Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

The Phoenix and the Serpent	By : tehcommittee Category: +A through F > Fable Views: 3018 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing from Fable, ergo LionHead Studios. I most definatly make no money, but I'm not in it for the money.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
“And why should we bargain with you?” A slurred, strong voice questioned.
                “Because we can give her the support she needs, even after her revolution.” A neutral voice, devoid of emotion but polite enough most would not take offense to, but Walter Beck was not most people.
                “I’ve never heard of your people. I’ve heard of people like you, but you’re not the most trust worthy, especially when things are so…” he paused, his alcohol addled mind searching for the word, “dire.”
                The Rider cast a smooth gaze over the second floor of the bar, many glass bottles lay around; a few had made it to the floor. Most were on Sir Walter’s side of the table, where he sat before the Rider, reduced to a drunken sod, hunched and trying to pace himself on his drink.
                “Don’t think you can ease me into letting you see the Princess. She’s too precious.” The flash of familiarity in the eyes of the man before the Rider did not go unnoticed. “Probably more than any of us realize.” He eyed the Rider; he would not trust anyone who would not at least show their face when making such a proposition, especially when they instead, tried to get their target drunk. “Especially you, Rider. Why do they call you that? Rider.”
                The Rider knew this was going nowhere. “Thank you for your time, Sir Walter. Please give the Princess our regards, and even if we cannot support her directly, we will be supporting her any way we can.” At this Walter scoffed. The Rider dropped all civility and drew close to Sir Walter. “However, Sir Walter. I will get my audience with the Princess. I fear it is you, her guardian, her father-figure, who has no idea just how precious she is.” Walter drew himself up quicker than the Rider had anticipated.
                “You listen here you naive prick, only I let people have an audience with the Princess. If you so much as come near her, I will personally hunt you down, you and your people can go back to your scales and conspiracy theories but if you butt in one more time I will make sure it is the last thing you ever do to get written down in Albion’s history.”
                Brushing the dust off, the Rider stood and smirked.
                “They call me the Rider because I am the few in Albion who actually know how to ride a horse, Sir Walter, let alone a Warhorse. Good Evening.”

                In a shadowy part of a bar, near the blazing fire, a couple sat at each end of a small table, knocking back beer like no tomorrow. The woman was heavily done up, her dress was made for a modest woman, but this woman was anything but, she had undone her buttons, letting loose her buxom breasts to heave with every breath. Cheap beer trickled down her dainty throat to those supple mounds of womanhood. The man in front of her was defiantly not her lawful counterpart, and she treated him nothing like she treated her husband the pawnbroker. She treated the well groomed man in front of her like any gold digger would do to a gold mine. She batted those long eyelashes she had so carefully done so no nasty clumps would form, smiled seductively with those painted lips, wet with beer, and slightly smudged from all the ‘secretive’ kissing they had done.
                At this time the woman was very drunk, and the rich man and sidled up close to her, right next to her. His face got awfully close, when she was sober she wanted him closer so she could enjoy that expensive cologne that she could faintly smell, but now she was so inebriated she could only act on basic instinct.
                “Darling…!” the ‘I’ was elongated. “Tell me how you got this lovely tattoo.” She clumsily leaned over and sensually ‘pecked’ his cheek.
                “Ah, a dear friend of mine dabbled in the art of tattoos, and made me her first customer.”
                “Why a heart?”
                “Well, I think you know why.” Reaver gave a toothy smile and placed a hand, high on the thigh of the drunk woman. She did not blush, for the alcohol was already doing that for her, she did however smile and lean closer, giving Reaver and nice view of her heaving tits. As his eyes softened with ill intentions hidden behind them, like a trap before the kill, he touched her face. His hands slid stealthily down her neck, to her breast, which he cupped the side of, and his thumb caressed the already hard nipple hidden under her green dress.
                “Oh Reaver…” She came closer to him, closing the distance.
                “Yes my dear?” Her eyes pleaded and his hand slid further down to her stomach. With one hand the woman slowly hitched the middle of her skirt up, and the other made its way to Reaver’s lap.
                “My dear you are so scandalous” He kissed her deeply, his tongue dominating hers as his hand slipped between her pale, thick thighs. “And it is so delicious.” He began to assault her neck with kisses and bites that would defiantly be there in the morning as his hand, ready to meet the resistance of her undergarments, pleasantly found none and slipped a finger between her folds. He found her dampness to be a tantalizing invitation to do whatever he pleased. She gasped as he bit her particularly hard, enforced with his deft hands quickly finding her most sensitive spot and toying with it lazily. At this she grasped his slightly hard member a bit too hard.
                “Now now dear.” He thrust a finger inside of her. “Don’t hurt old Reaver.” He began to wriggle his finger inside of her and the painful, confusingly pleasurable attack on her womanhood caused her to moan in a way that most of the patrons on the other side of the bar to turn their heads. The drunk housewife complied and began to rub the hardening member as Reaver began to stroke her nub just right, but still teasing, lazy strokes.
                A finger wriggled loose a button, another, and another, until the woman was able to bring forth Reaver’s full member into view. As she began to stroke him, her thumb paid attention to the under vein of his cock. He crooked his head to give a few good nips to the swells of her chest. She didn’t bother holding back a moan, which earned her even more questioning look from the other patrons.
                Reaver was enjoying himself, not the fact another one of his conquests had gone successful, but that this conquest was doubly outrageous. A married woman giving ministrations in public? To a potential crowd her knew her and her husband? Absolutely delicious, the thought of it almost made him cum. He had to make it perfect. He brought down one side of her dress to expose her full right breast, and began to suckle her pink nipple she hummed her appreciations rather loudly. A few people now were watching fixedly. He rubbed her sopping clit fast and she came, he could feel her cum on his hand, her center contracting, and her love moans filled his ears, as well as the rest of the bar. To his delight he didn’t even have to ask her to get on her knees. He used her wetness to slick his cock and leaned back. She got in front of him haphazardly under the table. If her climaxing moan didn’t get people to watch them, the commotion she caused getting under the table defiantly did.
                She placed his hard cock in her mouth, in her sloppy state her teeth grazed his shaft, but the pain was little compared to some other, more extravagant exploits Reaver had ‘endured’. Her tongue massaged the vein under his cock, her lips unfortunately, were a bit slack for his liking, but the audience he had acquired made up for that. Her head bobbed for a few minutes before she started to lazily lap at her head. This change of attention was unfortunately, not to Reaver’s liking. He rolled his eyes and sighed.
                “Dear?”
                “Mmphf?” She looked up at him, those pathetic, heavily done up eyes, made him smirk. She looked so pathetic as her face rode up and down his length, her make up undone, mascara clumping, made her look like some cheap whore.
                “Nothing.” Her lips smiled around his cock, and she maintained eye contact, the smirk never left Reaver, even as he roughly took her hair and began to thrust into her mouth. He made her face impact with his hips, taking all of him in. She began to tear up, and gag violently. His smirk grew into a smile, even as he came he fucked her face, and before he dismounted her visage, he stood and yanked her head all the way back. Taking his cock out, he dribbled the last of himself on her chest. With his free hand he grasped her throat, pushed his thumb up her esophagus, and made her swallow.
                Over her chocking and gargling he could barely hear the indignant voice of someone familiar, and that someone familiar was defiantly drunk, possibly vulnerable. Reaver was in the mood to hurt some more.
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Phoenix and the Serpent