The Prince of As-Datan

A hand reached out from behind him, trying a leather strap across his forehead, binding tight on either side so that he could look nowhere except straight ahead. There was a great rumble down below, a harsh grating sound like the half-rusted gears of a fortress gate grinding open. He tried to see what it was, but no matter what he tried his face was bound too tight to look. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the floor opening up all down the length of the room, but whatever rose from the depths below, he had no clue.

Then he felt it, a broad, circular weight pushing apart his already strained legs. Some sort of long, metallic tube was positioned underneath him. It paused before it had risen all the way, and for a moment he felt a sense of relief. That was when the servants grabbed him by the hips. Pushing, pulling, guiding him without any clear purpose, Aman stared forward without comprehension, demanding to know what they were doing.

The servants, as always, remained silent.

Then he felt it. A pressure between his legs. Hard, unyielding, and very phallic. Now Aman did scream, his determined stoicism thrown aside as he felt it push against his as yet unviolated entrance. He begged, screamed, pleaded with them in every way he could, but it had no effect whatsoever. Aman gasped in shock as it inexorably rose up inside him, filling him in ways no man should ever know.

He howled, trying desperately to escape its clutches, but it was no use. The rod was so deep inside, and his legs so overextended, that all he managed was to bounce futilely up and down the shaft, stimulating him in ways that man was never meant to experience.

Sinking back upon it, all he could think about was the uncomfortable fullness of it. Pushing through his insides, it felt as if it threatened to split him in two, all the while providing an all too stimulating sensation against his nub.

The smooth granite wall in front of him shimmered, wavering like the distorted air of a trackless desert. This was no false oasis in front of him, however. Instead, the image resolved into a true mirror, showing for the first time what had become of him.

He was lovely, that much was no shock. With large, full breasts held high by the chains, yet threatening to burst from the silky confines of his top. The long, reddish brown hair was a rough approximation of his own russet locks, save that they shone lustrously in wild ringlets all the way down his lithe back. The mirror showed a wild, desperate expression, that on his transmuted face promised the most enticingly lovely vulnerability. The stoic resolution Aman had intended was instead revealed for a look of close mouthed uncertainty.

Gasping, he watched the figure's mouth open in a pouty, full lipped O that would have stoked the libido of any man in possession of a pulse. The irony was not lost on Prince Aman. Just a day earlier he would have delighted at the image of this splay-armed beauty chained before him. Those high seated breasts which hung so heavily on his chest would have driven him to distraction, demanding that he possess her. How could this fragile figure in the mirror possibly be him?

He stared at the image, trying to understand. He felt drawn to it, staring hard as though there was some understanding waiting just out of reach. Some greater reality that lay behind if only he could gaze hard enough to pierce the illusory veil in front of him. The image seemed to waver and bend as he looked, and Aman focused all the harder as his mind grasped for the truths that lay beyond it.

Aman sneezed, courtesy of the dust still lining the little used chamber. The motion sent spasms across his body, pressing him against the hard rod still burried deep inside him. He tried to shake his head, but found it still held fast. When his eyes opened again, he found that the image's distortions had not been his imagination at all. Instead, he found in front of him a slowly shifting mural, multicolored and swirling constantly towards the center of his gaze. He found himself drawn to it, staring once again at the all important image played out before him.

No!

He shook, forcing himself awake. Whatever was happening, he would not succumb. He was Aman, Prince of As-Datan and no mere simpleton to be defeated by such tricks. Though the glowing patterns called to him, he resisted, forcing his eyes shut even as they demanded to witness the spectacle before him.

Closing tight, he steeled himself against whatever new trickery the Wizard-King had in store. Though he had made a fool of Aman earlier, he would not give in so easily. He would defeat this new devilry, and then he would-

THOOOOOOM!

Like an oversized gong, something struck the tube Aman straddled. Ringing loudly, he felt the vibrations pulsing through him. All throughout his body. It buzzed through the rod that impaled him, buzzing insistently against him, filling his entire body with the strange, stimulating sensations.

Aman's eyes shot wide in absolute shock. The patterns caught them immediately.

No! He had to close them again, he had to-

THOOOOOM

It rang again, pulsing and buzzing through him, ringing hard against his aching pussy. The sensations he felt was utterly alien to the former man, so absolutely, undeniably feminine, yet all the more delicious for it. An aching, hungry need rose in him, and he found himself pressing harder against the metal cock he was speared upon, moving his hips against it. Not to escape, as he had done earlier, but to milking every bit of sensation from that wonderful fullness.

Still the colors swirled in front of him.

So pretty...

THOOOOM

There were hands on him now. Soft ones, so gentle against his skin. Touching, teasing, they roamed every part of his body. Stoking he new feminine desires, but never delivering. Never satisfying that ache he felt between his legs.

THOOOOM

They were speaking now. Soft whispers just barely in his ears. Important ones, he knew he should be paying attention, but the colors were so captivating it was hard to focus on anything else.

Wait, were they speaking Datian? Why wouldn't they speak their own-

THOOOOM

All sensation now. Watching, listening, rubbing his body up and down on the hard, thick shaft. Hungry, always hungry for more, but it never quite came. There was something else, something missing. He needed to learn, needed to understand, and only then could he be complete.

He needed to be good.

THOOOOOOM

Needed to be a good girl.

THOOOOOM

She was a good girl.

THOOOOOM

She always would be.

THOOOOOM

Aman woke on a hard tile floor, cool a night's breeze, though the soft morning sunlight warmed her skin. She rose, shaky and sore, trying to piece together the strange dreams and images that swirled throughout her mind. Her chest shifted in its silky prison, and she realized that part had been no dream. Then what of the rest of it? The room, the device- the things she had felt?

What had they done to her? Aman searched through his head, trying to put it all together. Had they changed her somehow? She didn't think so. She felt nervous, happily giddy as if floating on a cloud, but otherwise unchanged. Surely their intentions had failed if she still felt like herself.

"How are you feeling this morning, Prince Aman?"

Aman turned to face the King, and as she caught sight of him she was filled by a new and unaccustomed sensation: submission. Her knees lost their strength, and she sank to the floor before him, compelled to prostrate herself before the lordly man before him. She shook her head, trying to clear away these unwelcome sensations. This was her enemy, the scourge of her people. She should be fighting him, not granting him homage.

It was no use. Whatever she thought of him, what she believed was an entirely different story. She knew, to the core of her being, that she owed this man her utter and complete subservience. He was so high above her it was almost unfathomable, and though she tried to banish these unwelcome feelings, she also craved his approval.

"I feel wonderful, my lord," she answered instinctively, before realizing what he had called her.

She gasped at the realization. Surely she had heard him incorrectly. She looked up, fighting to meet his eyes even though her every instinct told her to bow her head in the presence of such an illustrious being. It was true, she could see the knowledge written clear across his face.

"Oh yes, I know exactly who you are. I've known who you were from the moment you set foot in my city."

"Impossible!" she cried in horror.

If he had known all the while, then those things he had made her do...

"That's right. Even then. I wonder what your brother will think, knowing that it took only the faintest prompting before the great warrior Aman had his lips wrapped around my cock. To think, that fool just expected me to execute you."

"You lie!" she insisted, though her every instinct railed against contradicting him.

"Do I?" he asked. "After all, he cannot inherit with you in the way. He quite liked the idea that you should be captured on one of those secret missions you took so much pride in. Of course, he expected me to take your life, but I had other uses for you. I find you much more pleasing as my devoted servant, and you love being my obedient fucktoy, don't you?"

"Very much so," Aman said, and meant it too. Though this man had so recently been her enemy, she found the thought of refusing him anything completely foreign to her. The truth behind that thought dismayed her, but only when she concentrated on it. More and more, it required an act of will to remember why she should feel anything but delight at being mastered by such a domineering man.

He knelt down, lifting her chin lightly and guiding her to her feet. Aman melted at his touch, placidly complying with her enemy's every whim. Her breathing quickened, and she was keenly aware of the full weight of her breasts beneath his gentle touch. Her breath came out in ragged gasps now, moaning openly as his hands explored her nubile form. With each touch, she surrendered more fully to the aching, yielding need that had begun to consume her.

"Do you know why none of your sisters were ever consecrated?" he whispered in her ear, though he did not bother to wait for a response.

"Because of this, because your long forgotten ancestors knew what was lurking in the basements of their palace. Because any female in its grasp could be turned towards the path of obedience and surrender their family's secrets. Because they never knew that transformation magic could be used thus."

His hands stripped away her clothes, just as hers took his. Aman reveled in her nakedness, all thoughts of shame long banished. Her earlier reluctance now felt silly, and her new body undeniable in its rightness. His form, by contrast, was desirable beyond understanding. Those days when the male form had held no desire for her seemed a lifetime ago. Their bare bodies pressed against one another, and she reveled in the contact.

"Even after all my research, so many secrets lie hidden, so many great powers of the lost empire that will respond only to a consecrated heir of the imperial bloodline. Secrets that you will unlock for me, won't you."

"Yes," she cried eagerly, even as a renewed horror swept through her. With the full force of the empire's ancient power behind him, none would be able to oppose his rule. Her family would be deposed, her people subjugated under an empire reborn in fact as well as name, and he wanted her to help him do it.

His teeth nibbled against her earlobe, and she cried out in pleasure. Her hands twined around his body, her mouth tasting his swarthy skin.

She would do it, she realized. It burned her with shame, but there was no strength within her to resist his will. There was nothing she would not surrender to this man. Not her home, not her people. All that he asked of her, she would provide.

Yet still a part of her that was the prince railed at this fate, even as she was overwhelmed by the blissful need of his touch. A part that hated him as he lowered her pliant form onto the soft bed. That despised what she was made to do even as her legs parted eagerly. His weight pressed down upon her, and Aman's entire body ached with a longing emptiness that was soon to be filled.

"You may have lost your kingdom," he whispered into her ear. "but take solace, my sweet princess, for one day our son shall rule the world."

Her eyes widened in frightening realization that she could now become pregnant. At the strange, ultimately feminine idea of carrying a child within her body. At carrying his child, the enemy of her people.

Then he pushed into her waiting opening, and all was well. A warm glow overcame her, quite apart from the burning pleasure of their coupling. Some primal, buried instinct that had been called to the forefront by the man thrusting inside her. Motherhood beckoned, and for some reason the prospect excited rather than disgusted her. It was yet another thing she could give him, something unique to herself. A part of him and her inexorably intermingled, now and forever.

Besides, she thought as his mouth descended on hers. Whatever else might come, she knew should would enjoy the process greatly.

Mmmmm.... So very much.