𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚛𝚌𝚜' 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚞𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 | Starry x Literate Infatuation | NSFW

[Starry]

Title post coming soon​

 

[Starry]

​

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 - 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐣𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧.​

The ruined streets of Virelia lay smouldering, whispers of conquest still thick in the air. Once famed for its opulence and refinement, the city had become a stage for the depraved, glorious parade of its fallen royalty. Princesses Evelyn and Rosalie, once radiant symbols of human nobility, now walked of their own will - hips swaying, eyes alight with eager submission. No chains marked them as slaves, only glittering jewellery - gold bracelets and dripping necklaces that shimmered in the firelight like offerings. They weren’t captives. They were tributes - willing, needy, aching to serve. Evelyn, tall and commanding, moved like a queen even as her body betrayed her. Her sheer bridal gown clung obscenely to her curves, the gossamer silk outlining every sinful dip of her mature, fuckable form. F-cup tits strained against the see-through fabric, nipples like hardened cherries teasing beneath. Her porcelain thighs were fully on display through the parted gown, slick with anticipation. Her platinum hair flowed like moonlight, crowned with a tiara that glinted in mockery of her former rule. Massive gold hoops swung from her ears, catching the crowd’s attention with every step. Her emerald eyes scanned the pitiful human faces lining the route - weak, trembling fools who hadn't understood what true power looked like until their orc masters were balls-deep in their wives. Rosalie, shorter, curvier, and infinitely more shameless, bounced beside her, a vision of lewd delight. She smiled and waved gleefully, lips plump and glossy as she blew kiss after kiss toward the jeering orcs. Her crimson gown was an insult to decency - barely a wisp of fabric wrapped around her enormous H-cup tits, her nipples so stiff and prominent they pressed through as if desperate for mouths. Her ass jiggled with every step, thighs glistening with arousal, the fabric soaked along her inner legs. Gold bangles jingled around her wrists and ankles as she practically skipped toward her defilement. The grand cathedral loomed ahead - the former seat of their ancestors’ divine rule. Its stained glass shattered, statues of saints toppled or replaced with brutal orcish idols. The air reeked of sweat, cum, incense, and corruption. High-ranking orc officers had taken seats where priests once preached. The last of the Virelian nobility were herded along the sides - gagged, shackled, forced to watch the public desecration of their lineage. Their mother, Queen Alinelle, was nowhere in sight. But both sisters knew the truth. She had been stripped of her crown, her dignity, and her mind. Passed around the lowest-ranked warriors of the warband, kept on her hands and knees in some fetid camp tent far from the city. Evelyn had once wept over it. Now, her pussy clenched at the thought. As they stood side by side atop the desecrated dais, Evelyn let her emerald eyes scan the dark, towering space before them. The ruined cathedral thrummed with filth and reverence, and the thick musk of waiting orcs lingered on the air like perfume. She shifted subtly, adjusting her tits beneath the silk once more, then leaned toward her sister. "What do you think he’ll be like?" she whispered, voice low and husky with heat. "The warchief... our new husband." Rosalie’s eyes widened, her lips parting in a girlish gasp. She clutched her breasts together with both arms, bouncing them shamelessly so they jiggled like eager offerings, nipples visibly straining beneath the silk. "Mmm… I bet he’s massive. Like… inhuman. I hope he lifts me up by the throat and just makes it fit. Gods, I hope he’s a tit man. These are just begging for his hands, right?" She gave her chest another proud bounce, licking her lips. Evelyn clicked her tongue softly, eyes narrowing for a moment. "He’ll appreciate refinement, not just raw meat." Rosalie giggled. "Maybe. But raw meat gets fucked harder, sister~" Evelyn sighed as she adjusted her tits beneath the fabric with practiced grace, a slow sensual motion meant to tease. Rosalie bit her lip and shifted her weight, her ass giving a needy little bounce. Their nipples throbbed. Their hearts raced. They didn’t kneel. They stood, proudly, obscenely ready, their bodies a promise: of loyalty, of surrender, of endless use. Let their master come and take what was his. ​

​

​