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Lyara and Farkas celebrate their nuptuals.

Doing up his trousers, his lordship walked away with only one order called to me,

"Clean up that mess."

"yes, milord, " I replied, and looked at the poor broken women on the floor of the carriage.

I had seen it all before, Oliver had a power, he could make people bend to his will. She may have been a professional lover when they had picked her up, but now he was done with her, she was just another down-and-out prostitute.

I felt sorry for her, like I had for all the others that came before her. Therefore, I treated her like all the others, taking her limp body in my arms, holding her horizontally, I climbed from the carriage. My room lay in the servant house to the back of the manor, a small apartment for the main servants. We made our way there, and as she slowly came around the weeping began as she realised what had happened.

Moving to my room, which might as well have been a shed connected to the house, I kicked open my never locked door and walked her to my bed. The only light came from a streetlight just outside the manors walls and had a direct path through my curtain-less windows to my whole room.

Sitting on the bed next to her, she stopped weeping and looked at me with a confused look on her face. I had seen that look before and although I had many answers, none of them were worthy of a possible decent reply to what had happened to her. Then she asked me a question,

"Has he ever tried to do that to you."

"Yes," I replied with full honesty, "but he stopped."

"Why?"

Her question was a door to a world I was willing to open for her, like I had done with all the others. Lightly holding her hand I leaned over her and moved her hand over my body. Her fingers brushed against my breasts, I felt her thumb find and rub my nipple. Moving my mouth to hers I knew she would think I was a lesbian, but there was more. Dragging her hand down my stomach, I needed her to find out what I was. Pushing her hand down to my crotch her hand formed to try and rub a vagina that was not found. As we still kissed, lips locked, and nostrils breathing heavy, her eyes widened and she grabbed onto my manhood. Backing away, her lips parted slightly as she asked, in a soft tone,

"What are you?"

A question I had only one answer to, standing up. I left her on the bed, moving to the door, I pulled a chair from beside it and put it under the handle stopping it from opening. Then turning back around I began to undress, my pinstripe suit came off to reveal my tits held in a black bra, and my penis covered by a pair of white boxers. The young prostitute raised herself on her elbows, and wiggled her finger, calling me to her. Slowly I made my way to her, the look of wonder on her face had replaced the sadness. The light from outside shone on my pale pink skin, as she moved to sitting on the edge of my bed. Then when I was within arm's reach she reached out and swiftly pulled down my boxer shorts. I think she expected to see a fake one hanging down before her face, but no, I was born with mine, and the breasts too. Touching it as if it was the first she had ever seen, I went about removing my bra, and revealed to her that my C-cup boobs were just as real.

When I was born I was just like all the other boys, but when I hit puberty, I began to grow globes on my chest, and not hair. My parents did not care, but for me to have an easier life we tried to hide my female features, until I had developed enough to portray a woman fully. However, when the war broke out I was still legally a man and had to serve my country.

Lying in bed with Victoria, the prostitute who Oliver had only a while ago had brainwashed to suck his cock and ride it until he had enough. We explored each other's bodies, like fumbling virgins, we had no interest in rushing and I had an idea that I would latter regret.

Getting from the comfort of the bed, I moved to my dinner table the small round table with the lone chair, and picked up the bottle of whiskey.

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