Fuck the Empress in front of her own subjects!

Handing the warm vial of enchanted cum over to Leliana for safekeeping, you quickly turn your attention back to Celene.

You smirk sadistically at the sight of once-proud Empress lying in a puddle of her own subject's spunk, her splayed body spasming with pleasure at the center of her own dance floor. You take your sweet time savoring this picturesque moment, relishing the captivated faces of the Orlesian nobles who eagerly await your next move.

If you know one thing about Orlesians, it's that they crave spectacle. And you're about to provide them one for the ages.

An expectant hush falls over the crowd as you lumber forward, positioning yourself atop the defiled ruler, her slack body offering little resistance as you mount the Empress like a Mabari hound in heat. Even under your Throne's powerful aura, the sight of the dainty and elegant Celene pinned beneath a fat, sweaty bastard like yourself proves to be a shocking visual as the hushed, gossipy whispers of scandalized nobles begin to fill the grand ballroom.

"Not the most prepossessing fellow, is he?" the Duke whispers. "Is this foul-smelling oaf really going to fuck our Empress?"

"Not in that outfit, I would hope." the Duchess responds cattily. "Honestly, who told him those shoes matched that tunic?"

Wearing a smirk as wide as the Waking Sea itself, you grip Celene's hips, your greasy fingers sinking into her porcelain skin as you press your swollen cock to her soaking wet entrance, slick with the juices from your depraved waltz moments ago.

With a single, brutal thrust, you bury yourself to the hilt inside her royal cunt, earning a howling moan from Her Radiance as you begin to mercilessly pound her into the cold marble floor, bearing down on the regent with your considerable size.

The rhythmic slaps of your colliding flesh fill the Grand Hall, harmonizing beautifully with the shocked gasps of the nobles and the whorish wails escaping Celene's lips. Paired with the wet squelch of your monstrous cock claiming her tight pussy, you orchestrate a depraved symphony with you as its conductor and the royals of Orlais as your captive audience.

With every buck of your hips, you can feel the power of the Throne coursing through you, waves of corruptive influence fanning outwards to enthrall and entrance the crowd. You can already sense their minds bending, thoughts and emotions becoming malleable like Antivan clay in your perverted hands as you defile their Empress before their very eyes.

As you scan the enraptured faces of the crowd, your eyes naturally lock with Briala. Under your throne's surging influence, Celene's not-so-secret elven lover can only muster an expression of mild annoyance. The same look of annoyance she gave you at dinner after you "borrowed" her salad fork to use as a backscratcher. It's a testament to your Throne's power the elf didn't already have a knife to your throat (or balls) while her hatred of you simmers just beneath the peeved exterior.

"Have I committed an Orlesian faux pas, Lady Briala?" you offer obliviously, twisting the knife with a bit of playful banter.

"Perhaps hogging the dance floor, Inquisitor," the elf offers behind a disingenuous smile. "...And my dance partner."

"You're more than welcome to my sloppy seconds, m'lady..."

You slam into Celene again and again, your cock stretching her tight cunt as the sickening squelch echoes through the hall. With every domineering thrust, her face is driven into the pool of stale cum beneath her, her nose and mouth submerged, the puddle of her subject's foul-smelling seed muffling her ragged moans. You grip the back of her head by her blonde hair, plunging her face deeper into the sickening mess, smearing it against her cheeks and chin as you ravage her body.

By now, the Empress is speechless, rendered incoherent by the **** of your thrusts, every noise that spills from her mouth a shrieking, incomprehensible imitation of speech as her mind is reduced to a submissive mush by your ruthless pounding.

The surrounding nobles continue to "ooh and ahh", eyes fixated on the depravity unfolding before them. The power you hold over their minds is self-evident, as they begin to cheer for the sight of their beloved Empress being used and defiled.

With a cruel grin, you wrench Celene's head back, forcing her royal court to stare their Empress in her cock-drunk face. The gilded mask that once adorned her noble features had all but been replaced by a grotesque mask of stagnant spunk. Her vacant eyes are glazed over, her drooling tongue lolling from her mouth like a bitch in heat while her ruined makeup streams down her face in whorish painted streaks as you give her head a taunting shake.

"Behold, Your Empress!" you growl, your mocking voice reverberating through the Grand Hall like a high dragon's roar. "Witness her transformation into my royal cum dump!"

The reveal of the degraded Empress' fucked-out visage earns a collective gasp from every subject in Celene's royal court, even causing one of the faint-hearted Lady Dowagers to collapse into the waiting arms of two of her elven servants.

You suddenly feel Celene's pussy clench tight around your cock, the regent's ragdoll body convulsing violently below you, her back arching off the floor as her love-honey gushes forth, coating your pistoning lap and dripping down your thighs as she succumbs to your humiliating ****.

Her total submission only fuels your depravity, driving your hips faster as you chase your own rapidly approaching climax.

With a final, ruthless thrust, you bury yourself deep inside Celene, your balls tightening as you release a torrent of seed, thick and potent inside her abused cunt. As you erupt within her, you throw your head back and let out a grunt of victory, snarling through gritted teeth as your pulsing cock relentlessly fills the regent's pussy to the brim with your cum.

"All hail Empress Celene!"

"Long may she reign!" the crowd responds in kind, raising their champagne flutes in unison to the chandeliered ceilings, the glint of crystalline glass twinkling under the candlelight like a sea of stars as they toast to their spunk-filled leader.

Before your orgasm fully subsides, you pull out of Celene's cunt, your cock slipping free with an obscene squelching sound. The Empress drops unceremoniously to the floor, her limp body collapsing into the puddle of spunk like a sack of potatoes.

You stand over Celene triumphantly, your erupting cock flinging ropes of pearly white cum up and down her prone body as she spasms in the aftershocks of her mind-broken bliss. You raise your Fade-marked hand to the sky, holding it above the grand-regent as if you were posing for an artist's portrait, the sight of the sweaty, pantless Inquistor and the Empress, standing over his conquest and cumdump, will be seared into the memories of the assembled nobles for years to come.

The Grand Hall is deadly silent, all eyes fixed on the quivering Empress and her "dance partner." Then, as if on your cue, the crowd begins to clap, the cheers only growing louder and louder until they fill the ballroom with thunderous applause.

You take a dramatic bow, basking in the adoration for your depraved performance before standing tall once more.

"And so concludes our dance..." you offer with a predatory smile. "But our festivities are far from over, my dear nobles."