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The Catharsis of a Warrior

by Sophie-Louise

As a Zhorian male, my childhood was marked by the insistence of my society upon my duties as a male; with the privilege of being male came the responsibility of protecting my household and serving my city. I was enraptured by tales of brave, selfless warriors, ready to die proud deaths in battle; so too were my two closest friends, Carrig and Bryn. Together, we three spent the idle moments of our shared childhood in discussion of valour and honour. Such youthful thoughts found action when called upon by our city in the name of war, and many times, the three of us rode into battle tall in the saddle with a grace and determination that signaled the intention of meeting, and the ability to surpass, our youthful ideals. The fateful day was no different, until we met in battle the famous Dryhten, renowned for his ruthless ferocity in war. Disadvantaged of our stallions by the uneven terrain, we three formed a sentry at an opening at a clearing in a forest. Therein marched Dryhten, alone and unafraid.

Equally void of terror were Carrig and Bryn; the latter, upon seeing the foe, leapt from his hiding place and charged, sword held high; Carrig was equally quick into the fray, and similarly attacked our enemy. I cannot say the same for myself: I remained hidden, rooted to the spot. Carrig, even in the tumult of battle, noticed this, and wore a shocked expression when he saw I had not moved. And yet I could not. There was something in the terrible stature of Dryhten, in his stout thighs, his massive chest, and thick arms lined with proud veins that immediately suppressed my ideals of bravery and honour. By the time I was conscious of my fearfulness, Bryn already lay dead, his taut frame washed with blood; Carrig, too, seemed slain, his toned, muscular body now limp and dirty. Dryhten loomed over them both, tired from his fight, but magnificent in his courage; I could only pray he had not seen me. I remained hidden until Dryhten began to move; he left the clearing by way of the path that my friends and I had only moments earlier been defending. As he left, I shook with fear and shame as he turned, looked me in the eye, and laughed with contempt.

I woke up in a dank cell, the air humid. A faint dribble of water ran down the wall. After I fully came to, I looked beneath the thin sheet that covered my body. Where once I would have seen a chest formed from pure muscle, firmly defined legs thick with hair, and a heglog that pierced the most beautiful women of Zhor and unfailingly ignited pleasure slaves, I now saw a body with smooth, tanned legs, soft, rounded buttocks, a flat, bare crotch, and a chest plump with two firm, pert breasts. The shock was interrupted, or rather compounded, by the appearance of a government official and a female secretary.

"I see you're awake", said the official with a smirk. The woman giggled. "You must have quite a few questions. However, as befits your new status, you will allow me to talk first. Your actions in battle with your supposed comrades were disgraceful and disgusting to all right minded people. Had you performed your duties as a soldier, or merely, I might say, as a man, your fallen comrade, Bryn, may now be alive yet. It is consolation to the people of Zhor, thought hardly to a wretch such as yourself, that Carrig survived his wounds; he crawled from the field back to the nearest fort; the actions of a hero, one might say, and somewhat at odds with you own actions, with which, from Carrig's account of the battle, we are all familiar. You are a coward, a traitor, and above all else, a disgrace to Zhor, and the honour of men such as Bryn and Carrig. Since you were unable to meet the responsibilities of masculinity so you shall not enjoy the privileges. You have been sentenced to be administered with Ruk's serum, and to live as a mere slave." At this, the secretary giggled again, with a cupped hand placed across her mouth. I barely had time to catch my breath and ponder this fate before the man continued.

"That is not all", he began. "Due to the particular gravity of your crime, so you shall be punished to an unusual extent, not, I might add, out of any cruelty on the part of Zhor, but as an example to others. After being branded with the vaecwi to confirm your new status, and a collar fastened to your neck, you shall be led to a platform in the centre square. There, you will undergo the same punishment that was meted out to Morwydd. You are familiar, I expect, with the term 'Morwydd's Conquest' and the origin of that term." Here, the female laughed out loud, muting the laughter to a giggle after an admonishing look from the official.

He then turned his gaze back on me. "Presumably, you will treat this with less levity than this silly little girl here. There have been no shortage of volunteers to perform the act, but we have selected an especially apt trio. First to stab you with his dagger will be Carrig. Following him will be the father of Bryn. Finally, simply to show the futility of your, and indeed all cowardice, Dryhten shall be granted a special amnesty to enter our city and plunge his sadly metaphorical lance deep into your rhadus."

I sat frozen in some strange combination of shock and fear. The official ignored this and made to leave the cell. Before the door, however, he turned back. "There is one more thing", he said, a statement that made sweat run down my neck, but which could give no clue to the true horror of his revelation: "Your family will be made to watch." A smug grin spread across his face, one replicated on his assistant's face. He then left, leaving his assistant to prepare me for the punishment.

"Come on girl, get out of bed", said the woman.

"You cannot call me that," I testily replied.

"And what would miss like me to call her?" asked the woman sarcastically. "What is your new name, by the way?"

"I don't know" I replied, too dazed to protest at the feminine address.

"I think Sophie would be a suitably feminine name for you. It's an old name, given only to the most feminine of females. My name's Louise; do you like it?"

Again, I was too dazed to properly reply, and just muttered a reply. "Good. We'll call you Sophie-Louise then. You'll have noticed that you're already smooth all over, so all we need to do is get you into your slave silks and put on your slave face. Then we can go and get you branded." Louise then produced tiny strips of a silky, soft cloth. They reminded me of old pictures of earth women in a state of undress that Carrig, Bryn, and I had secretly looked at when younger. Thoughts of my companions made me shudder with the subsequent thought of my punishment. Such thoughts were lost when Louise placed my left leg in the holes for the lower piece of slave silk. It was a mild pink colour, and barely covered my saer (my saer!), while the back slid tightly between my buttocks.

"Pretty, isn't it?" mused Louise. "My master makes me wear them all the time. He developed a taste for them in his study of earther women. They're designed to flaunt a female arse to the full. And of course they allow everybody to see your vaec brand."

She then presented me with a pair of high heels, with heels so tall they could not be mistaken for anything other than the footwear of a pleasure slave of the very lowest rank. With them on, Louise commanded me to walk in them, and was surprised when I mastered them quickly, declaring me to be "a born whore." She then intimated that I "might even enjoy my punishment." To be honest, it wasn't as though I had never worn such shoes before. Growing up, I had often borrowed the shoes and slave silks of my father's pleasure slave, painted a vaec brand on my left hip, and pranced around an empty house, imagining myself the pleasure slave of a great warrior, forced to perform disgusting acts night after night. Attired in such a way, I even sometimes knelt before a statue of some great man and crossed my wrists in supplication and found a curious thrill that I had always put down to the prospect of being caught. However, here in a tiny cell, with Zhor's greatest punishment looming over me and all already lost, I felt the same thrill.

Wearing the unmistakable attire of a pleasure slave, and with my face covered in make-up, I was then led into the branding room, where I was shocked to see my father holding the iron tipped with the vaec. "Father..." I began, but was interrupted.

"I am no father to you. You have brought great shame on our family, and it was demanded by the people of Zhor that I be the one to brand you into servitude if our family is to regain any standing whatsoever. It is a fitting end for a coward like you to end up as a filthy whore." With that, my father bent me over his knee, and gave vent to his rage with a series of sharp spanks that made tears issue from my eyes, and my legs to kick girlishly in the air.

Such a reaction was met with the now familiar snort of derision from Louise. "If he thinks his arse hurts now, he'll have a hell of a shock up on that platform," she noted.

"He?" questioned my father.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir", quickly replied Louise "I of course meant 'she.'"

Satisfied, Father then pulled my slave silk up tight against my crotch with one hand, and with the other forcefully brought the branding iron down, pressing deep into my plump cheek, holding it there until the hissing stopped and the smell of seared flesh wafted through the air. "You are less than a slave to me;" he said, "now begone."

With that, two heavy-set men lifted me by my armpits and half carried, half dragged, me out for the branding room, my face still wet with tears. "What's to be done with this one?" asked the first man of the second. "This," replied the second man emphatically, "is the Morwydd girl." "Ah yes", laughed the first, "the coward. I wouldn't mind having a piece of that arse myself." Both men momentarily stopped, laughing. Louise saw how their laughter distressed me and tried to offer some comfort. "When you're strapped to the table, just remember to relax;" she advised, "it eases the pain." "Quiet wench", said the two men simultaneously, the first adding that, in his opinion, "the more pain the better. The coward deserves it."

The next few moments were a blur of twisting passages and ever louder noise from the crowd, until there I was, Dylan ap Sion, clad only in a flimsy piece of silk and branded as a slave , tottering up the steps of a platform in high heels, led by a chain attached to my collar. I paused at the top with the man leading me. Seated on the stage were men identified by their clothes as a priest, a merchant and the official who had entered my cell earlier, and who had now taken on the clothes of a nobleman. By their side stood Gwylim, most famous general in all of Zhor, and father of Carrig. To my right were the crowd, great in number and uniform in expression; they regarded me as a disgrace, a disgusting perversion of the Zhorian ideals of masculinity, and they were here to see me get my just desserts.

The priest spoke first. "Citizens of Zhor, we are here today to serve sentence on a man who, in his actions, demonstrated that he was no such man, but was at heart, a base slave, no better than a woman. Indeed, he is now, for all intents and purposes, a woman, having been injected with Ruk's serum at 5 a.m. this morning."

There were gasps from some parts of the audience, for such a punishment was reserved for only the most serious crimes. The priest responded thus: "Be not shocked at the sentence, for this was indeed the most grave of misdeeds, and we exact this sentence not out of malice or cruelty, but as a warning to others who fail to be constant in their observation of Zhorian ideals. It is in that spirit that the next part of the sentence is to be carried out; for this slave, who is now to be called, so I'm told, 'Sophie-Louise..." -- here the priest stopped for the inevitable giggles from the crowd --"...will now pay reparation to those he formerly harmed, in the manner that the famous king Morwydd paid for his deeds; she will be strapped down, and subjected to gairing from those he betrayed -- his brave comrade, Carrig; Geraint, father of Bryn, the comrade who died as a result of his unmannishness; and, to show that cowardice serves no end, the man who instilled in her that base instinct, Dryhten."

Having concluded his speech and having motioned for me to be brought forward, the crowd erupted in a mixture of abuse, laughter and hatred. I scanned the crowd for my parents. I had prayed to the gods that my mother might be spared this spectacle, but there she was, next to my father and brother. Both my father and brother remained stoic faced. As I looked at her, however, my mother caught my eye, and returned my gaze with one that as instinctive anguish and conscious indifference. When I was turned round at the table, however, the vaec brand caught her eye, and she broke into tears, sobbing into the chest of my father. My attention was broken, however, when Geraint was brought out onto the stage. His eyes were livid, and it took the strength of two guards to hold him back.

The priest asked him if he had anything to say. He replied no. The priest asked him if he would like me to be positioned in any particular way. He replied that he would like me on my back, so that he "could see the pain in my eyes" as he gaired me. Immediately two guards pressed me down on the table facing the sky, and looped a thick leather belt around my stomach, so tightly that I could breathe only shallow breaths. A guard held me head so that I was looking directly at Bryn's father. Louise then appeared on stage and removed my slave silks, displaying them for the amusement of the crowd, Geraint then loosened his trousers and retrieved his twyll. He stepped forward, placed my legs over his shoulders, spat on my rhadus, and then, in one movement, rammed his spear into my abdomen, skewering my body on his staff. The crowd cheered, and then cheered with every thrust as he pumped his rod in and out of me. Below the noise of the crowd, Geraint snarled at me with every movement of his hips.

"How...do...you...like...that...you....coward..?" he demanded, satisfied only by my tears and cries of pain. After what seemed an eternity, when I could feel the board wet with my own sweat, he tightened his grip on my legs and thrust deep and hard as his body shook, the crowd's screaming reaching its loudest. I started trembling the moment he withdrew, his balm dripping from my rhadus. Bryn's father then left the stage, though not before forcefully wiping his soiled twyll on my face, leaving streaks of byth across my eyes, lips and nose.

Carrig was then brought on stage. He requested that I be pulled off the table, and stood facing him. No sooner was I on my feet than he demanded that I be turned around, bent over the table and strapped down; I was, according to him, "unfit to show my face to a real man." I was again strapped down tightly, so that now the edge of the table pressed into my stomach, and my breasts were squeezed between my chest and the board. Carrig then mounted me, his youthful twyll hard and smooth as it slipped through my rhadus. He paused once his sword was fully within its fleshy sheath, but there was to be no mercy for me; instead, he reached across my back, grabbed hold of my hair in his fist, and wound it round and round his knuckles, until my back was as arched as it would go without either it or the strap breaking.

He then began to move his dagger slowly in and out of my anus forcing me to feel every movement. He quickened as the minutes passed until he came, letting go of my hair so that my face slammed against the board as his pelvis slammed against my cheeks. Again I trembled as he withdrew, and continued shaking as he was led off the stage. I stopped only when there was a mighty cheer from the crowd, signaling Dryhten's entrance onto the stage. Although a feared enemy of the Zhorians, he was respected as a warrior and as a man. It was such a respect that allowed him to speak before the final gairing of my body.

"Zhorians", he said, "I know you as a proud an distinguished people, so it is with great sadness and regret that I see before me a pathetic figure. But do not be deceived; she looks no more pathetic now, strapped to a table in front of you, than he did cowering from fear in a hideaway as his more worthy, more noble, and more manly friends lay injured. Therefore, while it is with great sadness that I see this scene, so it is with determination that I demonstrate the futility of such cowardice by showing how far a man may fall."

With that he marched over to the table, and snapped the leather belt before it could be loosened. He pulled me to my feet, before setting me on my knees. "Now you shall see how utterly shameless the debased man may be," exhorted the great warrior. With that, he ran his hand on its edge along the table, cupping in his palm the accumulated semen from my previous gairings.

The crowd fell silent in anticipation of an act that would ensure forever that whenever my name was mentioned, the word "shameless" would soon follow. Dryhten raised his hand high above my head, and tipped my head back with his free hand. "Open," he commanded, and, as I opened my jaw, he let the fistful of slimy byth fall from his palm into my mouth. The crowd as one shuddered. "Well, now look at this," Dryhten shouted as he turned my head. My mouth was full of semen, to the point that I could not close my mouth for fear of spilling the excess on the floor. "Now swallow it, coward," demanded Dryhten. I did as I was told, the warm, thick fluid sliding down my throat and settling in a gooey heap in my stomach. I was so relieved to be able to breath again, a weak smile came upon my lips, which drew further derision from the crowd.

"What? Is the man come so low as to enjoy eating the byth of better men?" asked Dryhten, reminding the crowd of my former state. "Such are the actions of a natural slave; let us see if this is the case!" bellowed Dryhten.

With that, he turned my head again, simultaneously releasing his twyll from his clothes. Evidently, he was aroused by what he'd made me do: his club was solid, and throbbing with an insistent pulse. He grabbed the back of my head and made as if to force his sword down my throat; yet he stopped as it met my mouth, glazing my trembling lips with light byth. "I shall not force her to perform a teur; let us see if she is a slave at heart, who will receive my twyll willingly." With that, the crowd fell silent. I cannot explain what happened next, but, dazed, tired, and confused in the afternoon sun, the presence of a twyll near my lips caused every instinct in my body to demand the same thing. And so, naturally and without thinking, I elaborately wrapped my lips tight around the shaft and forced my head down. The crowd responded with more sighs of contempt. I continued, rocking back on forth on my knees, endeavouring to slide as much of Dryhten's rock solid twyll down my throat as I could. I was entirely lost in moment, oblivious to the crowd, to the people on stage, even to the moans of the man I was servicing. Then a simple command stopped the proceedings.

The priest simply said "Enough. we do not come here to degrade this serum-girl further; we have come to punish her degradation."

The first command had angered Dryhten, but the priest's words soon made him regain his bravado. Again, he addressed the crowd. "Do you want to see this coward suffer?" The crowd bayed yes. Dryhten then lifted me by my hair and turned me around, facing away from him and towards the crowd. He loomed large over my shoulder. The crowd was silent. The only sound was mine and my tormentor's heavy breathing. Then suddenly, without warning, I felt a felt a surge of pain throughout my abdomen. Dryhten had, with one thrust, pierced my body with his thick lance. I screamed out loud in pain; the crowd screamed out in glee. Without removing his twyll, Dryhten then bent me over, placed one hand behind each of my knees, and lifted me clean off the ground, supported only by his organ deep inside me.

The crowd's cheers grew louder as Dryhten began to bob me up and down on his twyll. Tears began to well up in my eyes, but I could just make out my mother, now totally distraught, her face buried in my father's chest. Each time Dryhten lifted me up, my knees obscured her figure, but each time as he lowered me again and again onto his twyll I could make her out. Several times, I saw her look up, as her son was bouncing up and down on the huge weapon of a great warrior, only for her to bury her head in my father's chest even deeper. My father and brother watched without emotion, but for the gleeful, vengeful shout that came out of their mouths every time Dryhten pushed his twyll especially deep into my body. The strange thing was, that as much as I felt humiliation, shame and contrition, so there was a feeling deep within my body, a feeling warm, satisfying and...gorgeous.

After the crowd dispersed that day, I was led back to the cells, where Louise awaited to clean me up. "That was quite a performance", she said, as she wiped a wad of byth from my bottom and made me lick it from her finger. "It looks like we won't have to spend much time training you to be a pleasure slave.." I gave a weak smile. "No doubt there'll be plenty of people who want to spend a night with a whore as shameless as yourself, having seen that." At this, I began to cry. Seeing my distress, Louise gave me a comforting pat on the back. "I have a surprise for you", she said in a tender voice, "someone I managed to smuggle in while the guards weren't looking." At her signal, out of the shadows stepped my mother! Her eyes were misty with tears.

"Oh, Dylan, how are you?" I began to cry. "My dear, I've been thinking; there's no point you fighting this. As I'm sure you know, there is no variant of the serum that changes women back into men."

"I know, but it just isn't fair."

"Not fair? I thought that, but then Bryn' mother saw me crying when you were being....well...and she reminded me that you were responsible for her son's death. Compared to losing your life, being a woman isn't all that bad."

"Perhaps not, mother, but I'm not just a woman, I'm a...a pleasure-slave! A strumpet, a trollop, a cheap whore! You know what they say about the cup girls, the siolat girls -- 'Siolat is expensive; a woman's body is cheap'."

"Well, perhaps that's all you're worth, dear. I'd far rather have a daughter that gets brolled every night than a coward for a son."

"But I don't want to get brolled every night!"

"Oh really? You noticed that I said 'brolled' there; I might mention that I not only have a daughter who gets brolled, but who, as today's events have shown, is willing to perform a teur on a perfect stranger! That's perhaps forgivable - you are a pleasure slave, after all, but I also saw you gaired by three different men, and willingly eat byth! That's the behaviour of a person without shame!"

"But I had to, Mother."

"No you didn't; all you were put up there for was 'Morwydd's Conquest'! Do you know, I fancy that you enjoyed yourself today. Don't forget -- I'm a woman. . I've never eaten byth, or performed a teur, or been gaired, but I know how it feels to fondle a twyll, or to have it rammed deep up inside me by a muscle-bound stallion. Considering your behaviour as a man, I think you're pretty lucky. And, in your heart, you feel you are too. So, you can either cry, and lament your fate, or you can get used to serving men -- real men-- and enjoy it." At this point, Louise returned. "I've just been given some orders by Dryhten. He says that he considers you performing a teur on him today to be the equivalent of kneeling and crossing your wrists and that he shall be along soon to claim you." "Well then, Dylan, sorry, Sophie-Louise, this is it; either you embrace being a pleasure slave and enjoy it, or you can fight against it and lose." Louise sniggered before adding, "Having seen Dryhten's twyll, I can safely say you could do far worse!" -- a line that made my mother titter and blush.

Soon, Mother and Louise had me one again clothed in slave silks. I wore the same style of silk as before, but this time covered it with a loose, flimsy skirt. As Dryhten approached, Mother and Louise left the cell, but stood close by to watch. Between them leaving and Dryhten entering, I noticed a small sliver of broken glass loose in the windowpane. This was a chance to redeem myself. If I could kill the man who slew Bryn, I might be accepted once again by society. Perhaps my family would have me back again. I resolved that this time, I would have no lack of courage. I reached for the knife just as Dryhten entered.

"Sophie-Louise, I consider you my slave," said he in a thick baritone.

Now was my chance. My hand gripped the glass. Then loosened. I let it drop to the floor. My eyes gorged on Dryhten's stout thighs, his massive chest, and thick arms lined with proud veins. And his twyll, throbbing beneath the fabric of his trousers. I brought my finger up to my lips, raised my eyebrows, gave a girlish giggle, and lifted my skirt.

THE END

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