For the Emperor

Emma still wore the Wonder Woman outfit, her thong damp and sticky with Clive’s cum, when she picked up the tiny figure from his desk. It was painted bright blue, intricate gold detail around the trim, little gun gleaming as if it were real. She turned it between her fingers, genuinely impressed.

“What’s this one, then?” she asked, raising a brow.

Clive swallowed, still trembling after what they’d just done. “That’s… um… an Ultramarine. I built it, painted it myself.”

Emma let out a low whistle. “You did this? Christ, darling, the detail’s insane. It looks like something you’d buy in a shop.”

Clive flushed deep red. “There’s a tournament this weekend. I play. But it’s… rough. The other guys, they laugh at me. Say stuff about me being a virgin. That I’ll never get laid.”

Emma smirked wickedly, her eyes flashing. “Oh, if only they knew.” She slid the thong from between her legs, still sticky, and flicked it onto his desk right next to the painted figure. “Proof enough you’re not a virgin anymore.”

Clive’s eyes widened like saucers. He nodded quickly, like he wanted to believe it.

Emma stepped closer, grabbed his chin between her fingers. “You’re going to that tournament. But not as the pathetic little boy they mock. You’re going as my man. And when I show up, every single one of those little pricks will know exactly what you’ve got.”

The prep was brutal. Emma dragged Clive to a barber, ordered him a sharp, modern cut. Then clothes, slim jeans, fitted shirt, shoes that didn’t squeak when he walked. She stood in the shop with her arms folded under her tits, barking instructions until he looked… different. Better. Handsome, even. By the end of it, Clive barely recognised himself in the mirror.

Saturday arrived. He walked into the tournament hall, bag over his shoulder, heart hammering. The room reeked of sweat and plastic glue. Tables were already set up with terrain and painted miniatures, groups of men clustering in cliques. The usual suspects. Their sniggers started before he’d even set his army down.

“Well, well, look who showed up.”

“Oi, virgin boy’s here.”

“Bet he’s never touched a tit in his life.”

Clive’s throat clenched. He was about to turn, walk out, when the sound hit, the growl of Emma’s car engine outside. Then the slam of a door.

Every head turned as the entrance opened.

Emma walked in.

Hair still black from being dyed hung down her shoulders. A black corset so sheer her pink nipples were plain as day, leather miniskirt clinging to her hips, stockings and stilettos clicking across the floor. She moved like a goddess, tits bouncing, eyes sharp, lips curled in a smirk. As she stepped in, her skirt hitched and three gawking nerds at the door got a clear flash of her bare pussy. They froze, jaws hanging open.

“Fucking hell,” one whispered.

Emma ignored them. She strutted straight across the room, hips rolling, eyes locked on Clive. The place fell silent. Dice stopped clattering. Armies froze mid-move. She reached him, grabbed him by the shirt, and pulled his mouth onto hers. Her tongue pushed deep, wet, shameless, as the whole room gaped. She broke the kiss with a lewd smack of lips, then slid her hand down his chest, over his crotch, squeezing him through his jeans.

“This is my man,” she announced, voice ringing out. “I left my husband for him. Biggest cock I’ve ever had, and he knows how to use it.”

The room erupted. Some laughed nervously. Others just stared, mouths open, eyes glued to her tits pressed against his arm.

Emma leaned closer to Clive’s ear, but loud enough that the nearest tables heard. “Now go win this thing. And I’ll let you use my mouth however you like tonight.”

Clive felt like his chest might explode. His cock was already iron-hard, but something else burned inside him, confidence. He sat down at the table, dice in hand, Ultramarines lined up. His opponents faltered, distracted by Emma leaning forward, tits spilling across the table edge. She bent at the waist, pretending to watch the game, but really flashing every inch of her nipples through the thin corset. Men fumbled dice, forgot rules, lost concentration. Clive played sharper than he ever had.

Round after round, he won. Every victory, Emma clapped, kissed his cheek, whispered filth about what she’d do to him later. By the final, the whole hall was whispering: Clive, the loser, the virgin, was on the brink of winning the tournament.

And then he did. Dice clattered, scores tallied, and it was undeniable. Clive was champion.

The room went nuts. Some booed, some groaned, but many just stared, as Emma leapt into his arms, tits bouncing wildly. She kissed him again, wet and hungry, then dragged him toward the exit.

Behind the building, Emma shoved him against the wall. “You’re a fucking legend now,” she hissed, yanking his jeans open, pulling his cock free. “Every single one of those nerds knows you’re the man who turned up with me on your arm.” She bent forward, leather skirt riding high, stockings gleaming. She looked back over her shoulder, hair wild. “Now bend me over and show them you deserve it.”

Clive didn’t hesitate. He spun her, shoved her tits against the wall, and thrust into her from behind. Emma screamed, her voice echoing through the lot. “Yes! Fuck me, champion! God, you’re splitting me open!”

The sound carried. Heads turned at the doors and windows. Nerds spilled out into the back alley, eyes wide. They watched in disbelief as Emma’s body jolted against the bricks, skirt bunched, stockings torn, cock pounding into her dripping pussy.

Emma didn’t care. She shouted louder, every thrust pushing filthy praise from her lips. “So big! So thick! Better than any man I’ve ever had! Fill me up, Clive! Let them all see what you do to me!”

Clive hammered her harder, grunting, sweat flying. He could hear the whispers, the stunned gasps of his peers. Virgin? No longer. Now they saw him as the man balls-deep in the sex goddess screaming his name.

Her voice broke as she came, body clenching tight around him. “Yes! God, yes! My champion! My fucking legend!”

With a final thrust, Clive exploded inside her, hot cum flooding her cunt. Emma howled, pressing back against him, her tits mashed against the wall, her skirt riding high.

Silence. Dozens of nerds stood frozen, glasses fogged, dice forgotten, mouths open.

Emma laughed breathlessly, still bent against the wall. “Well? Believe me now?” she shouted at them, voice hoarse. “Praise your new Emperor!”

The crowd of nerd erupted

"FOR THE EMPEROR"

Then she pulled away, thighs streaked with cum, tugged her skirt down, and spun back to Clive. She grabbed his chin, kissed him hard, then led him toward her car. The crowd parted like he was royalty.

They slid inside, her hand on his thigh. She kissed him once more, slower this time, her lips soft. Then she pulled back, eyes gleaming, and whispered, “Happy now?”