Auditions 1, Part 1: A Table, A Cat, An Orc

Tyalangan

As the contestants exit her throne room towards the challenge, she moves an invisible camera to frame her properly. She wills several more to hit key angles: the atrium to the throne room, the runner between the door and the throne, the bench awaiting the “special guests.”

Once the doors shut, she begins, “Now, ladies, gentlemen, and others, while our intrepid band of heroes sally forth to save their Mistress, what ever shall we do? Call forth Tina to put on a magic show? Ask Daphne to juggle sharks? Have the Harem jester dragged out of the infirmary to entertain us with his... creative use of language? Nah.”

Tyalangan leans forward, giving the camera a hint of her cleavage from under her shirt. Winking at the camera, she smirks, “What you, the audience, really want is more contestants. A wider variety of people for Mona to sink her little teeth into. Well, it just so happens that we have some plucky auditionees. Brave souls that are volunteering, or, at least, volun-told-ing, to try out for a spot.”

The Host leans back, “How this will work is that our auditionees will present themselves before my court, and you will consider their worthiness. Then, you shall head to the polls. As promised to Mona, two – I suppose I should say penis want-to-keepers? – will be added. The first poll shall determine how many more beyond the promised two are added. The second? A ranking of the auditionees. You vote for a number of extra contestants, and we will pull them from the top of the list after removing the two guaranteed additions. Now, not everyone will make it this time round, but maybe they can try again later.”

“So, with that out of the way, let’s bring in our first auditionee: Jenny Ackley!”

Jenny Ackley

Jenny is panicking. She is being moved. She hates being moved, even if the people carrying her are gentle. The ceiling that fills her vision has enough little imperfections that she can see her motion.

No!!!!!! They are getting rid of me! They promised to keep me safe! Was I not good enough? I don’t know how I could fail at being a table badly enough that they would throw me away, but...

She is gently set down. She can hear noise: clapping, cheering, the fanfare of the Harem Hotel theme played by Alex. Tina pops into Jenny’s view, beaming with her signature smile. She mouths, “I am so excited for you!”

Jenny almost calms down. Almost. Then she feels it, for the first time in so long and the panic rises in her wooden, unmoving heart. Host magic. The thing that turned her into this. The voice of Tyalangan declares, “It’s okay, Jenny, I just tapped into it to let you project your thoughts for the live audience. You can speak, for now.”

If she could cry, she would. A voice she hasn’t heard in so long seems to emanate from what was at one point her mouth. It is small, hesitant, “Really?”

“Really. I suppose you would like to know why you are here.”

Jenny has to ask something else first. “Where am I, like, right now?”

“My throne room, where I am hosting the first challenge watching party.”

Challenge watching party? “And, like, I totally don’t get why you’d, like, want me at a party? I, like, totally don’t wanna be used like that.”

She can’t see what Tyalangan is doing. It’s frustrating. A lot of her existence is frustrating.

“Well, I have some news for you, Jenny. I will make sure you are carried back to my Harem Suite in your spot after I am done if you wish. My Producer has dealt with a bunch of office politics on your behalf. How would you like to be able to move on your own again?”

Move on my own? That’s impossible...

“I can feel your skepticism, Jenny. Yes, eliminations are usually left in place, even after the dissolution of the harem. However, your situation is a bit unique. Those that would value your suffering over your freedom in the network are gone. I am presenting you an opportunity to get a good portion of your elimination reversed. Are you interested?”

Jenny’s voice is no longer small, “YES!!!!!”

Tyalangan makes an approving noise, then continues, “Still, the show demands its drama. To be able to do this, you need to be voted into Mona’s harem. Are you still interested?”

Jenny pauses. To submit myself to the show again? To be in a harem? The prize has a cost. She finally answers, “If Mona is not a monster like Bob, then yes. I am willing to be in her harem in exchange for getting to be a person again.”

“Very well,” the Host answers, “Introductions for the audience, if you please. Age? Sexuality? Body measurements? Last time you got laid? Job? Things like that?”

Jenny remembers the song-and-dance. She answers, “Hi, audience. I’m, like, Jenny Ackley. Some of these questions are, like, super hard for me to answer or whatever. I was 19 before being turned into a coffee table, and I have been a coffee table for, like, a hundred years. I was 34B-25-35; I am 2’x5’x1.5’ right now. Last time I had sex as a human was, like over a century ago; I had been used sexually as a coffee table before you rescued me from Bob, but not since. That’s it, right?”

The Host points out, “Now, I know you talk like an empty-headed valley girl, Jenny, but you are a cleverer one than that. You skipped the sexuality question. To play Devil’s advocate, how do you feel about being in a woman’s harem as a straight woman?”

Jenny winces. “Like, I, like, get it, but I, like, never really tried it or whatever. I, like, just done some practice kissing at sleepovers. Maybe I will, like, like being with Mona that way? And we both know that the show can, like, fix that or whatever. If being with Mona like that is like gagging me with a spoon or whatever, I will, like, be okay with that bit of, like, brain messing. I just, like, wanna be a person again. I wanna be able to dance and belt out the chorus to ‘I Want It That Way’ and breathe again. Gawd, I miss breathing.”

Tyalangan enters into Jenny’s view. She gives a slight smile. “Well, I hope you get your wish. If not, please understand, you are under my protection. I will never throw you away. Do you wish to remain and hear the competition or would you rather be returned to your spot?”

“Back home, please, Your Majesty. I, like, hope that it is my final time there, if you don’t mind or whatever.”

“I don’t, Jenny. I’ll make sure that Tina tells you how things go, no matter what happens.”

As Jenny is carried away, she feels much calmer. Please, audience, let me live again. No matter how strange this partial reversal will turn out to be, I sooo want it.

The Nekomata

The nekomata turns away from the mirror that had her attention as the table that was brought into the throne room is carried back out. She finds it curious. But, she soon turns back to finish preening. She needs to look her best; she needs to impress her future owner.

So, preen she does while checking out the mirror. Her big cat ears are expressive, twitching around in excitement. Her hair, calico patterned and cut in a simple bob, is combed and shiny. Her eyes, one blue, one green, are fixed, the cat-eye slits narrow in the bright light of the room. Her snaggle-tooth grin wide.

Her armor, the standard battle maid gear of her finishing school, hugs tightly against her too-lacking curves. The translucent black latex squeezes her too-small chest, her flat tummy. The white frills along each of her shoulders gives way to a short poofy sleeve, then more tight latex on the way to the gauntlets that make a battle maid a strong servant for her owner.

The miniskirt, fashioned like a maid’s apron, is too modest to allow her to use magic. She wears it anyways, hoping that the audition will not require her to demonstrate her combat prowess. Every girl has a body part that she feels poorly about; hers needs the skirt to cover up. Her legs underneath are covered in more latex, patterned into fishnets. The stiletto heeled combat boots complete the look.

The armor covers up most of her species unique features: the fuzzy forearms, the forepaws with opposable thumbs, the fuzzy shins, the hindpaws that make stiletto heels comfortable but flats excruciating. Her two cat tails stick out from below her skirt. She has a cute pink ribbon tied to the end of each. The nekomata flashes twin peace signs and sticks out her kitty tongue. Time to win me an owner!

“Our next auditionee will likely need to explain some cultural oddities for the more interdimensional members of the audience, including why she does not have a name. Come forward, when you are ready.”

The nekomata responds to the voice with a level of glee. She almost falls to all fours (to better pounce on her new owner), but resists. Half run, half skip, she dashes into the throne room. “Hello, everyone!”

“Hi. Care to explain why you don’t have a name?”

The nekomata looks at the blue lady on the throne, head cocking in confusion. “My owner hasn’t named me yet. I saw that she is human, Ms. Host-lady. Where is she?”

“Safe. Don’t worry about it. Would you like to introduce yourself to the audience? Age? Occupation? Sexuality? Body measurements? Last time you got laid? Things like that?”

The nekomata smiles, replying, “Okay, Ms. Host-lady! I am 18 years old and I just graduated from Caethweision Brwydr Morwyn Academi in Lêm y Llwynogod Drwg. I was sent there to study how to be what you would call a Battle Maid in the Common tongue, which is a **** to serve as both cleaning staff and personal bodyguard. I am well versed in servicing either a male or female owner with tongue and paws, too. As a ****, my desires do not matter...”

The blue lady interrupts, “But they do matter to me. If you will share...”

The nekomata plows through the questions, excited to exclaim her virtues for her new owner, “I am a virgin, as that is something for my owner to claim or offer up. My last sexual act was my blowjob final, where I had to coax out five orgasms from a single male kitsune and swallow every drop. I did very well!”

“Great, but back to the...”

“My body measurements are 32AA-30-38. And I think I answered all of the relevant questions, Ms. Host-lady! When will my new owner claim me? I have the cutest collar for her to use!”

The blue lady sighs, “The collaring will be done after the challenge today if the audience deems you worthy. Three more questions, in whatever order you want to answer them. Sexuality? The measurement you left out? Why do you want Mona to be your owner?”

Again, the nekomata feels confused, “I am compatible with any sex as my owner. Why do you need to hear that?”

“Because the audience may not want to vote you in if you don’t want to have sex with Mona.”

“But, as a ****...”

This time the blue lady interrupts, “Slavery is illegal in my Queendom. Your desires matter.”

“Agree to disagree, Ms. Host-lady. As a top graduate, I am allowed to seek out my owner instead of just being sold at the market, so I want a powerful owner. Who is more powerful in the market for slaves than a Harem Hotel Master?”

The blue lady sighs, “That’s not the full story, but good enough. The measurement you left out?”

For the first time, the nekomata feels ****. Her ears droop down, her tails wrap tight around her squishable thighs. “Do I have to?”

“I know what I am asking you to reveal can hurt. I felt what you feel, a century ago. It is just that the audience will want to know. They hate when such a thing is a surprise.”

The nekomata looks at the blue lady, searching for deceit. She had too many trainers mock her for her... unfortunate state of affairs. Seeing nothing but sympathy, the nekomata grits her teeth and forces herself to say, “Fine, Ms. Host-lady. I was born in the wrong body and I was hoping to get that fixed? Magic away the... thing between my legs and replace it with what a proper **** girl would have. I assume my new owner would support that, right?”

The blue lady nods, “Yeah, she would. Your skirt, is it long enough for you to sit comfortably while you wait?”

The nekomata is confused again. She sees the bench placed to the side and kneels beside it. She wants to be a good **** for her owner; no reason to get uppity by sitting or anything like that.

Ootah Heart-Taker

Ootah Heart-Taker hates fancy dress. Her mother, the third Duchess of Teleptafelya, was not particularly supportive of Ootah offering herself to a harem; her insistence that Ootah dress appropriately for court for this audition was not to be denied.

The orc grimaces at the mirror. Her long forest green hair is in a tight bun instead of its usual ponytail. Her amber eyes do nothing to hide her irritation. Plump, kissable lips do nothing to hide her tusks.

The dress, embroidered with the Heart-Taker heraldic crest (which was adapted from the first Duchess’s war band banners), is uncomfortable. It clings tightly to her torso. Cut-outs are in fashion for court garb right now, so at least her cleavage can breathe; the heart shaped gap in her dress exposes a good portion of it. A second heart-shaped cut-out displays her abs, a six-pack of hard, green muscle. Her arms are also thankfully bare, lightly oiled to accentuate how well muscled they are.

Of course, the tightest part of the dress is where she most wished was cut out. She’d much rather let her orc futacock fly free than have it bulge behind the tight dress. Strong legs are bare, lightly oiled, with knee high boots finishing her look.

Her aunt speaks from her throne to welcome Ootah in, “Our third auditionee, Ootah Heart-Taker, twelfth in line for the Duchy of Teleptafelya.”

Ootah marches in, giving her aunt a bow. The Queen is bemused, asking, “How is my dear sister-in-law?”

“My mother sends you well-wishes, Your Majesty.”

The Queen smiles, “Your mother already sent me a letter demanding I not let you do this. My sister-in-law?”

Oh, she must mean the egg incubator. “She is due for another hatching shortly.”

The Queen lays back on her throne. She gives Ootah a gaze of consideration. Gently holding her chin, she asks, “Before we begin introductions, perhaps we should address why you are here? Why ask to join Mona’s harem?”

Ootah thinks the question foolish. “Is it not obvious? A combination of my people’s sexual quirk and my position in the line of succession makes the prospect of being in a Hotel harem much more desirable than remaining home.”

The Queen shakes her head, replying, “For the sake of the audience that don’t know said quirk, perhaps you should explain.”

Ootah is a woman of few words. She’d much rather fight a foe than speak. Still, this is the challenge set before her. She will not shirk her duty. “Orcs are a unisexual species, able to fertilize each other. Once fertilized, we can lay our eggs in each other or in other species. Our minds and bodies shift to accommodate the role the clan needs. I and my sisters are free of those changes; once mother passes on her title to whichever of my older sisters is at the top of the line, the rest will be **** to undergo shifting. I will likely be **** to become a bimbo to be fertilized, then pass the egg to my sister to implant. I am a warrior and...”

The Queen cuts to the quick with her interruption, “...and you want the Hotel to stabilize your body in its current state.”

Ootah nods. The Queen continues, “If the audience allows it, I will see what I can do. The first Duchess was slated as an option to join my harem. I know Mona is more inclined to enjoy being with you than I was with Reeza. Be aware that some of Reeza’s potential transformations would not have given her what you seek. The introductory questions? Age? Occupation? Sexuality? Body measurements? Last time you got laid? Things like that?”

“Very well. I am Ootah Heart-Taker, twelfth daughter of Tulzae Heart-Taker, Duchess of Teleptafelya. I have seen 24 summers. I am pansexual. I am 6 foot even, 36C-28-37, with a 16 inch futacock. I am a virgin, as sexual activity drives my people’s body changes.”

“Thank you, Ootah. If you would sit beside the nekomata, we can move on.”

Ootah sees the cat, kneeling like a ****. The orc is no ****; she sits on the bench. The cat is drooling about Ootah’s bulge. The orc shifts, feeling herself stiffen, further straining her dress.

Control, Ootah. Practice control. Be accepted into the harem, have the curse removed, THEN enjoy the delights. I’m sure the human will be happy with me; she wanted to fuck that Craig guy and I am way better than he is.