The Scum Emperor's Redemption System - Chapter 69

Chapter 69: Duty (NSFW)
“Ah!” Fialova cried out, her hips bucking up involuntarily.

The feeling of Argider’s hot, wet mouth engulfing her was almost too much to bear. It was so wet and slippery inside that her veins throbbed even more as the blood kept on pumping. Obviously, she still wasn’t used to the sensation of having a penis. It was weird. Not the good kind of weird. Just overall weird.

But it was undeniably good that she wouldn’t have it removed.

Their tongue worked its magic, together with slippery lips to drive Fialova to the brink of madness. It was a bit painful everytime her sensitive shaft made contract with Argider’s teeth that she would slightly jump. It seems that the Emperor wasn’t as experienced either.

Although, just when Fialova thought she couldn’t take anymore, the sensations halted. “Not so fast, my love. We have all day.”

Argider crawled back up on her fifth’s body, positioning herself above her. She felt so needy after all that coldness she felt. She needed something to fill her up and reach her tingly depths as relief. Of course, those thoughts would never come out from her lips. There was some lingering manhood inside heart.

Finally, she sank down onto Fialova’s cock, enveloping her in tight, slick heat. They both groaned at the exquisite feeling of joining.

Seting a languid pace, her hips rolled in sinuous waves while the other tried to match her movements, thrusting up to meet her. The room filled with the sounds of their lovemaking – the creak of the bed, the slap of flesh on flesh, their mingled moans and gasps.

“Oh… Hngh… Aah…”

“Ah! A-Argider…”

As their pleasure built, they lost themselves in each other, chasing that perfect peak. The riding became harder, faster, that Argider’s nails dug into Fialova’s shoulders while her hips were gripped.

In the end, they came together in a blinding surge of ecstasy, crying out each other’s names. Argider collapsed onto Fialova’s chest, both of them panting.

After their session of lovemaking, Argider flopped into the fur-lined coat like a bird reluctantly nesting for the winter. The crown sat awkwardly on her head, its weight more symbolic than physical, but still heavy enough to remind her she had responsibilities.

Ugh.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, adjusting the crimson imperial gown that hugged her frame like it had been tailored for someone far more majestic.

“I look like a walking festival float,” she muttered, tugging at the neckline before giving up entirely.

Behind her, Fialova remained sprawled in bed, blissfully unaware of the existential wardrobe crisis unfolding mere feet away.

Her wife’s black hair was a tousled halo against the pillows, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of deep sleep. Argider shot her a half-hearted glare.

“Must be nice to be so peacefully unaware,” she grumbled, slipping on her boots with a dramatic sigh.

Fully dressed and sufficiently regal, at least by someone else’s standards, Argider stepped out into the corridor, the echo of her boots against the marble floor filling the silence.

As she strode toward the throne room, the hallways seemed to stretch endlessly, each step reminding her of how much she’d rather be anywhere else.

And then, as if summoned by her thoughts, Uzak appeared. The scruffy former dog of the Empress still carried himself like a mutt that had just been caught stealing scraps from the kitchen.

He shuffled awkwardly, avoiding her gaze as if her imperial glare might incinerate him on the spot.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” he said, bowing so low she thought he might sprain something.

Argider sighed, rubbing her temples. “Uzak, we’ve been over this. Stop with the bowing, or I’ll make you wear a bell around your neck to remind you you’re still my best friend, not my servant.”

The Imperial Knight straightened, though his shame still clung to him like an ill-fitting coat. “I just… it’s hard to…well, you know, after everything..”

“Everything? Oh, you mean the tragic saga of how you went from royal pet to free-spirited vagabond?” Argider smirked, folding her arms. “Get over it. You’re making me feel guiltier than I already do.”

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “You’ve got a unique way of cheering people up, Your Majesty.”

“I aim to please.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Now, is there any report of the second Fialova downstairs?”

“Still not much information. She’s persistent. I feel as if she won’t bulge as if it’s you talking to her…”

“I see,” they nodded. “Noted.

Uzak’s face grew serious, and he gestured toward the towering double doors at the end of the hall. “And besides that subject… throne room is… full. Citizens from all three districts are here, but most are from the Downward District.”

Argider groaned. “Oh, great. Nothing says ‘good morning’ like a full-blown parade of grievances.”

But curiosity tugged at her as she pushed the doors open. The sight that greeted her made her falter.

The throne room was packed. It wasn’t just the usual gaggle of council members and wealthy elites. No, this was different.

There were farmers with dirt still clinging to their boots, mothers clutching wide-eyed children, merchants with worn ledgers tucked under their arms.

The poor were the majority, their patched clothing and weary faces a stark contrast to the gilded room.

“Whoa,” Argider muttered, scanning the crowd. “When did this place turn into a festival market?”

“They’ve come to see you,” Uzak said quietly. “Some are from Upward, Midward… and many are from the Downward District. They…” He hesitated. “They need you.”

The Downward District. Just the name brought back a flood of memories she’d rather leave buried.

As a child, she and her mother had hidden there, scraping by in the shadows to avoid her father’s wrath.

It wasn’t a place of noble suffering or romanticized poverty. It was survival at its rawest, where corruption and desperation reigned.

She took a slow breath, adjusting the crown on her head. “Let me guess. They want miracles, money, or magic solutions.”

“Some of them,” Uzak admitted. “But not all.”

Argider strode toward the throne, her boots clicking against the polished floor. “Well, let’s see what flavor of complaints I’m dealing with today.”

As she ascended the steps to her throne, she cast one last glance at the sea of faces before her. There were so many. Too many.

She plopped onto the throne with far less grace than the council would approve of, draping herself dramatically over one armrest. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Who’s first?”