The Emperor's Lap

The oil lamps along the painted walls of the Emperor’s dining hall burned low and gold, licking marble columns and the long couches where senators reclined with their wives. Roasted lamb, crushed roses, and warm bread scented the air. At the head of the room, on a broad silk couch, Emperor Conrad, thirty-five, sat with his spine straight and his dark eyes bright. Across his thighs, facing the entire company, sat Delphine.

She was twenty-eight, and the thin ivory gown hid nothing of her heavy breasts or the flush already climbing her throat. Her husband Marco occupied a lower couch, jaw tight. Everyone in that hall knew him for a treacherous senator and a man who used his fists at home. Delphine did not look at him. She looked at the room, then tipped her chin so Conrad could see her smile.

They had settled it that afternoon in the shaded colonnade, both of them clear-headed, no wine between them. He had asked, plainly, whether she wanted to be displayed, touched, praised, and taken while the court watched. She had said yes with her whole voice. She wanted the eyes. She wanted his hands. She wanted Marco to sit powerless while she chose pleasure in front of him. Conrad had kissed the inside of her wrist and promised he would stop the instant she spoke the word they had chosen. She had not spoken it. She did not intend to.

Paulina, thirty, elegant in deep red, reclined two couches away beside her husband, Senator Lucius. Her knowing smile met Delphine’s across the lamplight. Other senators and their wives stilled their fans. Conversations thinned. Everyone understood what the evening’s centerpiece would be, and no one in that room was anything but a grown adult who had come to watch. Delphine felt the attention like heat on her bare shoulders and leaned back into Conrad’s chest of her own accord.

His arm came around her waist. He drew her snug against him, her ass settled over the hard line of his cock through his tunic, her breasts lifted by the motion. A ripple of breath moved through the hall. Her nipples tightened visibly beneath the gauze. She let her knees fall apart on either side of his thigh and rested her hands on his forearms, not to stop him, but to hold on.

“Look at them,” he murmured against her ear, loud enough for the nearest couches to hear. “They are already watching you.”

“I want them to,” she said, clear and steady.

Marco’s cup clicked against the inlaid table. Paulina’s lips curved. Conrad’s palm spread over Delphine’s stomach, possessive and gentle, and the first course was set down by attendants who had been told to keep their eyes lowered. Delphine’s heart beat hard against his hand. She was the evening’s ornament, and she had chosen the place.

Conrad did not rush. He let the senators see her settle, let them see the way her thighs eased wider when his thumb stroked the underside of one breast through the gown. The silk was little more than a veil. Her nipple stood up under it, dark and stiff, and when he caught it between finger and thumb the whole room heard the soft sound she made.

“Hear that,” he said, pitching his voice so it carried past the nearest lamps to the far couches. “That is Delphine agreeing with me. I am going to tug this sweet nipple, and she is going to show you how quickly she blooms.”

He rolled it, slow and firm, then pinched and pulled until the gauze dragged across the peak. Delphine’s back arched. A helpless little whimper slipped out of her, and color flooded her cheeks. She did not cover herself. She pushed her breast into his hand and let the senators watch her do it. Paulina’s fan had stopped moving entirely. Lucius stared, lips parted. Marco sat rigid, knuckles white on his knee, and Delphine met his eyes for one bright second before turning her face up toward the ceiling in open pleasure.

“The other one now,” Conrad narrated, warm and praising. “Look how they both stand for me. Beautiful girl. Responsive girl. Your husband never learned what these are for, did he? I am going to pull them until your cunt answers.”

He gathered both nipples through the thin cloth and tugged in a steady rhythm, rolling, releasing, tugging again. Each pull went straight down her belly. Her hips shifted on his thigh. Wetness gathered between her legs, and she knew the gown would show it soon. She wanted it to. She wanted every wife in the room to see the dark patch spreading and know exactly whose fingers had caused it.

“Lower,” she breathed. “Please. They can see. I want them to see.”

“They will,” he said, and slid one broad hand down her stomach, over the mound of her sex, until his palm cupped her through the gauze. “Ah. Already soaked. Senators, look at her lap. Look at the shine coming through. This is not fear. This is a woman who asked me to keep her on the edge all through dinner, and I intend to obey her.”

He found her clit with two fingers and rubbed a tight circle over it, the cloth rasping, the pressure perfect. Delphine jolted. A raw sound broke from her throat. Her breasts heaved, nipples still peaked and tender from his pulling, and the motion made them sway for the whole hall. Conrad praised that too, voice low and carrying.

“There. That swollen little clit. Feel how she chases my fingers. I am not going to let her come. Not yet. I am going to rub her until she shakes and then take my hand away, and you are all going to watch her beg with her body.”

He did exactly that. Slow circles, then faster, then a firm press that made her thighs tremble and her mouth fall open. Heat coiled hard at the base of her spine. She was close, shamelessly close, her cunt pulsing, her breath breaking into whimpers she could not swallow. The senators leaned forward on their couches. Their wives watched with flushed faces and bright eyes. Paulina’s hand had found her own knee and was gripping it. Delphine saw all of it through a haze and did not look away.

Just as the pleasure crested, Conrad lifted his fingers. She cried out at the loss, hips jerking, empty and aching.

“Not yet,” he told the room, fond and merciless. “Listen to that protest. She is dripping down my thigh. I can feel it. I am going to put two fingers in her cunt now, and you will hear how wet she is.”

He gathered the gown and drew it up her thighs, baring her to the lamplight. Her pussy was flushed and shining, clit swollen, slick running in a thin line toward his tunic. A soft collective inhale moved through the hall. Delphine spread her knees wider, offering herself, and Conrad slid two thick fingers into her in one slow push.

The sound was obscene. Wet, deep, unmistakable. She moaned and clutched his forearm, not to stop him, but because the stretch was exactly what she had asked for that afternoon. He curled his fingers and stroked the front wall of her cunt while his thumb returned to her clit, rubbing those same tight circles.

“Gods, she takes them,” he said, loud enough for Marco to hear every word. “Hot and greedy. I am fucking her with my hand in front of all of you, and she is clenching like she wants the whole court to know whose fingers she prefers. Praise her. She is exquisite.”

He worked her in a relentless rhythm, in and out, thumb circling, free hand returning to her breast to pinch and roll a bare nipple now that the gown had slipped. Delphine shook. Pleasure built in bright, unbearable waves and stalled each time he slowed, each time he pulled his fingers almost out and held her there, empty and throbbing, narrating the flutter of her cunt and the way her thighs quivered.

“Still not letting her finish,” he announced, kissing her temple while the room stared. “Look at her face. Flushed. Desperate. Beautiful. Her breasts are heaving. Her little clit is so swollen it jumps under my thumb. I am going to keep her right here, right on the point, until she cannot sit still.”

He meant it. Through the next course, largely ignored on the tables, he edged her without mercy. Two fingers deep, then a thumb-stroke that made her sob, then stillness while she trembled at the brink and the senators watched her excitement drip onto the silk. He tugged her nipples until they ached and praised the way she pushed them into his palm. He rubbed her clit until her whimpers turned frantic, then eased off and told the room how bravely she stayed open for him. Her flushed face, her heaving breasts, the wet shine on her inner thighs, all of it was on full display. She had never been so seen, and the heat of their eyes drove her higher than his hand alone.

“Please,” she gasped, when he curled his fingers again and held her just short of the break. “Conrad, please, I am right there.”

“I know,” he said, proud, for everyone. “That is where I want you. Soaked. Shaking. Mine to show off. You are doing so well, Delphine. Let them see you tremble.”

She did. Her body quaked against his chest, cunt clutching his fingers, orgasm hovering and refusing to fall because he would not quite let it. The hall was silent except for her whimpers and the wet sound of his hand. Paulina’s lips were parted. Marco looked sick with fury and could do nothing. Delphine met the room’s stare and let them watch her come apart without coming, and the exhibitionist thrill of it nearly undid her anyway.

When her shaking grew uncontrollable, Conrad withdrew his fingers slowly, holding them up so the lamplight caught the slick. “Look,” he told them. “This is how badly she wants it. And I am not done praising her yet.”

He shifted her with careful hands, turning the gasping woman until she lay face-down across his lap, breasts pressed to the silk cushion, ass lifted toward the room. Delphine went willingly, bracing her palms on the couch, her cheek turned so the senators could still see her flushed face. Conrad hiked the gown to her waist and smoothed both palms over her bare ass, spreading her.

“Everyone look,” he said, voice warm with pride. “This is the same woman who walked in on her husband’s arm. Now she is over my lap, dripping, begging without words. I am going to open her ass with my fingers and keep her right on that edge. She asked me for this. Tell them, Delphine.”

“I asked him,” she said, breathless and clear, so Marco and Paulina and every wife along the couches would hear it. “I want it. Don’t stop.”

He gathered the wetness from her cunt and circled her tight hole, patient, praising the way she pushed back. One slick finger pressed in. She moaned, long and broken, and the sound echoed off the marble. He worked her open with slow twists, then added a second finger, sinking both deep while his other hand slipped beneath her to find her clit again.

“Two fingers in her ass,” he narrated, fucking them in and out so the room could see the stretch and the shine. “Tight. Eager. She is clenching on me like she was made to be shown off this way. I am rubbing her clit at the same time, and I am not letting her come. Hear her. Look at how her thighs shake. That is shameless excitement, and it is beautiful.”

Delphine sobbed into the cushion and rocked back onto his hand. The fullness in her ass, the relentless circles on her clit, the weight of every stare, all of it held her at the trembling brink. Conrad praised each flutter, each helpless whimper, each time her hole gripped his fingers and tried to pull him deeper. He kept her there, merciless and adoring, until her begging frayed into something frantic.

“Please let me come,” she cried, voice cracking, ass pushing up for the whole dinner party. “Please, Conrad, I need it, I need you to fuck me, I can’t stay here, please.”

He gave her three deep strokes of his fingers, then drew them out. For a moment he freed himself, thick and hard, and pressed the head of his cock to her slick, opened ass while she was still draped over his lap. He sank in with one controlled thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and the hall made a low, shocked sound. Delphine wailed, pleasure spiking so hard her vision whitened. He fucked her there across his thighs in short, powerful strokes, ass-fucking her in full view, narrating the grip of her hole and the way she took every inch, until she was sobbing his name and clawing the silk.

“They see you,” he growled, still praising, still deep. “The entire party sees my cock in your ass. You are perfect. But I want them to see all of you when you break.”

He pulled out, and she nearly wept at the loss. He rose and guided her, gentle even in his hunger, up onto the low central table that the attendants had cleared at his earlier signal. “All fours,” he told her. “Doggy. Face the room. Let them watch you come.”

She climbed onto the polished wood on hands and knees, gown bunched at her waist, breasts hanging heavy, ass presented. The senators had an unobstructed view. Paulina sat forward. Conrad stepped in behind Delphine, set one hand on her hip, and pushed his cock back into her ass in a long, deep stroke that seated him fully.

“Oh, gods,” she cried, and the cry rang through the hall.

He fucked her with deep, powerful strokes, each one rocking her forward on the table, each one praised aloud. “Taking me so well. Look at her ass swallow me. Look at those breasts swing. She is dripping onto the wood. This is what she wanted you to see.”

The first orgasm hit her without warning, finally allowed, shattering through her cunt and her ass at once. She screamed, back bowing, hole clamping down so hard Conrad groaned and kept thrusting through it, fucking her straight into the spasm and out the other side. The room watched her climactic surrender, her face wrecked with pleasure, her thighs shaking, slick running down to her knees.

He did not stop. He reached under her, found her clit, and rubbed while he pounded her ass, narrating every twitch. “Again. Give them another. I can feel you building. Beautiful, filthy, perfect girl. Come on my cock where they can all see.”

The second orgasm tore through her even harder. She sobbed his name, pushing back to meet every stroke, breasts swaying, the wet slap of his hips against her ass loud in the quiet hall. Pleasure broke and broke again. He fucked her through a third, then a fourth that left her crying out in raw, echoing pulses, each climax rolling into the next until she was nothing but shaking sensation and the thick, relentless drive of his cock in her ass. Conrad praised her through all of it, voice hoarse, telling the senators how exquisitely she came, how greedily her ass milked him, how glorious she looked undone in front of her husband and the whole court.

When his own end took him he buried himself deep and spilled inside her with a rough groan, still stroking her clit, and the flood of heat dragged one last shattering orgasm out of her. She collapsed onto her forearms on the table, ass still lifted, crying with the force of it while the dinner party witnessed every tremor.

Conrad eased out slowly, soothing her hip with his palm, and praised her one last time in a voice the whole hall could hear. “Exquisite. A public performance worthy of this palace. You were magnificent, Delphine.”

He helped her down from the table and settled her on the couch beside him, spent and glowing, gown tugged loosely over her thighs, his spend and her slick still warm between them. She leaned into his side, breathing hard, a dazed smile on her flushed face. The senators and their wives exchanged heated glances. Fans moved again, slowly. No one spoke above a murmur. The air stayed thick with the scent of sex and roses and the memory of her cries.

Delphine’s pulse gradually steadied. She looked at Paulina’s bright, hungry eyes, then at the empty stretch of table where she had just been taken, and a plan began to form behind her soft, ruined smile. Next time she would ask Conrad to seat her on his lap before the first lamp was even lit, and she would have Paulina brought closer, close enough to watch every finger, close enough to be invited in if the elegant woman wanted it. She would make the evening longer. She would make Marco sit through all of it again. She was already scheming the hour, the gown, the word she would whisper in the colonnade tomorrow.