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+++++++++++++++ Slaves of Acteon +++++++++++++++ By Alyssa S. This is a rewrite and completion of a story I wrote in May 1999 and posted to Fictionmania. Any changes supersede that story. It can be posted wherever the hell you like, so long as you notify me at [email protected], and you don't make a cent off of it without my consent. The original version left off rather inelegantly in the middle of the story; I hope I have amended this adequately. My apologies to anyone who was annoyed by this. This story spans eleven years in the life of a Confederation Interceder who, rather early in the tale, finds himself in the body of a young Bendari slavegirl on the planet of Acteon he has been assigned to investigate. Most of the story, however, concentrates on her first year of enslavement, as I found this the most fun to write about. The story has relatively graphic sex (depending on your threshold - mine's high), lots of bondage and discipline, bodyswapping, kings, knights, interstellar traders, double-crossing, skullduggery, hypnosis, eugenics, spiritual growth, spies, and (gasp) science fiction. If any of these themes offend you, especially science fiction, you should stop reading now. I should say right off that my priorities in writing this *erotic tale* were weighted more toward the first word (erotic) than the second (tale). Be that as it may, I tried to craft a good story and appreciate any feedback at [email protected]. Any inconsistencies in the storyline are unintentional and should be taken strictly as the sign of an overeager author. If you notice anything jarring (you know, like "I thought Johnny got turned into a girl two chapters ago - why is he a guy again?"), please let me know. Any resemblance to actual persons is unintentional as well, though if any resemblance exists, please notify me immediately, because I'd love to know how you managed it and how I could replicate it. Anyway, have fun! Alyssa S. **************************************************************** Prologue The winds grow heavier as I approach the Tower. I can smell...roses, lavender, and something else: the smell of sweat, and of a woman aroused. It seems to come from above. From Rapunzel. The wind buffets the willow trees on the knoll. There is only one way up, the trellis of bright red hair, Rapunzel's long braid. I begin to climb, one hand over the other. The braid begins to unravel beneath me. I am about halfway to the balcony before the loose hair blinds me, entangles me. I would have fallen then, but the hair seems to act like a net, suspending me. It seems to root itself in me, and as I try to free myself, I look for its source, groping with my hands for its origin. Finally I push back the unruly mass of fiery hair, my hands touching my head, shocked to find that the long ringlets are mine. That I'm naked, in the tower, a beautiful young woman reflected in the mirror opposite the balcony. That my hair, now loose, billows through the archway and into the open. Behind me, in the mirror, I see myself, or rather the man who has taken my manly form. He is laughing as he lowers himself out the window by my hair. I look down and I see a tattoo on my left breast: "Slave". Part One Chapter I a slavegirl is born on Acteon I awoke with a start; I opened my eyes, but it was still dark. A light breeze wafted over me, and I realized I was naked, with no coverlet. Instead of the thick cotton filled bedding I'd grown used to, I was lying on what felt and smelled like straw. I also smelled lavender, perfume, and sweat, and it took me a moment to realize that the odor was my own, that even the smell of sex from the dream was mine. It took a moment for this to register in my mind. Then I propped myself up on my pallet, reaching in the dark with my hands to touch the soft, pillowy weight of the breasts that were now a substantial part of my chest. The chain which connected my leather collar to the pallet rattled as I sat up. "Back to sleep, Alisha!" a man's voice hissed "Thirty lashes in the morning for you." I quickly lay back down, my hands fingering the chain, and my collar, remembering what had happened. All around me I heard the light breathing of the slavegirls on their pallets. With a terrible sinking feeling deep in my heart, I realized I might never escape this life, this body, that I might forever be doomed to serve my new Lords with my mouth, hands and cunt, as I'd been forced to do this night. Booted footsteps approached, and the guard laid his rough hand on my hip, patted it. "Sleep, slave. You need the rest for tomorrow", he whispered. I closed my eyes as his hand caressed my breast. Then the hand disappeared and the guard returned to his post. I suspected then I would never be able to return to Earth. I would be only Alisha, slavegirl to The Council of Lords, on the planet of Acteon. I began to remember, as I drifted back into a slavegirl's slumber, to a world where even in dreams I served a Master, I began to recall how this fate had befallen me. Acteon was classified in the Confederation Dossiers as an M class planet, colonized by humans in the year 2304, nine hundred years ago. The colonists were Naturals, eschewing technology in favor of an agricultural civilization. They deliberately eradicated all knowledge of the other worlds in their histories, and, not surprisingly, became isolated and regressed to a feudal society. The world was now roughly equivalent to the Dark Ages of Earth in its warlike nature and level of technology. The colonists were assumed in Confederation Intelligence to have perished very soon after their arrival, and the recent rediscovery of the planet and its inhabitants required careful handling. It was decided that no contact should be made, and that its civilization should not be interfered with. We placed watchers on the planet, to record and study its people and guard against outside interference. It's easy to become a powerful figure on a planet with inferior knowledge and technology, and this was precisely what the Societal Conservation Board suspected Lord Baird was up to. They had determined that he was, in fact, Tyron Beale, an intersystem trader who'd apparently stumbled on the world and decided to set himself up pretty well. He'd joined the Council of Lords as an Associate from an undetermined island fiefdom, and with a seemingly unlimited supply of gold and superior weaponry was on his way to controlling the Council. The other Lords were clearly unhappy with this turn of events, and war was breaking out on scales previously unseen on the planet. It was my job, as an Interceder, to take Lord Baird's place and slowly remove myself from the Council, stepping down hostilities. I had landed on the planet some three weeks earlier, and, disguised as a free knight, had worked my way toward New Hope, where the Council of Lords held court. I had the exchanger with me. The device, though undetectable, required that the target and I maintain physical contact for ten minutes, to allow for data transfer. The plan was to drug Lord Baird with a sedative which would act for about a half hour, then drug myself with a stronger sedative. I would awaken first in Lord Baird's body and confine him, now in my body. The watchers would retrieve him. As a knight, I was invited to the main hall for dinner, and ate with a hundred other knights in a din of entertainers and slaves. One of the slave-wardens approached and begged for my attention. "Yes, speak," I said. He bowed slightly. "Esteemed knight, it has been noticed that you are new to New Hope Castle, and the Lords wish to show hospitality..." He gestured to his right, and then I noticed the girl. She was quite short, perhaps 5'0", or in Acteonese measurements, seven and a half krems. She was utterly beautiful. Her face was small, pixielike, with large red lips and green eyes. Her hair was long, cascading over her shoulders, halfway down her back, and it was fiery red, but she had little of the freckling of the skin associated with her hair color. Her breasts, though not large, seemed full on her diminutive, fragile frame. This slavegirl's hands were behind her, her wrists undoubtedly cuffed together, as is the custom with slaves offered to guests. Her eyes were cast downward, and a short leather leash was fastened to her slender black leather collar. This the slave-warden held in his right hand, which he offered to me. One of the spoils of war, of course, is an abundance of slaves, including pleasure slaves; this is common on all warlike planets. But the slave-wardens of Acteon had developed a drug, which the slaves ingested with their meals, which affected their pleasure centers and made them quite docile and submissive at the same time. Every person of noble birth owned at least one slave, and marriages to slaves were not unheard of, though such marriages in no way nullified the girls' slave status, and a husband would commonly offer his wife- slave for guest's use. Not to offer would be discourteous, to refuse, in turn, was an insult to the host. Physiologically speaking, the girl was quite typical for a fifth-generation slave (which a slave-mark, freshly tattooed on her left breast in the Acteonese written language, indicated her to be) - indeed, a perfect example. Acteonese women vary in quite predictable patterns, according to whether they are free or slave, and if slave, the nature of their breeding and genealogy. The Watchers had been conducting studies on the genetic evolution of the Acteonese race, and it had been quite clear that through a combination of active husbandry (only the most compliant, contented slaves are allowed to breed) and the genetic effects of the slave's bane, fourth generation or later bred slavegirls committed no acts of defiance whatsoever. Slave's bane permanently altered one's pituitary gland, so that androgens produced were of a kind useful only for the well-being of the body, and produced no aggressive feelings. Free Acteonese women, as on other planets, are generally only slightly shorter than men, and their body type and weight can vary widely. Some are as broad shouldered as a man, some slender, some fat. Free women tend to be larger breasted than slaves. A free woman must accentuate her features to best effect through many layers of concealing garments. Perhaps this trait evolved through natural selection, rather than the active husbandry that dictates the shape of a slave's flesh. A slave's body, on the other hand, is bred to appear its best in the nude, and this typically means that a fourth generation slave's breasts are almost always about the size of a mango or coconut, rather than the large grapefruit shape that Acteonese free women pride themselves on. The smaller shape is more pleasing to the eye, and lasts longer before it finally begins to sag (a trait free women can conceal). Generally, slaves average in height about 5'6" (never taller), although there is a less common breed (called Bendari after the region in which they were first bred), which averages about 4'11" - this girl was clearly of this breed, which made her somewhat rare here in the South. A slave's shoulders can sometimes be as narrow as 14" across. Her musculature is extremely underdeveloped, though fit. To the Confederation eye, used to women whose births were the result of random mating, an Acteonese slavegirl of proper breeding appears almost cartoonishly angelic and childlike. It is as if all traces of masculinity have been sucked out of the body, leaving only soft, malleable, manipulable flesh. Different varieties are deliberately bred, of course, but these are mostly based on skin coloration and hair color. Acteonese men have surprisingly consistent taste when it comes to body shape and size in a slave. The only exception appears to be the small-mouth girl of the Western Archipelagoes, whose nether regions are plugged and never used by her master. Instead, her mouth has been bred to be much smaller, so that her lips grip her master's shaft tightly. I took the leash and offered my thanks. "Kneel beside me, little one." The girl dropped to her knees immediately. "What is your name, slave?" I asked. "Alisha, if you please, my Lord," she answered, half-whispering. I smiled. There are benefits to this world, I thought, only half cross with myself for indulging in the thought of using her. The watchers couldn't see what I didn't want them to see. "Well, then, Alisha, you will follow me to my quarters, one pace behind; no less." I stood, tugged on the leash, and began to walk back to my room at the inn. She jumped up and fell in step behind me. I judged her to be about fourteen years old, and again wondered at her beauty and abject obedience. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, as the ancient proverb goes, and this wasn't the first time in the past few weeks I'd taken a slavegirl. She was a model of obedience. I spent some time using her mouth while I sat in an armchair. She was rather inexpert, and the tattoo on her left breast, marking her as a slave, was still fresh and healing, so I judged her to have been recently trained. It was common for a man to raise his slave-birthed daughters as free women until they ripen. The girl understands that her freedom ends as soon as her father determines she is ready to be sold, and for the rest of her life has her brief period of freedom to contrast her abject slavery with. In addition, slaves raised in this manner are quite intelligent, learn more quickly, and are more capable of appreciating more subtle punishments. She sucked me dry when I came, and lay still when I pushed her to the floor. I ignored her for awhile, while I took care of some writing, which would be scanned into my personal log on the ship later. When I'd finished, and began thinking of her again, I turned to find her kneeling upright by my side. I took her to the bed, uncuffed her wrists and attached them to the rings set in the headboard for the purpose. She moaned, eyes closed. I stripped and took her. The effects of the drug were such that, even abused so, the little slave felt pleasure as I bit deeply into her breast. I locked my mouth over hers, and her lips responded pleasingly. I'd been taking my time stroking into her hot cunt, enjoying myself and enjoying her little cries and moans, slapping her face just to hear her moan louder. Now I pumped in earnest. As I grew close to climax, something strange happened. I was looking into her eyes, which, strangely, she did not avert, and something knowing was in them, as if she were smirking. She smiled, and I came involuntarily, shooting into her not just my juices, but...I felt myself slipping into her, my vision greying, mixing. For a moment I saw her face under mine, and my own face hovering above me at the same time. Then her face faded, and I was left staring up at my own visage, in the throes of orgasm. Something large and thick was pushing into me, and I couldn't move my arms; something was holding them down. And I was coming, coming hard, but in a strange way, all over. My eyes clenched shut as I rode the unfamiliar wave of pleasure to its final, dissipating conclusion. I heard a man laugh, felt his hot breath, smelling of beer and venison, on my face. I opened my eyes and saw my own face grinning down at me. He laughed again, put his mouth over mine and kissed me deeply. To my own surprise I returned the kiss. "Ah, that's the drug, my little fool," he said as he broke off the kiss. "You can't help yourself. You don't know how hard it was for me to be a slavegirl for the three days I waited for you. It's just about impossible not to submit to your owner's wishes. Which is why this body is the perfect dumping ground for you." He straightened up, got off the bed and began to dress. "Don't look so surprised. I knew you were coming for me. Some of the watchers are easily bribed. It doesn't matter - I suppose this could have been done differently, but I had my reasons, which a slave hardly needs to know about." He released my bonds, rolled me over easily, and reattached the wristcuffs behind my back. "Kneel by the door, slave," he commanded. Suddenly he seemed frighteningly intimidating; the tone of authority in his voice had a strange effect on me. Though I was exhausted both from the change and from the way I'd been used, I crawled off the bed and obediently knelt in the place he'd prescribed. My heart raced, and I found myself thinking about his cock. My eyes were lowered as he attached the leash to my collar, and my gaze rested on the fresh tattoo, which still felt raw and was beginning to scab over. 'slave,' the first line read in small calligraphics. I certainly felt like a slave. The second line indicated my breed, Bendari, and lineage - fifth generation. Dear God. He had brought me back to the Castle that night and handed me over, despondent and exhausted, to the slave-warden. I can tell you now, hopefully without revealing too much ahead of time, that I didn't see my male body again until five full years later, at the age of nineteen. I had not thought of my former life then for some years; any hope of reclaiming my lost identity was crushed, however - the possessor of my old body, when he purchased me and added me to his harem, made it clear that - well, that will come later. That first night I still harbored hope that I could escape this abject fate. The slave-warden that night informed me that the next morning I was to serve Lord Baird in the garden. Apparently it wasn't enough to feminize and enslave me; I was to be Lord Baird's plaything for awhile as well. As my keeper led me by the leash to the slave's harem, I wondered if any of the watchers assigned to the mission were not under Tyron's influence, and if there were any chance of them coming to my aid. Under normal circumstances, I would have felt more optimistic, but the drug seemed to hamper thoughts not associated with servility and humble submission. I had a hard time imagining myself as anything other than this slavegirl. More dreams. This time I'm still in the tower, a naked slavegirl named Rapunzel. But my hair has been cut short, to waist length, so no rescuer can come for me now. The slave-warden uses my cutoff hair to tie my wrists behind me, and to gag me. I look up at the slave-warden, and I see Lord Baird's face. He slaps me, hard. Now I'm in my spacecraft. My crewmates are there; they're discussing leaving the planet. I tell them that I'm here, that I've come back, but they ignore me. I begin screaming at Roberto. He looks at me, finally, and I remember that I'm Alisha. A lewd expression crosses his face as he pushes me onto my hands and knees. He shoves his cock into me, telling me I'll make a good housewife back on Mars. Chapter II morning grooming and discipline A light slap on my hip awakened me. The warden continued down the row, shaking and slapping the girls awake. I propped myself up on my elbows, again surprised at where and who I was. Each girl deftly rolled herself forward over the end of her pallet, so that she was kneeling in front of it, facing the wooden frame. This maneuver pulled the leash attached to her collar taut, pinioning her. I belatedly followed suit, clumsily mimicking my fellow slaves' motions, and found myself on my knees, my face pressed against an oak board, the surface of which was worn with centuries of use, and smelled of pine oil. I seemed to have crossed my arms behind me without realizing it. I was acutely aware of my body now, in this daylight, and my nakedness and femininity embarrassed me, but I had no defense against the shame I felt when a warden strapped my wrists behind me, took my leash and led me out. I could still feel the dried come on my thighs, and realized that I was wet with desire already. The slave's drug, I concluded distractedly. I was blushing furiously as he led me through the courtyard to the slave's bath; the knights, footmen and other men of the castle gathered daily in small numbers here for breakfast, mainly for the view, and I could feel their eyes on me as I was led past helplessly. I had realized at once when Lord Baird had changed me that he'd chosen Alisha to be my vessel because she was among the youngest and the most beautiful of the new slaves, and now I bore the burden of a fourteen- year old girl's beauty and freshness, and vulnerability. We reached the baths. The warden removed my collar and unstrapped my wrists. "You are due thirty lashes, girl," the warden said softly. "See that ring, slave?" he demanded, pointing at a large steel ring set into a stone column next to the steaming bath. I nodded. "Go to it and put your hands around it. You are to hold it fast, and not let go, while you receive your punishment." I hesitated, took a step forward. "No one here will help you, Alisha. You will grasp the ring, and you will be whipped. In your homeland you may have been a princess; here you are a slavegirl. Even if you were to return home today, you know they would abide by the code of honor and keep you enslaved. Once a slavegirl, always a slavegirl. You have been chosen and it is your fate to obey. Now submit to your punishment." I took a deep breath, walked forward, reached up and wrapped my fingers around the cold steel ring. The washerwoman, sitting on a bench nearby, watched silently as she ate her morning meal. The ring was polished around its lower curve from frequent use. I rested my head against the column, felt its sun- warmed marble roughness against my bare breasts. "Spread your legs, Alisha." Trembling a little now, I complied. Steam from the hot bath wafted across my legs. "Wider." I repositioned my feet, splaying myself out as far as I could and still hold the ring. I thought of what it had been like, to be a man. I'd enjoyed myself, had a good life, a good job, and it had all been taken from me. Now, instead of the hard, well-muscled chest I'd worked for, I had a set of soft, pert, pliant, gorgeous tits. Instead of receiving respect, I now had to respect, and obey, everyone who felt entitled to command me. Poems were written on this planet about the three orifices of a slavegirl, and how best to fill them. The villain in all the tales was always overcome, and magically transformed into a slavegirl, where she could serve her victims happily, a fully integrated (if helpless) member of society. Romances were often threesomes between a Lord, a Lady, and her slavegirl (and, of course, they often switched roles). The slavewarden approached from the right. "If you cry out, that is acceptable. But you must not, under any circumstances, plead for mercy, ask me to stop, or protest your punishment in any way. And you must continue to hold onto the ring." The first blow fell hard and evenly across my buttocks, searing both cheeks. I clenched my teeth, stifling a cry, as the pain, at first sharp and stinging, turned to a dull, deep bruising pain, spreading upwards and out, making my legs weak. I held onto the ring with my clenched hands, determined not to succumb. I felt tears welling up. One left a wet trail as it streaked over my cheek, stopping at my upper lip. The second blow fell slightly higher, so as not to hit an already desensitized patch of flesh. I bit my lip. Already I was crying, my hot face pressed against the stone. My flesh was burning. Three strokes. Four. Five. Eight. Fifteen. I was sobbing at this point. "Turn around, slave Alisha. Continue to grasp the ring." I remained motionless, terrified. "You're owed fifteen blows across the breasts with a cat o'nine tails. Now it's twenty. Turn around, slave." I reluctantly obeyed, my arms still overhead, clutching the ring. "Spread your legs wide, you dumb cunt!" He snarled, and stepped forward and kicked my legs apart. I began to sob anew; I couldn't even see. I heard the first hiss before I felt the many strands of the cat cut into my delicate breast flesh. One. Two. My eyes cleared; I saw the third blow, and watched in a haze, as the endorphins finally kicked in, watched my flesh turn red and streaked under the administered blows. Eight. Fourteen. I began to feel faint. The final blow was not with the cat but with a birch switch; this cut into my flesh so hard and deeply that, I saw before I fainted, my right breast was bleeding. The slavewarden helped my up to my knees. "Move slowly, slave. Apparently you are even more raw than I suspected. You will be dizzy for a few moments. When your head is clear you will continue your duties as required. Wait until you are sure you won't faint again. Do not wait long, however. If I suspect you are misusing this reprieve you will be punished twice as hard. "When you are ready, crawl into the baths. I will take your collar and cuffs, and will place them on you when you are sent back to the harem. Lord Baird wishes you unrestrained. "The washerwoman will bathe you. When she dismisses you, you will walk straight up this path and kneel beside your Master." The slavewarden gathered up his gear and walked leisurely back to the harem. I knelt on the grass, still dizzy. My right side was damp with blood, although the cut now looked shallow. My breasts were throbbing in pain, and seemed bloated. I felt the eyes on a few onlookers on me as they ate their morning bread. One knight's words carried over the babbling of the baths: "A fine sight, that. Exquisite. Look how the blood seeps into her navel, spreads in her sweat? Blood is sacred, my friend, whether it spills from a vanquished enemy or a delicate young flower like that one, there." I looked down at my breasts, my belly. The knight was right. The stain was pretty. Suddenly I was lifted by my arm and hauled over to the bath. "Come on, girl, I don't have all day." I felt light-headed, and began to protest: "But the slavewarden -" my protest was cut off by a sharp, agonizing pain in my left breast - the washerwoman held its bruised meat in her hand and was twisting it. "You do not protest. You are a slave. If you protest again you will merit another beating after you serve Lord Baird. If you're dizzy the steam from the bath will awaken you." She picked me up and lowered me into a stone tub carved into the side of the natural spring. The water was stingingly hot, and burned my injured flesh, but after a moment the burning passed, and the heat loosened my muscles tensed from the stresses of the punishment. "Kneel on the straw pad at the base of the bath." I complied, my hands again naturally finding resting places on the soles of my feet. The big woman used a loofah sponge to scour my flesh and remove the grime of a days' slave work; the dried semen on my face and between my legs, my blood, dirt from kneeling or otherwise abasing myself. She washed my hair and combed it expertly. When she had dried it she braided it into a single long braid. She braided a leather thong with a handle at the end into the weave of my hair, forming a leash from my own hair. Her hands were large and rough, and she was a broad, plain woman in her mid thirties; there was nothing attractive about her. But in a strange way her expert handling of me aroused me. She seemed to know my slave's body better than I did myself, and her hands were sure and firm as she bent me forward to cleanse my back, or lifted my arm to expose my pit and breast better to her sponge. She brushed my teeth with a crude horsehair toothbrush. She took care with my buttocks and breasts, which were by now crisscrossed with angry pink lines. She scrubbed my hands and cleaned the dirt from under my nails. I grew so quietly heated that when she cleaned my pubic region I choked back a low moan. To my mortification, she laughed. She put her large hand under my chin and lifted my head. "Look at me, slave." I obeyed, and looked up into her eyes. "Don't be ashamed that you feel pleasure when I touch you. It is your nature. You are trained and conditioned to respond the way you just did. A week ago you were a princess, I'm told, and a week ago you would have been disgusted, perhaps appalled at your present predicament. I doubt it, since you are a bred Bendari. In any case, things are different now: now you are a slavegirl, and it is right for you to moan when touched. "My name is Marion. You may call address me as Madam. I will wash you twice daily, now and before the evening feast, so you will see quite a lot of me, and I of you. You will grow used to my administrations. Lean back and give me your right leg." She began to shave my leg with a very sharp razor and thick suds. The hot spring swirled the soiled water away as she lathered and shaved. "Now the other." I closed my eyes and let Madam Marion work. After a few minutes she slapped my knee. "Now you have to sit on the flat of the rock, here, with your legs still in the water. Like this," she said, as she guided me up onto the rock and onto my back. She spread my legs wide, so that my nether regions were facing her and thoroughly exposed. "We'll do this daily. Your beautiful red hair is considered a treasure in this part of the world, but red hair in the cleft of a woman is considered unlucky. So you will have to be shaved every morning," she added as she first trimmed, then shaved my pubis mound. "There. Just like a baby," she chuckled. "Don't be ashamed. You're the only fire-haired slave in New Hope Castle, so your bare condition will make you a novelty and more in demand." Madam Marion sat me up and pulled me out of the bath. She rinsed me and towelled me dry. Then she applied a daub of scented oil behind my ears, between my breasts and on my neck. She pulled on the braid leash, as if to test it, and I found myself helplessly looking up into the sky. "Very good. Well, you're a little too short for most men's tastes; Bendari girls are out of fashion and leggy girls are more in demand in these times. But I must say you're quite fetching. In any case the King, at least, seems to have a thing for the short ones these days." She looked at me with an appraising eye. "You would have made a good princess, given the chance." Or Interceder, I thought to myself ruefully. That life, taken from me just ten short hours ago, was still fresh in my mind, as much as my hormones and circumstances might try to repress it. "Now say 'Thank you, Madam', and you may go perform your duties." "Thank you, Madam," I half-whispered. They were the first words I'd been given permission to speak since I'd awakened in the harem, chained to my sleeping pallet. I hesitated for a moment. "Go on! Or do you want another beating?" I quickly turned and walked up the path, my hands clasped behind me at the small of my back, through the thick low hedges flanking the cobblestone entryway to the western wing of the castle. I stole a few glances at my surroundings for the first time, and noted quickly that there were walls on all sides of the courtyard, with sentries on the walkways above. 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