The Princess Transformed Ch 03

Part 7 of the entire tale, actually! Let's hope this is actually finished someday. :)

In this chapter: Plot! Exposition! We finally start learning more about the mysterious resistance and what they are up to. It's not just sex folks! Though there's plenty of that, too.

I think that I may need to start numbering these in a different order so I don't confuse my readers. Can everyone keep these straight?

I've been experimenting with certain things and decided to add more voiced dialogue here and there, just to see how it flows. I'd love to hear your comments on whether that works for you or not.

As always, I would like to thank moncrifelle for the excellent editing work.

In any case, here we go again!

*****

It was a long journey, but Tivin and Daphnia had finally arrived in Asdale. The princess had no idea what to expect from the town, but in turned out that there was nothing to expect—it was just a normal, sleepy country town. That being said, there had to be some reason why the resistance had directed her here. And she had learned that appearances could be deceiving. Look at her—no one would suspect that the curvy, eager elfslut parading herself for the pleasure of others was actually the princess of Erecia.

She and Tivin had fucked for two hours before actually entering the town proper, just so that she could be prepared for whatever awaited her. She thought it prudent to have the edge of her lust taken off so that she could be prepared for whatever awaited her. After about ten orgasms, she was ready, and entered the town as alert as she had ever been.

The boy? She had left him sleeping in a copse of trees just outside the city outskirts. There was only so much sex a man could take, and apparently, he had reached his limit.

She had kissed him gently goodbye and smiled indulgently at his face lost in happy slumber. She couldn't have asked for a better manservant...and he had been put to sleep in perhaps the most pleasurable way known to man.

She had attuned herself astrally the moment she left the forest, and there they were—the same sigils that had led her out of the castle to a manor somewhere in town. It took her some time to get there—avoiding the crowds and finding her way in a new environment took time, but eventually she was at the gates of a large building. Steeling herself, Daphnia raised her hand to knock on the doors. . . and they swung open before her instead.

She stepped into the building and there he was—the hooded figure. At least she thought it was a man. It could just as well be a woman, or several different people altogether. She had no way of knowing.

"Princess. We have been expecting you."

Of course they had. They had been the ones to bring her here. She decided to try a different tack this time—not saying anything. So, she stared steadily into the where the eyes would be on a normal man (woman?), and after a few moments, the figure spoke again.

"Welcome to Asdale, Your Highness. We of the resistance thank you for your patience, and for all the help you have provided us thus far. Rest assured that it has not gone unnoticed. We are regretfully unable to affect a cure for your transformed state at present, but we are working on it. Before we proceed further, there is someone that we think you should meet."

Someone? Daphnia's interest was piqued despite herself. Who could this be? Another slave? Someone she knew? Or maybe. . . could it be. . . that they had finally located one of her family?

She nodded and motioned for the figure to continue. A door to the side of her opened and someone walked in . . . a man both strange and familiar.

Daphnia's mouth fell open in shock.

"Perthias? Is that you?"

It appeared that her brother had been subject to the same spell as she had been, just the male version. He had never been what you might you call burly or swarthy—tending to the petite side, just like her. The Crown Prince of Erecia had always preferred the rapier to the broadsword, the epee to the axe. Some of the unrulier courtiers had sniggered a little when he walked by—a possible result of his dandyish ways and slight figure. But to his credit, her brother had always paid them no heed.

But now a hulking giant of a man stood before her with thighs nearly the size of her head, and rippling muscles that bulged outwards, not unlike her own enhanced endowments. He was almost seven feet tall, and Daphnia also could not help but notice that the flimsy loincloth he wore barely covered his massive organ.

He we not unattractive (far from it!) and she felt elvish desire stir within her, but this time she was able to tamp it down rapidly with the knowledge that this was not just another sex slave but her brother. Her stupid, bumbling, incompetent oaf of a brother, somehow caught in the same web she was.

The sight of him did bring up another memory though. . . that of Briva, the male slave that she had shared many a pleasant interlude with back at the castle. Where was he? She wondered. Still servicing willing females? Did he remember her as fondly as she remembered him? Things had progressed so rapidly that she hadn't thought of him in weeks. The flight to Asdale had occupied all her waking moments. But she did miss him. She missed his passionate lovemaking and arduous attention.

Looking at her kin in front of her, Daphnia's mind reached a sudden insight. If she had been transformed into an elfslut, and her brother had too, who WAS the slave? It seemed too much of a coincidence for him to just be your ordinary, run-of-the-mill sex slave. She knew there were plenty of those in the castle, but he was different somehow. Who could Briva be? Once again, there was no way of knowing. As usual, there were far too many mysteries, and too few answers.

She would have to ask the resistance forces about that. If they truly knew everything, then that mystery should not be too hard for them to penetrate. But knowing the hooded figure's elusive ways, they would either stonewall her or tell her the time was not right. All she could do was focus on the here and now.

Her brother was looking at her with much the same surprise as she displayed. She could tell by the expression on his face that he had reached the same conclusion as her - the over-endowed elfslut in front of him was actually his sister. Though changed by Rampillion's magic, enough of her facial features remained that both siblings could recognize each other.

They fell to talking immediately, stumbling over their words in an effort to exchange as much information as possible in the shortest space of time. Daphnia recounted her transformation and how she managed to escape the castle with the aid of the resistance, and Perthias in turn told his sister about his own imprisonment and subsequent flight. Neither of them explicitly mentioned their sexual escapades. It was obvious that both had had plenty of sex with many partners, and it seemed crass and beside the point to bring it up now.

When their brief conference was over, the siblings paused for a moment to catch their respective breaths and assess the situation. It hadn't quite sunk in yet—how they were both alive and well and out of the clutches of the Crimson Mage. They hadn't yet regained their original forms, but nevertheless it was a start. If only they knew where their mother was . . .

Lost as they were in their recollections and revelations, prince and princess both hadn't noticed the entrance of a third person into the room. Only when she (and it was a she) neared both of them did they look up in surprise. The busty sex slave in front of them looked . . . familiar, somehow. All three of them stared at each other, trying and failing to voice what was foremost in their minds. They knew each other from somewhere, that much was certain. But where and how . . .

The hooded figure appeared once again to shed light on the situation. Without any fanfare at all, it announced the truth that was so close, yet so far to the three transformed.

"The royal family has been gathered together. Let it not be said that we of the resistance do not honor our promises."

It took a few seconds for all that to sink in. Daphnia, Perthias, and Gladia all gaped at each other in turn. Could it be . . . no, it couldn't, but it was. Changed though they were, somehow the three people in the room recognized each other for who they really were. Princess and queen might be sporting breasts larger than their heads (to say nothing of their spectacularly rounded behinds) and the prince might have forearms thicker than some men's legs, but all their memories remained intact, and in that moment as their eyes met all of them knew each other as family.

Another round of talking began as quickly as the previous one had ended. As the hooded figure watched silently, the royals swapped stories and exchanged information. Their respective transformations, the flight from the castle—all was shared and dissected, and if any of them suspected the others of not divulging embarrassing or personal information, they were too circumspect to inquire. Daphnia, as a sorceress of no small skill herself, was particularly interested in the strange potion that her mother had drunk. As far as she knew, there had been no record of such a thing in the records that the castle scholars had kept meticulously. But before she could inquire further, the figure interrupted them once more.

"My apologies, your Highnesses. I can well understand your need and desire to be reacquainted, but we have more pressing matters to discuss. Now that you are all here and gathered together, we must discuss how and when we can turn the tide against the usurper."

All eyes turned to the speaker. He, or she had their complete and undivided attention, for it seemed like their long-awaited counterattack was at hand. But there were other pressing matters to discuss first, and Daphnia, ever the one to act, stepped forwards to ask the question that was on everyone's mind.

"We have given you our word, and so far, you have kept yours. For that, as a noble of Erecia, I thank you. But I must also ask that you no longer keep us in the dark as to whom you are and what your purpose is. Yes, you stand against the foul Crimson Wizard, that much is certain. But we need more to go on than that."

Silence reigned in the hall for what seemed like an eternity.

"I suppose that telling you to wait longer will not allay your suspicions at this point?" The figure sighed and answered its own question.

"I thought not. Very well. You all have more than earned the right to know. I do not speak only for myself, and so I cannot say too much, but I will give you something to go on."

Robed arms crossed and uncrossed as the figure took a deep breath and began its tale.

"The resistance is formed from those who have suffered at Rampillion's hands. Believe me when I say that you three are not the first to have fallen foul of his schemes, and will likely not be the last if we do not oppose him."

"We come from all walks of life. Some of us are mages, some soldiers, some spies. You have probably guessed that I myself do not lead the resistance, and you would be right. We are many, but we are not yet enough. Coin and men take time to procure, and we will not move until we are absolutely sure of victory. Rest be assured, Princess (Daphnia started slightly when her name was mentioned) that the information you supplied will be of use. But the time has still not yet come."

Here the figure paused, weighing its words carefully. The royal family had the distinct impression that it wanted to say more, yet it could not. After a few moments, it began speaking again.

"The time has not come for me to reveal who I am. But I can share a few other pieces of information with you. Queen Gladia, the potion that transformed you is not Rampillion's doing. However, it was created using alchemy similar to his craft, and its function is not wholly unknown to us. We will research this further, and share whatever we learn. It is currently not possible for us to undo the transformations that you have been subjected to. We of the resistance beg your continuing patience. All I can say at this moment is that we are doing the best we can. It may be possible that we will need to topple the usurper before his magics can be broken. Princess, I'm sure you know of what I speak."

At this, Daphnia nodded grimly. It was a possibility that had crossed her mind more than once. As a mage herself, she knew that certain powerful magics could only be dispelled when their caster was dead or otherwise stripped of power. The transformation spells that the Rampillion had used were too esoteric for her to form any definite opinion on, but there was always the chance that undoing them would not be as easy as they thought it might.

"You may want to know more about the true identity of the man you call the Crimson Mage. That is but one of the many names he has used. He is far older, and far more powerful than you have suspected. Princess, there is no shame at all in losing your magical duel with him . . . I tell you in all sincerity that despite your skill with the arcane arts, it would have been impossible for you to win.

"He is cruel, wicked, and proud beyond all measure. He desires power, but largely as a means to an end. What motivates the man that you call the Crimson Mage is the use of said power for sport. There is nothing he loves more than to see others squirm and writhe in his clutches, to struggle against bonds that they have no hope of every breaking."

A rigid tone of anger had entered the hooded figure's voice. He, or she took a moment to compose himself and continued at a more sedate pace.

"He has taken over your kingdom not out of the desire to conquer, but to have a base for which to make even greater conquests. Who knows what kind of foul schemes he is plotting in the castle even now. But all men have a weakness, and Rampillion is no different. When we find it, we will be sure to take the fight to him."

The three stood silently, digesting all they had been told. It was a lot to take in at once—being reunited, sharing their tales of transformation and escape, and finally learning about the resistance. As many questions as had been answered, still more remained. All of them processed the information in their own way—Daphnia with her eyes closed in a meditative trance, Perthias by striding from one end of the room to another, and Gladia by simply folding her arms and standing still.

But as the minutes ticked by, a familiar and not unexpected sensation began to arise within the royal family. Daphnia began to fidget, her usually absolute concentration obviously broken by something. Gladia shifted uneasily from one foot to another, trying her best not to rub her thighs together in front of her children. And the urges that were bubbling to the surface were most evident in the prince of the realm—male arousal is a lot more obvious than female, and Daphnia and Gladia tried their hardest not to stare at Perthias's slowly stiffening member as it bounced from side to side while he walked.

Their transformed bodies wanted one thing, and that one thing could not be denied. Their flesh knew naught of revenge, or plans, usurpations or insurrections. All it knew was it was high time they fucked.

The royal family grew steadily more uncomfortable as their arousals became more and more apparent. Neither could meet each other's' eyes, and they shuffled from side to side, unsure of what to do. The females were beginning to moisten as well, but thankfully not so much that it was immediately visible. Still, as elvish desire began to stir within her, Daphnia flushed hard enough that it showed through her bronzed skin. Her mother wasn't in much better shape, either—she had raised a hand to absently tug at a nipple ring and only stopped herself seconds before her fingers met the metal.

The figure cut in again, with a note of amusement in its voice that the three in the room tried their best to ignore.

"But we have have talked long enough. You all have . . . needs that must be attended to. Prince, if you would follow me, Cythea awaits. Ladies, please remain here. You will be . . . attended to shortly."

Cythea? Who was that? A female name, it seemed. Daphnia's curiosity was piqued again and she shot her brother an inquisitive look. But something in his face told his sister that this was not the time to ask questions. Besides, she had urges of her own that needed sating.

Perthias allowed himself to be led from the room, while the princess and queen stood embarrassingly to the side. Gladia tried to give her daughter what she hoped was an encouraging smile, and she was gratified when the younger female met her gaze instead of averting it. Both knew that there was nothing to be ashamed of, really. Neither of them had asked to be transformed into sex-hungry sluts, even if that was what they were right now. But even with that knowledge and Daphnia's newfound sense of liberation, it was hard for them to overlook the fact that they were still mother and daughter, and these were not circumstances that either would have chosen to be in.

But needs must be where the devil drives, and as an assortment of men began to troop into the room—some slavers, some soldiers, some thin, some fair—neither queen nor princess could fully contain their excitement. Daphnia, not generally religious, prayed to whatever gods might be listening that her mother would not notice how erect her nipples were becoming, and Gladia for her part tried her utmost to regulate her breathing. They both stood there for a second of horrified silence. Surely, they wouldn't be expected to service the men while the other was present! Thankfully, the hooded figure appeared once again and led the queen to an adjoining chamber.

Daphnia let out a sigh of relief. There were some things one simply did not do in front of one's family, and an orgy was one of them. The princess released the locks in her mind (not that they were doing much anyway!) and once again elvish desire swept over her like a tidal wave. The ever-present itch was back with a vengeance, and Daphnia felt it have its way with her oversexed body once more. Her nipples stood at proud attention, her slit began to gush, and her breathing hastened. Gods, she was so horny! She probably had been during the entire time she was talking to her brother and mother, but it had faded into the background given the import of the matters they were discussing. —Faded, but never truly gone—here in some form, tormenting and tantalizing her.

Daphnia would never have admitted it to her family (or even to herself!) but she liked being horny. There was something about the onrush of desire, the sheer wantonness of it. It was liberating, exhilarating. And after having sex more than a few hundred times, the transformed princess was hard-pressed to remember a time when she wasn't. Even after being scratched, it was would always come back.

So, it was with a combination of lust and relief that she greeted the men filing into the room in the way she knew best—by batting her fine eyelashes at them, absently caressing her giant boobs, and fingering herself lightly. There were no illusions or surprises here for either of them. They were going to fuck her, and she was going to love it.

She had intended to start things off slowly, but the men had other ideas. She walked towards the nearest one, massive tits bouncing and full bottom swaying, and cast him a smoldering glance, placing her hands gently on his chest. But instead of letting her continue, he grabbed her roughly and pulled her in for a kiss. Daphnia's initial surprise turned quickly to reluctant acceptance, and then to eager acquiescence. Whoever this man was, he knew how to kiss! Their tongues dueled with each other as he clasped her close to him, and Daphnia couldn't decide which she liked more—the sensation of her erect nipples rubbing up against his hairy chest, or his rough lips pressed against hers.