Fall of the Princess

Your name is Bridget Diamonddew.

A half-elf, the result of a union between your human father and elven mother. You have your mother's features; long, silky hair, pointed ears, plump, supple lips, big, wide eyes, thick thighs, long legs and a body that is both perky, yet, full and dare you say stacked in both the hips and cleavage department.

But your father left his mark as well. Your hair is dark like his, brown eyes fierce and with fire behind them, your body bulkier, less subtle than your mother's, with her almost inhuman proportioned waistline and perfect hourglass figure, while yours seems more full, ass wider and heftier, breasts heavier, weightier, but with less sag due to your younger age, shoulders and hips wider set and your skin not fair as snow like hers but rather a mix with your father's far darker complexion to make a perfect mocha-like blend that is exotic and exciting to both sides of your people, humans and elves.

Said union between your parents was merely an end to a war or rather a concession to your father as he burned his way across your mother's kingdom. After having lead the human nomads of Kalden to ravage and **** the beautiful elven kingdom of Nixsphere, your father threatened the other elven kingdoms and to satiate his desire of conquest and rule they ceded the lands he held to him. Along with this came the people, your mother the queen, the throne and with that, a new kingdom was formed, one of humans and elves, Kal'nix.

You were the firstborn of this new royal family, born almost directly after the war, a symbol of the union between humans and elves. For the longest time you were the heir. Set to inherit the throne. Raised with that responsibility and burden. You worked hard and tried not to be suffocated by it. Only to have it ripped away from you when your younger brother was born, sixteen years later. Elven law would not have cared but human law dictated that the firstborn male take the throne over a daughter. You wish you could say your resentment for that died along with your father a decade later.

Old for a human, they said, but 89 seems young to an elf and even as a half-elf it feels like nothing. You yourself are 37, a well matured, adult woman but still so young for your society where elves live for centuries, remaining youthful for most of them. Now your mother sits upon the throne, a widow twice over, her first husband dying to her second one by way of the sword. Her rule is steady but many claim passive and non-proactive while opposition to it rises on all sides. More than most wait for the day your brother is able to take the throne, hoping he is half the ruler your father was.

Meanwhile, you remain little more than a figurehead. Like another jewel in the crown. Something to be paraded out and gazed upon. A mere symbol of the kingdom, of the union, of your late father's and your future brother's rule. Not a person, not a ruler yourself, a mere trophy, lesser than the throne your mother resides upon. You are just the Princess of Kal'nix. Still, that may well be fine for you as you have your own secret.

You are a sexually repressed, wanton slut with desires that would make the most vulgar commoner blush. And you want nothing more than to be cast down and made even lesser than what you are now. Especially in a sexual manner. Unfortunately, for you, this has had to remain a closely guarded secret. For should people learn of this, it would be a weakness, not just of yours but your family, the kingdom and your people as a whole. That doesn't stop you from indulging in it though…

Right now you lay upon your silken bed. Not lounging regally like would be expected of you or sleeping deeply for the morning to come, instead you are bound with silken scarves. Arms behind your back, ankles tied together, knees bound with one another and even your large thighs tied up. Not a stitch of any other clothing upon your royal body, your large brown breasts bared, dark nipples hard and throbbing, as they are heaving while you breath in sharply through your nose because your mouth is gagged with another silken scarf, tied tightly around your head, your own royal undergarments stuffed between your lips.

For anyone that looked upon this scene they may think that someone did this to you. Interlopers in the palace come to rob you blind, a guard uprising against the crown, your brother dealing with potential threats to his future rule… but no. For this was you. Your hand that tied the scarves around your body, shoved your own panties into your mouth, and then bound your hands tightly. Maybe too tightly, as you struggle now to free yourself.

You find yourself squirming about, over and over, in your bed, almost getting tangled in your sheets that would cost more than a whole province's annual taxation contribution. You are truly helpless and you have never been wetter. You can feel your pussy leaking between your thighs. Your own juices dribble out across to stain the bed. You shiver and moan into the gag. Fuck… you want so much more than this… so very much more.

The door to your chambers rattles. Someone is there. At this hour of night? It must simply be one of your servants, a maid, handmaiden, guard or someone else… no one that would actually bother you if they found your door locked. But what if it's not?

Your brother is on the frontlines, learning the art of war against wild barbarians and roaming marauders on the kingdom's edge but could he have returned? Could it be news from him or someone else he sent? Maybe an assassin or kidnapper to finally take care of you and make sure there are no threats against his future as king? Or has something happened to your mother and he is already the king?

Inversely, you have a younger sister too. A twin. One who had been hidden from the public eye when you were growing up. Kept secret to act as a decoy and double for you should you end up as queen. She resented both you and your parents for that. You have rarely spoken in the two decades since your brother was born. Has she finally returned from her sequestered time abroad?

Your close family is not all you have either. Your mother's side is full of distant relatives that lived through your father's reign of terror before he took the throne and then they had to beg to remain alive afterwards. They hold more content for you and the rest of his offspring than even your sister. Your father's family, if the rumours are to be believed, are the very barbaric tribes and nomadic savages your brother now fights. Could they have slipped through the frontlines and come to sack the palace?

There are also the other elven kingdoms. Have they seen weakness after your father's **** and sought to reunite their lands, purging this kingdom of the human filth? Other threats exist as well within the world. Dragons, orcs, goblins, dark elves and many others. Even a simple peasant rebellion could be storming the palace as you lay here bound and helpless.

What of those closer to you? Your servants. The guards that are tired of guarding a mere figurehead. Maids who have waited on you hand and foot all your life and grown resentful. Other staff that have decided you are better suited for their positions than that of the Princess.

It could be anyone at your door really. And they do not seem to be detected by a mere lock as you hear them still rattling the handle. Your excitement builds along with your fear. What would they do to you? All your wildest sexual fantasises come to the forefront of your mind. Your body tenses and you feel yourself strain against your restraints as your breath catches in your throat.