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The Emperor’s Daughter
Part One
Gang Rape
By Razor7826 (Copyright 2008)
(This story does not reflect the author’s thoughts or beliefs in any way.)
‘What goes around, comes around’, my father used to say, may he rest in peace. Despite what the peasants may claim, Daddy was a smart and gentle man, even if he had his bloodthirsty moments. I know that he killed a lot of people, but, let’s face it; the vast majority of them deserved it.
I stood by my masked lawyers in the spacious and historic courthouse as the jury handed down their verdicts. Though I kept a calm demeanor as the foreman announced ‘Guilty’ after ‘Guilty’, I burned with rage on the inside. My eyes slid from juror to juror as I memorized each of their faces, and determined what fates they would have.
Guilty on each and every one of two-hundred-and-seventy-three counts of murder, assault, imprisonment, theft, rape, and whatever other personal vendettas the prosecutors wanted to fulfill. Half the charges were bullshit, but when you’re the daughter one of the most hated men in history, few people are going to view your accusations with an open mind. I knew things were hopeless from the moment that every lawyer in the city denied my case, leaving me with just these masked public defenders.
The entire trial was a charade. Every last bit of it was absolutely meaningless, except towards formalizing my imprisonment. No witnesses would stand for the defense but myself. I did not deny what I had done, though the prosecutors and I disagreed on legality. I am the Emperor’s Daughter, I said, and that made my actions legal. They all laughed at me, no longer afraid of father’s wrath—or my own.
They transferred me that evening. No longer would I be held in the central building of the new government. Instead, I would be brought somewhere more secluded. Somewhere quiet and isolated for me to live out the rest of my life, as my lawyers told me. They lied.
When Maria Plaza came into sight through the tiny window of the transportation truck, I knew precisely where they were taking me. My own private prison—Laura’s Center for Behavioral Modification. Daddy had given it to me over five years ago. I managed it until his death, when I went into hiding. It was saddening how the new monsters in charge had let it go to shambles.
I took the fountain pen at the front desk and signed my name, Laura Maria Kampf, with my characteristic flair. Though the transition was from only from one prison to another, my conviction had removed the last of my rights. If the law had its way, I would remain inside that hole for the rest of my life—or just the next one-thousand-two-hundred-and-twenty-seven-years of it.
However, I didn’t understand what that life would entail, outside of the usual boredom of confinement. That is, until I saw him standing there, just on the other side of the first set of iron doors.
Gregory Flint. Leader of the People’s Movement for a Free Garlin and General of the new government.
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The woman, not much older than Laura, shook visibly as the Emperor’s Daughter entered the tiny prison cell. Besides her wrist and ankle manacles, the specimen wore only a set of thin brown shirts and shorts, and Laura knew there was nothing underneath it. Peasants didn’t deserve undergarments. No, they weren’t worth the resources.
“Up,” commanded the Emperor’s daughter. She swung out her riding crop and pressed it gently against the prisoner’s chin.
“Won’t anybody help me?” she whimpered to herself, still clenching her legs defensively.
“Stop your sniveling, girl,” commanded the mistress. She pulled the crop back and swatted it forward, eliciting a bodily spasm from the slave girl. “Do you even know why you’re here?”
The girl continued to look at the floor. “Please…”
“You’re here because of your father, Miss Flint. His rabble-rousing has caused nothing but problems for my Daddy, but arresting him would have too many unintended consequences.” She tilted her heads towards the door and said, “Guards, please.”
Within seconds, an imperial soldier wearing entered the cell, pushing a cart in front of him. All three shelves were filled with a menagerie of torture devices, laid out methodically like a surgeon’s tools. Clips, batteries, hammers, dildos, knives, pliers, and dozens of others, each varying shapes and sizes to ensure that the Emperor’s Daughter would have exactly the tools for her job.
“Tell me, peasant: are you a virgin?”
The girl did not respond.
“Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to check myself?”
She was.
“Give me your hands.”
The girl clenched them tighter, though her resistance waned when the tip of the riding crop slashed across her cheek. It took only seconds for Laura Kampf to grab the girl’s wrists, then clamp and lock them to eyebolts set into the dungeon wall.
“Perfect.” Laura grabbed the first of her tools and descended on her prisoner. Tens of tiny metal clips filled her hands. One by one, she grabbed them by their grips, squeezed to open them up, and snapped them onto the slave’s young flesh. Her nipples, clit, cheeks, ears, thighs, and lips, all over her most erogenous spots to ensure she’d feel the pain and disgrace.
“Stop! Stop!” the prisoner screamed, but Laura continued silently with a smile on her face.
“There, that’s a start,” she said once all forty-eight clips littered the girl’s body. “Now what shall I do next?”
“Let me go!”
“Sorry, Miss, but you haven’t yet paid for the sins of your father.”
“What does he have to do with it?”
“What an idiotic and childish question. You already know, and I’m not going to waste my time repeating it.” Laura returned to the cart full of sensual torture devices. So many fun objects strewn in front of her, but she chose the old mainstay of erotic torture—a red strap-on dildo. She curled up her skirt and pulled the toy up around her waist.
The slave trembled. “Please, I’ll tell my father to stop what he’s doing.”
“Oh, come on. If I let people go without punishment, what’s the point of deterrence? Sorry, you’re here to set an example.” Laure kneeled down between the naked girl’s legs and supported herself against the wall with her right hand. With her left, she grabbed the phallus and guided it against the entrance of Melissa Flint’s sealed pussy. With one thrust, Laura broke through the hymen.
Melissa screamed a pained howl. It didn’t bother Laura—she was used to the noise.
She pushed in further and leaned her clothed body against the writing and screaming mass of her prisoner. Melissa’s tits pressed against Laura’s own and caused friction across her breast and nipples. It was pleasing.
Laura pressed in harder until only thing separating their bodies were the layers of precious pink and black silk that comprised her entire outfit. All the while she thrust back and forth with her pelvis in a motion she had spent years practicing.
Melissa screamed the entire and violently shook her body in a vain attempt to buck her violator. Her wailings bespoke a pain she had never felt before, but Laura could hear the subtle undertone of her voice. It was pleasure. As much as Laura was hurting her new slave, there was also pleasure. The Emperor’s Daughter took it as a compliment. Her victims always grew to like their torture, even if only the tiniest amount.
It was long after Melissa’s voice halted that Laura stopped. Satisfied that she had set the girl well on the road to redemption, she stood, unstrapped the dildo, placed it neatly on the tray, and walked to the door. She knocked three times in quick succession and announced, “I’m finished here. Open up.” The door opened and strolled past the guards, her head held high with pride at a job well done.
Still looking ahead, she announced, “You may do with her as you see fit. Just don’t remove any of her jewelry. I’ll be back in the morning to check in.” With that, the Emperor’s Daughter left Melissa Flint to the guards.
Just as she reached the end of the hall and gate to her private residence, screams began to echo through the prison complex.
She ignored them, entered her home, and went straight to bed.
---
Laura Kampf returned to the prison wing of the centerr just before noon the following day. She nodded to the guard standing watch and was let into the prisoner’s cell.
Melissa Flint was exactly where Laura left her the previous night However, the girl that sat in the corner with her arms and legs bound to the wall was not the same; her eyes returned a vacant stare as one of the guards continued to thrust in and out of her cunt, as if her soul was hiding from the evils being visited upon her flesh. A guard continued to thrust into her cunt, and her body shook with each slap of skin.
“Can she speak?” asked Laura.
“Yes. Well, sometimes, at least. It’s been about an hour or so.”
“Good. I want her father to know why we had to put his daughter through hell. Clean her, but don’t bother giving her clothes. Drop her off on her father’s doorstep. That will solve the problem with Gregory Flint. I am certain of it.”
Laura Kamp would pay dearly for her moment of compassion.
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“She told me everything, you know.”
I looked up into Flint’s eyes and lied, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’ll remember soon enough.” He turned towards his guards and gave them orders, just out of my earshot. “And be rough. She deserves it.”
The two guards flanked me. Though they were each well over a foot taller than me, I continued to stand proud. They would not break me. They couldn’t, for I knew the strength of my blood. I would remember that, always, no matter what they did to me.
Their next action gave me true insight into just what they had planned. First, they freed my wrists from the painful handcuffs, but replaced them with the same type of thick, metallic manacles I had forced onto my prisoners when I was in charges of this place. The cold iron weighed heavily on my arms; I was not used to exerting myself, for there were always servants to do my bidding for me.
The collar worried me more. It was an inch thick of stainless steel, both in height and thickness and locked shut around my neck, a fit that left little room to breath. I had never realized how heavy those things were.
“How does it feel, you filthy bitch?”
I turned my head towards the black man. “Don’t talk down to me, you filthy peasant.”
“What did you call me,” he yelled back. My coaxing had work.
“Calm down, Eric,” said his friend. “She’ll pay soon enough.” He reached around behind me and grabbed my breasts in both of his hands. “I’m so glad General Flint picked us for this mission.”
“Geez, man, calm down,” responded the black man. “Even I can keep my dick in my pants better than you.”
They laughed together then pushed me down the halls. My prison gained a frightening new appearance from the perspective of an inmate rather than a master. That some row of cells, once filled with joyful play things, filled me with an impression of dread, that they would bring nothing but suffering and death to me. All I had done with my life, from my first cruel mistreatment of servants to the outright rape and torture of my enemies, had culminated in this. The roles were reversed, and I would suffer my own punishments.
It was the same cell that I had used to destroy Flint’s daughter. The goons pushed into the cell and I collapsed onto the floor, smacking my face against the metallic floor. I cursed aloud, but they only laughed.
The bondage felt strange against my skin. Never had I been so thoroughly bound or manipulated. Never had I ceded power to another. Never had I been so utterly helpless. Strung up against the corner, my legs spread, my sex exposed, I began to cry. That is what it had come to?
The men started just as I had. They tortured me, and they enjoyed every minute of it. First came the clamps, stuck not only to my clit and nipples and but also my pure and unmarked skin. I screamed and swore as I felt the alligator clips cold metal teeth defiling my flawless skin.
“How does that feel, Missy?” taunted the taller thug.
“Let me go! This is your last warning.”
“Oh? What are you going to do if we don’t?”
“I still know powerful people.”
The shorter man laughed. “Powerful people? That’s a laugh. All of your daddy’s biggest supporters have already been executed. There’s nobody left to turn to.”
I looked away in an attempt to hide my disappointment. That evening at Holsborough Manor, when I was wrested violently from that basement hideaway, I saw the capture of many of my supporters. They wanted me to be the new empress, for me to carry on my father’s reign. I shared his ideals, they said, but I knew they wanted me as nothing more than a figure heard.
But now they were gone.
The taller man spared little time. He kneeled between my spread legs and began tearing at my red coat and skirt. His attack came in quick slashes—first, a tear from my collar down, then my skirt out, then my bra, my panties, my stockings. The final amenities that they had allowed me during my incarceration were being forcibly torn away. Without my ornate custom clothing, I was nobody.
He raped me like a common piece of trash. In and out he thrust with his cock, over and over as I screamed and cried for the first time since my father’s suicide. They grabbed and pulled my body as if I were a ragdoll, or worse, a commoner. Street whores and rebels deserved this sort of fate, but not me. However, the pieces of shit that violated me over and over that night did not share my same philosophy.
Dirt. Whore. Trash. Bitch. They called me everything in a clear attempt to not just break my body, but my spirit.
Hours later, Gregory Flint returned. In his hand, he carried the same brown sacks used as prison uniforms for my former pets. “Is she alive?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. We wouldn’t want her taking the easy way out.”
“What shall we do with her, sir?”
“Leave her be. There is a lot more in store for her—I understand I was not the only person to want revenge against the Devil of Garlin.”
“Should we leave her chained up?”
“No, no, just cuff her hands behind her back and dress her properly.”
They didn’t even bother to clean me. I had to sleep on my side, my arms painfully chained together with cuffs behind my back. The burlap clothing was nothing more than a simple skirt held up by string and am open vest. They offered neither protection, nor warmth, and only served to remind me of my role as defenseless prisoner.
It’s been days since that first encounter, and nobody has come to rescue me. I cry out into the darkness, but nobody answers. Sometimes I hear laughter from the other side of the door, and I know I am the subject of their jesting.
Am I going to die? What do these monsters have in store for me? I… I never understood how brutal my own punishments against my slaves were. Torture, defilement, gang rape, dehumanization—all my tools were being visited upon myself. How long can my frail and young body last?
And if they intended to emulate my own strategies, there is a lot more heading my way. Unspeakable acts that transcend simple sadism. Acts that I once thought of as necessary to rule the world may end up used only to make me suffer, to make me pay for my sins against the people.
But, no matter how much it hurts, no matter what these punishments do to me, I feel no regret.
The Kampf Empire will live forever. There are hundreds, thousands, perhaps millions of followers that still believe in our ideals
But, as I cry myself to sleep in my cell, night after night, all I can do is plead with the darkness.
Won’t somebody save me? Anybody?
Please?
To be continued…
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