The Sinful Life of The Emperor

Circé froze, a scream forming a silent knot in her throat.

The tableau before her was a nightmare ripped from reality.

Kiba, the first man to tread upon Eden, lay sprawled on the bed.

And yet he was the epicenter of a bizarre battle.

But it wasn't him – not really – or maybe it was.

At least, it was a part of him.

His cock.

Or more accurately, a weapon.

"What the…" she croaked, the words barely a whisper lost in the symphony of slurps and frantic gasps.

Hunger gnawed at Penelope.

This wasn't a warrior's hunger, the kind that gnawed at your stomach after a long battle. It was a primal need, raw and untamed. Noticing Tempest swipe her tongue at the escaped droplets on Penelope's chin, Penelope reacted on instinct.

With a surprising strength born of desperation, she grabbed Tempest by her hair and pulled her head closer.

In a flash of movement, she stole the precious nectar with her own mouth.

"Mhmmm!"

Tempest, momentarily stunned, retaliated.

A primal battle erupted, not of swords and shields, but of eager mouths and desperate swipes.

The white nectar, a coveted prize, became the only thing that mattered.

These were Eden's finest warriors, women who would face down dragons and stand unwavering against the tide of darkness. Yet, in this strange thrall, their training and discipline were forgotten.

There would be no sacrifice for Eden today, only a frantic, desperate fight for a taste of the white nectar.

As the battle for the last drops reached climax, their mouths locked in a frantic dance. Tongues tangled and wrestled, desperately transferring the white ambrosia from one to the other.

Circe, rooted to the spot, watched in disbelief as their faces flushed a crimson red, their moans growing more frantic.

Their breaths mingled, heavy and desperate, as they fought over the sticky nectar, their lips locked in a battle for every last trace.

Finally, the droplets dwindled, swallowed and absorbed by their hungry mouths.

Both women turned pleading eyes towards the weapon, now drooping slightly as though drained of its earlier vigor.

They couldn't let it end!

In a synchronized move, both warriors lunged forward, their lips colliding against the weapon with a wet smack.

The weapon pulsed beneath their touch, responding with renewed enthusiasm. It began to throb harder, growing back to its previous rigidity.

They explored it inch by inch, their tongues savoring every surface, finding a happiness unlike anything they had ever known

"Oh god! What a wonder!" Tempest gasped, her voice thick with desire.

The prophecy echoed in her mind, a nagging whisper that seemed to gain credence with each ecstatic gasp.

Penelope, lost in the throes of the moment, felt no need for prophecies. Her entire focus was on the weapon, its every inch a source of unparalleled pleasure.

Her gaze naturally fell upon the smooth balls nestled at the weapon's base - the barrels.

She could sense that it was the source of the white nectar!

Driven by a fervent desire, she opened her mouth wide, coating one of the balls with her saliva. Her tongue flitting over the smooth skin in a magical dance.

Tempest, meanwhile, took the lead on the shaft, her lips working in a frenzy, sucking with a newfound devotion.

A strange warmth bloomed deep within her, spreading outwards till her entire core felt molten.

A wetness blossomed between her legs, a sensation both terrifying and strangely exhilarating.

"The Feminist...?"

She gasped, a question lingering in the air.

Could this be the prophesied happiness?!

No, a voice whispered within her.

This wasn't the power of The Feminist, but rather the power of the weapon, wielded when its owner was unconscious and vulnerable.

But a terrifying thought slammed into her.

If this was the level of happiness it offered in its weakened state, what would it be like when The Feminist was awake and aware!?

The thought sent a new wave of frenzy coursing through her, and she redoubled her efforts, bobbing her head like a woman possessed.

Circe, finally snapping out of her daze, ignored the shattered remnants of the healing concoction at her feet. She marched towards the bed, her booming voice cutting through the haze of their desire.

"What are you two doing?!" she thundered, her voice laced with righteous fury.

The effect was instantaneous.

The sound startled Penelope and Tempest, breaking their trance. They tore their mouths away from the weapon, blinking owlishly at the sight of the healer.

Their mouths hung open, dribbles of saliva glistening on their lips.

Jets of the white nectar streamed from its tip, showering Circe in the face.

"Oh, Motherrrr Trinityyyy!"

Her surprised yell echoed through the chamber.

Her eyes, blurred by the sticky nectar, locked with the warriors'.

The nectar, the efforts of their struggles, had coated Circe's face. In their haze, they saw not the healer, but a rival claimant to the source of their happiness.

"Aahhh!"

Before Circe could utter a word of protest, a whirlwind of limbs descended upon her.

Penelope and Tempest, their inhibitions dissolved by the potent nectar, assaulted her face with their eager mouths.

Their tongues darted out, seeking a taste of the nectar that clung to Circe's skin, an echo of the intoxicating experience they had just shared.

Meanwhile, miles away in the frigid heart of the Ice Palace, within the throne room, Martha and the other advisors stood in rigid respect, their gazes fixed on their Queen.

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a diamond blade. None dared to pry into the events transpiring outside, including the fluctuations of power from the sky, their sole focus on the inscrutable Ice Queen.

Suddenly, a tremor ran through them, a subtle shift that sent shivers down the spines of the advisors.

Then, a sound, entirely unexpected – laughter.

Rich, full-bodied laughter that echoed through the chamber, shattering the silence and leaving everyone in bewildered shock.

Laughing?!

"That man," she murmured, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes, "such a sly plotter!"

That man?!

What man could possibly elicit such a reaction from their Queen?

Their gazes darted towards Martha, the tension in the room thickening once more.

The weight of her self-righteous anger, the root of all their current woes, pressed heavily on her conscience. Her reckless pursuit of Kiba had backfired spectacularly.

Kiba's exploits as the MILF Hunter, the infamous Ass Destroyer!

Infuriated by his use of that… that device, leaving women incapacitated for days, she'd stormed into his territory.

And yet, just as Kiba stood poised to deliver the final blow, the Ice Queen had intervened. In order to secure her own escape, Kiba had dared to demand a vacation in Eden. The audacity!

Yet the Queen had agreed.

Yet she felt no anger.