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She tries to lure one of the Emperor’s playthings into fucking her and fails, miserably.
The slave refused because he wouldn’t dare touch her for who she is: her mother’s daughter. The only rightful heir to the Emperor’s throne. Worst of all, words tend to travel quickly in the imperial palace. Michael knows that by nightfall, her mother will know about this misconduct.
A young, agitated Michael waits. The sun sinks into the sea. The moon peeks from behind the clouds. And still, nothing has happened. Michael has lived under Emperor Philippa Georgiou’s roof long enough to learn that there are consequences behind every action, and this suspense is killing her.
For the hundredth time tonight, Michael rolls to a different side of her bed. Tossing and turning, she is torn between repenting for her sins and justifying for herself. She should’ve waited until her 17th birthday and then give herself to the consort her mother will then pick for her. But she’s also a fucking 16-year-old who has physical needs, and the Emperor forbids her to have any close relations with anyone.
She understands her mother’s cause. She really does. The Emperor doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her. She’s still too young too vulnerable. Anyone within the empire can easily take advantage of her. But she’s old enough to fend for herself, and certainly old enough to have sex.
Exasperated, Michael kicks the comforters away from her body. She’s always feeling hot and tense in her skin. She is stressed every single day, each fiber of her muscle screaming for a proper release, and it frustrates her that this stress wouldn’t go away after a stretching session, massage therapy, or an orgasm. It’s not like she can’t rub one off and go to sleep, she just needs somebody else to fucking touch her. She is touch starved. It’s a need that the Emperor neglects to satisfy.
And Michael is beyond guilty for wanting more.
Ever since the Emperor adopted Michael, she has been dining the best food, receiving the finest education, trained by the greatest tutors of this quadrant. Her days have become so much better compared to living in the gutter all those years ago. Yet, there’s this itch she cannot scratch, a desire she can’t name. It pulses in her throat whenever her mother looks at her, speaks to her, and she feels herself go warm and freeze up if her mother comes too close. Luckily, the Emperor is always too busy with the empire, can never spare her too much attention, and Michael thanks the stars that her mother doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong. The last thing she wants is to let the Emperor down. Her mother never loses her temper, and Michael has never seen true wrath on the Emperor’s face, and she thinks she won’t be able to forgive herself if one day, she’s the one responsible for making her mother angry like that.
Michael knows this is not healthy. The Emperor is her savior, her mother, and Michael shouldn’t develop thoughts. But she’s been in quicksand once she found out she got wet for the Emperor. It was a hot summer day. She had accidentally tripped over herself in a swordfight, escaping death by inches when her opponent’s blade scraped by her neck. After the Emperor saw to her careless teacher’s death, she had Michael follow her into her quarters, and took care of her injury herself.
Reliving that memory, Michael can feel her hands getting clammy, her heart beating faster. The vastness of the Emperor’s bedroom, the closeness of her mother’s body, the scent of her perfume, her gentle, loving hands touching her neck, her worried and reprimanding gaze, her soft coos and words of affection…everything is so bright and fuzzy and wonderful that Michael almost misses the sting of the cut. That night after the incident, Michael had a pillow between her legs and ground herself to the first orgasm in her life.
To think about it make Michael moan loudly in the dark, irritated with herself that she has yet again, let her mind wander off meditation to that. She strokes the pendant on her neck, and rubs the pad of her finger on the sharp end of the metal. It’s a gift from the Emperor when she turned 15, a simple gold necklace with a crescent moon, and Michael still remembers her mother’s shock when, upon receiving the gift, she was so happy that she pressed a chaste kiss on the Emperor’s cheek. The reason behind her ecstasy was rather silly; Michael has always thought of her mother as the sun. Who else can shine with such glorious light, rule over so much land, look absolutely powerful in gold, if not the sun? And of course when she was too young to truly be afraid of the Emperor, she told her mother about that. The Emperor hadn’t forgotten. She had the companion moon piece made in secret. Years later, on her birthday, her mother told her that she was her moon, the only one that could ground her heart, remind her that she was more than a ruler of an empire. Naturally, Michael became emotional when her mother gave her the necklace. She never once takes off the pendant since.
But things went a little different from then. She could tell that the Emperor wasn’t very pleased that she took the initiative to kiss her, because her mother rarely touched her from then on. And Michael has also tried to keep her distance. Then the sword accident happened, and the heat, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins—
Michael’s pussy tingles. She huffs at herself, then takes a deep breath.
She had tried to seduce one of her mother’s pets today; what the fuck was she thinking, acting on the urge to fuck the things her mother had touched and taken pleasure from? The Emperor would be sickened about her urge, and toss her back to the rubbish heap. She should not be so needy.
Michael should be stronger, but she is so weak for the Emperor. She can’t stop herself from imagining what the Emperor does in the private quarters with her slaves, just rooms away from where she’s sleeping in. The Emperor does not have a consort, and the official claim is that she has married the Empire, but Michael is dubious about that. Her mother must have needs, too.
Michael swallows a groan, and her resolve breaks like that. She reaches for the thin strap on her shoulder, and she shudders when her satin pajamas rub against her skin as she impatiently, pushes her one-piece sleepwear to her waistline. She slips her hand below the elastic hem of her jammies and underwear.
Michael closes her eyes and makes a choked sound that’s unusually loud in the dark. She is already wet, once again, for her Emperor.
Her upper body is naked, exposed to the cool air, and she can feel her nipples harden after rubbing against the fabric. She wonders if anyone could see her masturbating for the Emperor. It’s possible if she turns on the lights now. In front of her, a wall of transparent, reinforced glass angled inward to the high gray ceiling of her room. She wakes up every day to the morning view of the boundless ocean. Her mother built her the best space to stay and rest, and although Michael does feel like a bird trapped in a gilded cage sometimes, she decides that she doesn’t mind if her owner is the Emperor.
There must be security cameras in her room, planted for her safety. And she wonders if the Emperor is now watching her debase herself.
At the thought of that, Michael rocks onto her slick fingers. She can hear her own breath hitch when she uses the copious amount of moisture to touch her clit. She almost wants to laugh at herself for getting so wet so fast.
She wonders if her mother knew that she had been masturbating almost every day. She wonders if her mother had watched her, every time she touched herself. There were times Michael swore that the Emperor knew, because of the way her mother treated her the day after. And then Michael is convinced that it must be her paranoia, because she isn’t important enough for the Emperor to pay so much attention to.
But, what if…what if her mother had climaxed to the image of her, masturbating?
Michael has to muffle herself with the palm of her hand when she lets out a series of whimpers, rubbing herself in quick, circular motions. She is already close, her hips gyrating off the mattress to chase the waves of pleasure. Her mind summons the scent of the Emperor’s perfume for her, and she could smell every exquisite little detail of it—the spicy, citrusy tones, mixed with tea leaves, Sakura in blossom, and an earthy, musky note that always manages to make Michael swoon. She wonders what her mother would taste like. Will she taste like herself? Michael isn’t fond of her own fluids. She is always a sticky mess after her training. But to picture the Emperor losing her grace, beads of perspiration forming on her forehead and her neck, her cheeks rosy after a sparring session or an orgasm…
Michael bites into her knuckles when she feels herself getting feverish and open to the thoughts of the Emperor. She is so nearly there, and she needs something to fill her up. But it’s usually the state that she’s found herself stuck in. Her mother affects her so much, but her mother also didn’t leave much to her imagination. The Emperor is just a cold, flat, strict existence most of the time, and Michael honors her for that, because if the Emperor had slipped, the aftermath would be lethal. Certainly, everything around the Emperor is more important than Michael’s orgasm.
And while her fingers are stroking furiously on her clit, she feels ashamed for wanting the Emperor like this. She wonders if she’ll cry this time after she comes. It had happened before, when after a particularly intense release, she found tears escaping her eyes. In those times, Michael had wondered: what if being touched by someone else would never measure up to even a mindless brush of the Emperor’s finger, or a doting gaze from her mother?
“Is this what it’s all about, then?”
Michael gives a shout when her eyes snap open. She jumps up, grabs the comforter to cover her own indecency, and sees her mother standing near the door. So focused was Michael on her need to come, loud with the sounds she was making, she didn’t even hear the Emperor’s entrance. The Emperor’s hair is done different today, swept to one side of her shoulder in long, romantic curls. Her mother is not in her usual armor and is instead wearing high-waisted leather trousers with a flowy, one-shouldered golden top, which, reveals the cream-white of her delicate collar bone and the curve of her neck. The sight is almost too much for Michael. She can smell her mother so vividly. And her mother is staring at her with a look she’s never seen before, and it’s too long since Michael is the only one that the Emperor is looking at—
“I’m sorry!”
With that apology, Michaels can no longer hold herself from coming, and she comes without a single touch. She squeezes her eyes close and screams silently, feeling herself bolt in unwanted pleasures, all the while she could feel the Emperor’s gaze on her, watching her climax. Michael thinks she has never come so hard in her life.
“What is it that you’re apologizing for?” Asks the Emperor softly, and in her woozy state, Michael sees the Emperor walking closer to her bed, her high heels clicking crisply against the floor. Michael grabs the comforter to her chin, unable to meet her mother’s eyes. Maybe this is just a dream, and she’ll wake up from it if she pinched herself.
Michael pinches herself hard. In the pain, she feels the mattress dip.
She opens her eyes. The Emperor is sitting by her bed, her profile statuesque, sharp cheekbones and defined jawline but softened with her hair framing her face. Michael can’t look away. She feels her heart pounding in her cheeks. Her mother must have just gone back from a banquet, because Michael can see how meticulous her makeup is, her eyeshadow highlighted with gold-orange glitters, her lips glossy and several shades darker.
Michael couldn’t think at all. Her breath is taken away simply by her mother’s presence. She opens her mouth and nothing comes out.
“Have you not always passed the tests with flying colors? The least you can do is come up with an answer.” The edge of her mother’s lips curve slightly upwards, but Michael couldn’t tell what sort of mood the Emperor is in.
“I…I…”
“Form a sentence.” Her mother’s words are harsh but her tone is oddly gentle. There’s a light in her eyes that Michael can’t place, too. She is still feeling incredibly confused. And aroused. It feels so wrong to have the Emperor in her room now, on her bed, where she is naked from the waist up.
“I am sorry that I continue to…do that when you have entered my room.” Michael’s mouth moves on its own accord. She can’t recognize her own voice. She feels as if she’s viewing herself from the outside in, her spirit severed from her body and drifting further and further away.
“Do what, daughter?”
The way her mother addresses her, daughter, makes Michael tremble. She becomes hyper-aware that she’s still wet, and there are irregular heartbeats in her pussy that have not gone away after her climax.
The Emperor is calm and poised, looking like she’s exactly where she needs to be. Michael gulps.
“Uh…touching myself…and…” she almost can’t hear herself, so humiliated that she can feel her ears flare up, “having an orgasm when you are speaking to me.”
The Emperor smiles.
“Is that all?”
Michael frowns. She racks her brain, but the longer the silence stretches, the heavier her mother’s presence is, and Michael’s brain can’t function at all. She is paralyzed.
“Um…and I am sorry that I have touched myself almost every night?” Michael tries, scanning her mother’s face, and there’s nothing, only the faint smile and her gleaming eyes.
“Michael…” The Emperor sighs, shaking her head, “I don’t mind that you have been playing with your clit, trying to fuck yourself with your fingers. I don’t mind that you have orgasmed each night, or even orgasmed several times a night.”
Michael feels her blood freezes up in her veins. To hear those coarse words coming out of her mother’s mouth feels so sinister. This has gone from a soul-out-of-body experience to legit nightmare.
“Why did you try to fuck one of my slaves?” Asks the Emperor, head tilted, and the look on her face is close to childlike innocence. It chills Michael to the bones. Goosebumps flash over her skin.
“Because if you have needs, you can always touch yourself.”
“Are you angry with me, mother?” Michael asks timidly, feeling the fear catching up with her. The Emperor can do anything to her and she wouldn’t have the power to escape. She can order her to walk around the palace naked, and have everyone ridicule her. She can call in the guards to see the pathetic state her daughter is in. She can execute her right now.
“Now, why would I be crossed with you?” The Emperor shifts closer, and Michael sways a little, not sure if her reflex is to move close or flee.
“A good girl should be more disciplined,” Michael reasons, hoping that it will please her mother.
The Emperor’s smile widens, showing a silver of teeth. Michael thinks it must be the insufficient light doing the trick, because her mother looks downright predatory.
It must be so. The Emperor is looking as regal as ever now, straight-spined, as if she’s about to give a speech to her subjects, or to broadcast for the entire fleet to strike.
“You wish to be disciplined.” The Emperor says quietly, and the way she says it makes everything feel so right. Yes, it must be what Michael has needed all the time. She's been a bad girl, and she needs to be corrected and put in place.
Michael nods, jittery. She’s been fidgeting with the covers in her grasp, scared to let go of the only protection that shields her from her sins.
“Very well. Come here and bend over on my lap.” The Emperor’s tone is curt. Michael’s immediate reaction is to obey, but when she drops the comforter and begins to crawl towards her mother, she realizes she’s still naked from the waist up. The exposure embarrasses her so that she stops midway.
“Now, daughter.” Her mother sounds annoyed, and Michael stifles a whimper. Feeling clumsy, she slowly maneuvers onto the Emperor’s lap. The Emperor is still and erect, like a monument, but her body is warm, and it surprises Michael. She wants to nuzzle into her, rub herself onto the Emperor’s clothes. The last time her mother spanked her was years ago, way before she got her moon pendant. Truth be told, although she hates to displease the Emperor, she secretly misses the spankings. At least it’s physical contact provided by her mother. She could remember the ghost of her mother’s palm on her rear end, and somehow, now the memory makes her pussy throb in her underwear.
Without warning, the Emperor drags both her jammies and underwear down to her knees. Michael twitches. Her bottoms are now exposed, and there’s nothing to cover her center. She can feel how wet she is.
“How much do you think you deserve?”
Deserve. The word choice makes Michael clench. She can feel her nipples stiffen, and her mother hasn’t even touched her yet. This is supposed to be wrong, but if the Emperor is carrying on with the fact that her daughter is dripping as she punishes her, Michael guesses it’s alright.
“Whatever you think that I need, mother,” Michael says the only truth she’s ever known. The Emperor always knows what is best for her, always tries her best to accommodate her. Even if Michael was craving touches, she’s sure that her mother is trying to teach her the importance of moderation.
The Emperor hums, satisfied.
“Good girl. Always so obedient.” The following touch makes Michael yell, because it’s a caress from the dip of her lower back to where the Emperor is supposed to smack her. “And yet, you have not told me the truth.”
Michael is alarmed by the remark and it’s when her mother brings her hand down harshly to her ass cheek.
The slap echoes through the dark, bouncing off the transparent glass, and back to Michael’s ears. It stings like ice being pressed onto her skin and refusing to melt.
“So, let me ask you again, my dear Michael…” The Emperor’s voice is comforting, just as comforting as the soothing strokes she’s now applying to Michael. Her palm feels soft and cool on Michael’s skin, and she hopes that her mother can touch her breast, kiss her. Stroke her. Fuck her.
The thought rams into her, so violent that Michael keens. Yes. All she’s ever wanted is for the Emperor to fuck her.
“Why did you try…” her mother lands a smack, harder than the last one, “to fuck…” another smack, which makes Michael buckle and mewl, “one of my slaves?”
“I’m sorry!” Michael gasps in tears. Fear, pain, arousal, pleasure, all mixed together and she can’t process that, “I’m sorry, mommy!”
The Emperor stills. Panting, Michael realizes that she has just let slip an old endearment she used to call the Emperor. She thought she had grown out of it, and her shame is so visceral that she doesn’t know if she wanted to gag or come.
“Mommy wants to know why, baby girl. It’s always better to tell the truth.” the Emperor speaks levelly, unperturbed, and Michael should feel mocked but instead, she relaxes a bit. So the Emperor isn’t as angry as she has anticipated.
As her muscles relax, she can feel a drop of her juice rolling down her thigh, and she panics. What will the Emperor do if she found out that she’s getting excited for this? A good girl shouldn’t like this!
“Because I have been bad, mommy,” Michael’s voice has gone high and whiny. She squirms, “I’m not good like you said.”
“Is that so?” Her mother sounds thoughtful. The next several smacks make Michael cry out in pain. It hurts so fucking much but it never occurs to Michael that she can say stop.
“You’ve always been able to bring your cares to me,” the Emperor massages her ass cheeks, kneading her sore, sensitive skin, and the contact is heavenly. Weeping, Michael lets her body slump a little. She lowers herself onto her elbows, and the Emperor doesn’t seem to mind that her nipples graze by her leather-clad thigh. “Whatever they are, we can talk about them.”
The Emperor waits patiently for Michael to speak. Michael’s pussy is aching so much that she even considers telling her mother about it. But what should she say? Mommy, please fuck me? She dares not.
“I want—” What does she want, exactly? Just her mother to touch her and fuck her? It’s more than that, because she wants her mother to love her as a daughter all the same. And it’s wrong. So what is this psychological need that she can’t name?
“I don’t know, mommy. I am sorry.” Michael sobs, hating herself for being so weak.
“It’s ok, baby girl.” The Emperor’s hand brushes her inner thigh, smearing a wet trail and it makes Michael shiver. Her mother offers kindly, “do you want mommy to tuck you in?”
Michael doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep now. She shakes her head, biting her lip. She wants to take a peek at the Emperor’s face, but she doesn’t want to risk the chance of upsetting her mother.
“Do you want mommy to touch you?” The Emperor says, and Michael’s heart skips a beat. She knows what that touch implicates.
“But…but it’s…we can’t…you’re my mother, Emperor.” Michael rubs her legs together, trying to solve the building ache, and it worsens. She can feel her inner thighs kissing wetly with each other when she moves.
The next slap comes completely out of the blue. Michael yelps when it comes so dangerously close to her wetness.
“You seem to forget that in my empire, my word is law,” her mother’s nails dig into her ass cheek, “do I need to remind you again that it was I who picked you off from that trash heap?”
Michael blanches at how stern her mother suddenly becomes.
“I have not forgotten, Emperor. I am sorry for questioning that, it’s just…” Michael nibbles her bottom lip when her mother’s touch completely vanishes from her body, and she feels empty and cold and anxious, “it’s just that, I don’t think I am worthy of your touch.”
It’s when Michael hears herself does she finally connect everything together. That’s been the problem all this time; she doesn’t think she’s worthy of the Emperor’s constant guidance and affection. She needs proof that she is loved, and she berates herself for needing it.
She thinks she’s a spoiled child.
“Perhaps it’s a mistake of mine, then,” the Emperor mutters, and Michael is stunned. She wants to tell her mother that it’s not her fault, but then her mother is touching her again, combing her fingers through her short hair and stroking the nape of her neck, like she’s petting a wounded kitten. Michael arches into the caress. She can feel her tears drying on her face. She doesn’t want to use up the Emperor’s precious time, since her mother has just come back from an important event for her. But Michael wants so much more.
The Emperor uses the same low tone, “it’s a mother’s failure to make her daughter feel inadequate.” And her mother runs her hand over her shoulder blades, down to her back, and kneads the part where her inner thighs end and the curve of her ass begins. It takes everything for Michael to not clench on her mother’s hand and grind herself on those fingers. She can feel her slick tainting the Emperor’s fingers, tainting the rings that the Emperor is wearing. It feels so good and so wrong. Michael wants to say profound things to make the Emperor feel less sad about the whole ordeal, but she's clueless.
“I’m sorry that I can’t help but feel—ah!—that way,” Michael feels her mother’s finger ghost on the outer lip of her pussy, and she pushes back for more of the sensation. “I’m extremely thankful for everything you’ve done for me, Emperor.”
“I believe you, Michael. I do.” Her mother withdraws her hand, “unfortunately, gratefulness is not enough. Sit up for me.”
Michael barely has time to make sense of that as she moves away from her mother’s lap. Gray sparks bomb her vision when she gets up. She’s sore for being in the same demanding position for so long, and she’s emotionally spent. Michael can’t follow the Emperor at all, not knowing what her mother wants, having no idea how to please her.
The Emperor abruptly yanks at her leg and she falls ungracefully onto the gap of the Emperor’s parted legs. Michael squeals, trying to regain her balance, but her mother has other plans for her. Michael finds herself being guided like a puppet, seated in the middle of the Emperor’s legs with her back to the Emperor’s front, and her mother confidently pulls her strings. She can’t move. The Emperor has hooked her hands back, and now her chest is jutting out in the air. All she can see is the glass in front of her, and the dark sea beyond it, witnessing her being toyed by her mother.
“Emperor…? What—” Michael feels the pointy edges of the Emperor’s high heels on her shin. The Emperor is using her legs to lock her down, keep her thighs apart, and her center is obscenely exposed.
Her mother laughs throatily, and Michael whimpers when feels the Emperor’s hot breaths by her ear. It makes her shiver, flushing all over. She can smell the Andorian wine in the Emperor’s breath. Somehow her pajamas have fallen onto the floor, and she doesn’t know when it happened. Did it fall off when she was struggling? Has the Emperor stripped her naked? But what matters most is that she’s now stark-naked in her mother’s hold.
She can feel her mother’s hair tickling her shoulder, the soft of her mother’s clothes rubbing on her back, the leather of her mother’s trousers against her legs, and they are so, so close.
“You are so wet, daughter.”
The sentence alone nearly makes Michael come undone. She jerks her hips over, moaning, feeling delirious and impossibly turned-on. Not able to free herself from her mother’s clutches, she finds herself begging something like please touch me but it only leads to the Emperor stroking her sticky thigh, nowhere near where she wants.
“I know you want me to fuck you, Michael,” her mother’s voice is guttural and it makes Michael’s skin buzz. At this point she’s willing to do anything to come. “But how do I know that you won’t try to fuck one of my belongings again?”
And as some sort of punishment, the Emperor pinches a tender spot on her thigh. Michael shrieks, half-shocked and half for the burning pain, but she is mortified when the pain goes right into her clit. She finds herself getting wetter for it.
“How do I know that I can trust you not to take the things that don’t belong to you?” Her mother rubs at the offended skin, and the pain fades a little with that. Unconsciously, Michael tries to free her hands, but the Emperor grabs her firmer by the elbows.
“I—I promise, mommy…I won’t do it again…uhh!”
This time, the Emperor pinches her nipple, and it’s more of a reward than punishment for Michael. She can feel her pussy flutter, throbbing, and she’s ashamed for becoming such a whore for the Emperor’s administration. If her mother orders her to come right now, she can and she will.
“You’re so pretty like this.” The Emperor’s lips brush her ear, and she thinks can evaporate into the air when her mother gently, takes in her earlobe in swirls a tongue on it, nipping her, while she can feel a warm hand stroking closer and closer to her center, but never quite reach there. Michael doesn’t think she can take this anymore. Never in her life has she ever been so desperate.
“Please…Emperor…please let me come…I will do everything you ask…please just let me come…”
“Oh, but Michael,” there’s a smile in the Emperor’s voice, “you wish to be disciplined, don’t you remember?”
Michael stops writhing and squeezes her eyes shut in defeat. She can feel her tears flow again. There is no way out from this. She’s completely at the Emperor’s mercy. But there’s something so right about her submission, too. Michael feels she’s always meant to be begging for the Emperor’s touch, for anything that the Emperor is willing to give her. Her mother is right about her feeling inadequate, being the receiving end of the Emperor’s benevolence, and this—surrendering her heart, body and soul—seems to be the perfect solution to the predicament. If she was not only the Emperor’s daughter, but also her consort, her lover, her slave, her pet, hers, then everything will be perfect.
“I wish to be yours, Emperor.”
Michael’s voice doesn’t tremble this time, and she’s proud that she’s capable of that. Her entire body tenses up as she prepares for any punishment that might come from her mother, but there is none. She can feel the rise and fall of the Emperor’s chest against her back, and she can even feel her mother’s heart beating. Emperor Georgiou has never been so human before in her life.
Slowly, the Emperor lets her go, but Michael stays put like a good girl. And she doesn’t use the opportunity to touch herself, although it’s a very tempting idea.
“Do you really mean that?” Her mother touches her cheek and she turns around to meet her mother’s eyes. The Emperor is furrowing her brows, but her eyes are affectionate, and it makes Michael’s heart ache and soar. Her mother is so beautiful and kind. Michael wants to do reckless things just to prove how much she cares for her.
“Yes, mother. I do.” Michael reaches for her mother’s hand. There’s a ring on her mother’s forefinger, and without looking away, Michael takes the Emperor’s hand to her mouth and kisses her signet ring. Something in the Emperor’s eyes hardens at the gesture, and Michael has the worst scenario planned: her mother backhanding her for such insolence, scolding her for her brazenness, or laughing at her for her ego. But none of that happens.
“But you think you are not enough.” The Emperor’s hand drifts down, until she can splay a protective hand over the plane of Michael’s stomach. The touch makes Michael sucks in a sharp breath, and she wants to kiss the Emperor so much, more than her desire to come.
“It’s because I’ve always wanted to truly belong to you, to be yours in every way, and I’m scared of my desires. I fear that I can’t be the person I aspire to be.”
“Fear…” her mother’s eyes narrow, and for a second Michael thinks she sees the Emperor on the eve of the attack which destroyed Qo'noS, “…fear, is only a relative concept. And what else could you possibly fear, if you were mine?” The Emperor’s hand cinches on her stomach, and her voice is low enough to be a growl. Michael’s breath catches. She is fascinated with her mother’s transformation, and there’s a magnetic pull from her mother’s lips, too. Not a cell of Michael’s body doesn’t want to be owned by Emperor Philippa Georgiou Augustus Iaponius Centarius.
The Emperor must have seen how much she wants it. Michael feels a hand settling behind her head, and she figures it’s her mother using her free hand to press her in the direction she’s always been gravitating towards.
The Emperor kisses her like sealing over a promise. She feels her mother’s lips brush over hers, again and again, teasing and making Michael chase for it. Michael cranes her head and finally, finally, catches those lips.
Michael closes her eyes and feels the strange itch in her blood explode into a warm stream, shooting straight into her chest. This feels like where she’s always meant to be doing, kissing her mother, kissing the Emperor, submitting herself.
“I’m afraid I can only give you a taste of what’s to come, dear daughter.” The Emperor’s breathing is shallow, and Michael opens her eyes when she feels her mother’s breaths flutter against her lips. She thinks she’s just had a taste of ambrosia, and now she’s already wanting more. Staring into her mother’s dark brown eyes, Michael feels the hand on her belly descend lower, and lower, and lower.
“But I assure you that on your birthday, I will take you properly.” Her mother palms her wetness and Michael bucks over, the ache between her legs roaring back tenfold. She has to hold on to the Emperor’s upper arm to steady herself. She wants to stay open and needy for the Emperor.
Only for the Emperor.
“I love you, mother.” Michael touches the Emperor’s face, hand trembling. She tries to memorize every tiny nuance of her mother’s face, the arch and dip of her brows, the curve of her lips, the lines around her eyes, but Michael can’t quite concentrate when her mother is looking at her so adoringly, so majestically, and starts to rub her oversensitive clit in light, tight patterns.
The pattern is just the one that Michael has been using on herself. The thought that the Emperor did watch her masturbate in the past makes Michael blush to the roots of her hair. She can feel her orgasm building quickly, the coil in her pussy winding and winding to snap, and she’s so sore for being aroused for so long. She wants the Emperor’s slender finger inside of her. She needs to be filled. She can’t come like this.
“Please, may I have you inside of me?” Michael pleads. The Emperor has just said that she’ll take her virginity on her birthday, but one finger is not going to make her bleed, right? “Just a little. A digit. Your pinky. I need to feel you in me,” Michael blabbers.
“Are you sure you can take it, baby girl?” The Emperor husks, amused, but Michael can see the hunger in her mother’s eyes. To see that all this has affected the Emperor, too, makes Michael giddy.
“Yes, mommy.”
The Emperor’s eyes darken and Michael feels her opening being probed. She relaxes her muscles there, imagining herself to bloom open for the Emperor, and her mother slides in.
“By God, you’re so tight.” The Emperor marvels, and the delight and surprise on her face is blinding, more so than a star going supernova. Michael still can’t believe this is happening. She has the Emperor’s finger inside of her and she already feels so full.
“You feel so good.” Michael rests her head on her mother’s collarbone now. She feels helpless and small but she’s never felt better, not when she has her mother’s skin thrumming against her, her mother’s hands working steadily between her legs. It’s the best kind of debauchery to date.
The finger on her clit disappears and she feels the Emperor lifting her leg to the mattress. Enthusiastic, Michael turns around to comply, hiking her legs across the Emperor’s thighs so she can widen herself more. The Emperor’s hands resume, and Michael can’t resist but look down and she can see, in between her spread thighs, the Emperor is fucking her with both hands. Michael lets out a breathy cry. It’s all too good to be true.
“Are you ready to come for me?” Her mother whispers into her ear.
“Yes! Yes please Emperor please make me come—” Michael throws her head back, feeling the release thundering to her and she’s drunk and powerless. She holds onto the Emperor’s knees, her whole body strung, and the Emperor chuckles before sinking her teeth into her neck.
Michael screams but she can’t hear herself. She screams and screams as the pain jostles a chain of reaction, her orgasm making her shudder and snap her legs close on her mother’s hand, but her mother keeps at it, fucking her and rubbing her and filling her.
Michael doesn’t know how long her climax lasts, but when she comes back to herself, her mother has gathered her into her arms, humming a lullaby she used to calm her when she had night terrors. In the warm alcove of the Emperor’s loving embrace, she feels safe, satiated, as if the stress weighing on her has never existed. And she falls asleep like this, with the knowledge that she’s not only the Emperor’s daughter.
She will also be the Emperor’s woman.