Chapter Seventeen

Franklin reclined on his raised dais in the Hall of Pillars, sinking into the many cushions and pillows as he smiled at his royal guest.

The Hoopoe had been correct; the Queen of Kitor and the far eastern lands was indeed pleasing to the eye and generous with her kingdom's wealth. The ebony-skinned ruler’s features were sharp and acute, granting her a regal air as she tipped her head in respectful deference before boldly meeting his gaze.

“Blessings on you, Heir of David, for your kind reception.” She spoke the Hebrew tongue well. Assuredly tutored on the months-long journey to Jerusalem. “Your messenger bird sang many songs of your riches and wisdom when delivering the invitation.”

Franklin didn’t have to look at the Hoopoe to know it was ruffling feathers and clacking its beak at the good-natured jest. Anyone who spent more than a day in the mountain-cock’s company quickly tired of the creature’s incipient chirping.

All birds, even the talking variety, were unrepentant chatterboxes.

He let a brief smile ghost across his lips and observed Queen Bilqīs closely.

She stood with her attendants at the base of the stairs leading up to his lofty platform. Strapping knights wore lion cloaks over boiled hide armor, and nubile young handmaidens in the finest white kabas stole glances at the luxury surrounding them.

The Hall of Pillars was grand in design. High ceilings were held aloft by intricately carved columns of Corinthian marble, and ornate tapestries fluttered on an incense-scented breeze. Stone lions of Franklin’s own stood proudly on mosaic-tiled plinths, ready to leap to life at a flick of his finger, and peacocks roamed freely, dragging their colorful tails across the mirror-polished floor.

The palace on Ophel offered the best views of the Holy City below, visible from the open balconies flanking the hall.

No less than fifty of his wives were present today, and several dozen concubines, arrayed like the precious gems of womanhood on thick carpets and velvet pillows behind him. They were all gorgeous and dignified, peerless examples of physical perfection and prestigious in pedigree.

None more so than his most favored wife, Naamah the Ammonite, who shared his seat, pressing her pregnant belly into Franklin’s side and staring at him worshipfully with entrancing amethyst eyes.

The mother of his first child deserved the preferential treatment. She had confided that it was a boy child she carried. Yahweh had visited her in a dream.

“Another jewel for your crown, my beloved husband.” Naamah murmured, snaking a small hand into his kingly vestments to tease the hard flesh beneath. “You should bed her, plant your royal seed inside her, and father a new dynasty in Shiba that will endure for millennia.”

She was always excited at the prospect of a fresh conquest. Franklin knew better than to capitulate to her horny desires, despite how frisky she became.

Seven hundred wives–each a princess, rare in mind and body–and an army of lusty concubines was a lot for one sovereign to handle, no matter how much divine sorcery he commanded.

“We come to give tribute to honor the King of Israel.” Queen Bilqīs declared. Her warriors wrestled large lacquered wooden chests onto the bottom step and threw back the lids. “Twenty talents of gold, precious stones, and spices from the east. A small token in exchange for the invaluable opportunity to converse on matters of council and wisdom with your esteemed Majesty.”

“A princely gift, Highness.” His eyes flittered across the displayed wealth–enough to purchase a small city–before fixing again on the stately monarch. “Alas, the offering does not shine so bright beside a beauty such as you.”

Bilqīs smiled and inclined her head; the gemstones studding her crown caught the light. She was captivating. Proud and statuesque, bare-breasted in the fashion of her people with radiant ebony skin bathed in fragrant oils. She wore elaborate jewelry on her arms, shoulders, and neck, tinkling at each graceful movement. A sage green sarong-like wrap trailed across the floor in a long train behind her.

She cut a powerful figure, even as a supplicant, and when their gazes met again, a spark passed between them.

“His Majesty speaks with a honeyed tongue. Of this, I was not forewarned.” Her reply was light and flirtatious but burdened with unspoken promises.

Naamah purred, nuzzling his shoulder and questing her fingers lower to grasp his royal member.

“The tongue of a king is necessarily nimble and serves many purposes.” Franklin basked in the tittering of his wives and concubines, waving a servant carrying a bronze tray forward. “However, I could never accept such a generous gift without returning the gesture of friendship.”

Seven silver amulets rested on the burnished surface. Inscribed with the Lion of Judah and thrumming with divine magicks. The Queen of Sheba covered a gasp of astonishment when they were presented to her.

“These are–”

“A tribute to your graciousness, Highness.” He nodded respectfully. “Crafted from the same sacramental silver that inlays the Arc of the Covenant. Forged by my own hand so you may carry a symbol of the line of David back to your distant home. Any warrior who bears them will be blessed with the strength, righteousness, and holy wrath of the archangel Cassiel. Praise be to Yahweh.”

“Praise be to Yahweh.” Intoned the crowd surrounding them.

“Praise be to Yahweh.” Bilqīs echoed sultrily, sauntering up the steps of the dais. Her round hips swayed enticingly, and dusky eyes fixed on Naamah’s not-so-subtle handiwork beneath his robe. “But I was hoping to carry much more than a symbol home with me, your Majesty.”

Of course she did.

Beckoning her forward, Franklin expended a trickle of magic that conjured a canopy of hanging curtains to grant them a measure of privacy. His pregnant first wife stroked and cooed eagerly, melting into his side as she watched the dark-skinned goddess approach.

The audience hadn’t played out as intended, but he should have expected this.

After all, he was the Sorcerer King Franklin, chosen by God to rule the promised land.

“Say it again, slut. Try calling me Frank while you **** on my cock.”

”Mmmlurgh~!”

“Keep fucking her throat, Master. Teach that impudent whore to respect your power.”

Power was definitely the word of the day. Franklin was bursting at the seams with it as he roughly fucked Daphne’s bitchy mouth.

There’s been an odd-out-of-body experience after fastening Solomon's talisman. A fleeting vision of another time and place before energy flooded him as though he’d mainlining a lightning storm. Except it hadn’t atomized him like so much raw life essence probably should.

Franklin felt great, in fact. Never better.

Strength and vitality shot through every cell and nerve ending, obliterating all doubts and horseshit moralizings. The world had clarified from a murky mire of fear, uncertainty, and insecurities into a delineated pattern of blacks and whites. Good and bad. Right and wrong. The wicked and the virtuous.

No more gray areas. Those were where evil festered, preying upon the weak and the innocent alike.

“Never again.” He swore in a voice that reverberated with authority, hips thrusting like pneumatic pistons. “I will stand aside no longer, nor shall I bend under the lash of heartless harlots like you, Daphne. A reckoning is due, and you are the debtor.”

”Gluuurp~!”

The vile wretch was on her knees where all wrong-doers belonged. Crimson ropes bit onto her flesh most fetchingly, restraining any attempts to escape rightful judgment. Her body was a vehicle of lust and ****, rendered immobile but quivering in a distracting manner as Franklin administered her penance.

Massive pale breasts–drastically deformed by the bindings–rippled like overfilled waterskins when they slapped against his legs. Her superbly toned, fit frame jerked forward each time he slammed her stunning face down on his pious prick. He gripped her inky bangs like reins to pulverize her tight, wet throat.

The venomous temptress would learn her proper place soon.

Namely, beneath him.

“Yes, my Lord. Punish her. It is your duty as her superior.” Konoha’s lush curves and downy-soft tails enveloped Franklin's back. A moist womanhood rode his pumping butt while her claw-tipped fingers traced sigils on his chest and abdomen. “I can feel the heavenly power seething within you. Seize it. Command it. By the moon and stars, shape it to your will, then break that miserable cunt upon the alter of your dauntless might.”

Daphne’s wide-eyed stare and minuscule nods signaled agreement with the Kitsune’s ardent entreaties, the shameless Delilah.

He could smell her liquid arousal dripping onto the floor, forming a pungent puddle around her strictly tethered knees. She gagged and hacked as his rigid length plundered her virgin throat, **** on the raging tip and wetly gurgling for more.

Franklin used her like a fuck toy—a disposable plaything on which to vent his frustrations—serving her the reapings of the many indignities she’d sowed over the years. Rage stewed in his gut, impatient for release as a celestial wildfire threatened to incinerate his soul.

“I. Am. Vindication!” Franklin roared, burying himself deep in her esophagus and erupting like a volcano. The untamed power tremored, condensing in his core and crystalizing into a flawless diamond of power. “I am RETRIBUTION!!”

Both women spasmed orgasmically as a blindingly bright shockwave of divine light blasted out from him. Konoha clung to him like a sail flapping in a hurricane, her lavender tails whipping wildly while Franklin locked Daphne in place, feeding her his furious seed.

Cement dust, littered tools, and scraps of paper blew away from them in a concentric circle. The fluorescent tubes in the ceiling sputtered and popped, raining down dying phosphor in showers of sparks.

Franklin didn’t notice, utterly absorbed in the torrent of arcane potency stampeding through his veins on the back of the climactic high. It infused his bones and sinews, reinforcing and strengthening them. Clothing tore under his swelling physique.

Buttons flew as layers of ripped muscle packed out a previously spongy torso. His trousers creaked alarmingly under the strain of his bulging hamstrings and quadriceps. Shirt sleeves shredded when Franklin crooked both brawny arms in an experimental flex.

Glancing down at the Daphne still speared face first on his cock, he noted the appreciable gains there too. The sudden surge in size turned her cheeks blue, but that was probably from an abrupt lack of oxygen.

“You are magnificent, Master!” Konoha squealed, climbing Franklin like a tree for a heated kiss. Her cherry blossom scent was everywhere as her tongue danced with his. “The heart of an emperor beats in your manly breast. The finesse and control of divine magic you just displayed was thrilling! I am a fortunate Kitsune indeed to be bonded to a mortal with the immense potential you possess. Speaking of immense, my lord. You may wish to relinquish your hold on the whore unless you seek her demise.”

Did he though?

No. A quick end would be a mercy; a concept that was further gone for Franklin than last month's toilet paper. The queen cunt would not escape her just deserts so easily.

He sent Daphne toppling with a none-too-gentle yank on her short hair.

“Fuck yeah, that’s the good shit.” She rolled on the floor, chuckling between coughing fits. Saliva and pearly globs of spunk sprayed the floor. “Didn’t think you had it in ya, slugger. I’ll be talking hoarse for a week. That’s one hole down and two to go. How about it, Frank? Got a few rounds left in the chamber, or did the magical steroids shrivel your nutsack?”

Her cocky grin was all bared teeth and bruised lips. It was a shame she abhorred makeup; Franklin would have enjoyed ruining that too.

Regardless, Daphne’s mocking tone bounced off his freshly forged self-confidence like insects hitting a windshield. The cock gobbling slut was human trash. How had he not recognized that before? She was a petty tyrant who escaped justice by exploiting the flaws woven into the fabric of modern society.

“She cannot speak to you in that way, Master.” Konoha hissed, curling her arms around Franklin’s bullish neck. “Please permit me to slice out the harlot’s barbed tongue and barbecue it for you.”

“No, no.” He graciously waved away the gruesome offer, patting the angry fox spirit’s firm toosh and combing fingers through her bristling tails. “She’s baiting us, Konoha. That nasty bitch wants to be hurt. She’s swimming in a puddle of her own juices but still yearns for more pain.”

“Hey, don’t pretend like you know me, bud! Now get over here and wreck my tiny pussy with that giant wang. I’ve never let a man even touch me before. C’mon and show me what all the fuss is about.”

Shifting his foxy short stack onto a hip with all the ease of lifting a toddler, Franklin loomed over Daphne. Her sinful body was literally tied up in knots, laid bare and **** to his vengeance. She was smaller than him now. It was a novel feeling to tower over his one-time bully, and she seemed to notice it too. A flush reddened her skin.

“For all your profane bluster, you still fail to comprehend the nature of your circumstances, skank.” Franklin prodded an inflated breast with his toe. His footwear had shared the same fate as the rest of his clothing, splitting apart like an overripe melon. Daphne shivered at the contact. “Your reign of terror is finished. I’m not your punching bag anymore. I am the hand that balances the scale. The turning tide of battle. The sword of Damocles falling toward your neck.”

Planting a heel on her sternum and pressing down, he **** the air from Daphne’s lungs, then slid his foot into her prodigious underboob. The silken ropes magically parted–granting him passage–only to rebind her lush cleavage once he was shin-deep in her stupendous tit-flesh.

“You n-need to work… on your di-dirty talk, nerd. But d-don’t stop…” The inky-haired she-devil wheezed. Her eyes were smoldering coals of desire.

“Keep going, Master.” Konoha urged hotly, grinding her dripping pussy against him in excitement. The sigils she’d drawn on his chest burned golden, flooding Franklin with virtuous anger. “Prove you are a conquerer and exert your dominance. Remember all the times she humiliated you, belittled you, placed herself above you, then show this mewling wench how wrong she was to do so.”

Her every word rang gospel true. The temperature in the basement had sky-rocketed, and his cock was a steel lance spluttering precum onto Daphne’s upturned face. Power and fury churned within him, clamoring to be unleashed on the object of his vexation.

Franklin jacked himself a few times, aiming for her parted lips when the door at the top of the stairs swung open.

“Hello, Franklin? Are you still here?” Bernadette called, silhouetted in a shaft of light. “What’s going on down there?”

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