The following is an experiment. I haven't written much fiction lately and my therapist encouraged I get back at it. There is no rhyme or reason to this. No Editor-kun, no second draft: going commando here! Expect lots of BE, FMG, GTS, Futa and other sexual growth, but there might be whole chapters where I complain how badly they adapted a favorite book series.
This is an ongoing story. Lewd happens, it has happened, it will happen again (seriously, I have only BEGUN to smut!). But so will plot, and character development, and world building. This series isn't going to be for everyone. If you are confused, start on Chapter 1 of Therapy.
PREVIOUSLY ON ALT: Ai turned into a futanari tanuki and ejaculated enough cum to waterfall off the side of a floating island. But before that, Irene played with a dildo and got ready for a meeting with Prince Jeston.
The second half of Ai Love Therapy Ch. 07 begins here!
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*clop clop*
*clop clop clop*
Jeston flourished delicate calligraphy on an ornate writing desk. Not a drop spilled off the quill from the well on his left, beside blotting sand and a stack of papers. Saliji announced Irene and left, but the prince hadn't glanced away while she waited in the doorway for a full minute while he scratched. Jeston wore his typical long green vest with thick copper and jade armbands or bracelets, the outfit worn when acting the ambassador. Irene noted his clothing because the prince preferred casual outfits during their evening talks, recently wearing a long tunic for her sake. The ambassador vest meant working late.
No fur off my butt,
Irene suppressed a shrug and trotted inside the large library, her hooves echoing through the tall-ceilinged room. A lopsided oblong, the asymmetrical four levels of stuffed shelves lined most walls. Floor to ceiling grand windows covering one wall every twelve feet (3.6 m), open to the twilight illuminated Golden Bowl in the distance. Even at night, lamps in this room shone bigger and brighter, eliminating shadows or dimness to allow proper reading anywhere in the room. Irene found the collection of couches in the center of the bottom level the best place. Jeston called it a sitting room, used it for his study and Irene thought of it as her library...as the library. It normally smelled divine, old pages and ink saturating the air. Today, odors assaulted her nose wafting off a tray of pastries steaming on the cart where tea typically waited.
*clop clop*
Why are there so few rugs in this palace?
Irene thought while clomping. Trotting around the room sounded like a knight of the Round Table searching for the Holy Grail. She kept meaning to learn the trick to trot silently, but right now she turned to hide a smile after noticing how Jeston's large ears twitched each clop. She purposefully avoided the pastries resembling stuffed croissants, the platter smelling like durian and boiled feet. Not awful - ok, actually awful - but very
fragrant.
"Forgive my rudeness, it was not intentional," Jeston said abruptly, casting a handful of blotting sand on the wet ink and standing, bending a hurried bow with the Dance language
you are important to me and your horns are unsoft.
Irene read it in his left shoulder rolling back and his right hand twisting fractionally downward. Irene recognized the formal compliment and if she was picking up the nuance, noticed a stiff and rushed delivery. The prince was distracted, clearly over those notes on his desk.
"Greetings," Irene responded, not able to give the proper Dance movements while holding Tanya, rotating her other hoof in a direction that offered apology. Tanya, for her part, mew-chirped sleepily and snuggled harder into Irene's bosom. The unintentional grinding caused Irene to skip a breath, hefting the flying chipmunk higher so she rested on top of Irene's boobs instead of digging in around her nipples.
A small grin, Jeston gathered the parchment he penned and smartly folded it up, complicated origami creating a pentagonal self-envelope. Dolloping wax from a heated cup then waving his hand over the seal, chanting, a tiny thrum of power singing through the air. Copper lines indented into the green wax, forming a shimmering and detailed tmyas matching his doorway crest. "I received word my brothers' ship was spotted in the delta and will make port in a couple of hours. Help yourself to some
pham
if you like." He rang a bell on his desk, a few moments later Saliji walked in from the foyer. The little faun girl took the note somberly, bowing before trotting out without clopping.
Irene wasn't sure if she should be relieved for an excuse to leave early or terrified the tardy-by-a-week princes were finally arriving. She went to the small table and leaned over the steaming triangular pastries, attempting to give them a chance. "They smell...savory."
"I hope you like it." Jeston broke his attention away, sitting down in one of the comfortable reclining couches, attentive towards Irene yet clutching the papers firmly. "I developed the recipe when I was still in the kitchens back home, a variation on traditional
pham.
Love to cook, find it soothing. Been too busy recently."
Nope,
said Irene's four-chambered stomach, and Irene agreed. Tanya yawned and shifted as Irene settled her white dress after bending back up, surreptitiously smoothing her lines. The warm tmyas was tuckered out from magical hibernation or magical bonding, Irene couldn't determine which. Her pet's indifference didn't make Irene any hungrier for this world's version of Sausage Inna Bun, though. "I apologize, but I am not hungry." Irene took another inclined couch away from the prince, placing the food between them. "Could you tell me about
pham?
I do not recognize the dish."
For a moment the prince eyed Irene suspiciously, studying her body and likely noticing what Dryn pointed out, how she lost weight (maybe too much projection?). Once she asked about food, Jeston's eyes lit up. "On Yerm - the continent where Aoir is located across the Blue Expanse -
pham
isn't common. I found the recipe in a crumbling book originating from the old countries that eventually became the Eastern Potentate. Since I didn't have access to some of the more exotic ingredients, I made my own substitutions. Needless to say, I failed the first dozen times. I think this version is mouth watering. An acquired taste, sure, but unlike..."
Irene paid attention to Jeston's unvoiced, unrequited dream to open his own restaurant. Just enough to remember key details. Hard to care about food when the thought of eating anything clenched her guts in pain. Getting Jeston to talk about his favorite hobby had been Fish In Barrel easy. Another world, another situation, sitting across from a man this beautiful, she would have at least taken a few bites and then made polite deflections. Tonight, Irene counted the reasonable number of minutes to excuse herself politely.
This exchange was typical for their evening mental sparring. The morning proved how much stronger he was: Irene a tad irritated that unless she caught him by surprise, Jeston was more than a match for her. The evening was set aside for chit chat, or so the Prince stipulated. Gaining some wisdom, the only rule was they not spend the entire time in silence, they had to engage in conversation. So for most of the last week, Irene parried a few of his probes before using Jeston's inexperience against him. In a way, it was fun: a game of wits to the death, and this poor Sicilian did not realize iocane powder dissolved instantly in water!
"I hoped to prepare some for the coming feast," Jeston concluded, taking a juicy bite into one with the consistency of a ripe tomato. He stared at Irene as he chewed, eyes shifting right and left as if conversing with himself, setting the papers down on the couch. "I know you just said you were not hungry, but are you feeling well? You appear to have lost weight. Perhaps the food from the kitchens disagrees with you?"
"I'm still getting used to the food." The smell overpowered her olfactory, her alien nose analyzing nuances different from how humans experienced odor. She mildly wondered if any of the windows opened while stroking Tanya and forcefully ignoring her senses. "Nothing to worry about as such. Tell me a little more about this feast, I have no idea what to expect."
Jeston narrowed his turquoise eyes like an intense fauny Zac Efron, finishing the chewy pastry quickly. Inexperienced he might be, maybe, but perceptive. "It is custom to have a formal celebration whenever royalty attends in a distant land. If they arrived when they planned, it would have been a formal dinner with some local eminents in attendance. The princes' arrival today places them close to the religious day of Pryt'Ely, three days from now. While not many of my people remain pious any longer, the holiday remains a significant cultural event. Monjafar suggested we hold off the feast for Pryt'Ely and I agree." The prince paused, leaning forward and adjusting his vest in a gesture he likely did whenever he was trying to mentally fortify himself. "Are there any foods you discovered during your stay you would prefer prepared?"
Need to know more about this feast,
Irene thought, clutching Tanya tight enough the tmyas work for a moment before settling back into sleep on her lap. "Forgive me if something got lost in translation, but this will be a religious feast? I hope you don't expect me to practice a foreign faith."
"It isn't...argh!" Jeston stood abruptly, turning towards the city past the windows, rubbing eyes with one hand while the other scratched the back of his thick mane of dark hair. It worked to relieve his tension, but his voice lost the steady control he normally spoke with. "It isn't like that. We are more enlightened than we used to be, better understanding both reality as well as the limitations gods have over us. The event is cultural. Regardless, there will be no expectation for you to participate in anything. Guests include dignitaries from other countries and cultures who will also not participate. Most of the feast focuses on various dishes prepared for the event while guests mingle and socialize. Is there any kind of meal you want me to avoid serving?"
"I'm still getting used to the food," Irene said, a subtle jab towards the question she
wanted
him to ask. "Can you tell me more about the visiting princes, seeing as I will be introduced to them tomorrow?"
"My brothers are..." Jeston stopped abruptly, turning to glare Irene in the eyes. "I'm concerned about your health. I'm told you haven't been eating and it is clear you lost weight. If there is a problem with the food I would have you tell me."
