Ch1. Welcome to Rehabilitation

The corn fields were all around me as this garbage truck trundled its way down the dirt road, leaping a little as it did. I rested my chin on my knuckles, looking at the descending sun as the two of us sat in silence, heading towards what was to be my home for the next year-- or most of it, at least, nobody could answer my basic fucking question, I guess.

"Excited?"

"Like for the grave."

The demon driver seemed to take that in the short spirit it was intended in and stopped talking, cutting off that conversation before it began-- if not before I lost mental track of my monologue.

Anyway, right. I was on my way to the Mamano Mana Men's Mental Rehabilitation center. It was a simple enough idea some Lilim had had after the portals: our dimension is sort of rife with mental illness and personality defects, and what better, simpler, more effective way to deal with that than magic? At first she bought about ten square miles of cheap, fallow farmland in the middle of nowhere Illinois, and then within a week she had the prototype center set up.

The land was chopped up into lots, cabins were constructed, and monsters were invited. The plan was simple as could be-- find one defective man, toss into cabin with volunteer mamano, and voila, satisfied customers. It was not, I thought, a bad plan-- if some guy needed to have an Ookumade stinging him, wrapped around him every minute of every hour of every day, to prove to the mental pit in his soul that he could be loved, then hell with it.

But I don't. Arguing with my parents should not end up with mandatory therapy.

But it did, I guess, so there I was, trundling my way down a dusty road, the last gasping moments of any sort of freedom yawning before me, unless I could think of something-- and fast.

The only thing I really had going for me is, bluntly, that I was not what one might call "Mamano bait." Obviously they don't have human standards of attractiveness, but monsters do have types-- and, charitably, "chubby" was not one of them. Obviously they found someone, but I doubted it would be some top-tier rape machine, dedicated only and solely to the hunting of men.

The truck stopped before the cabin, the only building for miles around-- a two story domicile, vaguely pleasant, if generic. It was a three hour walk back to the nearest town, if you were smart about it, so my current plan was "figure out when she goes to sleep, bolt, then go on from there."

No, it was not a good plan, but it was better than anything else I could imagine at the time.

I got out, the suitcase full of my things-- clothes, a toothbrush, that sort of thing-- clasped firmly in my hand. The demon walked in front of me-- and was really pushing the whole "hell-beast" theme, because no one creature could smell that badly of brimstone-- though I was oddly unbothered by it.

She opened the door, and we entered, me slowly walking behind her. "Say hello to your home for the next year, mister Pax!" (No, it's not my real name, but fuck you I'll use a real pseudonym if I want). We were in a small living room, where a TV was currently turned on some kind of football game.

I heard footsteps coming from the kitchen and wheeled to the right-- only for my heart to die when I saw who was here with me.

An amazoness, clad in a jersey and way too short short-shorts, holding a bowl of chips in one sculpted arm and a bottle of beer in the other, one horn jutting out of a head full of silvery-white hair. Her tail seemed to subtly strain towards me, and I less than subtly backed away-- fuck you, I'll be scared of the seven foot dom machine if I want to be scared of the seven foot dom machine.

"Adeline, may I please to present to you Mr. Pax, the...patient?" As a single bead of sweat dripped down my brow, I could already tell the Demon was feeding on my panic-- but I couldn't blame her, I had been kind of a dick, and there are far worse monsters in this world than an amazon.

"Pleasure to meet you." She stared me down with an intensity that frightened, before seeming to remember that there were onlookers-- or at least, that I might not react well to being stared down. "I'd shake your hands, but, you know...sort of occupied."

"I, on the other hand, have nothing distracting me!" A voice from the stairs broke my monologue-- again, damn it, don't they know how important that is?-- before, with a burst of air, something landed on the floor, then rose up slowly.

A manticore.

One of those worse monsters I mentioned earlier. Her hair fell in red waves down her back, framed by a powerful pair of wings. Her paws were a vivid red as well, both sets. In the spirit of charity, I will say she was wearing a bikini, though I know of no bikinis which are made of pink cotton.

But that is not what caught my attention, not really.

No, what caught my attention, in truth, was the tail that hung from her.

It was huge, easily as thick around as Adeline's arm, topped by a constantly undulating bulb, which opened at random, releasing...noxiously sweet smell into the room that counteracted the brimstone. It was riddled with the venomous spines which make a manticore so dangerous, and infamous.

All I could do was stare at it, until it moved-- and then the Manticore waved it, opening the bulb as she did. "I think somebody has a crush."

"I think I should have packed a taser."

The room was dead silent for a moment, as I caught up with the words that had just fallen out of my mouth.

'Tism, what you gonna do?

As I prayed, desperately, for somebody, anybody-- my big brother, the buddha, Zeus, a guy named Maurice-- to haul my happy ass out of there before I could become more intimately familiar with a manticore in that day than I had in my earlier 22 years of life, the tension broke as the manticore laughed, a great chuffing fit of a giggle if I've ever heard one, even while Adeline continued to glare at me.

"I like this one. I think I'll enjoy breaking him in."

"Ariel, behave! This is a place of healing."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now?"

Two monsters? More than I expected, and a beastman makes life a lot harder than I really wanted, but two...I can deal with two.

It was only then, of course, that there came a knock on the door.

Split between walking nearer to those machines and being rude, I chose the first, clearing the way, allowing the third entrant: a Dark Elf, dressed like a mix between a real outdoorsy dominatrix and a cop. Fancy leather suit, utility belt with a pair of silver handcuffs, and to top it off, a stereotypical cop hat.

Did I mention the giant ass? No?

Well it was there. Thick, some wellspring in me wanted to get on my knees and--

"Ah, Ms. Jezebel." The demon spoke, breaking me from my reverie, then stage whispered to me, "I'd stick with her if I was you."

There was a tension, broken only by the sound of hooves coming from the garage.

A minotaur entered, thickly muscled, and I felt whatever small hope was in me bleed-- she might have been trying to dress matronly enough for a Holst, but I know abs, and I know aggression, and I know their stink-- she was prime minotaur, and I was suddenly very, very glad that I had not worn my Superman sweatshirt.

"Ah, Magdalene."

Alright. This was not great, but I could work with it. Four wannabe alphas trying to contain one man? My hope transformed into playing them against each other, sewing every kind and every terrible conflict, before escaping.

Yes, yes. Let their personalities grate against each other, distract each other. Let them fight, and I would swiftly away, laughing all the while. I had the better part of 400$ in my account-- I could run to town in the dead of night, catch a bus to my grandparents, and then live there for the foreseeable future-- they would not throw me to the wind.

That, at least, was the plan, until I noticed the thumping coming from the basement stairs. Paws, claws, grinding on the wood as she made her way up. As it did, the smell of brimstone grew stronger and stronger.

And then the door blew open, and all the hope in me died.

A hellhound, clad in tiny denim shorts and a bikini top. "Hey handsome." She strutted, that damned hound, and the plopped her ass on the great-big stuffed chair. She spread her legs in the hellhound fashion, by which I mean in the way whence, as the flame around her leaped up from her legs and paws and all other places, it framed her cunt.

Subtle.

She noticed my staring, and grinned a demon's grin. "See something you like?"

"...I gotta go call my parents!" And then I ran up stairs, away from them, as fast as any man had ever run in all the eras of man and of the earth, my heart beating swiftly as I did.