The weeks following Sam's orbital deployment flowed like water through the Forbidden City—sometimes rushing with political turbulence, sometimes pooling in moments of deceptive tranquility. Court life maintained its carefully choreographed routines despite the silver-eyed demon who appeared and disappeared with unpredictable frequency, his absences sometimes lasting days, occasionally stretching into weeks before his casual return through portals that violated natural law with casual disregard.
Empress Zhu Youzhen sat in the Hall of Literary Flourishing reviewing agricultural reports from the southern provinces, her slender fingers tracing characters that detailed remarkable improvements in previously drought-stricken regions. Her formal court attire—layers of imperial yellow silk embroidered with phoenixes and dragons—rustled softly as she shifted position on the ornate throne. The elaborate headdress adorning her ebony hair featured golden dragons with tiny pearls dangling from their claws, swaying gently with her slightest movement.
"The rainfall patterns are most remarkable, Your Majesty," Minister Hong observed, his weathered face reflecting genuine puzzlement beneath a traditional scholar's cap. The elderly administrator's blue silk robes marked him as a fourth-rank official responsible for agricultural oversight. "After three years of persistent drought, southern provinces now report the most favorable conditions in living memory."
"Heaven smiles upon the dynasty," Youzhen replied with practiced imperial serenity, though her thoughts flickered briefly to Sam's cryptic prediction weeks earlier. The precise fulfillment of his casual weather forecast—down to the specific timing and intensity of rainfall—added one more impossibility to the growing list of phenomena surrounding Master Zhu.
"Indeed, Your Majesty," Hong agreed, bowing deeply. "The harvests will exceed previous estimates by at least thirty percent if conditions continue. Imperial granaries will overflow by autumn's end."
Youzhen nodded, genuine satisfaction warming her expression despite imperial composure. "Ensure fair distribution reaches those most affected by previous shortages," she instructed. "Priority for regions that maintained loyalty despite hardship. Though none shall starve, regardless of past allegiances."
"As Your Majesty commands," Hong acknowledged, adding with barely contained excitement, "There is additional news from Hunan Province. Li Zicheng himself has been captured by imperial forces near Changsha."
This unexpected development drew Youzhen's full attention. Li's rebellion—while significantly diminished through military reforms and strategic purges implemented under Sam's guidance—had remained a persistent irritant throughout southern territories. The rebellion leader's capture represented a symbolic victory beyond mere military significance.
"Circumstances?" she inquired, maintaining imperial calm despite the momentous news.
"Most unusual, Your Majesty," Hong replied, consulting a scroll with evident fascination. "Provincial forces report Li surrendered without resistance after being abandoned by his followers. Apparently, local peasants refused to provide shelter or supplies once harvests improved, leaving his diminished forces increasingly isolated."
Youzhen absorbed this information with thoughtful consideration. "The Mandate shifts with the seasons," she observed, deliberately invoking traditional concepts of imperial legitimacy. "When Heaven provides abundant rainfall, the people recognize rightful authority."
"Heaven clearly favors Your Majesty's enlightened rule," Hong agreed with enthusiasm that bordered on sycophancy. "The rebellion collapses as if divine will itself withdraws support from usurpers and bandits."
Though Youzhen maintained perfect imperial composure, internally she found bitter amusement in these supernatural attributions. Heaven had nothing to do with the changed weather patterns—only the silver-eyed demon whose technology manipulated atmospheric conditions with casual precision from space itself, if her suspicions proved correct.
"Have Li brought to Beijing for public judgment," she commanded after brief consideration. "His execution will demonstrate imperial justice tempered with appropriate ceremony."
"It shall be done exactly as Your Majesty commands," Hong confirmed, bowing deeply before backing away with perfect court etiquette.
As the elderly minister departed, Youzhen allowed herself a moment of genuine satisfaction. This tangible evidence of improving conditions would significantly strengthen her position against lingering court factions questioning female imperial authority. Combined with military victories secured through reforms Sam had implemented, the dynasty's stability had improved dramatically since her formal ascension.
Her thoughts shifted to other matters requiring attention—particularly the ongoing challenge presented by imperial relatives who continued testing boundaries despite diminished circumstances. Her brother particularly required careful management, his recent communications with provincial governors representing dangerous overreach despite reduced stipends and restricted movement permissions.
"Your brother's getting too fucking bold," came a familiar voice from behind her throne—a location that should have been impossible for anyone to access without passing multiple guards and attendants.
Youzhen maintained perfect composure despite the startling intrusion, having grown somewhat accustomed to Sam's impossible appearances during their months of interaction. "Master Zhu," she acknowledged without turning. "The court welcomes your return."
Sam circled into view, his casual movements suggesting complete indifference to imperial protocols regarding proper approach to the Dragon Throne. His attire today consisted of simple dark blue silk robes with minimal silver embroidery—deliberately understated compared to court officials yet clearly of exceptional quality. His silver eyes gleamed with analytical intensity as he studied her expression.
"Three weeks gone," he noted bluntly, "and you're still stuck on manners. Weird priorities."
Youzhen gestured subtly, dismissing remaining attendants who departed with practiced efficiency and carefully averted eyes. Only when they were alone did she allow herself a more direct response.
"Your comings and goings remain beyond imperial scheduling," she observed with mild reproof. "One adapts to unpredictable partners through consistent personal discipline."
Sam's lips curved in that not-quite-smile that never quite reached his inhuman eyes. "Partners," he repeated, somehow investing the simple word with layers of meaning. "Interesting way to put it."
Rather than pursue this potentially dangerous conversational direction, Youzhen redirected to practical matters. "Li Zicheng has been captured in Hunan Province. His execution will proceed according to imperial tradition once he reaches Beijing."
"I know," Sam replied with casual dismissal. "Got caught two days ago near Dongting Lake. Zhao Liangyu had about three hundred soldiers, plus some local militia. Li gave up after his men ditched him during the night."
The impossible precision of this information—details Youzhen herself hadn't yet received through official channels—highlighted the unsettling extent of Sam's awareness. Whether through supernatural perception or technological methods beyond her comprehension, his knowledge consistently transcended normal human limitations.
"Your intelligence gathering remains impressive," she acknowledged carefully, neither questioning his methods nor appearing overly surprised by his omniscience.
Sam shrugged, the gesture deliberately casual. "Just watching," he claimed without elaboration. "More interesting is how the rain changed everything. People backed the rebels until their fields got water. Then they dropped Li like garbage. Happens every time."
Again, his casual reference to manipulated weather patterns and historical knowledge beyond his apparent years reinforced the fundamental mystery surrounding Master Zhu. Youzhen had long since learned that pursuing such questions directly typically yielded either dismissive responses or disturbing tangents no one truly wished to understand.
"The southern provinces report excellent harvests anticipated," she offered instead, focusing on tangible outcomes rather than mysterious methods. "Imperial granaries will be well-stocked before winter arrives."
"Of course they will," Sam agreed with absolute certainty. "Rain's going to keep falling just right in all the farming areas. No more droughts while you're empress."
This casual guarantee of perfect weather conditions—delivered with the same confidence someone might promise sunrise tomorrow—should have sounded like impossible boasting. Yet Youzhen found herself accepting his statement with the same resignation she'd developed toward all his impossible claims and abilities.
"Heaven smiles upon the dynasty," she repeated her earlier statement, though the diplomatic formulation now carried subtle irony given their shared understanding that supernatural forces had nothing to do with the improved conditions.
Sam's expression shifted to momentary disgust. "Heaven has fuck-all to do with it," he stated bluntly, confirming her unspoken assessment. "I need the farms stable. Hungry peasants make trouble. Fed ones don't."
His clinical detachment—reducing human suffering to mere variables affecting political stability—reminded Youzhen of the fundamental inhumanity beneath his beautiful exterior. Whatever Master Zhu might be, conventional human compassion remained conspicuously absent from his decision-making.
"Regardless of causation, the dynasty benefits from improved conditions," she observed diplomatically, neither challenging his callousness nor appearing disturbed by it.
"True," Sam agreed, attention already shifting to other matters with characteristic abruptness. "Your brother's getting dangerous. He's been talking to the northern commanders a lot more lately."
Youzhen straightened slightly, imperial authority crystallizing in her posture. "The imperial family remains my responsibility," she stated firmly, echoing her previous position on this recurring topic. "I've reduced his stipend significantly and restricted his movement permissions accordingly."
"Not working," Sam countered bluntly. "He sent seventeen messages to Commander Wei last month, using merchants to sneak them past your people. Talking about what happens when 'unfortunate developments' hit the throne."
The specific information—complete with numerical precision and direct quotes from presumably private communications—highlighted Sam's uncanny awareness of court intrigues. Youzhen absorbed this intelligence with outward calm despite internal concern about her brother's increasingly dangerous machinations.
"I'll address these matters personally," she assured him, genuine determination hardening her tone. "Further restrictions on his household will be implemented immediately."
Sam studied her with that penetrating silver gaze that always made her feel utterly transparent. "You won't kill him because he's family," he observed with clinical detachment. "That's always been a problem with royal blood."
"Family executions create their own instabilities," Youzhen countered with political pragmatism rather than sentimentality. "The dynasty benefits from demonstrating mercy toward imperial bloodlines while maintaining clear authority boundaries."
"Maybe," Sam allowed, surprisingly amenable to her reasoning. "But family always turns on family when they see a chance. Your ancestors knew that when they took power."
The reference to Ming Dynasty founding—where Emperor Hongwu had systematically eliminated potential rivals regardless of family connections—carried unmistakable warning. Yet Sam's tone suggested curiosity about her approach rather than immediate intervention, a subtle shift from his previous insistence on lethal solutions to every potential threat.
"I'll implement additional security measures immediately," Youzhen promised, recognizing the narrow window of autonomy his current forbearance provided. "My brother's activities will be curtailed through methods that maintain appropriate appearances while eliminating practical threats."
Sam nodded, apparently satisfied with this compromise for the moment. "Fine, if you can make it stick," he acknowledged, his attention already shifting to other matters with characteristic abruptness. "Did they fix the cannons like I showed them?"
This sudden transition—from potential family executions to military technology without transitional phrasing—exemplified Sam's conversational style. Youzhen had grown accustomed to these jarring shifts, her political training providing flexibility that served her well in navigating his unpredictable communication patterns.
"Initial prototypes exceeded expectations," she confirmed, grateful for the subject change. "Range and accuracy improved by about forty percent with minimal manufacturing changes. They'll be done updating all artillery units within three months."
"Good enough," Sam assessed, adding with casual certainty, "Europeans are coming faster than your people think, though. These cannons are just a stopgap."
Again, his apparent foreknowledge of European developments raised questions Youzhen knew better than to pursue directly. Instead, she focused on practical implications for imperial defense.
"Would you recommend additional modifications beyond current implementation?" she inquired, deliberately framing the question to invite constructive input rather than challenging his assessment.
Sam appeared to consider this question with genuine interest, his silver eyes taking on that peculiar unfocused quality that suggested complex calculations occurring behind their metallic surface.
"Been thinking about something better," he acknowledged after several moments. "Regular cannons can only get so good with what you can make now. But I've got something special that could fuck up European ships from a distance."
His gauntlets pulsed with subtle silver-blue light as he made a casual gesture that produced a three-dimensional image hovering between them—a technical schematic showing some kind of specialized rifle unlike anything in imperial arsenals. The detailed projection—impossible by any known technological means—displayed components and measurements with perfect clarity despite seemingly produced from thin air.
"Long-range rifle," Sam explained, rotating the schematic with another casual gesture. "Can kill someone from over a thousand meters if the shooter knows what they're doing. Pretty simple mechanics if you look past the fancy parts."
Youzhen studied the hovering image with carefully concealed amazement, her sharp mind immediately grasping the strategic implications despite limited military training. "Targeted elimination of enemy leadership from safe distance," she observed, strategic thinking overriding surprise at the impossible display technology.
"Exactly," Sam confirmed, appearing genuinely pleased with her quick comprehension. "Doesn't take much to make compared to big cannons. Just need a small batch for your best guards, not the whole army."
The schematic rotated again, revealing internal mechanisms that appeared simultaneously ingenious and straightforward despite their alien design compared to existing weapons. Youzhen recognized the strategic advantage such weapons would provide against conventional military threats, particularly European naval commanders accustomed to safety behind shipboard fortifications.
"I would welcome such enhancements to imperial defense capabilities," she acknowledged, maintaining diplomatic formality despite genuine interest. "Though specialized training would presumably require expert guidance."
"Easy enough," Sam dismissed with casual confidence. "Basic shooting can be taught in weeks if you pick the right people. I'll give your weapon makers the plans and watch the first batch to make sure they don't fuck it up."
His casual offer—providing revolutionary military technology as if offering minor courtesies—received appropriate imperial acknowledgment despite Youzhen's private amazement at its significance. Throughout their months of interaction, Sam's technological contributions had consistently provided advantages that reinforced dynastic stability despite his apparent disinterest in conventional power structures.
"Your contributions to imperial security continue proving invaluable," she stated with genuine appreciation beneath diplomatic phrasing.
Sam waved away the compliment with characteristic dismissal, the schematic projection vanishing as abruptly as it had appeared. "Guns are simple shit compared to weather control," he observed cryptically. "But I like when things work right."
Before Youzhen could formulate response to this peculiar assessment, Sam changed subjects with characteristic abruptness. "I'm leaving for about six weeks, maybe longer," he announced without preamble. "Got stuff to do far from here."
Though his previous absences had occurred without formal notification, this explicit announcement suggested longer duration than typical disappearances. Youzhen maintained perfect composure despite internal calculations immediately assessing potential implications for court politics and dynastic stability during extended absence of his intimidating presence.
"The court acknowledges your essential duties beyond imperial service," she responded with diplomatic precision, neither questioning his unspecified projects nor appearing overly concerned by his impending absence.
"Your uncle's going to try some shit while I'm gone," Sam stated bluntly, his casual prediction delivered with characteristic certainty. "Won't work though. I've got eyes on him already."
Again, his apparent foreknowledge of events yet to occur raised questions Youzhen knew better than to pursue directly. His casual reference to established surveillance suggested monitoring capabilities beyond conventional human methods—another mystery among countless others surrounding Master Zhu.
"Imperial governance will maintain stability during your absence," she assured him with confidence that wasn't entirely performative. During previous disappearances, she had successfully managed court politics through combination of strategic appointments and carefully targeted demonstrations of imperial authority.
Sam studied her with that penetrating silver gaze that always made her feel utterly transparent despite careful composure. "You're getting pretty damn good at this," he observed, the assessment delivered as clinical observation rather than compliment. "Better than I expected for someone your age."
This peculiar almost-praise—comparing her to expectations as if he belonged to something entirely different—received no direct response. Youzhen had grown accustomed to such statements, filing them among the many disturbing peculiarities defining Master Zhu's presence at court.
"Before I go, we need some private time," Sam continued, his tone shifting subtly as silver eyes focused on her with predatory intensity that had become familiar during their months of intimate interaction. "Your bedroom, not this public place."
The implication hung between them with unmistakable clarity, despite carefully diplomatic phrasing. Weeks of regular coupling had established patterns both understood without requiring explicit vulgarity in formal settings.
"Imperial schedules can accommodate immediate private consultation," Youzhen responded with equal diplomacy, rising from her throne with practiced grace that conveyed neither eagerness nor reluctance. "My chambers would provide appropriate privacy for matters requiring detailed attention."
The deliberate double-entendre—maintaining formal propriety while acknowledging his sexual intention—drew that not-quite-smile that never reached Sam's inhuman eyes. "Lead the way, Empress," he invited with mock deference that somehow emphasized his fundamental disregard for imperial authority despite formal address.
As they departed the Hall of Literary Flourishing, imperial guards and attendants maintained perfect neutrality—eyes carefully averted, expressions revealing nothing as their sovereign and her silver-eyed demon advisor proceeded toward private imperial quarters. The practiced invisibility of palace staff had been perfected during months of similar passages, everyone having learned that noticing nothing offered the best protection against Master Zhu's unpredictable attention.
---
The heavy doors to imperial bedchambers closed with resonant finality, servants vanishing with practiced efficiency that required no verbal dismissal. Youzhen stood in the center of her private sanctuary, formal court attire rustling softly as Sam circled her with predatory assessment that had become familiar during their months of intimate interaction.
"Six weeks," he observed, fingers already working at the complex fastenings of her imperial robes with practiced efficiency. "Your cycle finished while I was gone. No baby even though you skipped your tea."
The casual reference to her most intimate physiological details—knowledge he couldn't possibly possess through conventional means—received no comment despite its disturbing implications regarding his awareness of her private matters. Instead, Youzhen focused on the practical confirmation of continued non-conception despite multiple coupling attempts without prevention measures.
"The dynasty has survived centuries through careful planning rather than immediate results," she observed diplomatically, allowing him to unfasten her elaborate court attire without assistance despite multiple attendants normally required for the complex process.
Sam laughed—a genuine sound containing actual amusement rather than mockery. "Nice way to hide disappointment," he acknowledged, appreciating her careful phrasing. "But it won't work anyway."
Before she could request clarification of this cryptic assessment, he removed her outer robe with casual disregard for the priceless fabric, allowing golden silk embroidered with imperial dragons to pool around her feet like abandoned treasure. The second layer—lighter blue silk representing heavenly connection—followed its predecessor to the floor moments later.
"You won't get pregnant from me," Sam stated bluntly as he continued unwrapping her like ceremonial gift, his directness contrasting sharply with court euphemisms typically surrounding imperial reproduction. "My seed doesn't work with humans despite how it looks when we fuck."
This unexpected declaration—delivered with clinical detachment while stripping her naked—momentarily fractured Youzhen's carefully maintained composure. "That's impossible," she responded before imperial caution could prevent the impulsive contradiction. "Your physical responses appear entirely normal during our coupling."
Sam paused in his methodical disrobing, silver eyes studying her with that peculiar intensity that always made her feel utterly transparent. "My cock works fine with your body," he explained with scientific precision utterly inappropriate to imperial bedchamber context. "But my seed can't make a baby with you. We're too different."
The explanation—referencing concepts beyond contemporary understanding—confirmed Youzhen's growing suspicion that Master Zhu represented something fundamentally different from normal humanity. Yet rather than appearing disturbed by this implicit confirmation of supernatural nature, she found herself calculating practical implications with characteristic pragmatism.
"You knew this when I stopped taking prevention tea," she observed, the statement carrying subtle accusation beneath carefully neutral phrasing.
Sam shrugged, resuming his methodical removal of her remaining garments. "Wanted to see what you'd do," he acknowledged without apparent guilt for allowing her misguided attempt. "Learned a lot about your plans that way."
This casual admission—that he had allowed her conception attempt knowing its fundamental impossibility merely to observe her motivations—should have provoked outrage. Yet Youzhen found herself unsurprised by his callous experimentation, having long since recognized that normal human ethical constraints simply didn't apply to whatever Master Zhu might actually be.
"The dynasty requires an heir eventually," she observed with practical resignation as he removed her final undergarment, leaving her completely naked while he remained fully clothed—a power dynamic that had become familiar during their months of intimate interaction.
"Obviously," Sam agreed, stepping back to assess her nude form with clinical appreciation. "Pick a consort who's actually human. That'll work better than wasting time with me."
Despite the conversation's disturbing context, Youzhen felt familiar heat building as his silver gaze traveled slowly from her face downward, lingering on the gentle curves of her small, firm breasts before continuing to the dark triangle between her thighs. Months of conditioning had created powerful association between his predatory assessment and intense physical pleasure—her body responding to visual cues despite intellectual reservation.
"That decision can wait," she replied, imperial authority temporarily reasserting itself despite her complete nakedness and his fully clothed state. "Present matters require immediate attention before your extended absence."
Sam's lips curved in genuine amusement at her diplomatic reference to sexual coupling. "Damn right they do," he agreed, removing his own outer robe with unhurried movements. "I keep thinking about your body even when I have others available."
The clinical compliment—acknowledging sexual interest while framing it as analytical curiosity rather than emotional connection—perfectly exemplified his approach to their intimate relationship. Yet despite the cold phrasing, Youzhen found herself responding to the underlying message that he had chosen her specifically despite having access to countless willing alternatives throughout the palace.
"I'm honored by your focused attention," she responded with imperial dignity somehow maintained despite complete nudity contrasting with his still partially clothed state. The diplomatic phrasing concealed growing arousal evident in hardening nipples and subtle moisture gathering between her thighs.
Sam completed removing his remaining garments with efficient movements, revealing the perfect physiology that had become familiar during their months of intimate interaction. His muscular form appeared sculpted from living marble, unmarred by any imperfection despite impossible age implications of his extensive knowledge. The distinctive silvery lines marking his enhanced body pulsed subtly with his heartbeat, their pattern extending to his impressively sized cock already standing fully erect.
"Six weeks is too long without fucking you," he observed, closing distance between them with predatory grace. "Let's make up for lost time."
Without further preamble, he pushed her backward until her legs hit the edge of the massive imperial bed. With casual strength that reminded her of his inhuman capabilities, he lifted her effortlessly, depositing her onto silk sheets embroidered with dragons and clouds—symbols of imperial authority now serving as backdrop for imperial surrender.
"Your cunt has been empty too long," Sam stated bluntly, positioning himself between her spreading thighs with practiced precision. "Time to remind you what you'll be missing while I'm gone."
The crude language—so contrary to court decorum yet somehow exciting in its forbidden directness—sent visible shivers across Youzhen's skin. Sam noticed immediately, his perception missing nothing about her physical responses.
"Still get wet when I talk dirty," he observed with clinical interest despite his obvious arousal. "Funny how different you are in here versus out there."
Before she could formulate suitable response, he pressed the considerable head of his cock against her entrance, finding her already wet despite minimal foreplay. The evidence of her immediate arousal drew appreciative growl as he pushed forward with deliberate slowness, stretching her inner tissues with careful precision that balanced between pleasure and discomfort.
"Perfect," he approved as her body gradually accommodated his considerable size, inner muscles clenching around his invading shaft with familiar welcome despite weeks without coupling. "Still so tight. Always goes back to perfect fit between sessions."
These clinical observations—delivered while filling her completely with his impressive length—should have diminished arousal through their cold analytical tone. Instead, Youzhen found herself responding with increasing intensity to the contrast between scientific assessment and deeply intimate physical connection.
"Please," she whispered, imperial composure fracturing under mounting need as he remained motionless once fully sheathed within her trembling body. "I need—"
"Movement," Sam completed her thought with characteristic precision, beginning slow withdrawal that dragged his considerable girth along sensitive inner tissues. "Friction right where it feels best."
Despite the clinical description, his actions demonstrated perfect understanding of exactly how her body responded to different movements and pressures. He established deliberate rhythm calculated to build pleasure gradually rather than rushing toward completion, each thrust striking precisely the internal spots that reliably triggered strongest response.
"Six weeks is too fucking long," he observed, pace gradually increasing as her body accommodated his size more completely. "Your body's starving for this."
Translation: she had missed his cock desperately, her body practically begging for the fullness only he could provide. Youzhen abandoned dignified response, her hips rising to meet each thrust with increasing urgency that rendered diplomatic phrasing irrelevant.
"Yes," she gasped, imperial dignity temporarily suspended as pleasure built with shocking speed. "Every night. Thought about this every night."
Sam's silver eyes flashed with satisfaction at her honest admission. "Good," he approved, increasing pace to match her rising desperation. "I want you thinking about this cock while I'm gone. Remembering exactly what fills this imperial cunt so perfectly."
The crude language combined with precisely targeted thrusts pushed Youzhen rapidly toward climax despite limited foreplay. Weeks without him had left her body desperately sensitive, responding to each movement with intensity that threatened to overwhelm imperial control.
"Already close," Sam observed with clinical detachment maintained despite his clearly genuine arousal. "Impressive response given minimal stimulation."
Youzhen might have found his analytical commentary disturbing under different circumstances, but months of intimate familiarity had acclimated her to his peculiar communication patterns during coupling. Instead, she focused on the building pleasure as his perfect rhythm drove her inexorably toward release she had been unable to achieve through private efforts during his absence.
"Please," she gasped, abandoning imperial dignity completely as tension coiled tighter with each precise thrust. "Don't stop."
"I'm not stopping," Sam assured her, maintaining perfect rhythm while adjusting angle slightly to increase stimulation against her most sensitive internal spots. "Not until this imperial cunt remembers exactly who it belongs to."
The possessive declaration—so contrary to her position as Dragon Throne's sovereign—should have provoked indignation. Instead, Youzhen felt additional surge of arousal at the forbidden submission implied by his crude claim. In this private sanctuary, temporarily surrendering imperial authority provided liberation from constant responsibility that defined her public existence.
"Yes," she admitted, abandoning pretense as pleasure spiraled beyond conscious control. "Yours. All yours."
Sam growled approval at this surrender, increasing pace with controlled power that drove her rapidly over the edge into explosive release. Youzhen's first orgasm crashed through her with tsunami force, her back arching sharply off imperial bedding as pleasure overwhelmed rational thought. Her inner walls clenched rhythmically around Sam's relentlessly driving cock, voice breaking on cry that would have scandalized the entire court had anyone dared remain within hearing distance.
"Perfect," Sam approved, maintaining his punishing pace through her climax without showing any signs of approaching his own release. "One isn't enough after six weeks. Your body needs more."
Despite her body's momentary satiation, his continued thrusting quickly rekindled arousal through precise stimulation of oversensitized tissues. Youzhen gasped as second wave of pleasure began building with shocking speed, her body responding to his skilled manipulation with enthusiasm that transcended conscious control.
"Too much," she protested weakly, overwhelmed by sensation yet simultaneously craving more.
"Not even close," Sam contradicted confidently, shifting position to lift her legs over his shoulders. The new angle allowed even deeper penetration, his considerable length reaching places inside her that sent electric pulses of pleasure throughout her nervous system. "Your body can take way more than you think."
The position change proved devastating to Youzhen's already crumbling composure. Pleasure spiraled upward with dizzying speed, her body racing toward second climax with embarrassing swiftness. She clutched at silk bedding with desperate hands, seeking stability during overwhelming sensations flooding her consciousness.
"Sam!" she cried, imperial formalities forgotten in extremis as release approached with unstoppable momentum.
"Say it again," he commanded, driving into her with increased force that emphasized the yawning power differential between them despite her theoretical authority. "Say my name while this cock makes you come again."
"Sam!" Youzhen repeated obediently, her voice breaking on the simple syllable as second orgasm crashed through her trembling body. This release proved even more intense than the first, muscles contracting almost painfully around his invading shaft as pleasure transcended conscious parameters.
Rather than allowing recovery, Sam maintained relentless pace through her extended climax, prolonging sensations beyond normal duration through precise control of rhythm and pressure. When her tremors finally began subsiding, he withdrew completely without warning, leaving her feeling suddenly empty despite lingering pleasure still rippling through oversensitized tissues.
"Turn over," he directed, his voice rougher than usual despite maintained control. "Hands and knees. I want to fuck this imperial cunt properly before I leave."
Youzhen complied without hesitation, her body obeying before conscious thought could intervene. Despite two powerful orgasms, she found herself craving more—needing completion only his filling could provide. She positioned herself as commanded, the posture vulnerable and submissive in ways that would have horrified imperial protocol masters.
Sam positioned himself behind her, hands appreciatively caressing the smooth curves of her buttocks before spreading her wide to observe how her entrance glistened with evidence of arousal despite previous climaxes. "Perfect," he approved, thumbs spreading her further for better visual access. "The mighty Empress on her knees like a common whore, desperate for cock despite imperial dignity."
The crude comparison—deliberately emphasizing sexual submission while undermining imperial authority—sent visible shivers across Youzhen's skin. Sam noticed immediately, his perception missing nothing about her physical responses.
"You like when I talk dirty," he observed with clinical interest despite his obvious arousal. "The proper empress getting wet for filthy words."
Before she could formulate suitable response, he pressed the considerable head of his cock against her entrance again, finding her already wet despite multiple previous orgasms. The evidence of her continued arousal drew appreciative growl as he pushed forward with a single hard thrust that buried him completely within her trembling form.
"Fuck," he gasped, sensation apparently overwhelming his typical control as her body gripped him perfectly from this new angle.
"Gods," she echoed, sensation overwhelming rational thought as he filled her beyond capacity from this position.
"Not gods," Sam corrected, establishing measured rhythm of deep, thorough thrusts. "Just me. Just this cock. Just us fucking."
His hands gripped her hips firmly, controlling her movement to perfectly complement his own. Each thrust drove him impossibly deep, hitting spots inside her that sent electric pulses of pleasure rocketing through her nervous system despite multiple previous climaxes.
"You take me so well," he praised, pace gradually increasing as her body adjusted to the demanding position. "Like you were made just for my cock."
The peculiar compliment—framing their sexual connection as engineered compatibility rather than emotional intimacy—perfectly exemplified Sam's approach to their relationship. Yet despite the clinical phrasing, Youzhen found herself responding with genuine enthusiasm, her body welcoming each powerful thrust with inner muscles that grasped and pulled at his invading shaft.
"Tell me you'll miss this," Sam demanded, one hand moving from her hip to tangle in her disheveled hair. He pulled just firmly enough to arch her back further, changing angle to increase direct stimulation against her most sensitive internal spots. "Tell me you'll think about this cock filling you while I'm gone."
"I'll miss it," Youzhen admitted without hesitation, truth flowing freely in throes of mounting pleasure despite imperial dignity. "I'll think about it every night. Every day."
This naked honesty—stripped of diplomatic calculation or imperial reserve—drew approving growl as Sam increased pace dramatically. His thrusts became harder, deeper, more demanding as her compliance triggered visible intensity in his own arousal. The silver lines marking his enhanced physiology pulsed more rapidly now, evidence of genuine excitement rather than merely performing for her benefit.
"One more time," he directed, voice rougher than usual as his own control began fraying around edges. "Come around my cock one more time, Empress. Show me how much you'll miss this while I'm gone."
His command combined with particularly deep thrust triggered Youzhen's third orgasm with shocking ease. This release proved different from previous climaxes—deeper, more profound, spreading through her entire body in waves rather than explosive bursts. Her consciousness seemed to fragment temporarily, awareness narrowing to nothing but pleasure radiating outward from where their bodies joined in perfect connection.
Sam growled satisfaction as her inner muscles contracted rhythmically around his driving shaft, increasing pace to almost punishing intensity as her climax triggered his own release. With final powerful thrust, he buried himself completely inside her trembling body, hot pulses of his seed flooding her inner tissues with warmth that triggered additional aftershocks ricocheting through her overstimulated nervous system.
For long moments they remained locked together in motionless tableau, his weight pressing her into imperial bedding as both recovered from intensity neither had fully anticipated. When he finally withdrew, his seed leaked from her well-used opening, staining priceless silk with evidence of their forbidden coupling.
Unlike previous encounters where he typically departed immediately after completion, Sam stretched beside her on imperial bedding, one arm casually draping across her waist in uncharacteristically possessive gesture. They lay in companionable silence for several minutes, Youzhen's body gradually cooling from feverish arousal to comfortable satiation.
"Find a good consort within six months," Sam stated abruptly, the non-sequitur breaking their peaceful silence with characteristic conversational whiplash. "The empire needs heirs even with you being young."
Youzhen blinked, momentarily disoriented by this unexpected shift from intimate afterglow to governmental concerns—particularly given his previous explanation regarding reproductive incompatibility that had effectively ended her conception attempts with him.
"The imperial genealogists have presented several candidates from appropriate lineages," she acknowledged, political mind reengaging despite physical exhaustion. "Though none currently demonstrates qualities suggesting particular suitability beyond conventional pedigree."
Sam nodded thoughtfully, fingers tracing idle patterns across her bare stomach—the gesture incongruously intimate given their typically functional sexual relationship. "Don't just look at noble bloodlines," he observed cryptically. "Some fresh blood would be good for the dynasty."
This suggestion—contradicting centuries of imperial marriage traditions emphasizing aristocratic bloodlines—received no immediate response despite its revolutionary implications. Youzhen cataloged it among countless other moments where Sam casually dismantled foundational assumptions underlying imperial governance with seemingly casual dismissal of historical precedent.
"As you wish," she finally said.