Reincarnated into a Femdom Fantasy World (18+)-Chapter 24: Master

Jake's heart still raced as Maraith led him through Valthera's winding halls, her curvy silhouette a silent shadow beside him, the echo of Tazka's sultry laugh fading behind the throne room's heavy doors.

His skin prickled with the memory of the queen's presence—her slit-pupiled gold eyes boring into him, her voice a velvet blade, her scent a dark, ominous swirl of incense and something feral that clung to his senses like a warning.

Sitting on her lap, her arms around him, her teeth grazing his ear—it had been terrifying, heart throbbing, a weight that pressed on his chest even now. She was the queen for a reason, her power a palpable force, and he'd felt it in every glance, every purr.

He sighed, a shaky breath of relief escaping as they reached his room, the dark silk walls and massive bed a familiar refuge. If his ambush plan worked—if Ssyra came back with minimal losses—maybe he'd earn more than just a "gift" from Tazka.

Maybe he'd carve out a real place here, beyond the endless cycle of breeding.

Maraith turned to him, her glasses glinting under the room's soft torchlight, her voluptuous frame filling out her black maid's uniform—bodice tight against her ample chest, skirt hugging her hips—her serious face framed by that neat bun of dark hair. "Master," she said, her voice clipped and formal, her expression unreadable. "Are you ready for dinner?"

Jake blinked, the title jolting him—Master. It rolled off her tongue so naturally, a voluptuous head maid calling him that, and for a fleeting second, it felt like some fantasy plucked from a dream he'd never admit to.

"Uh—yeah, sure," he nodded, his voice catching slightly, his nerves still frayed from Tazka's throne-room tease.

She clapped her hands once, a sharp sound cutting through the quiet, and the door swung open, admitting a trio of maids in skimpy silk dresses—human and monster alike—carrying trays of steaming food: roasted quail glistening with herb-flecked oil, glazed root vegetables in vibrant hues, a basket of warm bread wafting yeast and butter, a pitcher of spiced wine that tinged the air with cinnamon.

Maraith stepped forward, her movements precise as she sampled each dish with a subtle taste—a sip of wine, a nibble of quail—her tongue darting out to test for quality, her glasses flashing as she nodded approval.

She arranged the plates on his table with meticulous care, her curvy hands steady, the food laid out like a feast for royalty.

Jake sat, the chair creaking under him, and picked up a fork, the quail's savory aroma tempting despite the knot in his stomach. But as he ate, Maraith stood beside him—motionless, expressionless, her tall frame looming like a statue, her glasses catching the light as she watched him with an unblinking stare.

It was unnerving, her silence a weight almost as heavy as Tazka's gaze, and he glanced at her once, twice, then a third time, his fork pausing mid-bite.

"Is something wrong, Master?" she asked, her voice flat, her head tilting slightly, the first crack in her stoic mask.

He swallowed, the quail sticking in his throat as he set the fork down, his hazel eyes meeting her dark ones behind the glasses. "Uh—no, it's just... have you eaten?" he asked, his tone tentative, a flicker of concern cutting through his discomfort.

Maraith blinked, a faint surprise crossing her serious face before it smoothed out again. "No, Master—I haven't," she replied, her voice steady, her hands clasped behind her back, her bodice straining slightly as she straightened.

"Then sit—eat something with me," he said, gesturing to the table, his voice soft but insistent, the spread of food suddenly feeling excessive with her standing there, empty-handed. "Please."

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Her lips parted, then closed, a faint crease forming between her brows. "We're not allowed to dine with guests, Master," she said, her tone firm, a rule etched into her posture, her curvy frame rigid with duty.

Jake frowned, leaning back, his hands resting on the table as he met her gaze. "Look, I'm uncomfortable eating all this while you're just standing there, hungry. It's weird—please, just grab a plate, even if it's a little, to keep me company."

Maraith hesitated, her glasses glinting as she studied him, then nodded once, a crisp, "As you wish, Master." She took a small plate, spooning a modest portion of vegetables and a sliver of quail, but instead of sitting, she stood beside the table, eating with a sophistication that bordered on mechanical—fork and knife wielded with precision, her movements silent, her voluptuous form still as she chewed.

It wasn't what he'd hoped, but it was better than her statue-like vigil, and he relaxed slightly, digging back into his meal, the quail tender and rich, the wine warming his chest as they ate in quiet tandem.

When the plates were cleared—maids sweeping in to whisk them away with practiced grace—Jake stood, stretching, his stomach full, the food settling as he wandered to the window. Outside, Valthera's night unfurled—starlit hills rolling into the distance, the faint glow of iridescent birds darting through the dark, a stark contrast to the cement jungles he'd once known.

Maraith followed, resuming her motionless stance by the window, her curvy silhouette framed against the glass, her silence a steady presence as he gazed out. After a while, the meal's weight eased, and he turned, rubbing his eyes. "I'm gonna sleep," he said, his voice thick with fatigue, the day's chaos catching up.

Maraith's head tilted, her glasses catching the torchlight as she spoke, her tone even but firm. "Not yet, Master—an activity session is scheduled tonight. It's nearly time."

Jake froze, his breath hitching, a gulp lodging in his throat as her words sank in. "What?" he croaked, his hazel eyes widening, his hands clenching at his sides.