All were close in age; young, yet on the eve of running their own households. Her fellow chamber-mates were all beautiful in their own ways. Why these commonalities were important, Hanna did not know.
“Hanna,” Nikola whispered. His bed sat roughly three meters from hers. “Hanna!”
“Niko.” The voice coming from her mouth was not her own. It was older, somehow. “Don’t ask me. I don’t know.”
“Gypsies,” the big city boy hissed. “They’ve sold us into servitude!”
“Does this look like servitude to you?” Nikola responded, brushing his hand over the gilt mirror on his bedstand, and the silky, golden sheets covering the mattress.
“Olav,” the girl, another captive from the city, started in, “they said we could leave if we wanted.”
“Do you see a way out, Greta?” Olav cried.
All six of them scanned for one by instinct. Hanna saw a thin outline of where a door rested, but no handle or means to open it.
The twins erupted into synchronized sobs, clutching one another tighter.
“The men who came to my father’s house… they were... not local. Tall, exceptionally tall. Their hair color was not the red we’re used to. I can’t put to words what I mean to say, but they were…” Nikola babbled on and on, but the others watched him with a careful fear.
“They certainly were not from Oslo,” Olav agreed.
“That isn’t what I mean,” Nikola argued.
“I know what you meant,” Olav returned. His eyes cast down toward his hands. “My father has spoken of the race of tall men from the north, born of fire.”
“Such superstition!” Greta declared, waving him away. “No one believes these things.”
Olav glared at her. “And how would you know? Did you see them? They’re not one of us!”
Hanna observed their bickering with burgeoning dread. The legend of the Viking gods in the glaciers, in the hidden city, was one she’d heard whispered amongst her playmates since she was old enough to play near the river with the other children. Enough healthy skepticism followed the stories, but mixed in was a fair bit of the wild superstition that had carried her people for centuries.
“Stop!” one of the twins cried. She held her sister, whose face was buried in a nestle of hair. “We have to find a way out.”
“We’re back to this,” Olav quipped, with a roll of his eyes. “Can any of you move walls from their foundation?”
Words continued firing across the room, repeating the same speculative sentiments and driving the pique higher in them all. Why were they here? Who were their captors?
What were their captors?
A portion of the wall swung inward. A woman entered the room, followed by a half-dozen guards. They plastered themselves against the wall, while she glided over the stone floor, her gold robe creating a soft swish with each light step.
“Greetings, Children of Men.”
The woman didn’t ask for their complete attention, but she didn’t need to. The air went entirely still; not even the sound of breathing could be heard over the power radiating from this… creature standing before them.
“I’m Inthalia. You can call me Lia,” the redheaded goddess intoned, in a voice Hanna could only describe as silk passing across still water. “I’ll be your usher through this progression. Any need you may have, share it with me and I’ll see it met. My aim is to ensure your comfort and pleasure are attended to at all times.”
“I want to go home,” one of the twins whimpered.
“And that option will be available to you, once you’ve had the occasion to appreciate all we have to offer. Would you really walk away from paradise, if it were presented before you?”
“Our families will be sick with fear,” Greta interjected. Her arms came around her chest in a move of self-consciousness that mirrored Hanna’s own. “I don’t know how you can call that paradise.”
“Your mind can’t grasp what your eyes haven’t seen,” Lia explained patiently. With a light smile, she added, “Or what your body has not yet experienced.”
Olav jumped from his bed, then abruptly sat back down. Cowering. “Then show us so we can return to our families!”
“Ahh, you are not the first impatient pet to cross our threshold,” Lia chided with a brief, affectionate nod. “This evening and the next, all your questions will be answered. You’ll be given a choice, and we will honor your wishes, though most don’t choose to leave once they’ve experienced the delights of The Menagerie.”
Hanna and her comrades mumbled questions at this new information, but Lia silenced them with her final instructions. “My darlings, I’ll be sending in attendants to have you prepared for the evening. You’ll be bathed in lavender, massaged with the finest oils, and given a meal I daresay the likes of which you’ve never had in your homes. You cannot enter The Menagerie as you are now.”
Lia backed out of the room. Before she departed, she added one final command: “Your clothing is the first of your old lives I request you surrender.”
V
Cyler waited with impatient frustration for the messenger to arrive. He’d told none of his dormitory mates about the invite, anticipating their jealous overtures and put off by the thought of their plying him with questions later.
All day he’d stayed put in his room, having no specific time given him in the initial request. As the hours ticked by, his curiosity gave way to subtle but building anger as it occurred to him he may be at the unfortunate end of a prank by one of his insufferable fellow graduates.
The bells in the Scryer’s Temple sounded out twelve tones. Impeccably spaced to the moment where a thirteenth would have rung, had there been one, he was jolted from his reverie by a heavy fist upon the door.
Cyler rushed forth before his roommates could awaken and ask the inevitable questions. He quietly slipped out of the room and into the corridor before addressing the messenger.
The vibrantly robed creature was already gliding back down the hall, beckoning over his shoulder for Cyler to follow.
He saw little choice but to do so.
They descended from the dormitories, trekking down into the town square and then up the mountainside, toward the palace entrance.
Cyler had, of course, been in the palace many times. As a student of Emyr, they were often invited to fetes thrown by the emperor and his court. The central hall had long since lost its celebrity status, and now resided as simply another place for his long instruction.
Instead of ascending the grand staircase connecting them to the upper levels of the castle, the messenger led Cyler back through a series of halls that pulled them further from areas he’d seen before.
Eventually they approached a narrow stone staircase and began their descent, spiraling so many levels Cyler wondered if they might land in the Earth’s core.
With each step, cold walls grew warmer, the air growing thick with heat, contrasting with the icy breeze above.
As they moved down the final group of stone stairs, two Crimson Guards flanked the entrance. Beyond them, double doors made of ivory and pearl marked the entrance labeled in gold script, The Menagerie.
“Speak the entrance code,” one guard intoned. “Oh. You’ve brought a fledgling. Go forth.”
The messenger turned to Cyler, lowering his hood. “You will receive your own entrance code, should you pass the test inside.”
The guards stepped back against the wall, allowing them passage. Please proceed at a leisurely stroll, the sign with ivory inlay read. Cyler smirked, thinking of what someone must have done to necessitate the reminder.
Cyler stood before the tall doors, watching as the messenger slowly opened them. His view grew awash with bright and colorful lights, as The Menagerie came alive for him.
Almost immediately, every one of his senses were overwhelmed. His ears took in the sweet sound of a hundred birds trilling and singing, while his eyes vainly attempted to catalogue the uncountable variety of flora that decorated this Garden of Ed
en. He recalled someone telling him that many of the plant species had been developed right here in The Menagerie, the botanists brought in for their specialty in creating the most vibrant hybrids.
Children of Men, male and female, wandered without a stitch of clothing. Many of them smiled in his direction, as they meandered down the ivory floor in a daze, toward a sizeable throne at the back.
Cyler took a moment to calculate the sum of his observations on this first visit, such as they were. The Menagerie existed as the ultimate affront to Empyrean law. It was a crime, punishable by death, for Empyreans to copulate with men, but The Menagerie reportedly existed solely for that purpose.
Until the moment he laid eyes upon it, Cyler realized he’d not ever truly believed such a place existed.
As they pushed through orange and purple palm fronds, his view opened up to a gargantuan throne covered with millions of tiny pearls. Upon it, nestled amid thick animal pelts, Duchess Oriana perched, attended by several of the most beautiful humans Cyler had ever seen.
He took a moment to drink her in. A luscious cascade of red hair fell as if a waterfall of fire against her white silk gown, and snow leopard furs. Long, slender arms were bedecked in pearl bracelets, from wrist to elbow, her neck covered completely with an ivory bone choker that ran chin to breast. The Snow Queen, she was sometimes called, or so he was told. Another rumor that had reached his ears, she was the only being in The Menagerie allowed to wear white, and other than the pearl and ivory accents bordering the escape, no white foliage or decor was allowed either. Judging from the scene at hand, that tidbit seemed to be true.
“Ahh, Vakkar!” Oriana cried with pleasure, extending her long, jeweled wrist for Cyler to kiss. After, he rose, and sat on the silk-covered stool she patted, next to her.
“Vakkar?” he queried, before he realized he hadn’t afforded her the greeting appropriate for her station.
The duchess laughed, reading his mind. “You look so very serious! Vakkar, my serious boy. My new recruit, or so I hope.” Her jeweled wrist gesticulated around the array of colors and nude figures. “Your initial observation, Vakkar? I do so love to hear the words from the tongue of a first impression!”
“I…” What could he say? The illicit garden of delights was nothing he could have envisioned within the confines of his own limited imagination. But that was not the answer she sought. “I daresay there’s doubtful anything like it upon this Earth.”
Oriana tossed her red hair back as she giggled. In reverent unison, her pets laughed with her. “You daresay! Fair enough, Vakkar. I will ask you again on your forty-eighth hour and I expect your answer to be far more worthy.”
“It may take that long for my senses to catch up,” he admitted. “I thank you for the invite, Duchess, but I can’t help asking, why me?”
“My reasons are my own,” she purred, her smile never leaving. “Tonight, Vakkar, you’ll see all The Menagerie has to offer. When you return tomorrow, an entirely new world, unlike anything you’ve ever known, will be laid at your feet. A choice, of course, to accept or decline. For what are we, without our free will?”
Something about the question suggested it was rhetorical, to the negative. Cyler nodded, and searched for a response but the duchess clapped her hands together in delight and declared, “Ahh, tonight’s show is beginning!”
Cyler was ushered forth in a throng of nude human men and women, toward an unknown spectacle that all of them seemed in an awful hurry to view.
The messenger from earlier tugged on his arm, pulling him off to the left, and up a short golden ramp, slightly elevated from the crowd. “You’ll see better from here,” the creature said, bowing away before Cyler could thank him, or ask what the hell they were here to watch.
A mist appeared over a raised platform of sorts, and in tandem, a silence fell over the spectators. When the fog cleared, Oriana stood before an altar covered in rich pink and green silks.
“Tonight we welcome new pets to The Menagerie!”
An enthusiastic rumble rippled through the crowd. Cyler watched in anticipative silence.
“Thaddeus, of our Crimson Guard, is here this evening to aid our first pet in her initiation; to usher her toward her newfound freedom. To pull her from the bonds of purgatory offered in her old home and present to her a new one!”
Our Father of Light. Our Father of Fire. The men and women, who couldn’t possibly understand the Empyrean god, chanted the prayer nonetheless.
Thaddeus (though Cyler was certain this guard’s name was actually Darius) stepped onto the stage, his hard, muscled body shining with the help of heavy oils. His cock lay against his thigh, throbbing as it grew in anticipation. Up until this point apathetic about the naked scenery, Cyler’s own shaft unexpectedly leapt at the virile display.
In the next moment, two attendants brought out the bare, trembling figure of a human girl, no more than twenty years upon the Earth, Cyler guessed. One palm splayed between her legs, her other arm over two firm breasts, she struggled to cover her nakedness, a modesty Empyreans were never taught.
Oriana approached the terrified girl, stroking her blonde locks with the back of her pale hand. The gesture was motherly, tender. “Greta comes to us from a home fraught with financial worry. A mother who died too young. A father who gambled their fortune away and is now selling his only daughter to the highest bidder, a man known for his sadistic tendencies.”
The crowd hung their heads, murmuring about the injustice of such a tragic future for the beautiful Greta.
The duchess turned toward the young woman, cradling the girl’s tear-stained face in her hands. The intimacy of the moment made Cyler’s eye twitch, and he resisted the urge to look away.
“Greta, my dear. My darling. You are greater than this fate. You are so much more than what your father would sell you into. I offer this to you, tonight. Do you accept this gift?”
Greta’s eyes attempted to snap toward the crowd, but Oriana gently nudged her back, leveling her gaze upon girl. “It matters not what they think, child. Only what you think. What you want. What you desire.”
Her lower lip wavered and she gasped. Greta swayed, but Oriana’s firm, gentle touch steadied her. “Aye,” she said in a timid voice. “I accept.”
With a confident swagger, Thaddeus lay back against the silks on the altar, his hand traveling the length of his cock, nursing an erection Cyler feared might be more than the small girl could handle.
But Greta was not taken to Thaddeus. Instead, attendants moved to either side, each taking an arm and turning her body to face the crowd. Two more crawled forth, spreading her legs and holding her ankles to root her to the ground.
Fear immediately filled Greta’s face, but Oriana offered one final, parting encouragement before backing off the dais. “No harm will come to you here, Greta. Surrender to that which lives deep inside you. It will set you free.”
The lights dimmed. A silence descended upon The Menagerie. Even the birds, a thousand voices only moments ago, hushed.
The air swelled. Cyler distinctly sensed the presence of strong magic distorting the atmosphere of the room and then, turning his gaze back toward the stage, he saw it.
Swirls of green twirled before Greta, whose fear had turned to speechless wonder. The particles of magic settled into the form of three identical snakes, created from smoke and power. No more real than any illusion, but Greta couldn’t know that. Her terror heightened as the magical snakes wove before her, dancing and twining as they inched closer.
One of the wispy snakes tickled her thigh, winding higher until it rested on the precipice of her womanhood. Undoubtedly, one still intact, a present to her abusive betrothed.
Greta inhaled, throwing her head back in a startled cry as the magic serpent entered her with a quick thrust. Another twined around her pert breasts, running its magical tongue over her hardening nipples.
Her flushed face cried for mercy, but her legs spread wider, receiving the lustful magic with a ragged panting. Wh
en the third snake tickled her clit, all of Greta’s fears turned to ecstasy.
Cyler’s pants tightened as he watched the magical snakes demand her girlhood. She writhed on the dais, unsure what was happening, yet begging for more, more, more…
Greta’s knees buckled as the snakes slowly dissolved. The golden thatch between her legs glistened with her pleasure as the last of the magic left her panting, wet, and no longer the same girl who’d approached her future in fear.
“No…” she whimpered, but her head lolled forward, exhausted from the welcome assault.
Thaddeus propped himself on his elbows as the attendants helped Greta to the altar. His cock towered, throbbing, a thick mast, overlarge even for an Empyrean. At once, Cyler understood the purpose of the initial magic. Unprepared, Thaddeus—Darius, whoever he was—would have torn the girl in half.
The attendants lifted waifish Greta up and settled her over Thaddeus. Holding his cock in one hand, he seized her hip with the other and guided her. A careful slide, dripping folds enveloping him in one long movement. She cried out as she settled over his length, but he was in command now, and, reaching up to take both her nipples between his fingers, he rocked her body over his, showing her his pleasure.
Greta’s attendants suckled at the girl’s neck, pulling her hair back off her face as she rode a being twice her size, the pleasure overcoming her with each delectable stride.
One of the attendants licked the length of Greta’s back, trailing down her spine. Another settled her tongue between her nether cheeks, flitting in, out.
Blood trickled down the girl’s chin as she bit into her lip, hands pressed to Thaddeus’ thighs as she leaned back and surrendered to this new life as if her old one had never existed. As if she’d never feared what awaited. As if she were a being created for one thing only: the giving and receiving of pleasure.
Lagniappes Collection II Page 5