Monstrous Ranch Ch 02

My dear sister, Anya,

I just realized it's rather irregular of me to use your name when addressing these letters. I think I am beginning to miss you. Are you beginning to miss me stopping by every other day to ask for a loan?

Things are only getting stranger here on Ambrosia Ranch, now that I've arrived, but at least I know at long last what's going on here. Sort of.

I think.

And I'm not sure I like what I do know.

It's been a long day.

Anya, back home you'll recall the practice we have of indentured labor. Someone who commits a crime has to work it off on behalf of the person they wronged, right? And other countries have harsher stances—I know the Southwesterners put their criminals to work for local businesses. It's basically slavery, but they deserve it, right? I mean, they committed a crime. Maybe it's not

right

, but it's a gray area, right? Do you understand what I mean?

All this is probably making you more sure than ever that coming here was a mistake. Here I am, looking for excuses for something that's probably horrible. I just don't know how to place it, morally. I think I might be in over my head, is the thing. And maybe I just don't understand. I mean, here's the thing...

How does all that stuff I was talking about apply to fey, do you think?

Ambrosia Ranch was a beautiful estate, and much larger than Senya had predicted. It was carved out of the bamboo forests with the meticulous right-angled precision of a yardstick. A ten-foot tall fence of what looked like iron or steel encircled the ranch, though curiously, there were no gates—just an open entrance. Curious. As the hob and Jerrod started to unpack supplies, Senya hopped out of the cart and approached the boundary.

"Wouldn't it make more sense to bring the cart closer?" he asked, as he examined the bars. They were not steel, as he'd guessed, and they were covered in ornate inscriptions. What were they wrought of? "Past the fence, up to the farmhouse?"

"The horses don't cross the barrier," Bobbin called. "Besides, we try not to bring animals into the—" She cut herself off.

Senya didn't initially parse her words, as he was busy reeling from the realization that this was

silver

he was looking at. How much could a several miles-long fence of silver cost, he wondered? Then the hob's words clicked with him, and his eyes widened. "Wait. Are you saying—

Jerrod

told me you keep animals!" He whirled on the two. The hob was nervously stroking her furry hands together, like a fly rubbing its legs, but these words caused her to turn and glare up at Jerrod. "Sheep, he said! Cows!"

"Mm. Did he say that." Bobbin raised one eyebrow. "Interesting."

"Heh..." Jerrod rubbed his back with a guilty shrug. "Mighta, uh, exaggerated."

"Lied, more like." Bobbin set the bag down and crossed her arms. "I told you not to lie.

Never

lie to the Master. I've half a mind to thrash you myself, and he'd be within his rights to!"

"I didn't have a—" Jerrod yelped as Bobbin suddenly lunged up, grabbing him by the ear and lifting him slightly. Senya was shocked by her strength—she looked like such a scrawny thing. "I didn't have a choice!" he protested. "He misunderstood, Bobbin! He thought we were slavers!"

"Bobbin, please!" Senya hurried forward, alarmed. "You mustn't—could I please just have an explanation?"

Bobbin hesitated a moment, then, with a sigh, released the stockman. "Ugh." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "It's not something I can explain easily, Master. Suffice to say that your stockman stretched the truth almost to its snapping point." Her sharp teeth visibly grated. "I can promise you an explanation, but we really

must

get the supplies inside. Jerrod, see to the horses. I'll take your bags."

Jerrod rubbed his ear. "Fine," he said mulishly. He handed his cargo to Bobbin, who held it with ease, and unhooked the horse from the cart. He gave Bobbin a funny look that Senya didn't quite understand. Both Bobbin and Senya saw it.

"What was that?" Senya asked her, as Jerrod walked off. He badly wanted to know what was going on, but it seemed like getting the stuff into the house was a bigger priority—only then could they discuss matters clearly. His curiosity for the day-to-day got the better of him, though.

Bobbin gave a short laugh. "Jerrod forgets his place. I suppose I do, too, sometimes."

"Don't you outrank him?" Senya asked. Ignoring Bobbin's frown, he went over and picked up the last two items.

"I'm the hob," she said, "first and foremost. Your uncle was always quite clear on that, though he did give me more... motility." She grinned. "I wasn't the straw boss in any regard until he came along."

They entered the ranch. As they passed the threshold, Senya felt a strange ringing sense in his gut, like he'd swallowed a tuning fork. The feeling quickly passed. Hoping that this, too, was not too complex to get a swift answer about, he gestured tot he gate questioningly.

"Wards," Bobbin said flatly. "Won't trouble you or Jerrod. Me..." Senya noticed that she had paled slightly. "... they know I belong, but spelled silver of any kind has a special hate for fey."

"Who placed the wards?"

"The man who founded the ranch." Bobbin frowned, cocking her head to the side. "Or was it a woman? Aah. The house was built after their time, you see, and at the core I'm a house fey." She winked. "I came in a generation later."

Senya looked around. The ranch itself was full of life, though much of it was hard to make out. The path to the house was flanked by twin rows of some sort of nut tree, bushy enough to block most of his view. Senya could see vast acres of green with flecks of purple beyond—grapevines, perhaps—as well as a great old red barn, a small house in the distance, a large cluster of fruit trees, and what looked like a marsh or pond area,

For a ranch so fastidiously cut from the bamboo forest, he realized, the Ambrosia Ranch was extremely overgrown. Maybe that was deliberate. Maybe it was a deliberate effort to segregate the... whatever it was they kept.

A question for when we get inside,

he thought, swallowing. The bags felt heavy in his grasp.

No point bothering her here.

"What about the cart?" he asked after a moment, glancing back. He did a double-take.

The cart was gone.

"Seen to," the straw boss said. She leaned in and, to Senya's slight surprise, kissed him on the cheek. "Just be patient, Master. All will be made clear. Know only that I am loyal to the family first and foremost. Even with that with which you do not trust Jerrod, you may trust me. Do not fear."

Senya felt a lump form in his throat. Despite the soothing intent she clearly had, Bobbin's words felt ominously specific.

Oh, please don't let me die today,

he prayed, though not to any gods, as the gods were, of course, dead.

I didn't even get to get off last night.

The farmhouse was smaller than Senya might have expected from such a grand estate—just a simple two-story house. Lavish by his standards, but hardly a mansion. Senya wondered if the original builder had known just how great and vast and strange a ranch they were going to be managing. Probably. They'd probably known more than Senya did, too. It was painted in faded pastels—greens and blues and pinks. He felt the walls as they approached. It was a well-built house, at least. Yew wood, it seemed, which surprised him: The expense of transporting this much yew had to be prohibitive. And yet.

"How does a house fey become bonded to a house?" Senya asked.

"Oh, well..." Bobbin giggled slightly, edging past him to the door. She seemed in better spirits the closer they got to his new home; Senya found it hard to reconcile this almost bubbly bugbear with the matter-of-fact straw boss he'd been speaking to just minutes before. "When a house and a hob love each other very, very much..."

The door swung open. Senya jumped slightly, feeling Bobbin pat his butt slightly. "In, then, young Master. You must make yourself at home."

It was dark inside, but Bobbin scampered in, padding on those bare, hairy soles of hers, tapping candles here and there and causing the wicks to surge into life. It was a casual display of magical skill, and Senya was caught up in admiring it for a moment. He missed the street magicians back home. More than that, though, he missed his sister, the mage, who might have the wits and will about her to make sense of all this. There were many good reasons Anya was a wealthy magewright and he was an ex-bum who was possibly about to get his organs harvested for money, but the main one was that she was just better at taking complicated and difficult situations and breaking them down to what she knew what to do with. Senya had always struggled more with seeing the forest for the trees.

The entrance room appeared to double as the dining room. The table was crafted of beautiful polished oak, as were the three chairs around—a matching set. Several small desks and bookshelves bore the candles Bobbin had lit, though there was a hook in the ceiling which once, perhaps, had held a chandelier. He glanced at it, and Bobbin evidently followed his gaze, because she bit her lip. With teeth that sharp, Senya reflected, it was a wonder she didn't cut herself. "I had to generate some quick capital after Mast—the last Master's death," she said, her voice quiet. "To track down eligible relatives, to hire on the stockman. Your great-great-uncle had a lovely elf-made chandelier... I had to make a decision. It was either that or sell the livestock."

Senya frowned at her, feeling sorry despite himself. "I don't care about any chandelier," he said. "It sounds like you made the right decision."

"Well, perhaps." She shrugged. "I am pretty good at making them."

"So, hang on." Senya thought about sitting in one of the chairs, but thought better of it. He felt safer standing. "You say there

are

livestock?"

"Hm." The hob raised her eyebrows. "You have a good set of ears, Master. Well, I suppose it's time." She made a show of stretching, probably as a delaying tactic. It also accentuated her lithe young frame nicely. Bobbin wasn't exactly voluptuous, but she was fit and attractive, and her fur didn't do much to dispel Senya's attraction—especially not when she was stretching for him like that. If anything, it accentuated her femininity. She completed the sketch and smiled, moving to sit in one of the chairs. "It's a difficult explanation, but—"

"Bobbin!" Senya and Bobbin both turned as the stockman Jerrod arrived at the doorstep, grinning. He raised one hand in a salute that struck Senya as somewhat ironic. "In a better mood, now, boss?"

Bobbin suddenly looked flushed. "Welcome back, stockma—whoops!" She was cut off as Jerrod rushed forward, scooping her up by the rear and cradling her in his arms.

"Sorry, boss," Jerrod said to Senya, his smile turning smug. "Just gonna borrow her for a minute. I been waiting to do this all week."

Torn by indecision, Senya was surprised to notice that Bobbin didn't look especially upset, angry or even worried—just slightly resigned, and maybe more than a little excited. She rubbed her legs together and sighed. "Sorry, Master. I'll be right back after—" She was cut off as Jerrod scampered into a side room with her. Senya heard a door slam, followed by muffled giggles that very quickly turned to moans.

Senya found himself alone once again.

"Well, this is great," he muttered.

So much had happened in so few hours. He'd almost been killed, he'd met the straw boss—who was a

fey

, apparently, and clearly subject to some highly inconsistent rules of status—and to top it all off, he still had no idea if he was safe. Especially if he decided he didn't like what this ranch was doing.

But after a few seconds of brooding, he had to accede to his generally practical mindset.

Well, there's no point in lingering on it.

He walked over to the table and sat, drawing out his trusty inkpen. This was one of the few family heirlooms he hadn't been forced to sell off to buy food or new carving supplies.

He could try carving to calm himself. Whittling always did have that effect. The trouble was, he didn't have any wood on hand, and he had no interest in going outside and hunting down a piece. Who knew what was out here?

So instead, he pulled out a piece of paper and began to write. Writing to his sister wasn't exactly calming, since he could always imagine her sharp voice critiquing everything he'd done, but at least it gave him a chance to reflect. Plus, it was comforting to remind himself that a skilled magewright was just a letter away if anything went really south.

To my dear sister,

We have arrived at

He crossed that out. No, it wouldn't do to tell Anya they'd arrived at the ranch, because then she'd wonder how he possibly hadn't learned what the ranch held yet, and then he'd have to explain the amorous affair currently taking place in the other room. He had to give the original builders credit—the walls were solid, and he could barely make out the gasping and moaning from where he was. But he could hear it. Anya was a massive prude, and Senya knew she'd have a lot to say about this, but he didn't want to start her worrying about that just yet.

He would just update the letter he'd started last night, he decided. Just the encounter with Nun alone would surely be enough to divert Anya's attention for one letter. Summarize it and address it, so it could be sent off promptly. He would write another before bedtime, once he knew more.

Assuming he still had all his organs by then.

~~~~

Senya wrote almost feverishly, desperate for the distraction. It was hard to do justice to just how Nun had made him feel, and he wasn't sure how specific he could afford to be.

So rapt was he in his accounts of Nun's mind control—he'd tried to keep it fairly sex-neutral for his sister's sake, but with enchantresses, it was hard to leave out the sexual factor, especially if he wanted a proper magical analysis—that he didn't notice the kitchen door slip open, and a sleek, soft-soled figure step into the dining room. He might not have noticed her regardless, though, as she moved in almost complete silence.

He did look up, however, when a slight jingling reached his ears. When he did, he had to hold in a cry of surprise.

A completely nude woman stood before him. She had pale skin, long, wavy black hair, and vaguely Eastern features—though, in truth, her looks rather defied race or ethnicity, because what she really looked like was a

cat

. A pair of pointy gray ears rose up from within her hair atop her head, and her pupils were slitted. A belled leather collar was around her neck, clutched between dainty fingers.

She went bright pink when they made eye contact. "Oh!" She dropped her hands away from her collar, and the bell jangled softly. "Master! You have returned!"

"Um..." Senya stared at her. Despite the strange features that marked her as a catgirl—one of the more approachable Low Fey—she was still to most regards a beautiful, naked human woman. Her melon-sized breasts were covered in a soft layer of gray fuzz that only accentuated her pert nipples, and her sex was visibly wet. The long gray cat tail rising from her buttocks did nothing to distract from a perfect bubble butt.

Senya's cock was already slightly hard, he realized with a pang. Too much writing about the enchantress for his own good. The catgirl's eyes instantly lowered to gaze upon the bulge.

"Ooh," she whispered. "Master, you need me!"

"Um, what?"

"Master needs me!" she squealed softly. The bell was jingling louder, now, but then her hand clamped down on it and she rushed toward Senya. With one move showing surprising strength, the slight young woman spun his chair around to face her and dropped to her knees. Her other hand started to work his belt buckle before he even knew what was happening.

"Wait!" he hissed. "The—who are—"

"Valina," she said, positively cooing the name as his hard member sprung free. She stared at it with adoration, then back at him with an identical expression. "M-may I, master?"

Senya stared into those beautiful green eyes. This was all happening too quickly. "But..."

"Ooh, Master," she whispered, reaching out and stroking the head of his cock between her fingers, "he

needs

me.

Please

let kittyslut have a taste?"

Senya swallowed. He didn't say anything, but this appeared to be answer enough for Valina, whose eyes suddenly lit up in joy. "Thank you, Master!" she sang, her voice still very quiet. Senya barely had time to wonder about that, though, before she descended onto his member.

He'd expected the catgirl to start sucking, but her lips didn't even touch his cock at first. Instead, her tongue started to lap out, licking daintily at his head. He shuddered from the touch. She looked up at him and smiled coyly. "Master likes?" she cooed.

"Y-ye—" He was cut off by a rush of unbearable sensation as that just

slightly

rough tongue started to lavish attentions all over his cock, licking him with an expertise that spoke of years—centuries, even—of practice. She lapped at his cock like an exquisite sweetmeat, bringing him to the edge of orgasm in a mere half-minute of determined licking.

Then, she pulled back and beamed. "Master likes?" she cooed again.

"Y-yes," he gasped. "Oh—oh, fuck—"

She giggled and descended, lower this time. He shuddered as she started to lick around the base of his cock, then his balls, stimulating them just slightly. She held his legs still, digging her nails into his skin with almost enough force to hurt as she licked and lapped and—to his unspeakable delight—sucked. And she seemed to love it. Senya shuddered and moaned, trying to keep his voice down. Nobody had ever taken him like this. And nobody had ever shown such...

eagerness

.

After almost a minute of this, she rose back up to his cock, pursed her lips, and planted a single kiss on his head. Her lips were supple, soft and wet, and she lingered just long enough that he wondered if she planned to take him into her warm mouth.

Instead, she pulled back. "Master likes?" she cooed.

"Ye—" he managed, before she took him in. His eyes screwed up in bliss as she started to suck, then pulled off and licked, then sucked again. Precum was starting to loose out, and she seemed to take particular delight in lapping this up and swallowing it, making satisfied lip-smacking sounds as if she had never tasted anything so good.

And yet she never brought him all the way. After about a minute of solid licking and sucking, he was beginning to suspect that was deliberate. Part of him wanted to hurry it up—to grab her, to

order

her, as her Master—

But then she would flutter her eyelashes at him, and he would forget his need, mind lost to sheer lust. He bucked up slightly, but she only held his legs down, pushing him back against the chair.

After what felt like hours of this exquisite torture, she pulled off. He was sweating. Senya had nearly come three times now, and every time, she had slowed her attentions just in time to stop him. She giggled at his state. "Master likes?"

"You—you—" He reached out toward her, unsure of just what he wanted to do, but knowing what he wanted

her

to do.

She seemed to expect this, and reacted with delight. She took his hands and guided them to her neck. He felt her fingers delicately place his on the straps of...

The collar.

"If Master likes," she said sweetly, but her voice was tinged with something wicked now, "Master gets what Master wants."

She descended toward his cock, breathing warm breath over it. At that moment, Senya intuitively understood that if she touched his cock with those wonderful, soft lips again, if that flitting little mischievous tongue of hers touched his glans, he would cum. And her twitching tail spoke of a great eagerness to do just that.