A stream of light trickled in from the closed draped, cutting through the otherwise pitch-black stillness of the room. The pleasant silence Joyce found herself in was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice’s soothing whispers. It seemed distant and almost melodic, yet with a stern tone as well. “Master Svobodna, it’s time to wake up,” she could barely make out.

Again, the female voice insisted, “Please Master, you need to wake up or you’ll be late for breakfast.”

Joyce heard a lot of shuffling around her. The voice’s demands were accompanied by light taps of the shoulder and similarly delicate pushed against her chest.

But after another moment, the peace and quiet was cut short as the voice enunciated, “I said: it’s time to get out of bed!” With it, the blinding light of the morning sun pierced the room, illuminating every corner of it, as the woman forced open the drapes.

The sudden flash made Sigurd grimace and grunt, “Five more minutes...”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” She turned to face Sigurd, still in bed and with only his head peeking out of the covers, and gasped in shock.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Master Svobodna,” she covered her face in shame. “I didn’t realize you—I mean, I didn’t know you were...” she further stammered as she scurried out of the room.

As she slammed the door behind her, Joyce heard her say, “Please forgive me! I’ll leave you to the rest!”

Still groggy and struggling to process what had just happened, Sigurd rubbed his eyes and slowly opened them, stating, “What the hell was her problem?”

When his eyes adjusted and he took in the vaguely familiar surroundings, his sight became laser-focused on a particular spot further down the bed. Noticing the sharp and visible tent pitched before his eyes, Sigurd grew quiet.

“Oh... what is that?” he barely uttered, perplexed by what he was seeing, before audibly realizing, “Wait a minute!”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Forcefully exiting the covers, Sigurd dashed to the wardrobe a few feet away. Embedded in the door’s frame was a large, full-body mirror. He wore nothing except a pair of socks and boxer shorts with little holes in the stitching.

Staring at his half-naked body, he uttered, “Then all of that wasn’t a dream! I really am a man!”

He proceeded to drop his trousers, revealing his full manhood on display; the morning wood, he realized, was what had stunned the maid that had abruptly awoken him. With glee in his voice, Sigurd shouted, “And holy cow, I have a big D! And it’s huge!!”

Placing both hands behind his head, he stared at his reflection. Up and down, and then back up, his eyes were glued to every feature, every detail. Like a child perusing the merchandise in a candy shop, he gazed in awe at his bulky muscular frame and also at his massive, still-engorged member.

Excitedly, and assuming a victory pose, Sigurd again yelled, “Suck it, Jeremy!”

Almost as through a sixth sense, he turned to the entrance of the room to find the door was ajar. From beyond it, the maid was peeking in, eyes fixed on his manhood. Noticing him staring at her, she shut the door. Tomato-faced, Sigurd turned back towards the mirror and swallowed his embarrassment.

He ended his sudden outburst with a light chuckle which quickly faded as he further stared and realized, “But damn, I’m a hunk. And a stupid one at that!”

Joyce clenched her fist, lamenting what she now knew, or perhaps what she didn’t. Seeing herself in her new body, without the distraction of war in the background, allowed her to appreciate the second lease on life she was given. However, she was as blind to the nuances of her new world as she was had she been transported instead.

She didn’t dwell on it too long, though, and found comfort in continuously staring at her new reflection. After a few seconds, the body’s natural processes fell into place and Sigurd’s manly swell settled. Before it assumed its complete resting position, she pondered, ‘That said, I wonder what sex will feel like in this body? I’ve only ever known how to pleasure myself as a female, but not this...’

Sigurd shook his head and lifted his boxer shorts back where they belonged. He stared at his rugged face and sighed, uttering in a low voice, “What am I thinking? I am a soldier. I have a duty not to myself, but to the people, to my...country. Kingdom?”

He hesitated, his words hinging on doubt before he stood up straight and confirmed, “Forever, I’ll fight for the people. That is my sworn duty because I am a soldier.”

Nodding, he reiterated, “First and foremost, I am a soldier.”

Lost in the reflection staring back at her, Joyce prepared to get dressed. As she did, she began to recall the events that led up to the room she awoke in.