Your name is Twinstud Seapixie and you have just received the title above. Most people wouldn’t have expected someone of your stature to have such a position. Even though to any landdweller you are of the highest rank, to your fellow seadwellers you are low on the buoy. Your blood is of a bluish hue and pale-ish shade, you come from a mostly defective brood, and to top it all off you are short. You haven’t let that get in the way. You fought hard and dirty and now at only fifty you are close to your reward: Captain-Mistress of the Aquatic Hoofbeasts Stables. You just need to get rid of the current title holder and you are all set.
The uncouth would call your position a job, but you are not a servant. You are a courtier. Managing the care and upkeep of animals is a duty you take on in gratitude towards the Empress for allowing you to live in the palace compound. You are not paid for it. You do receive an allowance from her, but that is not a salary. There is a difference and only an unschoolfeed maroonblood wouldn’t see it.
It’s only your third night holding the position when the Empress summons you. You are informed in person by a fellow seadweller: another sign you are not a servant. You did not even know the Empress had returned to this palace. She had just arrived an hour ago and the news hadn’t reached the far-off stables. You wonder what business she has with you that would come before everything else she must attend to when she settles into a residence. Whatever it is, you immediately drop everything and leave.
The compound is so large you need a shuttle to get to the main hive. You have never been in the her Imperious Condescension’s personal quarters. You have only been to the public parts of the palace. The personal quarters are not as grand as the entertainment blocks. There is nothing on the black walls except some faint silvery tentacles designs. The foyer is the size of a lowblood’s apartment and the hallways only fit two trolls. An octopus open the door, an ex-lusus no doubt, and a courtier draped like a laughssasin quietly leads you up to a block. The block is more fancifully decorated. Indigo and blue designs cover the walls and intricate mosaics cover the floors. But it is obviously just a receiving area for landdwellers. Landwellers put on scuba gear and dive into the pool. You can see the tanks up on the deck through the surface of the water. Why are you meeting here?
The main door opens and her Imperious Condescension enters and without any attendants she fills the room. She is tall and her hair take up even more space. The room is smaller with her in it and you are tiny. She has a powerful presence, like the battle aura of a powerful psionic. This is not your first time being in her presence. You were briefly introduced to her when you first came here and from then on you’ve attended events with her, but this is the first time you’ve been with her one on one. Those previous time, even though she gave off a proper amount of condescension, you didn’t feel it as strongly as you do now. You feel as terrified as if she was a subjuggulator.
You still manage to keep yourself in check. You are famed for your stoic nature. Others might think that groveling and flattery are the way to the top, but you have found being remote a better course. People wonder what you are thinking. They try to please you. This is a dangerous game to play with the Empress, but you are not going to change your working strategy now.
You bow deeply but do not prostrate yourself. This is perfectly within protocol for a noble. Purplebloods do not prostrate themselves for anyone. When you come up you don’t bow your head as much as keep it at a 45º angle while looking at nothing. You do not ask what she wants. It is up to her to speak first.
She does speak after an almost uncomfortable long time. “I awarded you my title Lieutenant-Mistress of the Aquatic Hoofbeasts.”
You rise your head and reply, “Yes, your Imperiousness.”
“Thank you, your Imperiousness.”
You lower your head again and wait. You had sent her a letter of gratitude, but apparently she wants more.
She says, “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, your Imperiousness. I will serwe you well in my new position.”
“Thank you for serving me.”
She is again silent. You wonder if she only summoned you to exchange congratulations and thank you’s. You had expected to discuss her beloved aquatic hoofbeasts, but it seems she has other things on her mind. You expect a dismissal at any moment. It doesn’t come.
“Look up,” she says.
You look up to see her eyes. She moves her eyes up and down your body and smiles wide. You would call it lecherous but a celibate immortal cannot be lecherous. She looks at your fins. Her smile turns to a slight frown.
“You don’t wear much jewelry,” she says.
“No, your Imperiousness. Only two small finrings. I never wear more than that.”
“Your hair is very short.”
“Yes, your Imperiousness.”
You do look very different from the Empress. You are small and hairless and unadorned.
You boldly add, “It is my personal style, your Imperiousness.”
She responds to this declaration, “A noble should wear jewelry and a woman should wear long hair.”
You explain, “I receiwed my adult name from this look. I cannot change it now.”
“I like the look on you.” Her smile returns.
“Thank you, your Imperiousness.”
Your gambit paid off. A lesser troll would have immediately promised to change. You aren’t going to change. You like your look.
She says, “You have participated in the required amount of spawnings taking only one exception.”
This is a very odd compliment. She says it so mechanically like she is a mating drone. Doesn’t she have more to worry about than the reproductive fitness of one troll?
“You do not need to have a kismesis or matesprit. Do you still have them?” she asks.
“Yes, I hawe both.”
Of course you still have concupiscent partners. Just because the Empire doesn’t require your genetic material doesn’t mean you don’t still make it. You suppose the nearly-virgin queen doesn’t understand the need for sex. If she didn’t have heirs you’d think she had no genetic material.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says.
It seems she is forgiving you for your sexual neediness, but you also have a strange feeling she means something else.
“Let’s go up to the deck. I’ll show you why I brought you here, Seapixie.”
You are surprised to hear your name. At best you thought she would say your title. You also wonder what she wants to show you on the dry. It must be the reason she took you to a landdwellers’ block.
You swim up and haul yourself unto the deck. The Empress follows. Her breaching is breath-taking. She seems to simply rise up out of the water and step unto the land. Her hair should be flat with dampness but it flows like she’s underwater. You heard her famous hair does that but it’s weird to see in action.
The deck is small, only two yards deep. She takes up most of it. You want to keep a respectful distance from her but you are backed into the wall and you can’t seem to maneuver to the side.
She holds out her left hand out to the door and says, “Triple lock, no buzzer or intercom.”
Your head jerks to the door as you hear a locking mechanism. You turn your head back to her. She is staring you down. You squirm under her gaze.
Then, you see something you never thought you ever see: your monarch unzips her bodysuit and takes off her shoes. The most beautiful woman in the empire is naked before you. Her body is glorious: toned and unblemished. Her acid globes are high and firm, her stomach is flat, and her hips sway erotically. Now it’s your turn to look her over.
“You’ve never seen anything like this, have you, mortal?” she says.
You try and think up a response.
“No I hawen’t. Thank you, your Imperiousness, for showing me your body.”
It sound not like you, too groveling, but right now you do honestly feel grateful. Grateful and terrified.
She gives a wide smile and in a high-pitched voice say, “YOU’RE WELCOME!” She sounds like a dolphin. An evil dolphin. “Thank you for showing me your body.”
You get the hint, though looking at her you wonder why she want to see your body. You still aren’t going to disobey her. You take off your half-jacket, then you unzip your top, then you take then take off your boots, then you take off your capris, and then you take off your underwear, stopping at each step, expecting her to change her mind. She doesn’t.
She looks at your body approvingly. She takes a small step and her hair moves towards you. The moment a lock of it falls on your shoulder it finally breaks for you. You know why she brought you up here. There is only one thing a seadweller needs to do on the dry: mate.
You blurt out, “I can’t do this, I hawe a matesprit.” Her hair curls around your neck. “And a kismesis.”
She replies, “Romance is very important. Not even I can unhook you from your lovers so I can reel you in myself.”
Her hair doesn’t fall back.
“But I’m not interested in keeping this catch,” she says.
Four locks of hair shoot out and grab your wrists and ankles. They pull your arms up over your head and force your legs apart. She is free to touch your body. She is your Empress and she is going to have sex with you no matter what. You are resigned to your fate.
Several more locks of hair come out and caress you. The hair tentacles feel like silk rope. They loosely wrap around you, tickle you, even whipping at you a little. They all over you: under your arms, around your chest, behind your fins, making circles around your nipples and your vestigial leg stumps, slapping your butt, squirming between your toes. You have never been so fully touched. It’s like you are the focus of an orgy.
Yet the hair isn’t going the one place you’d expect it to go. Your crotch aches from the lack of attention. Your nook leaking onto your thighs and bone bulge is pointing up. Your hips move involuntarily and your foot slides closer to her.
“Coming for more?” she says mockingly.
She suddenly frowns and takes out her culling fork and pushes the blunt end into your stomach.
You weakly nod your head. She puts back her weapon. You weren’t going to move closer anyway but now you know where the tide line is. This is to be one-sided, though you can tell from her imperious crotch she’s getting enough pleasure.
Her attentions continue and she pays close attention. Your bluish blush is all up and down your body. Your gills flutter and you pant at the same time. You even sweat a little, a lot for a seadweller. It’s so embarrassing the way you act during sex. You are lucky you’ve never had a kismesis vulgar enough to tell everyone about it.
“I love the stoic type,” she says.
A hair tentacle forms into a big black bone bulge. She rubs it against your thigh. Unlike the other hair tentacles it feels like it’s made of horn. It pokes at your nook.
She adds, “They make me want to CRACK OPEN THEIR SHELL!”
A hair tentacle shoots into your nook and starts pumping. You try to double over in pain but the hair ropes keep you up. You cry out instead.
“If you’re going to cry,” the Empress says, “Call me Condesce.”
You weakly reply, “Your Imperious Condescension....”
“CALL ME CONDESCE!”
Her tentacle stops pumping and as painful as it was you miss the movement.
“Condesce...” you reply.
“Good job, Seapixie.”
The pumping starts up again. Each pump feels like a punch. The hair tentacle goes as far as possible in your nook. It curls around inside of you. The other tentacles don’t let up. It feels like every part of your body is being touched. The gentle caresses get you through the pain of being fucked roughly.
Condesce stares at you the entire time. A tentacle is wrapped around your neck in a way that prevents you from looking away. Her eyes sparkle with a sadistic glee. She gives off a high-pitched giggle every now and then.
You have never had a kismesis take you down this way. Your kismesitudes have always been intellectual rivalries. You don’t hate Condesce, you would never think of having romantic feelings towards her, but right now you love this passion.
She uncapchalogues a pail and drops it on the floor. She starts rubbing herself. Her jewelry jangles. The tentacle around your neck loosens, perhaps on purpose, and your eyes wander down her body. Her bone bulge is as big as the fake hair one. Yet she didn’t dare use it on you. She hasn’t touched you with anything but her hair and even that doesn’t seem to count. The hair is its own creature, just a proxy lover.
Her own efforts on herself come through quickly. She throws her head back, laughs, and her seedflap unfurls and fills the pail with the most precious genetic material in the Empire. You have just witnessed her imperious orgasm. You aren’t sure if anyone has ever witnessed it before.
She continues on like nothing happened. You are glad she hasn’t suddenly stopped. You couldn’t stand the humiliation and frustration of being thrown back. You look at the magenta-filled pail with longing. You need to fill a pail yourself. You obviously didn’t bring anything yourself.
“Condesce?” you whisper. She doesn’t respond. “Condesce! I need...”
She gives you a sneer that shows she does hear, but she’s not going to do anything. She isn’t going to share a pail with you.
The hair bone bulge stops going so rough, settling into long strokes. It makes it harder for you to keep it in. You don’t want to come like this. You want that pail. Your foot slides a little toward the pail but the tentacles wrap up your ankles. The hair bone bulge takes its cue to pull out. A few more strokes from all the other tentacles and you come all over your thighs.
All the tentacles retreat and you slide down onto the floor. Your butt falls in a puddle of your own genetic material.
“Gluuuub,” Condesce sighs, “Now I can relax.”
She looks at her hair with disgust. She takes out a handkerchief and wipes the lube and seed off the tips. She then discreetly wipes her thighs with it and drops it in the pail. The pail is capchalogued. She takes out her clothes, puts back on the bodysuit and puts back on her shoes. She take out a no-doubt magic comb and combs her hair. During all this time, you remain on the floor in a daze. She stops coming her hair and looks at you with supreme condescension.
“You’re still here? Clean up that mess,” she says.
She walks over to where the landdwellers dry off, and throws you a towel. You get on your knees and start wiping.
She interrupts you, “Look up here, Seapixie.”
“Don’t think this will get you any leverage,” she says, “Don’t even think I’ll ever deign to do this again with you. You are not suddenly my favorite.”
She turns to the door and unlocks it. She turns around, dives into the pool, and swims back up.
“But Seapixie,” she says, “Take good care of my aquatic hoofbeasts. They are my favorites.”
You nod. She seemed genuinely concerned you might not do a good job.
Her Imperious Condescension stops gracing you with her presence. You can still feel her aura. You are frightened and humiliated and utterly violated from what she did to you but you feel a longing for her to come back. You are so filled with emotions it is making you sick.
But you don’t let yourself get sick. You have been sent on a very important assignment. You must be the Lieutenant-Mistress of the Aquatic Hoofbeasts Stables.