Sitting in the cold entrance hall, Cassandra's hands shook nervously as she gripped the crisp sheaf of papers tightly. The contract she had always dreamed and fantasized about having, one that would see her desires lived out at last.
Her new owner walked in, slacks and white cotton shirt hiding a powerful, large frame. Wispy curls of black hair showing underneath the open collar, piercing blue eyes staring at her small shaking form crowded onto the corner of the small red leather ottoman. "Have you signed the contract yet? We need to get on with your introduction, and I would rather have you marked sooner than later. It's easier to cut the ties to your old life, that way." he said quietly, voice carrying through the mostly empty room.
Eyes lowered, she held forth the contract for him to inspect, talking in a quiet, throaty tone. "Signed on all three pages, Sir. As requested, I have already donated all of my belongings to The Estate. All I have, now, are the clothes on my back..."
"Good!" He drawled. "Timely obedience is something expected of all servants on the Estate grounds. You are also expected to obey without question when commanded by anyone of a higher rank than yourself, unless the command contradicts a previous command from myself or my mate. You will spend your first week getting acquainted with life here, and within the first month start receiving your modification therapy. Wait here, your guide will be along presently."
Pacing the rosewood-inlay parquet floor, her thoughts raced ahead as she waited. What would her modification involve? She had caught glimpses upon arriving at the gates of red-tailed post human hybrids, and something darkly scaled moving through the undergrowth, crowding thickly on the sides of the long cobbled drive.
The Estate, known to the outside world as the Chateaux of Dreams, was almost impossible to join as anything more than a servant. Having come into existence at the end of the 23rd century during the beginning of human awakening, it was one of the first and most extreme post-human modification houses. One could, of course, if money was no issue, simply pay for modification and leave, re-enter society as an idol, a model of perfection to those without the means to fulfill their desires. Positions were much in demand and fierce competition existed between the masses of aspiring humans. Females were more often than not selected over males for the symmetry of their bodies, the gentle curves and soft skin favored over the coarser male figure.
The soft slap of bare feet against the wooden floors brought her out of her reverie with a start. Her guide, Shorn, had arrived to lead her into the bowels of the large building. The time had come for her to leave her memories of the outside world behind and start again, begin a new existence.
There were no obvious differences between Shorn and those outside the estate, if one looked past the slight grey fur covering his exposed skin, the strange liquid look of his figure and the depth and clarity of his violet eyes.
His voice was as a stream in high summer, flowing and melodic. Hinting at hidden eddies and rapids. He stood behind her, talking with a slight amused lilt. "Cassandra? Follow me, please. And... Congratulations on your successful application. At this late stage, many aspirants for the position turn back."
Whirling around, Shorn quietly made his way towards the teak doors at the end of the hall. Cassandra followed, stumbling in his wake as the spicy scent of cinnamon roiled subtly off his skin. Neglecting to ask the obvious question, she thought quietly to herself, "The position serves me... As I serve it. Pleasure isn't my hobby, it's my talent".
Led down a red brick staircase hidden behind the doors at the back of the entrance hall, the slightly muggy air cooling as the distinct smell of clinical grade cleaning chemicals wafted up from below, she watched with fascination as the lower halls slowly gave way from crumbling brick and old mortar to clean steel walkways and opaque glass doors, lit with recessed lighting in the high ceiling.
Shorn stopped suddenly, facing an unmarked door. Taking hold of Cassandra's arm, he pulled her gently into the crowded room, the door swinging shut with finality behind them. Cassandra stood in Shorn's shadow, staring meekly at the tall man sitting on a tall stool in the far corner of the room.
Glittering, blue scales covered the heavily muscled, waspishly shaped form. Slight but lithe, seemingly capable of moving with an electric grace. Fine, chiseled face surrounding eyes hiding a hooded strength.
He uncoiled slowly, standing before them as a dervish smile formed on his fluid features. "Shorn... A new one? She has the look of a frightened deer" He said, leering at the girl hiding in the shadows. Finding her eyes with his, following every nervous twitch, he scratched absently at the dark outline of a sinuous snake showing through the scales on his upper arm. "Step forward, lass. Strip for us, you won't be needing those clothes anymore".
Cassandra edged forward into the room, standing between the two tall men. Suddenly in her element, she began gyrating to an unheard beat, spinning in place as she pulled her worn, pale green tight fitting tank top off over her head. Her long auburn hair whipped between the men crowding her as a strong hand settled around her hip and pulled her roughly towards the scent of cinnamon, soft lips nuzzling against her nipples as she struggled out of tattered blue jeans, fingers brushing against a growing bulge in Shorn's cotton trousers.
Clad only in her thin panties, she leaned into him, hand rubbing Shorn's growing erection as he pushed her down onto a cold steel tattooist's chair. Wreath, the azure scaled tattooist, pinned her arms at her sides, securing her hands in vice-like manacles as Shorn shrugged out of his trousers, sitting squarely between her spread legs, fingers circling against the wetness of her loins, soaking through the thin undergarment.
The shocking drone of an electric tattoo gun broke the lust-like scene unfolding in the room before her as Wreath crouched over her prone form. "Pain and pleasure mixed is the ultimate achievement of post-human ascendency... And for myself, work before play."
The gun bit into Cassandra's neck, carving the outline of a lifelike human-fox hybrid dancing under misty moonlight as Shorn ripped away her underwear, forcing two long fingers into her wet sex, grinning as his large member dripped precum along the inside of her thighs. Lining the massive head up with her tight tunnel, he reached forward, digging nails into the tight flesh of her perky tits, pulling her forward to impale herself as the tattoo gun left ink-filled furrows in the skin of her neck.
