Flashback (2): The Purity of Voluntary Submission
Having imagined living as Ariel—a man—for so long, it wasn't particularly difficult for me to perceive myself that way. It took only a few days after the body swap. So, it wasn't a stretch for me to refer to myself as "he" even now.
I thought my acting was flawless, but to be safe, I decided to attend the conference. To test if my performance held up. Even if Ariel hadn't asked, I would have gone anyway. I attended the lectures by the mages from the Blue Tower. I wanted to gauge their level. I was curious just how pathetic the mages at Ariel's workplace—the Blue Tower—had to be for him to reject every joint research proposal. On top of that, there was my own desire to confirm my own capabilities. Separate from any interest, there's a sense of accomplishment in verifying that you understand a field more deeply than others. It's one of humanity's instinctive urges. Talent and interest rarely align. But that doesn't mean the satisfaction from high-level talent is meaningless without interest. Besides, I wasn't uninterested in magic—I just didn't love it. Above all, the body felt comfortable. It went without saying that I had no intention of swapping back, and part of that was escaping physical labor.
All these thoughts converged, leading me to listen to the lecture by a Blue Tower mage.
Boring.
The presentation was far lower quality than I'd expected. I could follow every detail even while lost in random thoughts. I let out a deep sigh. The other mages who saw me just nodded to themselves, confirming that the Blue Tower Lord was as unimpressed as ever. My acting was perfect. All I wanted now was to return to the room and see what decision Ariel would make.
Would she stay put? Submit? Either way was fine. I didn't particularly favor forceful methods. Everything had to stem from Ariel's own intentions. Artificial, coercive intervention could only lead to a tainted conclusion. For example, if Ariel sucked my dick—it had to be purely because she wanted to. Forcing her at knifepoint or threatening her would create excuses later: I had no choice in that situation. That could hinder erasing her sense of identity. It was also the decisive reason I avoided drugs like aphrodisiacs. An Ariel corrupted by potions wouldn't be my achievement. Every act had to happen when Ariel's mind was clear and rational.
I recalled an incident from my time in the palace, when I was still the princess. One day, while walking the streets, I spotted a necklace in a jewelry shop window. Even a beggar could tell its value at a glance. It captivated me—I wanted that sparkling necklace to enhance my beauty even further. I ordered my maid to buy it. But she refused.
"Why? I want it. Don't you think it'd suit me perfectly?"
"But, Princess, it's too expensive. His Majesty the King will be furious."
The key point was that my life and livelihood faced no issues without that necklace. Without it, I was still the beastkin princess, the most beautiful in the palace, and no one dared speak to me casually except my family.
"Terria, if you want it that badly, what can you do for me in return?"
That was what my father said when I told him I wanted the necklace. I pondered deeply. His Majesty—my father—often said in private, "It'd be nice if you acted cute sometimes." It was utterly mortifying to me. At seventeen, not a long life, but cuteness was far from my nature. I even preferred "Father" over "Daddy." My maids would say, "Princess, just do it," but everyone has their own threshold for embarrassment. For me, that shame was unbearable.
Yet the necklace's allure was overwhelmingly strong. After agonizing countless times, I finally resolved to let go of a certain part of myself. It was a profoundly unique sensation. In a crawling voice, I said,
"D-Daddy... please buy me the necklace..."
I wanted to crawl into a mouse hole. It took less than five seconds, but those five seconds became one of the most memorable moments in my memory. No one had forced me. The situation hadn't compelled it. It was my pure, willful choice to set aside my pride.
Later, when my mother teased me about calling him "Daddy," I thought the same. There were no excuses. That shame was entirely my decision. No one had demanded I act cute and say "Daddy." It happened simply because I wanted to—because I wanted that beautiful necklace.
I finally concluded: This process was the most beautiful way to break a person.
Every time I stripped away the identity Ariel clung to—be it her masculinity or her sense of self as a mage—I would feel unprecedented excitement. In that process, Ariel would have no excuses. I truly intended to do nothing. I'd just subtly hint at what I wanted. And someday, when Ariel completely abandoned holding onto something inside her, she could never blame it all on me. Of course, she could claim the initial body swap was unfair, but that was within tolerable limits. If she did, I'd say,
"Didn't you take everything from me that day three years ago?"
I had no intention of kicking Ariel out of the lab and selling her to a brothel. I'd continue as we had for the past three years. Ariel would finally admit it herself: Living as a slave posed no problem for her. She could still eat, sleep, and rest. She was doing so now. She could spend this whole week in the hotel room doing nothing. No issue there. As a slave, that was only proper.
But Ariel wanted to go out. Because she hadn't yet shed her identity as a mage, she craved hearing other mages' lectures. Imagining what decision she'd make to satisfy that urge made my heart race. So when I returned to the room and found Ariel gone, I couldn't help but rage.
Where did she go? Where the hell did she disappear to?
It hadn't been that long. Barely three hours. In that time, she couldn't wait and slipped out of the room. Clearly my mistake.
If Ariel gets caught and ruined by those lowlifes...
That couldn't happen. They'd break her through brute force, no doubt. And that would give her excuses: It was their fault. I had no choice to survive... That pleasure was mine alone. No one else could be allowed to ruin Ariel like that.
First, I guessed where she might have gone. The lecture halls? But there were too many—entire floors of them. The makeshift labs? But those weren't open to just anyone. I should have stayed calmer. In my panic, I wandered aimlessly. As a beastkin, I could have tracked her by scent, but now even that was impossible.
——?
Suddenly, Ariel's location flickered vaguely in my mind. And then—a flash. The slave brand pulsed. Another flash. It continued steadily at regular intervals. The slave brand etched on my left shoulder was blinking repeatedly. With each pulse, her position sharpened in my mind. It was like a distress signal. No reason to send it if she was safe.
Damn, damn. I spat curses under my breath. I imagined all sorts of horrors: rape, torture, vivisection... I hurriedly gathered what I needed. Potions I'd secretly made in my slave days, hidden from Ariel. Infiltration, explosives, assassination, curses, torture, shields, heals... Potions for nearly every contingency.
Even as I packed, the slave brand kept flashing. But the frequency began to slow. Urgency gripped me. Maybe I had to prepare for the worst.
If Ariel dies...
I didn't even want to imagine it. That would mean losing my life's purpose. The Blue Tower Lordship, wealth, fame—none of it mattered. Realizing that, I let out a hollow chuckle. If my life hinged on Ariel, then in a way, I was her slave too. The methods differed, but we held each other's lives in our grasp.
Focus on this for now.
If things resolved smoothly, I'd need to tighten surveillance on Ariel. Who knew what mischief this insolent slave might cause next. Preparations complete, I raced to the suite room surfacing in my mind. I also alerted the hotel security, explaining the situation. They wouldn't want the conference disrupted either. They cooperated readily.
In my now-perfectly-familiar body, I arrived at the suite door. The slave brand had stopped flashing. Realizing that, my heart sank. I used the explosive potion.
Boom—!
The door flew open, and I rushed inside. Thankfully, Ariel was there. No major injuries visible. Just her hands bound behind her back. I swiftly rescued her and escaped the suite. The fight was flawless. My heart pounded—not from acting anymore. No one suspected a thing. If I told anyone, "Actually, I'm Terria," they'd think I was insane. But Ariel wasn't ready for that. Ariel—she to me—was crying. It stirred complicated feelings. She sobbed so pitifully it could make anyone sad. Of course, my complication was different.
I could guess what she'd endured from the scene when I burst in. Probably forced acts. Not the worst, but the opposite of my plans. I'd need to adjust. At least for fellatio, she now had an excuse. The first time is hard; the second comes easy. But Ariel still had much left to lose—plenty of ego and pride. So did my enjoyment. The only worry was if she'd lose hope entirely. Hope—the chance to return to her original body—gave her infinite motivation. To keep that tightrope balanced, some comfort was needed. Just a little reassurance.