A Quest Found, A Quest Accepted

Skye

Skye comes out of her reverie completely refreshed, if very sticky. The hotel is very dark and very cold; she can see her breath with her darkvision, feel her chattering teeth. It’s one thing to understand how the reverie works intellectually; it’s quite another to experience it. She wonders if every night will be like what she just experienced, idly teasing her little button for just a few seconds before catching herself. Bad Skye! That part is for your wife to play with, not you.

She checks her phone. 2:13 AM. She shrugs, wide awake. Time for a very hot shower.

Skye starts by looking for the sunglasses Francis gave her yesterday. While she didn’t need them at the moment, the prospect of going around blind again did not appeal to her. Seeing them crumble in front of her eyes, she pulls out her phone to find a more permanent solution. It took some doing, but she found something. Submitting the order, she hopes it will be delivered before sunrise.

Skye: - 20 BP

Invisi-Shades: Ever want to wear sunglasses at night without being made fun of ‘em? Well, Invisi-Shades got you handled. These progressive shades adjust to light conditions to keep your eyes pleasantly protected, without ruining your looks by being visible when worn. Side effects include making it hard to find them if you leave them in your hair and the inability to see clothing worn by others.

Skye gathers her things (thanks, darkvision!) and silently heads to the showers. One luxuriously long, luxuriously hot shower later and she feel much cleaner. The chill sets in quickly, but being clean helps. While she is not used to her new look yet (in fact, this is the first time she sees that her eyes are a pretty violet now), she is familiar enough to notice a change in it. Her hair. It’s no longer the dull white that’s predominant in the Drow. It’s a shining, silky silver. Confused, she quietly sings a hymn of praise to the Lady, just in case.

The Lady responds, in a way. A swarm of silvery luna moths hover at the entrance to the bathhouse, almost beckoning for Skye to follow. She tentatively approaches, only to see the moths phase through the closed door to the hallway. She runs for the door and swings it open wide to see the swarm waiting for her at the other end of the hall. She jogs to keep pace with the retreating moths all the way out of the hotel proper.

If the inside of the hotel was cold, the outside is utterly frigid. Skye’s bare feet crunches in the light layer of hoarfrost that covers the ground. Not that Skye has any time to think of the cold. The moths pick up the pace dramatically, zooming through the moonlit night sky as if they were white-throated swifts like the ones she watched on the farm. It takes everything she has to keep up.

The moths eventually take her to a narrow jut of land on the far edge of the island. A lovely stretch of beach that goes pretty far beyond what would be considered the normal coast. A shovel has been slammed smack dab in the middle of the sandbar, illuminated by a beam of moonlight. Time to dig?

And dig she does. She doesn’t need to go very far before she hits pay-dirt. The shovel thuds into a treasure chest, one large enough that she could comfortably fit inside. She keeps digging, eventually getting the chest unburied enough to lug, with much difficulty, out of the hole. She gingerly uses the shovel to tip the lid of the chest open, taking several large steps back as it falls; she’s read enough of the Sacred Texts to be worried about traps. The Lady may have wanted her to find it, but She may not have been the one to put it there in the first place. Seeing no plumes of gas or daggers shoot out, she gingerly peeks in. 2 items: a smaller box, wrapped like a present, and a note. She reads with much anticipation. A quest! From the Lady herself! So much to do, so little time. I’ll need to work hard to get everything done.

As instructed, she leaves the note in the chest and grabs the smaller box. It’s only smaller in the sense that it is only slightly shorter than her; it’s heavy and awkward to carry. As the note said, the entire chest and the shovel both catch fire, with silver flames sputtering and burning away all evidence of the items. The adrenaline of the situation fading, Skye realizes how incredibly cold she is. She hurries back to the bathhouse as quick as she can.

Sitting in the warm, scented waters of the bath, she checks her phone again. 4:42 AM. Almost my old normal wake-up time. Time to get breakfast?

She hides the box in her wardrobe, then heads to the cafeteria. Inside was another gift from the Goddess. Now, Skye has used the cafeteria to cook items for dates, both for herself and a pie for Dinah’s. The cafeteria would provide the ingredients for date items, with enough extra to cover the occasional boo-boo (that allowed her to bake a pie for the rest of the harem when she made one for Dinah). This is the first time the cafeteria provided real food specifically for the contestants. Eggs. Bacon. Sausage. Ingredients for Pancakes. Real maple syrup. And not an item on a stick in sight.

Skye is super giddy. She gets to work. She doesn’t have a lot of time if she wants breakfast ready for the other girls by the time they normally wake up.

Beckie Petersen

Beckie wakes up at her usual time, happy for another day of tormenting slut slaves for her adoring audience. But first, time for some quality TV. Matlock isn’t on just yet, but Diagnosis **** is. That Dick Van Dyke, so yummy.

Beckie settles into her comfy overstuffed chair and turns on the TV. Grabbing a handful of butterscotch candies, she pops the first one in her mouth. The first few notes of the Diagnosis **** theme song plays and then... everything goes dark. And it gets very, very cold. The crone shivers.

She’s startled by the phone ringing. What does Mr. C want now? My grand theory is being proven without my interference. And why’d he turn off my power? It’s cold in this dimension at night!

Beckie picks up the phone, greeting with her best customer service voice, “Good morning, Mr. C. What do I owe the pleasure of this lovely call?”

“Mr. C lost faith in your ability to host, Ms. Petersen. I’m your new producer. And it is a good thing I volunteered to take over, for your sake. It would be quite embarrassing to be canceled barely a week into a season. If by embarrassing, one means spending an eternity being digested in the belly of a giant demon frog.”

New producer? No one told me about a new producer.

“So, what do you want?”

“For you, Ms. Petersen, to be the best host you can possibly be. I am a firm believer in pursuing perfection in all arts one devotes oneself to. And you, Ms. Petersen, devoted yourself to the art of hosting Harem Hotel when you accepted the contract. But you lack motivation. Both the quality and quantity of your pursuits have been lacking. That changes, today.”

“What do you know about my hosting abilities? I’ve done an excellent job.”

“I have already watched the livestream of every room for the entirety of the season, Ms. Petersen. You spend approximately 95% of your time in here, either sleeping or watching TV. I could possibly consider some TV time to be useful if you were watching other shows on our network, but you’re watching re-runs of irrelevant old Earth television. You rely on your hotel staff, which I note you have not yet paid, to handle just about all contestant and Master relations, including transformation design. Frankly, the head of the hotel staff has done more hosting work than you have. Did you even notice the massive dimensional breach that occurred yesterday?”

Breach? What breach?

“Yes, a massive dimensional breach,” the producer continues, “Multiple of your human wards were out of their bodies for a period of time last night. Not just Tina’s scheduled visit with Hotel Concierge. Care to explain?”

“That couldn’t happen. My dimensional locks are immaculate. There is no way…”

“Unless the breacher has either a direct contact with one of the humans, which should have been found when selecting them, or a dimensional backdoor placed in the Hotel like, say, hidden in a Matlock action figure. You do realize that they never made action figures for Matlock? A word of advice: most hosts don’t exactly give gifts without a good reason, Ms. Petersen. Especially for something as mundane as a cross-promotion that doesn’t even get them screen time.”

Beckie boops the Matlock action figure into her hand and smashes it to bits. A beeping fox penis shaped device remains untouched from the plastic debris. Shit.

“This is not up for discussion. Here is how this is going to work. I will be monitoring you. If I find your work of inadequate quantity, such as I do right now, there will be no magical power flowing to your quarters. That means no TV, no lights, and, most importantly, no heat. How did you phrase it again? Oh yes. ‘The nightly temperature on the island has been set to the statistically perfect temperature to induce nightly cuddles. Cuddling is good for ratings.’ How many volunteers do you think you will have to cuddle with you, Ms. Petersen?”

“But quantity of work is not enough,” the producer continues, “If I find the quality of your work inadequate, such as I do now, there will be exactly one program available for you to watch. If you have no power, that doesn’t matter. If you put in the work, but the work is poor, the limited television option will matter. So, a taste of your only entertainment if you continue to disappoint, Ms. Petersen.”

The screen turns on for but a moment, but the horror Beckie saw was beyond compare. A claymation dog speaking in a goofy voice, “I don’t know, Davey.” When the TV turns itself back off, Beckie is as white as a sheet.

“You don’t mean for me to watch that? Where’s the sexy hunks? Or at least Angela Lansbury?”

“Closest thing I could find from your Earth that could teach you a thing or two about basic decency.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me of being... human. I got better.”

“There are worst things to being human, Ms. Petersen. Like being eternally digested by a giant demon frog. So, put forth some effort. Here are my notes to start with. I’m watching.”

Then the line goes dead; Beckie feels a piece of paper being duct taped to her face. Whelp, time to watch Diagnosis **** in my office. Where did I put that again?

Indigo

Indigo wakes up wet, sticky, and drowning? She gasps, swallowing something salty and bitter. Sitting up, she finds herself sitting in a kiddie pool full of cum. With a series of coughs, she stands and stumbles towards her computer. It is glowing and Indigo is studious about turning the computer off before she goes to sleep.

On the screen is a note:

“Ohayo, imouto-chan

I hope you enjoyed my gifts. Especially my gift of allowing such a pathetic girl such as you to touch my majestic cock. Since I only have direct access to your set until your security staff does it’s next sweep of that idiot Beckie’s personal quarters (and I have no idea how frequently they check), expect this to be my last contact until the deed is fully underway during your date. This message will delete during your morning meeting, so I recommend you memorize it.

The exact nature of how you pull off your part of the plan is on you, but here are some broad strokes. To open a portal to my set, you will need to get your current Master to have the majority of his senses overwhelmed by my seed. If the pool is not enough, I blessed your Anilla with my seed as well; just squeeze it and more of my seed will leak out. This will also ensure it doesn’t interfere with your other gifts.

I also took the liberty of installing some security features to your phone’s transformation display app. Now, no one other than you can access your current list of transformations or read your screen when you have that app open. Your master has something similar on his copy of the Playtime app. The details for your gifts are on there. I would recommend you keep my gifts a secret until your plan is far enough into motion that they can’t stop you. Be sneaky-like. I’m sure your do well; it’s in our nature.

Your favorite fox,

Nogi-sama”

She pulls out her phone to check her transformations. As promised, Anilla has been upgraded:

New Feature: Permanent Shibari +1 – Indigo thinks she is so adorable that she will always be forgiven, but the hotel staff knows better. Indigo’s undergarments will be replaced with a semi-sentient shibari rope. This rope will refuse to be undone, will retie itself at will, and will be filled with a never ending supply of fox semen. The more irritated nearby members of the harem are at Indigo, the tighter and more movement restrictive the rope shall become. This is especially true of the Master; Indigo will find herself completely unable to move if the Master has the slightest annoyance with her. Rope adjustment options will be added to her Playtime app (Punishment and Patron’s Gift – Toy Addict).

The other transformation is muuuuuch longer to read. By the time she finishes, she only has time to stick the kiddie pool of spunk into her inventory (it barely fits) before she needs to run to the morning meeting.

This’ll be fun. Time for me to take charge. I’ll be the harem Mistress yet.

Josie

Josie, wearing nothing but her collar and a smile, rolls Tina to rest her bunny head on the gym girl’s newly expanded breast and smiles. You know, I have no idea why I avoided stuff like this for so long. Waking up with the same pretty girl in my arms has been nice. Let’s hope I don’t screw it up.

Soon enough, the bonny bunny opens her big blue eyes. “Morning, Josie. Hey, if it’s not too awkward, I have a question.”

Josie muses for a few seconds, then answers, “I mean, it’s a little early for sex, but I think I could go for a round or two before breakfast. You know, if you need it.”

“What? No. Wait. Yes. Sex sounds great, but that’s not what I wanted to ask. You know, if neither of us have the Francis date tonight, would you like to... you know...”

Josie starts to play with Tina’s ear. “I’d like to?” She smiles as Tina goes slightly cross-eyed from the stimulation.

“Go out on a date with me?”

Josie responds by pulling Tina’s crotch towards her face. She pulls down the bunny’s bunny pajama bottoms and starts to slowly tease her clit.

“Um, Josie, that feels really good, but that’s not... an answer. Soooo good.” Tina starts to tease Josie’s new ears. Fuuuuuuck. Josie licks harder, faster. Tina grips a fist full of Josie’s hair and shoves the gym girl’s face deeper into her bunny hole. Josie responds by pulling Tina’s hair so the bonny blonde arches her back, then slips her tongue in as deep as she can. Tina grinds on Josie’s face, trying to get the gym girl’s tongue to go deeper. She gets a swat on her butt for her trouble.

“Josie, please, I wanna cum. I wanna cum all over your face. Please. Just a bit more. Ah. Ah. Josie.”

Tina pulls on Josie’s ears, hard. The wolf girl howls into the bunny’s crotch. The bunny squeezes down tight on Josie’s face as her orgasm approaches. Josie’s nearly there just from the ear pulling. The gym girl lets go of Tina’s hair, grabs her butt, and thrusts her tongue in as deep as she can. Tina gives Josie’s wolf ears one final tug and the two come simultaneously.

It takes longer than usual for Tina to start coming down; once she does, she asks again, “Would you like to go out with me? I mean it. It’s been too long since I’ve had a date. I mean, Francis doesn’t count until he’s a she. So, You. Me. Date. Please?”

Josie snorts. “Just let me know when you want to go. And no dates in a dungeon. Tavern or better.”

Tina hits her head on the ceiling as she jumps up in joy. “Ouchie. But who cares about that! Yeahh!” Tina wraps her arms around the wolf girl, who has been starting to sit up. The two share a bunny girl flavored kiss. When it’s over, Josie can’t help but ask, “Hey, weren’t you wearing panties? Not that I’m complaining, but still.”

Tina turns bright red and pulls her pajama bottoms up. Josie thinks she heard Tina mutter, “Dammit, Vinny,” under her breath.

The smell of bacon conveniently wafts into the dorm room. Both animal girls rush to the cafeteria to see Skye pulling out a steaming tray of pancakes. Let’s see how Skye’s post sex pancakes stack up to Amy’s.

As they sit down for breakfast, they can tell Skye is blushing, “Um... Ms. Tina, what’s a ‘Cum Guzzlers’? And why do you have it on your chest?”