You're kneading bread in the kitchen when the duke comes in. He's been stressed for days, and using you as an outlet all the more. You can't say no to him, but you need to have this bread baked before dinner too.
He puts a hand on your hip and leans into his ear. "I'll make this quick," he promises. "Bend over."
"Here?" you answer. The kitchen is full of people, plucking chickens and mixing puddings and tending the fire. They've all gone silent to await the duke's orders. They're all watching you.
His grip tightens, fingers bruising. "I'm not in the mood to be denied," he growls, and the threat is clear.
You do as you're told, bracing your hands against the counter and spreading your legs. He snaps his fingers at the room. "Carry on," he commands. "You all have work to do."
He hikes up your skirts. Cold air hits your backside, and he drags you by your hips to position you as he wants you. He sheathes himself in one quick motion, and you can't help a whimper.
"Louder," he commands. "Let them hear how good I fuck you."
You do exactly as he says, crying out your pleasure as his cock drags against your walls, skin slapping together. Everyone pretends not to watch, but they have to listen, and their gaze keeps flicking your way. It makes your satisfaction twist faster, hotter, that they all know how much the duke wants you. You have something they don't.
His thrusts become deeper, more erratic, and he finishes inside you. You clench around him, seeking your pleasure. He pulls out, his seed running down your thigh. He cleans himself on your petticoats and slaps your ass.
"I'll be in the library tonight, if you want your turn," he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. Then he strides out, and you're left, hot and disheveled, in the middle of the kitchen.