Femboy's Awakening

I.

The ropes binding my wrists were rough against my skin, and every muscle in my small body tensed. I felt the eyes of every mercenary upon me, savage and hungry. My face went hot with fear, anger, and humiliation. Though in truth I had only myself to blame.

I had been discovered in the whores' camp, dressed like a girl.

And now I was bound and on my knees, wearing only the torn remnants of the semi-transparent pink skirt and midriff-baring top that they had caught me wearing. Goosebumps crawled down my freshly shaved legs as Commander Mace Garlon, the feared and ruthless leader of the Free Warriors' Mercenary Legion, vaulted down from his horse. He had never noticed me when I was only another squire, but now he stared down at me fearsomely. Meekly, I raised my eyes to meet his.

My breath caught in my throat.

A mere squire like me in this massive mercenary legion had never seen the commander up close. Now I could see that the man who commanded forty-thousand men had eyes that nearly pulsed with an inhuman black. The black of those eyes stood out against the sun-forged copper of his skin. His jaw was strong, and his wild mane of dark hair blew wildly in the pre-storm wind.

He must have been roused from his tent, as he was wearing only a loin cloth. His body was the very definition of a man and a warrior. From his neck to his calves, there was only hard muscle. His massive arms had slain brave warriors while swinging the longsword Nightflame, and I knew that a painted boy-whore like me meant nothing to him.

Several yards behind the commander stood Viviella, his sorceress and favorite concubine. Her wine-red hair was tousled, as if she had just emerged from a vigorous fucking, and yet she still managed to look dignified and mysterious. Her red dress matched her hair and left one long, pale leg exposed. She looked at me with intense curiosity in her green, feline eyes.

The commander was a stern war leader who demanded, and got, the highest discipline from this army of wild mercenaries. His men both feared and loved him, and he never gave an order twice. And here I was, a half naked squire wearing (what was left of) the scandalous silks used by whores to lure soldiers. My eyelids were brushed pink to match the skirt, my lips were covered in red rouge, and the rest of my face was lightly painted and dusted with glitter.

My heart beat furiously as I looked at Melody, the golden-haired whore who had dressed me up like this. Her delicate face was drawn with worry as she bit at the nails on her hand. Part of me wanted to blame her for my predicament, but we both knew that I had gone along with her game more than willingly. I could tell from the concern on her face that she had never expected I would get caught.

And now we would both face the consequences.

II

It all started earlier that morning.

As a squire for Sir Liam, I often accompanied the drunken knight to the whores' camp. Like all armed groups (and especially mercenary armies), the Free Warriors included not only fighting men, but a vast community of camp followers. The camp followers included washerwomen, tradesmen, and anyone else who could sell something to the fighting men. And there was nothing the men of the Legion liked to buy more than whores.

It was often well past dawn before Sir Liam emerged from the tent of whatever whore he happened to be with, and Melody was always the first of the girls in the camp to wake up. I watched her many times, a strange kind of desire filling me as she welcomed the sunrise. Sometimes our eyes would lock for a moment, but I was always too timid to say a word.

It wasn't only the golden curls falling in a cascade from her head that drew my eye. Nor was it just the way she twisted her hips while she walked, emphasizing her perfect round bottom and making even a simple dress look enticing. It wasn't only the way she painted her nails a different color every day, or her perfect application of rouge and blush. It wasn't even the teets that bounced perkily when she moved.

No, it was more than all that. It was the way that she managed maintain a look of girlish innocence and naivety, despite being a whore who had been entered by more men than I could count. I desired her, yes. But in a way that I did not yet understand, I also admired her.

So on that morning, while Sir Liam slept off the barrels of wine he had consumed the night before, I paid a visit to the whores' tents at the rear of the camp.

"You're far too pretty for a boy," was the first thing she said when I shyly approached her. I had found her sitting on a wooden chest outside the tent she shared with another girl, her sandaled feet and yellow-painted nails swinging above the grass. In a yellow silk dress that ended at her ankles, she looked more like a royal courtesan than a whore following a mercenary legion.

I had been hearing comments about being "too pretty for a boy" as long as I could remember, but it still caused a spark of anger whenever I heard it. All the more so because I knew it was true. At nineteen years, I still had not even the beginning of a beard. I was slender, and had long eyelashes. My hair was a shaggy, sandy-brown mop that ended in a feminine curl just above my shoulders.

"Believe me whore," I said, trying to regain some of my dignity by taking some of hers away, "I'm more than man enough for you."

I thought she would react harshly to that. Instead she only tossed back her head and laughed.

"I doubt that, squire," she replied, "but don't let that discourage you. No single man has ever been enough for me." She ran one hand down her neck and bit her lip, her eyes tracking me up and down. "But if you have any gold, perhaps you can try to be."

I looked away from her. I was a lowly squire to a lowly mercenary knight who was usually too drunk to sit his horse. I had only joined the Legion weeks ago, when I had heard that they were joining the Empire's siege of the elven-city Mitheria. There was food, shelter, and it was as good a way as any to get away from my bastard of a father. But there was no gold in it.

I knew that Melody was a whore, and that whores fucked for gold, and that I didn't have any gold. So why had I come here? I hadn't expected to fuck Melody, exactly. So what had I expected?

Looking at my face, she laughed again. "I thought not, pretty squire." She looked me up and down again. "But you're so different from any other man I see around here. You remind me of a friend I had back when I lived in the city -". Her voice trailed off, and a smile spread out across her face.

"Maybe there is something we can work out," she said. She pushed off of the chest and landed on her feet. "Come with me. I know where we can go."

She took my hand and began to lead me away. I was stunned that this prostitute would go off with me without payment, especially after the rude way I had spoken to her at first. Perhaps being a pretty boy was finally bringing me some advantage.

She walked close to me and swung my hand back and forth, the way a girl might walk with her bosom-friend or her sister, but not with a lover. My hand brushed against the silk of her dress, and I was struck by how much I loved how that material felt. I repressed the urge to run my hand down the garment. I supposed that there would be time enough for that when we got to where we were going. Where were we going?

My question was answered when we stopped in front of a medium-sized pavillion. It was smaller than a knight's marquee, but much larger than a squire's tent. She led me inside, and as my eyes adjusted to the darker environs I saw a long cut of reflective glass and a basin of water. I realized this was the tent shared by a group of whores, a place for them change and freshen up between clients.

There was also a wooden rack containing rows upon rows of womens' clothes. They came in all colors, sizes, fabrics and designs. There were shoes as well, from jeweled sandals to boots nearly as long as my legs.

"Is this where we, um . . . I mean, should I -"

She cut me off by putting a slender finger to my lips.

"Let me make sure none of the girls are in here changing," she whispered, and tiptoed to the other side of the giant rack of clothes.

As she did so, I found myself walking closer to the dresses hanging from the closest rack. I put my hand on a deep red shift with silver trim. I ran my hand down the garment, and as I did so I found myself wondering how the material felt for a woman when she wore it. I pictured one of the whores wearing it, and wondered how it felt when she slid it off for her man, or had it ripped off by him.

"You wouldn't want to wear that," Melody said in my ear, breaking me from my daydream.

"Well of course I wouldn't wear it," I said.

"That's the sorceress Viviella's color," she said, ignoring my comment. "Many of the men are very superstitious about the commander's favorite. They won't touch you if you're wearing her colors. It is pretty, though." She ran her own finger down the garment.

I turned and looked at her. "Why are we in the girls' dressing tent?" I demanded.

She turned to meet my gaze and once again ran her eyes up and down my body. This time she looked with focus, and she seemed to be appraising me for something. She leaned forward, grabbed my shoulders, and touched her lips to my ear.

"I'll let you fuck me," she said. "But only if you let me dress you up like a girl."

I pushed her arms away. "Are you mad?" I asked a bit too loudly.

Melody was undeterred. She put her arms back around my neck and pushed hard up against me. We were nearly the same height and I could feel her breasts against my chest and her pelvis against my own.

"I can make you look gorgeous. And after I do, you can have me any way you want me."

An image flashed in my mind of me wearing a skirt and lifting it up to put my cock in Melody's mouth. I thought about how the garment would feel against my waist while she sucked me off. In spite of myself, my cock began to stir and stiffen. Melody missed nothing when it came to a man's arousal, and her hand went to my breeches as soon as I started to harden.

"Now that's the spirit," she said as she lightly squeezed my growing manhood. "Don't deny yourself this pleasure."

"A catamite is accursed by the gods," I protested meekly.

Melody scoffed. "I knew many brothel boys in the city. Many of them wore the garments of women, and they were as beautiful as any courtesan. The gods certainly did not curse them, judging by the hordes of men who came to visit them, their fists filled with jewels and golden coins."

"The Legion follows the laws of the Old Kingdom," I said. "Do you have any idea what the laws of the Old Kingdom say about catamites?"

"Who said anything about catamites?" she asked innocently. "This is just a bit of fun between a boy and a girl. Nobody will find out anyway."

She brushed her lips against my neck, and her golden curls smelled like fresh-cut lilacs. My heart was beating, and I found myself getting more and more aroused.

"If I do this," I said slowly, "you promise to fuck me?" My voice came out squeakily, as it often did when I was nervous.

Melody took a step back, her arms still around my neck, and smiled wickedly. "If you do this, you won't be able to stop me from fucking you." She slowly disentangled from me, one finger lingering on my chest as she turned. "Now get undressed while I get some things we'll need. Hurry, by midmorning the girls will start coming in here."

I haltingly unlaced the tunic and breeches, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Melody came back with an armful of clothes, a basin of water and a small box which she set down at my feet. She stared at my naked body, her eyes seeming to drink in every inch. I kept one hand between my legs, uncomfortable with her prying eyes. Was this how girls felt when men stared at them?

"Evyn," she said in a low voice, filled with awe, "you have such a pretty body."

I felt myself redden, unsure of how to react to being called "pretty." At the same time, I felt my cock begin to stand up in my hands.

Melody reluctantly tore her eyes away from me and began sifting through the pile. She opened up the small box, and I saw the glint of steel. I realized it was a razor.

"Wait," I said. "I told you I would let you dress me up like a whore - not shave me like one!"

In response, she hitched up her skirt, grabbed my hand and pressed it against her smooth leg. Her skin was soft and tight on my palm as she moved it up and down her thigh.

"Imagine how it will feel to be as smooth as this. Imagine how it will feel when our skin touches," she said.

Touching her filled me with desire - but I felt confused about what I desired. I wanted to possess what she had in some way I couldn't describe. Somehow I knew that I wanted more than just to fuck her. Could it be that I also wanted to be her?

Melody looked at my face and smiled in understanding, although I had said nothing. She knelt before me and moistened my legs with water from the basin. Then she took the razor and began to shave my legs.

She worked slowly and carefully, though it did not take her very long to remove the light dusting of hair from my legs. She left the sparse and barely visible hair around my cock and sack, saying that a proper whore always left just a little bit there. There was nothing to shave from my chest, though she did gently remove the hair from underneath my arms.

When she finished, she applied some kind of lotion from one her jars to my legs, telling me it would keep the skin from chafing. As I watched her step back to admire her work, a strange feeling of satisfaction came over me. I felt somehow cleaner than I ever had before, as though something unwanted had been scrubbed away.

Next came the paint. Melody pulled out a small brush and a pallet of some kind from the same box that had the razor. She bid me to close my eyes as she applied color to my eyelids. She worked down my whole face, switching brushes for my cheeks and lips.

While she painted me, I realized that I felt no shame in being so utterly exposed to her. She brushed against my half-erect penis several times as she worked. Part of me was demanding that I do what a man should do and take her then and there. But there was another part of me, a new part of me, that knew it would be wrong to ruin this strange new intimacy.

As I revelled in this exotic new freedom, Melody went to the clothes on the floor and began to pick up two items, but then stopped and smiled at me. "I want you to close your eyes," she said. "I don't want you to see what you're wearing until it's on."

I sighed reluctantly at that, but complied. "Now pick up this foot and step through. Good, now the other," she instructed. I resisted the urge to peek. I suppose I was also looking forward to the surprise.

As she pulled whatever skirt she had selected for me up my legs and to my waist, my heart began to beat with excitement. The light garment tickled my freshly shaved legs, and I wondered what it would feel like to walk outside and feel the fresh air blowing against my skirt. The thought sent a rush of blood between my legs as Melody tied the fabric around my waist.

She then told me to lift up my arms, and she pulled some kind of top over my head, and then down past my shoulders so that it covered only my chest and upper back. My stomach remained uncovered.

After spending a few moments brushing my hair and slipping some kind of sandal on each foot, she took my hand and turned me around. "Open your eyes," she whispered into my ear, standing so close that her curls tickled my neck. I did so, and found myself in front of a polished length of glass, staring at the most wanton, loose-looking whore I had ever seen. Of course, that wanton whore was me.

My sandy hair, normally long and unruly, now fell neatly to my shoulders. My eyelids practically glowed pink, and my lips were a soft light shade of red. My whole face was slightly bronzed, and some kind of glitter made my face sparkle with changing colors.

The top she had pulled over my head was the color of the sea and left my arms, shoulders, and midriff exposed. Looking down past my exposed belly, I saw that the pink skirt was see-through except for the portion directly over my crotch. My bare legs were clearly visible through the thin fabric. In wonder, I began to twirl from side to side, admiring the beauty Melody had created with my body and some simple fabrics.

"Do you like it?" she asked eagerly, rocking back and forth on her heels.

"I, I look ... I don't even look like me!"

"I bought this two years ago when I worked in the brothels of the city," she said as she straightened out my skirt. "Many of the whores there dance outside in this type of outfit to lure customers. I never had the courage to display myself like this outside the brothel, but you . . . I could fetch a pretty penny if I put you out on the streets of the city!"

"I'm no whore," I said to her, suddenly feeling embarassed at this whole situation. What kind of man was I, letting some whore dress me up like this? And now she japed about selling me! Now was the time for me to take her, to show her who was in control -

I grunted in surprise as her mouth locked onto mine hungrily. She wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me close. Her tongue forced its way past my lips and began exploring every inch of my mouth. She tasted like honey and lemon water. Without thinking, I began sucking on her tongue, welcoming the sweet taste.

Now she was wrestling me to the floor, hitching up her own skirt as she did so. Once I was on my back she carefully lifted up the front of my skirt. She mounted me and pressed her wet cunt against the front my cock. She braced herself against the ground with both hands and rubbed her slit vigorously against my hardening member, groaning in pleasure as she did so.

Though I was still a virgin, I knew that a real man would have penetrated the lips of her womanhood and pounded her. But what she was doing felt so wickedly good, and I dared not interrupt the unabashed ecstasy I saw upon her face.

She disengaged her lips from my own, and began to crawl up my body until she knelt over my face. Her pink pussy was inches away from me, and the scent of her filled my nostrils. She inched herself closer and closer to me, teasing, and I stuck my tongue out to taste her. Finally she was upon me, and her hips undulated slowly in a burgeoning rhythm.

And then she froze. There were voices outside of her tent. Men's voices. Familiar voices.

"Ye' sure this th' tent?" slurred a painfully familiar voice. It was the voice of Sir Liam, the drunken knight I served.

"Yes, I'm sure," replied a much more sober voice. I knew that it was Sir Bryle, a grisled veteran of the Legion who also frequented the whores' tents. "This is where they change, and we're bound to find at least one of the little cunts in here."

And then they stumbled through the tent. Melody dropped her skirt over my face, hiding me from the familiar knights. My heart pounded and I stopped breathing. If they discovered me here, a squire dressed like a girl, I would face punishment and humiliation. I silently cursed Melody for drawing me into this, and myself for agreeing to it.

"Look at what we have here!" cried Sir Bryle as he entered. "Looks like these two ladies are so lonely they're making do with each other!"

I felt Melody take a deep breath, maintaining her composure. "Brave knight," she said in an innocent voice. "I wouldn't dream of giving myself to you in this condition. I beg you, wait outside while my friend and I freshen up. That way I can please you in the way you deserve."

"I'm ready now, whore. Here," Bryle said, and I heard a bag of coins land on the floor next to my head. "That should be enough for you and your little friend here. Count it if you like, but in the meantime, don't mind if I join right in . . ."