Mistress Amber Ch. 02

Amber's chambers are practically a floor unto themselves, one that I've never before stepped into. She has a large lounge built around a fireplace, what can only be a television of demonic design above the mantelpiece, many seats of varying proportions, some simply massive, crowding around a central low table.

She sits me beside herself on a more human-sized sofa, then the girls start arriving. 'Telshvala,' Amber says, smiling at the man'ari. The daemonic draenei has a matronly beauty to her, ashen-white skin, hair like pure snow all braided and coiled, horns great and pointed like a crown. At twelve feet tall, more than twice my height, the great demoness is immense and intimidating. Her wings are immense, tail long and muscular, ringed by platinum bands jewelled in rubies. Telshvala wears a loincloth hanging from a revealing girdle of platinum, a brassiere of that same solid metal all jewelled in rubies, and nothing else besides. Her smooth legs end in hoofs, as is expected. She is enormous, truly, in all senses of the word.

As Telshvala seats herself, curious white eyes never leaving me, the centaur-like dryad trots in, the corrupted nymph upon her back. 'The dryad is Alannah,' Amber says. 'The forlarren, Verelyn.'

Two more gorgeous, intimidating creatures. Alannah at eight feet, the majority being her equid portion, has the lower half of a centaur, albeit less overtly heavy of build, closer in some ways to something nimble and sprightly, like a deer, brown fur soft and spotted in white dots. Her upper half is violet-skinned, almost elven but too thick, curvaceous, despite the long sharp ears and pointed wispy eyebrows. The dryad's enormous fat chest, barely restrained by a bra of silvery-gold leaves, bound together by flowering fruiting vines, wobbles heavily as she moves. Her eyes are golden autumn, her face a heart, warm and smiling, her hair flowing like a waterfall of spun gold, a set of antlers protruding from beneath it on either side.

The forlarren by contrast is reminiscent of a female faun, yet furless, having goat-like legs ending in black hoofs but no tail of which to speak. Standing about halfway to eight feet, her eyes are rubies, her lips full, taut in a perpetual yet sultry grimace, cheeks gaunt and cheekbones high, hair black as night and flowing down to her plump backside. Verelyn wears leather, bound in skulls and sinew, covering her genitals and quite large -- though compared to the competition, second to both Telshvala and Alannah -- breasts.

Next comes the dark lamia and the dark elf, chatting in mercilessly enrapturing voices about things doubtless cruel and venomous. 'Anabella is the Apophis,' Amber says, assuming knowledge on my behalf. It might ring a vague bell? 'Morrigan the dark elf.'

In hearing their names they fall silent, smiling with dangerous beauty. The elf looks older, appearing as a healthy woman in her early forties, in fine feminine shape yet showing faint marks of age, her pale skin hinting at slight wrinkles. At six foot, she might be the smallest of the coven, ghostly-looking and deathly beautiful, with blood-red hair that forms great coiling waves behind upon and behind her shoulders, and eyes like arctic sapphires. Her garb is some black-plate bikini, hiding small pert breasts and girding a motherly pair of hips. She wears long cruel gauntlets, and boots of a similar kind, her collar draped in black metal jewellery, all the stones green, noxious. She winks at me, taking her seat as the Apophis coils around to sit atop herself beside the fire.

A lamia, yes, but something darker. Anabella is all tainted rainbow scales, deep indigo skin, a waterfall of obsidian hair, full lips and youthful beauty that occasionally hints at monstrousness with a flicker of a long bifurcated tongue. Draped in a crown and jewels and bands like some monarch, she sits there cross-armed, forearms tucked beneath a pair of gargantuan breasts, the gemstone embedded in her belly button glowing at odds with the flickering flame of the hearth. How tall I can't say, but coiled maybe eight, or nine feet, though her body, so long and serpentine, could well be three times that in total, its underbelly bluish-black, softer-seeming.

By this point, I have five sets of unbelievably attractive and deadly eyes set upon me, sat as I am most unusually beside the Queen of Maids herself. 'Where are the others?' Amber says, hands crossed neatly upon her lap.

'Tytana has business,' Anabella says, tongue lapping the air, tasting. She smiles at me. 'That ice-nymph and her demon are struggling to breed.'

Amber sighs. 'And Jezzana? Thynelleph?'

'Here,' the Amazonian says, stomping in, crossing the room but pausing upon spotting me. 'What's the monkey doing here, Amber?'

'He's the topic of conversation, Jez,' Amber says, turning, smiling. 'Sit, would you?'

The Amazon glares at me the whole while, a barbarian compared to the others. Utterly muscular, chiselled arms and legs and belly on full show, an eight or ten-pack on her abdomen, at odds with the full curve of her hips, the massive breasts on her chest, the giant backside she sits herself down on. Eight-and-a-half feet tall, bronze-brown skinned, hair flame-red, eyes sapphire-blue. Garbed in leather and bone and metal, a warrior as much as a woman, a braided crown of sinew holding her long hair back and aloft, spikes of bone pointing upwards, the teeth of the headdress.

Just as Amber goes to speak, the nightmare steps in. The orange flame-maned horse-woman, over nine feet tall, rattles as she steps, clad in full black plate armour.

'Sorry, Amber,' Thynelleph says, sonorous softness at odds with her vigour. 'I had business in the eastern quarter. More of those foolish Red Terror followers. Please accept my full apologies.'

'You're always forgiven, Elle.' Amber smiles warmly. 'Please sit. We were just beginning matters.'

The nightmare puts down her long bardiche, gently balancing it against the wall, and then comes to sit with the rest of the girls. I can't make out much of her body, other than the anthropomorphic equine beauty of her face, its dark horns piercing the air above and behind her head, her lips full and lacquer-black, mane pure living flame, orange and vibrant. The mane, like some warrior's mohawk, brings to mind the plumed helmet of a roman centurion, only this one falls into a searing braid behind her neck.

'Tytana's yuki-onna and her breeding problems aside,' Amber says, rolling her eyes, 'I've called you here for a proposition. A pact, of mutual benefit.' She turns to me, and all eyes follow hers, and naturally I blush. 'This is Peter. Mother's pet writer. The boy we saved from being broken in by an old-fashioned throat-fucking.'

'Hi,' I say, for some reason, meek and stupid. Jezzana grunts, lets her head roll back.

Alannah waves. 'Hi, Peter,' she says, enthusiastic but measured.

The dark elf smirks, rolls her eyes. The Apophis licks the air, smiling curiously. The forlarren and the man'ari both stare, curious, but say nothing, inscrutable. The nightmare considers me with dull seriousness, more formal than the others.

Amber jabs me in the side. 'Talk only when spoken to, idiot.' The others laugh, innocent and pleasant all the way to unkind. Jezzana, basically. 'Ignoring his basic misunderstanding, Peter has a predicament. One I would ordinarily ignore, but' -- she scans the room, garners all attentions -- 'one that might benefit you, or at least, most of you.'

Benefit them? And yes, a few eyebrows lift. 'Today, Peter's idiotic decision to leave the confines of this castle, being prime meat for such beasts as befell him, might well have caused the death of one of my personal pets, Narglarn Farris. Tomorrow, that same decision might kill her, or one of yours.'

'Easy fix,' Jezzana says, crossing her arms. 'Lock him in here. Break his legs.'

Alannah frowns. 'Must you be so needlessly brutish, warrior-queen?'

The Amazon rolls her eyes. 'Must you be so dotingly motherly, cum-flower?'

'Continue bickering, and there will be upset,' Amber says, cool and composed and somehow, despite her lovely voice, as sharp as any scalpel. The other two fall silent, nod their apologies. 'Believe it or not, Jez, I actually sympathise with the little idiot. He is, like as not, trapped in his room. However, that alone, by itself, is not enough to provoke this meeting.'

Amber smiles now, all threat and fell glamour. I shudder, despite the warmth here. 'I wanted to organise this meeting so as to produce a pact, between yourselves and Peter, for mutual benefit.'

'Mutual benefit?' Thynelleph says, studying me. 'What might a mere human provide? What might we provide him?'

'Meaning that outside, the boy is protected. He can, when any one of you is free to do so, be given a chaperone of sorts. So that if trouble should arise, it is not our feeble pets who face it, defending our mistaken honour, but rather one of we dangerous creatures.'

And what I fear, as she finishes speaking, comes to a head. Silence. Deadly, deathly, I-am-fucked silence. Because, ultimately, I need freedom, and if Amber won't allow it any other way, then I need the aid of her girls. Her coven. Her harem.

Then Alannah says, beaming at me, 'I'll do it.'

'You will?' I say.

She smiles bright, nods. 'Sure, sweetie. But in return, I may need your help with the bees and the hornets. Oh, and the dryads. Little rascals that they are.'

'Bees and hornets?'

Amber lifts a hand to me. 'More on that later. You'll manage. Any other takers?'

'He can polish my armour, clean my weapons,' Thynelleph says. 'That seems a reasonable trade.'

Honestly, for a minute, I expected a barrage of vulgarity. Polishing armour, helping with insects, and hot forest girls? Sure. Can do.

'He can suck my dick,' Jezzana says, smiling smugly. 'And I can fuck his arse. Then I suppose I'll look after him.'

Hah-hah. Of course, and there should be laughter, and then--

'Is that an option?' Morrigan says, voice that of some dark queen, dread and edged in beauty, like the hint of dawn after a black night. 'The cocksucking, I mean?'

'He will do what he agrees to,' Amber says, patting my leg. 'Won't you, boy?'

'I...'

'I have demons in my court,' Telshvala says, sounding oddly Russian, almost, 'that would like ready access to human semen. If he is willing to be milked, I am willing to guard him, from time to time.'

That sounds better, but milked is a strong phrase.

'He'll swallow, yes?' Verelyn says, a black eyebrow lifted. 'He'll be grateful? Know his place?'

Amber chuckles. 'Yes, dear Lyn. If that is what you request.'

'Could I swallow him?' Anabella says, tongue flicking. 'Non-lethally, I mean. Just...for mutual pleasure, once in a while.'

Something about the serpent woman's large body now has a terrible implication about it, an unshakeable prodding that warns of ancient, evil, nightmarish fates. She wants to fucking eat me?!

It's something of a haze, the following discourse. Amber explaining, laying out terms. Writing up some demonic document, placing it on the table before me, having me read it again, again, reading it back to her, telling her that I understand it.

I'm left staring, numb, as the others take their leave, until it's just myself and Amber. And of course, the document. The contract, that gives me the opportunity to leave my prison, if I abide by the conditions. Blowjobs, with swallowing, for Verelyn, Jezzana, and Morrigan. Manual labour for Thynelleph, social services for Alannah, semen production for Telshvala. Vore, sexualised eating, for Anabella.

All of this, just to get out of my room when I want to? Going this far out of my comfort zone, for the privilege of the most basic of freedoms? This place is mad. The system is mad.

And yet, in my heart of hearts, I know that Lasyrrix won't help me. I'm left, for good or ill, in the dangerous hands of her intimidating and gorgeous scion.

'Well?' Amber says. 'Any thoughts, boy?'

'Some of this is all right,' I say, reading and re-reading, brain picturing scenarios erotic and nightmarish both. 'I...I don't know if I'm comfortable trading my body for a lick of freedom.'

Amber chortles. 'A lick of it? Funny, given what some of my girls would like.' She walks into my periphery, all ashen-blue flesh and namesake fiery hair, topaz eyes aglitter. It says something that, for as resplendently and obnoxiously beautiful as the Queen of Maids happens to be, I can barely focus on her. 'You'll have them at your beck and call, Peter. So long as you pay their fees -- however they demand it -- you'll have someone to keep you safe, whenever you want to go wandering.'

'I've...I've never sucked cock. Least of all, uh, gigantic ones. I mean Jezzana is huge, and Verelyn can't have a normal dick, and--'

Amber materialises behind me, hands on my shoulders, her touch raw demonic divinity as her fingers massage sweet swirls into my flesh. I grit my teeth, almost let out a moan, so perfect is the sensation.

All that from a touch? And not even on bare skin?!

'You only need to agree to five of their terms,' Amber says. 'A clear majority, effectively. Tytana's absence being ignored, for the sake of ease.'

'I...don't know if I can.'

Her fingers dig in, not hard, but firm all the same. I wince, though not in the least from pain. I get the vague feeling that, if she so intended, Amber could pummel my face and I would still find joy in it.

'It's fair that my girls receive something in return, boy.'

'Anabella wants to eat me,' I say, surprised at my ability to speak up in Amber's presence. 'I don't even know if I like the others. Maybe if I got to know them, or--'

Amber squeezes again, and giggles. 'Listen, you silly little ape.' She leans down, sweet smoky breath warming my ear. 'This isn't a romantic venture. My girls are the cream of the crop for their peoples. They are my harem, and my best and truest friends. You are, at most, a masturbatory aid. Do I make myself clear?'

I slowly nod. Learning anything, everything, is a slow matter here. It is inimical to hope, the bleak city of Anthexxia. Here, hope dies. Here, I have no future. Just jilted immortality among the very proudest of perverts.

'Fine. Crystal.'

'Good boy,' Amber says, gilded voice dripping smug venom. She ruffles my hair with a hand, standing up straight behind me. 'Who do you choose?'

'Why five, just to be exact?'

'Because Thynelleph, Alannah, and Telshvala should not, out of whatever meekness caused them to ask so little of you, prevent the others from gaining of this.' Her voice is dark, lovely, commanding, evil. 'There's nothing to be afraid of, boy. Once it becomes habit, I imagine your acts of service will become the highlight of your days.'

I can't imagine it. Beyond the lack of experience, and the natural reluctance that comes with it, and beyond the three so readily mentioned, the others terrify me.

'They scare me,' I say. 'How do I know they won't hurt me?'

She cups my jaw from behind, sending lightning bolts of ecstasy down my spine. I'm erect, at full size in a heartbeat, and Amber -- so supernatural in her qualities -- must notice, but says nothing. Why does she feel so good, with so little effort?

'They won't. Partly, because I trust them not to. Partly, because I protect my pets.' She gives me a little squeeze. 'That said, I would suggest you choose the obvious three, plus Jez and Riga. They're futanaris -- they have both parts -- and not shemales, as Lyn happens to be. Perhaps the presence of a vagina will make you feel more comfortable.'

'Jezzana scares me the most.'

Amber sighs. 'Quite the fearful little one, aren't you?'

'I'm not that little,' I say. 'You're very tall, actually.'

The Queen of Maids pulls my head up and backwards, so that I'm staring past her immense breasts to gaze upon her heart-shaped face. My eyes tremble, my heart skips a beat, the whole world again being swallowed by that perfect visage. Golden-orange fiery hair cascades down her shoulders, swimming with luminescent glories. Her smile might as well be a gun, so readily could it kill.

'You're small here,' Amber says. 'In all senses of the word.' Making especial effort to apply the backs of her nails, the succubus strokes my throat. 'Do you know the depths of sin that people would commit to be in your position? To be making a pact with me?'

She lets the question hang, voice darkly perfect, a sonorous syrup on the inner ear even in the form of memory alone. Rhetorical, of course. All of them. At least, all who aren't demon nobles themselves.

'Then why? Why do this for me? How can some vague similarity between your cage and mine be enough to go out of your way?'

'Isn't that enough, boy?' Amber cocks her head to the side. 'Should you really look a gift imp in the mouth?'

'Right. Sure.'

She removes her hands, slips away from me. Amber sets herself pacing before the balcony, frilly maid outfit showing off her long shapely legs and, on the swing of each stride, the tiny skirt reveals the distracting curves of her full buttocks.

'Staring at my arse will not make this easier,' the succubus says, not so much as looking at me. 'The contract, boy. Make up your mind and get the fuck out.'

'Uh, yeah.'

Ignoring the beautiful and frightening demoness, I give my attention to what amounts to a legal document in this realm. A choice to be made, to give myself over to whatever wicked whims the harem of the Queen of Maids decides to inflict upon me.

Being eaten is obviously out. By the opposite of the same token, manual labour, cum donation, and beekeeping are in. Well, hornets sound bad, but I'm sure Alannah, lovely as she seems, won't let them sting me. Tytana isn't an option, and I doubt Amber will let me delay to hear her offer. Which leaves Verelyn, the forlarren shemale, or Jezzana, the Amazon futanari.

Verelyn, at the least, has shown no overt ill-will towards me. Not like Jezzana does, at every fucking opportunity.

Does it even matter what parts they've got, if I'm never going to experience them?

I turn to Amber and say, 'I'll pick, uh, Verelyn? I'll pick her over Jezzana.'

She pauses her pacing and faces me, arms crossed beneath her bountiful yet sadly well-hidden chest. Those eyes could conquer nations without a shot being fired. 'Interesting. Why?'

I shrug. 'It's not like I'm going to do any penetrating. So at least she seemed warmer on me, however little that's worth.'

Plus Alannah seemed loveliest of all, and they're clearly close. That must count for something, I hope?

'You'd be surprised,' Amber says. 'But I'll say no more. Sign the document, mark your choices. I'll have one of my girls escort you to your ongoing work at Narglarn's, starting tomorrow.'

I turn to find her pacing more slowly, a finger tapping her pretty chin. 'That's still a thing?'

'Did you still sneak out and cause a ruckus? Or am I prone to making shit up?'

I sigh, and nod. 'Yes.'

Amber smirks at me. 'Then, yes, you're still doing it. Now sign the bloody form and be off with you. This is not a human care-day centre, or whatever it is you have in your world.'

With a slight tremble, I collect up the pen. God, I hope this is the right choice.

Each scribble and mark leaves a whiff of smoke, as if I'm not merely writing on paper but somehow etching something into the world itself. And when the last curl of smoulder fades away, Amber is beside me. She snatches the document up, nods at my choices, and disappears it somehow, removing it from reality.

I look up at her, and she looks down at me. This mutual gazing goes on for a long moment, and then she lifts an eyebrow, displeased. 'Well, boy? Are you going to get out of my sight?'

'You're...you're not going to...to make me do anything?'

Amber rolls her eyes, a grim smile breaking onto her perfect lips. 'That would be a reward. I'd be doing you a favour, if anything.' She giggles, pats my head as though I'm a stupid child. 'Besides, you've said yourself how pathetically inexperienced you are. Why would I want the clumsiest virgin lips around my cock when I have better options?'