Kowtow

This erotic story features anthropomorphic (furry) characters, intelligent humanoid beings with both animal and human characteristics.

"Kowtow"

SHORT STORY

Aren didn't feel at home. He missed the forests of his youth. Where he could roam without fear. And with his current destination looming into view, he cursed his choice to venture beyond what he'd known.

Led up the long stairs, dull stone painted 'gainst the canvas of night, the wolf held his knapsack tight against his exposed chest-fur. Guards, clad in solid metal plate, knocked and jostled the assembled crowd — those who were headed likewise. Aren glanced sideways, wary of cutpurses exploiting the closeness of everyone in motion. The wolf's belongings were few, and certainly wouldn't afford one much for bartering. Small splinters of carved bone, marked and polished by a village craftsman. Of sentimental value. Nothing more.

"Move!" He heard a cry ring out as a guard whacked a traveller. The cloaked person struck the stone steps with force, weighed down by the heavy load on his shoulders. Bright metal spilled onto the path. Ingots, cast for transportation — though Aren knew aught of the concept — jingled loudly, summoning enterprising souls from among the shifting masses to snatch and grab. "My tribute! My tribute!" Aren heard the man cry, guards surrounding him and forming a wall of armoured flesh.

He pressed on.

Caution shadowed his every step. Bare paw-pads pressed down on the damp stone. It had been raining, and the mossy smell of wet hillside filled his nostrils.

Aren's fur bristled, visible to all bar the small amount of cladding acting as trousers. The crudely-sewn leather patches chafed. A sign of wear. He sensed a gloomy presence in the back of his mind, the reason he'd come this far. Enter the palace of the Great One, the beggar-merchants in the streets miles below whispered to each other in the mist-cloaked evenings, and prostrate yourself before her.

She will have use of you, and your offerings.

The Great One.

Aren avoided any thoughts about her. She had many names. Addressed by many titles. Empress, by those in these lands. Kadon Aur, by the pale-skinned half-apes ten seas away. Miznak, by the beasts of the vast Southern Jungle. Queen Of Queens, Master Of The Mountain Keep, Mistress, Supreme One, Qordas, Eleusthron, Gardiel, Gahrukh Mor, Divine Fazeema...many names, all for one being: the ruler of many lands.

Aren looked ahead. There, at the crest of the next hill in his mountainous trek, was a gatehouse. Marble arches covered the path, hanging tall overhead. Braziers hung from iron mounts, their glimmer visible to Aren, far from the structure. Red-hued dots of flame flickered in the wind. A breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, and lifted under the robes of weary walkers.

Still, the gatehouse was some time away. Aren dug into his knapsack, fishing out a strip of dried meat. He devoured the morsel, insufficient for the gnawing hunger that had set in yesterday, after his rations dwindled to almost nothing.

He climbed — come rain or storm — climbed and climbed some more. All to scale the mountain. His journey started two days prior, such was the enormity of his task.

He had nothing to his person. Not a shred of anything. Except hope.

Hope that he would survive, and carry on.

* * *

Vast gates parted. Fires burned, and the well-worn road carried him — and the restless throng — inside the legendary palace. At last, Aren was closer than ever to finding his way home.

The crowd was large, and seemed to grow larger with each passing minute. New people surged into the grand keep; clambering, clattering cacophonies of peasant, burgher, and noble alike reigned. Another entrance, far smaller, lay ahead. Over time visitors entered, and exited...their eyes filled either with hope...or despair...

Aren waited patiently for his turn. Hours later, his rumbling stomach sated with the last of his rations, it was his turn to pass through the inner gate. Inside, after breathing a sigh of relief, he looked out over a wide hall. It impressed him — as did much of the architecture he'd seen on his way here. Beyond that, and the mingling of soldiers and ministers, he spied a solitary white spot — a veiled cradle, draped in silk finery. He chest tightened as he realised the one everyone spoke of was near.

He advanced past several broad columns, getting lost in the hall's sheer size, before meeting the gaze of a uniformed lackey.

"Approach," boomed the majordomo — leading Aren's eyes with a sweeping gesture. The wolf stepped forward, cautious. He'd seen others make the long walk, weighed down with offerings to give to their divine ruler. He had nothing to offer, except his pleas. Still, he continued unperturbed...the slow nagging in the back of his head crushed by the sheer scale of the audience chamber. It was too big to comprehend, let alone worry about.

Nearing the isolated throne, he heard another voice: "supplicant," it said, tinged with surprise and...interest, "you approach with little on your person."

"A fool. Or a wretch," came the counsel from the majordomo.

"Now now, my lord," the feminine voice said, "that is no way to treat someone...new..."

Aren bowed his head as he approached, unsure if they knew he heard their whole conversation. The expression of the man's face told him everything he needed to know about their disagreement. This one — this 'Great One' — controlled her own will, and would not be told otherwise.

"Majesty—"

"Enough, a man approaches the throne. Come, supplicant, and make your entreaty."

The young wolf felt very naked in the eyes of the court. His top half a mess of ill-kept fur, and his simple clothing signalled a primitive origin. Despite his apprehension, constantly trying to escape its containment, he held together.

Aren looked up from his bow. Several yards away a shining throne perched atop many wide steps — immaculately decorated stonework; tiered in slices of marble, obsidian, and plain sandstone. Behind a veil sat the most powerful being in all creation. He glimpsed scales in the partial openings created by the slightest movement of her imperial majesty. Scales of green and dull yellow. Sixty silent sentinels — towering men and women bound in armour — surrounded the throne. Beyond the entrance he'd walked through, no others remained. No supplicants stood waiting nearby. Nobody, except the Great One and her entourage, faced him.

He gulped.

"State your name, and province," the majordomo demanded.

Aren cleared his throat, and spoke: "my name is Aren. I do not know what such a 'province' you speak of is."

The sneering courtier raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? Can you name your realm, your...people?"

The wolf shook his head.

"From where do you hail?"

"I come from a forest, a great ocean of trees — the greatest I know of. Many, many months from here."

Confusion turned to understanding as the majordomo conversed with the Great One in confidence. Aren waited, dutifully standing still. He waited for a few minutes, until they finished talking.

"You hail from outside the known lands, it seems."

Aren didn't respond.

"It appears you are indeed from 'many, many months' away. This forest you speak of, this immense sea, skirts the realm of our divine majesty. Though we assumed it a wasteland, barren...devoid of thinking peoples."

The Great One spoke from behind the veil: "it seems we were wrong."

In a flurry of action, she swept aside the curtain hiding her from sight. The silken veil glided softly through the air, revealing her to the lowly lupine.

Aren stepped back, in awe. He beheld a dragon — a creature of supreme power — taking its time walking toward him. Each step she descended brought him closer to a deity in the flesh. Those with knowledge of her kind would see that she, from her appearance, belonged to the wisest of dragons — secreted away in high mountains and among the lakes and rivers of the vast Orient. Those knowledgeable would tell you that it was an aberration to see one of her kind so brazenly taking what her might entitled her to take...to seize. This was no creature of knowledge and seclusion — this was a ruler, an Empress...

Yet her supplicant, meek in appearance and growing more and more frightened in her presence, knew none of this. All he saw was one bearing immense power. Truly a 'Great One', the Great One.

She reached him, standing opposite. Guards crowded around the pair, prepared to act in case of aggression from their guest. Aren suppressed his panicked breathing. She called him, not by given name, but by his uncivilised demeanour: "barbarian. You stand in the presence of one who rules everything. Almost everything," she gave him a secretive wink, leaving little time between words for him to react at all, "I am Empress of these lands. And many things to many others. You intrigue me. You come with nothing to my palace, and I wonder what is it you seek?"

Aren had time to get a good look a who he was speaking to. The Empress (a word that was new to him) stood shy of his full height, surprising the young wolf. Her scales were — true to his earlier fleeting observation — a soft emerald ensconced within a refined, golden flesh. Her body resembled many a female he knew, but smoother. Less curved, but just as feminine. Regal. He caught his eyes wandering and moved them to meet hers. Around her gaze he studied her draconic snout. Ridged with faint bumps and points. Whiskers sprouted from her snout and trailed back across her mouth, decorating her fearsome maw. Serpentine slenderness flowed through her whole figure. Her clothing was exquisite also, of quality unknown to him.

She moved closer, so close he could feel her breath brush his fur. Her attendant lunged forward. "Majesty!"

"Be still, I am examining our 'friend' from outside civilisation."

Aren watched as she circled him, making several round trips studying his appearance. "Barbarian," asked the Empress, "you have come to beg me for some favour: what is it?"

"I wish only for a means to get home."

The dragoness smirked. "That is all? Nothing else? You have seen the legions of devoted citizens outside who bring every gift under the sun for a sliver of my beneficence...and all you ask for is help to return to the great wilderness you hail from?"

Aren stalled, but eventually answered with a meek 'yes'.

"My my," the Empress tutted, "and what do you offer?"

He paused. This was the moment he'd begun to dread ever since entering the court. Blood rushed from his extremities, leaving him cold. A shambling, sinking feeling ate away at his state of mind. Aren pushed through the pain and doubt, however, and stated his case: "I have nothing to offer but myself."

The Empress paused her wandering. "Is that true?"

Her majordomo interrupted: "your majesty, this is a waste of time!"

"I will be the judge of that," she replied, snapping at the air in front of him. Her attention returned to Aren. The green dragoness leaned in close and whispered: "I do have some use for you. You who would devote themselves to me as tribute. So I ask again...is it true that you offer yourself to me, to be used in whatever capacity I deem appropriate? All for supplies, directions, perhaps and escort to aid your journey home?"

Aren paused. The gnawing feeling in his gut hadn't quite gone away.

"Yes...Empress...I offer you myself..."

* * *

"Follow."

Aren trailed a short distance behind the Empress, the long halls they passed through emptying of life; the closer they got to her private chambers, the fewer people dared to show their faces. In place of servants — cleaners, maids, scribes — there stood rows upon rows of guards. Polished metal reflected the burning wall-braced torches. A sheen shimmering so bright it could be mistaken for the surface of the sun.

Aren averted his gaze, preferring instead to follow the flow of the Empress' long gown. From the rear, he saw it scoop low off of her shoulders, plunging towards her lower back, before coming together and leading his eyes past obscured limbs and across the floor. Great attention must be placed on cleanliness, he thought, as no dust or dirt accumulated on the silk weave as it glided along the marble floor.

"Your eyes betray you, barbarian," she announced, startling him. Aren stood rigidly, to no avail. "I feel them scouring my body, begging to see beneath my royal outfit."

Aren flew into a panic. He fell to his knees. "Empress," he said in a strained whisper, "please forgive me. Please don't grow tired of me, for my transgression was not intentional." He felt relieved after speaking, but also worried.

He waited for her response.

A small chuckle reached his eyes, which twitched when the sound struck. "My my barbarian...you learn quick. I might mistake you for a regular courtier given how fast you ape their manners."

She beckoned Aren to follow, her smooth-scaled hand reaching out and curling seductively.

"Your politeness has won you a reprieve," the Empress said, approaching him, "but it is not the perfumed poise of a palace sycophant that drew me to your plea. Come..."

Aren resumed walking. The hall twisted and turned, gradually shrinking to a corridor of sorts. He glanced at the walls around him, replete with images of history — pomp, pageantry, and...conquest. The wolf gulped. Here he was, in the bowels of the mightiest palace in the world. In the presence of the mightiest ruler it'd ever seen. There was every reason to feel small. Few, however, held him in fear for long before a usurper came a-knocking.

There was always a new sensation at each turn.

The Empress hurried her pace. Aren moved to match it. They now rushed past ornaments set upon fabulous pedestals, antique and contemporary alike. Aren had never seen such wealth, nor could comprehend the power this elegant dragoness commanded.

Her tail swept 'round a corner, and Aren — afraid of getting lost in the maze they'd entered — broke into a run. He turned the corner, and stopped...

Reaching the height of three men, he beheld a mighty ruby door. It rose proudly from the floor, where no seam could be discerned, and formed a wide circle — bulging at its greatest width with complex hinges and locks. Presenting a yawning invitation as it spread. Light danced across it. The great barrier stood in the middle of a long perpendicular annex, set into the milky stone and inlaid with finely-carved patterns. Monsters and magic, depictions that leapt from the hewn surface and retold their origins in the frantic imaginations of those who came across the door to the Empress' quarters.

That light...the shine of the million rubies bound together...a fitting threshold to the home of a goddess...

Long, coiling serpents slithered 'cross the tableau. Sinister, world-eating creatures. Sigils of godhood.

Aren's jaw slackened. He couldn't move. The world he came from seemed so dismal...so primitive compared to this. He pictured the village carver attempting something of this scale. This one, unifying work of art. Generations would pass before an inch of this beautiful entrance was ever finished. How many must it have taken? How many people, broken by her will...?

The Empress approached the gemstone door. Out of seemingly nowhere six soldiers emerged, equipped according to the same standard Aren had witnessed during their walk. She spoke to one, who ordered the others to take positions around the crimson-jewelled gateway.

Aren spied the Empress looking back at him while she talked with her subordinate. Subtly, not the kind of thing that a brusque military man might notice. But he did. He saw the twinkle in her eye, and felt the butterflies in his own stomach.

"Barbarian," she declared, dismissing her captain, "I invite you to see a place few have ever seen. Or ever spoken of."

She raised her hands. The door creaked and groaned, the immense weight of its construction straining as it opened. The seamless connection to floor and ceiling never faltered, so perfect was the masonry that the whole entrance appeared like one, organic body — writhing...stretching like skin as it contorted into its new form.

Aren could see past her a certain distance, but beyond that no lights were lit to illuminate his curiosity.

His attention was diverted to the soldier who had been conversing with the Empress. He strode forward, and barked an address towards the nervous, half-naked wolf:

"You have been summoned to grace the chambers of Her Divine Majesty, Empress Mei. Ruler of the Known World. Master of All Peoples. Inheritor of All Creation. Queen of the Heavens and Lady of Time and Space."

"That is enough, guardsman," she said, taking charge again. "Barbarian, enter..."

* * *

Aren clutched his knapsack. Think of the tribe, he told himself, think of the village. You will return to them, and your ordeal shall be at an end. For endless days and nights he cursed and doubted his choice to leave the comfort of the woods. To explore. And now his decision had brought him here — the inner sanctum of the most powerful being anyone had ever known.

Perhaps fortune would smile on him, and allow him to impress.

Ushered deeper, he could only admire what he saw. The beauty of what was arrayed before him. The Empress had long been conquering, for her halls to be decorated so. She indeed deserved every title and affectation bestowed upon her...

Standing silent, motionless in recessed stations, were more armoured behemoths. Tall, broad guardians of the Empress' personal abode. Aren gave them a wary berth, their charred armour helping them blend in to the dark and dimly-lit hallways. Their helmets were styled like the skull of a dragon — fortunately not in mockery of their divine mistress. Aren also noticed, when he passed close, that they did not have visors. Sight was forbidden. They'd had theirs stricken. To gaze upon their goddess as she walked her home was a taboo so great, that only the most loyal of guardsmen were chosen to protect her.

And loyalty demanded sacrifice — which they willingly gave.

Aren shivered; a cold chill ran down his spine. He hurried to find the Empress, praying she did not have a grotesque fate in store for him.

"Empress..." he half-whispered, tempted to shout but cowed by the motionless figures nearby.

"In here," she replied, her voice soft and light. Aren felt like closing his eyes and following the saccharine trail by ear alone. Her words dripped with favourable tones. He got giddy.

The wolf stumbled through a silk curtain, rustling the gold pendants that clutched at the base of the sheets. His vision was filled with light. Warm, cosy fire burning 'neath a jade mantle. He looked around. A small living area surrounded him: chairs, rugs, a table bearing a jug of sweet-smelling liquid.

Beckoned further by her voice, he moved through the room and entered another. He paused.

Empress Mei stood in front of a large bed. It was sized for two of average height. Aren, despite his lankiness, rose a foot or two higher than the denizens of the civilised lands. And Mei, despite her species, came to little more than five-and-three-quarters feet. The emerald-scaled madame smirked at the blushing wolf, the sublime appearance of her ridges and whiskers enhanced by the lighting.

"You have come from very far away," she said, slowly pushing aside the straps of her gown, "and are of a kind I do not recognise. A champion among canines. They tell me — my courtiers — tales of wild lands, filled with wild beasts, and thinking creatures as feral as their prey."

She tilted her head. "You are more than I expected." Both sides of her outfit rested just below the shoulder, ornate jewels clattering as her upper body swayed.