Nameless slavegirl

You awaken with a start, gasping for breath, your eyes blinking in the harsh sunlight. The smell of sweat and unwashed flesh fills your nostrils as you take stock of your surroundings. You're naked, a collar with a leash attached to it is locked around your neck, and you're in a cage. The bars are cold and unforgiving against your bare skin, and your body feels... different. You realize with a shock that you're no longer the feared and powerful Richard the Butcher, but rather a petite, voluptuous female… a slavegirl?!’Your hands run over your new naked curves, feeling the softness of your own flesh in a way you never have before. The reality of the situation hits you like a ton of bricks as you take in the sights and sounds of the bustling **** market around you.

As you inspect your new body, you can't help but feel a strange sensation of confusion and arousal. Your breasts, so soft and sensitive to the touch, are unlike anything you've ever felt. The way they move and respond to your fingertips sends a thrill through your entire being, and you can't help but let out a soft moan. The sensation is both unexpected and exhilarating, and you find yourself lost in the exploration of your new form. Your nipples tighten and swell, begging for more attention, and the heat between your legs becomes almost unbearable.

You tentatively reach down to touch your pussy, feeling the soft, velvety folds for the first time. You're surprised by how wet you are, and the gentle stroking of your fingers sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The feeling is so foreign yet so intense, and you become lost in the sensation. You spread your legs wider, giving yourself a better view of the most intimate part of your new self. The sight of your glistening wetness, your pink flesh begging to be touched, is both mesmerizing and overwhelming.

Your fingers trace the contours of your hairless mons, the smoothness of it a stark contrast to the coarse hair that once adorned your chin. You explore the delicate folds of your labia, marveling at the way they open and close around your fingertips. Your clit, a tiny pearl of pure sensitivity, pulses with each touch, sending a jolt of pleasure that makes your entire body quiver. You've heard the moans and cries of pleasure from the women you've taken, but experiencing it firsthand is something entirely different. It's like nothing you've ever felt before, a host of sensations that leave you trembling and **** for more.

How did this happen? Who did this to you? These questions swirl in your mind like a tempest as you try to piece together the events that led to your transformation. You recall the strange girl with the golden chalice, the pain, and then... nothing. You're not a king now; you're a plaything, a prize to be bought and sold. The voices outside the cage become background noise as you struggle to understand the gravity of your situation. What kind of potion could have such power? Who could have had the audacity to use it on you?

With a newfound sense of urgency, you stand and look around the cage for any sign of who might have done this. You spot a few of your former generals in the crowd, their eyes gleaming with malicious glee as they watch your plight. The rage builds within you, but it's tinged with a hint of fear. This isn't just a practical joke; it's a declaration of war. You need to find a way to reverse this curse and take your vengeance.

As you're lost in thought, the cage door swings open, and a gruff man in a leather apron grabs the leash attached to your collar. He yanks it, forcing you to stumble out into the dirt-covered aisle. The cold metal bites into the softness of your throat as he leads you through to the town square with its **** block, hemmed by the towering church of unwavering faith, the town hall decorated macabrely with those you had sentenced - skeletons in cages dangling from outreaching flag poles.

The throngs of potential aristocratic buyers and peasant oglers watch you intently, their eyes greedily devouring your transformed body, laughing and mocking their fallen king. You're pushed and prodded onto the dock, made ready to be inspected like livestock as the auctioneer's voice echoes through the marketplace.

“A **** girl… a king no more…” he starts and your face reddens in naked shame. You see many people you know, vassals and servants and… those you deemed friends… their faces no longer respectful or subservient. Their oaths of fealty now seemed like hollow platitudes.

A towering man, who you recognize as General Hrort, one of your most trusted confidants, steps forward with an evil grin. His eyes rove over you, lingering on your trembling curves and your hardened nipples. "Ah, the mighty Richard, brought so low," he sneers, his calloused hand giving your breast a painful squeeze. "You're going to be a delightful addition to the harem of sluts, my dear." His voice is thick with lust, and you feel oddly excited, you body echoing his lust.

You look into his eyes, trying to find some glimmer of the respect and fear that once filled them, but all you see is hunger and contempt. He cups your other breast in his hand, his thumb brushing over your nipple in a way that makes you want to squirm with pleasure. His touch is surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as if he's handling a precious treasure. Your body responds against your will, your nipples peaking further under his touch, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You hate yourself for feeling this way, but the transformation potion has left you with no control over your newfound sensitivity.

General Hrort's hand trails down your body, his eyes following the path of his fingers. He stops at the juncture of your thighs, tracing the line of your labia with a single digit. You can't help but let out a soft gasp as he gently lifts the hood of your clit, exposing the sensitive nub beneath. His touch is feather-light, but the sensation is electric. He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, watching as you fight to maintain your composure. The crowd around you is silent, save for the occasional murmur of excitement or envy. You can feel their eyes on you, watching, waiting for the moment you give in to the pleasure that is building within you.

With a smug smirk, he dips his thumb into the slickness of your pussy, coating it before returning to your clit. He begins to rub in slow, deliberate circles, each stroke sending a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you. You try to pull away, to maintain some semblance of dignity, but the leash is tight around your neck, and his grip on your breast is firm. He leans in, his hot breath against your ear as he whispers, "You're going to love serving me, my little slut. You're going to beg for my cock, aren't you?" His voice is a dark promise that sends shivers down your spine.

You nod, the action feeling strange and foreign on your new body. You want to scream, to fight, but instead, all you can do is whimper and nod, your body betraying your mind. The crowd around the cage starts to murmur, sensing the power dynamic shift. The nod seems to be all the encouragement he needs. He applies more pressure, the pleasure building, and your knees threaten to buckle. The world around you fades away, and all that remains is the sound of your ragged breathing and the feel of his thumb on your clit.

“Sir, please cease your unseemly inspection of the merchandise. If you want her then you must buy her,” the **** dealer requests politely. The general grunts, his thumb still teasing your clit, and nods, signaling his agreement. You feel a mix of relief and dread as his hand retreats from your pussy. You're a stranger to the feeling of a man's touch, having only ever conquered and claiming women in your previous life. To be on the receiving end is different. This is a display of power and dominance; ia humiliating exposure and public display of your new, **** form.

As General Hrort steps back, his eyes never leaving yours, a figure emerges from the shadows of the crowd. It’s your wife, Lady Catherine, dressed in her royal regalia, a smug smile playing on her lips as she approaches you. She’s always had a flair for dramatics, and this is no exception. Her eyes sweep over your transformed body with a cold, calculating gaze. She looks you up and down, her eyes lingering on your breasts, your hips, and finally, your wet pussy. You can almost feel her mentally cataloging your worth. She reaches out and runs a finger along the collar around your neck, her touch sending a shiver down your spine.

"You always were so... predictable, Richard," she says, her voice dripping with sweet venom. "A little power, a few battles won, and you thought yourself above everyone. How does it feel to be on the receiving end now?" She leans in close, her breath warm against your cheek. "I knew you'd look good like this."

With that, Lady Catherine's delicate hand drifts down to your exposed pussy, her fingers tracing the line of your labia. She's careful not to touch you directly, teasing the sensitive flesh around your clit instead. You can feel the crowd's eyes on you, watching the woman who was once your queen play with your new form. The sensation is maddening, a mix of humiliation and arousal that leaves you panting and ****. She's enjoying this, the power she holds over you, and the knowledge that she's the one in charge now.

Her touch is like fire, sending waves of pleasure through your body with every gentle caress. You want to push her hand away, to reclaim some semblance of control, but the collar around your neck holds you firmly in place. All you can do is stand there, trembling and exposed, as she plays with your most intimate parts. The leather of her glove feels smooth against your skin, and the way she uses it to manipulate your body is both infuriating and incredibly stimulating. You're powerless to stop her, and the realization of your new reality is like a dagger to your soul.