Eugenias Transformation

The patriarch of the Jung family stood ramrod straight, a forced smile on his face. Next to him stood his golden-haired wife, his twin nineteen-year-old daughters, and his seventeen-year-old son. All were arrayed in their best finery and hoped their smiles would appear suitably sincere. To think such an ancient custom would affect them. The law was clear as it was ancient. One house, chosen at random, must open itself to inspection on the eve of the birthday on which the crown prince achieved his majority, so that the heir to the throne may select any item that strikes his fancy as a present from the occupants. It could be any item, from a rare family heirloom to prize livestock, or an impressive firearm. Whatever struck the lad's fancy was his without question and without debate.

In strode the king, an image of satin, silk, and authority. His tall and gangly son, and a squad of heavily armed guards followed and surrounded the monarch. The father and son bowed. The women curtsied. The father nervously began his speech.

I welcome you to the Jung household. We are a modest but loyal family. Our home is your home.'

The king yawned, "That will do, peasant. Why couldn't the lottery have turned up the home of a duke, or a viscount, hell, even a Burgermeister? We shall not be long."

The king turned to his son, "I doubt you will find treasure here, son, but have at it."

The Jung family remained standing, plastered smiles in place as the tall, thin, dark-haired prince vanished into the rooms of the simple house. They heard him opening drawers and chests and commenting on the contents he uncovered. He explored the marital bedroom, the bedroom shared by the beautiful strawberry blonde daughters, and the modest room where the son slept. The patriarch, noting that the prince was not much older than his son, hoped that the heir to the throne would find something of interest there. Perhaps among his son's hobbies, the royal lad might find a sentimental item that reminded him of his own youth. After thoroughly exploring every room of the smallish house, he emerged empty-handed. The royal scion returned to the vestibule. He considered the family. The father, graying, paunchy, and balding, was clearly a merchant of some type. The son was nearly as tall as himself. The son wore the grubbiness of his class and had pathetic possessions. The daughters were more attractive as a united novelty than they were individually. They reminded the prince of the lovely but otherwise bland princesses and duchesses his mother was always setting him up with in hopes of sparking something. The peasant's wife was... He stared appreciatively, blonde, buxom, and statuesque, she appeared almost too young to have been a mother this long. What had his father told him about sowing his wild oats before he became serious about marrying and settling down to start a family? His father's attitude was so much more refreshing than his mother's "marry as soon as you can" mantra. Were the rumors of older women's aptitude between the sheets accurate? Who better to initiate him into the joys of carnality than a beautiful and experienced teacher? What fun he could have with such a ravishing creature! At least until the duties of state required him to put her away and become a husband and father himself. He would delay that unsavory prospect as long as possible! Here, unquestionably, was a treasure of great value. The royal lad approached the Jung matriarch, placed a hand upon her shoulder, and invoked the ancient law. "By the power of the throne. by divine right. By personal preference, this is the treasure I claim from this home."

The mother's eyes went wide, her posture sagged, and her smile faded.

Mr. Jung emitted a frustrated grunt. "Now see here!" he began.

At a nod from the king, one of the guards pressed his bayonet point against the father's jugular.

"Another word of protest peasant, you die where you stand, your daughters are escorted to a whore house, your son castrated, and this house turned to ash. After all of that, my son will still have the treasure he selected."

Mr. Jung forced himself to remain silent. The rest of the family knew that only silence was sanity. The prince grasped Mrs. Jung by her white-gloved hand and stated, "Come, treasure, we shall have such marvelous adventures. With no choice, the wife allowed herself to be led away. Not even permitted parting kisses or hugs, she tried to impart to each member of her family the intense love she felt for them. Suddenly, she was out the door of the home she loved so much and up the steps to the son's royal coach. The lad strode in and locked the carriage door from the inside. He settled himself in the thickly padded luxurious seat.

"Come sit on my lap, wench, so that we may get acquainted."

Her heart beating a ragged tattoo, she did so. His arms encircled her. He stole a kiss.

"What is your name, fair one?"

"Eugenia, sire," she answered softly.

He placed his hand upon her chin, forced her to look into his eyes.

"Obey me implicitly and without question, Eugenia, and I shall show you a marvelous time. Be recalcitrant and moody, lock yourself off from me, I can see to it that my father's threats against the home that used to be yours are carried out. Is that clear?"

Eugenia nodded.

"Excellent! Now, kiss me like you mean it!"

What choice did she have? She planted a long, lingering kiss upon his lips. The lad's hands roved over her best dress, surveying and analyzing her anatomy. He savored the plumpness of her breasts, the curve of her thighs, the arch of her neck, and her nimbus of straw-yellow hair. Had he asked the creator for a special order of his own design, Eugenia Jung would have been it. The stultifying ride to this distant hovel certainly delivered an enjoyable return voyage.

He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her closed eyes, her delicate chin.

"You are mine, Euginia, completely and totally," he said in an interval when their lips weren't busy.

Euginia caught her breath and considered the young man. She was disgusted with herself for having enjoyed so many of the kisses that transpired. Truth be told, it had been a very long time indeed since she had been kissed with such passion and abandon. Her husband became fixated on business in recent years; his passion for his wife seemed to decline with each kilo of weight he added to his once lean and taut frame. Her mind was abuzz with many thoughts, but all she could muster in reply was, "Yes, sire."

"Certainly, your former husband must have married you at a scandalously young age!"

Eugenia flushed, "Sire, you jest. I have seen thirty-nine summers."

"By the almighty, you could have birthed me!" The young prince pondered that fact for a moment before grinning from ear to ear, "What a stimulating thought!"

Eugenia became aware of the lad's manhood impacting upon her bottom. The implications were clear as to what would transpire once they reached the palace. She subtly tried to shift her derriere ever so slightly, but the prince was having none of that. He held her fast and whispered in her ear, "Your feminine will meet my masculine in due time. Let us savor the preliminary."

"Sire, I am a married woman."

"That shall be rectified shortly with a royal fiat. Heed my warning of attempting to lock yourself off. You have no family. You are my property. I am the focus of your life. Remember that and act accordingly, and you shall have a remarkable and wonderful life. I can and will, if you are obedient, provide luxury you can scarce imagine. An adventurously submissive life on your part may turn out to be a boon for those who shared your past life. My father can find husbands from the nobility for your charming daughters, arrange a commission in the military for your son, royal patronage, and contracts for the business of the man who once shared your bed."

He looked at her expectantly. Euginia leaned in and began kissing him again with much more fervor and passion. The carriage rolled through the landscape.

It was well past dark when the convoy of royal carriages came to a stop inside the palisade wall of the royal palace. Eugenia gawked out the carriage window. Even at night, the palace was bright and luminous. Alabaster walls, soaring towers, and uncountable windows ablaze with lamps and candles. The thought of living there, even as a mere possession, was heady. Euginia took a breath to collect her thoughts.

The king appeared before the carriage.

"I know you want to play, son, but you must attend to supper. I am sure that your new toy is quite famished as well. Also, if your mother has an attack of apoplexy during the meal, I'll be sure to catch her before she hits the floor."

Father and son shared a hearty laugh.

As the king strode away, the prince lamented, "To be a prince means to have just enough and just not enough power simultaneously. It is a job everyone claims they want, but that is not true; they want the pomp and circumstances and the cushy living, the three things that make the position insufferable."

He paused, "Anyway, my dove. I'm sure you need to freshen up. Mother will adore you."

Eugenia agreed with the former but disagreed vociferously with the latter. As a mother herself, she knew quite well how she would react if her son came home with an intimate female partner who shared her years and experience. An angry queen with access to almost unlimited power was the very worst enemy to have. Eugenia considered the implications and could almost feel the noose about her neck and the queen cackling with glee when the trap door was sprung. For the first time, Eugenia hoped that the prince was the sort of boy who made sure to protect his possessions in every way. She knew, from the time she crossed the threshold of the palace, she would be a thing. The woman Eugenia had already expired. She managed not to break down in tears as the young and attentive prince escorted her to her destiny.

The lavatory stunned her. Running water! The wonderful bidet was explained by the maid. Feeling completely refreshed, Eugenia exited the restroom to a hug and a peck on the cheek from the prince, who led her to the cavernous dining room. The king and queen were already seated at the head of the table. The dark-haired, aquiline-nosed queen's face betrayed no emotion as the prince pulled out a chair for Eugenia. For a long moment, the women considered each other. Eugenia found the queen utterly unreadable, leaving her no idea how she stood.

The meal was scrumptious. Eugenia's taste buds had never experienced a more delightful repast. She paid attention to the prince to determine which fork and spoon she should use with each course. The wine was sweetly delicious. The king and queen held court after the last plate and glass were dispensed with. "Remember, Magnus, tomorrow is your birthday. I expect you to be ready for the hunt at the proper hour," stated the king.

"I expect you to be polite and charitable to your birthday guests tomorrow," inveigled the queen.

With that, Prince Magnus was dismissed. He pulled out Eugenia's chair, took her hand, and led her up the marble staircase to his room on the second floor. Eugenia attempted to control her breathing. The upcoming events were more terrifying and mysterious than her honeymoon decades before! All the way to the door of his bedroom, Magnus was the model of civility and rectitude. Once the door was locked behind them, however, he embraced her and kissed her deeply. He led her to the adjoining bath and began filling the tub.

She looked at him puzzledly.

"You need to be bathed, and I shall be the one to do it."

"Sire?" She stood for a moment as the reality of the moment descended. What else did she really expect? Eugenia nodded and began tugging off her right white glove.

"No, dove. I shall do everything! That is decided."

Eugenia took a deep breath, held it, let it out softly. So, it begins, she told herself. She offered her gloved hand to the prince, who carefully, gently removed it. He kissed the back of her hand gallantly and then removed her left glove. There was the simple gold wedding band that had not left the third finger of her left hand since her wedding day. Obvious. Potent. Past.

Magnus began working it off. "You are mine. This was presented by another. Its removal cannot be objected to." It came away in his grasp, and Eugenia had difficulty focusing behind her tears. He was not unsympathetic. He handed her his handkerchief while he fell to his knees to unlace and remove her finest pair of boots.

He rose to his full height, kissed her gently, and began parting the bone buttons of her dress. He tugged it down to the floor, and she stepped out of it. She stood in her full slip above her scanties. She wished she could be invisible like the wind or that the Maker would transform her into a songbird so that she could fly away. He tugged the slip over her shoulders and down. He admired the lacy bandeau that restrained her prodigious bust. She made no effort to cover herself. What would be the point? She could not meet his gaze. She stared at the tile floor. He betrayed a bit of impatience when he encountered the complicated catch to the petticoat, but after a frustrated moment, it fluttered to the floor.

"Your legs are marvelous!" he enthused. And indeed, they were, long, limber, and shapely. She flushed crimson all over. She stood now. in just her bandeau, step-ins, suspenders, and long white silk stockings. Magnus appreciated how the stark whiteness complemented Eugenia's fair complexion. He could never know that those stockings he was admiring were Eugenia's greatest luxury and her most prized possession. A gift from her husband on their fifth anniversary, when he had come into an unexpected windfall, Eugenia had lovingly cared for them ever since, ensuring that they were never torn or snagged. Worn only on special occasions, Eugenia always laundered them with care and precision. The finery worthy of a countess or duchess had made Eugenia feel like royalty in them. Now those thoughts returned as a bitter taste.

The prince admired Eugenia's lithe and fit torso. One had to look very close to see the proofs that this woman was a mother three times over. The young prince realized he had done phenomenally well in selecting this woman. He reached behind her back and loosened the knot in her bandeau before tugging it away. Magnus savored the first pair of female breasts he had seen in real life. Eugenia's were fine indeed, with light brown areolas and chance pink nipples. Magnus grinned. Returned to his knees and carefully unfastened each of Eugenia's stockings before carefully removing each one. Eugenia noted that he had taken pains not to turn them inside out. That act impressed her mightily. In that instant, Eugenia knew that she would never be taken for granted by this increasingly handsome prince. He would not intentionally debase or abuse her, of this she was certain, but he would have what he wanted. That too was abundantly clear.

He tugged down her step-ins, revealing her thick blonde intimate triangle, neatly trimmed about the edges into sharpness. He smiled, pulled away the suspenders, and she was birth bare before him.

For a long while, he just stood there drinking her in. He had her make a slow pirouette so that he could appreciate her from all angles before ordering her into the tub. Eugenia found the water exactly the right temperature. She was stunned at how vastly this tub varied from familiarity. In her old life, just filling the tub with hot water took nearly an hour, and very often the water was tepid by the time it was full. Here, there were taps reading hot and cold. With a flick of her wrist, she could have the perfect temperature. There would definitely be good things about living in a palace!

He placed a pillow between her head and the porcelain of the tub. She leaned back and watched as he divested himself of his shirt. He was wiry more than muscular with a bit of tummy definition and rather nice biceps. His hairless chest was smooth with small pectoral muscles. While not irresistibly attractive, for Eugenia, it was quite a change from her husband's flabby belly and rubbery arms. Not that she saw her husband with his shirt off that often, recently. In fact, she had trouble recalling the last time she had seen her husband naked. Even when they made love, he just pushed aside her bedclothes in the dark and did his thing. Romance was a warm but distant memory at best. Her husband providing her a bath? Heavens no! That never would have happened. Not past the honeymoon at any rate.

The lad gently applied the soap and chased it with a sponge. Eugenia noted that this soap was very fine, unlike the locally made product available in her remote village. It was fragrant and produced such awesome suds. She had to conclude that soaking in the tub, doing absolutely nothing while the handsome lad did everything, was beyond wonderful. Especially astonishing to Eugenia was Magnus's skill and dexterity in washing her hair. He did almost as fine a job as the women in the salon back home. She wondered where a lad of just eighteen summers had acquired such skill. It was not something one would associate with young men, but the fact that this particular young man owned this ability greatly endeared him to her. It demonstrated his patience and gentleness. Those two traits, Eugenia realized, were perhaps the most important of any if she was to not only survive captivity but perhaps thrive.

As she relaxed in the tub, the prince handed Eugenia a glass of wine. The older woman had imbibed to the edge of tipsiness at dinner, partly because the wine was so sweet but also as a defense mechanism. She knew that any encounter between herself and the prince would be easier and less traumatic if she were as relaxed as possible. Eugenia sipped slowly so that she didn't become sloppy and removed from the upcoming encounter completely.

After what Eugenia had to admit was a rather pleasant idyll, Magnus pulled the plug and helped Eugenia out of the tub. He toweled her off, as Eugenia wrapped a towel about her damp hair. As he worked, Eugenia spied her wedding ring atop one of her white gloves resting next to the basin. The symbolism was not lost one her. To think it ends like this, she thought. Not with his death, either of them getting involved in a messy and scandalous affair, the tragic bite of cancer, or a random accident. No, it ended in a rush of lust from a boy she could have birthed and an ancient, unbreakable tradition. None of the many manuals for brides and wives Eugenia had read over the years ever mentioned that possibility.

Her mind transported her back to her adolescence. Her most beloved aunt, Ida, was casting her fortune. The petite woman looked up from her cards. "Genie darling, your final call takes you far away from here."

"What do you mean, auntie?"

"The cards are not clear. I see a fancy house far away."

"Will I marry a rich man?" inquired Eugenia excitedly.

"The cards are unclear, darling. It's not a marriage. What is to be is unclear."

"Oh, auntie, I thought the cards told all!"

"They do, darling. But sometimes, for a myriad of reasons we cannot see clearly. This is all you need to know for now. When the vision comes true, you will know. That is all I can say."

"Will I be happy there?"

"On that, the cards are crystal clear, sweetheart. They say that your happiness or unhappiness there will rest entirely upon your attitude."

"That's not an answer!'

"Yes, it is darling. Yes, it is."

Eugenia had been fifteen when her favorite aunt had cast her fortune that final time. Ida passed away the next year when typhoid had struck her neighborhood, and as the years passed, and no rich men from foreign lands appeared to woo her, Eugenia had shrugged off the prophecy. Now that old prediction had come to pass, and it was all as obvious as her breath on a winter's day. My happiness or lack of it is entirely up to me, she mused. She looked at the young prince. She could not deny that he was her foretold destiny. Could he make her happy? Rather, could she make herself happy as his property? The alternative was perhaps decades of horror. He was not bad-looking. He was obviously attracted to her. Happiness for many couples and individuals had been built on far less. She returned his smile.