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Tales of Morveria: Pethouse #3 - A Maid's Desires, Part 1

A Sultry Tale of a Maid and Her Master

By Mantrid Brizon

She giggles as the human lunges, dropping his bag as he throws his arms around her. He's grown much taller and stronger in the years he's been away, but he's still as warm, affectionate and genteel as she remembers him to be. Art nuzzles her neck as he holds her. She's still as soft and comforting as he remembers her to be. In fact, her smaller size might even make her more cuddly! Her scent, however, is strangely different and yet the same. It's more alluring than when he left. Why is her floral aroma, which was once so faint, now so powerful? Orella's arms wrap around him and squeeze his waist.

“Truly, Orella, I missed you very much." He says in her language, giving her a squeeze.

“And I also missed you. It [is] nice [to] have you home." She says, tenderly rubbing his back. “You have grown tall! Come, Art. They [will] want [to] see you." She replies.

They end the embrace and Orella leans over to pick up his bag, only for Art to stop her.

“No, Orella. I [will] carry [it]." He says with a warm smile.

“You [are] still very sweet."

“Only for people who deserve it." He retorts.

“Hehe. Aww!" Orella smiles and then gives him another hug, resting her chin atop his shoulder. “You truly [are] much bigger than you once were! I never looked up at you before."

“Some things change." He sighs.

He looks past the Korutan, into the sprawling estate behind her. She sees the anxious look in his eyes and comprehends his fears. She rests a dainty hand on his bicep and gives him a little squeeze, silently promising him that everything will be alright. After sharing a gaze and a nod, Art follows the pony woman, who has worked for his family since he can remember. His father bought her when he was seven or eight, to help with the chores and to watch over his son. She steps backward into the mansion, her hooves clopping on the tile floor.

With an unsettling creak and a firm thump, the door closes behind him and Orella turns the lock. Clink! He turns his head at the sound of the deadbolt. Clop, clop, clop! He twists his upper body and sees the blue roan pony girl, her ample chest bouncing and her long, black, ponytailed hair swaying. With an innocent little smile and a wave of her hand, she directs the young man to follow her. As they traverse the long, darkened corridors of the manor, the little bell around her neck jingles. It clanks against her collar and tags with the same soothing chime that it always had.

Though she's a slave, as all tamed beast folk must be owned, Orella has always been a beloved member of the family and they have always treated her well. The Korutan has never shirked responsibility or attempted to flee and has always been allowed to come and go as she pleases. However, she rarely does, basking in the warmth and comfort of her little herd; she only ever accompanies her owner, Art's father, when he would visit his stores. She's not unlike many of the hooved beast folk in this regard; the Korutan of every breed often endear themselves to their human masters quite willingly.

It soothes him beyond words to see her again, but the fear of his parents' wrath pushes back, leaving him uneasy and tense. As the first and now only tailor in Mairsville, his father secured their fortune with ease; literally everyone in the vicinity wears their clothes. In order to secure this position, he had to be ruthless enough to put the other tailors our of business. Though he was often jovial and quite fun to be around when Art was a boy, he pushed his son to succeed and was stern when he needed to be. His mother was always the disciplinarian, and Art can only imagine how disappointed both of his parents will be in his decision to return home without completing his education.

It's a surprise to him when he enters a parlor where a fire crackles, two chairs sitting in front and on either side of it. Orella introduces the visitor as their son and Art stares at the back of a large wingback chair only to hear it creak. Leaning over the armrest, his father looks to him. Though his hair has a bit more gray than he remembers, the middle-aged man has the same face he always did, and the same smile.

“Son!" Artram exclaims, rising from his seat. “I'm so very glad you're home!"

Artram dashes around his chair and embraces his son, Artivus, whom he'd named after his own father, and who in turn named him after his father. It's been a strange and confusing cycle of exchanging names for generations. Artram gives Artivus a squeeze, leaving the young man flabbergasted. Wasn't it his father's idea to send him to school in the first place? Why is he so excited to see him?!

“You... You aren't mad at me?!" Art gasps.

“Of course we are. That was a lot of zakians we'd wasted on tuition. But after we read your letter, we were far more worried about you!" His father replies, giving his son a little smile.

“You really should have told us you were unhappy there." His mother remarks.

Art turns toward the second of the green leather chairs and sees his mother, Ailina, leaning over the armrest. Her expression is far more serious. She'd always been the most stern of his parents.

“When you sent your letter before the expected time, I was certain you were going to tell us that you'd impregnated some foolish noble girl and that you were engaged to be married." She continues.

“If only." Art murmurs.

“Yes, that would be the day."

“Hey!" Art turns to his dad.

“I just meant that nobles would never marry into a family of tailors, no matter how wealthy. You would have to have a tongue made of pure gold to pull that off! I'm sure you had your pick of the peasant girls, though." His dad winks, nudging his son in the side.

“Uhm... Something like that." Art mutters, rubbing his ribs.

“I knew it! Like father, like son."

“You never had your pick of women!" Ailina giggles.

“Shh! Not in front of our son, darling. He still needs to look up to me." Artram smirks.

“Never mind that, my love. We still have an issue to address..." Her expression instantly changes, becoming sour.

“I'm sorry..." Art bows his head as his mother slowly approaches him. “I know how badly you wanted me to succeed. I-I tried my best! But..."

“We wanted you to succeed for our family and for your future children, which I was hoping to be spoiling by now." Ailina begins.

“That's all she could talk about for the last two years; becoming a grandmother." Artram laughs.

“See how you feel once you find a gray hair and your only son still hasn't planted his seed in a woman." Ailina retorts.

“My hair is already graying." He casually remarks.

“Mine wasn't! I would accept a baby from the village whore if I knew our son was the father! Anything to have an heir!"

Art's cheeks turn red. Hearing a soft giggle, he turns to see Orella smiling at him, amused by his flushing face. It only makes it worse.

“Look at that! You're embarrassing him!" Artram laughs even louder.

“Maybe he should be embarrassed?! Maybe that would motivate him, push him into silencing my nagging with actual progress?!"

“But do you need to be so forward about it?"

“You're the one who brought up my desire for grandchildren! He's lucky I'm more upset about that then all the tuition we wasted, which we're still going to discuss, by the way..." She gives her son a harsh look.

“I was only making an innocent comment." His father winks.

“Oh, don't give me that! You knew what you were doing! You know, sometimes I think we've switched rolls. Why are you the one who always comforts him?!"

“Someone has to." Artram chuckles.

His parents bicker in the sweetest way, as no matter how flustered Ailina becomes, Artram only needs to slip his arms around her waist, pull her in and kiss her neck to make her stop. She giggles and pushes against her husband's chest in a feeble attempt to stop him. She tries to berate him for ruining a perfectly good argument with affection. It doesn't work. Art again looks to Orella, who smiles as she watches the pair kissing. He watches her watching his parents and notices something startling. Why does she look so sad? Is she jealous of his parents?!

He knew even at a young age that Orella never left their home without Artram escorting her, by her choice, but now that he's an adult with his own urges he cannot help but wonder; has she ever had a mate?! It wasn't until he came of-age in school when he truly began to notice the opposite sex. His heart aches as he cannot help but imagine how lonely Orella must have been for all those years, sleeping alone in her bed, serving the loving couple and their only offspring, whom she'd helped raised.

Her horse-like ears twitch as if sensing his gaze. The Korutan woman looks to him and her expression swiftly changes, as if she were forcing a smile. Once they've finished with their display of playful affection, Artram and Ailina call out to someone, and it isn't Orella or Atrivus. Who is this “Azira" they're calling for? He's never heard that name before! He turns to Orella, whose ears twitch before she looks toward an archway across the parlor. To his astonishment, a fourth party suddenly appears from another room!

His parents have never had another servant before, and she's a much younger female than Orella! The Vostii of the cat-kin emerges wearing a similarly humble but attractive dress, black with white frills and tailor-made to accentuate her feminine features. It even has an opening below the buttoned collar, which is below her own slave collar and an identical jingle bell. The opening of her blouse reveals her impressive cleavage. Art briefly flushes when he realizes he's comparing the feline's breasts to the mare's. Azira stands even shorter than Orella, who is already rather small for a pony, and yet her bust is nearly as big as Orella's! She appears to be about Art's age, perhaps a year older or younger.

“Thank you, Azira." His mother speaks in Ancient Hitrosii as she smiles at the cat woman.

The Vostii bows her head and courtesies.

“This [is] our son, “Artivus."" His mother continues. “He [is] now also your master. Fulfill his needs."

“Yes, I will." Azira says, bowing her head again.

“Azira?"

She lifts her head and looks to him.

“Yes?"

“I like your name. It [is] pretty. You may call me 'Art.'" The young man says, flashing her a warm smile.

“H-hello, 'Art.'" She speaks in a soft and almost shy voice, looking up at the human male standing before her.

“I have [a] task for you, Azira..." Artram begins, standing behind Orella and resting his hands on the mare's shoulders. “Orella will prepare dinner. Please prepare [a] guest room for Art. You remember which room?"

“Yes, master." Azira bows her head.

“Good." He says to her, then turns to Art. “We've decided to give you the whole west wing to play in."

“Oh?"

“The east wing we'll keep for ourselves and the servants." His mother chines in.

“Oh..." Art furls his brow.

Is this a punishment? Why are they banishing him to a distant part of their mansion?! Azira leaves the parlor to continue her work. She glances at Art as she passes and their eyes lock, if only for a moment. In that half-second of looking at each other, he's almost certain he sees her lips curl into a little smile. He turns toward his parents, his mouth open as he takes a breath, but he pauses when he notices something peculiar. His father is still standing behind Orella, his hands are still on her shoulders, and furthermore, she appears to greatly enjoy it. A small smile grows wider as the middle-aged man gives her shoulders a brief massage before sliding slowly along her arms.

“You must prepare dinner, now." He casually instructs, his hands on her waist.

“Yes, Artram." She almost coos her response.

“I [will] assist you." He adds.

With a little nod to his son, Artram departs with his pony maid, leaving Art alone with his mother. After an awkward pause, Art clears his throat and turns to his mother.

“So..."

“Hmm?"

“... Azira?" He asks.

“What about her?"

“..." He stares blankly.

“Oh! She's been with us since, oh... About a month after you left. Your father bought her at a discount! He always knows where to find a good bargain!" His mother chirps.

“She was a bargain?!"

“Yes. She was part of a lot who had just reached breeding age, but many had taken ill with a fever. Your father recognized the symptoms as little more than a severe cold and offered a pittance for her. Hehe! I love watching him haggle. It's so attractive, seeing him get his way... Mmmm..."

“..."

“Anyway! Where was I? ... Oh, yes! Azira... We brought Azira home and she recovered quickly. Afterward, we employed her as our maid. She's been helping Orella with the chores ever since. Also, she's your age!"

“Oh!" Art cannot help but grin.

“Yes, and she's a very good girl!"

“I bet..." Art murmurs under his breath.

“What did you say?"

“I said 'I see!'"

“I hope you don't mind her presence. I know the beast folk often frightened you as a child. Orella was the only one you would ever let near you." She continues.

“I always liked Orella... Besides, that was many years ago, and you must remember that my only experience back then was with the lumberjacks and masons who were owned by Old Man Zhamus."

“Yes, I recall... That poor, poor man. I told him to be mindful of his servants... They were all so strong!"

“... What happened to him?" Art hesitates to ask.

“Oh, nothing! Anyway, when am I going to finally have a grandchild?! You were gone for more than three years and you never once wrote about any lady friends!" She hastily changes the subject.

“..."

Art tries and fails to redirect his mother's questioning, and in the end is forced to flee the parlor under the guise of exploring the mansion. Azira is still preparing his room, on the opposite end of the sprawling estate. His with father and Orella are busy in the kitchen, and so he has no one to escort him. In truth, he prefers it that way. A delectable smell radiates throughout the halls and Art follows his nose, quickly discovering the kitchen. The manor is so large that the house is segmented into two wings in the shape of a chevron, with a small indoor gazebo in the center. The kitchen and dining hall are in the east wing, where his parents and their servants also reside.

Poking his head inside the kitchen, he sees Orella standing beside a large bubbling pot whilst his father stands beside her and seasons prime cuts of meat before tossing them onto the flat surface of the large, wood-burning grill.

“It [is] very good to have my son home, again. I hope I cook this right. I know how much he loves steak." His father remarks, speaking to his maid.

Art's heart is warmed by his father's concern and the young man cannot help but smile.

“You [are] doing fine." Orella assures him, stirring the contents of the pot with a wooden spoon.

“You always were [a] good liar." Artram teases her.

“I never lie!" Orella retorts, a little smile on her face. “I always tell you [the] truth, Arty."

Arty?! Has she always called him that?!

“[Are] you certain?" He gives her a strange look.

“I promise." She coos, leaning rather close to him.

As his father and the pony woman smile at each other, Art backs away from the kitchen as quietly as he can. He's always been light on his feet, and not just because of his slender but healthy build. As a young child he was often bullied and learned to move quickly and quietly to avoid capture. Even when at the university, his peers were often startled by his sudden appearance in darkened corners. The beast folk owned by the staff for security purposes often only knew of his presence by his scent. Before he escapes the kitchen, Art catches a glimpse of what appears to be Orella and his father kissing from the corner of his eye!

Startled and confused, he makes his way throughout the mansion and toward the west wing. He finds room after room, many of them unused. Furnishings are covered in thick, white sheets, and curtains are often drawn, blocking out the sunlight. Do his parents ever have guests? As he walks through the quiet and isolated wing, he suddenly hears the faint sound of a woman humming. He recognizes the melody right away as one from his mother's collection of music boxes; it's her favorite song. He's drawn to the soft, feminine voice like a moth to a flame and quickly discovers one of the only rooms in the west wing with any real purpose.

It's the guest bedroom meant for him, and it's occupied only by Azira, who fluffs a pillow as she bends over a freshly made bed. There's a pile of white sheets lying atop the tile floor, covered in a blanket of dust. Until today, this room was as abandoned as the rest. Her long, slender tail sways slowly behind her as she hums the tune she's heard a thousand times before. She turns to pick up the sheets and pauses, her eyes closing as she winces and brings a clawed hand up to her face.

“Ahh... Acho!"

She sneezes so cutely, her ears flopping back and forth as her body jostles.

“Bless you." He impulsively remarks.

“EEE!" She jumps, her ample breasts bouncing and her bell jingling. “Art! You scared me!" She says with a smile, placing a clawed hand on her chest. “How [did] I not notice you there?!"

“I have very quiet feet."

“But I [did] not smell you!"

He merely points toward the dusty sheets. Azira looks down at them and places her clawed hands on her broad hips, furling her brow as if scolding the inanimate objects.

“I [am] sorry for scaring you, Azi."

“Azi?!" She looks quite surprised.

“I [may] call you 'Azi,' yes?! I hope you [are] not offended!" He bashfully replies.

“Why [would] I be offended?" She smiles a little wider, her mouth slowly opening to reveal her sharp teeth. “You [may] call me what you like, master." She coos.

“Oh..." His cheeks turn a light pink. “[Do] you like 'Azi?'"

“Yes..." She takes a step closer, her paw-like foot nearly silent. “I like 'Azi' very much. It sounds sweet."

There's a strange tone in her voice, a softness that he wasn't expecting. She moves closer to him, her little bell jingling softly as she steps around the pile of sheets until she reaches the doorway. Her chest is nearly touching his as she looks up at him, her hands still on her hips as she eyes him up and down. His cheeks darken even further as she leans closer, sniffing the air around him. She smiles so innocently, her little fangs protruding from behind her lips as she bats her eyelashes at him.

“I like your scent!" She remarks.

“Uhm... Thank you." He flushes even more.

“[Do] you need something, master? I [will] happily serve you." She coos, resting a clawed hand on his side.

“No. I-I mean, I [am] only exploring."

“This [is a] very big house. It [is] easy to become lost without [a] guide... [Do] you want me to explore with you?" She asks, reaching out and taking hold of his hand.

It isn't the fact that she grabbed his hand so much as how she grabbed him. Her fingers caress him in a strange fashion, almost as if she were giving him a subtle invitation. All that happens is his cheeks turn from dark pink to light red. With a little giggle, Azira grabs his wrist and places his hand on her hip, then steps even closer. Her breasts press against his chest, smooshing as she bumps his flat belly with her own. Her feline nose is but millimeters away from his lips.

“I-I will help you!" He stammers, his body quaking from the growing anxiety. “I will carry [these]!"

Scooping up the dusty sheets, a plume of brownish-gray smoke fills the area around them. Azira winces and brings her hands to her face.

“Acho! Acho! ... Acho!"

“Sorry." Art murmurs, also coughing on the dust.

The awkward moment passes quickly as Azira seems almost frustrated with him. Rather than give him a tour of the manor, she now appears eager to finish her work. Following her lead, Art takes the sheets to the laundry room, where a large basin is already filled with water. He puts them in to soak while Azira gathers soap from a shelf. Standing beside the human, the cat-kin female brushes him with her arm, leaning against him as she holds out the box in front of his chest and pours the goopy, pearlescent soap into the water. He flushes as he feels her radiant warmth but turns cherry red when he glances over to see that she's not even looking at what she's doing: she's staring at him!

Azira and Art look into each other's eyes and a strange little smile spreads across her feline snout, her lips curling around the corners. What beautiful, emerald eyes she has. He could lose himself in her stare for hours if he wasn't careful. Her eyes narrow and she leans even closer, pressing a plump breast against his chest. Once again, she sniffs the air around him.

“Mmmm... Master smells very good." She coos.

“Th-thank you?" He stammers.

He suddenly feels a chill on his abdomen and jumps back.

“Eee! I [am] sorry, master!" She exclaims, having poured soap all over him.

“It [is] alright." He replies, pulling his shirt away from his body.

The goopy substance falls from his shirt and plops onto his pants. Azira moves fast, returning the box to the shelf and grabbing a nearby cloth.

“Take off [your] clothes." She instructs.

“... What?"

“[This] soap [is] very strong. It [can] burn you."

“What?!" He gasps.

Looking into the basin, he can hear the faint sizzling as the soap quite literally burns the filth from the sheets. Azira wipes the soap away from the buttons of his shirt and reveals that it's already eroding the fabric. He quickly unbuttons it. However, as he pulls it off, he stops. He's frozen solid as the maid rubs the cloth over his crotch!

“There... Better." She coos, groping his manhood through his pants. “Mmmm..." She gives it a squeeze. “[Is] master happy he sees me?" She giggles, looking up at him.

Art backs away but nearly trips himself, grabbing onto the edge of the basin and swinging around until his buttocks hits the metal tub. Azira gasps and drops to her knees.

“[Is] master alright?!" She looks up at him, grabbing his belt.

“I-I [am] fine!" he insists, his shirt hanging open.

“Take off [your] shirt before you burn [yourself]." She sternly instructs.

Remembering the acidic soap, he does as he's told and tosses it into the basin for no rhyme or reason. He realizes how odd this is only after doing it.

“Good. Now, I [will] check master." She continues.

His eyes widen as she unbuckles his belt and opens his pants, pushing them down before he can even begin to process what's going on. Her smile returns as she gazes upon his undergarments, and Art feels his face burning as it turns beet red.

“Hmm..." She gropes his manhood through his underwear. “I think it [has] burned through... Yes, this looks bad."

“W-wha-?!"

Before he can ask her anything, she yanks down his undergarments, shoving them to his ankles! His manhood flops about, bouncing in front of her face. Azira's eyes widen and she looks quite shocked.

“Azi? [Are] you alright?" He asks.

“... Big." She squeaks.

“What [did] you say?"

She doesn't answer him. She can't. Her instincts take over, overcome by her primal desires. Narrowing her eyes, a humble smile graces her feline features as she leans in and kisses one of his testicles! What is she doing?! He holds out a hand and contemplates stopping her, but he hesitates. He isn't sure what he's feeling. Does he really want to stop her? By the time he can think a proper thought, she's already lifting his heavy endowment and caressing it, her snout softly nuzzling his full balls. Her tongue drags along his stones, which she briefly pops into her mouth, before nuzzling his rapidly hardening phallus.

“Mmmm-master..." She coos, kissing along the length of his shaft. “You have [a] very beautiful penis."

Opening wide, she prepares to shove the bulbous head inside only to pause, lean back, stare at it and open a little wider. She pushes the tip inside, sucking it in and causing him to groan. Her mouth is so warm and so wet! Is that her tongue he feels, wriggling around the sensitive head? He can't imagine what else it would be. After bobbing her head forward and back for a moment, she gasps as she takes him from her mouth. A clawed hand grabs her bottom jaw near the hinge as her brow furls.

“Ow... Master [is] very big! I think my mouth [may] not [be] capable of pleasuring you!" She chirps.

He tries to speak but Azira doesn't give him the chance. She wrangles his manhood with both hands and stuffs the head back into her mouth, choking herself as she pushes him deeper and deeper. When she reaches her limit, barely able to fit a third of his manhood into her mouth, she pulls back and spits on his penis! Her furry hands work the human's shaft, smearing her saliva all over it. She licks all along the length of his shaft, from above, both sides and below! Her tongue swirls around the swollen gland and even creeps beneath his foreskin!

.....................................................................................................................

She sits upon his manhood and grinds her nether lips along the underside of his shaft. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she marvels at the sight of Art's penis reaching above his own bellybutton. With a girth thicker than her four dainty fingers pushed together, he is a very substantial man. How long can she resist him? Not very long at all. After only four or five motions of her hips, rubbing up and down the length of his manhood, she lifts herself up and takes hold of his penis.

“When you [are] ready to finish... Cum inside of me." She instructs, flashing a wicked little smile.

“Okay." His cheeks flush.

With an audible sound, like the smacking of lips, she pushes the engorged phallus into her taut pussy! The head pops into place, and Art feels the searing heat of her vagina. He's never endured this before and arches his back as he grips the bedsheets.

“AHH!!!" She cries out, feeling him reaming her.

.....................................................................................................................

Thanks for reading the teaser! If you'd like to see the full story (about 50 pages and 14,0xx words worth) then you can find it on my Patreon page (my patreon!) behind a measly $3 paywall! That was the admission fee for the parking lot at my local trade center. Lol.