Mistress Amber

Amber paces. Narglarn grimaces. Thynelleph stands by the door, cool as can be.

The Queen of Maids, one of the most jaw-droppingly beautiful entities I've ever laid eyes on, possesses as well the capacity to be the most terrifying. Somehow, without saying anything, by doing nothing more than walking back and forth in front of the doorway to her balcony, she's far scarier than any of the actual violence I've witnessed.

'You're becoming a nuisance,' she says at length, stopping midstride. Amber turns towards the doors, to that vista of smoke and sordidness. Anthexxia, one of the bleak cities. A transdimensional "spaceship" of sorts, built of magic. Our shared prison, as I understand it. 'Scratch that. You were already a nuisance, but now you're becoming an annoyance. How can you cause me trouble so consistently?'

I am, at least, growing as a person. Growing as an inhabitant of this strange and sensual realm, with its rules and customs that go outside of my comfort zone time and again. I know, most importantly, to stay quiet until explicitly asked to speak.

'What do I do with you, Peter? Even put into service, you find a way to upset the balance of things. Should I simply give Anabella the chance to eat you properly, and rid myself of your obnoxiousness? I doubt mother would care. Your little virgin stories are hardly going to carry that much weight.'

The shame and the fear and the doubt all fight for a way to get at me, scrambling among themselves, leaving me for the most part placid, neutral. I could get offended by Amber, or scared of her threats, or ashamed that yes, I've fucked-up again, but...none of it's productive.

Lasyrrix's concerns about the "outside" world suddenly make a great deal more sense. It's so much simpler, and less tempting, inside my room. It was complicated on Earth, with how people interact, but here? Anthexxia is a maze of tripwires and trapdoors, everything laced in the most tempting of sweets and offerings.

'Well, boy?' Amber says. 'Do you have anything to say for yourself?'

'I'll accept whichever punishment you think is most fitting, Mistress. It's my fault, and mine alone. I make no excuses.'

The succubus snorts. 'Oh, how noble. You'd take their punishments as well?' She moves with supernatural celerity, one moment beside the door and the next stood before me, statuesque and peerlessly perfect. A mind-numbingly alluring succubus, made all the more appealing for her lacy frilly French maid outfit. 'Thynelleph had a job. Narglarn had a job. It's all well and good to act as though you, the measly little maggot, were entirely responsible, but each of them' -- Amber makes certain to stare at one woman and then the other, her gilded gaze searing especially bright for a moment, cowing even the black-plated warrior -- 'should've known better. What are your excuses, pets?'

'I got carried away by lust, Mistress,' the black orc says, head bowed in reverence. 'I presumed permission to use the boy for sexual relief, as part of his making amends, but I didn't think.'

Amber rolls her golden gaze and shifts to the nightmare. 'And you, Elle?'

'I underestimated the trouble he could cause in such a short span of time. I was careless in my duties, Mistress.'

The succubus focusses on me. Her heart-shaped face, hair the colour of her namesake but living and energised, matching her eyes, colouring her long lashes and neat brows, is effortlessly intimidating. Voluptuous lips and a glamorous gorgeousness capable of killing without a weapon, or at least silencing all hopeful voices with but a moment's attention.

'My judgement is as follows,' Amber says voice an orchestra of opulence, soul-tinglingly sensual. Her burning eyes don't leave me. 'Narglarn, for your overt lack of forethought -- you know how your body works better than anyone -- I hereby put Peter's repayment efforts on hold until such a time that I feel you're worthy. I will discuss terms as to how you'll make it up to me later. Dismissed.'

The black orc, so much larger and bulkier than the shorter and soft-bodied succubus, nonetheless bows her head in shame and accepts the outcome. 'Forgive me, Mistress. I'll do better.'

'Yes, yes.' Amber waves a beautiful hand, and sighs. Still she stares at me, as if I'm the real sticking point. As if my judgement must come last because she's still working out the details. 'Thynelleph?'

'Yes, Mistress?'

'For your uncharacteristic carelessness, I'll have you uncharacteristically act as the harem's dedicated on-call submissive for the next three months. Unrestricted access, whenever one of the girls asks for it. You will, also, be stricken from Peter's contract until such a time.'

'Wait, what?' I say, alarm bells going off. 'But Mistress, that means--'

'Silence,' the succubus says, not even raising her voice. She doesn't have to. Her glare brightens, the arcane fire of those amber eyes momentarily becoming blinding. 'Is that clear, Thynelleph?'

The nightmare woman grunts firmly, but nods. 'If I must, Mistress.'

'Good. See that you do. Dismissed.'

I turn to the warrior, who gives me a funny look. A strange smirk. She winks, and then promptly takes her leave. Thynelleph's odd behaviour -- carelessness for one, and then whatever this is -- would prompt endless circles of conspiratorial notions, if not for Amber's sustained gaze.

'You. How to deal with you?'

'Mistress?'

'You're rather lucky, Peter.'

I blink at her. 'Lucky?'

Amber smiles, lips like lunar crescents, smouldering purple -- lacquered, painted -- at odds with her ashen blue flesh. She sits herself down beside me, and gives my thigh a pat. From just a touch, the coruscation of ecstasy, invisible bolts of lurid lightning leaping from her taloned fingertips to my exposed skin, I'm left halfway to full erection.

'Elle is a warrior without equal, and always reliable. I mean that last bit, silly as it might sound right now. Always reliable. So what, pray tell, does it mean when she's been careless?'

Thankfully Amber leaves my leg alone, or else thought might come strenuously. Her presence, the honeyed brimstone of her demonic body, paired with its engulfing heat, is a lot to cope with, but my faculties aren't completely waylaid.

'That she did what she did...intentionally?'

The Queen of Maids smiles warmly. 'Quite so. And, I imagine, she'll find herself a fair bit richer for it. It's unlike Elle to scheme, but money is money, and she's one of the rare ladies in my harem who isn't the head of some tribe or cultural group, with a passive income to rely on. Unlike, for instance, Jezzana, who happens to be a Queen of the Amazons.'

I choke on spit, facing one of the two worst-case scenarios. Engulfed by Anabella, or broken-in by the Amazonian bully. The two, of the eight, who bring with them troublesome concerns. I don't want to be eaten, and I certainly don't want to be at the mercy of the savage bitch who seems to detest me.

'It's okay,' Amber says, patting my shoulder. That voice, so dark and delicious, sensual and slutty without hinting at all at weakness or submission, manages to soothe without trying. All she does, without effort. 'For three months, you're down to four, when as I said, you need a majority. I'll simply talk to Tytana, and we'll have that number up to where it needs to be. Don't you worry your sweet little head, Peter.'

'Really? You'd do that for me? I thought I'd fucked-up?'

'With the addictive cum? Of course not. The moment you stepped through my door, that was negated.' Amber's smile becomes a grin, becomes...worrisome. 'But having said that, you did go outside the hierarchy of things. You did fuck up by threatening -- permanence be damned -- to usurp my authority with an addiction to the lowly orc.' She giggles sweetly. 'I'd completely forgotten that, in fact, so thank you for reminding me. You can choke on Jezz's cock, you annoying little bastard. That should just about make amends.'

Beautiful to baleful in a single sentence.

'Please. Please, Mistress, I'll do anything.'

The succubus is on her feet in a heartbeat, her heart-tipped tail casually prodding at my sternum, suggestive of tremendous strength. 'Yes, you will. You'll make amends for causing me extra headache. Consider the good this does: I don't have to worry about Jezz's machinations, and you might learn that I do not fuck around.' For just a moment her voice is death and destruction, the end of the line. Her eyes blaze so brightly that they might as well be stars, leaving iris-ring imprints on the world. And then all is peace, and perfect beauty. All is calm and simple. 'Out of my sight, sweet cheeks. Behave yourself, and I might be convinced to bring Tytana into things in a month's time. But not a day sooner. Will Jezz have a collar around that throat by such a time, I wonder?'

She dismisses me, leaving me shaking. The Queen of Maids laughs, not a hint of sympathy about her. My fate, in her hands, is a dangerous thing. The harem, as well, are clearly capable of the very worst kind of tricks and lies.

I...I'm fucked. Literally.

*

I'm crying by the time it rolls around, the day of reckoning. Morning arrives after a night of sleeplessness, dreading the arrival of the dusky Amazoness and her wicked demands. The knock comes at the appropriate moment and I briefly contemplate leaping from the balcony, as if the palace's magic wouldn't catch me long before the sweet short finale.

It'll be her, it'll be her, it'll be--

But it's not her. It's not Jezzana at all. Not unless she's suddenly grown an extra pair of legs, and a smile that could trick the brain into thinking a hundred broken bones are just the tiniest of scratches.

Alannah is the sweetest thing in the world. The greatest sight imaginable. The dryad, of that wild variety -- a kind of centauress, her lower half some sylvan elk or other -- looks at me with the utmost sympathy.

And the very first thing she utters, in seeing my tears, is, 'Oh, sweetheart.'

I don't get the best of looks at her, vision smeared and blurred. Tiredness rocks me, the consequences of a fearful night. But the violet-skinned dryad, elven in her beauty, with a pair of breasts that could likely crush my skull between them, hurriedly embraces me and engulfs me with her warm, sweet-smelling body. Honey and forests, that smell after rain, sweet earthy wilderness and potent cock-tingling feminine musk.

I can't hold her back, can't risk anything. In the tiredness, all is threatening, the brain searching for tigers that may or may not exist. Alannah hugs me all the same, one hand stroking down the ditch of my spine and the other playfully mussing up my hair, fingers weaving their way across my scalp.

'What's the matter, sweetie? Did I scare you?'

I can't manage anything sane or sensible. Just stuttering, changing the words midway through their failed enunciation. The dryad shuts the door and lowers herself down, bringing me with her, holding me tight against the lustrous yielding flesh of her upper body, those curves motherly beyond reason. I find myself resting against the pillowy mounds of her monumental chest, the golden leaf bra surprisingly soft against my skin.

And little by little, my sobbing slows and ceases. Little by little, I find myself relaxing, my pulse slowing.

'There,' Alannah says, syrup-sweet, soft and soothing. 'It's okay. You're safe. All's going to be well. I've got you, honey. I've got you.'

I sheepishly glance up, a mote of shame creeping in. The dryad smiles beautifully, her eyes these pools of golden autumn, eyebrows wispy and the same colour as her hair, spun gold long and luscious, its flow disturbed only by the great pair of proud antlers that protrude from about her temples.

But the anxiety, despite her gorgeousness, her kindliness, is too strong.

'You don't have to pretend,' I say. 'I can't escape. If you're planning to defile me then I'll hate you less if you just do it.'

Alannah's eyes widen in affectionate bemusement. 'Pardon me, young man! By the Great Mother, why would you think I'd be so crude?' she says, voice like nectar, the sweetest and fresh of wild springs. It has some motherly intonation, warm and engulfing, but lacks the salaciousness so common here. 'I thought I was being rather kind, trading your help with my woodlands for being your chaperone. Has something happened?'

Something is effortlessly trustworthy, in the way the dryad behaves. Enough that I spill the beans, explaining my worries about Jezzana and the situation with Amber. She stays quiet until I'm done, wiping my eyes whenever I sniffle and sob. Everything about her is calming, welcoming, soft as silk.

And at the end, the dryad sighs. 'That is quite the pickle, isn't it? I'm not sure quite where to begin, sweetie, but I will say that in my presence you're not at risk of anything. I genuinely only wanted your help with my daughters and the hives, nothing more. For the sake of honesty I'll add that, of course, I'm not opposed to anything naughtier occurring, but I would never do anything you didn't previously consent to. I'd find no joy in things, otherwise, and likely struggle with the guilt for eons.'

The admittance does nothing in either direction. Troubled as I am, it doesn't matter what Alannah will do -- she's not the problem -- and it doesn't exactly get me worked up to hear that consensual acts are on the table when my real worry is Jezzana.

'Thank you for being kind, but it doesn't change anything. Sorry.'

She pats my head sweetly. 'I don't have any real power, honey. It's a miracle they've even allowed me my stretch of woodlands, given that I was brought here as little more than a sex slave, same as all other things. Without Amber, I'd be nothing, so I can't exactly disobey here judgement.'

I sigh. 'Thank you anyway.'

'But...that's not to say I can't do anything,' Alannah says. I glance up and find her thoughtful, smile becoming a smirk. 'What are your thoughts on, say, modifying yourself a little bit? Not outwardly, but structurally.'

'Structurally? Meaning what?'

The dryad, despite being such a font of kindness, manages to actually appear mischievous. 'I produce two types of nectar, sweetie. My breasts feed the dryads of my Arbour, and could nourish a legion. My cock can feed, but is mostly used to impregnate. I could...hm.' She pauses, and swiftly wets her luscious purple lips. 'How opposed are you to the idea of consuming my semen, honey?'

I sigh aloud, but smile nonetheless. For a minute, I'd actually thought she was different. That this creature might be after something more. But no, one way or another, they want to get their loads inside of me.

'No thanks,' I say, a little curt. 'Let's just get the day over with.'

Alannah chuckles. 'That likely sounded bad, but okay. Breastmilk? I can't do as much, unfortunately, but it might make you sturdy enough to at least not worry about Jezzana. Alternatively I could ask one of the Queens, but...they're in a bit of an awkward situation right now.'

'Milk...milk would be okay? When you say "sturdy enough", what do you mean?'

'Well, you're scared of her overpowering you, aren't you? Or being hurt by her? I can't change Amber's judgement -- if you're going to have to do what Jezz wants, then that's the way of things -- but I can ensure that you only do what Jezz wants. Semen would likely allow you to make Jezz do what you want, but I understand the reticence.' Her eyes momentarily grow hooded, shifty. 'Plus perhaps I'd best not garnering...the less said of that, the better.'

'What?'

'Nothing, sweetheart. Just silly thoughts. I shouldn't have offered my seed -- but my milk will do well enough, I'm sure.'

Right...

'And the Queens? The bees and the hornets, are they?'

Alannah nods. 'Their milk, mixed with mine, could give you a particularly suitable degree of strength and durability, but...like I said, their situation is awkward right now. Perhaps we'll do my milk for the moment, and theirs later? Though I would like a favour, if possible. I was only going to ask you to help with the drones, but now this situation has broken out with the Queens, and my needs have shifted. I'll help regardless, but I'd really appreciate if you'd assist me.'

'What's the problem, exactly?'

Alannah actually blushes.

*

I don't fully understand exactly how it works.

So Anthexxia is a bleak city, an interdimensional colony ship of sorts. And it, like the many other bleak cities, is capable of leaping through time and space. But Anthexxia also contains dimensions, sub-realms. Most of them are boring. Storehouses that take up a single room but supply an entire city block. Others...well, others are like the Arbour.

Alannah's Arbour, which can be accessed through what amounts to a park in the southern quadrant of the penultimate level of Anthexxia.

It's not really a park. It's a square, with some black-petalled flowers. Foliage doesn't really grow properly here, in this demon-forged expanse. And built into a tree made of volcanic rock is an archway leading to nowhere. At least, that is, until the dryad runs her fingers across the rune-inscribed stones and opens the verdant portal leading to her little patch of heaven. Something which, as I understand it, represents the kind of luxury that being beholden to Amber allows her.

You don't get shit here without sucking demon dick now and then.

The Arbour is a forest with pools of silvery water, and all manner of vibrant greenery. Its "roof" is vines intermingling, golden sunlight slipping through the winding weave of interlocking boughs, its floor a plush carpet of grass. Beautiful flowers, birdsong -- actual birds, rather than bird-people -- and insect life. Its borders are indistinct, so far as I can see, and all is centred on the stone tree which is mirrored here, into which the portal is etched. From the central clearing are corridors of trees, of all colours, expanding out beyond the horizon. Homes, both in hollowed trunks and suspended from branches, hint at a seemingly endless quantity of beautiful nymphs -- dryads?

The dryads are how I imagine them to be, a mixture of the two varieties. The more human kind and the "wild" variety, whose bodies are deer-like and in the grander cases -- such as Alannah herself -- elk-like. Beautiful creatures, one and all, nymphic in quality. The least of them look like curvy girls in their late teens, while the most of them seem to be fully-developed adult women of exceptional appeal, and a smaller quantity -- though more common than the teenager ones -- of the finest voluptuous MILFs, though not one comes anywhere near Alannah's glamorousness.

My mental image of bees and hornets was completely off, however. Monster girls, obviously. Why didn't I assume that? I don't know which I prefer, but I've only seen the drones. I mean, I've not exactly only seen the drones, but I don't think I'm seeing the Queens at their best. Or maybe I am? I guess it depends on my state of arousal.

'Get pregnant, you tart. You slut, you--ugh--whore.'

'Yes! Breed me, Mistress. Ooh. Aah.'

Schlick-schlack-schlick. Schlick-schlack-schlick.

Well...I can see why the Queens are indisposed, "wrestling" as they are on the edge of the central grasses. The hornet queen is currently in the process of being completely and utterly ploughed by the bee queen, whose cock I can only describe as some insecquine hybrid, at least from the fact that she's got a sheath of sorts. The head, naturally, is plunged deep into the hornet queen. Both are drop-dead gorgeous, glistening with sweat, periodically switching between slinging dominant or submissive dirty talk at one another and gorging on each other's faces.

All the while on one side of the clearing are the bees, of at least three varieties, and on the other are hornets, with maybe the same number of subtypes. And not one of them, in either group, looks at all happy. Not angry, as such, just...desperately in need of a good screwing. Kind of similar to how I feel, most of the time.