The Party Host

By DX

Copyrighted, 7/2026 all rights reserved.  No parts of this story may be reproduced in any format, or used in AI in any way.

 Brian felt the grey of the dismal day drain away as he entered his flat.  When the door slid closed and the pressure locks engaged, he stood in the quiet, the space illuminated by the dim light from the compu-monitor mounted on the fridge.  It was an efficient room, kitchenette, living-room bedroom, bathroom/shower space, sixteen meters square, with an additional one by two meter balcony that overlooked the central plaza.

 It was a tiny, tiny space, but his space, and he could afford it and still set aside enough to put towards his retirement, so that when the time came, fifty years into the future, he would not live in absolute squalor, or worse, sent to the Abattoir.

 He took off his resi-mask and set it on its charger before grabbing a soy-beer from the fridge.  He took a good pull from it, and winced at the horrible taste while forcing himself to like it.  He then turned and sat on the couch, grabbed his sensi-crown and slipped it over his head.  He leaned back and logged into his game, checking to see who was on-line and ready to go questing.  He checked his sword and shield, and made sure his forty watt plasma cannon had a full battery.

 As a party of adventurers formed, intent on heading to a dangerous area to mine for rare items, a notification popped up in the corner of his vision.

 Someone was at the door.

 His first instinct was to ignore it, not wanting to give up his queue in the party, but his door-cam continued to detect someone standing there.

 “AFK”  He said.  

 It was a phase everyone knew, although he didn’t know where it came from.  An older player once explained it was an antiquated term for ‘Away From Keyboard’, but Brian didn’t know what one was.  He had never even seen one in real life and wasn’t sure of their purpose.  The older player tried to explain it, but only confused everyone as the concept made no sense.  Typing?  What was that?  A type of what?  Keys?  Like access cards?  What would such a device look like, a board of access cards?  An access card could hold a billion keys.  Why would you need a board of them?

 Brian stepped back into the tavern area and opened a sub-window linked to his door video.

 Her azure eyes were sharp and cutting, as keen as her high cheek bones.  Her sculpted arched brows gave her a perpetual curious look.  She had an aquiline nose, but soft lips bent in a bemused smile, all framed by a cascade of vibrant scarlet hair.

 Through the door-cam her beauty was undiminished despite wearing a frumpy industrial orange jump suit.  She smiled, flashing her dimples.  “Hi, Brian.”  She said, her eyes hinting a darkness.  “Can we talk?”

 Her beauty alone was enough to open any door, and Brian wanted nothing more than to unlock the pressure locks and sweep her into his warm embrace, but Brian hardened.  “I’m in a game, Kare.”  He struggled to keep his voice even.  “We’re heading out.”

 “Please, Brian?”  She patted her thighs to show her orange suit.  “Look, you have every right to be mad.”

 “I’m not mad, Kare.  Just…”

 “I’m in a bad way, and…”  Her eyes dimmed and pleaded, and easily peeled back his resistances.  “Please, just five minutes, okay?”

 Brian struggled under his crumbling will.  “What do you want?”

 She kept her act up, a lone waif in the wild.  “Please, Brian.  Not in the hallway.”  She glanced around looking exposed, then back to the camera.  “I don’t have a mask… and the sun is going down.”

 He grimaced as the verbal punch to his gut landed solidly.  Even with the building’s air filters, at night the toxic air thickened and would scar the lungs of anyone without a mask.  

 He knew the game she was playing; her timing perfect.  She could have called or messaged, but she came to his door at sunset with no mask knowing that no matter how badly she had screwed him over before, he would not refuse her.

 “Gimme a second.”  He mumbled, then brought back the game.  “Sorry, guys.  Got to go.”

 “Want us to wait?”  Rangel the Ranger asked.  “We need a good tank for the Herlands.”  Her avatar made a flirtatious butt slap.

 “Sorry.  Get one from the queue.  GTG.”

 “Hey!”  She pressed.  “Maybe log in later and you and I can…”  Her avatar made a risqué ring with the fingers of one hand, then poked the ring with the other.

 “Yeah, I’m in.”

 Rangel sent a winking smiley face as he logged out.

 He took off his sensi-crown and sighed.  “Door, open.”  He commanded.

 An invisible voice responded:  “It is sunset, and the room will need to be depressurized.  Cost for unscheduled electric use will be .05 credits.  Do you accept the cost?”

 “Yeah.”  He said dismally, as he rose to his feet.

 As the room pressure changed, he swallowed to unblock the popping in his ears.

 Karen swept in, her aura almost blinding in the dim room.  “Brian!  Thank you!”  She held her arms wide to hug him, but paused and reigned her emotions in.  “Sorry.”

 “Door, close.”  Brian commanded.  “Light fifty percent, please.”  He called, and the lights rose in the room.  As the room repressurized, he looked her over.

 Karen was a state.  Her usual glossy makeup and style were gone.  Her cheeks were reddened from stress, or crying.  She didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she let them hang limply at her sides.

 His glare was unmoving.  “What do you want, Kare?”

 She struggled with different expressions before throwing up her hands in surrender.  “I’m meat!”  She declared.  “I reported to the Abattoir this morning.”

 Brian’s head knuckled back in shock and surprise as he stammered confusedly.  “What?”  He finally managed to say.

 “I know!  Plot twist!”  She tried to laugh, but it sounded like a hissing steam pipe.  She looked around.  “Can we sit?” 

 He sheepishly gestured to his couch-bed, the only furniture in the room.

 She picked up his sensi-crown as she took her place on the couch.  “Are these as awesome as they say?”  She looked at him with lidded eyes.  “Can you actually have, you know…”

 Brian bristled.  “What do you mean, you’re meat?”

 She nodded submissively.  “Yeah, that,”  She pointed to her nether.  “tagged, numbered, and graded.”  She looked up.  “They say they use a little numbing cream when they pierce your labia.”  She laughed breathlessly.  “Very little, hurts like fuck.”  She set the sensi-crown on her lap.  “I’m not a human being anymore.  I’m just a primary protein source.”  She looked up, pretending to be brave.  “So, how was your day?”  She said in a half attempt to be casual.

 Brian looked around as the memories of all of Karen’s past shenanigans flared up.  He dismissed them with a wave but they lingered like ghosts.  “Kare, is this about…”

 “No!”  She put in quickly, her face sincere.  “It’s not about anything.”

 He faced her.  “Karen, I swear, if this is…”

 “It’s not a scam.”  She said quickly, rising up.  “Here, see for yourself.”  She pulled down the zipper of her jumpsuit and exposed herself.  She flicked the tiny silver tag hanging from a ring pierced through her labia.  “There it is.  You can check the number if you like.”  Her voice was flat, but clear.  “I’m meat.”  

 She stood there, her creamy flesh like a pale stripe through the orange gap.  “No scam.  Tomorrow I will be ushered down a hallway that ends in a yoke.  I will lean forward and rest my neck on the lunette, and the yoke will clamp around my neck so I can’t move my head.”  She pointed to her temple.  “Air-hammer, ptchow!  Done.” 

 Her lips scrunched up as she fought back a tear.  “Then that’s it.  I don’t die right away, to ensure freshness, but my brains will be soup.  They say I will be unaware of anything.  I will be processed and… I donno, processed.”  She regarded him.  “Because I self reported I’m allowed to get my affairs in order.”  She sat back down.  “So here I am.”

 Brian paced back and forth in the tiny room, trying to work out what was happening.  He finally stopped and picked up his beer.  He set it to his lips, but didn’t drink as he continued to wrestle with what she had said.  He finally looked at her.  “Do you want a beer?”

 “Can’t.”  She sighed.  “I’m meat.”

 He blinked, as the realization caught up.  “How can this happen?”

 She motioned.  “Do you want to sit?”

 A hint of anger flared in his eyes.  “I’ll sit on my couch, in my apartment, when I’m ready.”  His voice was calm and level.  “Explain to me Karen, how you are meat.”

 “Yeah, about that.”  She set the sensi-crown aside.  “So, Tony…”

 “The man you left me for.”  He reminded.

 “Yes,”  She said carefully.  “the man I left you for.”  She frowned.  “The man I gave up happiness for.  The man who made me meat.”  She explained, then looked up.  “Please, Brian.”  She patted the couch.  “This is hard enough without you standing there staring at me.”

 He waggled his finger at her.  “You are not going to make this my fault!”  He took a pull of his beer, instantly regretting it.

 “No, this one is on me.”  She said quietly.  “All me.”  She went on.  “I didn’t love him.”  She admitted.  “I went with Tony because he was just a non-stop party,”  She shrugged.  “and wild in bed.  I wasn’t ready to be the loyal wife, and I betrayed the one man who loved me,”  Her eyes flickered up, then looked down defeatedly.  “who I hope someday will find someone who would appreciate that love.”

 Brian took a sharp breath.  “What is this?”  He challenged.

 She looked up, her eyes hard.  “I’m meat, Brian!”  She struggled to reel back her emotions.  “There’s no coming back from that.  Yes, you should be suspicious because I have pulled a lot of shit in the past and fucked you over several times.  I am sorry!  I regret that on many levels.”  She fingered her tag.  “More than you can imagine.”

 He took a pull of his beer and struggled to hide his grimace.  “Okay.”  He said.

 She accepted that with a slight nod, then pressed.  “If you hate that beer so much, why drink it?”

 “Because it is better than no beer.”  He replied, thinking.  “You still haven’t explained how you’re meat.”

 “Tony.”  She said simply, as if it was an answer.  “He is a non-stop party in everything he does.  Non-stop honeymoon, non-stop sex, non-stop excitement, and non-stop risk taking.”  Her lips tightened.  “He met an investor on-line.  They made some money.  Tony invested more, they made more money.  Tony invested even more, market crash, lost it all.  Fun while it lasted, we learn from our mistakes, right?  That’s not how Tony worked.  More investment, more losses,”  She looked away.  “and I was right there with him.  I fell for the non-stop party lifestyle.  Big wins, big loses.  I couldn’t get enough.”

 Karen sighed.  “When he said he was taking a loan to fund another investment, I didn’t flinch.  I didn’t protest.  When he lost that and said he was taking a bigger loan to pay off the first loan, I thought about putting on the brakes, but all I said to check him was to say, ‘are you sure?’”  She scoffed with breathless laugh.  “Well, he had already done it, and the pay out would be fucking huge.  When he lost that, I threatened to divorce him, but we were in too deep.  Double or nothing, let it ride.”  She looked up, her blue eyes flickering.  “Another loan, another loss, but the rage sex was killer.”

 She waved her hands, presenting herself.  “So yesterday I got the notice to report to the Abattoir.  Our debt was too great to be paid off in one lifetime.  So, we did the only logical thing.  We ran.”

 Karen laughed.  “It was thrilling for the first couple hours, and the sex was a fucking blast, but I knew it was over.”  She pulled her jumpsuit closed and zipped it up.  “Tony is still running.”  She admitted.  “Run where?  He can’t get out of the plaza.  Our travel passes have been revoked.”  Karen looked up, taking a cleansing breath.  “He’ll be caught, and processed.  Just like me.”

 Brian noticeably sagged as his energy waned.  “I’m sorry to hear that.”  He motioned with his beer as he looked to the door.  “Kare, look… for what it’s worth, we’re good.  Okay?  We’re good.”  He pointed with his chin.  “I have a disposable resi-mask you can have.  It should last until you get back to the Abattoir.”

 “yeah, about that…”  She looked dubious.  

 Brian visibly flinched.  “What?”

 Karen put her hands up.  “You have every right to say no.  I really have no right to ask you.”

 “What the fuck?”  Brian growled.

 “Please!  Hear me out!  I’m begging you!”  She said quickly.  “I’m asking as a…” she searched for the words, “person you once had feelings for.”  Brian didn’t try to hide his suspicion, but Karen pressed on.  “Nothing illegal!  I swear!”

 He pointed to the door.  “Get out!  Take a resi-mask from the drawer!”  He then called over head.  “Room, open the door!”

 “It is past sunset…”  The room cautioned.

 Karen launched up quickly.  “Buy my meat, Brian!”

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Upon the Iessia

By DX

Copyrighted 9/2025, all rights reserved.

 The dawn’s gentle light peeked through the thin gap in the shuttered curtains and caressed Corinna’s face, slowly, easily rousing her from her deep slumber.  She woke with a stretching yawn and a smile, before she blearily blinked her fawn pale blue eyes open.  She was hungry, and there was fruit in a bowl on the table, but she knew not to eat.

 Not today.

 The sun’s light flared gold and cast a sharp line across her naked body.  She sighed as she scrutinized her old stretch marks, but brightened when she hefted her huge, lovely breasts, and the beads of milk budding from her nipples.

 She glanced down at Tesia still sleeping.  Ordinarily, Tesia would be milking her mistress, and feeding her, and licking her for a lovely morning orgasm, but not today.

 Instead, Corinna reached over and picked up the milking device, wound its clockworks, and attached the brass cups to her swollen teats to let it do its wonderful work.  She reclined in her pillows, and sighed easily at the soft pull of the machine.

 Hearing the ticking of the milking machine, Tesia woke with a start.  “Oh, my goddess!”  She said, blinking her sleep swollen eyes.  “Mistress!  You’re awake!”

 Corinna smiled warmly.  “I am no longer your mistress.”  She said gently.  

 Tesia hazel eyes flashed in the dawning sunlight.  “You will always be my mistress.”  She glanced at the bowl of fruit on the table, and a hint of sadness pulled at her eyes, but she only smiled happily, then naughtily.  She eyed Corinna.  “If you are not my mistress, then you cannot command me to not do this.”  She smiled wickedly and gripped Corinna’s knees and pulled them apart, exposing her.  With a hungry grin she lay between Corinna’s thighs and kissed the blossoming mons.

 Corinna moaned in quick ecstasy as Tesia soft, puffy lips surrounded and sucked at her core.  She felt waves of joy and sensation fan through her, driving her heart to the quick.  Her skin prickled as Tesia’s hot wet tongue touched and prodded her swelling button.  As the milking machine pulled at her tweaking nipples, and Tesia pulled at her queenly crown, Corinna thought she was being pulled apart.  She felt the familiar rumble, low and inaudible, build deep in her body.  It spread like embers in the hearth, warm and glowing, and they consumed her, stoking her to flame.  She cried out as her body trembled and her muscles refused to obey.  

 The sun crest on the horizon, and cast light into the valley.

 Angelica burst into the room wearing her tunic and her royal toga.  She scanned the room with a hard glare, but when she saw the spectacle of Corinna and Tesia, she smiled, and swept to Corinna’s side.  

 She laid her lips over Corinna’s open mouth.  As her tongue pushed in and fought with Corinna’s, she felt Corinna’s unbridled orgasmic scream.

 Tesia and Angelica held Corinna down as another wave crashed over her.  As it began to subside, Corinna tried to shut off the milking machine with numb hands, but failed to find the switch.

 Casually, mercifully, Angelica turned it off, then removed the brass cups from Corinna’s swollen nipples without spilling a drop of precious cream.  “Good morning, mistress.”  She said.  “Shall I have Tesia whipped for her impertinence, or her precociousness?”

 Tesia wiped the shine from her face with the back of her hand.  “Presumptuousness.”  Tesia said, her brow cocked in challenge.

 “Neither,”  Corinna struggled to speak as she sat up.  “I am not her mistress.”  Her pale eyes looked up.  “As I am not your mistress.”

 Angelica jutted her with chin, almost sniffing in contempt.  “You will always be my mistress.”  Her lips folded as she smiled and took Corinna’s hand.  She kissed Corinna’s hand warmly before she spoke.  “Since you are not my mistress, then I can ask…”

 “I beg you not.”  Corinna spoke quickly.  “For you are now the mistress, and asking such is beneath you.”

 “Then I shall ask!”  Tesia intruded, as an errant tear creased her eye.

 Corinna’s cold eyes were bright in the sunlight.  “It is not your place, my dear, sweet Tesia.”  Corinna softened, and leaned forward and kissed the young woman’s cheek.  “Let me taste of the diamonds falling from your eyes.  By happy, for I am happy.  Let me dine on happiness.”

 Tesia nodded, sniffling.  “I am happy mistress.”  She said with a quivering voice.

 Angelica failed to stifle her sob, but Corinna ignored it, and instead, climbed out of bed.  She opened the shutters and let the full light of the bright sun bathe her naked body.  She turned slowly, letting the god Apollo see her completely.  With her eyes closed she smiled as she breathed in the chilling morning air.  She then reached over a took a leash from the wall and looped it around her neck.  She held out the bitter end to Tesia.  “I have a dinner engagement.  Indulge me one last time and see me there?”


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The Iessia 3000

By DX

Copyrighted 5/2025, all rights reserved

 In the morning light, the Adriatic laid before me like a lake of fire.  From the crest of my villa, I lazily cast my gaze up into the rich blue sky and watch the majestic airship Goliath, the size of a dragonfly in the distance, slowly sail into to the floating skyport, the attending workers on their sky sleds slewing around urgently like mosquitoes to get it tied off and secured.

 I drank deep, and let my coffee, black as oblivion, fill my soul with light.  Laying on my triclinium, I took my breakfast as my slave refilled my cup.  Her dark, succulent eyes searched for attention, but she knew better than ask.  My schedule for the day included a visit to the stables, and to ensure the best chance of breeding, I needed all my seed intact.

 I’m not as young as I once was.

 Back in the day I could dump a load down her throat and impregnate a half dozen hucows and still have enough to entertain the wife, but that was then.

 I still watched her as I ate, and thought about her fat, soft lips surrounding my turgid member.  I felt my body charge as her come hither eyes flicked at me.

 “Your Grace,”  Callias my servus coughed softly to gain my attention.  “Tesserarius Medusa is coming up the stairs.  I imagine she will announce Lord Pontis.”

 I inwardly moaned.  I held out my hands and shifted to sit up.  My slave quickly cleaned them.  She then chased after me as I walked to the crest of the hill and peered down into the valley.

 A long train of a dozen ponyboys at full gallop thundered down the smooth road up to the gates of my villa.  They were powerful and lean, their muscles oily and sheen.  Their tack was polished, and tight, holding their heads in strict pose.  They wore eye-shields that completely obscured their vision, leaving full trust in the sharp tug of the reigns.  It was an almost silly amount of horse power to haul such a tiny biga, and made sillier still by who drove them.

 Lord Pontis was as opulent as a full moon, and he liked his ponyboys big.  He always ran them at a full gallup, even through crowded streets.  He liked them intact, maintaining and showing off their boisterous, lustful energy; leaving them with their sacks swinging and painfully smacking around, but since he didn’t like any of his slaves to have a bigger phallus than him, he had them all snipped to the skin.

 He kept a trained eunuch slave in his stable who’s only job was to milk his dickless ponyboys prostates for their seed to sell at market.

 As my slave slipped my toga over my shoulder, I called to Callias.  “Get someone down to the gate immediately to welcome his lordship properly, and by properly I mean his dick sucked.  Whatever reason he’s got for pestering me, I want it blunted.”

 He smiled deeply.  “With your permission, I will see to it myself.”

 I waved dismissively and Callias dashed off.  I didn’t want him to go, but he had earned the honor of sucking off a noble.  I only wished it had been a better noble than Pontis.

 Callias only paused briefly at the top of the stair to allow Medusa and her milites to pass by, then quickly ushered down the stair.

 Medusa nodded when she saw I was getting dressed to receive a visitor.

 Medusa’s Nubian skin glowed like chocolate in the morning sun.  So strong!  Her broad shoulders and mighty arm, her gauntleted hand holding her spear, her flat stomach, muscled with river stones, she was majestic art.

 “Do we know why he’s here?”  I asked, my pain evident.

 “Begging your Grace’s forgiveness, Lord Pontis sent no forward word.”  She said, smartly.  “Request permission to speculate, your Grace.”

 “Please.”

 “Serevus the Younger, your Grace.”

 I paused as I thought.  “Oh, he’s of age?”

 “More than of age, your Grace.”  She said, knuckling her head.  “He should have been elevated three years past.  He has not been brought forth to the senate.”  She paused, hesitating, and I waved her on.  “Please, I again beg forgiveness, my words are nothing but conjecture and hearsay…”  She glanced at her milites, and the soldier picked up her shield and walked a few yards away.  “Permission to approach, your Grace?”

 I waved and she stepped over.  “His name has not been brought to senate for fear of a Pollice Verso.”  She whispered scandalously.

 Thumbs down.  

 Serevus the Younger came from a long lineage, traced back to the old republic.  His accession should have been guaranteed, not even brought to a vote.  I glanced at Medusa.  “Well?”

 Her face filled with shame.  “I am not in a place to share such gossip, your Grace.  Take my tongue from my mouth should I risk such slander.”

 “I’ll risk it.”

 She leaned closer.  “Perhaps, perhaps I say, Serevus the Younger prefers to be lorded over, than over lord.”  Her kissable lips curled in as if to shield her tongue.

 “What a supercilious allegation!”  I roared.  “Were your tongue any less valuable, I would certainly see it served to me with some nice cheese and crunchy bread, but you will have to settle on being flogged.”

 She smiled, her breath light.  “Thank you, your Grace!  Then after, might you let me attend you?”

 I winced.  There was nothing more I wanted than her attending me.  “I’m going to the stables this afternoon…”  I weakly explained.

 “After, your Grace?”  Her voice dripped with plea.  “To make sure you’re fully attended and thoroughly drained.”

 My heart and loins quivered.  “We’ll see.”

 She grinned, brightly.

 At the stair, Medusa’s milites made a noise.  She inadvertently, and with full intent, accidentally bumped her shield against a pillar.  When we looked, she tilted her head down the stairs.

 Inwardly I moaned.  “So soon?”

 Medusa confided.  “I’m certain Callias tried to preserve the moment, but Lord Pontis isn’t known for his endurance.”  She saluted.  “Permission to double my flogging for my impudence, your Grace?”

 I waved her away as I heard the laborious pant of Lord Pontis climb the stair.  I walked over and peered down.  Callias was holding onto Pontis’ arm, keeping him upright.  “Callias!  Did you not think to offer to carry Lord Pontis?  A flogging for you!”

 Before Callias could thank me, Pontis with heavy, dragging breath, interceded.  “A thousand pardons, your Grace.”  He wheezed.  “He had insisted, but I ignored him.  I thought I had the energy, but he overly attended to me, leaving me nothing to climb a simple flight of stairs.”

 I motioned with my head and my slave set down her tray, then dashed down the remaining steps to grab Pontis’ other arm and help him up.

 Callias and my slave led him over to the shaded couch and ensconced him there, where they immediately saw to him.  Callias pressed a goblet of wine into his hands and fanned him, while my slave lay on her back before him, removed his sandals, and began to clean the bottoms of his toes with her tongue.

 “Ah!”  Pontis breathed in deep before chugging his wine.  “Mmmm, so delicious!”  He drank more as Callias wiped the dribble from his face.  “The air here, clean of the city’s stink, such a repast for the lungs.”  He drank more and looked around.  “Magnificent!  Such a magical place you have here, your Grace.  I see clearly why you never leave it!”  He held out his glass insouciantly, and Callias quickly filled it.  “Would it be too presumptuous to ask when my time comes you’ll be so gracious as to allow my funeral pyre here?”  He pointed with a shaking finger.  “Right there, perhaps?”

 I tried to keep my face steady.  “While the thought is entertaining, I pray we have decades to consider your demise, Lord Pontis.  Meanwhile, my schedule is rather full today.”

 “Yes of course, your Grace!  And thank you so much for allowing this intrusion.”  His sipped more wine.  “Mmm, such fine grapes restores me.  I beg you, I’ll be brief.  “Serevus the Younger.”

 I shook my head dismissively.  “I do not know the man.”

 “And why should you?”  He responded.  “He has not impressed on the battlefield, as yourself, been a statesman representing the people, as you have, made any mark on the world what so ever.”  Pontis leaned forward slightly.  “He’s but a morsel of bread seeking a scrape of butter.”

 I nodded.  “Then you know I cannot put his name forward to the Emperor.”

 “You cannot!”  Pontis insisted.  “Nor would anyone with a pittance of intelligence expect you too.  You are honest, if that can be a fault.”  He sat back and sipped his wine.  “Which is why I have him coming here today to meet with you.”

 I balked.  “You impose too much, Lord Pontis.  I’ve a full schedule today.”

 He waved his meaty hand.  “He won’t be a bother.  He just needs to shadow you, get a feel for what the status of being a lord will bring.  To see a man such as yourself, of courage and action at work, would kindle the weakest spark to flame.” 

 I sighed tiredly.  “My patience is quickly dissolving, Lord Pontis.  Serevus the Older is an ass, and I am unsurprised and unconcerned that Serevus the Younger lacks support in the senate.  If Serevus the Younger wanted to be a lord, then he would be here with his own voice.  That you are here speaking on his behalf makes me think less of him.  You sir, on a good day, are a thieving, conniving, scoundrel.  Whenever I host an occasion where you are to attend, I include a percent of the budget to lost silverware.”

 He glanced at his goblet of wine.  “And all this time I thought his Grace was giving away souvenirs.”  He smiled like a cat.  “Forgive me your Grace, but not all of us have your intellect.  Imagine, generating revenue by simply thinking about it!  What an amazing ability you have!”

 “I do not make money simply by thinking.”

 He scoffed.  “Forgive me for streamlining the process.  Your complex inventions, innovative, ground breaking!  An incredible amount work goes into them.”  His eyes sparkled.  “The Iessia Trei Mii.  Is it true you went through two thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine failed prototypes before you had a working model?”

 I shrugged.  “It was… a process.”

 He laughed.  “A process!  Such labor to only suffer defeat after defeat, but what a pay off!  Every fine household now has one!”  He closed his eyes as envisioned it.  “Appearing so simple, so elegant, Just a triangular prism frame, and yet such magic packed within.”  He licked his lips.  “I love to watch as the hucow approaches it, their eyes longing to please their master, and as they lay upon it, their belly to the peak of the long triangle and settling their chin in that little cup to hold their head at the right angle, their arms and legs on the unfolded ledges as the attending slaves strap the hucow down.  Then, once secured, the switch is thrown and the clockworks inside the frame begin to tick and tock.  The magic blade slices bloodlessly through the hucow’s abdomen, then the mechanics rake out the offal and clean the space before the coil track stitches the hucow back up and pumps them full of wonderful, tasty stuffing all within seconds!  They barely have time to whimper!  Then, the mechanical arm rises up to position, and the spit is threaded in, like a warrior, armed with a spear, before the little wheels in the arm slowly, slowly thread the sharp end of the spit into the rectum of the hucow, and push it up easily into the body, all the way through to the esophagus, then up the throat, before coming out the mouth.”  Lord Pontis licked his lips.  “And then it is done.  The hucow is spitted alive, and proud to serve their master in this wonderful way.  The slaves then carry them off to the burning pits to be slow roasted to a golden, crispy brown.”  Pontis opened his eyes and looked at me.  “I love watching their faces as they slowly rotate on the girarrosto; their eyes blinking, thanking me for the honor and privilege.”

 “Thank you for explaining to me how the Iessia works, Lord Pontis.”  I said, breaking his reverie.  “And to be clear, there is no magic involved.  The blade you refer too is bloodless because a piston vibrates it so fast that it generates enough heat to cauterize…”

 He held up his hand.  “Please, your Grace, do not ruin the magic with bothersome science.  My point being, your military successes and vast inventory of ingenious inventions have left you a tremendously wealthy, and generous man, leaving us plebs to scrounge for crumbs.”

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