They came for her at midnight of the next day. Over a day of being commanded, alternately ignored or probed, and had every detail question. None of the other guards were like Autiur, they didn't try to make her feel comfortable nor were they happy with giving orders that would make them orgasm when the commands exploded in her brain.

Merrie, on the hand, was buzzing with lust when the guards opened the door. It was only an hour into the shift and the poor woman guarding her had both hands stuffed down her pants as she tried to work off the lust of the last echoed command.

As the door creaked open, the female guard scrambled to her feet with a hot blush on her cheeks. She gripped her sword tightly, no doubt wondering if everyone could smell the scent of her orgasm that filled the air. Glancing at Merrie, she swung around before she turned toward the light coming streaming through the crack.

A dozen armed warriors stood outside of her cell. Before the door opened, she could feel the raw killing force of two Loyals with their combat spells bristling for a fight. There was no grace or subtly in the Loyals' spells, only a terrifying threat of nearly instantaneous death.

Beyond the glare of the Loyals, there was the weaker energies of four Resolutes. They didn't have the aura of threat that the Loyals had, but they would give her trouble if she tried to resist.

Merrie tensed as one of the Resolutes marched into the room. It was a man in his early forties with a short-cropped beard with streaks of gray. He had a large mace in his left hand, the head of it glowing a pale green. The energies on the weapon were enhancing his strength and mass, a killing device that would slaughter a mortal person with a single blow.

With the weak command of the previous guard still echoing in her thoughts, she pushed herself into a sitting position. She could feel the curiosity and desire rising up. Reflexively, she leaned back on her heels to give her tail room to wag and for her to bring up her severed wrists up to the edge of her collar.

Her adamantite collar buzzed with power. Hours of repeated orgasms filled it, she didn't think it could hold much more of her pleasure, but she had nowhere else to channel her pleasure instead radiating it.

The Resolute stepped forward, his mace pointed directly at her throat. “The accused shall stand and present… herself….”

Merrie raised an eyebrow and lifted her wrist into the air. There was nothing beyond them, just a smooth end.

The Resolute swallowed and looked around.

(I cannot—)

Bursts of air slammed into her as the two Loyals appeared. Their weapons, both swords, pressed against her throat. The sharp edges easily cut into the flesh, not enough to slice deep but enough to bring smoking black blood welling from the cut.

Merrie almost screamed out. She clamped her mouth shut and tightly wrapped her shields around herself. She had forgotten how sensitive the Loyals were to mental communication. Trembling, she perked up her ears in hopes they would relax and cleared her throat. “S-Sorry.”

She winced at the sound of her voice. It was rough and raspy, an anathema to how she lived her life. She didn't think she would get the same freedom that Loyal Alestri granted her to use magic.

“I-I don't usually talk.”

Merrie had to cough. She struggled in fear that the two weapons would rip out her throat.

The Loyals inched their weapons away.

“Can you stand?” asked the Resolute.

“I cannot,” she rasped. To demonstrate, she unfolded her feet from underneath her and showed the smoothed ends.

There was gasps of disgust followed by a wave of pity. She ignored it as she brought her other leg out, sitting fully on the ground with both feet in the air. Her movements caught sly glances at her legs and she couldn't help but slyly part her thighs to expose her bare pussy to hungry, shamed looks.

“How did you get in here?” asked the Resolute, his commanding voice faltering.

“Crawled. On my wrists and knees, like I always do.” Speaking longer wasn't helping her throat. “I can also transform into shadows and step across dimensions.”

“Using magic to transform or teleport will result in immediate repercussions and response from the Loyals. They are authorized to kill you before you finish the spell.”

Merrie nodded, her ears flattening against her head and her tail curling down. The Loyal Alestri was her equal in combat, two would slaughter her.

“The laws allows for crawling or kneeling.” He turned to the others. “Clear a way, switch to short spears.”

“Yes, Resolute Udin,” came a chorus of replies. There was a flare of magic as the weapons in their hands melted and reformed into short, meter-long spears. They spread out in the hallway, clearing a spot obviously intended for Merrie.

“The accused shall move into position,” declared Udin.

Fear trickled through Merrie's veins as she crawled next to the Resolute. The other guards kept their weapons trained on her as they slowly moved down the hallways with a practiced grace that made her wonder.

Well below the others, Merrie's thoughts turned inward. How many other prisoners needed half a dozen guards, Resolutes, and Loyals to prevent from escaping? How many people were accused of treason?

Doubt plagued her as they brought her up from the basement to the courthouse. The stairs were steep but she managed to easily keep up with the guards surrounding her. Even on the steps, she could feel the Loyals focusing on her; their spells only milliseconds from slaughtering her.

The dread and doubt rose as they headed down a narrow hallway. On both walls, someone had plastered the laws of the country. The dense script slid across Merrie's vision, the words welling up as she picked out fragments of laws about treason, lying, and the courts. Her attention was guided by a subtle psionic effect; it was impressive but also left her feeling even worse.

Just as the dread brought her to her lowest point, they came up to a metal gate glowing with defensive spells. A giant leaf was mounted on the center of the gate.

Beyond the opening was the court. It had been over a year since she last saw it, but from her vantage point near the ground, she could only see a short wall that divided the front of the hall from the audience behind it. She remembered how crowded the benches and seats were during Rakin's trial. Crime and judgment was one of the many entertainments of the rich and powerful, not to mention the lure of gossips that will spread word of her own trial across the city in a matter of minutes.

She felt the pulse and beat of a thousand thoughts beating against her mental shields. They were errant thoughts of everything ranging from curiosity to anger. It was almost overwhelming.

Merrie was afraid to shield herself. With a nervous glance at the Loyals, she gathered her thoughts and formed her shield. The familiar leather pressure wrapped around her, squeezing down along her mental body.

The Loyals didn't twitched.

Relieved, she continued to wrap her mental thoughts in a tight shield.

The cacophony of thoughts faded.

(A telepath, huh?) The thoughts of a young man clearly echoed in her head. (I am the Namer of Justice, the one who lays bare your names and identity to the recorder and for the judges.)

Merrie tensed, she didn't even feel him penetrating her shields. Her eyes looked through the gate and she noticed him standing next to the gate. Somehow, she had missed him completely. (A repulsion—?)

The Loyals snapped their weapons down.

The man held up his hand.

As one, the Loyals relaxed. “Yes, Namer.”

He smiled and looked at her. His eyes were red and they felt like they were stripping away Merrie's shield like a heated brand through butter.

She shivered and felt the curls of energy rising around her from the intense sense of helplessness.

He nodded and turned away, only to make a double take at her. His eyes widened. (What are your names?)

(My—) She tensed as she look at the Loyals.

The Namer held up his hand and waved it. The gate opened silently. “Don't worry, you are not capable of harming me. I find telepathic communication more efficient.”

Curious, Merrie matched eyes with the Namer. (My name is Merrie Golddother. I am also known as Bitch.)

Projecting to the Namer was strange. Like the Voice, he had powerful shields that she couldn't even feel rough edges. However, there was a single receptive point, a hole that she could project into it. It was something she had never seen before, a perfect shield designed for safe communication.

(There is more, isn't there? I can feel them in in your mind.)

She smiled and her tail wagged. (There are a few, Ears, Tails, various names my lovers have called me during sex and role playing, the name Bass gave me when he trained me.)

(Yes. All of them. Every name, every term of affection, every swear directed at you. Remember all you can.) His eyes probed even deeper, stripping away her shields in a steady pressure, like a knife slicing into her flesh.

His thoughts were powerful and commanding, a flash of lust burst across her mind. It slammed against his shields.

The Namer's eye grew wider. He discretely adjusted his growing hardness.

Unwilling to disobey the command, Merrie started projecting every name she thought someone had called her. It didn't matter if it was a mistaken cry during orgasm or when she pretended to be the fantasy lover for another, she gave it. Along with each name was a brief image, she couldn't help but flash a memory of the moment it happened.

As she projected, the Namer's eyes grew wider and he let out a shuddering gasp. The faint smile on his lips faltered and then faded. Divination magic flared around him, sending out a thousand tendrils of power in all directions. They didn't seem to be attack spells but something else.

Merrie continued to project the countless labels given by the shadows, those who feared her, and the names she heard in the thoughts of the people she had scanned.

It only took her minutes with the fluid communication between the two telepaths.

Finally, she was done. She sat back on her buttocks and heels and watched him curiously.

The Namer took a deep breath and then a second. He held up a finger to the two Loyals who tensed next to her. “This is going to take a bit. I think I can do this in one breath.”

Her eyes drifted to Claston's and she felt a bit of joy seeing his profile. She remembered how he had spoken during Rakin's trial. He could free her with his authority, after all, he was one of the Royal Family. It would just take only a second.

Her stomach twisted painfully. A moment later, she realized it was the royal geas responding to her thoughts. Her hope was extinguished, he couldn't pardon her without putting the royal family at risk. Someone would question why the prince knew a common whore.

With a saddened heart, she glanced at Claston again hoping that he would at least look back.

However, Claston wasn't watching her. Instead his attention was directed at the ornate balcony next to his. With growing dread, she followed his graze to where the queen sat with a straight back and a neutral expression. Even from Merrie's vantage point, she could see the determination in the way she held herself. She wasn't there for mercy.

A sick feeling twisted her stomach. Even if she didn't bring it up, Merrie wouldn't be getting a pardon from Claston. She suspected the queen was attending to ensure Claston wouldn't speak up in a fit of passion.

She wanted to reach for him, to give him comfort and talk. However, the Loyals next to her would silence her before she got a single thought. The cloak of loneliness hung over her, dragging her down as she realized it would just be her word against the full brunt of the law.

A tear burned in her eye.

The Namer held up his arm. “Attention!”

The court grew silent.

Taking one last deep breath, he spoke in the same sonorous tone that mimicked his thoughts. “Introducing the next accused, Merrie Golddother.”

There was the briefest ripple of noises but the Namer continued.

“Also known as Bitch, Ears, Tails, the Human Dog, the Shadowed Bitch, the Summoner of Darkness, the Light Snuffer, Shadow Bringer, the Shadow Mother, The Haunt of Shadows, the Killer of Darkness, the Bondages, the Lost Alpha, the Omega, Happy Cunt…”

She flinched at the names the Namer was exposing. So much of her life had been split apart by her various aliases, different part of her life shielded from each other. Only a few people ever knew that Ears, Tails, and Bitch were the same person, even less knew Merrie's real name.

There was a couple chuckles of amusement as the names continued.

“… Menis Ochavis, Katrin Pasidal, Gilia Pasidal, ...”

Her mouth opened in surprised, she wasn't expecting the Namer to list every name she had given, but he was doing it. His voice strong and powerful as he listed each and every single name she had taken for her lovers.

In the audience, she heard gasps as a few names matched those attending. No doubt, there would be uncomfortable questions from loved ones later in the night. She could remember some of them, the people who lovers asked Merrie to pretend to be sisters, daughters, and friends all for an illicit affair. Others asked Merrie to take on the likeness of lost ones to say goodbye or vent their passions.

The Namer continued, his face growing red with the effort to name everything in a single breath.

The litany grew uncomfortable as name after name filled the courtyard.

"… The Taker of Souls, the Shadow Mistress, the Mistress of Tears, the Bitch of Our Lives, the Meat-Cutters' Savior…"

Merrie frowned. She didn't remember any of the ones the Namer was listing.

“.. The Mother of Darkness, the Prin…” he choked and gasped, a tremor shaking through his body.

Taking a deep breath, he continued, “… the Pawn of Shadows, the Blessed Bitch of the Gods, Light Snuffer, Demon Bane, and Complicated Bitch.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as the Namer lowered his hands. He panted as he looked at her with a strange mixture of surprise and relief.

Merrie shrugged and perked up her ears. She didn't know if she could respond or even how to respond to the litany of names. She was stunned herself that she had so many of them, including ones she never remembered anyone ever calling her.

Someone coughed.

Udin kicked her with one boot, the toe catching her inner thigh. “The accused shall approach the stand.”

His voice was a low growl. When she didn't respond immediately, he kicked her again, this time catching against her naked pussy. The impact sent a flash of agony coursing through her followed by a brief burst of pleasure.

Head bowed but breath coming faster, she crawled past the Namer and down a narrow aisle between the short wall and the empty tables. The smell of old wood, polish, and dust teased her senses as she moved. When heads popped up over the wall to look down at her, She felt exposed which set off another wave of pleasure to wrack her body.

She remembered the platform from Rakin's trial. It was about a meter tall and three meters across. The old stone was chipped and scratched. There were stains of blood and other fluids that had seeped into the plain-looking rock. Up close, however, there was a different story. The stone glowed with powerful wards and magic. The strongest was an interlocking set of wards to detect mis-truths; the powerful divination magic was one of the most complicated and redundant spell she had ever seen. The energies would respond to different types of lies: half-truths, evasions, and even bald-faced deceptions. It also had redundancies to detect when it was being manipulated. The entire spell shifted chaotically, constantly twisting and reworking itself, no doubt to prevent any spells from protecting the accused. There were other magics glowing brilliantly in the stone, spells to detect mental control, psionic effects, and prevent anyone on the platform from escaping by any method baring coming back down the stairs. A cold shiver of fear raced along her senses as she approached the stair. With a shaking limb, she set her wrist on it and pulled herself up.

A searing energy tore into her, gathering around her collar and prickling the skin.

Udin growled. “The accused shall not have any magical items on their person.” His booming voice echoed over the Royal Court, easily carrying back over the wall and through the gathered audience.

Merrie looked back. She was naked except her collar. Her eyes flickered to the Loyals who were still prepared to slaughter her for reaching out with her mind. Clearing her throat, she said, “It cannot be removed.”

“By the laws of the land, you must.”

“I cannot. It won't come off.”

With a snarl, Udin hooked his mace on his belt and stormed forward. “If you go for my weapon, prisoner, you will be killed.”

Merrie flinched but held up the smooth end of her wrist as to explain herself.

He batted her hand away and grabbed the collar. The sharp edges of his gauntlet pressed against her throat as he worked the collar around in an effort to find the clasp.

Merrie had to lift her head. She felt humiliated and abused as he jerked her head back and forth. The submission sent pulses of heat coursing through her body, tickling her nerves and hardening her nipples. Energy gathered around her and she saw the field around the pedestal flashing.

Udin suddenly gripped her collar tighter, twisting until his gauntlet ground into her throat and made it difficult to breath. The pressure and pain increased dramatically as he pulled her half off the ground to bellow in her face. “The prisoner shall not use magic!”

If it was anyone else, it may have worked. For Merrie, all she could think about was how he had her life in his hand. He could crush her throat against the immutable metal that sealed her. He could kill her.

Energy poured into her, redoubling with the fear of death and the intense pleasure of submission. He wanted her to lash out, he wanted to hurt her, beat her. He wanted to cut her down. And every aching desire that radiated from his thoughts punched into her intense need for submission. Trembling for only a second, she felt the power rising up into an intense orgasm.

“Stop immediately or I shall stop you!” His breath blasted against Merrie's face.

She gasped and pawed at the air, her severed wrist flailing helplessly as she avoided touching him.

“I will cut you—” he bellowed, setting off another orgasm.


The Namer's voice cut' through the pounding pulse in her thoughts. “Now speaking, Kirin, Guild Mistress of the Whore's Guild!”

Udin twisted his grip more, cutting off more of his breath. “By the law of Franome, cease using—”

“Bailiff!” snapped Kirin. “You are causing this!”

A frown furrowed his brow. Without relaxing his grip, he straightened. His arm pulled Merrie up, forcing her to balance on her back legs. “Explain yourself, whore.”

“I would if you would stop making her come.”

“So she's getting off on this. That is no reason to flaunt—”

“Court!” interrupted Kirin, her voice growing louder. “The accused is a True Submissive!”

A ripple of whispers and gasp ran through the audience. Merrie peeked over and saw that Udin was holding her high enough to see the five banks of chairs and benches that filled the end of the Royal Court. Each one had at least a hundred seats and every single one of them was filled. There were people standing in the aisles, arranged against the back walls. Even the balconies and upper deck was filled with people wanting to see a treason trial.

Udin shook Merrie. “What does that mean?”

Merrie's cunt pulsed with desire as her body was wracked by his easy strength. She flailed helplessly, lost in fear and desire.

Kirin started to answer.

“I will not trust a whore,” he announced. Then he turned and yelled toward the far end of the court, near the large stone table where the judges would sit. “Historians!”

A trio of priests came out. They were of three different gods, all ones of knowledge.

“What is a True Submissive?” asked Udin.

The lead one, an older man with white hair and watery eyes, answered. “A True Submissive is an individual who gains power from submission and abuse. Anything that causes them to experience feelings of submission, helplessness, or domination will cause them to gather energy. Unlike most submissive magic, a True Submissive is unable to use their magic without a catalyst in the form of a ‘master’. Of the known True Submissives, the only limitation on magical use is the master, not the True Submissive. The master in this relationship guides and directs the magic.”

“So her master is the one using magic?”

“No,” said one of the other priests. “The gathering of power is induced by physical and mental domination.”

Kirin spoke up, “You rattling her by her collar is causing her to orgasm. That's where the power is coming from.”

Udin froze and then peered down at Merrie. She could feel the anger burning inside him, he was used to being in charge and didn't like her.

Her pussy grew wetter and she clamped her thighs together.

He tightened his grip, cutting off her breathing as he tried to twist off her collar.

A pulse of desire leaked from her shields, rippling energy across the pedestal. It lit up a column around the platform before rolling across the room to strike against an invisible shield formed by the short wall to the audience. It also broke against an intense wall of protection that interposed itself between Merrie and the judges' stone table.

He did it again, setting off a stronger orgasm.

Merrie tried to keep her pleasure in her mental shields but couldn't. Wisps of pleasure radiating out, striking the surrounding walls with enough force that a few ripples of energy broke through and into the audience. She could hear the soft gasps of pleasure from the first few ranks of seats.

Disgusted, he dropped her. “So, how do you drain her? An anti-magic shell?”

Kirin cleared her throat.

“Speak, whore.”

"Please reference the Whores' Guild submitted report called 'Bitch's Collar.'"

Merrie shivered at hearing her name.

Udin looked at the priests of knowledge.

The first one spoke up. “Those records are sealed.”

“By who's authority?”

No answer.

The answer must have meant something. Udin sighed and stepped back. “Is she a danger to the court?”

The three priests glanced at each other and then, as one, nodded. The first spoke again. “We recommend care be exercised with the accused.”

A ripple of surprise raced along the audience.

“Fine,” growled Udin. “But the collar comes off.”

“We do not recommend this course of action,” said the third priest in a surprisingly girlish voice for an older man.

“I will be the authority on that! Remove that collar or I will have it destroyed.”

Kirin cleared her throat.

“What, whore!?”

“Bitch's Collar.”

Udin growled. He slowly swiveled his head to the historians.

The first one spoke again. “The collar is a registered artifact, destruction of it will threaten the court.”

“… and the city of Franome,” added the second.

“… and the World Tree,” finished the third.

This time, the whispers and cry grew even louder. They bounced across the room as people half stood up.

“There will be silence in the court!” bellowed Udin, turning on the audiences.

As he struggled to regain control over the court, Merrie glanced at the platform. He wanted her there, she could feel it. Wordless, she stepped back on the stairs.

Energy flashed over her.

With a rush of submission, she forced herself up on the stairs and crawled to the center of the platform. She felt a thousand of eyes staring at her naked body as she knelt in the middle. Reflexively, she brought her wrists up to her collar and thrust her breasts out for the empty chairs in front of her. There were five of them set out; Rakin's trial only needed three. She didn't know why, but somehow she felt there were eyes boring into her from the empty seats. She took a deep breath and spread her thighs, exposing her pussy and ass to the audience and the judges in front of her.

Seconds after she settled into position, the court grew silent.

“What, where… damn it,” growled Udin.

Merrie couldn't help but wag her tail back and forth.

“Disgusting,” Udin muttered but he made no effort to do anything else. Instead, his boots scuffed on the ground as he stood behind her. She heard him inhale and then bellow out. “Silence and attention! The Royal Court of Franome is now in order.”

What followed was almost twenty minutes of prayers to the gods of justice, a declaration of loyalty to Franome, and even a vow to honor the decisions made by the presiding judges.

Merrie performed everything with tears in her eyes. She felt terrible alone and abandoned. There was no one to help her, no one to stand by her side. She was helpless to do anything.

When they got to the point where they bowed to the presiding queen, Merrie looked up in hopes. However, she only saw the queen staring pointedly back at her, jaw tight. Memories rose up of the queen and how she left with Kirin. It was a secret that the queen enjoyed the company of the Whores' Guild Mistress and Merrie had no doubt that the fact would not come up in her trial either.

The Royal Geas flickered inside her, twisting her guts violently to warn her against anything that would threaten the royal family.

The list of Merrie's accusations took almost twenty minutes. Charge after charge was laid in front of her: destruction of property, loss of life, destruction of farming lands, threatening the border of Franome, and attacking a count's daughter. Each one brought fresh tears of Merrie's eyes. She knew they were true but she couldn't speak. Instead, she flinched with each charge, each accusation. The dread filled her. She couldn't disagree with any of them, she had been responsible for everything.

And then it came.

“… and finally, Merrie Golddother has been accused of treason against the land and people of Franome, the Royal Family, and justice itself.”

She almost broke down. Trembling, she bowed her head and let the tears roll down her face.

The Namer called out. “Announcing Judge Kagli, Judge Rammis, Judge Ertyo, Judge Cannerston, and Judge Marshdother.”

As each name was called out, the judge appeared in a chair. At first, Merrie thought it was teleportation but she caught the flash of illusion magic disappearing; they had been there for some time and were only now revealing themselves. She lifted her head to watch as the older men and women finished appearing. All of them were in the later parts of their lives, appearing to be in their sixties but no doubt in their second centuries. None of them were smiling as they looked directly at her.

One of the female judges, Marshdother, leaned forward. “What do you do prefer to be called?”

She almost projected but didn't. Clearing her throat, she said, “Merrie, please.” It was as good of a name as any.

“Well, Merrie, there are some serious charges laid before you.”

“Yes…” she struggled with the right phrase.

“Your honor.”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Did you do it?” The line of questioning surprised her. It was conversational but at the same time, Merrie knew that every word and phrase would be dissected and analyzed. The tone would make it harder to stay on guard, to make sure she didn't say the wrong thing.

Merrie cleared her throat. “I did not commit treason.”

“And the others?”

The trapped feeling rose. “From a certain point of view… yes.”

Judge Kagli leaned forward and Marshdother leaned back.

Kagli steepled his fingers. “Start at the beginning, show us how you got here.”

She blanched. “I don't know if I can.”

“Feel free to name people, those details will not go beyond the inner court into the audience. There are spells to ensure specific details like that won't be shared outside the judges, the royal family, and the officers of the court.”

Sweat prickling her brow, Merrie struggled with her next works.

“Please, Merrie. Realize that your life is on the line and you must tell the truth.”

“Yes… your honor.” Her tail pressed against her thigh as she struggled for a moment. Then, she found a place to start her story. She opened her mouth to start.

When she saw a little girl sitting on the table of the judge's table, she froze. The girl couldn't have been more than eight years old, with a soft gray and blue dress on. Her black hair was pulled up in a bow.

Merrie stared in shock. As her attention drew on the little girl, she disappeared. When Merrie drew her attention back to the judges, she spotted the little girl in the corner of her vision.

“Merrie? You must answer.”

Disturbed, Merrie calmed herself. “I guess the best time to start is when I died. It was after we were fleeing Lemetri's paladin, Gillette…”