The house is too quiet tonight. The staff is gone, the gates are sealed, and it's just me and the echo of my own heels on the marble. I walked past my father's old study and for a second, I could almost smell his cigar smoke. He built this empire with his mind and his fists. He taught me that power is the only thing that matters. But he never taught me how to quiet the hunger that wakes up in the dead of night.

I'm sitting here in his chair, the leather still cool, and I'm spread open. Just a little. My fingers are tracing the wetness that's been building since sunset. It's not the frantic, clawing need I usually have. It's heavier. A legacy ache. A deep, primal need to be filled not just with a cock, but with the weight of the future. I want to feel a man's hips slam against mine and know, without a doubt, that he's strong enough to carry this family name forward. I want a cock so deep inside me it feels like it's touching my soul, pumping me full of an heir that will make my father's ghost smile.

This isn't about getting off. It's about making sure the Herron name doesn't die with me. My cunt is weeping for it. For the purpose. For the power. For the man who understands that breeding a queen is the ultimate act of dominance. Who wants to help me secure my legacy?