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Long Live the Queen	By : razzaname Category: 1 through F > Charmed Views: 19859 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Charmed, nor do I make any money from this. This is purely for entertainment.

Chapter List
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Ok, notes for this story.

The plot takes priority to the sex, in this one. I've got the story plotted out: and there should be at least one sex scene each chapter, of varying quality. There'll be less in the early chapters as I set things up, and much more in the later. However, if there are any scenes or kinks you want thrown in, please let me know. I can't promise to be able to accomodate, but I will try.

Also, if you're bothered by incest, this is not the story for you.
You’d think she had an ideal life.
Phoebe Halliwell sat alone. The top demons of the Underworld were a room away, planning and talking, and doing whatever it was demons did. They were lead, as was traditional, by the Source of All Evil. In the here and now, the source was Phoebe’s husband.
And maybe she should have taken his name; whether good or evil most people seemed to be traditionalists. And bearing the name Halliwell wasn’t the best thing to do when keeping company with demons.
Still, she did so. Just one of many contradictions.
She wasn’t bothered by conscience. That was one of many things she’d had dealt with. Slowly, but surely, drained from her by the child she carried within her. The child fathered by Cole Turner, Source, and ruler of what most humans would call hell.
Not an ordinary foetus. Not by any definition.
The Seer, loyal servant to the Source and the Underworld, had given her a tonic to aid the strange child’s growth and development: a tonic of essentially liquid evil. Growing in the womb of a good witch and, more than that, a Charmed One (one of three potent forces for good) was the very definition of a hostile environment.
Cole had been crowned Source only recently, and taken on the full powers of the Underworld in doing so. In the same ceremony, she’d become Queen of the Underworld, at his side.
Two things warred within her. The righteousness she was born to: and the evil she’d always had to fight off, strengthened but not created by her demon-child and the Seer’s tonic.
Perhaps in some universe, good would have won. This is not that story.
Phoebe took the chalice that held evil, and gulped it down, surprised by how much she grew to relish the taste.
And when Phoebe chose evil, she chose it completely. Ruthless ambition, dominance, power for power’s sake. She wanted it.
And she’d have it.

The other Charmed Ones lived in their ancestral home, somewhat frantic. Paige Matthews, adopted by another family and long-lost sister, and Piper Halliwell, long-time sister to Phoebe.
They’d seen their sister choose the Source over them, and everything had changed. The Power of Three, source of the Charmed Ones’ power, was broken, perhaps irreparably. Without Phoebe’s return, good would lose its most effective warrior.
There was no known way to bring her back. Free will was an integral component of any soldier, for good or evil. Remove that, and no purpose was served. Phoebe had to voluntarily renounce evil, for the Charmed Ones to be reconstituted.
It didn’t seem likely.
Piper sat in the attic of their house, flicking through the Book of Shadows: compendium of all useful magical knowledge, and their primary resource for knowledge. Paige sat opposite her.
“There was nothing useful in there the last ten times you looked,” she said.
“Maybe I missed something,” Piper said, increasingly desperate.
Both knew it was futile, though. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to summon Phoebe: if they did that though, the Source himself would send the legions of the Underworld to seek his wife. All they could do, was vanquish Cole, and hope that would have an effect.
And to do that, they needed Phoebe: or, failing that, a fifth sister. That seemed to be pushing their luck too far, though.
“She can’t be gone,” Piper said, soft. “She just- she can’t.”
Paige moved closer, and held her, and said nothing.

Deep in the Underworld, the Source had a throne. It had been slowly built up over the centuries, each demon who sat on it adding some of their power. A jagged design of bone and metal, meant to be imposing rather than give comfort.
That much, it achieved. It looked more like a demon, than a seat.
It was the spiritual centre of hell, in effect. The place where the ruler sat, and sent out decrees. The place where, starting soon, Cole would sit as he continued the endless war against good.
He was there now.
Upon the realization of her new allegiance, Phoebe had left her room. A coy glance, a gentle caress of his cheek, and she’d easily lured Cole away: and now they celebrated their union at the place of Phoebe’s suggestion.
“I don’t suppose ‘inappropriate’ means anything to you?” Cole said, sitting back on the throne, his hands gripping the arms tightly.
“Only if you want it to,” Phoebe said, breathless. She slid onto her knees, parting Cole’s legs so that she could reach up, and unzip.
Her eyes lit up as she wrapped a hand around his cock. It hardened almost immediately, though she ran her hand p and down its length a couple of times, just to be sure.
“It doesn’t feel like you do,” she said, and smiled as she opened her mouth to take him in.
Cole closed his eyes, exhaling as his Queen’s lips reached the base of his cock, tongue tracing out intricate designs along the sides. She hadn’t even struggled, taking in his entire length in one go.
He didn’t need to move his hands from the arms of the throne. She knew exactly what she was doing.
She bobbed her head up and down on his dick, not even struggling as the tip hit the back of her mouth, and went down her throat. Her hands ran up his legs, and she used them to pull herself closer, speeding up.
As soon as Phoebe reached a rather remarkable speed, Cole exhaled, his hands gripping, white-knuckled, to the arms of his throne. Looking down, he saw only his wife’s hair as she eagerly sucked him, hearing her occasional moan as she savoured the taste and heat, and the sound as his cock hit her throat.
When he was close, she stopped, pulling her head back to look up: and instantly wrapping her hand back around his dick, making sure he stayed hard.
“Isn’t this what couples do?” Phoebe said, playfully. “Get a new house, and christen every room?”
“One,” Cole said, hesitating briefly as Phoebe kept stroking, “Our new house in this case is the entire Underworld.”
“Better get busy then,” her eyes lit up.
“Two,” Cole said, “I very much doubt demons will take kindly to christening anything down here.”
“Anti-christen, then,” Phoebe said, shrugging. “Why, do you want me to stop?”
At that moment, she did, her hand ceasing it’s teasing rubbing, and making Cole groan in frustration. Chuckling, Phoebe started again, before getting off her knees, and pushing Cole’s legs together: moving her legs onto the throne, straddling him.
“Besides,” Phoebe said, low, husky, as she let her skirt hike up, “I want you to think of this, every time you sit here. I want you to remember how hard we fucked, and think of me, whenever you walk into any room here. And as you’ll be spending most time in this room, we’ll start here.”
Her hands moved up from his hips, to the posts that supported the back of the throne. She gripped then, tightly, and positioned her cunt over his cock.
A smirk later, and she lowered herself onto him, meeting Cole’s eyes as she took every inch of him into her pussy.
“Sound like a plan?” she said, teasing.
“Definitely,” Cole said, shifting in the throne, pleased with himself as he struck a spot within Phoebe, and elicited a small moan from her.
Then Phoebe started to move, riding Cole on the throne. Slowly, to begin with: she let him rub against her, slowly lifting up, until she barely held the head of his cock. Then, just as slowly, she descended again, until he was enveloped in heat.
She exhaled, and it was almost a hiss. Using her hands’ tight grip on the throne to guide her movement, she ascended and lowered again, savouring the sensation of being filled, bit by bit.
“Phoebe,” a low, needy growl from Cole.
Her eyes lit up; and she quickened, bit by bit.
Phoebe’s lips parted in a moan, moving back and forth as well as up and down. She squeezed the posts of the throne, desperate. Rocking still, she let her hips hit his, resulting in a sound audible despite the clothes he wore.
“Fuck me, Cole,” she said, low, staring down at him. “Fuck my tight cunt, make me scream. Fuck me here, fuck me on your throne, fuck me so hard you’ll get hard any time you sit here.”
Her lips quirked as he gasped. This was a side of Phoebe he hadn’t seen before; then again, a lowering of inhibitions was part of the deal, down here. Freedom was paramount.
“Feel how wet I am?” she said, again, sliding effortlessly over him, “It’s all for you baby. That’s how much you turn me on. How much I want to fuck you, to keep fucking you.”
Her hips slammed into his again, and she squeezed her cunt around him, eliciting another gasp. She moaned at the sound, and he relished how she felt: how hot she was, how her wetness coated his dick.
His fingers curled, digging into the arms of the throne further, leaving a small dent in the metal. Close.
Phoebe still met his eyes; never looked away, his head between her arms as she gripped the posts behind the throne. She bit her lip; muffled a whimper.
“Phoebe,” Cole said again, low; warningly.
“You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” Phoebe said, still riding him, hard. “Take you everywhere. How about we start now? Want to fuck my ass, for the first time?”
“Damn it, Phoebe,” Cole groaned, hips lifting off the seat; “N-next time, ok? Right now, I’m-” a gasp.
“You’re close?” she said, squeezing her cunt around his cock again. “That’s fine. Going cum inside me, baby?”
“Phoebe-” her name escaped his lips, again; his hands moved from the arms of the throne, hitting her ass like a slap, underneath her hiked-up skirt, and holding her tightly. His fingertips dug in, scratching: Phoebe let out a gasp, of pain, of pleasure, it was hard to tell.
She felt as he came, shooting inside her, and she kept riding, urged on by his grasp, moving against him until he went soft.
Then, she slid out of his grasp, getting to her knees and hungrily taking his limp cock into her mouth, swallowing the last few drops of his cum, and tasting herself from him, moaning.
“That was-” Cole paused: inhaled heavily. “What caused that?”
“Oh, you know,” Phoebe leant back, crouching on the floor. “Love, devotion, being turned on to hell… The usual.” Cole chuckled. “Shame you didn’t get my ass though, wouldn’t have minded that memory.”
“We can do it next time,” Cole said, “That’s a promise. Trust me.”
His eyes glanced down. While his wife’s dress was flattering, especially the incredible amount of exposed cleavage, he had to admit to preferring the skin shown: the skirt hiked up, exposing her rear.
Her hips were wet, unsurprisingly. His eyes focused briefly on her ass, however. It almost wasn’t a surprise he’d cum as soon as she’d offered it.
Phoebe smiled, innocently.
“Shame that’s not an option,” she said, her hand beneath the throne.
Cole had enough time to frown, before Phoebe withdrew an implement from beneath the chair. Then the silver blade was in his heart, and he could do nothing else.
Briefly, Cole’s eyes flickered black: the trademark of the Source. Then that darkness burned away, leaving human eyes: eyes that saw the blade, and the rune on the black handle.
It wasn’t a typical dagger. The technical term was athame: ceremonial knife used by witches and demons and all kinds of supernatural beings. There were several uses: that one was reminiscent of a warlock’s athame. That is, the blade used by a warlock to steal the powers from the witches they killed.
His eyes flickered up again: and met Phoebe’s. She was smirking, lips curled in an expression she never would have worn before.
He’d wanted to convert her to his side: make her join evil, and serve the Underworld as its Queen. He’d succeeded, far more than he’d imagined.
Phoebe’s eyes burned, momentarily, before becoming entirely black. It was the last sight Cole saw, his soul rent, and his powers as the Source stolen.
Phoebe pushed him off the throne, and sat where he’d just been, pressing her legs together, amused by the wet patch they’d left behind. She did have to have her fun.
Using her new power, she raised her voice: amplified it until it echoed from where she sat, to the furthest reaches of the Underworld, until every demon in every chamber could hear her words.
“The King is dead,” she spoke. “Long live the Queen.”
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Long Live the Queen