The Princess's Circumstances One Year Later 3 - Could I Have Worn Such a Beautiful Face?
After she left, every night I had to endure the beastly urges that seized me in the barracks latrine.
Through her I had learned the violent allure a woman's body held for a man, and the sharp, electric pleasure of spilling pent-up seed. Something inside me had twisted completely after that night.
Now even a simple patrol through the castle grounds was enough to leave me overstimulated. The charming little gestures of the village wives, the slender line of the new maid Raina's throat… even a furtive glance at the full breasts of Countess Irene was enough to set my heart hammering.
My penis would lift its vulgar head whenever an attractive woman brushed past. Or perhaps this body had always cast those sticky glances; it was only that I, once a woman, had desperately smothered the male instinct, telling myself that reacting to such things was wrong.
…But now that I had come helplessly in her hands, I had sunk completely into the swamp of that pleasure.
Still, for a while I tried to hold out. I did not want to assimilate perfectly into the flesh and memories of this lowly soldier "Kite," just as she had warned.
Before long, though, I understood. Suppressing a male's instincts with reason alone was impossible.
Even the ordinary women walking the streets, the most everyday sights that meant nothing to anyone else, violently aroused this savage penis. Like a dog in heat, the mere glimpse of skin beneath thin fabric left me short of breath. My once-noble reason was instantly overrun by vulgar lust.
I no longer had the confidence to hold back the boiling need.
"Corporal Asran. I'm… going to the latrine for a moment."
In the end I fled into a toilet stall and dropped my trousers. Looking down between my legs, I found my penis standing ugly and furious. In that unfamiliar, raw excitement I felt a crushing sense of wrongness.
The heavy, throbbing heat hanging between my thighs.
Right…
It's hard again…
My face burned. The shame and humiliation were unbearable. Why did I, once praised as the most beautiful woman on the continent, have to suffer this filthy state? Trapped in a man's body, dragged along by a man's heat. I hated this nightmarish reality.
I pressed the rigid thing down through my trousers, trying somehow to kill it. That grotesque presence that branded into my bones that I was now a perfect "man."
Yet wretchedly, I knew all too well that touching it would bring a pleasure that felt as if my brains would melt.
Perched on the toilet, I slowly reached toward the penis I had always averted my eyes from as unclean. A hot, strange sensation met my rough palm.
"Ah…"
The penis accepted my touch as if licking it, swelling even more ferociously. The skin on the surface was soft, yet the shaft held a hardness ready to burst. That lump of flesh which usually hung limp and shrank pitifully in the cold had turned hard as stone—I could scarcely believe it.
I began to clumsily imitate with my rough hands the overwhelming sensation her soft breasts had given me. The moment my right hand closed around the hard shaft, the last thread of reason snapped.
At last the irresistible wave of pleasure crashed over me like a tidal surge.
Grip it like this… apply a little more pressure… stroke roughly up and down.
I threw my entire body into the thick male lust that had begun to thrash madly inside me. The savagely veined penis reacted sensitively every time my hand slid, racing toward climax without brakes. The pleasure was so intense my vision whitened; the last scrap of shame left in my heart melted away helplessly.
Then something like a drug detonated inside my skull, exploding in a tingling rush.
It could not match the paizuri she had given me that night, yet it was still a climax that left my whole body trembling with pleasure. Before I knew it I was working my hand violently, like a beast.
At last hot milky fluid tore through my urethra and gushed out in thick spurts. Sticky mucus plopped onto the floor; my palm was left slick with it, reeking of that fishy night-flower scent.
Translucent white sticky liquid. Semen. And sperm. The corrupt residue of a male, expelled from deep inside my body together with that fleeting pleasure.
How much time passed after that? Only after a cool emptiness filled the place where the wave of pleasure had receded did I finally regain my senses. Spotting the pitifully wilting penis between my legs, I let out a hollow laugh.
I… did it again.
My lips moved soundlessly. The tingling afterglow of a male climax still shivered up my spine. At the same time a crushing desolation washed over me.
I had crossed a river that must never be crossed. Had I completely stepped over the final line of being human—no, of being a noble woman?
Seized by the anxiety crushing my chest, I wiped away the traces of my fall with the practiced motion of pulling tissues.
"Ah…!"
In that instant an unpleasant sense of déjà vu raised goosebumps all over my body.
…Huh?
A chilling dissonance struck me. I… knew this. This skilled hand that cleaned up afterward. The entire sequence of a man masturbating and wiping away his own sticky mess. I knew it as naturally as breathing.
Thump. Thump…
My heart hammered as if it would burst. How was this possible? The vulgar knowledge that Leticia, noble princess of Astria, should never have possessed in a lifetime—I had already mastered it perfectly, as if it were my own instinct.
"No, no…!"
I was terrified of myself. I had denied it desperately until now, but it was certain. I was slowly breaking. The present me was being corrupted into a perfect "male" who could not help but submit to pleasure.
Yet even more horrifying was the fact that the emotion I felt was not pure despair alone. The male inside me was sweetly accepting, as if it were salvation, the knowledge that I would be free to savor this ecstatic pleasure every night from now on.
The next morning. The moment I opened my eyes my penis was rock-hard, grotesquely tenting my trousers. It no longer startled me; after that first ejaculation, my crotch looked like this every morning.
I calmly kicked off the blanket. Rather, the present me was already nursing a secret anticipation about how I would soothe this angry lump of flesh this morning.
Before morning roll call I hurried into the latrine. When I dropped my trousers and underpants the rigid penis sprang up, slicing the air. I gripped the shaft with practiced ease, tissue ready in my left hand, and raced straight to the end of pleasure, spitting thick semen.
Even during duty hours the penis stiffened without warning. I fled into the guard post and locked the door. Hastily dropping trousers and underpants, I felt a strange guilt at exposing my private parts at the workplace rather than a toilet—and an exhilarating liberation that easily overrode it. The pleasure of that night churned through my mind again.
I could not bring myself to touch it bare-handed, so I wrapped several layers of tissue tightly around the penis and laid more tissue on the floor beforehand. After the hurried ejaculation, the usual deep emptiness always followed.
Catching my breath under the bright sun, the whitish semi-solid traces in the tissue pile were too filthy to look at, and the fishy night-flower smell that hit me was revolting. I quickly wadded the tissues into a tight ball and threw them deep into the underbrush where no one went.
I really have to stop doing this at the post…
With flushed cheeks I swallowed a vow I already knew I would not keep.
One night while standing watch, I slipped into the laundry room the moment my partner Huxley went to the toilet and stole a pair of Countess Irene's undergarments. They were adult white panties with lace, faintly scented.
I locked the bathroom door with a clack. Even if someone returned suddenly I could buy time, I told myself—yet my heart pounded as if it would leap from my mouth. With trembling hands I stepped into the leg holes and pulled the panties up.
It had been a full year since I last wore women's underwear. But the figure in the mirror only cruelly confirmed that this delicate, beautiful scrap of cloth was not meant for the person I now was. The penis that jutted grotesquely through the narrow fabric swelled ugly, flaunting its worthless form.
I… used to be a woman.
Cobalt-blue eyes that shone like jewels. A high nose, lips red as cherries. A beauty so dazzling even goddesses would envy it, skin white as snow. The perfect body that was the envy of every woman and the naked desire of every man—the woman once praised as the continent's greatest beauty. The noble youngest princess of Astria, before whom Crown Prince Richard and princes and heroes of every nation had knelt in courtship…
Now I was nothing but a vulgar man. A dust-like private soldier rolling around in the colony of Latvia. And in this moment I was nothing more than a hopeless pervert private, stealing and wearing a single pair of a countess's panties while in heat.
Even in this terrible, wretched situation, my hateful penis lifted its head stiffly and hardened again. As if completely smitten with my own fall, I began to masturbate right there. One hand savored the smooth silk of the panties; the other clenched the veined penis.
A memory branded into Kite's mind surfaced. When I had visited Latvia in the past, countless soldiers of this unit had used the noble me as "side dish" while they masturbated like beasts—that filthy truth. The continent's greatest beauty, Leticia Ritz Astria, whom thousands of men had licked their lips over and made the sacrifice of their lewd fantasies. And now I had become one of those thousands of beasts, going into heat and masturbating while recalling that dazzling princess.
Trembling at the pleasure of the male organ in my grip and the softness of the panties, at that intense sense of transgression, I came violently. In the end the white panties were ruined with sticky semen; I stuffed them into the toilet as if erasing the evidence.
That same night, in the deserted bathroom, I was stroking my penis again. Already the third time that day. But any reason telling me it was excessive or that I should stop had long since fled.
The cock that had quieted after the daytime ejaculation sprang up and throbbed the moment my fingers brushed it lightly, tip twitching as if demanding that ecstatic sensation again. This made the fifth time I had masturbated in total. I was afraid of how much further my body and mind would fall, yet I gave up thinking. Right now I simply wanted to drown in this intense pleasure that I could never taste in a lifetime without this ugly male body.
This time, however, was different from the hurried daytime release. Through the previous four experiences I had learned one thing clearly: the moment ejaculation ended, that sweet pleasure drained away like a receding tide, as if it had been a lie. It was qualitatively different from a woman's masturbation, where a gentle afterglow lingered.
So I decided to stretch this pleasure on the verge of explosion for as long as possible. Instead of pouring out sperm in one tight rush, I would keep this bursting hardness as long as I could, teasing myself.
I gripped the thickened penis and persistently stimulated it only to the edge of climax. When my hips arched like a bow, ready to spill at any second, I spitefully pulled my hand away. While I repeated the act, clear transparent precum dripped steadily from the tip. Squelch, squelch. The lewd wet sounds of palm and shaft filled the bathroom.
Hngh… I was the noble Princess Leticia until last year…
Fragments of the past flashing through my mind only made the penis swell more savagely.
I used to be the princess of Astria, and now I've become a lowly soldier of colonial Latvia. I want to masturbate like a bitch in heat and scatter sticky semen until I go mad.
I felt as if I had become a hopeless pervert. Yet the despair of knowing I was completely broken only shoved my excitement onto an abnormal track.
I want to hold a woman… I want to shove it into a pussy so badly I could die.
That night the figure of "Princess Leticia" I had encountered shimmered before me. Far more seductive, beautiful, and fragrant than when I had inhabited it—my own former shell. Maturation over the year played a part, but the largest reason was that the female sense of my own body had faded in my mind, replaced by the gaze of a perfect man lusting after a woman's flesh.
My old body, dress skirts in disarray, smiling stickily at me. Dreamily unfocused blue eyes. A contradictory beauty that was as vulgar as a whore's yet still carried royal dignity. Had I really worn a face so beautiful it could make one go blind?
The breasts that had filled my hands that day had glowed white, soft and fluffy as clouds… My breathing roughened. Right now I was greedily replaying the sensation of "my own breasts" that had touched my hands.
And the secret place hidden inside that abundant dress. Smooth hips, and above all… how good would it feel if I ruthlessly shoved this weapon-hard lump of flesh currently in my hand into that noble, narrow crevice?
Madly, I was racing toward climax while lusting after the fantasy of raping "my" body. The hot, wet sensation of her lips around this shaft still lingered vividly on my tongue.
Back then she took it in her mouth, but…
The forbidden fantasy kept chaining itself. Now I wanted to bury this hard thing not in a mouth, but in that deep place that had never been pierced.
If I drove this big, ugly thing of mine into Princess Leticia's wet pussy… what would it feel like?
The moment the imagination crossed the taboo, the penis radiated heat as if it would burst and swelled to its absolute limit. The fantasy of slamming it into that narrow, tender hole, pistoning like a beast, and exploding. Listening to the vulgar, lewd cries bursting from the princess's red lips… the transparent fluid spurting from this penis mixing with the love juice overflowing from "Princess Leticia's" secret place, frothing and squelching. And finally the throbbing shaft flooding her deepest womb with cloudy semen.
In that extreme sense of transgression I reached the most violent, savage climax of the day. The barbaric imagination pushed the hardness past every limit. My hand moved so fast it blurred. I could not stop. Pleasure like having my spine ripped out slammed into the crown of my head.
…And everything that had been held back burst out in a single white flash that flooded my vision.
Haa, haa…
Even after I had spat semen like a beast five times that day, the noble memories of when I was "Princess Leticia" did not particularly fade. Yet compared to the first day of possession a year ago, one thing was clear.
That desperate longing to reclaim my body and my shining life as a princess… had already crumbled wretchedly under the intoxication of ejaculatory pleasure.
Two more weeks passed after that incident. Every morning I stared at myself in the washbasin water, but there was not the slightest sign of a miracle that would return me to the original Leticia.
This morning a huge rumor swept the unit. Crown Prince Richard of the Britain Empire had proposed to Princess Leticia of Astria, and the princess had accepted. In only a month the most lavish wedding on the continent would be held in Britain's capital.
In the end even Brother Richard failed to notice that what sits inside my shell is a fake… My beloved family never noticed either… I have had my body and my life as a princess stolen completely.
But even if I screamed that it was unfair, who would believe me? If a mere colonial private claimed to be the continent's most beautiful princess, he would simply be treated as a madman and beheaded.
The cold reality drove a dagger into my chest. Now this barracks that reeked of mildew was my home, and the battered locker was the entirety of my room.
"Kite."
Looking into the mirror, I quietly murmured the name of this unfamiliar man. The rough male face reflected there was gradually seeping into me as "my face," and the name Kite as "my name," down to the bone.
Whether the wedding took place or not, I had to live through today. If I did not want to be discharged from the defense force next year, I had to prepare for the private first-class promotion exam as "Kite" as if my life depended on it. For a bottom-rung soldier in this colony, that alone was the sole purpose of life and the all-too-natural reality.
That someday a miracle would suddenly occur, I would reclaim Princess Leticia's body, and live as the crown princess in a splendid wedding dress held in the arms of the crown prince…
…I finally, thoroughly admitted that such a fairy-tale event would never come.