Key to Chroma

by Piers Anthony

  "As they were with Ini,” he agreed. “I have no objection to illusion; I merely like to have a notion of the reality behind it."

  He was sitting beside her, his feet on the floor. She moved to sit on his lap, her bare thighs pressing warmly against his. She turned her head to kiss him, her full-seeming breasts close under his chin. As she did so, the full bed elevated, and the stone chamber faded out, along with the castle. They were floating at about treetop height, their legs dangling. It was somewhat daunting, but now that he was familiar with the illusion, he accepted it. If they fell off the bed, they would land on the floor just below his feet.

  They cruised across the forest. Ine rested her chin against his shoulder, so that he could see past her fragrant mass of translucent hair to the panorama beyond. There were hills and vales, with a river winding through, and mountains in the distance. It was a lovely natural scene.

  They passed over a farmstead. Throe looked down at it, but Ine's full breasts were in the way. They obligingly disappeared so as not to impede his vision, but the left one still pressed against the side of his chest. There was a farmer below, hoeing his garden. He looked up and did a double-take as he spied them. “What's this?” he cried.

  The door of the farmhouse opened, and a woman and three children rushed out. They all stared up at the couple on the sailing bed. “For shame!” the woman said, and hustled the children back inside.

  "That is impressive illusion,” Throe said, not completely comfortable. “We're not actually floating over a farmstead."

  "That would require a kind of magic I lack,” she agreed. “I deal only in illusion. Nevertheless, it has its reality."

  "How so?"

  "I projected an illusion image of us to the farmstead, and brought back the illusion of them here. So the episode occurred, just not quite the way either party thought."

  For a moment Throe was alarmed, before he penetrated yet another little ruse. “All sights are illusory here. Neither a farmer nor his family would be surprised by the appearance of a naked couple in the sky, and if they didn't like it, they would simply overlay it with masking illusion of their own."

  "You are entirely too smart. The fact is, I have a bit of a taste for voyeurism, or exhibitionism, as the case may be, so in my fancy there may be people watching and reacting. Does this bother you?"

  "Some,” he admitted.

  "Good.” The farmer and his family reappeared, the wife trying vainly to turn the staring children away. “They have never seen a nonChroma man do it. It's an oddity."

  "An oddity,” he agreed, bemused.

  "Shameless hussy,” the wife said. “And you, strange man—don't you have a woman of your own back home?"

  This was entirely too realistic. “Please,” Throe said.

  "As you wish, brute man.” The farm family vanished. Ine kissed him again, hard, and bore him back on the bed, which became a softly padded cloud. She straddled him expertly, and in a moment he was inside her and thrusting, and she was matching him, tightening rhythmically about him. As he climaxed, the sensation expanded explosively, putting them at the center of a universe of coruscating colors. They drifted through air and space, slowly settling back towards ground.

  "That was wonderful,” he said.

  "Do you forgive me for the dungeon scene?"

  "I forgive you everything."

  "Even the way I pretend you are my father when we embrace?"

  Throe was appalled. “You do that?"

  "Every girl longs to possess her father. If he knew, he would whip my little bare bottom till it bled."

  "You are teasing me again."

  She stretched languorously. “Perhaps."

  "Are you trying to make me feel guilty?"

  "Of course. You are committed to your own woman, and your guilt over enjoying me lends a special edge to the experience. I love that.” She stroked his backside, cupping a buttock and then patting it.

  There was too much truth in what she said. “I think I have had enough of this for now."

  "Then it is time to eat and talk."

  Robes formed around them, and the chamber became a dining room, and the bed a table loaded with all manner of exotic foods. “I think I will not inquire what we are really eating,” he said. Nor about how she managed to key such elaborate effects to his senses, without telepathy; she must be responding to his reactions, and applying her illusions to enhance them. She was superlative not only with illusions, but in their relevance and timing.

  "Tell me of your children."

  He was getting used to the abrupt shifts of subjects these sisters practiced. All of them seemed to be interested in aspects of his past life. It must be a woman thing. “They are of your generation. My wife raised them well. None of them became martial artists. My eldest is a boy named Blue; he farms blue corn at the fringe of the nearest Blue Chroma, and trades it to a middleman for other staples, and lives well. He is twenty now, and married, and has his first and second children."

  "So you are a grandfather."

  "So I am. Would you have clasped me if you had known?"

  "Not as ardently, so as not to strain your senile system. You don't seem much the worse for wear, however."

  "My second lover was an Air Chroma woman. She ensured that I did not become senile in that region."

  She laughed. “Of course. We are invisible, not insensible. What of your second?"

  "My daughter, named Thread. She is nineteen, and a seamstress, like her mother, doing very nice work."

  "Pretty frills?"

  "By no means. She sews ugly underclothing: vests and pants. They are much in demand."

  "You are teasing me back?"

  "Only marginally. She is mistress of the art of impenetrability. An arrow will not pass through her cloth, and a knife will not cut it. She incorporates tough strands of vegetable fiber, and animal hide, and resilient sponge, so that the sharpest object is caught and slowed and encumbered. It is almost weapon-proof. I wear it myself, under my shirt."

  "So if I had set a spiked trap for you, it would not have worked."

  "Not unless it struck my face or an extremity, or had unusual force. She got interested in it when she married a soldier, and wanted to be sure of his protection. She turned out to have a talent for it. Now her husband is the envy of others, though she is not lovely of feature. She looks too much like me, instead of her mother."

  Ine laughed, causing sparkles to radiate outward. “And your third?"

  "A boy, now eighteen, named Plank. He is a carpenter, doing routine work during his apprenticeship, but ambitious to become a specialist and make tree houses."

  "What is a tree house?"

  "A structure constructed in the branches of a tree. Bird keepers use them, and beekeepers. It is a different realm, especially when the tree is magic."

  "So his ambition is specialized."

  "Specialization is a route to success. Isn't that the case with you three sisters?"

  "Indeed. And your fourth?"

  "My wife did not want to indulge with another man—well, that is a separate story. But she had to, so she went anonymously to a chamber where women seek fourths. Those are always well patronized by men. She took the first man who asked her, but it didn't take, so she came again and took another, but that didn't take either. Finally she went again and asked a Chroma visitor, and that one took. I never knew his name or Chroma; the baby was of course nonChroma, and we called him Chaff. He is quite unlike the others. He has aspiration to be an entertainer. He learned early to get along by making others laugh, so probably he will succeed."

  "Fourths can have trouble getting along,” she agreed. “We all like our fourth, Ino, but she has always been diffident. Our mother, like your wife, did not wish to be with another man, so she went to a Temple and got a changeling."

  "You know of the changelings?” This was surprising news.

  "I am sinfully curious, so I investigated and learned that the Temples can implant babies in the manner of men
, but without men. They may not even be related to the women who bear them. But Ino is no monster, and none of us wish her harm. She is only fifteen, but quite lovely. We invited her to join the competition for Jamais, as she does like him, though they have never actually met. But she declined."

  "She will not have to marry until eighteen; she has time."

  "But she could marry now, and Jamais is worth it. We do not understand why she demurs; she is pretty enough."

  That reminded Throe that all four of these sisters were younger than his own daughter, though they hardly seemed it. They seemed uncommonly mature. But he realized that his daughter seemed quite mature to others; it was only in his fancy that she remained a cute child.

  But that was not his present concern. “I am curious about the appeal of Jamais. The others simply say there is something about him. Can you tell me exactly that that is, that makes three of you willing to compete for him?"

  "Certainly. My sisters are more discreet than I am, so do not reveal all they know. He has a rare and essential ability. He can see reality."

  "You mean he has a sensible mind?"

  "No, he can be as foolish as the next man. He can see the invisible landscape, and he can penetrate illusions. Their masks do not deceive him. This makes him an excellent guide."

  "It certainly does! We passed a rabbit, which he avoided; it turned out to be an ogre."

  "Yes. Normally he does not make his talent obvious, because it can be useful to have others ignorant of it, but he shows it when he has to. That is why he is the best guide for the dangerous regions, and why we desire him. He would be an asset to any woman, and could keep our children remarkably safe."

  "I do not mean to be cruel, but what will you do if he marries one of your sisters?"

  "Oh, I would wish them well. I want Jamais for practical reasons; his straight sight and my command of illusion could make us prominent as a team. I do not actually love him, though I would if we married. I think it is similar with my sisters, except for Ino. She likes him for himself. But of course she remains young and impressionable, and evidently shy, because she is not truly of our blood. It's too bad."

  "Fourths can be that way,” Throe agreed. “My fourth always felt different, and I know of other fourths with similar misgivings. They were, as it were, forced on their families. But it is the law and custom, so it must be. And of course they can marry other fourths, who do understand."

  "There is the saving grace,” she agreed, standing. “Now we are done eating. Have you recovered enough for another senile effort of sex?"

  "You are as impertinent as my daughter! I should turn you over my knee for a spanking."

  "Oh, yes, that should be fun.” Her bottom turned bare.

  "I was joking!"

  "I wasn't."

  Throe found himself blushing. He had walked into that one. He realized belatedly that her prior reference to spanking by her father was a fantasy evoked less as punishment than as arousal. “No spanking."

  "It is a legitimate form of sexual initiation."

  "I kill men; I don't abuse women."

  "What you do for discipline you will not do for pleasure?"

  "It's not pleasure!” But she had him in retreat, and she knew it. “I'm not ready for more sex."

  "If you spanked me, you would be."

  "The first time was your way. The second time is my way. No spanking."

  "Oh come on. You might like it."

  "I wouldn't."

  "How do you know? Have you ever tried it?"

  "Never."

  "So it is time to find out.” Before he could get off his chair, she draped herself over his lap, her bare bottom up. “Try it."

  He stared at her plush posterior. She had put him in the position of a bigot, one who condemned a thing without any experience of it. He patted her bottom.

  "Harder,” she said, her head near the floor.

  He patted harder.

  "You call that a spank? Make me feel it!"

  Half irritated, half intrigued, he struck her hard enough to sting. Her buttocks responded, quivering under the impact. The touch was evocative, and she was right: it was extraordinarily sexy. His hand tingled with more than the shock of contact. So did his groin.

  "You're getting it now,” she said. “Get into it. Make it bounce."

  He did, and it did. Then she got up and clasped him as the table became the bed, and they fell onto it, kissing. Then she flipped over, presenting her reddened rear to him again, and he entered her from behind. “Harder!” she cried as he thrust, and he obeyed, coupling violently. The feel of those buttocks against his groin was special, spreading the area of contact across his belly and thighs. Now it was his whole body spanking hers. It was as if he were climaxing from his entire midsection, the pleasure magnified accordingly. His member was merely a tiny pin holding the place for the larger event.

  He felt her climaxing also, her pleasure so powerful that his mind could not keep it out; his climax had triggered hers, and hers was like a violent storm. Indeed, the illusion of a storm formed around them, rain slanting down to blast at his flesh. The bed was a boat, pitching in steep waves of pleasure. He clung to her, riding it out, surge after surge, maintaining the divine connection.

  At last it subsided, and they fell apart, panting beside each other on the bed. She had been right again: the spanking had made him more than ready for sex.

  "If we were in a contest, you have won it,” he said. “You know more about sex than I do."

  "And I'm younger than your daughter,” she said. And laughed when he winced.

  Then they slept. In the night he woke, aware of her body against his, but he did not want to get into yet more sex. Fortunately she remained asleep, so there was no issue.

  A thought occurred: did her illusion remain when she slept? The castle chamber did, but it might be that stationary structures of illusion could be set permanently, while animated ones like personal appearance did not. The other sisters, he realized, had taken care to sleep in darkness.

  But if he made a light, it might wake her, and then she would be clothed in illusion regardless. He could stroke her body to verify its form, but again, that might wake her. So he would have to be satisfied with conjecture. Or he could simply ask her in the morning. He slept.

  Dawn came with a phenomenal display of pink clouds, yellow shafts of sunlight striking them from below. A cloud caught him looking, formed lips, and blew him a kiss.

  He reached out to touch Ine. His hand came up against her bottom. That wasn't coincidence either, he realized. “You do have fun,” he said.

  "I think life should not be dull."

  "No man would find life with you dull."

  She climbed onto him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her right leg coming down between his legs, her kiss ardent. Ina had done this too, and it had been effective. He had not planned on more sex, but she gave him no choice; he had to respond. The bed disappeared as they embraced, and they floated on a warm sea tide, rolling over and over but having no trouble breathing when under the surface. This time she climaxed before he did, her body heating against him, her breathing fast, her interior tightening. His own climax was submerged in hers, a small section of the larger process.

  "How much of this is illusion?” he asked as it finished.

  "All of it except the sex,” she said.

  "Then you are one passionate woman."

  "We all are. We use illusion to make our partners respond, so that they think it is their idea, but it is ours."

  "I thought you three were merely trying to impress Jamais through me."

  "That, too, of course. It seemed best to let you think that, because sexual desire is supposed to originate with the man. I was disappointed when you did not take me during the night."

  "I thought you were asleep."

  "I was."

  "But then—"

  "I dream of being taken as I sleep. But of course then I lack animated illusion, so can't tempt a man
to ravish me despite his best intentions."

  "But an act like that—surely you would soon awaken."

  "I would feign continued slumber, of course, not even generating supportive illusion. The point is to seem to be unconscious of it. To feel his hands on my breasts, his member probing me, and I remaining illicitly quiescent. With luck I might even return to sleep and dream of it before it finished."

  Throe whistled. “I think, had I known that, I would indeed have been tempted."

  Her response was electric. “Can you stay another night?"

  He laughed. “Down, tigress! I have a mission to accomplish."

  "But you will have a return trip to make, once you finish with the cone."

  Throe was amazed. “You want to see me again, after I render my verdict? Suppose it isn't you?"

  "Outrage! This is not a bribe for your decision, but sincere interest. I want a man who will take me in my sleep, indulging my secret fantasy, and not condemn me for my desire for it."

  "Apology.” He was blushing.

  "Accepted,” she said, kissing him. “Explanation: I think you will not choose me, so I will be free to seek other than Jamais. You are old, but still virile, and committed elsewhere, so no fault is feasible. You have come to know me somewhat, so are no longer a stranger. I have a certain taste for ravishment and voyeurism, as you may have noted, and this is an aspect. Will you return, and spank me, and take me in my sleep, and perhaps indulge in other mild perversions?"

  She was not bluffing. “I should decline."

  She kissed him again. “You imply no, but mean yes."

  He nodded. “I think you have uncovered an aspect of me I sought to suppress, even from myself."

  "We shall call it a consolation prize. The other sister you do not select will be interested also. Can you handle group sex, if we are the group?"

  "Would I have a choice?"

  "And we will let you pretend it is against your will."

  "Appreciation.” He might be disgusted with himself when it was over, but she had indeed introduced him to something highly intriguing. Perhaps it was her personality and illusion more than the acts, but it all came in a package.