The queendom falls....

Y-you know, you always win in these games, it could be fun t-to roleplay a defeat for once..... just to see how it feels and all....... your cheeks flush, and you bite your bottom lip harder as time starts moving again, and the intruders draw closer, evil glints in their eyes, to surround where you sit exposed.

Hushed murmurs break out among the crowd as you sit alone in the castle, with nothing but the enemy in sight. They murmur about how pretty they think you are, and how they didn't expect to defeat such a storied combatant so quickly. I-it's really embarrassing..... one person even calls you "the royal cow", laughing mockingly. B-but you haven't lost yet! Even if your enemies are finally witnessing your legendary, plump, globally-envied chest, so meekly displayed for their eyes, you're not defeated yet. You can still fend them off, r-right??

You gasp, as you're **** to look away from the surrounding crowd by a hand which takes you by the cheeks and turns you forward, before one of your enemies leans in close to plant a passionate kiss on your full, royal lips.

"Mmph!" You murmur, leaning back in a **** attempt to break away, but you don't have the strength to contest with the hand's grip on your face. You're **** to endure the entire romantic exchange with your inferior, your enemy, only ending when they decide that it is time to end. When they pull away with a wry grin, you're left leaning back wearily on your elbows, panting deeply and completely red faced.

The crowd around you sees your weakness as an opportunity, and sensing that you're been entirely neutralised as a threat, walk in closer to tighten the circle. You barely even notice until the entire **** of the enemy is directly around you, reaching forward towards your exposed bits with outstretched fingers, and by then it's too late to do anything more than open your mouth in unspoken objection. The hands make contact, your words dying in your throat, as the enemy's hands find themselves roaming all over your superior royal body. You reach up with your own two hands, to simulate the way that your large and soft pillows are being mauled by their brutish, unforgiving hands. Hidden away for so long, the Warrior-Queen's indecency is taken full advantage of.

"W-wait, what are you all.... s-stop, stop this instant, I'm your queen!" You complain as your boobs are jostled around and squeezed. Your eyes roll up, and you gently fall shivering back against the bed, letting out a whine as your body is suddenly filled with a weakness that had never before touched royal blood.

Y-you're far too proper for this...... how very unbecoming. How demeaning! G-getting fondled like this..... h-honourless rapscallions, all of them! Ooohhh.....

They hurl relentlessly mocking taunts at you, with seemingly no end. "Are you dirty?" They ask, mashing your boobs against each other. "You look so horny!"

"Is this really all? What were we so worried about?"

"a-aahhh....." You mutter, tongue barely responding to your commands under their ****.

"Ha! She's nothing but a high class whore! Taking Castle Fort was a piece of cake!"

"n-nooooo....."

"Rich bitch. No combat skill at all. This is all she's really good for -- getting her body worked over. And with how much it's getting to her, she might not even be any good at that!"

You try desperately to hold in your squeaking sounds, but fail as they overwhelm your body entirely.

"This is it, Queen! THIS is how we beat you! Your royal line falls to a light tit massage!"

"N-nO! ANgh!"

What they're saying is so undignified.... this can't really be happening to a Queen, can it? I-it's actually pretty exciting to think about, really..... especially when you make sure that they always say that you're beautiful and stuff. Getting kissed would be pretty nice too.... a-and, you guess someone so powerful getting surrounded by prying hands isn't that terrible of a thing to imagine. Getting taken down a peg or two, when she thought she was so great.....

The invaders continue to **** your noble assets for their own entertainment, throwing dirty comments and suggestions to your pleasure-wracked mind. Still, you're not just a Queen, you're a Warrior Queen, and you've still got some fight left in you.

"Get off of me! B-brutes!" You shout enraged, kicking your legs to try get away from the hands you're simulating with your own.

They respond by increasing the tempo, and adding in some nipple work to the humiliation, and it's more than even you can take. A half-minute later, they've completely broken you down and robbed you of energy. The last bit of fight has fled from Warrior-Queen Debbie's overworked body, and as she pants out in exhaustion, complacently lying back on the castle's soft bed, she is at last ready to submit and hand over all which she once had.

The one who stole a kiss from you, smirking proudly, takes you by the cheeks again and seems to inspect your face. Brought so low, you can no longer resist, and simply let your head move whichever direction they will it to. Your resistance has all burned out.

Happy with what they see, they let your head fall back, then grab two tight, heaping handfuls of the front of your chest. Kneeling above your ruined queenly form, they loudly declare their victory over the fallen Warrior-Queen and her once unconquerable queendom.

"We OWN you now." They gloat, as you weakly grab the wrists of the arms which now gently massage at your breasts (in your imagination, in real life you're just playing both sides on your left boob). "You're not the Queen of anything anymore. You, this castle, and this whole NATION are ours for the taking. You're fucking nothing anymore. Understand, you helpless washout? Understand that you've failed?"

They emphasise the question with a mighty squeeze.

"y-yes....." You murmur through barely-parted lips, sinking back into the soft mattress as the rough hands continue to mold your glorious chest into softness.

The rest of the surrounding enemies cheer in absolute victory, and happily return all of their arms to the work of wearing down what little is left of you. In no time at all your once battle-hardened body melts away at the swarm of fingers assaulting your great form, and just like that, that easily, Warrior-Queen Debbie is no more. In her place lies a mewling, pathetic, utterly tamed wreck, getting a nice and forceful breast massage. Her influence is ended, as is her lavish lifestyle, and her days of being respected by a soul. Nothing left but the shameful debris. You are over.