Epilogue: Leia's Imperial daddy

Six months later, the penthouse terrace on Coruscant’s 500 Republica glittered under the night-cycle lights, all polished durasteel and imported nebari wood. Leia stood barefoot at the railing, one hand splayed low over the gentle curve of her belly, the silk of her gown whispering against her thighs whenever the wind shifted. The fabric was Imperial crimson, cut low enough that the swell of her breasts, heavier now, threatened to spill free with every breath. A thin chain of Alderaanian silver circled her throat, the last remnant of who she used to be, but the pendant had been replaced weeks ago with a small, polished disc bearing the old Imperial crest. Tarsus liked the irony.

Behind her, the party murmured on, old officers in civilian dress, their medals traded for cufflinks and fat credit accounts, laughing too loud over glasses of Corellian brandy. Han hadn't been invited obviously. Han no longer existed in her calendar, her comms, her thoughts, at least not in any way that mattered. The divorce had been quiet, surgical. A single holosigned document, witnessed by two droids and a bored magistrate. She’d worn white that day, too, like a mockery of the girl who once burned the Empire down.

Tarsus’s hand settled on the small of her back now, proprietary, the heat of his palm seeping through silk. "Enjoying the view, darling?" His voice still carried that wet rasp, but there was satisfaction in it, thick and smug as always. His thumb traced the ridge of her spine, dipping just beneath the fabric to brush bare skin. "Or are you thinking about how far you’ve fallen?"

Leia turned her head, slow, letting her braid, rebraided tonight in the old Alderaanian style he liked, slide over one shoulder. "I was thinking," she said, soft enough that only he heard, "that I'm not sure if I can wait until this party is over for you to fill me again darling." She pressed back against him, subtle, the curve of her ass nestling against the front of his trousers where his cock already stirred, thick and familiar. Six months of nightly use had trained her body to answer before her mind caught up.

He chuckled, low, fingers spreading to cup the swell of her stomach. "Still so greedy. You’d think four months pregnant would slow you down." His other hand rose, casual as if he was adjusting a tie, and pinched her nipple through the silk until she bit her lip to trap the moan. "Careful, princess. My friends are watching."

They were. She felt their eyes like brands. Admiral Piett’s successor, some gray-haired brute named Vorrin, lifted his glass in salute, gaze lingering on the way her tits strained the gown. Earlier in the night he'd trapped her in a conversation about the superior combat abilities of Imperial ships, which she'd giggled politely along too. Another, a former stormtrooper colonel turned security consultant, licked his lips openly when Tarsus’s hand drifted lower, palming her butt through the gown.

Leia’s breath hitched. Shame still flickered sometimes, a dying ember, but it only fed the heat pooling between her legs. She wore nothing beneath the gown. Tarsus had forbidden it weeks ago. "Easier access," he’d said, and then bent her over the breakfast table to prove the point.

He steered her now, away from the railing, past the clusters of men who parted with knowing smirks. The suite’s master bedroom waited beyond a set of double doors, heavy wood imported from Naboo. Inside, the lights were low again, the bed vast and already turned down. He didn’t bother closing the doors all the way. Let them listen.

"On your knees first," he ordered, voice rougher now. "Show Daddy how much you like being shown off in front of his friends."

Leia sank without hesitation. The carpet was plush, but her knees still ached from last night, bruises blooming yellow and purple beneath the skin. She didn’t care. Her fingers worked his belt with practiced ease, the leather warm from his body. When his trousers dropped, his cock sprang free, heavy and half-hard, the foreskin already peeling back to reveal the flushed head. The smell hit her, sharp musk and the faint sourness of a day spent sweating in formal clothes, and she whimpered, leaning in to drag her tongue along the underside slow, savouring the salt.

Tarsus groaned, fingers threading through her braid to yank her closer. "That’s it. Clean Daddy up. You’ve been dripping for this all night, haven’t you? Parading around like my little broodmare."

She nodded, mouth full, cheeks hollowing as she sucked him deeper. Spit slicked her chin, dripped onto her gown, staining the crimson darker. Her own cunt throbbed, swollen and wet, the lips puffy from how often he used her now. Pregnancy had made her insatiable. She’d wake in the night humping his thigh like an animal, begging in broken whispers until he rolled over and shoved into her from behind, grunting about how tight she still was despite the baby weight.

He let her work him until his thighs trembled, until the head of his cock battered the back of her throat and her eyes streamed. Only then did he pull her off, dragging her up by the hair to bend her over the foot of the bed. The gown rode up her thighs, bunched at her waist, exposing the curve of her ass, the faint silver lines where her skin had stretched. He traced them with reverence, almost tender.

"Look at these," he murmured. "My marks. Proof you’re breeding so well." His palm cracked down once, sharp, the sound echoing. She cried out, arching, pushing back for more. Another slap, harder, and her cunt clenched on nothing, a bead of slick trickling down her thigh.

"Please," she gasped, voice wrecked. "Inside. Need you inside."

He didn’t make her wait. The blunt head nudged her entrance, sliding through the mess she’d already made of herself, and then he thrust, one brutal stroke that buried him to the hilt. Leia screamed, muffled into the sheets, her walls fluttering wildly around the invasion. He was thicker now, or maybe she was tighter, swollen from the pregnancy, every ridge and vein dragging against sensitive flesh.

Tarsus set a punishing pace from the start, hips slamming against her ass, the wet slap of skin on skin loud enough to carry into the party. She didn’t care who heard. Let them. Let them know the princess screamed for an old Moff’s cock, that she begged to be bred again even while his first brat grew in her belly.

His hand fisted in her braid, yanking her head back until her spine bowed. "Tell them," he snarled, breath hot against her ear. "Tell my friends what you are."

"I’m your whore," she sobbed, the words spilling easy now, practiced. "Your pregnant little slut. I left my husband for this, for your cock, for your babies. I quit the Senate to stay home and spread my legs whenever you snap your fingers."

He growled approval, fucking her harder, the bedframe rattling. One hand snaked beneath her, fingers finding her clit, rubbing rough circles that made her vision white out. She came with a wail, cunt spasming, milking him desperately. He didn’t stop, pounding through it until she was limp and trembling, tears and drool soaking the sheets.

Only then did he slow, dragging it out, letting her feel every inch as he stirred his seed deeper. "Gonna keep you like this," he muttered, voice thick. "Round and needy. After this one’s born, I’ll put another in you right away. Maybe twins next time. You’ll never be empty again."

Leia whimpered, nodding frantic, pushing back to meet his lazy thrusts. "Yes, Daddy. Never empty. Just yours."

He came with a guttural roar, hips flush against her ass, cock jerking as he flooded her a second time that night. The heat of it, the sheer volume, still startled her. Thick ropes painting her insides, spilling out around his shaft to drip down her thighs in sticky rivulets. He held her there, plugged full, until the last pulse faded, then eased out slow, watching his spend leak from her gaping cunt.

She collapsed forward, trembling, but he wasn’t done. Fingers scooped the mess, pushed it back inside her, three thick digits stretching her tender hole. "Hold it in," he ordered. "Don’t waste Daddy’s gift."

Leia clenched obediently, thighs shaking, a soft whine escaping as he worked her open again. When he replaced fingers with his cock once more, half-hard but still huge, she took it gratefully, rocking back with tiny, **** motions.

Outside, the party had gone quiet, listening. Someone laughed, low and knowing. Another toasted, glass clinking.

Inside, Leia moaned into the sheets, lost to it, to him, to the life she’d traded everything for. Her belly pressed into the mattress, the baby kicked, as if already recognizing its father’s claim, and she smiled through the haze, small and broken and utterly content.

Later, when he finally let her crawl into his lap on the wide chair by the window, gown discarded, skin sticky with sweat and cum, she nuzzled into his neck like a pet. His hand rested possessive over her stomach, thumb stroking the taut skin.

"Happy, princess?" he asked, soft now, almost gentle.

She nodded against his throat, lips brushing the loose folds there. "So happy, Daddy. Thank you for keeping me."

He kissed her temple, the gesture tender, and outside the city lights glittered on.