Prysmcat's Fantasy Erotica

She checked the buffet table, visited the kitchen so she could restock a few things that were particularly low, circled around the solar collecting used dishes to take to the kitchen, unloaded the dishwasher, all with no one paying any attention to her. That was a relief, since it was allowing her to calm herself again, but she found herself wondering what next. Not that she would have anticipated anything so far, so guessing was probably a lost cause. She was pretty much on her own at the moment, since when she looked around for Flair, the girl was now apparently doing for Dagrun what she’d been doing for Sigrun earlier, and with equal enthusiasm.

“Mortal. Come here.” Eluned, the female of the tiny pair, beckoned imperiously from the tower structure she and Owain were reclining on.

Okay, whatever she does, I can handle this. I’ve gotten through everything else.

Jewel approached and, just in the interests of not looming over them, knelt. Everything so far suggested that her best bet with these fae was to say nothing until asked a question.

Both Eluned and Owain looked her over critically.

“What can you do, mortal?” Eluned finally asked.

“I’m sorry? In what context? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Owain heaved a theatrical sigh. “Can you sing? I highly doubt you can dance, since you’re built like a cow. Which lets out several other possibilities that all involve having the self-respect and decency to stay fit. Can you be entertaining? Do you have any talent at all?”

Jewel blinked, taken aback. No matter what Nikandros and Henry had done, no matter how embarrassing it was, she’d had no sense that it was malicious rather than mischievous and good-natured. Nechtan had been nice to her. The giants were invariably kind. This, though, coming from a pair that were unnaturally skinny in a way no human ever could be, struck her as simply petty.

Not that she dared lash out at them.

“My skills are in accounting and some clerical work, not in entertaining or the arts.” It was an effort to keep her voice humble.

“Oh. A secretary.”

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Dagrun was closer to the door, talking in that unfamiliar language to Nechtan the water-man and hairy Henry and Roshanak the Middle Eastern lady who looked like a spectacularly beautiful human with no strangeness visible. She remembered the feel of Henry’s fingers between her legs, how she’d stood obediently still to let him look and touch, and felt heat again—heat in her cheeks, as he grinned at her, but heat much lower, too, and it spread like wildlife.

She offered the tray to Dagrun.

“Thank you, little one.” Dagrun set her empty cup delicately on the tray and took one of the full ones. “I didn’t even need to ask.”

“You’re welcome.” She glanced around for Sigrun, found her a short way off, and started in that direction. The white giant had moved forward in her seat and had her knees parted; Flair was kneeling between them, and while Sigrun’s massive thighs largely blocked the view, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the girl was licking her. Enthusiastically.

What was it like, having that kind of contact with another woman? she wondered. What would another woman taste like? What would it feel like even with a human woman, let alone a giant who was possibly twice her height?

She was straight, she didn’t think things like that!

That was followed promptly by the other thoughts. She was allowed to. If those questions created images that fed the heat, that was okay. She wasn’t supposed to feel bad about feeling good.

Flair was so intent on what she was doing that she didn’t even look up when Jewel approached. Jewel held out the tray, waiting while Sigrun finished what she was saying to tree-like Taiki and eagle-winged Zipporah and noticed her.

“Mm, good. Talking is drying, and it’s warm in here.” She swapped empty cup for full, and reached down with her other hand to stroke Flair’s hair and down her back. Flair arched into it like a cat.

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Jillian brought her legs together and wriggled a bit so her panties dropped down to the floor, then tried awkwardly to pick them up. It wasn’t made any easier by the lingering breathlessness and dizziness from her encounter with Henry. She finally dropped to one knee to reach them, then had to get up.

Her leg muscles protested in multiple places, since her boots kept her heels several inches higher than the ball of her foot. She wasn’t the most flexible person to begin with, but the corset further restricted her range. Her centre of balance seemed off, somehow, and she couldn’t quite work out how to compensate. She staggered, rather embarrassingly, struggling to get both feet under her and her back straight before she found herself sprawled on the floor.

A strong hand around her wrist jerked her even more off-balance, and she yelped—but instead of falling, she came up against a warm body. Arms wrapped around her tightly, taking part of her weight and keeping her upright.

And she recognized that scent, even before she looked directly into yellow eyes over an impish grin. Oh please, not now, give me a minute to recover first…

“Well, hi, there.”

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Halfway back to the solar, Jewel heard that mellow chime again.

“Wonder who now,” Flair mused, and, as they came through the doors, “It’s Dagrun. She won’t do anything in your head, that’s not her thing. Here, take this to Mistress, I’ll take Nik’s, and then I’ll introduce you to Dagrun.”

The newcomer was impossible to miss: she had to be at least ten feet tall, and her build was fit and sturdy. Her hair, streaks of blonde and copper and crimson, lay forward over one shoulder in a long and very thick braid, and her skin was pale as old ivory. She was wearing blood-red leather pants, with leather boots to match that had heavy high wedge heels, and a red leather halter-top over breasts that must each be larger than Jewel’s head, and short red fingerless gloves. As Jewel watched, she settled herself casually into one of the largest chairs, which seemed to be sized for her, though she towered over everyone else.

Mistress had coiled herself in apparent comfort on one of the cushioned stone platforms, leaning against the raised side. Nikandros was in a more normal-sized chair with a shallow seat that accommodated his leg proportions; the short furry tail of a goat protruded through the opening at the back, and she saw it flutter back and forth excitedly as Flair approached with his wine.

Mistress accepted her glass with a nod. “Thank you, dear. Now go see if Dagrun would like something.”

She couldn’t let on how miserable she was currently feeling. That would upset Mistress, and that was bad. And it would probably disappoint Nikandros, and that was bad too.

Struggling to swallow helpless despair, she waited for Flair to finish with Nikandros—who had pulled her onto his lap, where she was giggling and arching into his hand with no sign of apprehension or reluctance at all.

“I have to say hi to Dagrun,” Flair said, when his hand wandered down between her legs.

He sighed. “I suppose so. But if I can’t have any of me in any opening of Jewel’s, I’ll just have to make use of as many of yours as possible instead.”

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While they were cleaning up, Jewel paused, startled by a low chime, loud enough to be audible but not so loud it was intrusive. It seemed to come from everywhere at once.

“That means someone just stepped through to the outer lounge,” Flair said. “It’s all right, we don’t have to rush. The doors are open and they know where the solar is and they’re early. But we can go see if they want a drink. Probably it’s Nik anyway.”

When they reached the solar, they found only a single person present.

Jewel blinked, shocked halfway out of the state of acceptance she’d managed to fall into.

Definitely a person, but equally definitely not a human.

From about the waist up, that was a fairly tall, very handsome man who looked like a Greek statue of the idealized young male body come to life. The small curved horns peeking out of the dense curly black hair somehow failed to detract from that.

At around waist level, that olive skin blended into thick brown woolly fur, very dark on the outer surfaces and around the lowest part, but much paler on his inner thighs and around his bare erect penis. She pulled her gaze away, blushing, trying to focus on the fact that his legs were animal-shaped, with shortened thighs and a hock, all ending in split hooves of shiny black. She couldn’t keep her gaze from going back to his penis, though. She had no idea what a… was he part goat, maybe? No idea what a goat’s anatomy looked like, and no interest in it, although probably it stayed inside when not in use like most animals. This goat-man’s, though, was oddly fascinating. It wasn’t extraordinarily large, maybe around the upper edge of human normal in length and the girth of the shaft, but the shape was different. Most obviously, the head flared more and the very tip was more pointed. And it was quite an appealing pink against that creamy background…

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They retraced their steps, back to the warm, comfortable living room. Jillian felt awkward and out of place, dressed like this in such a prosaic setting, and it only grew worse when Min had her rotate in a slow circle so all sides of her were visible.

“Lovely,” Min said. “I’d even go so far as to call the pair of you sensational. Well done, and it’s been less than an hour. Hm, but you certainly don’t look like Jillian. I think a new name is in order. Jolie? No, you are that, but let’s make it something in English. You’re certainly a treasure, so let’s go with Jewel. From now until the end of your time with us, you aren’t Jillian, you’re Jewel. If you’d like me to, in order to make this less stressful for you, I can make certain that for the next few hours, you can’t remember anything other than being my pet Jewel. It would, in effect, keep you focused here and now without extraneous and currently irrelevant internal distractions.”

Jillian hesitated. That had its appeal, all things considered… but she’d never cared for being extremely drunk and unable to keep track of the consequences of her own actions. And Flair had told her that Min didn’t like doing that. Presumably she offered out of kindness anyway. Or because it was better than watching her temporary pet be miserably conflicted.

Jillian shook her head. Not that she was Jillian now. Thinking of herself as a free human woman named Jillian gave her that sense of wrongness; thinking of herself as Mistress’ human pet Jewel, on the other hand, felt right. Now that decree had been made, she was obviously going to get constant reminders every time she slipped, until she adjusted to thinking of herself the right way. “Thank you, Mistress, but I’m all right.” She hadn’t planned on saying Mistress, it just slipped out on its own, but it felt oddly easy and comfortable, and gave her that sense of rightness. But then, Jewel was Mistress’ pet, and that made it appropriate.

Oh god. Am I even going to be myself at the end of this? Are these weird things in my head going to go away? I hope so I hope so I hope so…

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Beyond the sliding door was a substantial room that held a matching suite of antique-looking elaborately inlaid wooden furniture: a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a vanity table with a mirror, a short padded bench in front of the vanity and a longer one against a far wall. One wall, as in the bathroom, was a single unbroken mirror. A small mound of black and white fabric waited on the longer bench, with a pair of low boots with alarming heels on the floor next to it.

“Hm, clothes first,” Flair decided, and picked up a handful of thin black nylon. “Just drop the towels.”

“I can get dressed by myself.”

“Trust me, you’ll need help. Here, put these on.”

Jillian untangled them, and found that they were black sheer thigh-high stockings with a rubber strip around the top inside to keep them in place, and a wide band of white lace around the outside at the top. She gathered each up, fitted it over her toes, and drew it carefully upwards, smoothing out any wrinkles. Against her hairless and sensitized skin, it felt distractingly sensual.

“Stand up. This is the bit you need help with.” Flair chose from the bench something satiny white that looked strangely rigid.

“No panties?” Jillian considered arguing, but that feeling of wrongness resurfaced until she stood up, then it turned back to the pleasant feeling of approval.

Flair sighed. “There’s no need for them, and they’ll just get in the way once you’re all dressed. But if you really want them…”

“Please?”

Flair went to the chest of drawers, opened the top one, and without even looking pulled out a pair of white panties. Jillian tried not to grab them too rudely. All right, they were thin satiny stuff that left her hips bare, and they weren’t going to do all that much to guard modesty or chastity, but they covered the area that currently felt entirely too exposed to absolutely everything including stray breezes.

“Feel better?” Flair asked tolerantly.

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With a sigh, she stepped out of her shoes and began to strip off her jewellery; Flair simply held out a hand for it, deposited earrings and necklace in a drawer near the sink, then held out her hand again for Jillian’s clothes.

It got harder once she was out of skirt and blouse.

Mistress needs me clean and dressed right. Mistress said to listen to Flair.

The thoughts distracted her enough that she could unfasten her bra and peel off her pantyhose and wriggle out of her panties. The latter were damp enough to make her blush again. It had to be those intrusive thoughts and their insidious, almost subliminal, pleasant feelings, surely a way of making her more compliant. Or it was her adrenaline levels. It had to be.

But they did feel rather nice.

I belong to Mistress and I’ll obey her, she thought experimentally as she stepped into the huge tub and drew the curtain around, and felt that gentle rightness.

I don’t want to be here and I’m not going to cooperate, they’ll have to force me.

That thought brought that sense of discord back again.

She hastily corrected herself while she adjusted the temperature and switched it to shower. Nothing is my choice right now except cooperating or resisting. The same things will happen either way. Mistress wants me to cooperate. So I will.

There, that was better.

She just hoped those intrusions were going to stop, and weren’t going to leave anything behind. But for right now, anything that was going to make it easier for her to live up to her side of the bargain was a blessing.

“Am I allowed to ask questions?” Jillian asked. Hair first, Flair said, and she felt that rightness as she picked up the yellow bottle. The water pressure was higher than she’d ever had in an apartment, the many thin streams thumping against her skin. It took only seconds for her short hair to be saturated.

“As long as it’s while you’re doing other things, yes. Most things I can answer.”

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Jillian blinked. Where had that come from?

“Good. I’m having a small party tonight, a dozen or so friends. You get to help with preparations for it and keeping everyone supplied with drinks and food, and otherwise keep my guests happy. That won’t be such a big deal, hm? I have something here for you to wear that will be appropriate. Because I have no desire to disrupt your relationship with Gary, I’ve already made it clear to them that sex as such is not permitted tonight. That isn’t worth being frightened over, now, is it?”

Mistress wanted her to be reassured. And it was such a relief to have an answer, any answer let alone such a reasonable one, that she actually was relieved.

That gave her a warm sense of rightness. What Mistress wanted her to feel and what she felt were in alignment, and that was as proper and expected as dropping something and it falling to the ground. It was what should happen.

Wait, what?

But the little ripple of certainty that she was on the right track had been… rather nice. Comforting.

“Help?” Jillian echoed in confusion, latching on to something concrete. It was only one question of several, since it was rather unlikely over a dozen people could fit comfortably into this space, and why was there any question about sex? What kind of party was this?

Min chuckled, and let her hand fall. Jillian only realized then that Min had been gently stroking her cheek, her hair, her throat, all along, and only because she felt a strange disappointment that she’d stopped. “Turn around, dear. Flair, time to wake up.”

Jillian obediently twisted in place, and froze, her heart accelerating again.

The statue in the corner stirred, stretched, and focused on Min instantly. “Yes, Mistress? Is it time for Jillian and I to start getting ready for your party?” The clear voice sounded entirely human, and positively delighted.

Jillian could only stare, speechless. How could that even be real? The ex-statue moved like a real person, not stiffly or slowly at all—if anything, she moved more gracefully than many humans. Her expression was animated, and her breasts jiggled in their spiralled metal cages. But the fact remained that Jillian had seen her as a statue many times, and how could anyone look like they were made of alabaster with metal embedded into it?

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Jillian slapped the alarm clock and stretched, blinking in the early sunlight. She felt far more rested than she had in days—finally, proper deep sleep without tossing and turning as her mind raced.

She rolled out of bed, realized she was naked, and snatched up her robe. Even living alone, she just hadn’t been able to shake the discomfort with showing off that much of her body. Gary teased her about it all the time, and wasn’t the first to do so. She headed for the bathroom to shower.

The collar around her throat caught her eye in the mirror. How had she forgotten about that? Blushing, she reached up to unfasten it. She couldn’t go to work with it on. People had been fired for less outrageous fashion choices.

It wouldn’t come off.

With her heartbeat starting to speed up, she leaned closer to the mirror, turning the collar so she could see the buckle.

The tongue was fused in place at both ends, turning the entire thing into a single smooth solid piece of metal hardware that showed no indication that it had ever been possible to move any part of it. Unless she had a way to cut through the thick band itself, which she knew she didn’t, there was just no way that collar was coming off.

Hands braced on the bathroom counter, she closed her eyes, trying to slow her rapid breathing. What was she going to do? Call in sick? But she clearly remembered Min telling her to go to work today and to expect to be off tomorrow. Nothing in there about getting fired. And she wasn’t supposed to come to harm, surely losing her job would count as harm? What should she do?

She should shower and get ready for work, and trust that somehow, this wasn’t going to be a catastrophe. She had already waded into waters completely past her depth, and had a sinking feeling she had yet to find out just how deep they really went.

She took a final deliberate breath, opened her eyes, and stepped into the shower, trying to pretend that it was just an ordinary morning. The collar got wet, of course, and she could feel it around her neck even after the rest of her was dry. It was far more uncomfortable mentally than it was physically.

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