the nineteenth

Art: https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/91954340

  George lifted up his flask and tipped his head backwards, trying his best to find even one drop of water that remained… but there was nothing at all. "Ugh…" He sighed and put down the flask, parched throat burning as he cast his gaze around  his surroundings for anything that could offer him relief. Separated from his party, compass malfunctioning for some reason, water supply depleted… without a doubt, he was running out of options.

    Then, he saw a faint glimmer of light just over the horizon, a flash of tantalizing blue and green, barely visible but enough for hope to fill George's heart. Immediately he began struggling towards the light, thought crossing his mind that it could very well be a mirage, a hallucination borne from his dehydrated mind, that would lead him to his death like it surely had countless more before him. But… it was hope, and that was about all he could ask for at this point. And so, George fixed his eyes on the light in the distance, oblivious as his sunburnt and peeling skin began to darken, though not from simple tanning - it took on a smooth and luscious appearance, all blemishes disappearing to create a flawless surface. The aches in his muscles slowly vanished as did much of the muscle itself, George’s athletic physique lost forever as his limbs rounded out and took on a frailer, more delicate appearance. He shrugged off his backpack and let it fall onto the sand, its burden now too heavy for his shorter, thinner frame to bear. But, he was getting closer now; he could feel it! George quickened his pace, gait becoming more feminine as his hips widened to child-bearing proportions, waist slimming to create an alluring hourglass shape. 

    But… eventually George stopped, hands over his knees as he bent down, panting for breath. There was simply nothing - no pond of crystal clear water, no oasis that would prove his salvation, just sand, sand, and more sand. And it was getting even hotter, the noon’s sunlight beating down mercilessly on George’s body. He slipped his shirt off and tossed it to one side, leaving his upper body bare and conveniently leaving space for a pair of breasts to grow out, areolae becoming larger and more sensitive as his nipples perked up. Was this the end of the line? The world was ringing around him, flashes of dark intruding on his vision before George collapsed onto the sand, strengthless limbs finally giving out from underneath him. Then, black. 

    When George regained consciousness the sky was already dark, and he shivered a little in the coolness of the desert night. "Am I… not dead?" He spoke in a higher-pitched voice, one that practically oozed sensuality and sex appeal, and picked himself off the ground, brushing the sand off his body.  Was it his imagination, or did he hear music? George stopped for a moment, closing his eyes as he was barely able to make out a snatch of a note over the wind, a laugh and a yell. Eyes still closed, his footsteps carried him towards the source of the sounds, thighs plumping up with fat and jiggling slightly with every step. George’s eyes became a shade of dark copper, silky hair darkening into onyx as it spilled down his back. The contours of his face softened, visage becoming feminine as he gritted his teeth, pushing forward with everything he had. Slowly, the music grew louder and louder, and when George was sure what he heard was real and not just an illusion, he opened his eyes. 

    There was light up ahead - not the ephemeral flickering of a mirage, but warm, inviting, solid torchlight. George hurried towards the light, stepping into a camp that looked nothing like anything one would see in the 21st century, its inhabitants all dressed in exotic, foreign clothing. Of course, George’s attire had to change to match the setting, straps of white cloth materializing around his upper and lower body to simultaneously maintain his modesty and show off ample amounts of chocolate skin. A golden headdress appeared around his head, fashioned in the shape of two horns pointing upwards from his head, and other pieces of golden ornamentation appeared over his body - neckpiece, armbands, and belt, complemented by thin chains that jangled softly against each other with every step he took. George swallowed, his dry throat suddenly feeling even drier. Surely this camp would have something for him to drink, right?

    His footsteps led him towards a tent - the largest one in the entire camp. George pulled open the tent’s flap and stepped into its dimly lit interior, making his way towards the bed in its centre and crawling onto it. He heard the sound of covers rustling, a man’s voice: “Glysia?” The name sounded right - why wouldn’t it? It was her name, after all… “Of course~” Glysia slowly ran her hand over the man’s crotch, skilled fingers coaxing his member to become larger, and larger, and larger. She lowered her head in between his legs, taking his shaft in her mouth and slowly, lovingly caressing it with her tongue. Her memory began to cloud, life as an explorer forgotten and replaced by those of a concubine, someone whose only preoccupation in life was pleasing her lord, in any way he saw fit… As her lord finally came in Glysia’s mouth, she gleefully swallowed his seed, wiping her lips as lay down onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling - ah, just the thing to relieve her parched throat. A simple, satisfying life of passion, hedonism, depravity… there was no other life she’d rather have~