This Voiceover is done by text to speech, as a demo. Let me know if you like this feature, and I'll include more!
The prince's words hung in the air, heavy with promise and threat. Leshara could feel the weight of them pressing down on her, as tangible as the ropes that bound her to the altar. With a subtle gesture from Damien, two soldiers stepped forward. Their hands moved with practiced efficiency as they began unbuckling the straps of Leshara's greaves. The queen thrashed against her bonds, muscles straining as she tried to kick out at her tormentors. But the ropes held fast, leaving her helpless to resist as piece by piece, her leg armor was stripped away.
The cool air of the temple whispered across Leshara's newly bared skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. She shivered involuntarily, the sensation a stark contrast to the cold, unyielding stone beneath her. The curve of her backside was now exposed, vulnerable in a way that made her cheeks burn with shame and fury. The rest of her armor remained in place, a protective shell that now felt more like a cage. The metal plates pressed against her heaving chest, digging into her flesh as she strained against her bonds. Sweat beaded on her skin, trickling down the nape of her neck and pooling in the small of her back.
Leshara gritted her teeth, refusing to give voice to the panic clawing at her throat. She could feel Damien's gaze on her, heavy and expectant. The queen redoubled her efforts, twisting and bucking against the ropes that held her. The hemp fibers creaked and groaned, but did not yield.
Damien's eyes gleamed with malicious delight as he turned to his soldiers. "Bring forward the first of her honor guards," he commanded, his voice ringing through the temple.
Two burly Kaervass warriors stepped forward, dragging a struggling figure between them. Leshara's heart clenched as she recognized Lyra Blackthorn, one of her most trusted and skilled warriors. Lyra's short-cropped black hair was disheveled, and a thin trail of blood trickled from a cut on her lip. The distinctive scar across her left cheek stood out starkly against her pale skin, a reminder of past battles fought side by side.
As the soldiers shoved Lyra closer, Leshara's eyes widened in horror. Her loyal guard had been stripped completely naked, her lithe, athletic form on full display. Lyra's body bore the marks of their recent defeat - angry red welts and darkening bruises marred her sun-bronzed skin. But it was what hung from Lyra's hips that made Leshara's breath catch in her throat.
A leather strap encircled Lyra's waist, and from it dangled a grotesque, monstrous rod. The misshapen shaft was like a horrified lesbian’s worst nightmares of what a man’s penis might look like, its proportions exaggerated and warped. Crude, slightly rounded spikes protruded at irregular intervals along its length, their tips gleaming wickedly in the light pouring into the temple. The entire monstrosity seemed to pulse with an otherworldly malevolence that made Leshara's stomach churn.
Leshara's gaze darted between the horrific device and Lyra's face, searching for some explanation in her friend's eyes. But Lyra's expression was a mask of shame and anguish, her usual grace and confidence stripped away along with her clothing. The proud warrior now stood hunched and trembling, unable to meet her queen's gaze.
"What-" Leshara's voice cracked, unable to fully process the horror before her. The strap-on bobbed obscenely with each of Lyra's shuddering breaths, a perverse mockery of arousal. The Queen swallowed hard before continuing. "What have you done to her?"
Damien's laughter echoed through the temple, a sound of pure, cruel amusement. "Your loyal guard has simply been outfitted with a little toy. You see, after I captured them, I learned your sisters were quite the skilled artists… but neither of them had actually ever seen a man's cock before. So when I asked them to sculpt one for me, they had to imagine what it looked like.” His fingers trailed along the grotesque shaft, and Lyra flinched at his touch. "They were a bit... creative in their interpretations, I'm afraid. Surely, men aren’t that bad… right?"
Leshara's eyes widened in dawning comprehension as the full weight of Damien's words sank in. Her gaze darted between the monstrous appendage strapped to Lyra's hips and Damien's cruel smirk, her mind reeling as it connected the horrific dots. A cold dread settled in the pit of her stomach, spreading outward until her entire body felt numb with shock. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You can't mean to-"
"Oh, but I do," Damien purred, his eyes glittering with malicious glee. "You don’t want a man between your legs? Then you shall have a woman, instead. Fitting, don't you think?"
Leshara's breath came in quick, shallow gasps, her chest heaving against the unyielding stone of the altar. The ropes bit into her flesh as she strained against them with renewed desperation, but they held fast, leaving her helpless and exposed. She could feel the cool air of the temple ghosting across her bare skin, a stark reminder of her vulnerability.
Her mind raced, conjuring vivid images of that grotesque shaft forcing its way inside her. She imagined those crude spikes scraping against her most intimate flesh, tearing and bruising as they violated her. The thought of that misshapen monstrosity stretching her, filling her, made bile rise in her throat.
The soldiers moved with grim efficiency, their faces set in masks of cold determination as they forced Lyra to her knees behind the bound queen. Lyra struggled against their iron grip, her muscles straining as she tried to wrench herself free. But her efforts were futile - the Kaervass warriors were far stronger, their hands rough and impersonal as they manhandled her into position.
Leshara could hear the scuffling behind her, the soft grunts of exertion and the scrape of knees against stone. She twisted her head, straining to see what was happening, but the awkward angle and her bonds prevented her from glimpsing more than shadows and movement in her peripheral vision. The suspense was agonizing, every second stretching into an eternity as she waited for the inevitable.
"Please," Lyra's voice cracked, thick with unshed tears. "My Queen, forgive me. I can't-"
"Silence," one of the soldiers growled, and there was a dull thud followed by a muffled whimper.
Leshara felt hands on her hips, calloused fingers digging into her flesh as they lifted her slightly. The queen's breath caught in her throat as she felt the tip of that monstrous shaft pressing against her, but not where she had expected. Instead of seeking entrance to her womanhood, the grotesque appendage nudged insistently at the puckered ring of her anus.
A cry of mingled shock and terror tore from Leshara's throat as realization dawned. "No!" she screamed, thrashing wildly against her bonds. "Not there! You can't-
Lyra's entire body trembled violently, muscles straining as she fought against the inexorable pressure. Sweat beaded on her brow, trickling down her face to mingle with the tears that flowed freely. Her teeth were clenched so tightly that tendons stood out in her neck, and a low, keening whine escaped her throat.
"Please," she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't do this. Not to her. Not to my Queen."
Both women’s pleas, however, fell on deaf ears. The soldiers held Lyra steady, their grips like vises as they positioned the captive warrior. Leshara could feel the head of the strap-on pressing more firmly against her virginal opening, the unyielding material a stark contrast to the sensitive flesh of her most intimate area. She clenched involuntarily, her body instinctively trying to deny entry to the invader. Behind her, one of Damien's soldiers grinned cruelly, his eyes alight with sadistic glee. He pressed himself against Lyra's backside, one hand gripping her hip while the other guided himself into position.
Lyra's eyes flew wide as she felt the soldier's manhood pressing insistently against her. She redoubled her efforts to pull away, but the iron grip on her hips held her fast. “You wish to fight like men?” The soldier behind the pair of them growled. “Then you’ll be taken like men!” A strangled cry tore from Lyra’s throat as the soldier began to force his way inside her unprepared body. She screamed in sudden, excruciating pain, and Lyra's back arched involuntarily, driving her hips forward as the man’s weight hit her from behind… forcing the grotesque shaft strapped to her pushed inexorably against Leshara's resisting flesh.
For a moment, Leshara's world narrowed to a single point of white-hot agony. The misshapen head of the strap-on breached her virginal opening, stretching her beyond anything she had ever imagined possible. A burning, tearing sensation that seemed to split her in two filled every nerve ending in the Queen’s body. She screamed, a primal sound of pain and violation that echoed through the temple and joining with the screams of her honor guard. The two women’s cries rose to an even more desperate pitch, transforming into unholy shrieks as the soldier behind Lyra her hilted himself fully inside her. The guard's body spasmed, driving her hips forward with brutal force. In one agonizing thrust, the full length of the monstrous, spiked shaft plunged into Leshara's unprepared body, impaling her virgin asshole in shredding, violent stab.
Leshara screamed at the top of her lungs, unable to stop herself. The queen's scream seemed to go on forever, raw and animalistic. Her back bowed, muscles cording beneath sweat-slicked skin as her body fought against the invasion. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the saliva that dripped from her slack jaw. Behind her, Lyra sobbed brokenly, her own pain momentarily forgotten in the face of what she had been forced to do to her beloved queen. "Forgive me," she screamed out as sobs broke her voice, the words barely understandable through her misery. "Please, my Queen! Forgive me!"
The soldier behind Lyra began to move, his hips snapping forward in a brutal rhythm. Each thrust drove Lyra forward, forcing the monstrous shaft deeper into Leshara's body. The queen's cries became a staccato of anguished gasps, punctuated by the wet slap of flesh against flesh as her world narrowed to a pinpoint of agony. Her body jerked forward with each thrust, the rough stone of the altar scraping against her chest and face. The metal of her remaining armor dug painfully into her flesh, the edges leaving angry red marks. Sweat poured from her skin, mingling with the tears that streamed down her face.
The grotesque shaft seemed to swell inside her, the crude spikes along its length catching and tearing at her delicate tissues. Each movement sent fresh waves of burning pain radiating through her body. Leshara's muscles clenched and spasmed involuntarily, trying desperately to expel the invader, but only succeeding in intensifying her torment.
The tempo increased, the soldier's grunts of obviously pleasure growing louder as he raped her. His fingers dug bruisingly into Lyra's hips as he slammed into her with brutal force. Each impact drove Lyra forward, burying the strap-on to the hilt in Leshara's abused passage. It had just been a few moments, and already Leshara's throat felt raw from screaming, her voice reduced to a hoarse whimper. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision as her body struggled to process the overwhelming sensations. The pain seemed to radiate outward from her core, consuming her entire being in its fiery embrace.
Shame burned through her, as hot and caustic as the physical agony. She was Leshara Valonara, Queen of the Shamlan people, chosen champion of the goddess. And yet here she lay, helpless and degraded, her most intimate places violated by the very warriors sworn to protect her. The realization threatened to shatter her very sense of self.
A particularly vicious thrust tore a ragged scream from her throat, and for a moment Leshara's world went white with pain. When awareness returned, she found herself silently mouthing the words of the warrior's oath she had sworn so long ago. Her lips formed the syllables mechanically, a desperate attempt to cling to some shred of her identity in the face of this defilement. But even as she recited the familiar phrases, a traitorous part of her mind whispered that she was unworthy of them now. What kind of queen allowed herself to be used like this? What kind of champion lay passive while her goddess's temple was desecrated? The thoughts twisted in her gut like poison, threatening to erode her will to resist.
Leshara thrashed her head from side to side, screaming and seeking for help and relief… and a second later she wished she hadn’t. Nearby, Damien reclined on top of a secondary altar, his ass resting on the sacred surface as it turned it into a makeshift throne from which to watch the brutal violation of Queen Leshara. A cruel smile played at the corners of his mouth, his storm-grey eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. He sipped casually from a goblet of wine, savoring both the rich vintage of both wines and screams on his pallet.
And at his feet knelt Leshara's naked sisters, Lorelei and Selena.
Lorelei's golden hair, usually kept in tight braids, now hung loose and tangled around her tear-stained face as she worked Damien's length with her mouth. Her movements were mechanical, devoid of passion or resistance - the motions of a woman utterly broken. Beside her, Selena's emerald eyes were glazed over, her usual fire extinguished as her tongue laved obediently along Damien's shaft each time it was exposed from her sibling’s mouth.
The sight of her sisters' degradation sent a fresh wave of anguish through Leshara, momentarily eclipsing even the searing pain of her own violation. These were women she had been raised with, taught besides, played along with, and shared her most intimate secrets to. And now they knelt willingly at the feet of the man who had destroyed everything they held dear. Neither of her sisters were warrior, having taking the divine oath never to lay with a man, but even so…
Damien caught Leshara's gaze and smirked, his lips curling into a cruel smile. He rolled his hips lazily, pushing deeper into Lorelei's mouth and eliciting a choked gurgle. "You see, my queen?" he drawled, his voice a low, mocking purr that seemed to slither across Leshara's skin. "Your precious sisters have learned their place so quickly. Such eager little whores they've become."
He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, forcing himself deeper into Lorelei's throat. The golden-haired warrior gagged but did not pull away, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to breathe around Damien's intrusion. Selena whimpered softly but continued her ministrations, her tongue tracing patterns along the base of Damien's shaft.
"Remember your vows, Leshara?" Damien continued, his tone conversational despite the obscene display. "How you swore to never let a man touch you? How the very thought of male flesh made your skin crawl?" He laughed, the sound as cold and cutting as a midwinter wind. "Have you begun to crave it yet? Does it seem better than the agonizing thing inside of you?”
Leshara wanted to scream defiance, to rail against Damien's cruel words. But all that escaped her lips was a strangled sob as another brutal thrust sent fresh waves of agony radiating through her body. The monstrous shaft seemed to swell inside her, stretching her beyond what she thought possible. Each movement sent the crude spikes scraping against her tender flesh, leaving her feeling raw and torn.
"That's it, my pets," Damien purred, his voice low and husky. "Show your Queen how eager you are to serve, now that you’ve been educated." He gave Lorelei's hair a sharp tug, eliciting a muffled whimper. "And mind those teeth, or you'll regret it."
The prince’s eyes moved up again, and cruel gaze swept over the scene before him, his lips curling into a sneer of disdain. "Is that the best you can do, soldier?" he called out, his voice dripping with contempt. "I thought I ordered you to break these dyke cows, not treat them like a lover!"
The soldier grunted, his face flushing with a mix of shame and renewed determination. “Yes sir!” he shouted. His hands tightened their grip on Lyra's hips, fingers digging so deeply into her flesh that they left angry red marks. With a snarl of effort, he redoubled his efforts, slamming into Lyra with brutal force.
Lyra's back arched as she screamed, her voice raw and primal. The soldier's renewed vigor drove her forward, forcing the grotesque strap-on even deeper into Leshara's abused passage. The queen's agonized cries rose to a fever pitch, her body jerking violently with each savage thrust.
The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the temple, a obscene counterpoint to the women's screams. Sweat glistened on the soldier's brow as he pounded into Lyra with reckless abandon. His fingers dug bruisingly into her hips as he used her body like a battering ram, driving the monstrous shaft deeper and deeper into Leshara's torn and bleeding flesh.
Lyra's screams took on a frantic, almost animalistic quality as the soldier's brutal pace pushed her beyond her limits, and Leshara could barely even bring herself to consider her friend’s pain… With each of the conjoined thrusts she suffered, the warrior-queen felt as though she were being torn apart from the inside. The crude spikes along the strap-on's length caught and tore at her delicate tissues, sending white-hot jolts of agony radiating through her core. Her throat felt raw from screaming, her voice reduced to a hoarse, keening wail.
The ropes bit deeply into Leshara's wrists and ankles as she thrashed against her bonds, desperate to escape the relentless violation. But there was no respite, no mercy to be found. Only the cruel rhythm of Lyra's body being driven into hers, again and again and again.
The relentless assault continued, each brutal thrust driving Leshara closer to the edge of madness. Her world had narrowed to a pinpoint of agony, every nerve ending in her body screaming in protest. The queen's sun-bronzed skin was slick with sweat, her flame-colored hair plastered to her tear-stained face. Her muscles trembled with exhaustion, pushed beyond their limits by her futile struggles against the unyielding ropes.
Leshara's throat felt raw and torn, her voice reduced to a hoarse rasp as she continued to cry out. The pain seemed to radiate outward from her core, consuming her entire being in its fiery embrace. She could feel the cruel spikes of the monstrous shaft catching and tearing at her most intimate flesh with each savage thrust, leaving her feeling broken and violated in ways she had never imagined possible.
The rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh echoed through the temple, a obscene counterpoint to the mingled cries of pain and unwanted pleasure. Behind her, Lyra's sobs had given way to guttural moans, her body betraying her as it responded to the relentless stimulation. The soldier's grunts grew louder and more frenzied as he neared his climax, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency.
Leshara's mind reeled, desperately seeking some escape from the nightmarish reality of her situation. She tried to focus on her training, on the iron discipline that had seen her through countless battles. But the searing agony tore through her defenses, leaving her raw and vulnerable. The proud warrior queen found herself reduced to a quivering, sobbing wreck, all thoughts of resistance shattered by the overwhelming sensations assaulting her body.
"Please," Leshara whimpered, her voice barely audible over the cacophony of pain and violation filling the temple. "Make it stop. I can't... I can't take anymore."
Damien's eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction as he leaned forward, his face mere inches from Leshara's tear-stained visage. "What was that, my queen?" he purred, his voice dripping with false concern. "I'm afraid I couldn't quite hear you over all the screaming."
Leshara swallowed hard, choking back a sob as she forced herself to meet Damien's gaze. "Please," she repeated, her voice cracking. "Take it out. That... that thing. I can't bear it any longer. It's tearing me apart!"
A slow, predatory smile spread across Damien's face. He reached out, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair from Leshara's forehead in a mockery of tenderness. "Oh, my poor, suffering queen," he crooned. "Have you forgotten our little arrangement already? You can end this at any time, you know. All you have to do is ask nicely.”
Leshara's blood ran cold as the cruel reality of her situation crashed over her once more. Through the haze of agony clouding her mind, she remembered Damien's twisted bargain. She could end this torment... but only by inviting an even greater violation upon herself. The queen's stomach churned at the very thought, bile rising in her throat.
For a moment, Leshara teetered on the precipice of surrender. The relentless, tearing pain threatened to overwhelm her last shreds of resistance. It would be humiliating, a shame beyond anything she had ever imagined for herself… but could it really be worse than this? The fallen Queen could almost taste the words on her tongue, the plea that would bring an end to this particular torment. To beg Damien to take her, to feel his body pressed against hers instead of the monstrous, spiked shaft currently ravaging places no sexual tool was ever meant to go.
Even as the thought formed, however, revulsion washed through Leshara like a cleansing fire. Memories flashed through her mind - taking her sacred vows before the statue of Aelara, swearing to never know the touch of a man. The faces of her sisters-in-arms, who had followed her example and dedicated their lives to the goddess. The trust and faith of her people, who looked to her as both ruler and spiritual leader… and her absolute disgust for the cruel men who had brought down this hellish war on Shamla and her people. Who had murdered her mother.
Leshara's jaw clenched, her teeth grinding together as she fought to master herself. She would not betray everything she held dear, not even to escape this agony. The queen's eyes, which had been glazed with pain, sharpened with renewed determination. She met Damien's gaze, her own blazing with defiance despite the tears that continued to stream down her cheeks. "Never," Leshara rasped, her voice barely above a whisper but filled with iron resolve. "You’ll defile me, or you will not… but I will never be yours willingly, you godless cur. Do your worst - I would rather die than submit to you."
Damien shrugged, his lips curling into a cruel smirk as he reclined back onto his makeshift throne. "As you wish, my queen," he said as if he literally could not care less. The prince settled himself more comfortably atop the desecrated altar, spreading his legs wider to allow Leshara's sisters better access. Lorelei and Selena redoubled their efforts, their tongues dancing along Damien's shaft with desperate enthusiasm. Selena’s eyes rolled back in her head as she took him deep into her throat, choking slightly as the head of his cock hit the back of her mouth. Beside her, Lorelei's golden hair cascaded over her shoulders as she lavished attention on Damien's heavy sack.
Behind Leshara, the soldier raping two women at once grunted with effort as he approached his climax. His hips snapped forward with increasing urgency, each brutal thrust driving Lyra's body into Leshara's. The monstrous strap-on plunged deeper and deeper, its spiked length scraping against the queen's tender flesh. His breath came in ragged pants, his face contorted in a rictus of pleasure. With a final, savage thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside Lyra. His body went rigid, muscles trembling as waves of release washed over him. A guttural roar tore from his throat as he spent himself inside the captive warrior.
For a moment, the tableau held - the Kaevassan soldier's hips pressed flush against Lyra's backside, his hands squeezing her breasts like a horse’s reins and using all his weight to drive the full length of the strap-on deep into Leshara's abused passage. Then, with a grunt of satisfaction, Kieran withdrew. He shoved Lyra roughly aside, sending her sprawling across the cold stone floor, and the sudden withdrawl of the blood strap-on hurt nearly as badly as the rape had. It came free with a wet, obscene slurping sound. The queen's ravaged flesh clenched and spasmed around the sudden emptiness, sending fresh waves of agony radiating through her core. A thin trickle of blood and other fluids seeped from her abused opening, staining the pale skin of her inner thighs.
Leshara's body sagged against the altar, her strength finally giving out. Sobs wracked her frame as the full weight of her violation crashed over her. The proud warrior queen lay broken and bleeding in the remnants of her armor, her spirit battered but not yet extinguished.
Damien lounged back on the altar, his posture relaxed and regal despite the obscene tableau before him. With a languid wave of his hand, he directed Leshara's sisters to change positions. Lorelei moved to straddle his hips, her blonde hair covering the myriad welts across her back and ass as she positioned herself above him. Selena knelt beside them, her emerald eyes glazed and unfocused as she waited for further instruction.
"You see, my dear Queen," Damien began, his voice smooth as silk and cold as ice, "your people's reputation precedes them. The man-hating lesbians of Shamla, so proud and fierce in their devotion to their goddess." His hands gripped Lorelei's hips, guiding her down onto his length with agonizing slowness. The golden-haired princess whimpered softly, her body trembling as she was impaled.
"It was almost embarrassingly easy to recruit for this campaign. Men from all corners of the kingdom, eager for the chance to put arrogant bitches like you in their place." Damien continued, his words punctuated by the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh. His hips rolled upward, eliciting a choked gasp from Lorelei. "Do you know the kind of temptation a cunt like you presents? To take a woman no one could ever get any other way?"
With a gesture, he summoned another soldier forward. The man approached, dragging a struggling figure behind him. Leshara's heart clenched as she recognized Althea, another of her loyal honor guards. The warrior's auburn hair was matted with blood and sweat, her olive skin marred by bruises and welts. Like Lyra before her, Althea had been stripped naked and fitted with a grotesque strap-on, its misshapen length bobbing obscenely with each movement.
Leshara's eyes widened in horror as she watched Althea being dragged forward, the grotesque strap-on bobbing with each stumbling step. This one looked more like a horse’s member with a broad, flared tip… probably where her sister had seen it. A low, keening wail rose in the queen's throat as the full weight of her situation crashed over her anew. This nightmare wasn’t over… it was only starting.
"No," Leshara whimpered, her voice cracking. "No more. I can't... I can't take it again!"
"My soldiers are quite enthusiastic," Damien mused, ignoring her pleading as his fingers tangled in Lorelei's hair and tugged, forcing her to arch her back. The prince’s other hand tangled in Selena's emerald hair, dragging her forward roughly. "Don't just sit there gawking, pet," he growled. "Put that tongue of yours to work."
Selena whimpered softly but obeyed, lowering her head to lap tentatively at Damien's heavy sack as Lorelei continued to ride him. The golden-haired princess's movements were mechanical, her face a mask of anguish as she was forced to impale herself again and again on Damien's length. "My men see it as a holy mission, almost. To conquer the unconquerable, to tame the wild beasts of Shamla." His eyes raked over Leshara's bound form, a predatory gleam in their depths. "And you, my fierce little queen, are the greatest prize of all."
The soldier positioned Althea behind Leshara, his hands rough and impersonal as he guided the strap-on into place. The queen could feel the blunt head pressing against her already abused opening, and she clenched involuntarily, her body instinctively trying to deny entry to this new invader.
Damien's lips curled into a cruel smile as he watched Leshara's futile resistance. "Oh, don't worry," he purred, his voice dripping with false reassurance. "I'm sure you'll learn to enjoy it eventually. After all, your sisters certainly seem to be coming around."
The soldier gripped Althea's hips, his fingers digging bruisingly into her flesh as he positioned himself behind her. With a savage thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside the captive warrior. Althea's back arched as she screamed, the sudden intrusion sending waves of agony radiating through her core. The force of the soldier's entry drove her forward, and the flared head of the equine strap-on breached Leshara's already torn and bleeding entrance.
The queen's world exploded in blinding agony as the monstrous shaft forced its way inside her. The flared tip stretched her beyond anything she had thought possible, scraping against her abraded flesh as it plunged deeper. It wasn’t that this cock was worse than the spiked one, or larger, but it was different, and hurt her in new and completely different ways. Leshara's throat, already raw from screaming, produced a sound more animal than human - a keening wail of anguish that echoed off the temple walls.
The soldier established a brutal rhythm, each powerful thrust driving Althea forward and forcing the strap-on deeper into Leshara's ravaged passage. The queen's body jerked with each impact, her armor-protected form sliding against the smooth surface of the altar.
Althea sobbed brokenly, her cries mingling with Leshara's in a horrific duet of suffering. "Forgive me, my Queen," she gasped between ragged breaths. "I can't... I can't stop him!"
But Leshara was beyond hearing, beyond comprehension. She felt nothing but her own agonizing rape, each thrust of the grotesque shaft sending fresh waves of torment radiating through her body. She could feel herself tearing, warm trickles of blood seeping from her abused flesh to mingle with the other fluids staining her thighs.
The relentless assault continued, minutes stretching into an eternity of pain and violation. Leshara's struggles grew weaker, her strength ebbing away with each brutal thrust. Her sun-bronzed skin was slick with sweat, her flame-colored hair plastered to her tear-stained face, and her armor felt like an oven she was being baked inside. The proud warrior queen had been reduced to a quivering, sobbing wreck, and the temple echoed with a cacophony of anguished cries and obscene, wet slapping sounds as the brutal assault continued.
As Althea's equine strap-on plunged relentlessly into her abused passage, Leshara's eyes rolled wildly, desperately seeking some escape from the nightmare surrounding her. Her gaze fell upon the line of soldiers stretching towards the temple entrance, each one gripping one of her bound and naked honor guards. The sight sent a fresh wave of despair crashing over her.
There was Thalia, her olive skin marred by angry red welts, a cruel parody of a bull's member strapped to her hips. Behind her stood Zara, her ebony skin glistening with sweat as she trembled, the grotesque shape attached to her groin resembling some monstrous sea creature. On and on the line stretched, each of Leshara's loyal warriors reduced to a vessel for these twisted, imaginary phalluses…
And each one of them was going to be used to violate her.
The Queen felt her sanity strain like it was about to snap, her mind unable to process the unending brutality. The faces of her captors blurred together, becoming a leering mass of cruelty and lust. The pain, once sharp and defined, now spread through her body like wildfire, consuming everything in its path.
As darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, Leshara's last coherent thought was a prayer to Aelara, begging for the strength to endure what was yet to come…
But if the goddess heard her, she received no answer.
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