The stages of loss

But the reality of your situation snaps back into your mind like a whip. You were a man you think slapping your pretty new face. Why are you acting like this? The pleasure of your newfound feminine body is a confusing and disorienting sensation. The feeling of your own breasts, the sensitivity of your new parts, it's all so... distracting.

The door creaks open and in struts the witch, looking more amused than ever. "I see you're enjoying your new form," she says with a smirk, her eyes lingering on the sticky mess you've made.

"How could I not?" you reply, still breathless from the intensity of the orgasm. "But why am I acting like a needful little slut? What have you done to me witch?” You whine.

"It's all part of the potion, my dear," she says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "It's not just a simple transformation, but also a rewiring of your desires. As a woman, you'll find that your body craves the very things you used to take from others."

Her words hit you like a sledgehammer. You've been emasculated, turned into a creature that desires its own degradation. The thought is as terrifying as it is arousing. You had never felt this kind of vulnerability before, and the mere memory of your own fingers inside of you sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body that you can't ignore. What would a cock feel like a you wonder giddily.

But now isn't the time for that. You need to figure out what to do next, how to get out of this mess and regain your rightful place. You stand up, your legs wobbly from both the transformation and the intense pleasure you just experienced. The witch's smug look only fuels your anger.

"This isn't happening," you murmur to yourself, trying to convince your new body that you're still Richard the Butcher. You look around the room, searching for something to cover yourself, but all that's left is your discarded shift. With a huff, you pull it back on, the fabric sticking to your wetness and clinging to your curves in a way that only highlights your new figure.

The anger simmers within you, a burning ember in your chest that threatens to ignite into an inferno. How dare she do this to you? You were the one who held power, the one who dictated the fate of others! Yet here you are, a plaything for her amusement.

As you struggle to compose yourself, the witch approaches you, her eyes glinting with a mischievous glee that only fans the flames of your fury. "Now, now, Mialee," she coos, "no need to get upset. Your new role in the kingdom will be quite... fulfilling."

Your anger boils over as you look at her, feeling the rage of a thousand suns burning in your chest. You want to rip her throat out with your bare hands, to watch the life drain from her eyes as she begs for mercy. But your body, this treacherous vessel, refuses to obey, instead you feel your cheeks redden with embarrassment and a strange, unwelcome arousal at her words.

"Fulfilling?" you spit out. "What could you possibly offer that I would find fulfilling in this... this... state?"

The witch leans closer, her breasts nearly spilling out of her gown. "I'm sure we can come to an agreement, my dear," she purrs. "You see, your enemies paid a hefty price for my services. But I'm feeling quite generous today. If you're willing to serve me well, I might just consider granting you a reprieve."

Her offer hangs in the air like a taunt. You, the great Richard the Butcher, reduced to begging for your freedom from the very creature you once thought of as less than human. The idea is almost too much to bear, but the thought of endless days as a barslave, subject to the whims of of your new body, is worse.

With a snarl, you **** yourself to think clearly. "What do you want?" you ask through gritted teeth. "I will give you double what those sniveling cowards paid for this curse."

The witch's eyes light up at the mention of gold. "Ah, now we're getting somewhere," she says, stroking her chin thoughtfully. "But where is this gold exactly?” She asks with interest. “You can tell me. Trust me,” she says and, strangely, you do.

You lean in, whispering the location of your treasure into her ear, hoping to bargain for your release. You tell her of the hidden cove in the Whispering Woods, where you buried your treasure in a shallow grave under the light of the blood moon. The spot where the roots of the ancient oak tree split the earth like the fingers of a giant hand, that's where the treasure lies. The witch's eyes widen, and she nods eagerly, a greedy smile playing on her lips.

But as soon as the words leave your mouth, you realize your folly. You've just handed your most precious secret to the very person who's stolen everything from you. Your anger turns to desperation and bitter fear as you grab her arm. "Please," you beg, "you must help me."

The witch laughs, a sound like tinkling bells, and pulls away from your grasp. "Don't worry," she says, "you're going to be quite the asset in your new role. And don’t fret let," she leans in closer, her breath warm against your ear, "I’ll keep your treasure safe."

Her hand reaches out to caress your cheek, a gesture so tender it feels alien in this cruel world you now inhabit. But as she does, a sudden jolt of pleasure shoots through you, making you lean into her touch. She laughs again, a knowing spark in her eyes. "You're going to be such a good little ****, aren’t you?"

You nod, blushing furiously, unable to stop yourself from feeling a strange thrill at her words. The thought of serving, of pleasing her, fills your mind, pushing aside all thoughts of rebellion and power. "Yes, mistress," you murmur, your voice thick with desire.