53 Beautiful (1/1)

Three days later...

For the second time in my life, I am to be publicly fucked.

This time, Mattias will take me. The man who once cared for me tenderly, unable to do more than stroke me to pleasure, is going to push himself inside me and claim me as I should be claimed.

There is a crew on hand, three men with cameras ready to catch every intimate angle of the proceedings. Throughout the city, I am told men are celebrating, waiting to see my defilement.

”Are you ready, Trissa?”

”No,” I whimper.

There is no way out of this, and I know I deserve it. I braved danger and I brought others into it. There was no way to know Mattias had seized power; in all likelihood, my mad dash for power should have ended badly.

”You are,” he says, taking my chin between his thumb and his forefinger. ”You need this. I need this. The city needs this.”

He disrobes, bears the body he never showed me before, and I see him in his full glory. He is muscled to perfection, his abdomen a series of washboard abdominals, his thighs powerful and long, and his cock a thick rigid rod at the apex of them. He is already erect, his expression lustful.

Mattias has shown me the most kindness and gentleness of all the men I have known, but he is also the one who makes me tremble. There is a capacity in him that few men have, the ability to survive as a neutered slave and yet emerge a virile king.

He kisses me and I melt into it.

”You look... very good,” I stammer, my words not matching my sentiment in the slightest.

”So do you,” he says, his large hands slipping over my body, stripping the slivers of clothing from my frame. There will be no modesty now, no secrets, not from him, and not from the tens of thousands of men watching his feed, which I have heard whispers of being exported to other cities in the country.

I lose myself in his caresses, feeling his tenderness and his care. I have missed him, some core part of me knowing that his loss was perhaps the greatest of them all. Mattias looked after me even when there was nothing in it for him. He could have been cruel. He could have been negligent. He could have taken his pain out on me. Instead, he guided me as best he could, and in my absence, he made a safe home to come to.

I owe this man my life. I owe this man my future.

”You are my princess,” he says, stroking my cheek, his voice soft, but clearly audible even over the roaring of the gathered crowd. ”You are Daddy's girl. I am going to look after you. I am going to guard you. I am going to do my best to curb those wild instincts of yours.”

”The ones that got us all here?”

”Yes. You are a beautiful little agent of chaos, but all chaos needs to be tamed eventually.”

My mercenaries are watching. Their eyes are hungry and lit with the desire for justice. We have been here before. Last time, Tore was with us. And the others.

It is strange, but I almost feel as though they are with us again. There is something at the moment, in the erotic trepidation, in the lust-baying of the crowd. We did this. Not just those of us who are still alive, standing here, but those who passed in the effort. This is their act of triumph, as much as it is ours.