"HOOOLY SHIT! THAT FUCKIN’ IMP wasn’t bullshitting." Kambili’s tealeaf eyes were huge on the building the size of a [Brahman] statue. Up close, the Mayflower was a gargantuan glass edifice, its tiers wide across, enough to host a ball. Though the hotel was longer than it had breadth, its outlook from a far distance resembled a shard of a dragon’s tooth.

Tapering to a cylindrical point, its true top was hidden in the passing nimbus. Kambili looked up in the transparent roof of the [shuttle wagon] and couldn’t see the tip of it. "I’ll get you a SkyView, and then you’ll be taller than even the Mayflower, yeah?"

Kambili blushed at Eotigan’s promise. She didn’t even know he’d been observing her. She had a bashful glow, her smile thankful. Kam had never seen such great exploration before; a luxurious hotel tall as Mt. Jùhun. Before him her world had revolved around terror of the whips and a wish of retribution to the slavers. But here she was, bathed in sunset lights, witnessing a backdrop so splendorous it looked painted.

The last beautiful thing she had seen was her home island, a memory so distant these days in her mind she wasn’t sure she’d been the little efik girl who had lived it. However, just nine moons with Eotigan and she was beginning to remember the feeling. It was wonderful.

"Shall I park, sir?" The chauffeur came again in front.

"Let her cruise another minute," said Eotigan.

His baritone held deeper in the plush interior of the shuttle. He’d read Kambili’s awe expertly; his fair warrior wanted to see more. He took immense satisfaction in watching her hazel iris expand and take in the posh façade of the Mayflower. The chauffeur did a slow circle around the hotel, flying high, hundreds of feet in the sky, small clouds slipping past like mist on a mountain. The Mayflower was an elegant model of [mecha] beauty.

A ritzy palace, and it was by far the tower which covered the most ground on the island. Other structures extended not over ten circle yards, but could stretch miles upward in the air. The isle of Colony was notorious for its vertical standing buildings. As for the bright Mayflower, the girls felt expensive just in being there.

One minute passed and the chaffeur floated the [shuttle wagon] into the lit open area on the north region of the hotel. The Mayflower had its parking space forty stories above ground.

Similar multi-million cosmo-powered vehicles sat in the clandestine space as Eotigan’s own obsidian shuttle levitated down in landing, thrumming to a stop. The entire sides of the [shuttle wagon] raised high, giving room for easy exit. Inaia’s booted heel clicked out on the smooth grey floors first. It seemed like they’d stepped on a huge mirror plane in the sky, because when Inaia braved a look down, she saw thousands of feet of twilight darkness. The [Mana] lights of the isle were so far down they looked like fireflies flickering miles beneath. "I feel like I’m standing on a glass moon," Inaia looked back up.

Eotigan quickly took hold of Thyra. "Don’t look down, darling."

The blonde had only ever commandeered vessels on open sea. He knew she couldn’t handle a literal glass bridge between her and plunging darkness. He had to ease her into it—as he’d done so many other things.

Kambili walked forward, dragging Thyra to her side before she could wholly glue to their infernal prince; and together they skipped on the crystal parking floors to a single door leading in. Inaia remained by Eotigan. She watched, embalmed in desire and pride as her [Host] tipped the kind chauffeur heavily. "Stay here." He told the stricken man, "—on me. I like your cruises. Plus you are courteous to my women. Good?"

The chauffeur, tall and uniformed, bowed formally. "Most good, sir."

With that, Eotigan and Inaia moved too, tracing Kambili and her exploratory direction. None of them had been to Colony; they’d never stayed in the Mayflower, but having enough money with them to rent out the entire place gave them the carrying confidence to move as if they already owned the hotel. Inaia slid her hand down Eotigan’s arm, linking with him, and opening her mind to bond with him. Eotigan felt her nudge at his [psyche bridge]. He kept walking, but smiled.

He let her through, and as she became privy to all of his present emotions and thoughts, Inaia dropped fast notifications private to them alone.

[ DING! ]

[Host is advised an approximate 2.1 Hours of sexual indulgence within the next 24 hours.]

[All pending side quests suspended!]

[Mission II is a GO!]

[ LEGENDARY ARCANE SHOP OPEN! ]

[All attributes unlocked!]

[HEALTH LEVEL: Strong.]

"Two point one, huh?" Eotigan quizzed Inaia aloud. He gripped her fingers tighter. "Tell me, just how did you come up with that? Do you think you girls could last me out?"

Inaia wished for the glass floors to crack and darkness swallow her than to look into his glowing eyes that second. But she replied, "I am your subservient, m’lord. You are quite the champion of us. . ." She trailed off briefly, remembering how in truth they had never outlasted him in sex—or anything for that matter, "—but I believe the keyword here is APPROXIMATE. You can use us longer; you know we won’t complain. However between the three of us, you’re gonna get a run for your money. I mean, Thyra alone? Sheesh—"

Eotigan merely chuckled. "You better mean it, fine wine ’cuz I’m about to put you to work in ten."

Against the modest part of her brain Inaia glanced, and sure enough, it looked a cucumber had grown in his pants when she wasn’t looking. A very sizeable bulge balanced on him, curving up to his hip, seeking release. Inaia wanted to release him with her mouth.

She’d bet her Host had never gotten head in a five-star island hotel before.

[ DING! ]

[Subservient Infernal System has detected A WILLING FEMALE two inches near.]

[Engage: Y/N?]

’Yes!’ Eotigan answered a hard, telepathic affirmative, adding, ’and this female better pray that door is not an elevator.’

Thyra and Kambili had just gone through the door, and Inaia found herself sighing in defeat as they came up too and the door revolved, sliding away. It was a door after all. The room behind it was a lavish area done up in fetching abstract art and no foreseeable furniture. This room was sapphire glass. Eotigan was learning the Mayflower was a pure, aristocrat’s getaway. He teased Inaia about the room. "Sad are we? At least you get two minutes to prove me wrong?"

Inaia gulped down her response, for a slim woman in real rhinestone and a baboon riding on her left shoulder was approaching—and fast. Her legs were long and feline. She was grey-haired but if Eotigan squinted he could see her on a diamond stage, wowing the crowd with spins on her tippy toes.

"May the Eighth, the concierge." She introduced herself.

"We’d like the penthouse." Inaia drove back. This old woman looked too good for her age. She was probably a nepo baby, considering her name and the name of the stellar hotel. May the Eighth had done raised eyebrows at Inaia’s first words to her. Then the rastafari woman added, "bring cold cream now. You can bring food up later. But cold cream now, good?"

Inaia wasn’t waiting for an answer. "Kay! Thai!" She called to the others, fawning over a real life nude model painted with liquid gold and posed on a pedestal. Thyra wasn’t sure what god the angelic boy was meant to be.

Like her parking and reception, the Mayflower had a top-notch elevator system. Eotigan and the girls were literally looking at each other when they walked in, but not really. The four walls were shined looking-glass. A lovely mirror dimension. May the Eighth was trying to say something as the doors slid shut, but the swooshing cut her out. She cussed, biting on the inside of her cheek, "mere jé pa!" Gods! If she didn’t love her job.

Inside the ’mirror dimension’—which was what Kam had concluded the elevator cab was, she and Thyra had fallen quiet, their excitement burning to a keen observation of the other two. The elevator didn’t even seem like it was moving save the climbing dots. Inaia was close enough to a wall’s shimmery surface to touch her own reflection. Eotigan slowly stepped up behind her. He inhaled her hair. "The concierge doesn’t like us." He packed up her orange dreads, bunching it above, exposing her neck and kissing her nape. He moved closer, enveloping her.

"Who cares about a glorified hotel maître d’?" Inaia bent at the waist to draw him in. They were making conversation but their bodies were locked in foreplay. It was this openly carnal activity that had put Kambili and Thyra to silence; they both watched with their stares growing hunger like a beanstalk. "She has a duty to us. That’s all the like I’d tolerate from her," Inaia continued, "she’s probably heard of the fresh warship that just docked. I don’t want suck-ups. What I want is what you want, Lord [Host]...which is the Governor’s wife."

Inaia did a little jump so her large ass clapped over his groin. Eotigan rubbed into her.

"I ain’t thinking about no other woman right now." He grabbed at her hips, grinding.

"Oh yeah?" Inaia fell forward, smashed into the mirror.

"Yeah, dreadlocked Delilah." Eotigan held her down against the crystal smooth plane glass and made her feel all of his swolleness against her ass. Inaia was gyrating her fat butt on his girth too. He fisted her dress to her waist, groping naked handfuls of flesh. Inaia groaned – giggle and moaned – as he went territorial on her. "You mentioned cold cream, bitch. What would you need that for?"

All four pairs of eyes collectively met for a fraction in the mirror surface. Inaia kept grinding and wining against him. She replied, her lips enchanted, "why, to suck off your dick of course!"

Eotigan growled, immediately snatching her underwear. He tore her panties—right off her white thighs.

DING.

The elevators popped open. Eotigan caught Inaia before she could fall in. It was the penthouse, but two men were aggressively fellating each other in it. Their joint expressions lifted and went slack on spotting Eotigan and the girls. The men were frozen in their sixty-nining. A private cab elevator to the side was dinging again. May the Eighth appeared out of that one, explanation already falling out her mouth: "I tried to tell you, sir."

[To be continued.]