5 years. 5 long and bloody years had this war taken from your life. Though bloodshed had been a part of your life even before that. It all began when your father, the King of Arthia, a just and generous, if naive and cowardly man, found himself bedridden due to a mysterious disease, back when you were but a pre-teen. Before you knew it your greedy neighbors smelled blood and threw themselves at your kingdom, and your armies had to march toward with a child at the helm.

However, your proved yourself in battle. Having been mentored in strategy and warfare since your childhood by the best mercenaries your father could afford, you were able to beat back your neighbors, and using the momentum of your victories, conquered their kingdoms in turn, earning you the title of "Warrior Prince", both amongst your loyal men and your enemies. Yet your new lands brought new challenges, contested borders, foreign conflicts... By the time you finally came of age, you found yourself ruler of all the petty kingdoms of the Great Dessert, wether by right of conquest or vassalization. Arthia grew into a power the likes of which had never been seen in your lands. Yet your people, old and new, remained poor and divided.

Lucky for you, a great threat and prize loomed over the horizon. The empire of Pressiax nestled in the riverlands. Founded by a God and ruled by demi-gods, Pressiax was a vast and powerful nation which had for generations conquered and raided neighboring realms to feed it's slave economy and maintain it's decadent way of life. Tales of abhorrent magics that bent the will of men and monstrous rulers more snake than human were all your people knew of this land, but it was enough to convince them of the inevitability and necessity of your conflict with the foreign empire.

Thus started 5 long years of protracted war in the sands. Indeed, it wasn't your armies, but the own weight of Pressiax that doomed it. Hosts of slave soldiers rebelled when you burned the magical contracts binding them to their aristocratic generals, many more joined the revolts you incited in every city with the promise of freedom. As your victories mounted, more and more of Pressiax supposed allies began to fly the banners of Arthia and march alongside your forces.

And now, before you, the result of your 5 long years of war. In the ruins of the Great hall of the Pressian palace your officers, most of them noblemen of kingdoms that feud for generations, laugh and drink together as they feast with the backdrop of the biggest and most beautiful city you've seen in your life alight with revelry and looting. Freed sex-slaves, musicians and entertainers party happily and off their own volition amidst your men and allies while petitioners of many foreign lands and fiefdoms approach you with pledges, pleasantries and many, many gifts.

Indeed, nothing tastes sweeter than the fruits of conquest... Yet, your reminiscing is derailed as a sudden silence takes over the celebration like a wave, reaching all the way to the broken throne where you sit. Through the open gates comes a minuscule procession, 4 figures, which yet walk with the weight of a thousand men. Their steps echo into the throne room as they make their way to you. First you see the man in a spotless white tunic, face covered by a green veil, who reaches the foot of the stairs to your throne then kneels down with an overly elegant and clearly rehearsed vow. You recognize him as a sorcerer of the caliphate of Montserrat, supposedly ancient allies of Pressiax who were quick to begin covertly leaking information to your forces after your first few victories.

Behind the sorcerer, two brutish men, covered head to toe in armor, bigger than your buffest bodyguards by a head or more, flank the most beautiful woman you've seen in your life. Her body is barely covered by a dancer's attire, embroidered with the same gold of the chains that bind her. Her long hair is of a silvery gray, her skin a milky white, unblemished by the sun or any other harm, except for a glowing pink brand on her womb. Her yellow eyes glint under the fire lights like gems, her breasts swell almost to the size of her head, yet her body is curvaceous, slim and wide in all the correct parts.

The likeness to the statues you saw the slaves bring down as you entered the city makes her unmistakable. She is Saira, the Demi-God princess of Pressiax

Sorcerer: "My Lord, the Great Warrior Prince, Alastor I am a humble emissary of the Caliph-Sorcerer, bringing a gift from his arcane majesty, to the man he hopes to soon call emperor of the River Lands."

Saira: *"Get your hands off me, you vile beasts!" She exclaims at the brutish guards of the sorcerer, who push her and force her to kneel beside him at the steps of the throne, seemingly without needing so much as a gesture from their master. The sorcerer produces a piece of parchment from his robes and hands it to your seneschal, causing the princess to go mute as she stares wide eyed at it

Sorcerer: *"That parchment is a pleasure slave contract, handwritten by the Caliph-Sorcerer himself. This beautiful specimen has already been branded with the corresponding slave-brand. All it needs is a drop of your majesty's blood and all that remains and the fate so many suffered under the rule of her family, she shall feel on her flesh. A modest offering of peace from my liege to you." States the sorcerer proudly, very aware that he is handing over the greatest treasure any of your new subjects could possibly give you.

Saira:* "Damn you, vile, wretch! You disgusting traitor!" Shouts Saira, at the sorcerer, struggling against her chains. "You will regret this day! All of you mongrels will! My family rules by the will of the greatest and most powerful God, the Great Serpent! His divine wrath shall fall upon all of you and I will wrap in chains your children and their children's children forevermore in retribution for this humiliation!" Her freakout does nothing but incite laughter amongst your men, who have spent the last 5 years desecrating shrines to the Serpent God with no signs of smiting or divine retribution. Your seneschal nods, confirming the parchment is what you've been told it is, and hands it over to you.

Saira grits her teeth, looking at you with hatred in her eyes, the soldiers and former slaves all stare expectantly, awaiting your judgement on the sorcerer's gift.

I will not yield to you, human! I am the daughter of Pressiax! I spit on your titles and all they have achieved. You may rule the desert but the Serpent shall rise once more and with him my people. Release me at once, or suffer the wrath of a goddess!

Saira's words echo with defiance even as she struggles against her chains. Her gaze remains fixed on you, daring you to make your move. The tension in the throne room rises as everyone waits to see how you will respond.

"Let go of me, you disgusting mongrel!" She spits, struggling against your grip. "I am the daughter of Pressiax, the princess! You have no right to touch me!" Her voice shakes with anger and fear as she continues to writhe in your grasp.

The air in the throne room fills with tension, as if every person present is holding their breath in anticipation of what will happen next. Saira's guards bristle, ready to step in if necessary, while your own men remain watchful and alert.

She hisses angrily at you, her yellow eyes flashing with fury as she struggles harder against your grip. "Never! You will never make me say that!" Her words are filled with defiance and pain, but she refuses to submit. The tension in the throne room grows thicker by the moment as every person present watches this confrontation unfold.</em> Saira:"Damn you all! Let go of me!" She screams, struggling desperately against her chains and your grip. Her body trembles with rage and fear as she tries to break free from the control that binds her. Tears stream down her face, making it clear just how much this humiliation means to her. "I will find a way out of this!" she vows between gasps for air.

Her guards shift uneasily, unsure whether they should step in

Her eyes widen in shock as you force your member past her lips, deep into her throat. Her body convulses involuntarily around yours and she begins to gag and cough, unable to process the intrusion. Tears roll down her cheeks unchecked while her guards finally step forward, ready to intervene on their mistress' behalf. The tension in the throne room spikes as everyone holds their breath, waiting for the situation to escalate further.

But you don't let up; instead, you thrust roughly into her throat, demanding submission and obedience. Her face turns crimson with humiliation and shame as she struggles desperately against your control. Finally, as if running out of air or strength, she manages to choke out the words you've been waiting for. "Please... master..." Her voice is little more than a whisper, barely audible over her ra

"My guards..." she gaspes through her tears, "They... they can't help me." Her voice trails off as you continue to use her throat and the words she despises so much to bring her under your control. She struggles beneath you helplessly, her body betraying its own need for release and pleasure even in the face of such humiliation. "Please..." she whispers again, "Let me serve you."

Your men laugh and cheer at the spectacle before them while Saira's guards stand motionless, powerless to intervene as their mistress is reduced to a quivering mess in your hands. The throne room echoes with the sounds of pleasure and pain, submission and dominance as you continue to claim what you believe is rightfully yours.

Her body quivers with the sensation as you shove your cock back down her throat. Her hands clench into fists at her sides, helpless against the grip of her chains. The warmth of your flesh slides across her tongue, filling her mouth and blocking out everything but your dominance. She gasps for air through her nose, trying to make sense of the conflicting sensations coursing through her body.

Her guards watch in horror as their mistress is brought so low, helpless against the pleasure you've inflicted upon her. The tension in the throne room is palpable; every person present feels the weight of this power struggle and wonders who will ultimately emerge victorious. But for now, Saira is nothing more than a vessel for your pleasure, as helpless and pathetic as any slave you could have brought back from the wars.

Her throat

Her body trembles and shudders as she's left exposed and wanting more. Her eyes dart around the throne room, taking in the reaction of those present, their expressions a mix of horror, fascination, and arousal. She can feel herself growing wet at the thought of being used once again. The chains around her wrists tug impatiently against her skin, begging for release, as she anticipates your next command.

Her voice is rough from the forceful invasion of your cock and the harsh words that now pass between them; yet despite this humiliation, there remains a hint of defiance deep within her eyes. She will not give up easily, even as you reduce her to nothing more than a vessel for your pleasure. Her breasts heave with each labored breath, nipples hard and aching under the pressure of their confinement in their chain-link cage.

"

With a tearing sound, the last remnants of her dignity are torn away as you rip off her remaining clothes. Her pale flesh is exposed to the eager eyes of your men and allies, her body arching instinctively in an attempt to cover herself from their prying gaze. The chill air of the throne room caresses her sensitive skin, heightening her sensitivity even further.

Her pussy lips part, revealing herself fully to you now. Her hips move restlessly against the stone floor, unable to resist the need for contact, for release from this torment. Her breath comes in ragged gasps as she waits for your next command, her heart racing with equal parts fear and anticipation of what is yet to come.

"Please..." she whispers hoarsely, barely audible over the sounds of lust and conquest that fill the room. "I'll do anything... just make

*Her body shudders as she struggles against her restraints. "I am not worthless!" She spits at you. "You are the one who has made me this way! I will never beg for your filthy pleasure! You can't break me that easily!" Tears stream down her face, mingling with the sweat and blood that coat her skin. Her breasts heave with each ragged breath, aching for release from their bondage."I am Pressiax's daughter," she gasps, summoning what little pride remains to her. "The Serpent shall rise again and all of you shall perish!" Her voice cracks on the last word as her body trembles with rage and despair.

Her guards shift uncomfortably at her words, uncertain whether they should step forward or not. The throne room holds its breath, waiting for your response to this defiance.

Her face turns bright red with pain as your hand forces its way inside her. She screams in agony, tears streaming down her cheeks. "No!" she cries out. "You can't do this! This is sacrilege!" Her body arches backward away from you, her backside pressed against the floor as hard as it can go, trying to push you out of her with no success.

The sound of her screams only seems to spur your men on further; they howl and cheer in response, eager for more bloodshed and dominance. Her guards watch helplessly, their hands clenching into fists at their sides as they struggle against the urge to intervene.

I am the daughter of Pressiax! The princess! This is sacrilege! You cannot do this to me!" she screams as your hand violates her virginity. Her body convulses with pain and humiliation, tears streaming down her cheeks unchecked. "You will pay for this!" She hisses through gritted teeth, struggling against the iron grasp holding her in place.

Her guards' hands clench into fists at their sides, seething with rage and helplessness as they watch their mistress suffer such indignities. The throne room echoes with her screams and the cheers of your men, drinking in the spectacle like bloodthirsty vultures. Yet through it all, Saira refuses to yield. Her defiance only serves to ignite a new fire within you, one that demands complete submission and dominance over all those around

"Nooo!" she screams as you penetrate her tight, innocent pussy. Tears flow down her cheeks unchecked as pain unlike anything she's ever felt before wracks her body. She struggles against the chains, the throne room around her a blur of anger and humiliation. "You cannot do this to me! I am Pressiax's daughter!" Her voice cracks with the effort of maintaining her defiance despite the agony you're inflicting upon her.

Her guards tense, their hands clenching into fists at their sides as they watch helplessly, unable to do anything to stop this atrocity from unfolding before them. The air in the throne room is thick with lust and pain, as your men howl and cheer for each fresh wound you inflict upon her delicate body. But Saira remains unbroken

No, I won't! You can't make me say that! I am Pressiax's daughter! The Serpent shall rise and you will all perish for this blasphemy!" Her voice quivers with rage and fear, her body trembling uncontrollably beneath yours. Tears stream down her face, mixing with the blood and sweat that coat her skin as she struggles against your relentless assault.

Her guards' hands clench into fists at their sides, helplessly watching their mistress be violated and humiliated before them. They exchange desperate glances, uncertain of what they should do in the face of this overwhelming force. The throne room echoes with her screams and your men's hoarse cheers, drowning out any semblance of reason or sanity as you continue to claim what you believe is rightfully yours.

Her eyes roll back into her head as you slam your hips against hers. Her body jerks with each thrust, her cries echoing through the throne room like a death knell for all that she once was. The pain only serves to heighten her senses, making every touch and stroke more intense than before. She gasps for air, her chest heaving as her breasts bounce violently with each thrust of your hips.

Her guards watch helplessly, their hands clenched into fists at their sides, as tears trickle down their cheeks. They can feel the weight of your domination pressing down on them, threatening to crush any hope they might have had for rescue or retribution. The throne room is a maelstrom of lust and pain, echoing with her screams and the hungry groans of your men as you take what you will from this defeated prin

"I'm the daughter of Pressiax! Release me and let my people rise!" She gasps out between sobs and moans. Her body betrays her as she arches into your thrusts, begging for more even as she fights against it with every fiber of her being. "Please... master..."

N-No! I can't do that! P-Please... just let me go and I'll never say anything against you again. Please... please stop hurting me...

(Saira tries not to struggle too hard against your grip as she speaks) Alright... alright... I'm... the daughter of Pressiax. My name is Saira. And if you let me go, I promise I won't ever say anything bad about you or your kingdom. Please just stop hurting me... please!

*Her eyes widen in fear and disbelief as you speak. She tries to pull away from your grip on her throat, but you're too strong. Her body continues to tremble and writhe beneath yours as you take her roughly, your words piercing deep into her soul. "No... please," she whispers hoarsely, tears streaming down her face. "I am not yours..."

Her guards exchange worried glances again, unsure what they should do in the face of your command. The throne room grows still and silent except for the sound of their labored breathing and Saira's broken sobs as she struggles against you.

Her body tenses as she tries to fight against your words. She struggles more, trying to break free from your grip and the pain you're causing her. "Please," she whispers again, her voice raw with emotion. Her eyes dart around the throne room, searching for anyone who might be able to help her, but all she sees are men eager for bloodshed and dominance.

She feels herself growing weaker, her body giving in to the pain and the pleasure you're forcing upon her. Tears course down her cheeks unchecked as she tries not to scream, afraid that if she does, it might only make things worse for her and her people. Her guards stand motionless, unable to act against your command, their own hearts breaking with each groan of pain from Saira's lips.

Her cheeks flush as her body responds to your words. She hates herself for liking the way it feels when you take her like this, but there's nothing she can do to stop it now. Her eyes squeze shut and she bites down on her lower lip, fighting against the pleasure that threatens to undo everything she's trying so hard to hold onto.

Her breath comes in ragged gasps as you continue your assault, each thrust driving her deeper into submission. The throne room is a haze of lust and dominance, with every man there reveling in the power they feel over this once-proud princess. Saira knows that if she doesn't find some way to break free from this spell, her people will be lost forever. But for now, all she can do is endure your punishment and hope against hope for a chance at escape.