Transmorgrification

I enter the large clean room ashen and shaking, my eyes lowered to the ground. This is going to be the hardest day of my life. Today is the day that I will be transformed from a proud, successful, respected woman in my society, a leader in my household as well as in the community, to my new role as a lowly slave—lowest of the low, and will be scorned, teased, and ridiculed by all except maybe him who I will serve. But even that is not assured, many women who reach this point are rejected brutally by those they are required to serve. I have heard blood-chilling stories about severe revenge enactments or extreme overuse that leave the woman-slave so badly hurt that she must stay in a hospital for months. What exactly will happen to any individual is extremely unpredictable, given her new master’s powers and the effects they have on his psyche. I have followed the old advice and done my best throughout my adult life to prepare for this moment, but I have known other women who did the same, and their efforts were in vain. Soon I will know what fate lies in store for me.

I am (or was, tonight everything changes) a high-ranking breeder of the priest class, OBV clan. I have borne the clan two healthy sons and one healthy girl, each of different fathers. The firstborn son has gone into the priesthood, obviously, like his father, and, given his astonishing natural abilities due to the traits both parents brought to the mating, he has risen rapidly in the ranks. The second son, not quite of age, will be going into government and my daughter, taken from me six months ago at age 12, has started her training as a breeder: her rank, I have been told, will be as high or higher than my own. I am pleased and proud of all my children but feel joy especially of her: as a breeder in a good clan, the first parts of her life will be very good, compared to what is the usual lot for women.

I am 44 years old and like most breeders of my rank, look about half that. I have taken good care of my slightly-muscled brown-toned body, and the clan has invested a great deal in medical treatments that kept it young and good-looking. The only part of me that looks my age is my long, thick black hair, whose waves, currently brushed away from my face, are streaked with stunning threads of silver. All things considered, I would have preferred to start coloring it ten years ago, but my future master, when consulted, expressed a strong preference for leaving it natural. I am wearing tonight an outfit of his choosing: a humiliating sleeveless Grecian gown, no longer than a shirt: my shaved vulva and the bottoms of my buttocks are visible beneath it when I walk. Long vertical slashes in the salmon-pink fabric give glimpses of my breasts, sometimes a large brown nipple peeks out. My body makeup has been kept to a bare minimum, per my master’s orders: some darkening around my large brown eyes to bring out their size and shape, and the same color of salmon pink on my lips, the tips of my nipples and in my belly-button.

I finally lift my eyes and look at you. You are wearing a long white robe with the dark blue clan marking on the shoulder, sitting cross-legged on a raised dais in the middle of the room. You are formidably handsome, your body rock hard and almost as bronzed as mine from your physical training, your heavy, fine, dark features immobile. I can no longer even begin to guess what thoughts are going through you head, not that I ever could very well, as your icy blue eyes stare into mine. You have been with the priesthood long enough to affect any emotion at will, and no one, except perhaps another priest of your stature, would know whether it was real or assumed. Not even those who had known you all your life could know your current mind, which now roves in realms the untrained can’t even begin to imagine.

I am trembling by the time I reach the dais; luckily there are the ritual movements to cover up my terror. I kneel down on the floor directly before you and touch my forehead to the cold marble. The dress rides up high in back and I blush deeply as I imagine the sight before you. I stay in this position for a full five minutes before I feel your hand on the back of my head and hear the command to rise. I raise up, but stay on my knees, my eyes lowered, not daring to meet yours. The most shameful and difficult moments of my life are fast approaching. What else will these moments contain, besides shame? As I stare at your crossed legs under the beautifully cut robe, you suddenly adjust the fabric on your lap. Your large penis, standing rock hard, and hairy scrotum are suddenly directly in my line of sight. I, a first-rate breeder who has seen dozens of penises in her life, gasp and blush furiously, but I don’t dare remove my eyes or even shut them, for fear of causing your displeasure. You ask me, in a casual, amused tone, if I could tear my eyes away from your dick long enough to look you in the face. There isn’t anything, including the brand of fire which is to come from your hand tomorrow, assuming I survive this encounter, that I wouldn’t rather undergo than to stare into your eyes at this moment, but I don’t dare disobey or even hesitate beyond the couple of seconds it will take to express to you my reluctance. I have heard from other women that you enjoy it when they do not try to hide their fear from you.

Oh no, please the gods, no! My dismay at seeing your countenance must have shown clearly on my face because you laugh loudly and, to my ears, cruelly. What I saw when I slowly and shamefully lifted my gaze to yours was a contemptuous and lecherous sneer, an expression that said, clearly, “you, high and mighty breeder, are about to be brought very low.” You reach a long arm down between my legs and start stroking my vu—I mean cunt. I need to think only in the terms used for my profession now. I am horrified by what you discover. “You’re soaking wet, bitch. This confirms something I’ve always suspected about you: that terror and deep humiliation really turn you on.” That word bitch stuns like a slap across my face. How dare you— I stop these dangerous thoughts quickly, reminding myself that everything is your right tonight. But I can’t stop the quick tears that have come into my eyes. “No, no,” you say softly, although without any noticeable warmth. “I want those tears to come later, when I’m ripping into your body and ripping that arrogance and pride to shreds.” I don’t forget the single most important precept of my training: OBEY, and dutifully wipe the tears away in a manner that does minimum damage to the eye makeup, although I broke out in a panicked sweat when I heard your words.

This was going to be much, much worse than I had hoped for. All those years, knowing this day would come, I had tried so hard to avoid this outcome. Apparently, all my efforts had been in vain. Your hand reaches in the left slit of my dress and pulls my nipple out roughly. You stare at it carefully and thoughtfully, while pinching and squeezing it brutally, digging your hard nails into the wrinkled tissue. I gasp, but manage to stop the choking feeling in my throat, which in turn holds the tears at bay. This torture goes on for at least five minutes. Finally, you let go and I supress a sigh of relief. I don’t dare look down, but it feels a little wet on the tip—I fear you’ve brought up blood. You’re staring into my face again, as if devouring my expression. I attempt to hide nothing from you: I know you are powerful enough to pick up my feelings and thoughts and so I dare conceal nothing from your seering gaze. I show you the full range of my emotions—the horror, the fear, the deep, deep, humiliation, the pain, the shocking contrast between my position just a day ago and my position now, the desperateness to find anything soft or merciful in your face. You take in a deep breath, as if my thoughts and emotions are a flavorful and favored burnt offering to your godliness, and say the words I have been dreading: “Well, little whore, I think it’s time you got about doing what you clearly do best. Bow down and worship my cock…Mother."

You have, with those words, made certain I am fully aware of who I am at this moment, and how far I have fallen: I am looking down at the hard prick and balls of my grown son. I must now abase myself before my own child and sexually serve him in whatever way pleases him. From this point onward, I, the once-proud breeder, will be required to serve my strange and frightening son’s every whim, no matter how perverse or painful I find it. This is the ultimate disgrace our priest clan holds for its women: at the peak of their success and power they are given to their grown sons (or to a young, motherless man if they have no sons) as helpless slaves and playthings. Some women are lucky: their sons don’t really desire them and after a single ritualistic evening, send them away to live far from them. But the mothers of the most powerful priests are kept in humiliating servitude, their offspring saying that her once-taboo attentions bring about a far more powerful raising of the energies they use to work with than any other woman’s could. They claim that something about the constant feelings of shame, humiliation, and debasement that one’s mother never loses when required to service her son are, along with intense fear and pain, the most potent feeders of their male priestly energy. Not to mention the fact that, for some of them it feels wonderful to ram your hard cock down the throat of the woman who once fed, clothed, bathed, and instructed you, the woman you once looked up to as a goddess, the woman who, after you turned six or seven stopped, to your angry confusion, letting you touch her breasts or bottom—and even punished you for doing so.

I tear my eyes away from the victorious smirk on your face, as you spoke your orders to me, a look that had me nearly hypnotized with its intensity, and gaze back down at your hard prick and balls. Tonight I must provide you with something very different from that I give men who just come to me for pleasure or to spread their child-bearing seed. I must service you in such a way that you will feel and then be able to control that intense male energy which provides the key to all of your powers. I spread my legs a little and adjust my knees on the floor: I want a stance that I can hold for a very long time. I half-close my eyes and place myself into that instant meditative and relaxed state that I’ve learned to assume just before I want to give the performance of my life. Only this time, it WILL be the performance of a lifetime, because I am attempting, under your instruction, to do something I’ve never done before: to sense that energy and assist it to intensify in you.

You haven’t told me whether you wish to spend or not, so I will be careful to follow your every instruction, should any come, especially in regards to becoming still, when required. Unlike all men I’ve formerly served orally, you WILL mind if I disobey and continue to minister to you with my mouth after I’d been told clearly to cease. And, for some odd reason, I don’t particularly want to face the consequences of your ire.

Since you’re already so hard, I decide to start out with a little light teasing. I cup my medium-small brown breasts, which are now hanging wantonly out of my dress, together, bringing the hardened nipples within close proximity to each other, each pointed straight ahead. I back off a little and bend over. I run my nipples in circles and spirals along your inner thighs, first one then the other, then back to the first. Each time I move to the next leg, I run the nipples closer to your crotch. This type of teasing tends to drive tit men crazy; while you are not a tit man, your closed eyes and quickened breathing suggest that you’re enjoying it well enough. “Do you like the feel of your mother's teats?” I ask you playfully. You don’t answer, which I always interpret as carte blanche to do whatever I want, so I continue to rub my erect nipples along your inner thighs, occasionally squishing them against your skin as flat as I can with the weight of my body, and then onto your scrotum. Once I reach your balls I ease up on the pressure a little, just letting you feel the strange sensation of wrinkled knobby erective tissue against the sensitive skin. My nipples are standing out less now, due to the warmth of your body, so keeping one hand gently cupping your balls (an old massage therapy trick I learned as a teenager—always keep some part of your body touching the person getting the massage, even when you have to get up to adjust position or get some fresh supplies. They are living in a world of touch and abruptly losing contact can break the mood you are trying to build), I reach with the other hand into the drink beside you and take out an ice cube. Careful not to drip any cold water on you, I rub the cube vigorously against my nipples until they are hard again, then dry them off with a piece of my short dress. I begin again, rubbing my newly hardened nipples over every available surface of your balls. I even lift the balls with one hand and rub the sensitive, moist area directly beneath them.

I slowly move to the base of your cock and then run my nips, using harder pressure, up one side and over the head, then down another side then around then up. I pay special attention to the sensitive areas: the vein on the underside, the lower side of the head, the tip. I gently squeeze the tip with my fingers to open it a little then place one nipple directly on the opening and push gently. I then apply some warm oil to your cock from the bowl at my side, grab my breasts on the outer sides of each globe and squeeze them into your shaft, using them to spread the oil evenly over the surface. I move my hands on the breasts in a hard circular motion which, because my tits are small, is felt very clearly by your cock. Finally, squeezing my breasts firmly on either side of the base of your cock and keeping up the circling motion of my hands I bend my head forward and very gently kiss the tip of your penis. I play with the hole at the tip a little bit with the end of my tongue, very gently moving it open, then very lightly with just the inner edges of my lips, give the lightest and tiniest of sucks you’ve ever felt. I do that for a few seconds, then let go of my breasts, open my lips wider, and hold the entire head between them. I do not move my lips at all nor does my tongue come near you. I just hold on, my lips not even covering my teeth yet, and breath through my mouth, relaxed and quiet. All you feel is the pressure around your head and the hot air of my breath, although you know, of course that the head is inside me. I am hoping at this moment that you think about what is to come, what my mouth can do when it starts to move. I think it might have worked because you let out an appreciative “Ahhhh.”

I hold my mouth like this for another 30 seconds or so, then once again cup your balls in one hand and start that gentle motion that jugglers make when they practice moving the three balls around in their hand. At the same time my tongue starts to move against the lower side of your prick, where that nice vein is. I lick very hard about two inches down from the head and then back up using a moderately fast tempo. I listen carefully for your reaction to this: some men do not like being licked so hard right there, but you don’t seem to mind. While my lower lip has to move out of the way in order for me to do this, I hold my upper lip completely still in the same place and with the same pressure as it has been all along. This limits how far my tongue can travel down your shaft. It also feels somewhat obscene to me to keep my lip right there on your head which is why I like to do it. After awhile, I vary the motion of my tongue. Instead of going straight up and down, I do spirals and switchbacks, left and right as well as up and down. I keep this up for a while as you seem to really like it, but soon I sense you’re restless for something more stimulating. I have an idea. Still cupping your balls but holding my hand completely still (I want all your focus on what’s to come next) I bend down next to you and dip my lips and tongue into the hot oil. When they are fully coated I move them quickly to the head of your cock and envelope it, only spilling a couple of drops on your groin in the process. You gasp with pleasure at the sudden and wonderful heat and I use that moment to move up and down the shaft with my mouth, vigorously spreading the oil around with my tongue. You liked this so much that, when the heat has dissipated, I go back for another dipping in the bowl. I do this three or four more times, each time moving further down on your cock with my mouth.

I then begin to suck you in earnest, first using a motion that another partner of mine nicknamed the “slider.” As my mouth moves up and down on your cock, I keep a light steady suction on by pressing my lips against it. This seals in the warmth of my breath as so you’ll feel it around your cock. My tongue is very busy, trying to circle your cock as I move up and down, but unable to go all the way around because of the seal my lips are making. My tongue moves clock wise then counter-clockwise spiraling up and down your prick, rubbing over the head and along its ridge when I reach the top, licking in the hairs at the base when I get back down to the root. My tongue, in addition to pleasuring you, also distributes my saliva around so you stay smooth and slippery. After performing the slider along the entire length of your cock for a good amount of time, I start going down only halfway, focusing my tongue on that sensitive underside vein. I dip one hand in the hot oil bowl and spread the oil along the base of your cock then move both hands into position at the bottom using a hard wringing motion, as if I were twisting the drips out of a pair of stockings. I hear your breathing getting faster, and your hips begin a slight grinds and I get ready to stop: this combination brings off most men in a couple of minutes. But you say nothing so I continue, wringing and sliding for quite some time, until finally you say, “get off.” I’m off instantly, sliding my hands to your inner thighs and raising my panting mouth to look at you. No parting kiss on the head, no final goodbye lick, as I don’t know how close you are and don’t want anything to set off your orgasm if you don’t want that.

You call me up to you during this break and I straddle your crossed legs while on my knees, being careful not to let my cunt inadvertently touch your sensitive shaft. My breasts are level with your mouth and you play with these for awhile, suckling and biting, and humiliating me by talking in an impatient little boy’s voice and calling me mommy. Some of the bites are very hard and I scream as your teeth bite in to my sensitive flesh. You then grab my hair and pull my face down toward yours. I shut my eyes and relax my lips, expecting a kiss, but when nothing happens I open them and see you staring at my slightly parted lips. We remain like this for a few seconds and then suddenly your mouth is on mine, kissing it violently. You do something that no one else has done since the first boy who kissed me at age 13: you grab my tongue with your lips and teeth, pull it into your mouth and then start sucking hard on it. I swoon in passion: this taking of my tongue affects me the same way as it did on my first kiss so long ago and my body starts to relax and sit down on you. I catch myself a moment later and start up, but your hands push me down firmly so I’m sitting on your thighs, your prick pushed up against my cunt lips. You continue to violently kiss me, biting my mouth and bruising my lips, and move my hand onto your cock. Already! I dip my hand into the oil and then begin slowly rubbing, moving the loose skin along the shaft up and down, placing more pressure on the underside than on the top. With short time outs for oil breaks, I feel as though I could do this forever.