Mistress Amber Ch. 01

Of course, she knows my name.

'I'm sorry?'

Suddenly the beautiful women seem dangerous, unwelcome. As if I'd traded two enemies for eight of them. The faces of the ice queen, of the dark lamia, of the nightmare, the forlarren, should be scarier than the diamond gorgeousness of the succubus maid, but hers is the worst of all. Full, perfect lips, neat ears, a lovely curved nose, almond-shaped intelligent eyes, all of it showing distaste, disgust.

'Are you fucking stupid, as well as pathetic?' Amber cocks her head to one side. 'It's your fault that Narglarn's hurt, isn't it?'

'But they--'

'You are meant to be in the fucking palace, idiot.' She jabs a pointed, wonderfully perfect finger, up at the looming castle. 'If you'd stayed in your shitty little box, Narglarn wouldn't have felt the urge to protect you on the off-chance that you're mine. If you'd known your fucking place, you rancid little scrap of life, my friend wouldn't be hurting. This is entirely your fault.'

I've no allies here. I can't fault her reasoning on one level, even if in truth it's nothing to do with me. How was I to know? How's it fair that I should stay trapped in that room, when others get to roam?

'Lasyrrix didn't ban me from wandering,' I say. 'I was free to do so; she just warned me not to get hurt.' Or, more honestly, not to damage my faculties.

Amber folds her arms beneath her heaving, immense breasts, obvious yet hidden beneath the black cloth of her dress. 'You really want to play this game? You really want to pull rank on me, Peter?'

My gut tells me true: Amber is more important, any second of any minute of any day.

'...no.'

The succubus rolls her eyes, immediately ignoring me. 'Girls, I want you to fuck these pair of cretins until they're falling apart at the seams.'

'Gross,' the nightmare (Thynelleph?) says.

'I never implied you need to use your own bodies,' Amber says. 'Tear a pipe off the wall, have Tytana make a selection of ice-cold cocks. I don't give a shit, just leave them broken.' She turns to the tavern. 'Peter, you're with me. It's time to make amends.'

'Amends?'

The bronze amazon (Jezzana?) steps aside, smirking darkly. Amber goes ahead, letting the door swing back in my face. It knocks me over, provoking laughter from the surrounding bullies, who are already shaping metal or constructing phalluses out of one element or another.

'Follow, idiot,' Amber shouts from within.

Without recourse I get myself upright, only for the amazon to kick my legs out from beneath me as she walks away, chuckling harshly. The cobbles leave another set of sore marks on my hands, my knees. Fuck's sake. But in so many ways, this must be the lesser of two evils, right?

Nobody stops me setting myself aright this time. I let myself in the side door of the tavern, finding it emptied of patrons. Amber's work, surely. A word, and people run and cower. Narglarn is sat on a bar-stool on the customer side, bloodied and sore, the wound in her side bandaged but clearly no longer bleeding. One of her arms is in a sling, and one side of her face is clearly in the process of making bruises.

'Amber,' Narglarn says, 'this isn't necessary.'

The succubus waits before the wounded orc, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. She seizes me with her terrible gaze, again warping the world around her perfect and demonic beauty. The Queen of Maids beckons to me, happily looking away, as though summoning some irrelevant non-person.

'For starters, Peter's going to clean up. Aren't you, Peter?'

'I...I don't have any choice, do I?'

Amber smirks, but not at me. She makes a vague gesture, tightening my clothes around me. I gasp, looking down, finding black lace and white frills, suddenly in some form-fitting mirror of the succubus' own garbs. Girl's clothes, a maid's clothes, with black stockings running up to my thighs and joining garters, what feels like a thong, and some strange garment around my testicles. Narglarn...blushes, seeming to take me in, from head to toe.

Sat where she is, I note the way her legs are clad in thigh-high leather boots, thighs smooth and obvious, a form-fitting leather strap between her thighs making clear that Narglarn is, whatever else, not traditionally female. In fact, the bulge is the biggest I've seen.

'Go on, boy,' Amber says, sitting herself on a stool. She waves a hand vaguely away from the bar. 'Glasses first. Then mop the floor, and empty the spittoons. Toilets last.'

'Amber--'

The succubus shushes her. 'How are your knees, sweetie?'

I glance back, finding Amber fondling a shape under her short, thigh-length dress. Narglarn's eyes descend. 'They're...they're fine.'

'Why don't you pour me a tall whisky, and prove it?'

The black orc blushes, and I force myself to look away.

'Work, idiot. There's nothing for you here.'

Narglarn reaches, one-handedly, behind the bar.

*

The clink of the glasses, as I collect them up in sets, is secondary to the sloppy sound.

'Mumph. Mumph. Schlup. Mumph. Mhm.'

It puts a chill up my spine, puts hairs on end, to hear it. Amber is this pinnacle of restraint, so muted her moans, little more than soft gasps and exhalations. The succubus, at six-foot-six, is a whole foot shorter than the black orc kneeling between her parted legs, yet is so effortlessly the largest and most important thing in the world. Her mother is the same; the minotaur guards, her personal sex-toys, are somehow small against her mere six-feet.

Narglarn seems to take great, unreasonable pleasure from such a selfless act. Amber gently teases through the barkeep's dark violet hair, lovely fingers moving mercurially as Narglarn bobs her head up and down with practised efficiency. The grip suggests ownership, as well as affection.

From time to time, Narglarn will come up for air, followed by the sounds of wet, luscious kisses. 'Is it good, Mistress?'

'Wonderful, my pet. You're such an adoring beauty.'

Another sloppy kiss, a heavy smooching sound. 'For you, my Queen. For you...'

And the sounds commence again in earnest, Narglarn working the succubus's shaft with her mouth, filling the quiet tavern floor with lustful slurping and sucking.

I steer clear of them, taking the long route around to the back of the bar, making sure to have my back to the sordid display at all times. Little by little the tables are cleared of mugs and jugs empty and half full and untouched, glasses of spirits, flutes of sparkling wines. I'm not really sure how it works, cleaning them; they use all kinds of magical means, but the barkeep is indisposed.

'Peter,' Amber says, making me straighten my back. 'My glass is empty.'

'R-ight.'

I turn from the collection of dirty mugs and jugs, fetching up the bottle of whisky Narglarn used. Amber's glass sits on the far edge of the bar, a counter built for someone far larger than I am. 'Could you slide it to me?'

Amber purrs, to the sound of muffled moaning, slurping, sucking. 'I'm busy, idiot. Fill the damn glass.'

Dread seeps in as I go around the counter, walking out into the tavern floor. Narglarn is there, this tall and muscular and gorgeous black orc, kneeling before the succubus. Amber's skirt is drawn back, revealing a mound of pubic hairs like living flame, the colour of her hair, that resplendent amber glow. The orc's large hands work a long, ashen-blue shaft, stabilising it as she pleasures the organ with an eager, hungry mouth.

I slowly move closer, the stink of penile musk filling my nostrils. Narglarn lifts her head, giving me a nervous, blushing look. Her lips are wet, slick. Amber's immense cock, so very human but for its colour and the rear-facing stellated crest of her fat crimson glans, oozes and twitches in Narglarn's hands. It must be what, a foot and a half?

'Mistress,' the black orc says, addressing Amber, looking up at the smug, devilish succubus. 'Couldn't we do this, well, somewhere private?'

Amber's response, initially, is to push down on the back of Narglarn's head and fill her mouth with inch upon inch of ashen-blue penis, veiny and wrist-thick. 'He's barely a person, pet. Just a toy, belonging to mother. Ugh.' She grunts, groans, as Narglarn's face swallows the whole of her length, nose digging into those wispy living-flame pubes, chin certainly buried in her balls. 'If I...ughn...want your opinion...I'll ask.'

'Glugp. Glugp. Glugp.'

The empty tavern fills with that sordid sound, the contractions of a throat, of a mouth, echoing out of nostrils, out of brief gaps between lips and the turgid walls of a penis. Amber's grip softens, becomes a petting, a stroking of violet hair; Narglarn persists in the furiousness of the act, deepthroating the succubus, hilting the dangerous demoness's length inside her neck, which bulges with the scope of its contents.

'Glugp. Glugp. Glugp.'

Amber's glass is within reach but my fingers struggle to grasp it, my eyes -- and with them, all sensible attention -- fixated on the act between the two pseudo-women before me. Two beautiful creatures, exquisite of body, of face, and...doing this.

'Something you, ugh, like?'

Amber is grinning at me, half-grinning, up one side of her perfect face. Her eyes are wet, glossy with pleasure, breathing quicker. I turn away, reach for the glass, but she snatches my wrist, her strength divine, unshakeable.

'I--ughn--asked you a question, idiot.'

'Look, I just--'

'Do you--mhm--want to be me?' Amber says, a lilting humour in her voice. 'Or do you want to be her?'

The craziest thing is that, for some utterly alien reason, I don't actually know. I'm aroused, paralysed by arousal, by fear, by interest. Curious about this demoness, about this black orc, about sex in this weird world, so far from home.

I try to focus on the whisky, shakily lifting the bottle. Why am I here? What am I doing?

Amber grunts. 'Eat her arse.'

I almost drop the bottle. 'What?'

'Get on your fucking knees behind her, pull out her backside, and stick your fucking tongue in it. Now.'

Narglarn, already red in the face, blushes. I tremblingly put down the bottle, uncorked, and try to step away, held in place by Amber's unshakeable, elegant fingers. 'I...'

'Eat her arse, idiot, or I will kill you.'

Suddenly I'm free and Amber is standing, holding Narglarn's head with one hand in some proprietary manner, the voluptuous black orc in a somewhat strained pose, kneeling for the shorter -- though by no means short -- succubus. Narglarn's outfit shows off her fat, heavy butt cheeks, a band of black leather running between them, meeting up with the tops of her thigh-high boots, buckled in place.

'Give him some space, pet,' Amber says, patting Narglarn's head. 'So you can sit on his face.'

She releases Narglarn, who pulls back to glance at me, blushing hard, looking nervous. 'Is this a good idea, Mistress?'

'Do I have anything other than good ideas, my pet?'

Without another word, Narglarn momentarily lifts her rear. Amber grins at me. 'Go on, idiot. Apologise the only way a wretched thing like yourself possibly can.'

I know why I do it, why I am doing it. Even if it feels wrong, even if something rejects this, deep within myself. Amber might well be joking, but I have reason to believe otherwise; the Queen of Maids is not known for being a jester.

My cock is hard all the while, a betrayer. I go down on my knees, but Amber clicks her teeth. 'Lie beneath her. Go on, on your back.'

I say nothing, laying down on the tavern floor, sliding my face underneath Narglarn's large body, between her thick leather-clad thighs. The black orc's warmth is oppressive, her bulk intimidating, the sweat and musk of her body intoxicating. I'm staring up at a huge set of buttocks, blackish-blue, a meagre band of black leather running up between them, vanishing into that warm, sweaty cleft.

'I'll get the buckles,' Narglarn says, reaching down, but Amber clicks her teeth again. 'No, Mistress?'

'No,' Amber says. 'Let the idiot do all the work. Get back to enjoying yourself, my dear pet.'

And so above, the wet and lewd sounds recommence, out of view. And below, I tentatively reach for the warm steel buckles, connecting the thigh-high boots to the band of leather, knowing my fate, fearing it, but nonetheless being excited all the same. The first time I've ever done this, to anyone, and it happens to be this voluptuous Amazonian black orc, Narglarn, Amber's pet.

'Mumph. Mhm.'

'My good girl.' Amber moans softly. 'My lucky girl.'

Narglarn practically purrs, lusty and hungry, gorging on the ashen-blue cock of the succubus. Stray spit, from the sloppiness of the act, drops down on my (borrowed?) dress. I pull at the buckles, freeing the band of leather, which attaches to the strange corset ensemble covering the orc's top half.

I'm presented with a cleft between those fat, voluminous cheeks, at the core of which is a darker region, a puckered entrance to her bowels. There's no time to waste, so I gingerly push out my tongue and lift my head, for the first time tasting the black orc's backside.

Narglarn reacts by flexing, shuddering, then sitting down on my face, in approval or as a result of some forced gesture by Amber. 'Mhm. Mumph. Mhm-hm.'

Amber chuckles. 'The idiot is actually being useful. What a surprising change.'

The taste is bitter, salty, the latter likely from sweat. The muskiness, the vaguely dirty stink, is only on the nose. Narglarn seems clean, but I suppose a place like this is always, to some extent, dirty. There are a few straggler hairs, littered around the rough wrinkles of the actual arsehole, but otherwise, the texture is smooth, simple.

I'm trapped here, nose and mouth buried in the giant woman's backside, and...I don't hate it. In fact, I've never been so hard; maybe I'm pent-up, maybe this entire time here has been nothing short of a perpetual cock-tease, and I've needed release. Not that this will bring it, but it's a good substitute, and a solid basis for a later wan--

'Ughn.' I grunt, suddenly struck by the cool flat firmness of a shoe, pressed against my crotch. It takes my lips from Narglarn's arse, makes my head spin. 'Shit.'

'The least I can do,' Amber says. 'So stick your tongue inside my pet, idiot.'

I seize hold of the black orc's full fat buttocks and ram my face into her cleft, tongue going frantic, digging in that thankfully clean shit-hole, as Narglarn services the succubus, as the succubus presses down her high-heeled shoe upon my clothed cock, thankfully using the flat and not the heel. It's pathetic, degrading, but I want the release. I need the release.

There's a wet sound, a sloppiness. 'Mistress,' Narglarn says, breathily, 'I want...I want to mount him.'

Amber laughs, pressing more firmly on my groin. 'He belongs to you until I say otherwise, pet; do with him as you please, as soon as you've satisfied me.'

'Yes, Mistress!' Smooch, suckle, kiss. 'Thank you, Mistress! Thank you so much!'

The succubus groans powerfully as the wet noises return, the eager, hungry sucking and slurping. I don't cease my tongue movements but I'm stricken by a fear, low and terrible. The orc...she wants to...mount me. As in...no way. It's awful, terrible, and perversely exciting. Why am I such a weirdo, a freak? What's wrong with this world, to do this to me?

Or was I always?

'Ugh. So good, my pet. So eager.'

The world spins, a glorious phantasm of eroticism and perversion. An arsehole in my face, a shoed foot upon my dick, a blowjob occurring above me. Pleasure, ecstasy, exoticism. And like all things, this too must end. Amber blows her top, grunting, moaning pleasantly in that sultry, husky, divine darkness that is her voice. Narglarn moans happily, lips smacking, making dirty noises; she starts to swallow, then clenches around my buried tongue, spilling a thick, heavy heat down the front of my dress, soaking through it.

'Oh, my silly little girl,' Amber says, breathily, the least composed I've heard her. 'Someone will have to clean that up now, won't they?'

Jesus Christ, there's so much spooge. It just seems to continue flowing, spilling out in thick bursts every ten, twenty seconds or so. I can't exactly move, can't be free of it. The stink, that new scent that must be Narglarn's jizz, is musky, potent, heady. It must be the novelty of it given how, despite my nose being wedged in the orc's backside, the stench of her freshly shot load is noticeable.

'Bloody hell, my pet.' Amber groans, not with pleasure. 'So little control! So little obedience! Why on Anthexxia should I reward you now?'

'M-istress,' Narglarn says, mouth sounding...messy, wet. 'I just--his tongue--your seed--'

Amber sighs, stepping back. The orc almost tumbles forwards, reaching yet not finding, the succubus too swift. 'Off him. Up.' Obedient to a fault, Narglarn rises, still in the final throes of ejaculating, spilling a thick, off-white goo across my utterly covered chest, onto the wooden boards of the floor. 'By Lasyrrix, my pet, you're going to need to clean up that costume. I'm not putting it back in storage covered in your pathetic genes.'

Narglarn almost whimpers, her size and strength and beauty seeming suddenly lesser, weak in comparison to the ice-cold demoness above, now casually tucking away her flaccid cock beneath the black folds of her dress. Amber, again, is terrifying. Utterly, completely, alienly terrifying.

'Mistress, I--'

'Shush, my pet.' Amber sets those golden eyes upon me, swallows me up. 'You, idiot boy. You're going to assist Narglarn here, at the tavern, for the next month. Starting tomorrow.'

As if I'd escaped. I nod. 'Sure. Right.'

'Come,' Amber says. 'Words are needed.'

I look from the succubus to the black orc, who blushes and avoids my gaze. She looks ridiculous despite her sheer hotness in that lewd outfit, her cock now softening, absolutely glazed -- much as the floor, much as my dress -- in off-white ropey seed. Then I look back to the succubus.

'Me?'

She rolls her eyes. 'Yes, idiot. Rise, and follow.'

When I go to stand, the world shifts. The maid outfit seems to drop from me, landing on the floor, in all the cum. My own clothes, robe upon them, folds back around me, clean but for the marks of the alley outside where that Amazon tripped me, where the brutes pinned me. Amber walks ahead, towards the side door, beckoning me with curling fingers.

'The outfit will be cleaned by tomorrow,' Amber says, stopping. Mesmerised by the rhythm of her hips, the erotic sway of her perfect form, the playful chaos of her tail and its heart-shaped tip, I almost run into the back of her. Shit, that would end me. 'Won't it, Narglarn?'

'Yes, Mistress. All will be well.'

'Good.' Amber goes on, pushes open the door, but this time holds it in passing. The alley beyond is empty of people, leaving only myself and Lasyrrix's daughter, the Queen of Maids herself. 'What the fuck were you doing out here?' she says, as the door slams behind me. 'Well, idiot human?'

I shrug, failing to speak, and Amber turns, affixing me with that goddess gaze, that infernally perfect pair of eyes. There is some dark humour to her nearly heart-shaped face (too long, too sharp, but the idea is there), curving into that sickle fullness of a smile.

'Do you have idea what those two would have done to you, boy?'

'Yes,' I say, lowering my head. Out of fear, not respect, as such. 'I know.'

'And do you have any idea how lucky you are that I arrived when I did?'

'Extremely.' Now I bow lower, out of acknowledgement. 'Thank you, Mistress.'

She actually giggles, a sound so lyrical it doesn't befit her fierceness. 'I'm not your "Mistress", idiot. Honestly, I wasn't even protecting mother's property.' The succubus is upon me, a warm, perfect hand at my throat. Some insane part of me thinks that to die here, to have my trachea crushed by this hand, would somehow be pleasant. 'I can't have you out here, wearing Lasyrrix's tokens, being confused for one of my pets. I won't have Narglarn -- or any of the others, out of loyalty to me -- being hurt on your account.'