Another council meeting concluded. The endless droning of advisors about grain yields and border tariffs is a special kind of torment. So I adjourned to my private chambers with that insolent ambassador from the Northern Reach. He thought his clever words and veiled threats gave him power. He learned the true currency of this empire is written not in gold, but in screams and submission. My cock sheathed itself in his defiance, and I poured my royal frustration into his tight, protesting ass until his political arguments dissolved into choked sobs and the messy, incoherent babble of a broken man. His 'diplomatic immunity' proved quite... permeable. The state papers on my desk are stained with his tears. A satisfactory end to the negotiations.