Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts

Chapter 388 - -388

"Your Majesty... your pussy feels so good," he gasped. "So tight around my cock."

Elara did not reply. Her face stayed cold. She rode him faster, bouncing on his cock with controlled force. The wet sounds of her pussy sliding up and down his shaft filled the room. She looked at Ken.

"Come closer."

Ken knelt beside them. Elara grabbed his cock again and stroked him while she continued riding Mahir. She switched her rhythm — slow and deep, then fast and shallow — never letting either man settle into the pleasure.

She suddenly lifted off Mahir’s cock. It slipped out, glistening and throbbing. She moved over to Ken and sat on his cock instead. She took him inside her in one hard drop. She rode Ken the same way — hard, deep, and completely in control. Her hands pressed on his shoulders, pinning him down.

"Your Majesty..." Ken growled, his voice rough. "Fuck... your pussy is squeezing me so hard."

Elara ignored their words. She rode him faster, her hips moving with mechanical precision and power. Then she switched back to Mahir. She kept switching between them, riding one for a while, then the other. Each time she changed, she made sure to edge them — bringing them close to cumming, then stopping completely and letting the cold air hit their wet, aching cocks.

After several long minutes, she stood up. "On your knees. Both of you."

Mahir and Ken knelt on the bed facing each other. Elara sat between them on the edge of the bed. She spread her legs wide. She pulled Mahir’s head between her thighs first.

"Lick."

Mahir buried his face in her pussy again, licking and sucking eagerly. While he did that, she took Ken’s cock into her mouth. She sucked him hard and deep, her tongue working the underside while her hand stroked the base. She switched again — Mahir’s mouth on her pussy, then Ken’s. She used their mouths and tongues exactly how she wanted.

When she had taken enough pleasure from their tongues, she pushed them both onto their backs once more. She climbed on Mahir first. She took his cock inside her and rode him hard and fast, her hands pinning his wrists above his head. Her dress was bunched around her waist. Her breasts bounced with every powerful thrust downward.

"Your Majesty... please... I’m so close," Mahir begged, his voice strained.

Elara did not slow down. She rode him even harder for a few seconds, then suddenly stopped and lifted off him completely. His cock twitched in the air, denied again.

She moved to Ken and did the same. She rode Ken with the same intense, dominating rhythm. Deep. Hard. Relentless. Her weight kept him pinned. Her pussy gripped him tightly on every downstroke.

"Your Majesty... your pussy is going to make me cum," Ken groaned.

Again, she stopped right before he could finish. She switched back and forth between them, riding each man hard, using their cocks for her own pleasure, never letting them cum.

Finally, after a long time of this cruel edging, Elara sat on Mahir one last time. She rode him with full force — fast, deep, and without mercy. Her hands pressed down hard on his chest.

"Cum," she ordered, her voice flat and cold.

Mahir’s body tensed. He cried out as he came hard inside her. His cock pulsed again and again, filling her pussy with hot cum. His tail thrashed wildly against the sheets.

Elara stayed on him until he was completely empty. Then she moved to Ken. She rode him with the same hard, dominating rhythm.

"Cum," she said again.

Ken groaned loudly. His cock throbbed deep inside her as he came, pumping his load into her already filled pussy. Both men had now filled her completely.

Elara remained sitting on Ken for a few moments longer. Her face was still calm and cold. No smile. No heavy breathing. She simply looked down at them with that same unreadable expression.

She stood up slowly. Cum leaked down her inner thighs, but she did not care. She adjusted her dress back into place.

"Good," she said. One single word.

She turned toward the door. Before leaving, she gave one last order in her flat voice.

"Clean yourselves up. I will call for you again when I want more."

The door closed quietly behind her. Mahir and Ken lay on the bed, breathing hard, bodies covered in sweat, their cocks spent and glistening.

The rhythm of Elara’s life shifted from the cold, rhythmic ticking of a clock to the heavy, pulsing beat of a heart.

The employees in the administrative wings had settled into their new roles with a competence that almost insulted her previous martyrdom. They were faster, sharper, and more energized now that they weren’t simply waiting for her to do the thinking for them. The palace ran with a hum of efficiency that left Elara with a terrifying amount of daylight.

She filled that daylight with Mahir and Ken.

The training sessions on the grass were supposed to be about reclaiming her physical edge, but they almost always devolved. One moment, Mahir would be correcting the tension in her shoulders or Ken would be mocking the stiffness of her grip on the reins, and the next, the air would charge with a familiar, suffocating heat. They were the only ones who didn’t look at her with the "filled empty" gaze she saw in the mirror. To them, she wasn’t a Queen or a machine; she was a challenge, a woman of muscle and bone who needed to be broken and rebuilt.

Most days ended the same way: a tangled mess of limbs in the bedroom, the sun setting unnoticed outside the windows. She left those sessions satisfied—physically exhausted in a way that finally allowed her to quiet the calculations in her brain. But while the bedroom offered a temporary reprieve from her inability to feel, it was the horse that offered a breakthrough.

Once she mastered the seat, once her legs learned the grip and her hands learned the subtle language of the bit, Elara became obsessed.

It wasn’t the "walking" she had done for years—the stiff, ceremonial movement of a royal procession. It was the run. The full, breakneck, terrifying speed of a horse given its head.

She began to slip away from the palace early in the mornings, before the ministers could find her with the "minor" ten percent of the work she still held. She would find the bay stallion, strip away the ornamental tack until he was as bare as possible, and ride for the open fields beyond the training grounds.

She stopped pinning her hair. She let the heavy, dark mass of it fall free, a wild banner behind her.

When the horse reached full gallop, something happened to Elara’s "filled empty" void. At 60\text{km/h}, with the wind screaming past her ears and the ground blurred into a streak of green and brown, she couldn’t afford to be numb. The sheer physics of the movement—the Force = mass \times acceleration—demanded a reaction.

She didn’t stop. She would push the stallion until his coat was lathered in white foam and her own lungs burned from the biting air. In those moments, with her hair lashing against her face and the raw power of the animal beneath her, the migraine didn’t just lift—it exploded.