My Body's Forbidden BL Fantasy
“Aah! Vice-captain, sir! Your strength feels sooo good!”
Margareta’s declaration was no empty threat. The woman who had forcibly hauled me to my feet immediately summoned the maids and ordered them to set up a full tea party right in the middle of the room. A lavish silver teapot, a set of dainty teacups no bigger than two finger joints, and fans so extravagantly ornate they stole one’s breath away were arranged across the table.
“We shall begin with the proper way to hold a teacup. Extend your fingers, if you please.”
I rubbed my puffy eyes and reluctantly gripped the teacup handle. Following my old tavern habit of chugging from oversized oak beer mugs, I clamped all five fingers around it in a death grip.
Tap! Margareta’s slender pointer rod whipped across the back of my hand.
“Ow! Why did you hit me!”
“Are you a knight marching off to war? How can you seize a teacup as though it were a greatsword? Extend your pinky finger elegantly and hold it with only your thumb and index finger, lightly.”
“B-but if I hold something this thin with just two fingers, I’ll drop it!”
“You must brace your wrist to keep it steady while outwardly appearing as though no strength is being used at all. Again!”
The hellish special training had begun. I forced my cramping fingers to curl and lifted the teacup. The corset crushed my ribs so fiercely that even slightly raising my arm left me gasping. On top of that, sitting with my legs pressed together in the heavy skirt while keeping my back ramrod straight was pure torture.
Rustle. Every time I shifted my posture, the thick diaper in my crotch rubbed against my thighs, loudly announcing its presence. Each time that humiliating sound reached my ears, my face burned so hot I thought I would lose my mind.
“Haa… haa… Just holding one teacup is draining every last drop of my stamina…”
“You have not even brought it to your lips yet. When drinking, do not lower your head to the cup; bring the cup to your lips. Furthermore, your gaze should not linger inside the teacup but rest gently upon the glabella of the young lady seated across from you.”
I did as I was told, staring blankly ahead while raising the teacup to my mouth. But because my eyes were focused elsewhere, I misjudged the distance and sent a scalding stream of tea pouring down my chin.
“Ah, hot! Fuck!”
“Watch your language!”
Tap! The pointer rod struck the table again. I flinched and clapped a hand over my mouth.
“Your Highness, a tea party is not merely a meal. While your mouth savors sweet cake, your mind must calculate the opposing house’s financial standing and the projected yield of their lands. Your eyes must read the latest trends in their jewelry, and your ears must sift the genuine information hidden beneath their gossip.”
Margareta picked up one of the gorgeous feathered fans and handed it to me.
“Since you appear to have forgotten fan language entirely, we shall review the fundamentals. If you open the fan halfway and cover your chin, what does that signify?”
“Uh… that I’m trying to hide my beard…?”
At my nonsense, Margareta’s brow furrowed deeply. I felt cold sweat trickle down my spine and swallowed hard.
“It means you find their conversation interesting. Then, if you close the fan and tap your palm lightly with it?”
“Shut up and listen to me?”
“Close enough. It means you wish to change the subject. Finally, if you open the fan fully and cover your entire face, what does that mean?”
I racked my brain. Covering the face. A defensive posture. I’d learned that in knight-order tactics class.
“I’m preparing for an attack! Defensive stance!”
“Haa…” Margareta finally let out a deep sigh. She removed her glasses and pressed hard on her brow.
“It means, ‘I am displeased by your rudeness, therefore apologize at once.’ Your Highness. What sort of demon has possessed you to convert every elegant phrase of high society into back-alley thug signals?”
I felt like jumping out of my skin. If you don’t like something, just say so. If you do like it, say that too. Why the hell did they have to open and close a feathered fan to exchange coded messages? The idea of conducting high-level psychological warfare in this frail, suffocating body made ripping a dragon’s jaws apart with my bare hands seem a hundred times easier.
“No… I can’t do this. I really can’t. The second I open my mouth at tomorrow’s tea party I’m going to cause an incident. Can’t I just say I’m sick and stay in bed?”
I whined and flopped face-first onto the table. Rustle. The diaper sound came again. My mind had grown so ragged that the noise now felt almost familiar.
“That will not be possible. This is an event hosted by Her Majesty the Queen. Because His Majesty has recently grown concerned for the princess’s health and forbidden her from going out, unsavory rumors have begun circulating in high society. Nonsense claims that the princess has gone mad or that the curse has worsened and disfigured her. You must prove your soundness tomorrow without fail.”
At Margareta’s resolute tone I lost even the will to argue and slumped bonelessly. Even I had to admit the original owner of this body—the princess—was genuinely insane. She was the kind of woman who panted over novels about muscular men’s homosexual romances every single night.
“Very well. Your concentration has completely collapsed. I shall grant you exactly ten minutes of rest. I will return with the dress and accessories you will wear tomorrow. In the meantime, please commit the fan-language chart to memory.”
Leaving the cold command behind, Margareta left the room. The moment the heavy door closed I groaned and collapsed onto the sofa. The corset prevented me from lying flat, so I had to curl up like a shrimp.
“Somebody save me…”
Tears pricked at my eyes. Suddenly a cool breeze drifted in through the window, carrying a painfully familiar and nostalgic scent across my nose. The smell of dry earth. The metallic tang of clashing steel. And the unmistakable musk of male sweat.
“Huh…?”
I snapped my eyes open. Sounds were drifting up from outside the window—shouts of spirit, the dull thud of wooden swords colliding. I remembered that my room’s window faced the palace training grounds.
Almost in a trance I rose from my seat. Clutching the heavy skirt with both hands, I hurried to the window in short, mincing steps.
Rustle. Rustle. The area between my legs felt sticky and unpleasant, but that was the least of my concerns. I clung to the windowsill, rose onto my tiptoes, and peered down.
Beneath dazzling sunlight stretched a wide training yard. And there were my comrades, training shirtless and dripping with sweat.
“Ah…”
An involuntary sigh escaped me. That was exactly where I belonged. That sacred ground where one rolled in dirt, breathed raggedly, and swung a sword. A honest world of pure strength against strength, free of suffocating corsets, humiliating diapers, and those damned fans.
I stared down at them, utterly mesmerized. But as my gaze swept across the yard it suddenly froze in the center.
“Wait. That massive build…”
There stood a man with a physique more overwhelming than anyone else’s. Shoulders as broad as the Pacific. A thick, bronze chest adorned with scars like medals. Abs split as solidly as stone. It was my real body—the one I had forged through pain since my teenage years.
“My body… my beloved muscles…!”
Overcome with emotion, I pressed my face against the windowpane. I wanted to leap down and embrace it right then and there.
But the next instant my eyes flew wide with horror.
“Uh… what the hell is that crazy bitch doing?!”
Princess Celestia, currently occupying my body. Her behavior was completely wrong. She had tossed the wooden sword aside and was rolling around on the ground with the other knights.
“Hup!”
The muscular vice-captain had seized my body’s waist in a powerful grip and hoisted it high. It looked like a wrestling match, part of regular training. A perfectly normal contest of strength between men.
But there was a problem. It was the expression on my body’s face. My own flesh, slammed down and drenched in sweat, wasn’t grimacing in pain or plotting a counterattack. Instead, with flushed cheeks, it was smiling in pure ecstasy.
I couldn’t hear it, but my cursed female brain automatically supplied the perfect BL-novel line for the scene.
The vice-captain pinned my chest beneath a thick thigh and twisted my arm in a submission hold. Two sweat-slick, muscular male bodies pressed together obscenely. The princess inside my body gazed up at the vice-captain’s heavy pectorals with her mouth half-open, completely lost in rapture.
“F-fuck…! What kind of filthy fantasies are you having in my body to make that slutty face?!”
I screamed. It was obvious. That perverted fujoshi princess was inwardly cheering at the sweaty, skin-tight contact between men happening right before her—or rather, that she was personally experiencing. She had become the protagonist of that obscene book she’d been secretly devouring last night, rubbing bodies with men in the flesh.
Using my precious, sacred knightly body to satisfy such blasphemous lusts!
“Hey, you crazy bitch! Get off him! Get away from the vice-captain right now!”
I pounded the window and wailed, but the distance was too great; my voice never reached them. Down in the training yard the princess was now panting openly, arms wrapped around the vice-captain’s neck as they rolled across the ground. To outsiders it looked like fierce wrestling. To me it was pure self-indulgent fan service.
That was when it happened.
“Hngh…”
A lewd moan slipped from my lips. My body, glued to the window as I stared downward, began to tremble uncontrollably. The visual stimulus—watching those massive, muscular men entangled and rolling, their sweat flying, their rough breathing audible even from here—had detonated the ‘fujoshi hormones’ lurking inside this flesh.
Thump! Thump! My heart hammered inside the corset as if it would burst. My breathing grew feverish. Heat pooled and tingled in my lower belly. It wasn’t simply anger making my pulse race. While my mind raged at the defilement of my body, this cursed female form was generating thick, sticky pleasure at the sight of those powerful male bodies intertwined below.
“No… don’t look… don’t look, fuck!”
I tried to cover my eyes with both hands, but my fingers kept parting, letting my gaze slip downward again. When the vice-captain’s thick forearm wrapped around my body’s waist, I felt the inside of my thighs melt like jelly. I clamped my legs together desperately.
Rustle—! The thick daytime diaper between my legs rubbed, sending a disgusting yet strangely electric sensation through me.
I’m losing my mind… Over there my body is happily grinding against another guy… and over here I’m getting wet just watching…? What the actual hell.
My mind felt bleached white.
“Haaang… I don’t know anymore… I think I’m really going to go insane…”
In the end I slid limply down beneath the window. The heavy dress hem spread out across the floor like a collapsed tent. The pressure of the diaper squeezing between my legs. The corset strangling my breath. And trapped inside this nightmare of raging hormones, I realized I would have to attend tomorrow’s tea party, waving a fan and forcing fake smiles across my lips.