Bruised muscles contract and spasm as the words from the speaker hit you with the force of a mortar round to the chest. A disorienting display of light overloads your senses, the chaotic cacophony of electronic discordia instantly sending you into a frantic panic. Instinctively, you try to flee the source of your mental anguish, flailing in vain against the cuffs binding you to your throne.

Throne? THRONE? This is your father's throne! What is it doing in this dirty, concrete room? Your terror ferments and sours into a rancid rage as you look downward at your new attire. Elegant and effeminate, rows upon rows of cotton frills, a gorgeous presentation of floral pinks and whites, its beauty undermined and soiled by the dark, cold stain of half-dried piss spread across your crotch and down your leg! 

How fucking dare they? Do they not know who you are? You're the first son of the kingdom! The next in line for the throne! What disgusting, dirty peasant freak put you in this situation? When you get out of here, you're going to make sure whoever is responsible gets drawn and quartered publicly. Fuck it, their families too. Make an example out of every one of the low-blood little shits. The only thing these shit eating savages understand is brutali-

*SNAP*

The sharp sound of your captor snapping directly into the microphone drowns out your thoughts, quickly suffocating your rage with thoughts of tranquil compliance. "Look forward" commands the voice behind the speaker. You meekly squirm against your throne, the sharp impatience in her voice lowering your pride to that of a scolded mutt. You obediently focus your gaze forward, concentrating on the overwhelming, sensory nightmare that is the behemothic display of monitors before you.

Swarms of revolutionary soldiers smashing through the royal palace gates! Marble sculptures, painstakingly carved centuries ago by meticulous master craftsmen, shattered into a million powderized pieces! Twisted Bolshevik barbarians, thunderously applauding as Black Eagle tapestries blaze in their own ashen alcoves.

Your aching heart drums against its osseous prison, threatening to free itself from your chest. When did this happen? Where are the foreign reinforcements and partisans? Father said the siege was to be broken within a month! Your head feels like it’s going to explode, why can’t you remem-

*SNAP*

Static jolts through the synapses of your hazy mind as the commanding figure once more snaps into the microphone. "Continue, Princess." Her sweet, syrupy voice sinks through the folds of your mind, hardening and enveloping your struggling, stubborn spirit in a sheath of submissive subservience. A different kind of excitement soon emerges, as the vibrator pressed against your piss-soaked panties buzzes eagerly against your crotch. 

A somber sobering panorama of slaughtered loyalist soldiers, littering the morbid, mortar-poxed motherland like a profane mural of pandemonic mutilation! Crestfallen commanders, chained in court like common convicts before a cruel and craven crowd, condemned to a century of ceaseless captivity for the crime of championing Christ and Crown against a catastrophic Communist coup! That awful sanguineous flag flutters sinisterly above, an anathematic signification of fiendery!

You hyperventilate as you bear witness to the end of all that is sane and natural. You press your thighs together as tightly as you can, grinding and whimpering like a newborn whelp. fuckfuckfuckFUCKFUCKFUCK! Why are you so turned on? This is a nightmare! You bite your lip until it bleeds, hoping to wake yourself up. Why are they doing this to you?? Why can't you stop???? Why-

*Snap*

"That's it pretty boy, keep grinding." Your muscles relax, your anxiety replaced by nothing but silent drooling. Your lips still dripping with fresh blood and saliva, you slowly give your unseen mistress a nervous, forced smile. You once more dart your wide, shaking eyes to the scenery in front of you, moaning pathetically as your vibrator pulses in increased intensity. 

A symphony of synchronized clicks crackles against the concrete walls. The abhorrent shrine of audiovisual sin abruptly synchronizes. Your own dynasty, guided towards deep glacial graves. Scared siblings screaming for salvation, silenced by the sickening sound of a smashed jaw.

Your thrusting becomes more and more frantic. You've never been more aroused in your life! Precum leaks through your girly pink princess panties and drips down your vibrator. Your thighs go weak and numb as you strain your leg muscles. You can't help yourself! You know you should be horrified right now, but the only thought racing through your ditzy-dizzy mind as you look upon your crying father is how badly you need to show everyone what a good boy you are!

*Snap*

You can't even process what your master says anymore. Your mewling whines of high-pitched ecstasy drown out all other senses. You can barely hear muffled laughing over the speakers as you let everyone know what a happy little princess you are! You love being the vanguard party’s effeminate boytoy whore! You're such a shameful disgrace to the royal family and you fucking love it! Each gunshot, each fallen corpse, each unceremonious kick into the ditch below brings you closer and closer to orgasm. All you can do is bark and yelp as the vibrator buzzes to a painfully high degree.

*SNAP*

Just as your stupid piece of shit father was about to get his brains blown out by your proletarian saviors, the footage cuts, and the room goes dark. You beg and whimper for your captors to turn it back on! You were so close!! Pleasepleasepleaseplease!!!! You don’t care about anything else just please please pleaseeeee let the princess boy cum!! You’ve been so so good!!!

“Patience.”

After several agonizing seconds of staying still and silent, the screen flashes back on, once more depicting a single scene.

Heartbroken, humiliated defenders of the kingdom kneel in defeat. Their distant, empty faces distort into flustered embarrassment. Once valiant soldiers met your vexing smile with a vestige of spitefulness.

It's a live recording. You squirm in excitement; it's time for the Princess to address its wonderful subjects!!!! You make sure each and every worthless sack of shit in the room knows you love frilly dresses more than calling off their future executions! You grind more and more as you scream just how much you love dribbling cum all over the former King's throne! “The old reign is dead; long live the workers!!” You moan this phrase over and over, encouraging your humiliated audience to cheer along! 

*Snap*

Trembling and twitching, a torrent of drool drips down your dress. Your cheers and chants, reduced to a frantic, incoherent cry for release!

“Princess, please remind our captives of the royal creed they once stood under.” She orders, as the armed guards slowly amass just behind the camera.

“A-A-AMOR POPULI!!! AMOR POPULI!!! A-AMOR!!!”

The vibrator’s intensity grows more and more, your audience winces as you roar out your family’s creed.

“AMOR POPULI… M-MEI EST PRAEMIUM MEUM!!!”

“Very good, and the translation?” You can barely make out the sight of raised rifles as she speaks. The vibrator once more raises to a most overbearing oscillation, all but threatening to burn your flesh through friction alone.

“THE LOVE OF MY PEOPLE!!! THE LOVE OF MY PEOPLE IS MY REWARD!!!”

A droplet-sized load dribbles into your panties, just as the recording ignites into a radiant flash of automatic fire.