-The Court of The Elf Queen-

Athol is the Lord Steward of the House of Erisil. Her mother held the position before her, and she lives to serve two women: the Queen and her wife. Notably, the queen takes precedence before Athol’s spouse. She was summoned before the queen in her chambers. 

Athol knelt before her mistress briefly before rising and meeting her eyes. 

“What is your will, your grace?” asked Athol. 

“I’ve summoned you before me not to discuss matters of will, Athol, but matters of family. Your family,” said the Queen. 

“Yes?” asked Athol. 

“It’s your brother,” said the Queen. “I have heard tell that he and his orcish bitch have become pornographers.” 

Athol winced at this, but then she thought: “I don’t think I understand what that is.” 

“Those silly little plays that he used to put on have devolved and become displays of sex,” said the Queen. 

“I…That’s horrid…But it’s hardly my business. What Ailuin does with his time is his own will, your grace,” said Athol. 

“It is unseemly,” said the Queen. “Even if he distances himself from my court. His family and your family are extensions of me and my will in the world. Tell me, does it strike you as good if an extension of my will flashes is freakish penis before crowds of jeering perverts?” 

“No, it sounds highly inappropriate,” said Athol. The last thing she wanted in the world was that image, but here it was, presented to her by the only woman she respected. “But, what would you have me do?” 

“You’re his sister,” said the Queen. “Find him, give him a stern talking to, break his arm if you need to. Just get him to cease. He can put on as many embarrassing plays as he likes, he just can’t be publicly fucking lower races for everyone to see.” 

 ---

Ailuin was laid up in his bed with Glasha. Each of them clung to one another as if they were life rafts in the middle of the sea. Glasha was asleep, drool dripped down her lips and chin and Ailuin wiped it away with his thumb before sticking his thumb in his mouth and sucking the saliva off. He savored the wine-tinged taste of her spit like it was the purest honey. It as the closest the pair had come to having sex since they started down this cuckholding venture, and he longed for more. He longed to taste her, he longed for her to grab fistfuls of his hair and howl into his ear as he would thrust. But until she said yes again, he would have to settle for whatever woman she picked for him at the upcoming show. He’d written a script, and now it was just the selection process. 

The entire caravan shook, waking up Glasha. 

“Fuck!” she shouted. “Fuck! What was that?!” 

“I don’t know!” shouted Ailuin. 

They heard howling outside and opened up the door. A pack of werewolves had entered into the camp and were tearing shit up. Massive man shaped wolves empowered by the moon’s cruel light were ransacking shit and tearing off the doors to get at what was inside. 

Glasha saw one was dragging away Charlotte, and she grabbed her axe before leaping into the fray. The violence was quick and mad as Glasha tore through scores of the wolfmen with her blade, giving it a new form of blood to taste. Glasha threw the human woman over her shoulders like luggage and held her there as she dispatched the lycanthropes with cold efficiency as her blade ripped the heads free from their bodies. 

Ailuin stood in the doorway, watching as his wife panted and got herself covered in werewolf blood, and he found that he was hard as steel. He wondered if he was turned on just by his wife’s displays of violence or if he was just turned on by her in general. Maybe the two weren’t mutually exclusive. 

“Glasha, my love, are you okay?” called out Ailuin. 

“Fine…I think I need a bath,” said Glasha. 

Ailuin wished that he could lick the werewolf blood off her body until she was clean. But he would not vocalize that desire. Not in front of traumatized Charlotte at least. 

“I think one of the wolf bastards got me good,” said Charlotte as she looked at the gash on her leg. 

“You should be fine,” lied Glasha. 

“That’s helpful,” said Charlotte, not believing her.

“Dear,” spoke up Ailuin. “Take Charlotte to Stitcher and have her fixed up.” 

Charlotte cringed. She loathed Stitcher, for they had great big teeth that echoed when they spoke. Horrible teeth. Monster’s teeth. 

---

Slime did not have a name. Generally, they don’t. Personal identifiers aren’t needed when one is a member of a larger slime colony. But, Slime was not of a colony. Not anymore. Slime was hungry for more. So, she split off from the colony and fashioned herself into a broadly humanoid shape to attempt to appeal to society. 

The first attempt was in a small village called Willard’s Spite. She sloshed into a pub and asked for a beer, only to be immediately lit on fire by a local sorcerer. 

Her second attempt came with Western Bane Co. They were parked just outside of a city called Kirkwall, so named for their sky threatening walls that were designed by an evil girl named Kirk. 

Initially, she was beset by members of the player’s company throwing darts and pewter balls at her. Then the orc started to approach. Glasha began stomping towards her with a big bloody battle axe only for Ailuin to stop and step between them. 

“Husband,” said Glasha, huffing and puffing. “Now is not the time.” 

“Hang on a second,” said Ailuin. “It’s got a human shape, maybe it wants something.” 

“It wants to melt us,” replied Glasha. 

“I’m a she, actually,” said Slime. 

“Perfect!” said Glasha, immediately changing her tune. 

Ailuin’s ears became horizontal and his eyes narrowed as he looked up his big wife. 

“No, you can’t be serious, already?” said Ailuin. 

“Iole wants a new scene and hates that new one you’ve been writing,” said Glasha. “How about her…what’s your name, hun?”

“Slime,” said Slime. 

“See, a complete unknown, she’ll shock and awe audiences!” said Glasha. 

Ailuin turned to face Slime, his ears were still flat enough to balance a level on. 

“Slime, do you understand what we do here?” asked Ailuin. 

“A players company is a collection of actors and stagecrafters and the like, yes?” said Slime.

“Well yes, but we do a particular type of play here,” said Ailuin. 

“My husband has sex with other women while crowds of people watch,” said Glasha. 

Ailuin’s face flushed a darker shade of grey as she spoke. “That is the basic premise of our company, yes.”

“I see,” said Slime. “I’ve seen other creatures have sex with one another and I personally do not see the appeal. My kind reproduces asexually. If I wanted to I could split in half and there would be two Slime colonies.”

“See, she isn’t even interested,” said Ailuin. 

“However, I’m open to learning more about human experiences and so far I’ve been lit on fire and chased. I want to show the people of the world that I am not a threat. So, sure. I will have sex with your husband while other people watch, it makes no difference to me.” 

Ailuin frowned and realized he was going to have to rewrite aspects of the upcoming play in Kirkwall to suit the viscous and blue ingénue.

---

The audience of Kirkwall was a drunken mass. They were practically sliding out of their seats as the stagelights came on and illuminated Western Bane Co.’s poor replacement for the stand up comedians. Iole stood under a spotlight with a violin, clumsily plucking at the strings and producing discordant melodies. 

“Show us your tits!” shouted a woman in the crowd. 

“I’m not that act!” shouted Iole. 

Backstage, Ailuin was on the verge of tearing out his hair as Stitcher, acting as a makeup person affixed a fake pencil moustache to his upper lip.

“My life is such a fucking nightmare,” said Ailuin. “Just everything is just one dilemma after another. 

Stitcher made a mirthless chortle and finished applying the moustache. His big teeth clacked and clathattered as he spoke like someone clumsily bashing two wooden boards together. 

“Forgive me for not being sympathetic to your ‘struggles’, but you get to have sex with a variety of beautiful women while your wife watches and cheers,” said Stitcher. “There are people who would do unspeakable crimes to be able to have your position in the world.” 

“Do you want to have sex with Slime, Stitcher?” asked Ailuin.

“Oh, no, no,” said Stitcher. “She’ll eat you or something.” 

“That’s what I thought,” said Ailuin. 

The elf dug into the vanity’s drawer and produced a set of glowing, red potions and slammed both of them in rapid succession. His nostrils flared, eyes widened, and dick hardened as the stinging cinnamon flavored liquid slid down his esophagus and throughout his being. 

“Mercy,” said Stitcher. “Are you sure you want to be drinking those in such quick succession?” 

“Are you telling me how to live my life?” asked Ailuin, standing up with a full erection poking through his royal robes. 

“No, no, it’s just, it’s not supposed to be healthy for you. They’re like 40 percent blood. You’ll have too much blood in your system.” 

“Fuck off, Stitcher,” said Ailuin. 

---

The play began in earnest with Slime dressed in a yellow and black jester’s outfit. It was completed by a jingling bell hat, pointed belled shoes, and what would have been skin tight stockings, but since she was a slime it mostly absorbed her squishy body. 

Slime did a normal jester’s routine. She juggled, she told bad jokes, she did her little jester dance that took several grueling hours to learn. None of which is important. 

Ailuin sat in a kingly outfit. A tunic in the same royal colors as the jester’s outfit, complete with a cape made out of the finest artificial fur. His erection was obvious from the moment he cut across the stage and it strained so hard against his pants that it stung. Even from the cheap back rows, people could notice that his freakish member was ready to burst free and ravish. 

Ailuin clapped like a seal at all of the slime jester’s antics and japes. Even the ones at his expense. 

“But now is the time for the end of the show ritual, your majesty,” said Slime as she formed a pair of lips on her otherwise blank face. 

Ailuin grunted rather than saying his line and lifted the skirt of his tunic before untying his breeches and exposing a cock that was so hard it was like a pillar of solid granite. 

Slime had seen this ritual before and from her understanding it was called a blowjob or a suckjob. Her head descended on Ailuin’s penis and it slid easily into her gelatinous form. For Ailuin it was like a blob of warm pudding was sliding along the length of his cock as she bobbed her head up and down. Her stupid little bell hat jingled as she slobbered on his generous member. 

The audience could see the shape of his penis thrusting in and out of the semi-transparent head of Slime as she bobbed up and down. Somewhere backstage, Glasha ignited a magic light that would really show the effect. Watching as the member displaced bubbles in Slime’s head. 

The sensation was all too much and Ailuin suddenly shot a hot white load of elven cum. The audience could see it flood the inside of her head. Then something else happened. The clear blue of her body quickly became a kind of creamy pastel blue color like royal paint. Her body grew a size larger, and the result was her silly jester outfit bursting open, revealing her naked body. 

The audience clapped, and Slime kept bobbing up and down. Something had shifted in her and she discovered something not a whole lot of people know about slimes. They feed off of the fluids of other creatures that they kill, and she was hungry for more of his seed, and it didn’t matter how painful it was coming out. 

Ailuin started to scream as more semen was siphoned out of his sizeable schlong. The pleasure was incredibly violent, kind of like when Glasha would give him the occasional suck off, but this was something else. Slime had a leech-like suction as she had her head affixed to him. 

Glasha stepped onto the stage with a broadsword, dragging behind her and leaving a minor canyon in the surface of the stage. She was also stark naked and panting, while her face was flushed red. She held the broadsword aloft. 

“It is I, the Queen!” she shouted. “I’ll have no more of you defiling my husband, jester!” 

She improvised the line, but that's besides the point. More seed shot from her husband’s cock and once more, Slime grew. 

Glasha swung the sword above her head and spun before cleaving off Slime’s head, spraying loose slime and cum all over the stage. 

*zeichnet den Strand und das Meer aus seiner Perspektive, ein paar Muscheln und Steine, die direkt vor ihm liegen und lächelt dann kurz, als ihm noch eine Idee kommt* *zeichnet in den Vordergrund seine Mütze mit ein bisschen Ostergras darin, einen Tischtennisschläger, der aus der Mütze hervorlugt und zwei Ostereier – eins davon ein bisschen angedötscht* *schreibt neben die Mütze in den Sand die Worte „Frohe Ostern!“* *betrachtet das Bild und findet, dass irgendwas noch fehlt – dass noch nicht richtig aus dem Bild hervorgeht, welche Sehnsucht er nach Matteo hat – und zeichnet einen zerknitterten Zettel, der ein bisschen unter der Mütze hervorlugt* *schreibt auf diesen in ganz blass, ganz klein und kaum lesbar: „Du fehlst…“ und seufzt leise* *legt dann sein Skizzenbuch in den Sand und macht ein Foto davon – man sieht noch ein bisschen Sand im Hintergrund* *spielt kurz mit dem Gedanken, das Bild bei Instagram zu posten, lässt es dann aber und verlässt irgendwann den Strand, da es doch ziemlich kalt wird* *verzieht sich nach zwei Runden Uno mit ihrer Cousine und Laura ins Gästezimmer, dass er sich mit Laura teilt und zieht wieder sein Handy hervor* *checkt Instagram und öffnet wieder Matteos Chatfenster* *weiß aber immer noch nicht, was er ihm schreiben soll und schließt es wieder* *scrollt dann ein bisschen durch seine Gallery und die Bilder, die er heute gemacht hat* *bleibt bei der Aufnahme seiner Zeichnung hängen und betrachtet sie einen Moment* *überlegt dann aber nicht mehr lange und schickt sie einfach an Matteo* *hat auf einmal dann aber doch ziemliches Herzklopfen, als sie abgeschickt ist und starrt auf Matteos Chat* *sieht, wie zwei Haken neben dem Bild erscheinen und wie diese nach wenigen Sekunden blau werden* *sieht Matteo in Gedanken vor sich, wie er auf seinem Bett liegt und die Zeichnung anschaut* *hat das Gefühl, dass er wahrscheinlich noch irgendwas erklärendes dazu schreiben sollte, ihm fehlen aber die Worte, das alles zu erklären, ohne sich selbst zu outen und damit alles was war, kaputt zu machen* *hat in dem Moment solche Sehnsucht nach Matteo und seiner Nähe, dass er am liebsten sofort aufstehen und zu ihm fahren würde* *fällt dann aber wieder ein, warum alles nicht so einfach ist und legt frustriert das Handy beiseite* *hofft einfach nur, dass es Matteo gut geht, dass er irgendwann versteht, dass es wirklich nicht an ihm liegt und dass er ihn durch die Zeichnung nicht noch mehr verwirrt oder runterzieht*