In the Scarlet Devil Mansion, there sits a room of great and extensive opulence. Its ceiling unseen, massive pillars of intricate detailing standing so high as to fade away into darkness; its walls are littered, antique arms and armor forged by smiths of extensive renown, paintings of grand magnificence given life by the brush of artisans, and tapestries woven by only the greatest loom workers of old covering them; and, of course, the carpet approaching the centerpiece of this hall displaying wealth is of such fine make that one could forget they were not flying, to walk upon it indistinguishable from walking upon air. That centerpiece itself, a throne – wrought of only the purest gold, its cushions a luxurious red velvet, its form inlaid with masterfully cut gems in a rainbow of colors, ultimately crowned with a blood-red ruby of staggering size shaped alike a heart. Amidst this display of wealth and power, upon that throne, sat the final treasure contained in this room.
A small girl, with short blue hair, in a much frilled dress stained pink. Leathery black wings curled up behind her, glowing red eyes half-lidded, her petite form sat hunched in this seat more suited to regal bearing and grace, chin upon one hand and the other drumming at an arm rest, long nails each bringing forth a small, metallic 'tink' per impact. Remilia Scarlet, Vampire Queen, idled among what most would call a wondrous sight, this hall of treasures, and she let out a drawn out sigh. She had been in this very position, gazing over every one of these artifacts, these works of masters, for longer than many had been alive. Such finery was at this point more a matter of station and appearance. It did not sate the boredom of long centuries. Indeed, little did, pursuits growing ever more esoteric as time continued to drag on. It might well be that it was time, she thought to herself, to engage in those strange hobbies. Her head began to turn left, and the start to a quick summons got as far as, “Saku–” before her eyes fell upon the maid she desired.
Not there even a moment before, from nothing, the chief maid of the mansion appeared, braided hair of silver framing her face as she stood by her lady's side with a bow, before even her gaze could finish moving. “Mistress Remilia. You required my aid or my time?” The epitome of the elegant maid, her voice spoke of nothing but the desire to serve.
Sakuya's promptness and efficiency could always bring a bright, fanged smile to the face of the young-looking vampire, who waved a hand upwards to bid her stop bowing. “Is anyone interesting expected to show up today?” Even through the obvious, dull boredom suffuse in that question, the lady of the manor's voice came out practically enthralling.
As soon as the question was asked, a book full of timetables and dates phased into being in the hands of the maid, who flipped through its pages, eyeing their contents casually. “If Lady Patchouli is right, we can expect Marisa will be making an attempt on the library again in but a few hours,” she suggested, looking to see what reception this received.
What it received was a hand dragged along a face, pulling at skin in clear dissatisfaction when paired with that shake of the head. “I have fought off that black-white witch with Patchouli no less than three dozen times. I grow tired of patterns of stars and that great beam of hers. Tell her she can have as many of the maids as she wants and, if she's really sure she has the hour down, she can bring Meiling should those tomes truly need to avoid a disappearance of a short few decades.” Orders given with a dismissive wave, the maid was fixed with an expectant look; surely -the- head maid of this mansion knew better what it was Remilia desired?
Without so much as a break, the search through the book had continued, even as one idea was dismissed out of hand. No amount of consultation, however, changed what came next. “I'm afraid then, Milady, that we're not expecting anyone worth your time for any reason.”
A huff actively suppressed turned instead into a silence of several seconds, moment of childish outburst held in check, before Remilia's regretful voice sounded, “Must Gensokyo go so long between incidents? Everything stagnates when fresh troublemakers run scarce. Never mind them, then. What of our own stock? It has been nigh upon half a year since our last brokering brought in a fresh crop of animals, has it not? Surely some of them are adequately trained by now, yes?”
Without careful inspection, one could not immediately discern that Sakuya had conjured another log, the only difference between this leather-bound book and the last the scrawlings contained within. That difference, however, was a considerable one, for where the last held musings on the ebb and flow of Gensokyo, this held instead details far more salacious. “Much better news on this front, Mistress. By Meiling's account, there are several new options available, should you feel in the mood.”
The response to this was quick, and indeed bore excitement, in contrast to all spoken by the ancient child before. “What of that insect, the one Patchouli insisted would become a plague if we actually used it?”
A momentary glance over the book brought about an unfortunate shaking of the head and a perfectly level report. “I'm afraid not. There have been difficulties in controlling it, apparently. A long while yet, she estimates, if ever.”
“It promised to be so interesting, too.” A disappointed click of the tongue came with that just dejected statement, before on Remilia carried, “That horse, then? The eight legged one? Surely it's been receptive, hasn't it?”
No pages could be seen to flip, despite the sound of such coming, and a far more heartening answer was offered, “Quite receptive it seems, yes. Too receptive, even. According to what I have here, we'd run through the whole of the staff in order to sate it, given its size and stamina.”
A high, immensely amused chuckle sounded in time with a radiant grin, the glow in the vampire's eyes brightening alongside their finally unlidding. “Oh. Now that is most promising. A bit difficult to arrange on short notice when I've promised the library an army today, however. Close off the manor in... two weeks. We're to have neither guest nor visitor, and I care not what anyone's business might be. And what is ready today, then?”
A feathered pen suddenly in hand, Sakuya made notes within her tome, nodding obediently in response to the order. “I'll ensure the day proceeds without interruption, Milady. As to more immediate entertainment, the most promising candidates include the feathered serpent, now that its habit of biting has been quelled; the living plant, which seems to have grown quite large under Meiling's care; and that interesting cat with those electrified whiskers.”
Remilia listened to her maid rattle off several recommended choices in respectful silence, trusting in her to provide a suggestion worth her time, and while the first two did hold her interest, it was at the third her ears truly shot up, curiosity piqued. “The cat, you say? I hadn't thought it might do more than amble our halls. It's actually ready for a display right now?”
The question was met with a bow, and the snapping shut of the book full of relevant knowledge. “Indeed, Mistress. It's still rather unruly, truly, but, while it can't be controlled in general, it seems agreeable towards what it is you wish it for.”
With a clap, the diminutive girl rose, turning herself now fully towards Sakuya. “Have Meiling bring it to the usual room at once, and arrange a fairy you feel is appropriate. I'll be waiting. Oh, and I'm feeling parched – do bring something to drink after you've summoned her, will you?” Responding only with a smile, the silver-haired girl quickly vanished, leaving Remilia alone. With a far more refreshed exhale, she set off at a casual stroll through the many, magically altered corridors towards her destination.
The journey took perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, bringing the mansion's owner and head past yet more finery and grandeur, barely even rating a glance. Fairy maids of all shapes and sizes, some almost as small as the lady herself, and only growing smaller, worked upon the path, for a given definition of worked. Few, if any, could even be said to be pretending their pursuits were productive, most instead playing with friends or otherwise amusing themselves; none, however, required more than a simple look to move, should they prove to be in the vampire's way. Her unerring, overpowering gaze parted throngs of useless help effortlessly, ensuring scarcely any effort at all was required to arrive where she wished to, at a pair of large double doors, grasping the oaken wing handles to shove them open with a light touch. They parted slowly, with a creak for their size, until finally revealing one of Remilia's favorite sights in recent times.
Near the edge of the balcony she'd just set foot upon resided a far more modest chair than that excessive throne of hers, simple oak like the door, with precious little adornment upon it. To its side a small, circular table, adorned with a silk covering, bearing a wine bottle and accompanying glass, near full already with a scarlet liquid, its iron scent enticing. Taking her seat and taking a sip, her lips curled in delight at the choice – there was a certain something to the blood of virgin maidens collected under a blue moon. One of the few rarities she could still appreciate all these long centuries later. Setting the glass aside, then, she took to leaning over the railing, peering intently below. Rows upon rows of empty seats sat beneath, arranged in a semicircle around a grand stage with only slightly more life to it. But one other, at the moment, could be found in this private theater, on that very stage, with Remilia's eyes upon her. And already she did not look to enjoy her choice as the day's distraction for an incredibly bored vampire.
One could tell, by the neatly folded maid's uniform, that the fairy presently kept locked within a pillory on center stage was one of the mansion's. One could also tell, by that same uniform, the nature of the show soon to take place. Shivers and shakes wracked the small fae's form, from temperature and tension alike. Weak, thin arms could not pry themselves free of the bonds holding them in place; a jerk of the head, this way and then that, could not so much as rattle her cage, tossing only short, blonde strands of hair around; flight was out of the question, minuscule legs shackled in iron chains of few links, a small hover all that could be managed with an accompanying rattle as intricate, scintillating wings fluttered. The poor thing was truly stuck, helplessly on display, perfectly flat chest rising and falling with each concerned breath, her twists and turns succeeding only in allowing brief glimpses of those adorable, bright pink nipples. Far more easy for the vampire to spot, however, was the petite pussy, seemingly ill equipped for any sort of insertion, yet due for it all the same.
In the midst of these futile attempts to escape, a turn of the head found the unlucky chosen seeing her observer just out of the corner of a bright, green eye. With a voice unsteady and shaking, the fairy dared to ask up, “D-did I d-do something wrong? Wh-why'm I... like this?” Her query met with an answer of only silence, impassive stare growing closer by inches. “Um... Er... M-mistress...” Silence fell for a few seconds, and the fairy had to work to even recall who it was she was technically employed by. “... Remi-Remilia? Hello? C-can you hear me? C-can I b-be let out? Please?” Remilia's expression turned to a half smirk of amusement in response, yet still nary a word came. And as the silence grew, so too did an instinctive, primal fear within the restrained. “U-um, um... uh... If I can't, er, I–”
The step of a foot, ringing clear over the fairy's stammered pleas, brought silence to all else. Another, and then another – strong, slow, purposeful steps which brought closer another source of sound, far more malicious. Low snarls and the click of something not quite a foot upon the wooden ground of the stage. Crane and twist as she might, the naked fairy could not see behind her to what approached; though, to see it would not have eased the whimpers that began to grow in time with its closing. From behind a large, red curtain came first Meiling, hands upon a thick leather leash, dragging something along through nothing but her own strength, for whatever it was clearly fought her on this matter. Nevertheless, she outclassed it, and its fight was for naught, as the beast was brought into the dim light of the stage without much further delay. And beast, certainly, it was.
The head which came into view suggested at first an armored creature, almost as if covered in craggy, jagged plates facing backwards – out of these peered eyes with vertical, slit-like pupils in blue sclera, narrowed sharply as those of a predator. Its further exposure revealed, beneath those plates that continued all along its back, a coat of fur in a deep shade of yellow well speckled with spots of brown. Upon four powerful legs it strode, each protected similarly to its head and back, until they ended in four talons, sharpened to such points they looked able to disembowel by accident; each step it took was less fought for by Meiling and more its own, as its intended destination became clear, the offering being made to it understood. One might almost call the motion of its two whiskers – more like tendrils than anything – excited, as sparks and small jolts of electricity arced along them. It came to match its wrangler, first beside her and then quickly ahead of her, sniffing at the air while a tail more scale than fur perked up and curled. Given its enthusiasm, the martial artist let go of the leash now, offering the beast free reign of center stage. Nodding once to the manor's owner, she hopped back and out of sight then, leaving her to the show about to unfold.
The fairy, of course, could see none of this at the moment. She could, however, hear just how guttural and primal that growl coming from right behind her was, and it certainly worked to make her own breathing quite labored, droplets of sweat forming in droves, running along and down her body as the beast circled slowly, eyeing its prize. From a leg it started, appraising the scent of the diminutive, childish girl before it; along her side it prowled, its investigation continuing, face brushing up against slowly wetting skin, naught but growing terror subduing the fairy's own jolt of sudden movement; then, much though the prey hoped not to have to view the predator, the strange cat rounded to her head, and eyes locked. The poor girl froze, but for those eyes, which shrunk at once to pinpoints. Breathing ceased as she started at it, and it stared right back, a beast easily twice her size, with open, deadly jaws slavering. Evidently, this offering pleased it; and with her first cry of distress as the dam broke came its first strike.
“Will you be requiring anything else, Milady?” Sakuya asked but a few dozen feet away, on the balcony by a slowly disrobing Remilia, without so much as a hint of concern to her voice.
“Oh, no, I do believe this is just fine, Sakuya. Do enjoy some time off while I enjoy the show.” In tandem with this reply, the maid vanished from the scene again, the vampire's bloomers sank low as the first finger began to twirl around that nub atop her own tiny slit, and the burgeoning scream of panic turned abruptly to one of pain, alongside the crackle of electricity and the crack of something whip-like.
Down on the stage below, an electrified whisker pulled back from the fairy's face, a drop of blood dripping from a gash delivered to the area now smoking. The fairy's visage contorted in pain first, just before slight motions overtook her body – a finger suddenly flexing or a toe abruptly twitching, indiscernible from reactions to pain. A potent shriek began, and only got worse, as the beast did not let up: lash upon lash it started to deliver, each harboring not just great force, but plentiful electricity, shaking the abused fairy increasingly. A tendril's smack would resound and knock her pretty face to the side, just in time to meet the other, forcing her back once more and delivering a fresh shock. Faster, the strikes became, restarting the muscle's involuntary motions instead becoming strengthening, whole arms trying randomly to jerk in the stocks, legs chaotically tearing ineffectually at their chains. Every thunderous impact drew with it a new slice across the fairy's cheeks, her body's growing shaking freeing a veritable rain of blood, even as a fairy's immortality and regeneration worked to patch up old slashes. Her face gradually turned purple and black from electrical burns and blood pooling in bruises; her whole form was taken by fits and seizures, every inch of her in disagreement on where it wished to go, one wing wrenching upward as the other drove down, fingers angled in all directions, legs crossing, uncrossing, and knocking against one another. Only when the fervent beating had brought her to the point of essentially seizing did it finally let up, to appraise the state she'd been reduced to.
Where once had been chained a fairy of fair countenance, now before the creature was a girl half to broken, and only kept from that point by the confounding magic which sealed her wounds. Dozens of superficial cuts were fighting over the right to close, and her face had swollen at a number of locales, half obscuring those once bright eyes already darkened substantially, short of life to display. Life, however, was still present, however faint the signs might have been. Her chest still rose and fell, erratic as its pace might be. Over those risen lumps of skin, tears managed to run, droplets meeting the small crimson pool below, dripping through gaps in wood. Her hair was beyond tousled, straight to ruined, strands' ends blackened like the worst beaten areas, the cap to a wild and incoherent mess. The smoldering form still fought, in some way, for its freedom, rattling bonds on occasion – or perhaps those forced movements remained, residual spasms continuing to puppet the fairy's body. Either way, it hardly mattered.
The sight of it all spurred further the vampire, whose dress now lay crumpled next to the chair she was in, and whose wine glass had at some point become empty. Every shaken, rattled wail brought about by the beast's work incited a low moan in Remilia, one delicate finger already having buried itself within her depths, probing for those sensitive spots she – and she alone – was familiar with. At the same time her other hand lay upon a bud of a breast, those nigh-nonexistent lumps all she would ever have or need. Knead she did, squeezing at it and pressing against it as a pair of fingers entwined around a tit, giving it small twists and tugs. Foreplay, all of it, much as the actions of the magical creature below; she would appreciate this slowly, and her latest pet was expected to oblige her, one way or the other. Willingly, it would, judging by where it made for first.
The electrified monster stood before its victim's head for a very specific reason – for that was where it would begin. Not merely with the whipping, naturally, for all throughout its frenzy, a fire had been building down below, its violence mere prelude. Protruding from its underbelly, having come to full hardness amidst the fairy's suffering, was a member colored in a deep red. Its length was plenty enough to stand longer than all but the best endowed of humans, and in girth it did not fail to impress either, even as it tapered towards its front end; its size alone made it more than concerning for one of such young build, could she even take stock – she could not, for with everything, the fairy's eyes had rolled back in their sockets – but it did not end there. Much as a more normal feline, the back end of its cock was lined with barbs – and much as it was a far more monstrous animal, so too were its sharpened, sparking spines.
When no more aftereffects coursed the fairy's body, twitches stilling, her jaw hung slack in exhaustion, trying desperately to pant, to cry out, to do much of anything at all that was dictated by body, rather than electricity. It had no such chance, however, as the beast hurled itself back upon its hind legs, and then ahead with those. When its front legs again touched the ground with a not inconsiderable crash, it had mounted the stockade – and, by extension, mounted its offering. The fairy had just enough time for her eyes to right and to understand what was in front of her before its first drive forward came, right into that wide open mouth – scarcely open wide enough, it seemed, as even the cock's tip proved a trial. When it failed initially to make much headway, the cat gave a noise halfway between agitated whine and aggravated growl, before its claws rent small holes within the stage's planks as it situated itself with a cacophony of cracks. Grip thus reinforced, it tried once more to enter that entryway which had troubled it, and found it much more amenable, even as the fairy found this heavily disagreeable. Just half its length had managed to force its way into her mouth, and already, her jaw stretched about as wide as was safe, and then just wider still. Dangerously close to dislocating painfully, the warm, wet confines of mouth and beyond were open to it – even only partially buried, its outline could be seen within her small throat, its unwanted stretching nowhere near the worst pain the little thing was expected to endure for her captive audience of one.
So captive was it that even in her arousal, Remilia did not let an eye so much as flutter close to closed, catching every last detail, from the minuscule electrical bursts surging from the base of the shaft, to the lump most would miss at this distance, and even just how the twisting chest of the fairy began to pump less enthusiastically when its source of oxygen was cut off. Each detail she would drink in, and each produced a drink itself – a transparent liquid that leaked out her own muff, two fingers now rooting around within that canal beyond. Briefly they were withdrawn, strands of that lubricant still connecting the pair, raised for her to suckle upon, tasting the sweet nectar of her nethers, its flavor delightful enough to draw out a contented sigh. A glossy, slowly growing pool of it began to collect under her, fingers traced through it before sinking within her once more, their touch sending shivers running up her body. And just as those shivers overtook her, a new sound rose up from the actors on stage – several, even, simultaneously.
When the cat had merely been idling well past her mouth, that had almost been tolerable for the inexperienced fairy – then it began its movement. Its pace, much as all else about it, could be described as bestial, and it cared not for discrepancies in size nor lack of ability in swallowing cock. Its furious motions induced gags and retches, and eyes tired and sunken after a thorough shocking found strength again to widen and water. Supplies of oxygen began to dwindle, with little to no reprieve offered between thrusts more than deep enough to prevent all breath and shake her restraints with great creaks, which was only the beginning. With every re-entry of its further saliva slickened shaft, it found an extra half a centimeter, delving further within an already overtaxed hole, coming alarmingly near where those spines began. Of course, pressing matters of gradual asphyxiation muddled matters of incoming pain – the fairy's head began to grow fainter as need for air grew greater. Thankfully for her violator, however, she merely needed some prodding to maintain her consciousness. The first of its adornments found their way inside of her, delivering small cuts to her fragile lips, alongside the latest round of electrocution. Unfortunately for the one making use of her, however, the shock proved the final straw – as it stole control of her muscles, her mouth attempted to jump away, and the wet sound of its insertion intermingled with the violent crack of her jaw displacing too far. Full out of her mouth it pulled, its next shot missing, and for this failure came an angered cry of attack and its favorite pair of weapons.
As easily as her skin gave way to those electric whips, the fairy's wings proved an even easier target to ruin. Rather than beat her simultaneously, it simply smashed them upon her back once, and began a steady discharge. As she once more thrashed at random, cries of agony muted for want of air, her wings tried to flap along, but found that hard as they bore the brunt of its ire. Energy surged through the wire-thin things, more than they could handle; first chunks began to rip off and float slowly to the stage below, and then they simply overloaded and caught fire, burning from their ends back to her. It was only as they had completely vanished and the flames had begun to lick at her backside that the beast pulled back, beating the burning area to smother the flames. Its toy had failed it, but she would not be getting off easily with death. Having taught its slave her place again, it aimed for where it had been prior; half conscious and still trying to scream uselessly with a broken jaw, she had no chance at all to fight it this time.
Every last inch of its length disappeared within the fairy, for a given definition of disappeared. Her throat seemed grotesquely deformed, and even its sharp growths could be seen to rise just that bump thicker outwards. No sound could pass her lips, so plugged was her mouth – not that she had breath to so much as choke with. Electricity delivered from those barbs straight to the hole assigned to pleasure the overlarge phallus furthered efforts in that regard: the tongue pressed flat was forced by their shocks to move, involuntarily twirling itself as though eager to wring every drop of cum out the hole upon that head, already leaking a disparately sweet stream of pre for the rape ongoing – deeper, muscle contracted with great force, squeezing upon it as though trying to mold itself in the image of its invader. And naturally, it could not end there, for a fairy's flesh was not quite so firm as what the beast evolved to mate with; what should scarcely have drawn scrapes or scratches in the confines of another of its species withdrew red when it soon pulled back. Then it truly began. If it had been bestial before, now the creature was beyond frenetic, driving at its source of pleasure with an unbridled speed as though it bore hatred unending. The more it would thrust, the bloodier its length became, and even as the fairy's face seemed to recover from the earlier whipping and her wings began to regrow, the damage being dealt internally mounted well beyond these wounds. The fae swallowed small bits of herself which tore free and the which flowed from those new holes, heaves attempting to send it all back up with bile and failing entirely. All the while, the fairy's eyes drooped lower, and every stirring of her body, forced or not, began to grow weaker, until it she seemed ready to pass out and collapse, such as she could.