A Time Of Quiet Between Storms

“Reserved? Or perhaps even prudish?” You shake your head playfully, finding the topic your friend chooses to accompany your work tasks a bit crude, if not nearly blasphemous.

Although you have become well experienced in your indentured servitude to the newest Padishah Emperor, it is still difficult to believe many of the ever-circulating rumors that are whispered in hushed tones amongst the palace help, the juiciest of secrets always seeming to pertain to the Messiah’s rather infamous sex life.

“He is both, yes, for a sovereign at least. Paul’s loyalty to Princess Irulan is commendable as much as it is perplexing, at least from my Fremen perspective. He has most certainly earned himself a harem through his conquests. Does he believe himself unfit to handle so many women?”

“Harah, please be mindful when saying such statements,” you scold, though there is no real bite to your words.

She simply shrugs, Harah’s attention now partially occupied with organizing the assortment of imported Caladanian confections atop the silver platter she holds. You both continue through the maze of hallways, pace increasing slightly to ensure timeliness.

“Perhaps we simply haven’t witnessed His Majesty’s impulsive side. I have seen him in battle. He is bold– barbaric. Such as lightning to a brush fire, Paul Atreides cannot be contained once ablaze.”

“Then it is best we try not to spark his interest.”

You glance at your own tray in hand, making sure the sacred tea leaves and precious china have not toppled from their initial placement during your stroll.

Harah falls silent beside you, biting her lip as she thinks of another interesting tidbit to spill.

“Well, it’s also no secret that Emperor Atreides weeps when he fucks.”

You can’t help the loud snort of amusement that escapes your lips at Harah’s choice in words. That particular musing was not merely idle gossip. You had suspected it to be true.

The Messiah’s loud whimpers often echoed through the barren palace walls late into the evening. You had assumed Paul was emotional about very personal matters in the first few instances you witnessed his whining. Yet the sound of the accompanying bed springs creaking rhythmically behind his chamber doors painted a more intimate scene.

“It seems that our Lord finds release in many different ways,” you add softly, unsure of what to contribute in response to such crass claims about your Master.

You prefer your conscience to remain clean when speaking of Paul, as if his casual glances at you in passing could possibly expose the deepest secrets of your very soul.  

“Maybe so, though I do believe him to be weak-willed at times. Weeping without pain is a waste of precious water,” Harah adds.

Your casual banter falls quiet as you arrive at your final destination, the Selamlik Hall— the grandest room in the palace, which also houses the Imperial Golden Lion Throne. You do not need to peek inside to know that Paul Atreides currently resides within; his presence is undoubtedly felt by all who pass. 

A nearby clock shows two minutes until three in the afternoon, His Majesty’s preferred tea time. ‘An honored tradition of Leto Atreides’ that Paul insists remains a part of his daily routine, even if casual consumption of water is still considered needlessly frivolous on Arrakis. 

The Emperor's wants are, of course, always an exception. 

The ever-stoic guards move aside, allowing the grand hall doors to swing open. As practiced, you enter the room first, with Harah only a step behind.

The silence is merciless, bringing immediate attention to the slight shake of your tray, hands unsteady as your nerves struggle to calm. No matter how routine the task is, Paul’s haunting aura may continue to unsettle you forever.

Oddly, the Emperor is dressed in casual linen garments rather than his traditional Fremen attire, which usually consisted of a war-beaten stillsuit or ceremonial uniform. His focus remains on the various parchments scattered across his lap as he slumps lazily into the stone throne. Soft curls fall over his eyes, obscuring his gaze.

He does not bother to acknowledge your entrance from atop the marble stairs.

He never does.

You set the tea tray down on one of the many ornate tables before quietly preparing the drink to Paul’s liking. Harah is beside you, placing Paul’s sweets on a separate saucer before handing you the plate to serve. The task isn’t necessarily a two-person job, but perfection is always expected, and you’re certainly grateful for the support.

You finally turn to approach the throne, ascending the stairs as quietly as your heeled shoes allow. You leave the teacup and sweets on the right arm of the throne, thoughtfully within his reach. 

Paul’s gaze suddenly lifts from his papers, cerulean blue eyes meeting yours. For perhaps the first time since you began your servitude, Paul speaks directly to you.

“You. Stay a moment.” Paul’s voice is unexpectedly loud, echoing throughout the grand hall.

Stunned into silence, you simply nod.

No request from the Maud’Dib is ever to be denied.

Harah seemingly understands her cue, gathering the empty tray and offering a polite bow before turning to leave. You catch a subtle glance of confusion over her shoulder before she disappears back into the palace hallway.

The guards close the door, leaving you and the Emperor alone inside. 

Paul sighs, clearly exasperated from his dealings with menial Imperial work. You’d seen him working on such tasks for several days now, seemingly unable to delegate them to anyone beneath him. He tosses the papers aside, allowing them to tumble down the marble stairs. His hand moves to massage the tension from his strained eyes.

“Your look is one of surprise; it irritates me. Do you believe me to be mute?” Paul asks. His words are rather sharp, his voice slightly hoarse as if he hasn’t spoken in hours.

You immediately shake your head, now deeply worried you may have offended the Emperor simply by the unconscious furrow of your brow.

“No, no, Your Majesty. Please excuse any unwarranted expressions I may have.”

A beat passes. Paul straightens from his slouch, leaning forward now. His eyes are holding your gaze. He’s clearly searching within you for something, but you are unsure what.

You try your best to remain poised– stagnant. Maker knows what he might want from you.

He breaks eye contact first.

“I suppose your confusion isn’t completely unwarranted.” Paul slumps back into the throne once again. “I don’t often interact with my service staff.”

“I am honored.” You offer a soft smile in return. 

Of course, you are truthful, knowing that being directly addressed by the Kwisatz Haderach is certainly a big deal. You may remember this day for years to come.

Paul offers only a half-smirk, seemingly satisfied with your words of praise. He pushes forward. 

“Then again, I do not always have such intense desires for my servants, either.”

“Desires, sir?” This time, your voice is the one that falters.

“Yes. You heard correctly.”

Paul’s gaze returns to you once more, only this time it traces down your body. You feel him lingering on the exposed cleavage from your tight bodice as his knee bounces impatiently.

He immediately stands from the throne, now positioned directly in front of you. Even without his stillsuit boots, he towers over you by several inches.

You can’t help but feel meek, nothing more than desert prey awaiting capture.

“I must ask that you forgive my depravity…” Paul trails off, a solemn warning nearly missed by the surprising advance of his eager hands gripping your hips in place.

“My Lord, I-”, his lips suddenly crash against your own, silencing any pleas of protest.

The kiss is rather forceful—overwhelming, his heat-chapped lips still bearing traces of premium spice sweeter than you’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting. Paul deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips. A lewd moan escapes him as he bites your lip, taking a moment to suck it between his teeth.

Paul leans against you; his added body weight forces you to sit in his throne. You hear the teacup break into shards on the floor as Paul continues his advances with little regard for more thoughtful positioning.

He continues his devotions, moving from your mouth to give more kisses on your cheek, his tongue tracing down your jawline before suckling on the soft skin of your neck.

A rather aggressive bite on makes you yelp.

“Awe, don’t tell me you think this is too much already?”

You can feel Paul's smile against your skin, excitement evident. A glance allows you to see how hard he is now, linen trousers leaving little to your imagination. 

You shake your head, not wanting to possibly upset someone as sacred, as dangerous as Paul Atreides. 

The adrenaline quickens through your veins, painting a heated blush across your nose and cheeks. You cannot deny yourself this feeling even if you wanted to. To deny your pain is to feed Paul’s pleasure. 

“Nothing is ever too much for someone like you, my Lord.”

“Hmmm, ‘someone like me’…” Paul purrs, voice dropping an octave. He continues his work on your neck, albeit with slightly softer bites, leaving wine-colored bruises to blossom in his wake.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, sweet one. It’s okay to admit it; it is simply a fact of nature, yes? The most beautiful creatures are always the weakest. Made to devote, just as much as they are made to be devoured.”

Paul finally pulls back, offering you a moment of reprieve from the tension, now gently kissing the marks on your skin. These kisses are rather soothing, a contrast to the lustful hunger of earlier—almost reminiscent of a lover.

The moment of affection ends just as quickly as it began.

Paul’s fingers now roughly grip the fabric of your dress, pulling your skirt up to gather around your waist. With your legs now accessible, he spends no time on subtlety, immediately ripping your panties to the side and leaving the entire lower half of your body completely exposed to the whole of Selamlik Hall. 

At many points throughout the history of the known universe, this room has hosted coronations and sacraments. The most powerful men and women have sat atop this throne, but this afternoon, it shall be witness to you and Maud’Dib—a humanistic dance of lust and selfish need.

And you plan to enjoy every moment of it.

“Yes. Look at you, spread out, unabashedly bare like some cheap whore, all for me.”

The words send chills down your spine. Paul takes a moment to admire your exposed cunt. 

“Too pretty. Stilgar was right, though. I am quite foolish for having waited so long to take you.”

You can feel your clit pulse, blood rushing to your extremities in anticipation. You try to stay quiet, hoping that Paul continues to have his way with you.

To be so vulnerable under a man whom you could only understand to be akin to a god did provide you with an element of fear you cannot deny. Still, perhaps that is what made the experience feel so erotic, so otherworldly.

Even the highest of deities must fall to the most primal of urges.

Your focus is drawn back to reality as Paul is rushing to undress, carelessly unbuttoning his shirt before working his pants down his thighs. His undergarments are now pooled around his ankles, Paul’s already erect cock springing free to rest against his tanned thigh.

His slender fingers reach for his surprisingly large length, giving it a few pumps to ready himself. You note the pearlescent drops of precum already forming at the tip, excitement pooling within your stomach.

“I am sorry for my lack of romance,” he chuckles, though you both know he is only apologizing out of politeness.

Paul Atreides has never felt remorse about taking what he wants.

Paul roughly grips your legs, pulling them forward to allow your bare ass to sit at the edge of his throne. You lock your legs around his waist; his cold fingers now working their way up the softness of your inner thigh until they brush against your slick core— what a tease.

“You’re already so fucking wet, and I have barely touched you. Do you always get this turned on by men having their way with you?”

You shake your head, though it is a rhetorical question, of course. Paul was already bent at the knees, eagerly aligning himself with your entrance.

“I want you. I have wanted you since I saw your pretty ass in this godforsaken dress. I knew your pussy would be mine. Nobody else would-” Paul pauses as he begins sinking his lengthy cock into your warmth, letting out a low growl of approval. “… do.”

You keep quiet, your own moans of pleasure subdued to the best of your abilities. The Emperor has not permitted you to speak, and you dare not interrupt his wishes of taking your body as his own.

“S’good,” Paul grunts, his voice cracking as he continues working the rest of himself into your tightness before eventually bottoming out. 

“Your cunt is soooo good at taking me; better than I imagined. I can’t believe the only thing I’ve been asking of you this whole time is goddamn tea and sweets.”

You can’t help it as you let a desperate moan slip through your lips; the stretch of pain from your Messiah filling you was the most pleasurable burn.

Paul steadies himself for a moment, allowing your body to adjust. His eyes are aglow in the dim light, and you can notice the softest flicker of pride within them.

“You want me. I can feel it within your very soul. I have these very special abilities, my dove. I can see you, all of you, and all you will ever be. Your thoughts do not lie. Yet I never knew my little servant’s feelings were so devout, so irrevocable.”

“Yes,” you mutter, nearly hypnotized by Paul’s words, or his eyes— or both.

Paul rolls his hips into you, not giving you the satisfaction of thrusting yet. His cock is now pushing further into you, hitting the spot you yearn for most. Your back curves in pleasure, eyes rolling back as your g-spot is finally being reached, perhaps for the first time.

It’s a pleasure you didn’t expect such a man to gift you.

Shimmering tears begin to gather in the corner of Paul’s eyes, a surprising reaction for such an intimidating figure as the Maud’Dib.

Perhaps Harah wasn’t simply gossiping after all.

The tears start to flow down Paul’s cheeks as he turns his face away.

“My Lord, are you alright?” you manage to ask, concerned something has gone awry.

Paul quickly nods, his soft curls bouncing against his forehead as he continues his thrusts once more.

“You truly are quite beautiful. You allow me to use your body as I wish. I can feel your intentions; you are pleased with me. Usually I just take, and I take, and I take without care; but you are here, happy to give yourself to me…”

His voice trails off again as Paul watches over you. The pretty expression on your face contorts with gratification each time he feeds you his cock. He pushes in, pulls out to just the tip, then forcefully back in. The movements ignite every fiber within you, the method of a man who knows how to provoke a woman's pleasure.

You’re left speechless, only able to watch as Paul’s face is now drenched in streams of tears that seem to never to stop falling.

“You’re enjoying this more than I expected,” he whispers, then lets out the softest sniff. “You really want me, huh? Paul. Not the myth, the ruler… just the man.”

Instead of loosening his grip on you to wipe away his tears, Paul lets the streams roll down his hot skin, which is already dotted with salted sweat. The droplets curve down his face, then his bare chest, his toned abdomen, before the warmth eventually drips onto your already soaked cunt.

Even the Messiah seems to refuse to be so wasteful with his water.

With blown pupils and reddened cheeks, Paul can’t help but be mesmerized by the scene before him.

“So fucking wet,” Paul whimpers sweetly as he continues his movements within you. “You’re glistening just for me.”

You nod as Paul begins picking up the pace, now lying almost entirely on top of you. His weight forces you to sink lower into the throne, allowing him greater access between your legs.

He continues pounding your pussy harder, more feverish than before.

“Do you know how beautiful you look right now, being filled by my cock, slicked with water that comes from the depths of my very being? You should be honored.”

“I-I am, y-your Majesty. Thank you” is all you can muster before you accidentally blurt out one single request. 

“F-Faster!”

Paul immediately stops his movements, sitting up straighter now. His grip on your hips seemed to tighten to a painful hold. You can feel the blood drain from your face, frightened for what may follow.

“Faster? You want it faster? Have I not given you enough already?” He asks, finally wiping away his mix of sweat and tears.

“I am sorry, My Lord. It was a selfish request.” You can’t help how meek you sound, hoping you have not offended Paul, or at least not enough for him to stop.

Paul cracks a surprisingly tender smile.

“Fine. I shall go faster. But first, I want you never to forget that I am your Messiah. Your Master. As much as your body pleases me, your will is mine to hold. Yes?”

You nod in agreement as Paul happily gives in to your request, pounding into you fast enough that his cock is hitting all the spots you craved once more. This time, his lower abdomen presses against you in a way that finally allows your clit some friction against his steaming hot skin.

“Awe, looks like my little slut wants more? And people say I am the greedy one.”

Paul understands what you seek as he reaches for your clit, rubbing the tender bud with rhythmic circles as he continues his thrusts. He applies more pressure as your moans become even louder. 

You know you should be more mindful as your pleasure echoes off the barren hall walls, your voice certainly heard by the palace staff, but you cannot help it. Paul seems to have no shame in indulging in you; therefore, you have little capacity to care for anything else.

You feel yourself becoming less aware of your surroundings, unable to help but surrender to the dark fog clouding your vision. Your body grows heavier, and you can only focus on Paul’s soft voice as he directs you towards pleasure. 

“Yes,” Paul coos, somehow deeply aware of where your mind is, how he’s making your body feel.

“Remember, only I can make you feel this good. No other man will ever quench your need for me. How lucky you are to even have my cock inside of you right now.”

Paul’s speech was beginning to stutter, letting out his own sweet moans in-between syllables. You can hear his breathing shift as he strains to focus on your clit as well as his thrusts.

You are nearly there yourself, rutting against his hardened knuckles for any relief from the overwhelming warmth in your stomach threatening to release. It’s unlike you to be so desperate, your moans tangling in a symphony with Paul’s.

“Yes, there you go. I’m so close. S-so fucking close. You’re being doing such a good job pleasing m-me,” Paul pants, his voice cracking as he is now sloppily taking your cunt for all it can give.

“I need you to let go, darling. Come for me- NOW!”

His sudden command echoes off the walls. The unexpected use of the Voice pushes you to the most powerful orgasm you have the pleasure of experiencing. Ecstasy fills every inch of you, your nerves hotter than the desert sands outside the palace walls. Your limbs begin to shake, twitching from overstimulation before the searing heat settles into a warming bliss not just within your body but in the depths of your mind and soul.

With soft elation, you feel your core become sore as Paul continues fucking into you, focused solely on his own pleasure now.

The way your pussy clenches down around his cock holds him in an almost unbearably tight squeeze as you ride out the last few waves of your orgasm, sending Paul over the edge and into a fit of his own.

“Ah fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckkkk!” He whines loudly, his sweaty forehead against your own.

You swear he’s whimpering again as he comes inside of you, his movements now slowed to allow him to pump his hot seed into you.

Not a drop to be wasted.

Paul pulls out, untangling your legs from his waist. He reaches for your hand, gently helping you into a proper sitting position on his throne.

Heavy silence settles over the room once more, both of you panting as you try to catch your breath.

Paul’s hands rub his face again, now even more exhausted after such intense physical activity. With an exaggerated sigh, he begins pulling his undergarments and pants back in place before reaching for his shirt.

Brushing the now sweaty curls from his face, Paul takes a moment to look over your spent body, your pussy swollen and bruises forming on your hips, neck, and collarbone. He tries to hide a smile, clearly satisfied with his work.

“As pretty as you look right now, you should probably make yourself decent,” Paul clears his throat. “We both have matters to attend to.”

You nod in agreement. 

You try to ground yourself quickly, sitting up and pulling your panties back in place before allowing the skirt of your dress to fall over your legs. Your fingers reached for your hair, feeling that the strands had become rather messy during your moment of intimacy with the Emperor. 

No matter. As long as your Master was satisfied, your presentation was of least priority, though you could admit that you most certainly look like a proper whore right now.

“Perhaps you should consider visiting the infirmary before returning to your duties,” Paul suggests, glancing at your stomach. “And uhm, I also expect full discretion when discussing this with the medical staff. You know how gossip loves to spread around here.”

“Yes, of course, My Lord.”

“Good.”

The atmosphere is slightly awkward now, though Paul shows no signs of it. He makes his way down the marble steps, allowing you a moment on his throne to gather yourself.

As you rest on the most powerful seat in the universe, you can’t help but feel cold. Not just from the literal stone against your skin, but with Paul’s absence, the hall feels rather sterile.

You stand, legs slightly shaking. A feeling of shame blushes upon your cheeks as the realization settles of what has just occurred.

Paul can’t help but watch you for a moment more from the door, admiring the glow of your cheeks. He’d normally leave without a word after taking what he wanted, but with you…

“Might I add,” Paul speaks up, his gaze fixated on a spot on the floor. “My wife will be absent this evening while she attends to Imperial matters off-planet. I request your assistance once again in my quarters. Perhaps a chat over a drink? Your tea is my favorite...” 

You do not break the silence. You don’t need Paul to tell you that you are most certainly wearing a confused expression once again.

Paul lets out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t particularly like being alone. I prefer the warmth of a kind woman at night, if you would be so kind.”

You can’t help but be surprised by the suggestion, but nod eagerly. No one is ever to deny the Emperor.

“Yes. I’d quite enjoy that.”

“Good. Come at dusk, alone. Do not be late.”

─ ˚₊⊹