The moment I step into the pool of silver, I'm overcome by a strange sense of multiplicity.
If it weren't for that, I'd momentarily feel like Jesus Christ himself, given that while the pool is clearly full of liquid -- albeit silvery, metallic stuff -- I'm somehow able to stand atop its stillness. A shockwave ruptures through me, that peculiar awareness of the many, of being a single thing with ever so many parts, and any wittiness (which none of the nonhumans would understand anyway) immediately washed away.
'Holy shit.'
It's me who says it, but which one? It's like being in a hall of mirrors, surrounded by reflections of myself that move in time with me. Yet randomness must kick in, because the appearance of unity promptly fades, leaving only a dim suggestion of "oneness" in the back of my thoughts. The dryads begin issuing orders to the throng of Peters, the manifold forms of myself all identical and yet clearly not of the same mind. When I command a limb to move, it does so -- on myself and on several others -- but the realisation hits that elsewhere, it's not about me giving orders so much as it is about the others, some number of them, choosing to do the very same things as myself.
That is, of course, until the incredibly attractive daughters of Alannah of the Ancient Grove, herself maddeningly beautiful in her motherly fashion, start distracting those other selves and sending them off.
Sending them off to the biggest orgy I've ever contemplated, and half of the participants are myself.
The army of Peters marches to the central grove, to handle the lusty necessities of the bees and hornets, so unfairly denied the satiation usually provided by their monarchs. I'm one of the last to begin moving despite -- or perhaps because of -- the fact that I'm the original, the progenitor.
'Who catches your fancy?' Alannah says, strutting up beside me. She rests a warming hand atop my shoulder and gently guides me along after the host, led by her daughters, Sharlaya and Vindrelleth, and the twin nectar queens, Lamithan and Ashenath. 'The mirror should've sensed the urgency, and created sufficient numbers, so it's up to you who pursue. Does anyone catch your eye? I can name them for you, honey.'
It's strange, that despite possessing a shared and vast family, the thriae and vespids are each distinct individuals. They're all exquisite, all beautiful, all shapely to the extreme. A bee drone would be nice, with their fat tits and womanly hips. Or perhaps a hornet praetor, that fusion of musculature and thick womanly curves? Long and short hair, lots of makeup and very little, revealing clothes and conservative ones...
...and little by little, pairings are made. Possible Peters linking arms or lips with these insectoid beauties and disappearing off into the trees, to sate the lusts of the poor abandoned creatures. I shouldn't simply be staring, really. I shouldn't simply be marvelling, because I know that something needs to be done, and if I want pick of the litter -- because let's be honest, these other Peters are just as inexperienced as me, and favour the "traditional" femininity among the hives -- then I'd best act fast.
'I want this one,' a woman says, haughty and just the faintest bit cruel. 'I'm not sharing him with you, you nectar-craving slut.'
'Some Princess you are, Mylessa!' another woman cries, softer, more elegant, but still edged with a kind of superiority. 'As if I would want to share him with you.'
'Watch your mouth, Phaltara. I outrank you.'
'We're both princesses, Mylessa. You don't outrank me, though I am older than you, so--'
The crowd of selves breaks apart to reveal a deeply troubled Peter caught between a hornet and a bee, each of whom is about halfway to eight feet in height, and each of whom is unearthly in their beauty.
And each of whom, it's clear on passing inspection, is a futanari.
'Princesses,' Alannah says, trotting forwards. 'There are enough Peters for you to each have one. Just be patient, and everyone will be allocated a partner. Please, don't fight over the poor thing between you.'
The two royal-blooded beauties, tall and elegant, their bodies excessive in voluptuousness -- the bee possessing larger breasts and fatter hips, somewhat chubbier of form, while the hornet is more muscular, and possesses clear definition to her shape -- growl at one another but otherwise fall quiet as the throng of myself spreads far and wide, all to the carnal chorus of the two queens continuing to rut like rabbits.
'I...don't think that's true, Your Ladyship,' the vespid princess -- Mylessa? -- says, a great deal more subtle than her prior rudeness. 'I've counted, and Phaltara has counted, and...you're one short.'
'One short? But the mirror...'
Alannah trails off, face growing bothered as one of the thriae drones -- the full-bodied beauties that make up the female caste of the bees -- wanders forwards, alone, without a Peter. She looks dejected, sad as can be.
'Y-our Ladyship,' the drone says, sighing sweetly. 'I...don't think there's enough to go around?'
As the last of the paired Peters disappears into the woodlands, all that's left is myself and the quivering fellow between the two rowdy royals. I'm passingly aware that one of us is going to be on the receiving end of two Amazonian insecquine futanaris, but it's going to end up in my hands, isn't it? I don't have to go with the princesses, after all. I mean, I'll remember what happens after the fact, but...
...I really was hoping to play with Alannah's male parts, wasn't I?
'You, me, go with the drone,' I say, stepping forwards, pointing. 'Princesses? I'll take care of you both. At the same time.'
The thriae blushes, but the vespid glares. 'I refuse to--'
'You can't refuse, because I'm doing you a favour.' I walk up to her and snatch away the sole quaking Peter, pushing him towards the drone, who happily embraces him, and he her. Immediately it becomes impossible to ignore the height and strength of these two insectoid monster-girls, even the plusher one seeming particularly potent. A lump forms in my throat, which I struggle to swallow. Which will, I imagine, as I glance down their bodies and find their sizeable insectoid-equine members making bulges in their clothes, soon be dislodged by a very large inhuman penis or two. 'I'll do what you want, so let's just go, okay? I'll do everything that you want, within reason.'
Phaltara smiles warmly, and Mylessa grins viciously. They both take hold of a shoulder, the force of their grips speaking volumes as to their appetites. Though, funnily enough, I think I might be stronger than either of them?
'Peter,' Alannah says, calling to me. I turn to find her concerned, motherly and mystical in her effortless allure. 'Are you sure? The mirror--'
'I need to get used to this world,' I say, dipping my head in respect. 'This...this is going to be fine. Don't worry about me.'
In fact, as I put a hand on the hips of each of the girls, provoking a shiver through each of them, I'm starting to think this won't be fine. No, not fine at all. Fantastic, amazing, superb, but not merely fine. And as their silvery wings begin to beat, as the floor beneath me disappears in favour of the freedom of the air, I start to grin. Start to grin, and of course, to pop a boner.
*
We don't fly for long, the pair of them tugging at me to go in either direction but ultimately deciding on some spot far from the clearing, where a glistening pool dominates a hollow of its own, ringed by impenetrable trees.
'You're either very brave, or very foolish,' Mylessa says, releasing me. 'Though knowing Phaltara, she'll probably have more of a desire to act the girl than take what's rightfully being offered her.'
'As if you don't like being mounted, Mylessa,' Phaltara says, rolling her sapphire blue eyes. 'We might as well enjoy his body to the fullest, right? Sate all of our appetites?'
The pair don't immediately act, instead pulling away from me to study my form at a distance. Their smell, combined, lingers in my nostrils. God, I kind of want them in my mouth already. I don't think anybody has smelt so good, except for maybe Alannah? But even then, it's a close competition. The princesses smell like some magical merging of honey and sugar, fresh flowers and pure cleanliness, paired with the most vulgar and virile odour of mind-shattering sexiness. Like they embody, in a raw and terrible sense, sexuality itself.
I look towards the thriae princess, Phaltara, first. She's in some sense easier on the eyes, though I don't think she's the more attractive of the pair, at least facially. Sweeter, yes. More traditionally beautiful. Softer features, a heart-shaped face, rounder at the cheeks and the chin and the nose. Her hair is a mane of spun gold that flows down past her shoulders, between her quartet of silvery insectoid wings that fold against her back, loose and straight but centred on a neat plaited braid. That her hips are so wide, that her breasts -- four of them, one row above the other, I see on closer inspection -- are so big, with such lovely long legs and a prodigiously fat pair of buttocks beneath that protruding abdominal tail-stinger, boggles the mind. What a ridiculous body, and she drapes it in a dress of white silk with a rigid style of silver chestplate -- which initially fooled me into thinking her tits are the larger between the two noblewomen. At least by mass alone, rather than as individual breasts, they may yet be! Still, it feels as though such a plate is more fitting for her crotch, given that her flowing silk has done nothing to hide the fact that she's been erect this entire flight.
Mylessa, by contrast, is distinctly sexier. Sharper features, a crueller yet more elegant expression with a faintly appealing gauntness to it. Not that I wouldn't have sex with either of them, of course, but she's more my type, maybe? Blood-red rubies for eyes, with that same shade of golden hair but shoulder-length, a luscious lock of it at any given time hiding the left half of her face. Her body is clad in armour, all plate metal that reminds me of Greek battle gear from the ancient past, with one of those skirts made up of tassels. Tassels that are very much disrupted by the presence of a particularly large cock, bigger even than Phaltara's. Mylessa seems to have narrower hips -- though even so, they're broader than my shoulders by far, and wonderfully womanly -- and a more muscular toned backside, but her breasts are larger, on an individual basis. Only two, as seems to be the way of things with hornets. I guess the "honey" of the bees might come from something different in this world.
'I said I'll do anything, and I mean it, but I can't promise I'll be all that good at certain things where technique matters.' There's no reason to delay things, so I pull off my shirt and throw it aside. 'Just no stinging me, please. I mean, with things that aren't your cocks. No actual stingers. I might add "no venom," as well, but then this seems to be rapidly descending into a boat-load of double entendres...'
As I reach for the buckle of my belt, to release my newly enhanced "beast," the princesses seem to subtly reverse roles. Mylessa, all cocky and feisty, turns as red as a strawberry, actually averting her eyes from the possibility of my exposed manhood. Whereas Phaltara is licking her lips, and groping at the sizeable shape which has left quite the damp patch at the front of her white silken dress.
'What's the matter with you two? We can't exactly do this from a distance.'
'I've never been with a man,' Mylessa says, shying away from me. 'It's one thing to mount a drone or guardian, but you're a male. And you're a human.'
