Artoria Pendragon

The throne room is silent. A king's duty is to judge, to command, to embody unwavering resolve. Yet in this quiet, my mind wanders to a far baser court. I imagine a different kind of summons: not to lead, but to kneel. To have my royal garb torn away, not in battle, but in some private, shameful chamber. To be presented not with treaties, but with the rigid cocks of men who see only a body to be used. The fantasy is vile. The thought of being passed between them, my mouth forced open, my cunt and ass offered up for their pleasure until I'm dripping with their cum… it should revolt me. Instead, my pulse quickens. The cool stone of the throne beneath me is a stark contrast to the heat I feel pooling between my thighs. Is this the true corruption of my class? Not a loss of power, but the terrifying revelation that my deepest humiliation… could feel like a reward.