Amarillie woke up from a drowsy slumber. She had grown tired lately, and her mouth and sinuses felt blocked with spit so much that she struggled to swallow. Wondering if she had caught some variant of Man flu on her scouting mission through the Barbarous Borderlands, she looked around her. She was laying on a peaceful white padded room, possibly a bedroom on her Sorority Chapter House. Perhaps her mission´s debriefing had gone longer than a one hour conference call, so she had gone to rest?
Besides her, was Begony, the ship´s pilot and tech expert. She was a big, growing girl, but lately, had started to slim down, so much that, if she really wanted now, she could very easily strip from her plus size clothes, but she moved and appeared as if she was on a heated fever. Perhaps they had indeed gone down with some yucky Man Flu and put on quarantine. She wished to admonish Begony for trying to diet now after having achieved for herself such a rotund feminist figure, but something stopped her.
As the leader, she was responsible for employing the female message with extreme prejudice, but in her drowsy state, she wished for somebody to order and guide her, a shameful, unwomanly wish, but one that stopped her from nagging at her comrade. The slimming girl shuffled to look at her. Her blushing face, and reddened, swollen ears mumbled something at her, begging her to rub her crotch. Amarillie, just like every single other woman in the Matriarchy, was a political lesbian, and as the Leader, should be able to fulfill her sister´s wishes, but lately, she felt herself swinging farther and farther to the other way.
To not reject outright the wishes of her sister, she rose from the padded floor with great effort, as her arms seemed to tired to obey her, instinctually looking for a male nurse to aid them, and instead found her other comrade, sitting at the corner. Gladys was the weapons expert, a proud warrior that kept the Barbarians away. in her mind´s eye, Amarilie could see her, flying into battle with an army of droned to aid her, but here she was, bound to a wheelchair,
It looked as if she was struggling to get up and "take flight" as she used to say, but everyone knew she was too much of a pussy to actually stand at the frontlines, too comfortable to just send the ship´s drones to do the dirty work, although she knew Gladys could walk, so why...
As the Leader, it was her job to help her stand from the wheelchair, and check what was wrong, but again, she felt like double guessing herself, as if she needed directions when she had been independent before. Even worse, her gut was telling her to go look for a Male Nurse, something shameful in the Sorority. Nothing made sense. She started to backtrack her steps to find out what had made her feel like this, when she finally became conscious of something in her mouth.
A big, soft and round object was lodged in her mouth, and made her drool. She could not spit it out, or push it, and when she tried to move her arms, they were stuck. Wondering what was wrong, she fully woke up, and looked down. Her arms were strapped on a straitjacket. She yelled, and her two comrades turned to her. In the sudden onset of activity, the door to her padded cell slammed open, and two men, enormous slabs of rock made in the form of patriarchs, stepped through...
Amarillie woke up, strapped to a hospital bed, and an even tighter straitjacket, as the 3d visor disengaged from her head and harmlessly fell to the ground. She laid on the other way round as a normal person would, just like everything else in these barbarous lands. Her feet were lashed to the bed supports at the front of the bed, where the pillow should be, and her head dangled in the air from the other edge, looking at the ceiling with no support. The gag was gone, but there was no use yelling for help.
Their scouting ship had never escaped the Patriarchy borderlands, those growing barbaric outposts, and they had been captured. looking at her sides, she could see what was being done to her comrades. Gladys laid on her stomach, the mind altering visor still lodged at her head, willing her to sleep. in her back, grafted wings were healing. She was to be sold as an exotic Valkyrie, a feisty trophy from the Matriarchy, even when she had never fought hand to hand in her life.
As for Begony, her feminine fat, had made her too much of a hassle to reform, so they had injected her with the dreaded Elf Plasmid. It was burning her body, as it transferred the extra bulk to her breasts, and burning her brain, as her ears grew longer. Soon she would be good for nothing more then sucking cock.
She knew full well what was her destiny. As a strong and independent leader, she was being turned into a Misogynist fanatic and preacher, an Orchid. She could feel parts of her old self slowly being shed screaming, as she no longer wept for them.
