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Watching his carefully calculated plans come to fruition left Lord Refa in an exceptionally good mood.
He does not indulge. That is an act for those not in the position as he. However, the excitement from Emperor Cartagia’s coronation and Centauri Prime’s proud victory against the Narns allowed for him to slip. The entire planet was celebrating, and even he could not resist a few drinks. Stronger ones, unlike the ones that are customary for meetings or other polite gestures while politicking. Drinks that had him laughing, dizzy, and a bit uncoordinated. Not enough for him to be unaware of his limits and public image though, and he had excused himself to his quarters before the wrong individual could see him and risk the tainting of such image.
He lay now on soft satin sheets and in comfortable nightclothes. His head begins to ache and he remembers why he doesn’t do this anymore. Antono tries to put a number to the amount of time it’s been since he’d felt like this, and he lands on a memory from a long time ago.
Touching. Kissing. A young, soft body against his own. Warm skin. A long, sleek black trail of hair underneath a gold adornment across her head. She is beautiful. She is perfect. And she wants him . There was no arrangement, no paperwork to sign, no fathers to negotiate with. She was his all on her own. She is as pure as pure could be, not tainted and corrupt like the other women in his life. She has not been beaten down by the world around her like he has. And yet, she touches him, and uses her mouth, like she’s done this all before.
Antono misses her. She is at home with their daughter and it was not appropriate to mix business and pleasure like that. A rule that he tends to bend some, as his business allowed him access to another young lover many years after the first — but he is far, far away now.
He wonders for a moment how those lovers would react if they knew just how much of this success is owed to him and his people and his orders and his military. They would be eager to please, surely. Hands, mouths, dirty promises and praise. He yearns for it. He takes it for granted sometimes, and when he does not have it he is reminded that he could feel such desire at all.
He shouldn’t, but he does. A hand wanders within his shirt. It’s like how he would. Always so daring and forward with his affection. Antono didn’t deserve it. But he got it anyway, because Lord Refa always gets what he wants.
They would dote on him and worship him. They already have. They are always eager to. He does not need to request it for them to do it. They always know what he wants. She would perch herself on his lap and run her hands up his sides. It does not feel the same when he does it. But he thinks of her and he focuses on the sound of her voice in his mind. Antono.
As for the other, he would rest at Antono’s feet and kiss and touch on his boots like a concubine in court. He gasps when he’s reminded of it. The imagery in his mind begins to warp and he believes he feels the velvet of the royal throne beneath him. Oh, a conceivable reality. The Emperor of Centauri Prime can get anything he wants. Worship. Praise. Lovers at his feet. Beautiful and all for him.
They whisper to him. Majesty, majesty, majesty. My Lord. My Emperor. Your grace, please.
Antono’s touching becomes purposeful. He rubs the head of his tentacle and he sighs, feeling them perk up beneath his fingers. He thinks about the way they would beg for it. The way it would be so easy to hold court and let him and other nobles have their way with them. Exposed and all for him. His pleasure. His power.
He remembers one of his lover’s moans and his cries and how he would cover his mouth to quiet him and it would only make him louder. It makes Antono’s tentacle twitch and writhe under his clothes and he uses the budding wetness it produces to continue his stroking. His mind wanders back to his first love and how tightly she gripped onto him and how good she was when she had taken all six. Again and again, they would try for a child, and he remembers how she glowed when she was heavy with their baby girl. If he was Emperor, he could live that all over again. An heir. They would give him heirs, wouldn’t they? Majesty , they moan. Antono’s eyes roll back. He wants this. He needs this. The way things are going with his plans he may very well have this. His lovers, Her and him, and perhaps another, or another, all giving themselves up to him. To devote their bodies and souls to him, The Emperor, Emperor Refa the first-
Two of his tentacles are in his hands now and the others are slithering against his skin and each other. He indulges and indulges and lets his fantasy play out in his head just as he wants. This could all be true. This will all be true. His precious things, his sweet little lovers; he wishes they were here with him now. At the same time. Three for each. Attentive. They are always attentive. He does not need to be Emperor for that attention, but when he is, their devotion would be akin to that of the Great Maker.
Majesty, Majesty, My Emperor…
Antono feels a tension in his lower back. It climbs, and it spreads slowly through his body. They would let him finish inside. Truly marked as his. They have said it with their own mouths. She has proof of it. He wishes he could bury himself deep inside of them and watch them struggle and writhe and become full-
He gasps as his pleasure builds and builds and shoots out quicker than he expected. He keeps quiet as he rides out his orgasm, his hearts pounding in his ears and through his throbbing tentacles as they spill out onto his skin. And harshly, he is forced back into reality, and Antono is disgusted with himself. He feels cold suddenly, and alone. Touching himself like this, like some depraved lower class letcher. It’s as if he hears his ancestors shaming him now.
That won’t matter when he’s on the throne. He will have done what his ancestors could not. Lord Refa does not indulge, especially not in fantasy. He’d call it instead, a glimpse into his future.
Before he sleeps, Antono decides to give his estate a call.