Change of Loyalties

"But I thought you were captured!" Gor said, saying what the crowd of bandits was all thinking. All the men gathered around the firepit were from Bleda's old outfit, who fled in the wake of his force's defeat at Treetown. They stared at Bleda, and the warlord looked a little different from the way they remembered him. A little thinner in the arms and chest, a little thicker around the waist.

"Do I look captured?" Bleda said, laughing and slapping one of his former troops on the back. He had that casual charm from before the fight. A kind of easy confidence that made him such an effective ruler.

"Well, why are you here? We're not going back under your rule, you know." Gor had assumed control of this group, and wasn't about to give it up now.

"I understand. I just wanted to tell you that I overheard those slutty plantgirls talking. They're getting ready to move on the camps in this area. Full battalions, with weird fucking plant weapons that turn you into slaves."

"What should we do?" One of the other men asked.

"Go north tomorrow, away from these lanes. There's easy pickings up there, and its safer than staying here." Bleda explained.

Gor thought about it. They Had exhausted most of the unguarded travelers around this area. Maybe it was time to move on.

"We can discuss it in the morning." Bleda sat down in the circle around the firepit. "Tonight, I want to know what happened to you when I was gone. For instance, how many crying wenches did you deflower?!"

They chatted and laughed, just like old times. As the hours passed, Bleda offered up a pouch of wine. Bleda always kept the best for himself, so the circle of bandits drank greedily. As the wineskin returned to the warlord, it was almost empty. But he didn't finish it. He simply looked around, and smiled.

The circle began to groan, something horrible overtaking them. Gor looked at his former warlord in a mixture of anger and fear. Poison! He leapt forward to grab him by the throat, but he stopped midway there. An ache in his loins emerged, so powerful he couldn't stop himself if he tried. He ripped down his leathers and started stroking himself, desperate for release.

Then they emerged. Plantgirls. At least a dozen of them, hiding just out of sight this whole time. Toxin bows in their hands and smiles on their lips. It had been a trap all along.

"Don't fight it. Florans are much kinder to us than we were to them. Soon you'll understand." Bleda said casually, like this was just a mild inconvenience. The warlord walked away, Gor thinking he saw a wiggle in Bleda's gait. But his attention soon turned to the floran archer in front of him. The tiny woman pushed him back and rode his drug-addled cock to an orgasm that blew his mind away.

***

Bleda's trip back to floran territory was uneventful. As he stepped through the gates of the camp's fortifications, he handed off his armour and weapons to the guards. He wore nothing but a pair of loose-fitting trousers as he walked through the ranks of archers to his tent. Or rather, the tent of his mistress.

Entering the tent, he saw Daphne was finishing her paperwork for the day on her desk. She looked up only briefly to see who it was. When she saw it was him, she turned her eyes back down to her pen.

"That's the last of them. The remaining bandits won't bother your trade anymore. I even convinced the unsigned bandits in the west to move north." Bleda said, his cock tenting his pants in General Daphne's presence. All the confidence he had had before in the meeting was no longer present. His posture was slouched, and his voice much softer. His muscles had atrophied from lack of stimulus, and the rich, high-in-fapple diet had begun to plump his rear.

"Good. You did well." She said casually, her eyes still on her desk. The former slaver's moaned gentle pleasure, and he squirted a load of watery cum into his clothes.

"T-thank you, mistress." He cooed. He had been so dominant before the pleasure panties. So controlling of men and the people around him. But after weeks of his special restraints training him to obey orders, to present his butt for sex, and to cum only when she wanted him to, his mind had been bent. He tried to resist the submissive fantasies, to keep who he was before. It it was no use. When he thought Daphne was asleep, he masturbated to the memories of getting taken. And when he dreamed, it was of letting go of control. He no longer needed the panties. He was under her complete control.

He stood in silence, mind stewing in half-remembered dreams of pleasure.

"Well, is there anything else?"

Red hot shame rose to his face. He look away, instead choosing to bend over on her camp bed, presenting his rear to her.

"Could you..." He said, unable to continue.

She gave a lusty grin. Daphne stood from her desk, closed the tentflaps, and pulled down her trousers. From her crotch, a little bud grew into a green penis. She dipped her fingers into her moistening pussy, slathering her juices along her length. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't understand. What do you want?"

"I want...I need you to fuck my ass, mistress. Please." He said as fast as possible. Even though he had just come, he was still rock hard. The conditioning restraint had done its job well, doing away with most of his silly refractory period. Daphne slid his stained pants down to his knees, exposing his bum. After her repeated visits, he was loose enough to slip inside without much trouble. She grew her dick just long enough to touch his prostate when hilted, making him beg to be plowed roughly. She lost herself in the act, fucking him so hard, making his untouched cock shoot two more sticky wads of cum onto her bed before filling his ass with her own seed. He slumped down in exhaustion, covering his chest in his own semen. She'd make him clean that up later. But for now she was content to see the barbarian leader turned into an anal slut, orgasming entirely from being used.