Spoiler Tags:
Male to Futa, Futa on Female, Femdom, Transgender, Transformation, Fantasy, Domination, Submission, Mind Control, MtH
*****
We stood in rows, like soldiers at attention facing their general, although we were naked instead of in uniform. Six menacing guards surrounded us and prevented any potential shenanigans or escape attempts.
I wonder what they're going to do with us?
I'd yet to be beaten, but these solid iron loops around my neck and wrists didn't promise a life of puppy dogs and bedtime stories. The metal didn't chafe, and I still didn't understand how they'd welded it around my appendages without any heat source.
Magic, it had to have been. I thought the news stories were fabrications from drunk hillbillies. But it must be true. The invaders have magic. These "Crusaders" haven't abused me yet, so I'm not prepared to kick and scream. All I have left is to wait and see how everything goes. I hope Jessie made it away safely. He should be able to care for the wheat. That farm is all we have left of our folks.
Some of the men in line with me snapped and snarled like beasts, their bodies pockmarked with dirty cuts, bruises, and scars, a feast that indicated lives of hardship and violence. Their iron loops led to chains that affixed to the floor, clinking with their motion as they tested their strength against the restraints.
Others looked calculating, watching the guards with eyes that promised cold retribution and death. Only a rare few looked like me, shifting from foot to foot, nervously waiting on our fate. Wincing at the memories of my capture, I fought to stop my gorge from rising too far, desperate not to puke on the man standing in front of us, anxiety and guilt making a roiling mess of my stomach. We were still dripping a bit of water after our production line baths and I didn't want to be singled out for anything.
Our combined fate walked through the tent flap in the form of a man. This man was a giant, and bore no weapons as he strode the the crimson entrance of a tent which sprawled above us like a cathedral.
"Prisoners, I'm here to facilitate your reorientation. For the crime of murder, you are sentenced to five years of servitude. Now, I need everyone to focus on the melnad," he said, holding up a wooden cross that glowed with an unnaturally calming light. A few turned their heads, looking away from the man with disdain at the given order. I tried to turn my head, but I'd already looked at the light, and once I'd seen it, the cross wouldn't let me look away. In my peripherals the guards converged on the holdouts, forcing their heads and eyes into position until we all stared, comfortably unblinking, at what I reasoned to be a melnad.
"Good. Here are your commandments," he spoke with soft conviction, his voice filling up the empty corners of the room until I was swimming in sound.
The light and his voice combined into a silken serpent that coiled around my brain, constricting over and over again. Squeezing, until his words were the only thing that mattered. From what I could see, my experience seemed to be the norm for the prisoners. An intricate golden rune began to form onto each of our foreheads, looking something like a mixture of a cross and an ampersand.
"You shall obey your master so long as the order does not endanger others. Secondly, you will protect your master from threats of external harm. Finally, you are not allowed to injure yourself unless it is done to follow a previous commandment. Such is the will of God, he who rules above all."
The runes flared for a second, dousing the room in an uncomfortable light and heat. An itchy feeling smothered my brain before going away, the rune on our heads dimming.
The speaker pocketed the melnad as the guards at the far end of the structure began shuffling dazed looking servants out of the tent. Free to move, I approached the speaker, concerned about something he'd said at the start of his speech.
He was examining a tablet that looked to be composed of fallen light, unfamiliar runescript running up the device in a scrolling manner that reminded me of Star Wars.
"Ummm. Excuse me?" I asked tremulously, nervous now that I was in front of such a commanding individual. He looked up from his tablet, focusing on me as I fidgeted.
In that moment another prisoner struck, landing a blow that rocked the speakers head. Two guards converged on the prisoner, one of them taking what I'd dubbed the 'taser stick' out of her uniform and paralyzing the offending prisoner.
"Sociopath," she muttered darkly. "I'll take him to Melitas," she promised the speaker as the two hauled away the prisoner.
The speaker turned back to me, an intense rage burning on his face.
"Sorry about-" I began apologizing.
"Silence!" he shouted. My rune flared once, the last light of the melnad evaporating into my brain, sinking it's mystical tentacles into my folds. Another guard rushed up and grabbed my arms, forcing them behind my back and holding them there. The captain closed his eyes and visibly reined in his rage, waving off the guard restraining me. He rubbed at his jaw, flexing it a couple of times before speaking.
"Okay. What was it you were saying?" he said, echoes of anger still lingering around the edges of his expression.
Opening my mouth nothing came out.
What the?
Incredulous I tried again with the same results.
I can't speak!
Like a fish, my mouth flapped without a sound as I fought to produce a sound. Paint drying was louder than what was coming out of my throat. A cold fear filled my gut, realization dousing me with icy dread.
"Are you trying to piss me-," he said, growing angry again before he realized what'd happened. "Oh. Sorry about that. Maybe your master can fix that that once the commandment rune settles. Actually..." he said, turning to the guard restraining me. "Take him to Helal, she's in need of a servant, although she'd never pick one for herself. A quiet and demure one like this might avoid her wrath for a time."
Nodding, the guard marched me out of the tent while I struggled to wrap my brain around my new reality. We left the center of the camp, heading towards the outskirts, the tents steadily becoming more elaborate and gaudy as we traveled. A more modest tent of middling size stood in front of us, almost spartan in its lack of decorations and embroidery compared to its neighbors. Nervously, my guard marched up to the front of the tent, taking a second to compose himself and clear his throat before speaking.
"Commander Helal, a prisoner has been provided to act as your servant," he called out, his voice overly loud.
Silence was the only response.
Looking terrified, he considered various options while mumbling to himself before approaching the entrance.
"Commander Helal, I shall leave the prisoner in your entryway." He turned and addressed me. "Prisoner, you shall stand inside her tent. Do not touch anything. Do not make trouble until she gets home. Is that clear?" he said threateningly, venting his anxiety at a less imposing target.
This commander must be a real monster to instill this kind of fear. Also, the whole not-talking-thing is going to get old quickly. And I imagine it will get me into loads of trouble considering my new "profession."
"Is that clear?" he snapped at me.
I snapped an instinctive salute just to do something in the affirmative. Opening mouth, I waved my hand in front of it, eyes wide as I tried to get my point across.
"Oh right. You have your instructions," he called out before hurrying away as if his coat tail was on fire.
The tent opened up into a living space comparable to a one person apartment, complete with bookshelves, rocking chair and couch. I tried to take a step forward and explore the area more thoroughly but the guards command stopped me cold. Sighing in defeat, I settled in for a long wait.
An hour and a half later, the entrance flap opened, a reddish-haired woman entering as if she owned the place.
Which she probably does.
My back ached as I stretched up from my sitting position, beginning to rise to my feet. Reacting with whip like speed, she punched me in the gut and threw me to the floor with a well practiced judo maneuver. By the time she was done, she loomed above me with a knee on my throat. Her eyes flicked to the sigil on my forehead and her hostility eased.
Fractionally.
"Who are you supposed to be?" she said, her knee still on my throat.
Even fearing for my life I still managed to answer her with a sarcastic eyebrow arch, eyes dancing down towards where her knee still choked me.
"Right. Sorry about that. Now, tell me what you're doing in my home?" She released the pressure on my throat.
This is Commander Helal? I suspected more of a musclebound meathead than a California girl with ninja skills.
I tried to mouth words at her.
"I can't speak."
I pointed at the sigil and prayed to god that she understood what I was trying to convey.
"My fuse is exceedingly short and I've had a very long day. So, if your playing games with me, stop," she growled, narrowing her eyes with obvious menace.
My testicles made an admirable effort to hide within my body.
I fought to keep myself from gibbering I held my throat as if I was choking.
"If you don't say anything in five seconds I'm going to do something... unpleasant. Five."
My eyes bulged and my mouth flapped.
"Four."
