27 Was That Good? (1/2)

”Yes,” I whisper.

”It will hurt again if you behave that way again. But it does not have to hurt. We are not here to make you feel bad. We are all going to feel very, very good.”

He is painfully handsome. There is a symmetry to his features, a regal elegance that makes me tingle low in my belly, even in this miserable state. His eyes are beautiful, they glow with an amber hue that leaves me weak with something like desire—but how can I feel arousal after that humiliating punishment?

Alexios and Keanau nod in agreement as Pharaoh lays me down, face first on the bed. I offer no resistance. The sting and the ache remind me of what happens when I disobey, and I am done with inflicting pain on myself through rebellion today.

I feel four pairs of large hands begin to rub me, running up my thighs, over my bottom, finding my back and my shoulders. Each of them has a different part of me and slowly, surprisingly, it starts to feel better.

My muscles start to relax. My mind starts to wander, not to any particular thought, but to a comfortable state of relaxation, where it doesn't matter that I have been punished. All that matters is that I feel better now.

”Spread your legs, Trissa.”

I let my thighs part, and I let their big hands slide over the sensitive inner skin. I let myself feel good. They're going to make me come. I know it. I can feel their intentions in the way their fingers move with constant reference to my sex.

I won't resist pleasure, but my orgasm is no guarantee of anything. The sheriff made me come before I killed him, and if these men treat me badly, they will not be any safer.

I should want to kill Tore. But I don't. And that confuses me too. He hurt me. I should want his blood. But instead, I am lying there, purring like a kitten as I am massaged by these big, brutal men who will oversee my deflowering.

Which one of them will take me first? Who will claim the prize between my legs? I know it matters to them. And I know I will not be the one to choose.

”Better?”

”Mmm,” I let out a little moan.

Being held by Mattias was the first comforting contact I'd had in years. And this is even more intense.

A big hand slides over my sore bottom, thick fingers brushing lightly between my thighs.

”She's wet,” Alexios purrs.

I arch my hips up, let him touch me more. It feels good, and I like this man who speaks with the accent of someone from very far away.

”Good,” Keanau replies, his voice more guttural than before. Their desire is like a force I can feel, a male energy that wraps around me, turns the heat from Tore's spanking into something more pleasurable.

Alexios' hand slides away, to be replaced with another one. I don't know which one of them it is. I may never know, I realize, when they take me like this. Surrounded by men, they begin to feel like one masculine beast with eight arms and four cocks.

”She's not ready for us tonight.”