Greetings brave souls. This is a tale of debauchery and degradation. Strap in folks, it’s about to get dark…
***
The old king was a benevolent despot. In his youth he led armies from the front rank, proving his courage and strength of arms to the men who fought alongside him and earning their loyalty and devotion. His laws were just and backed by an iron clad determination and an army of spearmen. No one expected that the youngest of the old king’s three sons would ever amount to much but when his older brothers both fell in the same battle he found himself in the role of heir. Two days later the old king died of a broken heart and so the crown passed to the youngest and least prepared of his sons.
My father was a great lord, beloved of his people, respected by friend and enemy alike. Despite his military might he held no aspirations to monarchy. He was a loyal vassal to the throne but the new King was a weak and fearful man who had inherited none of his sire’s magnificence.
Swayed by the poisonous whispering of his council, our weak king began to see my father as a threat. The king ordered my father to gather his forces and strike out against the barbarian hordes in the south. A month after my father had departed, the king and his retinue arrived and walked through the nigh impregnable defences of our castle with evil in their hearts. We foolishly welcomed them into our home and they repaid our hospitality with savagery. Unarmoured men feasting with supposed friends are no match for cold steel blades and murderous intentions. There was no battle, just slaughter. My mother and brother were both killed in the chaos. I was not so fortunate.
When it was over I was stripped naked and and forced to kneel at the feet of the man responsible for the murder of my family. From my knees I spat defiant hatred at him and threatened him with my father’s vengeance. He chuckled and told me my father was walking into an ambush and would be dead before the week was out. He didn’t bother to explain any further, instead he had me beaten and raped. The king himself ripped through my maidenhead while his queen looked on with a cold smile on her face and when he was spent his noblemen took their turns. I have no idea how many men used me that day. I tried to keep count at first but fell into blessed oblivion as the twelfth man sodomised me.
Consciousness returned when they smeared a sticky, foul smelling ointment between my legs. The ointment burned with the heat of a naked flame but while it felt like I was on fire it did no actual damage to my tender flesh. They used that terrible cream on all the areas of my body below the neck that might grow hair and then, at the queen’s suggestion, they revived the usage of the slave leash. She reminded them that in ancient times a rope would be woven from the shorn beard of a defeated enemy, tied in a noose and placed around the throat. A rope made from the hairs of a beard is a miserable thing, useless for any practical purpose other than symbolism. The leash they made for me was far more impressive. I had no beard so they sawed my long blonde hair off in chunks and wove that instead.
I started the day as Lady Kellandra and ended it as a bewildered and bruised piece of hairless fuck meat unable to lay claim to any vestige of virginity.
The king’s council began to compete with each other to devise new and terrible ways to torture me. They would feast and then I would be brought before them and made to debase myself and perform the most degrading of acts for their amusement. Each time I believed I had sunk as low as humanly possible they would find a way to prove me wrong. I was treated with less respect than even the lowliest of tavern whores. Whores at least earn a few coins for their services.
Among the countless men and woman who abused me, three stood out from the crowd. The first was the king who had murdered my family and condemned me to a life of sexual slavery.
The second was his queen. She wasn’t content to see me lie passive as I was taken. She insisted that I be taught the tricks of a whore so that I might give pleasure to those who violated me. After I had been taught to satisfy a woman she began to make frequent use of my talents. It wouldn’t do for the royal cunt to be tongued in front of a baying crowd so she would have me brought to her chambers so that I might give her pleasure from my knees.
The third was an elderly priest. A vile and vicious man who accused me of heresy and witchcraft. He branded my scalp with a crucifix and then pointed to the marking as proof of my evil. He spoke as if my head had blistered and burned under the touch of cold iron when in fact the cross had been heated on a brazier. I only wished I truly had the power I was accused of harbouring. The label of witch made many of the nobles, soldiers and even the servants fearful that their immortal souls would be contaminated by congress with one as corrupted as myself and so I was passed into the dubious care of churchmen who seemed to believe their balls were filled with holy seed and the only way to cleanse me of evil was to fill my body up with as much of it as possible.
My public humiliations continued but now instead of nobles or common folk I was the plaything of slaves and dogs.
Unbeknownst to me my father was far from dead. He escaped the ambush and drew the enemy forces into a trap of his own by baiting them into a narrow gorge. He formed his men and charged the neck of the gorge, ripping through the first of the barbarian horde then retreating and reforming to charge again. He killed them a piece at a time until they finally broke and fled into the hills.
Upon his return to his title lands he was informed of the king’s betrayal and immediately began a campaign of revenge. He ruthlessly stormed fortress after royal fortress. Each victory gained him new supporters. Lords who had fallen from royal favour were questionable allies but they were welcomed as warmly as any other as my father’s campaign gathered momentum.
A more cunning ruler might have tried to hide news of the war from me but the king was as wise as I was chaste. He had me brought back to court so he could punish me for my father’s victories. He took his frustrations out on me with a whip and then set me to pleasuring his favourite hound and so I debased myself with a beast in front of a crowd of onlookers.
Hope is such a fragile and ethereal thing. It can be shattered in a moment but while it lives it can work miracles. Hope is all I had during the latter days of my imprisonment. I had little sanity remaining. I was broken in mind and spirit as well as body. A few tattered scraps of reason were all I had left to me but those scraps fed on the hope that my father would repay these evil men and women in their own coin.
Two great fortresses stood between my father and the royal stronghold. It was expected to take months for each to fall but my father’s army simply marched past them both and so the king sent messengers commanding the two garrisons to combine their forces and attack the rebel rear guard. The lord of the first fortress had the messengers killed so that he might claim ignorance of the orders. The second lord deployed his garrison but instead of attacking the rebel army he gave my father his oath of fealty. The men of the second fortress’s garrison who had been expected to at least slow my father’s advance found themselves a part of the very army they had thought to fight.
The queen and her daughters were hurried northward before the royal stronghold was fully encircled and so they escaped but the king and his army were trapped. Dispirited men under siege by vastly superior numbers are poor opponents for men with just purpose. Morale plummeted, men deserted in droves, fleeing over the walls in the dead of night on knotted ropes. Most were captured and questioned and so my father came to know the details of my imprisonment.
Beginning the very next night he had lightly armoured men waiting at the base of the walls ready to take advantage of any opportunity that presented itself. A small group of men used a deserters rope to scale the wall. They killed the sentries and took their weapons and armour then they made their way to the guardhouse that stood beside the massive gates. They overwhelmed the men set to guard the gates and so those great gates swung open allowing my father and the best of his fighting men to enter. When the battle was over the royal army was shattered. The king was discovered hiding in a cellar while men who showed their loyalty to the crown by fighting to the last were butchered.
My reunion with my father was not a heartwarming moment. He came to me and in my insanity I tried to show him my love the only way I knew how. I tore at his clothing until I held his manhood in my hands and then I knelt before him and took him into my mouth. He pushed me away and walked toward the door but before he left he told me he was taking the crown and that nothing and no one would be allowed to hurt me again. The next day he had the vile priest who branded me beheaded. The day after that he had deposed king executed and took his place on the throne.
I was cared for by the very best physicians in the land. They nursed my broken body back to health. My lustrous, long blonde hair grew back, covering the holy marking burned into my head for unholy purposes. My wounds have healed but my heart is a dark place filled with debauchery and hunger for vengeance. I ache to have the fallen queen and her daughters brought before me but until they’re found I’m content to take my pleasure elsewhere. My father is so desperate to make me happy he’ll give me anything I ask for.
I am Princess Kellandra. The harlot who mated with beasts and was branded a witch. I am the Bitchprincess and I will have my revenge.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/ju9qjj/wrath_of_the_bitchprincess_fmff_bifantasy_bst