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It was fairly dark, for a planet with three suns. Of course, most of it was caused by the heavy draped canopy of rich red covering the plush, luxurious bed; beyond the thick tassels weaved at its edges you could see the pile of blankets and cushions on the floor you had used as a bed until a few days ago.
While you had appeared on Thra at the beginning of the warmest season, a monster for the tiny gelfling and an oaf of a beast for the not so tiny skeksis, your role had not been stablished clearly just then. You were given food and shelter, clean clothing and a position behind the Emperor’s throne to make a statement to whatever visitors happened to importunate the old ruler. SkekSo himself didn’t like you, and his sneers made his irritation obvious to anyone with at least one eye; but he had been in a position of power too long to turn a deaf ear when the Chamberlain suggested a creature of your magnitude and disposition would make a significant impression to the docile, gullible gelfling. The guards of the castle would see your gigantic human self, kneeling by his side like an obedient servant at his beck and call and they would spread the tales of his prowess… It was too easy a snowball to roll to let the opportunity pass, especially when you hadn’t been opposed to the idea –with no way of knowing how you had arrived or how to return to your home planet, what else could have you said?
Still, your status as a menacing decoration —always silent, always looming— did not do you any favours. The skeksis, used to having the height advantage over the rest of their minions, went through a sumptuous phase right after your arrival, crowding their robes and frills in obvious jewels, polishing their claws and decorating themselves like gaudy, walking one-individual festivals, a caprice the shrill Ornamentalist was only too happy to indulge.
That had only seemed to cross the Emperor further, and he had briskly cut that ridiculousness short by assigning you to the Chamberlain for him to deal with the consequences of his whispers.
Forbidden from acquiring a formal room by the ruler, SkekSil had swiftly shoved you in a spacious enough closet by the kitchens, where your sight wouldn’t inconvenience him when you were done servicing the Emperor during the court sessions. Your imprisonment had only lasted a few hours, as some podlings accidentally found you and warned their master… after you nearly scared the Gourmand into an early grave, the Chamberlain had at last resigned to his fate and got a niche crafted in the hall that gave way to his private rooms, neatly hidden behind the thick doors that opened to the hallway.
There were couches and divans alike in such a space, as the Emperor’s closest advisor deserved the best of everything due to his position, but the Chamberlain had thought you unfitting for the furniture; with offhanded, slyly polite comments SkekSil had deemed you too tall, too heavy, or just inappropriate for the comfort they provided.
“A room to entertain guests,” he had chimed, his wrinkled hands following a curly pattern carved in the wood, “it is not befitting as private quarters, yes? Human will stay hidden and out of the way. Then, skeksis won’t have a reason to give trouble to human.”
Despite being considered merely a servant, the cushions you were provided were big and thickly padded, and the blankets, plush and soft; it would be just as unbefitting, and even worse for his reputation in the castle, if you showed up to court looking like a wreck just because you weren’t getting appropriate rest, but your makeshift bed was good enough to resemble some sort of earthy futon, and you hadn’t been uncomfortable or cold.
That, again, had only lasted so long. The Ornamentalist was one individual SkekSil often entertained, as he put it, for he was the one who unknowingly assisted him in spreading rumours through the hallways, and thus SkekSil had to keep him happy and sated. It took one bad slip over your folded blankets on the floor, a few flying beads and an outraged shriek from his ally to finally convince the Chamberlain he had to relocate you inside his private chambers, something he had been against since the very beginning.
As used as he was to pretending contempt, it was very clear the Chamberlain had considered your value within the castle and how bad it would be if you happened to disappear all of the sudden.
You hadn’t made a fuss then either, going wherever his pointed claw would direct you and setting your pile there for as long as he fancied it. During the first week he forced you to change the place where you laid almost daily, and some nights even after the lights of the castle went out. The Chamberlain was fidgety and ill-rested for a very long while, his suspicious nature taking over –how could it not be so, as distrust was the only thing skeksis took for granted? His wrinkled face had looked grim for days, and whenever he happened to look at you his smile turned just a little bit too toothy, a little bit too sharp.
Did you think he would get you killed for disrupting his sleeping habits? Absolutely.
An unum of constant company later and he stopped nagging you and making petty comments just to piss you off in private, his friendly façade nothing but gone until then. Another month and you became a discrete witness to his jealous, disdainful rants with himself about how the others didn’t respect or value him nearly as much as he deserved. How unappreciated he was, how much they took him for granted! The nerve! You had caught more than one skeksis doing similar tirades, but the Chamberlain was the only one you had never seen doing it in public; his whines always had a purpose then, and showing that kind of miserly vulnerability had no use.
Now, the days were shorter, and your pile had thickened with even more blankets –which you hadn’t requested, the climate on Thra being too warm already to your liking–, and the skeksis waddled through the castle draped with so many layers they looked like colourful, jingling turtles.
Inside the Chamberlain’s quarters, however, it was toasty. Yes, dark as it was supposed to be in the wee hours of the morning, but that was hardly a matter of concern. Since the very first shiver of the season, he had a squad of silent podlings light up portable stoves in the corners of his room and they were so heavily loaded with coal they burned well off until midday. For another unum you had been sweating yourself to sleep every night, wiggling as far from the stoves as you could without sleeping directly on the floor, the cold-blooded Chamberlain not caring about your tribulations in favour of his own comfort. Your blankets became unnecessary –you could have eagerly given them to him then, but he made a show of preferring less covers on his bed in order to sleep comfortably–, and you had ultimately shed your nightclothes to the limits of decency in order to sleep, which had scandalized him.
However, it had taken the podlings to slack off in their duties right during a night freeze for the Chamberlain –as crossed as he was– to begrudgingly invite you to his bed. You didn’t know why he hadn’t demanded some damned blankets instead, and you would have volunteered them to him had he voiced such desire but-
“Perhaps the human does rather sleep on the floor, Chamberlain thinks…”
You didn’t. Your pile of cushions was good enough, but a bed was a bed. And, well, when would it be the next time you got to sleep in one, if ever?
The occasion didn’t repeat itself for weeks, and the whole incident –you had stayed on your side of the mattress, revelling in the fact that the bed was so wide and long you could stretch your limbs without sticking a foot out of the covers, and you hadn’t heard a peep or felt anything from the humming Lord either– was quickly forgotten.
At least, so you had thought.
From time to time, with less and less excuses as the days went on, you found yourself back in the Chamberlain’s bed, and you never asked what was the reason for it. Some days it was too cold, some others the mattress was too stiff, and he needed you to fluff it for him, or he had you fetch and reorganize some pillows… The blankets and the fact that you didn’t wake up with a crick in your neck was a sufficient reward.
The other skeksis talked behind your back, questioning why your natural smell was suddenly covered with the fruity scents the Chamberlain seemed to favour, but with little clue to pull that particular thread and see the trouble it led to, as your clothing and behaviour remained servile in their disposition, there was hardly any proof of SkekSil showing you some kind of favouritism, and were forced to attribute it to different causes. The Emperor, the one individual you knew you had to submit to if he asked questions, seemed unbothered and uninterested in such trivial matters.
The other skeksis weren’t as detached, to your misfortune.
“Where has he hidden you now?” addressed you one afternoon the Ornamentalist, chipperly hanging from the squeamish Gourmand’s arm. “Not a trace of you to be found anywhere in his hall anymore! Where am I to seek you now that you are gone?”
You fiddled with your clothes, their texture coarser than the ones they wore and marking you and your status in the castle’s hierarchy. “If the Lord Ornamentalist requires of me, he can always request my time from the Emperor,” you answered pleasantly.
“Oh, you spend too much with him, what kind of answer is that ?” SkekEkt flashed his sharp beak up at your face, despite the distance in between. He had started decorating the inner fabric of his collar as well, to ensure his form was flawless from every angle, and the sparkly beads sewn into the textile glittered under the three suns. “Does he tell you secrets? Are there passages only he knows where he hides you? Thra, if someone in this wretched castle is capable of wasting his time in such a way, it would surely be him.”
“I don’t know of any castle secrets, my Lord, I am but the Emperor’s pet... But I could ask the Lord Chamberlain for you, if you wished.”
“Ah, no need for that!”
Every question was deflected or twisted, the nature of your relationship with the Chamberlain so fleeting and unclear not even you had an actual answer to volunteer. In the unusual occasions where you found yourself out of words, SkekSil became a beacon of mirth, slithering his way into the troubling conversation and expertly taunting the others away from such topics. Of course, it played to his advantage that the Emperor refused to entertain such meaningless debates anyway.
“Human is taken care of,” he would hum, his twig-like fingers catching the fabric of your robes to guide you back to your place behind SkekSo’s throne.
What a curious creature he was , you thought, your mind often entertaining whatever theories you could hypothesize about him during the boring evenings. Short in height even for a skeksis, wily and pushy, and far too comfortable invading others’ privacy, the Chamberlain was one of those individuals it was a pleasure to watch: whenever he was in a room, the action revolved in an almost constant back a forth between him and the Emperor, and they were quick to gain the attention back to themselves if other Lords butted in. Squirming, swaying his head, humming or twitching his hands, he was always doing or preparing for something, the look in his eyes so calculating you could almost hear his thoughts whir inside his head.
But now, as you turned to your left, there was hardly a sound from him.
He was awake, the change in his breathing pattern too recognizable now, but he had his back to you, the discrete silhouette of his pliant quills visible under his nightrobes. He had kicked the covers off a few minutes ago, which had awoken you, but hadn’t said a thing yet; he was deep in thought, too focused on whatever he was mussing to pay you any mind.
You moved again, the soft mattress not making a sound, and pushed the canopy’s curtains farther towards the bedposts, sitting up against the headboard and squinting your eyes at the dim sunrays of the first of the Sisters. It was then when you noticed a shift by your side, and SkekSil twisted on his back, his scrawny body now angled towards you –how odd it was, to see him without his usual bulky robes, his extremities so wiry, his form so small.
“Human,” he said, offering his palm at you, and you followed his wordless demand by setting your hand in his.
Often you found yourself in this informal position when no one was around, him toying with the joints of a hand with too many digits, picking at your blunt nails or pinching the soft flesh of the pads of your fingers. His hand, on the contrary, was too thin no matter where, too sharp, too rough, tough, leather-like and cold, and it felt falsely fragile under your touch –more than once he had threatened to crush your bones in his grip if he believed your tongue was too loose for his liking.
Now, however, he was just flicking at your fingers and thumbing the tendons under the skin, likely trying to get a reaction from you as he tested how much pressure from his claws would make you flinch or yelp.
He hummed, distracted. “Does the human ever get cold, Chamberlain wonders. So much flesh, so much blood necessary to keep it warm. So much work, so taxing.”
“Is that why skeksis wear so many layers, my Lord?” you inquired, his nosy disposition making him the easiest one to approach out of the lot when it came to your inquiries. An answer for an answer was his usual policy, as long as your questions were simple and innocent enough. “Or does the Lord Chamberlain do it to please the Lord Ornamentalist as well? He frequents your hall lately.”
“Many paths lead to same destination, yes? Why deny skeksis luxury when it serves many purposes? Then everyone is happy.”
You had indeed noticed how they loved to bask themselves in every little treat they could get their eyes or hands on, and it was somehow inspiring, even if in a twisted, sickening way, how much they seemed to enjoy getting what they wanted. “It does explain a lot, my Lord.”
“Not the luxury of warm meat to keep skeksis sated,” he continued, almost whispering to himself.
“The Lord Gourmand would disagree with you in a heartbeat, my Lord.”
SkekSil clicked his beak, his green eyes hard and glinting like polished pebbles, and he watched your hand like a hawk would a mouse. “Different types of meats, yes. Different purposes, too.”
Despite his calm words, rougher and scratchier from sleep than it was usual, you knew he was fast, and you expected him to sink his fangs in your hand and chomp one of your fingers off. You had seen him do just that every night at the feasts, tearing cooked animals apart with a rip and a pull, and cracking the bones of the fallen creatures of Thra with a swift crunch of jaws. Gratuitous violence was just an ongoing theme in the castle, and you had been fortunate to remain unscathed this far.
Instead, to your absolute surprise, he left your hand hanging in the air and returned to staring at the nothing in front of him for an instant, and then gave you a look so deep and heavy you felt the air leave your lungs.
He wanted something –he always did, didn’t he? But what was it this time, you didn’t know. At your lack of response, his beak curled up into a mean smirk, humming cruelly at you.
Daring .
He was daring you to do something . Looking at him, you drew conclusions, and then, you did.
Without tearing your gaze from his, you allowed gravity to do its thing, and your hand landed gently and quietly on the hard surface of his chest. The Chamberlain said nothing more, his leathery skin cold to the touch through the thin barrier that were his nightclothes. There was little of him you could really touch like that, his gown closed at consecutive intervals with big, ornate buttons.
You heard, more than saw, his beak click closed as you found the slit between the two halves of the clothes and skimmed your fingers there, dancing over the sliver of exposed skin and the folded rim of the fabric. You inched closer and left his eyes to look at what you were doing, his breathing only slightly picking up as you made a show of getting your hand through that tight opening; when your whole palm fell flat against his bare, bony chest, his heartbeat barely noticeable under it, you heard the tiniest, sharpest intake of breath.
A ball started to roll in your mind, a dangerous one at it. It would be a deadly consideration, teasing the Chamberlain out of all skeksis; he was vile as no other, evilly intelligent and resourceful, and so rancorous you were certain whatever you did to him that he disliked would return your way tenfold. Right now, it felt like you were sliding your hand in a pit of snakes rather than caressing him. But it was exciting , of all things . You had one of the most powerful, controlling individuals of the castle, the most vindictive for sure, willingly laying on his back, exposed as he was, and you had been given free range of action.
He was letting you access him , you realised, marvelling. You knew the way he viewed the world, as opportunities taken or missed, and this was not one you were letting pass by. Whatever motivation had led to his action was unknown to you, but you were taking advantage of it regardless. The Chamberlain was visceral in his ways, unrepentant, and a threat to anything he wanted and yet, he was also the weakest victim to his own curiosity.
What else could have driven him to show such physical vulnerability to you, if not his chronical need to know more than the others did?
By the way his chest expanded, an impatient, expectant glare directed at you, it was obvious what he desired; for you to slide you had lower, to touch more of him, to pleasure him further. Here you pulled your first stunt of the day, one of many, inching closer to him on the bed, you bigger shape looming over his own, as you caressed the curve of his ribs from his sternum to the opposite side, raking your nails over his coarse skin and dragging a sudden gasp from him.
The teasing didn’t make him any happier, however.
“Chamberlain is being very generous,” he hissed menacingly minutes later, visibly peeved at your side to side motion, only gliding your finger over the sharp bones of his collar and caressing as much of him as the tiny opening in his robes allowed you. He pointedly looked at the button next to your wrist. “Perhaps human doesn’t value her chances as much as I thought?”
“I would not dare disrobe a Lord of the Crystal,” you retorted docilly, and while his beak was now inching closer to your face, no doubt to threaten you with its sharp tip, you dodged it and bent further, bowed over his form to nest your face by his long neck, still amply exposed in his field of vision in case he got nervous and fidgety. “One button would be too much,” you lamented.
“One button is hardly enough!” he snapped irritably, one of his arms coiling around your teasing one and digging his claws firmly on your flesh.
“One button, then,” you gently agreed, a hot puff of air by his face, and he squirmed expectantly.
You hand travelled up and unfastened the one button that closed the nightgown at the base of his neck, greedily following the shape of the open fabric and pushing it out of the way as far as it would go to expose his thin shoulders. The Chamberlain understood then what you were doing, this fake submitting to his will, your teasing complaisance; you had been taught servitude since the first day of your arrival, always under whatever commands skeksis would give you, and even now you were set in doing as much, just not in the way the Chamberlain himself demanded. A small rebellion, hidden where no one but him could witness it. That thought almost made SkekSil laugh out loud.
He had asked for pleasure, and while he could easily convince you to do it however he fancied, or to push you away, you were adamant about providing it under your own terms.
Did he want to see where you were headed?
In the end, SkekSil had to decide how much he wanted to get away with his demands and how terrible it would be if he didn’t, and weigh the pros and cons of each situation. How much was he willing to let you freely roam him? How much would he be missing if he decided you had gone far enough? The same curiosity that tempted him into allowing himself your touch raised its voice again, loud and clear like the chime of a bell, and the sneer on his face melted like butter on a sizzling pan.
His lack of response was interpreted as approval, and you continued your feathery explorations, greatly interested in the spots that made his breath hitch. As rough as his skin was, the Chamberlain was sensitive and responsive, and you found unrestrained joy in ghosting your breath over his neck and having him sigh, jump or twitch, sinking deeper into the mattress with each motion.
He was noisy and loud, too, and while a mock bite by his shoulder got you an actual growl, it was quickly cut short by a loud thrill when you dragged your hot tongue from there up to his jaw, silencing whatever snark he had prepared for you.
“The others can’t hear you at court like this,” you sweetly cooed at him, and the Chamberlain shivered, refusing to meet your gaze as his face flushed. Finding one of his hands, the one that wasn’t steadily clawed into your arm, you gently guided it to the next of the buttons, which he unhooked obediently. You kept whispering his praises silkily, trailing you hand lower, stroking everything in your reach, then back up, then back down as his panting got louder, his sighs and whimpers more frequent and insistent, his skin warming up at the eager attention you were giving it.
The room was flooded with the musky scent of his arousal, and you once again ignored his demands of undoing the last of the buttons that tied his robes in favour of cupping his sharp jawbones, his face fitting comfortably in your palm. You were yet to get a moan from him, as varied and endearing as his tiny exclamations were –each a reward on their own–, and you knew he was doing it on purpose, the bastard, too prideful to just let go and relinquish control over someone else.
But you were nothing if not stubborn and driven, and if you had gotten him this far, you could get him further; it was just a matter of swapping strategies. Until now you had appraised him, which was something he was grossly used too; his value was loudly recognized in court, if not by himself then by others who tried to get on his good side and take advantage of his position as the right hand of the Emperor, but they were banal and empty compliments, and there was just so much one could do to desensitize themselves to that lonely façade.
True praise, meaningful attention? Those were foreign terms for skeksis, and you were set into exploiting that weak point at its fullest.
“Good,” you mumbled against his skin, letting him feel every little brush of your lips. He stiffened, suddenly very alert, but you didn’t give up on your efforts. You caressed his lanky form, shifting once more and leaning on an elbow to hover over his body while still having a free arm to wrap around him, trapped between his back and the bed and thumbing the sensitive base of his quills and the coarse texture of his coat. His chest heaved, the Chamberlain’s eyes glossy. “Good,” you insisted, so softly, so tenderly, and SkekSil squirmed.
You didn’t press for more then, letting him settle down and breathe and reconsider how much he was willing to give in; you knew the Chamberlain wouldn’t have done that for you were your roles switched, the greedy creature that he was, but then again you were no skeksis. With enough time and patience, his claws unhooked from your arm, leaving trails of red to fall down and soak the fabric of your scarce nightclothes. If he thought it unfair that you were fully dressed, he didn’t mention it, busy pawing at your body to focus his mind somewhere far from his newfound apprehension.
“I’ll make the Chamberlain feel so good, it will be so worth it, if the Chamberlain allows it,” you begged him, your tone velvety and fond, the pads of your fingers lingering over his skin, tracing invisible, nonsensical figures.
Hovering and in as intimate an embrace as it would get with someone like the Chamberlain, you massaged your way up back to his jaw, whatever patches of skin touching sucking the warmth from yours, and you slid a knuckle in a caress over the rim of his bottom jaw.
SkekSil, who had been distracted and didn’t expect such forwardness, made a show of his infamous speed in a kneejerk reaction that shoved your whole hand in his maw, almost panicked, and pressed his blade-like fangs into the flesh of it.
You froze.
“If marks are left, the Emperor won’t be pleased,” you told him after a minute of tense silence. Your heart throbbed wildly inside your chest like a hammer, and you were sure you had paled severely, but made no move to extract your limb from his trap. You knew what those razors were capable of.
It took the Chamberlain a deep breath –his heart beating just as frantically as yours but for different reasons– and a few affectionate nuzzles to finally dislodge your hand, and while the back of it was peppered with pinpricks of blood where his teeth had pierced the skin, you didn’t bring it up. He lapped them away, almost sheepishly, his tongue too thin and wiggly, too flexible and wet and unnatural, but it was done in a meticulous motion, most likely to ground himself back in the present.
“Very indecent for human to name the Emperor now,” the Chamberlain mewled, but his playfulness was bitter and fake, in that too cheerful tone you often heard him use with those he tried to mislead. “Much rude, yes.”
“I didn’t mean no offense,” you risked a kiss on his neck, and this time your praise hit home, something about putting him above the others that spurred his desire again and pushed the previous incident away, and you could swear SkekSil purred. “The Chamberlain surely would accept compensation for my error?”
“Yes.” His eyes glinted avidly as, once again but this time without preamble, you found the last button of his robe and unhooked it unceremoniously, the rest of the nightgown falling open at his sides on its own volition. Exposed were his two pairs of breasts and his rounded belly, and farther down emerged the pinkish tips of his three cocks.
He hummed a whine when you lifted yourself from him, but you paid him no mind, holding him down with the hand previously supporting your weight as you travelled down his body to get a better look at the whole picture.
What you have seen of skeksis before this moment was hardly anything more than their wrists, ankles and tails, as they were covered head to toe almost always and your presence had been thought improper during the social meetings at the bathing room. Even the Chamberlain himself was cautious, guarded at all times when disrobing in front of you, always making it a quick and discrete ordeal.
So, like a child denied a treat for too long, you were extremely curious.
A wide vent opened at the base of the Chamberlain’s belly, a girthy cock in the centre of the display and two slimmer ones siding it. The biggest one had a flat, heart-shaped head outlined in pliant undulations, the top uneven with rings and the bottom lined with ridges, a darker coloration of flesh that suggested a knot near the vent; the other two were much more spear-like, thinner, cylindrical and equally knotted, mirroring each other. Farther down, at the base of his tail, was his rear vent, smaller in width and looking far softer and more malleable than the rest of the Chamberlain’s skin did.
“What does the Chamberlain want from me?” you asked, thumbing the tender skin of his groin. He jumped at the strokes, his thighs tensing closed before he spread them wider, the tip of his tail wiggling in anticipation. “The human will listen.”
“Use your mouth,” he grunted wantonly, and you bent down, nicking at one of the corners of his genital vent. That almost earned you a kick in the head. “Cheeky human!”
You didn’t ask for instructions again, anchoring an arm around his belly to keep his smaller body from moving while the other forced his leg to remain open, guarding your back from more attacks from that direction. You had a wide smirk on, safe now when he couldn’t see your face, but the Chamberlain probably suspected your mirth and grabbed at your hair, his talons evilly finding purchase on your scalp –somewhere the Emperor wouldn’t definitely see and where he could have his bloody fun. You entertained his fantasy of power, stroking at his nipples and breasts, lapping at the junction of his thighs, and he was contemptuous with that for a brief moment, sighing in pleasure to the caresses.
Still, he couldn’t get you to suck him off, and you stubbornly licked circles on his skin, closing in but narrowly avoiding his cocks every time.
You knew he wouldn’t beg you for his pleasure, not this time; he was all politeness around the castle, all pleas and friendliness and chirpy interactions, but he had submitted enough for you in his books and you weren’t going to get more from him. His yips were loud, high in pitch and wavering, but it was when you raised your head and popped your thumb in your mouth –his eyes widened like saucers and you could see him visibly swallow at the sight of the digit covered in spit– and pressed it at his rear vent that he let out a true moan.
For all his violent gripping at your head, you massaged him gently, working the tender skin thoroughly, sucking at different spots on his thighs and trying your best at love bites. It was incredibly difficult to mark him, not only because his hips quivered and humped at the air, trying to get your attention back to his cocks, but because his skin was so tough the marks didn’t show through. That, somehow, annoyed you, and thought hard to find a solution to that particular problem.
“What-!” SkekSil whined, almost horrified when you stopped your ministrations altogether and your warm body disentangled from his. “How dare-!”
“Shush, it’ll be better.”
You went back to the headboard of the bed and guided him up into a kneeling position, which left him indignant and growling like a lion. So much movement around and none where it mattered! The disrespect! The outrage! Still, you took his plush pillow, then yours, and pressed them both against the headboard, and then settled yourself with your torso upright. You motioned the seething, distrustful skeksis to you, but instead of listening his hands found your thighs and scratched them mercilessly.
“Interrupting! Ordering the Chamberlain-!”
He was embarrassed, you realised, his face flushed darker, his body trembling with want as his hard cocks bobbed up and down between his legs. You motioned back to you and he still wouldn’t listen, not until you grabbed and coerced his spluttering self towards you, his back to your chest. He was still raging like a despondent fizzgig, still trying to get at you with his talons and his raised quills, and his unruly tail whipped at your legs painfully.
You knew if you dared to restrain him you were going to get savagely bitten, curse his volatile temper.
So, you let him tire himself out, his fit only lasting so long after you slipped your arms warmly around his torso, your dancing fingers tracing his protruding spine, still leaving room for him to manoeuvre and shift, and clamped your lips against his neck. Again, it was not the wild action but the soft peppering of kisses what snapped him out of his anger, his hisses eventually turning into quiet, deep purrs that you could now feel through your whole body and deep in your belly.
Nestled comfortably between your legs, his now dormant tail coiled around one of your ankles and his whole body in view, you waited once more, uncaring at how his mewls grew more aroused the more you lightly caressed him; skeksis were aggressive in nature, no matter how demure they pretended to be, and you definitely didn’t want to get scratched to the brink of death. You let the Chamberlain relax once more, encouraging softness over passion.
“That’s right. Does the Chamberlain know what I’m going to do to him? Does he want to know?”
“Yes!” SkekSil let a shameless moan leave his throat, your praises rooted in his brain. You did do the things he wanted from you, his foggy mind recollected, he just had to let you do them. He just had to let you pamper him and you would deliver, you would, but he was so excited, his cocks were dripping with arousal, almost painfully hard, and he wanted everything, and he wanted it now-
“Good,” you cooed once again, oh so lovingly, and the Chamberlain felt himself melt a little more, his control slipping further away. You caressed his jaw, a move that had gotten you hurt before but that now rewarded you with another wanton gasp. You pressed your index and middle finger to his wiggling tongue, your voice whispering sweet nothings right by his ear, and played with the wet organ for a second. He complied, panting, and lavished the digits, already having half a mind of what you were planning to do with them. You asked him anyway, and his beak caught the scent of your own arousal in the air, spurring his own desire further. “Does the Chamberlain know what I’ll do with these? I’ll use them on him, yes, to bring him so much pleasure, to make him come so hard , so much he forgets his name.”
SkekSil brazed himself against your fleshy thighs, hungry eyes following your hands as they travelled down, over his breasts and belly, over his cocks, to press against his rear vent, first at its edges, then slowly, so tortuously pushing their way inside. Your other hand, which you had used to keep him still at first, dragged by his cocks, sliding your fingers between them at their base.
The Chamberlain nearly howled in triumph, his legs twitching, his hips thrusting up to meet every stroke, sobbing and drooling in relief when you took the hint and obeyed his motions and thrashing, muscles quivering, when you pulled away.
Your attack on his neck was relentless, a feather of a touch in comparison with your vigorous touch to his vents, and he curled his face to you, panting, eyelids fluttering, the perfect picture of a hot mess. His perspiration moistened your nightclothes, and every kiss rightfully placed earned you a keen moan of appreciation, his hands grasping at what he could to keep himself upright and still under your assault.
“Yes, yes!” he chanted as you rubbed at the inner walls of his vent, a constant droned mantra of his own making. “Harder. Deeper!”
You had had enough of your own teasing. From your position, you could so clearly see his glistening cocks, throbbing, bobbing up and down at the rhythm of his thrusting, and you finally wrapped your fingers around the girthiest one, stilling the pumping of your other hand at his rear vent. A light squeeze, delicately pushing up at the head and the Chamberlain whimpered highly, like a wounded animal, and you got genuinely scared, startled, thinking you had hurt him.
He whined again then, irate that you had granted him the touch he craved and then taken it away. “Go back and touch me!”
“Easy,” you breathed, more to steady yourself rather than to instruct him, when dizzy green eyes looked up to find your own, a wordless plea in them. He wouldn’t use his voice further, but clearly he didn’t need it to get his point across. “Do you like this? Do you like it like this?”
The answer came as an enthusiastic groan, his hips forcing you to pump his member, when your hand remained immobile, to find some stimulation. Following the pattern of his voice, you changed the pressure and the pace, sometimes encouraging the beads of precum out of the tip and against the shaft to lubricate it, thumbing the ridges and the flat head and gently massaging the growing, warming knot at its base.
Despite being left untouched, his side cocks behaved just like the main one did, weeping precum just as generously; you then enveloped them in your fist, compressing them in the tight, makeshift cavity along the thickest one and pumping at a strong, firm pace.
“Faster!” SkekSil sobbed, rubbing his beak to whatever part of you was closer. “Faster!”
“The Chamberlain knows patience,” you increased the pressure around his cocks to keep him still and kissed him somewhere between his neck and face, revelling in his desperate grasp for purchase at your arms, how he forced his body taut to remain at the reach of your hands, his coiled tail wrapped around your ankle in a frustrated vice grip. “He knows it, he knows it so well, because he also knows he will always get what he wants .”
That was as good an incentive as any. His breathing laboured, you could see him focusing on finding a rhythm for it; despite his best efforts, it was ragged, and the harder he tried to keep it under control, the more his whole body shook, overstimulated but then again, not enough. You rewarded him by resuming the trusting at his vent, scissoring your fingers, and then, when he seemed more composed, your fist loosened and caressed his cocks just how one would touch a beloved one.
You worked him, always in a regular pattern but faster, tightening or loosening your grip, sometimes focusing only on one of his shafts, sometimes only thumbing the head or the sensitive patch of skin under it, or squeezing his pulsating knots together.
Seemingly an eternity later, when his wailing had turned into a constant of quickly sobbed sighs and his legs trembled so much you were sure he would fall on his face if he tried to stand, you finally gave him mercy. Covering him in praises and peppering his face with feather-like kisses, you pumped him hard and fast, strapping an arm around his torso to keep him against you, feeling the Chamberlain squirming violently, his hips now free to move and use your fist to chase his own pleasure however he wanted.
Almost with a shriek, the Chamberlain spilled himself between his legs, your hand moving to help him ride his orgasm until the very end, and then he laid quiet if not for his uneven panting, unmoving if not for the occasional twitching of overworked muscles.
You gave the Chamberlain a few minutes to return to the present and then shifted, helping him up –he squawked outraged, his open nightgown hanging from his elbows like a Caesar fallen out of favour, his cocks now softening between his legs– and placing his sweating body over the pillows you had just occupied. The first thing you did was stretch, your joints popping in relief, and then headed towards the washbasin by one of the tiny stoves, dipping a plush hand towel with too many decorations in the lukewarm water before returning to the bed.
“Chamberlain can wash himself,” he huffed, a chirp more to fill the sudden silence more than an actual complaint. He allowed you to finish peeling his nightclothes off of him and wipe the sweat from his coat, quills and shoulders, rubbing the soreness in them away. The Chamberlain let you clean his torso and arms, but preferred to do his face, neck and groin himself. “Clumsy human doesn’t understand it’s sensitive ,” he hissed, but there was no bite in it.
As you had suspected, none of your attempts at bitten bruises were there, and even if you had succeeded, they would be too easily covered by his many court robes; you assisted him with the layers, lifting the heaviest, outer ones so he could drape them over his form however he liked –a task meant for five podlings and a shared stool, but you had taken over it once you moved to the rooms anyway.
Then, the Chamberlain took your appearance in, and seemed to contain a horrified whistle of disbelief; refusing to consider it his own doing and treating it as such, he picked at the now torn sleeves of your nightclothes, dirty with dried blood and stinking of sweat and the smell of sex. You scratched at your head and your fingers came back with more flakes of dried blood, a result of his petty clawing.
“Friend Ornamentalist will be so upset,” he mused insufferably, ignoring your pained glance at your clothes –you had liked those. “Human needs a bath, that is no state to greet Emperor, brings shame to Chamberlain, that cannot be.”
A look through the window told you the second of the Sisters was already rising, and you quickly changed into your daily robes, hurrying to the door. Perhaps you could go to the bathing room and at least wash your hair –it was too early for most skeksis to be awake, and their meetings there usually happened at dawn, when they could wash off the events of the day before dining.
A loud humming from the Chamberlain stopped you in your tracks. “Human has pleased Chamberlain greatly,” he conceded, innocently clicking his beak, “but she has also toyed with him shamelessly. Teasing Chamberlain is so mean, there must be retribution to be had.”
You tripped over your feet, almost not believing his words or your own deranged thoughts. “Next time,” you gulped, already imagining a million torments he would make you go through to satisfy his vindictive strike, “I will use my mouth.”
SkekSil seemed only too cheerful to hear that, humming again, and waved at the door with one of his wiry hands. “You may go now.”