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Beware the Frozen Heart - Chapter 4

Updated: Apr 27

Elsa moved more gingerly the next morning than she had after her previous outings. The others in the castle noticed it, and they invariably asked her if she was fine, and just as invariably she explained away her discomfort as a simple overnight muscle strain, a universal blight her conversational partners seemed to accept. She certainly wasn’t about to tell them her private areas were sore after countless minutes coupling with dogs in a deserted (and yet not quite deserted enough) alley. Each one of the mutts had taken its turn, mounting her from behind, spraying his scalding seed, forcing his bulge inside her to lock the new load of canine sperm in place, and lingering until he finally pulled out of her aching pussy. The first dog had even taken another turn, bookending her humiliation, and by then she hardly reacted. She had cried herself out, and no struggling made any of it easier on her physically. Eventually they had left her alone, and nobody else happened upon her before the dawn, leaving her to return to the castle in a dress stained from top to bottom with semen and drool.

Her first act had been to check herself in the mirror, spreading her legs wide and examining her hips, expecting some sort of telltale catastrophic damage. To her great relief, she looked just as she remembered, or at least she thought she did. She saw barely any trace of her latest rapes, just a few scratches where the dogs’ nails had marked her skin. Thankfully they had left her rear alone; just imagining those massive bulges crammed into her backside almost had her screaming in terror. And after her first disgraceful loss of sanity in front of the drunken men, she had managed to restrain her bodily reactions, and no matter how much the dogs rubbed against her she hadn’t succumbed to orgasm another time. Thought it might have felt otherwise in the moment, she truly was in control of her own body, and she could be happy that the night had completed without degenerating further.

Then she realized she was taking pride in how she had only cum once when a pack of dogs raped her, and tears flooded her eyes as she stalked from her mirror under a cloud of shame.

A letter came that day, as expected, though its contents were anything but:

To Queen Elsa,

We saw your performance last night. We had a task in mind for you today, but it seems you have been running yourself ragged keeping up with our requests. Perhaps telling you to whore yourself out in the gloryhole for a whole week was too much to ask.

We certainly don’t want you collapsing before we finish our fun, so please take this day to rest. We will send another letter tomorrow — as far as you know, it is already on its way to the castle.

This is important. This letter will be the final one. One final task. If you complete tomorrow’s task, we will return your precious little sister.

Be sure to thank us.

It seemed impossible. When had she given up hope that the letters would ever end? Logically it seemed obvious. Eventually she would catch the kidnappers, or Anna would come home; there were no other options. But without even noticing, logic had fallen away to despair. This letter revived her spirits, beaten though they were. Anna was about to be free! After a single task, she could finally have her sister back! The road to recovery would be long, and the fight would not end until every kidnapper, and every accomplice, was facing the justice they so richly deserved, but the worst would be over. She went about the day with a spring in her step, and for the first time in the longest ten days of her life, Elsa spent the entire night in her bed, dreaming of the sister she had saved.

In the back of her mind she still dreaded her orders. Clearly her final task would be a capstone, some horror above and beyond those to which she had already been subjected. But two short weeks ago she could never have imagined surviving any of her late-night escapades, to say nothing of coming out stronger on the other side – queasier, sleepier, and emotionally ravaged, but stronger nonetheless, she insisted to herself. Nothing the kidnappers could command would break her. She and her sister may have been soiled beyond their imagination, but as long as they had their health, the love of their citizens, and, most importantly, each other, nothing could break them.

Still, her knees knocked as the day’s letters were delivered to her table. She sifted through them for the kidnappers’ handwriting, and she took a long breath to steady her fingers as she unfurled the letter and laid her eyes on her final missive.

To Queen Elsa,

We are sure you have been wondering what your darling Anna has been doing during your day of easy relaxation. Surely you have been dwelling on her plight nonstop, never for a second forgetting what we have been doing with her, as a good sister would. Allow us to put you at ease and stop you from wondering.

After your adventure with the dogs, we thought it would be cruel of us to deny Anna a similar experience. The problem is that, since you were such a cruel sister and spent a week stealing all the cum we would have otherwise been feeding the little ginger we had already been supplementing her diet with cum from stray dogs. It meant that it would have hardly seemed notable to the whore by this point… we had to find something new for her.

We wish you could have seen her face when the horse first penetrated her. Despite all we’d put her through, her royal cunt was still too tight to take it all, but of course a beast like that could not understand her begging, or even her screams. Watching her stomach bulge with its girth was a sight to behold, and we will never forget the sound she made when it dumped its load inside her. It was… actually pretty similar to the sound you made when you came on our doggie’s dicks. Unfortunately, poor Anna passed out before we could ask her whether an animal cock had driven her to orgasm.

Or, at least, she did the first time.

As much as we have been enjoying Anna, we are afraid she’s really little but used goods now. She’s just a broken doll, a mindless cum addict who knows her place under us, and at that stage there is little more for us to do. Frankly, she’s a little boring. We would much rather find a new girl with some fight left in her, and none of us are interested in raising the thing she definitely has growing inside her at this point. Luckily, it won’t be an issue… we already found a buyer for her, hungry at the chance to own a princess as his very own fucktoy. We’ll just sell her off and leave town, and you will never see or hear from us, or your sister, ever again.

Unless you do as we say, that is.

This letter should have arrived in the morning. Immediately instruct your servants to spread word that you will be speaking today in the town square at noon, and have them set up a pillory for you. Address your people in clothing appropriate for a Queen of your pedigree… and in case that wasn’t obvious, I mean you should wear the sluttiest clothing you can imagine. If you need suggestions, we have sketched a few ideas at the bottom of this page. You have until the sun hits noon to stand before town and tell everyone that you are selling access to your body for a mere pittance, and lock yourself in the stocks until they are finished taking advantage of your offer.

You may not hide who you are. You may not leave early. You may not use protection. You may not control how your people use you in any way. You may only demonstrate how far you have fallen by making is explicitly, thoroughly clear what you want done to you. You will make a spectacle of yourself, the biggest spectacle Arendelle has ever seen, or you will lose Anna forever.

Either way, goodbye forever Queen Elsa.

Elsa didn’t know when exactly she turned white. Was it when she realized that she’d wrongly assumed Anna was getting the same respite she was? When she recognized the immediacy of her task, only a few scant hours away instead of comfortably after dark? When she saw the crude drawings depicting clothes she couldn’t even imagine on a whore? Or was it when she saw the purpose behind this demand: to rob her of the final bit of security she had, the knowledge that her citizens knew nothing of their queen’s activities. There would be no more hiding. She had to choose: Anna, or the slightest shred of dignity, the respect of her people?

Elsa swallowed. There was no option. Anna came first. Anna always came first. If she saved herself and lost Anna, life had no meaning. If she did as she was told, she would be at the mercy of her people, the same people who had forgiven her after the whole debacle in which her powers had become public knowledge. They loved her, and she loved them. They would never take advantage of her, not in broad daylight with the rest of the city looking on. At night, when they thought they could get away with it, perhaps. But not today. She had nothing to fear and everything to gain. And yet, she still couldn’t issue a command without a tremor in her voice, and she counted it as a benefit that she only had to deal with the dread for a few hours more. Her voice only trembled a little bit as she told the heralds to make the announcement, and if she was a little short and curt with them, well, who could blame her? Everyone would understand soon enough. Everyone would know why she had done this… and there would be nowhere these cruel men could flee far enough away.

Come noon, the sun was shining as it often did in Arendelle, bathing the town square in light. Whether it was an unseasonably warm day—Elsa couldn’t tell anymore—or just excitement as her coming proclamation, the square teemed with people, far more than she had anticipated given the short notice. Seeing them made the situation real, and her legs almost dragged her back to the castle before she forced them onward. Her tiny feet seemed too heavy to carry up the steps onto the wooden platform in the center of the square, but she mounted them anyway, standing on a two-yard-high summit overlooking the crowd. For the first time, she noticed the angles of the position, how easy it would be for those in the front row to look up her dress if she only stepped forward a little, or raised her hem… such thoughts had never occurred to her before, and now they were a constant threat, an undercurrent trying to wash away the foundations of everything else she wanted to be.

The people greeted her with a muted cheer, a small delay she used to look over the pillory. It would lock her hands and head on one side, leaving everything below the neck and wrists open to the predations of anyone and anything behind her. It was a punishment, one she didn’t deserve yet willingly took. The lines left on her wrists from the shackles had barely faded, and already she could tell how uncomfortable the wooden stocks would be. She regretted not telling somebody to glue some cushions into the holes, though that might have been cheating. She had to suffer, some minuscule fraction of how Anna had suffered, and so she would. If the kidnappers wanted a spectacle, a spectacle they would receive. The crowd fell silent as she cleared her throat, and her voice reached a tenuous evenness as she delivered her carefully though hastily prepared speech.

“People of Arendelle! I come before you today not as your queen, but as a fellow citizen of our kingdom. I have been working tirelessly for the good of all, re-establishing our place in the world after our long isolation. I am pleased to say that our trade routes are reopening and our alliances with other kingdoms are growing stronger by the day, and I believe are well on the path to the kingdom you all deserve!”

A muted cheer rose from the crowd, and Elsa gave them her practiced diplomatic smile. These were her people, she reminded herself. She could trust them, the great majority of them, to do the right thing. She swallowed and started into the true subject of her speech, the greatest lie she’d ever spoken.

“But these endeavors have taken their toll on me, mentally and emotionally. I have not been myself lately, and it is possible some of you have heard rumors to this effect.” The crowd responded with an irregular murmur, with some people visibly befuddled and others nodding in understanding. “I have come here today to admit to a problem I no longer believe I can solve by myself. I truly apologize for keeping this secret from you for so long, as now I see that only you, the people of Arendelle, can truly help me. I will make clear that this is not an order or an edict issued by your queen. This is an appeal from one person to each of you, and I only ask for willing volunteers. Today I finally make public my greatest secret: I, Queen Elsa of Arendelle, am a whore.”

The word left her lips too easily, and she longed for the days when she would stutter over just an obscene arrangement of letters. She heard it echo off the buildings around the square, floating unabated through the total silence that followed the crowd’s collective gasp. Elsa closed her eyes, both so she could concentrate and so she didn’t have to look upon anybody’s face as her hands moved. The familiar spell traced over her dress, reshaping it into the form of her choosing. Instead of the long, regal attire she preferred, the chill ate away at fabric, swallowing it and returning it to the moisture ambient in the air. It pulsed around her legs and private areas, weaving in intricate lines she knew more than understood. When the light faded, she stood before her people in an outfit she had never imagined wearing even in her most licentious fantasies, to say nothing of a noontime public event: shiny shoes with heels inches taller than she preferred, sheer stockings held up by a lacy garter, and a bra that cupped her breasts from below but left them almost entirely bare, all in the same pale blue as her eyes. The material clung to her body like a second skin, and a breeze passed over her pink nipples and her tensed rear and her bare pussy. Yet more than fear or embarrassment, she only recalled the drawings the kidnappers had provided her, and the concern dominating her thoughts was “I hope this is slutty enough.”

Her shame crashed back over her when she opened her eyes again and saw her people wearing a patchwork mix of shock, confusion, and lewd elation. Heat bloomed in her cheeks, and she winced as it seeped into her hips. To take her mind off the arousal she knew she shouldn’t — couldn’t — feel, she took a few shaky steps toward the pillory. “I need your help to satisfy the urges I have denied myself for so long. My guards will lock me here, and there I will remain until sundown. During that time, anybody with so much as a silver piece may place it in this bucket and use me however they wish.” She swallowed, but she had to keep going. “I want it known that there are no acts you can perform that I will not tolerate. I swear on my title that no harm will befall anybody who takes this offer, nor will any harm befall anybody who refuses. I only request that those willing and able to help me give me the treatment I deserve. I want to—” she coughed, a single bark, and drew herself up to her full height. “I want to be fucked like the filthiest whore you can imagine. If you want to take me in every hole, you may. If you want to slap me, you may. If you want to cover my face with semen, or cum inside my womb without protection, or ravage my ass without lubrication, you may. I will neither complain nor dither. Those who treat me like a worthless slut do me the greatest favor, and I give you all my most heartfelt preemptive thanks.”

She bit her lip and grabbed the wooden stock, holding herself upright as her consciousness tried to escape her body, putting distance between her mind and her words. Then, as she was instructed, she began to sing.

My skin glows white by the noontime light

Not a blemish to be seen

A lifetime of isolation

Always treated like a queen

My pussy throbbing as its hunger is denied

Couldn’t rein it in

Heaven knows I’ve tried…

She lifted the top of the pillory with a hand bleached white from squeezing, and hoped that no one could see.

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see

Be the good girl you always have to be

Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know

Well, now they know!

She knelt on the pillow so graciously provided for her and settled her wrists and neck into the wooden curves of the stocks.

I’m a slut, I’m a slut

Can’t hold it back anymore

I’m a slut, I’m a slut

All I wanna be is your whore

I don’t care what they’re going to say

Let the fun begin

Now who wants to be first to come and play?

Elsa looked down, her blush too wide to be believed… but the top end of the stocks still had not fallen. She twisted her beet-red head to look at the nearest guard. “Lock me in.”

He looked at, it seemed, every other person in the country before he could meet her eyes again. “Y-your highness, are you sure you—.”

“Lock. Me. In.”

The guard’s entire body shook as he closed the pillory over her, and the lock clicked shut with the finality of a guillotine’s blade. Elsa looked down at the wooden platform, letting her eyes flick occasionally to the bucket just at the edge of her vision. Many people murmured, and some yelled, but the blood pumping in her ears was too loud for her to make out individual words. The platform creaked as the guards moved around, as perplexed as anybody at the state of their queen. Elsa wondered if they were actively shooing people away, or staring at the sky, or ogling her naked ass and scrounging up the money for a turn themselves. She shook her head. Such thoughts had no place in her mind now. She only had to wait out the boredom, just as she thought she would when she was chained to a lamppost. Her people were good, honorable citizens. Surely they assumed she was accosted by a fit of madness, or under the effect of some magical curse. Maybe she was even an impostor, a spirit sent to destroy the good Queen Elsa’s reputation. They knew she would never act like this, not of her own free will. They would chalk this up to whatever cause they wished, and they would disperse, and once Anna was back in her arms she could give them a convincing explanation. For now she could bear the shameful stares and whispers, for she knew in her heart that her citizens would never, ever, even dream of degrading her, no matter her verbal requests.

A silver piece clanged in the empty bucket.

The expressions among the crowd escalated rather than changed; anybody who was surprised before was now scandalized, and anybody intrigued was now delighted, but no opinions seemed to reverse. Behind her, Elsa heard the guards muttering, considering whether they should defy orders and intervene. Their ethical debate was only slightly louder than the rustling of fabric and the creaking of wood, and something brushed the side of her foot as a person knelt in place. Despite full awareness of her situation she turned to look, hoping at least for a glimpse of the man bold enough to take her up on her offer. A half-erect dick ran up and down her slit—because at this point, she’d serviced enough men to have some idea when they were truly hard and when they were still working up to it — trying to generate some aspirational lubrication. He throbbed against her lips, impossibly warm in the cool midday air, and a firm hand took hold of her waist. The head pushed forward as slowly as the tide, and her face scrunched to suppress the pained grunt clawing at her chest. Not another sound interrupted her now, not even a breath, and everybody in the city could hear her gasp when the man bottomed out and began fucking.

Elsa winced and clenched her fists, hoping that tensing part of her body would allow another part to become loose enough that the pain went away. The crowd began to stir, and she reluctantly opened her eyes, gazing back at hundreds of people. An instant of panic overruled her other emotions. She’d known she would be having sex in front of people all morning, but she hadn’t truly understood it, not until this moment. This wasn’t sex in a dark alley or behind a wall. It was bright, open, with nothing between her nearly-naked body and the biggest audience she could imagine. Her regal mask slipped onto her again, the comforting distance she took when she had to act as a queen instead of as a person, and the cold logic finally made itself known against her fear. She couldn’t act like this. She couldn’t let anybody know how much she hated the male… thing… inside her, how uncomfortable she was prancing around in less than lingerie, how she’d only called this assembly under duress. Nobody could suspect she was actually being forced into it, or the kidnappers might—

The kidnappers!

She scanned the faces, as though she could find somebody actively twirling his mustache. They had to be here. There was no way they would miss it. Were they in the front row, so they could get the best view? Or would that be too obvious? Were they together, so they could talk about her, or apart, so they would be harder to spot? From what angle were they observing her? Was one of them the person holding her rear, thrusting into her vagina, raping her in front of his friends? She tried to look at him again to no avail. Maybe he was, and maybe he was just one of the sorry men who had patronized her in the bookstore or mocked her in the alley. She might never know. But if he was a kidnapper, or if they were watching — and there was no doubt in her mind that they were — she had to keep up the masquerade. She had to pretend to be the Whore Queen, just for a few more hours. That meant showing off her body. That meant selling herself to anybody who could afford it. That meant enjoying every minute of it, succumbing to the pleasure, debasing herself for her sister’s sake. She would make certain the kidnappers had no reason to complain. They wanted a spectacle? They’d get a spectacle.

Though Elsa had spent countless hours acting like she enjoyed having sex with strange men, she hadn’t done it in anything like this situation, so her first fake moan came out much harder than she’d intended. It was closer to a shout, loud enough to reach the farthest ears, launched by a voice used to addressing entire kingdoms. It even stunned her partner, and the awkward thrusting stopped with his dick halfway inside her. She bit her lip, hoping it looked more sexy than hurt, and bucked her hips, swallowing him an extra fraction of an inch. He must have gotten the message, because he squeezed her ass and pounded into her with a ferocity she’d never felt from a human man. She egged him on, panting and sighing and rolling her eyes and squeezing her fists, trying on various actions and seeing how they fit. The sleaziest-looking men in the crowd were her judges, because certainly the kidnappers numbered among them, and she took note of the actions of which they approved. She concentrated so intently on her overacting that she barely noticed the man’s seed filling her up, and when he lumbered off the platform behind her, she could only wait patiently, letting hundreds of people watch his seed drip from her pussy, until her next partner arrived.

A full minute passed before another coin rattled in her till, and she didn’t even have to wriggle her butt at the newcomer before he thrust a fully-hard cock into her sex. It slid in far more easily, and though she liked to think it was just the sperm making her slicker, she couldn’t deny the wetness her body had contributed. The whole act was loathsome; imagining a man’s penis, that unsightly bag stuck onto his hips, the same thing he used to evacuate waste, engorged with blood and tearing its way through a woman’s most delicate place, shooting its foul, sticky release and claiming a place inside her for months upon months—not a single piece of the process inspired anything more positive than revulsion. But her body disagreed. A simple biological imperative made her more receptive to the man than she logically wanted. She couldn’t help it. Knowing that made it easier for her to give in, to let impersonal touching and rubbing and other friction send tingles, however minor, up her spine, and she used those tingles as fuel for her act, amplifying them until her audience could only believe she was a willing victim of her own arousal.

She tried to imagine how she appeared to her onlookers, bent at the waist and perched unsteadily on too-high heels. Some points of attention were obvious—her breasts jiggled on her chest, slightly enlarged by the effects of gravity, and after every thrust she could feel her backside ripple despite its small, firm shape—but the image of the whole escaped her. She’d never seen herself during sex, a blessing she had taken for granted. Were her facial expressions lusty and arousing, or overwrought and goofy? Did her lingerie accentuate her features, or were they a sky-blue distraction? Whenever she pictured it, she only saw herself, regal and demure as ever, right down to the dress she could definitely tell she wasn’t wearing. She couldn’t even put a shape to the man. He was a faceless, shapeless blob, nothing but a vague shadow with two hands on her rear and an impossibly large penis sliding in and out of her distended slit. Reality stabbed at her stomach for a moment as she realized she would never know anything about the man who was raping her, or the one before him, or any of the ones who might follow. Anybody in her kingdom might have purchased her body, and he would always view her with the memory of sinking deep inside her warm pussy, ramming her until she cried out with empty lust, and covering the small of her back with his sticky cum.

A third man paid for her body and time, and she barely caught her breath before he plunged into her. Men were swarming toward the platform now, forming an orderly line at least as far as she could see with her field of vision limited by the pillory. Among them she saw the obvious sleazes, the sort where she only needed a casual glance to know how much they would enjoy making her service them. But there were also middle-aged shopkeepers she recognized from city meetings, and young men who only barely had grown old enough to pay their taxes, and lanky scholars who had come to her with questions of the law. Men from all walks of life staked their claim in the line and on her, far more than she ever would have anticipated. Were all of her male subjects truly so barbaric? Did they have no respect for her? Did they view all women so casually, so contemptuously? Disappointment settled in her gut as one of them came inside her and made room for another, barely leaving her room to catch her breath between bouts of loud moans, and it only deepened when the stranger pressed against her thighs chortled “Hey, Whore Queen Elsa. Wouldn’t it be more of a spectacle if you serviced more than one man at a time?”

She knew that word. Spectacle. One of the kidnappers was using her! Her neck muscles nearly tore as they tried to turn her head, but his face sat safely out of reach. She slumped again, forgetting her acting until he slapped her ass to wake her up. Her fists clenched and hew jaw set, but she knew what she had to do. He’d disguised it as a recommendation, but he’d meant it as an order, so she smiled and batted her eyes and licked her lips until they glistened. “I did say you could use me however you wanted. If that means you want my mouth, so be it.”

She’d been hoping the man would be dumb enough to disengage from her pussy and come around to her face, but he was not. She shouldn’t have been surprised. A new man paid his toll and walked around her, finally letting her put some features on one of her partners. He was portly, hairy, and easily twice her age, almost as far as possible from the slender, graceful bodies in her fantasies. He grinned down at her, muttered a meaningless pleasantry, and pulled a thick cock from his trousers. Elsa reached for it automatically, forgetting her bondage for just an instant. Without the use of her hands or neck or, honestly, the rest of her body, the only thing she could do was tilt her head back and open wide. While the kidnapper tried his best to distract her by filling her with yet another load of unwelcome sperm, the other man grabbed the pillory for support and buried his penis in her mouth.

The familiar taste of man and sweat bathed her tongue, filling her lungs with musk just as her vision filled with her newest customer’s gut. She tried to pull back and only made it half an inch before unforgiving wood reminded her of her position, and her mind recoiled. What gave her pause wasn’t the severity of the control the man had over her, but a failure of her muscle memory. The moment she felt a dick inside her mouth, her first reaction was to close her lips and start bobbing her head, a response she had learned through night after night of training. Without the freedom to properly fellate him, how did he expect her to act? He solved her problem a moment later, bucking his hips until his head battered the back of her throat. Elsa put her energy into relaxing, keeping her tongue motion to a minimum and letting him delve as deep as he wanted.

Focusing on that not only kept him from bruising her esophagus, it also helped her defer acknowledging that she had actually worried about whether she would be able to suck off a strange man to his satisfaction.

Over the next few minutes, or hours, or years, the line of men around the platform inched forward. Now that her mouth was fair game the men used it just as much as her pussy, and she barely spent ten seconds with either unoccupied before a new person took his turn. Thick, sticky cum dripped off her face, seeped into her hair, and sloshed back and forth in her stomach, and she tried hard not to think about the even greater loads covering her backside or filling her womb. Some of the seed outside of her had dried, leaving a crusty layer on her cheeks and pale stains in her lingerie. She barely even blinked when someone pushed his cock into her asshole, using some of the leftover spunk as a lubricant, or when she felt the first load of the day inside her bowels. What would she have done? She couldn’t scream when she was always either moaning or choking down dick, she had long ago cried herself out thanks to her immature gag reflex, and her hips shook almost the same way no matter who got to enjoy the view. She had exhausted her fear, her rage, her disgust, even her self-preservation instinct, and all that remained was a small ember of hope thinking of the light at the end of the tunnel.

Or, that was almost all. During the endless parade of customers, she had slowly fought against another emotion whose shadow wormed its way into all her other worries: lust. It wasn’t her fault. Friction was friction and bodies were bodies. Feeling something inside her, sensing its warmth, inhaling the scent, seeing the faces of the people around her, telling herself again and again and again that the only way she would survive was to pretend her greatest dream was a public gangrape, it all had an effect on her arousal. It built slowly, enough for her to miss the signs until somebody rubbed her just right, dragging the underside of his dick against her button in exactly she way she liked. She moaned louder than normal as he fucked her, and she groaned with uncharacteristic impatience when he pulled out, leaving her just dangling on the edge of an orgasm and low on the willpower she needed to resist it. The next man to pay for her took his time before entering, stroking her pussy and teasing just around the edge of her clit. Her legs twitched, and she stopped licking another man’s head so she could thank him with an especially loud moan. He laughed once, closer to a bark, and pushed harder. “You’re about to cum, aren’t you?”

Elsa nodded the few inches she was allowed, painting the cock with saliva. “Yes!”

“Being used like a whore is really turning you on, isn’t it?”

Another nod, and another near-scream. “Yes!”

“I wonder what you look like when you cum. I bet you totally lose control, don’t you? Screaming, twitching, maybe even shooting ice from your fingers. Boy, that would be a spectacle, wouldn’t it?”

The word again. Was it a kidnapper, or just a chatty rapist getting himself off with his own words? She didn’t know, and it suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t care. It wasn’t just those men. They were all like that. Everyone was raping her in broad daylight for a pittance. She wasn’t getting away from him, or his friends, or their demands. She was here because of them.

To hell with them. To hell with them all. They had gotten everything they’d wanted the entire time. It was high time she got something she wanted, wasn’t it? Not Anna. Or, not just Anna. That would still happen in due time. She was certain of it. But now, in this moment, she wanted something else. She wanted to cum. She admitted it. Elsa, Queen of Arendelle, wanted to have the sort of earth-shattering, mind-bending, inhibition-destroying orgasm she needed to black out and forget where she was… forget everything else. She could never go back to how she was before, not after today. Her people would always remember her as their whore. And if they were, if they could never see her again without remembering her covered in sperm, if they could never think about taxes without mentioning the bucket of silver she had earned by selling her body, if they could never pass by the plaza without wondering when the next gangbang would be, she might as well accept it. She had a new title, a new role, a new life now, and she was at least going to enjoy the benefits that came with it. So she spread her legs just a little wider, bounced her ass at him, and shouted: “I’ll do anything you fucking want, just make me cum!”

In a way, Elsa truly lost her virginity in that moment. Not the physical barrier that had been taken from her in a tavern but the mental barrier she had used as a shield for too long. The dick that sheathed itself all the way up to her cervix wasn’t her first, not by a long shot, but it was the first she had actually asked for… and in some tiny way, meant it. When she tossed away her morals and her standards and that ever-present niggling reminder that she felt no sexual attraction for a single man in all of creation, she could finally embrace the seed of deeply repressed lust clawing its way out of her subconscious. She technically forgot her duties for a moment, because she neglected to suck the cock of the man who had paid for her. Her mouth was serving a better purpose: screaming to high heaven about how much she enjoyed dick. Her eyes rolled back as the kidnapper — or baker, or elder, or castle guard, it didn’t fucking matter — fingered her clit, driving her over the edge with the force of an avalanche. She didn’t know what she actually said in the moment, likely some combination of begging and the filthiest expletives she had ever read. Magic surged through her independent of her direction, and when she came snowflakes did actually shoot from her fingers in wide cones of glittering ice, not because she wanted to but because she needed a place for all that overwhelming energy to go once her body and mind could no longer handle it. The man never stopped, not for a moment, and by the time she felt him throb and add a few hot splatters to the jizz already cooling in her pussy and between her thighs, she had nearly recovered enough to start on the path to another orgasm of her own.

She should have been ashamed.

During more lucid moments, she was.

It didn’t matter.

The pile of silver in the bucket grew and spilled into the wood, dangerously close to the puddle of semen slowly expanding under Elsa. She stopped looking at the sky, telling time only by the stream of men who finished with her and left her for others. Resigned to her fate she could finally work toward her own pleasure, wriggling her body so the men touched all the right places. And touch they did, for as soon as they saw her embracing her fate they began spending their time exploring her in full. Most kneaded her breasts, drawing attention to the sensitive nipples she had been neglecting throughout her journey. Some fingered her ass while her pussy was full, or vice versa, stretching her holes even tighter than before. A few held her nose and plugged her throat with their cock, ravaging her mouth until her head went light and her chest burned for the crisp evening air. Only a precious few actually went for her clit, and whenever they did she overacted even harder than normal, hoping to entice them to molest her further. Fingers and hands and dicks groped her, from her disheveled braid to the toes wrinkled from cum pooling in her high-heeled shoes. Through it all her own pleasure marched on, peaking in irregular moments of sheer joy that let her forget about everything else and think only about the fleeting escape of sexual bliss.

At some point a man ordered her out of the pillory, and the guards acquiesced. Moments later, crouched over a carpenter she’d known for years, she felt the agonizing pleasure of taking a cock in both her holes at once. She screamed and begged for more, and more was granted in the form of a third dick muffling her obscene demands. A sprinkling of rapidly-melting mist fell on the group, courtesy of yet another conspicuous orgasm, and while she recovered all three men finished and three others took their place. Somebody forced her to kneel, wrenched her elbows back, and fucked her from behind while another squeezed her inadequate breasts around his dick. Somebody else wrapped his cock in her hair and made her deep-throat it until he stained her inside and out with a single shot. Somebody stuffed her semen-drenched shoe in her mouth and rubbed himself against her stocking-clad feet. They taught her all new forms of depravity, spindling and defiling her, training her until she was the whore she had claimed to be.

Only one moment stood out among the festivities, when a woman made her way in front of the kneeling queen. Elsa blinked up at her, remembering the hope she had held for her people, the glimmer of certainty that they were still decent people. Even after all she had done, even now that she knew every adult male in her kingdom was a heartless monster who would rape her as soon as look at her, at least the women were too decent, too empathetic, too good to participate. The woman stared back at Elsa for a moment, then slapped her so hard she wondered if her cheeks switched places. The next instant Elsa was on her back with the woman’s bare crotch lowering onto her face, and instead of a heartfelt caress under a blanket by a fireplace, her first encounter with another woman was less licking her and more having her violently fuck her cunt with her tongue while another nameless stranger raped her up the ass. More women followed after that, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups, sometimes with their husbands or boyfriends, and Elsa finally saw her people for who they were… or, she thought with excruciating clarity, she saw who she was to them.

The day ended… but the orgy didn’t. A second bucket had joined the first, and both overflowed with silver now. The action had moved from the pillory to the center of the platform to the corner to bent over the edge and back again. Men came back once, twice, as many times as they could handle, sometimes with friends or family members or co-workers who had not been present for her grand declaration. All this happened around Elsa, who busied herself only with making her customers cum and scrabbling for any pleasure she could wring out of the situation. She begged for it anywhere and everywhere, she thanked her citizens for ruining her body, and she screamed loud enough to be heard back at the castle. Her life was over now. She knew it. This was a new life. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had started. Maybe it was when she had made the speech, or when she had first allowed herself to cum, or when the realization hit her, as she rode one man, bucked her hips so another could wriggle inside, swirled her tongue around a third cockhead, pumped two more with her hands, and wondered if she could twist enough that a sixth could fit between her tits. Perhaps it was all of the above. This afternoon was the coronation of a new queen, one who had thrown away everything for the love and safety of a single woman. Anna would finally be free, and for that guarantee Elsa would go through a hundred such days. The moon rose and the stars twinkled overhead, and still she sucked and fucked, thinking only of her disgrace and the embrace of her perfect sister.


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