People in the castle were starting to talk. About the odd hours Queen Elsa kept, sleeping as much as she could during the day. About how she barely ate, as though she’d started each morning with a heavy meal already sitting in her stomach. About how jumpy she seemed whenever she reviewed the mail sent to the castle, like she expected it to bite her. She was clearly not herself, and the rumors were swirling.
But for now, at least, those rumors centered around what sort of illness the queen had contracted and what impact it would have on her decision-making process and certain upcoming royal obligations. A bout of disease explained away all of the symptoms, and the only mystery left was what she intended to do about it and how well she could hide her suffering. Elsa didn’t actively encourage this chatter, but neither did she vociferously deny it. If she said she was sick, surely doctors would take a look at her and she would be monitored around the clock for changes in her status, and if she claimed she was fine, the rumor mill would look for another explanation. This settled perfectly in between: convincing enough that people gave her space to recover (and, she assumed, to keep some distance in case she was contagious), but not so convincing that she lost the freedom to move about.
The only proud nail in the story was her clothing. While semen on her skin washed away with a good bath, semen on her clothing did not give up so easily. She had hidden her stained clothing in her bedroom, behind a drawer where she hoped her cleaning staff could not find it. Only two dresses so far bore the mark of her iniquity; as disgusting as it was to wear a splotchy, crackly dress to the glory hole night after night, at least she had only sacrificed one outfit to the task, plus the one she’d had on for the first event in the back of a tavern. Her wardrobe was the least of her concerns, but she had to treat any evidence carefully.
At the opposite end of the spectrum, her greatest concern was the daily mail, and after the seventh night of letting strangers use her every orifice from behind a hold in the wall, she didn’t know whether she dreaded or hoped for the contents of the following letter. Surely, she thought, she had suffered enough. She had finished the tasks before her and Anna was on her way back to the castle, where the sisters could rest and recuperate while the search for the perpetrators was underway. But hope was a flame easily snuffed, and when she saw the familiar writing on the outside of the scroll, a knot formed in her stomach. She set the letter aside and worked through everything else, only giving a third of her attention to the rest of the missives, and she retired to her room to open and read the third contact from her mysterious tormentors.
To Queen Elsa,
Congratulations on completing your week behind a glory hole. It could not have been easy getting on your knees and sucking every cock you saw for seven days. Oh, but you weren’t satisfied with sucking all of them, were you? When we heard you were offering your royal pussy to anybody who so much as asked, we could hardly believe it. And then you even put your ass on offer! It’s too bad your people don’t realize what a filthy whore their queen is. We can only imagine how popular you would be if everybody only knew what an easy lay you are.
Naturally, we sampled you ourselves, once or twice… or more. You were easily the tightest little slut we’ve had in a long time. The way your pussy gripped our cocks, the way your tongue milked us dry, the way your ass spasmed whenever we came inside you… it was heavenly. We went back to see you so many times we barely had enough spunk left for your sister, and from what we’ve heard, you had many, many men besides us.
Regarding your sister, she’d doing just fine without you. She’s adjusted quickly to a diet of mostly cum. I wonder how she’d feel if she knew you were literally taking the food from her mouth whenever you helped us fill one of your cute little holes. You can hardly blame us. After all the times your sister’s taken two cocks in the same hole at once, she’s just not as tight as you are anymore, but it’s still fun to see her crawl around, naked, covered in tally marks, begging us to fuck her so she can drink the cum that drips out of her cunt.
She’s gotten so used to being naked around us, it gave us a great idea for your next task. You were so enthusiastic about the glory hole, we wondered if it even counted as a punishment. We think it’s because you’re using the protection of anonymity to finally indulge your inner slut, so it’s time you didn’t have that shield any more.
Pick a street in Arendelle. Any street. Go there tonight, take off all your clothes, and secure yourself to something solid, like a lamppost or a drainage pipe. Ever seen a child freeze her tongue to a lamppost? You’re about to see what it feels like… your tongue is to stay attached to the metal from midnight to sunup. Do not leave early or cover your body for any reason. We won’t lay a finger on you — we wouldn’t want you to learn our faces, would we? — but we can’t promise the same for anybody else who passes by. It’s certainly a risk that any passers-by will spread the word about their exhibitionist queen, but we’re sure you’ll find a way to keep them quiet.
We hope you enjoy this chance to explore your sexuality in a public setting. We’ll certainly enjoy watching it.
Elsa almost laughed. Part of it was her exhausted mind struggling to react to the words dancing before her eyes, some act of emotion from a mind barely able to form words, and some of it was a recognition of the absurdity of it all. While she was suffering, Anna was suffering worse, and she saw an irony in worrying about herself when she only put herself through such pain to stop the pain befalling her sister. In a way, Elsa was both the cause of Anna’s problems and the solution to them, and she could only be the solution by taking on the same problems herself. She thought that counted as ironic. She wasn’t thinking entirely straight.
But also, for the first time, she saw an opportunity. The letter had told her she could fulfill her task on any street. She knew they likely meant any thoroughfare with decent foot traffic, so she could spend half the night cowering and hoping nobody wandered past. They were wrong. Legally—and Elsa knew the legal wranglings of Arendelle better than anybody—any paved stretch in the city with a primary entrance on it counted as a street. And some doors designated as primary entrances weren’t actually the most popular entrances, an artifact of the old days of the city design. Which meant there were several “streets” in Arendelle that were little more than claustrophobic alleys, used rarely if ever. It was a loophole in the city code, but if she loitered on a street where nobody had set foot for days, it couldn’t be argued that she wasn’t fulfilling her brief to the letter.
She knew this was a dangerous tactic. She was dealing with kidnappers, not oath-bound noblemen. They might not see her plan for the clever dodge it was, and even if they did, they might retaliate with an even harsher demand. At this point she was looking for any respite she could, any chance to spend a single night recuperating or fighting back or, God forbid, sleeping. If the kidnappers were men of their word — and even if she had her doubts, she did get the impression that they thought they were — they would have to accept her response. And in a small, quiet alley, it would be much easier for her to notice a specific person lurking about to verify her obedience, which was another step toward learning the kidnappers’ identities and putting them through the harshest punishments the courts could fathom.
She hid the letter away with the others and returned to the halls with a spring in her step. She would sleep during the afternoon, as normal, and prepare herself for another night doing the bidding of evil men. But for once, she could likely do it without interacting with another living soul. Compared to the past eight nights, it was practically a vacation, and when she settled in for her nap she almost looked forward to it.
Night fell too soon, and shortly before midnight Elsa snuck out again with a new dress, one that would hopefully survive intact. Her choice of alley had been careful and deliberate, in a sparsely-populated market section of town with no evening activities or early-opening business. The street was just wide enough that if she laid across it she could not touch both walls with her feet and hands, and the only solid object was a lamppost the town had cut from the lighting budget the year before. Despite the solitary setting she hesitated, in no hurry to strip naked with the sky overhead… or, honestly, anywhere. As midnight approached she fourth-guessed her location, but the time to change her mind had ended. She removed her dress and folded it on the ground, providing cushion for her red knees, and laid her bra, panties, and shoes in a neat pile by her side. Snow formed between her hands and looped around her wrists, and she pushed her hands around the lamppost so she could begin to chill it as she was instructed. Then, hating every single thing about this, she stuck out her tongue and stretched it towards the frozen lamp post.
The cold didn’t bother her… but the sudden dehydration from the freezing spit hurt anyway, making her wince. She instinctively flinched backward, and just barely stopped herself from yanking at her tongue as it had frozen fast to the lamp post. To make sure she didn’t do that again, she created chains of ice between her wrists, holding her hands in place. She could melt them at any time, of course, but still… the process of binding herself more thoroughly even than the letter had demanded was galling. She pulled at the chains once, making sure they held and wouldn’t let her pull her tongue away and hurt herself… and then she settled in for a long, boring night nude on the streets of her own capital city.
Sneaking through the town had come with a certain kind of tension, one to which she had become accustomed over the last week. Whipping her head around watching for stragglers in all directions, crouching around darkened corners waiting for people to pass, timing her sprints from one alley to another, it allowed her some agency over the potential for capture. But now, if somebody approached, there was nothing she could do to prevent them from seeing her. Every sound, every bird call, every gust of wind filled her with dread, teasing the moment of her discovery. As the seconds passed, then the minutes, her anxiousness settled into an alarmed wariness, but it never fully dissipated, thrumming in her chest alongside her heartbeat. It was a different sort of fear than the one she had when she was moving. She didn’t think she liked it.
Still, it was all going to plan. An hour passed, a span so boring she almost wished for the constant interruptions of a glory hole, then two. Still nobody came. Not a single footstep heralded the approach of a witness to her predicament, nor an exclamation bouncing off the walls around her. She was, as far as she could tell, completely alone, and as the night rolled onward, the chances of an interruption became even less likely. Glancing at the sky to confirm the passage of time, Elsa allowed herself the tiniest of smiles. The war was still raging, but she had clearly won the battle.
She didn’t notice the breathing. The breeze masked its approach, hiding it under the cover of more benign air. She even dismissed the growling at first, assuming it was a trick of her ears, or maybe the rumbling in her stomach. The click-click-click of toenails, though, was inescapable. She scooted closer to the lamp post so she could turn her head a little, looking over her shoulder… and spotted the dog prowling behind her. It was a simple animal, nothing about which she had to worry. It was the dog behind it, and the other, and the other than changed her mind. A small pack of them, all sneaking toward her, heads low and teeth ever-so-slightly bared.
What was the safest response to irate dogs? She searched her mind. Was it a show of dominance, or exactly the opposite? Should she simply ignore them? She turned away, but couldn’t resist a glance back every now and again as they padded closer, separating as if to pen her in. Her shackles clanged against the lamppost; she didn’t remember trying to yank her hands away, so it must have been an idle shiver. Her body remained perfectly, safely still, treating the dogs simply as background, ready to disregard them entirely until one pressed its nose against the crotch.
Elsa yelped, then her ice shackles made an even louder sound as she tried to clap her hand over her mouth. The snout nudged her lips, spraying hot breath between her legs as its owner investigated the strange creature loitering in the alley. She edged away, making it only an inch before a growl halted her in her tracks. Fear of the dog’s retaliation stopped her, followed by the more logical fear of a bark punishing her further disobedience. A sound like that would certainly draw attention she didn’t need, so she bit her tongue — literally, because it was hard to close her mouth otherwise — and allowed the dog to explore her further. She let it sniff at her crotch, brushing against it until a familiar shame began to trickle between her lips. She whimpered when a tongue lapped at her, at once the most delicate and most shameful attention she had ever received from another living creature. She clung to the lamppost, bracing herself when it jumped on top of her, nails scratching at her pale back. If she let the dog do what it wanted, if she let it be the alpha it clearly intended to be, she might escaped unscathed and undetected. Elsa told herself the same thing again and again, even when drool ran down her back and something jabbed at her upper thighs, and through supreme willpower she maintained her fiction until the dog’s penis finally found its target and jammed itself into her pussy.
Much like her rapist, the sound Elsa made was not human. Somewhere between a scream and a whimper, it started grating and high-pitched, and it fell into a bumpy tone as the dog immediately started thrusting his hips. His hot, rigid cock hammered her insides, heedless of the dry friction it caused or how she tried to shuffle away the few inches she could. He chased her on his back legs, keeping his unsteady rhythm going until the movement pressed her whole face firmly against the frozen lamppost and she had nowhere else to go. Then he truly started, forcing his way into her until he could go no further and slapping his base against her lips at an impossible pace.
She forgot to breathe for a moment, too focused on the dog to think of petty things like air or getting caught. She only clung to the lamppost, eyes wide and brain trying to fathom how quickly her situation had turned. A burning heat caught her attention, and a sudden slickness aided the dog’s frenetic humping. Was she actually getting turned on? But a sharp jet against her womb took her by surprise, and she realized the dog was already filling her with his cum. A moment of irrational fear gripped her, and she pictured herself gravid with puppies, a nightmare only somewhat less believable than the one she currently lived. The dog shot more and more fluid until she could take no more, her pussy filled to the brim with his watery, boiling cum, and a small stream of it splattered the pristine dress bunched under her knees.
Her cry echoed against the alley walls, a sudden reminder of her exposure. She bit her tongue so hard she tasted copper, sucking air through her overworked nostrils and keeping her pained sobs locked tight behind her lips. Whenever she moved, even if just to lower her head so she could stare at the road instead of down the alley, the dog paused and growled. She used this to her advantage at first, shifting whenever she needed to catch a breath, until he nipped none-too-gently at the back of her neck. From then on she stayed still, braced against the darkened lamp, keeping her body steady and praying he would tire of her any second.
His cock slipped out of her, and dog cum splashed a permanent stain on her dress. He continued thrusting, though, stabbing her hips and drifting upward toward her spread ass. Through the bruises forming on her backside she felt him rise higher, and given how sore she was after her time in the bookstore, the last thing she needed was to take such a vigorous creature back there. Loathe as she was to admit it, she had to give him somewhere else to spend his time, somewhere already lubricated for it. Elsa reached down, intending to grab his dick and guide it back into a very, very slightly better location, but her shackles clanged far too loud as they held her in place. With a great shuddering breath she lowered her head and bucked her hips, trying to catch his rod before it found its way to an even worse destination, and she was nearly perched on just her forearms and toes before he found a target and slipped back into her.
She relaxed for a single instant, returning to a more comfortable position while he fucked her with, if anything, even greater vigor. She looked behind her, barely making out his slobbering face hovering over her delicate, claw-marked back. Some further movement caught her eye, and she strained herself trying to find it. It never came into focus, but the jingling she heard was clue enough for her to extrapolate. This mangy creature, for all its savagery, wore a collar! And his pack did as well, all with similar bands around their necks and a shiny plaque dangling below. These were no stray dogs; they were owned, and she put two and two together.
She hadn’t cleverly outwitted the kidnappers at all. Or, if she had, they’d certainly gotten their brutal revenge. This was no ordinary set of dogs conveniently out on the prowl in the dead of night. This was her true task, set up by her tormentors: she’d found the perfect place for her to get fucked by a dog right out in the open, and the kidnappers had done little more than supply her with a partner.
She thought a curse word quite hard without letting it sully her mouth. How had they done it? They would have needed some way to track her, something with her scent — and she remembered the stall in the back of the bookstore, so filled with her sweat and tears it probably acted like a beacon to any half-decent dog. Her hands balled up and smashed into the road, leaving dents only in her skin and muscles. She’d maneuvered her way right into their hands, and there was no getting out now, not unless she wanted to forfeit the night’s task and condemn Anna to suffering in her stead. Her only option was to take it and hope she could still walk in the morning.
The dog pushed his hips even harder, stretching her lips beyond their limit. She hung her head and looked back, past the pert breasts jiggling under her assault and the stomach she couldn’t believe wasn’t distended by the huge tool in her hips, to where she could see the dog’s dick, bright red and covered in a patchwork of veins. It seemed more like some fantastic demon’s penis than a man’s, but while its coloration and shape turned her stomach, it was the wide bulge at its based that truly horrified her. As she watched, helpless to escape, he tried pushing that ball into her, taking advantage of the honey she had been leaking involuntarily as her body’s half-hearted attempt to make the night go slightly easier. It helped little, and the bulge opened her so wide she couldn’t believe she didn’t tear. When the widest part finally passed her lips they closed around it, locking the dick snug in her pussy with its head almost mashed into her womb. There it sat while the dog fell off her back and turned around, leaving them connected only by the most intimate of anatomies.
Elsa shivered, pointedly trying not to tense any muscle below her chest. Her breaths came fast, deep, and spaced far apart, venting her pain with as little sound as possible. No friction burned her now, but the dog still seemed impossibly hot, more than any of the numerous men who had been inside her over the last week. Nor did the dog’s halt provide any actual relief, as her hips throbbed, pulled tight by the fist-sized ball perched just inside her. While the other dogs milled around her naked body and her white-knuckled hands finally released the lamppost, she let every ounce of pain show on her face, content at least in the knowledge that no human was around to see it.
“Hey! Whaddya think of that?”
She gasped so hard she fell into a coughing fit, which had the unfortunate side effect of squeezing the lower half. She risked only a single glance up, looking at a man—no, three men staggering toward her. They were drunk, she guessed, judging from their flushed faces and uneven lurch toward her. Her head fell, trying to hide her face behind her hair, but nothing she did could hide the rest of her shame.
“It’s a girl!” another one said, far louder than she would have liked. “Is she… oooh, is that what it looks like?”
One of the men stumbled up to her, squinting and shielding his eyes from the nonexistent sun. “I think she’s naked. And that dog is… yeah, that dog’s fucking her!”
She lowered her head more, legitimately worried her burning face would melt her tongue from the lamppost and invalidate her efforts. A sob brewed in her chest and tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back, intent on keeping control at least over her own body. The only thing she did was turn her head when a man knelt nearby, keeping him from looking directly at her and vice versa. “Come on, girl, don’t be shy. We don’t care if you wanna fuck dogs.”
“Yeah, we like them… whaddya call the girl dogs?”
“Bitches.”
“Yeah! Hah, that’s good! She’s a dog’s bitch!” He shoved the man next to him. “Get it, like a—”
“We got it.” Shoes walked around her, staring at her from all angles. “Do you think she kind of looks like the queen?”
“Pfft, no. Not every pretty girl is the Queen, Marv. Queen Elsa wouldn’t be out here fucking dogs. She’d have dogs brought to her room. Don’t be stupid.”
“Nah, she’s no queen. In fact, she— whoa!” The one nearest her took a step toward the dog, but a low growl forced him back several strides. “I get it, I get it. She’s all yours. But as long as we stay over here…”
“Hey, hey, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“What? No, it’s too cold for that. Let’s just go.”
“No, no, no, I’m not passing this… this chance up. Come on, honey. I got something for you.”
Elsa didn’t need to look up to see what his present was, not when he planted his feet near her head and she heard the familiar sound of pants unfastening. A moment later a second pair of shoes joined the first, then a third, and she heard the familiar sounds of male exertion mixed with the foreign slaps of hands on dicks. Her eyelids pressed so tightly shut they ached, and still they failed to block her situation from her mind. How could this happen? She knew the malice behind the men who had taken her sister, and she could be surprised that they had tricked her into an even more debauched act than she intended. But these drunks were ordinary people, too brazen to be the kidnappers so shrouded in secrecy. Her own citizens had found a woman chained to a post, naked and clearly in distress, and they didn’t try to free her? They didn’t even ask about her? They simply saw naked flesh and reverted to their baser instincts, treating her as nothing more than a masturbatory aid.
No. No, it wasn’t possible. It was just because they were drunk. Addled. Out of their minds. Right, it was the alcohol’s fault. She would ban it from her kingdom in the morning. It couldn’t be that all the men in her kingdom were lecherous predators, ready and willing to take advantage of any poor, innocent woman who crossed their paths. The man in the tavern had been a rare outlier. And the men in the bookstore… perhaps they were only the same men, over and over? It was possible. Or maybe the drunks were even among her patrons, despite being halfway across town from the bookstore. That was it. Arendelle had a few bad apples. But most of the people were good. She knew it. She was right. And those people would help her catch the kidnappers. She could turn the full force of the kingdom on them as soon as—
Pain rose in her hips, and the muscles grown complacent around the stationary bulge stretched first as the dog pulled his ball out of her aching hole. She gasped in anguish and shook from head to toe while the men laughed, muttering all manner of rude and unfounded would-be compliments. She tensed gingerly, testing herself to make sure nothing had broken, finally glad to get herself back to normal. Now the dog was finished, and it would leave her alone… but another dog jumped onto her, scraping his claws against the small of her back, and she couldn’t hold back the “Nooooo!” when he impaled her sore, sloppy pussy.
Like his predecessor, the new dog immediately delved deep, rutting her as hard and fast as his legs could handle. This time, however, something was different. Through the cold blanketing her body, through the men guffawing at her, even through the rod trying to breach her womb, there was something new. It took her several moments to realize it was arousal, the simple biological impulse divorced from any emotional weight. This next dog too sported a bulge below his penis, and it rubbed her differently than the first due to his shorter height and her position with her head hung low. She knew the place he rubbed from her own explorations, and from her vain attempts to derive some happiness from her time in the bookstore and keep herself mentally engaged enough to service the men as she needed. The bulge stroked her button, and for the first time since she’d received one of those evil letters, she felt actual arousal well up inside her.
“No,” she whined, pressing her palms into the road. “N-not like this.” Her pleas did nothing and her body continued unabated, perhaps as a punishment for the ways she had tortured it of late. She couldn’t crawl away, and if she raised her head the men might recognize her, and moving her rear only forced the dog to squash her button even harder. Trapped by her situation, she tried to think of other things, of budget proposals, of trade meetings, of her sister — but the thought of Anna sent a shudder down her back for reasons she dared not investigate. No logical process kept her arousal at bay, and it squirmed and throbbed below her stomach until it leaked into her chest. But she could hold it off. She could stop it. The kidnappers might have told her what to do with her body, but she still had control over it. If this peak came, if her body betrayed her in this moment, to a dog of all things…
“I think she’s getting into it!” One of the drunks laughed, and she closed her mouth to muffle the gasps she had been releasing involuntarily.
“Of course she’s into it, moron. That’s why she does it. You don’t become a dog-fucker unless you get off on getting fucked by dogs.”
She shook her head. “Th-that’s not—” she stopped, afraid of her own voice. What if they recognized her? She tried adjusting it, a little higher and harder, just enough that she thought she didn’t sound like herself, and her quick breaths helped. “That’s not w-what I… I—ooh!” Her moan slipped out between words, but once it was in the air she could do nothing to push it back down her throat.
“No use in pretending. Think we can’t hear how turned on you are?”
She wasn’t. It was just her body. How could she make them see?
“Guess she really is a bitch.”
How dare they? To insult their queen, the queen naked in an alley, chained to a lamppost…
“She’s really cumming, isn’t she! Yeah, bitch, cum for us!”
No, no! She wasn’t… she wasn’t like this! They made her do it! The dog was making her cum! She didn’t want to cum! She didn’t, she didn’t, she didn’t, she—
Her hips twitched, then her shoulders, and her whole body followed as a mind-rending orgasm took control. Her eyes went first, losing sight of the nighttime streets behind a veil of stars, and then the road fell away, leaving her floating in a cloud of white-hot pleasure. The pain swirled with it, never disappearing, keeping her anchored to the beast pumping thin seed into her pulsing body. The rush was everything, the same giddy joy she felt when she took care of herself, imagining the tender caress of that special someone. She didn’t even notice herself moaning, half-screaming with the humiliating sensation, nor did she feel the splatter of cum all over her back of her head. The orgasm subsumed her whole being, and when she settled back into reality with her cheek against the street and her arms splayed out to her sides, she finally felt the cold.
Semen oozed down her cheek, the gift the drunks had left for her. Their shoes were gone now; no doubt their interest had waned once they’d finished, and they had left her to her own devices for the rest of the night. The second dog had finished humping her and faced away, tied to her hips by his bulge, and the river of cum on the insides of her thighs cooled rapidly in the night air, threatening to freeze before she could take the bath she needed.
Elsa pushed herself up onto shaky elbows, trying to put some sense into what had happened. The men hadn’t recognized her, it seemed, though she imagined her wails of pleasure wounded little like the commanding voice she used to address her citizens. The night had moved on without her, and she likely only had a little while longer to go before morning. The dogs, of course, would continue. She hated it, but she saw no alternative that neither betrayed her task or left unanswerable questions for anybody who found the alley in the morning. She just had to wait it out — again — and it would be over in a matter of hours.
But the memory of her orgasm played over and over again, reminding her of the heights to which she had been driven. Her body had ignored her wishes, yet the sensations were the same as when she’d pleasured herself. That was the problem. All along she’d been able to keep the experiences separate; good, proper sex with a lover was this, and the kidnappers were making her do that, and the two only overlapped in name. This night had shattered her comfortable illusion. If it could make her cum, when what she was doing really was sex, the magnificent coupling she had imagined for so long, played out as a thing of horror.
It wasn’t about just bearing her ordeal any more. Now she would carry the association between her dreams and her nightmares for the rest of her life. Sex no longer held a place of honor in her mind, tarnished and ripped apart by her ordeal. Sex was a vile, evil, disgusting thing. Or… or sex was still the wonderful experience she longed to have with a soft person at her side — but selling her virginity in a tavern storeroom was also sex, as was servicing anonymous men, as was swallowing cum for hours on end, as was experiencing her first orgasm at the hands of another being, on her hands and knees in an alley, screaming sweet words to the dogs raping her until she loved it.
She couldn’t decide which it was, because she didn’t know which was worse.
The dog pulled out, and a third dog took his place, and Elsa buried her face against the lamppost and prayed she would hate it.
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