First Kiss

First Kiss

Copyright © 2018, Dave Potter

With thanks to Cafter Homme for the editing and suggestions.

Author’s note:

The following story is extremely different from most of those I write in both tone and content. I thought it up after reading some of the erotica penned by the famous author Anaïs Nin and was inspired to write something more in line with the length and tone that she writes in. That said, this is not a Nin tribute nor even a tale written in her manner: I am me and she was she and our tastes differ. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it.

Dave Potter

 

Michael had always had the feeling that he should have been born in a different age. Perhaps it was because he had parents who were National Trust members and so spent half of his childhood being whisked through one stately home or another. Or possibly it was because he loved reading adventure stories involving knights and castles or World War I fighter pilots involved in daring dogfights. Whatever the reason, he always knew that where he should not be was in Year 12 at Trentham Road High Sixth Form in 1996.

What was the problem? The problem that every boy of that age has I suppose. Girls. He’d discovered them. He loved them. They hadn’t noticed him. His days were spent in a hormone-induced daze, gazing at the cleavage of Julia Jenkinson or the legs of Hannah Baines or the absolute complete perfection of Jenny Watkinson knowing that all were well and truly out of his reach. Even the middling Becky Robinson hardly casted a glance in his direction. It was excruciating.

And nowhere worse than A-level English. Was it his fault that God had made him a man with a passion for literature? The only man with a passion for literature. Four times a week, for an hour and ten minutes, he had to sit at a table with the aforementioned holy trinity of Trentham Road womanhood, plus eight more gorgeous babes whilst being lectured to on modern women’s poetry, George Eliot and Dorothy Wordsworth by Mrs. Cooper whose husband had just left her for a younger model. The moral of each tale seemed to be that all men are bastards and, as he was clearly the only bastard in the room, a dozen pairs of feminine eyes fixed upon him with thinly-veiled disgust.

And to make it worse, that discarded old maid had decreed that he be partnered with Jenny Watkinson, the most delectable of them all, and that every time they sat together, almost touching, her cute dimples when she smiled, her silky blonde hair, her sparkling blue eyes and her tantalising cleavage sent him into some sort of demonic mash-up of heaven and hell. And just to add insult to injury, in the evening when they were having their dinner, his mum would pipe up, “How was school today, son?” and “Are you still in the same group as Sandra Watkinson’s daughter. She’s quite a bonny lass, is she not? I went to school with her mum and she was pretty too. You should try asking her out one day, you know. They’re a lovely family.”

Ask her out? If only! He longed for what he could not have. To take Jenny Watkinson, nay, any one of those girls in English in his arms, to plant a kiss on her rosebud lips just as Stephen Guest does with Lucy Deane in ‘Middlemarch’, now that was beyond a dream. Their curves and smiles, smooth skin and sparkling eyes tempted and teased him continually, night and day, allowing no escape. They haunted his dreams and his waking and his member strained in his pants whenever he thought of them.

 

And being born in the wrong period, he looked to the past for relief. ‘Oh, if I were to just get married!’ he sighs to himself. He envied the Asians who have their marriages arranged for them by their parents. Wouldn’t that be easier! His mum and dad pick a suitable girl of the right class and it would be happily ever after. No embarrassment, no awkwardness. If only!


That Sunday they go to a National Trust property. While his mum and dad take gran to the tearoom, he wanders off on his own, through the dining rooms and drawing rooms. And as his feet wander, so too does his mind.

He imagines that 1996 is but a distant dream of the future and instead it is 1856. His mind transports him to that more genteel era when those lavish furnishings were new. Gone are the ‘Here to help!’ volunteers and the camera-laden pensioners and instead he is a guest at the local baronet’s annual garden party. He is a dapper young man of seventeen in a pressed morning suit whose parents have recognised that he is of the age; that they need to marry their son off to a suitable maiden so that he can start a family of his own. But who is the correct girl to choose? They have scoured the town for suitable candidates and have talked to the fathers of all the eligible girls. Michael is middle-class; they need a girl whose family are of similar standing. But Michael is intelligent too (he is expected to pass all four of his A-levels) and so they need a girl that will challenge him. But she should be kind and gracious also, well-mannered, healthy and, if possible, pretty. And, having done their work well, they know that only one girl fits the bill. He recalls the awkward first meeting with Miss Jennifer Watkinson in the sitting room of her house. She smiles at him and his heart melts. She is dressed in her best day dress, a delightful tiered creation in blue-grey satin with lace on the flounces, held wide by a large crinoline before diving into a delightfully tiny waist. He remembers the almost imperceptible creaks in the quiet room caused by her breathing against the strictures of the tight corset that created that wonderful waist and their polite yet nervous conversation with one another.

Feeling his rod stiffen, he heads outside.

He passes through the formal garden and into the maze. He wanders through the hedged pathways thinking only of the delightful maiden who will be his wife. Still in a daze, he reaches the centre where the bench stands under an arbour of roses and there, to his surprise, is his betrothed, his desire. She is wearing a walking dress of tartan print and has her bonnet on her head, her delightful face being framed by the large black bow that is tied under her chin. She too his lost to the world but, upon his arrival, she looks up.

“You came!”

“I could not wait!”

 

“It is so hateful there, all those people talking and staring. I so wished to get away, to be alone… with you.”

“I too, my darling.”

“Sit with me.”

He sits on the bench and smells her scent. Cautiously, he takes her gloved hand in his and squeezes it. She smiles, inviting more. He snakes his hand closer, around that rock-hard waist, caressing the stays and material that keep him from his desires. She gasps and moves her face towards him. “Michael, my love.”

“Jennifer, I shall always be yours!”

Their lips meet and he dissolves into bliss.

“Michael Shingler! What the fuck?”

He looks up. He is alone on the bench, his hand clasped around his penis, not her waist. But Jennifer Watkinson is there in front of him. The 1996 version.

He gasps and blushes. His rod collapses with the shock despite the flesh and blood sight of her in tight jeans and a figure-hugging top.

“Jenny! I… I was just… it wasn’t what it looks like and…”

“You were calling my name, declaring undying love and playing with… that.”

“I’m sorry, I, err… I thought I was alone and… don’t tell anyone, please.”

After a moment she smiles wickedly and strides over to him. He fumbles at his crotch trying to put the straining monster away but she places her elegant hand over his to stop him. “I won’t say anything if you tell me exactly what you were thinking of.”

“I wasn’t thinking of anything. Well, I was but…”

“The truth, Michael, the full truth or else! I heard you call my name from practically the other side of the garden, was it me?”

“Well…” He turns things over in his mind. Can he tell the truth? Will she mock him mercilessly? Will he ever be able to meet her sky-blue eyes again? Yet what could make things worse than now? He plunges into the icy water.

“Ye…yes, it w…w…was you. I was f…fa…fantasising about you. We all… I mean, all… all the boys do. But th…this was d…di…diifferent. It was you but… but not you… if th…that makes sense, which I… I know it doesn’t, but…”

“Tell me more. I am intrigued.” She sits close to him on the bench. Her hand has not moved from his crotch. He stiffens even further.

“It was you but not you now. I was in the past, a hundred and fifty years ago. Victorian times. This place, this house and gardens and everything. Our times are so crass and shallow. People screw each other and talk dirty. They bare all to the world and don’t care about anything. But back then, when this place was built, when women wore crinolines and corsets and people were polite; back then when the books we read in Mrs. Cooper’s class were written. Back then things were nobler and purer and… better. And in my fantasy we lived then. You were wearing a glorious dress with a wide crinoline and tight stays. I was dressed in a suit with a cravat. We were engaged; our parents made the match because we are the same class. We came to this place because it is private. On this bench we stole out first kiss and… and then…”

“…and then I came.”

“Yes. You came.”

She moves closer to him and he feels her breath on his cheek. She is breathing heavily as if her middle is constricted by a corset yet she wears only a t-shirt. She leans over to him and her hand encircles his tool. “In all those English lessons I wondered,” she whispers. “I wondered if anyone else was as entranced by those stories, if anyone else shared my fantasies, escaping to those simpler times. I never guessed that you were the one who did so completely, Michael Shingler, never in a thousand years. I never saw you as being so romantic.”

“Really? You… You… Yeah I always have wanted things to be like that. I was born in the wrong time.”

“Me too,” says Jenny Watkinson climbing on top of him. “Now, what were you saying about our first kiss…?”

 

 

Yabu

Yabu

This story was written by me, Dave Potter, but thanks must go to Cafter Homme for the editing and corrections which have made it a better tale than it was originally.

Author’s note:

This story was inspired by the following description of the lives of women in traditional Korean society written by Isabella Jane Bird in her 1895 travelogue ‘Korea and Her Neighbours’.

It is also worth the reader acquainting themselves with traditional Korean dress. These diagrams may help:

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The information on traditional Korean hairstyles comes from this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wfUROEyt39Y

 

Chapter 1

I suppose I should start off by introducing myself. My name is Beo-Jin, Pak Beo-Jin, and I am a high school student at Park Valley Private High for Girls in California. Or at least, I was. I’m not anymore. Not a student, I mean. Like, my name’s  not even Beo-Jin. But you’ll get it later.

What I was not and am not is a “normal” girl. After all, how many “normal” Korean girls study in an expensive private high in the US? No, I don’t think so, not normal at all. That was due to my dad. His name is Pak Cha-Ek and he was one of the executive directors of Chollima Inc, a global electronics brand worth, like, billions! That’s how he had the money to send me to such a prestigious school in States, convenient since he was in charge of their American operations. Oh, he paid for everything, but that was it. He never bothered himself much with either my upbringing or my welfare, too busy making money and serving the company. A typical Korean businessman, I guess you’d say. Anyways, we weren’t close.

Nor too did my mum bother herself much about me. I mean, like,  she neither raised me nor cared for me; I was always an afterthought. My dad got together with her when he was forty-two and she was just an air-headed nineteen-year old beauty queen. My guess is she had my brother Ryu to get a ring out of my dad, cause knowing him he would’ve just dumped her for the next floozy that came along. Like he had the last. If there had ever been a “spark” between them, it was dead and gone by the time I was here, like, a year or so later. She now spends her time living off of a healthy stipend from dad, usually on the French Riviera where she bathes on yachts, gambles in casinos, and looks for new sugar daddies. Like with dad, we weren’t close.

Despite this rather fucked up family though, I wasn’t depressed or anything drama. You don’t miss what you never had, right? Like, school was alright, especially playing field hockey and soccer; I loved K-Pop, I dyed my hair ginger and did my makeup like Hyuna with no one to stop me; oh! and I loved partying with my cool Cali friends! Yeah, when you’re sixteen and rich in the sun, life ain’t bad.

1-26_hyuna_clriden_3

Or at least, mine wasn’t until the letter arrived. Dad wanted me to come home, and by home I mean Korea. He called it a “summons,” I called it a waste of time. It was only for a visit of course, or at least, that’s what I assumed. I just guessed he’d gone through one of his occasional bouts of parental guilt and wanted to show me what a great dad he actually was. Whatever. It was a bummer, as always; the summer holidays were approaching, and I’d been planning to go with Kelly down to her mum’s place in Mexico. Still, I knew better than to refuse my father. After all, if I pissed him off, my allowance could stop, and bang would go any cool plans and stuff. We all have our cross to bear, right? This was mine. Or so I thought.

The letter informed me that I had a flight booked to Seoul on the Saturday after I finished school, first class of course. It went on to say that I would be met by a car which would drive me to our house which, I was surprised to learn, was a new one that dad had some fancy architect build over the previous year. This was a total shock; why had he mentioned nothing about this a few months back when he’d popped over to LA for business? The letter also mentioned that he had now taken on a new job, from Chollima to Chongsanri, of which he was now Vice President again. You have no idea, I almost, like, screamed. Chollima was big, but Chongsanri was, like, HUGE! The leading Korean tech outfit by a mile. My God, what must dad be making now?! It didn’t really matter, it was good news for me!

Ahh, if only we had the benefit of hindsight!

As promised, I got picked up at Incheon Airport by a blank-faced lackey chauffeur who showed me towards a limo with blacked-out windows. I settled in the back, made myself a coffee from the minibar and watched the world go by. Seoul soon faded away and we were well into the countryside. I was puzzled. Dad had always preferred city life, and in Korea that means Seoul or bust!

Still we drove on and on, up into the mountains. Then, somewhere near to Pyeongchang, we headed off up some creepy side road that made me mistrust the dumb chauffeur, winding through forested slopes until we came to the house itself. Let me tell you, it was not what I had expected.

It was an unsurprisingly large place for Dad but, weirdly, it was built in a very traditional style, like super old fashioned like some sort of Buddhist temple with a walled compound and large pavilions and stuff. Actually at first, you might’ve thought it was ancient; it was only upon a closer look that the modern details became obvious. The car swung into the courtyard and I was shown out by the driver. There to meet me was some maid I had never seen before dressed in like a full, traditional hanbok. Weird. She bowed towards me and told me to follow her, but like, her accent was strange, and I couldn’t place it. Either way I did as she asked, and she led me into one of the pavilions, down some corridors and into a large bedroom furnished in that same old, traditional style. And believe this, on the bed was this ridiculous outfit.

“Your father is busy right now,” said the maid, “but he will meet you for dinner. Please bathe and then dress in the clothes on the bed. If you need a hand, please ring. Otherwise, I shall return at six to show you to him.” And then, with those oddly-formal words, she left.

I was so confused. The opulence was something, but like not that strange?

But all the emphasis on tradition just puzzled me. I mean, you have to understand, Dad had never been that kind of guy. And the outfit that I had to put on matched the surroundings: it was a hanbok. I had worn hanboks before, of course – which Korean girl hasn’t? – but only for special occasions like graduations. But why one today for just a meal with my father? Still, weird as it was, I was super glad to change after the flight, and besides, it was pretty!

I bathed in the adjacent shower and then returned to the room naked. First up was the underwear, which looked like it had come out of the fuckin’ Ark with Moses or something. I was really tempted to put my good Western lingerie back on, but it was a little bit stinky from the long flight so I decided to bite the bullet. Next came the sokchima or underskirt which was supported by hoops, so wide that it was about a metre and a half at the bottom. Then came the chima or skirt which was a golden colour and covered with some super gorgeous embroidery. After that was the jeogori which was in black and also beautifully embroidered. I tied off the otgoreum just below my small, firm breasts. Finally, there were some pretty beoseum socks for my feet and white silk gloves for my hands. After fitting these I looked at myself into the mirror and nearly burst out laughing! Apart from my dyed ginger hair and 21st century make-up, I could have been a girl from the Joseon Dynasty. This was getting to be just ridiculous.

How little did I know.

At six the maid returned to escort me to my father.

gold hanbok

 

Chapter 2

What transpired that evening over dinner is seared into my memory forever. I often replay it over and over in my mind, and it always gives me like serious goosebumps. On that evening my life changed, irreversibly.

What struck me first was his costume. Ok, so I was wearing a hanbok already, but in Korea many girls do, especially on special occasions. But dad had on the male hanbok, something no guy ever does except maybe when he’s like getting married or something. But there he was, sitting at the table, sipping soju and looking like an extra out of one of those period dramas on TV. Weird.

That was only the start, though. Then came the sudden change in attitude. Suddenly he was all formal with me as if he had somehow changed. The word that comes to mind when I think about it is ‘brainwashed’. Yes, like as if someone or something had washed out his old, corporate, money-making brain and replaced it with something straight out of the nineteenth century. He was formal and particular and although we discussed nothing really beyond small talk and pleasantries during the meal, in my gut I just knew something was up. I also noticed that he didn’t really even ask me about school either, and when I started to tell him about my time on the beach and parties with my American friends, he was clearly uninterested. All he would say was, “Some things are going to change.”

After dinner we chilled out in a traditional sitting-room and after I pressed him a bit more he explained to me what. It was all to do with him moving to Chongsanri. The corporation, at least in it’s highest echelons, seemed to have a very different philosophy than Chollima, or really the rest of the country. At all of dad’s previous jobs it had all been about making money as quickly as possible, but Chongsanri was something else entirely. Chongsanri was all about Korea. To paraphrase another slightly-deranged demagogue, their president was obsessed with trying to make Korea great again. And in my dad he had apparently found a willing disciple.

“The problem is that we try to ape the foreigners, the Westerners, the Chinese, even the Japanese, all those who have oppressed us in the past. We mimic their business methods, their Christian religion, their mode of dress, their tinny pop music and even their hair colour.” He looked at my ginger locks when he said this and I felt uneasy. “But we are not Western, nor Chinese, nor Japanese. We are Koreans! A great nation, millennia old, glorious and cultured! Yet it is as if we are ashamed of our heritage, as if we try to hide it. At Chongsanri they are trying to change that. We are prosperous, yet also true to our Korean roots. We provide jobs for Korean people and extoll Korean culture. Look at this country and the sorry state that it is in! I know this sounds incredible, but even the North, that poverty-stricken, dictator-dominated hellhole, even they are better than us. At least the Kims that they worship were true Koreans who battled the outsiders, not gave in to them or aped them. They glory in their identity! None of their women dye their hair, and their music sounds like true Korean music should. And their women are chaste too! None of this sex before marriage and cohabitation. Compared even to them, we are cultural paupers!”

As he was speaking all this nonsense, like I totally recognised the strange accent of the maid. She was from the North!

“My new boss, Kwon Yong-Byok, the CEO of Chongsanri, has shown me an alternative way, and I have embraced it. I now live as a businessman, yes, but also as a true Korean. This house for starters; it is like the houses that our ancestors dwelt in, except that there is a crucial difference: technology. Back then people died early, got sick, endured the cold and many other deficiencies in life, because the technology was not there. We were vulnerable to domination because of this. What Yong-Byok and now I do, is live in the traditional Korean way but with technology on hand to help us to enhance that wonderful mode of life even further. So the house for example, it has ondol heating as is typically Korean, but the heated vapours are geothermally generated and time-controlled. We have taken tradition and refined it with technology. The happy news is that our family can now live in an almost perfect, original, Korean manner.”

“But dad, like, I’m at school in America, so is Gyu. And mum is, well, mum is wherever she is…”

“No, Beo-Jin, you were at school in America. The old me sent you there. But I have summoned you back here because we’re going to start living as a family again and we are going to live in a true Korean fashion. You shall not be returning to your school; from now on you’ll live here as a proper Korean girl.”

“Fuck that, like, no way! I want to return to Cali! My friends are there and–”

“Lesson Number One, Beo-Jin: Korean society is Confucian. We obey our parents. When I say that you shall be living here, then you shall be living here.” His voice wasn’t angry, but unforgiving.

“But I don’t want to! And besides, up here in the mountains, like, we’re away from everything that means anything. I mean, I’ll be fair, it’s like nice and all, but there’s no school, no jobs, no opportunities. Do you even have wifi?”

“Beo-Jin, you will not be returning to school. It is unnecessary. A Korean girl’s destiny in life is to marry and become an honourable wife to her husband. School will not teach you that, certainly not the schools that you have been attending up till now. From tomorrow onward you will be living at home and learning your future duties as a submissive and honourable wife.”

“Jesus, Dad, I’m sixteen! I don’t want to marry, like, for ten years, at least! I want a career and to go out with my friends and…”

“Silence! There will be no speak of false western idols in my home! What you want is immaterial! A Korean girl’s destiny is to obey her parents and then her husband. And sixteen is a perfectly suitable age to be married. Indeed, in the Joseon Era girls were often wed well before then. Besides, you are not ready yet. You need training to become a suitable wife and that will take time.”

“No, dad, no! This is my life, not yours and I’m not some stupid fucking submissive drone who is going to be ordered about by a man. This is not the nineteenth century, it’s like, the twenty-first! We’ve had a sexual revolution, or haven’t you realised that? I love you dad, but I will not live as you want! I’m sorry but that is that!”

And with those words his face changed. I’d expected anger, but instead he just looked defeated and disappointed. He slumped in his chair and poured out another measure of soju. “This is too much, too fast, I suppose,” he said.

“Yeah, it is,” I replied, glad that he was speaking like a human being again.

“Ok, we’ll see about amending things then. Forget what I said for now and drink some tea with me.” He poured a cup from an exquisite Joseon Era teapot and I raised it to my lips. It tasted really nice and wasn’t too hot, so I drained the tiny cup in one.

Within seconds my sight began to blur, and I slumped to the floor in a faint.

 

Chapter 3

I awoke in the floor-level bed in that traditional bedroom where I’d changed after first arriving, feeling pretty strange. Then I realised that under my head was not a usual pillow but a traditional Korean buckwheat pillow in its hard, bundled rolls. Raising my head, it felt strangely heavy, so annoyed and confused I got up and walked to the mirror. What I saw shocked me.

My ginger styling was all gone and instead I had natural, jet black hair again! More than that, this hair was long, very long, reaching past my waist when unpinned from the top of my head. That was the weight I had felt. But what had happened? Obviously, I had been drugged and during the time I had been out they’d dyed my hair black. But what about the length? I checked. Extensions. Hmm… Nothing else seemed different. Why would my deranged father drug me just to redo my hair? He must be going mad!

I took off my slip and checked my body all over. The hair was gone from down between my legs, which was a bit disconcerting, but that was all. Oh yes, and a small mark like a tiny incision or a bug bite just above my love slit. What was it? Hmm…

That same maid came in. “You are awake, Miss Beo-Jin. Please, bathe yourself and then let me prepare you,” she said with her Pyongyang accent.

I took a shower and then came back. Lain out on the bed was another hanbok, this time with a yellow chima and a pink jeogori. “I’d prefer a different outfit,” I told her.

“There are only hanboks in this house,” she replied.

I was naked and my suitcase was nowhere to be found so, reluctantly, I put it on. Then she sat me down and started doing my hair in an elaborate fashion. “Please, just a ponytail,” I said. It was starting to become obvious what was happening.

“Your father orders this style,” she replied simply.

I knew there and then that I had to put a stop to this before it went too far. “Fuck what my father wants,” I told her. “This is my hair! My body! Haven’t you people heard of like, feminism?”

And then I got up and dashed out of the room. I had to get out of here, to escape. Dad obviously wasn’t going to observe my wishes, so to hell with him! I expected her to try and stop me, but to my surprise she just nodded and passively let me get away. Hurriedly, I walked down the corridor to the courtyard. I crossed the courtyard to the main gate. It was ajar. I went to go through it when suddenly like this piercing pain racked my body, like an electric shock starting at my genitals and coursing outwards. I tried to push myself through, but the pain was too great, like fire and ice all at once coming from my mound! I jumped back, and it subsided. What the fuck was that!? I turned around to see my father and the maid standing on the pavilion, silently. He was smiling. “You cannot leave,” he said calmly.

“What the fuck was that!?” I demanded.

“Your new implant. It was inserted whilst you were asleep. It ensures obedience. Whenever you try to leave the woman’s quarters of our home, it will activate. I am sorry to do this to you, but you need to be taught how to become an honourable Korean woman. You will be punished whenever you try to leave or whenever I feel it is necessary. Your maid informs me that you refused to have your hair styled correctly. Beo-Jin, I will give you another chance because this life is new to you. Return to your chamber and prepare yourself accordingly. I am your father.”

I stood my ground. “Forget it! I’m not your doll to be made up and kept in a cage, let me go!!”

And I stormed past the invisible line again and my pussy instantly contracted in pain while the rest of my body contorted, trying to dispel the intense shock, the pain, but it was no use, I retreated back toward them.

My father was not smiling anymore. “Beo-jin! You will be punished for your insolence, return to your chamber!”

I wanted to object, to counter, to rebel, but the memory of the pain was too horrific. Like the submissive Korean girl that he wanted me to be, I returned to my room and let his maid prepare me.

She sat me down on a chair and then started to work, combing my long hair out, parting it down the centre and then plaiting it into a long ponytail. This was then rolled up and fastened low behind my head. A black padded form with red silken ends was then attached to the top of my head using pins and long platts of real human hair brought out, each over a metre long. I later learned that these, like the maids, came from the North, with Chongsanri paying huge quantities for North Korean girls to donate their hair. The platts were wrapped around my head and the form and then attached with pins creating a high and round structure but revealing the red silk end of the padded form. This was then decorated with jewellery, I admit really exquisite stuff if I hadn’t been furious by that point.

“This style is called eoyeo meori,” she explained in a neutral voice when she had finished. “It was the usual style for noble women of the Joseon Era to wear their hair, and so your father has decreed that this is the style for you to wear every day. On special events I shall do your hair in a more elaborate fashion.”

More elaborate! This style had taken the best part of an hour to complete and it was so difficult to wear! The weight was tremendous, and it jangled whenever I moved. And I was expected to endure this every day!

But that was not all.

Eoyeo Meori

Next came the make-up. Turns out I was not to leave my room without being made-up from now on. Defeated and passive, I sat there whilst she started the process, applying a really thick coating of white foundation to my entire face and then white powder to create a sort-of porcelain look. Whilst she did this, I tried to engage her by asking her name and so on, but her replies were neutral: “I am only a maid”, “My age does not matter, mistress” and so on. She wouldn’t even admit to being North Korean. “Where the master hired me from is unimportant,” she blithely said. I was starting to really hate this bitch.

After my face, my eyes were done with a variety of cosmetics, including black eyeliner and false lashes to emphasise my femininity. Then came the brows, thin black lines drawn high to emphasise my haughtiness. And finally, the mouth, a pair of red rosebud lips. The china doll was complete. Well, almost. The finishing touch was a pair of white cotton gloves for my hands and that was it.

My first day had no lessons. The maid said that I was to get used to my clothes and my surroundings. It was so weird, just pacing around in that fine dress, the ridiculously wide hooped skirt bumping into things and my heavy hair feeling unsteady as it jangled away. I warily drank tea, and explored the house, or at least, the little I could. Many doors were locked and only one courtyard open to me. When I say “locked,” you might think the doors wouldn’t open, but they did, the whole complex was technically ‘open,’ it just sent powerful ripples through my implant whenever I tried, warning pulses that quickly turned to pain when I looked through, or worse, stepped over the threshold. These were the women’s quarters, and I was barred from the rest, kept modest and pure in my own little prison. I seethed with anger but knew that there was nothing that I could do… yet.

That evening I dined with father again. He was full of praise for my new appearance and called me a “proper Korean maiden”. What a fucking joke I must have looked like, I felt sick to my stomach but said nothing, remembering the pain all too clearly. Whenever I spoke for too long, I would see his hand wander into the pocket of his robes, no doubt waiting for me to say something out of turn. I had no desire to re-live that pain, though, so I gave him no reason to chastise me. Turns out he already had reason enough.

That evening, my head and neck aching from the weight imposed upon it and the trauma of the day, and I looked forward to bed and a chance to become a normal human being again, but bedtime too held some nasty surprises. The maid helped to undress me but then came something that caught me like totally off guard: with a firm grasp she grabbed by wrists and handcuffed them behind my back. Then she led me to the shower and attached the handcuffs to a hook on the wall. After this I was washed thoroughly by her before then being led back into the bedroom and leant over a chair. “Your father has decreed that your misdemeanours be punished. These include any form of disobedience or unladylike behaviour. There have been countless today, but he has told me to go easy on you because it is your first day as a real Korean lady. So, I shall only administer ten strokes for the most heinous.” And then, taking out a large wooden paddle, that pious bitch stood behind me and…

Thwack!

“That is for refusing to have your hair styled.”

Thwack!

“That is for attempting to escape.”

Thwack!

“That is for swearing at your father.”

Thwack!

“That is for swearing at me.”

Thwack…

That night I lay in my bed and tears streamed down my face whilst my bottom was like red raw. Worse still, my hands, encased in padded gloves, were tied to a belt around my waist so I could not dry those tears, whilst my legs were immobilised, encased in a long single stocking with my feet tightly bound in the end, so there would be no nocturnal wandering or touching myself, as I had grown very used to doing every other night back in California. Even this was off limits now.

My life had descended into hell.

Chapter 4

And so, my new life began.

Every day I awoke, was showered and then dressed in my sumptuous yet restrictive outfit. Then I attended lessons with my tutor, another North Korean. These were neither interesting nor educational, absolutely nothing like my school in Cali. Instead they were a series of phrases that I had to repeat over and over again. Phrases like “Silence is regarded as a wife’s first duty” or “A wife must be chaste and pure.” With time I realised that they served a dual purpose: to educate me in my new station and to break my spirit. If I made any mistakes they were rewarded with paddles on my bottom before bedtime and for the first few months my bum was always red and sore. I felt like a goddamn child, it was so messed up!

My misery did not end with these lessons though. For the rest of the day (basically the afternoons) my time was my own, but there was so little that I could do now, I was like bored out of my mind. I was officially confined to the female quarters which meant my bedroom, my classroom, a sitting room and dining room and a small courtyard. I was by all means a prisoner, and so in my spare time all I could do was pace around the tiny confines of my prison and wish I was outside. Even that though, was not unobstructed. After my first day, my tutor decreed that my gait was unfeminine and not suitable for a Korean lady. “A noble lady should glide in her hanbok, not prance!” she declared. And so, I was fitted with two straps: the first a thick band of material that was tied just above the knees and the second a leather strap of some twenty centimetres or so fastened to bands that went around my ankles. Now I could only glide – or shuffle – along at a snail’s pace and ascending or descending any steps was like super hard.

In the evenings I still dined with my father elsewhere in the house, and although I now truly hated him, I looked forward to the experience just as a change from the simplistic daily schedule. He would speak at length (not really to me, but at me) about the Chongsanri Corporation and its vision for the rejuvenation of the country. He spoke of the CEO, Kwon Yong-Byok, as if he were a god and spoke of future plans and ideas.

I did not rebel. It is true that in those first few weeks I made several off-hand derogatory remarks to him, instantly resulting in extremely painful contractions in my pussy, but I soon gave that up as it became de-rigueur for me to be gagged after the meal so he could talk at me without interruption. This gag consisted of a large white plastic intrusion with a white leather panel on the end and a strap that reached around my head, buckled at the back. It looked simple but it must have been connected in some way, as every time I groaned or sighed I was rewarded with an appropriately-sized shock below. Dad lauded this gag as an example of how Chongsanri had improved upon the traditional ways. I felt absolutely humiliated, especially since it had ‘A female’s duty is to be silent’ in hangul characters on the front of the panel.

I was docile not just because I remembered the pain, but also because I knew that now was not the time. At our first dinner together after my new life had begun, dad had mentioned that Ryu would also be forced to adopt a traditional lifestyle. I imagined my younger brother, used to his American high school, wandering around in a male hanbok pretending to be some yangban from yore and smiled. Yes, he would never accept that. He would be my ally. Until then, I could wait and endure the charade.

To pass the time it was decreed that I be allowed “feminine pursuits”. If I did well in my lessons I was allowed to paint traditional Korean pictures with an inkbrush or write a scroll in hangul characters. Once I wrote a really nice poem, but using the English alphabet, a “crime” for which I received no less than twenty-six paddles, one for each alien letter. Korean girls, apparently, are only allowed to write Korean characters.

Yes, it was that ridiculous.

Even that pleasure however, was not always allowed to me. Concerned about my unfeminine behaviour, in the women’s quarters I was never far from a maid or my tutor, even when I was supposed to be having free time in the courtyard. Combine this with my sleeping situation, unable to move my hands or legs at all, it didn’t take very long for me to start skipping off to the bathroom in search of privacy. One day during the part of my cycle that always makes me hot and needy, and after I had worked up the courage, I found myself in the bathroom with nowhere to sit (traditional korean toilets are embedded in the floor), determined to get off somehow. Thinking ahead I pried off the tight white gloves, hiked up my massive chima skirt and brought my fingers down, past the faint implant scar to touch my clit, only to receive the most intense, body-wracking shock since my first day here, leaving me sobbing and spasming on the ground, getting my dress all dirty. smearing my makeup, attracting the attention of every maid in the compound.

After this incident, another item was added to my wardrobe, a sort of sleeve which went over my arms when they were crossed in front of my breast, covering them completely. This looked elegant enough, but what a casual observer could not see was that underneath the hanging cloth, my forearms were bound together in a laced sleeve, making use of my hands impossible. This was initially instituted for walking in the courtyard only, but gradually I was expected to wear it inside as well, sometimes for an entire afternoon, greatly hampering my precious free time, restricting my allowed feminine pursuits. And, as the weather grew colder, a new and even more cumbersome item was added. This was a kind of all-encompassing veil that left only my face free and from October to April was decreed mandatory outdoors.

About a month after my captivity began, a new figure entered the household. She was introduced as Mi-So and she was extremely beautiful yet also North Korean like all the other servants. What shocked me was that she dressed in sumptuous gowns just like me and had her hair done in the eoyeo meori style as I did. Unlike the other servants, she joined dad and me at dinner, sitting like really close to him, and afterwards she would play the traditional gayageum exquisitely well or even dance for us. I was in awe of her.

After a couple of days, I saw her sitting in the women’s courtyard alone and so slowly, gracefully, I approached her. Unlike the other servants, she was happy to talk to me. She told me that she was a gisaeng and when I expressed ignorance at the term, she explained that it is like the Japanese geisha, something of a cross between a courtesan and an artiste. She explained that she came from Pyongyang originally and because of her musical talents and expertise at dance, she had been sent to the premier school in the North Korean capital where girls are trained in such things to the highest standard, called a gwonbeong. She had expected, as all the girls in her class did, to graduate and go on to serve the Motherland either in an artistic troop or a teaching capacity, but then one day, some esteemed visitors from the Chongsanri Corporation had come to the school and watched the final year students put on a performance. Afterwards, five of the girls who had taken part were summoned to the Party Office and told that they had been chosen to serve the Motherland by becoming employees of Chongsanri and practising their arts in the decadent south. Although shocked at first, they had been assured that the Marshall wished this of them and that they would be well-paid which, Mi-So assured me, she was, although 90% of that money went straight to the state. And so she had come with four friends – deemed to be the prettiest of their year – and a busload of other Chongsanri employees, over the border near Kumgangsan and up to the mountain mansion complexes of the Chongsanri elite (it transpired that all of dad’s co-executives and their homes were situated within a few miles of each other, a veritable ministate of traditional values). This whole story fascinated me, and I was glad to be able to share my lonely life with someone, although I now felt uncomfortable in the evenings as my father would openly fondle Mi-So, pushing his hand under her jeogori and slapping her bottom whilst she would kiss him passionately on the mouth.

Indeed, as time progressed, it became de rigueur for me to be dismissed straight after dinner, though this did not always save me from the gag.


My heart trembled with excitement as my maid assembled my new hairstyle. In view of the auspicious occasion, it had been decreed that I would wear the tteoguji meori style, which is even more elaborate and difficult to wear than the eoyeo meori as it involves adding to that style an enormous black wooden ornament, the tteoguji, which is fastened to the hair by means of pins and ribbons. Even this added encumbrance I did not mind however… for my brother was coming home!

tteoguji meori.png

I minced towards the main chamber in a purple hanbok which I had to admit was nice, arms bound in front of me as was becoming more and more common, excited to see my brother and make him aware of my plight. The door was opened for me to reveal him seated already for dinner with dad and, to my surprise, Mi-So and another gisaeng who had her gloved hand resting on his thigh. Furthermore, he was already dressed in a traditional male hanbok. This did not look good, I thought to myself.

We ate making only small talk, Gyu complimenting me on my beauty and dad saying how much I had changed for the better. I scrutinised his face for clues to the anger I wanted to see, but he remained impassive. And then, after dinner, I was dismissed, leaving the two men alone with their gisaeng.

The following day though, I got my chance. He came to the women’s quarters, walking through the forbidden door like it was nothing, and asked that I be excused from lessons to walk around the courtyard with him. As he was a man, this was not refused.

As soon as we were alone I began pouring my heart out to him and warning him of the dangers to both of our futures. To my surprise – and dismay – though, he merely frowned and replied, “Beo-Jin, what you say is wrong. I can understand how hard this is for you, I really can; after all I was an American high school student myself only a few weeks ago, but what choice do we have? Dad controls all the money and to disobey him would be to cut ourselves off from our future. And besides, what’s so wrong with this whole traditional thing anyway? Why should we Koreans forever be aping the Americans? We were wrong you know, to try to be like them; we’ve got an ancient culture of our own that’s rich and…”

I wanted to slap him across the face, bring him to his senses, but my arms were laced together pretty securely. “Gyu, come on man! You’re sounding like him now! Look at us in these ridiculous clothes, like we’re in some costume drama or something. It’s a fucking joke and not a funny one. And you don’t even understand, I’ve got some sort of sensor implanted in me that shocks me when I wander off! I’m a prisoner here and all I can do is fucking recite lines, paint random shit, and strut around this fucking courtyard. Help me, bro, this is hell!”

“Beo-Jin, you always were too rebellious. What’s wrong with you being feminine for once in a while. And besides, I like this life. Back in the States I was too geeky, none of the girls looked at me yet here I’ve got Mun-Ju who is hot as anything and what we did last night…”

“You mean, you accept it because dad gave you a gisaeng slave to fuck!”

“Not just one, he’s promised another and he’s shown me the girl I’ll be marrying; she’s a total babe… in a Joseon Era kind of way of course.”

“Marrying?”

“Yeah, President Kyon Yong-Byok’s youngest daughter. She’s fifteen now so it won’t be for a year or so but the engagement is official and in the meantime there’s Mun-Ju and…”

“I can’t believe you, Gyu! You’d sacrifice your own sister for the sake of your dick! Help me here bro, I need to get out of here! I have to leave, Gyu, or I’ll go mad!”

“Well, relax then sis, because you will be leaving. Dad arranged it this afternoon.”

“What do you mean? How?”

“Why do you think I’m here, Beo-Jin? Me and dad celebrated your engagement this morning. On the fifteenth of next month you’ll be getting married to Kyon Yong-Byok’s son and heir, Yong-Gon.”

Chapter 5

The day before my wedding my life changed forever. For most people it is on the day on the actual wedding but for me it was the day before. Because on that day my father did something to me, something so cruel, so inhumane, so… words fail me, even today.

Like, literally.

I had received all the pre-wedding indoctrination of course. Hour after hour of it, going through every detail of the ceremony, how I should behave and what would happen to me. But one thing above all was stressed over everything else. “Silence is regarded as a wife’s first duty. During the whole of the marriage day the bride must be as mute as a statue. If she says a word or even makes a sign she becomes an object of ridicule, and her silence must remain unbroken even in her own room.” My tutor had repeated those words over and over again until my head rang with them. Of course, I did not intend to obey. In fact, inwardly I smiled. This was my chance, and seriously, like, low-hanging fruit! I didn’t want to get married and I hated my dad for how he had ruined my life, and this was to be my revenge: silent! You could forget it! I would be as loud, rude, obnoxious and unfeminine as a girl possibly can be when dressed in an elaborate outfit with a ridiculous hairstyle. And as for the electric shocks, well, would they dare to use them in public? Of course not. That would reveal I was being held against my will! This was my moment!

That evening after dinner I asked my father if I could go back to my room, thinking of painting a picture, as these days that was the best option to kill the time. However, waiting for me there was a stranger whom I had never seen before. She had the white coat of a nurse and she looked pretty serious. “What is this?” I asked in surprise.

“Oh, nothing to worry about,” she replied as my maid grabbed hold of me from behind and a needle was plunged into one of my bound arms.

I awoke soon afterwards and found that barely an hour had passed. I was just lying on my bed still clothed. I sat up. Nothing seemed to have changed. They had not disrobed me or done anything immediately apparent. So, what had happened? I rang for the maid and she entered immediately. “What was that all about?” I demanded angrily.

Except that the words did not come out of my mouth. Nothing did. Air flowing without a sound.

I shouted, and I screamed, I called her the bitch she was, but silence reigned. “You have been muted, mistress,” explained the maid. “It is your father’s wedding gift to you, a means of helping you stay honourable during the ceremony. He told me to tell you that it is the latest Chongsanri invention, and a brilliant example of how technology can help us women lead a proper, traditional lifestyle.” Then her expression hardened, and her tone changed. “He also instructed me to warn you that, if you try any funny business during the ceremony, the same can be done with your hearing.”

I sank to the floor in shock, testing myself, hoping even a hum would escape my throat, but there was nothing.

Late that night my father, brother, and I sacrificed before the ancestral tablets, and acquainted our ancestors with the event which was to occur on the morrow. It all passed by like a dream, no, definitely a nightmare.


When the auspicious day arrived, an hour before noon, my bridegroom on horseback, and in court dress, left his father’s house accompanied by two men who walked before him, one carrying a white umbrella, and the other, who was dressed in red cloth, carrying a goose, which is the emblem of conjugal fidelity. He was also attended by several men carrying unlit red silk lanterns, by various servants, and by his father. Upon reaching our house he took the goose from the hands of the man in red, went into the house, and laid it upon a table.

I record all of this but I did not witness it. My maid and the other servants informed me enthusiastically, concentrating on the symbolism of each item. Later, when I learnt that fidelity in a Korean marriage is only ever expected of the woman, the goose seemed particularly ironic.

I heard but not witnessed this because of how I was dressed. That I wore an extremely cumbersome hanbok with a sleeve that immobilised my arms is not worth mentioning, nor too a ridiculous elaborate and heavy hairstyle, a variant on the tteoguji meori style. Such things I expected by this stage. What I did not expect was the make-up.

korean wedding.png

For a traditional Korean wedding, the bride’s face is covered with a thick layer of white powder, patched with spots of red. When they had finished I looked like one of those Japanese geisha in the films. That, however, was not all: after they had done my face, they moved onto the eyes. Surprisingly, no eye make-up was done but instead an adhesive compound was applied to my eyelids which were then glued together, after which the white powder was smeared over them too.

I went through the entire ceremony blind, unable even to open my eyes!

I was led out by two attendants to the room where the ceremony was to take place and then instructed to bow twice to my “lord”, after which he bowed four times to me. This alone made the marriage valid. A cup of wine was then given to my bridegroom, who drank a little, after which it was handed to my maid, who gave me a sip.

And that was it. Afterwards within the house, my now-husband and the other men were served an elaborate feast, but I merely retired to the women’s rooms. He rejoiced with his friends in the men’s apartments but we women got no simultaneous banquet.

Then, during the afternoon my husband returned to his father’s house, and after a time I, still bundled up in a mass of wedding clothes, and with my eyelids still sealed, attended by the two maids, some hired girls, and men with lanterns, went there too, in a rigidly closed chair, in the gay decorations of which red predominates. I was received by my father and mother-in-law, to whom the maid instructed me to bow four times. Then I was taken upstairs to the wedding chamber where I was disrobed completely, my hairstyle dismantled and the powder washed from my face and my body showered. The eyelid adhesive however, stayed. I was then taken to the bed and my wrists chained to the posts and there I waited.

I did not wait long. My unseen husband came and took me with vigour. It was my first experience of lovemaking and, after the initial pain, one of the most intense. Perhaps it was because I didn’t even know what this man who was inside of me looked like, or perhaps it was because I was so silent and passive, so in his control. Perhaps it was because I had not been able to get myself off in months. I cannot say. That though, was my wedding night.

Chapter 6

I woke up to my husband climbing on top of me again. During the night the eyelid adhesive had worn off (I later learnt that it was designed – by Chongsanri – to last for twelve hours maximum) and so this time I saw who was inserting himself into me. The good news is that he was passably handsome.

The bad news though, far outweighed the good. After he had finished and removed himself from me, he untied me from the bed and helped me to sit up. Then he explained my future.

“Like your father and my father, I too believe in a traditional lifestyle, augmented by modern technology, of course” he began. “Unlike them, I doubt it will lead to the rejuvenation of the nation or any other similar claptrap. I guess you could say that your new husband is a bit more cynical although, on second thoughts, I guess you can’t say anything.” He laughed at this cruel joke and I immediately decided that I hated the man I had been married to.

“Your life from now on will be simple. You are my wife and that is your whole purpose in life from this moment forward. Your former name will no longer be used. In accordance with tradition, people will refer to you as ‘the wife of Kwon Yong-Gon’. I, on the other hand, shall refer to you as ‘Look here!’ (Yabu). Apparently, this was the norm in traditional Korean society because your duty is to look to me when I call. Without fault, do you hear? Nod. Ok good. After that your duties include remaining chaste and silent (no issues there I’m sure, ha, ha!), and to provide me with offspring so as to continue the respected Kwon family line. That means sex, of course, and you’ll be glad to know that I love sex. Indeed, one could almost say that I am addicted to it and so we’ll be having a lot of it. Your duty is always to accept my advances, whatever your own feelings. As you can clearly see, a Korean wife has clearly recognised duties to her husband, but just so you know, he has few, if any, to her. I will always treat you with respect in public, for you are mine and so to disrespect you brings shame on me. Furthermore, you will want for nothing. However, as was the norm in Joseon Era society – and this is why I love the traditional ideal so much – whilst I demand chastity and fidelity from you, you may not demand it of me. I keep gisaeng in this house and you must welcome them and show them respect. I do not look for affection in marriage, but who knows, maybe we shall find it? You are certainly prettier than I expected, and, despite your natural inexperience, I enjoyed last night and this morning.”

He paused as if to take stock and noticed my confused expression. “Yabu, you wonder why I say all this to you?” It wasn’t my main question but I nodded. “I guess I have a streak of sadism in me. Like you, I have lived in the west and learnt from it. Feminism, yada yada. I feel for your plight, the silence, ridiculous clothes and hair, lack of freedom and everything, but at the same time it turns me on. That is how I am, Yabu. Your duty is to submit, however distasteful that might be.”

Disgusted with his callousness, I yelled nothing, shook my head, and pummelled him with my unbound fists in an act of pathetic resistance. He laughed and took my weak wrists in his hands. “Such disobedience should be punished and I can’t wait to land a slap on that beautiful rounded bottom of yours!” he exclaimed. I tried to back away and he laughed again. “Not now, Yabu, not in our wedding bed.”  He paused again and then reached forward, grabbed me and forced my face to his, kissing me with gusto, exploring my mouth with his tongue. I tried to bite down but he was too quick and, strangely, although he angered me, his actions excited me too. “By God Yabu, you turn me on!” he declared, when he finally extracted himself from me. He put his left arm round me and started to explore my body with his right hand, squeezing my breasts and stroking the bottom that he had just praised. Handled against my will, hating my body’s instincts, I began to desire him.

“Hmm, Yabu, I think you and I will enjoy each other as well as hate each other. However, that is for later. I must say, you are much better than I thought you would be – and far better naked than in that awful bridal outfit – but there are still areas of concern. These tits for starters! Pert, yes, but way too small for my tastes. I was in the west a long time, you know.” I began to hate him again and my desire faded slightly. “Not very Korean I know, wanting big tits; my father would not be impressed, but I cannot change how I am and you are mine, Yabu, to do what I want with. However, before that, I need to explain some things to you.”

This guy needed the same procedure I had, I thought to myself. I wanted to ask him what he meant by doing what he wanted with, but, mute as I was – and still am – I could not.

“You know your duties as a wife and you know how you will live – much as you did with your father, in predetermined spaces and roles, yes. However, what you do not know is how I operate my household. I studied Psychology at uni – can’t you tell? – and I guess I am a bit of a disciple of Skinner. Hmm, Yabu, your confused look suggests that you don’t know who he was? Well, he believed in a theory of reward and punishment to motivate people and so that is what I shall institute here. I demand sex from you whenever I want it, but what I cannot demand is your enjoyment or the quality of sex that I am accustomed to. Therefore, it is up to you. If you please me sufficiently, I shall reward you. If you fail in your duties, I shall punish you. I believe that your father already instituted a paddling regime; good man. Personally though, I prefer to smack a rounded bottom with my own hand. Your punches earlier, they warrant a smack or two for example. Punishment alone though, does not work.

“Yabu, every day you will dress in full hanbok and eoyeo meori hairstyle as in your father’s house. Here however, you will also wear the arm sleeve as a matter of course. That is to say, silent as you are, denied of the use of your arms, you shall be largely unable to communicate. Your maid will feed you and attend to your toilette. However, if you please me, the sleeve will be removed. For example, a satisfactory morning blowjob will result in three hours without the sleeve in a single day. This can enable you to write a letter, paint a picture, or engage in conversation with another female. Enthusiasm during vaginal intercourse could result in a different reward, say the use of the neolttwigi for an hour.”

He saw my confused look and stopped. “Yabu, do you not know what is neolttwigi?” I shook my head.

“Neolttwigi is our traditional Korean see-saw. Yangban women developed it as a way of seeing beyond the walls of their houses. You will never be allowed out of the house save in a closed carriage so, if you want to see something of the beautiful forests that surround this mansion, neolttwigi is your only option as when you jump up high, you can see beyond the wall. It will also help keep you fit, important considering your sedentary lifestyle.”

neolttwigi.jpg

I could see his sadistic enjoyment in delivering this monologue, yet despite this, I was cautiously excited at the prospect of neolttwigi. Even the tiny freedom of being able to glimpse the outside world seemed so precious to me now! Even if it was only the other compounds of the Chongsanri settlement.

“There are other benefits of course; huge ones for anal intercourse and other subversive pleasures, but you don’t need the details now. I shall provide a full list when you are ready. For now though, why not try earning your first reward?”

And as he said those words he moved me close to him and playfully slapped my arse. “And there’s the punishment for the punches,” he said, causing my subconscious desire to heighten once again. When we had finished we lay together exhausted and he called for tea.

Seconds later I had blacked out again.


I awoke on the bed, naked but unrestrained. I moved my hands to my chest, remembering his words and half-guessing what had happened. Sure enough, where my A-cups had once sat, two sizeable and extremely fake mounds were now to be found.

I felt different down below too. I moved my fingers lower and discovered why. My sex was sealed off with a chastity belt, one with attachment rings for clipping my nighttime gloves to. It was made of polished silver and covered me like a pair of underpants. As I shifted my body I felt that it did more than just cover my holes, which had been off-limits for quite some time. Inside two rods now filled me, teasing me, making me ache from being stretched like this.

I got up and went to the mirror. The face that stared back at me was my own but subtly different. Now the nose was more of a button and the lips more like a full rosebud. He had changed me, improved me, created the perfect Korean doll wife.

I stared at that image for a long time, angry and traumatised but unable to resist what had been done to me.

Chapter 7

And so, my married life began. Was it better or worse than life with my father? That is hard to say. It was different.

The biggest thing was the sex. I enjoyed it, I really did. I hated my husband and yet, at the same time, I desired him. Perhaps because this was the only time that I had power and control over my destiny, because with the sex came rewards.

Without the rewards, life was harsh. No use of my hands whatsoever and no voice meant that I was incommunicado, a mere elegant ornament to the household, fit only to be ignored. But if I gave him a blowjob I could indulge in a painting, or if I pleasured him sufficiently during normal sex, I could jump on the neolttwigi with one or two maids on the other end, for a precious moment or two I could soar into the air and glimpse the trees and the beautiful mountain slopes. And if I submitted to the painful ecstasy of anal intercourse then…

I get ahead of myself. First, I need to introduce Jong-Suk. When I saw her on my first day of marriage I hated her. She was my rival, the primary gisaeng that my husband sought pleasure in. She was impossibly beautiful and, when she started to play and sing, impossibly talented. I could never sing now, never again. Oh, how I hated her!

Yet, at the same time, she did not hate me. And in my lonely world, I needed a friend and she was the only one to be had. We would talk with my writing messages for her on paper using an inkbrush and her speaking the replies. And we would sit together and she would hold me and then brush her lips against mine and whisper bedroom secrets of how to bring Yong-Gon to ecstasy.

In short, I fell in love.

And Yong-Gon knew it.

“Yabu, the reward for anal intercourse is Jong-Suk.”

I happily submitted.

And the day after, my bottom hole still throbbing, I was allowed to retire early and she would lie with me. I was restrained, of course, with chastity belt, gloves, and ankles tied, but she was not and she would explore my bare skin with her hands, whilst her tongue explored my mouth and I gasped silently in ecstasy.

And my husband watched on through a peephole, with another gisaeng bringing him to fulfilment with her mouth.

And that was that, save for when, after only a few months, I fell pregnant. Nine months later, my son was born and my husband named him Ju-Hwan. He was the love and light of my life and I treasured holding him and feeding him.

Several months after his birth, I was pregnant again. By this time my husband had acquired two more gisaeng.

And so my life has continued. Restricted and silent, a songless bird in a gilded cage. I have my pleasure – both in the bedroom and in the seven children that have resulted from it – and I have my pain, but it is a life. Like countless generations of Korean women before, I have grown accustomed to it. I no longer even see the doors which would have once brought me pain. It is our tradition, these are our customs. I am Yabu, nothing more. Yes, Yong-Gon?

 

Chapter 8

Thirty years later

And now I shall take over the narrative. In the months running up to her fortieth birthday, I ordered my wife to write down the story of her remarkable life. By that time, her rebellious spirit had been quelled long ago, and she assented to my every wish. And besides, it meant time with her hands free being able to communicate with others. She enjoyed it immensely. I am a just man.

I wanted her to write it all down as an historical record of the start of our movement of national rejuvenation. Well, that was the reason I gave officially. Unofficially, as I told her myself during the first morning of our marriage, I am a sadist with a high libido and tales of female suffering turn me on.

That is why I asked her to do it, but why I ordered her to do it then was for quite a different reason: after her fortieth birthday she would no longer be able to do such things.

Yabu was pretty. I don’t think she ever realised just how pretty she was. As hot as any of the gisaeng I’ve had and, believe me, I’ve had a few. My latest, the delectable little Mi-Kyung is nestled beside me as I type this in fact. But even the prettiest of women fade with the years and the fact that I used her as a breeding machine for the Kyon clan, forcing seven babies out of her, means that she faded faster than most.

And I cannot do with a faded woman.

But traditional Korean society is strict about many things. Most of the rules suit me, but one that doesn’t is that about monogamy: once a man has married, he may not marry again, even if he has disowned her. And Yabii gave me no reason to do that, no reason at all, so we are attached to one another until death do us part.

Thankfully, Chongsanri has an answer for that too, and after Yabu’s fortieth birthday, the age when she is declared past childbearing age, I instituted it.

That evening I slept with her for one last time and then put her to sleep using the same tea draught that I had used when we first wed. This time though, I was doing more than just pump up her tits again.

Once out cold, she was transported to the Chongsanri medical facility in the heart of our little community up here in the mountains and there her transformation began. Her hair was shaved off completely and her head laser treated to stop any future hair growth. Similar treatment was conducted on her brows and lashes. Then the object was produced.

Back on that first hospital visit, over twenty years earlier, as well as pumping up her tits and lips, I’d had a cast done of her virginal young face. That had been saved, entered into the Chongsanri database and then, this year, reproduced as the mask of a hood which was designed to encase her ageing head until the day she died. Carefully it was fitted, an intrusion going into her mouth and a tube down into her stomach to feed her. Tubes also went up her nostrils and then lenses were placed over her eyes with only a pinhole in the centre to allow limited sight. The whole thing was made of a new plastic compound that stays flexible (to a degree) and allows the skin underneath to breathe. Developed by Chongsanri of course. Similar treatment was also meted out to her hands and arms, although the new covers kept the hands rigid. She would never use them again.

She panicked when she awoke three days later but, unable to do anything for herself, and unable to deny my will anymore, though she hadn’t tried in many years, she slowly got over it. Today, as before, she is still dressed in the most sumptuous hanboks, her hair styled in the most elaborate Joseon Era styles, but she is now permanently and completely incommunicado. She barely sees, cannot turn her head or use her hands.

Nor too can she have sex. I had her pleasure nub and inner petals taken away and then had her vaginal opening closed permanently with just a small hole for wastes. On top of this I refitted her chastity belt, this time with nothing to fill her, the key for which is embedded in a prism of glass on my desk at work. The president’s desk, which is back in Seoul. After all, what use does a forty-year old woman have with such things? Now those parts will only be used for their essential tasks, and whatever is communicated to the implant of course.

But although she is forty, she does not look it. Instead, my darling wife, my Yabu, is forever seventeen, the blushing bride who was married to me all those years ago. These days she has no life of her own. Instead she stands or sits in my room as an elegant ornament, a dutiful and submissive accessory to my wealth and status. I often gaze upon her staring mindlessly into space whilst Mi-Kyung or some other gisaeng sucks me off to ecstasy.

There is a lot to be said for tradition, you know.

 

Notes on the Status of Korean Women during the 1890s

Notes on the Status of Korean Women during the 1890s

Taken from ‘Korea and her Neighbours’ by Isabella Lucy Bird (pub. 1898)

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From the chapter ‘Korean Marriage Customs’[1] p.114-20

PAIK-KUI MI was not without a certain degree of life on that Sunday. A yang-ban’s[2] steward impressed boats for the gratuitous carriage of tiles to Seoul, which caused a little feeble excitement among the junkmen. There was a sick person, and a mutang or female exorcist was engaged during the whole day in the attempt to expel the malevolent daemon which was afflicting him, the process being accompanied by the constant beating of a drum and the loud vibrating sound of large cymbals. Lastly, there was a marriage, and this deserves more than a passing notice, marriage, burial, and exorcism, with their ceremonials, being the outstanding features of Korea.

The Korean is nobody until he is married. He is a being of no account, a ”hobbledehoy.” The wedding-day is the entrance on respectability and manhood, and marks a leap upwards on the social ladder. The youth, with long abundant hair divided in the middle and plaited at the back, wearing a short, girdled coat, and looking as if he had no place in the world though he may be quite grown up, and who is always taken by strangers for a girl, is transformed by the formal reciprocal salutations which constitute the binding ceremony of marriage. He has received the tonsure, and the long hair surrounding it is drawn into the now celebrated ”topknot.” He is invested with the mangan, a crownless skullcap or fillet of horsehair, without which, thereafter, he is never seen. He wears a black hat and a long full coat, and his awkward gait is metamorphosed into a dignified swing. His boy companions have become his inferiors. His name takes the equivalent of “Mr.” after it; honorifics must be used in addressing him — in short, from being a “nobody ” he becomes a “somebody.”

A girl by marrying fulfils her “manifest destiny.” Spinsterhood in Korea is relegated to the Buddhist nunneries, where it has no reputation for sanctity. Absolutely secluded in the inner court of her father’s house from the age of seven, a girl passes about the age of seventeen to the absolute seclusion of the inner rooms of her father-in-law’s house. The old ties are broken, and her husband’s home is thenceforth her prison. It is “custom”. It is only to our thinking that the custom covers a felt hardship. It is needless to add that the young couples do not choose each other. The marriage is arranged by the fathers, and is consented to as a matter of course. A man gains the reputation of being a neglectful father who allows his son to reach the age of twenty unmarried. Seventeen or eighteen is the usual age at which a man marries. A girl may go through the marriage ceremony as a mere child if her parents think an ” eligible ” may slip through their fingers, but she is not obliged to assume the duties of wifehood till she is sixteen. On the other hand, boys of ten and twelve years of age are constantly married when their parents for any reason wish to see the affair settled and a desirable connection presents itself, and the yellow hats and pink and blue coats and attempted dignity of these boy bridegrooms are among the sights of the cities.

A go-between is generally employed for the preliminary arrangements. No money is given to the bride’s father by the bridegroom, nor does the daughter receive a dowry, but she is supplied with a large trousseau, which is packed in handsome marriage chests with brass clamps and decorations. There is no betrothal ceremony, and after the arrangement has been made the marriage may be delayed for weeks or even months. When it is thought desirable that it should take place, but not until the evening before, the bridegroom’s father sends a sort of marriage-contract to the bride’s father, who receives it without replying, and two pieces of silk are sent to the bride, out of which her outer garments must be made for the marriage day.

A number of men carrying gay silk lanterns bear this present to the bride, and on the way are met by a party of men from her father’s house bearing torches, and a fight ensues, which is often more than a make-believe one, for serious blows are exchanged, and on both sides some are hurt. Death has occasionally been known to follow on the wounds received. If the bridegroom’s party is worsted in the melee it is a sign that he will have bad luck; if the bride’s, that she will have misfortunes. The night before the marriage the parents of the bride and groom sacrifice in their respective houses before the ancestral tablets, and acquaint the ancestors with the event which is to occur on the morrow.

The auspicious day having been decided on by the sorcerer, about an hour before noon, the bridegroom on horseback, and in Court dress, leaves his father’s house, and on that occasion only a plebeian can pass a yang-ban on the road without dismounting. Two men walk before him, one carrying a white umbrella, and the other, who is dressed in red cloth, a goose, which is the emblem of conjugal fidelity. He is also attended by several men carrying unlighted red silk lanterns, by various servants, by a married brother, if he has one, or by his father if he has not. On reaching his destination he takes the goose from the hands of the man in red, goes into the house, and lays it upon a table. Apropos of this emblem it must be observed that conjugal fidelity is only required from the wife, and is a feminine virtue only.

Two women who are hired to officiate on such occasions lead the bride on to the veranda, or an estrade, and place her opposite the bridegroom, who stands facing her, but at some little distance from her. The wedding guests fill the courtyard. This is the man’s first view of his future wife. She may have seen him through a chink in the lattice or a hole in the wall. A queer object she is to our thinking. Her face is covered with white powder, patched with spots of red, and her eyelids are glued together by an adhesive compound. At the instigation of her attendants she bows twice to her lord, and he bows four times to her. It is this public reciprocal “salutation” which alone constitutes a valid marriage. After it, if he repudiates her, he cannot take another wife. The permanence of the marriage tie is fully recognized in Korea, though a man can form as many illicit connections as he chooses. A cup of wine is then given to the bridegroom, who drinks a little, after which it is handed to the bride, who merely tastes it.

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Afterwards within the house a table with a dainty dinner is set before the husband, who eats sparingly. The bride retires to the women’s rooms, and the groom rejoices with his friends in the men’s apartments. There is no simultaneous banquet. Each guest on arriving is supplied with a table of food. Such a table, in the case of people of means, costs from five to six yen (from 10s. to 12s.), and a very cheap wedding costs seventy-five yen, so that several daughters are a misfortune.

During the afternoon the husband returns to his father’s house, and after a time the bride, bundled up in a mass of wedding clothes, and with her eyelids still sealed, attended by the two women mentioned before, some hired girls, and men with lanterns, goes thither also, in a rigidly closed chair, in the gay decorations of which red predominates. There she is received by her father and mother-in-law, to whom she bows four times, remaining speechless. She is then carried back to the house of her own parents, her eyelids are unsealed, and the powder is washed from her face. At five her husband arrives, but returns to his father’s house on the following morning, this process of going and returning being repeated for three days, after which the bride is carried in a plain chair to her future home, under the roof of her parents-in-law, where she is allotted a room or rooms in the seclusion of the women’s apartments.

The name bestowed on her by her parents soon after her birth is dropped, and she is known thereafter only as “the wife of so and so,” or ” the mother of so and so.” Her husband addresses her by the word yabu, signifying “Look here,” which is significant of her relations to him.

Silence is regarded as a wife’s first duty. During the whole of the marriage day the bride must be as mute as a statue. If she says a word or even makes a sign she becomes an object of ridicule, and her silence must remain unbroken even in her own room, though her husband may attempt to break it by taunts, jeers, or coaxing, for the female servants are all on the qui vive for such a breach of etiquette as speech, hanging about the doors and chinks to catch up and gossip even a single utterance, which would cause her to lose caste for ever in her circle. This custom of silence is observed with the greatest rigidity in the higher classes. It may be a week or several months before the husband knows the sound of his wife’s voice, and even after that for a length of time she only opens her mouth for necessary speech. With the father-in-law the law of silence is even more rigid. The daughter-in-law often passes years without raising her eyes to his, or addressing a word to him.

The wife has recognized duties to her husband, but he has few, if any, to her. It is correct for a man to treat his wife with external marks of respect, but he would be an object for scorn and ridicule if he showed her affection or treated her as a companion. Among the upper classes a bridegroom, after passing three or four days with his wife, leaves her for a considerable time to show his indifference. To act otherwise would be “bad form.” My impression is that the community of interests and occupations which poverty gives, and the embargo which it lays on other connections, in Korea as in some other Oriental countries, produces happier marriages among the lower orders than among the higher. Korean women have always borne the yoke. They accept inferiority as their natural lot ; they do not look for affection in marriage, and probably the idea of breaking custom never occurs to them. Usually they submit quietly to the rule of the belle-mere, and those who are insubordinate and provoke scenes of anger and scandal are reduced to order by a severe beating, when they are women of the people. But in the noble class custom forbids a husband to strike his wife, and as his only remedy is a divorce, and remarriage is difficult, he usually resigns himself to his fate. But if, in addition to tormenting him and destroying the peace of his house, the wife is unfaithful, he can take her to a mandarin, who, after giving her a severe beating, may bestow her on a satellite.

The seclusion of girls in the parental home is carried on after marriage, and in the case of women of the upper and middle classes is as complete as is possible. They never go out by daylight except in completely closed chairs. At night, attended by a woman and a servant with a lantern, and with a mantle over her head, a wife may stir abroad and visit her female friends, but never without her husband’s permission, who requires, or may require, proof that the visit has been actually paid. Shopping is done by servants, or goods are brought to the veranda, the vendors discreetly retiring. Time, which among the leisured classes hangs heavily on the hands, is spent in spasmodic cooking, sewing, embroidering, reading very light literature in En-mun, and in the never-failing resources of gossip and the interminable discussion of babies. If a wife is very dull indeed, she can, with her husband’s permission, send for actors, or rather posturing reciters, to the compound, and look at them through the chinks of the bamboo blinds. Through these also many Korean ladies have seen the splendors of the Kur-dong.[3]

When the Korean wife becomes a mother her position is improved. Girls, as being unable to support their parents in old age or to perform the ancestral rites, are not prized as boys are, yet they are neither superfluous nor unwelcome as in some Eastern countries. The birth of a girl is not made an occasion for rejoicing, but that of the firstborn son is, and after the name has been bestowed on him, the mother is known as ‘* the mother of so and so.” The first step alone of the first boy is an occasion for family jubilation. Korean babies have no cradles, and are put to sleep by being tapped lightly on the stomach.

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Taken from the chapter ‘Social Position of Women’ p.340-3

It is really difficult to form a general estimate of the position of women in Korea. Absolute seclusion is the inflexible rule among the upper classes. The ladies have their own courtyards and apartments, towards which no windows from the men’s apartments must look. No allusion must be made by a visitor to the females of the household. Inquiries after their health would be a gross breach of etiquette, and politeness requires that they should not be supposed to exist. Women do not receive any intellectual training, and in every class are regarded as beings of a very inferior order. Nature having in the estimation of the Korean man, who holds a sort of dual philosophy, marked woman as his inferior, the Youth’s Primer, Historical Summaries, and the Little Learning impress this view upon him in the schools, and as he begins to mix with men this estimate of women receives daily corroboration.

The seclusion of women was introduced five centuries ago by the present dynasty, in a time of great social corruption, for the protection of the family, and has probably been continued, not, as a Korean frankly told Mr. Heber Jones, because men distrust their wives, but because they distrust each other, and with good reason, for the immorality of the cities and of the upper classes almost exceeds belief. Thus all young women, and all older women except those of the lowest class, are secluded within the inner courts of the houses by a custom which has more than the force of law. To go out suitably concealed at night, or on occasions when it is necessary to travel or to make a visit, in a rigidly closed chair, are the only “outings” of a Korean woman of the middle and upper classes, and the low-class woman only goes out for purposes of work.

The murdered Queen told me, in allusion to my own Korean journeys, that she knew nothing of Korea, or even of the capital, except on the route of the Kur-dong.

Daughters have been put to death by their fathers, wives by their husbands, and women have even committed suicide, according to Dallet, when strange men, whether by accident or design, have even touched their hands, and quite lately a serving- woman gave as her reason for remissness in attempting to save her mistress, who perished in a fire, that in the confusion a man had touched the lady, making her not worth saving!

The law may not enter the women’s apartments. A noble hiding himself in his wife’s rooms cannot be seized for any crime except that of rebellion. A man wishing to repair his roof must notify his neighbors, lest by any chance he should see any of their women. After the age of seven, boys and girls part company, and the girls are rigidly secluded, seeing none of the male sex except their fathers and brothers until the date of marriage, after which they can only see their own and their husband’s near male relations. Girl children, even among the very poor, are so successfully hidden away, that in somewhat extensive Korean journeys I never saw one girl who looked above the age of six, except hanging listlessly about in the women’s rooms, and the brightness which girl life contributes to social existence is unknown in the country.

But I am far from saying that the women fret and groan under this system, or crave for the freedom which European women enjoy. Seclusion is the custom of centuries. Their idea of liberty is peril, and I quite believe that they think that they are closely guarded because they are valuable chattels. One intelligent woman, when I pressed her hard to say what they thought of our customs in the matter, replied, ”We think that your husbands don’t care for you very much” !

Concubinage is a recognized institution, but not a respected one. The wife or mother of a man not infrequently selects the concubine, who in many cases is looked upon by the wife as a proper appendage of her husband’s means or position, much as a carriage or a butler might be with us. The offspring in these cases are under a serious social stigma, and until lately have been excluded from some desirable positions. Legally the Korean is a strict monogamist, and even when a widower marries again, and there are children by the second marriage, those of the first wife retain special rights.

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There are no native schools for girls, and though women of the upper classes learn to read the native script, the number of Korean women who can read is estimated at two in a thousand. It appears that a philosophy largely imported from China, superstitions regarding daemons, the education of men, illiteracy, a minimum of legal rights, and inexorable custom have combined to give woman as low a status in civilized Korea as in any of the barbarous countries in the world. Yet there is no doubt that the Korean woman, in addition to being a born intrigante exercises a certain direct influence, especially as mother and mother-in-law, and in the arrangement of marriages.

Her rights are few, and depend on custom rather than law. She now possesses the right of remarriage, and that of remaining unmarried till she is sixteen, and she can refuse permission to her husband for his concubines to occupy the same house with herself. She is powerless to divorce her husband, conjugal fidelity, typified by the goose, the symbolic figure at a wedding, being a feminine virtue solely. Her husband may cast her off for seven reasons — incurable disease, theft, childlessness, infidelity, jealousy, incompatibility with her parents- in-law, and a quarrelsome disposition. She may be sent back to her father’s house for any one of these causes. It is believed, however, that desertion is far more frequent than divorce. By custom rather than law she has certain recognized rights, as to the control of children, redress in case of damage, etc. Domestic happiness is a thing she does not look for. The Korean has a house, but no home. The husband has his life apart; common ties of friendship and external interest are not known. His pleasure is taken in company with male acquaintances and gesang; and the marriage relationship is briefly summarized in the remark of a Korean gentleman in conversation with me on the subject, “We marry our wives, but we love our concubines.”

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[1] The notes on marriage customs which follow were given me by English-speaking Koreans and were taken down at the time. They apply chiefly to the middle class.

[2] Yang-ban = noble

[3] An annual royal procession through Seoul.

Ascension in the East: Chapters 13-15

Chapters 11-12

 

Chapter 13 – Maid to Measure

This moment was broken only minutes later by the door to their marital chamber opening and closing well inside the terrace doors. Unable to crane her modified neck back all that way, Jasmine looked to Steven, and saw his eyes glaze over. She only saw why when Somanass and Sukhumala came around to the front of their throne-like perches.

The bodies of the two maids were the same, exactly. They still sported the same fake, bouncy breasts, hourglass waists and wide hips. Unlike with Jasmine herself, whose breasts easily outdid those of her maids after these latest changes, nothing had changed there. Significantly they still had all their limbs. But their faces. Oh yes, something had been altered there. Their already puffed up and modified lips had gone from the sublime to the ridiculous. They now dominated their entire faces, two glossy pink tyres each with a large adult-sized version of a child’s dummy lodged within it. The two maids stood before their master and mistress, bowed deeply and then knelt. Then they slowly and ceremoniously removed their pacifiers and both Steven and Jasmine’s eyes grew wide in astonishment, for behind the plastic end plate each had an enormous phallus lodged deep within her throat. Immediately it became apparent why they now needed baby stoppers, for drool started dripping from their modified mouths instantly, mouths that they could obviously no longer close properly.

Quickly, carefully, silently, each grasped their charge’s hips and scooted them closer to the edge of the plush thrones in the warm night air. They then pushed their heads towards the royal couple, Somanass affixing her warm lips to Jasmine’s yearning nether regions, whilst Sukhumala took Steven’s entire member within her orifice. And the shock did not end there either, for Jasmine discovered to her surprise – and delight – that the new lips had a great suction to them and the tongue within them was now pierced and ridged and could do sensational things to her enlarged and engorged new clit, whilst for Steven, once his member was fully inside Sukhumala’s mouth, the walls of the cavern that now encased it clenched around it and a strange yet sensational vibrating began.

Within seconds both were lost in a world of pleasure, fidgeting on their throne, ready to explode with orgasmic ecstasy when, just as quickly as it had started, it all stopped. The maids withdrew their mouths and instead knelt silently before them.

“What?” asked Steven.

“Why?” asked Jasmine.

“They have stopped because I have ordered them to do so,” pronounced a third voice. Jasmine groaned; she should have known! The Honorable Chandarith stepped into view, smirking like the cat that had just eaten the cream. “I ordered them to demonstrate to you what we have done with their mouths. A practical explanation always works better than an academic one, don’t you think? But I shall provide you with the latter as well. You see, both of your girls no longer have teeth and the insides of their mouths have been remodelled to resemble their vaginal channel, albeit quite decorated. They can no longer speak and nor can they close their mouths, hence the need for the dummies. They had to have surgery on the jaw to enable them to open them so far for you, and any gag reflex has been dealt with. Both girls have undergone a tracheotomy so that they may still breath with your mighty tool lodged inside them, Emperor Nguanamthom. I have ordered them to desist now as it would be improper for you to reach a climax before your coronation now, wouldn’t it? Girls, depart!”

At this order, the two maids dutifully stood up and left, so that the two royals were left alone in the room with their tormentor.

“So, that is them, but what about you? I bet you both have so many questions to ask…”

“You bet we fucking do, we…”

“Shhh, Empress Sukkisawali, shhh! Talk to me like that and you’ll receive no answers whatsoever, and I’ll revoke what privileges you have left. I do not have to put up with it, as you now know. If you want to know what’s what then stay silent!”

And then, to prove the point that he didn’t have to put up with anything, the evil courtier casually took one of Jasmine’s monstrous nipples and twisted it sharply. She cried out in agony but was powerless to stop him.

“So, shall you obey or not?”

Realising that they had no choice, both nodded meekly, or at least, Steven did and Jasmine tried to although her modified neck prevented it.

“Right, so the limbs. Neither of you have them anymore. You do not need them. You are royalty; you have people like Sukhumala, Somanass and myself to do everything for you. What greater sign of nobility could their be? Not that the public shall ever be aware of this of course. No, to the world at large, you shall always be fully-limbed and virile, even as you age – and with the medical care and healthy diet that both of you shall be receiving, expect to live into three figures. Those limbs you have already experienced. They are attached to powerful electromagnets implanted beneath your skin and shall always be a part of you when you are outside of your quarters. As they are made utilising the latest robotic technology — of which we Sukhothais are world leaders — and as you shall always be clothed outside of these quarters, then no one will ever suspect a thing. They are controlled by a control centre located… well, you don’t need to know where I suppose… but manned by expertly-trained personnel who work 24/7 at the command of the generals and myself. They coordinate every movement from the simple handshake to complicated gymnastics. All you need do is enjoy the ride, as it were. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. However, once in your quarters, you shall be guided to your throne where the limbs disengage leaving you to relax. In here your maids are your limbs and shall look after your every need as is their sacred vocation in life which, I believe, you have already learnt, is something that both of them fully believe in, impressionable young girls that they were when we first got hold of them.

And then there are your voices too. Yes, you can use them freely now but you couldn’t before. Like with the limbs, there is a sensor attached to your voice box which overrides the nerves between the brain and the vocal chords whenever you leave your quarters. Thus everything that you say and do, even the very opening of your mouths is controlled from the same control centre as your elegant new limbs. Remember all those long hours we spent getting you to recite speeches and phrases in Sukhothai? Well, we compiled everything, did in-depth analysis on your voice patterns and can now replicate you saying any phrase realistically, not that you shall ever say much beyond a small number of stock phrases and announcements, but that’s by the by. There is a phrase, I believe, in the West, to describe constitutional monarchs with no real power. Apparently they call them ‘puppets’. Well, I can think of no better term for the Emperor and Empress of Sukhothai except that we are now so technologically advanced and sophisticated that, well, who needs strings…?

But, to become monarchs of any type, even puppets, one needs a coronation, does one not? So, I leave you here in the care of your good maids and shall see you in three hours hence in the Great Temple in Angkor…”

Chapter 14 – Becoming Emperor Nguanamthom and Empress Sukkisawali

And so their counsellor left and their maids returned. The naked torsos of the rulers-to-be were taken to their shower area where things had been radically altered since their last visit. Now, unable to do anything for themselves, they found themselves being placed into two contraptions hanging from the ceiling. At a distance these looked a little like string bags but once in them they found that they were made of rubber and had straps going around the torso above and below the breasts and one more which went between the arse cheeks, around the genitalia – frustratingly, not touching it so that no sexual relief could be garnered – and then up both the back and front to keep the whole thing together. Placed in this, the maids could then wash each of them thoroughly before then drying them and combing out Jasmine’s long and glorious hair. Tight stays were then fitted on Jasmine which incorporated cups for her ballooning chest and then plugs inserted in both her holes. To Steven’s dismay, he discovered that he was now expected to wear a small plug in his bottom too (to prevent accidents) and that this would regularly start vibrating at random times throughout the day, causing him further frustration. After this, both were lifted out of the bathroom “bags” and dressed in their underwear, a tight, white all-encompassing garment rather like a leotard or ladies’ one-piece swimsuit except that there were no leg or arm holes and Steven’s included a opening for his enormous penis (which was still erect and never would be otherwise) to jut out of. That Holy Tool was then covered in its sheath and the monarchs carried out to their thrones whereupon their golden limbs reattached themselves to their bodies – presumably at the command of unseen control centre – and a white catsuit fitted on each royal so that all the skin below the neck was covered up.

Then other, unknown servants came in to dress Steven in his robes and Jasmine in an elaborate ao dai, after which their limbs sat them down and both had their hair and makeup (another first for Steven, but it was to become the norm for public functions) attended to. Then, finally ready, they were walked by their new limbs out to a waiting helicopter and whisked away to Angkor.


The coronation ceremonies took all day. When they arrived in the capital, they were greeted by thousands of cheering citizens, all waving the national flags. The limbs that now carried them around walked past them, waving and greeting the occasional baby or cute child. It was strange for both Jasmine and Steven that they had no control whatsoever over their bodies or mouths, they merely existed as two cardboard cutouts for the benefit of the nation.

Inside the temple they first had to participate in the Buddhist marriage ceremony again so as to publicly demonstrate to the nation that they were legally wedded and then it was the coronation itself. Following that there was more greeting the crowds and then an enormous banquet in the palace with hundreds of foreign dignitaries and national notables. Neither of them was required to say anything, but what was most annoying was that both were starving, and yet their new hands only picked up the tiniest of morsels for them to eat!

Then, around eight, they were led away to their new quarters, at first separately, where each had a throne waiting. Placed in them, their limbs disengaged and their maids undressed them completely. Jasmine then found herself being carried off to a massage table upon which she was placed and fragrant oils kneaded into her beautiful but truncated form whilst her hair was washed and also oiled. Her nipple and clit jewellery was then removed and replaced with some new pieces that were far more extravagant. Each was fashioned into the form of a beautiful pink butterfly, the ring forming the body of the creature through which the nipple or clit poked through, engorged and excited. Holding up a mirror to show her how they looked, Jasmine could see that they were really nice but couldn’t understand this pampering. But then Somanass produced a note for her to read.

“Since you married again today, we must make this a worthy wedding night, for tonight will be the first time that you couple truly as Ragaraja and Sowathara. Emperor Nguanamthom will not be able to resist you tonight, you are so exquisitely beautiful. It is an honour to serve such a marvellous monarch.”

These kind words which she knew were true and heartfelt made Jasmine warm inside. However, the sentence that followed made her shudder.

“The jewellery is a wedding and coronation present from the Honoured Chandarith. He says that he wishes for you to be reminded of him, your most devoted and loyal servant, when you wear it.”

Reminded of him! If only she were not!

Beautified to befit her exalted role, Jasmine was then placed on a silk coverlet on a large silver platter and carried into the Emperor’s bedchamber. Her spouse, both human and divine was there waiting for her, similarly prepared, wearing an enormous red butterfly around the base of his raging, gigantic penis. Placed on the bed beside him, she wriggled up towards him and their lips met for a lingering kiss. Feeling the monster pressing against her womb, she longed for it to be inside her, but truncated as she was, she could not maneuver things so. Steven was equally helpless and, desperate with longing, the two looked at their maids who nodded, climbed onto the bed with them, each picking a royal up and slowly lowering the Empress Sukkisawali onto the rampant penis of Emperor Nguanamthom. Never before had Jasmine felt so full, never before had Jasmine felt so excited and, as they slowly started rocking, the supportive hands of their maids behind them, never before had Jasmine felt so much in love with a man.

Chapter 15 – Epilogue

Three years later

Steven opened his eyes as the morning sun filtered through the blinds of their sumptuous bedroom. The first sight that he saw was the first thing that he saw every morning, and it was a view that warmed his heart: it was the sleeping form of his beautiful wife, Jasmine or, as the world called her, the Empress Sukkisawali. What he saw today was the back of her head, her ebony locks spreading out across the bed. This is because they were lying against each other “spooning,” or at least they would be if either of them had arms and legs. Their maids had arranged them in that position so that they could happily fall off to sleep together, their two truncated bodies as one. As she slept, Steven silently watched her gargantuan breasts rise and fall and his member, erect and longing as it had been now continually for the past three years, began to long to enter her. His hip twitched and he momentarily mourned his inability to satisfy himself, but this melancholy quickly passed.

And whilst he wished to copulate, he did not want to disturb his beloved’s beauty sleep. They had a hard day ahead of them after all: today was to be the naming ceremony for their twelfth child, the baby Loethai. Not that Jasmine had ever given birth of course. Instead her eggs and his seed were collected in a ceremony every Friday and their ten birthmaidens; homely, plain noble girls, raised to be mothers, were implanted. This had been the way that royals had reproduced ever since the close of World War II and the Great Changes, although no previous Emperor had sired so many in such a short time.

But then again, no previous Emperor had had to repopulate an entire royal family from scratch.

Somanass, one of the two maidservants who were forever present in their chamber (to such a degree that their absence was quite unsettling for the two) saw his opened eyes, came over and fixed her modified mouth over his cock. The vibrating began almost immediately and the feeling was exquisite. But the movement and his gasps woke Jasmine, who wriggled around, her round ass shaking with the effort. Somanass withdrew and the two royals kissed, deep tenderness in their eyes.

Knowing intuitively what they wanted, Somanass pointed down to which the Emperor shook his head. She then pointed up. Steven nodded. Up meant the swing.

Because of their truncated forms, the Emperor and Empress needed assistance from their maids to copulate. The night before, when Steven had used his wife anally, Sukhumala, the other maid, had had to strap him to her torso in what looked like a large baby carrier, and used the motion of her hips to help him move in and out of his wife’s beautiful and generous arse. All the positions on the bed required at least a third person, but on the swing they could be alone. It was a simple device, like one of those swings for young children that have a rail to hold them in safely, except that this one was made of gold, padded with silken cushions and held both in at the same time.

Carefully, Somanass lowered the device down onto the bed and then lifted her master into it. Once she was sure that he was secure, she then took her mistress and placed her in, impaling her on her husband’s cock in the process. Thus situated with their hips pinned together, the penis could not slip out and they were safe and free. Somanass pulled the chain and the swing slowly rose up and up, above the bedroom and into the great glass dome that formed its ceiling. When they’d first experienced it, Jasmine had said that it reminded her of a gilded bird’s cage yet, unlike birds in their cages, it was on their swing that the royal couple were more at liberty than anywhere else in the world.

There, bathed in the morning sunlight, the great city of Angkor laid out below them, they were alone and free.

“Dance my darling,” whispered Steven into his wife’s ear and, with a smile on her lips, she slowly started grinding herself against the throbbing monster within her, causing the swing to move as both of them thanked Ragaraja and Sowathara for entering their bodies and bringing them together in holy union.

 

Ascension in the East: Chapters 11-12

Chapters 9-10

Chapter 11 – The Phtuoch Phtaem

The following day at noon Steven and Jasmine, in full imperial regalia, entered into the palace temple. Present were four other figures: the Honourable Chandarith, the Prime Minister, the Head Priest and one of the generals whom had been present at the other ceremonies. First they had to all bow down before the immense golden image of the Buddha and offer incense, and only then the royal couple were bade to sit on two of five thrones arranged with one other simpler chair in the centre of the room. After this five pretty shrine maidens entered, each bearing a bowl of steaming liquid for their charges. They bowed low before the powerful guests and then proffered the bowls to them. Only the Honoured Chandarith did not have one. The royals looked questioningly at the Honourable Chandarith who said, “This is thveu aoy and it is necessary for you to drink it to partake in the ceremony. The Prime Minister, General and High Priest will also drink of it but I shall not, for me it is unnecessary. But it is entirely necessary for you because it helps you to focus your thoughts on the important things that we are going to say. Currently your minds get distracted much too easily, particularly our young royals. Ragaraja and Somanath who reside almost completely within your bodies now take your minds towards sexual activities constantly, but for this ceremony we need to dim and subdue those urges. Drink!”

Jasmine and Steven looked at one another and smiled. The chance to stop fixating on sex! Was that not what they had longed for? As the general, priest and politician sat on their thrones and drank, they did likewise.

Within seconds they were starting to regret it.

By the time that a minute had past they definitely regretted it and longed to strike the Honoured Chandarith for his honeyed words.

But they could not, for whilst the brew did do as he had promised it would and subdued all sexual thoughts whatsoever, it also had the effect of paralysing them completely. They could sit there, flicker their eyelids and see and hear perfectly, but that was all. It was a terrifying experience, like a vivid sleep paralysis.

After a couple of minutes had passed, the Honoured Chandarith spoke. “Welcome all of you to the Phtuoch Phtaem of Emperor Nguanamthom and Empress Sukkisawali of Sukhothai. In precisely two weeks’ time they shall be crowned as the omnipotent and omniscient monarchs of this ancient, sacred and beautiful realm and so it is that today they need to know how it really operates and what will be expected of them in the future. Gathered here today are all the people who are considered to be the powerholders in Sukhothai: the head of the government, the head of the faith, the head of the military and, finally, the rulers themselves, the semi-divine royal couple. Oh yes, and myself as emissary between all parties. You will have noted that the five members of the company have drank of the sacred thveu aoy. The General, Prime Minister and High Priest knew beforehand of the properties of the sacred thveu aoy, but our young royal couple were unaware. By now you shall have discovered that it is a paralysing agent as well as an excellent clearer of the mind. I shall not ask you to confirm or deny any of what I will say to you because you cannot. You are currently quite mute, which is fitting, since it is unnecessary for you to be able to communicate to anyone save each other from this day forward.”

‘What the fuck…?’ thought Steven to himself. The Honoured Chandarith sat down on the one simple chair and then said. “Will the people holding the real power in Sukhothai please rise?”

At first there was no movement and then, slowly but steadily, the general rose from his throne.

“General Anakkeanamnach Phdachkar did not drink thveu aoy like you,” said the Honoured Chandarith. His bowl contained tea. The others knew this but drank regardless. They knew the consequences for them and their families if they refused. Please General, explain to Emperor Nguanamthom and Empress Sukkisawali how things work around here.”

General Anakkeanamnach nodded, and then turned to the royal couple. “Eighty years ago this country was plunged into war. The Empire of Japan tried to defeat our ancient and sacred Sukhothai. They almost succeeded. Only one thing stopped them. It was not Buddha, it was not our political class and it was not the emperor. It was the army that stopped them and that was a lesson for us. To be strong, to defeat enemies inside and out, we need to have the army in charge. Today we still face many dangers: The Muslims in the south, in Sumatra, Malaya and Java; in the north the barbarian Chinese communist hordes and even Japan is on the rise again. And in the west they look down on all Asiatic like us. They mock us saying that the Asian is weak, we are small men with small dicks. But we are not weak, we are strong! Sukhothai is a match for anybody in world. Or at least, it is with the army and no one else firmly but surely in command. That is what I have to say; Chandarith, continue!”

“Certainly General Anakkeanamnach Phdachkar, and thank you. As the General has said, the military saved this empire against the Japanese. Not only that, but the Emperor disgraced it. As the invaders advanced towards Angkor, he was more interested in his debaucheries with his harem of a thousand beauties. And as for the politicians, they bickered amongst themselves, none providing either leadership or ideas and the religious, well, we have four faiths here in the empire and although Buddhism is by far the largest, it is splintered into a thousand sects and they all fight just as the politicians do. No, only a military government can rule this diverse realm.

But that too brings problems. Other powers will not deal with military dictatorships. They like to see parliamentary democracies which, in their ignorance, they respect. Whilst the people, they fear only God, not generals. They need a figurehead whom they can adore and believe in. That is why the Secret Pact of Sukhothai was agreed upon between the Four Estates. The Emperor gave up his power for a life of luxury in the palace, the politicians for fat wages and trouble-free elections and the religious for generous state subsidies and free reign to act with impunity. And so, although you shall never see it in any official document, all power rests with this man here and this ceremony today, performed prior to the coronation of every monarch, was devised as physical proof of that.”

At this General Anakkeanamnach Phdachkar nodded and smiled.

“But why,” continued the Honoured Chandarith, turning to the royal couple and smiling almost maliciously, “should this affect you so much? After all, so what if he holds the real power so long as you live pampered lives in your huge palaces? Well, that is what your long-deceased predecessor, Emperor Thaokteab thought, but we were not so sure. He might be happy to waste his day fucking slave girls but would his son, or his grandson or maybe his great-grandson be equally satisfied? It was too big a risk to take and besides, a story was needed to explain to the ignorant masses why their monarch was such a debauched waste of space. And so it was created, the legend of Ragaraja and Sowathara. We co-opted those old fertility deities to create a new status quo for our land. Thaokteab was not fucking around because he was a male slag, no, nothing of the sort. Instead, he was doing it because he was in fact the incarnation of the lustiest god of them all! He jumped at the chance to give himself a larger cock, but little did he realise the bigger plan. His physical transformation into Ragaraja not only made the legend believable to the peasants, but it also served our purpose. With a huge cock he could no longer fuck around, only his modified wife and eternal consort Sowathara could take him. And then we went further: not only could he not fuck around, but there was a great deal else that he found himself unable to do too. But by that stage it was too late for Thaokteab as, indeed, it is for you two as well as you shall soon learn. But, before you leave this ceremony to undertake your final set of modifications to make you fitting vessels for the god and goddess, the real ruler of Sukhothai has something to say to you.”

And at these words, General Anakkeanamnach Phdachkar stood up, walked in front of the two monarchs, bowed deeply before them and said, “Thank you very much for your past, present and future sacrifices for the Empire of Sukhothai.”

And with those words both he and the Honoured Chandarith strode off out of the room, leaving Jasmine and Steve alone with the equally-paralysed prime minister and chief priest. Petrified, they wondered what would be happening to them next, until Somanass and Sukhumala entered the chamber, each carrying a large syringe. They came up to their master and mistress, knelt before them and then said in unison, “This ith the latht time that we thshall be able to thspeak with you. When you are mothified, so too thshall we be, so that our lipths will be able to take your member, Mathesty. Thank you, we love you anth we are alwayths honoured to therve you.”

And with those words they rose graciously, approached the Emperor and Empress, and calmly, carefully plunged the syringes into the royal couple’s arms.

Chapter 12 – Waking Up to New Bodies

Jasmine awoke slowly this time. This time.

Before she even opened her eyes she remembered the foregone coup, the previous modifications, her hopelessly paralyzed body, and Steven! Oh how they had been so naive. She should have known, protected her young husband somehow, mentioned her suspicions to him earlier. But that was gone now, and Jasmine was scared to wake up. She struggled to open her eyes, for whatever drug was coursing through her veins left her drowsy and unable to move much. Actually, now that she thought about it, she wasn’t restrained, and she could move, so the paralytic thveu aoy must have been out of her system, but no matter how much she tried, her body never left the bed she was laying in. She must have been restrained, but Jasmine couldn’t imagine how.

At least she guessed it was a bed from the feel against her naked skin, but it definitely wasn’t hers. She felt naked, and the room was cooler than her chambers were, the mattress too hard, the sheets too basic. No, she was in a hospital. Wait! Maybe she had been rescued, all those horrible surgeries had been reversed, and she was back at home in the United Kingdom, just another girl trying to make a name for herself. Yes, yes, this must be it. Her hazy mind drifted off to this peaceful image.


She was later roused from her slumber, and when her eyes opened the lovely dream she had been living in fell apart rather quickly. The nurse she now looked up at, or she guessed it was a nurse, was clad head to toe in white silk, with no gap for the face, and Jasmine guessed she must be able to see out better than in. This must be one of the Brahmanan body artist’s wives, working as a nurse, or maybe a hopeful? Oh it all hurt her head to think of the castes and systems she had been forcibly adopted into. But just the man for these problems, standing next to the white-shrouded figure, was Honourable Chandarith. She looked up at that deceivingly docile old man and began a verbal tirade of insults at his deception. Or so she thought she did, for what she heard then was a forceful but equally unintelligible moaning come from her mouth. She panicked as she tried to phrase something, anything! What was wrong with her?! Her mouth felt fine!

Chandarith looked down at this scene, smiled, and then sat down in a chair provided by the silent nurse. He looked at her almost fondly. “Ah yes, that’s much much better. No more outbursts or questions from you, Your Majesty. You know, when I located you, I thought to myself, ‘A dancer. A nice, simple girl who won’t ask too many questions, she will love the spotlight, the luxury.’ But now I see that I underestimated you. Oh well, not a problem, this is exactly why we do this sort of thing before you are officiated before the people.”

“Yes I see, Honourable Chandarith.”

Jasmine was horrified. The voice that had just been guttural noises came out crisp as a bell. She had even mouthed the words unthinkingly.

“Now that works mighty well! This is exactly why I’m here, to explain to you what in the world is happening in this ‘backwards country’, as you put it. Now that you know your true place in this society, we can’t be having you spouting it off when in public, and even though we have been practicing, your accent is still atrocious, so we will be taking over from now on, on multiple fronts actually.” he said as he gestured to her body.

Her doe-like eyes could not communicate her fury very effectively, so she gave up her position there and followed his gaze downward, and nearly fainted from the shock. Her arms… were gone. Just GONE!. And though her breasts, which were now even larger mounds upon her chest, blocked her view, she could feel cool air on her hips, her empty hips, her unprotected pussy lips, and she knew her legs were gone too.

Horrible, sobbing wails came from her mouth as she struggled and wriggled her body, trying to convince herself it wasn’t true, but when Chandarith took a remote control from the bedside table and silenced her voice with hardly an effort, she knew they could do anything to her, why not this?

Jasmine, Sukkisawali, whatever, laid in her bed for a long while after Chandarith left, crying silently. Of course she hadn’t expected to go back to dance ever again, but the mere thought of it had kept her hope alive. Now what did she have? The features of her body most passive and inviting for hero one purpose. And as she laid there, the worst part was that she still couldn’t concentrate on anything but where her next fuck was going to come from.

Later that day, she was being fitted with strange prosthetic limbs when the nurse’s shroud ran lightly over her enlarged clit. Enlarged was a nice, pretty word for what they had done to her pleasure center, for when that gleeful old man had held up a mirror for her, she had seen its true nature. It surged forth from her cunt with no modesty, and the shape of its head, long free from her clitoral hood, looked nearly phallic. Her body squirmed as she thought about it, about how her desire reached out to nobody, everybody, and how she would never pleasure herself again.

Slowly, the itch returned with full force.

The mechanical arms and legs did not really have anywhere to affix to on her torso, for there were no stumps to be taken advantage of, but somehow when positioned near her rounded-off shoulders, they attracted like magnets and refused to budge further. This worked similarly down below, and within moments she felt her body rise of its own accord to a standing position.

She felt like she was going to be seasick.

In the elaborately-gilded full-length mirror now stood a corseted woman with enormous ass, breasts, and clit sticking out at least two inches, with golden metal limbs standing eerily still. Long, slim neck led up to her doll face, which luckily had not been modified further. Her new arms and legs were engraved with what she later learned were ancient sutras regarding karma and obedience to a higher power. Chandarith was crueler than they ever could have guessed.

She tried to beg the nurse, but it seemed he had left her mute when he departed earlier, and when her arms and legs suddenly activated and walked her naked form out the door, she couldn’t even yelp in surprise. As she walked down the hall, a new golden silk corset encircled her torso, giving her a little mammary support but not nearly enough; Jasmine’s tits swaying in rhythm with her steps, erect, ringed nipples reaching forward. The motion of walking itself was discomfiting, especially as any motion to her oversensitive cunt turned her on till she was glistening in the open air. She yearned for something to fill her deep emptiness right now, and she even hoped the stretching plugs were not far away in her future. Her new, mechanical hands met and froze in a classical prayer position, even as she walked on in silence.

When she rounded the corner to another recovery room, she saw the back of a strange looking man. He was only a naked, semi-muscular torso, standing suspended by golden limbs in the air. Jasmine locked eyes with Steven as he saw her through his own mirror, and his expression said it all; he was mute as well. When his limbs turned him around, Jasmine nearly drooled. Sticking out in front of him, unencumbered by any sheath, was the largest cock she had ever seen, had ever even imagined. It must have been 14, 15, 16 inches long, and the girth of it was larger than she could’ve possibly put in her mouth. His balls hung below their heavy golden cuff, large and ready. When Jasmine finally looked up, Steven’s eyes was darting between her breasts, which would have hung to her navel if not for the corset, and her massive, desperately engorged clitoris.

And yet they stood still.

And yet they stayed quiet.

All they could do was look at each other’s physical manifestations of desire, silently, for an uncomfortably long time. Until their limbs reactivated and automatically led them to a prep room to get a last look-over by the nurses who then dressed them, and then they were walked back through the maze-like temple to their chambers. Once inside, they noticed two new throne-like chairs on the terrace, replacing the loungers from before, and their limbs guided them to these, to look over the local jungle and Empire beyond. Surprisingly, once they sat down, the limbs released and clattered to the floor, leaving them visibly helpless, vulnerable, and nearly naked in their seats. If they hadn’t been left leaning against the cushioned backrests their abbreviated bodies would have toppled right over.

“I wish I wasn’t sitting right on my— OH”

“Wait. We can talk?!”

The two quickly aired their desperation to each other, the mutual gossip of their deception by the men in charge, the horrors of awakening, their worries for the uncertain future. They spoke in quick, hushed tones, as if at any moment they would lose their last mode of interaction again with the click of a button. And soon, even though a foot of warm, humid, empty air lay between their helpless bodies, their conversation turned to sex.

“I need you in me, Stevey, I’m serious, it’s not like before. That desire I told you about, how I could only concentrate once you’d fucked me, I only managed that much sanity by masturbating and jumping on you whenever I could. Oh god, how are we going to survive this if I can’t rip your clothes off three times a day?! Why do they want to torture us so much?”

Steven quieted himself, for he knew of no answer, and he just looked down at his now permanently-erect cock, which lay flat on the cushion his thighs would have once occupied. He tightened some muscles in his lower abdomen, and his ramrod member lifted an inch up, then fell back down. This teased his frenulum achingly, but after a few minutes, he knew he would never get release from this. Who knows if he would ever be left outside the sheath like this again? he thought. Desperate, he looked over at Jasmine, who had been trying to grind her hips and dripping pussy into the cushion below her with no success. “I don’t have answers. I won’t ever, I’m afraid. Like this, I don’t know what kind of husband I can be. Oh, what are we going to do with our lives, Jazz? We’re just their puppets now, and I can’t stop thinking about fucking you, our maids, anything! Oh I really wish we could just go back to our first night together, talking till the early hours, and watching you dance for me. For yourself. I just want to go back there, Jazz.”

When he looked over, she was crying, tears dripping onto her distended chest as it rose and fell in wracking sobs. Through these tears came a soft, “I love you.” floating through the air as if it were precious: it was a first. Steven would have given anything to have arms still to hug his wife with, but all he could do was sit there.

“I love you too. We’ll get through this… somehow.”

 

Chapters 13-14

Ascension in the East: Chapters 9-10

Chapters 7-8

Chapter 9 – The Handmaid’s Tale

It was the following morning after they awoke when their two maidservants reappeared in their lives and immediately both Jasmine and Steven realised why they had been absent for so long, for whilst their bodies remained completely unaltered, something major had happened to the faces of both of them or, to be more precise, to their lips.

Of course both Somanass and Sukhumala had sported somewhat puffed up and enlarged lips previously, but these were nothing to what now graced their faces, for where their mouths should have been, instead now were two juicy doughnuts that looked almost designed for fellatio. Upon seeing them, Jasmine exclaimed, “Oh my God, what have they done to you?” whilst secretly thinking how much she would like to experience Somanass’ tongue on her nether regions. Steven’s mind was racing in quite a similar direction, except that it was more about Sukhumala’s new lips wrapped around his huge penis.

“Mathesty,” replied Sukhumala in Sukhothai (for, as part of their training and with Jasmine’s improved command of the national tongue, it had been decided that all staff must only speak to their monarchs in that language now), “thwe are bthlessed to hath our lthips modthified lthike lthis tho we may accomothate the emperor’s royal membther pleathurably.”

“You mean to say,” asked Steven, that aforementioned member standing ramrod straight despite it being only a minute or so since he had erupted into his wife’s generous backside, so hot did he find their new lispy voices, “that you have had your lips pumped up purely so you can suck my penis?!”

“Of courthe, Mathesty,” replied Somanass, “that isth our sthacred duty, parthicularly now that your wife cannot accomodthate you there.”

That comment caused both Steven and Jasmine to blush, for the one drawback to his newly-enlarged member that they had both noticed the night before was that, when Jasmine had tried to take it in her mouth as she had done before, it would no longer fit due to its impressive length and girth. She could pleasure him amply with her front and bottom holes but not her mouth. She simply couldn’t open that wide, and she nearly gagged every time. Later, after breakfast, the Honorable Chandarith explained it all to them.

“As I have said before, you are no longer Steven and Jasmine, you are no longer merely human, but instead Nguanamthom and Sukkisawali, the earthly incarnations of the deities Ragaraja and Somanath and as such, certain things are necessary whilst others are now unacceptable. What is necessary is that your bodies reflect your divine statuses. Sukkisawali: you as a fertile, lusty emblem of femininity, whilst Nguanamthom: you as a virile representation of masculine power, fertility and strength. As such it is only natural that your breasts and hips, Sukkisawali, should be larger than those of any other female in the empire whilst your member, Nguanamthom, mightier than that of any male. But whilst that is the case, it is now unacceptable, considering your divine statuses, that you engage in any penetrative sexual act that can create offspring with any mere humans. That is why your sacred orifices, Sukkisawali, have been stretched and will continue to be stretched: they must be able to accommodate your husband’s tool and be too large for that of another man. However, since a king must have handmaidens to serve him, then the solution is thus: they have their mouths modified to accommodate his tool but not their other holes – indeed, with a man both Somanass and Sukhumala are virgins, did you never wonder why they only ever pleasured you with their mouths or between their beautiful, noble breasts? They exist to pleasure your penis, Nguanamthom, it is one of their primary purposes in life and one that they are overjoyed to fulfil. Their other purpose is, of course, to provide similar pleasure to you, Sukkisawali, using their tongues and hands on your similarly enhanced genitalia. You say that their lips have been plumped up and this is true but it is not the full extent of their oral modifications. Maids, please, do your duty to you future emperor and empress!”

And at that command, the two full-breasted and lipped girls who had been standing dutifully in the background, came over to the royal couple and knelt in front of them. And whilst Sukhumala removed Steven’s sheath and took his rock-hard monster in her mouth, Somanass affixed her lips to the love cavern of her mistress and, within seconds, both royals began to comprehend what else had been done.

The very mouths of the girls seemed to have been refashioned. They were longer and somehow tighter and their tongues had been pierced multiple times with pieces of jewellery which tantalised them and heightened the sexual experience. Their teeth also seemed to have disappeared whilst their over-large lips massaged and caressed the objects of their pleasuring, causing almost a suction, both to his cock and her clit. It was absolutely exquisite, and within minutes Jasmine was dripping, screaming in ecstasy whilst Steven was spurting his load deep into Sukhumala’s throat.

“Note that they have no gag reflex now and extra muscles in the throat,” said the Honorable Chandarith. “They really are two works of art and the honour of being modified in such a way by Brahaman artists is high indeed.

“So… do you… mean to… say,” said Jasmine trying to get her breath back, “that from now on, I shall only be able to have sex with my husband?”

“That is correct, Sukkisawali.”

“But these ladies may pleasure me… us… with their mouths whenever we want.”

“That is their purpose, Sukkisawali.”

“Well, that is… not all bad… then, I suppose.”


But whilst that may not have been all bad, there were certain aspects of her new life which Jasmine began to find really hard to get used to. Her newly enlarged breasts and buttocks stopped her from doing many things and this was most noticeably during her daily exercises. Even simple activities like jogging on a treadmill, skipping or sit-ups had now become nigh on impossible, the enormous globes getting in the way or swinging about with the motion. Instead all she could now manage was exercises completed sitting or lying and most of these were focussed on strengthening her back muscles which bore the brunt of her humungous new tits. The situation was a little similar for Steven too, his rigid tool in its sheath swinging about wildly if he tried anything more than a quick walk. However, for him help was at hand, and for exercises he now wore a special costume which incorporated a different sheath featuring a loop around the end which went over his neck and could be tightened so that, as he ran, the sheath was fixed to his chest. This solved the swinging issue completely but looked, in Steven’s eyes at least, more than a little ridiculous.

Another area though, where both members of the royal couple now found that they had significant problems was when doing their other natural functions. Steven now found that he had great difficulty urinating through his penis due to its continual erection. Although this wasn’t altogether painful, it now required a considerably greater effort to piss since his water would only come out irregularly. Furthermore, due to the fact that, as a royal, he was now meant to let servants do everything for him, he now found that whenever he wanted to use the bathroom, Somanass or Sukhumala was there waiting to hold his member as he drained it and then to suck it clean. This latter method of cleansing himself was all very pleasant, but the presence of a big-titted maid and the knowledge that his aching tool would soon be ensconced between her inviting lips at the very time when he was trying to forget rather than heighten his sexual desires was most trying.

Jasmine however, had it worse here, as with most of the modifications’ side effects. The gradual stretching of her anus and vagina had left her quite unable to hold in her rear wastes, and so the plugs and enemas that were initially performed for other reasons became quite necessary. Her plugs were, however, really quite large now and they tickled and caressed her whenever she moved, reminding her of that which she too was trying to forget. Furthermore, even with these mammoth insertions into her holes, her lack of control was such that, about a week after the modifications, she had a rather embarrassing accident. Following this, new underwear was decreed for her. This was a pair of thick rubber pants with the two monstrous insertions incorporated into the garment. This certainly guaranteed the repetition of such mishaps but the feeling of tight rubber against her skin for some reason seemed to increase her already hyperactive sexual desire.

Chapter 10 – Revelations

The night before her third seeding ceremony, Jasmine lay on her bed with Somanass. Whilst Steven had been suffering unbearable torment at the hands of Sukhumala (apparently, the sexual stimulation she provided increased the sperm production even further which was auspicious although not, obviously, for the person in whose balls it was all being made), she had enjoyed a lengthy and incredibly pleasurable session with her maid which involved both of them doing things with their tongues that neither of them would have thought even possible for humans to do only a few months before.

But then, so much had changed in the past few months.

And it was with this line of thought running through her head, that Jasmine turned to her beautiful modified maid and asked her, “What made you decide to come and work here, Sommy? Surely you would have preferred to have got married and started a family like a normal lady does?”

If Somanass’ face had been capable of twisting itself into expressions as normal faces are, then it may well have taken on a sad look with these words, but of course, the artists had done their jobs well and the same vacant, lippy china doll expression stared back at her mistress. She responded as she always did these days, tripping over herself when she spoke too fast.

“No misthress, noth ath all. It ith a great honour to therve you in this way.”

“Really? Why don’t I believe you, darling Sommy? Wouldn’t it be nice to marry a handsome man, settle down in a house and have some beautiful children running around? Surely that is what every woman wants?”

“The houthe, maybe, and the children, yes, I would love children. But marrying a man! The thought! Now, if it was a handthome woman…”

Jasmine laughed and slapped her big-butted bedpartner on her ample ass. “Seriously now, come on!”

“No, I am therious. It a great honour to be chosen to become your maidservant. Normal women do dream of children and a husband but some of us can dream of greater things than that. A normal woman therves a man, a mere human: I serve a goddeth!”

“Come on, don’t tell me that you really believe all that?!”

“Of course I do! I have seen Holy Somanath entering you. You look differently these days and think differently too. You are consumed by lust and you radiate fertility. What other ethplanation can there be? Even if you do not realise it, She is within you dwelling.”

“Are you sure that it is not more to do with drugs and medical procedures than a goddess?”

“And are you not sure that you have not spent too long in the unbelieving and thpiritually blind West?”

Jasmine was taken aback. The realisation dawned on her that Somanass actually believed all of this shit. She wasn’t just going along with it; it meant something to her!

Wishing to change the subject slightly, she asked her maid, “So, tell me, how did you get to become my servant?”

“Well, I was very lucky, the gods blethed me indeed, because I was actually forty-thecond in line, but the first forty all got killed in the mathacre.”

“And the forty-first?”

“That is Thukhumala of courthe! That is why she geth the first choice on who to therve and, naturally, since she is not attracted by women, she choothes the Emperor. We thurvived because we were both in a temples in Krung Thep acting as thrine maidens. I even had a husband lined up for after my period of thervice. Thankfully that was averted!”

“If you didn’t want to marry him, why were you going to?”

“Because we must do as we are told by thociety. My parents conthulted a priest and he chose my fiance and fixed the date. We can never disobey orders like that.”

“Even if they are ridiculous.”

“But they are not.”

“Ok, say I told you to jump out of the window into the valley to your death. Would you do it?”

“Of courthe.”

“But why?”

“Because a goddeth has commanded me to do so.”

“But I’m not a goddess, I am me, just a girl called Jasmine.”

“No you are not; you were once but not any longer, even if you don’t realise it yourthelf yet.”

The blind faith of this otherwise intelligent and spirited young woman astonished Jasmine. She decided to explore more. “But what about the mods, the ridiculous lips that you now sport… and the tits. How do you feel about them? For heaven’s sake, you struggle even to speak clearly these days! Does that not even bother you?”

“Of courthe, I must admit that it does bother me, even though I should be glad. I used to be renowned for my thsinging and I loved gymnastics, but then I remind myself of the value of these changes. And remember, after all is thaid and done, this is not my body to control but the goddeth’th….”

“But it is your body, Sommy, no one else’s! Jesus! What right have they to make your speech slurred and your tits so huge that you can hardly walk with them?”

“They have every right. I am honoured to be modified in this way; it is my thacred destiny, as also is what is to come, although I do confess that it does scare me a little.”

“Why? What are they planning to do to you now?”

“You know what, Majesty. My mouth must always be a suitable receptacle for Ragaraja’s tool yet that beautiful and sacred member has not reached its full size yet. When it does, my mouth will need to be altered again. Now I struggle to speak clearly; then I shall not be able to speak at all. This conversation that we are having may be one of our last ever and that, and that alone, makes me sad…”


The day following their third seeding ceremony, Steven and Jasmine were sitting out on the balcony of the palace’s private quarters looking out across the forested valley beyond. It was a beautiful scene and what with the insects chirping in the air and the soft scent of jasmine incense emanating from the room’s altar and the presence of each other, their bonds strengthened further by every step of this journey that they had been taking together, both felt happy inside.

Well, almost.

Jasmine, still the dominant partner in the couple due to her age and worldly experience, was troubled greatly in her mind by the conversation that she had had with Somanass the previous night. The maidservant’s beliefs had been so firm, so absolute, that it disturbed her. What sort of society was this that could control the minds and bodies of its citizens so completely? She looked down at her enormous breasts, surging up and down with every laboured breath, a visible reminder of that total control. How could one be entirely happy with a body like this, she wondered, her left hand unconsciously going to her rock hard constricted waist. Despite rubbing hard, she couldn’t feel a thing. The Honorable Chandarith had explained to her that her painfully-tight corset was now a necessity, not a luxury, for during her last set of modifications, she had actually had ribs removed. Now the corset was required to do the job that they once had.

“Why?” she had asked him in amazement. “Because such a tiny waist would never be possible to achieve otherwise,” he had answered. Scientifically it was a good answer; but ethically…? Why did she need to have such a miniscule waist anyway? She still looked pretty damn feminine with her twenty-inch one. Fourteen inches was just too much, ridiculous, absurd…

She turned to her husband who was gazing out over the mountains. As if sensing her gaze he turned his face to hers and smiled.

“What the hell is happening to us, Steve?” she asked him.

His face grew more serious. “Honestly, Jazz, I’ve been thinking the same myself. Only two months ago and we didn’t know each other, were single – hell, I was still a virgin and at school! – you were a dancer, we lived thousands of miles from here – and each other and…” His voice trailed off as if he did not know how to voice his thoughts.

“I wasn’t talking about those things, Steve. Those things are normal… ok, not normal but natural. We… we aren’t….” Now hers was the voice trailing off.

“You’re on about the other stuff. The fact that we both look like cartoon characters and have had our bodies changed beyond all recognition without our knowledge or permission. That you have tits and a butt the envy of any porn star whilst my cock is as big as a freakin’ baseball bat. That’s what you’re on about?”

“It’s not just our bodies, Steve…”

“Yeah… I know; our minds too. All I can think about is sex. Sex, sex, sex. We did it this morning and we can’t now since we’re clothed and have a lesson in a few minutes yet, even now, even with this beautiful view to fill our minds, without either of us even realising, you have your right hand on my sheath and my left hand is stroking your breast.”

“And you are sitting as close to me as you can in order to rub your thigh against the cushion of my enormous, obscene ass.”

“That too.”

“It’s fucked up, Steve, it’s totally fucked up! I mean, what the fuck is this? We are an emperor and empress apparently, yet where are our people, what decisions are we making? The closest we have come to having an impact on the political, economic, social and fucking religious affairs of this backwards country is once a month when there’s a full-fucking-moon and some virgin schoolgirl jacks you off all over my face whilst I just grin and bear it and so old priests can play Gypsy Rosa Lee with the result!”

“Calm down, Jazz, it’s not…”

“No Steve, I will not calm down and it is worth it! What are they doing to us, eh? What the fuck are they doing to us. Us, Steve, us, not Raga-fucking-raja and Sowa-bloody-thora, let alone Ngu-whatever and Sucky-Swallow which is, perversely, about the one sexual act that I can’t do these days! These are OUR bodies and OUR lives and we are the fucking rulers for God’s sake!! We deserve explanations at least, if not a whole lot more. I want to know who is calling the shots in this country and when we will be able to start playing our part….”

“That time, Sukkisawali Majesty, is not far off!”

They both turned to see the Honoured Chandarith standing behind them, a sage expression on his face, his hands folded in his robes.

“Honored Chandarith, we didn’t realise…” started Steven.

“…but we are glad that you are here because we want to know!” continued Jasmine whose anger had not abated. “We’ve had a lot done to us and not a single explanation as to why and what’s next. We agreed to become your Emperor and Empress because we wanted to do the right thing by our forefathers’ homeland, but so far what good have we been able to do and instead what indignities have we been subjected to? I’d like to see your reaction if someone covered your face in hot and sticky cum for no apparent reason whatsoever? We deserve an explanation, don’t you think?”

“Actually Sukkisawali, I do think that you deserve an explanation, for everything, and so you shall receive one. We have asked a lot of you and thus far you have given freely and in good grace and proved yourselves to be worthy of your exalted roles. However, the road ahead is not easy and questions arise naturally. But they may only be answered in the correct fashion after, as with so much in our ancient and esteemed society, the correct rituals have been performed. Tomorrow at noon I shall arrange for your Phtuoch Phtaem to take place.”

“Our what?”

“Your Phtuoch Phtaem. That is the name of the ceremony. The word is difficult to translate into English but perhaps the best term is ‘initiation’. Yes, initiation. Tomorrow shall be your initiation into the secrets of the Sukhothai state…”

Chapters 11-12

Ascension in the East: Chapters 7-8

Chapters 5-6

Chapter 7 – The Seeding Ceremony

Some weeks after his entry into the palace, after the evening meal when he had stared at his wife longingly, excited by the bedtime activities to come, Steven had found, to his dismay, that instead of being allowed in their joint chamber, he was led by Sukhumala to the one that he occupied alone on those nights when Jasmine was unwell or menstruating, when the buxom maid pleasured him instead with her mouth. This confused the boy somewhat since Jasmine had only had her period the week before.

He was bathed by the maid and then, to his astonishment, his royal sheath replaced before a silken nightgown – with an opening for the mighty rod to extend out from – was smoothed over his head and he was lain in bed. Sukhumala climbed in on top of him and he wondered if this was some new sexual game of hers, a suspicion only enhanced when she took out two padded gloves, like balls of leather, which she fastened his hands into and then locked at the wrists with a small padlock leaving him absolutely helpless. She then attached a chain to one of the mitts so he could not leave his bed making him a prisoner to her lust. After this she rubbed her massive tits in his face, causing his member to stiffen even more in its prison before then engaging in a long and passionate bout of French kissing. “Free me! Free me now!” he screamed when he finally extracted her tongue from his mouth, but to his amazement, she only smiled at him, pecked him on the forehead and said, “Sorry Mazesty, but I cannot. Today you sleep separately from queen because tomorrow you have important seeding ceremony. Every full moon is seeding ceremony and so you must have your balls full of your seed too much so the ceremony can be auspicious.”

And with no more explanation than that, she left him alone on the bed.


In her chamber, Jasmine was having a far better time and receiving more in the way of information. She was just recovering from multiple orgasms caused by Somanass licking her modified love cavern expertly with her pierced tongue and the two girls were now lying in the bed together recovering their breath. Jasmine had asked why she was not with her husband that night and the maidservant had explained that they had to lie apart the night prior to the seeding ceremony, an ancient ritual that takes place every full moon.

Apparently, the seeding ceremony is the way that the religious and political elders of the empire foretold the future and the prospects for the country in the coming month. Political and economic decisions were made based on its result and upon a seeding the fate of billions of dollars or the lives of thousands could hinge. It was, as with so much of their current roles, a position of great responsibility and gravity. Somanass then went on to say that usually the seeding ceremonies are very public, taking place in the foremost temple in Angkor and being beamed across the empire live on national TV but, since both she and Steven were not yet fully incarnations of the god and his consort, then this ceremony would take place in private in the temple in the palace, although, as it was to be the first seeding following the national disaster, people were anxious as to what might be foretold. “But what do I have to do?” she had asked her maid and lover. “Nothing, Mazesty, nothing at all. The emperor is doing everything. All you must do is kneel there, your hands prayer, staying absolutely still and smiling.”

The next morning both royals were woken early and breakfasted alone. To Steven’s anger and dismay, neither his sheath nor the mitts were removed and instead Sukhumala spoonfed him like a baby. His penis was now positively aching with pain, desperate for relief inside its prison. Since arriving in the palace and since his modifications, he had become accustomed to receiving release every four hours or so, often more and now, with twenty-four hours without coming, he was struggling to focus on anything else, particularly with the alluring personage of Sukhumala brushing her huge tits and behind against him coquettishly, and kissing him on the forehead after every bit of his breakfast. His balls, accustomed – and he suspected, drugged – to produce far more sperm than usual, were now taut and bluish from the seed that they had collected inside them.

After breakfast he was dressed in fine robes befitting the gravity of the ceremony. The mitts stayed on but these were hidden by silken covers and then linked behind his back by a small golden chain. Finally a new and more elaborate sheath cover was fitted over the protruding rod and thus ready, he was led out to the temple.

He entered to find Jasmine already there, wearing an elaborate gown and hairstyle, kneeling on the floor, her hands in prayer before her enlarged breasts, smiling serenely. By her side was Somanass. Also present were the Prime Minister, two senior generals, the Head Priest for the empire and a very pretty young girl of around sixteen who sported large fake breasts which marked her out as a member of the noble class. She was introduced not by her name but merely her position: the Shrine Maiden of the Royal Temple in Angkor, a virgin who lives as a nun for a month in the shrine until the seeding, after which she returns to her family and is married off. Indeed, it was the very fact that she was locked in the temple and unable to attend noble functions that saved her from the massacre the month before.

A gong sounded and some unseen monks in the gallery started chanting the sutras. Steven was walked forward by the pretty shrine maiden until he was stood before his wife. Then, the shrine maiden took the royal sheath in her gloved hands and removed it to reveal his aching and rock hard member to the company. She then started to stroke it with her gloved hands, working them up and down the shaft bringing him to a peak within seconds upon which he erupted, the masses of stored seed spurting out and covering the face of his queen who stayed still, merely closing her eyes and continuing to smile and pray. The shrine maiden continued to milk him until the very last of the seed was spent and then licked the royal member clean with her tongue before replacing the sheath, bowing and withdrawing. Steven also withdrew a couple of steps but then the priest and a couple of sages came and began examining Jasmine’s semen-drenched face, taking photographs and making notes. Steven and Jasmine later learnt that what they were doing was reading the semen much as a gypsy might read tea leaves, a form of divination. Where it had spurted, the quantity, the viscosity and so on was all analysed using ancient texts to determine what the fate of the empire would be until the next full moon. For Steven though, all he felt was a blessed relief, whilst for Jasmine, as she explained to him in bed that night, she felt degraded and longed to wipe it off but had been warned that that could have horrendous consequences for the empire’s future. So, it had stayed there and she had stayed kneeling for over an hour until finally, when it was dry and crusted, she was led off to a shower by her maids.

Equally worrying for her was the fact that Steven had actually found the whole experience rather erotic, and now wanted to re-enact the seeding ceremony in their bed so as to perfect his technique, and so it was that it was more than once that day – and many more in the future – that she found her face covered in the spent seed of her eager young husband.

Chapter 8 – More Changes

And so it was that Jasmine and Steven continued with their lives as emperor and empress-to-be of Sukhothai. At times it made Jasmine sad, particularly when she tried to dance and her new and larger breasts and bottom got in the way and made her movements a little ungainly, but Steven still said she moved beautifully anyway which was some consolation.

The fact was, of course, that Steven was head-over-heels in love with this beautiful and caring wife that fortune had thrown in his path. The sex was incredible, but after that, when they lay together and talked, he found her intelligent and compassionate and it was at times like that that he almost started to believe all the superstitious bullshit that the Honorable Chandarith and the maids came out with about them being incarnations of two eternal consorts.

For her part though, Jasmine did not love her husband. She liked him, she found him sharp and wise and also very caring, but he was more like a kid brother that wanted looking after than a man whom she could spend the rest of her life with. She had always preferred older men who took the lead, yet in their relationship he was very much the junior partner and this did not satisfy her.

Nonetheless, two things did help her to cope with it all. The first was the sex which, now that Steven had a much larger penis and a modicum of experience, was much better than before. Furthermore, her own desire seemed to have grown and she found herself fantasising about his tool during the day.

But it was the second factor that helped her much more. Steven alone could not satisfy her, but Steven was not her only lover these days and, despite the fact that she had never had a sapphic thought in her head before coming to Sukhothai, she immensely enjoyed her time with the two top-heavy maidservants, in particular Somanass who seemed to be more interested in her own sex than Sukhamala. Lying with a woman, feeling an expert tongue on her pierced and hyper-sensitive clit and running her hands over the taut obs whilst their mouths explored one another intimately, each knowing instinctively how to pleasure her partner, it was a joy she had never dreamed of, yet now enjoyed beyond all measure. And it was pleasures like these and being filled with Steven’s eager tool that made the lack of dancing and personal freedoms, if not enjoyable, bearable for the empress-to-be.

But just as it seemed that both of their lives had fixed themselves into a steady routine, they found themselves one morning after breakfast being guided towards the tea ceremony pavilion and each being handed a cup of the green brew by the high priest. And even though both realised what this would mean, and felt more than a degree of trepidation when doing so, they took it and drank and, for the second time in as many months, their worlds went black and they faded into a drugged sleep.


Jasmine and Steven stood stock still looking at each other once he walked in, the first time in their marital chamber since their second round of modifications with whom Honourable Chandarith called the Brahmanan body artists. They were both more than a little stunned, for neither of them knew how long they had been under with these physicians they never met. Steven was truly shocked at what he saw, the woman he loved proceeding ever-closer to her Empire’s ideals.

Her face was the most radical change, as the sacred physicians had made Jasmine look all at once less Western and more unreal. Any doll-like aspect of her previous changes had been amplified. Her nose and eyes had been given a thorough reworking, leaving her with nearly a button nose, and eyes that retained their epicanthic fold, but seemed absolutely wide-open. Her irises and pupils seemed bright and dilated, leaving her with doe-eyed look that reminded Steven of the various anime he used to watch in his spare time. Steven could not read her face very well, for where there was once a shrewd gaze, now lay a blank yet oddly inviting expression. A nervous smile showed only on her lips, leaving Steven to guess that she had also received some numbing botox to enable her innocent-yet-sultry visage.

Further down, it looked like her neck had been slightly lengthened somehow, but knowing the Sukhothai’s inclusion of the Kayan tradition of neck rings, it was more likely an adjustment of her collar-bones downward. She seemed more refined yet delicate with her head held high, but the delicacy was to be had below, as her neck led down to her now enormous breasts, now rivalling those of Somanass and Sukhumala. These ballooned outward with little attempt at being natural, and her tight ao dai, reaching all the way up her neck and down to the floor, only made the difference between these and her waist more apparent, not only to him but his aching member. Her waist itself had been modified somehow, for her corset looked to have finally closed. This imposed a more extreme hourglass figure, starting at her over-round hips, and now her shallow breaths were forcing her breasts to rise and fall with a certain desperation, straining against the fabric.

Across the room, Jasmine wondered how much her carnal hunger was showing on her new face. When she had woken up earlier that day, she had been helped by an unnamed attendant to her feet, and had been forced to quickly overlook the restrictions imposed by her new bodily form when she gazed upon her face. A shockingly trite little note from the Honourable Chandarith (in Sukhothai of course, always a lesson from him) had summarized her new holy modifications, and the restrictions she would have to abide by due to her now large mammaries and ass. The note went further on to explain that her eyes were permanently open like this, fake eyelashes fluttering over her blank expression whenever she blinked. When she attempted to grimace or smile, it only showed on her mouth and cheeks, and perhaps a bit on her brow. Her large, richly-coloured irises were apparently the result of lasered-in contacts, and Jasmine was thankful her vision was still 20/20 as far as she could tell. On top of it all, her nose was now slimmer, upturned a bit to give her a cutesy look and, along with the miniscule waist and makeup her dancer friends would have called quite leading — and in private, absolutely whorish — the addition of eyes and a nose like this made her look like some living cartoon!

But as she stood there questioning her willingness in all of this, trying to massage her lengthened neck, which was a little difficult to move, there was something else. A need. Something deeper than whatever desire she had previously had for Somanass’ tongue or Steven’s cock before that damned tea ceremony. She could hardly think straight, desiring something, anything, to fill the emptiness inside of her, between her legs. It didn’t help that her clit had been extended again, quite lewdly in fact. She dared not put on underwear in fear of her erect protrusion rubbing against the fabric torturously, and even now as she stood in front of him, she was naked beneath her dress. But nothing mattered now that Jasmine saw Steven, in his casual regalia, including a newly enlarged penis sheath. Yes, her plugs had been increased in size far above Steven pre-op, and she had assumed to herself, but even now as they stretched her to accomodate him, she felt no release. Actually, if she hadn’t been wrapped in the dress and pants of the pink ao dai, her naked thighs would have revealed her dripping desire to him.

Of course she had tried to relieve herself earlier, as Somanass was nowhere to be found, but the orgasmic release had merely left her wanting more, and she was very worried she would never again get true mental peace. Checking twice over, there was no mention of this ceaseless desire in the Honourable’s note, and that afternoon she cried out in desperation at her life of seeming luxury. What were they doing to me? she thought. But no, there was still hope. Whatever they had done to her brain, or her cunt, it was too hard to fight, she had to make her last attempt at inner solace and satisfy Sowathara inside. So she walked as briskly to Steven as her ao dai would allow, and when their lips met they shed their fineries like tissue paper.

Of course Steven was already hard, but that was becoming more often the norm every time he drank that sweet milky syrup. The difference was, when Jasmine desperately fumbled at the hip straps to release the silken tube and finally ripped it off, underneath awaiting her was a monster. Steven’s cock had been altered, extended again to a foreboding 11 inches, and its girth was now formidable as well. Underneath, his large testes were clasped by a gold cuff, making them hang below, and Steven knew from the strain and fullness he would need release very soon. He could have used Sukhumala’s mouth sometime in the last two days, but the Emperor’s favourite had been nowhere to be found. Though not any less embarrassed, Steven now saw the reason for the sheath, for he couldn’t have stuffed his third lower appendage in his pants if he tried. Deep down he honestly thought he looked ridiculous, and even his spare time spent in his private gym over the last few weeks before the tea ceremony had not made his body look like a suitable host to this bulging rod. Jasmine of course was delighted, and within moments they were on the bed, her begging him in Sukhothai to give her everything he had.

And they fucked.

And fucked.

It was a pleasant surprise to both of them that Steven’s refractory period was now almost non-existent and, for the first time in hours, Jasmine could think clearly again, not hounded by that need for him inside her. She thought to herself that she was glad Steven had her, for it seemed only her daily dildo-stretched box could accept him in full, but hours later, after they were done with their feverish passions, this thought quickly gave way to doubt. Why was she stretching herself for this boy? What had happened to her face, her body? How long would she have until she needed her husband’s cock in her like that again? Would Somanass be able to satisfy her like that? This last question made her thighs grind against her permanently-swollen clit, and she felt the first insidious signs of the itch come back to her.

Chapters 9-10

Ascension in the East: Chapters 3-4

Chapters 1-2

Chapter 3 – Steven the Scholar

steven

Steven Sohtireak

Eight hours after Jasmine had been travelling into Manchester for her audition into the English National Ballet, over five thousand miles away in LA, sitting on a different train, was another young student. Steven Sohtireak was a full two years younger than the pretty ballerina but equally stressed since he was facing one of his major school exams. One of the brightest in the entire school, his dream was to attend an Ivy League College, Princeton perhaps, or Yale, but to do that he had to pass these finals. He’d been studying for weeks, cramming knowledge into his head in the hope that it would stay there and achieve him the grades that he so desired. Even so, unlike the English girl, he did notice the headline concerning the Sukhothai Emperor and picked up the discarded newspaper in disbelief.

“The entire royal family murdered in one enormous blast,” he repeated to himself inaudibly as he read the shocking words. He wondered if his parents had heard. Like Jasmine he was of Sukhothai heritage but unlike her, whose family lineage had been mixed with non-Sukhothai  blood, he was aware of it completely since his family still adhered to Sukhothai customs and values. This was massive! Although he had never taken an interest in them, he knew that the Emperor and Empress were treated almost like gods over there. In fact, one could even say that they were seen as gods, for in the temple their photos were on display with incense burning before them. Not that Steven had ever been remotely religious – he was too rational for such things – but nonetheless, he knew how culture mattered. “I wonder what repercussions this shall have?” he said to himself, soon to realize.

When the seventeen-year old got to his school he found himself being ushered into the principal’s office rather than the exam hall. A quarter of an hour later, he was on the move again, this time in an official Sukhothai limousine with blacked-out windows.

Steven arrived in the capital like his bride to be although, unlike her, he was not hidden in a shroud although, when he did greet the cheering masses, he did wear some very loose robes. Then he was ushered into a helicopter and whisked away out of the city and over the fields and mountains to the same temple-like palace where he was shown to his room and greeted by the same huge-breasted maidservants who had, only two hours before, just put his fiancee to bed. They bowed low before him also, their mammoth mammaries pressing against the rug, and introduced as his future wife’s maidservants although having a task to serve him whenever she was unable to fulfil her duties. No further explanation was given and they left, much to his disappointment, since he had been most charmed by both their pretty faces and their unmissable chests and buttocks, which the ao dais that they wore showed off to maximum advantage.

The fact is that Steven was extremely inexperienced with women. Indeed, to be totally honest, one could almost say that he had no experience with the fairer sex at all. Around four years ago he had started noticing them, feeling attracted to them for some reason and found his still-undeveloped penis growing hard when he caught a glimpse of the shapely legs of Jenny Bailey or the heaving chest of Heidi Peterson in his class at school. At home in his bed at night he had even found his penis growing hard when he thought of such things and around the age of fourteen he had first discovered the joys of masturbation. But whilst he was now noticing the ladies, alas, they were not noticing him. In an Orange County school full of tanned and muscled athletes who looked like extras on Baywatch, who spent their days chilling out on the beach or riding up and down the boulevards in their sports cars, which girl would notice the geeky asian kid with glasses who excels at Maths and Physics but struggles to come anything but last in a run around the school field. The fact is, Steven was weedy, nerdy and way too clever for most girls, and so he was ignored by them. That is until today when two stunning girls, who looked like stars from a Hong Kong porno, had bowed at his feet and offered to serve him. It was enough to set any teenage boy’s heart on fire and fill his mind with fantasies and, after he had bathed and been dressed by a far less alluring servant, in his bed his dick was standing proud it’s full three and a half inches and raging with desire and he could hardly wait until he was left alone to massage it to completion. Once he had though, in the post-orgasmic bliss, he lay and wondered about the situation that he now found himself. From an American schoolboy to the monarch of one of the greatest political powers on earth, living in an enormous palace with huge-breasted maidens dedicating themselves to his service and… and tomorrow he would be getting married.

That situation both excited and scared Steven. He had never even met this girl and knew nothing about her save that she was also of Sukhothai descent and that they shared the same great-grandfather. Apart from that all he had been told was that she was English, that her blood was “slightly polluted” (whatever the hell that meant), that she was two years older than him, and that she was a ballet dancer. He weighed up the facts. That she was English was good: at least they would be able to talk. But would she be pretty or ugly? The fact that she was a ballet dancer meant that she must be athletic, but would they get on? And what would it be like in bed? Steven balked a bit at the responsibility to restore an entire royal family at 17. He had never even properly kissed a girl, let alone lost his virginity, yet she… maybe as a ballet dancer she had had lots of lovers and was very experienced. Would she look down on him with disdain due to his youth and inexperience? Would he be able to satisfy her? What if her last boyfriend had been some black male lead in the ballet with an enormous penis whereas he… well, he knew from the school changing rooms that his tool was not impressive. Would it be heaven or would it be disaster? He lay in the dark worrying for some time but then the image of the two big-titted maids came back into his mind and his penis grew hard again. Within minutes he was milking it for a second time but after that, exhausted by the day’s events, he fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.

Chapter 4 – Wedding Bells

Early in the morning, the bride-to-be was woken from her slumbers by the soft hands of Somanass stroking her cheek. She awoke lazily and let the maidservant bathe her and then prepare her for what is supposed to be the biggest day in a girl’s life. As she dressed, Somanass explained that Sukhumala was busy preparing her future husband.

The preparations were not extensive, which disappointed Jasmine a little since she thought that the wedding of an emperor and empress-to-be would be a huge event. However, according to Somanass, the ceremony would be an intimate and low-key affair since she was not yet the manifestation of Sowathara and the groom not yet Ragaraja. Telling her maid that she did not comprehend what she was talking about, Somanass said to her that it would all be explained fully in due course but, basically, traditional Sukhothai beliefs stated that the Emperor was a manifestation of the fertility god Ragaraja whilst the Empress was an incarnation of the earth goddess Sowathara and that only when her transformation into the goddess had been fully completed could she be shown in public, which was why she had worn the shroud when visiting Angkor the day before. Jasmine asked how the goddess could be completed but her maid bade her to leave the topic for later since it would take a lot of explaining, and Jasmine realised that it must involve a lot of intricate – and extremely boring – religious ceremonies and rituals.

Her wedding dress was an ao dai of red and white silk, finely embroidered and worn over some of the finest underwear that she had ever seen. Jasmine loved how the ao dai looked on her, accentuating her meagre curves and giving her an elegant and regal appearance. The only problem was the collar which was extremely tight and high although Somanass assured her that that was how all Sukhothai girls wore them. On her feet were high-heeled shoes and over her exposed hands, gloves of leather that were so tight that they had to be put on wet and then dried, shrinking the leather so that she could hardly feel or move her hands. Then, over these came another place of tight-fitting gloves, this time embroidered and made of white silk. Finally they turned their attentions to her head and whilst Somanass applied a very thick layer of make-up, a hairdresser was brought in to wash, dry and then braid her hair becomingly before decorating it with flowers. Then, given a bouquet to hold between her gloved hands, she was led down to the ceremony.


When Steven saw his fiancee at the altar of the temple where the bald-headed monk recited the ceremony, he could not believe his eyes. She was so beautiful! Sukhothai girls he found attractive anyway, but the slight Western element to her looks made her more so. He even preferred her to the big-titted maids who had so excited him the night before, although he did notice his eyes straying to her humble bosom and perhaps wishing it was slightly larger. He thanked fate inwardly for placing in his path such a lovely bride and hoped that she didn’t find him too young and bookish.

When Jasmine saw her fiance at the altar of the temple, she was surprised by how young he was. He was only a boy, quite weedy and dorky looking. She had always picked boys who were older than her – and mostly Westerners too – and this one would never have registered on her radar. But at the same time, as the bald priest droned on and on, she noticed that his face was kind and, perhaps with a few years, he could develop into quite a handsome chap – in a Sukhothai kind of way.

His face was not the only thing that she noticed either. Indeed, far more she found her eyes drawn towards the lewd and protruding rod sticking up between his legs, standing proud for a good ten inches or so.

When Steven had seen the wedding costume, he had struggled to believe his eyes. Most of it had been normal enough, embroidered silken robes like something out of a corny kung fu movie, but one thing stood out, literally: the underwear.

This was what appeared to be a normal pair of underpants, expensively made and embroidered, except that, at the front, a large solid rod stuck out almost like an erect penis, except that it was covered in yellow silk and embossed with jewels, including a very suggestive milky white pearl on the tip. One other thing differentiated it from a real penis as well: the size, easily ten inches long. His tiny and flaccid member was stuffed inside this prominent rod and Steven found, to his delight and then later, frustration, that the inside was also lined with silk which both titillated him yet could not bring him to any satisfactory conclusion. Once the full outfit was on, the rod poked through the folds, standing like a rampant penis for all to see. “It symbolises your future status as an incarnation of the fertility god Ragaraja,” said the maidservant in explanation. That as may be but as he walked about and it bounced up and down lewdly, Steven could not help but feel self-conscious and embarrassed.


There were only a few people present at the wedding ceremony. As well as the priest and the two maidservants, there were a couple of high-ranking generals, the Prime Minister and leaders of the four main religious communities in the Empire. All congratulated the happy couple warmly and were present at the small dinner afterwards where some toasts were made. Then, instead of a party, the maidservants led the newlyweds to their chamber into which they were locked in to consumate the marriage. Steven was, naturally, very nervous, but Jasmine took the lead and when they were both naked led her husband to the bed. The sex that followed was short-lived but marvellous for Steven, although for Jasmine she was left largely unsatisfied. Unlike her husband, this was not her first time; she had had two serious boyfriends before in her life and several liaisons, all with men who knew what they were doing and with somewhat larger packages to offer. However, as they lay in the bed afterwards, the two youngsters got to know one another a little, swapped their stories and impressions of Sukhothai life thus far whilst discussing their concerns for the future. “We shall have immense power over the lives of millions,” said Jasmine, “how shall we know to make the right decisions?”

“I was worried about the same thing myself,” said Steven. “I wish to be a good emperor – and a good husband to you – but I fear my inexperience will let me down. All I know is books and studying.”

“And all I know is ballet,” added she.

Then, her husband said something most unexpected. “Jasmine, I know this might sound silly, and forgive me if it does, but could you do me a great honour?”

“What is that?”

“Dance for me. I’d like to see you practise what you love most.”

Such kind and touching words made her eyes well-up a little with tears and she kissed him on the lips before getting up and there, in that huge bedroom, dancing the part of Giselle after she has risen from her tomb to comfort her lover Hilarion. Steven was transfixed by her grace and beauty, his eyes shining and when she had finished he rushed over to her, grabbed her in his arms and together they fell on the bed entwined, as happy as any married couple on earth. They may have hardly known each other, but Jasmine was thankful she had been gifted such a considerate young man as a partner in her new life.

Chapters 5-6

 

Ascension in the East: Chapters 1-2

Ascension in the East

Copyright © 2017, Dave Potter and Cafter Homme

Foreword

This story is set in the Sukhothai Empire, a fictional South-East Asian country, based roughly on Thailand in 2030. Sukhothai was once a real, albeit small kingdom in our world and, in this imaginary alternative, it resisted the influence of the Burmese and Ayutthaya Kingdom in the 1400s, and allied with and much later took over the dying Khmer Empire, allowing for a slowly growing presence over the next 600 years, much like China annexed other small kingdoms early on (and more recently Tibet). The 1900s brought constitutional rule, leaving the royalty as figureheads, and the nobility has heightened their reliance on decorum ever since. Currently, this country is locked in a long-term economic rivalry with the People’s Republic of China, and to a lesser degree, the Second Japanese Empire.

In Sukhothai, ladies show their status by modifications. Poor ladies are not allowed to modify their bodies, the middle class only moderately, the aristocrats far more so, whilst for the royal family the modifications are nothing short of extreme and ridiculous.

This story centres around two unsuspecting foreign teens who by an extraordinary twist of fate, become the next Emperor and Empress of Sukhothai.

This is the second story that Cafter and I have written together.

Dave Potter

Chapter 1 – Jasmine the Dancer

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Jasmine Nguyen

On the 21st November, 2029, Jasmine Nguyen rode the Manchester-bound train, and didn’t notice the headline in the Metro newspaper that was lying discarded on the seat next to her. With the benefit of hindsight, she perhaps should have picked up the tattered rag and read the tale behind the shocking ‘Sukhothai Emperor Assassinated in Deadly Blast’. Not that it would have changed anything if she had, but since that seemingly unimportant piece of news was to change her life irrevocably, then, well, poetically at least, she should have cared just a little.

But she didn’t because that day her mind was totally focussed on what was coming up. Her audition for the English National Ballet in the prestigious Bridgewater Hall. Get in to that esteemed company, and her career as a prima ballerina would surely skyrocket! Fail and the direction would be quite the opposite. How was she to know that, as the old saying goes, it would be a case of winning the battle but losing the war. Yes, she got in, with flying colours in fact, but only a month down the line and she would be out again, and her life taking a very different career trajectory. All due to that “Deadly Blast” that never even registered in her brain.

A month later she was travelling on another train. This one though, was headed to London. Accompanying her was a policeman. She didn’t know why she was going there except that it was a top secret matter of national security. Like what could a ballerina of only nineteen years of age ever have to do with national security? Whatever the case, they’d knocked on her door the night before and ordered her straight to the capital the next day. “What about rehearsals?” she’d protested. “We’ve spoken with the company already,” was all that she received by way of a reply.

Once in London, they were met at the gates of Euston station by a black limousine bearing the flag of the Sukhothai Empire and then whisked through the city streets to the opulent Sukhothai Embassy in South Kensington. Once there, she was ushered into a room and told something that she never ever expected to hear. The two men who met her were quite opposites. The Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs sat beside her, a moderately boorish man, and the slim, decorated ambassador sat across a grand desk, and quickly summarized, “My dear, you are the closest living relative of the Emperor of Sukhothai. The terrorist plot you may have heard about didn’t just murder the Emperor, but nearly all the high-ranking royal family. So we have been searching for a month to find the closest viable line of the royal family. We’ve actually been looking for you, Jasmine.”

This was a whirlwind. Jasmine’s thoughts were all jumbled. This was impossible! The ambassador proceeded, “Of course I’m sure your grandparents kept your true lineage from your whole family when they moved to England, for royal families that fear persecution have a history of changing their names to Nguyen. This is not an ideal situation but we will have to make do.”

Jasmine couldn’t take this. “How do you even know I’m the right person!? I’m just a dancer from Manchester, I don’t know the first thing about royalty or leading a country I’ve never been to! What about my career here? What if I just refuse?”

The two men glanced at each other, then the cabinet minister wiped his brow and spoke slowly, harshly, “Jasmine, I don’t think you understand the gravity of this attack. The Sukhothai Empire is the largest pacific power besides China, and the markets are already destabilized from a month of searching for you. In the interest of international diplomacy, your citizenship has already been revoked by the Crown. I’m sorry but you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to.” and, as if to insult the poor girl, “I’m sure you can be a dancer when you’re not bringing stability and leadership to nearly 300 million people.”

Jasmine tried to negotiate further but it was no use. By three days later her tiny flat was empty and she was on a private flight to her new Empire.

Chapter 2 – Arrival in Sukhothai

Jasmine knew enough about the Empire of Sukhothai to understand that the empress was to be revered, almost fanatically by the country’s masses through some specific brand of Buddhism. Jasmine had been too busy with dance in school to remember more, and as she racked her brain, she couldn’t remember her grandparents mentioning anything about their past life. She had nothing to prepare her for her future.

When they landed in Angkor, the capital, a massive crowd was waiting behind barricades on the tarmac. On seeing this, her attendants swore to themselves in a language Jasmine did not speak, then dashed around. Jasmine was still clothed in exercise tights and a pink long-sleeved top. Not fit for royalty. One of the men came up to her, “my Queen, you are not ready for the crowds, and I’m afraid they are not ready for you.” He looked her up and down with a look of… was that disdain?

After much struggling, she stepped out of the private jet covered in what amounted to some Muslim cloak. She couldn’t see a damn thing for her eyes were covered with some dark lacy fabric. When the crowds saw their new empress, for only the royal family wears such a deep crimson silk, they cheered in unison.

Jasmine didn’t wave to her new subjects, actually she couldn’t. The attendants, informed that she was ignorant to their customs, had bound her arms behind her and fitted a gag in her mouth. A wave of the hand or a single utterance, they told her, could be disastrous; it would break centuries of tradition.

No, instead she was led silently past the crowds to the waiting black limousine. Security was tight, and before and after her ran black SUVs to escort the empress far away from the capital to her mountain residence.

The drive was long, hour after hour firstly through the suburbs of Angkor, then past flat rice paddies and then, as the ground began to rise, through ever thickening jungle. Eventually, around five hours after they had set off, the car pulled up outside the Summer Palace.

It looked more like a temple though than a palace. With ornate golden roofs decorated with flowers and intricately carved columns, she half-expected a party of bald monks to be praying inside. Instead though, after walking through a vast hall, she was shown to what was described as her quarters and, rather than a monastery, these resembled more a five-star resort with king – or should that be empress? – sized bed, en-suite bathroom with jacuzzi and sauna, sofas and a huge balcony overlooking a gorgeous mountain valley. Waiting in her room were two women whose appearance rather shocked her. They were both around her age, exquisite Sukhothai beauties with raven hair and almond eyes. They were dressed in the traditional ao dai, the elegant national costume, a tight-fitting silk tunic worn over pants. These ao dai had high stiff collars and fitted tightly around the wearer’s upper torsos, emphasizing their bust and curves before becoming looser and floaty further down. However, it was their busts and curves that Jasmine could not take her eyes off, for whilst Sukhothai women are not generally well-endowed, these two women both sported a pair of enormous and perfectly circular breasts that were obviously not natural, whilst their bottoms too looked suspiciously large and peachy to be wholly God-given. Although their dresses covered their entire bodies, they hid nothing and were really quite provocative.

“Your Majesty, may I present Somanass and Sukhumala, your personal maidservants. They have been specifically selected for the role and will attend to your every need,” one of her attendants announced.

The two girls got on their knees and bowed towards their new mistress, their heads touching the floor and their enormous breasts getting squashed against the carpet.

At this the other attendants and servants left the room, closing the door behind them and Somanass said in lilting accented English, “Please, Mazesty, let us undress you and give you bathing.”

Slowly both girls stripped Jasmine of her clothes and encumbrances and then led her to the bathroom where a steaming bath awaited. They guided her in and then removed their own dresses till they were also naked, climbing in afterward – there was plenty of room as the bath could easily hold ten people – Sukhumala sponging and soaping her tired body whilst Somanass washed her hair and massaged her scalp. Jasmine closed her eyes and revelled in the luxury, thinking that life as an empress might not be that bad after all. The two maids left her alone for some minutes and then returned, still naked, carrying thick fluffy towels.

As they towelled her dry, Jasmine could not take her eyes off their unnatural breasts which maintained their shape and did not sag even without a bra. They were massive! Each breast easily as big as the head of the girl that bore it and she wondered what strain it must put on their backs. Unable to stem her curiosity, she said to Somanass, “I cannot believe your breasts! Surely they are not natural?”

“Of course not, Your Mazesty. We have both only had them done in past month when we knew you would be coming.”

“You had them done for me?!”

“Do they please you, Mazesty?”

“Well, yes, I mean…”

But before she could answer properly, the girl had taken her hands and was guiding them over the globes of flesh which were taut and firm. And, whilst she did that, her partner had knelt under her and started stroking Jasmine’s most private parts.

“Sukhumala! What are you doing?”

“Mazesty, like we said, we are here for every need. That includes sexual! You must be frustrated and tired after long journey. Let us relax you…”

And before she knew it she was being led to the huge bed by the two maidservants, lain out on it and whilst one rubbed her massive melons against the English girl’s modest A-cups, the other had placed her face over her mistress’s vagina and was busy working away at it with her tongue.

And despite the fact that she had never before had any lesbian inclinations in her life, she was in bliss and was pulling one of the monster tits towards her face and sucking on the nipple like a baby before shuddering to a climax like none other that she had ever experienced before in her sexual life only moments later.

“And now you sleep, Mazesty,” said Sukhumala, tucking her in. “You need to be fresh and ready for the ceremony tomorrow.”

“What ceremony is that Sukhi?” Jasmine asked dreamily.

“Why Mazesty, your wedding of course.”

Chapters 3-4

An Artist’s Masterpiece: Book 1

An Artist’s Masterpiece

Copyright © 2017, Dave Potter & Cafter

Foreword

This story is set in the same alternative world as The Tale of Anastasia, Doll Wife, Alison Becomes A Lady of Leisure and Dr. Edwards’ Special Birthday Present. However, whilst they are all set in the latter half of the 20th century, this takes place in the middle of the 21st. Therefore, technology has advanced and with it the possibilities to modify and control wives and companions and this story aims to reflect this in the full.

This is the first time that I have ever co-written a story and this work is as much the fruit of Cafter’s labours as my own. It has been an enjoyable experience and one that I hope to repeat in the near future.

Those of you who don’t like things that are graphic and explicit, are advised not to read any further, or indeed, to read any of the other stories on this site, although this is at the more extreme end of my offerings.

DP

Book 1

July 2045

Chapter 1

If there was ever a problem in her life, Emily could trace it back to her brother Branwell. Whilst she knew that it was both unkind and undutiful to think so ill of a family member, whenever her brother entered the room, she heaved a sigh of disappointment. He would always make some cutting or hurtful remark, give her a task to do that was rightly his but he was too lazy, or invoke a negative comparison from her parents. She wished that she could be more like her younger sister Anne who was far more forgiving and kind but, alas, God had not made her that way. Anne was truly an angel whereas she was all too human.

Even so, nothing could have prepared her for what was to happen that fateful Summer Saturday.

Things had started quite well. The day before had been the day when they all collected their final examination results from school, the results that could decide if they would go on to university or not. As anticipated, her results had been outstanding, top marks in every subject save for History where she’d got a B rather than an A. Not only could she go to the university in Oxford, but she could even get a scholarship which was vital since there was no way that her cash-strapped parents would have paid for a mere girl to study (“After all, what is the point,” her father had said countless times, “when your only purpose in life is to look pretty and make babies?”). But on top of that, when Branwell had gone to get his results, they turned out to be far better than anticipated and he too could scrape into a university, albeit one of the lesser institutions. So, there were great celebrations in the house for the conquering son who was treated to numerous presents and the summer looked set to be fine.

How little did she know…

The evening before it was announced that they had all been invited for dinner at the home of a Mr. Battersby of Thornfield Hall in Oxfordshire, and they all had to dress up smartly and behave. Both Emily and Anne were laced into their best stays, struggling down to a mind-blowing 21 inches which left them gasping for breath, over which their matching grey satin travelling gowns were worn. Then they took the morning bullet train from their Devonshire home, travelling through the day until they steamed into Didcot station just after one. There an auto-carriage was waiting for them which took them several miles along winding country lanes until they came at last to an enormous mansion.

Egg, Augustus Leopold, 1816-1863; The Travelling CompanionsEmily and Anne in the train travelling to Thornfield Hall

When they first entered Thornfield Hall, they were received by a maid dressed in a minimal lavender dress (pure colours being the custom these days), but what she was wearing was not what most struck Emily. As Anne, her father, and Branwell pushed through and beckoned, her eyes were stuck on the blank white porcelain faceplate, the pale plastic skin, and if you ignored the joints, the lifelike nature of the womanly robot attendant. This machine was not like the crude metal conductors on the train ride here, there was obviously a level of refinement she had not seen before in person. Emily snapped back from her reverie as the silent robomaid made a beckoning gesture, and as she regained her composure, Emily continued through the front door.

They were all ushered into the reception room where they were greeted by their host, a Mr. Battersby who, their father had told them, had made his fortune through insurance. He was a small, balding man in his fifties with a mousey look about him and rather piercing eyes which unnerved Emily a little. He suggested they go out onto the terrace which they did and where they drank tea and he talked about his late wife and also Branwell’s university prospects. At five they were called in for dinner which was a delicious meal of venison washed down with port, after which Battersby withdrew into the smoking room with Emily’s father and brother, leaving the three Lowood females to amuse themselves until, most unexpectedly, Emily was called in by a robotic servant to meet with the gentlemen.

Confused, she entered the room to see Branwell standing by the fireplace smoking whilst her father and Battersby sat in armchairs. There was a third chair free and Battersby motioned for her to sit in it.

“Emily my dear, we’ve called you in here today because Mr. Battersby here has a most excellent proposal to put to you.”

“What is that, sir?” she asked.

“Well Emily,” said Battersby, “I should like to ask you to give me the honour of your hand in marriage.”

Shamefully, her first reaction was to laugh, although thankfully she stifled it before it came out. “But sir, I do not know you, nor you me.”

“That is true, but I know your family and I can see that you have a good nature. Love comes with familiarity.”

“That may be true sir, but I am young and about to start university whereas you are past my father in years.”

“Here, Emily, I must say something,” interjected that father. “You mention university, yet there is no guarantee that you shall be attending. The fact is that, as a family, we have insufficient funds.”

“But I have won a scholarship, father, you know that.”

“That as may be, but Branwell here has shamefully been passed over and so we would have to fund him and it would be most remiss of us to have a daughter in education and a son out of it. Therefore, unless we can raise the funds for Branwell, then you attending university is simply out of the question.”

“Yeah, sis, think of that,” added Branwell, still smirking.

“But here is where Mr. Battersby has very kindly offered to help us. He has agreed to pay Branwell’s fees in full and give him a grant for living costs if you agree to marry him.”

With those words, things started to become clear. Once again, her brother’s very existence was causing her problems. “But what of me, father, I still wish to attend as well.”

“That would be a matter for your husband to decide, Emily.”

“And, if you would grace me with your hand, then I do not say I shall refuse. The practicalities will have to be considered of course, but I do not rule it out.”

“But why me? I am naught but a plain and homely girl. I am no match for a gentleman such as yourself.”

“On the contrary my dear, you are exactly the kind of lady I have been searching for. So, what is your answer?”

“You require an answer now?”

“Of course he does, Emily, the university will not hold Branwell’s place open any longer!”

Realising that she had to think fast, Emily did just that. Marrying this Battersby, whom she could not imagine ever loving, would mean that Branwell went to university, but the comments about her were no guarantee that she could. But then, what of Anne? What if she refused and he asked Anne instead? She would never be undutiful and all her dreams of university next year would be dashed. In an instant she knew what to say: “I accept sir, on one condition: that my sister Anne is never forced to marry and that, next year, she too will be able to attend university.”

Battersby and Lowood looked at one another and then Battersby nodded. “We shall marry next month on the church here on the estate. My darling, you have made me so happy! Would it be remiss of me to kiss my fiancee?”

Chapter 2

In the month before her wedding day, Emily had quite a few preparations to make. Mr. Battersby did not want a huge affair which, she had to admit, suited her, but he did want her appearance to reflect her new, heightened role in society. So it was that she went into Exeter with her mother to the finest dressmaker there and ordered a trousseau of outfits made from the finest fabrics. On her second visit there, a Lady of Leisure entered with her arms pinned behind her back in a monoglove. Whilst it did look rather elegant and refined, Emily pitied the poor girl – who was only in her teens – for being forced to wear such a restrictive device and thanked her lucky stars that, for all his faults, her fiance did not expect such ridiculous things of her.

What he did expect however, was for her to reduce her waist size to a staggering 20 inches for everyday outfits and 19 for the wedding dress. Since she’d found the 21 inch waist of the other day supremely uncomfortable, Emily did not welcome this but she acquiesced since she knew that ladies of standing did lace tighter and, she reasoned to herself, everything that she could do to please her new husband, would help convince him to let her study.

The day of the wedding came soon enough and Emily was led down the aisle by her father, her darling sister Anne looking divine in pink as her bridesmaid. The dress that she wore was a beautiful creation on white silk and lace with a thick veil that she struggled to see through and a crinoline some five feet in diameter. More difficult to cope with, however, were the pinching white leather boots that came with it that boasted heels of three inches which made her gait unsteady and the tight stays which she had managed – just – to get her waist down to the required 19 inches.

That tiny waist was also the reason behind her only picking at the beautiful wedding meal in her new home and feeling faint during the festivities after. These did not last too long however, and around nine o’clock her new husband led her up the stairs to their room. It really was a palatial chamber with a glorious four-poster bed in the centre. He then proceeded to undress her slowly and when she had only her stays left, guided her to the bed itself and there proceeded to introduce her to the world of lovemaking. Although she did not love him in any way, she found, to her surprise, that he was both gentle and compassionate in bed, and the activity that she had so feared, she actually began to enjoy. However, at the end, after he had deposited his load deep within her, he said something very strange which she did not (at the time) understand. “Thank you for that my darling, I do love to appreciate my ladies in their natural state before I go to work as an artist.” She wondered what he meant but since he fell asleep only moments after, she never asked him.

The following morning they made love again and then he rang for the robomaid to bathe her and dress her for travelling. It was pure luxury being bathed by another even if it was a machine and Emily began to wonder if she had not stumbled upon a very good life with Humphrey Battersby after all.

The happy couple then enjoyed a breakfast of toast and jam together before Humphrey announced that they would be travelling to London to begin her transformation into a lady fit for Thornfield Hall. She asked what he meant by that and he told her that she would discover all in due course which made her realise that he intended to spoil his new bride by buying her some new clothes or jewellery and so she stayed silent, wondering what gifts he might shower her with.

But once their train pulled into Paddington, to her shock, instead of taking the Underground to the shops, Humphrey Battersby instead hailed a cab and ordered it to take them to Great Ormond Street Hospital and then, once they were there, she was shown into a room and ordered to divest herself of her clothes. “Whyever am I to undress?” she asked the nurse who was with her, but the nurse merely smiled and repeated her husband’s words from earlier: she would discover all in due course. Then, when she was clad only in her underwear, a robotic attendant came in bearing a cup of tea which she duly took and drank and, within seconds, Emily Battersby’s world went black.

Chapter 3

When Emily awoke, she nearly tasted the delightful tea she had just…a great concern came over her as she tried to remember what happened after the autonurse fed her that drink. It was only then that the feelings in her body came to her attention. Eyes shooting open, Emily looked down to see what the source of that otherworldly ache was when she discovered more than she bargained for!

Sitting on her previously flat chest, above the night stays she had just begun wearing, were the breasts of a naturally well-endowed woman. Emily started to wonder how long she had been asleep, no not asleep, sedated! From her studies in the sciences, artificial growth procedures like this took days, not hours. Touching herself, she noticed a smoothness to her skin like never before, and on further inspection found the stubble near her womanly folds to be completely gone! This was well beyond what she had signed up for with Mr. Battersby and as his wife she was going to assert her place. How would the university treat her if she looked like a spoiled Lady?

Swinging her smooth legs out of bed and rising to stand, Emily found her balance off. Not only because of her new breasts, but because when she rose, she found herself a few inches taller than before! Looking down, she could almost forget the widened shape of her hips as she tried to lower her heels to the floor. Try as she might, a sudden tightness in her ankle and calf kept her heel up. Permanently on her tip toes, Emily stumbled a bit in her large ward room until she found a wall to cling to. Following the wall she rounded the corner to her private bathroom, simply for some water to splash on her face; to tell herself that she was okay, that she was still Emily, the plain, smart girl from Devonshire.

The autonurse found her on the floor of her bathroom, brought her back to bed, and wirelessly alerted the Head Nurse, Doctor, and her husband that Emily was awake. She lay there, still slightly aching, thinking of the lipstick, the rouge, the shadowing, the pale visage that had greeted her when she had looked in the mirror. The makeup, the full eyelashes, they had not come off as she washed. The nurse had no time for her self-pity, as the womanly robot started her daily physical therapy, stretching her legs to adapt to the modified calf muscles and tendons keeping her feet en pointe. Emily was not in the mood and tried to fight the machine off, but only ended up having her newly-manicured hands tied to the bed while the autonurse continued her routine for the next 30 minutes.

It was then that her husband Humphrey and a Doctor walked in. “That’s enough 112, untie this young lady please.” Free of her wrist restraints, Emily had half a thought to give Humphrey her mind, but knew that in the Doctor’s presence this would be impolite and disrespectful to both of them. Doctor Eaton as he was called walked up to the bedside with her chart on his tablet, while the autonurse stood at attention in the corner. Emily couldn’t help but notice her husband admiring the robot out of the corner of her eye as the good doctor explained to her the “routine procedures” which had transpired over the last 10 days.

Like she had noted herself earlier in shock, she had received a generous dosage of gene therapy to her breasts and behind (“Much more refined than the implants and basic hormones of last century”). The doctor confirmed her fears that the calf surgery had been very successful, and that as most Ladies do these days, she would have to begin wearing heels even higher than on her wedding night to support her new physique. Last but not least she had been treated to the finest plastic spa in the city, and because they were in London, the country. Gone was any chance of hair growth save for on her head, and her skin had been treated with chemical lotions and salves to give it a sensitive, smooth lustre. Last but not least was a light coating of semi-permanent makeup, at the height of fashion she was assured, so even when alone and unprepared she could be stylish for her husband. “All the time and effort your husband says you spent on books instead of beauty is now recovered! Take this as a second chance.” Emily meekly thanked the doctor, before the autonurse was commanded to prepare her for the journey home. “The new outfits, not the old,” her husband added, before winking and leaving the room.

Chapter 4

Emily sat the chair in the drawing room looking out at the rain-sodden parkland beyond the large windows. Her chest, that almighty new addition to her body, was heaving up and down, surging like a stormy sea, and why? Because she just completed the simple task of walking from the dining room to the drawing room and lowering herself into her chair. And, unseen by any observers, her mind was just as turbulent as her breasts.

She could not come to terms with her her life had changed over the last twenty-four hours. This time yesterday she had awakened in her hospital bed to find her body drastically altered without her prior knowledge or permission. There were those comely new breasts that now rose up and down at the bottom of her eyeline, coupled with her enhanced buttocks that felt like a cushion underneath her bum. Except that cushion was now her bum, unnaturally round and juicy, like an enormous peach. And her skin, including that most private of areas, all as smooth as a baby’s whilst her feet could now only stand on tiptoes, and even in the bedroom she required mules with four inch heels just to be able to walk. But worst of all was her face, that most personal and distinct part of her, now permanently made-up, nearly doll-like, unnatural, almost asking for sex.

After discovering all these changes she had been dressed in the first outfit of her new wardrobe. It had more room for the chest, of course, and higher boots than before. Her waist was no larger though, in fact all of her dresses now were an inch smaller and this one couldn’t quite close. Worse than that though were the stays that enforced that new waist, longer than previously and with a strap attached to the bottom that ran between her new buttocks and up over her love tunnel. And attached to that strap, two rods, one for each hole. She’d tried to protest when she was first fitted with them but the nurse in the hospital had broached no opposition nor answered any questions. Robots never do of course, they are not programmed too. So it was the same in the hall where all the servants were robots. The only other person to talk to was her darling husband. Talking to him though, was the worst bit of all, and not because of the strangling neck corset that all her new outfits incorporated, although that didn’t help matters of course.

“What is the meaning of this?” she’d asked, as soon as they were both alone in the carriage.

“Meaning of what Mrs. Battersby?” he’d asked, a smile on his face.

“This, all of it! These changes to my body!”

“Correction darling, it’s my body now. Remember the words of the ceremony: ‘With my body, I thee worship…’ I own you now. But really, I can’t see why you are protesting; most ladies would be overjoyed and full of thanks!”

“Overjoyed?”

“Yes, of course. The procedures that you’ve had done on you did not come cheap but they do make you far more attractive. You were, after all, a rather plain girl. I could have married someone far prettier or richer, but no, I did the right thing. I married a girl to help her brother succeed in life, a noble act indeed. But the kindness must work both ways! I need a wife to reflect my standing in the world.”

“But I never wanted to…”

“Emily, you married me out of your own free will, knowing full well what marriage entails. The wives of wealthy men must reflect their husband’s status. I have tolerated your strange academic whim so you must tolerate mine. I need a wife who is worthy of me, an ornament to reflect my success. You must be pretty and fashionable and today is the first stage of this.”

“The first stage? You mean to say there’s more!”

“Of course there is. As I said on our wedding night, I am an artist and you were my blank canvas. All we have done so far is roughly sketch out the masterpiece that will be created. But do not fear, I will give you the opportunity to get accustomed to these changes first. We must not rush matters.”

“But I don’t want to be your masterpiece! I don’t want to be altered anymore!”

“What you want my dear, is immaterial. You should not have agreed to marriage. It is too late now.”

And upon reaching home, those cold words were borne out for she was escorted directly to the bedroom and stripped of all her clothing save for the corset and neck corset and then her husband arrived clearly inflamed by her sexy new appearance. Regardless of her desires, he took her there and then, caressing her enormous buttocks and breasts with vigour and thrusting excitedly into her smooth love channel. He even flipped her over and tried to insert his member into her bottom hole but it was too tight and she screamed out it pain, leaving him to desist until she had been “trained”. Then they had slept but in the morning it was the same again, before she was dressed in her restrictive regalia by the robomaid and led down for breakfast.

And now she was here, with nothing to do save for stare out of the window and contemplate her new existence as the alluring plaything of her aged husband. It disgusted her yet at the same time, even as she fought those thoughts, the rods nestled snugly in her two holes excited her and made her want sex, even that degrading sex of a lovedoll with her master that she had just been subjected to. And the more she tried to ignore it, the more those thoughts came until her chest was rising and falling again, a sweat building on her brow and then everything went black as she slumped in her chair.

Book 2