Mistress Amber, Ch. 2

 

Chapter 2: A Servant’s Pact

 

Amber’s chambers are practically a floor unto themselves, one that I’ve never before stepped into. She has a large lounge built around a fireplace, what can only be a television of demonic design above the mantelpiece, many seats of varying proportions, some simply massive, crowding around a central low table.

She sits me beside herself on a more human-sized sofa, then the girls start arriving. ‘Telshvala,’ Amber says, smiling at the man’ari. The daemonic draenei has a matronly beauty to her, ashen-white skin, hair like pure snow all braided and coiled, horns great and pointed like a crown. At twelve feet tall, more than twice my height, the great demoness is immense and intimidating. Her wings are immense, tail long and muscular, ringed by platinum bands jewelled in rubies. Telshvala wears a loincloth hanging from a revealing girdle of platinum, a brassiere of that same solid metal all jewelled in rubies, and nothing else besides. Her smooth legs end in hoofs, as is expected. She is enormous, truly, in all senses of the word.

As Telshvala seats herself, curious white eyes never leaving me, the centaur-like dryad trots in, the corrupted nymph upon her back. ‘The dryad is Alannah,’ Amber says. ‘The forlarren, Verelyn.’

Two more gorgeous, intimidating creatures. Alannah at eight feet, the majority being her equid portion, has the lower half of a centaur, albeit less overtly heavy of build, closer in some ways to something nimble and sprightly, like a deer, brown fur soft and spotted in white dots. Her upper half is violet-skinned, almost elven but too thick, curvaceous, despite the long sharp ears and pointed wispy eyebrows. The dryad’s enormous fat chest, barely restrained by a bra of silvery-gold leaves, bound together by flowering fruiting vines, wobbles heavily as she moves. Her eyes are golden autumn, her face a heart, warm and smiling, her hair flowing like a waterfall of spun gold, a set of antlers protruding from beneath it on either side.

The forlarren by contrast is reminiscent of a female faun, yet furless, having goat-like legs ending in black hoofs but no tail of which to speak. Standing about halfway to eight feet, her eyes are rubies, her lips full, taut in a perpetual yet sultry grimace, cheeks gaunt and cheekbones high, hair black as night and flowing down to her plump backside. Verelyn wears leather, bound in skulls and sinew, covering her genitals and quite large – though compared to the competition, second to both Telshvala and Alannah – breasts.

Next comes the dark lamia and the dark elf, chatting in mercilessly enrapturing voices about things doubtless cruel and venomous. ‘Anabella is the Apophis,’ Amber says, assuming knowledge on my behalf. It might ring a vague bell? ‘Morrigan the dark elf.’

In hearing their names they fall silent, smiling with dangerous beauty. The elf looks older, appearing as a healthy woman in her early forties, in fine feminine shape yet showing faint marks of age, her pale skin hinting at slight wrinkles. At six foot, she might be the smallest of the coven, ghostly-looking and deathly beautiful, with blood-red hair that forms great coiling waves behind upon and behind her shoulders, and eyes like arctic sapphires. Her garb is some black-plate bikini, hiding small pert breasts and girding a motherly pair of hips. She wears long cruel gauntlets, and boots of a similar kind, her collar draped in black metal jewellery, all the stones green, noxious. She winks at me, taking her seat as the Apophis coils around to sit atop herself beside the fire.

A lamia, yes, but something darker. Anabella is all tainted rainbow scales, deep indigo skin, a waterfall of obsidian hair, full lips and youthful beauty that occasionally hints at monstrousness with a flicker of a long bifurcated tongue. Draped in a crown and jewels and bands like some monarch, she sits there cross-armed, forearms tucked beneath a pair of gargantuan breasts, the gemstone embedded in her belly button glowing at odds with the flickering flame of the hearth. How tall I can’t say, but coiled maybe eight, or nine feet, though her body, so long and serpentine, could well be three times that in total, its underbelly bluish-black, softer-seeming.

By this point, I have five sets of unbelievably attractive and deadly eyes set upon me, sat as I am most unusually beside the Queen of Maids herself. ‘Where are the others?’ Amber says, hands crossed neatly upon her lap.

‘Tytana has business,’ Anabella says, tongue lapping the air, tasting. She smiles at me. ‘That ice-nymph and her demon are struggling to breed.’

Amber sighs. ‘And Jezzana? Thynelleph?’

‘Here,’ the Amazonian says, stomping in, crossing the room but pausing upon spotting me. ‘What’s the monkey doing here, Amber?’

‘He’s the topic of conversation, Jez,’ Amber says, turning, smiling. ‘Sit, would you?’

The Amazon glares at me the whole while, a barbarian compared to the others. Utterly muscular, chiselled arms and legs and belly on full show, an eight or ten-pack on her abdomen, at odds with the full curve of her hips, the massive breasts on her chest, the giant backside she sits herself down on. Eight-and-a-half feet tall, bronze-brown skinned, hair flame-red, eyes sapphire-blue. Garbed in leather and bone and metal, a warrior as much as a woman, a braided crown of sinew holding her long hair back and aloft, spikes of bone pointing upwards, the teeth of the headdress.

Just as Amber goes to speak, the nightmare steps in. The orange flame-maned horse-woman, over nine feet tall, rattles as she steps, clad in full black plate armour.

‘Sorry, Amber,’ Thynelleph says, sonorous softness at odds with her vigour. ‘I had business in the eastern quarter. More of those foolish Red Terror followers. Please accept my full apologies.’

‘You’re always forgiven, Elle.’ Amber smiles warmly. ‘Please sit. We were just beginning matters.’

The nightmare puts down her long bardiche, gently balancing it against the wall, and then comes to sit with the rest of the girls. I can’t make out much of her body, other than the anthropomorphic equine beauty of her face, its dark horns piercing the air above and behind her head, her lips full and lacquer-black, mane pure living flame, orange and vibrant. The mane, like some warrior’s mohawk, brings to mind the plumed helmet of a roman centurion, only this one falls into a searing braid behind her neck.

‘Tytana’s yuki-onna and her breeding problems aside,’ Amber says, rolling her eyes, ‘I’ve called you here for a proposition. A pact, of mutual benefit.’ She turns to me, and all eyes follow hers, and naturally I blush. ‘This is Peter. Mother’s pet writer. The boy we saved from being broken in by an old-fashioned throat-fucking.’

‘Hi,’ I say, for some reason, meek and stupid. Jezzana grunts, lets her head roll back.

Alannah waves. ‘Hi, Peter,’ she says, enthusiastic but measured.

The dark elf smirks, rolls her eyes. The Apophis licks the air, smiling curiously. The forlarren and the man’ari both stare, curious, but say nothing, inscrutable. The nightmare considers me with dull seriousness, more formal than the others.

Amber jabs me in the side. ‘Talk only when spoken to, idiot.’ The others laugh, innocent and pleasant all the way to unkind. Jezzana, basically. ‘Ignoring his basic misunderstanding, Peter has a predicament. One I would ordinarily ignore, but’ – she scans the room, garners all attentions – ‘one that might benefit you, or at least, most of you.’

Benefit them? And yes, a few eyebrows lift. ‘Today, Peter’s idiotic decision to leave the confines of this castle, being prime meat for such beasts as befell him, might well have caused the death of one of my personal pets, Narglarn Farris. Tomorrow, that same decision might kill her, or one of yours.’

‘Easy fix,’ Jezzana says, crossing her arms. ‘Lock him in here. Break his legs.’

Alannah frowns. ‘Must you be so needlessly brutish, warrior-queen?’

The Amazon rolls her eyes. ‘Must you be so dotingly motherly, cum-flower?’

‘Continue bickering, and there will be upset,’ Amber says, cool and composed and somehow, despite her lovely voice, as sharp as any scalpel. The other two fall silent, nod their apologies. ‘Believe it or not, Jez, I actually sympathise with the little idiot. He is, like as not, trapped in his room. However, that alone, by itself, is not enough to provoke this meeting.’

Amber smiles now, all threat and fell glamour. I shudder, despite the warmth here. ‘I wanted to organise this meeting so as to produce a pact, between yourselves and Peter, for mutual benefit.’

‘Mutual benefit?’ Thynelleph says, studying me. ‘What might a mere human provide? What might we provide him?’

‘Meaning that outside, the boy is protected. He can, when any one of you is free to do so, be given a chaperone of sorts. So that if trouble should arise, it is not our feeble pets who face it, defending our mistaken honour, but rather one of we dangerous creatures.’

And what I fear, as she finishes speaking, comes to a head. Silence. Deadly, deathly, I-am-fucked silence. Because, ultimately, I need freedom, and if Amber won’t allow it any other way, then I need the aid of her girls. Her coven. Her harem.

Then Alannah says, beaming at me, ‘I’ll do it.’

‘You will?’ I say.

She smiles bright, nods. ‘Sure, sweetie. But in return, I may need your help with the bees and the hornets. Oh, and the dryads. Little rascals that they are.’

‘Bees and hornets?’

Amber lifts a hand to me. ‘More on that later. You’ll manage. Any other takers?’

‘He can polish my armour, clean my weapons,’ Thynelleph says. ‘That seems a reasonable trade.’

Honestly, for a minute, I expected a barrage of vulgarity. Polishing armour, helping with insects, and hot forest girls? Sure. Can do.

‘He can suck my dick,’ Jezzana says, smiling smugly. ‘And I can fuck his arse. Then I suppose I’ll look after him.’

Hah-hah. Of course, and there should be laughter, and then–

‘Is that an option?’ Morrigan says, voice that of some dark queen, dread and edged in beauty, like the hint of dawn after a black night. ‘The cocksucking, I mean?’

‘He will do what he agrees to,’ Amber says, patting my leg. ‘Won’t you, boy?’

‘I…’

‘I have demons in my court,’ Telshvala says, sounding oddly Russian, almost, ‘that would like ready access to human semen. If he is willing to be milked, I am willing to guard him, from time to time.’

That sounds better, but milked is a strong phrase.

‘He’ll swallow, yes?’ Verelyn says, a black eyebrow lifted. ‘He’ll be grateful? Know his place?’

Amber chuckles. ‘Yes, dear Lyn. If that is what you request.’

‘Could I swallow him?’ Anabella says, tongue flicking. ‘Non-lethally, I mean. Just…for mutual pleasure, once in a while.’

Something about the serpent woman’s large body now has a terrible implication about it, an unshakeable prodding that warns of ancient, evil, nightmarish fates. She wants to fucking eat me?!

It’s something of a haze, the following discourse. Amber explaining, laying out terms. Writing up some demonic document, placing it on the table before me, having me read it again, again, reading it back to her, telling her that I understand it.

I’m left staring, numb, as the others take their leave, until it’s just myself and Amber. And of course, the document. The contract, that gives me the opportunity to leave my prison, if I abide by the conditions. Blowjobs, with swallowing, for Verelyn, Jezzana, and Morrigan. Manual labour for Thynelleph, social services for Alannah, semen production for Telshvala. Vore, sexualised eating, for Anabella.

All of this, just to get out of my room when I want to? Going this far out of my comfort zone, for the privilege of the most basic of freedoms? This place is mad. The system is mad.

And yet, in my heart of hearts, I know that Lasyrrix won’t help me. I’m left, for good or ill, in the dangerous hands of her intimidating and gorgeous scion.

‘Well?’ Amber says. ‘Any thoughts, boy?’

‘Some of this is all right,’ I say, reading and re-reading, brain picturing scenarios erotic and nightmarish both. ‘I…I don’t know if I’m comfortable trading my body for a lick of freedom.’

Amber chortles. ‘A lick of it? Funny, given what some of my girls would like.’ She walks into my periphery, all ashen-blue flesh and namesake fiery hair, topaz eyes aglitter. It says something that, for as resplendently and obnoxiously beautiful as the Queen of Maids happens to be, I can barely focus on her. ‘You’ll have them at your beck and call, Peter. So long as you pay their fees – however they demand it – you’ll have someone to keep you safe, whenever you want to go wandering.’

‘I’ve…I’ve never sucked cock. Least of all, uh, gigantic ones. I mean Jezzana is huge, and Verelyn can’t have a normal dick, and–’

Amber materialises behind me, hands on my shoulders, her touch raw demonic divinity as her fingers massage sweet swirls into my flesh. I grit my teeth, almost let out a moan, so perfect is the sensation.

All that from a touch? And not even on bare skin?!

‘You only need to agree to five of their terms,’ Amber says. ‘A clear majority, effectively. Tytana’s absence being ignored, for the sake of ease.’

‘I…don’t know if I can.’

Her fingers dig in, not hard, but firm all the same. I wince, though not in the least from pain. I get the vague feeling that, if she so intended, Amber could pummel my face and I would still find joy in it.

‘It’s fair that my girls receive something in return, boy.’

‘Anabella wants to eat me,’ I say, surprised at my ability to speak up in Amber’s presence. ‘I don’t even know if I like the others. Maybe if I got to know them, or–’

Amber squeezes again, and giggles. ‘Listen, you silly little ape.’ She leans down, sweet smoky breath warming my ear. ‘This isn’t a romantic venture. My girls are the cream of the crop for their peoples. They are my harem, and my best and truest friends. You are, at most, a masturbatory aid. Do I make myself clear?’

I slowly nod. Learning anything, everything, is a slow matter here. It is inimical to hope, the bleak city of Anthexxia. Here, hope dies. Here, I have no future. Just jilted immortality among the very proudest of perverts.

‘Fine. Crystal.’

‘Good boy,’ Amber says, gilded voice dripping smug venom. She ruffles my hair with a hand, standing up straight behind me. ‘Who do you choose?’

‘Why five, just to be exact?’

‘Because Thynelleph, Alannah, and Telshvala should not, out of whatever meekness caused them to ask so little of you, prevent the others from gaining of this.’ Her voice is dark, lovely, commanding, evil. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of, boy. Once it becomes habit, I imagine your acts of service will become the highlight of your days.’

I can’t imagine it. Beyond the lack of experience, and the natural reluctance that comes with it, and beyond the three so readily mentioned, the others terrify me.

‘They scare me,’ I say. ‘How do I know they won’t hurt me?’

She cups my jaw from behind, sending lightning bolts of ecstasy down my spine. I’m erect, at full size in a heartbeat, and Amber – so supernatural in her qualities – must notice, but says nothing. Why does she feel so good, with so little effort?

‘They won’t. Partly, because I trust them not to. Partly, because I protect my pets.’ She gives me a little squeeze. ‘That said, I would suggest you choose the obvious three, plus Jez and Riga. They’re futanaris – they have both parts – and not shemales, as Lyn happens to be. Perhaps the presence of a vagina will make you feel more comfortable.’

‘Jezzana scares me the most.’

Amber sighs. ‘Quite the fearful little one, aren’t you?’

‘I’m not that little,’ I say. ‘You’re very tall, actually.’

The Queen of Maids pulls my head up and backwards, so that I’m staring past her immense breasts to gaze upon her heart-shaped face. My eyes tremble, my heart skips a beat, the whole world again being swallowed by that perfect visage. Golden-orange fiery hair cascades down her shoulders, swimming with luminescent glories. Her smile might as well be a gun, so readily could it kill.

‘You’re small here,’ Amber says. ‘In all senses of the word.’ Making especial effort to apply the backs of her nails, the succubus strokes my throat. ‘Do you know the depths of sin that people would commit to be in your position? To be making a pact with me?’

She lets the question hang, voice darkly perfect, a sonorous syrup on the inner ear even in the form of memory alone. Rhetorical, of course. All of them. At least, all who aren’t demon nobles themselves.

‘Then why? Why do this for me? How can some vague similarity between your cage and mine be enough to go out of your way?’

‘Isn’t that enough, boy?’ Amber cocks her head to the side. ‘Should you really look a gift imp in the mouth?’

‘Right. Sure.’

She removes her hands, slips away from me. Amber sets herself pacing before the balcony, frilly maid outfit showing off her long shapely legs and, on the swing of each stride, the tiny skirt reveals the distracting curves of her full buttocks.

‘Staring at my arse will not make this easier,’ the succubus says, not so much as looking at me. ‘The contract, boy. Make up your mind and get the fuck out.’

‘Uh, yeah.’

Ignoring the beautiful and frightening demoness, I give my attention to what amounts to a legal document in this realm. A choice to be made, to give myself over to whatever wicked whims the harem of the Queen of Maids decides to inflict upon me.

Being eaten is obviously out. By the opposite of the same token, manual labour, cum donation, and beekeeping are in. Well, hornets sound bad, but I’m sure Alannah, lovely as she seems, won’t let them sting me. Tytana isn’t an option, and I doubt Amber will let me delay to hear her offer. Which leaves Verelyn, the forlarren shemale, or Jezzana, the Amazon futanari.

Verelyn, at the least, has shown no overt ill-will towards me. Not like Jezzana does, at every fucking opportunity.

Does it even matter what parts they’ve got, if I’m never going to experience them?

I turn to Amber and say, ‘I’ll pick, uh, Verelyn? I’ll pick her over Jezzana.’

She pauses her pacing and faces me, arms crossed beneath her bountiful yet sadly well-hidden chest. Those eyes could conquer nations without a shot being fired. ‘Interesting. Why?’

I shrug. ‘It’s not like I’m going to do any penetrating. So at least she seemed warmer on me, however little that’s worth.’

Plus Alannah seemed loveliest of all, and they’re clearly close. That must count for something, I hope?

‘You’d be surprised,’ Amber says. ‘But I’ll say no more. Sign the document, mark your choices. I’ll have one of my girls escort you to your ongoing work at Narglarn’s, starting tomorrow.’

I turn to find her pacing more slowly, a finger tapping her pretty chin. ‘That’s still a thing?’

‘Did you still sneak out and cause a ruckus? Or am I prone to making shit up?’

I sigh, and nod. ‘Yes.’

Amber smirks at me. ‘Then, yes, you’re still doing it. Now sign the bloody form and be off with you. This is not a human care-day centre, or whatever it is you have in your world.’

With a slight tremble, I collect up the pen. God, I hope this is the right choice.

Each scribble and mark leaves a whiff of smoke, as if I’m not merely writing on paper but somehow etching something into the world itself. And when the last curl of smoulder fades away, Amber is beside me. She snatches the document up, nods at my choices, and disappears it somehow, removing it from reality.

I look up at her, and she looks down at me. This mutual gazing goes on for a long moment, and then she lifts an eyebrow, displeased. ‘Well, boy? Are you going to get out of my sight?’

‘You’re…you’re not going to…to make me do anything?’

Amber rolls her eyes, a grim smile breaking onto her perfect lips. ‘That would be a reward. I’d be doing you a favour, if anything.’ She giggles, pats my head as though I’m a stupid child. ‘Besides, you’ve said yourself how pathetically inexperienced you are. Why would I want the clumsiest virgin lips around my cock when I have better options?’

With effortless strength she hauls me onto my feet and gently pushes me towards the door. ‘I’ll be in touch if I need anything. Your warden tomorrow will collect you in the morning, late or early depending on who volunteers. I’ll see to it that you’re dressed appropriately.’

The last thing I see, before she urges me from her luxurious – if a touch too black – apartment, is the deviant succubus’s fiery wink.

Then the door shuts, locks, and I’m at the mercy of my choices.

Is…is this going to be okay?

 

I wake to the sound of a gauntleted fist beating on my chamber door.

Time is odd, in Anthexxia, but there’s a general notion – by the commotion, or lack thereof, outside Palace Lasyrrix – of when it’s morning, and when it’s night. And by the calm of the outside, it’s absolutely morning, the cretins of dusk sleeping off their hangovers and sore genitalia.

‘A moment,’ I say, and the drumbeat stops. Slipping on a dressing gown, I move with a slow reluctance to my door. Visitors are not a thing, but I did sign up for this. It’s better this way. It’s safer. I can actually leave this tiny room.

With a wave of my hand, the locks go. I’m not sure what they’re for, beyond peace of mind. But hey, the hand-wave trick is pretty cool. And maybe it does offer some protection, magical and wondrous as the workings of this place are.

Thynelleph the Unconquered stands before me, a rigid woman in obsidian plate armour. At her side is that bardiche, a massive polearm with a blade that could readily cut me in two simply by falling on me. She must be over nine feet in height, a truly gargantuan figure, one of the tallest of Amber’s gang. Her upright orange-fire mohawk looks as though it should produce sound, yet the corridor is silent.

‘Today will proceed as follows,’ the nightmare says, stepping past me. The door accommodates her stature, then shrinks back to suit mine, one of the smallest doors in the palace. ‘The morning will be spent at Narglarn’s, where you will work to repay her for difficulties caused. The afternoon will be spent at the armoury, where you will assist me in maintaining the weapons and armour of the city guard. The evening will be spent as you wish, and I am to escort you wherever you so choose.’

I turn to watch her as she strides up to my balcony and that doorway, too, adapts to allow her easy passage. A long purple cloak flows behind the horse-demon soldier, golden thread forming esoteric shapes and characters down its length. Her mohawk, at the rear, falls into a braided twist of living flame, bound by black iron rings that carry glowing sigils across their spans.

This woman…

‘You don’t seem to fit with Amber,’ I say. ‘She doesn’t seem particularly, uh, regimental.’

Thynelleph turns to me, stepping back inside. Her long face is beautiful, if dour, a demonic warhorse visage, human enough to appeal while still being clearly exotic. A pair of great black horns jut out from her temples, curving into sharp tips that run backwards, parallel to her skull. The nightmare snorts, flame spurting from her nostrils as they flare.

‘My relationship with Amber is not your concern,’ she says. ‘All that matters is you fulfil your end of the bargain, and in return, receive what you were promised.’ The nightmare juts the base of her polearm against the floor, the crack leaving no mark yet stinging my ears. ‘I have been given a rudimentary charm to outfit you appropriately, per Amber’s wishes. Do you have any reason to delay, or might we proceed?’

‘I, uh, haven’t exactly eaten yet? Or washed, or–’

Thynelleph clicks her fingers, sparks flying, and again a tightness sets about my groin as a – slightly different, admittedly – thong rides up between my legs. Fuck’s sake. This again? I thought it was dirty?

‘God damn,’ I say, sighing. ‘Amber has a cruel sense of humour.’

‘It was Narglarn’s request,’ the nightmare says, eyeing me up. There’s no lust, or at least none I can find. No humour, either. ‘I am to collect an outfit of that style from the orc, in fact. Nought so queer as folk, they do say.’

Well, at least I don’t have to worry about being sexualised by the warrior who could likely crush me with a single stomp of either of those armour-clad hoofs.

But the stupid lacey frilly black-and-white outfit, with its silk stockings and garter belt, and the fucking bra for my non-existent tits (that, thankfully, cannot be seen), elicits more than passing mockery from the burly troll and gnoll pair who guard the main gate today, and while there are few people travelling this early, those that see me wolf-whistle or imply terrible things about the state of my arsehole, given the size of my warden.

‘Ignore them,’ Thynelleph says. ‘There is no shame in accepting one’s place, and least of all in fulfilling the promises one has made to others.’

‘Easy for you to say, dressed in cool fucking armour.’

‘What do their words matter? View it this way: your personal escort today could slay any challenger, and will do so, if such is necessary for your protection.’ The nightmare glances down at me, eyes crimson, at odds with her orange hair. ‘You belong to Amber’s harem. The wretches that walk these roads will never know such privilege.’

She really doesn’t fit the Queen of Maids. I’ve half a mind to ask again, but I know the answer will be a repeat of the same. From the main gate, there’s a couple of minutes added to the walk to Narglarn’s, but we’re almost there regardless.

All the same, positive as Thynelleph’s words are, I certainly don’t feel honoured.

 

Narglarn is waiting on us inside her tavern.

She stands behind the bar, which looks as though it hardly requires my assistance. All the tables in the front room are neat and organised, chairs stacked, not a wayward piece of glassware in sight. Does she really need my help here, for a whole bloody month?

The black orc, a foot shorter than the nightmare, is less distractingly dressed today. Gone is the leather and metal rings and straps, the show of double cleavage. She looks homely, almost, but only in the sense of dress. Even without her makeup done, even garbed in a dull dress with an apron, the towering blue-black-skinned woman is effortlessly good-looking.

‘My own private maid,’ she says, voice gravelly, pleasing. ‘Ever cleaned a tavern before, cutie?’

This is going to be a long day, isn’t it?

Thynelleph sits herself down by the entrance, pulling a book from thin air. It’s something about combat tactics. It may even be a human book, but I can’t tell with just a glance. I look to Narglarn, meet her gleeful smirk, and sigh.

‘No, I’ve not. You might have to talk me through it.’

Arm healed, or bandages hidden, the black orc moves quickly towards me and gets my neck in the crook of an elbow. ‘Let’s start with the bathrooms. If you manage nothing else today, at least you’ll save me that…’

In that apparently foolish hope that Thynelleph is one of the good ones, I look to her, eyes full of pleading, but the nightmare is engrossed in her tactics book. There’s no support here. No friends. Just me, dealing with a world that will so readily chew me up and spit me out. And Narglarn, as much as her pseudo-headlock is gentle, feels like a prime example of that.

I recall yesterday, recall the suggestion that, well, I might be Narglarn’s plaything. But…how did that turn out again? Amber made no mention of it. Neither has Thynelleph.

But when I’m shoved through the door to the gent’s, and the place is remarkably clean, I…I realise that I’m not needed at all. Not in the way I imagined I’d be. The click of the lock behind me, echoing off the tiled walls of the tavern bathroom, tickles the vertebrae of my spine.

‘Uh, Narglarn,’ I say, ‘it doesn’t look like anything needs to be cleaned…?’

‘Observant, aren’t you?’ Her voice drips playful sarcasm.

She steps forwards, agile and light on her feet despite her height and build. In the mirrors I catch that all-too-pleased smile, alight with a giddiness that suggests that no, I’m definitely not here to learn how to clean a tavern.

I try to turn around, but she’s on me in a moment, pulling me against her body, my head creating an indent between her twin sets of gargantuan breasts. Like an idiot I freeze, go rigid, as the taller stronger inhuman pseudo-woman gropes my hip and strokes my arm.

‘Here’s how this’ll work,’ Narglarn says, squeezing me tight. ‘I’ll do all the cleaning, like I always do, and when you turn up, we’ll find ourselves a few nice spots throughout the day to enjoy one another’s company. And in return, I’ll put in a good word with Amber, and everybody is happy.’

I can do little in way of protest. Narglarn, so much bigger and stronger than I am, easily turns me about and hoists me up, one arm beneath my backside and the other pressed across my throat. She gets me up to head height, pushes me back into the wall, and studies my face.

The orc is beautiful. Strong-featured, with little tusks, with thick full lips, an array of facial piercings, the sides of her head shaven down to the root. Her eyes are deep blues, wicked and yet not unkind. The right has that scar across the surrounding skin, splitting the brow. She smells of sweet ale, and something grainy like bread, but beneath those scents is something darker, something feral and nostril-tickling.

Narglarn chews on a lip, eyes devouring my own. ‘You’re so, so cute. By Ygdarl, the moment I saw you, I wanted you for myself.’

She kisses my throat, nibbles, licks with a rougher tongue than I’d expect. The little tusks tickle, her breath humid and pleasantly savoury. I should protest, should stop this, but I’m not sure I can. And on another level, as the orc squeezes my backside, as she nuzzles my throat, I’m…I’m not sure if I want to?

But she must detect my wariness, or else the obvious fucking rigidity of my body. Narglarn leaves my neck with a gentle kiss and pulls back until our noses are on the cusp of brushing.

‘You don’t need to be scared, kid,’ she says. ‘I’m not mean, or nasty. I just…I’ve had a thing for humans since I saw one, and you guys are pretty fucking rare. Especially cute short ones like you.’

‘I just…I’ve never…’

‘Never fucked?’

I nod, once and twice.

‘You sweet thing.’ Narglarn kisses my mouth, tusks weirdly pleasant where they push against me. Just a little kiss, just momentary, but she caps it off with a slip of her tongue across my lips. ‘Look, I don’t want to force you into anything. I just want to have some fun.’ She kneads my bum, grinds her tusks against my cheek. ‘It must get lonely, up in that tower, right? I doubt you get much tail.’

‘N-one,’ I say, stuttering, embarrassed, awkward. No touch. No contact. Just the odd virgin joke out of Lasyrrix. When I put it like that, God, it’s painful to be me. ‘I just…I don’t know you, and–’

‘Shush.’

To my surprise, Narglarn lowers me back to the ground, setting my legs down. She kneels, coming up a bit taller even down on one knee, and gives my chin a squeeze between two large yet elegant fingers. The nails are trim, clean, currently painted blue.

‘You ate my arse, kid,’ she says. ‘Let me return the favour, at least.’

I don’t seem to have a choice, given how promptly she turns me about, gently pushing me against the wall. Honestly, more than anything, my main concern is hygiene.

‘I, uh, didn’t get a chance to wash this morning,’ I say.

Narglarn gives the frilly skirt a flick. ‘This is Amber’s work, yeah?’

I nod. ‘So far as I know?’

‘You’ll be clean. It’s a sex outfit, kid. Mistress thinks of everything, don’t worry about it.’

Sex outfit. Amber sent me here in a sex outfit. Wonderful.

‘I wasn’t told tha-at.’

My voice betrays me, my words going wrong, as something warm and wet slides between my bum cheeks. The roughness gives it away as Narglarn’s tongue, eagerly excavating a place that has never been touched erotically, let alone fucking licked.

‘Oh, shit,’ I say, and Narglarn chuckles, lips smacking. Her cute tusks prod against my cheeks as she properly begins to snog my backside. ‘You’re–ugh–really going for–woah.’

There’s this reaction, a thing of tempestuous brilliance, as her thick muscular tongue hits a spot that might as well be the head of my cock. ‘Mhm.’ Narglarn moans into my arse as she slurps at it, thong pulled aside, tiny skirt proving no defence at all. She plies my cheeks with her strong hands, slobbers and smooches that dirtiest of holes.

A pleasure is already building, so apparently vulnerable I am to a rear assault. Her tongue works wonders, spreading such pleasant wetness, applying such lovely force as it hits again and again and again upon what can only be my prostate.

‘I can’t–ughn–believe you’re–ugh–doing this.’

The orc chortles, pulling back, kissing my left cheek. ‘Why’s that, cutie?’

‘Isn’t it, well, gross?’

Another smooch. ‘Why would it be gross? Was mine?’

I recall having my face sandwiched between two fat incredibly buttocks and, much as I had reservations, surprisingly enjoyed the process. I shake my head. ‘No, but…I’m not a hot girl?’

The orc’s laughter is sweet, and surprisingly restrained. ‘No, you’re a hot boy,’ she says. ‘And I am not, by any stretch, a girl.’

No, I suppose she’s not in the ordinary sense. Narglarn does, as per the mess she made of this outfit’s twin, have a penis.

‘How’s that work, exactly? Aren’t you a futanari?’

‘No, kid. I’m a shemale.’

‘I still don’t get it?’

I glance back, over my shoulder, to find Narglarn practically on all fours, looking up with amusement. Her blue liquorice cheeks are faintly red, her eyes wet with lust. ‘A moment,’ she says, rising to her full height. ‘Let me show you.’

The orc fiddles with the back of her dress, and it comes sliding down, catching on a…on a large protrusion at the front. I’m drawn, more than anything, to her peculiar grey quadruple full-cup bra, which strains to support four breasts, any one of which is larger than my head. She pushes the caught garment down all the way, letting it fall into a heap around her ankles.

‘Rare that you’ll find a futanari orc built quite like me,’ Narglarn says, giving her muscles a flex. Her shoulders are immense, biceps huge, abdomen a washboard thing. Yet, beyond the fullness of those massive mammaries, her hips are easily as wide as her broad shoulders, and the curves of her body suggest undeniably femininity. ‘If you think of a futanari as a female with male parts, a shemale is kind of like a male with female parts. At least in the world I came from.’

I’m drawn, beneath her toned abs, to the pair of boxer shorts that tents at a downward angle with the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. Bigger than Amber’s. Not by a huge amount, maybe a quarter of the length again. It must be two feet, or something like that. Just from the outline, in those white shorts, it looks distinctly humanoid, with a very plump tip.

‘Do me a favour,’ Narglarn says. ‘Put your hands atop a sink.’

I shiver at the thought. ‘Look, uh, I’ll admit I want to do things, but isn’t that–’

‘Kid, I’m not going to just fuck you, okay?’ She ruffles my hair in some big sisterly fashion. ‘I just can’t get any cum on that cute dress of yours, or Amber will be seriously pissed at me.’

She flicks down her boxers with effortless strength, setting free a fat blue-black log of orc cockmeat. It springs up, bounces, comes to rest at a downward angle again, huge head shrouded in wrinkly folds. Her nuts are like small melons, hanging low in a hairless sack, and…I’m pretty sure there are four of them. Dark violet pubes, the same colour as her head hair, sculpted into a double V formation, sit above the base of the hefty pole.

‘Narglarn, uh…’

‘Let me fuck your thighs, okay? I’ll wank you off while I do it. I’ll even take off my bra, if you want to use those cute shoulders to support my girls.’

Oh, shit. Oh, man. Oh, God.

‘Yup.’

She chuckles as I go to the sinks, resting my hands on the cool porcelain. Narglarn brings herself up behind me and smiles at our reflections, hers so much larger than mine. The beautiful black orc unhooks her overworked bra and gravity eagerly asserts itself over her four monumental and incredible breasts, one pair above the other, all four have large thumb-sized nipples, fitting their sheer mass and bulk, each ringed by broad bumpy dark crimson areolas.

‘You’re a sweet kid. Peter, was it?’

I nod, dumbstruck, biting my lip. Words are the last thing I can manage right now, aflame with lust as I find myself. Narglarn musses up my hair with one hand and with the other sets about engulfing my cock within a soft palm and gentle fingers.

‘This’ll be our thing, okay? You help me, I’ll help you. Got it?’

I nod, meekly smile at our reflections.

‘Atta boy,’ Narglarn says, and hooks her free arm up about my torso. ‘Time to introduce you two, I reckon.’

Easily lifting me, she shifts her hips forward, jutting that black-bluish weapon out above the rim of the tall sink. Narglarn lowers me onto it, the two-foot-long bulk of veiny heat, and starts to stroke my much smaller cock with her hand. Her massive tits fall either side of my head, sandwiching me between their warmth cushioning heft, faintly sweaty from being bundled up. They smell great. She smells great.

And her dick is so big, so strong, so iron-hard and forge-hot. It pulses between my thighs and the huge orc begins to thrust, slowly driving it back and forth, her hefty nuts bouncing against the backs of my legs. Thwap, thwap, thwap they go, the sound pleasantly tickling my ears, the feel of those big smooth balls warm and slightly damp.

I’ve never really paid attention to cocks before. It just never came up. But there’s something alluring about Narglarn’s, in the size of it, the richly interesting dark colour, the heat, the sheer presence. This world is…it’s pretty interesting, isn’t it?

‘Can’t take your eyes off me,’ the orc says, a note of laughter ending the remark. I glance up, blushing, to meet her smugly grinning beauty. ‘By Ygdarl, you’re so fucking cute.’

She pumps with more force, trapping the front of my thighs against the sink. There’s this sloppy sound as something splatters the basin, and I glance down to see an oily glistening string dangle from the shrouded tip of her cock. Every time she thrusts, the stuff spurts out, drools against the white porcelain.

‘Damn kid, your legs are lovely.’ Narglarn squeezes down on my dick and I shudder, straining against her soft engulfing hand. ‘And what a gorgeous dick you have.’

It’s all too much. A sensory overload, of sorts. I don’t know what to do, what to say, so I remain passive, being wanked, being thigh-fucked. Sandwiched as I am against her incredibly body, held captive as I am between a quartet of the fattest boobs I’ve ever seen on a woman. The heat of them, the raw presence of her mighty member, the scents and sounds, all congeal together into something psychologically glorious.

I can’t believe this is happening. My first experience with a cock that isn’t my own, and it’s great. Naturally I keep staring, keep eyeing her thick slab of orc-meat as it grows and shrinks in line with the closeness of her hips against my backside. Periodically I’ll glance up, meet Narglarn’s eyes in the mirror, and she’s loving this.

‘Look all you want,’ the big orc shemale says, leaning her head down to kiss the top of my head between her four immense pillowy breasts. ‘Touch it, if you’d like.’

All this time I’ve fantasised about ordinary girls, pussies, and here I am genuinely considering taking hold of her cock. It’s a beautiful thing, so proud and rigid, but beautiful in the way a volcano, or a lion, is beautiful. There’s a danger about it, a mystique, a power that transcends my own.

But…I could just…

‘Atta boy,’ Narglarn says, smiling a broad smile as I reach down. She thrusts in such a way as to reach full extension between my legs, projecting two-thirds of her manhood out from beneath me. ‘Eyes on the prize, cutie. It’s all for you.’

It takes both hands, and even then, only the tips of my fingers touch. The heat is the first thing, the way it strains and pulses the second, the strange mismatch between silky outer skin and an iron-hard inner core the third. I grip her just behind her glans, pressing my thumbs against the foreskin-wrapped tip, which is a little spongy, and fatter than the surrounding cockmeat.

Narglarn slows her stroking of me, but my attention is squarely on this newfound toy. I squeeze it, tug at it, press my fingers into its unyielding vigour. The thing responds with twitches, with throbs, with fresh drooling ropes of precum.

‘Uh…penises are pretty cool,’ I say, hazarding a glance up at her. The orc is biting her lips, watching me with ferocious lust. ‘Narglarn?’

‘Call me Narg, cutie,’ she says, leaving my cock alone, slipping that hand up under my dress to stroke my belly. ‘I’m glad you like it. Though, me being a black orc, I’d be surprised if you didn’t.’

‘Why’s that?’

She cracks a smirk at me. ‘We’re the finest of our kind, kid. One in ten thousand births is a black. Suppose you, being human, don’t know much about my people.’

I shake my head. ‘I can’t say that I do.’

Narglarn pats my belly. ‘Well you’ll be seeing me a lot, so I’ll explain at some point…but right now, why don’t you take care of me?’

‘But weren’t you going to–’

God, I am so weak. So small. So insignificant.

Narglarn flips me about so that my groin is in her face and my face is hovering over her monstrous member. I barely have time to make sense of the world before a slurping noise hits my ears from above, and a tight wet suction begins straining my over-eager cock.

‘Oh, shit. Ugh. Narg?’

Another sloppy sound, a lip-smacking, a pleased moan. Narglarn must flick the tip of my dick with her roughish tongue, because I shiver and tremble. ‘Yes, cutie?’

‘I…this is a lot. Am I meant to return the favour?’

‘Just stroke me, kid. I don’t think Amber would be happy if you sucked me off, to be quite honest,’ the orc says. ‘I’ll have to ask Mistress about that, for future reference.’

I get my hands around her weapon, all the larger without being partially engulfed by my thighs and butt. Narg keeps lapping at my bell-end, giving it the occasional kiss, as if thoroughly in love with my – compared to the black orc – minuscule cock.

‘What’s–ugh–the deal here?’

‘With what?’

‘Um, the thing with Amber?’

Narglarn kisses the base of my cock, amid the messy – I had no expectation I’d ever have my dick sucked in this place – pubes. ‘She’s my Mistress, kid. She protects me, and I serve her. Mostly that’s a lot of a blowjobs, sometimes she fucks me, but…that succubus sure likes sucking, both ways around.’

I came to this place thoroughly straight, but I’m really not sure anymore. Looking at the bluish-black cock of the black orc, finding such raw appeal in the shape and size of it – maybe I’m, uh, a bit of a size-queen? And I definitely have a thing for monster girls – I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to…to suck it and see.

What if I like it? What if it’s nice? I…might as well try, right?

‘Can I just…can I just try?’ I say, staring at the hulking orcish member. ‘If it’s bad I’ll stop but I should probably get used to–’

Again her strength scares me. I fly up a few feet, upturned bum almost bashing into the magically-powered lighting above. Narg, contrary to what I’d expect for offering her an admittedly clumsy blowjob, has a cool glare about her eyes, and wears the shadow of a frown.

‘Peter,’ she says, ordinarily pleasant voice blunt and uncomfortable on my ears. ‘Black orc semen – and our precum, to a lesser extent – is addictive. It’s not about Mistress Amber being weirdly prudish, or selfish, it’s about you not growing dependent on someone lower in her hierarchy.’

My face must show some concern, because her countenance softens. Narglarn kisses my cheek. ‘Look, kid, I’d love for you to explore all this with me, but you’re not my property. You’re Lasyrrix’s, and Amber’s, and knowingly letting you get hooked on my loads would put me straight into hot water.’

‘This place is really complicated.’

She cracks a smile. ‘Right? Demons are really, really weird. Hot, but…do you still want to play with me?’

I nod quickly. ‘Please.’

‘No sucking, cutie. Not today, anyway.’

Narglarn lowers me again, and I take up her cock with my hands. She kisses my balls, kisses my crotch, having no reluctance to wind her tongue through my pubes, and then starts to suck on me with passionate earnestness.

‘Mhm. Schlup. Mumph.’

I can’t hang like this forever, exotic as the position happens to be. Thankfully, Narg is clearly doubly aroused by the presence of my dick in between her full, blessedly cock-sucking lips. Her own member throbs and strains, easily manipulated by my so comparatively small, yet giddily eager hands.

The slick wet noises of her foreskin as I tug, and the hungry slurping and sucking of the beautiful orc’s mouth, are music to my ears. She groans, moans, the vibrations only adding to the blissful engulfment of my cock.

‘Ugh. Jeez.’ I bite my lip, shut my eyes, open them, stare at the long glistening beads that drool constantly out of Narglarn’s body. ‘Amber…trained you well.’

Narg chuckles, interrupting the blowjob to break into laughter against my crotch. ‘You have ideas far above your station, little one. But you’re in good company.’

I find myself blissful, in Narglarn’s presence. As scary as she first seemed, she’s actually really fucking cool. And, to my great and unending surprise, is eagerly sucking my dick.

And her dick, the first not-my penis I’ve ever held, is a thing to marvel at in and of itself. As she easily swallows up my length, taking my entire cock inside her mouth and treating it to a combination of tongue massage and vacuum suction – and easily explaining how Amber seemed so out of sorts yesterday – my head processes that strange and alien notion.

Addictive semen. How? Why?

Is it addictive because it’s, uh, super tasty? Or is it just chemically addictive? Or what? I feel I should ask but…I don’t want to interrupt. My first blowjob, and it’s stellar, despite occurring in a bathroom with a pseudo-woman at least three times my weight and almost twice my height, with a cock the size of an arm, which I happen to be stroking with frantic enthusiasm.

‘Mhm. Slurp. Schlup.’

The pressure is building on my end. Honestly, I’m thankful I didn’t cum the second she started touching me! But…I want to see her blow her top, as well. And…and I want to see what this bad boy looks like without its huge head covered.

Narglarn makes an enthusiastic noise as I peel back her foreskin, unhooding her beefy purplish-black glans. My eyes go wide and I have to put in active effort to continue my wanking of her, because the thing is incredibly distracting. It’s ridiculously fat, broad and crested, humanoid yet with these back-facing pearly bumps around the up-and-outwards flaring rear.

It even smells good. That male odour, different somehow, very strong, exceedingly tangy and pungent. I’ve never wanted a cock near my mouth as badly as I want hers, right now. Would…would she stop me? Would…just one attempt get me hooked? Or–

But then it starts to spew and spit, and maybe it’s the shock of it, or maybe I’d lost track, but I start to cum as well.

It feels like a big one, the biggest I’ve shot, but I doubt I’ve ever been so turned-on before. Narg moans pleasantly, appreciatively, as her tongue gets its first helping of my human swimmers. And at the same time her hefty helmet throbs, swells, and spits the thickest, heaviest, largest rope of semen I’ve ever seen straight out into the basin. Shit, it looks like it’s going to clog the plumbing!

I’ve never seen so much cum. It stinks to high heaven, possessing this nostril-flaring tang, a not unpleasant pungency. As much as Amber ridiculed the orc for her apparent “pathetic genes”, the smell alone suggests a virility no human possesses. And that’s ignoring the sheer quantity of the stuff, the heavy viscosity of it.

I can only stare, in the throes of ecstasy myself, as she fills the lower part of the basin with her prodigious seed. And…and…if I were to just…

It’s in reach. Her load continues to flow, spilling out in spurts and swells, and I can so easily lift her cock up within reach of my lips. Just a taste, right? Just one little taste can’t hurt. I pull her immense length upwards, angle it just so, and open my mouth. It might fit. Just about. It’ll be cramped, but–

The orc’s weapon spits a thick rope of shemale-gravy right between my lips, sufficient to splatter the insides of my mouth with a big helping of something creamy, salty, rich, and ever so faintly sweet. And I’m struck by this mad realisation that this isn’t a human, that obviously orc jizz is nothing like human jizz, and…

…and then before I know it I’m straining my lips around her big glans and Narglarn is loading my mouth with a voluminous batch of her semen, her sperm, and I let out a muffled moan and swill the stuff about and gulp it down in preparation for the inevitable second dose and then–

The orc screams, roars. ‘No! Fucking no!’

She flips me about with such easy strength, bringing me down across her muscular shoulders. ‘Oh Ygdarl, what the hell have you done!’ Narg is almost at the point of tears, and the result of my momentary depravity fills me with discomfort. Shit. ‘What the fuck, kid? What in Anthexxia are you doing?’

‘I just–I wanted to–oh shit.’

‘Yeah right, oh fucking shit!’ She grits her teeth, shuts her eyes, mutters something, then exhales fiercely. When Narg opens her eyes again, her face is calmer, if soured of all positivity and lust. ‘You’re responsible, okay? We’ll tell Amber. We’ll work this out. But you’re to blame. I had a single fucking rule, Peter.’

‘I’m really sorry, I just…I don’t know what came over me.’

To my surprise, she strokes my leg, squeezes my shoulder. ‘Let’s just resolve this, okay?’

And without bothering to get dressed, the black orc walks us out – me captive on her shoulders – into the tavern hall, where Thynelleph sits reading. The nightmare immediately looks our way, not in the least surprised to see a combination of a naked orc and a human boy in a maid’s outfit atop her shoulders.

‘The idiot ate my load,’ Narglarn says. ‘He swallowed.’

Thynelleph remains still and silent for a moment, then nods. ‘Is this true, Peter?’

Fuck me. Fuck my life. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, on the bright side, the other girls will utterly love you,’ she says, rising in a flash of smoke and flame. ‘But Amber is going to be rather annoyed, I imagine, if the addiction has taken.’ The nightmare nods at Narglarn. ‘Go dress. He won’t run. And won’t escape, if he tries.’

‘I won’t. It’s my fault,’ I say. The orc lowers me, and gives me a look of sheer distaste, tempered by her clear affection for me, as she disappears into the backrooms. I look up at the towering horse-demon, who is ever so slightly bemused. ‘Am I screwed?’

‘I think the bigger issue is the meaning of what you’ve done, boy,’ Thynelleph says. ‘But there’ll be plenty of time to discuss that with Amber, who I’m sure will be happy to know you’re likely to need regular visits to Narglarn long after your month of work here is done…’

I shut my eyes, open them, and all remains the same.

Nope. Great job.

Fuck my life.