Empress Enslaved Ch. 02

The awful sound filled the air, like a constant wailing. Was she really that loud? Even as she felt it subside, and her moans gave way to shuddering gasps, it was as though the wailing sound was still there, blasting around the square louder than any echo.

She slumped down onto to Zoaxus, who was looking around in confusion. People were definitely running now. The man buried inside her asshole extracted himself with some difficulty, and left her. No one seemed keen to replace him.

Another thunderous blast of that sound filled the square -- it was trumpets. No, no I'm not ready, not now...

Through blurred eyes, she looked up to see the square in a state of panic. The crowd of men that completely surrounded her just moments ago was dissipating, the men running. Men on horses were charging into the square from all four entrances, some blowing trumpets and some pulling swords from their sheaths. These were not the bare-chested brutes that had ruled the city for three days. This was Morgavian household cavalry.

Too late, Zoaxus realised what was happening. He scrambled to dislodge Isabella, who was desperately trying to shut out the world around her. He managed to slide out of her pussy just as the cavalry reached them. Isabella rolled onto her hands and knees like a ragdoll, her eyes shut. Behind her, and all around her, there was the sound of steel on steel, the pop of gunpowder, of raised voices, horses charging. And at the head of it all, making his way to the centre, was Kommandair Henning -- his face recognisable as though from a previous life.

She could not put it off. She looked up, and her eyes found those of the Kommandair's, that terrible expression of recognition that she had dreaded all night. Henning looked down at his Empress as she crawled over the dirty cobbles, bright red, out of breath, sweating, and leaving a trail of cum behind her as the ejaculate of dozens of men dripped from every part of her naked body. She was surrounded again now, this time by her would-be rescuers. The men behind her could not see her face, but they could see her gaping, dripping holes.

"Your... Your Grace," Henning said, dismounting just as Isabella reached his horse. He took off his cloak, and wrapped it around her.

* * *

Belle was one of the last to enter the throne room, and it was packed full of people by the time she walked in. She had spent such a long time trying to make herself look perfectly presentable, though somehow she doubted it would make much of a difference -- even in the outrageously expensive and delicate dress that had been gifted to her.

She felt the usual stares fall on her as she pushed her way through the crowd of people. She was used to them by now. She wondered how many people in this room had seen her naked -- and how many more had heard the story.

Only after a few minutes of insistent pushing (people seemed far more willing to step aside for her than they ever had before the events of the previous few days) did she reach a spot where she was able to see the throne. And there, seated upon it, was Empress Isabella.

Belle didn't think she had ever seen her Empress dressed so regally, or with such an intentional display of power and might, as she was today. She was crowned, and holding the Imperial sceptre, and staring ahead with a look of strict royalty. Though none of this did anything to dissipate the heavy tension that had settled over the room. Everybody was doing their very best not to look at her.

She had heard many rumours since the army had driven the horsemen out of the city three nights ago, capturing or killing a great deal of them. Few of them were entirely accurate, but everyone seemed for to have heard some variant of the rumours sweeping the city regarding what, exactly, Isabella had been doing on the final night of the occupation. Some of the people in this room had seen her with their own eyes in Providence Square.

Isabella herself was even more aware of the magnitude of the unspoken questions hanging over the room. She watched the room without meeting anyone's gaze, trying and failing to take solace in her ornate and ceremonial garments. Every time she saw someone stare at her, she felt utterly naked.

Finally, with a pompous trumpet blare, the doors to the hall opened. Kommandair Henning marched in, in full ceremonial dress, followed by ten of his chief captains. This was their official welcome back to Morgavia, as saviours of the city in its hour of direst need.

Personally, Isabella was inclined to think that her own hour of direst need had been quite a few hours earlier than when he actually turned up in that square, but since she herself had forbidden all mention or reference to what she had been made to do, she could hardly say this.

The last few days had been... unusual. Attending to the business of state had kept her mind occupied, had meant that she could postpone the moment when she would have to accept what had been made clear to everyone else in that square -- she had not wanted to be rescued. She wondered if any man would ever make her feel the way she had that night -- and then scolded herself for even thinking that. She was an Empress. The way she had been treated had been reprehensible...

Belle was very aware that Henning also seemed unable to look at Isabella. She knew that it had been he who had found Isabella, with all those men... not that she couldn't sympathise. No matter how hard she tried, whenever she looked at the Empress, all she could see was the moaning, naked mess that had all but begged to be fucked. Whenever she looked at her ornate clothes and regalia, all she could think of were the ordinary, much stuffed holes she had seen with her own two eyes, overflowing with cum. She wondered if Henning was experiencing the same thing.

The ceremony was brief. Phrases such as "saviour of the city", "vanquished foe" and "boundless gratitude" floated through the hall, without stirring the listeners very much.

If they seemed hollow to Belle, it was nothing to how empty Isabella herself considered them. Yes, the occupation was over, and yes, only a quarter of the horsemen that had entered the city had escaped back to the plains (miraculously given that the city had been only partially surrounded), effectively ending any threat to the city for years to come. But J'akart had escaped, still the King on the plains, now recognised by Isabella who had submitted to him so loudly and dramatically before so many people. She had no idea what had happened to Barrand and Zoaxus in the chaotic aftermath of her public gangbang. There were many, many prisoners in the bowels of the palace, awaiting the Royal Justice, but she had no intention of identifying them. She did want see the gleeful victory in their eyes.

Henning was saying some well-rehearsed words, and Isabella and Belle's attention wandered. For the briefest of instants, their eyes met, and both looked away hurriedly. They had not spoken since the tavern. For Isabella's part, she was aware of Belle's part in her rescue, and was beyond grateful for this -- but she could not bear to speak to a servant who had seen her in such a state of depravity.

As for Belle -- she knew she would never see Isabella in the same light again. Nothing would ever be the same.