Ai Love Therapy Ch. 06

"Arrrrgh!" Irene screamed, kicking off a single thin, sweat soaked sheet off her body, gasping for air. Crisp air stabbed her naked body like ice on a hot skillet, every part of boiling. She was surprised steam didn't seethe into a fog around the room. Her arms ached, firmly pinned by under her body and pulling them out, as if she were trying to keep herself in check even asleep. Once free, as if possessing a mind of their own, they immediately shot towards The Problem, but she folded under her breasts while sitting up and worked into a meditative state.

"...I am in control, this will not define me, I am in charge of my body, my body is not in charge of me..."

It took longer this morning than the past seven, but eventually her physiology calmed down and Irene eased one long, cleansing breath and exhaled all of the sexual tension built through a night of vivid dreams.

*knck knck*

One more breath. "Come inside, Dryn."

"Milady is still in bed?" Dryn asked, opening the door and letting the lamplight from the sitting room spill inside, though the short and pleasant pudgy redheaded faun chanted the lamps on with a casual magic then fixed her ornate white apron back into proper placement. "Oh my, looks like tonight was the worst. Did you orgasm, or is that all edging goop?"

"Stop calling me that," Irene said absently, squinting at bright flames reacting to charged thaumian gas, much like how neon lights worked (these enchanted lamps were everywhere, currently reading a book explaining how the entire system worked and the history of it all)...

Irene distracted herself, because even before surveying the damage, she smelled it. Her entire room stank of The Problem, enough to curl nostril hairs. Once her eyes adjusted, she had to repress a hiss at the soaked bedding, slowly standing on unsteady legs and trying to for rational. It didn't resemble normal or healthy or...like someone snuck into her room last night with a full bucket of hot viscous sex and dumped it in the middle of her bed. Knowing she wasn't human, seeing the evidence of her faunity and the effect thaumian energy expressed onto metareality, how does a body expel so much fluid and survive? Irene wasn't even thirsty. Yet her thighs matted and caked a crusty layer of shame glaze. The Problem throbbed and drooled happily between unsteady legs, which she determinedly ignored.

"I haven't done anything, nothing happened, just more dreams," Irene said, rubbing her wrists nervously to get circulation pains out of her hands. "And I told you to call me Irene."

"We went over this, Milady," Dryn said with reproof, bustling herself to the bedding and gathering all the sodden linens and pads together in a large bundle. "When the apron is on, I'm on the clock. Still your Best Faun Forever, still willing to talk and laugh and tease and pillow fight, but when the apron is on I have a duty to you as your Lady In Waiting, and I will not shirk that duty. Milady."

Irene resisted the urge to roll her eyes. There was so much modern parallels with the convenience of magic replacing the convenience of technology, yet Aoir monarchy continued to boil her haggis. However, socio-economic structures of an entire fantasy world was not her problem (so she kept telling herself) and she clopped into the shower room, leaving the door open while twisting taps to Hoth settings and deluging in ice water. "I have concluded I need to masturbate."

"Finally!" The girl immediately dropped the bundle of laundry and moved to the wardrobe. "I'll get your dildo and some lube. Do you want me to show you how to use it? I know you can be touchy about this stuff, but I don't want you to hurt..."

"Not right now!" Yes right now! The Problem told her, but she shivered as the water kept urges under control. "Today, after I finish my workout. With...him."

Roughly thrown over his throne in the main hall of the palace, Irene screamed as hot, hard cock punched into her with a splash, she was so wet. Brown hands grabbed her hair and pulled her face around to look into his ocean eyes, her hips rocked back vigorously as he rammed into her, begging for him to assault her maidenhood faster and have him mash those strong hands into her breasts while he was at it! More, more, moremoreMORE!! They roared with abandon as she wanted all of him inside her! All of him around her!

Sex without pause, an unyielding rod of flesh tearing her body in half thickened in girth, swelling to fill her twat tunnel, but the eyes darkened and Irene stared into Ai's smirking face. Unflagging, Ai copulated with Irene more intensely, a joy flowing from the futanari cock into Irene (spend enough time around the woman and anyone learned proper terminology), feeling stiff nipples grind into Irene's back as the smaller woman lay herself across and continued coition, the efforts changing from something fierce into something loving, something happy.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Joy transformed to horror as Ai became Monjafar, his face dripping rot, flesh sloughing off bone and dripping into her screaming mouth. She struggled to escape, even as fetid diseased cum burst into her and swelled, liquid cancer distending her tummy more and more until a clawed hand tore out from inside her...

Which is when Irene woke, remembering the vivid dream forcing gasps as rivuleting cold water cleansed away feelings and needs and urges she couldn't curb.

"I am in control, this will not define me, I am in charge of my body, my body is not in charge of me..." Again and again, Irene repeated the mantra, intently pushing aside the need for sexual release. Not even pleasurable anymore, it was a torturous existence living each day, presenting all the hallmarks of withdrawal. Which Dryn assured Irene wasn't normal for a faun, and that worried the psychologist the most. So she spent the last week mastering abstinence.

A day after visiting the sex shop, Irene crested her Heat. It was...Irene didn't have words, but it was animalistic. Previously deciding to accept a faun's sexual appetites, it should have ended with a few jills and return to normal faun life. Not wanting to see anyone or do anything or make any mistakes she would regret, Irene locked herself in her room and...she blacked out. Irene completely lost part of that day, eventually waking up in the watercloset with her hand buried inside The Throbbing Problem. Fluids covering most of herself, her floors, parts of her ceiling. The bed wasn't rumpled, it was in tatters, mattress torn and feathers coating everything, linens and blankets in similar states. The door needing repairs where it looked like Irene tried to kick it open and forgot how to use a simple latch, one panel splintered in the shape of her hoof. Ironically, the dildo she bought specifically for that purpose remained untouched for whatever reason her Heating frenzy fathomed.

The experience traumatized her, reminding Irene that she wasn't on earth and she wasn't human. Dryn returned the next morning and was equally shocked, explaining that while what Irene went through was extreme, it happened sometimes. Mostly to girls in their first Heat, when they don't have the knowledge and temperament to control themselves. Dryn didn't realize it would have been this bad because Irene came across older. After they talked it out, they realized Irene's body was brand new no matter what it age she appeared, so even if she was emotionally more mature than a teenager, her body was probably filled to bursting with hormones most adults had a lifetime to generate and come to grips with.

"Stupid magical Mega Puberty," Irene muttered, slowing her breathing again and shutting off the water. Skin blue from the shower and shivering uncontrollably, at least she was no longer horny. Absently she slipped the magical Heating bracelet that would block any fragrant odors from wafting around her and The Problem throughout the day onto her wrist. This accessory was a deluxe model - unlike the one borrowed from Dryn last week - and would keep the spell intact even if someone touched her (the amount of money Jeston gave her for buying little trinkets spoke volumes that he was obscenely wealthy). Deep jade with copper celtic scrollwork etched inside it, otherwise it appeared to be a simple bangel. Dryn picked it up seven days ago after Irene's Heat ended but her arousal didn't ebb.

"You need to hurry to be on time for your daily workout, Milady," Dryn said, helpfully holding out a towel.

Irene nodded, wondering for the thousandth time why Dryn became so loyal and trusting as she dried the ice water off her skin and fur. When she was in the throws of Heat, Dryn stayed in the sitting room and turned everyone away. Dryn cleaned up all the ruined bedding - secretly hiding the mess from even the nosiest of the other servants - and bought replacements out of her own pocket (Irene still had some tung from the shopping spree, but Dryn wouldn't accept it). Dryn wove an elaborate story with the palace carpenter that Irene was still learning to walk on hooves and tripped, which is how the door broke. All of this with a love Irene didn't expect or feel she deserved.

"Thank you," Irene said, meaning it, leaning down to give the shorter girl a hug. "You are the glue holding me together." She clung for a moment - not just because the blushing girl was very warm against bare freezing skin - then broke away briskly, trotting back into her bedroom where workout clothing was set out. "Alright, time for another morning with His Princeliness!"

Pausing, looking at the large wooden case displayed prominently, Irene firmed her resolve as she dressed. "After, you are going to show me how to use a dildo!"

********************

*smak!*

Like slapping iron, Irene though, hopping back with a clatter, fixing her stance.

Jeston grinned insufferably, rolling the unbruised shoulder and rippling those dark muscles of his as if Irene barely tapped him. Without a stitch of clothing or all those bracelets every faun liked wearing, he leaned forward and swung his arms out from his side, more a Greco-Roman wrestling stance. Irene had learned he was as likely to jab or haymaker with those casual looking posture, faun martial arts a mix of boxing with a sprinkling of Capoeira counters and knee strikes.

"You are a great warrior," Jeston said, his natural sincerity managing to sound like a compliment without any condescension, slowly circling around the bare white tile in the center of the gym, a large open room in the basement of the palace. "I love that we now do this every morning, I really have been trying to spend more time with you. Politics is a job that never seems to let the politicians rest until they are dead. Also, although I am not accustomed to seeing a woman in your particular cut of clothing, I think the colors are very...bright."

"Thanks," Irene replied without inflection, matching his circle, keeping her eyes above the waist because why did she have to isekai to the nudity world?! The outfit in question consisted of a tight sweater that covered half her tummy because freakin' monster boobs were like two watermelons stuffed in the taut fabric. She matched this with loose mid-thigh shorts cinched and riding like basketballers, custom tailored to let her tail out. Her only piece of jewelry was the scent blocker bracelet, but there wasn't a chance in Equestria she would take that off. Her outfit wasn't perfect, and the V in the sweater scooped midway to her navel, exposing too much pink halter bra (not the best style match, but it gave great support). Better than nothing. Both sweater and shorts were also eye-searing neon orange, a color pallet picked on purpose.

"Is there a reason you wear these styles of clothing?" He thought her distracted, faking with his right and swinging hard enough with his left to crack stone, but Irene saw it coming and dipped backwards to dodge. "I completely understand wanting familiarity, but when my family arrives I don't want any misunderstandings."

You mean you don't want the earth girl embarrassing you, Irene thought, then immediately regretted it as unfair. The more she learned of Jeston, the more she understood he was not concerned with appearances. "I am still learning the Dance, Prince Jeston. There is practicality in having a...let us call them barriers, between myself and...misunderstandings."

Jeston nodded, eyes intelligently shining comprehension, the smile on his face twisting towards self-depreciation while his fleshy eyebrow ridges quirked up towards his horns and dark mane. Maybe he agreed, but would he tell her that? And he told her these brothers would arrive any day, but they had yet to make any arrival, the planned party put on hold until the guests of honor came. Too many variables for a sparring match, both of them returning to the moment as the conversation laxed.

Despite dripping sweating and gulping air, Irene grinned herself. The slap earlier was to give him a bit of confidence, a taunt she worked towards the entire match. It was simple math: he weighed more than her by sixty pounds (27 kg) and had more reach. Never mind he spent a lifetime in his body and Irene wasn't even a month in hers. The first time they fought, he left with a broken arm. Since then, he decided every morning they would workout and then spar, ostensibly so she could protect herself. It didn't take a genius he wanted to prove something. And even if five out of the last seven mornings he proved himself very strong, powering through most of what she threw at him, today was going to be another lesson in humility.

For one of us, Irene thought, though she pushed that down and rushed forward, going for the finisher.

"I don't want to hurt..." he started, shifting back and dodging her jab, grin fading as her arm spun in his grip and her hoof flashed behind his knee. Wrapping entirely across her body (his elbow sharply slamming into her breast, causing her vision to flash white for a moment), Irene guided Jeston to the ground with extreme prejudice, slamming her upper body on top of his while her legs locked around and completely immobilized him.

"...!" Jeston's breath rushed out and her arms crossing over his throat. Tits crushed onto his ribcage, keeping him from recovering. He wiggled, but her modified Saturday Night Ride pin put him into her mercy.

Irene wanted to whoop in victory, this bit of complex twisting and maneuvers, modified over the last few days to work with her new faun anatomy, allowed her to choke out any attacker no matter the size or strength difference. Well, she hadn't actually tried this hold out, but it made a lot of sense in theory. And she had beat him! Oh, it felt so good, his face inches from hers and...

*twch*

I have made a terrible mistake, Irene thought, realizing where this hold placed her in relation to his male member. Specifically, she felt his thickening hotdog smoshed onto her cunt bun, only thin orange shorts keeping him outside of her. Irene's breath hitched when he pulsed larger and jostled her clit. Her entire body melted onto slick, tan brown skin, legs instinctively tightening, pushing her sex harder onto him, breasts aching onto his chest, nipples painfully swelling and yearning for his teeth...

If it took only a second for her to throw them to the ground, teleportation was how quickly she jumped off him and trotted three steps back. Her mantra was returned, silently running in her head sped up to frantic desperation. A blush spread through her pale skin, turning all exposed flesh a red brighter then the orange of her offensively neon clothing. "Sorry," she muttered, but it came out in a broken chirp.

"No, the apology is entirely mine, and I hope you do not...I mean, please...um, excuse me for a moment."

Irene choked, unable to entirely stop uncontrollable giggling, her body silently shaking when Jeston blushed equally deep and scrambled to rise then spin around. From how his hands moved, she clearly inferred his efforts to hide a burgeoning erection while in the nude, only immense willpower attempting to prevent full mast and the battle a losing one. Hiding this became hysterical when she noticed his stubby tail, flipping side to side with frantic energy.

"Another advantage to clothing," Irene couldn't stop herself, laughter tittering out.

Keeping his body faced away from her, he twisted his face around and scratched one of his curled horns. "Again, forgive me the faux pas. I know you learned some practical anatomy lessons from the tutors, but while nudity is acceptable, public, um, displays are frowned upon without mutual consent. Boys and girls are trained from a young age to...control themselves."

"Are you implying a lack of control around me?" Irene asked coyly, decidedly ignoring her hypocritical loose clothing hiding pulsing, throbbing, drooling twat so hungry for Prince meat she needed...she needed to calm the flippity floppity down is what she needed, repeating her mantra.

He didn't answer, turning his face away. The silent awkward pause spoke louder than...well, louder than a naked erection.

"Ahem, I think that is enough sparring for today," Jeston suddenly announced loudly, striding towards the main door - past tables holding various equipments and tools next to the more common weights and machines used to keep a body healthy. Poking only his head out, he spoke to the guard. After a moment, he was handed a large object: a container the size of a contractor's toolbox, the wooden crate polished and had regular spaced, coin-sized holes. He quickly positioned it in front of his pelvis and rotated around, presenting the box to her while blatantly using it to cover himself. "I had the servants scouring the city for this, and they finally found one from a reputable vendor."

When Irene arrived at the gym earlier this morning, Jeston appeared antsy, like badly-trying-to-hide-a-surprise-party. She quelled her curiosity, spending the hour lifting weights (Ai's past lessons invaluable, though Irene was surprised how quickly she gained strength each day while her waist slimmed too quickly). Weights were followed by jogging (galloping?) around the room before sparring, pointedly ignoring his excitement. However, when the box opened with a grand reveal, Irene pursed lips and frowned.

Inside, resting on a velvet blue cushion, was a chipmunk. Sort of. Sleeping ball of furry brown and red fluff, snoring quietly in the box, was a chipmunk the size of a small cat. And tucked from out of its back, a pair of pale yellow feather wings fluttered light down as it shifted in its chipmunky dreams.

Irene felt a stone drop in her gut, looking at Jeston's expectant face like staring at a gallows noose.

Jeston's smile wavered on that bronzed face, likely not receiving the reaction he hoped for, but carrying on without much hitch. "It is a tmyas, a rare creature from my homeland. They are highly intelligent as well as mildly empathic, bonding with their owners for life. I was beginning to lose hope of finding an unbound pup. I want you to have her, as a gift from me."

The emotions inside Irene were roiling soup she tried to keep a herculean lid on. More arduous than it should have been, she'd learned emotional controls a decade ago during her own teenage years. Since her Heat, Irene became a dingy riding a tsunami of hormones, the tiniest impetus throwing her into fervid extremes polarizing second to second. Outward, she quivered to regain control, muscles along her jaw bulging as she grimaced. She was facing at the prince, but not into his eyes, forcing herself to look...above the waist.

Because she needed to avoid attaching to the thing. Kidnapped to another world away from kinships, Irene desperately yearned for the connection a pet brings. A companion, unreserved love, as close to a child she felt capable of handling at the moment. Dryn brought friendship, but a friend was different than a pet. If Irene thought too hard, dwelt on how unbearably cute...held it in her arms and buried her face in those...or Hecate help her, named the...there was no stopping it becoming a part of her.