The Fallen Queen

Queen Anias Ey Lytia. The Great Mother. Heroine of Isitar. Light of the Eastern Sun. A supreme sorceress of immeasurable power, supposedly capable of taking on the Dark Witch in single combat. Once, she commanded armies, graced palaces with song and dance, and ruled with a just and steady hand. Being more than a 1000 years old, she was easily one of the most influential monarchs of her home continent, until the day She came to darken her doorstep. For centuries, they dueled and debated, up until the final day that sealed her fate.

When the clash of arms had dulled to silence, she stood alone in her throne room, barely able to lift a finger to throw another spell into the crowd before her. As the Dark Witch came forward, she waited for the final blow that would end their bitter feud, only to be met with the promise of a far worse fate. Along with her loyal knights, court magicians and remaining soldiers, she was **** into the courtyard where Her army had amassed. Stripped of whatever was left of her regalia and her power sealed, she was tied to a post next to her Chancellor and Knight Commander, her lower half exposed alongside them, legs indecently spread wide out in public for all present to see. As the sky grew darker from the Dark Witch's incantation, the indignant crowd of strange beings around her continued to stare, whistle and cheer. They drew closer. One of them reached out to grab her right breast. Another reached to slide their fingers up and down her unspoiled opening. No amount of **** protest would stop their drunken grinning, licking, laughing and touching. She did not even see the long and meaty object as it rabidly slid inside her widely exposed folds. Each wild pump of their hips was met with a strange feeling she had never felt before, and when a near endless torrent of heat began to fill her, an immense sensation shocked through her entire body. When the being pulled its object out, a viscous thick white liquid waterfalled out with it, moments before another would stab its meat into her again. The next, and the next, and the next, they continued to slide in and out, fill her and swap out. Several of them pulled out to blast long streaks onto her belly or thighs. Some excitedly argue over who could go next. By the fifth time, her eyes were rolled up, tongue lolled out, body overwhelmed by an intense indescribable pleasure. By the tenth, the once dignified and regal Queen of mighty Lytia had been reduced to a heaving, moaning wreck.

The days that passed were a blur. There was never a moment without their meat being stuffed inside her. She had been untied, revitalized numerous times and sprawled over the courtyard floor, bent over the banquet tables and pinned against walls. She had her first taste of the mysterious white substance as they insisted on sliding themselves into her mouth, stretching her lips and forcing it down her throat. Many times, she was **** onto her knees to allow them to pump their hips into her face, and sometimes on all fours like a dog while being pumped from both ends. She found herself reaching out to grip them with her hands, stroking the poles as if it was her flesh wrapped around them, and then reveling at the glorious thick and gooey rewards that would blast out to paint her face. It was the only thing she could think about as she was moved to her royal chambers, with dozens of them happily enjoying her company on her throne, on her bed, in her bath and everywhere else that once invoked her long and illustrious legacy.

When her Queendom's conqueror finally returned, she was knelt in the great hall. Her hands were beating the meat of the surrounding creatures she came to know as 'man', gasping indignantly, her luscious white skin covered into hundreds of white streaks, dripping down her face, chin and breasts, gushing out of her once unspoiled opening. When they groaned, she gaped open her mouth to receive their fresh gifts, licking her lips, tasting the stuff she could catch, and downing the rods she had just made spew. The Dark Witch gleefully watched her drain every last insistent one, letting her now very satisfied servants to leave the room. There, She inspected her once luminous and respected rival as she recovered from her last orgasmic throes. Even as She unsealed her magic, gloated and called her slurs, she was sliding her hands all over her liquid slicked body, quivering and moaning as she peaked her own nipples, slipping whatever substance she could into her suckling craving lips. When She declared her total and complete victory, she could not even manage a rebuke that had once matched Her verbal prowess. With a new crown of glistening white circling her hair, her eyes instead focused only on the next batch of men that came forward to celebrate her latest coronation.

All hail Anias. The Slut Queen. The Cum Starved Lover. The White Clad Monarch. A hot and willing **** of man.