Chapter 114: Jumping the Shark

If I wasn’t already tempted, now I really wish we could convince Snowball to join the staff from the bottom of my heart. Frankly speaking, as of right now, most of the girls in my so-called ‘Harem Guild’ lean more towards submissive roles rather than the side of dominance.

While submissiveness is all well and good, I am a massive and unrepentant pervert.

Before my life recently flipped on its head, one of my only comforts in this world was reading, collecting, and making use of erotic fiction. Even now, I still find myself thumbing through some of my tomes whenever I have a scant few seconds away from my lover’s attentions or from the paperwork upon my desk.

Sure, Sam is a switch. But she’s a bratty domme, which is an altogether different beast. She’s too submissive to just absolutely fuck my shit the fuck up, no matter how many lessons she takes from Opalina.

Speaking of, Opalina very much falls into the ever sought-after ‘mommy domme’ archetype, but our schedules rarely align...

All I’m saying is that after many stressful days of afternoon beers with Goddesses, fighting the criminal underworld, and managing a complicated team of adventurers, it would be nice to be able to turn off my brain and just be put in my place for a few hours.

Some more variety would be greatly appreciated, especially if it came in the form of a pretty kitty with beautiful white fur... but alas, it cannot be.

Cherry seems to have accepted me, for the most part, or rather I should say she’s coming around to the idea of actually making an effort to try and accept me. It doesn’t seem like we’ll be having any problems regarding Peri, at least... unless her housekeeping skills are even worse than her own estimation and she’s unable to perform adequately. I digress. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Snow leads us back to the main tent, where we’ll officially make the adoption fee security deposit. Cherry and Peri are given some time to go and pack their things before meeting us at the entrance once all the paperwork is finalized.

Currently, I’m in the Besthal Pet Shop’s office filling out forms while my Guild girls are off looking through the tents once more and telling the Beastfolk they became friendly with that we’ll be leaving with the blue and pink kitties.

“Myaster, do forgive this lowly maid’s attempt at flattery... but... nyaa. The way you fill out our documents, your penmanship... it’s... so skilled... I’ve never seen anyone go through our documents like it was such a breeze.” Snow giggles while watching me tear through the stack of liability forms.

“Nonsense, my dear. This is what I was born to do. Not that that’s anything to be boastful about, really...” I respond after signing my name on yet another document and starting up the following stack.

The white Catgirl smiles calmly before leaning over the office’s desk and staring into my eyes. For just a moment, I cease my scribbling, and Snow takes my hand into her paws as she says, “I really do want to thank you for giving the two of them a chance. Really.”

“Perhaps you should thank my financials instead.” I brush it off with a cheap laugh and look away from her gentle warmth.

“You can’t fool me, Myaster. Even if you had all the gold in the Realm, you still would have chosen those two... Am I right?”

“Mm. Am I that transparent?” I try to hide a momentary smirk while adjusting my glasses, but she clearly catches it.

“Of course, nyaa. I only hope you’re able to remember me even after you return home with Cherry and Peri at your side, Myaster. Might I trouble you for one more sniff...?”

“I don’t think I feel comfortable giving you the pleasure when it’s just the two of us in the back of the tent, alone... why, in such a circumstance these, a man might start thinking you’re trying to seduce him, Miss Snowball.”

Snow starts laughing until she sighs. “You’re a lot of fun, you know that? I don’t think I’ve met a man half as witty, clever, or as charming as you are, Myaster. Nor one so full of themself.” 

Ouch. Can’t say Snow’s wrong, though.

“Well, what can I say? You know where to find me if you ever want a good sniff- and it needn’t stop at just that.” Placing the final stack of papers down, I make an effort to flirtatiously tap the pen down against where I recently wrote the address of the Guild.

Snow purrs at the thought, and the two of us rise from our seats. “Myaster may await his new trial maids at the entrance, and I will escort the two of them to him shortly. In the meantime, I recommend you go and gather up your gi-”

“BORK BORK BORK BORK-”

Off in the distance, I can hear Scrap, the Dogman bouncer, barking far more viciously than he ever barked at me. Then, Flufferson begins barking just as loud.

Both soon stop, and the worrisome sound is soon replaced by two Dogmen wincing in pain. The poor sound stings my ears even from all the way over on the other end of the tent.

“Stay here, Myaster,” Snow jerks up and brandishes her riding crop in one hand, and from her dress, she pulls out a cat o’ nine tails whip in the other. From the look on her face, I can tell she’s ready to dual-wield these instruments of sadism with fierce tenacity should the need arise.

“Nonsense, the girls can help, and I need to be there for them.” At least until I figure out how to better utilize the powers of my eyes, that is.

Snow reluctantly nods her head, and I follow her out of the office into the main tent, where a great many potential customers and Beastfolk alike are running from the entrance in fear.

Flufferson and Scrap both lie on the dirtied ground covered in wounds.

“BOSS!” I look to where Sam, Meri, and Zutiria’s weapons were being held to see they had the same idea as I had. They did, and the girls are properly suited up to protect this place. Sam has her sword, Meri, her shield, and Zutiria, her staff. All three adventurers are ready to fight at a moment’s notice.

The three of them race towards the entrance, but before they can make it, I see the curtains of the tent flaps flickering with potential danger.

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“WAIT!” I command them, and the girls all stop just before a massive red carpet is thrown through the entrance. Several Beastfolk security guards in the process of running towards the threat are knocked away before they could even see it coming, and some fall under the weight of the magnificent yet deadly carpet as it unfolds over their bodies.

Then, I feel the air stir with mana pressure, and I know that magic is afoot. The tent goes pitch black, save for Zutiria, who lights up her staff at the last second, giving us a scant view of each other and not much else.

Soon, a magical spotlight illuminates the entrance, and a lingering drumroll is heard, only for the single, trashiest Elf in all the realms to enter and begin making her way down the illustrious carpet.

She wears a shiny micro bikini with blonde hair and a curvaceous figure that glitters with gold and as much gaudy jewelry as her body can possibly take. In her hand, she carries a large golden trumpet embellished with jewels that she soon begins to blow with all her heart.

The Elf plays a triumphant melody, making sure to shake her ass from side to side every bit of the way. After an awkwardly long solo, the ghetto Elf stops playing long enough to make her announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Breeding Tribe, today you have the honor of serving the needs of the most sexual man in Dewhurst!”

Oh, Gods-damn it all. I don’t even want to know where this is going.

I mentally groan, wishing for once we could have just experienced an utterly normal breaking and entry without it being some new display of ridiculousness, inevitably leading towards introducing yet another one of Dewhurst’s ‘finest’.

“This man is the ruler of the pleasure districts, a knight unlike any other who pierces the hearts of his foes and the holes of his women,”

Stop this tomfoolery, please.

“The man who wilted like a rose only to bloom again even more magnificently,”

Cease. Luxy, I’m begging you. I know you’re listening. Just teleport this stupidity elsewhere, please...

“His blade is sharper than any other, his charisma enough to woo a Goddess,”

This was supposed to be a nice little day out with my girls. Can I not just have a moment without absurd incident?

“Yes, it is he! Behold, all who look upon him will have no choice but to swoon in his presence!”

Sweet Goddesses above and below, it’s not even over yet...

“Announcing the presence of Sir Pimpington Farquehoes the 69th, Lord of Yoremum!”

At long last, the introduction is finished, and it has taken its toll on me. I feel as if I aged ten years in a minute.

The trumpet disappears from her hands through magic. In its place, loud, blaring music erupts from all directions under the big top. Given how there’s no source, I’m just going to assume that the magical Elf is behind this as well. Thanks to their much more sensitive ears, many Beastfolk begin to howl and hiss in response to the sudden auditory assault. Snow holds it in like a determined fighter, ready to leap in as soon as she needs to put a stop to this nonsense.

A dozen other magical spotlights burst into being from out of the void, lighting up an entire squad of about fifteen slutty dancers dressed in similar sluttish attire to the trashy Elf who led the pack. From just a glance, I can glean that they’re a very well-balanced crew of Humans, Dwarves, Elves, and even a few Orcs.

Standing on each side of the big red carpet, the army of dancers gets to work strutting and grinding to the rhythm of the incessant beat blaring. I’ll give them credit where credit is due. The dancers sure know how to use their Gods-given assets to their full advantage. Ghetto skanks are about as far away from my type as one could get, though, so I’m hardly aroused despite their skills at ass-shakery.

I wish I were making this up, I genuinely do, but a gigantic golden penis on golden wheels bursts through the entrance. It’s being pulled by the two sluttiest-looking sluts yet, a black-skinned human woman with an afro and a buxom elf with ratty dreadlocks.

Their uniforms are somehow skimpier than the rest of the pack, and they match each other to a perfect degree. Despite the smaller size, their bikinis are just as glimmering and golden as the ones worn by their rank and file dancer counterparts.

The two of these peculiar women are being held by the reigns of the chariot like they were horses. On their necks, they each have golden slave collars complete with golden chains. I’m sensing a pattern here, and more than anything else, I think it can be said that the man knows what he likes. As for the man, the myth, the ruiner of my day himself, Sir Pimpington stands erect atop the massive dong.

The fair-skinned man is wearing a red top hat with a green band and a large golden crown sitting on its base. The aforementioned pimp coat is furry, colored red with a rose pattern, and has green sections adorned with roses on thorns on the hem of his sleeves and the bottom of the coats. The edges of his outfit are sequined with what looks to be tiny diamonds, and atop his tunic, the pimp wears many large golden chains.

He is very tall and spindly. I’d estimate him to be about 6’5 at the least. His face is thin and sharp with a piercing gaze, oily black hair, a goatee, and a comically sized curly mustache that he twirls between the fingers of his hand covered in jeweled rings. His other hand holds a blinged-out cane.

Without warning, he spreads open his coat for all to see. Much to my relief, he’s not flashing his captive audience.

Instead, on the inside linings of his expensive and gaudy coat are ten different bottles of champagne. As if by magic, the bottles all shoot their corks simultaneously off into the crowd in ten different directions, and the contents spill out. His many sultry dancers, as well as his chained women, become suddenly drenched in a tremendous rain of expensive, sparkling alcohol showering down from his position atop the golden phallus.

The implied imagery is about as subtle as it sounds.

After doing an admittedly impressive dance routine from his position on top of the giant, glimmering, golden cockhead, Sir Pimpington bangs the bottom of his cane against the penis of gold. Drawing all attention to himself, tap dances with his red, wing-tipped shoes and loudly declares to everyone inside the Besthal Pet Shop, “Alright! Sir Pimpington is in the house, ya feel me?!”

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