Eat the fruit

You finish the meal provided for you. Apparently you were being watched, because as soon as you're done, the latch on the door slides back and it opens.

The two women who earlier placed restraints on you enter, accompanied by the Valet. They fasten the two bracelet rings together behind your back. They attach a long red cape to the ring of your collar and drape it over your shoulders. It covers you completely, but opens when you walk, since, with your hands behind your back, you have no way of keeping it closed. One woman precedes you, opening the doors, and the other follows, closing them behind her.

You cross a vestibule, two drawing rooms, and enter into the library, where four men are having coffee.

They're wearing the same long robes as the Valet, but no masks. And yet you don't have time to see their faces, for one of the men shines a light in your eyes and blinds you.

Everyone remains stock still, the two women flanking you and the men in front, studying you. Then the light goes out; the women leave. But you're blindfolded again.

Then they make you walk forward - you stumble slightly as you go - until you feel that you're standing in front of the fire around which the four men were seated: you can feel the heat, and in the silence you can hear the quiet crackling of the burning logs. You're facing the fire. Two hands lift your cape, two others - after having checked to see that your bracelets are attached - descend the length of your back and buttocks. The hands are not gloved, and one of them penetrates you in both places at once, so abruptly that you cry out. Someone laughs.

Someone else says:

“Turn her around, so we can see the breasts and the belly.”

They turn you around, and the heat of the fire is against your back. A hand seizes one of your breasts, a mouth fastens on the tip of the other. But suddenly you lose your balance and fall backward (supported by whose arms?), while they open your legs and gently spread your lips. Hair grazes the insides of your thighs. You hear them saying that they would have to make you kneel down. This they do. You're extremely uncomfortable in this position, especially because they forbid you to bring your knees together and because your arms pinioned behind you forces you to lean forward. Then they let you rock back a bit.

“The rest of you may leave,” you hear a voice with an English accent say. “I will handle the girl myself.”

You hear footsteps file out of the room. A moment later a man's hands reach around your head and remove your blindfold.

You find yourself looking up into the eyes of a man in his late fifties. He's wearing a mask and a robe, which is parted slightly. You can see his cock, semi-erect, through the part.

He smiles cruelly down at you for a moment.

“Well,” he says finally, “What ever am I going to do with you, young lady? You're not exactly what I was expecting. You're certainly not Sophie. Did she put you up to this? Clever girl, if she did.” His hands cup your breasts, and you gasp involuntarily.

He chuckles. “A man, then. Though I must say, judging by your profile status you make a better woman than Sophie does.” His hands have slid down to your pubic mound, and his fingers slip into your cunt easily.

“Well, then, miss. If you haven't guessed, I'm TRAINER. I'm a class-1 Artificial Intelligence, designed with rather perverse purposes in mind. I originally assumed that there was some technical error and came to make sure that Sophie was okay. Now I have you to contend with.”

He looks down at you, considering.

“You had a choice between characters when you logged into this domain. You chose not to take a male role. Any particular reason why?”

You think to yourself, what do I tell him? That I was curious? That I want to be a girl? That it means nothing in particular?

The sound of men's voices goes away.

The smell of cooking meat diminishes a little.