The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

To my dear sister,

I’m beginning to think you were right about Great-Uncle Yvun, you know. What a strange day! I woke up early this morning to meet with a lawyer. We’re lucky my flesh didn’t wither away to the bone when I shook his hand. You remember how in the last letter I talked about some sort of mention in the will? Get this: I actually inherited one of his three ranches. Yeah, that’s right, Great-Uncle Yvun, the creepy old racist who never showed up without a barely-dressed girl on either arm, owned three ranches. And he didn’t even leave his own granddaughter a penny! Just that old book. The will explicitly underlines how only a “properly penised” (?!) man, “unrestricted from natural attraction to a female breast”, can be trusted to run the ranch. I know you probably want to go strangle a corpse right now. Same here. Thing is, there are a lot of other weird conditions on here. I have to go alone, though there will be employees at the ranch (I wonder if they get paid for the hours they wait there while the boss is dead). I also can’t bring any silver with me, nor any “instruments of masculine masturbation”. Getting weird yet? Well, just wait, because it gets better. See, I met the stockman today ...

Some tables gave good knocks, good, strong sounds that spoke of properly treated hardwood. Some gave nice, ringing hollow knocks that spoke of thin boards. Some gave creaking sounds every time Senya touched them. This table was of the creaks-at-every-touch variety.

Bad wood, he thought. Rotten for carving. Rotten, period, probably.

“Somethin’ wrong, boss?” Jerrod asked.

“No,” Senya said, biting his lip. He gave the stockman a smile he hoped seemed genuine, despite his nerves. “Just...checking the wood.”

“Ah.” Jerrod glanced at the table. “Food should be here soon. Sorry, the service ain’t normally this bad.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Senya shrugged. “It’s not the worst place a guy’s taken me.”

Jerrod looked up sharply. He was a funny-looking fellow, alright. He probably stood six feet, at least, and perhaps half as wide—a real brute. Straw blond hair complimented ruddy cheeks and pale blue eyes. He would be handsome, Senya thought, but he had the face of a man who’d been in a fair few scrapes and lost at least a couple. His nose was crooked, and there were a few scars on his cheek. He wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t exactly a great beauty, anyways, save perhaps in a very rugged way. “I think the will was clear,” he said, clearing his throat nervously. “Strictly stated—it’s no concern of mine, mind—”

“I know.” Senya remembered just in time and held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I’m ‘unrestricted’.” He winked. “Great admirer of the female breast.”

“Ah. Good.” Jerrod seemed to relax. “Yeah, the boss was real firm on that point. Maybe for the wrong reasons, but...”

Senya wondered what the ‘right reasons’ were. He probably didn’t want to know. “So,” he said, “just how far is this ranch of mine?”

“Ambrosia Ranch is just a week’s ride,” Jerrod said. “A day’s mage ferry, if you’re up for payin’ for it.”

“I’m definitely not.” Senya laughed. “When I got the news about the will, I was almost dead broke. Anya handles most of my expenses.”

“Right. Your sister, she’s that mage artist, ain’t she? Good to have someone to fall back on.”

“Including dead great-uncles.” Senya raised his cup. The bar was too cheap to provide proper glass, so the cup was just ceramic bleached of color by some nickle-dime mage. The opaque white color was returning around the edges, showing its age.

Jerrod accepted the toast. The stockman of the Ambrosia Ranch didn’t seem the type to really stick on respect for the dead, Senya thought.

They waited in silence for about a minute. A harried barmaid finally showed up with a tray bearing two plates of flapjacks. No syrup, but Senya supposed that wasn’t covered in ‘travel expenses’. He gratefully accepted the plate. “Thanks!” he said uncomfortably, knowing she was waiting for a tip.

He glanced at Jerrod, who shrugged and dropped a few coppers on the tray and flashed the waitress a wide leering grin. “Why don’t you shake those buns away an’ give us something to watch, eh?”

The waitress smiled thinly and walked away, ignoring Jerrod’s lingering stare. Senya coughed to disrupt it. “So what can you tell me about the ranch? What are the, um, livestock?”

“Sheep.” Jerrod shrugged. “Cattle. Bees. We also run a vineyard, a cranberry bog, and a, uh, puppy kennel of sorts.”

“Hm.” Senya considered this. “That’s sort of eclectic.”

“Iiiit...” Jerrod had the look in his eye of someone who’d just heard a word he didn’t know and didn’t want to admit it. “Yes, it is. But we turn a real profit, and it’s good work. I only just dropped by a week or so ago, though, to talk to the straw boss.“

“Straw boss?”

“Uh.” Jerrod coughed. “It’s a farm term. Sorta like a manager on a ranch. Doesn’t own the place, but directs most affairs when the owner’s out. You’ll be getting a lot of direction from the straw boss at first, but they’ll ease up when you’ve got the ropes.”

“You really can’t tell me much, can you? Can you promise you aren’t here for my organs?“

“I can—” Jerrod coughed. “Well, I’m not after any organs, I can tell you that much.”

Senya couldn’t shake the feeling that that had been an overly precise answer, but he was too occupied with the flapjacks to ask too many questions just yet.

He’d meant to ask more precisely when he was done chewing, but by then, Jerrod was speaking again. “We’ll need to leave after breakfast. If that doesn’t work for you, well, we’ll default to your Cousin Jem.”

“I have a sister, you know.” Senya rolled his eyes.

The stockman laughed. “Old boss’s rules, Boss. Sorry. Not my call.”

“Fair.”

“Anyways, we’ll leave by the old carriage. Now, when we get to the ranch, it’ll be...tricky to get used to.” Jerrod cut off a piece of flapjack and shoveled it into his mouth. “Just trust me when I say it’s all legitimate and legal,” he said through a full mouth of cake. “Questionable, but legal. Ain’t no funny business.”

“Okay, you’re making me nervous.” Senya tried for a relaxed laugh, but it came off a bit more stiff than he’d wanted. “You said the ranch just deals in cows and stuff. What about that is going to shock m...” He trailed off, as an ugly thought occurred to him. “Hang on. This farm.”

“Ranch,” Jerrod corrected, looking uncomfortable.

“What labor does it employ?” Senya asked, frowning. “Is it indentured labor?” Or worse? he thought. “This is the Wild East. I know people from back home who think they can treat the East like their own personal playground, pull whatever they like with the natives outside their cities. My sister and I are trying to avoid that...tendency.“

“Oh! No!” Jerrod was plainly relieved. What did he think I was going to ask? Senya wondered. “No natives are employed at all, actually. Old boss believed in keeping everything...tight. Within the family.“

“What does that say about you?”

Jerrod grinned and rolled up the sleeve of his arm. Senya flinched slightly as he made out a black tattoo he knew well. “Piracy. We caught...cargo. Nasty, violent stuff.”

“How’d you get caught?” Senya didn’t mean to ask it, but his curiosity outpaced his mouth once again.

“Well, you know how it is in piracy.” Jerrd gave the sort of casual shrug that showed he didn’t really care if Senya didn’t. “After a decade or so, the captain starts to get tired of fightin’. Starts pickin’ favorites, looking for people who want to make it straight and narrow. Then she makes a deal with the Black Boats, and...” He tapped the tattoo once, wincing even at that slight contact as the paints seemed to ripple. “One way or another, a life of crime always ends. Either with a serious try at a fresh start, a noose, or one of these.“

“Hm.” Senya had never seen an Everyflag before. They were used by the riders of the Black Boats to ‘encourage’ obedience to local laws. The tattoos were infamous for adhering to whatever the local laws were, no matter how injust—a well-known tale in taverns was the story of Anne the Barber, a vicious cutthroat branded with the mark who’d accidentally wandered into the Kingdom of the Chosen. Stories differed on whether or not she had submitted to the male-dominated cult’s regime or deliberately set herself ablaze. Regardless, the Everyflag was only reserved for the most brutal or unpopular criminals.

Such as a pirate who refused to accept an early retirement with sheathed steel.

“Anyways,” Jerrod said, “your uncle’s lawyer picked me up. The will called for an extra hand—someone who could be trusted, but, in the lawyer’s words, ‘managed as an expendable’. Funny chap.”

“Yes.” Senya blanched. The lawyer had been a decidedly unpleasant sort, a pallid, ghoulish man in a bowler hat with small, thick spectacles that had almost concealed his eyes completely. In other words, the exact sort of fellow Senya would have expected for his great-uncle Ysun’s attorney. “Well, I think I’m ready to go.”

“So you’re accepting?” Jerrod asked. “Lemme be clear here: Once you say yes, you’re in for the long haul. We don’t wanna waste time picking up that Jem, you hear me?” He held out his un-tattooed hand to shake.

Senya hesitated.

This is a bad idea. Anya told you it’s a bad idea. You know it’s a bad idea. There’s some catch here. Uncle was a sick, twisted bastard.

But maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it really is just a ranch with sexist hiring policies. And I really need the money.

He reached out and took Jerrod’s hand, returning a firm handshake. “It’s a deal.”

“Boy,” Jerrod muttered, “what are the fucking odds our carriage breaks down halfway to the village?”

He shot a cautious glance back towards Senya. The guy was just staring at the wagon wheel, as if trying to work out why a broken spoke would cause it not to work. “Aren’t you a woodcarver?” he snapped. Senya looked up at him sharply, and Jerrod quickly made his tone a bit more conversational. “I mean, don’t you know how to fix that?”

“I’m really more of a sculptor,” Senya said, tapping his index fingers together nervously. “What made the wheel break? Is it just...old, or—”

“I don’t think so.” Jerrod’s eyes narrowed. He shoved the skinny carver out of the way and stooped by the wheel. “There’s something off about this thing.”

“It’s from a different wood than the other three.” Senya coughed. “Does that mean anything?”

Jerrod blinked. He looked at the three working wheels, then back at the broken one, comparing them. “Huh. Guess you do know something.” He looked around. “I don’t like it here.”

“I’ve always liked the Eastern bamboo forests,” Senya said. “Ever since Anya and I moved out here. It’s so different from—”

“Nah, the trees are fine.” Jerrod cracked a little grin, but it was a smile tinged with danger. There were shadows out there, and it was way too close to nighttime. “And the ladies that inhabit ’em are even finer. Not good at the language, but they know how to talk dirty, eh?”

“Really.” Senya sounded uncomfortable. Again, Jerrod prayed that the new boss was into women. If he wasn’t...well, the will wasn’t vague on the requirements. Jerrod didn’t want to think about what would happen if the will fell through.

“Hey, Senya,” Jerrod said, straightening. “Get in the carriage and get the leather bag. Be smart and small about it. Keep your eyes peeled.”

“What?” Senya started to obey, though. At least the man had some sense.

“I think the Easterners are fucking with us,” Jerrod hissed, backing after his boss. “There’s some crows out here don’t much like your uncle.”

He heard Senya pause while entering the carriage. To his right, he heard the mules grumbling uneasily. Yup. We’re definitely not alone here. “That would have been nice to know,” Senya said, “before I agreed to all this. What did he do?“

“What? Nothing.” Jerrod rolled his eyes. “Way I understand it, natives just got a beef. It’s Easterners. They don’t need reasons for half the shit they pull.” He tried not to jump as he heard a twig snap from right in front of him. “Get the bag, take out the sword and shield, and get it to me. And pray these savages couldn’t afford repeaters.”

“What’s a repeater?”

“Ugh.” Jerrod had forgotten that repeaters were still a fairly local invention. He’d seen enough of them in action over the last couple weeks to know he did not like facing a repeating crossbow. “Just get me the—“

A shout from the brush almost made him miss the sword hilt placed over his shoulder. He grabbed the sword, accepted the shield, and adopted a combat ready stance. “Here they come,” he said, hearing rushing footsteps. Where the hell are they coming from? “Can you fight, Boss?“

“Um. I used to throw stones at birds.”

“Great.” Jerrod rolled his eyes. “I got a dangerous animal-hurting psychopath on my side. Those metaphor crows better watch out.“

“...they were really loud birds, th—”

Senya’s rationalization of childhood animal cruelty was cut short by loud shouting in a language Jerrod didn’t know. Probably an Eastern dialect native to the area. He turned, realizing that a band of about twenty natives was rushing forth from up the path. “Shit!” he snarled. “Boss—shit!“

The natives were shouting and waving torches. One of them, however, held up a long bamboo staff that glowed with a crimson light. She was old—very old. Jerrod recognized her mostly from her wrinkles. “Matriarch Zhau,” he said aloud, swallowing.

The noises in the brush had stopped. The matriarch eyed them coolly, then advanced, a tall, reedy-looking man dressed almost as nicely—but distinctly not as nicely—accompanying her. She started to speak in the language, shaking the stick irritably.

“Matriarch Zhau says,” the translator rasped, “that you have greatly disappointed us in returning. We warned that violence would come.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jerrod snapped. “Twenty on one. Sorry, Boss, two. Real fair fight.”

The translator rolled his eyes and quickly transferred the message. The Matriarch only smiled for a moment before speaking very quickly.

“We are not here to fight you,” the translator relayed. “Had we not come to head off our misguided neighbors, you would be dead right now. And if you ask me,” he added, and there was an air of you-should-ask-me to his voice as he ceased translating, “even that would be more than you deserve. You are lucky we respect the rule of law more than we—“

“Alright, I get it,” Jerrod muttered, casting an uneasy glance at the plainly curious Senya. “Will you get a move on? I’ll pay eight coins for someone to fix the wagon.” He looked over the crowd. “Any takers? We want to get some sleep before we check in.”

After a moment, a young women exited the crowd. Someone called her back, but she ignored them. She was dressed like the artisans of this land dressed, with lots of belts and bandoliers full of tools. She spoke in halting Western. “I can fix wheel,” she said. “For ten.”

Jerrod really hated these natives.

To my dear sister,

We have set out for Uncle Yvun’s mysterious ranch, and already, I begin to wonder. Jerrod, the stockman, really doesn’t seem to like the natives here. Makes me wonder if Uncle Yvun’s done something wrong. Jerrod assures me it’s our legally bought land, though, and none of the natives have been in a hurry to accuse us of claimjumping, exactly.

We booked a room—Jerrod insisted on taking only one room, which strikes me as a sign that he thinks we’ll get jumped—at the local inn. Yojeong is a funny sort of town, full of the weird characters you’d meet at the city despite being about as large as a baron’s estate. What kind of village this size has an inn? I guess a lot of traders do come through here. I even spotted a kitsune! I think, anyways. When you see a fox arguing with a butcher over the price of chicken, there are only so many assumptions you can make.

Anyways, this is a short letter. I’m headed down to the common room—I’ve heard some enthusiastic recommendations for the local beverage...

Senya sat in the common room of the inn, chewing on some rather tough chicken and waiting for his drink to arrive.

He wondered if the cook had burned the chicken deliberately. Nobody in this town seemed to much like him or Jerrod, so it was a distinct possibility. He’d spoken a little to the carpenter woman. Her name had been Lin. She’d been as terse as most of the villagers, but at least she spoke Western and was willing to tolerate them.

She hadn’t been willing or able to explain much about the Ranch, though. Only one word had stuck in Senya’s mind. Custodian. The way she’d said it, it could have been a curse. Senya wondered if it was the sort of word someone picked up from reading rather than usage—a synonym for another word that would make more sense. Cleaner, perhaps? Caretaker?

“You drink alone?” Senya looked up, and realized he was not the only person in the common room anymore.

A tall young woman with long black hair and vivid blue eyes sat across the table from him. Aside from the eyes, she had Eastern features, and a thick accent caught up her words when she spoke.

Senya recovered from his surprise quickly. “Nobody here is that interested in drinking with me,” he said. “Not to be rude, but do you not know who I am?”

“Yes, yes.” The woman smirked. She was dressed fairly shabbily—Senya guessed she was a farmer or hunter, judging by her simple attire and powerful build—but she was far from unattractive, and Senya couldn’t deny a bit of interest. “You are warden. Well met, I think.“

Senya met her gaze for a moment, then looked away. Those eyes were not natural, he told himself. Not even a Southwesterner got eyes of that electric shade of blue. And yet there they were, watching him with bright excitement. “My name is Senya,” he said.

“My name is Nun. She raised her hand. “Let me order a drink.”

“Oh, no.” Senya held up a hand hurriedly. “I already ordered—”

“Please, please.” She winked at him. “It my...privilege, I think.”

Senya lowered his hand as the bartender came over and Nun whispered something in his ear. He supposed there was no reason to object. He wasn’t taking advantage, or anything—this was an attractive woman in a bar chatting him up. There was no reason to object to letting her buy him a drink. It wasn’t as though he’d planned to have only the one drink. Senya could handle his alcohol.

And still, he felt muddled. He caught himself staring into her eyes again, and tried to look away, but something held him there. “C-come here often?” he asked.

She giggled. “No, no often. Only when...special company is here.”

The bartender leaned in, disrupting his view of Nun, to deposit the drink Senya had ordered earlier. Senya blinked, feeling strangely thickheaded. He looked down at the drink. It looked something like milk. He’d heard locals say great things about this drink, so he hoped it wasn’t just cream mixed with rum or something. “What is this?” he asked, picking up the tankard.

“Is local drink,” she said, giggling again. Her voice sounded strangely close. “You must drink. Enjoy yourself.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the warm light. Senya found himself getting lost in them again as he slowly raised the mug and took a cautious sip.

He almost blinked. That was really good. Creamy and sweet, almost like pudding, with a nutty liqueur aftertaste. He took another, deeper drink. “Wha—” He swallowed. It was quite thick, and he’d been about to talk with his mouth full. “What is this?“

“Milk,” Nun said, smiling widely. Senya found himself smiling, too, as he took another deep gulp. Her clothing suddenly seemed much nicer, he thought. Coarse, yes, but it hugged her body beautifully. And what a body to hug. Her breasts weren’t exactly visible, but from the way that outfit clung to her, she couldn’t be small. Senya had lain with a few Easterners before, and so while he had never been one to speak of ‘exoticism’ (a tasteless word he tried to avoid), there was something mysterious about Nun he couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was her pretty, sparkling eyes.

Drinking seemed to make her happier, so he took one more deep gulp and finished the ‘milk’. He felt wonderful. “Wha’s...” He licked his lips. A bit had splashed on his face, embarrassingly. Where had his manners gone? “Wha’s innit?”

“Milk,” she said again, leaning closer. “You have some on you.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Senya found himself leaning over the table. Something told him that was what she wanted. Her face was getting closer...her lips were parting...

A small clink signaled the arrival of another mug of milk. Senya leaned back, feeling disoriented. What was going on? Why did he feel so... “Milk?” he managed.

“Mm.” She slid over the mug the barkeep had just handed her. “Drink up.”

He blinked blearily at the mug. Hadn’t he just emptied his? But there was only one mug at the table. His whole head felt foggy and thick. Like thick, rich cream.

“You drink,” she repeated, smirking. He stared into her startling blue eyes. As her eyelashes fluttered, he lifted the mug up and took a sip. He started to drink deeper as he stared.

“You are very handsome,” she said slowly.

“Mm.” He kept drinking, feeling his heart flutter from the compliment.

“You think I am very beautiful?” She fluttered her eyelashes again.

“Mm-hm,” Senya found himself perfectly incapable of putting the mug down to answer properly. This tasted amazing. It was thick, and rich, and something about that nutty aftertaste made his whole body tingle pleasurably. His alcohol tolerance was nothing to this. Just the one mug was making his whole head swim and slosh like it had filled up with the stuff

Nun beamed at him. “Yes,” she whispered. “Drink up. Good boy. Drink up. Tastes so good, feels so good to drink. Do as I say. Feels so good to do as I say. Drink, drink, drink. Good boy. Drink up.”

Senya couldn’t imagine doing anything else. He gripped the mug with both hands, realizing he was starting to sweat, and gulped down the rest of the drink so fast, some of it spilled down his chin. Some part of him felt embarrassed by these poor manners, but it felt more distant than usual. He lowered the mug, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

“Tastes good?” she asked sweetly.

“Mm-hmmm,” he said, leaning forward.

She gave a funny smile, then, and Senya wondered about that, but then the last few gulps kicked in and he felt his smile going slack. Too late, he tried to fight through the haze, tried to breach some sort of surface thought, but the only thoughts that were going through his head were pertaining to how quickly he could get Nun out of her clothes.

Nun leaned closer. “Silly boy,” she cooed. “Your face is messy.”

“Oh.” Now Senya did feel a little bit embarrassed—and worried. Something was telling him he shouldn’t let Nun near him, but the closer she came, the fainter that something became. “S’ry.”

“Do not be sorry.” Nun’s voice was barely audible now, even in the dead silence of the common room. She took his chin with one hand, and he felt her roughly-trimmed nails graze over his skin. For a moment, that mundaneness distracted him, and he again felt the sense that something about this was wrong.

But her eyes were sparkling. His belly was full. And every little touch of her smooth skin on his sent those worries just fluttering away. “Just lean closer. You let me help clean.”

Senya swallowed. The sweet taste of the milk was turning strangely sour in his mouth. Part of him was getting worried. Part of him wanted more. “W-wait.”

“No.” She was still smiling, but there was danger in that smile now. Her lips brushed his.

“Sto—” Senya was cut off as Nun took him in a gentle kiss. As her lips touched him, he felt something alien and strange reach toward his mind. New thoughts contacted him, worming their way into his consciousness.

Touch her breasts, whispered the voice. Lean deeper. Submission is your birthright.

Enchantress, he thought desperately. She’s an enchantress. But the clear thought was swiftly muddied by thoughts that felt like his own but definitely weren’t. Were they? It feels so good. It would feel even nicer if I touched her breasts. They must be so round, so smooth...

Senya realized his hands were already brushing over her dress, creeping beneath to her breasts. She let out a soft moan into his mouth as his fingers brushed a nipple. As he touched them, he felt his own mind trembling as though it were a small tree in a hurricane. A tree that was coming out by the roots.

Her lips worked against his. It was a strange caress—loving, yet cautious. Some still-free part of his mind told him she was trying to avoid tasting the milk in his mouth. But then her dress was slipping off, and his hands were on her breasts, and all those worries just melted away.

She pulled out of the kiss and surveyed him. He smiled back at her, staring into those beautiful eyes, trying to remember why he was here. She was so pretty, though, and it felt so good to keep touching her breasts. Time seemed to be melting. His mind seemed to be melting.

“Isn’t that better?” she cooed. “You feel good now? You like to touch my breasts?”

“Mm-hm.” At another wordless command, he allowed his hands to leave her breasts and fall back to his sides. He started to undress himself, but everything in his movements was slow and clumsy, his fingers fumbling over the buttons.

She watched this with clear annoyance. “Maybe you drank too much milk,” she said, sighing. Then she smirked slightly. “Is that the problem? Were you thirsty, my good boy?”

He found himself giggling as his shirt came off. Everything felt so nice and soft in his mind right now. He looked up and saw her holding up a mug.

“You drink,” she said. “Drink, now. Finish. Submit. And then I will give you all the pleasure you want.”

Pleasure. Something about the way her lips parsed that word made his whole world tingle. He reached out and took the mug, feeling the weighty sweet cream within. It would taste so good, he knew. If he drank this, the sourness in his mouth would go away forever, and everything would be sweet.

Sweet. Everything. He hesitated. “Buh...but...”

“What?” She grinned, and fluttered her dark lashes. “You no want to fuck?”

“No...do...” He stared blearily at the milk. He’d drunk so much. And yet he wanted more. He lifted the mug up. “But...”

“Drink, boy,” she said, giggling. “Drink, and go alllll under me control. Then I will fuck your brains away.“

Fuck your brains away. The words echoed in his head. He felt them drill against his defenses, wearing them away. He looked at her, and the sight of her tore at what little remained of his will. Nun, fully naked before him, was exquisite. Her breasts were full and round, her lips were plush and, he knew, soft as pillows, and her eyes sparkled like stormclouds. He imagined kissing those big breasts. He imagined sticking his cock between those lush lips. He imagined letting those beautiful, sparkling eyes fuck his brains away.

Fuck your brains away. He lifted the mug to his lips.

The mug shattered.

Senya stared at the bits of broken ceramic as they fell to the floor. His mind stuttered to a halt. Suddenly, everything seemed to be moving at a tenth the speed.

Nun looked furious. Senya sluggishly looked up and saw that someone else had entered the common room. They spoke a single word, and his mind left him completely.

Senya awoke. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t back home in his bed, another moment to recognize that he wasn’t in the bed at the inn, a third moment to recognize he was in a bouncing carriage, and a long fourth moment to remember.

His head was pounding, though not altogether unpleasantly. It wasn’t painful—just strange, like a heartbeat. His mouth, however, tasted foul. Like old bile.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered. “What the...”

He heard voices from outside the carriage. One he recognized as Jerrod’s. The other, however, was unfamiliar. It sounded like a woman’s voice. A moment later, the door swung open, and an unfamiliar face appeared. “Morning, Boss,” the face chirped. Senya squinted, his mind still trying to catch up with wakefulness. “Sleep well?”

In the absence of understanding, politeness took the reins. “Um. Yes, I suppose.” Senya rubbed his head. The pounding had stopped. “Have we met?”

The face grinned, and its whole body lurched into view. Senya stared, finally comprehending just how little about this he understood.

She looked like a woman. Her skin was very slightly dusky—just beyond what could be achieved by a pale woman with a tan—and thoroughly freckled. Her eyes were a sharp orange. Her brown hair was just above shoulder-length, cut in a shag cut. Her form was youthful and lithe—almost inhumanly thin, with a small but pert rear that almost seemed to jut sharply to one side or the other whenever she assumed her crooked stance. She was dressed in practical working clothes, but wore a leather vest that was clearly meant as armor. A wickedly notched falchion hung naked at her utility belt.

Most distinctive about her, however, was her fur. Her feet and arms were covered in blankets of peach-brown curls—not hair, fur—and she had a set of bushy, immaculately-styled sideburns. Her ears were large and pointed, almost like a bat’s. She grinned at him, showing a very large number of small, extremely sharp teeth. “Not formally. I’m the ranch’s hob.” She extended a clawed hand to shake. “Also known as the straw boss. But you, Master, can call me...” She winked. “...Bobbin. Last night, I saved your life. It’s an honor to meet you.“

As eager as Senya had been to get a less dramatic explanation, he had to take a break to get some water. His mouth tasted utterly foul. Bobbin seemed apologetic. “I had to get it out of your system, Master,” she said with a shrug. “I always keep some castor oil on hand. Normally I’d’ve just let it run its course, but...well, not wise to leave someone under the influence unattended.”

“Under the influence of what?” Senya snapped, taking a swig of the good, clean water. He was trying to be polite, but so far, the ‘hob’ had steadfastly refused to answer any serious questions.

“That witch gave you something special.” Bobbin pursed her lips. “Something...unhealthy. Inedible, I’d even say. At least for humans. A local drink in the village.”

Senya blinked, decoding her words. “So, a drug.”

“Mm-hm!” She grinned at him. “Exactly, Boss. A drug. A foul one. She used it to dull your resistance. Shit, though, three mugs...she must’ve been playing it safe.”

“Perhaps she heard about my sister,” Senya muttered. “Got us confused. Anya has a powerful will. Me, I’m just an average bum.”

“Aw, no bum.” She winked. “Well, you’ve got one, but it’s far from average, Master, believe me. But it’s no bum that has claimed the Ambrosia Ranch.”

“I still barely know anything about the place.”

“We’re close,” Jerrod called from up front. “Hob, maybe you’d best give ’im the scoop. Don’t want ’im still confused about one thing when he...well, let’s just get this out of the way.”

“I know how to do my job, Jerrod,” Bobbin said, rolling her eyes. She turned back to Senya, crossing her legs with impossible flexibility. “Anyways, she and a few, er, more radical natives thought to snuff out the line last night. They were scared of you, and me, but I was still gone and you were alone.” Her eyes narrowed. “I told Jerrod to watch you.“

“It’s lucky they were scared as they were, I guess,” Senya said, laughing uneasily. “They put so much effort into drugging me and bewitching me. I don’t think I would have survived a minute if they’d just come at me with a sword.”

“Hm.” Bobbin raised one bushy eyebrow. “Well, you’re modest and realistic. That’ll serve you well on the Ranch, though I’ll miss your uncle’s bravado.”

“You knew my great-uncle?”

“Of course!” She pointed her thumb at her chest. “I’m a hob. We’re a sort of...house fey. Loyal to the family above all else. Your uncle was...well, he had his moments where I hated the bastard, but he was a clever bastard. I liked him.” Her smile thinned a little. “He knew how to run this place. Taught me more than ten of his ancestors combined.“

“I’m sorry.” Senya squirmed. “I didn’t know him well.”

“Heh. Well, doesn’t matter now.” Bobbin shrugged. “I know what you wanna ask, Boss, so you’d best hop to it.”

Senya nodded. “Yeah. Why the hell do these people want to kill me? What do they hate about our Ranch?“

“They’re traditionalists,” the hob said flatly. “Your decigreat-uncle bought this land fair and square, and your ancestors always followed the rules-as-writ. Your uncle might’ve...bent things, once or twice, but the basic system was the same.”

Senya grimaced. “Do you explain anything without being totally vague?”

“All you gotta know is that we haven’t done anything to the natives.” She scowled at him. “We aren’t thieves, we aren’t slavers, we aren’t...ugh. See, we...well, it’s complicated.” Now the fey was the one squirming a little bit, her knees rising to a gargoyle’s hunch. “See, we’re—“

“We’re here!” Jerrod called from outside.

“Oh!” Bobbin’s eyes lit up. “Finally. I hate going far from home. Gets me all bothered.” She got to her feet and skittered to the door. “Welcome, my new Master, to Ambrosia Ranch!”

My dear sister, Anya,

I just realized it’s rather irregular of me to use your name when addressing these letters. I think I am beginning to miss you. Are you beginning to miss me stopping by every other day to ask for a loan?

Things are only getting stranger here on Ambrosia Ranch, now that I’ve arrived, but at least I know at long last what’s going on here. Sort of.

I think.

And I’m not sure I like what I do know.

It’s been a long day.

Anya, back home you’ll recall the practice we have of indentured labor. Someone who commits a crime has to work it off on behalf of the person they wronged, right? And other countries have harsher stances—I know the Southwesterners put their criminals to work for local businesses. It’s basically slavery, but they deserve it, right? I mean, they committed a crime. Maybe it’s not right, but it’s a gray area, right? Do you understand what I mean?

All this is probably making you more sure than ever that coming here was a mistake. Here I am, looking for excuses for something that’s probably horrible. I just don’t know how to place it, morally. I think I might be in over my head, is the thing. And maybe I just don’t understand. I mean, here’s the thing...

How does all that stuff I was talking about apply to fey, do you think?

Ambrosia Ranch was a beautiful estate, and much larger than Senya had predicted. It was carved out of the bamboo forests with the meticulous right-angled precision of a yardstick. A ten-foot tall fence of what looked like iron or steel encircled the ranch, though curiously, there were no gates—just an open entrance. Curious. As the hob and Jerrod started to unpack supplies, Senya hopped out of the cart and approached the boundary.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to bring the cart closer?” he asked, as he examined the bars. They were not steel, as he’d guessed, and they were covered in ornate inscriptions. What were they wrought of? “Past the fence, up to the farmhouse?”

“The horses don’t cross the barrier,” Bobbin called. “Besides, we try not to bring animals into the—” She cut herself off.

Senya didn’t initially parse her words, as he was busy reeling from the realization that this was silver he was looking at. How much could a several miles-long fence of silver cost, he wondered? Then the hob’s words clicked with him, and his eyes widened. “Wait. Are you saying—Jerrod told me you keep animals!” He whirled on the two. The hob was nervously stroking her furry hands together, like a fly rubbing its legs, but these words caused her to turn and glare up at Jerrod. “Sheep, he said! Cows!“

“Mm. Did he say that.” Bobbin raised one eyebrow. “Interesting.”

“Heh...” Jerrod rubbed his back with a guilty shrug. “Mighta, uh, exaggerated.”

“Lied, more like.” Bobbin set the bag down and crossed her arms. “I told you not to lie. Never lie to the Master. I’ve half a mind to thrash you myself, and he’d be within his rights to!“

“I didn’t have a—” Jerrod yelped as Bobbin suddenly lunged up, grabbing him by the ear and lifting him slightly. Senya was shocked by her strength—she looked like such a scrawny thing. “I didn’t have a choice!” he protested. “He misunderstood, Bobbin! He thought we were slavers!”

“Bobbin, please!” Senya hurried forward, alarmed. “You mustn’t—could I please just have an explanation?”

Bobbin hesitated a moment, then, with a sigh, released the stockman. “Ugh.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “It’s not something I can explain easily, Master. Suffice to say that your stockman stretched the truth almost to its snapping point.” Her sharp teeth visibly grated. “I can promise you an explanation, but we really must get the supplies inside. Jerrod, see to the horses. I’ll take your bags.“

Jerrod rubbed his ear. “Fine,” he said mulishly. He handed his cargo to Bobbin, who held it with ease, and unhooked the horse from the cart. He gave Bobbin a funny look that Senya didn’t quite understand. Both Bobbin and Senya saw it.

“What was that?” Senya asked her, as Jerrod walked off. He badly wanted to know what was going on, but it seemed like getting the stuff into the house was a bigger priority—only then could they discuss matters clearly. His curiosity for the day-to-day got the better of him, though.

Bobbin gave a short laugh. “Jerrod forgets his place. I suppose I do, too, sometimes.”

“Don’t you outrank him?” Senya asked. Ignoring Bobbin’s frown, he went over and picked up the last two items.

“I’m the hob,” she said, “first and foremost. Your uncle was always quite clear on that, though he did give me more...motility.” She grinned. “I wasn’t the straw boss in any regard until he came along.”

They entered the ranch. As they passed the threshold, Senya felt a strange ringing sense in his gut, like he’d swallowed a tuning fork. The feeling quickly passed. Hoping that this, too, was not too complex to get a swift answer about, he gestured tot he gate questioningly.

“Wards,” Bobbin said flatly. “Won’t trouble you or Jerrod. Me...” Senya noticed that she had paled slightly. “...they know I belong, but spelled silver of any kind has a special hate for fey.”

“Who placed the wards?”

“The man who founded the ranch.” Bobbin frowned, cocking her head to the side. “Or was it a woman? Aah. The house was built after their time, you see, and at the core I’m a house fey.” She winked. “I came in a generation later.”

Senya looked around. The ranch itself was full of life, though much of it was hard to make out. The path to the house was flanked by twin rows of some sort of nut tree, bushy enough to block most of his view. Senya could see vast acres of green with flecks of purple beyond—grapevines, perhaps—as well as a great old red barn, a small house in the distance, a large cluster of fruit trees, and what looked like a marsh or pond area,

For a ranch so fastidiously cut from the bamboo forest, he realized, the Ambrosia Ranch was extremely overgrown. Maybe that was deliberate. Maybe it was a deliberate effort to segregate the...whatever it was they kept.

A question for when we get inside, he thought, swallowing. The bags felt heavy in his grasp. No point bothering her here.

“What about the cart?” he asked after a moment, glancing back. He did a double-take.

The cart was gone.

“Seen to,” the straw boss said. She leaned in and, to Senya’s slight surprise, kissed him on the cheek. “Just be patient, Master. All will be made clear. Know only that I am loyal to the family first and foremost. Even with that with which you do not trust Jerrod, you may trust me. Do not fear.”

Senya felt a lump form in his throat. Despite the soothing intent she clearly had, Bobbin’s words felt ominously specific.

Oh, please don’t let me die today, he prayed, though not to any gods, as the gods were, of course, dead. I didn’t even get to get off last night.

The farmhouse was smaller than Senya might have expected from such a grand estate—just a simple two-story house. Lavish by his standards, but hardly a mansion. Senya wondered if the original builder had known just how great and vast and strange a ranch they were going to be managing. Probably. They’d probably known more than Senya did, too. It was painted in faded pastels—greens and blues and pinks. He felt the walls as they approached. It was a well-built house, at least. Yew wood, it seemed, which surprised him: The expense of transporting this much yew had to be prohibitive. And yet.

“How does a house fey become bonded to a house?” Senya asked.

“Oh, well...” Bobbin giggled slightly, edging past him to the door. She seemed in better spirits the closer they got to his new home; Senya found it hard to reconcile this almost bubbly bugbear with the matter-of-fact straw boss he’d been speaking to just minutes before. “When a house and a hob love each other very, very much...”

The door swung open. Senya jumped slightly, feeling Bobbin pat his butt slightly. “In, then, young Master. You must make yourself at home.”

It was dark inside, but Bobbin scampered in, padding on those bare, hairy soles of hers, tapping candles here and there and causing the wicks to surge into life. It was a casual display of magical skill, and Senya was caught up in admiring it for a moment. He missed the street magicians back home. More than that, though, he missed his sister, the mage, who might have the wits and will about her to make sense of all this. There were many good reasons Anya was a wealthy magewright and he was an ex-bum who was possibly about to get his organs harvested for money, but the main one was that she was just better at taking complicated and difficult situations and breaking them down to what she knew what to do with. Senya had always struggled more with seeing the forest for the trees.

The entrance room appeared to double as the dining room. The table was crafted of beautiful polished oak, as were the three chairs around—a matching set. Several small desks and bookshelves bore the candles Bobbin had lit, though there was a hook in the ceiling which once, perhaps, had held a chandelier. He glanced at it, and Bobbin evidently followed his gaze, because she bit her lip. With teeth that sharp, Senya reflected, it was a wonder she didn’t cut herself. “I had to generate some quick capital after Mast—the last Master’s death,” she said, her voice quiet. “To track down eligible relatives, to hire on the stockman. Your great-great-uncle had a lovely elf-made chandelier...I had to make a decision. It was either that or sell the livestock.”

Senya frowned at her, feeling sorry despite himself. “I don’t care about any chandelier,” he said. “It sounds like you made the right decision.”

“Well, perhaps.” She shrugged. “I am pretty good at making them.”

“So, hang on.” Senya thought about sitting in one of the chairs, but thought better of it. He felt safer standing. “You say there are livestock?“

“Hm.” The hob raised her eyebrows. “You have a good set of ears, Master. Well, I suppose it’s time.” She made a show of stretching, probably as a delaying tactic. It also accentuated her lithe young frame nicely. Bobbin wasn’t exactly voluptuous, but she was fit and attractive, and her fur didn’t do much to dispel Senya’s attraction—especially not when she was stretching for him like that. If anything, it accentuated her femininity. She completed the sketch and smiled, moving to sit in one of the chairs. “It’s a difficult explanation, but—”

“Bobbin!” Senya and Bobbin both turned as the stockman Jerrod arrived at the doorstep, grinning. He raised one hand in a salute that struck Senya as somewhat ironic. “In a better mood, now, boss?”

Bobbin suddenly looked flushed. “Welcome back, stockma—whoops!” She was cut off as Jerrod rushed forward, scooping her up by the rear and cradling her in his arms.

“Sorry, boss,” Jerrod said to Senya, his smile turning smug. “Just gonna borrow her for a minute. I been waiting to do this all week.”

Torn by indecision, Senya was surprised to notice that Bobbin didn’t look especially upset, angry or even worried—just slightly resigned, and maybe more than a little excited. She rubbed her legs together and sighed. “Sorry, Master. I’ll be right back after—” She was cut off as Jerrod scampered into a side room with her. Senya heard a door slam, followed by muffled giggles that very quickly turned to moans.

Senya found himself alone once again.

“Well, this is great,” he muttered.

So much had happened in so few hours. He’d almost been killed, he’d met the straw boss—who was a fey, apparently, and clearly subject to some highly inconsistent rules of status—and to top it all off, he still had no idea if he was safe. Especially if he decided he didn’t like what this ranch was doing.

But after a few seconds of brooding, he had to accede to his generally practical mindset. Well, there’s no point in lingering on it. He walked over to the table and sat, drawing out his trusty inkpen. This was one of the few family heirlooms he hadn’t been forced to sell off to buy food or new carving supplies.

He could try carving to calm himself. Whittling always did have that effect. The trouble was, he didn’t have any wood on hand, and he had no interest in going outside and hunting down a piece. Who knew what was out here?

So instead, he pulled out a piece of paper and began to write. Writing to his sister wasn’t exactly calming, since he could always imagine her sharp voice critiquing everything he’d done, but at least it gave him a chance to reflect. Plus, it was comforting to remind himself that a skilled magewright was just a letter away if anything went really south.

To my dear sister,

We have arrived at

He crossed that out. No, it wouldn’t do to tell Anya they’d arrived at the ranch, because then she’d wonder how he possibly hadn’t learned what the ranch held yet, and then he’d have to explain the amorous affair currently taking place in the other room. He had to give the original builders credit—the walls were solid, and he could barely make out the gasping and moaning from where he was. But he could hear it. Anya was a massive prude, and Senya knew she’d have a lot to say about this, but he didn’t want to start her worrying about that just yet.

He would just update the letter he’d started last night, he decided. Just the encounter with Nun alone would surely be enough to divert Anya’s attention for one letter. Summarize it and address it, so it could be sent off promptly. He would write another before bedtime, once he knew more.

Assuming he still had all his organs by then.

Senya wrote almost feverishly, desperate for the distraction. It was hard to do justice to just how Nun had made him feel, and he wasn’t sure how specific he could afford to be.

So rapt was he in his accounts of Nun’s mind control—he’d tried to keep it fairly sex-neutral for his sister’s sake, but with enchantresses, it was hard to leave out the sexual factor, especially if he wanted a proper magical analysis—that he didn’t notice the kitchen door slip open, and a sleek, soft-soled figure step into the dining room. He might not have noticed her regardless, though, as she moved in almost complete silence.

He did look up, however, when a slight jingling reached his ears. When he did, he had to hold in a cry of surprise.

A completely nude woman stood before him. She had pale skin, long, wavy black hair, and vaguely Eastern features—though, in truth, her looks rather defied race or ethnicity, because what she really looked like was a cat. A pair of pointy gray ears rose up from within her hair atop her head, and her pupils were slitted. A belled leather collar was around her neck, clutched between dainty fingers.

She went bright pink when they made eye contact. “Oh!” She dropped her hands away from her collar, and the bell jangled softly. “Master! You have returned!”

“Um...” Senya stared at her. Despite the strange features that marked her as a catgirl—one of the more approachable Low Fey—she was still to most regards a beautiful, naked human woman. Her melon-sized breasts were covered in a soft layer of gray fuzz that only accentuated her pert nipples, and her sex was visibly wet. The long gray cat tail rising from her buttocks did nothing to distract from a perfect bubble butt.

Senya’s cock was already slightly hard, he realized with a pang. Too much writing about the enchantress for his own good. The catgirl’s eyes instantly lowered to gaze upon the bulge.

“Ooh,” she whispered. “Master, you need me!”

“Um, what?”

“Master needs me!” she squealed softly. The bell was jingling louder, now, but then her hand clamped down on it and she rushed toward Senya. With one move showing surprising strength, the slight young woman spun his chair around to face her and dropped to her knees. Her other hand started to work his belt buckle before he even knew what was happening.

“Wait!” he hissed. “The—who are—”

“Valina,” she said, positively cooing the name as his hard member sprung free. She stared at it with adoration, then back at him with an identical expression. “M-may I, master?”

Senya stared into those beautiful green eyes. This was all happening too quickly. “But...”

“Ooh, Master,” she whispered, reaching out and stroking the head of his cock between her fingers, “he needs me. Please let kittyslut have a taste?“

Senya swallowed. He didn’t say anything, but this appeared to be answer enough for Valina, whose eyes suddenly lit up in joy. “Thank you, Master!” she sang, her voice still very quiet. Senya barely had time to wonder about that, though, before she descended onto his member.

He’d expected the catgirl to start sucking, but her lips didn’t even touch his cock at first. Instead, her tongue started to lap out, licking daintily at his head. He shuddered from the touch. She looked up at him and smiled coyly. “Master likes?” she cooed.

“Y-ye—” He was cut off by a rush of unbearable sensation as that just slightly rough tongue started to lavish attentions all over his cock, licking him with an expertise that spoke of years—centuries, even—of practice. She lapped at his cock like an exquisite sweetmeat, bringing him to the edge of orgasm in a mere half-minute of determined licking.

Then, she pulled back and beamed. “Master likes?” she cooed again.

“Y-yes,” he gasped. “Oh—oh, fuck—”

She giggled and descended, lower this time. He shuddered as she started to lick around the base of his cock, then his balls, stimulating them just slightly. She held his legs still, digging her nails into his skin with almost enough force to hurt as she licked and lapped and—to his unspeakable delight—sucked. And she seemed to love it. Senya shuddered and moaned, trying to keep his voice down. Nobody had ever taken him like this. And nobody had ever shown such...eagerness.

After almost a minute of this, she rose back up to his cock, pursed her lips, and planted a single kiss on his head. Her lips were supple, soft and wet, and she lingered just long enough that he wondered if she planned to take him into her warm mouth.

Instead, she pulled back. “Master likes?” she cooed.

“Ye—” he managed, before she took him in. His eyes screwed up in bliss as she started to suck, then pulled off and licked, then sucked again. Precum was starting to loose out, and she seemed to take particular delight in lapping this up and swallowing it, making satisfied lip-smacking sounds as if she had never tasted anything so good.

And yet she never brought him all the way. After about a minute of solid licking and sucking, he was beginning to suspect that was deliberate. Part of him wanted to hurry it up—to grab her, to order her, as her Master—

But then she would flutter her eyelashes at him, and he would forget his need, mind lost to sheer lust. He bucked up slightly, but she only held his legs down, pushing him back against the chair.

After what felt like hours of this exquisite torture, she pulled off. He was sweating. Senya had nearly come three times now, and every time, she had slowed her attentions just in time to stop him. She giggled at his state. “Master likes?”

“You—you—” He reached out toward her, unsure of just what he wanted to do, but knowing what he wanted her to do.

She seemed to expect this, and reacted with delight. She took his hands and guided them to her neck. He felt her fingers delicately place his on the straps of...

The collar.

“If Master likes,” she said sweetly, but her voice was tinged with something wicked now, “Master gets what Master wants.”

She descended toward his cock, breathing warm breath over it. At that moment, Senya intuitively understood that if she touched his cock with those wonderful, soft lips again, if that flitting little mischievous tongue of hers touched his glans, he would cum. And her twitching tail spoke of a great eagerness to do just that.

And if he came, his hands would clench. And maybe—just maybe—the collar would come off in the excitement.

He tried to remind himself to care about that, but now her lips were touching his cock, so delicately, so slowly. He tried to take his hands off the collar, but her eyes were on him, smoldering with desire, with lust, with seduction. She had him. He needed her. He stared down at her, his mind melting into putty in her claws. He stared deep into her pretty eyes, totally helpless, knowing her tongue was mere moments away—

Then something moved behind her. Her eyes bugged out, suddenly caught off-guard, and his cock slipped from her opening lips. “Ooh!” she squeaked.

Senya’s world, which had been reduced to just Valina, Senya, and the cock, expanded again, and he saw Jerrod kneeling behind the kneeling catgirl. The brawny stockman’s arms had wrapped around her chest, pulling her breasts towards him. He grinned over her shoulder. “Watch this one,” he grunted, and pushed forward.

Senya watched Jerrod impale the catgirl from behind, and suddenly, the catgirl’s seductive facade dissolved in squeals of pleasure. She buckled over, but Jerrod held her beneath him, still kneeling, as he pulled back and drove into her again. She shook and moaned, but Jerrod did not let up.

Senya looked at his hands. The collar had slipped from them in his surprise. He watched the catgirl as Jerrod drilled back and forth, pounding into her without mercy. She squealed and screamed and moaned as multiple orgasms flashed across her face, her ears flattening to the sides of her head. The bell was ringing loudly now with every thrust.

“Apologies for the display,” he heard Bobbin say. The hob stood leaning against the doorway, a strange smile on her face. “The cat’s misbehavior is best corrected through... breeding. She can be quite tricksome.”

Flushing bright red at last, Senya recovered some of his modesty and moved to put his cock back beneath his trousers, but Bobbin only shook her head. She kicked off the wall and walked over, taking him by the hand. “Come on,” she said, tilting her head. “They’ll be at it for a while.”

Senya followed uncertainly after, leaving his cock hanging out. He spared one glance over his shoulder at Valina. She was beaming eat-to-ear now, showing very sharp canines. The look on her face was beatific—as though she’d ascended to the heavens. Jerrod let out a loud moan as he came, but he showed no signs of letting up.

The catgirl’s eyes opened to a slight squint, and she turned and smiled at Senya. She winked at him and pursed her lips. Then Jerrod pounded into her again, and the expression was lost again to her screams.

Senya followed Bobbin outside. Surely, now, it was time for an explanation.

“You’ve heard we keep livestock,” Bobbin said evenly. Now that Senya looked at her closer, he could tell she was still a little bit winded. Her cheeks were flushed, and she kept licking her lips in a way that suggested she was worried they weren’t totally clean.

“Yes,” he said, feeling out the conversation like an adventurer feeling for pressure plates. “Did Jerrod...was that...” He trailed off.

Bobbin glanced back at him. “You’re trying to find a delicate way to ask if I’m being raped, aren’t you?”

Senya almost backpedaled at the bluntness, but he managed to give a shrugging nod.

“The answer is no.”

“Oh.” This answer was simpler than Senya had expected. He guessed it was more complicated than that. “Really?”

Bobbin turned to Senya and smiled. “It is the greatest pleasure of a house fey like myself to serve the masters of the house. Your uncle’s orders were that I obey any man in his employ as long as it not endanger the fate of the ranch.” She thumbed back inside. “If I’d known that Valina was there, rest assured, I wouldn’t have left you alone. She’s a dangerous one.”

“So you’re compelled by my uncle?” Senya shifted slightly. “Because, um, that’s still...”

“It’s more complicated than that.” Bobbin smirked. “Fey always are. It is a house fey’s pleasure to serve their masters and mistresses. We choose to serve because there is no greater purpose in life for us. Now, I could always change houses, if I felt abused.” She shrugged. “But Jerrod is a handsome specimen, and, well, I was sort of horny. No, I consented to everything. Do not worry about that.“

Senya wasn’t sure he liked the emphasis on ‘that’. As though there were things to worry about—just not the treatment of the hob.

They walked down the path a little while, back towards the gates. But they were walking slower now. It was a relaxed stroll. Bobbin seemed interested in taking her time with this explanation.

“So who is Valina?” he asked.

“The cat takes care of pests,” Bobbin said, chewing on her inner cheek. “Hostile fey, bandits, natives...she’s good at remaining unseen, and she’s a deadly warrior. She’s also the most stubborn of our prisoners, barring perhaps one.” She turned to Senya, eyes narrowing to slits. Her tone was suddenly very serious. “You want to know the business of this ranch. The Ambrosia Ranch exists to manage evil fey. Fey that have alienated even their own kind. Criminals. It is forbidden for fey to kill one another—we even have a word for it, though I must confess it eludes me now. A human could do it, but your distant ancestor had other ideas. They needed a jail. And for a bit of scale here, the Ranch was founded with the capture of a nymph who had begun to...torment children.”

Senya swallowed.

“But the Ranch is also a business,” Bobbin went on. “The fey we capture are used, each in their own abilities, to help keep the Ranch running.” She grinned. “You’d be surprised what a talent some of these bitches have for capitalism, when they’re directed right.”

“So, what?” Senya said, trying to keep the anger and fear from his voice. What the fuck had he gotten himself into? “They’re sex slaves?“

“Mm.” Bobbin arched one bushy eyebrow. “So binary. Always gotta be all one way or the other. No. Yes. We don’t keep them for sex—they each have a purpose that produces something. That milk you drank, for instance. It came from this ranch.”

“But you do...sleep with them.“

Bobbin laughed. “Most of the time, they want it. They’re fey, Sen—“

“Most.“

Bobbin cut off abruptly with his interruption. A long silence hung between them.

The silence went on to a point that Senya began to wonder if he was about to die.

“Okay,” Bobbin said quietly. “First, you already agreed to help us with this.”

“I—”

“If you don’t agree,” she went on, raising her voice slightly, “the magics holding this ranch together—magics tied to that Will—will break down, and half the fey on this ranch will break free. They’re already barely holding together, with the limbo we’re in right now. So you’d better start thinking about priorities here, Master, because people can get hurt here.“

“But—”

“Second,” the hob snapped, rolling her eyes, “you are the Master. If you make a command, it will be followed. Senya.” Senya was jarred by her second use of his name that day. She fixed him with a sincere look. “You knew your uncle well?”

“Better than I’d have liked,” he said.

“He did a lot to improve how this Ranch ran,” she said slowly, “but you knew him enough, I’m guessing, to know how he wanted to run things. These were his whores. That’s how I’ve gotten used to treating them. But if you want to say that Jerrod can’t fuck anyone who doesn’t wanna fuck, I will cut his throat the next time he tries.“

The silence that hung now wasn’t heavy. It was sharp. Senya studied Bobbin, and knew that she was not lying.

“You don’t have to...if you ever don’t feel like having sex with him, I command you not to.” Senya parsed his words with care. “I mean, you can choose. Any orders my uncle gave about that no longer apply.”

Bobbin slowly smiled, again showing those sharp teeth. “Very well, Master. Your will is my command.” She stuck her arm out, hooking it within the crook of his elbow before he could react. “C’mon. I’ve gotta show you around the Ranch. We’ll talk more later.”