Auditions 1, Part 2: A Drow, A Desk Tool, A Dragon, A Demon

Winter Copse-Wood

Okay, Winter. You are going to be okay. Your moms will understand. You join the harem and you get to stay with Kevin. You got this.

Queen Mama sounds conflicted as she calls for her child, “Next auditionee, Helchrive Copse-Wood, seventh in line for the Copse-Wood Throne.”

Winter struts in, nodding to the drow’s cousin and considering the cat. The drow, in full maid’s outfit, curtsies before the throne. “Mother.”

Winter sees just how white-knuckled the Queen is, gripping the armrests of her throne, “Helchrive, my child, what are you doing here?”

“Offering myself up to join Mona’s harem.”

Winter watches the Queen’s face. She is obviously concerned. “Are you sure you are taking this seriously? You’ve been seeing the boy for a few days and you want to be permanently bound to Mona with him?”

Winter snarls, annoyed at Queen Mama for even questioning the drow’s determination, “Are you saying that Mona is going to become a little tyrant? Or that being in a harem like Mama Skye is a bad lot in life? Or is it that I’m too good for my boyfriend? Huh?”

That looks like it struck a nerve with Mother. Winter’s orc cousin squirms a little, aroused by the expression of anger. The cat looks confused.

“My child, I am merely asking if you thought this through. I...”

“Mother, we both know that I will not find happiness among our own people. Kevin accepts me for me. Sure, it is a quick decision, but, if I don’t try...”

The Queen nods, a little teary-eyed. She whispers, just loud enough for Winter to hear, “I am sorry I failed you, child.” Then, louder, “Have you talked to Urinlaire about this yet? This affects her, too.”

They both know what the Queen is implying. Winter has had this argument with Summer already, “My sister is aware and will support me, whatever happens. And it’s not like I will never see her again after the show. She can come visit, wherever the harem sets up.”

“And you’re fine being Mona’s?”

Winter snorts, “I expect to be in a sexual relationship with Mona whether the audience supports me or not. I will happily do so. The question is how much XP Kevin will get from it. I saw how the records took 32 points from him this Week. You going to rob him of full credit for Mona having a threesome like you did us losing our virginities?”

Again, it looks like Winter hit a nerve. “I am just doing my due diligence, child. The introductory questions? Age? Occupation? Sexuality? Body measurements? Last time you got laid? Things like that?”

Winter stands a little taller, espousing, “I am around 100 years old, give or take a few seasons, and am a fully fledged adult by elven standards. I am currently on Hotel staff as a maid for the contestants. I am a masculine preferring pansexual, but am fine with being sexually active with Mona. 30AA-23-33. Five foot, one inch, which is quite tall for a drow. I ate out Caoimhe last night. She was quite lovely.”

Winter stares at the Queen, daring her. Mother delivers her response telepathically, “I presume you want me to skip the missing measurement?”

Winter nods. The Queen stands and wraps Winter up in a hug. Mother whispers, “I love you, my precious little child. It took courage to stand up like this. I hope you get your chance. Go sit by your cousin.”

Mother again has a conflicted face as she breaks the hug. Winter gives her hand a squeeze, then moves to sit beside Ootah.

The orc whispers, “This Kevin guy worth it?”

“Definitely.”

Stanley de Swingline

Stanley doesn’t know where he is. One minute, he was nervously standing for a group photo for Generic-Corp’s company website, then next he was here, in front of a mirror. His shaggy brown hair nearly covers his grey eyes and definitely covers the tips of his ears. His clothes are the same: a brown sweater vest over a plain white button up, grey slacks, a grey pair of uncomfortable dress shoes.

In the background of the mirror, he sees something... very strange. A man in a maid’s dress with bunny ears, his genitals out and erect, getting oral stimulation from another maid with bunny ears, who is using her fingers on her exposed nethers. A wolf-earred man in what looks like medieval armor is stroking himself off to the sight. Stanley feels his ears burn; he hugs himself, really wanting a friend to hold onto instead. He’s been told that he is too clingy.

What is going on?

A commanding woman’s voice rings out, breaking Stanley out of his spiraling thoughts, “Our next auditionee, Stanley de Swingline!”

The wolf guy gives Stanley what must have been supposed to be a gentle shove, but causes him to nearly fall over, stumbling into a throne room. So many people, so many strange people! Stanley starts to panic a little more. He keeps hugging himself as he walks forward. The crowd cheers. What looks like two women (one cat-girl, one green skinned woman with an unexpected bulge near the bottom of her dress) and a lilac skinned person in a maid’s outfit sits on a bench to the side. The woman on the throne has blue skin, green hair. No one looks human.

The blue skinned woman speaks again, “Stanley, you okay? We don’t have all day, you know.”

“W-w-where am I-I-I?”

“Welcome, dear Stanley, to Harem Hotel: Woo the Girl, Save the World. It’s an interdimensional smut show where contestants compete for a spot in our dear Mistress Mona’s harem. She’s not here for this. Welcome to your audition for a spot on the show!”

Smut show? “W-w-why am I h-here? S-surely you c-c-could have found... s-s-someone else?”

The blue woman looks sympathetic. “Do you really want an honest answer? It may be very hard to hear.”

Stanley nods his head. He feels his hair tease his ears.

“Well, a couple of imps commissioned your micro-dimension, first as a rejected pitch for a season of the show, then to make some promotional materials for their approved season out of some abandoned floor of cubicles in the network’s basement levels. You, for example, are a stapler that has been given life and an elvenoid body.”

The blue woman pauses. Stanley feels panic welling up inside him. I am a stapler?!?!?! A stapler turned into a man?!?!?!

“I know it’s a lot, Stanley. Think about the answers to these questions. Age? Occupation? Sexuality? Body measurements? Last time you got laid?”

Okay, I am 24. I am the assistant to the junior mail room clerk at Generic-corp. I am straight. I am 5’4”. Brenda once did some things with me when we were both drunk from a Christmas party.

Stanley feels himself answer, but the words are wrong, “I have the body and mind of a 24 year old man, but have only existed for less than a year as a sentient entity. I am in the extras pool of Harem Hotel, waiting to be assigned to a role in a season. I am straight, 5’4”, with a penis that is 4.83” when erect that I have never seen. I am a virgin. What was that?”

“Compelled speech is compelled truth-telling, even truths you are unaware of.”

My entire life is a lie? That... that can’t be true? Stanley starts to curl up in the fetal position, only to stop as the panic attack suddenly stops. He gets himself off of the floor. “I should be having an existential crisis right now?”

“Magic suppressing your emotions. There is more.”

Artificially calm, Stanley’s nervous stutter is gone. He asks plainly, “What else do you have for me?”

“You asked ‘why you?’ Well, my show-runner instantly fell in love with you. It pitched for you to be the Master of the imps’ season, which is themed around excessive audience participation. When that was rejected, it hammered the comments section to get you a contestant’s spot. It was slightly more successful there, getting you in the ‘second chance’ poll; you apparently tied for seventh. It also tried its best to turn the Master of that season as close to you as possible, pitching stapler transformations and the like. So, dear Stanley, you are being given a chance to actually live. If the audience votes you into the harem, you will get to become a dependable member of Mona’s harem. If you lose, you can choose to stay as my show-runner’s mate or return to the extras pool.”

Stanley slightly stammers, “W-why do you keep referring to your show-runner as an ‘it?’”

“Sea slugs, even sentient ones, are hermaphroditic.”

Stanley feels some panic rising up past the artificial calm. His stammer is fully back, “S-s-so, I either join this Mona’s harem, m-m-mate with a s-s-sea slug, or return to s-s-some sort of limbo waiting for a different Host to use me?”

“Pretty much. Have a preference?”

“Questions: Is Mona... normal?”

“A little pervy by Hotel standards, but within the realm of your definition of normal.”

“And... how would I even mate with a sea slug?”

“Simple. I will turn you into one while letting you retain your sentence.”

“And... how bad is that extras pool thing?”

“I refuse to use it. I have plenty of adult bunny-daughters for staffing needs. Those Hosts that use the extras pool tend to be quite cruel. They run extras ragged until their souls are completely eroded away. After that is oblivion.”

Stanley shivers. What a cruel fate. He tries to sound sure; he doesn’t know if he succeeds, “M-Mona. I would prefer Mona.”

“Good lad. I hope you get your wish. Go sit beside my child on the bench so we can move on.”

Stanley gloms onto the lilac skinned person, needing to hold someone to keep from falling apart. He looks into the maid’s pretty violet eyes. “Is this okay?”

Stanley feels an arm wrap around his waist. “Sure, kid. You had a rough morning.”

Hoardcoin

Hoardcoin stands before the mirror, waiting for his turn. His silver hair has been artfully styled, highlighting his silver horns. His eyes, also silver, are bright spots against his warm ivory skin.

His vest shows off hints of his six-pack abs, his chest, his lithe yet powerful arms, all decorated with his silver scales. The shorts he wears are tight, clinging like a second skin, stopping high enough to show off his meaty thighs. His equally meaty silver scaled tail rests behind him. Boots wrap his feet.

He is calm, mostly. The smell of another dragonkin nearby is on his radar, but he is not overly concerned about it. This is a civilized country. If a dragon has made a home here, who is he to care?

A voice from the throne room calls him forward, saying, “Our next auditionee, Hoardcoin.”

He enters, running through his poomsae, expecting to impress his sister from another world. When he finishes and stands before the throne, he notices that his sister is not here.

He growls, a blast of cold sitting in the back of his throat, ready to be released, “Where is she?”

The woman who must be the Host merely replies, “Safe. I will see no harm done to anyone here, good sir.”

“I was told that this is how I join her. Was I told wrong?”

“Nay, this is the place. So, Hoardcoin, explain to the audience why you are here.”

Hoardcoin stares at the Host as if she is an idiot. “Is it not obvious? I am here to protect my sister!”

The Host’s expression mirrors his, “Well, the audience has not seen Mona’s actual brother Wincent, so it is not clear to them.”

“Oh,” Hoardcoin sheepishly replies, “that is fair.” He then gets bolder as he declares, “Ever since – did you call her Mona? – arrived on your shores, I have been drawn from my monastery to her. Her spiritual essence is an exact match for my sister Moolah, who died when I was too young and weak to defend her. I will not fail my sister again!”

The Host looks like she considers his vow, “You realize that she is not actually your sister, but her equivalent from another dimension, right?”

“Yes.”

“And this is Harem Hotel.”

“Yes. I was sent to the monastery when my sister died since she was my fated mate. I now have a chance to mate with her again.”

The Host rubs her temples, wincing, “Okay. You answered that question. Now would you like to introduce yourself to the audience? Age? Occupation? Sexuality? Body measurements? Last time you got laid? Things like that?”

“I am a 27 year old monk of Bahamut. I am 5’9”, 130 pounds of lean muscle, with a 12 in thigh circumference and a pair of 5 inch hemipenes.”

The orc on the bench snickers. Hoardcoin feels a growl rumbling in his throat. The Host interrupts to elaborate, “Zemeitsa are a cloacal species, with males having their copulation organs able to unfurl into either a single or a pair of penises when sufficiently aroused. 5 and 3/32nd inches is actually quite impressive for his species. Continue.”

“Thank you. I am a virgin, as my fated mate died before we reached sexual maturity. I have not considered my sexual desires for the same reason. I believe that those were all the questions?”

“That they were. I wish you the best. If you will sit by Stanley over there, we have one final applicant to introduce.”

Hoardcoin moves to sit beside this Stanley. What a silly name Stanley is. Or Mona, for that matter. Mayhaps I can convince my sister to take the name of her version that was born here? Moolah is a more respectable name than Mona.

Harith Harrows

Harith stands in front of the mirror, waiting for his turn. Despite how the guards here have treated him, he must admit they have gotten him prepared to present his best foot forward. His longish black hair is artfully arranged in a man-bun that frames his face. His magenta skin is clean and exfoliated. A touch of guy liner highlights his pink irises. His teeth, with extended canines, and his small little forehead horns, sparkle.

He looks down to his long body, all lithe muscle and sinew. His torso is bare, lightly oiled to highlight the goods. He would thrust his pecs forward even without his arms bound tightly behind his back, hands wrapped in metal mittens. A cavalcade of tattoos roam across his bared skin, each one chosen to emphasize a muscle, each one a mark of conquest. The only spot truly bare on his exposed skin is a space above his heart.

The pants chosen are black leather, riding low enough on the hips for his spade tipped tail to not get caught up in the waistband. They are tight enough to almost look painted on, showing off his muscular legs, built more for endurance than for show. Up front, the pants press into his manhood such that, even as relatively flaccid as he is at the moment, the bulge is impressive. His feet are bare, his toes wiggling. He’d prefer shoes; floors in elvenoid dwellings are always a little too cold for his liking.

So, when he hears a voice hailing, “And, our final auditionee, Harith Harrows,” he is ready to swagger in. The runner carpet is less cold than the stone floor, which is appreciated. He stares straight ahead, at the woman sitting on the throne. It’s not who he would be expecting. That is no lost little human, trapped in the world of the Hotel. That is the jailer.

His bow is elegant, even with his arms bound behind him. “Greetings, oh most fair and noble Hostess. If you would give me the honor of pointing me to the Mistress, that I may show her proper respect?”

Her answer is curt, “She is safe. Don’t worry about that.”

Is she utterly immune to my charms? Usually, elves are so hard up for male affection that they melt like butter, despite the charm resistance.

“Before we get to the more specific details, would you like to introduce yourself to the audience? Age? Occupation? Sexuality? Body measurements? Last time you got laid? Things like that?”

“Very well, my dear lady. I aim to please. I am admittedly young for my kind, only being 121 years old, by your reckoning. I am 6’4”, a hair under 200 pounds, upper arm circumference 15 inches, chest circumference 44 inches, and my cock is a respectable 17 inches when fully aroused.”

Harith pauses for dramatic effect; he is big by even his kind’s standards. The crowd around him swoons, but the one on the throne gives him a more matter-of-fact look. She dryly replies, “17 and 3/16ths inches, if you wish to be exact.”

Harith stumbles a little bit. He is not used to anyone being so nonchalant about the pride and joy between his legs. He continues, “I am a feminine preferring pansexual. Finally, my occupation is a stalwart administrator of justice, who is currently being wrongly detained. My last sexual encounter was a lovely lass whose husband was mistreating the public trust. I gave her the first orgasm she had in months, and then several more in rapid succession.”

“That is one way to phrase it,” the Host says, smiling, “As unfortunate as it is that the Minister of Ports in Dinas y Dyn is impotent, it was his assistant that was abusing the public trust with his extortion racket. You turned your sense of justice towards the wrong person. You are sent here to my dungeons from across the sea, good sir, because you cucked an innocent man.”

Harith blanches at that. If she speaks truth...

“You are being offered the opportunity for clemency for a number of reasons: One, your antics did bring the situation to light and the assistant minister caught; two, you were captured before you pulled the second half of your antics off; and three, your nature makes traditional punishment difficult.”

Does she know?

She answers the unasked question, “Yes, Harith, I do. While I have no desire to travel to the Argent...”

“No need to say it, dear lady. I understand. I reject my family’s nature. I serve Hoar, not... him.”

“Sensible. So, servant of the God of Ironic Fates, why should the audience pick you?”

“As I understand it, a grave injustice was committed against the Mistress here. Her introduction to the world of pleasure was botched by a small spiteful man. I wish to rectify that. A grave injustice was committed against the Mistress’s world, when its gods abandoned it to be a cage for some vile creature. If Hoar and my blade can help rectify that, I wish to offer it.”

“And you will accept being bound to Mona to pursue this justice?”

“Nothing will satisfy me more than guiding her down the path of pleasure.”

With one final glance, she says, “Well said. If you will have a seat beside Hoardcoin, our current crop of contestants are about to begin.”

Harith sits on the bench as directed. The man beside him is quite fetching, as are most of his competitors for who knows how many spots. He subtly flexes his arms. The man beside him snorts. Harith turns his attention towards the screen floating in the air. It looks like the former humans are about to begin.