Conquest of Queen Leshara Chapter 3 - Surrender and disgrace
- John Drake
- 4 days ago
- 14 min read
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Time blurred into a haze of agony for Leshara as the brutal assault continued without respite. The rhythmic pounding against her battered body became a hellish drumbeat, each thrust sending fresh waves of pain radiating through her core. Cold stone bit into her skin where her bare legs met the defiled stone altar, and by now the repeated banging had turned them into one solid bruise. The chill from the altar and her armor both seeped into her bones even as sweat and blood mingled in rivulets down her trembling thighs.
Faces and bodies became an indistinct parade of cruelty. Esmeralda's choked sobs. Aria's broken whimpers. Seren's anguished cries. One by one, her loyal guards were violated and used as instruments of her own defilement. The sickening squelch of blood and fluids punctuated each brutal thrust into her ravaged flesh.
Leshara's world narrowed to the relentless assault on her body, the visceral sensations of tearing and burning as she was penetrated again and again. The coppery scent of blood mingled with the acrid stench of sweat and bodily fluids, coating her tongue and filling her nostrils until she could taste nothing else. Her once-proud armor was useless, offering no protection against the horrors being inflicted upon her.
Through the fog of pain and degradation, a small part of Leshara's mind clung desperately to memories of honor and dignity. But with each passing moment, with each fresh violation, those memories grew ever more distant - like fading stars being swallowed by an encroaching darkness.
Leshara's consciousness ebbed and flowed like a turbulent sea, cresting on waves of fresh agony before plunging into numbing darkness. Her world had shrunk to an endless cycle of violation and torment. The coppery tang of blood coated her tongue, seeping from where she'd bitten her lip raw in a futile attempt to stifle her screams. Each breath was ragged, catching in her throat as another assault crashed over her.
Hours stretched into an eternity of suffering. Her once-proud flesh was a canvas of bruises and lacerations, testament to the countless men who had used her body for their pleasure. The stench of blood and bodily fluids hung thick in the air, a miasma of depravity that clogged her nostrils and made her stomach heave.
Suddenly, a familiar voice pierced through the haze of Leshara's torment, jolting her back to stark awareness. The previous soldier had finished and moved away, leaving her momentarily empty and aching. But that momentary reprieve vanished as a chill ran down her spine, ice crystallizing in her veins as she recognized the pained cry behind her.
Ravenna. Her lover. Her most trusted companion.
Leshara's heart clenched, a fresh wave of despair washing over her. She tried to turn her head, desperate for a glimpse of her beloved, but her muscles screamed in protest. All she could do was listen as Ravenna's anguished sobs drew closer.
With a herculean effort, Leshara managed to turn her head, her neck muscles screaming in protest. The sight that greeted her eyes shattered what remained of her heart.
Ravenna was being dragged towards her. She hadn’t even been raped yet, just forced to watch what happened to the other girls, and she already looked like a broken shadow of her former self. Her dark hair, normally woven into intricate warrior's braids, hung in tangled, sweat-dampened ropes around her face. Angry red marks marred the smooth expanse of her tanned skin, testament to rough hands and crueler intentions… some of the Kaervassan soldiers had clearly been playing with her body while they waited for their turn, and bruises blossomed like nightshade across her throat and collarbone. The mottled purple was a stark contrast to the warm honey tones Leshara had so often traced with reverent fingers.
But it was Ravenna's eyes that truly broke Leshara. Those amber orbs, once filled with warmth and mischief and boundless love, now swam with unshed tears and raw terror. The spark of fierce determination that had first drawn Leshara to her was gone, replaced by a haunted vacancy that spoke of horrors endured and innocence forever lost.
Leshara's mind reeled, memories crashing over her like storm-tossed waves. She remembered their first meeting on the practice grounds, Ravenna's lithe form dancing with deadly grace as she bested opponent after opponent. She recalled stolen moments in sun-dappled clearings, gentle caresses giving way to passionate embraces as they explored each other's bodies with tender curiosity.
Memories flooded Leshara's mind - Ravenna's amber eyes glowing in candlelight, her silver-streaked hair fanned across silken pillows. Stolen moments of passion in hidden alcoves of the palace. Gentle caresses and fierce embraces after hard-fought battles. The way Ravenna's lips would quirk into that secret smile meant only for her.
Now those precious memories were tainted by the present nightmare, and those same, soft lips were twisted in agony as Ravenna was forced into position behind Leshara. The queen's body tensed, anticipating the next violation. But nothing could have prepared her for the soul-shattering anguish of feeling Ravenna's body pressed against her, both of them puppets in this cruel theater of depravity.
Ravenna's strangled whimper cut through Leshara like a blade as their tormentors forced them together. The familiar curves of her lover's body, once a source of comfort and pleasure, now became instruments of mutual violation… a perverse mockery of their tender embraces. Where once there had been soft caresses, now there was only the harsh scrape of the leather harness digging into both their flesh. The strap-on jutted obscenely between Ravenna's trembling thighs, its unnatural shape a stark reminder of their powerlessness as one woman was being used to hurt the other she loved most in this world.
The closeness that had once brought them solace now amplified their anguish. Leshara's senses, heightened by pain and fear, registered every minute tremor that ran through Ravenna's body. She could smell the faint traces of the lavender oil Ravenna favored, now mingled with the acrid stench of terror and violation.
From a few feet away, Prince Damien laughed, his eyes drinking in the tableau of their despair with obvious relish. His eyes raked over their intertwined forms, lingering on the places where flesh met flesh in unwilling intimacy. A knowing smile played about his lips. "What's wrong, my queen?" he asked, his tone dripping with false concern. "Does something… bother you?”
Leshara's eyes flickered towards Prince Damien, taking in the sight of her tormentor through a veil of tears. The man still lounged on his improvised throne, and Serena and Lorelei worshipped his body the way they had been doing since this began. Serena's golden hair hung in sweaty tangles, hiding her face. Lorelei's porcelain skin was marred by the prince's cruel grip, fingerprints blooming into bruises along her throat and breasts. For hours, Leshara had heard their muffled cries and breathless moans as they lavished attention on the prince. Now as she looked over, neither sister could meet her gaze… and both looked even more ashamed than they had earlier.
A cold realization settled in Leshara's gut. She saw it in the knowing smirk that played across Damien's lips, in the predatory gleam of his eyes as they raked over Ravenna's trembling form, and the shame that hid on her sister’s faces.
He knew.
Horror and betrayal coursed through Leshara's veins, mingling with the pain and despair that already threatened to consume her. She had confided in her sisters, sharing the depths of her love for Ravenna in hushed whispers and tender smiles. Now that sacred trust lay shattered, another casualty in this nightmare of violation and conquest. The realization hit Leshara like a physical blow. Her secret, her most treasured intimacy, had been weaponized against her. Damien knew exactly who Ravenna was to her, understood the exquisite torment of using her lover as an instrument of her defilement.
Ravenna's body suddenly jerked forward as the man behind her thrust brutally into her. A strangled cry tore from her throat, quickly muffled as she bit down on her lip. The force of the assault drove the strap-on deep into Leshara's well-ravaged rear entrance. Now familiar agony exploded through Leshara's guts. Her back arched involuntarily, a hoarse scream ripping from her raw throat. The familiar curves of Ravenna's body, once a source of comfort, now became instruments of torment as they were forced together. With each vicious thrust, Leshara could feel Ravenna's tears falling onto her, mingling with the dirt and grime and and sweat that coated her once-pristine armor. The rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh echoed in the chamber, punctuated by grunts of exertion and muffled sobs.
The physical pain of the anal rape was as excruciating as ever, but that was familiar by now… her asshole was so well plowed, so stabbed and skewered, that it hurt almost as badly when there wasn’t a cock inside it as there was when she was actively being raped. It almost didn’t matter, she was in agony either way. While the horrible physical pain was unchanging, however, the emotional anguish had hit a new peak. This perversion of their intimacy felt like the cruelest violation yet. Leshara's mind reeled, unable to process the horror of her beloved being used to hurt her in this way.
As the brutal assault continued, Leshara's world narrowed to a haze of agony and despair. Her body burned and tore with each thrust. The coppery tang of blood filled her mouth. She could smell Ravenna's familiar scent mingled with the acrid stench of violation. Through it all, Damien's mocking laughter rang in her ears, a constant reminder of their complete powerlessness. "How does it feel, my queen?" he taunted. "To be taken by the woman you love?"
Around her, soldiers laughed… as Damien had told her, they found her love of women amusing, and arousing. This was the purest reminder of that, of what made her desirable to them. Leshara squeezed her eyes shut, hot tears streaming down her face… But she couldn't block out the sounds of Ravenna's anguished cries or the cruel laughter of their tormentors.
As the assault on her violated body and shattered spirit continued, Queen Leshara Valonara's mind reeled. Every thrust into her swollen, abused canal felt like a betrayal, not just of her own body, but of her people and her sacred vows. Her eyes squeezed shut, she tried to transport herself to a better time, a place where Ravenna's touch had been a source of tenderness and love instead of agony and humiliation.
"Leshara!" Ravenna choked out, gasping for breath between the savage thrusts. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I... love you... so much..."
The words were like poisoned arrows piercing her heart, each syllable tearing apart the last shreds of her willpower. Leshara knew Ravenna meant it, that none of this was her fault, but the hurt in her lover's voice cut deeper than any physical blow. Tears streamed down their faces in unison as they stared at each other through blurred vision. They had sworn to protect each other, to face every trial side by side... and now they were powerless to save each other from this agony.
The guards grunting over Ravenna's head laughed coarsely, delighting in their discomfort. "Look at that! Even the fucking dyke bitches can't take it! Ha!"
Leshara's hands curled into trembling fists, nails digging into her palms. If she could have moved her arms, she would have strangled them all. Her once-proud and unyielding heart shattered into a thousand jagged pieces as the truth crashed down on her: they were defeated. Their kingdom lay in ruins, its defenses breached as easily as their own bodies. Her sisters had been captured, and their sacred trust with her betrayed, their bodies broken. There had been only this one, small thing to hold onto…
And now that final source of her strength was gone.
Leshara choked back a sob, her proud warrior's spirit finally broken. "Please..." she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming. "No more. I'll do anything."
Damien's eyes glittered with cruel delight as he leaned forward. "Anything, my queen? Then beg me properly. Tell me exactly what you want."
Leshara swallowed hard, shame burning through her. "I... I surrender my kingdom to you. Take my throne, my lands, my people. They're yours."
"Not good enough," Damien sneered. "I want to hear you beg for what you really desire."
Tears streamed down Leshara's face as she forced out the words. "Please... make me your queen. Take me as... as your wife."
Damien's laughter rang out, sharp and mocking. "Oh, but I thought you didn't like men, your majesty. Have you changed your mind so quickly?"
"I..." Leshara's voice broke. "I need you to... to put a baby in me."
"In where exactly?" Damien pressed, his tone dripping with sadistic glee.
Leshara squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could disappear. "In my... my pussy."
"Your what? I don't think I heard you clearly," Damien taunted.
She knew what he wanted. He had told her… had told her what it was about her and those like her that captured his lusts. "My dyke pussy!" Leshara cried out, her voice cracking. "Please, put a baby in my dyke pussy!"
Damien Kaelvos rose from his throne with a slow, deliberate pace that spoke volumes of his newfound power and control over the situation. His dark eyes glittered with a victorious gleam as he stared down at Leshara, the once proud Queen of Shamla, now reduced to a broken and sobbing mess before him. He smirked, his cruel lips curling into a sardonic smile as he savored her shattered pride and defiance.
Leshara shoved Lorelei and Selena aside, and her sisters lay discarded on either side of him like mangled dolls, their vacant eyes fixed on nothingness. The brutal humiliation of the last several hours had been a final straw for their horrified, traumatized mind… it seemed like it had left them mindless shadows of their former selves. Damien gave them a cursory glance before casually shoving them aside with his foot, sending their limp forms tumbling out of his way like lifeless bundles of rags. The resounding thuds as they hit the stone floor echoed through the chamber, a grim testament to their fall from grace.
Damien's approach was more than mere steps; it was a predator's prowl, a parade of dominance and conquest. Leshara's gaze, dulled by hours of torment, fixated on his advancing form. Her eyes, once fierce and proud, now glazed with a mixture of terror and defeat, were drawn inexorably to the obscene display between his legs. His manhood jutted proudly before him, angry and swollen, glistening with the evidence of her sisters' forced worship.
Leshara's stomach churned violently at the sight, bile rising in her throat. She had been raped for hours now… but despite that, one of these disgusting things had never been this close to her, never been so menacingly real. The very thought that it was about to touch her sent waves of revulsion crashing through her battered body. The hard planes of a man's body, the coarse hair, the aggressive maleness of him - it was all anathema to her very nature. Yet here she was, broken and bleeding, about to be claimed by the very thing she had sworn never to touch.
As Damien drew nearer, Leshara could smell him - a potent mix of sweat, arousal, and something uniquely masculine that made her want to gag. Her nostrils flared, desperately seeking any other scent… But there was no escape. Damien's presence loomed ever larger, blotting out all else. His cock swayed with each step, hypnotic in its horror. Leshara's eyes traced its length involuntarily, noting every vein, every twitch. She had never understood the fascination some women held for such appendages, or even how they could tolerate motherhood. Now, faced with the reality of it, she felt nothing but dread and disgust. She wanted to resist, to show him defiance… but that defiance was gone now. Raped and tortured right out of her.
In its place was only fear - a cold, creeping terror that seemed to freeze her from the inside out. This was wrong, so fundamentally wrong that Leshara's very soul cried out against it… Yet she remained still, pinned in place by more than just physical bonds. The weight of her defeat, the knowledge of what was to come, held her more surely than any chains ever could. As Damien reached her, his shadow falling across her battered form, Leshara closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of what was about to defile her.
Prince Damien Kaelvos stopped right next to her. His hand trailed up Ravenna's bloodied thigh, sliding up her restrained body, until he gripping her by the hair with a savage tug. The sharp tug on her hair caused Ravenna to cry out in pain and be yanked back from Leshara's quivering body just as the soldier behind her continued thrusting. Damien held Ravenna in place with one hand, his other hand still gripping his hardening cock.
"Thank you, pretty little dyke bitch," Damien purred, his voice dripping with contempt as he licked his lips, inches from Ravenna's tear-stained face. His eyes met Leshara's over Ravenna's shoulder, and he smiled cruelly. "It figures that it would take one worthless dyke to break another."
Damien yanked Ravenna away with brutal force, wrenching the strap-on free of Leshara's abused body. The queen let out a strangled cry at the sudden emptiness, her ravaged flesh spasming. Ravenna stumbled backwards, sobbing brokenly as Damien shoved her away from her lover and letting the soldiers still in her ass drag her to the ground, continuing to pound her as if he was trying to hammer her down into the stone.
Damien positioned himself behind Leshara, who tensed at the heat radiating from his body. She felt the blunt head of his manhood pressing against her folds that had never been meant for a man’s touch, and her entire body went rigid with revulsion and terror as she felt it sliding through the mixture of blood and fluids coating her thighs.
"Now, my queen," Damien purred, "let's see if your cunt is as tight as I’ve been dreaming it would be."
Leshara tensed as she felt Damien's manhood pressing against her. Her breath caught in her throat, muscles clenching involuntarily. With a savage thrust, he drove himself inside her. White-hot agony exploded through Leshara's body as her virginity was brutally taken. She screamed, the sound raw and primal, echoing off the chamber walls.
Damien's cruel laughter rang in her ears as he buried himself to the hilt. "So tight," he growled. "Just as I imagined an uppity royal dyke like you would be."
Tears streamed down Leshara's face as Damien began to move. Each thrust sent fresh waves of pain radiating through her core. The feeling of fullness, of violation, was overwhelming. Her body, which had only known the gentle touch of women, rebelled against this invasion.
"Look at you," Damien taunted between brutal thrusts. "The mighty warrior queen, crying like a child." His hips slammed against her again and again. "Where's your pride now? Where's your precious goddess?"
Shame and self-loathing crashed over Leshara. She could feel her blood mingling with Damien's pre-cum, easing his vicious assault. The altar beneath her was slick with fluids. She had desecrated this holy place, broken her most sacred vows. Damien's hands gripped her hips bruisingly tight as he pounded into her. Leshara's armor creaked and shifted with each impact, the metal digging painfully into her flesh. She felt utterly powerless, a broken doll for Damien to use as he pleased.
"That's it," he growled. "Take it like the whore you are." His pace increased, driving into her with punishing force. "My little whore… and I’m going to breed you just like any other dyke cow!”
Leshara's world narrowed to the rhythmic agony of Damien's assault and the crushing weight of her defeat. She had failed - failed her kingdom, her goddess, herself. Now she would bear the fruit of that failure in her womb. Damien's words echoed in Leshara's mind, a constant reminder of her shame. To be impregnated by a man, to carry his child, was the ultimate betrayal for a woman devoted to the goddess.
She clung desperately to the altar, feeling like she was being ripped apart from the inside out. Her blood and sweat and spit defiled the sacred stone, the same way her cock was defiling her sacred body. Each impact made her whole body shake with shame and anguish as she was taken against her will. Damien grunted triumphantly as he felt Leshara convulse beneath him. He could feel himself nearing his own release and quickened his pace even further.
As the Prince’s - No, the King’s, for he would now be the new King of Shamla by conquest - thrusts grew more erratic, Leshara silently begged for death. Anything to end this torment, to escape the shame of her broken vows. But there would be no merciful release. Only the cruel reality of Damien's seed spilling inside her as he roared his triumph.
For what seemed like an eternity, they remained intertwined on the altar - Leshara trembling with aftershocks while Damien panted heavily above her. The room was silent except for their ragged breathing and the sound of their bodies shifting against each other. As the reality of her violation sank in, the room seemed to spin around Leshara. Nausea clawed its way up her throat, the bitter tang of bile burning her parched throat. She retched, but nothing came up except for a few pathetic spots of spittle that landed on the already defiled altar. Her whole body shivered uncontrollably, her once-proud warrior's frame shaken by the magnitude of her defeat.
Leshara felt humiliated to the core of her being, her soul blackened by the knowledge of what had just taken place. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the sweat and blood that stained her cheeks. Her body ached in ways she had never thought possible - not only physically, but deep within her very essence. Shame and self-loathing were her constant companions now, an ever-present weight that threatened to crush her beneath its enormity.
Disgust and revulsion consumed her. The feel of Damien's seed inside her was like molten acid, eating away at her very core. The fact that she might be pregnant with his child filled her with a sense of self-hatred so pure, so all-consuming, that it threatened to consume her. Worst of all… she had asked for it. Begged for it.
Just like he said she would.
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