THE PRINCESS & THE SLAVE: Finale

And so we come to the final part of this sordid little tale but never fear, there are five more stories in the book it comes from, Talons of the Hawk! 

The former princess heard those words and knew immediately that all the humiliation she had felt over the past days had been as nothing compared to what was to come.

“No,” he whispered. “No your highness,” please I’m begging wheeeee!”

His eyes popped in surprise to hear the animal squeal that came from his mouth.

“Please mistress,” he gasped. “Please don’t turn me into a wheeeeee! A wheeeee!” He coughed, grasping his throat. “I don’t wheeeeeee! I don’t want to be a wheeeeee! Wheeeeee!” The pig-like squealing overcame him as he panicked, then it was replaced by snuffling and snorting, the base oinking of a pig.

It was too late. It was happening and he gaped in terror as the princess pointed at his face, her head rocking back with laughter.

He felt for where she pointed and was horrified to find a protuberant snout where his nose had been. He grunted frantically, trying to form human words but unable to, then a tickling on his head made him reach up to grasp the flaps of the wide pig ears extending from the upper sides of his head.

His torso was thickening, his belly and chest expanding to form a huge tubular girth, then he looked down at his hands and saw trotters instead of fingers.

“Wheeeee!” he cried desperately. “Wheeeeee!” and still the princess laughed, even as his clothes fell off him  and his legs bowed. No more did he have human feet. Both arms and legs ended in trotters and as soon as he realised this he fell upon them on all fours oinking in alarm.

And still the princess laughed.

His head extended forward until it was pointing front and the shape of it changed, the snout taking on the true size and shape of a pig’s snout. He got fatter and fatter as this occurred, running back and forth on all fours, squealing in dread realisation until the transformation was complete and he was a she, a bloated fattened sow; an animal and nothing more, oinking and snorting like any pig in the field.

The bulbous sow knew that it had once been human but it snuffled round for food exactly as a normal pig would. It was a normal pig in every way.

But still it had hope, for surely the princess could change her mind. Surely this punishment was enough and it would at least be allowed to become a slave again.

But the princess called for another slave to come and the pig heard these words, struggling now to understand them with its animal brain. Already the subtlety of the human tongue was lost on it and in moments it might even lose what vague understanding it had. But understand it did when the princess gave her next command to the harried slave that appeared to her call.

“This filthy animal has got free from the pen. Have it locked away with the others of its kind immediately.”

No, thought the pig with its last vestige of human thought. If I’m put with the other pigs you won’t know which one is me! You’ll never be able to change me back!

“Hurry!” said the princess. “This disgusting animal smells awful! It revolts me! Get it out of my sight and put it with the others.”

And the pig was herded away from the princess to the pen and it never once looked on her again. It was locked in the pen with the other swine, just one of the many pigs now, and there it remained.

It was nothing but a pig with a pig’s desires and disgusting actions; with the brain and thoughts of a base animal. It would snuffle and snort and root in the dirt for food. It would wallow in mud and cover its bloated form in filth.

And one day, when it had lived out its years as nothing but an animal, it would be dragged squealing to the abattoir to be slaughtered under the axe and would be nothing but bacon and ham; food on the table of Prince Kalide. 

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CLEANER: Chapter Three - Part Six

The kitchen took me a long time.

I had been very careless over the past two days and there was plenty of mess. I cleared away the empty wrappers first and piled the pots ready to go in the dishwasher then wiped down the tops, tipping the crumbs into my cupped palm. There were plenty of bits on the floor. I fetched the broom from my cleaning cupboard...

...my cleaning cupboard...

... and set to work brushing them into a neat pile, then I got down into a crouch and swept them onto a dustpan.

I wondered if it would be harder to crouch down like that if I were as fat as Melissa. Surely the extra folds of fat round my belly would restrict my movement and the extra weight itself would make everything a terrible strain. How much did she weigh? It had to be an enormous amount compared to me. Was she one and a half times my weight? More?

Some of the containers I'd left out contained food. There was a packet that had contained six chocolate éclairs when I'd bought it. There were only two left now. I'd scoffed the others in front of the TV last night. Glancing toward the door, as though I might get in trouble if Melissa found me out, I pulled one out of the packet and pushed the end of it into my mouth. I kept pushing, squeezing as much in as I could before I bit so that chewing it was laborious but provided a massive dose of delicious flavour. I’d barely swallowed that when I put the second piece in, forcing it again so that it pushed my cheeks out, until it was all in my mouth; a whole éclair in two mouthfuls. I ate like a bird usually.

Then I got back to work, still chewing.

I was about to load the dishwasher, but it struck me that the plates would come a lot cleaner if I did them by hand. And it was only right that I do a good job. This was important. I had my standards. I didn’t want to let my employer down.

I filled the sink with piping hot water, pulled my marigolds tighter and started on the pile, humming to myself.

I felt so at peace; totally relaxed; thinking only of the task before me.

It was wonderful.

THE PRINCESS & THE SLAVE: Part Six

For your viewing delight, another excerpt from my new book Talons of the Hawk. 

If you click on the picture to the right you'll be able to read most of another story too on the Amazon preview - to see if it's worth getting. 

Short answer = it is.

For the rest of the day, Princess Saffie ordered Raul to fetch and carry for her. She ordered him to fan her with the ostrich feather fan. Everything she commanded, he obeyed, for he had no other choice and after all, he was only her slave. He had to do her bidding.

The new princess found his willingness to follow orders delightful and took great pleasure in giving him endless belittling tasks. The big lumbering slave grew wet with sweat as he toiled in the sun, wishing he had never even seen the hawk statuette.

“Would you like to hear something amusing slave?” asked the princess.

“Yes your highness; if it pleases you,” replied Raul.

“Have you noticed that I don’t feel sick anymore?”

He looked at her, perplexed.

“I simply told the statue I did not wish to feel that way anymore.” She laughed. “Do you see? You need never have swapped places with me in the first place!”

The princess laughed and laughed and laughed and Raul’s face coloured purple in frustration and trapped rage. He saw the truth of it and cursed his own foolishness. It was that one rash command that had doomed him to this life.

“I see your anger Raul,” said the princess, quieting. “Don’t think that I don’t.” She folded her arms. “But it isn’t becoming of a slave.” She picked up the hawk once again. “Would that this slave man Raul loves his life and loves to be a slave. Would that he wants nothing more but to serve me, his princess.”

And as she said this, Raul felt his anger dissipate to be replaced by the almost urgent need to please this beautiful lady. It mattered not that she had stolen his life. He was much happier as a slave than he had ever been as a princess. All he wanted to do was serve her as best he could until the end of his days.

And the one-time princess did just that. He did her bidding to the letter, bowing submissively at each command, toadying up to her in the hope of some sign of kindness or gratitude but willing to follow her commands nonetheless.

For the rest of that day he worked ceaselessly and overnight he was locked back up in the slave cage below decks amid the filth. This time he didn’t resent this captivity. He expected and accepted it. It was only his due as a slave. He was lucky to be able to pass this close to royalty. Sleeping in the filth surrounded by other slaves as low as he was the best he could hope for from now on.

The next day he slaved again for the new Princess Saffie. The following day he slaved for her, answering her every whim. The next day he slaved again. But finally toward the end of yet another day, Princess Saffie called to the huge bald slave man and summoned him before her.

“It gives me great pleasure,” she said, “to see the once mighty princess reduced to being a pathetic slave man.”

“Whatever pleases you pleases me your highness,” replied Raul clumsily.

“And that is really the problem,” she said. “Because you take altogether too much pleasure from being a slave now when you should be suffering as you made others suffer.”

Raul hung his head in shame, hating to have displeased his mistress.

“What of the people whose lives you have ruined?” went on the princess. “What of the girl and her family, turned to swine and then lost amongst the real pigs? Why should you live a life you love while those others’ lives are despoiled?”

“If it pleases your highness,” said Raul. “I will happily be punished in any way you see fit.”

The princess smirked. “In any way I see fit?”

Raul nodded hesitantly, feeling sudden fear.

“Very well,” said the princess, taking up the hawk once more. “First of all, I would have it that you speak your mind again at last. It would please me for your true feelings about being a slave to return.”

The magic did its work and those true emotions crashed back into Raul’s heart with a physical agony. No longer did he love his life as a slave. He hated it! He was meant to be the princess himself and she had made him slave dawn until dusk day after day, bowing in servility.

“How could you do this to me?” he spat.

“I do as I will,” she replied, “for you still know that you are my slave do you not?”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “I am your slave.”

“And what is your name slave?”

“My name is Raul.”

Even now he was trapped in that identity he had so foolishly taken.

“Well I would have it now that you had no name,” said the princess, and instantly all sense of identity went from the big man’s mind. He knew he was a slave and he knew he used to be the princess but he no longer had any knowledge of being named.

“Why do you do this to me?” he asked. “Why take my name from me?”

“Well it’s obvious isn’t it?” she said coyly. “Whoever heard of a pig with a name?”

“No,” whispered the slave. “No, please. You can’t. I’m begging you.”

“Like the servant girl begged when you transformed her and her family?”

All blood was gone from his face. He desperately wished to rush at her and take the hawk; stop her from doing this; but he had no right to act in such a way to his mistress. He was only her slave. If she chose to do this to him then it was her right.

“Please your highness,” he stammered. “Let me serve you in any way you wish but do not do this to me.”

“It’s done,” she said and grasped the hawk in both hands. “It is my wish that this servant man become a common bloated sow in form and in deed.”

 



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LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Four - Part Nine

Burt swept the entrance to the stable with a broom, imagining what he would have been up to if he was still a cultured lady; probably being pampered over dinner, eating like a bird and wearing some silly frock. He shuddered at the very idea of that. He was much happier in his britches and old tatty waistcoat; his shirt and cap. There was nothing fancy about his life now but that was the way he liked it.

He didn’t have to put on no airs. He didn’t have to pretend to be interested in all that la de da nonsense. All he had to worry about was getting chewed out by old Harry if he didn’t get his chores done quick enough and truth be told he sort of liked that. You knew where you stood with Harry. He could be a tough old gaffer if he wanted to be but he respected hard work and there was nothing Burt liked more now. A hard day’s work and then bed; maybe a bit of carousing down t’Dog & Pony. Life didn’t get any better.

Ann saw him as he emerged, setting the broom in against the wall there, and stopped dead. A shiver ran through comprising three equal parts. Lust for this paragon of working class masculinity – the desperate need to open her legs to him. Fear and revulsion – that she might be stuck in this life, a penniless commoner for the rest of her days. And same throbbing vein that the original Ann had had and she had inherited – to taste what this life had to offer in the realest possible sense – to give herself to the experience and pretend, just for the night, that she was really Mavis Gibbs and always had been.

If she had known that an almost identical thought had occurred to the former Ann in almost identical circumstances then she would have quailed in panic and run for her life. As it was, the warring imperatives just left her floundering and confused, especially when Burt noticed her there and grinned.

“Eh up darlin. I thought you was workin tonight.”

She shrugged uncertainly. “Not tonight Burt.”

“You wanna go down t’Dog & pony and get some bevies in?”

She shook her head, lifting the corners of her mouth. The idea of surrounding herself with other commoners was repugnant but there was another compulsion she was dying to give in to. “Ow’s about we...” She heard the Yorkshire in her voice and hesitated, then let herself continue. “How about we stay ere?”

Burt grinned broadly. “I was ‘oping ye’d say sommat like that.” He came toward her. “Wait ere while I nip up and get me dinner. I’ll bring some down to you if’n you want.” He pecked her on the cheek before she could react and gave her a wink and Ann flushed crimson. “Why don’t you get yerself upstairs and put on yer birthday suit ready fer when I come back, eh?”

He walked off up the path toward the back of the house and Ann stood watching, thoroughly off-balance.

This was a honey trap, plain and simple – she knew that – but where else could she go? Should she brave the house again tonight? She didn’t know what was best; but she did know what she wanted more than anything; and that was to spend the night with that wonderfully masculine working man. Since she’d seen the stable hand at her grandmamma’s in London she had lusted after being bedded by a man like this. The romp that afternoon and only whetted her appetite for more.

“What the ‘ell does it matter?” she grumbled and walked to the back of the stables. She knew what she wanted and she was going to do it.

Without the immediacy of Burt’s presence, the hayloft was nowhere near as exciting the second time. It was just a draughty and dirty place of clutter and hard uneven wood. Hay was piled high down the further end and various sacks of grain were stacked opposite the door. Drifts of dirt and strands of hay were everywhere. Burt had a few things on the shelf against the right hand wall and an old tin bath hanging from a hook. He had a stove and some shaving things. His straw pallet was stuffed clumsily under the little table along with his blanket to leave the floor clear as per Harry’s standing orders. It was a filthy unwelcoming place, far from the sumptuous luxury Ann had grown used to.

Was this really where she was going to have to stay the night? Might she really be trapped in this new life, her destiny as a lady replaced by the fate of a common barmaid?

She wrapped her arms round her chest.

Growing old as a peasant; getting pregnant and fat and squeezing out bairn after bairn, cursing and shouting at her good-for-nothing working class husband.

She shuddered from her head to her feet.

She still had the pendant. She still had control. Not as much control as she would have liked, but more than enough.

She wondered if the best way would be to go for a two stage swap – into a servant girl first... That might be an easier route into the house.

She shook her head. She could think of that later.

For now there was a different priority in her mind and with a little wince of disgust she started to make the bed ready, pulling the pallet free from under the table and spreading it flat, laying the blanket half neatly on top.

She went to sit at the table to wait for Burt but caught herself, remembering his suggestion that she undress. She chewed her lip, half smiling. It seemed so brazen to do such a thing, but what could it hurt? As far as Burt or anyone else knew, she was really Mavis. He wouldn’t think any less of her. On the contrary, if she didn’t do it then it would be against type. Along with other slight clues: her accent; her knowledge; he might even guess who she really was.

It gave her a thrill to imagine doing it. She only hesitated for a moment longer, then she quickly and almost desperately started to disrobe, throwing the clothes down as she did so but only becoming aware of that when she was almost done.

Since becoming a lady, under the tutelage of her grandmamma, she had learned to act decorously at all times. Hurling her clothes into a heap on the floorboards was in no way decorous.

“What’s goin on with me?” She gripped her forehead with both hands staring at the discarded items.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter!” She snagged at her undergarments, stripping them off one by one. “For now, I’m Mavis. It don’t matter how I act.”

That brought her to a stop.

Was she Mavis?

She looked down at her bare chest, the huge breasts hanging there. She lifted first one and then the other, surprised by how heavy they were.

“Yes. I’m Mavis. I’m Mavis Gibbs,” and the second time she said it her voice tilted a little closer to common Yorkshire. “I’m the barmaid at the Dog & Pony. I’m Burt’s girlfriend; that’s all.”

The words went out to the walls of the hayloft and came back at her.

“I’m Mavis Gibbs,” she muttered.

And in the base of her skull, a warm tingling rippled away, making her feel relaxed and contented. It felt good to say it and pretend it was true.

And it was only for one night. For one night it didn’t matter.