Those that find their way to the Realm often expect that Tera would never have time for them. After all, she is the Queen, those asking for her time must be many, and so, because of this, so many simply never expect to actually encounter her.
Of course, Tera being who she is, there is always a part of her that has time for others. Thus, visitors to her Realm could find themselves in a moment like this:
“May I offer you something, Theodore?”
“It’s Theo, please. And no thank you, Ma’am. I’m fine.”
“Well, if you’d like me to use “Theo,” then I expect you to call me Tera, otherwise I shall be using your proper name—quite a lot, I think.”
“Yes Ma’a— … Tera.”
The smile he received from her was stunning: a warm, truthful, caring grin—which wasn’t a surprise considering who she was and the stories about her. Right or wrong, they were all clear on one point: when you were in her presence, you were the only one who mattered. Settling into her chair, she rested her chin onto her left hand and studied him for a moment before asking: “What would you like to talk about?”
Fidgeting slightly, he replied: “Tails.”
There was a nod for him to continue, her own tail arching behind her to seemingly look at him.
“I would like to submit myself, to be the slave of the One Who Is Not Named.”
The tip of her tail turned sideways slightly, as if unsure of what had just been said.
“Your Realm is beautiful—wonderful, really—but …”
“But it isn’t what your desires are drawing you to.”
She tapped a finger against her lips, then: “You do understand that submitting yourself to Her isn’t that simple. You have to be committed to both of Us.”
“I don’t … I’m sorry, I don’t care about you, Tera … I mean … I don’t not care about you … ummm … I only…”
He was brought up short by Tera’s tail beginning to turn black. He knew exactly what that meant and who it was. The only thing to do, as her tail turned blacker and blacker, her hair turned flame red then beyond, and her horns the same deepest ebony of her tail, was to scramble from the chair he had been in and fall to his knees. He didn’t look up—didn’t dare to—as She spoke.
“You are not worthy of submitting to either of us.”
He didn’t reply, but just continued to look at the floor as he heard Her descend from her throne. The sound of Her heels walking towards him was like thunder in his ears.
“You are selfish and self-centered and you are not worthy.”
The words bit into him. He closed his eyes as She rejected him out of turn. She came closer. He could smell her now; the scent of leather, cherries, and latex was unmistakable. He had known it for so long, even if he had never experienced it before.
She paused in front of him. Opening his eyes just slightly, he could see a pair of black leather boots. He wanted to look upwards, to see them clinging to Her legs, to glimpse the latex skirt around Her hips, the leather corset that worshipped Her form, to see the glint of light against the black latex opera gloves with which She could, if She wanted, control him …
… like in his dreams.
“You ask to submit? What gives you the right?”
There was but a whisper: “It is the old way. I submit myself to your will.”
He felt Her hand running through his hair, as if examining him, before She fully entangled Her hand and pulled slightly: “The old ways are gone. They are no more.”
The pull made him look upwards, but he continued to keep his eyes closed. If he looked, he would fall to Her will, Her power that had been over him from the moment he had learned of Her. “I claim the right to be considered.”
He felt the tip of Her tail stroking his cheek: “Very well. You are refused.”
The shiver that passed through him was terrible. She had formally refused him. By the laws of the old ways She had the right to discard him, change him, or take that which was most precious to him. She could do anything … and he knew it.
“You think it is so simple to be allowed to serve? To submit? To be collared and be a pet? It never was and never will be.” Her breath was hot against his ear, he imagined Her now, seductively close to him, Her body so close now that he mewled quietly. “It is not a game. It is not something you can have because you ask.” A whimper of need escaped him as the truth of his folly was slowly revealed: “A collar is a gift. It has meaning. It is not adornment alone. It is a symbol of My will and your submission to Me.”
Her hand moved to cup his chin: “It marks those I choose as ours. I would never choose one that could not accept both of us.” Her voice became less harsh, but her touch on his chin did not waver: “You cannot serve half a Mistress. That would mean you do not worship her properly.”
He couldn’t argue with Her. He had thought that being Hers would be what She wanted. Opening his eyes, he startled at what he saw.
It was Tera.
She drew her thumb over his lips: “You cannot discuss your needs alone. You cannot just give up or give in without understanding. That’s what she is telling you.” Releasing him, she walked to her chair, no throne. It had been a chair before, it was a throne for Tail, it was a chair now … except that it was a throne, because the Queen was sitting in it. She settled there, then motioned for him to approach her. When he was in his place, at her feet, she spoke again. “You never wanted to discuss anything before, now we are going to discuss your needs, Theo. Perhaps then we’ll both know what you want and why.”
He was quiet for a time, not knowing where to start, when she asked: “Can I offer you something, Theo?”
He allowed himself a small smile: “Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”
Tera nodded and smiled in return: “I think you will be … in time …”
For everyone who meets Tera, it is when the exchange becomes a discussion that something truly worthwhile begins …
The Realm is the creation of TeraS, also known as TeraSuccubi, the owner of Succubus.net, who is the owner of all copyrights to this literary universe. All characters, places and stories that are written by her are not public domain and may not be used without her express written authorization.