And, From a Particular Dimension

Princess Phaedra of Nimlith Grove

“Mopsie, where are you, you stupid, worthless rabbit!?!? You better not be masturbating to me sleeping again!”

The hoppalong maid, her cunt messily drooling down her leg, nervously walks in, shoulders slumped. Why does my mother insists on hiring these lesser species to do something as important as serving me? These rabbits are only good for the brothel.

The maid prepares the princess for her day. Bathes her. Dresses her in a lovely dress (that viewers of an inter-dimensional smut show would interpret as a Renaissance Era court dress, as interpreted by a high budget porno), combs her pink dyed hair (copper colored hair is so boring), does her make-up. The entire time, the princess insults her maid, slaps her drooling cunt, pulls her ears.

Once ready for the day, she settles down for some Harem Hotel as she sends her maid out for her usual coffee order (grande half-caf honeysuckle frappuccino with organic freshly squeezed raw hu-cow milk and a splash of equally organic freshly squirted hu-cow fem-cum) from her usual Lunacoin Cafe. Azure is wasted on that dweeb. I hope her producer liked my headshot for when she’s done with her first season. I sooo want to be her Mistress on her second.

15 minutes later, Mopsie is back, out of breath.

“You’re late, Mopsie. You know the rules. You have 10 minutes to complete your Lunacoin run. You stopped to masturbate again, didn’t you.”

“No mistress, I did not. I had to go through a checkpoint and the line to get into the castle grounds was especially long.”

“No excuses, perv. You know the rules. 1 hour locked up for every minute you are late. Get your belt.”

The hoppalong maid gets her chastity belt and locks herself in it. She hands the key over to the princess, who happily sends it into her inventory. She then touches the hem of the maid’s dress and sends it to her inventory too. The bunny girl gasps and covers her small, naked breasts.

“And that is for lying to me. Of course you touched yourself thinking about me. That’s all you rabbits do. Now, you can crawl underneath my skirts if you want. Please me sufficiently, and I will allow you to dress.”

Before the maid could do so, a guard knocks on the chamber door, then opens it to state, “Princess, you are wanted in court this morning. Shall we head out?”

The princess glares at the guard ruining her fun. This luchtoni brute dares to tell me what to do? I have no problem with them as cannon fodder, but to serve in the castle? Really, Mother? The princess summons her phone from her inventory and starts filming a flirty vid for Insta-Thot while following her escort. She had to restart filming when the wolf growls a little too loudly. So annoying...

“Um, Princess, if I could have a moment of your time. We are most grateful of your family’s sponsorship of our orphanage, but the latest troglodyte attack has resulted in the children’s quarters being destroyed. While you have your audience with the Queen, may you please ask her to consider housing the children in the keep, at least until the siege has been lifted?”

One of these disgusting naked dark elves? Ugh. She doesn’t even have good tits. Why haven’t we just wiped them out yet?

“What would I get out of it?”

The naked elf gives the princess a look. “They’re orphans.”

“So, nothing?”

“You need a reason to do a good deed for the innocent, Princess?”

The princess continues on to the court, not bothering to answer the plain-looking naked elf. Turning a corner, she bumps into another elf. Ewwww. One of those gross gilled elves. Barely more civilized than those disgusting mermaids. Having bumped into the elf, she dropped the barrel of fish she was carrying. The barrel breaks, dumping it’s contents on the floor. Water splashes on the princess’s heels.

“You worthless bitch! Don’t you watch where you are going? Grovel for forgiveness.”

The gilled elf mumbles something in it’s dumb whale song language and starts to pick up the flopping fish. The princess summons her lyre from her inventory and starts to cast a particularly nasty nightmare into the elf’s dumb head, only for her escort to catch up and puts a hand on her shoulder. The guard asks as politely as possible, “Princess, please do not torment the staff. We have enough issues as is.”

“Make her apologize! She ruined my shoes!”

“Alright. I’m done being polite.” The guard scoops the princess up and hauls her over her shoulder to the foyer of the court. Setting her down, the guard picks up a halberd and gets into position. The princess chews out the guard until the luchtoni, having already lost all patience, lets out a guttural growl. At that, the princess stomps her way to the herald to be announced.

The doors open as the herald announces her entrance, “Phaedra, Crown Princess of the Queendom of Nimlith Grove, presenting herself to Court as requested.”

Phaedra is pleased as she sees the court bow as she walks. Good. The lesser people are acknowledging their position. There are still too many of the lesser species here. Mother needs to clean up the nobility rolls. Ugh. And I have to wait my turn, because Mother is meeting with her war council, for some reason. The princess doesn’t pay attention to the conversation in front of her, too busy looking for some Court skank to have some fun with after this duty is done. Finally, she is called forward.

The Queen sits on her throne. She is beautiful for an elderly High Elf. The proper ruler of a people at a ripe young age of 723. She stares daggers at her daughter and Phaedra doesn’t know why.

“Daughter. I have been told that you object to your upcoming nuptials. War Marshal Reeza has withheld her support for our people until you are in your wedding bed. She has sent an escort to take you there right now. Your servants have packed a bag for you. You will be going now and you will be wed by tonight. Is that understood?”

Oh, that was not a vile joke? “Mother, I will not be made an egg incubator for an orc barbarian!”

The court gasps. The Queen lets loose, “Daughter, are you an idiot? Have you not noticed that our capital is under siege? That our farmlands have been burned and our people are starving? That saghuagins have already overtaken our ports and troglodytes have captured the Drow district? We are under a three way ****. Our forces will not survive the week without immediate aid from another power. Which would you prefer? A proper marriage to a powerful ally of our nation, or being a monster’s cum dumpster in the burnt out husk of this castle?”

“We have plenty of people to sally forth. There is no need to rely on those gross futa greenskins. If you feel the need to spare our lesser people from doing their duty, find me a wife from a respectable ally. Or send Aelene to wed the freak. If there is nothing else, Mother, I will take my leave.”

The princess turns to leave court, only for a pair of guards to block her egress. These brutes should be on the front line if this siege is so important, not stopping me.

“Daughter, you will be doing your duty to your people. It’s not like there is a ragtag group of sexy adventurers that is going to appear to suddenly save us like in those trashy bodice ripper novels your sister likes to read. This is reality. The reality is: the orc war clan led by War Marshal Reeza is the only military **** that can provide sufficient relief in time. Aelene is leading our defensive efforts against the horde of gnolls rampaging at our Mithrilwood Gate. She is doing her duty. You are not. She gave up her rights to the crown to serve in a manner she believes is more befitting of her over my strenuous objections. And, frankly, you are not worthy to rule this land if you cannot view ALL of our people as worthy of protection. So, either you leave with Reeza’s provided escort or you leave the castle with just the clothes on your back. Choose.”

Aelene, Knight-Commander of Nimlith Grove

The Mithrilwood Gate has never been breached since it was erected thousands of years ago by the founders of Nimlith Grove. And it has never been so close to failing.

Aelene, Knight-Commander of Nimlith Grove, the elder daughter of Kaelis, 47th Queen of the Copse-Wood Throne, stares down at the devastation just outside the gates. Their farmland set ablaze, their groves hacked down. A horde of gnolls, tens of thousands strong, **** the gate.

She is just so tired. A solid fortnight of near constant attacks. Her copper hair is bound in a tight bun. Her armor, banged up and worn without ceasing since before the attack again, heavy on her shoulders. Her lightly bronze skin is dulled from exhaustion and 2 weeks of bloody grime.

“Knight-Commander, we have another squad of gnolls on the ramparts!”

Aelene curses the cruelty of this world as she follows the private. It is a rather common curse from her lips. She hates the divine rules of this world and how it limits potential. She hates that only the one that strikes the killing blow gains the precious XP that increases one’s Level. She hates that the amount of XP needed increases exponentially, rapidly becoming out of reach to all but the most elite of soldiers. She hates that the monstrous races like gnolls are just born with their Level, which is often much higher than the Level 0 that the civilized races start at. Most of all, she hates that there is so little hope for relief from this unrelenting onslaught.

A crudely assembled spear exits out of the back of the private’s head. Time to get to work.

Aelene summons the magic inherent to her clan. The ability to be in two places at once. Her reflection appears beside the spear-wielding gnoll and strikes with her double-bladed scimitar. The gnoll is dead instantly. 100 XP collected. 12,800 XP needed for next level. Several more gnolls approach, throwing spears. Aelene’s reflection is dropped and Aelene takes a spear in the leg. It hurts. Hopefully, she will live long enough to get to a healer. Aelene summons another reflection behind the furthest gnoll and have it start slicing through them. 2 more dead gnolls. 12,600 XP needed for next level. The pincer move splits the gnolls, allowing Aelene to survive long enough to get another opening. She personally cuts down 2 more gnolls as the remainder drop her reflection again. 12,400 XP needed for next level. Finally, some soldiers arrive to assist. The remaining gnolls are struck down. Aelene limps back to her command center.

As powerful as she is as a Level 5 Fighter (only surpassed by her mother in the entire Queendom), she is still incapable of slaying this entire horde. And, if the commanders of this horde are powerful enough, they will cut through these defenses, cut through her, no matter how strong she is. The command center healer is out, so Aelene starts to clean and dress her wound. That disgusting show her sister loves so much plays on the healer’s TV. Something where the contestants have to cum the most from riding a cock. She leans back in the chair, trying to get some rest. Her reveries have been more stressful than restful since the siege began. Each of them much too short. And much less frequent.

Oh, Aelene wishes, why can’t the world work like in my romance books? A beautiful heroine from another world arrives with the power to break the chains of limited potential. She meets the talented noblewoman and the two fall in love. They travel the world and save many lovely ladies, eventually forming a big harem. Then, at the end, with the power of love and friendship, they slay the evil demon king. Ahh.

“Knight-Commander, are you alright? You haven’t been resting well.”

“I’ll survive, Medic Meliamne. I’ll survive.”

“Let me treat that wound.” Aelene revels in the healing magics knitting her torn muscle back together. The medic continues, “You have been working too hard, Knight-Commander. There are other officers.”

“Not as many as we need. With incursions from the port and the underdark, we are spread too thin. Someone has to defend the gate. If the gate falls, so too does the Queendom.”

“Hopefully, relief comes soon. The rumor mill says your sister is to wed an orc War Marshal and they will provide relief.”

“That assumes my sister can think of someone other than herself for 5 minutes. The only hope our Queendom has is that my sister is married off to someone both hot enough to distract her and competent enough to lead an army. An orc, no matter how competent, will never be hot enough to feed Phaedra’s lust. And that we can survive this **** in the meantime.”

“You could always ask the Queen to restore your claim for the crown.”

I’m not suited for the crown. I don’t have the gray hairs of wisdom, nor am I particularly charming. I’m a weapon, to be wielded by a just Queen, nothing more.

The medic, thinking the conversation is over, bows and heads out. Aelene turns off the foul television and closes her eyes.

5 minutes. 5 more minutes of rest. Then I can start my vigil again.

Reeza, War Marshal of the Heart-Taker Tribe

Reeza sits on her throne of tusks, mulling on her people’s future. The caravan continues to travel towards Nimlith Grove; their purpose when they arrive is what is in question.

She hopes that the pact she made with the Queen of Nimlith Grove, a respectable warrior in her time, holds. The orc’s femcock twitches at the thought to burying it into a supple high elven snatch. To fill the princess with her egg. To breed.

Reeza wants the orcs to finally be accepted as a civilized people (though with quirks like any other) and this pact is a solid stepping stone to that goal. Nimlith Grove, though a small Queendom on the Mithril Coast, is known for accepting all civilized races. Being the consort to the next Queen would make doors open elsewhere, for other tribes.

But, orcs are a proud people. They do not take slights lightly. If the pact falls, then she will ruthlessly conquer the Grove. Or what remains of it after the Hunger has filled it’s gaping maw.

“War Marshal, here is the morning report. Do you wish to have your mighty femcock pleased as you read?” Reeza’s latest aide kneels down as she hands a tablet to her Marshal. The aide’s femcock twitches as she gazes at Reeza’s mighty girth. Every time one of her aides offer, Reeza tries to resist. Every time, much to her shame, she fails. Too soon, the War Marshal pounds into the aide’s face, shoving as much of her 13 inch cock as can fit down the aide’s throat. Then she starts to pump, enjoying the sensation of her girth sliding across the aide’s tusks. The aide starts to finger Reeza’s cunt, grinding her (tiny for orcs) 7 inch femcock and cunt on the Marshal’s leg. Reeza, half consumed by her people’s curse, reads through various platoon reports. The third platoon has 5 orcs out for cum drunkenness again. Their Lieutenant needs to be caged for incompetence. The lack of discipline there is appalling. Her aide, fully consumed, starts moaning around Reeza’s dick, her grinding turned to mindless humping. She’s close.

The seventh platoon captured a gnoll and thoroughly bred it into submission. Tricky problem that. On the one hand, the gnoll may have details on her guaranteed foes. On the other, due to the nature of the curse, the subsequent child will be as mindless and hate-filled as gnolls typically are. Our people will not be accepted so long as orcs keep breeding with monstrous races.

The twelveth platoon suffered a flat during their scouting sortie. Reeza feels the curse about to fully consume her, so she sets the tablet down. She wraps both hands around the aide’s head, then the world grows green. When she comes to, her femcock is flaccid, but still hilted in her aide’s mouth. Her aide has, of course, changed. Her muscles shrank, her bust expanded, her hair slightly closer to the lime green representative of mindlessness, her femcock shrunk. It’s such a waste.

Reeza picks up the tablet and finishes reviewing the morning report. She nearly breaks the tablet when she read that her Nimlith Grove envoy has run into issues fetching her elven bride. Perhaps I should have asked for the other one. No matter, for I will tame that brat. Whether she is in a bridal dress or chains when I do so remain to be seen.