Maia closed his eyes, his chest heaving and his ears quivering. “Lord Berenar… Csevet… please…”
“Now, Serenity,” Lord Berenar said, not unkindly but quite unyieldingly, “you have told us time and time again how you have despaired of memorizing all the many facts you need to know if you are to rule the Ethuveraz effectively. Our methods should considerably improve your recall. Please stimulate him again, Mer Aisava.”
“Yes, Your Lordship,” said Csevet. The middle and index fingers of his right hand, buried in Maia up to the first knuckles, firmly stroked that spot that made stars burst behind Maia’s eyelids. Maia sobbed.
Standing along the walls of the Michen’theileian, along with his First Nohecharei, were his edocharei. It was, after all, their job to dress the emperor for any occasion, and to undress him for any as well. His lavish clothing was neatly folded at one end of the long table upon whose middle segment he lay lengthwise. His shoes had been set on the carpet. His tashin sticks, pearl hairnet, and other jewelry were all that remained on his person.
“Serenity,” Lord Berenar said, his voice sharpening. “Let us review, once again, the main products of the five principalities. What are those of Thu-Athamar?”
“Th-the principal product of Thu-Athamar is — silk!” The last word escaped Maia’s throat in a yelp as Csevet applied more pressure.
“And?” Berenar said impatiently.
“Ah — oh …” Maia’s hips jerked so hard he almost dislodged Csevet’s fingers from his depths.
“May we give him a hint, Lord Berenar?” Csevet asked blandly.
“You may, Mer Aisava.”
“What is the northeasternmost city of Thu-Athamar, Serenity?” Csevet followed the question with a soft, tiny lick at the underside of Maia’s cockhead.
“Amalo — airships!”
“Very good, Serenity,” Berenar said. “And the principal product of Thu-Tetar?”
A drop of sweat slid down Maia’s temple. “Ah…. just silk,” he gasped.
“An easy question,” Berenar said chidingly, “upon the heels of a hint. We are not inclined to be so indulgent with your next answers, Serenity.” Though he had heretofore left the physical aspects of the lesson to Csevet, now he underscored his threat by reaching out and firmly tweaking one of Maia’s nipples, making his emperor whine pitifully. “The products of Thu-Cethor?”
Maia could barely speak for panting. “Ah … Ezho … mining ….” He gulped. “… no more gold … iron? Copper?”
“Yes. Go on to the next town, Serenity,” Berenar said.
“… N-nelozho… f-f-f …” He could not get the word out, and he was losing control of the motions of his hips.
“Mer Aisava,” Berenar said sharply. Csevet’s hand clamped hard around the base of Maia’s cock, damming the flood of his seed.
“Ah, no…” Maia groaned brokenly. “Merciful goddesses, that is the third time in half an hour!”
“You have no sympathy from us, Serenity,” Berenar snapped. “An emperor who cannot readily and confidently say what his lands produce has absolutely not earned the right to spend.”
“Fish,” Maia gasped, tears starting in his eyes.
“Fish, yes, and what else does Nelozho produce, Serenity?”
“L-livestock… aaaahhh….” Maia’s climax having been quite ruined yet again, Csevet had released his cock and set to prodding him deep inside once more, making him throb painfully from his navel down through his thighs. “Pork … beef … m-mutton … a-and — game?”
“Better,” Berenar said thoughtfully. “Yet there is still one Thu-Cethoreise town yet to be accounted for, Serenity. And this time, as we have intimated, we do not permit Mer Aisava to help you.”
The tears broke free and rolled down Maia’s face, dripping onto the pale, lacquered wood of the table. He squirmed under Csevet’s inexorable and cruel attentions as he racked his brain for the answer —
“Daiano! M-mineral salts!”
“Very good, Serenity,” Berenar said encouragingly. “Thu-Evressar?”
“Ah … ah … cocks…” Berenar crooked one incredulous brow. Csevet crooked his fingers harder within Maia. “Ahh — we meant clocks!”
“Your Serenity has a truly filthy mouth,” Berenar scolded him. “For shame. Our methods of discipline so far have been merciful, but if you cannot speak meetly in the Michen’theileian, perhaps we should take you over our knee as well?”
“We… we are sorry, Your Lordship,” Maia sobbed.
“Remember, Serenity, an emperor does not apologize,” Csevet murmured as he rubbed his cheek softly against Maia’s dripping cockhead.
“Your secretary speaks in sooth, Serenity. And finally: Thu-Istandaär?”
“P-pens and carpets!” Maia blurted, his vision beginning to blur.
“Which city’s factories produce which, Serenity?” Berenar demanded.
“Uhhhhhh…. pensSevezhocarpetsChoharo!” The words came out in a mad rush with no separations between them.
“Well.” Berenar sounded quite satisfied. “We do believe he may finally be allowed to spend, Mer Aisava.”
“We agree with Your Lordship entirely,” Csevet said with great equanimity as, his fingers moving fast and hard inside Maia, he took his emperor’s cockhead into his mouth.
Maia screamed as his long-denied climax tore through his body. Csevet dutifully swallowed as much seed as he could, then began to lick Maia’s hypersensitive flesh clean of the last drops. Maia whimpered and moaned, thrashing on the table, but Csevet resolutely did not stop until all of Maia’s cock shone with his saliva.
“We believe that will do, Mer Aisava,” Berenar said briefly as his hands dropped to the buttons of his trousers. “Shall we?” he added in the plural.
“We beg a moment of you, Lord Berenar.” Csevet retrieved a handkerchief from a pocket and dabbed delicately at his mouth. “There.” He returned the linen to that pocket, then began to undo his own flies.
Maia had continued to tremble and sob on the table. He quiescently let his Lord Chancellor turn him about, so that his head hung nearly off one edge, and feed him his thick, heavily veined cockstand. Then Csevet stepped between Maia’s widely splayed legs, hooked an ankle over each of his shoulders, and began to insert his own cock where his fingers had been. Maia shuddered deeply and moaned about Berenar’s pistoning organ. Though he had just spent profusely and drainingly moments before, his limp cock twitched as Csevet’s rigid one stroked his hypersensitized interior over and over.
“What do you suggest for the next round of questions, Mer Aisava?” Berenar asked as he worked his cock efficiently in and out of Maia’s mouth.
“Perhaps tariffs, Your Lordship,” Csevet said thoughtfully, his hands bracing Maia’s hips for the next thrust. “Tax rates as well, which are of relevance to the funding of the Wisdom Bridge.”
“Very good ideas, Mer Aisava,” Berenar said. His breath had begun to come slightly short, but overall his composure seemed little impaired. “We imagine we two could keep him here all day into the night before he’d earned his climax.” Maia uttered a querulous groan around Berenar’s cock that flowed into his whimpering protests at each of Csevet’s thrusts.
“We would also suggest recitations of the descent of House Drazhada, from its earliest emperor onward,” Csevet added. His face and ears were quite flushed now, but if one merely listened to him rather than watched him, one might take the impression he was only ever so slightly winded and quite calm.
“His Serenity could not have appointed a more perspicacious secretary,” Berenar remarked as he began to speed up his thrusts.
“We are most grateful for your appreciation,” Csevet said, ending the sentence on a quiet grunt as he began to spend inside Maia. Berenar uttered a short, choppy groan as he followed. When he pulled back, a string of seed and drool connected the tip of his shrinking cock to Maia’s lips.
Csevet retrieved his handkerchief again to attend to himself, and Berenar produced his own linen for the same purpose. This was the cue for the edocharei to come forward. Avris carried a bowl of scented water, while Nemer and Esha carried soft Barizheise cotton washcloths. Soothingly but efficiently, Nemer blotted the seed from Maia’s poor abused hole as Maia continued to whimper and quiver at the continued stimulation of his thoroughly abraded nerves. Esha attended to his belly and thighs, while Avris wiped his face. Then they mopped up whatever droplets had fallen to the tabletop. Maia, completely wrung out, let them dress him again as passively as a paper doll.
Cala Athmaza and Lieutenant Beshelar stepped forward, their expressions as opaque as the protrusions in the front of their garments were telling. “We will return him to the Alcethmeret so he may rest, Lord Berenar,” Beshelar said in the plural as he hefted Maia into his arms.
“We three will follow you, of course, Lieutenant,” Nemer said.
“And we will bring up the rear, as we are sure the correspondence has been piling up throughout the afternoon,” remarked Csevet, who had by now rebuttoned his flies and otherwise returned his garments to pristine order. “Good day, Lord Berenar.”
“Good day, Mer Aisava,” replied Berenar, who had done the same, as he tucked his handkerchief back into his breast pocket. “And good day to you as well, Serenity. Do rest well, for your next lesson shall be considerably more rigorous.”
As he passed through the doorway in Beshelar’s arms, Maia’s only reply was an incoherent whine.