The dealbreaker.

Khalid breathed raggedly with a sense of sated triumph, his dark eyes gleaming, gazing down upon the kneeling cock sucking Cimmerian, both pairs of her kohl smudged lips swollen and glistening - one with the last traces of his seed, the other with her own unsatiated juices.

Conan found her throat working in slow, undulating, hungerful, instinctive little swallows, the hot, salty, gelitinous globs of his opalescent cum still coating her licking tongue as she cleaned his softening member.

“Fucked… that’s what you should be. “What you desire… Connie wants to fuck Khalid…” Khalid suggested.

She nodded. Conan loved cum. She loved sucking cock. Her eyes gleamed green with a lustful envy. That cock should have been inside her, a dangerously beguiling voice whispered and she whimpered with need. That cock should be inside her right now and filling her belly in an altogether different way. God she wanted to fuck as much as she wanted to suck. Cum inside her.

“Fucked.” Khalid teased. “There is power in a name Connie. Connie wants to be fucked…”

Conan closed her green eyes and whimpered and a small part of her, a part of her drowning in this new role, a barbarian who sucked no man’s cock, a tiny buried part railed in sensual shame and unmanned anger and emasculated embarrassment. Railed against female craving that made her body tremble like a plucked lutestring. But she was Conan. Not Connie. And no man owned Conan!

“Does Connie want to fuck?”

“I’m not Connie…” Conan giggled as she knelt there, dazed, her fingers still buried deep in the tight, clenching, swollen, dripping heat between her thighs, shame and need warring in her clouded mind.

“Yes. You’re my Connie who likes to… Fuck.” Khalid said, frowning. She was acting unlike any wench he’d used the ear rings on.

“No… not Connie…”

The Stygian merchant laughed low, a sound rich with cruel satisfaction. “Yeah, right… Connie. I’m not nearly done with you yet, my little ****. You’re mine. I’ll have men kill Sonja and then you’ll be mine, always and forever… body and mind… but how are you resisting. Because I can sense resistance…”

From a pouch at the belt of his discarded britches Khalid drew a small stone alabaster vial, its orange surface glowing with an internal shimmering light. He uncorked it with his teeth, spat the cork and drained the potion in a single swig. A shudder ran through his frame; his softening cock twitching, then surging anew, hardening and swelling with unnatural vim, veins outlined beneath the skin. The elixir would keep him rigid and potent for hours.

“Turn, Connie” he commanded, voice thick with lust. “On your hands and knees you Cimmerian bitch. Present yourself for your master like a proper little bitch.”

The emerald earrings flared with a sudden, venomous green light. Conan’s eyes widened, pupils dilating until they were nearly black rimmed with an eerie sickly lime glow. A soft moan escaped her as the enchantment sank deeper, drowning the last flicker of resistance.

“Connie… fuck,” Khalid reminded her.

Her body moved of its own accord—slow, graceful, utterly obedient. She turned upon the sand, palms pressing into the warm grit, knees spreading wide, back arching in shameless offering. Her full breasts hung heavy beneath her, nipples stiff and aching; her hips lifted, thighs quivering as the cool night air kissed the slick, swollen lips of her quim.

“My…” Conan started.

Khalid stepped behind her, one hand gripping the curve of her hip, the other guiding his renewed shaft to her entrance. The broad head slid upwards along the deft curve of her inner thigh, slow and sure, nudging up against her, nestling, parting her hot, drenched folds.

“… I am…” Conan struggled.

Khalid savored the moment, the anticipation of claiming the mightiest warrior of the Hyborian Age as nothing more than a whimpering ****-girl.

“Conan!!!!” Conan declared.

“Conan?” Repeated Khalid. “What in the nine hells are you jabbering about slut?!”

Then the tent flap tore open with a savage rip. Red Sonja stormed in like a thunderclap, sword already drawn, her mail shirt gleaming red in the lamplight, eyes blazing with fury. Her flame-colored hair whipped about her shoulders as she leveled the point of her blade at Khalid’s throat.

“You Stygian snake!” she snarled. “We had a deal! The ****-girl, my **** girl was to keep her virginity. You swore it by your black custom! Clearly it’s not worth spit!” There was a grin to her lips as she regarded Conan, on all fours, a cock about to impale her.

“Fuck!” Growled Conan.

Khalid stood frozen, chin up, sweating, muscles glistening in rigid shock, cock still poised at Conan’s dripping entrance, but he did not flinch as she tried to press back and he held her immobile at the waist. A slow, wickedly rueful smile curled his lips. “She was willing, Red Woman. Eager, even. Look at her—begging for it like a tavern slut. Ask her yourself.”

Sonja’s gaze flicked to the kneeling figure. Conan’s head hung low, raven hair spilling across her shoulders, body trembling with need, struggling to slide back along the length of her master’s shaft. The earrings still glowed, and her eyes—those once fierce, blue eyes—were now luminous green, pupils blown wide with enchantment.

The she-devil’s face darkened. “Willing? You think I don’t know sorcery when I see it you misogynistic pile of dung excrement?” She sheathed her sword in a single motion and strode forward, seizing Conan’s chin and tilting her face up. The Cimmerian’s lips parted, still slick with cum, her breath coming in soft, broken pants. Sonja’s fingers found the emerald studs piercing Conan’s earlobes. With a swift, merciless twist she tore them free.

The green light died like a snuffed candle.

Conan’s body jerked as though struck by lightning. A guttural roar tore from her throat—the voice not of a barbarian who had broken armies. It was high and breathy.

Khalid paled, but before he could speak, Sonja had already turned. From a pouch at her belt she drew the fist-sized gem—the very jewel that had been the heart of the temple’s altar. She thrust it toward the Stygian.

“Take it,” she hissed. “You lusted for a females mouth and sex. You can have it forever and always now. Taste your own desire.”

Khalid’s eyes widened. He knew not the gem’s curse—knew not that it would twist the bearer into the shape of their deepest, most secret fantasy. He did not sense his doom in that instant. He only saw a gem of incredible value and this stupid she-bitch seemed intent on giving it to him for free! With greed fingers he reached out and closed his hand around the stone.

The transformation was swift and merciless.

His lean, dark frame shuddered, bones cracking and reshaping with sickening pops. Height dwindled; shoulders narrowed; hips flared wide. Muscle melted into soft, voluptuous curves. His chest swelled into heavy, pendulous breasts. His waist cinched impossibly small; thighs curved into lush, inviting fullness. Dark hair lengthened into cascading waves, framing a face that had once been handsome—now achingly beautiful, lips full and red, eyes wide with horror.

When it was done, a petite, big-breasted woman stood where Khalid had been—exactly the sort of exotic, submissive Hyrkanian pleasure-**** he had always dreamed of owning. She stared down at her new body in disbelief, hands rising to cup the weight of her breasts, a whimper escaping her throat.

Conan stepped forward, towering over the transformed merchant, a grim smile on her lips as she took the ear rings from Sonja and thrust them into the little lasses ear lobes.

“Welcome to your fantasy, dog,” she growled. “Now let’s see how well you enjoy being the toy.”