Continued!

She drags him out of the cellar and into the moonlit courtyard, where the air is cooler, the silence heavier. The trial is already in session, a charade orchestrated by the Futas to assert their dominance. A judge, a stoic Futa with a towering frame and a face carved from stone, sits on a makeshift bench. Her eyes are cold, her expression unreadable as she regards the prisoner. Selara shoves the boy to his knees before her, his hands still raised in a futile gesture of surrender.

“Guilty of treason,” the judge intones, her voice carrying the weight of finality. “Execution by drowning.” The words hang in the air, heavy and unyielding, as Selara’s eyes glint with anticipation. She steps forward, her boots clicking against the cobblestones, and the boy’s head snaps up, his eyes meeting hers in a silent plea. But Selara’s gaze is unmoved, her expression as cold as the judge’s.

She leads him to the execution pool, its waters glistening under the torchlight, reflecting the flames in a dance of light and shadow. The boy’s legs give out, and he collapses to his knees, his hands scrabbling against the stones as if he could find purchase, escape. Selara grabs him by the hair, her grip tight, and pulls him to his feet. Her other hand goes to the laces of his trousers, her fingers deft as she undoes them, stripping him bare. His skin is pale, his body slender, unmarked by the hardships of his life. He shivers, whether from the cold or fear, Selara doesn’t care.

She pushes him to his knees, her hand tangling in his hair, forcing his head back. Her cock is already hardening, thick and veined, the head glistening with pre-cum as she steps behind him. “Beg for it,” she commands, her voice a low growl, her breath hot against his ear. The boy shakes his head, tears streaming down his face, his lips parted in a silent refusal. Selara’s smirk doesn’t falter. She grabs his jaw, her thumb pressing against his chin, forcing his mouth open.