A Hell of a Spell

"Do you know why it is, my queen, that this trinket is called a scepter?"

The elf plopped down on the silk cushion of the throne.

Grasping the arm and the scepter she smiled at the power.

She peeled off her soft cloth boot with the toe of the other and examined her pallid peds, now coated and adorned with centuries old gold set with stones like rock candy, all purloined from the Queen's private collection, and admired them lovingly.

The Queen could only shake her ass as answer, she was so deeply panting like a bitch in highest heat.

"Because EVERYONE works, 'cept 'er!"

The elf rose from the throne with a flash of her nimble legs and raised the staff like a wand.

Indeed, it had to be a closely tied, prized item for the magic to work.

Wrought with one long shaft of ivory from the maw of some behemoth that even the elf had never seen, far off to the south in a blazing land.

Bands of gold proceeded to the golden ratio, each band embedded with a different row of precious stones, rubies, redder than the talons of the food hungry eagle, then emeralds, green as a dark glen or a deep sea, sapphires, the like of which the gods used when he wrought the dome of the sky, opals as black as the pearls were pure white, and finally diamonds., glittering, before being crowned with what might have passed for a Faberge Egg, if Faberge had been a master jeweler of the goblin race and nearly three hundred when it was made.

The thing was not only exquisitely beautiful, expensive beyond measure, and the symbol of the divine right of the royals to rule in the stead of the gods on Earth, it was deeply sentimental, having been in the family for generations.

Belinda had tried to grasp it when a baby, now it was about to be planted in her ass.

"Well not anymore, PRINCESS!".

In an ancient tongue that only the Bon Pa priests on the top of the tallest mountains could still speak the elfen sorceress raised the staff of royal office, the Queen's scepter, and cried:

"Osiris! Firstborn son of the womb of Nut, begotten of Seb, the lord of Akert whose existence is for everlasting!

Soon no panties, just a joke,

Your fat ass will be flat ass broke.

Not a chance to keep a scrap,

You'll fall for my every trap,

The Queen loves jilling off her throne,

Even when she's not alone,

The honey pot gets filled with juice,

With a scepter shoved in her caboose!"

And she rammed the rod home.

Belinda let out an earth shattering screech, having a series of the most intense orgasms of his life.

And the orb atop her scepter shot out a stream of golden light.