The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Faeophobia: Do-Me Dust.

Part Four — On With The Show

A busy theatre is a locus of energy. The lights, the colorful props, and fanciful costumes are breathed into life by the players who walk its boards, imparting a sliver of themselves into the performance before an enthralled audience.

Stages have souls patchworked together from countless dramas, comedies and musical spectacles acted out on their polished timbers. Each rise and fall of the curtains adds depth and richness to their stalwart yet intangible presence. Applause flows like blood through invisible veins. Every encore a heartbeat.

An empty theatre is a dormant spirit shrouded in memories and shadows. Dark and silent. It dreams of the warmth and emotion evoked in past attendees and actors alike. A monument at rest, only stirring when the troupe returns to throw wide its doors again.

Or so believed Ms Megan Miller; Madison U’s Head of Performance Art curriculum and creative director of St Genesius Drama Society, as she wandered backstage to locate the breaker box.

Why the stage manager had shut off the power at the source, she couldn’t fathom. An ill-conceived notion of saving electricity, most likely.

That brought little comfort to the middle-aged thespian, who was waving her phone about for illumination and dodging random furnishings that cluttered the space.

“Two days back from sabbatical and I’m already dealing with this dog poop.” She grumped, kicking a discarded pith helmet in her stumblings.

Was the previous production Pirates of Penzance?

A year’s absence to settle her divorce and take a few cruises marketed to the newly single of a particular age bracket didn’t give the University license to peddle such outdated schlock on her stage.

The cruises had been inherently sad affairs. Megan split most of her time on the seas between evading overweight sleaze-balls in speedos and attending the complimentary seafood buffet.

Both left her with a queasy stomach.

She didn’t consider herself a catch precisely. Her misplaced security in a failing marriage and prioritizing her career above, say, dieting or regular exercise had resulted in excess padding in her mature figure.

But while the flesh had grown soft, the mind behind those broadening hips, flabby thighs, and creeping sag remained keen as ever. Even if her wavy chocolate hair had lost volume and luster, which was disappointing.

“Fu—fudge! Where is it?”

The phone’s torch eventually landed on a utility cabinet half-hidden behind painted sets. Skirting around the obstructions, Megan wrestled it open and toggled the master switch.

Light sparked to life in the theatre with a buzzing hum. She smiled as a fresh sense of purpose—of direction—infused her. The stage would be reawakened, and her return debut would blow audiences away.

* * *

“Attention. Your attention, please!” Ms Miller clapped, looking down at her cast of players from the brightly lit stage. “Thank you all for attending this inaugural meeting of the newly reformed St Genesius Drama Society. I understand my leave of absence and the graduation of our senior members has thinned the ranks but with a bit of community outreach…”

Tammy glanced at the scattered students seated in the first two rows. If they numbered over a dozen, she’d schedule another optometrist appointment. More than half of those would be extras without speaking roles, doubling as general hands for easy credit, lowering the number of aspiring actors to a miserable sum.

Which meant she had a real shot at being cast in a significant part!

The mousy, five-foot-nothing junior was nothing if not an optimist. Fate had to grant Tammy a win eventually, if solely by random chance. A broken watch was right twice a day; perhaps her time had finally arrived.

Acknowledging she lacked the X-factor, stage presence, or the elusive ‘It’ showbiz types raved about was a truth she’d learned through harsh experience, but a girl could be pragmatic.

Sure, she resembled an underdeveloped waif with stick-like proportions and the sex appeal of a diseased llama, but other than herself, there was only Juliana (a classically beautiful blonde prima donna in the making), the out-of-place Kira (a sporty tomboy with seemingly little interest in the course material), and Drew (the default leading man despite his lack of talent or a chin).

Tammy wouldn’t settle for being an understudy, praying for an outbreak of food sickness this year.

Juliana caught her staring and returned a glare as though reading Tammy’s thoughts. “Don’t get any clever ideas,” warned those sapphire eyes.

“...an homage to the day of Celestial Conjunction when the arcane alignment of heavenly bodies reunited the realms of Fae and Earth. Heralding the return of magic and the Fair Folk to our world.” Ms Miller paused, cocking her head as sounds of raised voices and a scuffle emanated from the foyer entrance. “Everyone stay put. I’ll handle the disturbance.”

Concerned faces followed the director when she leaped from the stage and stormed up the center aisle with surprising agility. Tammy fidgeted, more accustomed to avoiding conflict than engaging in confrontation, wondering if she should offer moral backup if nothing else.

Time crawled before Ms Miller reappeared, dragging a scraggy youth by the elbow and ushering him into a center-row seat. Turning to the gawking onlookers, she introduced the sullen teen.

“Everyone, meet Brodie—a late addition to our troupe. Let’s give him a warm welcome.” The prompted applause was tepid at best. Brodie’s slumped posture mirrored the reception. He looked decidedly shifty in a grungy hoodie and jeans. “He has kindly volunteered to stand in for a male role needed in our production. I’m certain we’re all glad for his participation. Let’s work together and make this show a smash hit!”

Tammy caught a glimmer of gold when Ms Miller tucked something behind her back.

* * *

Brodie was in a bind.

Campus Security had a major hard-on for Do-Me Dust, and not in a fun way. Their recent crackdown ignored weed, pills, and back-alley potions to zero in on the golden powder with atypical efficiency.

Given the increasing notoriety and demand for the magical contraband, not to mention the nutso rumors circulating of what the Fae sex drug could do, well… everyone knew about the legendary party at Beta Theta Fi and the resulting fallout.

So when he’d been cornered with a baggy of the primo shit by the two officers riding a golf buggy outside the doors to Madison-U’s theatre center, the enterprising freshman had stuffed it through a mail slot to dispose of the evidence.

That had hurt. Brodie was selling the goods on consignment. He’d have to swallow the loss somehow, but better than getting kicked out of college and possibly facing drug charges.

Nobody expected those same doors to open, releasing a pissed-off faculty member into their midst.

She’s taken a single glance at the situation before laying into the security goons for harassing a poor student like an angry mother hen. Terms like “fascist pig” and “dictatorial stooges” lashed the two men—completely ignoring their protestations—until the blood drained from their faces under the tirade.

Then the loon dragged Brodie into the building for a quick but frank discussion that could be summarized as “You owe me, boyo. Have you ever considered participating in the fine arts program?”

She’d held onto the gear, though, apparently unaware of the treasure in her clutches. He told her it was pigment powder and she hadn’t questioned him further.

Nor did she return it.

Was this bossy bitch unaware of the latest drug epidemic sweeping through the university?

“We don’t have much time before our premier on October thirty-first.” Ms Miller declared from the stage. “Yes, that’s Halloween, but we’re not putting on a cheap scare-o-rama, people. I have lovingly crafted a dramatized adaptation of the first interaction between humanity and the Fae at the Delaware Nexus, where the Wilmington Police Chief negotiated a ceasefire between two warring factions…”

Brodie tuned her out, letting his eyes wander to his fellow participants. Idley speculating on what dirt the director had on them.

They were predominantly non-descript dudes like him. Most had their phones out or earbuds plugged in, but there were a few exceptions.

A hot blonde with a tight bod and nice tits paid close attention to the lecture but sat conspicuously apart from everyone. Probably a prude. An athletic chick in form-fitting sportswear looked bored, toying with her cropped amber hair, a shapely leg slung over the armrest. One pasty-faced guy kept shooting daggers at Brodie as though he were treading on protected turf and…

“Hi, I’m Tammy.” The scrawny ginger two seats away whispered. He’d mistook her for a teenage boy in that band t-shirt and olive-green overalls. “Pleased to meet you. What part are you auditioning for?”

She sounded honestly excited, and while Brodie didn’t know squat about acting, he rightly reckoned they needed a script before divvying out roles.

He shrugged noncommittally. Mind preoccupied with how to retrieve his misplaced goods.

* * *

Juliana took a deep breath and centered herself before knocking on the director’s office door.

She wasn’t nervous. Other people got nervous, but not her. They got nervous around her. Intimidated by her sheer presence and the untouchable aura she exuded as naturally as breathing.

Young, beautiful, and still far from her peak, Juliana had a carefully calculated sense of her self-worth. She outstripped the plebeians in her drama classes by a wide margin solely due to her inborn advantages.

Glorious blonde tresses fell like waves of sunshine down her slender back. The trim white blouse and short tartan skirt she wore hugged a lean musculature typically associated with ballerinas or gymnasts, except for the full perky cleavage straining her top button.

She was built for the limelight. Created to be adored. Women paid big bucks to magically enhance themselves to look almost as gorgeous as her and the Fae didn’t count since their man-hungry behavior cheapened their ethereal allure.

Nothing but a pack of baby-crazy sluts, the lot of them.

No, she was the genuine article—a red-blooded American beauty whose future was written amongst the stars on Hollywood Boulevard. With her covergirl face and pinup-perfect figure, a life of fame and luxury was already in her back pocket…

So long as nobody interfered in her meticulously laid plans.

“Enter.”

Pasting on a brilliant smile, Juliana swept into Ms Miller’s office, beaming at the washed-up has-been.

The room was dingy, cluttered with dusty relics of long-past triumphs. Clippings from the local newspaper’s entertainment column hung in frames on the wall above shelves of gilded awards from yesteryear. An antique typewriter sat on a similarly aged desk, behind which stooped the woman herself mixing a large tub of… something with a wooden tongue depressor.

Flecks of gold sparkled in the clear solution, reflecting the light from the lone, depressing bulb overhead as she dropped an empty ziplock bag in the trash basket.

“Director Miller, thank you for seeing me. I know you must be terribly busy. I was hoping to talk about my part in the upcoming production—”

“You want to play Belphoebe.” Ms Miller didn’t stop stirring. “Except there’s an element to the character you want to change.”

Juliana was mildly impressed at her intuition.

Obviously, Belphoebe had the most lines. The Fae Princess was basically the lead role. A royal member of the winter court embroiled in battle with savage Wildlings on the Day of Conjunction when the planets aligned.

“She’s very dark and edgy. Don’t misunderstand me, that’s fabulous, love it to bits, but does the wardrobe and makeup have to be so… um, vampiric?”

The blonde coed nearly said emo, which would have been a blunder.

“That’s the part, sweetie. Our job as actors is to inhabit the characters. Sacrifice our egos for the sake of the show.” Ms Miller met her imploring gaze. “Belphoebe is a dark elf, specifically, a drow. Their whole aesthetic is black and bleak. I’m unwilling to compromise the play’s cultural aesthetic because you don’t like the costume.”

“I could walk away, Megan.” Juliana’s tone was suddenly cold. “This drama society is dangling by a thread. Without me, it’ll fall to pieces. What will you have left if that happens?”

The older woman narrowed her eyes. The twinkling mixture stuck to her fingertips like nail polish.

“My dignity.” She stated resolutely, “You’re young and proud, girl. This industry will eat you alive and spit out your bones. Heed my lessons if you want a chance of surviving and take this to the dressing room.”

Juliana eyed the shimmering solution. It smelled like moisturizer. “What is it?”

“Body glitter. An old theatre recipe. Aloe and pigment. Get everyone accustomed to applying it. The majority of you are playing Fae, after all.”

“And my part?” The blonde persisted, accepting the jar.

“Why, sweetie. I believe you’ll make a fine Belphoebe.”

* * *

The theatre’s wings reminded Brodie of those hoarder shows featuring mentally ill losers who never threw anything away. The corridors had painted sets and racks of clothing stacked against the walls without a sense of rhyme or reason.

There was so much stuff he had to sidle in places to squeeze through the press. Props and accessories from a mish-mash of productions teetered like Jenga towers as he brushed past them and Brodie could imagine suffocating under the resulting collapse like a trapped animal.

How the hell was he going to find his gear in this mess? That Miller bitch likely stashed it in her office, wherever that was. He needed to swipe the evidence and get out of there before she strongarmed him into something truly stupid.

Public speaking, for instance. He hated that, much less acting—fat chance of him getting on stage.

“Hey Tammy, wait a sec.”

“Oh, um… hi Kira. What’s up?”

Brodie froze at the sound of female voices ahead. He couldn’t see them through all the disorder, but they were near enough for him to eavesdrop.

“It’s about the script. Well, about our roles, really. I wanna swap.” The one identified as Kira said.

“W-we haven’t been given our roles.” Stammered Tammy, the boyish ginger he’d met earlier. “Ms Miller—”

“Don’t pretend we don’t know how this will go. Megan clearly tailored the script with each of us in mind. Juliana plays the princess, I’m the leader of the Amazon Warband, Drew or maybe the new guy takes the male lead, and you get tossed a pity-fuck support role with a dozen lines, tops. I’m telling you I wanna swap.”

Her tone was no-nonsense. The pause that followed felt weighty with unspoken implications.

Tammy’s reply was cautious. “Why?”

“Does it matter? Maybe I don’t wanna be typecast as Xena Warrior Princess. Maybe I’m lazy and couldn’t be fucked putting in the effort. Or maybe I’ve seen how you love this theatre crap and decided to throw you a bone.” Kira drawled, “Don’t sweat about the small shit, girl. Here’s your golden ticket. Carpet dayum, seize the day.”

“But Ms Miller won’t—”

“That ol’ bag? What can she do about it? There are three female parts and three of us. No understudies or replacements. She’ll swallow her humble pie and ask us for a second helping. Please and thank you.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Do you want the larger role or not?”

Brodie listened with pricked ears, liking this Kira chick more and more with every exchange. She had serious spunk.

“I guess there’s no harm in asking.” Tammy conceded. “If you think she’ll agree...”

“Exactly! Let’s head to her office and tell—I mean, ask her now. This’ll be great, you’ll see.”

Ms Miller’s office?

Moving with catlike grace, Brodie followed the chatting coeds through the hazardous hallways, formulating a plan of action.

* * *

“WPD! Everybody remain calm and lower your weapons.” Drew pointed two finger pistols at the dressing room mirror.

His reflection pointed right back. A sallow youth poorly mimicking authority and manhood. He released a gusty sigh, arms dropping to his sides.

The free ride was over. His halcyon days when he merely attended class to be awarded top billing were finished. There was a new guy—this Brodie fella—lurking in the wings, ready to swoop in and steal his spot.

He didn’t look the theatre type, more akin to the layabouts who arranged the sets and smoked the devil’s lettuce in the loading bay. But Ms Miller had brought him in at the last minute, which meant she had plans for him, right?

Leafing through the script, Drew considered what those plans could be. The prize male role was the stoic Police Chief Stanley Ford. The singular other was Belphoebe’s consort, an aloof Drow captain named Phakos.

The former; a real historical hero who forestalled a violent incident when the veil was torn. The latter; a snivelling fictional construct inserted to drive the plot. A back-seat antagonist with hardly any lines and the main focus of audience derision.

Or in wrestling terms, a heel.

Drew’s mouth thinned to a frown.

No, he would not go gentle into that good night. Reaching into the tub of glittery gel on the dresser, he painted lines onto his cheeks—war paint for the coming battle.

It tingled and warmed the skin, making the young thespian grin with renewed confidence.

He would fight.

“WPD! Everybody remain calm and lower your weapons.” The second delivery held sterner conviction.

* * *

Dress rehearsals were an unmitigated disaster. Megan fumed inwardly.

Were they deliberately sabotaging her glorious return?

She’d barely finished dealing with Juliana’s horse apples when Kira and, by silent association, Tammy dropped another steaming turd in her bucket of problems.

Switching parts, what were those girls thinking?

They couldn’t comprehend her vision or the painstaking hours of toil a playwright endured, none of them. They fudged with her script at their convenience like a group of spoiled children.

It would drive a Vicar to cuss. Her temper boiled. Her normally placid reserves of patience depleted.

Tammy looked ridiculous in the brown vinyl harness of an Amazon warrior. Her stick-like figure lacked the form or musculature to capture the presence Kira would have lent to the provocative costume. It hung off the waifish ginger in a tangle of straps and empty cups. Blessedly, she wore a sports bra to cover her flat chest.

That would need serious stuffing come opening night.

The sporty rebel had reassigned herself to the minor role of Raven, Belphoebe’s Winter Court advisor. She looked entirely out of place in a dark lace and chiffon pixie dress designed for her smaller co-conspirator. Her toned physique tested the outfit’s limits and her curly black wig kept slipping because the knucklehead couldn’t comprehend what function hairpins served.

Drew was presently strutting about in a wild western sheriff’s costume (lord only knew where he’d found that eye-sore) replete with a tin badge and wide-brimmed hat, shouting his lines like the town crier. The damn fool resembled a prancing peacock, squawked loud as one too.

His face sweated golden sparkles under the warm stage lighting.

Lastly, Megan’s dubious “volunteer” stood off to the side, script forgotten in an indolent hand as Brodie watched the chaos unfold with a curious gaze. His lack of interest, enthusiasm or any attempt at costume rubbed her last nerve raw.

The ungrateful shit was just standing there in sweats and a daggy t-shirt.

“Stop. Stop! Everyone shut up for criminy’s sake!”

Action ceased, the cast and crew freezing under her harsh tone—hints of fear manifested in the more timid members. Something about those nervous expressions resonated within Megan. Perhaps students who couldn’t respect her authority and experience should be worried.

She was in charge, dammit.

“Ms Miller?” Juliana asked, seemingly unphased. The blonde prima donna stood proud in black leggings and a leather biker vest that hugged her perfectly svelte body like a catsuit.

“Do you clowns think this performance is a joke?” Megan snatched up a jar of her homebrewed body glitter before stomping up onto the stage. “The audience will think so if you can’t get it together! Look around yourselves. What part of this rehearsal screams ‘fateful reuniting of the planes?’”

The stagehands vanished into the background with the swiftness born of practice leaving the five cast members to face her wrath. She zeroed in on treacherous ginger first.

Finding herself in the crosshairs, Tammy stammered a feeble objection. “We’re tr-trying our best, Ms—”

“Director! From here out, you’ll call me Director. Don’t like it? There’s the door!” Megan loomed over the trembling twit, furiously unscrewing the lid. “Show me some iron, girl. You’re playing Asteria, leader of an Amazon warband. Be fierce. Be bold. Fake it like an orgasm if you have to and…” She slopped three fingers of gooey glitter onto Tammy’s forehead, “...sparkle like gosh-darned Fae while you’re at it.”

Her smallest student reeled as though slapped—the aloe mixture running down her nose. Megan’s hand tingled as she scooped out more and switched targets.

“This isn’t a dog and pony show, people. We’re dramatizing an important moment in history! You lot seem to think you can call the shots in MY production?” She prowled towards Kira, who defiantly crossed her arms, striking an absurd stance in her ill-fitting dress. “That ends today, missy. I’ve had a bellyful of your attitude. Pull your head in, or watch it roll. This is MY stage, understood?”

“You wouldn’t dare lay a finger on—URK!” The sporty brat spluttered when Megan smeared a gloopy palm across her smart mouth, ending the impending threat in a coughing fit.

That shut her up.

“And look who thinks they’re the cock of the walk.” The Director approached Drew next. The pins and needles in her hand were intense. “Last I checked, Police Chief Ford was human. So why in the H-E-double-hockey-sticks are you wearing fairy make-up? If you wanted the part of Drow whipping boy, simply ask. Don’t offend us by dressing like Buffalo Bill.”

Grimacing, the dolt summoned a speck of gumption.

“WPD! Everybody remain calm and lower your weapons.” He aimed twin finger guns at her in a desperate last stand.

Pathetic.

“Well, I’m sold.” She sneered. “Ditch the stupid costume and learn your new lines as Phakos, the Drow captain. Brodie, you’re promoted to male lead.”

“I’m what?!” The delinquent yelped.

“As for you…” Megan squared up to Juliana, feeling her fury ebb as fast as it had risen. The imperious blonde met her stare without flinching. Mind spiraling on the tail of an adrenaline spike, she couldn’t find the words. “You—you’re doing fine, sweetie. Maybe work on your outfit and… and wear the body glitter, okay?”

“Yes, Director.” Her best performer radiated smug satisfaction, taking the jar and dabbing a twinkling spot on either side of her neck as though it were perfume. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

Megan wasn’t sure. She’s never lost her cool like that before. The stress and pressure had got the better of her with opening night only a week away. She’d practically assaulted three cast members!

The inexplicable surge of rage drained away. Shame coursed through her veins instead.

Then Juliana leaned in with a wicked grin to whisper, “Good job putting everyone in their places, Megan. Leave the rest to me.”

Nodding mutely, she stumbled offstage to hide in her office.

* * *

Brodie couldn’t believe his shit luck.

The crazy bitch who’d roped him into this fucking circus was cracked if she thought he would dance to her tune.

Still, he hadn’t located his missing gear, and events were taking a strange turn in the theatre company.

After the Director’s wild rantings, his fellow students began behaving weirdly as though a mania had infected them—a mad obsession with their stupid school play.

He sure hoped it wasn’t contagious.

They stayed after hours to read lines, pillage the wardrobe department and obsessively apply their glittery makeup. Brodie was preparing to cut his losses (steep though they were) when Juliana ambushed him exiting the men’s bathroom, pinning him against a wall.

“Hello, Officer Ford.” She crooned, pressing her superb breasts against his chest. They smooshed within a flimsy crop top that barely concealed the upper hemispheres of creamy perfection. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone.”

“You have?” He grunted as a silky leg slid around his.

“Of course, we need to rehearse our scenes.” Juliana trailed manicured nails across his shoulders, plucking at imaginary lint. Her flawless features glimmered with flecks of gold. “It’s a Pocahontas story, really. Nothing original. Girl meets boy. A forbidden romance blooms as their worlds collide. You’re basically my John Smith.”

They were tucked in a nook between a stack of folding tables and wooden shipping crates, out of sight. Brodie was fascinated by her plump lips, painted deep violet.

“I never saw the Disney movie.” He remarked, settling hands on her slim hips. She sported a short leather skirt today. Black and skimpy like everything she’d worn lately. “Tell me about it.”

“I’m more interested in discussing our collaboration.” She breathed, melting against him. “You’re never around for rehearsals. Have you finished reading the script?”

Brodie had thumbed through it. There was a lot of flowery speech that didn’t interest him, but if there were scenes with this firecracker—intimate scenes—he’d give it a thorough second reading.

He slid his palms lower to gauge her reaction. “I’ll make it my top priority.”

Juliana’s mouth twitched in a teasing smirk when he tickled the bottom of her skirt. Then she spun away with a dancer’s grace, long platinum tresses whipping his face.

Had she dyed her hair a few shades lighter?

“See that you do, cutie.” She purred. “Come along, Drew. You can carry my bag.”

Brodie blinked. He hadn’t noticed the other guy lurking in the hallway, watching them like a fucking creep.

Drew was also dressed in dark clothing. His complexion was more pallid than usual, almost gray under the sparkly lotion. He gave Brodie a cold glare before tailing the haughty beauty.

What the hell was wrong with these people?

* * *

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 slave 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 slave.” 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!”

* * *

Belphoebe preened in front of the vanity mirror. She’d decided to relinquish her mortal name and fully inhabit the part until opening night.

And why shouldn’t she indulge?

A Drow princess was everything that girl Juliana aspired to be. Dauntingly beautiful. Authoritative in her stature and bearing. Demanding in her desires and cruel to those unworthy of her attention.

Truly, Belphoebe was a creature whose sublime presence deserved adoration. She inspired worship from the worms writhing beneath her bootheels.

She ran a brush through lustrous white-gold locks, admiring their silky texture. Her skin held a flawless twinkling quality, though a tad colorless after many applications of Megan’s (she refused to call that Broadway wash-out ‘Director’) discount cosmetics.

Somehow, the grayish hue heightened her allure, giving Belphoebe an otherworldly appeal and elevating her past the wannabe starlets and pageant queens jockeying for pole position in the social hierarchy.

She was above all of them, treading on their bowed spines to reach the lofty halls of fame.

A burst of heat blossomed in her belly as she dabbed on more glinting moisterizer.

Today’s outfit had distinct BDSM vibes. She’d purchased it online using Juliana’s credit card. A lace-up latex bodysuit with waist-girdling belts, garters and elbow-length gloves adorned her modelesque physique as though painted on. Thigh-high leather boots with stiletto heels guarded her slender legs against envious eyes while a domino mask obscured her elegant face.

All in black, naturally.

She looked like a badass villainess from a popular comic book franchise—every inch of wicked perfection.

Belphoebe looked and felt unspeakably hot.

Latex creaked as her shiny thighs rubbed together. The skin-tight rubber dulled but could not eliminate the erotic sensations brewing below. She was so fucking drop-dead sexy even her reflection was a turn-on. Those cold sapphire eyes and burgundy lips…

“Phakos, attend me.”

Drew stirred from the corner he huddled in, hidden behind a dresser. The miserable slug cowered but obeyed, crawling forward with his sallow face averted from her magnificence. She’d impressed upon him the import of living the role through verbal lashings and petty punishments without respite.

Now he was properly broken as a male should be. It had been laughably easy to crush his pitiful spirit and subvert his will into serving her.

It made her wet, watching him grovel.

The rags and collar were symbols of his submission—hardly subtle but impactful. He’d visibly aged decades in a few days beneath her harsh ministrations. The color had left his hair, too, leaving it bone white, unlike her silvery locks, and his skin tone matched that of a corpse dipped in gold dust.

“Highnessss?” Phakos’ voice was a sibilant hiss, a viper prostrating itself at her feet. “How can thissss lowly one sssserve thee?”

“Did I grant thee permission to speak, male?” Belphoebe snarled, spinning on the stool to stab her spiked heel into his back.

So weak. So worthless. Totally obedient. A barely adequate footrest.

Her pussy juiced when he burbled in agony. She hadn’t even touched herself. Aroused by a single, vicious act.

“Th-thank you, Highnessss.” The deplorable snake wheezed through the pain. “Thisss humble ssservant appreciatesss your inssstruction.”

Digging in deeper, Belphoebe was thrilled when a trickle of crimson stained his tattered wrappings. Power pulsed within her.

Moon and stars, she was horny…

* * *

The term “like a bomb site” occurred to Brodie as he surveyed the wreckage of the wardrobe department.

Aluminum garment racks were tossed about, their payload of garments strewn across the floor and toppled furniture. Sewing equipment and spools of fabric dotted the chaos like shrapnel. Rhinestone jewelry and accessories caught the light here and there in the colorful mess.

He’d come in search of a police uniform (preferably a simple blue shirt with some insignia rather than that asshat’s cowboy get-up) and walked into this…

“What the hell?” The freshman picked up a prop musket constructed from crudely carved timber stock with irrigation piping serving as the barrel. “Probably looks more realistic from the cheap seats.”

He used it to poke through the jumbles of cloth.

A quiet groan dragged his gaze to a corner of the trashed workshop. Fluorescent tubes flickered over a hunched figure digging through the piles on hands and knees.

A bubble butt and thick thighs flashed in the blinking illumination, not at all obscured by a miniature brown kilt in the style of a Roman soldier. Plain yellow panties—clearly undersized—were bunched in the crevice between those beefy cheeks like a thong, stretched thin as dental floss over wide, grabbable hips.

Brodie admired the view before asking, “You okay back there?”

The figure jumped as though goosed, then slowly turned to regard him like a creature from a horror flick.

Slick, glossy red hair shrouded her face. It was evidently a ‘her’ by the tremendous rack spilling out of a web of straps and bands failing to secure said chest. Two mountains of bodacious boobage were pinched and warped by the suffocating restraints—paltry cups barely covering her nipples. All that glorious tit-flesh shimmered with golden flecks.

“Who’s there? State your purpose or be struck down!” She rose on unsteady feet, startling Brodie with her awe-inspiring stature.

The mystery redhead was enormous by every measure. Muscles stacked atop muscles carved an impossibly formidable picture of femininity. She towered well over six feet tall, savagely stunning, with shredded abdominals and heavily sculpted limbs.

None of that detracted from her womanly appeal, though. Hard as that body was, rich curves softened the sharper angles. Huge tits, a generous booty, broad hips and an hourglass waist painted the picture of a stern war goddess standing before him.

“Whoa, whoa! Cool your jets. It’s just me.” Brodie backpedaled, dropping the toy gun. “The guy playing Chief Ford. I don’t think we’ve met?”

“Police Chief… Stanley Ford?” Attack posture loosening, she swiped hair from a vaguely familiar face. Less boyish than the last time he’d seen it. “The mortal warrior who negotiates a ceasefire between my people and the Winter Court?”

What was her name? She’d introduced herself on the first day but hadn’t looked anything like this…

“In the play, yeah. Tammy, right?” He hedged, realization dawning. “How are you feeling? You’re looking, um, very big and, uh, sparkly today.”

Tammy grinned toothily and flexed a mighty bicep. “I am well, lawbringer. Though your memory is addled, this one is Asteria, leader of the Amazon Warband and defender of the wild lands. We are fated to meet upon the advent of Celestial Conjunction.”

“Yeah, totally. Asteria, got it.” Brodie wasn’t a complete dunce. Recent events and suspicions connected in his brain, the missing puzzle pieces slotting into place. “And you’ve been using the Director’s special body glitter?”

“I glow with the magic of the Fae realm, as is natural for my ilk.” Her smile became suggestive, lips curling hungrily. She sauntered forward, swaying seductively through the drifts of discarded clothing. “Mayhaps, my glamor has enthralled you? Are you desirous of this shieldmaiden?”

It was gone. His entire consignment of precious Do-Me Dust was now make-up for this lunatic drama society. The whole cast was essentially micro-dosing on fairy sex drugs, and he couldn’t recover the loss.

Not financially, anyway.

There was no mistaking the wanton gleam in the hulking redhead’s eyes. The mysterious dust had inflicted her (and probably the rest of the cast) with horny Fae magic. He could roll with that.

In for a penny, in for a pounding. Death by snu-snu was just a joke, right?

“I am helpless before thee… um, thou?” Brodie pressed the back of his hand against his forehead in a theatrical swoon. Really hamming it up. “You got me. Can’t possibly resist your… ah, killer Fae charms.”

“My poor hero. Strayed into the Fae realm like a lost lamb.” Her husky voice was honeyed with lust. “Allow me to shepherd you to a warm hearth and congenial company.”

“Yay verily?” He ventured before yelping when she threw him over a shoulder and waded back to the poorly lit corner. “Shit, you’re strong!”

The awkward position gave him a front-row view down her defined back to her luscious posterior. Those healthy globes lifted and fell as she kicked the shin-deep clothing into something resembling a nest before gently laying him down like a rescued damsel.

“I’m a Wildling protector. Marshal prowess exemplifies my people.” Tammy/Asteria murmured, resting on her side beside him. She traced a finger down his torso. “We train from girlhood to be dauntless defenders of the free folk until we take a lover.”

Brodie wasn’t a small guy, but if snuggling was in the cards, he wouldn’t be the big spoon. Her bouncing breasts eclipsed his face as a knee slid over his tented lap.

“Mmmm… your mortal musk tantalizes me, lawbringer. I can smell your virility.” She crooned, unfastening his jeans. “I cannot offer you my maidenhead. Not yet. May this Asteria taste your potency instead?”

“Sure—hmnnff~!”

No sooner had he answered than the statuesque redhead was smothering him in her cavernous cleavage. Rolling atop Brodie, she pulled out his hardening member to rub against her cleft. Yellow panties obstructed skin-to-skin contact, rapidly dampening with excitement. She stroked his turgid tip along her entrance anyway.

“I wish to give myself to you, Stanley. To let you take it and claim me. My insides burn for you, but we mustn’t.” She moaned, grinding those powerful hips onto him. “We-we are not fated for union this day. I must endure until the stars allow, terrible though the struggle be.”

Brodie couldn’t reply or breathe, enveloped in pillowy goodness. He slapped her side in a wordless plea for oxygen. Asteria whined, getting the message, then dragged her impressive bulk down his body until her head and shoulders hovered above his jutting groin.

The difference in their size was staggering. Still, he couldn’t deny a visceral reaction to the musclebound Amazon pumping his stiffness with a needy expression on her cute face. The way she bit her bottom lip and shot questioning glances at him, asking permission, was endlessly endearing. As though she were seeking his approval despite her ability to benchpress a packed refrigerator.

“That’s awesome, Asteria. Keep going.” Brodie grunted, sitting up to comb fingers through her coppery tresses. They came away coated in glitter. “Here, get those sweater puppies in on the action. Squeeze them around my cock.”

She mewled at the contact, shrugging out of the vinyl chest harness. Her mammoth melons spilled across his crotch as buckles snapped, wobbling like two creamy jellies before she mashed them together.

“Do they feel good, lawbringer? Do these humble breasts stoke your carnal fires?” She sounded desperate to please him.

A mega-stacked knockout possessing twice his muscle mass was eagerly playing the slut for him. Brodie’s blood raced and his shaft lurched at the intoxicating revelation.

The horny skank was begging for it!

“Totally. Now bounce them for me. I’m gonna fuck these fat titties.”

Nodding intently, she crushed them tighter together. Hands sinking to the wrists in her fulsome funbags, she rocketed them up and down his engorged length until her rubbery pink nipples were a blur. Face contorting with bliss, she squirmed between his knees and the scent of wet pussy perfumed the air.

“It-it feels so strange, Stanley.” Asteria guttered, plush lips slackening. “There’s a pressure building inside me. You-your manhood brands my skin like hot iron. I want more… hyaa! Give me more!”

Sweat glistened like diamonds on her firm flesh. Golden sparkles ran in rivulets along her pronounced clavicles and into her heaving cleavage. Brodie’s dust-coated hand tingled. His cock throbbed within the Amazon’s perspiring boob-press. It surged under an instant influx of magic, thickening and extending until the bulbous crown crested the snug valley aimed at her sagging chin.

It grew unnaturally large and girthy—a supersized wang for banging a supersized babe. Hormones spiked, blood pulsed, and pearly spool of precum painted the panting redhead’s neck. Brodie felt light-headed at the onslaught of urgency scouring through him.

His slab of manmeat glimmered and strobed in the flickering light.

Warning bells rang in his mind, drowned out by a roar of fiery lust.

“I’ll give you more, you Fae whore!” Brodie slammed his hips upwards, balls boiling. “Take it! Swallow my sticky load, now thank me for fucking your stupid tits!”

Grabbing her crimson hair, he yanked her drooling mouth onto his tip and exploded. Rope after gooey rope blasted from him directly down her gulping throat. Asteria sucked and gurgled like a babe at the teet, shaking through a monumental climax of her own.

* * *

Kira fidgeted outside Director Miller’s office. She felt silly standing there in her frilly dress and wig, plucking at the outfit where it drew taut across her hips and bust.

Was she gaining weight or perhaps retaining fluids from the stress of the upcoming performance?

The sporty junior had let out the costume twice before settling on binding ribbons up the sides and across her chest in lieu of repeatedly restitching seams. The production was already monopolizing her time (she’d skipped an intramural match two days ago to attend rehearsals) and her fingers were sore from sewing.

She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when this play became a major priority in her usually laid-back college experience but here she was, dolled up in ebony lace and ruffles that covered very little.

Unconsciously, Kira scooped a shimmering glob out of the nearly empty jar in her hand and pressed them between her inky lips. Shivering delightfully, she suctioned them clean, bumping into the door when her knees knocked together.

“Enter!” The Director’s voice rang with impatient command.

Fluttering long fake lashes, Kira steadied herself on tall sling-back heels and grasped the doorknob. That authoritative tone stabbed at her center, making her gasp and twitch.

She remembered the slap across her cheek and spasmed deliciously.

“I said enter, dammit. Come in or piss off!”

Director Miller never cussed. Alarmed, Kira hurriedly twisted the handle and stumbled in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Ma’am—”

“Be silent.” The Head of Performing Arts sat at her desk, focused singularly on an antique typewriter. “You are interrupting my revisions to the script.”

The clacking of mechanical keys fired off in rapid succession, gears cranking, feeding a page through the rollers.

Revisions this late in the production? What could she mean?

Panic seized Kira. They were already slaving day and night in preparation for opening night, if she was still making changes…

She held her tongue, not daring to disobey or protest until granted permission. She both craved and feared that barbed tongue, the rough hand. Her pussy moistened in anticipation.

Director Miller took her sweet time, eventually addressing Kira with a raised eyebrow. “My, my. Look at you. Quite the fairy tramp in that fancy dress, ain’t ya? Not regretting swapping roles after the fact, I hope.”

“No-no, Miss… sorry, Director. I wanted to ask for more, um, body glitter?” Kira presented the depleted jar as evidence. “Is you can spare some.”

Mouth watering, her gaze fell on the large tub of sparkly ointment on a corner of the desk.

“My body glitter? I don’t know.” The older woman tapped her jaw in contemplation. Sparkles glinted on manicured fingertips. “Twirl for me, girl. Let’s take a proper gander at you.”

Spinning obediently in place, Kira blushed when her gauzy skirts lifted with the motion giving the Director an eyeful.

“Packed on a few pounds, have we?” She commented dryly. “Not so lean and full of yourself now, I imagine. Still, the costume hits the right notes. Shows off plenty of tit and ass. Flash some skin, and the audience will clamor for more. Come over here.”

Burning with shame, Kira wobbled forward. She was wobbling a lot lately. Wobbling top and bottom on her unsteady heels. She reached the edge of the desk when the Director stood, dipping fingers into the tub.

The mature thespian wasn’t dressed like a common fae slut. A strict graphite pantsuit accentuated her ripe curves and a tight bun gave her the aura of a stern disciplinarian. The lack of any top or bra beneath the buttoned jacket only reinforced the image.

Had she shed some weight? Her mane of chocolate hair was distinctly fuller and richer.

“Bend over, girl. Hands flat on the table.”

Kira complied again, breath quickening when the Director circled behind her.

“You missed a spot here.”

Slap!

The back of her thigh stung, just below her ample butt. Firm fingers spread the slick goo perilously close to Kira’s dewy mound. Small sparks of static danced in their wake. She swallowed a whorish moan.

The Director leaned over her to scoop up more ointment. Their bodies pressed together for a red-hot instant.

“And here.”

Smack!

Her other thigh smarted. The fingers brushed the band of her black mesh panties, where they dug into the plump sphere of her left ass cheek—smoothing that tingling warmth over the fleshy contour in a circular motion.

Kira trembled with restrained need.

She was so close! A single touch, the slightest stroke, would push her over the razor edge she balanced on. It was divine agony to be held there—heavenly torture to relinquish control of her pleasure to a more dominant figure.

Perspiration dripped from her nose, dark strands from the wig clung to her face…

The tub of aloe sparkled on the desk, less than a foot from her salivating lips.

Splat!

She stifled a cry when a slime-slathered palm impacted her jiggling rear. Wondrous pain grounded like lightning in her churning core.

“I know what you want, girl. You’re just a little piggie snuffling for a treat. Very well.” The Director leaned over her again, and Kira couldn’t resist wriggling her exposed rump into the other woman’s hips as she filled the empty jar from the tub.

That earned her a cuff on the ear which elicited a piteous squall.

“Take it and be thankful for my generosity. Your shift in attitude is promising, but I expect the best from my cast. Shape up or ship out, and do something about that god-awful hairpiece. You look like a bad extra in a Tim Burton movie.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am.”

Kira didn’t mind being hustled out the door. By the time it slammed shut, she was already lifting the gloopy jar to her puffy lips, slurping hungrily.

* * *

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 slave.”

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 desperate 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 choke. 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 slave 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.”

* * *

Why had the heavens cursed Megan with a pack of functional retards for her crew? The Director seethed, watching them bumble their lines and perform with all the gusto of grade-schoolers.

“No, no, no!” Spittle flew as she stormed the stage, fighting the urge to fly off the handle. “We’re a day away from raising curtains and I’m not feeling the passion from any of you. It’s supposed to be romantic, not a couple of teenagers pawing at each other after prom!”

Her cast shied away, as well they should. Megan was ready to blow a gasket.

The stage was arranged into a fairy bower for the love scene, a late addition to the script—bold and risque, certain to evoke an emotional response from the audience. A four-post bed hung with garlands of paper flowers sat center-stage, where Julianna and that reprobate Brodie paused mid-makeout session.

His uniform was unbuttoned, displaying a rather defined torso, and the white-blonde leading lady wore little more than jewelry and scraps of black silk, but everything else was entirely lacking.

“Miss Director?” Kira inquired, standing to the side with Drew sniveling in her shadow. The silent wretch appeared emaciated in his tattered costume. “Please instruct us so we can do better.”

The once-lean athlete nearly overflowed her frilly pixie dress—reworked seams and attached ribbons strained to contain so many prodigious curves. Glittering ivory flesh bulged through the open front and sides of the skimpy garment like rising dough, and any hint of a tan was wiped away.

Thick thighs clad in torn fishnets emerged from the tutu-like skirts that barely concealed her panties, and a wide ebony bow cinched her waspish waist, tied like a birthday present above the girl’s peachy posterior.

She looked like those fucking Fae strumpets parading around campus in their outrageous outfits.

At least her wig was correctly pinned. The dark cascading curls softened her sharper features.

“Shut up, hoe. If I wanted your fucking input, you’d be reading it off cue cards.”

Startled gasps and scattered laughter came from the stagehands, only stoking Megan’s temper. Kira flushed and released a quiet moan.

“Ms Miller?” Julianna arched a plucked brow, ever the imperious prima donna. “Do you take issue with my performance?”

“Not you, dear. Him.” Megan jabbed a crooked finger at Brodie. “This little prick has been half-assing his way through the production since I brought him onboard. Perhaps I should toss him back into the heaping pile of shit where I found him.”

“Me? I’ve never acted a day in my life. You’re the one who insisted on dragging me into this.” The ungrateful bastard had the stones to leer at her. Reclining back on his elbows with an obvious erection tenting his jeans. “Can’t blame a guy for lacking experience.”

She fumed internally, imagining gouts of steam vented from her ears. The shameless asshole wielded his ignorance like a shield.

Well, she’d disabuse him of that notion the old fashion way...

“Out of bed, both of you. Now!” Megan snapped. “Time for a crash course in seduction.”

They complied, if reluctantly. The set was dead silent when she let down her tight bun of rich, chocolate hair and stripped off her business jacket. She was left in a thin pencil skirt and heels with no shirt or blouse, only a black balconette bra preserved her modesty.

Someone in the wings wolf-whistled at the sight.

“They’re just tits, people.” She reprimanded, grabbing them instructively. They felt firmer and fuller. Proper hooters. Smudges of gold dusted her cleavage. “They haven’t changed since you were infants. Grow up. As for you, come here.”

Brodie stepped forward, the lump in his pants leading the charge. The Director tried to ignore it, even as she painted her mature form onto the younger man’s front. This was purely for the sake of the performance. Simply acting, no matter how her lonely pussy twinged at it’s stiff proximity.

“Hey there.” He stared directly at her chest. She rested gentle hands on his surprisingly broad shoulders.

“Lesson one; body language,” Megan said. “Don’t just grab the guy and start necking. Caress him. Entice him. Let the audience read the tension building between you in every touch. Play it up for those squinting from the back row.”

Fingers quested beneath his open shirt, tracing muscles as she hooked a shapely calf behind his knee and pulled him close. A couple’s pose borrowed from the tango. Brodie’s arm looped the small of her back, holding her upright.

He was stronger than she’d anticipated and smelled… manly. Musky with notes of clean sweat. His hardness nudged her hip through their clothing, daringly close to her humming womanhood.

Megan’s fingers ran up his torso again to link behind his neck as she slowly leaned in for a kiss. The cocky bastard lowered his head to meet her when she turned away at the last second.

“Lesson two; eye contact.” She flicked her chocolate tresses in his stupid face. “Pay attention. This is purely performative but the audience has to buy the act. They’re watching your expressions more than anything else. Make them believe you yearn for one another.”

Meeting his stare, she took on a sultry look. Her eyes smoldering and gnawing her plump bottom lip before parting them with a heartbreaking sigh. His cock prodded insistently as she drank in his boyish charms.

He wasn’t unattractive. Had that been the impetus behind nabbing him off the street? He possessed a solid jawline, straight teeth and a clear complexion. Brimming with the energy and vitality of youth, she envied in her students.

Ready to make rash decisions and take even rasher actions…

Like groping her butt in front of the cast.

Megan could have heard a pin drop on the hushed stage. She didn’t stop him though, angling her hips slightly until he was grinding against her sweet spot. Nobody had touched her that way in years. Lava dripped in her core as she inhaled his scent.

“How am I doing?” Brodie’s whisper was a low rumble that tickled her spine.

“Lesson… three; the tease.” She struggled to keep cool. Proffessional. In control. Moisture gathered below. “Like the old tune says, ‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it.’ Every Broadway showgirl comprehends this and the principle is a truism in theatre also.”

Abruptly, Megan tore the younger man’s shirt off. Already unbuttoned, she managed to drag it off his shoulders before it caught on his elbows, exposing the toned pecs and abdominals she’d explored.

The delinquent had a bod, who knew?

His answering smirk was infuriating, but didn’t dampen the rising ardor, just her panties.

She wanted to slap the not-so-little punk. Wanted to trail her tongue across those hard ridges. Needed to push him down on the bed and vent her wrath on him with her aching cunt.

He always acted so fucking smug, like he knew something she didn’t.

“Unzip me.” Megan ordered, matching his micro-thrusts. Exercising her authority over him. Snarling when he took three tries to find the skirt’s zipper. “Stop fumbling and undress me like a fucking man!”

She reached down and grabbed his rigid bulge, planning to give it a painful pinch, moaning instead at the hefty package filling her palm.

He was goddamn huge!

“Shit, hang on. There we go.” Brodie pulled the slim-fitting garment down to a puddle on the floor, leaving Megan in her unmentionables. “Damn, you’re one fine-looking lady.”

The mature brunette wasn’t listening, preoccupied with judging how big he actually was through his jeans. Jerking and stroking the denim-covered length. Searching for his fly to release the beast…

“Um, Director? Do you, ah, want us to leave?” Kira’s tremulous voice snapped Megan back to reality.

Everyone was watching with mixed expressions of unease and interest. She was centerstage, basically dry-humping a male student in her underwear, and everyone was watching.

Her lust-riddled mind raced, searching for an excuse—anything to explain the situation.

The slutty pixie looked embarrassed, though her cheeks burned and thighs churned together. Drew had averted his gaze to examine the ceiling. Juliana appeared aloof and uncaring though the stiff nipples peaking through her scandalous costume betrayed the haughty blonde.

The stagehands began jeering and hooting like a troop of baboons.

Fortunately, salvation arrived in the unlikely form of Tammy, walking into the disaster while munching on a jumbo bag of Freetos.

“Huh, what’s going on? Am I late for rehearsals? Sozzles, had an epic attack of the munchies.”

The fool girl had either packed on weight or worked a miracle with her wardrobe and make-up. She seemed… bigger, somehow. Taller. More muscular. The cheap costume armor that hung from her underdeveloped frame days ago was snug to the point of bursting. Her bra stuffed fuller than a Thanksgiving turkey.

Whatever, Megan took the proffered lifeline and swam for shore.

“No, we were giving our leading man pointers to refine his stagecraft.” She stepped away from Brodie, empty pussy throbbing like a bass drum. “Spend the rest of today memorizing your new lines and practicing my lessons. I’ll be in my office.”

Chin held high; the Director stalked into the wings, leaving her skirt and jacket forgotten on the stage.

She had more pressing issues.

Namely, a blazing need that an hour of vigorous diddling under the desk failed to relieve.

* * *

Sneaking through darkened hallways, Brodie marveled at how effective constant micro applications of Do-Me Dust were proving to be over a prolonged period.

These theatre nerds were actually changing into mega-horny, super-sexy versions of their characters. Well, they were all playing Fae though and there was one thing everyone knew about fairy sluts…

But the Director too? That loopy cunt was losing more marbles by the minute.

Her revised script was basically softcore porn. Brodie wasn’t a history aficionado but he was fairly sure the fateful Police Chief hadn’t banged the two warring factions into a peaceful resolution.

And that whole thing in rehearsal today, her angry advances and batshit excuse of a lesson had been hot. He’d been so turned on they nearly fucked right there on stage.

Instead, he settled for a sloppy blowy from the muscly Amazon chick who seemed to be getting dumber with every throatful of spunk she gleefully chugged.

The would-be drug dealer was also aware of some secondhand side effects despite personally avoiding the so-called ‘body glitter.’ There was no helping it. Every time one of the dust-slathered whores rubbed their sparkling bodies against him, jacked him with glittering hands and tits, or sucked him between glistening lips… it probably counted as a contact high.

He didn’t consider that a valid reason to stop them. Fuck, no!

Brodie’s skinny physique was slowly changing, developing a more rugged build that reminded him of the guys featured on the covers of trashy romance novels. The kind his mother used to read, swooning over “Rodrigo” or another bodice-ripping hunk.

With broader shoulders, chest and abs that could grace the cover of a men’s health magazine, and a jaw so square it was almost brutal, Brodie was looking forward to some bodice-ripping of his own.

Not to mention the deli salami that had replaced his trusty frankfurt.

The damn thing hung halfway to his knee and remained semi-erect even now. He was perpetually ready to go. A rocket primed for launch. Randier than a party of schoolboys finding Dad’s skin mag.

This was different from the rumors he had heard about Do-Me Dust. The reports from the frat mixer were everyone boinked like pornstars, their bodies morphed into fuckgod perfection for a night before burning out at sunrise when the campus security arrived.

The party of the century that kicked off the latest drug craze at Madison U…

But this was better, more sustainable. How had nobody thought of it? Brodie could get his magically-enhanced rocks off on the regular with some mind-warped mega-babe and had been for days.

Which was why he was skulking around the theatre after nightfall, planning to break into the Director’s office.

It was time to reclaim the last of his product and get the hell out of dodge. The gold-flecked lotion would be his ticket to the big leagues.

Except, the office wasn’t empty.

“Please, pleeease, Director. Can I please have another taste? Just a drop. I’ll be good, I swear…”

The door was ajar, lancing light into the dark corridor. Inside, the slutty goth (what was her name again?) knelt before the deranged educator who stood before the desk in her underwear, holding a tub of glittering ointment.

They were quite the pair.

The former athlete spilled out of her tiny costume, top and bottom. The gauzy skirts didn’t cover her fat, panty-less asscheeks and the swooping neckline couldn’t contain her abundance of ivory tit-flesh. Ebony lace, frills and white ribbons held on by a thread to her extreme hourglass figure. Torn fishnets dug into thick, fleshy thighs.

“I applaud this change in attitude, missy.” Ms Miller mused, swirling a fingertip in the precious mixture. “You are at your best when pleading… continue.”

Evidently, she hadn’t dressed after their torrid rehearsal and appeared unbothered by the fact. Her black satin boyshorts and balconette bra hugged ripe curves that lacked any sag or cellulite. Her chocolate hair was voluminous and rich, tied in a librarian’s bun. The magical dust had reversed the ravages of time and refined the older woman into a knockout MILF.

It also brought out a mile-wide mean streak that stiffened Brodie’s over-active prick.

“I’m sorry I didn’t take your course seriously before this production. I know that was wrong and lazy of me. Please, please, please, Director. I’ll be obedient and follow all your instructions, just tell me what to do…”

“Hmm, I don’t know if I believe that.” The mature brunette slid her gooey digit along a slender forearm, admiring the glitter on her flawless skin. “You have been very disrespectful in the past—treated my class as an easy credit. Why should I expend effort correcting you now?”

The slutty goth gulped as her vision tracked that finger. A line of drool dripped from sparkling ruby lips, which were plumper than collagen-stuffed pillows. The saliva bridged her slack chin and inflated hooters before she came back to herself.

“I’m different now, Director. I promise. I’ll do anything you ask. Already skipped all my hockey practice this week. Coach is pissed as hell but I don’t care. Please, pleeeeease tell me how I can prove myself…”

The thirsty whore was actually kowtowing. Pressing her head to the floor, flashing her full naked rear to Brodie’s spying eyes. Moist pink folds winked at him, leaking juices down wobbling thighs.

He eased his throbbing cock out and began stroking. Long, languorous motions from girthy base to cum-bubbling tip.

“That’s a start, I suppose.” Ms Miller allowed, dipping her fingers in the tub again. “But you’ve been a bad girl, Kira. Bad girls need to be disciplined if they are to learn. They must be punished before they can be good girls again. Do you want to be a good girl? Say it.”

“I want to be a good girl, Director.” Kira mumbled.

“What was that? Speak up.”

“I want to be your good girl, Director!” She wailed into the carpet.

“What else? Tell me everything.” The stately MILF circled her with predatory poise, stiletto heels clicking ominously.

“I’ve been bad and have to be punished before I can be your good, good girl. Please, Director. I neeeeed it! I don’t know why, but I need to be your bestest girl! Aaaah~!!”

“Holy fuck,” Brodie whispered, watching the inky-haired bombshell quiver on the ground. “Did she just cum?”

The Director’s head snapped to the door. Her icy gaze met his for a heartstopping second, then swept downward. A wicked grin slashed her lips when she saw his pumping fist.

“Fine words, missy. But talk is cheap.” She turned back to Kira, and there was a distinctly performative quality to her actions. “Are you prepared to do anything… anything I demand? For the sake of the play, of course.”

“Yes… oh god, yes! Please command me, Director. Punish me. Make me your good girl…”

“Then be silent. I tire of your prattle. Not a peep, understand?”

The prostrate coed nodded earnestly. Ass up and face down, her luscious hips wagging excitedly as she awaited judgment.

Ms Miller locked eyes with Brodie before lifting her knee to drive a sharp heel into the girl’s proffered rump. Like a spur, it dug into her pale flesh, not quite drawing blood and eliciting a stifled groan from the owner of said tooshie.

“Did I hear something?” The teacher cupped an ear theatrically, leaning heavily on the planted foot. “No? Must have been my imagination.”

She twisted the heel as though extinguishing a cigarette before graciously retracting it to stomp the other cheek. The thick glute rippled and bounced from the strike.

”Hmmmph~!”

Kira quaked yet didn’t move or object. Brodie couldn’t tell if she was terrified or getting off on the harsh treatment. Raven locks hid the boascious goth’s face but her suppressed moans sounded… appreciative.

His steely dick bucked excitedly. He was essentially repainting the doorframe with errant spurts of sticky seed.

“Mmmm… you’re doing well—promising first steps. Perhaps I should reward you a little.” The merciless MILF never broke eye contact with him as she bent to glide two glittery fingers through Kira’s mound. Her pink folds were soaked and spasmed at the gentle touch. “Raise your head. No, don’t get up. Open your mouth for me.”

Doing as bid, the busty brat stuck out her tongue and waited. Ms Miller shot Brodie a wink, taking her time to strut to the front and crouched low. A move that placed her thinly veiled groin level with the panting girl’s face.

“Good girl. Good girl. You’re going to be teacher’s pet from now on. Do you want that?” She hovered her drenched digits an inch away from those shiny, dribbling mouth-pillows. “Teacher’s pet gets extra special treatment. Rewards like what I have here for you. You may answer me.”

“Y-yes, Director! Please, pretty please, let me be your special pet!”

“Good girl. What a very good girl.” She crooned, then grabbed a handful of Kira’s dark curls, roughly yanking her head back.

Dark curls that were supposed to be a wig but appeared way too real.

“Say, aaaah…”

“Aaaaaah-oomff!”

“Oh fuck,” Brodie could feel the tension building in his swollen nuts, precum was flying everywhere.

On the wall, the floor, shooting pearly ropes through the gap in the door to settle on the carpet in great gloopy globs. Still, he had more—a bottomless well of baby-batter. The older vixen smirked knowingly at him as her new pet noisily slurped her fingers clean.

She was playing to her audience as only a veteran actor could. She read him like a book and adjusted her performance for maximal effect, pushing all his buttons at once.

“That’s enough. You can stop, pet.” She chided Kira withdrawing her hand. “I have something else for you to lick.”

“Please, Director. I-I wasn’t done—” The slobbering slut blurted pitifully.

“I said enough! Now, be a good girl and remove my underwear. No hands, just your teeth.” Her tone brooked no argument, a cuff to the ear cemented the command. “Quickly. Don’t dawdle.”

Ms Miller stood, allowing Kira to shuffle on her knees, mewling and moaning. She carefully bit the waistband of the lacy boyshorts and tugged them down, revealing a silky smooth pelvis with a bald, wet slit capping her mouthwatering thigh gap.

She sat on the edge of the desk, shapely legs parted, scooping more sparkling ointment to liberally slather her delectable cunt. Smearing it over and between her nether lips until she was thoroughly vajazzled, eyes half-lidded with pleasure beamed pure seduction at Brodie.

Kira hugged herself, on the verge of hyperventilating, waiting for the imminent command. Saliva sheeted into her ivory cleavage, giving those hefty hemispheres extra sheen.

“Come, pet. Lick your Director clean. Use that insolent mouth. Show me what a good girl you are.”

A whimper escaped the voluptuous goth. She scrambled to obey, diving between the teacher’s spread thighs. Lapping and squealing like a farm animal at the feed trough.

The sexy MILF smiled indulgently, massaging her bra-clad breasts. With sensuous grace, she hooked first one long leg, then the other over the girl’s shoulders, ankles crossing over her bowed back.

In a casual display of power, she locked her student-turned-plaything in place, face buried in her hairless muff, eye-fucking Brodie the entire time.

“Good girl. Gooood girl. Doesn’t it feel nice to please me?” She purred, pulling Kira closer with a flex of her sleek thighs. “Doesn’t it feel right, serving your superior? To be a good little pet and do as you’re told?”

Kira didn’t reply—couldn’t reply. Drowning in the older woman’s pussy. Her lush body vibrated like a tuning fork, clearly riding the edge, liquid arousal doused the office carpet as she shook with carnal passion.

Brodie could empathize.

The vision of mature elegance and beauty staring at him… abusing her position for him was intoxicating. He was done hiding and elbowed the door open for a better view. Basked in her lustful gaze—the way she chewed her bottom lip at the sight of his turgid tool—Brodie noted the effect his presence had on the gorgeous teacher.

Up to that point, she’d been putting on a show. Performing for him. Delighting in a voyeuristic thrill but not truly engaged.

The quiet coos and sighs were an act, like the calculated toss of her glossy tresses and outthrust chest. She obviously derived something from Kira’s oral ministrations but her fluttering of lashes and small muscle twitches hardly amounted to hedonistic pleasure.

Now, though, him darkening the doorway—fisting his rigid shaft—changed that. Ms Miller’s legs clamped around the cunt-muncher’s skull, eyes widened at his bold appearance.

“B-Brodie?”

“Keep going. Don’t stop.” He growled, jacking himself faster. Her stare was fixated on the rapid motion. “Stop being a fucking tease and cum already.”

Neither of them was worried that Kira, trapped as she was, would notice his intrusion. The matronly minx blinked, then smiled again—a measure of her confidence returning.

“You want me to cum, is that what you want to see, baby?” She crooned in a sultry whisper. “Will that get you off, your hot teacher squirting all over her horny pet’s face?”

It would. Fucking hell, it definitely would. Brodie said as much.

“Hmmm, I like that.” She purred, hips gyrating into Kira’s mouth. “I find the idea of you cumming for me very… appealing. Perhaps I should slow down and really… savor the moment. Would you enjoy that?”

“Bitch. Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.”

“Oooh, compliments will get you everywhere.” Ms Miller moaned, legs tightening around the buxom goth until she had to be suffocating her. “Since you asked so nicely… watch and learn.”

Over the next minute, Brodie’s balls grumbled like discontent weather gods, but the Director delivered.

She rolled and twisted her yoga Mom body like a belly dancer, never relaxing the chokehold on Kira’s skull. Cooing and gasping, she observed his, or rather, his lurching manpole’s responses to every erotic action.

How he pulsed when she arched her back and pouted prettily. The drizzles of jizz that erupted after she discarded the racy bra, exposing large suckable tits. The way his grip hardened when she shuddered in bliss.

She was a temptress. Sex personified. A sadistic narcissist who knew what she was doing and getting her kicks from the act.

Brodie simultaneously loved and hated her for it.

“I-I’m nearly there, baby. Are you ready?” She gasped. Kira was basically a quivering mass stuck between her legs. “It’s going to be a big one… hnnnh! I can feel it building inside me—”

“Do it! Cum already!” His dick would be raw after this prolonged session.

“Cum with me, baby! Cum for Mommy… Hyaaaa~!!”

“FAAAAARK!!”

The earth seemed to shift under Brodie’s feet as he unleashed an inhuman amount of spunk. Great blasts cannoned from him at escape velocities. They splattered the desk, the antique typewriter and a swivel chair behind it, which spun with the slimy impact. What felt like months (rather than hours) of backed-up tension released in a blinding torrent that hosed the small office in a stream of creamy ejaculate.

When the wherewithal to actually aim returned to him, the place was a mess. It dripped from the ceiling fan, oozed down the walls and lashed the carpet in white strings. There had to be pints of the stuff.

Maybe… maybe it was too much?

Miraculously, Ms Miller and Kira had avoided the worst of the barrage. The MILF teacher sat on the floor with her semi-conscious student cradled in her lap, affectionately stroking the girl’s dark curls.

“I-I should leave. This is… a lot.” His head swam and he felt utterly drained.

“Goodnight, Brodie. Don’t worry about the mess.” She sounded thoroughly pleased, somehow smugger than before. “I’ll have my pet clean it up. Sleep well. Tomorrow is opening night. We’re all counting on you.”

Clutching pounding temples, Brodie staggered from the room. His original goal forgotten.

* * *

Asteria dabbed on the last of the body glitter as anticipation mounted in her expansive chest.

The distant murmur of the audience finding their seats always gave her a rush. In a few minutes, the lights would dim, the curtain raised, and she would shine like a brilliant diamond on stage.

By the loam and soil, it was finally her turn to shine!

Fastening a forest green cloak about her neck, the impressive Amazon swept out of the changing room to find her leading man pacing nervously in the wings. Police Chief Stanley was very dashing in his uniform shirt and jeans. The picture of human masculinity with his broad shoulders, stalwart arms and stubbly jaw.

She would never be able to comprehend how any Fae female could gaze upon a well-built mortal male and not be overcome by burning passion.

Her aching loins yearned for him, even now. To feel him pierce her empty womb and plant his manly seed in those fertile depths. Tonight was the night, as foretold in the prophetic pages. Only he was fit to breed the leader of a Wildling warband.

To breed… every muscle in Asteria’s extremely powerful physique clenched at the thought. Would the handsome lawbringer pin her to the bed or bend her over a banquet table like a common serving wench? She had imagined both scenarios while nursing his throat-stabbing manhood. They always brought sinful gratification.

The mere memory of those debauched encounters quickened her heart.

Still, he appeared vexed, pacing like that. Adjusting her ill-fitting breastplate, the statuesque redhead approached, wide hips swaying in the short leather kilt.

Maybe she could suck the troubles out through his scrummy babymaker…

Her hungry belly grumbled, catching the Police Chief’s attention.

“Aster? Whoa, you’re really big and, uh, glowy…” He stared up, past her jutting shelf of titflesh. “Jesus, those knockers are… wow. Mega funbags, yeah?”

She beamed, crushing him in a bear hug. Standing a foot taller and a dozen stone heavier, it wasn’t a challenge to smother the charming mortal in tanned milkers large enough to feed a small village.

He was assuredly blessed with a silver tongue!

The fairy bower scene was prepared on stage. A grandiose bed—garlanded with floral arrangements and a scattering of pillows—sat center stage. The very bed where they would consummate their union, thus ending hostilities between the Wild and Winter factions.

Asteria’s brows pinch in confusion. That was later in the play. Had she missed another change to this evening’s proceedings?

Talk of the many alterations to the sacred text reached her ears, but the words and language on the pages were impossible to decipher. She was a warrior, not a scholar. Strength in arms and courage on the battlefield was where she excelled. Reading always seemed the domain of those lacking her martial skill.

A muffled noise from Stanley reminded her to ease the hug and put the Police Chief back down. He stumbled, gulping in air.

Steadying him, she asked, “Betrothed, why is the scene of our consummation prepared? Madam Director—”

“Is otherwise engaged.” Belphoebe emerged from the shadows like a wraith, her silvery hair and blue-grey skin almost luminous. “I have generously decided to reorder events in her absence. Thou may praise my genius and beneficence.”

The Drow princess was stunningly attired in web-like lingerie, onyx jewelry and vicious heels—every piece selected to enhance her etheric beauty with calculated forethought.

Midnight gemstones gleamed on her ears, neck and wrists. They cascaded along collarbones to dip between perfectly pert, high breasts. Narrow bands of obsidian silk and wisps of finest satin enshrined her lithe, lethal figure in sumptuous bindings. Embroidered stockings and garters drew attention to her mile-long legs, while hints of makeup elevated the cold allure of that enchanting face.

Where Asteria was a maul bludgeoning those who defied her, this creature—resplendent in all her wickedness—was a razor. Keen and deadly.

The mighty Amazon felt dull in comparison. A stupid oaf, well suited for smashing through obstacles and enemies but little else.

Except, she dared pray, maybe breeding?

Her vacant womb throbbed as Belphoebe glided over to Stanley for a smoldering kiss, melting against him as her violet lips met his. It was passionate. Heated. Only ending when he abruptly pulled away in a burst of panic.

“Bel, wait. What are you saying? We’re kicking off opening night with the bedroom scene… that scene where we, uh, you know—”

“Not immediately, husband. Calm thyself.” The silver-haired princess said. “Tonight is a celebration. We should indulge. Sample the fruits of our impending nuptials before the performance commences. There is yet time.” Her crystalline eyes cut to Asteria. “Bring thou plaything.”

Asteria meekly them to the bed. The audience sounded so close. The stage-spanning curtain seemed an insufficient shield from the waiting crowd, but her fear of being ignored overcame any reluctance.

This was it, opening night! The momentous eve of Celestial Conjunction and her ascension into motherhood. The highest honor one of her clan could achieve…

“Where is the Director? I can’t believe she’d be okay with this.” Stanley asked, being led by Belphoebe’s grip on the obscene lump in his pants. “Also, where’s whatsisname… Wormtongue?”

“Phakos has his orders and Megan is presently preoccupied. Do not concern thyself with them, Husband. Focus on me. Am I not pleasing to look upon?”

Asteria had to concede that she was. Her sworn foe slid onto the sheets, posing like a mermaid, propped up on a hip with her legs to the side. She idly twirled a strand of moonlight hair with a coquettish expression before lifting a knee to spread her stockinged thighs invitingly.

“Shit, yeah. You know you are. Guess we’re doing this now.” He replied, unbuckling his belt and tipping his head towards Asteria. “What about her?”

“Hmmm, the Amazon? She will ensure thy legacy when thou taketh her maidenhead. We decided this matter previously.” Belphoebe grazed a finger over the cleft outlined by her sheer panties. “Disrobe and join me, Wildling. Thy Lord desires to mount thee.”

Nearly sobbing with relief, the titanic redhead flung off her cloak, performing a full-body flex that shredded the cheap vinyl armor. It fluttered in brown scraps around her sandaled feet, baring her jaw-dropping musculature and enormous endowments, unfettered without undergarments.

She was big. Even among her shield sisters, Asteria was a source of pride. The pinnacle of feminine prowess, they would call her, admiring the plentitude of womanly assets as much as her strength.

There in the captivating Drow’s presence, she felt small. Weak in a way that had nothing to do with weapons mastery. Soft despite her rock-solid build. Nervous as a spooked deer but also excited.

“As my Lord wishes.” She said shyly, crawling onto the bed. The wooden frame creaked under her weight. “Where would he have me?”

“Jesus, that ass!” Stanley gave her thick rump a crisp smack. “On all fours beside Bel. I’m gonna ride you like a prize pony.”

He stepped out of his jeans, kicking them aside. His immense hardness swished in front of him. She and Belphoebe made pleased sounds when he gripped it, clambering onto the sheets with them—both staring hungrily.

“Look at me, Amazon.” The dark elf commanded, reclining luxuriously and fondling herself. “I want to memorize thou expression when my Husband claims thee.”

“Uh… okay? I guess that’s fine if it’s what he wants…” Asteria couldn’t recall that part from the texts, but all thinking was derailed when Stanley grabbed her sizable glutes and forced them apart. “Ooooh!”

She tremored when something long and beefy slapped between them, sliding along her crack before dipping so the bulbous tip to notch in her virgin folds. Warm nectar spilled down powerful thighs. She was wet and beyond ready for this triumphant moment.

“Do not close thy eyes!” Sharp nails pricked her jaw. Asteria’s blinking vision recentered on Belphoebe, who had pinched her chin. “I ordered thee to look me, brute. Disobey at thy peril.”

“I-I…haaaaaah~!” Excuses devolved into a shriek when Stanley suddenly lunged forward.

His magnificent girth stretched her pristine pussy and demolished her maidenhead in a single blow. There was a spike of pain when it broke, quickly washed away waves of ecstasy as her betrothed began thrusting.

He was relentless in his assault, a berserker pounding away at her defenses. The call to battle seized the warrioress, and her heart raced with the thrill of the fight. Each time they clashed, she slammed child-bearing hips back into him, rocking the bed frame.

Stanley grabbed those same hips for leverage, snarling as he jackhammered her sopping snatch. Pulling and tugging them like sex handles, he filled her again and again. They warred in the throes of passion, charging past the edge of reason.

“You’re fucking tight for such a big bitch.” He grunted, slapping her flank. “Past due for a good, hard dicking, I reckon.”

”Nnnrrrh! A shieldmaiden d-doesn’t surrender without… hyaa!

“Yes, Husband, yes. Own that Wildling pussy.” Belphoebe writhed beautifully, teasing a nipple while probing her purple pearl. “Sow your virile seed within her and forever mark her as thine. Breed her for me. I yearn to witness the submission in her eyes when thou claim her body and soul.”

“And what about you?” The Police Chief huffed between deep, driving thrusts. Asteria clawed at the sheets. “This is your special night too.”

“Oh? I’ll ride thee once this broodmare is thoroughly impregnated. Gird thy loins, consort.”

Thoroughly impregnated.

The words sparked a forest fire of primal yearning that blazed through the Amazon’s addled psyche escalating the torturous rapture to dizzy heights. She could feel his balls, bloated with life-giving spunk, swinging between them as they rutted.

Her mortal lover’s cunt-spearing manhood sawed in and out, poised to conquer her womb, a fecund bastion she couldn’t wait to capitulate. Only the Drow’s unwavering glare broadcasted haughty menace kept Asteria from collapsing and howling into a pillow.

“P-please… Lord, please…” She begged, eyes locked on Belphoebe’s. “Give me your children. Hurry, please… hmmmph~! Make me a m-mommy. Stuff my belly with your b-babies!”

“This is fucking nuts.” Stanley snarled plower into her harder. Faster. “You’re all goddamn insane!”

The exuberant redhead didn’t care.

She didn’t heed the catcalls of the restless crowd outside the curtain in their discontent.

She didn’t hate the blood-sworn foe squirming in the bed beside her, demanding her obedience.

She couldn’t give a pixie’s fart for the stagehands watching from the wings, backslapping and elbowing one another.

Asteria only cared about getting fucked stupid and full of potent seed like the baby-crazy Fae wench she was. To swell large with his offspring and nurture them at her massive breasts. To be bred over and over again…

“She begs very prettily, does she not?” Belphoebe laughed huskily. “Why deny her further? Claim her, Husband. Then prepare thyself to endure a Drow Princess’s affections.”

“Please, pleeease…”

“Fuck it! Here it cums, you cock-thirsty slut!” Her hero bellowed, bottoming out in her womb and exploding.

Delirious heat blossomed in Asteria’s core, thoughts and concerns evaporating under the magma flow pouring out of him. Unbridled bliss saturated her mind as she convulsed in a terrific, sheet-ripping climax, screaming with ultimate release.

Internal muscles bunched and contracted, milking his impaling length for every last gush. Girly juices soiled the bedding in messy squirts as her flat tummy pooched and bones became jelly.

“Th-thank you, my Lord” She slurred through sagging lips.

Her ears were ringing. Asteria giggled contentedly it resolved into a distant chanting….

“On with the show! On with the Show! On with the Show!”

The theatre resounded with clapping hands and stomping feet. The audience beat out a riotous rhythm.

“On with the show! On with the Show! On with the Show!”

Was someone putting on a play tonight? That sounded nice…

Asteria giggled happily, finally collapsing like a felled tree into the cushions when Stanley withdrew from her clingy snatch. Blessedly full and utterly sated, she watched Belphoebe leap at him, twisting in midair so he landed on his back with bewitching Drow astride his still-rigid cock.

“Time to seal our pact, Husband!” She cackled, pinning the mortal with startling strength. “Tonight, the world will remember when—”

“WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU FLAMING SHITBAGS DONE TO MY FUCKING PRODUCTION?!”

The Director marched onto the stage in black over-the-knee boots, an outrageous strap-on dildo, and little else. She appeared like an avatar of wrath holding a chain leash, chocolate tresses and naked tits flouncing furiously as she dragged a thick-figured goth fairy by the collar.

The fairy, at least, wore a shoestring thong and shiny latex corset that did nothing to obscure her phenomenal curves nor the slickness coating her thighs. She looked mortified yet also aroused. A blush rogued her ivory cheeks.

“I’m saving it, thou has-been old crone!” Belphoebe crowed gleefully, lifting to position Stanley’s crown between her sparling purple folds. “Thy dared to instruct me? ME?! Watch and learn for once in your measly existence.”

“Get off my fucking stage before I chop out your forked tongue and eat it for fucking dinner, snake!”

“Phakos, now!”

“Yessss, Misssstresss.”

“On with the show! On with the Show! On with the Show!”

Asteria glanced blearily amidst the shouting. Spotlights buzzed to life, a sweeping orchestral score blared and the curtain rose. Belphoebe sank down Stanley’s turgid manmeat with a victorious cry right before the Director reached them.

The ravishing Drow was far more petite than the Amazon but took their Lord’s gut-battering tool with supreme alacrity. Her immaculately slender, graceful body undulated in an erotic dance, arms weaving above her head and narrow hips swiveling sinuously.

The way she moved with the smooth elegance of a serpent was hypnotic. With jewelry catching the bright lights and silver hair flashing, Belphoebe cast a glamour over the baying audience, who stilled, enthralled by her motions.

“Bear witness, ye mortals, on this auspicious day.” Her voice rang clear as a bell above the music. “Fortunate art thou to behold the consummation of this fated union upon the eve of Celestial Conjunction. The Fae and mankind, rejoined once more after millennia of parted.”

The Director slowed to a halt, scowling but no longer pitching a fit. The crowd remained silent though several members appeared confused. A tuxedoed hobgoblin in the front row raised a quizzical eyebrow while his companion, a stately woman in an emerald ball gown, clung to his arm.

Asteria couldn’t look away as Belphoebe rolled and swayed beguilingly utop Stanley. The Drow’s limber form shifted and gleamed as she ground her svelte pelvis into him. The Amazon’s tired hand found her leaking folds, stirring fingers through the squishy overflow with a needy whimper.

“Rejoice, ye fortunate few, for this dauntless hero hath ended the strife ’twixt our peoples and won mine favour in the doing thereof.” Belphoebe’s spine arched, tossing her platinum mane when he grabbed her slender thighs, bucking up into her. “N-now do I bestow upon him the greatest of boons for his valiant deeds.”

Hushed whispers and scandalized noises came filtered from the onlookers. However, the Fae in attendance appeared intrigued. A pair of brownies in low-cut dresses were openly fondling themselves. The Director seethed, eyes boring like deathrays into the exhibitionist couple.

“Jesus, Bel. Your pussy is fucking magic. I’m not going to last long.” Stanley warned, pistoning into the petite elf.

“Verily, thou art o’ercome by mine b-beauty and… heightened sensual grace, my Husband.” She crooned, riding him like an ocean wave. Pert titties bouncing in mesmerizing fashion. “I do expect thee to fulfill thy… marital d-duty by bestowing upon me an heir.”

Asteria was impressed by the Drow’s composure. She was clearly on the verge of cumming, not that anyone would know if not for the occasional hitch in her speech. There were tiny tells, though. Nearly imperceptible shudders, dilated pupils and repeated licking of her violet lips.

The Amazon was close to another climax herself, fingers smearing vital seed around her thrumming pearl.

Her sister-wife looked like a dark goddess of fertility fucking their man.

“Are they actually having sex?” An offended lady called from the stands. “Somebody should put a stop to this filthy display!”

Her outcry was met with shouts of agreement and dissenting boos.

“What gave it away, Karen? The MILF wearing a dildo?”

“Disgusting!”

“Let ’em finish. On with the show!

“Call campus security!”

It didn’t matter. Asteria watched in pride, cresting a second mind-bending peak, when her betrothed drove a final thrust into the gorgeous Drow and roared with release. They both quailed in orgasmic elation as Stanley dumped a baby-making load deep inside Belphoebe.

They melted together, kissing fervently. Smiling, the Amazon gathered them in her brawny arms, curling her body protectively around them while the audience rebelled. Some clapped and cheered—mainly the Fae and younger males. Others protested. Scuffles broke out as the critics clashed.

“Most of you wouldn’t recognize art if it fucked you up the ass!” The Director screamed above the hubbub, bending the gothic bombshell over the base of the bed. The voluptuous fairy squealed when the strap-on rubbed her glistening entrance. “True art evokes emotion, you saggy cunts. My students’ performance didn’t make you feel anything? How about this!”

Pandemonium ensued. Asteria clutched her new family safe in her massive bosom until the chaos calmed.

A shieldmaiden’s first duty was to defend those she loved.

* * *

“...so we nailed the little shit and threatened him with criminal prosecution.” Captain James Sterling reported. “He crumbled like feta cheese.”

He stood in Dean Chaumer’s office, a far too regular occurrence for his comfort, while the pudgy academic read the written account. One of his boys had used an AI chatbot to rewrite the document in more official lingo.

“It says here,” The Dean tapped the bottom of a page. “He worked on consignment for a lower-level distributor. Not the supplier or someone we have any legal clout to lean on. It also states that when questioned about his ulterior motives, the culprit replied, ‘Don’t care, was totally worth it.’”

Chaumer’s flat drawl conveyed how unimpressed he was by this critical break in the investigation. The head of campus security nervously scratched the back of his neck.

“If we just involved local law enforcement—”

“No police! I cannot stress enough how badly this drug epidemic will damage Madison University’s standing in the ivory leagues.” The fat bastard struggled out of his chair to wag a fat digit at James. “You’re already skating on thin ice, Captain. This… Fin fellow is obviously a criminal mastermind capable of managing a multi-tiered operation. Scour the grounds. Bring them to justice or find yourself another job!”

“Yes, sir. We’ll apprehend this mastermind, sir.”

Elsewhere on campus, Finley sneezed a cloud of golden dust into his bowl of cereal.

* * *

End of Part Four