Roland was one who set his sights big. His childhood consisted of being fed tall-tales about valiant warriors who slew dragons and saved damsels in distress. So when he came of age, Roland had set off from his peaceful countryside village to aid those in need across the land, his final destination; the kingdom, where he'd get sign on to train as a Knight.
While he had a heart of gold, it was an unfortunate trait to have when the outside world consisted of terrible bandit groups, packs of monsters and a cutthroat existence. Roland barely had any training or experience dealing with people either, so when the young man had come across an old man lying by the dirt road, he blindly approached without a second thought...
Before being jabbed in the hand with a poisoned dagger by the supposedly injured old man, staring at the hilt sticking out the side of his palms. Roland's mind barely registered the pain as the potent sedative coursed through his body, knocking him out.
Left unconcious, the slavers hiding in the woods nearby come to collect the fresh meat, bagging the unconcious Roland out before dragging him back to their lair. These weren't your average slavers though. If Roland had done his research and asked around, he would know that those woods were home to the Black Hand. A popular slaver group in the underworld black markets and connections to corrupt nobles.
Anyone was game to the Black Hand, for their mages had dabbled in Flesh Moulding, an arcane skill long forgotten in the current time, with only a select few who still had the knowledge in mind. One such mind was in charge of training future prodigees in the arts of Flesh Moulding. Taking special interest in the loud mouthed fool the grunts had brought in today.
Alone with the mage in his chambers, Roland would experience firsthand what an expert in Flesh Moulding could do. Groaning as his body is forcefully compressed into a pink blob. The mage had heard his cries of "being a warrior of justice" and how he'd "kill them all". Sniggering as he begun his work.
Waving his arms, the mage begins to sculpt and manipulate the blob of flesh in front of him; forming the basic silhouette of a human female, before bestowing upon her the curves and supple flesh befitting of a maiden. Long flowing locks of blonde hair grow from the scalp and flow down her dainty body. Breasts begin to inflate across her chest before sagging slightly with their heft. Thighs and belly plumping with healthy amounts of fat as a slit forms between her luscious legs.
Where Roland once sat tied up in a heap, now stood a beautiful doll, her plump curvaceous body glowing with an oily sheen in the dimly lit room, her soft skin damp with sweat. The freshly formed vulva twitching ever so slightly between her legs. There was still something missing though, for she had no face; a blank, featureless flat layer of skin where eyes and a mouth would be.
Finishing his job, the mage withdraws a brush from his pocket, something he loved to use when it came to perfecting the feminine ideal, painting the perfect features of a beautiful young woman onto the blank visage of his creation; slant, almond shaped eyes that were sleek and seductive. Soft, pouty lips that were fully kissable and warm to the touch. A small yet pointy nose. Rosy cheeks and slim eyebrows. He was almost ashamed to have to part with her, but the money offered to the Black Hand for this job was too much to refuse.
Lifting her thin chin with a finger, the mage plants a kiss on her soft lips, her eyes fluttering open to reveal lifeless blue eyes that gazed longingly at her creator. Her god. Roland's mind was a mess, stirred up by the moulding process and tossed aside into the recesses of her new mind, created with one purpose in mind; to service her Master with anything he would ask of her.
A few days later and a carriage ride to another land, Rosaria would awaken as the concubine of a king from another land, clueless about her previous life as some wannabe knight as she spent her days by her king's side, dressed in lewd outfits all day that pleased him greatly. She'd found the teasing to be unberable however, during the day he'd grab and squeeze a tit or slap her plump rear, but never do anything else. He'd even forbid her from touching herself, her dainty arms laid out on her knees as beads of sweat rolled down her soft cheeks, fat pink nipples standing erect as she tried to ignore the spasming vagina between her legs, rubbing her thighs together. She had to wait for tonight as always, a good girl like Rosaria was rewarded well for her obedience! That's what she remembered in training after all...
When night fell and the king was alone with her, Rosaria had the time of her life. Fawning over him without restraint as she whispered sweet words in his ear, begging for his massive manhood as she rubbed her sopping wet slit against his legs, before womanly shrieks of pleasure echoed down the halls.
No one would ever remember Roland, the wannabe knight. But many would hear of Rosaria, the fair beauty from another land in service to its ruler. Rumoured to be the best piece of ass a man could sleep with, drawing many suitors and nobles who would visit the king for a compromise.
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Another cap to end off the day, hope you guys like it!
Image by 陽州 : www.pixiv.net/en/users/9536