The fortress was too small for a dungeon, so instead I was sent to sleep in the kennels, where I barely caught a wink of sleep during the night. At the crack of dawn I was woken by a guard and escorted to Prince Shakil's rooms, conveniently taken over from old Colonel Vickers, who had died last night. 

I was pushed and prodded through the fort and even vomited in shock at the carnage I saw. British corpses were everywhere, with barely a single Indian casualty accompanying them. I was naked and the Indian warriors leered in a predatory way as they passed me.

Finally we reached the Prince's rooms. As I was thrown in, I knelt immediately, knowing how the Prince wouldn't want me to stand. I expected abuse, or maybe a dick to be shoved in my mouth. What I didn't expect to see was the Prince, fully clothed, looming over me from his height of nearly 6 and a half foot, and an old man with him.

"Ah, so here is my little Visha," Shakil said to the man. "You see what you have to work with now? We're marching in an hour, so I hope you make her pretty the way I said I wanted her over the course of today, and you deliver her ready for duty at my tent tonight. You can expect to be paid handsomely. Understood?"

The old man knuckled his forehead, and said, "Yes, Highness. It shall be done."

I was confused, but thought that I ought not to ask questions. But then, a contraption was wheeled out in front of me - it was a small chamber with some powder burning inside, connected by a rubber tube to a glass bowl. A guard pushed the bowl to my face and I gasped involuntarily, breathing in the vapours deeply. Within a minute, I was deeply unconscious.

* * *

I woke up, still in a drugged haze, and tried to stand to my feet, but promptly fell. I was lying with my back to the floor and with my hands cuffed together on my chest. I realised that I was in a cart, shielded from the sun by canvas, and in the cart was an Indian woman, maybe 25 years old, and a guard. They didn't realise I was awake, so I had time to check my body out.

Holy fuck! That old man had really set to work on me! I was completely shaved (except the hair on my head, which I felt was still there), my toenails and fingernails were trimmed and painted red, but that wasn't the most incredible part - I was covered in jewels!

Golden nipple rings, linked by a golden chain, a ruby in my navel, precious metal bangles and bracelets on my wrists, plus a diamond-studded leather collar on my neck.    

"Oh my God!" I muttered.

The other two turned round immediately and saw I was awake.

The woman stood up and walked over to me. She was gorgeous, with flawless skin, exotic features, a huge bust and obvious curves. She strutted in her colourful sari with grace and an impression of power - I knew she must be my superior.

"I am Janya," she said in English. "I am a senior maid to Prince Shakil. And you are Visha. After your piercings, I was instructed to work on your make-up, to transform you into a pretty slut for His Highness. I have a mirror so  you can see what I have done."

She held the mirror in front of my face and I gasped at my transition. I have always looked slightly feminine, partially as a result of looking far younger than my 18ish years, and partially as a result of the way these things happen naturally. But Janya had enhancing my femininity hugely. Lips painted light red, almost pink. Dark mascara and eyeliner swooping away from my eyes in the exotic Indian fashion with plucked eyebrows to complete the effect. My hair was quite short (military regulations), but Janya had had something to work with, and I now had a glossy female hairstyle (though a tad shorter than any real woman would wear it).

But the biggest shock were the piercings in my face. Dangle earrings, barbell piercing in my left eyebrow, a ring in my right nostril, a stud in my tongue, all made out of the finest gems.

Janya took the mirror below my legs and showed me my left ass-cheek. On it was a brand. I couldn't read, even English, so Janya translated.

"It says you are Visha, property of Prince Shakil."

I tried to grasp the enormity of the changes, but my drug-addled brain wouldn't let me. I looked down again and saw, to my shock, that my penis was rock-hard. It looked like a baby's now that it was shaved. I felt completely emasculated.

And I just about felt the throb of pain through the residue of the drug I had been dosed. The piercings, the brand. But nothing stopped my dick from being hard. If anything, it just made my horniness worse.

I couldn't think straight, I just needed release. Was this the drug or just myself? God, I didn't care, so long as I could come.

"Please, Janya, untie me - I need to come so bad!"

"I'm afraid not, Visha - only the Prince can let you do that now that you belong to him. But don't worry, you'll see him in a few hours once we set up camp."

Jesus, I can't wait hours, I need to come now! I'm overwhelmed by horniness. I'll do anything, ANYTHING for release. Shakil wants a Visha, fine, I'll give him a Visha, I'll be his whore, I'll do whatever he wants, as long as he give me release. Yes, that's right, only Shakil can let me cum now. I need Shakil. I have to serve Shakil. I have to please Shakil so that I may be allowed to cum.

In my addled state, this was logic. I imagined how it would play out. I would fall at my master's feet, beg for mercy, for the chance to prove myself as his Visha, and maybe he would be kind. He would be the savage barbarian warlord, and he would ravage me, his little whore, his pathetic cum-rag, his worthless minion. 

"Yes, anything for Shakil," I said with a moan. "Oh God, I want him so bad."

Janya laughed. "Yes, little Visha. Anything for Shakil."

* * *

THE END (for now)



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