, I found
myself seated in a comfortable chair of Confederation design, in what was
clearly a Confederation Scout Ship's general quarters.

In a man's body.

For a moment I was too shocked to move. I registered a number of things
simultaneously: I was wearing clothing for the first time in five years. I
was strangely flat-chested. It felt so strange not to have the comforting
weight of my breasts on my ribcage.

Most astounding was the fact that I was thinking freely, without influence
from the slaves' bane. I experimentally stood up, walked to the edge of the
conference table. I did it without permission, and strangely didn't feel I
needed any!

Still unfamiliar with this male body, I clumsily walked to the mirror hanging
over the entertainment console and examined myself.

The proportions seemed all wrong. The room seemed too small around me, and I
felt unbelievably bulky, as if I was taking up too much space. I understood
intellectually that this was simply my mind adjusting from inhabiting a tiny
form to one more physically imposing, but it still felt strange.

"You're free only at Tyron's sufferance, you understand. You know that, don't
you?" a voice asked from the doorway. I turned and saw a middle aged man
dressed in Confederation Trader's garb. He started, as if afraid I might
advance on him, but regained his composure quickly.

"There's a governor imbedded in that body. If your brain signature isn't
Tyron's, the body won't respond to brain signals which are violent in intent.
I think we needn't worry about you piloting this ship out of here, because we
both know whatever technical knowledge you once had was wiped clean from your
mind five years ago.

"You're to have free rein of the ship. You can't really do any harm, after
all. Tyron will be coming back in a few hours, or however long it takes for
him to accomplish his mission, assuming your body doesn't completely
emasculate him." He snickered.

"Who are you?" I finally asked. My voice felt rough and deep.

"You can call me Simon. I'm a colleague of Tyron's. Would you like some
coffee?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." He gestured toward the kitchenette. I moved toward the food
dispenser and ordered some Antarean Roast. It came in a little plastic cup,
hot and steaming. I took the cup and moved to the conference table, sat and
took a sip. It tasted wonderful. I had, after all, been eating slave's gruel
for five years.

Simon poured a cup for himself and sat down in the chair adjacent to mine.
This was a little overwhelming for me. You have to understand that for five
full years I had assumed that I would never sit in a chair again, never eat a
man's food or drink again. And here I was, sitting on the edge of a padded
chair, sipping coffee. I sat back into the chair. It was wonderfully
comfortable.

It also was disconcerting that Simon's very presence didn't make my
adrenaline rush, make me feel compelled to drop to my knees and attend him.
He was just a man, and not a very impressive one. What kind of a man he was
wouldn't have mattered when I was Alisha; for to a slave girl a man was a
godlike creature to be obeyed. Now he didn't seem so tough. He was slightly
built and balding.

I did a quick mental inventory and decided that my slave girl's body had
deeply affected my psyche, both the slave's bane and the breeding of the
physical form, bred to submit. The thought of this caused my cock (Jesus, I
had a penis now) to stir a little. Well, I thought, my fantasies are the same
as ever, whatever the body. It's just that at the moment I'm not compelled to
inhabit them.

I put the cup on the table, feeling the longer reach of my arm as I did so.

"So," I said, "in a few hours Tyron will return me to my former self. Not
that I mind too much, although it's nice to be able to talk and act freely.
What, exactly, is the point?"

Simon paused, reflected, then shrugged. "You'll be forbidden to speak of it
anyway."

"Tyron came here originally to take over the planet. He's a pretty ambitious
guy, as you've guessed. The Confederation has pretty much stymied his efforts
that way, at least for the short term. But in the process of attempting to
capture him, you guys gave him some pretty clever ideas on how to turn a buck
on this primitive planet. You, in particular.

"We're setting up a sort of vacation resort, you see. There are millions of
people in the Confederation who would love to live the life of an Acteonese
knight, or even of a slavegirl. Conversely, there are many on this planet who
would give up everything to see the stars, explore all the Confederation has
to offer.

"So we're setting up a kind of matchmaking service, very discreetly, of
course. It's very lucrative. The Knight's bodies are quite pricey, since
those guys generally want to return to their old lives after a few weeks. You
can't blame them - they've got it made. We've had maybe a hundred or so
permanent placements, and a few thousand two week exchanges.

"The slavegirls tend to run cheaper, but there is high traffic there as well.
Slaves are sometimes quite happy to be free of their masters, but not always.
They are, after all, bred. There is no shortage of takers in the
Confederation, however. Generally speaking we don't offer limited stays for
the slavegirl bodies, because it's almost impossible to get a slave to return
to her body. So there are maybe fifty or so slavegirls on Acteon now who were
born citizens of the Confederation. They will never return. Shalli, your old
Master's new favorite, is one such customer. She paid 10,000 credits to be
put into that exquisitely wretched life, and her counterpart is quite happy
back on Earth, paying us 10% off his 100,000 credit yearly salary.

"We keep track of you not because Tyron has built a fail-safe into you,
although that's quite true, but because you've been our postergirl for your
respective half of business. We get women and men who jack into recorded
memories of yours and immediately write checks. You're incredibly good
advertising, not just because of your body, but because of the speed with
which you adapted to your life."

I sat forward, appalled. "You've been watching?" I demanded.

"Of course," he replied smoothly. "You and the King of New Hope, who gets a
handsome sum for his invasion of privacy. We can't watch you all the time;
the transmitter embedded in your fifth rib only has enough power to send a
one-hour burst, and recharges with ambient body electrical current, so the
bursts are sent once a month or so. We only wanted to keep track of you; the
fact that the transmissions sometimes made for excellent advertising became
evident only later.

"You weren't in a position to complain, or even know, my friend.

"If your transmitter were more consistent," he continued, "We wouldn't have
need to perform this exchange. But we need to know what your Master is
planning, and your body makes the perfect repository for a spy."

Suddenly I leaned forward, dizzy, nauseous.

"Ah," Simon was saying, as I began to drift away, "I guess Tyron's had enough
of playing the fuckpet. It was nice talking to you..."

A moment later I rushed back into my body like a hand slamming into a tight-
fitting glove. I was kneeling in front of my Master, who was busy fucking my
mouth. Not having any real opportunity to really take the transition in
stride, I had to take him in, letting him push his cockhead into my throat,
down my esophagus. My wrists were bound tightly behind me with what felt like
rough hemp rope, and I noted with alarm that the relative sense of
independence, of individual freedom, that I had felt before was utterly gone.
I thought of Simon, and the feeling I had had earlier that he was, perhaps,
not so much of a man, seemed now incomprehensible to me. How had I thought
that? Men were men. They came in many shapes and sizes, and some were
handsome and some were not, but all had a right to fuck me, if my Master gave
me to them. Had I really been sitting in a chair, drinking coffee?

I skillfully played my lips, to the degree that I could with his member so
deep, over my Master's shaft, breathing very shallowly through my nose, while
another part of my mind reflected.

I had had some difficulty inhabiting Tyron's body. It had seemed ungainly,
and hard to control. I had felt a stranger inside it.

This seemed natural enough, I thought; it had been quite a while since I had
been a man.

But when I had been first placed in this, Alisha's body, made to become her,
my difficulties had only to do with the fact that I had suddenly become a
slave. Thinking back on it, I recalled that it had felt as if my body were
telling me how to inhabit it, made me feel welcome, so that within a day, if
I had not yet acquiesced to being a slave girl in mind, I had adjusted
completely in body, to the point that if one lined me up with a dozen other
slaves and used us, he would not be able to pick me out as the one not born
slave. I recalled that both the King and Lord Begnir, who had both known my
true identity, had remarked on my natural suitability for the role that had
been thrust upon me.

And here I was, back in the body I had almost instantly accepted as my
natural state, as if my brief moment of freedom were but a dream, serving my
Master with my mouth, as I had been scrupulously, unerringly trained, on pain
of the whip, my naked breasts twisted painfully in his hands, a bred pleasure
toy. It was what I had always dreamed of. I could well imagine that many
would pay for this ignominy.

My Master came deep in my throat, moaning as he forced his cock down into me,
leaning forward, his hands on the small of my back, using my mouth as a
second cunt. I had been taught from the beginning to think of my lips as
labial substitutes, my throat as secondary vaginal walls which, unlike the
inner folds of my nether regions, which by now required no preparation and
gave easily and smoothly before a thrusting cock, remained permanently
virginal and tight. A slave is taught that she has three orifices, and that
each is pleasurable to a man in slightly different ways. But even more
pleasing to a man is when a slave convinces herself that each of these
openings should be and feel as warm, giving, muscular and supple as her pussy
itself. A slave is taught that the primary function of her mouth is not for
speaking but for the accommodation of a penis, to give her master a good
tight fuck; she is also taught that her anus is made similarly for this
purpose, but that the sensations that a man feels when inside a slave's rear
orifice were quite different.

I could no longer remember what that felt like. The momentary hardening of my
cock while in Tyron's body had reminded me what it had been like to have all
one's sensation concentrated in one place, but I could not now imagine what I
would have done with the thing.

My Master pushed me away, and I fell onto my side on the red patterned carpet
that was spread across the wood planked floor. Where were we? I looked
through slitted eyes (an old slavegirl trick; if I looked about inquisitively
I would likely be whipped) and saw that this was a bedroom, probably in an
inn. My ankles were crossed and tightly bound as well, so my left knee
pointed upwards, leaving my crotch exposed. I felt soaking wet, as I
invariably did when a man fucked my mouth; for some reason it got me even
hotter than vaginal sex, perhaps because I knew my climax was an
impossibility. My Master stood and walked out of the bedroom into an
adjoining chamber, leaving the door open, and sat at a table with his
companions. I knew I would be ignored now until it was time for me to be
bathed and fed by the Inn staff.

How strange, that he could walk away after such an intense experience, I
thought. Was that what it was like, as a man? I tried to remember. It had
been quite awhile since I had really thought about the life I had led before
I had been abandoned in this body.

I had been quite sexually active as a man; I had been thirty seven, after
all, when Beale had stolen my body, leaving me to live this slave's life, and
I had been married and divorced twice. Like any citizen of the Confederation,
I had had many partners in my life, perhaps over two hundred. Although I had
never had the courage to follow through with my secret fantasies and undergo
sex reassignment, nevertheless I had a rich sexual lifestyle, and fucked
girls of every type and description, with every fetish you could imagine.

For all that experience, however, when I had become a slavegirl it was as if
I were a virgin again, completely inexperienced and nervous. None of my prior
experiences seemed to have any bearing on my current predicament. The
Watchers had blocked the recollection of any particular facts which a
slavegirl might not have, so the knowledge and technical expertises I had
once had were unknown to me. My knowledge, my mind, essentially, stretched no
further than a slavegirl's should. My body was female. My desire was female.
It had been five years since I had had any thoughts which would not pass
through a clever young slave girl's head. It was strange now, with my brief
sojourn as a male still fresh in my memory, to be second-guessing my true
nature.

I peered through my lowered lids through the open doorway at the four men
gathered at the table. Ten minutes ago I had again been one of them - my body
had had none of the inbuilt restrictions that I felt keenly now - my female
form's biochemical balance that made it difficult for me to act against the
wishes of my Master, the ingrained allergy to Acteonese clothing, the
enfeebling, arousing effects of the slaves' bane - and I had been free to do
as I pleased, for the space of a half-hour.

And now - what? Because my body was female, because of the chemistry my body
produced, because of the pleasing form I possessed, I was simply an
instrument of pleasure.

I gazed at the men in the adjoining room. The man sitting to the left of my
Master looked familiar. Not familiar in the sense that I perhaps had been
used by him, or served him at the dinner table recently. No. He was...he was
from before...

My Master spoke to him and, after a moment, pointed in my direction. The
stranger peered at me with a bemused expression on his face. Then I
recognized him.

It was the King of New Hope.

Chapter XVI Return to New Hope

I washed the King's legs and feet with a cotton washcloth, dipping the fine
fabric in a basin of boiled, scented water. Another girl, a curly New
Brazilian brunette, knelt between his thighs, inexpertly pleasuring him. Her
wrists were bound behind her. She sobbed quietly as the King used her mouth.
Like me she was of Bendari stock, small boned, tiny, weak, but her breasts
were rather larger than mine, and her skin more healthily tropical than mine,
which was thin, pale, translucent to the point that bluish veins were visible
around my aureloae. She was also younger, as young as I had been when I first
found myself within the walls of this castle.

Her predicament was clearly getting the better of her, judging by her racking
sobs. It made me feel quite the veteran.

"You'd think she'd get better at it. She's been here six months." Merlin
commented dryly. "Oh - she's not another one of our paying customers, is
she?"

I didn't dare look up at him, but I heard the King chuckle. "She was jacked
in just an hour ago." It dawned on me that the girl was one of my own people,
and through slitted eyes I eyed her jealously. In a month, perhaps, or six,
or maybe a year, she would in all likelihood return to her former life, none
the worse for wear, many credits poorer but a free citizen of the
Confederation. No such fate was in store for me.

He stood suddenly, pushing the young brunette back onto her haunches. She
panted for breath, her lips wet and trembling. "Time for evening Council, my
friend. Alisha, do you remember the first punishment I gave you?"

I nodded, eyes downcast.

The valet led both of us out into the hallway. He brought us down to the end,
where the same restraints that had confined the young Queen and I some five
years before still stood. They had been a new innovation of the King's when I
had first seen them, based on my holofantasies; now they looked well used and
worn.

Once we were restrained, face to face, impaled on our respective columns, our
ankles dangling helplessly, the command was given to kiss or be whipped, and
I gently pressed my tongue to the trembling young girl's lips. Her eyes were
wide as a terrified child's as she stared at me.

She returned the kiss, then let her mouth drift close to my ear.

"I have been you countless times, Alisha," she whispered, then, to appease
the valet, brought her lips to mine once more before braving another
communication.

"But those were holoprograms," she continued, her voice cracking in distress
but still barely audible. "I have been Eileen for hardly an hour and I fear
it is too much for me."

"When will you be freed?" I whispered, after a long, passionate kiss that
left us both breathless.

"Never," she choked. "My contract was for permanent exchange. How did you
stay sane?" she managed after a quick sob that earned her a swift lash of the
whip. The valet seemingly couldn't hear us, but could tell when we slacked in
our duty.

"I - I'm not sure I did," I replied, after ten more minutes of intense
kissing. "But - but you are a Bendari slave girl. Go with your instinct. It
will tell you what to do."

The whip fell again on Eileen's buttocks, and her racking sobs began anew. I
wondered why he spared me.

That evening, as we lay on our pallets in the harem, our wrists bound to the
iron rings set in the headboards, Eileen whispered quiet words in the dark,
shedding light on the mystery. Her wide New Brazilian cheekbones caught the
moonlight, framed by her jet black curled mane of hair. Her large breasts,
almost as large as a free woman's, nestled against each other as she lay on
her side facing me, three feet away and untouchable. Even now she was
trembling, her new body seeming to trouble her. She kept looking down at her
ample breasts with her large, liquid brown eyes, a deeply troubled expression
on her pretty little face.

"The valet who whipped us - me, I mean - was - was my wife. It was her idea
to begin with. I mean, I agreed willingly, but she's the one who pushed for a
permanent exchange. She chose a valet who's due to be Knighted soon, and she
- I mean, he, will purchase me from the King. If he sells me. Oh, God, I
didn't know it would be like this," she pleaded breathlessly. "She was always
the ambitious one. I -"

The harem guard gave her a swift swat with his riding crop, and she
immediately fell silent. He rolled her onto her back. I heard her suck in her
breath he pushed the fingers of his right hand into her mouth, forcing it
wide, as he fingered her cunt with his other hand. He looked at me.

"You know better, Alisha. Ten lashes in the morning." Abashed, I quickly
rolled onto my back and closed my eyes, listening to Eileen's piteous moans
as the guard played with her leisurely.

I wondered if my senses were even now being transmitted on Beale's little
porn network. I thought of the thirty-odd girls in the harem. I had
recognized only two yesterday afternoon, when I was brought into the castle
in the King's royal train, in a wagon cage. The rest of the girls were new,
and I was probably, at nineteen, among the oldest. Strange to be old at
nineteen, but at least I was still the most beautiful, I told myself. And the
King still desired me more than the others.

I wondered how many of the girls were born on Acteon, and how many were
Confederation citizens. I stole a glance to my right, where an Archipelago
small-mouth girl lay crying softly in her restraints. She returned my gaze,
recognizing me, I thought, and began to cry a little harder, breathing
heavily through her little O-shaped mouth. Small-mouth girls have no
voiceboxes (the extra room is needed for the cocks that are shoved down their
throats), and so are mute. But I thought I could tell from her gaze that she
was not from this world.

Dear Jesus, I thought. Is every girl in this room of my people? And the men
of this castle? Are we all Masters or slaves?

The harem guard gave me the same treatment he gave Eileen, forcing my jaws
wide with his fingers smelling of Eileen's saliva and of tobacco, shoving his
balled fist into my wet cunt. After five years of daily fucking, my lips
parted easily. Perhaps, I thought, this guard had been a colleague of mine
some time ago. Perhaps he knew who I was and relished my helpless condition.
Or perhaps I was being paranoid, and he was as he appeared, a trained harem
guard born in New Hope. Who knows?

It doesn't matter, I realized. I amended my earlier question to myself,
making it a statement of fact.

We are all Masters and slaves. There are those who rule and those who serve.
What difference was there between Acteon and the Confederation, save the
sheen of civilization and the sublimation of one's true nature? I was always
a slave, as was Eileen, though neither of us could admit as much freely on a
Confederation planet. Here on Acteon neither of us could hide the fact.

I wished the poor young thing luck. She would need to be strong, strong
enough to realize she was as she was meant to be. It took me almost five
years to fully accept the fact that my place was on my knees, no matter what
my body told me. I hoped these girls would learn faster than me.

Epilogue

The King has read with interest my journal, written mostly some years ago
with Lord Begnir's permission, and has granted me quill and ink to write of
the events between my sale to my former body's inhabitant and my arrival
here, and a brief closing statement, which I now transcribe. It's my
understanding Beale has offered him a fee for publication rights, so I
suppose these writings will eventually be for the eyes of the citizens of the
Confederation.

I haven't much to say now that the tale has been told.

I'm twenty five now. I'm no longer the King's favorite in bed, though I am
now married to him, and am the first to be offered to visiting guests, since
I am the most skilled in dance and lovemaking, and still attend to him in the
bedchamber after he has spent himself on younger girls. I always manage to
get one last rise out of him, which is why, I suppose, he keeps me on. The
pretty young things don't know enough to do it right.

The King's engineers have re-invented rifles, cannon, steamships and so on,
though these innovations are hidden discreetly, and the King's guard continue
to wear armor and sword. The same with his rivals, and yet there is no war.
The Confederation's peacekeeping troops have put a halt to that.

Acteon isn't yet ready for membership in the Confederation, but the body
trade has proved too lucrative on both sides to allow the chaos of war.

True to its initial mandate, Acteon has refused to embrace technology. I
suspect the reasons have as much to do with the picturesque surroundings a
medieval Acteon provides the renter of a Knight's or slavegirl's body as with
the moral compunction's of the original colonists of the planet.

Think of it as a theme park. It's one I cannot leave, but if you are reading
this, know that you can visit. If you choose to do so, introduce yourself to
me, whether by pulling my mouth over your cock or by whispers in the
moonlight of the harem. Give me a sign, a wink or gesture, to let me know who
you really are. Confederation visitors are getting to be such good actors
that I'm having a hard time telling the difference anymore.

Or perhaps the Confederation is my own fantasy, a figment of my subconscious
to alleviate my suffering. Perhaps I have always been Alisha, Bendari
slavegirl. How will I know for certain if you don't give me a sign?

I close with affectionate and utter obedience,

your slave and servant,

Alisha

The End