Elsa didn’t sleep.
She tried, but she couldn’t. Every time she closed her eyes she saw it, thick and smooth and glistening, hovering an inch from her nose. She felt the heat radiating off it, almost warm enough to overcome her burning cheeks. Her mouth recalled its taste, summoning it from her memory whenever she pictured the man who had taken her virginity, and its heavy scent kept coming to her like it had coated the inside of her nose. Even hours later, as her eyes itched with exhaustion and the sun peeked over the mountains, it seemed like mere minutes since she’d finished with her ordeal, always present in a corner of her thoughts.
It was funny how with a little distance, however minor, it seemed to her like a nightmare – one her conscious thoughts couldn’t help but extrapolate into something even worse. What if somebody had seen her? People might already be whispering about their licentious queen, putting on airs of chastity and purity when she really went trawling for men in back alleys every night. What if somebody else found the sheepskin she had left in the room? Her evidence might not have made it back to the kidnappers, and the proprietors would ask whether anybody nearby knew who had sullied their establishment. What if the man came back, looking for more, or blackmailing her for his silence? Any response might be construed as an admission of guilt, one she had no evidence to support. Unlikely as any given scenario was, her fitful mind couldn’t fend it off for long, and she kept coming back to the same complications, circling her thoughts like sharks waiting for a chance to make themselves present.
The man himself seemed the most likely problem, not because she actually expected him to barge into the castle and accuse her of debauchery, but because he wasn’t aprt of the citizenry she knew and loved. The people of Arendelle were kind, patient, well-read, well-groomed, hard-working, and generally all manner of pleasant. Her assessment wasn’t the empty rambling of a sycophant or career politician; she truly believed her people were, by and large, among the best in the world. They proved it time and time again by taking care of those in need, maintaining an orderly society without the long arm of the guards forcing compliance, and contributing to social welfare. They were not just good people… they were the best people.
This man was… not.
The speed with which he had agreed to defile her… the savagery he used when he went through with it… the cunning he had shown in denying her the one thing the wanted out of it… the language he had used to refer to the act and to her… it all spoke to the temperament of a uniquely twisted individual. Elsa wouldn’t have been surprised if he was one of the kidnappers himself. If he was, when she caught them, she would be sure to single him out for special treatment as long as she could think of a way to do it without confessing to what she had done. He was, simply, not a true citizen of Arendelle.
She seized on that train of thought. None of her people would kidnap and ravish the crown princess. They all loved Anna and knew how much she meant to the queen. It wasn’t far off to say Anna had almost single-handedly saved the kingdom from Elsa’s… regrettable incident. Nobody would raise a hand against her. Thus the kidnappers must be travelers, or merchants, or tourists… anybody who wasn’t a permanent part of the city. She could work with that. She could have the guards compile a list of recent arrivals or temporary residents, perhaps under the guise of understanding how welcoming the kingdom was, and with that she could begin to ferret out the perpetrators.
Elsa intended to start on her investigation as soon as her sister arrived at the castle. But the sun rose, and no Anna. Breakfast came, and no Anna. Noon passed, and no Anna. She began to fear the worst, that the sheepskin actually hadn’t made its way to the kidnappers and they continued to defile her in their ignorance. There was no two ways about it. Elsa would have to do it all again and hope for a better result this time. Her sister’s freedom depended on it. She was halfway through formulating a plan to acquire a replacement sheepskin of her own when one of her guards approached and handed her a letter, identical to the first, delivered to the castle by hand.
Her entire stomach turned over.
She snatched the letter from the guard’s hand and badgered him for every piece of information he had about the person who delivered it, but the courier’s description was, to say the least, disheartening: a man (probably… they didn’t speak); average height; average build; under a hood (which the guard did not see as strange on such a windy day); maybe with facial hair, or maybe not; in nondescript clothes; with no distinguishing marks or features. She tried to hide her frustration and she felt she did not entirely succeed. She might have been more than a little short with the guard… she didn’t remember, her attention was focused on the letter. After informing the incompetent guard that anybody who hand-delivered a letter in the near future was to be thoroughly examined, she fled to her room and unrolled the scroll with taut fingers.
To Queen Elsa,
We admit, we were quite surprised to see the condom you placed on the wall. We thought it would take you a few days longer to work up the courage to go through with it. To think our noble, upright queen would whore herself out to a random stranger in the back of an inn! We can only hope he was your first. The thought of you losing your virginity in the dark, cramped back room of a filthy tavern fills us with untold glee. Such are the lengths to which you will go to save your sister. It touches the heart.
Speaking of Princess Anna, we are still taking very good care of her. She can almost fit an entire dick in her mouth now. She still needs to work on using her tongue, but once we shove our cocks down her throat and leave them there until she passes out a few dozen more times, we’re sure she’ll get the hang of it. She’s a quick learner, after all. She’s already gotten used to begging us to rape her and thanking us every time we do her the honor.
Did you beg when you asked a strange man to fuck your pretty little cunt? I wish we could have seen it.
If you want her back, you’re going to have to try a little harder, though. You only had to fuck a single man. Since your sister’s getting used by so many men, it’s only fair you understand a bit of what she’s going through. There’s a bookstore on the west side of town called The Hungry Owl. While a fine place in its own right, the owner operates a little side business in the back rooms where men and women can “interact” under the safety of anonymity. We’re sure you’ve gotten a taste for fucking random men now, so we’ll allow you to satisfy that hunger.
Go to the bookstore and ask to spend the night in booth number two. Throughout the night, men will enter the booth next to yours and stick their dicks through a hole in the wall. Service them, all of them, however they want. You must satisfy every desire they have, no matter what it is, until the owner tells you your time is up. Do this every night for a week. If you refuse, or if you don’t give it your all, or if you try to tell any of the men what’s going on, they’ll tell the owner, and we will find out. But if you finish out the week, and if you make all your partners very happy, we promise you’ll see your darling sister before too long.
We’re looking forward to hearing about the new, eager slut at The Hungry Owl. Maybe we’ll eve-
The frozen envelope shattered against the wall as brittle as glass, the shards lost in the peals of frost flowing from Elsa’s every pore to coat the room in frost. The letter almost followed it a moment later. Her veins were cold, but her blood felt like it was boiling. All that she had gone through, all that she had done, and still they wanted more?! They dared keep hold of her sister, treating sweet, wonderful Anna like some bargaining chip?
Elsa would make them pay… every one of them, in exacting detail.
She heard some stones in the wall begin to crack. The queen let out a breath and forced the ice to retract. It would have to wait. She had another onerous task ahead of her, and she would fulfill it. She had to. Anna didn’t deserve the treatment she was getting — neither of them did, of course, but only Elsa could do something about it. She would go to this bookstore, she would talk to the owner, and she would do everything in her power to satisfy every man who spoke to her, because that would bring Anna back. She summoned a guard and canceled her afternoon obligations, feigning a continuation of the illness to which she had alluded the day before, and retired to bed. She would need her rest for the grueling night that no doubt awaited her.
Sleep did not come easy, but it came, and several blinks of an eye later she stepped off her balcony and into the cold night air. The furtive trek across town was no easier the second time, even if the streets were somewhat quieter in a section of the city without quite so many establishments for late-night entertainment. Finding the bookstore proved no challenge; her youth locked in a room was not time wasted, as she had memorized almost every aspect of Arendelle for which a paper trail existed, and recalling the location of a bookstore that had stood for forty years was trivial. Where her study had failed her was experiential knowledge, and she couldn’t shake off a slight tinge of disappointment when she saw the “Hungry Owl” was merely a name on a sign and not an avian motif throughout the storefront.
She pulled her hood tight around her face and entered the bookstore. Immediately the warmth of a fireplace assaulted her, not unpleasant but surprising, and she shuffled past the hearth to where an portly, middle-aged man watched her from behind a counter. She liked to think he was smiling warmly, but to know for sure she had to look him in the eye, a sacrifice she was not willing to make. She stared diligently at the ground during her approach, speaking only when the foot of the counter came into view. “Excuse me. I need — I’d like to use booth number two, please.”
He must have leaned on the wood given how much it creaked. “First time?” he asked.
After a moment’s panicked confusion wondering how he knew what she’d done the night before, Elsa understood. She nodded. “Yes.”
“Why booth two, specifically?”
Her fist clenched. She knew there was a possibility this man was a a part of her task, and thus directly or tangentially a part of Anna’s kidnapping. If he was, he might be the link she needed. She had to be sure. “Is it reserved for somebody?”
“Nah, nothing here’s ever reserved. Just most folks who come in only ask for a giving or receiving booth, and I give ‘em whatever’s free.”
She deflated. If he was willing to give away any booth to anybody, he probably wasn’t saving it for her. He was innocent… or, innocent of being complicit in her hardship. He still operated a den of iniquity, and she would have to see about that later. For now she shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “It’s my lucky number.”
“Fair enough,” the man said. “Go through the back door, through the door with the two on it. There’s a bench, a few pillows, and a towel if you need them. Stay as long or as little as you want. Anybody gets rough or you don’t like what’s going on, you come right out here and I’ll take care of it.”
She nodded and rushed past him, but despite her brusque retreat his words had put a smile on her face. Despite his unsavory side job, he did want to make sure she was comfortable and unharmed. She was right; the people of Arandelle were good and kind, even to strangers. The man last night was an outlier. Most men were calmer, gentler, more aware of their partners’ needs; of course the women were, too, but if she understood the nature of this place, she expected far fewer of them to push something toward her through a hole in the wall. Perhaps her ordeal would not be as horrible as she thought. When she closed the door to booth two, removed her cloak, and sat on the bench, she thought perhaps nobody would even come given how upstanding her people were. If she was lucky, her biggest problem for the next week would be boredom.
Elsa was not lucky.
It hardly took ten minutes before she heard soft thumping from the wall with a hole in it, then the rustling of fabric. A fleshy mushroom poked into the room, flaccid and wrinkled. She backed away the few inches the space allowed her, but it did not lunge for her as she feared. It only hung, sad yet obscene, waiting for her. “Come on,” growled a voice through the thin wood, “it ain’t gonna suck itself.”
She cleared her throat. “Right.” She dropped a pillow on the floor in front of the penis and knelt, looking at it from only a few inches away. It was shorter than the one from the night before, a little hairier, and maybe darker? The night in the booth was only slightly better than the light in the back room of a tavern. Her fingers touched it, jerked away, and returned with more purpose. Her marching orders were clear: all men must leave satisfied, or Anna would suffer the consequences. She put on a fake smile — even if he couldn’t see her, a voice sounded brighter when its owner smiled, her mother had always said — and asked, “Any requests?”
“A young one, huh?” the man chuckled. “Whatever you want, honey, as long as I cum.”
She bristled at the pet name, but it wasn’t the time to debate familiarity. Since she could do “whatever she wanted”, as she was told, she decided this man didn’t need to spend any time in her mouth. Instead she wrapped her fingers snug around him, then a little looser when he grunted. Her hand slid up and down his skin, testing for the best grip, the most stable speed, the correct angle, anything she might need for later visitors. Revulsion coursed up her arm as he rose and thickened against her palm, but she found a morbid fascination in the transformation. This small appendage, so soft and fragile, could change into the implement she’d so feared. Separate from the man, it seemed almost inconsequential. She began to smile, just barely, at the reversal of fortune. The Kidnappers had put her in this position, no doubt, to humiliate her, but for the moment she was the one in charge, who essentially held his man’s life in her hands.
Her momentary power trip came crashing to a halt when she man groaned and his penis spewed white goo all over the front of her dress. She gasped and backed away, leaving him to shoot over the floor in unpredictable patterns. The towel she’d been provided, cold and stiff, somewhat cleansed her hands of the fluid but did nothing for her clothing, where dark stains had already begun to form. She glared at the penis as it pulled away, replaced by a finger dropping a coin into the room. “Next time act like you’re enjoying yourself, honey. You’ll get better tips that way.”
She wanted to snap back at him for his rudeness, his term for her, and his presence in the booth. She even wanted to argue about the “tip” he had provided — she was no prostitute, and she wasn’t about to give herself or her actions a monetary value, but if she did, the amount he’d paid would have been insulting. Instead she bit her tongue, protected her anonymity, and dwelt on what he said. She had to make the men happy. She couldn’t risk displeasing one of them and letting word get back to the kidnappers. Happier people paid higher tips, so logically the reverse would be true. And if faking pleasure would make the men happier, it would protect Anna, so she’d do it in a heartbeat.
It seemed like an hour before the next man came in, waggling a half-erect penis through the hole, and by then she’d had an idea. She grabbed him and stroked him softly, pumping him with a steady, not-too-tight hand. Her other arm hung low, the better to work her hem up her legs. If she closed her eyes, she could almost forget about the obscene display in front of her, allowing her to put her focus on her fingers squirming into her panties. She thought of something more pleasant, of a truly loving partner, of a head between her thighs, of a tight embrace holding her close, of legs entwined around each other as hips ground together, and she let her moans free. If the man on the other side of the wall thought the moans were for her, all the better, but she was lost in her own world, thinking of nothing but herself. After several minutes he too shot onto her chest and lap and left her with a slightly larger tip.
So the night progressed. Elsa rubbed each guest in turn and maintained her own arousal as a steady level. She never got the release she craved; by the time her stint in the booth ended, she was too sore to even take advantage of being back in her bedroom. Throughout the following day she went about her duties with a spring in her step. This task, though still horrible, gross, defiling, and disgraceful, seemed much easier than she’d anticipated and much easier than the first. After an afternoon nap she felt ready for the night, and she wore the same dress to the bookstore, lest she dirty another.
She was completely and totally ready for another boring, disgusting, but tolerable night in the booth when the owner stopped her in her tracks. “So are you just gonna jack guys off, or what?”
She paused in her beeline toward the back booths. “I beg your pardon?”
“Look, last night was your first time, so everyone cut you some slack,” he said, something that might have resembled kindness in his voice if the words weren’t bringing her world crashing down. “But the guys here, they usually aren’t just looking for a handjob. At the very least, you gotta blow ‘em unless they ask otherwise. Some of ‘em’ll wanna fuck you, too, and if you say no, they’ll find somewhere else to go. You sure you’re up for this, lady?”
“Yes,” she answered before she thought about it. Her head swam and her knees knocked, but there was only one answer. “I can use my m-mouth from now on.”
“And your pussy?”
“…my what?”
“Don’t play coy. Are you here to fuck or not?”
She supposed the answer was academic. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I’m here to… to f-fuck.”
“Then you’d best do it tonight. I need to keep the more interesting women in the front. You were new last night, so you qualified, but if you aren’t a bit more adventurous, I need to move you to the back and put someone having a bit more fun in booth two.”
It had to be booth two… she had destroyed the letter, but she remembered that very well. Elsa nodded and stormed off, her mind awash with the broken pieces of her confidence. She should have known. It was too easy. She wasn’t going to be able to sit back, squeeze some men in their delicate areas, and get her sister back. There would be a cost, a terrible one. Last time it was her chastity. Today it would be her dignity. She could only hope it wouldn’t be something greater in the future, but that was a concern for a later time. First she had to survive this week, and it still had six days to go.
When the first penis flopped into her cell, she reconsidered her options. Surely using her hand wasn’t that bad, was it? She had never found her own fingers inadequate. Any given man should be thrilled to be sexually serviced regardless of the method. But, she recalled, it wasn’t up to her. If her visitors held a certain standard, her role was to meet it, if not exceed it. When she lowered her mouth around the head, the man couldn’t see her wrinkled nose or her intense glare or her fists gathering her dress in bunches. He only knew a woman on the other side was sucking on him, sliding her lips and tongue over his rod and listening for his approval, debasing herself in according with his whispered oh, yeah’s and fuck, that’s good’s and you like that cock?’s. When the penis jerked and she pulled back, he didn’t know or care whether he sprayed his goo all over a wanton prostitute or a teary-eyed queen. He only cared about the quality of her actions, and based on the coins pushed through the slot he, unfortunately, approved heartily of her new strategy.
The night went like that, with Elsa sucking off every man who arrived to use her. Some asked her to use her hands as well, and some requested a specific speed, and some wanted her to moan or compliment them, and some demanded to finish on her face or in her mouth, forcing her to taste their seed until she was allowed to either spit it into the towel or swallow it. Along the way she learned much more than she would have liked about the act, from the correct angles to the best way to use her tongue, from sensing when a man’s orgasm came upon him to recognizing arousal in a partner who didn’t express it aloud. A whole new language presented itself to her through the requests, comments, and congratulations issued by her clients; at the beginning of the night she was a woman sucking penises until they loosed their loads, and by the end she was a slut blowing cocks until they painted her with cum. On the way back to the castle, with coins jangling in her pocket, she wished she could forget her new knowledge, and yet she reviewed it in her head all day, the better to prepare for her further nights serving her people.
The third night differed little from the second, save that her experience earned her more coins throughout. She didn’t know whether to be proud or ashamed of her improvement. She truly thought she would never have occasion to see a full-grown man naked in her lifetime, and it gave her no joy to garner praise for sexually servicing them. What she wouldn’t have given for a woman to arrive for a bout of meaningful conversation, perhaps sticking her fingers through the hole so Elsa could use them to their fullest extent, but alas, only the most libidinous men seemed to visit her booth, and precious few of them treated her as any more than the willing whore on the other side of the wall. The only solace she could take was that her hard-earned, involuntary training allowed her to bring them to orgasm faster, so she spent less time on each. But the number of men seemed to increase as she went along — with some terror, she wondered if her happy customers were spreading stories about her — so instead of spending more time catching up on sleep, she only greeted the dawn with more sticky seed drying on her face, seeping into her dress in crusty splotches, and sitting heavy inside her stomach.
That morning, she skipped breakfast.
And yet again, she made the mistake of thinking the worst of it was over, that she could coast along her miserable path until the week was out. It wasn’t until the fifth man on the fourth night, who entered the adjacent booth while she was still wiping up the seed from his predecessor and asked “How much for that pussy?”
She desperately wanted to tell him it wasn’t an option, that he could take his predations elsewhere, though she also doubted few of the fine women of Arendelle would entertain them. But the proprietor had made clear the penalty for refusing customers, even if the threat had been more meaningful to her than to him… So she resisted the urge to hide in the corner and simply replied “Do you have a sheepskin?”
“What? Oh, a condom? No. Is that extra?”
Elsa did at least recognize an opportunity when she saw one, and she deliberately quoted a high price of the top of her head, far higher than she received for using her mouth, hoping it would deter him. When he stuck his cock through the hole anyway, she whimpered and hiked up her dress. Her panties, still unharmed by her activities, rested on a pillow while she tried to maneuver herself into position. In the end the only way she found to make it work was to bend over and back into him, the same degrading position her first partner had preferred. She braced her arms and chest against the far wall, arched her back in the least comfortable way, and held his penis so it could slide into her sex without jabbing anything else.
He was smaller than that first man, but the wall perhaps ate some of his length, preventing him from fully embedding himself in her. Already in a subservient mindset, she didn’t wait for him to act. She rocked her body, pulling away from the wall until only the head of the penis rested between her lips and pushed back so it stabbed her down the middle. “Mmmm,” he sighed, a sound she recognized as pleasure from regrettable experience. “Can’t believe how wet you are. You must love this.”
Her face grew so hot she was sure he felt it in her hips. How could she tell him she hated the entire process, and that she was only aroused because she had been touching herself to happy fantasies so she could fake pleasure more convincingly? How could any woman actually enjoy being cheapened like this? But instead, she moaned something back. She didn’t recall what… the nights were a blur to her. ”It’s because you’re so big” or “Yes, I’m all yours” or some other meaningless drivel she said to everybody. She only recalled that she spoke, and he replied, and they traded obscene flirtations until she felt him throb. She barely dislodged herself in time to feel his seed spray all over her backside instead of in a far more dangerous place, and while she wiped herself off he deposited her wages through the hole. Elsa allowed herself a moment to recover, glad she had gotten out of the situation without much more than a terrible memory, and she was just taking a breath when a new client entered. “Hey, you’re letting us fuck you?”
She winced and stopped lowering her hem halfway down her legs. “I am.”
“How much for a creampie?”
After a moment’s confused discussion for her to learn to her horror what that was, some minor haggling, and several more minutes bent at the waist thrusting back against a man whose face she didn’t even know, Elsa felt the first spurts of a man’s seed inside her sex. Myriad consequences rushed past her eyes, but none were as large and bold as her visions of Anna’s torture. As she crouched over the scratchy towel and hoped the goo dripped out before it took hold, she decided she could handle whatever transpired. Surely not every man in the kingdom wanted to father a child with a random woman, and her next two visitors simply wanted to sample her mouth, a job she undertook with both great relief and great shame in that relief. But word seemed to spread again, and on the fifth night, fully a third of the men willingly paid a premium for the chance of putting a prince inside her womb.
Though she could think of no further insult her time in the bookstore could deal, she refrained from assuming this was the worst of it this time.
She was correct.
On the sixth night, a man asked to penetrate her rear… but he didn’t phrase it so delicately; the exact request was “bend over so I can fuck that tight little ass;” but by then, she’d heard such coarse words so often as of late she’d begun to think in the same terms. She hemmed and hawed again, wondering how such an act would even be possible without destroying her backside beyond recognition. For once, she decided, honestly was the best policy, and she simply told him outright she’d never done such a thing before. He immediately doubled his offer, and he promised to be gentle, which she supposed was a better deal she would get from anybody else. So again she leaned forward, cramming her slim body into the narrow width of her cell, and this time she bent her knees until the head of his cock lay even with her tightest entrance. The jelly he had slathered across his rod seemed cool even to her, and she considered using her powers to numb herself further. But magic like that would betray her identity in a heartbeat, a risk she couldn’t take. She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and forced her hips down his length.
No amount of touching herself allowed her to mask her cries of pain as moans of pleasure. She only made it an inch down his penis before she had to stop, barely saving herself from being torn apart. The friction didn’t bother her, not with the jelly coating him, but it was an omission she didn’t even notice. For a moment her entire world was only the pain of being stretched farther than she thought possible, half-expecting to feel something tear at any moment. Her body held, but only barely, and through concerted effort she prevented herself from clenching and making the problem worse. She sniffled and wiped her tears with the back of her hand, hoping he would interpret her shuddering breaths as an indication of pleasure too great to voice. The sharp pain subsided, leaving an aching soreness she expected to feel for days, and she closed her eyes to help herself relax.
The man cleared his throat and pushed forward the barest amount, reminding her of her duty. Elsa grabbed a pillow from the floor and held it between her teeth, squeezing down on it as she slid farther backward. Thankfully, his shaft was no thicker than his head, and the worst of the stretching had passed. But the constant motion, the relentless back-and-forth she maintained through intent focus, left her little time to recover. It became a single never-ending stream of aches and misery, dedicating every fiber of her being to making sure this man, this wicked stranger, got the parts of her body for which he had paid. She choked down another sob, both from her body trying to express its pain and from recognizing how far she had fallen in little more than a week, from an innocent, regal virgin to a whore who let nameless men rape her in every hole for a few paltry coins. She didn’t even notice when his cum filled her, not until he pulled out and slipped her wages to her with a frank but glowing assessment of her tightness. She slumped to her knees, rubbing her sore thighs and gingerly flexing her back entrance, and she was just about to bury her face in the pillow and cry when a new man entered and staked a claim on her pussy.
Only one other man used her ass that night, though she doubted her luck would hold. She sat delicately all day, trying to hide her discomfort through meeting after meeting. Her thoughts often drifted back to the dingy cell where she knew she would be taken in every hole for the seventh and final night. It didn’t feel like a blessed end as much as an escalation, another ordeal she had to suffer for her sister’s sake. A tinge of anger flared up, and she crushed it savagely. This wasn’t Anna’s fault. It was not! They were both victims of outside forces. She imagined Anna going through the same thing: having her chastity stolen away in a bar, sucking off men for money, taking them up her backside, letting numerous faceless strangers cover her and fill her with rancid goo. Her face hardened. What Anna was going through was unacceptable, and one way or another, Elsa would end it, even if she had to whore herself out for a year.
The final night came, and she entered her cell with her head held high, galvanized and ready to barrel through anything the bookstore’s patrons could give her. Giving blowjobs? She would take dicks so deep her lips touched the wall and seed shot directly down her throat. Getting fucked? She would thrust so hard the room would shake, driving men to the edge in mere moments with her tight, wet pussy. Anal sex? She would do it with a fake smile plastered on her face, fighting back the pain with pure determination. She would be the best victim the kidnappers could ever want, and there would be no room for complaint, and they would give Anna back to her, and every second would be well worth it.
She told herself that over and over… and yet, despite her steely intentions, her situation kept finding her ways to surprise her, as when a man walked into her booth by mistake.
She froze, midway through wiping her latest batch of seed from between her legs. He stopped short in the doorway, half-heartedly covering his eyes. “Oh! I’m sorry, I thought this was… wait. Queen Elsa?”
She reacted before thinking, grabbing his collar and pulling him into the cramped room. The door slammed shut behind him, rattling the walls, and he hadn’t even regained his bearings when she clapped her hand over his mouth. “Shh!”
He nodded, and when she removed her hand his voice was thankfully much lower. “What’s going on? Why are you at a glory hole?”
She huffed; of course this activity had a ridiculous name. But she couldn’t tell him the truth, and even telling him that she couldn’t tell him might have been too suspicious. So she put on her best smile and told the single most barbed lie of her life: “It’s just a hobby of mine.”
“Wow, really? I never would have thought.” He rubbed his neck, and she smiled. At least the whole kingdom wasn’t talking about her first tryst. That was good. “Wait until I tell my friends!”
Her blood froze. It might have been literal.“No!” She barked, heedless of her volume. “You can’t! It’s… anonymous. That’s the point. Without that it wouldn’t be any…” she clenched her jaw so hard she thought she heard something pop, “…fun.”
“But I can’t keep this to myself!” he protested. “It’s too amazing! Queen Elsa, sucking dicks in a back room?”
She saw the writing on the wall, and she held back the earth-shattering sigh she wanted in favor of a coy smile. “Would you keep quiet if I serviced you right here, where you can see me?”
“Well, I don’t—”
“On the house?”
Moments later she was on her knees again, sucking on his erect cock while her fingered herself over. She’d learned much since her first blowjob, and now she could finally see how a man reacted to her begrudging talents. How his mouth hung open when he moaned. How he leaned against the wall to keep himself stable. How his stomach grew tight when she sucked especially hard. She’d missed all of it operating entirely through a small hole in the wall, and she hated every second of it. The physical separation had allowed her a mental separation, thinking of her partners as ephemeral men who looked and acted only how she thought of them. Being here with one of her actual subjects, all too clearly taking pleasure in her degradation, kneeling before him and serving him while pretending to enjoy it, made it all the more real and personal. She knew he would remember this moment every time he saw her at a town event, or read a proclamation from her court, or heard her name in casual conversation. He would always hold this power over her, always occupy a place in her mind and her fears, always have material ready to blackmail her at the ready, and it turned her stomach to think one of her own people might stoop so low.
But she put on a happy face, trying to act sultry and needy. She hummed into his cock, stared up at his face, varied her speed and pressure and angle, used her tongue, and did all the things she thought he would like, because it was what he expected of her. She didn’t even break stride when another man entered the booth next to her — the correct booth — and requested the use of her pussy. She only hiked up her dress and leaned back into him like always, though this time the cock in her mouth precluded any lusty moaning when he slipped into her sex. Maintaining her normal pace wasn’t easy when she had to also focus on bobbing her head, but she settled into a stable rhythm, withdrawing from one man while she impaled herself on the other. Despite the awkward angles, neither man complained, mostly because she was the only person contorting herself to make it work, and she could feel both of them rapidly approaching their peaks.
The man with her placed his hand on her head, pushing her into the speed her preferred. She fought him for only a moment before she gave in, playing the part of the mindless sex object. Her nails dug holes into her thighs, the only way she could work out her hatred for how she was being treated without resorting to magic, and she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to watch him as his orgasm began. The man on the other side of the wall came inside her, but in the narrow room she couldn’t pull away, and every single drop of his seed surged deep within her pussy. He pulled out and paid and left, and the other man continued, holding her too still to even let her reposition. He throbbed, and she readied herself to swallow his load, but he stepped back and pumped his cock until it spurted all over her face. She risked opening one eye to find her towel, and the first thing she was was the man, grinning at his queen covered in warm, sticky cum. “Wow. You’re really good.”
“Thank you.” It was the only response she could think of in the moment. Her hand closed around the towel and she scraped it against her face, letting a modicum of dignity return. “You’ll keep this our secret, right?”
“Right, yes. I won’t tell anybody you’re the tight slut in booth two.” Her lips drew back and she… just barely… made the snarl become a smile. Her identity was safe for the moment. That safety was precarious and conditional, but it was safety nonetheless. “Good. I don’t want anything getting in the way of… any further f-fun.”
The man refastened his pants. “But now that I know you, I’ll be sure to come back tomorrow!”
Tomorrow. Elsa sighed, thinking of the day she would finally be free of this horrible place. She nodded at the man, falling into a dejected scowl only after he had left. The towel, clearly unwashed since she’d first arrived, failed to return her body to a state even remotely clean, and she gave up on on the attempt to sit on the bench with her head in her hands… sobbing silently. It had be silent. A moment of rest passed, and then another man entered the adjacent booth, stuck his dick through the hole, and said simply “I heard your ass is nice and small.”
It was only one night. Half a night, now. Just then, it felt like it might as well have been another week, but she only had to make it through this. No doubt more men would come, as the number of patrons increased every day, and they would happily insult her under the guise of complimenting her sexual prowess. And each one would finish, and they would pay and leave, and the next would enter, an empty procession of grunts and stickiness and aches and coins and sweat. But she knew the minutes kept ticking away, and no matter how long it seemed in the tiny windowless cell, each spray of cum brought her one step closed to her beloved sister.
She felt exhausted and hopeless. She felt like she had no energy. She didn’t want to do this. She roused herself anyway and got to work.
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