Lord no more

Garrett’s naked blade pressed firmly against Lord Al’s throat, the point having drawn a thin line of blood. The lord’s eyes burned with fury and disbelief, but the pressure of the blade kept him frozen.

“Go on my Lord, keep your hand on her chest,” Garrett repeated, voice flat. “Palm flat. Skin to skin. And keep it there.”

The slavegirl Pria knelt naked on the lavish bed, collared and leashed, the metal band of the swapper already bonded to her upper arm. Her slave drug-softened eyes flicked between the two men, breasts rising and falling with quick breaths. She did not move to interfere as her Bendari lineage ran too deep.

Lord Al’s nostrils flared as his ire turned to worry. “You traitorous dog. I will have your head for this. Your wife’s head. Your entire line—”

Garrett pressed harder. Another bead of blood welled. “Ten minutes. Then you’ll be the one wearing the collar, and your threats will mean nothing, you’ll be powerless and experiencing the fate you thoughtlessly planned for me.”

Slowly, furiously, Lord Al clenched his hand on the soft swell of Pria’s left breast. The slavegirl shivered at the contact but stayed still.

Garrett dared not lower the sword. He had to see this through to the end now. There was no going back from this betrayal. He watched the tense minutes crawl past, counting heartbeats, listening to the soft sound of Pria’s breathing and the dangerous silence of his lord.

At the ten-minute Lord Al’s body stiffened and his eyes went wide. A sound that was half snarl and half gasp tore from his throat. Then a similar sound emanated from Pria’s mouth, the the high, startled cry of a woman.

The tall frame of the lord collapsed backward onto the bed as the mind inside it was replaced with Pria’s. On the mattress, Pria’s smaller body jerked, arched, and then went still for a single heartbeat before the former lord’s awareness flooded it.

Al opened eyes that were no longer his own. Garrett loomed before him, large, imposing and dominating. He looked down with a slow dawning horror. Soft, heavy breasts rose and fell with his panicked breath. His new nipples were upturned and erect in the cool air of the bedchamber. A collar sat tightly ominous about his slender girlish throat. And between his new thighs … a slick, empty heat … pulsed. The slave leash chimed as he tried to sit up and discovered how little strength his tiny Bendari body possessed.

Garrett lowered the sword in satisfaction. He looked down at the naked, collared slavegirl on the bed—the slavegirl that now contained the mind of his lord—and at the male body that had once been Lord Al, now occupied by the Pria’s simple consciousness.

“Welcome to your new station, Pria,” Garrett said quietly. “You will remain in this body and answer only to that name. You will kneel and obey. And when Lord Drask arrives tonight, you will be the one on the slave rail, wet and ready to be chosen - but without the swapper.”

The soft, feminine voice that answered was raw with confused and uncertain rage and the first unwanted stirrings of the slave drug.

“Garrett—you will die for this—I am still your—”

Garrett stepped forward, took the leash in one hand, and gave it a short, sharp tug that forced the girl onto her hands and knees.

“Wrong slave,” he said. “You do not take that tone with me. Try again.”

The former lord’s new body trembled. Breasts swayed. The shaved, glistening cunt filled her vision as the drug and the flesh’s innate submissiveness began their slow, relentless work on her mind. It… excited her. She was growing undeniably aroused my this.

Garrett waited, sword still loose in his other hand, and watched the first cracks appear in the man who had tried to make him a slave.