Exactly.

Calob’s old body -- now legally her Master, awoke after an interminable wait, snorting and rising to his feet immediately. He seemed a giant in size, and his muscles rippled and moved under his outfit. Then, a slow grin spread over his face as he looked down at Roselle, understanding that he was no longer a ****.

Large and intimidating. Small and weak. They were diametrically different, their roles reversed. Calob sensed her masters new confidence and condescending amusement and it made her feel less in control if that were possible. He was so big.

"The door was not locked. And the cuffs were not attached to the bedpost." Roselle shut the door and reached over her head, lifting her cuffs and sliding the chain around the head of the bedpost. Her eyes fixated upon the chain. Her chain. She swallowed. "You could've escaped, but you didn't want to, did you, slut? No. You just lay there, knowing your fate. How did we swap, even? But you wanted me to stay here and do this..."

She shook her head, realising too late that she could have escaped as she tried to back away. Why hadn't she? Not for the reasons he suggested surely! Even if she left the room and took his purse she would remain a naked tattooed thrall, her social status clear to all. She had no friends or allies here.

Ruthlessly, he slid a finger down Calob's belly, tracing a line down her pelvis to the tip of her new clitoris. The stray finger traced the rawly sensitive lines of the tattoo, spiralling in patterns around her swollen flower, her inner thighs and her hips, before dipping in for her sweet nectar.

Her eyes widened in shock, surprise, fear, titilated pleasure, denial, protest, wonder and paralysed confusion. Her legs widened involuntarily. Her skin was so damned sensitive. Her mouth was dry. She felt like she would jump out of her skin.

His touch was fire, igniting the blood and pulse beneath her skin. Calob felt as if every inch of her skin was reaching out to meet his finger and capture the sensations. The tracing of the patterns was an odd tickling, the soreness from the tattoo mixing with the sensual pleasure of the touch...and then he slipped the tips of his fingers into her.

"Oh god..." She moaned, losing herself in his ministrations. The **** band had her small feminine body firmly in its grip.

His fingers pulled back, a slick-sound followed by an odd pop. The sound of his fingers sliding out of her was acutely loud from her perspective, accompanied by a surge of lust that made her body shudder and tremble. It felt too good. Like a **** that she could not get enough of.

"So it is you. Sir Wilifred. Not an Acteon mortal, but an Offworlder. You picked a lousy day to buy a ****.”

"Wilifred? Yes. An Offworlder..." She readily replied. Too readily. With the **** bane corrupting her mind she could do naught but obey. She felt blissful as she cooperated with the big rugged man. Her master. The thought should have been like cold water in the face but instead it was fuzzy and pleasurable. She giggled, widening her legs even though a part of her was shocked. What was she doing?!

"Where is your ship?" The chair was kicked away, the door opened. Calob found herself yanked by the cuff-links to her feet, then pressed against the doorframe so all could see in the corridor. Roselle slipped his wet fingertips into her mouth -- they tasted warm, faintly salty, like sweat, and smelled sweet, like her own musk. The wet fingertips were dragged out of the corners of her lips, down the line of her jaw, alongside the soft flesh of her neck over and around a single breast.

"Tell me where is your ship..." Again into the mouth for a little more moisture. A cold, wet droplet ran down her shivering side as the fingers touched her again, anew, around a painfully swelling nipple and down the line of her ribs, poking through her skin, still soft. Tracing the line of her hips even as Roselle held the wrist-chains higher and **** her to stand again on tiptoes. "Tell me where your ship is, and I'll continue..."

He roughly manipulate her, making her taste her own arousal. Being **** to sup upon her own juices was degrading and the callousness of his touch made her moist nethers tingle and she found herself seeping down her inner thighs in a most embarresing and unfamiliar way. Of its own accord her tongue tentatively licked his fingers, muzzling his hand as she instinctively supplicated to him and sought his approval. Her nipples felt too hard. She felt splinters from the rough timbers prick her back but did not struggle. The chill trail of juices - saliva and more intimate ones - felt warm and messy - but messy was good. She wanted to be his dirty little slut. Her skin goosebumped in his digits wake. Her nipple felt fit to burst as his taunting finger neared.

"Ship?" The new Roselle breathed huskily. It was hard to think, gathering her sex dulled thoughts proved almost impossible. Outstretched on her tiptoes, chains biting her wrists, breasts flattened by her up reaching arms, her body completely at his mercy she shook her head with regret and looked up. "It's in orbit. It's not coming down."

Her ship... Perhaps she could contact it. Reverse this. There were safety measures. A precise stunning orbital blast that would incapacitate those around her. The codes...

7689 THETA KRYA She thought using the Nanite link to the ship.