Chapter Thirty

Kira inspected her reflection in the changing room mirror.

She’d surprised herself by making alterations to the frilly pixie dress with a sewing kit found in the costume department. Picking stitches, then using needle and thread to loosen a seam here, add a scrap of fabric there until the outfit sat properly on her toned build.

Ebony ruffles and lace snuggled her modest chest and trim waist, flaring out into layered chiffon skirts that ended at the tops of her powerful thighs. She’d found a pair of fishnet stockings to highlight her sculpted legs and was even considering heels for the first time in her life.

There were whole racks of impractical footwear for her to peruse…

What was she doing?

That wasn’t Kira, the field hockey jock staring back at her. The girl in the mirror looked like an angsty pre-teen’s dress-up doll. Where had that satin choker come from?

She couldn’t recall.

It was sexy though, wrapped around her neck with a silver snowflake clasp. Very thematic for her role as a Winter Court adjunct.

The dress was quite revealing. Strapless with a sweetheart neckline that pushed her breasts up and out like a Wonderbra making them look bigger. Dithering, she flushed at all the skin on display—notably paler skin that twinkled with body glitter.

Kira needed plenty to bedazzle so much exposed flesh. It tingled like a heat rub.

The large container Ms Miller–no, Director Miller provided was half empty, which alarmed her for some reason. The moment when the older woman smacked her in the gob had been a turning point. She could still taste the foul concoction on her tongue, sliding down her throat…

She dipped two fingers into the shimmering ointment, slowly raising them to her lips.

Remembering the sting kindled embers in her core. Not the rush of clashing with rivals on the hockey field. This was something else. Something hidden. Buried. The matronly Director punishing her churlish insolence…

Fire dripped into lower regions, making her squirm.

Kira crammed the glinting digits into her mouth to muffle a lewd moan.

“Mmmmph~!”

She sucked and slurped down the goop. Gagging and retching when the acrid flavor punched her taste receptors. It was awful, yet simultaneously not. The odd warmth that prickled her skin scalded her insides like molten gold. Burning, searing, and moistening her nethers.

“Oh god, yeeesh!” Kira slurred around her sloppy digits. “Hrrrrn~...”

Hunching over the dressing table, she trembled and twitched. When the flash of heat finally subsided, leaving her ragged, she straightened and fumbled for the curly black wig that completed her costume.

The Director was extremely exacting in her standards. Kira didn’t dare disappoint.

“What rift is this, opening upon the eve of glorious battle?” Tammy read aloud. “Fortify thy maidens hearts, sisters mine, and hold vigilant against the wiles of the Unseelie.”

She paced backstage, tracking a furrow into the floorboards. The prose was antiquated, gifting a Shakespearian tone to the dialogue. Undoubtedly the Directors intention, but did it have to be so… embellished?

The words swam on the pages in her grasp, thee’s and thou’s mixing in an incomprehensible slurry of verbiage as she tugged at a shoulder strap. At least the costume armor fitted better after hours of adjusting buckles and fasteners.

The cheap vinyl article was a nightmare of complexity. Criss-crossing belts and ties made dressing a guessing game of what went where. Like the clothing marketed on Shein, it probably looked fantastic online, but the reality was disappointing.

She had done the best with what she had. The faux leather harness cinched tight around her narrow frame, accenting assets that weren’t really there.

Tammy marveled at muscles she certainly didn’t possess, flexing beneath the bracers and guards. A short legionnaire’s kilt dusted thicker thighs. The corseted breastplate appeared fuller. Her shoulders and biceps seemed rounder by some trick of costume design.

It was all very clever. Almost magical.

She took a break from fretting to apply another layer of glimmering aloe. Her body shone like a polished penny with the stuff. Director Miller ensured there was always a supply readily available, so Tammy helped herself to a repurposed shampoo bottle on a trestle table. She squeezed a generous dollop into her palm and massaged it through her coppery hair, smoothing out the frizz.

Her scalp prickled most distractingly, derailing any thoughts or attempts to focus.

It was kinda nice. An easy, breezy sensation seeped into her brain, washing away the pre-show jitters and anxieties. With a clear mind, she could surrender her entire self to the role of Asteria, the Amazonian war leader. An unshakable female presence who didn’t stammer or second-guess every decision. Unfettered as only a Fae could be.

Strength and assurance suffused Tammy’s soul as the armor creaked under the strain of her swelling physique. An underarm strap snapped from the sudden growth in her chest, like inflating bladders, her shiny tits almost popping free from the armored cups.

She didn’t notice, enraptured by the amazing feeling of might and total conviction to a cause, no matter how brutal it may be.

Releasing a righteous howl, she hammered her chest. Bulging tit-flesh quaked under the blows. Her butt expanded, taking on extra curvature, forming a high, hard shelf of ass-cleavage peeking from beneath the abruptly too-small kilt.

“To me, sisters! To me!” Tammy sounded the clarion call. “We fight this day to repel our would-be oppressors. To me!”

That sounded good. Felt good, too. Excitement buzzed through her, followed by a stabbing pang of hunger.

Tammy was famished!

Her searching gaze fell upon a vending machine in the break area to her right. Internal lights illuminated bags of chips, chocolate bars, candy, and more. With a grunt, she marched towards the snack dispenser.

Megan inhaled, counted to three, then released the held breath.

The calming exercise did little to quell the frustration as she observed the rank amateur performance marring her stage.

“Do the myths and legends hold a grain of truth?” Brodie recited woodenly, “What is this fantasy laid before me?”

The bastard still read from the script in his hand less than a week before premiere night. Where was his memorization? She expected little from her cast and many of them couldn’t be bothered to invest the slightest effort.

Infuriating!

“Who art thou, interloper?” Juliana’s talent was undeniable, thank fuck. Her dedication to the role made obvious by the elegant midnight half-robe and bikini she flaunted like a slutty priestess turned swimsuit model. “From whence doth thee emerge into our sacred lands? A mortal man from ages lost…”

Megan scowled, her fingers stirring a tub of glittery aloe in agitation. Pleasant jolts radiated up that limb, the only thing combating her turbulent emotions.

She’d selected her wardrobe for maximum effect today. A pinstripe charcoal pencil skirt and jacket over a minimal white blouse opened to expose the top of her vermillion bra. Stockings and garters swathed her legs, ending in professional, three-inch pumps.

Not a woman to be toyed with.

Ignominy piled upon ignominy threatened to bury her. This stilting acting, the maddening absence of enthusiasm, delays in set design, and the vandalism of University property…

Someone had ripped the front clean off a damn vending machine, which should be impossible. The steel had been warped and bent like soft clay—another mess for her to sweep under the carpet.

“A fresh **** I see before thee, highness.” Drew hissed to Juliana. Hunched and groveling, he was a miserable wretch in mismatched rags and a collar. Megan couldn’t believe she’d tolerated his mediocrity for so long. “Shackle him in chains as a gift to thy matriarch.”

“If he be a mortal man, the Winter Queen’s edict stands.” Kira’s gaze kept flickering nervously to her. The tomboy’s pixie dress clung tightly to her sporty figure, and shadowy makeup darkened her features. Blood-red lips gleamed like disco balls with far too much shimmer. “Human males are forfeit by my royal mistress's right of eminent domain.”

The last part of that line was delivered breathily, smoldering eyes locked on Megan. She restrained herself from snapping at the shameless bint by smearing a glimmery line across the nape of her neck. Skin fizzled and warmed delightfully.

“I’m nobody’s ****.” Brodie’s response was emotionless. Dressed in jeans and a blue button-up, he vaguely resembled a cop. “As an officer of the US justice system, I order you to lay down arms and surrender peacefully.”

“Thou dare order me?” Juliana glided forward, long legs crossing and hips swaying like a catwalk model. Spiked heels clicking, she molded herself seductively against him and inhaled. “Yet thy musk doth weaken my resolve. Mayhaps this meager morsel shall spell mine ruin, but what blissful ruin it would be…”

Mouths parting, they bent for the kiss. Dropping his script, Brodie grabbed the blonde’s bikini-clad ass and yanked her closer. Groping and grinding like a hormonal teen.

“Cut, cut! That means stop, dammit!” Megan was out of her seat and flinging a pen at them. Drew cowered, Kira blushed crimson and the entwined couple continued making out.

“Miss–Director?” Kira squeaked when she stormed past her to separate the two.

“That isn’t how Belphoebe first kisses Chief Ford.” Megan scolded, wrenching them apart and interposing herself. “She’s a Drow noble, not a thirty slut. Proud. Commanding. Like this, girl.”

Grabbing Brodie’s chin, she angled it to the side and forcefully, deliberately crushed their lips together. Her mature softness claimed him as she drove her tongue into his mouth. He didn’t resist.

Good boy.

Something hard poked her thigh, a stiffness in his jeans. She tried to ignore it but the insistent prodding ignited a flame. Years of repressed passion in a sexless marriage flared like dry tinder.

Megan moaned when his roaming hands slipped inside her jacket, plucking at the blouse. Quick as she'd begun the demonstration, the Director pushed the young man away.

He stumbled backward with a grunt.

“You see? That's how a Drow princess kisses the hero. Do I have to do everything myself? Practice, people. Only days left before Halloween. Practice, practice, practice!”

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