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“Alright, there you go.” Shireen stepped back from Maggie, holding up a mirror. She was a young gargoyle, with blue-grey skin and long, slim bat-like wings currently folded around her shoulders like a cape. Her hair was short and dark, curling around her face, and she was wearing a sleeveless leather jerkin with a deep v-neck, showing off both her wiry muscles and her decent cleavage.
Across from her, Melkan’s Magnificent Mannequin, recently renamed ‘Maggie’ by their rescuers/owners, considered their face seriously. The mannequin was a mostly human-shaped porcelain creation with four spindly segmented arms, wide hips and a large bust, but until recently their face had been nothing but a blank white space with a hint of forehead and nose. Now, they had full red lips and thin black eyes, surrounded by green eyeshadow that matched the maid’s dress they wore. “The work is competently done, and aesthetically acceptable. Thank you for your effort.”
“That kind of sounded like an insult,” Shireen said.
“If I were to disparage you, you would not be uncertain about it,” Maggie said. “But I apologize if my statement was insufficiently subservient.”
“Ouch. Quinlynn, Maggie’s bullying me!”
“You probably deserved it,” Quinlynn shot back, stepping into the room. Shireen and Maggie had taken over a small workshop in their Guild’s back rooms, next to the lab where she was working on her alchemy. Quinlynn was taller than Shireen, but was skinny enough to seem young next to her bustier compatriots, a fact not helped by her button nose or slim waist. Her purple hair was tied back in a ponytail today, keeping it out of the way of potential explosions, and she’d traded in her dress for a set of linens and a heavy leather apron, which she privately worried made her look even less sexual. But then, who was going to hit on her in the middle of an experiment? She looked Maggie up and down, and nodding. “Looks nice.”
“I agreed. But I did not agree profusely enough for my mistress’s ego.”
Quinlynn grinned. “Have I mentioned how glad I am that you rescued Maggie from the fae?” she asked.
Shireen sighed heavily. “Oh, yeah, yuck it up. How’s the research going?”
“I won’t know until the aether catalyses, which is going to take at least two hours.”
“Oh. In that case, want to take a break?” Shireen’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I need to pay Creidhne for my latest boons, and Maggie offered to help out by turning me into a piece of art that he would really appreciate. But they said it would look better with two people. And I know you were planning to improve your teleportation spell after our next adventure, so I thought that you might want to put some payment towards it…?” Shireen waggled her eyebrows.
“I don’t know, Shireen, I don’t usually do sexual aesthetics with the Emissary. I’m more of a poetry girl.” Quinlynn bit her lip, and looked at Maggie. “Is this going to be painful? I’ve seen some of Shireen’s poses.”
“The secondary position does not involve any particular strain,” Maggie said. “I could adjust it to have more if you wish.”
“No. No, I’m good without.”
“Even if you get to tease me to the breaking point?” Shireen said.
Quinlynn, already turning back to her lab, paused. “I doubt that,” she said. “You don’t have a breaking point.”
“Well, you could try to find one. Come on! Maggie put their whole soul into this.” Shireen paused, tapping her lips. “Maggie, do you have a soul? Is that offensive?”
“I am not offended, but I do not have an answer to your query.”
“Quinlynn, does Maggie have a soul?”
“That’s not a question you can just casually answer,” Quinlynn said, brow furrowed. “You’re talking about the metaphysical nature of sentience and personhood right now. For a start, you would have to think about what having a soul properly entails, and whether -”
“Hey, Creidhne, does Maggie have a soul?” Shireen yelled very loudly.
The Emissary formed in front of the three of them, his body coalescing out of the patterning of shadows and lights, wearing a long white robe that was open at the chest. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully, looking the mannequin up and now. “A small one. I do not think, as it stands, that it would withstand a Guild Crest, if that is what concerns you, but perhaps with time it could be cultivated as such.”
Quinlynn stared at Shireen and Creidhne, aghast. The Emissary turned to regard her, raising a delicate eyebrow. “Is something the matter?”
“Nope. Thank you, sir.” Shireen beamed at her Emissary.
“Very well, then. Enjoy your relaxation. I look forward to when this work is complete; I am always appreciative of properly displayed art.” The shadows twisted, the light grew brighter, and Creidhne was gone.
Shireen turned back to Quinlynn, smirking. “Maggie put their whole soul into this,” she said triumphantly.
“Okay, fine! I’m in. But only because the Emissary wants to see it.” Quinlynn stepped back into the room. “Do I need to get naked for this?”
Maggie stepped up, circling around Quinlynn. “This piece does not require nudity, but you will need to change into more aesthetically appropriate attire. This way, please.” They took Quinlynn by the hand, leading her to the back room.
Shireen sat back, twiddling her thumbs. “This had better not take too long!” she called.
“Calm yourself. And disrobe.”
“Yes, sir,” Shireen said grumpily. As Maggie and Quinlynn vanished behind the curtain, she unclipped the small clasps at the side of her jerkin, letting the back and front fall down around her waist and stretching her wings out. “This is also more fun with an audience,” she complained.
“You have earned a punishment,” Maggie called back.
Shireen’s eyes lit up. “Oh, have I? What for?”
“Impeding the artistic process.” Maggie emerged from behind the curtain, holding a leather strap with a metal ring in the middle in two of their hands, a small green bulb in a third, and a glass of water in the fourth. “If you interrupt me, I will not be able to properly display Quinlynn and your own performance will suffer. Open your mouth.”
“Or whaaa–” Shireen’s retort was cut off as Maggie slipped the ring between her lips, expertly tying it behind her head. The mannequin slipped the bulb through the open space in the centre of the ring, then tossed a splash of water on it. Immediately, Shireen felt the bulb begin to bloom, sending out sprouts in all directions to press against her cheeks and fill her mouth.
Maggie stepped back, nodding in a satisfied manner. “There. A simple spell will shrink the bulb when I am prepared for you. Until then, do not attempt to interfere with it or there will be another punishment.” The mannequin literally spun on one heel, returning behind the curtain.
Shireen tried to sit down and wait, but Maggie’s words were buzzing in her head. The bulb was straining her jaw a bit, but the feeling wasn’t unpleasant; a little bit spiky, with an odd floral scent drifting into her nostrils and a faint taste of honey. What did Maggie have in mind if she tried to take it out? Even if she pulled the gag off, she didn’t think the bulb would come out, would it?
She lasted almost twenty seconds before she had to try, reaching up to pull off the gag. Immediately, she realized that the thin strands of plant had wrapped around the gag, spreading like ivy down the length of the strap. She also realized that those self-same strands did not like to be disturbed. As soon as her hands brushed against them they lashed out, wrapping around her wrists and pulling them tight against the sides of her head. Tiny sprouts danced around her palms, leaving a trail of itching that drew a whimper of frustrated pleasure.
Shireen fell back down on the ground, wings flapping as she tried to figure out how to turn her palms enough to scratch them. She was still working on the problem when Maggie and Quinlynn emerged from the back.
Maggie shook their head, looking down at the gargoyle squirming on the floor. “Truly, my new mistress possesses not a white of patience,” they said, turning to Quinlynn. “Please consider yourself in the mirror and give me your opinion while I remove her gag.”
Quinlynn looked at the mirror, and her breath caught. She’d seen the dress Maggie was putting on her, of course. She’d secretly thought that it was going to look ridiculous. But it did not. She was wearing a red sleeveless silk dress, the collar high around her neck and the curves of her bodice gentle but tantalizing. Thin slits along the sides lined with orange velvet gave the impression of flickering flames as she walked, and her shoes were silk-lined black iron with just enough heel to give definition to her legs without toppling her over. Maggie had taken a simple ponytail and turned it into a gorgeous bun, held together by a crimson comb whose topaz tips sparkled in the light. And completing the ensemble was Quinlynn's mask, an elegant porcelain in the same style as Maggie, with curling flames drawn on its cheeks and long lines imitating lashes. The combined effect was awe-inspiring.
Maggie flicked their fingers around the edges of Shireen’s gag, and the tendrils shrank back away from Shireen’s fingers, shrinking back into the bulb. The mannequin deftly removed the bulb and loosened Shireen’s gag, leaving it to hang around her neck as she stared at Quinlynn.
“I look silly, don't I?” Quinlynn said into the growing silence.
“Quinlynn, you look astonishing,” Shireen said. “You look like you're about to bend me over your knee. Or order a servant to do it. You're going to distract everyone from me!” She looked at Maggie. “This is the backdrop?”
Maggie nodded seriously. “This is the Shadow Empress against which your pose will be set. I guarantee that your outfit will draw the eye in a manner that you find satisfying.”
Shireen raised an eyebrow, and then shrugged. “Okay, okay. I trust you. Let’s go ahead and do this. What am I wearing? Shockingly little, I hope?”
“Of course. This is designed with your sensibilities in mind.” Maggie strolled over to one side of the room, easily hefting a large chest. “Do you think that you can remain still, or will I need to apply a primary layer of paralysis?”
“Mm, tempting, but I think I can handle myself.” Shireen craned her neck. “What’s in the box?”
“We will begin by attaching your chains,” Maggie said. They brought out a set of polished brass shackles, each one attached to a thin gold and silver chain. Stepping forward, they fixed one shackle to each of Shireen’s wrists and ankles, leaving the chains to trail along the floor. “There will also be a set of piercings. You are, of course, already pierced.” One hand came up with a set of four gold rings, linked together on a single chain. Two of the rings were close together, and Maggie knelt to place them on Shireen’s breasts, sliding them through her nipple piercings and clicking them shut. Shireen let out a soft moan as the chain between her breasts was pulled taut, pulling her nipples slightly towards each other.
“So where do these other ends go?” she asked, picking up one of the golden rings dangling from her breasts.
Maggie slapped her hand. “Not yet,” they said firmly. “Remain still.”
“Ooh, yes, sir.”
More jewelry joined the shackles, piece by piece. Silver chains studded with tiny rubies crisscrossed Shireen’s body, tucking under her breasts and crossing her waist in a cat’s cradle pattern. A gold choker was fixed around her neck; it was slightly larger at the back than the front, forcing her to bow her head very slightly while facing forward. Two more tiny rings attached to the tips of her wings, each one sending lines of silver cascading over grey skin like sparkling raindrops.
“Now,” Maggie said, taking a step back and looking over their glittering canvas, “we are prepared to assemble the parts. The throne is over here. Please attend me.” They led the way to a large throne, draped in red velvet. Shireen considered it thoughtfully; it had tall armrests, a second step just below the main seat, and what seemed to be a long gap on each side.
“I don’t get it,” she said.
“Of course not. It is not complete. Quinlynn, please come up here and sit on the throne.”
With a nervous breath, Quinlynn stepped up onto the throne, turning and sitting to face the room. Maggie followed her, carefully adjusting the dress so that its folds cascaded down the steps and hung properly on her frame. Quinlynn’s legs were very slightly spread, hinting at what might be beneath, and her arms were on the armrest uncertainly. “Now,” the mannequin added, “Shireen. Step up to the step below Quinlynn, and turn away from her. I will help you sit properly.”
“I don’t need help sitting down,” Shireen complained, walking up the steps. As she turned around, she yelped as Maggie grabbed her wings from behind. “Ow! Hey!”
“I informed you that I was helping you. Sit. Slowly. And do not complain.”
“Yes, sir,” Shireen murmured, wincing. As she slowly lowered herself to the seat, her head nestled in the folds of Quinlynn’s lap, the mannequin carefully threaded her wings through the gaps in the throne, before lifting them up to hook the rings to nearly-invisible wires above. The full effect was that Shireen’s wings seemed to be a part of the throne, perfectly framing Quinlynn. They immediately began to ache, a sensitive strain running up her back and drawing a shiver of delight.
“Now, we will unify the pieces,” Magge said. They stepped up to Shireen, carefully linking the chains to the throne in hidden places to hold Shireen’s body firmly in place, and then lifted the two rings. “Quinlynn, your hands, please.”
“Okay…” Quinlynn uncertainly held out her hands, and Maggie brought them down to just over Shireen’s breasts, then slid the gold rings onto each hand and knelt, tightening the loops. When they were done, each of Quinlynn’s hands was resting on the top of one of Shireen’s breasts, with a tight chain running from her ring finger to her friend’s nipple.
“Any motion will provide substantial stimulation. Feel free to adjust your pose as necessary,” Maggie explained. As Quinlynn considered this, the mannequin knelt at the foot of the throne, gently but firmly clipping a jeweled clamp to each side of Shireen’s labial folds.
“OW!”
“I am not finished,” Maggie said firmly. They reached out again, pulling the chains from each labia to the heels of Quinlynn’s exquisite boots. “There. You are now at the mercy of your compatriot. How does it feel.”
“Pinchy! Ow! Oooh!”
“Excellent.” As Quinlynn instinctively moved her feet, and Shireen’s mouth opened in a gasp of pleasure and pain, Maggie reached forward, grabbing the gag around the gargoyle’s neck and returning it to her mouth. “Try to direct any drool down your chin and to your breasts. If you drip on your empress, you will be punished most severely.” They looked up to Quinlynn. “That is you.”
Quinlynn looked at the mirror, still set up opposite them. The two were now a picture of dominance and submission; a powerful Empress sitting on her throne, caressing her pet, who writhed with pleasure with each of her mistress’s smallest movements. With the thin chains holding her down, Shireen was pinned in place, unable to escape, and even the slightest gesture from Quinlynn tugged on her breasts and pussy in new and surprising ways. Drool was gathering on the gargoyle’s chin, and she arched her back as best she could to make it drip down between her breasts rather than letting even a drop land on Quinlynn.
“This is amazing,” Quinlynn said to Maggie. “And you were right. She is the focus.”
“And thus shall she remain. You may be interested to know that you can send magical energy through the chains to provide stimulation, or heat or chill them as needed. I will fetch your Emissary. Please remain here and attend to your pet until then.”
As the mannequin glided out of the room, Quinlynn leaned down and whispered in Shireen’s ear. “Regretting bringing me in on this?”
“Nuuuuh,” Shireen moaned happily.
“Good, because this is your show, and I intend to give you everything you want and more.” Quinlynn grinned under her mask, sending a wave of vibration through the chains, and Shireen moaned more loudly as her nipples shook in response. “Let’s get a bit of practice in, and then when Creidhne gets here I’ll show him what you’re capable of. Sound good?”
“Yuu-huu”, Shireen agreed. She closed her eyes as Quinlynn began to heat the rings in her nipples, squealing delightedly. This truly was a work of art.