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Story Notes:

Contains futa and lesbian characters. Possible giant male content at some point.

Lythia, five feet tall and well-endowed, walked carefully through the halls of the Rock House. Her Daisy Dukes were riding up today; she could feel them bunching up between her cheeks, even their tight button-fly climbing up between her lips. Lythia could only imagine what it must be like for the poor woman on her new clit ring, her former teacher in the ways of the Household, now reduced to a piece of jewelry. She was wearing the standard uniform of a pleasure-maid, just another among the dozens of courtesans that made up the Household Stock. It was her breeding-day, at last, the day that she had been prepared for all her life. After fifteen years in the pleasure-halls, tending to every decadent whim of her master’s family and guests, she was finally being given the honor of moving up in rank, taking the place of the teacher that now brushed against her clit as she walked to receive her honors.

The simple suspenders that held up her jean-shorts were made of straps just wide enough to cover her nipples, when she wore them just correctly, but this was a difficult thing for her to do now. Her former companions in pleasure-making, Messah and Sirrin, were now jewelry, like their old magistrix Olessia. Attached to her nipple studs, they were stark reminders of the consequences that failure and disobedience brought to servants in the House of Nuruthim. They were exposed now, but soon she would have to cover them up with the rough fabric that protected her meager modesty. The thought of it made her shudder, bringing back memories of the previous night, when their fates had been sealed...

Mistress Kyrithia frequently made use of the three servants, assigning two of them to suckle at her breasts while she rested and the third to tend to her ravenous vagina. That night, Lythia had been pleasuring her mistress’ pussy, when she heard a mutter from Sirrin’s mouth.

“I am sometimes jealous of the mistress,” she said. That had been all. That one comment had sufficed; the mistress had stirred at it, and looked down over her voluptuous mounds to judge them.

“The both of you will report to the diminutrix tomorrow morning,” she said, grabbing Sirrin and Messah by their braided hair and shoving their faces together. “And your teacher, as well.” She locked eyes with Lythia next. “You would go with them, were you not to be bred tomorrow,” she said, “but we’ll need a new Magistrix soon enough. Your skills will suffice for such a lowly position. Bind these two bitches for punishment and return to your task.” Lythia had gone about her duty in silence, showing none of the fear that filled her heart. The dark arts of the diminutrix was the greatest punishment a servant could receive; contingent upon it were a million terrible fates too awful to name. She had seen many of her fellow servants reduced to the size of bugs over the years, had even used some of them on the command of one of the family’s more vicious guests. She didn’t like to think of that night, and of the secret pleasures that had been revealed to her then; those memories, if nourished with repetition of recollection, would lead her only to despair of her lot in life and grow desirous of the family’s position.

To lose her comrades in such a way, though, had never seemed a realistic possibility. They had always been well-behaved, favorites of the lady of the house, and their Magistrix was world-renowned for her ability to please in an instant with actions that would leave an imprint for centuries. She was the subject of epic poems, and men had fought to the death for her favor--before her lands had been conquered and she had been made the jewel of the House’s brothel. Her noble blood was now just an accessory to Lythia’s womanhood.

She fixed the suspenders at last, ignoring the screams and pleas of her shrunken friends as she did so. That was how it had to be from now on. They weren’t for her own notice, but that of her betters, the people who she needed to want to fuck her. If she ever acknowledged them, she’d share their fate before long--but she’d be given to someone who didn’t have the benefit of regular grooming. Her own body was kept beautiful by regular grooming; aside from her dreadlocks, which signified her status as slave and reached down to her heart-shaped ass, She knew of others who had been given over to the labial rings of kitchen-wenches who never received the Right of Shaving, spending their entire lives in forests of pubic hair as punishment for a minor infraction of House etiquette, or failing to pleasure a master to true satisfaction. And she knew people who had been sent to the kitchen as food, to be served as a delicacy to the same masters.

But for now all she had to think about was pleasuring one man, whoever he may be. Her modesty finally covered, she entered the joy-creche to find the Princess Seloria, the Duchess of Monkota and Lady of the Lakes. She was dressed in a leather outfit more befitting an assassin than a royal. Lythia stood stunned, not expecting to be given over to a herma. Such honors were usually reserved for highborn courtesans, not gutter-rats who had grown tits too soon like herself. The seed of a herma was said to produce powerful offspring whose blood was imbued with strange magic, and the womanly flowering of Seloria had been heralded throughout the Empire as a sign of the gods’ favor on her House. To meet the Princess in a setting such as this was unthinkable. Her liaisons were carefully managed by her family. It seemed ludicrous that they would pay the seeding fee for a simple pleasure-slave like Lythia, or any of her counterparts--though the former Magistrix, who now wriggled against Lythia’s cunt, might have been worth such a price.

Lythia kept her surprise inside as Seloria rose from the triangular bed and approached the slave. Her jacket was not as tight as a true assassin’s doublet would have been, which meant that she was merely aping the style of her family’s greatest asset, flaunting her ability to wear such a dangerous costume in the face of all who might question her. It was a promise of reprisal to any who spoke of her presence. If you like what you see now, tell your friends--I’ll send them and you a sample of the real thing. Seloria’s pants were loose, as well, manly pants for her manly loins. She dropped them as she made her way across the room. The cock inside them wasn’t anything enormous. It was adequate, serviceable to owner and partner alike, but not extraordinary.

Obliging her client’s obvious desires, Lythia removed again her suspenders, this time letting them drop all the way down past her shoulders, away from her breasts and down her arms. With them fell the baggy cutoff jeans that had hugged her ass-cheeks with support. Naked, she stood before Seloria and entered one of her routines, realizing that it would have to be modified for Seloria’s unique anatomy. She reached down for the cock, but before she could touch it Seloria grabbed her hand and shoved her to the floor.

As she fell, she shielded the three little women attached to her body, not wanting any harm to come to them if it could be helped. That Seloria wanted to be rough was no surprise; more surprising was what she drew from her impressive bosom, a thing that looked like a gun, just a few inches long, long enough to be aimed by an expert but nothing more.

“Your mistress has sold me more than your cunt,” said the Princess. “I’m sorry you got in the way, but this is how it has to be. They’ll never suspect, but certain things have to happen. You can’t be around to witness them.” She shrugged. “There have been much worse fates than the one you’re bound for. You won’t be humiliated like your friends there.” She kneeled and took a nipple ring, the one bearing Sirrin, between thumb and forefinger. The Princess removed the ring, then removed her jacket, affixing it to her own breast. She did the same with Messah’s ring, not giving Lythia a chance to get up. She began to panic; if she lost her rings, the House would punish her, quite horrendously. There was bad blood between them and the Royal Family. Any secrets the shrunken slaves might yield under questioning would be disastrous.

Finally, she felt a hand move between her legs, working away at her clitoris...until she felt a clasp come loose, and then the hand fell away, with Magistrix Olessia still splayed out on it, screaming in fear and anger at the giantesses around her. This one, the Princess attached to her upper lip, licking it when it was in place. These punishment rings were designed to fit many kinds of piercings, and it was a simple thing to maneuver it and its occupant into place.

And then the dreaded shift in perspective, the feeling that the Princess grew taller and the ceiling farther away over her head. She knew it for what it was: the lie that accompanies diminution. It was a spectrum of disorientation that she stumbled down, her body reporting impossible things to itself along nerves that shriveled and rebuilt themselves at ever-smaller sizes with each passing moment. Seloria’s vast left hand reached down to her, even as her right hand stroked her cock, which would soon dwarf Lythia utterly. She continued to shrink as the hand gripped her, carried her high in the air, and deposited her shocked and awestruck form on the tongue of the Princess, giving her a chance to look the Magistrix in the eye. The Magistrix still bore her long dreadlocks, stretching beyond her feet, signifying her years of expertise, but they were soaked now, coming undone. Lythia smelled her own scent on her; it permeated the ring, which had spent several hours being pressed into her pussy on one of the hottest days of the summer, when she had been in a constant state of ritual arousal for her anticipated breeding. But then Seloria breathed out, her morning’s coffee staining her breath.

The tongue rolled Lythia up and unceremoniously threw her back into the great gullet of the Princess, and she never stopped shrinking. Even as she was deposited in the stomach of her new mistress, she shrank, finding herself in an ocean of food and drink that welcomed her to her new place in the world. She felt her consciousness pass from her body, then hours later she felt it again...elsewhere...

Seloria made her way out of the castle, fully clothed, her dignity intact, with three new prisoners of whom nobody would ever know. That the fourth girl had disappeared would go unquestioned and unnoticed; the right coin had been passed into the right hands. What nobody knew, though, was that she had known the identities of the three Jewels before entering the castle, and that they were attached to one particular courtesan...a courtesan whose plebeian soul would spend the rest of Soleria’s life in the fleshy prison of the Princess’ cock.

p, li { white-space: pre-wrap; }

Chapter End Notes:

Not sure where this is going, but I sure know where it's been.

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