Chapter Thirty Three

Belphoebe leafed through Megan's revised script, which she had delivered to her dressing room. The Drow had to admit the changes were inspired though very late in the production.

Why hadn’t the ancient fossil emailed it like last time? The pages in her hand appeared typewritten.

She had confiscated Phakos copy to confirm the latest updates. He didn’t speak anymore unless commanded and even then, the words were halting hisses. Never certain what would displease his mistress, thus incurring harsh reprisals.

The worthless scum scrubbing her ensuite bathroom with his toothbrush presently. He was lucky she hadn't demanded that he use his tongue and should have thanked Belphoebe for her mercy.

She’d have him tongue-bathe the carpet next, then whip him for good measure anyway. Senseless cruelty was a powerful aphrodisiac, and her new scenes were positively debauched.

Perhaps their dinosaur of a Director had some moxie left after all…

Standing with lethal fluidity, the Drow princess glided out into the corridor to find her leading man.

Her latest costume was the crown jewel of her collection. Heinously expensive bondage lingerie ensnared her lithe, sensual figure like obsidian spider silk. Wispy strands and fine chains interconnected over achingly lean gray flesh that captured the light in blemishless perfection.

She was an assassin’s blade sheathed in hints of darkness. Terrifying in her peerless beauty yet breathtaking to behold. A steel ring sat between her razor-sharp clavicles, joining the studded leather collar around her neck to the straps encircling her full, perky tits. Only the tiniest scrap of dark gossamer protected her elfhood above smoky garters and stocking wreathing her long, slender legs.

Anyone who spotted Belphoebe gawked before fleeing. Her seven-inch knife heels drummed out a funeral march for anyone obstructing her path.

Roaches scurrying away before an apex predator.

Her smile was a slash of indigo lips when Chief Ford’s voice alighted upon her pointed ears.

“Fuck, that’s good. Keep going, you overgrown bitch. Yeah, that’s it. Almost there…”

Odd noises emanated from the men’s bathroom. Wet squelching. Strangled gurgles. Quiet to a mortal’s hearing but loud enough for an elf to discern. Distinctly sexual noises. She rounded a corner, homing in on the source, and barged through the door.

“Stanley Ford, present thyself! This royal personage demands immediate attendance.”

“Shit–fuck! Juliana? This is the men’s room. Can’t a guy get some privacy?”

Privacy for a male? What a misguided human notion.

Still, the strange sounds had stopped, replaced muttered curses and a low animal growl.

“No, stay there. I’ll sort this out.” Her mortal counterpart murmured amidst the rustling of clothing.

A stall creaked open and Stanley’s head poked around the gap. His flushed complexion and twisted features were those of a frustrated man, but when his gaze drank in her exquisite form, a rebuke died on his tongue.

“Whoa, what’s up, babe? Looking hotter than hell. You want something?”

A thud shook the toilet walls, and the handsome Police Chief grunted as a slow sucking resounded off the fixtures.

“I shall allow thee to address me as Belphoebe, mortal.” She said, waving the script. “Given how close we shall be working together. Thou may compliment my beneficence later. Have thee perused thy new lines?”

He was blinking rapidly, clearly distracted but eventually caught her meaning.

“New… lines? Christ, has that crazy old bat changed the script? Halloween is, uh, two days away.”

His gaze fixated on her scarcely covered chest. Belphoebe pulled her shoulders back and thrust them forward. She would have flayed any other man for staring but the stars predetermined their liaison. A Drow princess could afford a modicum of generosity for her future lover.

She tossed her lengthy silvery hair and posed to display her entire magnificence.

“Fuck… fuck! You’re sex in high heels, Bel. A total smoke show.” Stanley panted, short on breath. Acting suspicious. The suctioning noises intensified. “Um, what do I… ah, need to know? About the changes, I mean.”

Frowning, Belphoebe stalked closer. Ankles crossing and hips swaying like a runway model. “Megan has spiced up a few scenes… what are you doing back there, Stanley?”

“No-nothing, shit!” He swore when she lashed out a dainty foot and kicked the offending door off its hinges in a precise blow. The cheap timber split in twain under her knife heel, revealing a sordid discovery.

Asteria, her hated foe, crowded the cubicle with her chiseled bulk. The copper-haired Amazon monopolized the limited space, squatting on powerful haunches, only wearing her inadequate leather kilt with the Police Chief’s hard cock in her mouth.

The intrusion didn’t even deter the filthy Wildling. Her grossly enlarged breasts pancaked against his knees as she slobbered and bobbed like a common whore. Stanley’s pants were bunched at his feet, a fist buried in the warrior’s hair to steer her movements.

“This isn’t…gah! This isn’t what it looks–”

Belphoebe cut him off with an evil smirk. “It looks to me like the proud defender has finally found a fitting use for her flapping gums. Shall I dub thee the tamer of shrews, husband?”

She stepped over the shattered door to mold her nubile form into his side and stared down at her nemesis. Vanquished so easily by this mortal’s impressive manhood.

“Hu-husband?” He guttered, groaning when she embraced him.

“We are fated to bond, of course. It’s written in these pages.” The gorgeous Drow tapped the script on Asteria’s suckling skull before discarding it in a papery flutter. “Now, permit me to instruct thee on the proper method of training a bed ****.”

She brushed aside his hand in the redhead's voluminous tresses and took a firmer hold, grasping at the roots to yank her deeper on his steely prick. The Wildling slut didn’t object or resist, gagging down several more girthy inches.

“Holy crap!”

“Isn’t that better, husband? See how eagerly she surrenders to thy mighty weapon? See how **** she is to please rightful her lord and master?” Belphoebe crooned, juices gathering in her pristine loins. She peppered his jaw with kisses while jerking him off with the Amazon’s pretty face. “Thou must remain diligent when educating lesser fae. They are prone to mischief and disobedience. Strict discipline and punishment are key.”

"Glurg, ack, urk!"

A wicked shiver prickled her gray skin when the larger woman started to ****. She mashed her dripping pussy into Stanley’s hip, sliding her moistening panties against him and purring at the friction.

His arm wrapped around her tiny waist, fingers latching onto a pert ass cheek and digging in possessively.

Belphoebe was willowy as a Russian ballerina. Her immaculate body was taut as a bowstring and brilliantly honed. A thousand lifetimes of rigorous pilates and starvation diets couldn’t recreate her sylphlike perfection–no number of cosmetic surgeries or magical beauty treatments could emulate her ethereal opulence.

Memories of would-be suitors weeping under her scornful rejection–important and influential Fae nobles–filled her heart with sinful glee. Her mother-matriarch watching on proudly, seated on a throne of bone. Her sisters deferring and squabbling for her favor, rarely given.

She was a paragon of their highest caste, a veritable goddess of malice who inspired lust and despair in equal measure.

Belphoebe quaked with unquenchable desire as she slammed the muscle-bound harlot’s head down on her fated one’s fat glistening manpole with strength that belied her slender frame.

“Art thou paying attention, husband?” She cooed in a tremulous voice. Her cunt was a streak of fire. “I wish thee to school this big-titted wench upon thy strident shaft. Ravish her for me. Claim her carnally then deliver her to our marital bed. Any male worthy of my august self must prove his quality through conquest.”

“Holy crap, you bitches are cuckoo, eh?” Stanley grunted, then yelped when Belphoebe sank pointed teeth into his neck.

“That isn’t how a male speaks to Drow female, mortal. No matter thy station.” Her cunt practically buzzed at the taste of sanguine blood. “Do not mistake my lenience for weakness. Now spank my ass as if thou owns it.”

Grumbling unintelligibly, he obeyed. Cracking his palm across her tight rear. Pain mingled with pleasure in an exotic cocktail as Belphoebe crammed his shaft down the Amazon’s retching throat.

The restroom echoed with his slaps, her coos of delight, and the redhead’s slobbery sucking. It was cramped in the stall. The three of them were crushed together in the confined space. Terrific heat radiated from their entwined bodies, coated in shimmering streams of sweat.

The Drow princess beheld the spectacle in the wide mirror above the wash basins. Admired herself dominating the proud warrior on her mate’s superior shaft. Preening and jacking him off with the muscular woman’s skull for an invisible audience.

Truly, she was the epitome of Fae elegance and beauty.

Her reflection flipped long silvery hair and seductively chewed a bottom lip. Stanley thrusted his hips, aggressively fucking Asteria’s dirty mouth and neck. Belphoebe could feel her shaking, climaxing from the rough treatment. Another adversary brought low by her nefarious machinations.

“Yes, Husband. Keep going. I wish thee to make this Wildling thy mindless fuckslut.” She ground harder against him, pussy burning. “Break her upon the anvil of thou masculinity. Reduce her to nothing more than a plaything for us to toy with. Turn her into breeding stock for the **** pits. Can you imagine the offspring she’ll produce from thy studly seed? Ferocious fighters who will earn prestige on the battlefield and carry thou lineage for generations untold…”

“Fa-faaark!” He cried, pounding away furiously. “Wha-what are you saying?”

"Glug, urk, hrrg!"

“Become immortal through your bloodline, lover.” Belphoebe moaned, cresting her summit of gushing gratification. “Fill her stomach… yah! Mark her as thy personal property. Mmmph~! Then claim her maidenhead. Do it for me, husband.”

With a bellow that rattled the porcelain, he erupted. Cumming like a firehose down the mewling warrior’s bulging throat. She gulped and swallowed heroically but ultimately failed to consume his gratuitous load.

It billowed her cheeks, and spurted around the tight seal of her lips to dangle in ropes onto her naked, heaving tits. The dumb brute’s eyes were unfocused. What little brains she possessed clearly were cum-blasted to oblivion as she guzzled like a piglet from Stanley’s spouting manhood.

Relaxing her grip, Belphoebe let Asteria lick her man clean while giving him a tongue-fueled kiss. It tasted of blood.

He grinned when they finally separated. “You’re fucking evil, babe. I love it.”

“I know.”

If you enjoy my silly smut and want early access to my latest works, why not buy me a mug of morning mud? I require a steady flow of purest caffeine to keep me tapping at the keyboard.