Momir and the Widow

Momir shuddered, and turned away, glad he had not seen it more closely. The flock of white-robed ushers came to a halt suddenly, and parted before him to reveal a rippling silver plane like a pool of mercury standing vertically in the air. He had never seen such a thing, but he knew that in the palace, magic was as common as stone, and he supposed it served some general purpose. "Your presence has been requested." He suddenly froze, realizing what must have been the cause for his personal escort. His limbs froze, and he felt a soft touch on the back. Another, carefully neutral voice said "Please don't delay, you are expected immediately." He should have run while he had the chance. Not that there was anywhere to run to. He swallowed, and sighed. Nothing for it, time to see what fate had been set for him. He allowed himself to be guided before the silver plane, and was gently pushed through. His vision clouded and blurred, then slowly cleared.
He was standing in a nondescript stone-walled room, with one exit immediately before him. Between him and the exit, however, stood the creature that had dominated his dreams and nightmares these past few days. She stared at him, looking extremely suspicious, and said something sharp. He muttered tensely, "I still can't understand your tongue, little man-eater..."

She continued to eye him, looking a little uncertain, but didn't show any sign of understanding him. Suddenly she stepped forward and he flinched. She was upon him. Sniffing. She smelled him up and down, front and back. She grabbed his neck and pulled his face down to hers, pulled his jaw open and sniffed his mouth, then shoved a hand down his pants (making him flinch again as he felt her claws graze his belly) and grabbed his cock roughly before pulling back and smelling her hand. He muttered "You could have just asked if I paid for a whore..." It crossed his mind that that may have been exactly what she asked, for all he knew. She nodded to herself and beckoned for him to follow her. Reluctant, he walked in her footsteps as she left the bare room and led him into another, where a similar portal stood. She stepped through, and he reluctantly followed.

As his eyes cleared, he took in a lavish stone hall. Constructed largely of the same polished salt-and-pepper marble as the rest of the palace, the middle span of the hall was walled and roofed with the largest sheets of glass Momir had ever seen. Stars were visible in the sky above, and the sister moons Luna and Celene were visible opposite each other to the east and west. A healthy fire crackled in a brazier in each corner of the room, providing ample light. Momir stood at what must be the south end of the room, before him the room stepped down twice to a sitting area lavishly furnished with crimson velvet couches and chairs and black carpet, decorated with plants like those in the dens that lay who knew how far below his feet. At the north end of the room stood a single pair of doors, massive, carved from the same stone as the walls. Set spanning the two doors in silver, jet, and opal was the emperor's seal, larger than life.

The throne room.
Momir looked at the striped creature next to him, feelings a mixture of apprehension and thrill. What was she up to?
She reached out and took his wrist, leading him towards the door. He hesitated, and she dug her claws in until he winced and allowed himself to be led. They crossed the gallery and stopped before the enormous doors. Beside him, the widow reached up and ran her fingers slowly over the division down the center of the seal. Looking at her, he could swear her expression was almost wistful. Her hand fell slowly to her side and they waited, together. Several moments of silence were ended by a whisper as the doors swung effortlessly inward on unseen hinges.

Within was a chamber of stark opulence. The granite walls had been carved in relief panels of foliage and polished to a gleam. In places, liquid silver had been poured down the walls and allowed to cool as it ran, before also being polished to a brilliant finish. The floor was a complex diamond mosaic of granite, onyx, and alabaster. Across from the door, on a raised dais with a lush carpet running to it, sat the emperor's throne, such as it was. A smooth concave lens shape, like a seashell, it was constructed of woven lathes of a pale exotic hardwood, padded with layer on layer of white velvet and exotic animal skins, cushioned with pillows, it reminded him more of the nest the widow had put together than a traditional throne.
As strange as it was, it was only fitting for the emperor himself. Every stranger had a different story of seeing the nigh-legendary mage walking the streets of his domain, and each one featured a wildly different description of the man himself, but Momir could plainly see the truth before him: Six feet tall, perhaps just over, he wore his black hair plated in a complex braid draped over his shoulder. His skin was as pale as any he had ever seen, possibly perfect if it were not for the angry red sigils carved carefully into his face and arms, runes of arcane power no doubt. The emperor wore neither shirt nor crown, for what need did he have for such formalities in the heart of his own home? His physique was as perfect as one must expect of a man who traded in flesh, both magically and commercially. Doubtless he had access to services easily rivaling those for sale in the pit below.

Momir felt his captor release his hand, and turned to see her rushing towards the throne. She reached the stairs and fell into a deferential crouch, head lowered almost to touch the carpeted step before her. He was uncertain how to react. The widow spoke suddenly, in hushed, rapid words that caught the emperor's attention. His reply was curt, abrupt, in the same tongue, together with a sharp shake of the head. The widow looked up, silence reigned for a moment, before continuing. Her tone suggested disappointment, and a hint of wounded pride. She gestured back towards Momir, without looking in his direction, and the emperor turned to look at the man.

"Come here, boy." His tone was smooth as silk, but commanding. Momir stepped hastily forward, and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, where he made an awkward bow, then decided perhaps kneeling was the best way to proceed.
The emperor looked him over for a minute, then addressed the widow again in her foreign tongue. They conversed for several moments before Momir heard another word he could understand. "What is your name, boy?"

"Momir Oridune. A merchant, my... your... imperial majesty" Momir finished awkwardly, and made another bow to compensate.

"Just 'lord' is fine. I am not much interested in titles and ceremony. Do you understand your situation, merchant Momir?"

Momir blanched, beginning to feel ill. "I have been marked for death, im---my lord. I beseech you, if you would be so indulgent as to hear me out, I can explain my actions. It was never my intention to commit a crime against your state, I was merely trying to offer the charity of food and shelter to a pitiful wretch of a woman... I..." He trailed off, his momentum gone. He looked up quickly to see the emperor looking down on him with a frightening look of amusement.

"It seems you do not. Many visitors misunderstand, so it is excusable in your case--A crime committed against my economy does not require the offender to forfeit their life. The forfeit made is freedom. You belong to her now." He pointed casually at the widow. "Generally, my pets see fit to eat their possessions, they are always hungry after all. But you seem to have caught her fancy. Her name is Rabbit, I assume she has not managed to make that clear yet."

Momir was without words. That now-familiar feeling of blended relief and horror came over him. He struggled to overcome his fear, afraid he might vomit on the emperor's rug. Eventually, he managed to stammer out a reply. "I... I... belong to... her? Wh-What does she want with me, my lord? Surely there must be a-a-a negotiation we might come to..."

The emperor shook his head slowly "I am sorry, merchant Momir. I cannot take her things away from her, she would be deeply frustrated and might behave poorly. She's already quite attached to you. She wants you to serve her as a surrogate of sorts, I suppose. Indulge me while I explain, if you would."
"I created her, and her sisters. Molded them from a pack of werewolves caught wandering too near my city. They were an experiment, an attempt to create an ideal diplomatic assassin, a wolf-in-concubine's-clothing, so to speak, but the experiment failed. One of my mistakes was in their training. Each was supposed to love the man I gifted them to, until hunger overcame her and she devoured him whole, but they love only me and refuse to see other men as anything but cattle. Rabbit is the most afflicted of them all, she yearns for me with a single-minded obsession."
"Unfortunately for her and her sisters, I have other lovers who interest me more. I thought to cast them off and let them rot in some forgotten wing of my palace like I do with most of my unwanted playthings, but since then I've discovered that they're of use to me as the enforcers of my laws--they're uncorruptable and without pity, you see. Generally they do their job efficiently, without complaint or mistake, but you seem to have reminded her of myself, in some manner."

The emperor stopped, and Momir realized he was to provide some input. "Of-of you, my lord? How..?"

He shrugged slowly. "I'm sure you would have a better idea of that than I would, I have no knowledge or interest in your mating habits. I surmise that you must have a rather rough hand, though you don't look much like the type, by the bruises on her cheek." Seeing Momir's mind rushing to come up with an explanation, he forestalled the nervous merchant. "It is no point of contention for me, do not worry yourself. Rabbit and her sisters were conditioned to slavery. They thrive on abuse. I think, perhaps, you would do well to make a note of that. But be mindful: Though she may crave servitude, she will not forget that she is, in truth, your master. If you are clever and willing to adjust, I think you may come to find that being her pet is a far better situation than being her dinner. She is a fine lover as you have no doubt discovered, trained by my own hand in the carnal arts. And even though you cannot speak to her, if you pay attention she will let you know when to beat her and when to beg her. She may be a cannibal, and deep intellect was never something I saw fit to bless her with, but she is not unreasonable."

Momir had to digest this for a moment. What a strange fate. A death sentence turned slavery masquerading as violent dominance? He looked up carefully, and ventured to ask "And I shall serve her like this for how long, my lord?" The emperor only nodded meaningfully, and Momir murmured uneasily "...forever?"
He knew the question was already answered, however. He collected himself, drew a deep breath. "If I may trouble you with another question, my lord... What tongue is it that she speaks? And does she truly not understand my words?"

"A dialect of Bariaur, chosen for it's obscurity. Since you bring it up, it is only fair to tell you--She does not speak common, or any other language spoken within a hundred miles, and she never will. Should it happen that she picks up an even passing understanding of any local language, it would be unfortunate, for her usefulness to me would drop significantly. This in turn could have undesirable consequences for you. The entirety of the widows' world is found in their lord and their dinner, and it must remain simple for them to be more useful than troublesome. It may come that over time you pick up some understanding of her language, living as you will in close proximity with her. This is not nearly such a problem for me. However, everything that she will ever need to know about myself, her own history, and the world at large has already been explained to her, so I would politely request that you refrain from educating her in such matters. Now, I'm sure she is eager to show you to your new home, was there anything else I can clarify for you before you go?"

Momir nodded to himself, and considered. "Yes my lord. If you would be so kind, could you perhaps ask her if I am to be allowed freedom to leave her--our home, for a walk or to find food, or the like?"

The emperor turned to her, and repeated Momir's question in Bariaur. Rabbit's reply was considered and then delivered, and relayed in time. "She says that will be acceptable if you feel the need, but only in the evenings while she is away at work, or in the day while she is sleeping. She expects you not to wake her with your comings and goings, and wishes your presence while she is awake and about the home. And Momir... don't let her catch you smelling like another woman. She's a jealous little vixen." He shifted in his royal nest and gestured dismissively at Rabbit. "I wish you good fortune in your new life, former merchant Momir."

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Rabbit crouched over a scattering of human remains, picking through the bones for anything juicy she left behind. Still-warm blood steamed off the cold, hard-packed earth of the road. Her stomach let loose a little gurgle, and she sighed contentedly. Feeling stuffed and satisfied, she stood up slowly and wandered off the road, into a broad, open field. She found a patch of tall grass laden with dew, and brushed her hands and face through it to clean off the blood smeared across her skin. Tonight was going to be a very good night.
She stood and slipped into the shadow-ways, a mindless task in the dead of night, with no moonlight to speak of. She flickered across the meadow and was back in city walls in moments. She had to walk from the palace door to her chambers, the master had laid terrible, terrible traps for anyone foolish enough to try to invade his domain with magic movement. But she knew the way home well, and the master's clever portals guided her ever so right, as they did each night. Before long she was in the complex reserved special for her sisters and herself, where nothing bothered them. The quiet was good.
She walked to the very end of the hall, where her sisters had made her move. Her nest always smelled like food, they said, and they wanted to go in and eat it up. Rabbit wouldn't let them of course, and the Master agreed that she was right to keep her little master to make her happy. Of course the Master wanted her to be happy. So even though Nessus and Ahlissa mocked her mercilessly, she did not back down. Joon and Oerid and Sparrow had had pets of their own, so they understood, even if their pets were gone now. But not Nessus and Ahlissa. They were probably jealous, wishing they had a little man to take care of them the way the Master used to. But they were greedy and always ate the ones they were given, so it was their foolishness alone that made them that way.

She was smiling with self-satisfaction when she pushed the door to her room open and slipped inside. Her pet looked up when he felt the draft, and tonight he spared her a little smile. He was growing more cunning, more observant, the longer she kept him. She pushed the door closed behind her this time. That was part of their game, if she didn't close the door, he would smack her, hard, and yell at her in the food-language, and point at the door, and she would cry out and whimper a little, and bite the inside of her cheek to taste the blood. She would slink over and close the door obediently, then she would crawl back to him. If she was feeling wild, she would grovel and kiss his toes and fawn over him, and he would hit her more and make her moan. Then she would turn around and offer him her tender parts to placate him, and he would do those things to her that were so good, until they were both exhausted.
But tonight she was not feeling wild, with a belly stuffed with warm meat and the taste of it still on her tongue. So she closed the door and they did not play that game this time.
She knelt down in the silk and the furs and all the other things the Master filled his nest with, and marveled as she always did about the sensations they made on her striped skin. She crawled lazily over to the man and stretched out before him, nestled her head on his lap and mewled softly for his attention. He was good about that, touching her just right to make her feel happy and calm, without making her feel wild and feisty. It only took him a few days to figure out quickly if she wanted to play games with him or not. He was smart, like the Master. Not as smart of course, but still smart for a mere man. She felt one of his hands slide softly over her belly, knew he felt the food she had just eaten. He acted a little funny some times, like he didn't want to touch her, when she came back just after hunting, but tonight he was good. His fingers wandered gently all over her body, stroking her thighs, brushing her face and throat, and caressing her breasts, which always made her sigh with pleasure. She squirmed and snuggled a little closer to him.

Time passed. Rabbit wasn't sure how much, didn't really care. She was happy now, curled up beside the man. He tried to tell her his name once, but she bit him and glared at him to tell him to be quiet. She didn't want to know. She liked to pretend that he was the Master, when he was doing those things to her from behind, and the Master had no name. So he was just the man to her. The man was good and patient, and he stroked and caressed her like this for a long time, and murmured things over her that she didn't understand. He was learning to speak a little bit of the Master's language, so that he could tell her things, but she didn't like it so much when he used it, he was so clumsy the way he talked. She could tolerate it as long as he didn't do it very often though, and he didn't. Eventually, he started to run his hands gently over her stomach from time, which she always noticed because he didn't seem to like to do that normally, when she was full. It meant he was trying to tell if she was feeling wild yet. It annoyed her a little the first few times, but before long it stopped bothering her.

Right about when she started to feel restless and started to think about the man's fingers between her legs, she felt his arms slide around her sleek body and tenderly pick her up. She nuzzled his shoulder appreciatively as he gathered her to him, laying her out against his chest, with his strong, warm embrace curled possessively around her. She mewed again, knowing he was up to something, growing excited. She shifted a little to snuggle closer to his body, and stretched one foot. He watched her. He liked her feet--narrow, with three long toes that squeezed together as if huddling for warmth, and curled down a little bit, with sharp, pointed toenails, like her fingers. Some times he would play with her toes gently, and murmur her name to himself. She wasn't sure why, they didn't seem special to her, but these were the times when she let him make the rules of the game.

His hands slid up her chest to her neck, caressing and stroking her, feeling her pulse throb rhythmically under his fingers. She leaned her head back to give him better access, and murmured in his ear, "Ahh. Choke me master, please... Just a little..." She didn't think he understood, but just saying it made her feel good. His hand didn't clamp down on her esophagus, just caressed it, and she gave a little sigh of disappointment. His hands left her, and she reached out to find his hand and tug it back, but they came back to her on their own. She heard the light clink of a steel buckle, and a little thrill ran up her spine. She lifted her neck a little, and he slipped a leather collar around her neck, pulling it a little too tight and hooking a leash to the back of it. She groaned softly, feeling that desperate need just starting to awaken inside her.