As her knuckles hovered over the door, she had to steady herself on the doorway. She couldn't remember the last time she ate, and took a deep breath to stave off the lightheadedness. Heart pounding, forehead already sweating, she finally knocked. A gruff voice from the other side of the door shouted, "In!"

King Francis was a lot of things: loud, short tempered, and unpredictable, to name a few. And despite being barely 5'5", he was likely the heaviest human in Mikus Castle by at least 50 lbs. And that's saying something, considering the sprawling complex housed the royal family, hundreds of Royal Friends, two brigades of soldiers, and a staff of nearly 1000 who cleaned and cooked for residents and guests alike.

At the very bottom of the hierarchy—below the third cousins, newly-enlisted soldiers, and even the cooks and cleaners—were the "Nameless." Officially they did not even exist, as they mostly comprised of illegitimate children from the royal family or children orphaned by Francis's regular (and often arbitrary) executions. Numbering about 25 in all, the mix of children and young adults "lived" in a retired dungeon under the castle. They were only released when the staff needed a particularly awful chore taken care of: scrubbing blood off the walls of the slaughter house, emptying latrines, or searching horse excrement for a ring that Princess Angela swears was eaten by her horse.

Perhaps the worst part of the Nameless's plight was the attention from Francis. Despite the image he projected, he did generally try to walk the line between instilling fear and alienating his followers. When it came to the Nameless, however, Francis had nothing to lose. After all, no one can mourn the fate of someone without a name. This lead to unspeakable abuses, often the victims of Francis's rage, lust, or sadism. Perhaps his cruelest treatment was also the simplest.

Every morning, one of the Nameless women were required to enter his quarters precisely at 9am and leave at 9:30am. Based on Francis's mood following this session, he would let his assistant know whether any food should be delivered to the dungeon that day. The simple control over their food supply gave Francis a bigger power trip than conquering another country. They were driven by such desperation, both the perpetual fear of letting down their unofficial family waiting anxiously below, or the rumbling in their own stomachs.

As she took small steps across the doorway, she couldn't help but feel the weight of the world on her petite and bony shoulders. Three days ago, her sister (not by blood, they called each other all sisters since they had no other family) had accidentally gagged and vomitted while Francis was throat fucking her. The next day, one of her heavier-set sisters had volunteered, and Francis didn't even let her in. Starting to feel desperate, they had elected their most "talented" sister to go yesterday. By all accounts it had gone well—she had taken the ass-to-mouth without any complaint, and made him cum right on time—but for some unknown reason the food had never come.

As she knelt naked in front of Francis, she couldn't stifle the stomach rumble. Francis smiled, cruelly. "Oh, I knew I forgot something yesterday." She knew not to react to anything he said, but couldn't help her eyes from watering in anger and helplessness. She knew her family was huddled in their dungeon many levels below, praying she would be able to satisfy every one of Francis's twisted desires in a mere 30 minutes.

She started with well-practiced oral, swalling his cock and never breaking eye contact. It was well known that shedding a few tears here appealed to Francis as well. At one point, he held her head all the way down, and it was all she could do not to struggle as her vision began to fade from loss of oxygen.

She must have actually fully blacked out, because she regained consciousness laying on a stone table on the other side of the room. Francis was picking up her legs, and lining is spit-covered cock with her vagina. She had rubbed herself during the walk up to get as wet as possible, but her dehyrdated body didn't have much to offer. As Francis rammed himself balls deep into her, she squeezed her eyes closed and focused on her kegels. She knew from experience this was crucial if she was going to hit her 9:30 mark. Francis grunted in approval as he continued to pound.

Typically, after a few minutes here, Francis would roll her over and pound her ass. But today he did something different. He walked away from her heaving body, and walked toward the door. Stopping short, Francis selected a rose-filled vase from a shelf. He hefted it for a moment, eyeing her dripping holes on the table. Making up his mind, Francis discarded the flowers—she was relieved thorns wouldn't be a part of this, at least—and strode back to the table.

He set the vase heavily on the table next to her head, and she could see it was a short clay, pill-shaped piece, about the diameter of a wine bottle at its thickest part. "Get that into your ass, and I'll roast a whole pig for you right now," Francis declared. Her blood ran cold, and as she picked up the vase, her heart began to race. This was impossible.

Before she could ponder any longer, Francis walked to the other side of the table above her head, and tilted her head towards his crotch. His dick slid easily down her well-trained throat, but her hands shook badly as they still held the vase. Slowly she slid the clay vase towards her ass. And when it got there—with no preparation or lube—she began to push.

​

When the doors swung open into the dungeon, everyone looked up hopefully. Hoping to see the thumbs up that she always gave when striding back in. Not today. The guards dropped her limp body inside the door, gave it an extra kick to make sure the doors could close, and left. Her sisters ran to her body, barely stirring. Her face was covered in spit, cum, and mostly tears. It was no surprise to see her sore pussy, but they had never seen anyone's ass hole looks like this. Without anything holding it open, any of the women could have easily slid their whole fist inside.

They rolled her back, and tried to coax any response from her. Unable to sit up, or talk, or even open her eyes, all she could do was weakly raise her hand and give them: a thumbs up.