Reinhard and the Broken Amazon Crown
Copyright© 2026 by Depraved_Angel
Chapter 4: The Runt’s Ascension
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 4: The Runt’s Ascension - Exiled prince Reinhard, a runt in stature but blessed with an enormous cock, ritually defeats and breaks the Amazon queen, seizes her throne, and uses the deadly Amazon women to forge a savage empire. His massive cock and potent seed corrupt elves, priestesses, and proud noblewomen alike, turning defiant queens and bloodthirsty savages into dripping sluts begging for more. Nations fall through relentless sexual conquest and magical subversion until every cunt on the Continent bows to him.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Blackmail Coercion Consensual Mind Control NonConsensual Rape Reluctant Slavery Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction High Fantasy Magic Demons Cheating Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Father Daughter MaleDom FemaleDom Humiliation Rough Torture Gang Bang Group Sex Harem Orgy Interracial White Male Oriental Female Anal Sex Analingus Double Penetration Facial Lactation Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Squirting Tit-Fucking Big Breasts Body Modification Clergy
The royal chambers, once Niyol’tsa’s private sanctum just two levels beneath the throne at the peak of Ixchel’Kin, now reeked of sweat, cum, and crushed orchids. Moonlight spilled through the open latticework, silvering the thick jaguar pelts that carpeted the floor and the vast, low bed that dominated the center. The bed was a battlefield of furs, stained and matted with days of use, its edges still twitching with faint vita-sap vines that had crept in from the walls to drink the overflow.
Reinhard lounged at the headboard, his spine propped against a mound of pillows, his eleven-inch cock, enlarged by the Crystal Throne he was now entitled to, jutting proud and glistening from the midpoint of his sub-four-foot frame. The throne’s gift throbbed in his veins, even though he wasn’t sitting it at this moment; every heartbeat pushed another pulse of blood into the shaft, keeping it iron-hard no matter how many times he came. He wore nothing but an arrogant sneer.
Mei’lin’zhu knelt between his spread thighs, golden skin gleaming with oil and seed. Her bone-threaded coils of hair were loose, framing her face like a halo of tiny skulls. She held Niyol’tsa by the hair, those once-proud black tresses of hair now tangled and sticky, and forced the deposed queen’s slack mouth down the length of Reinhard’s cock. Niyol’tsa’s emerald eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide; drool and cum sheeted her chin, dripping onto her heavy, bruised tits. She gagged softly each time the head punched the back of her throat, but her tongue kept moving, slow and automatic, like a broken doll still trying to please.
“Deeper, you useless jungle bitch,” Reinhard sneered, hips rolling lazily. “Your throat was made for Aryan cock. Swallow it or I’ll knot those tits around my shaft and fuck them raw.” Niyol’tsa whimpered, the sound wet and hollow. She pushed forward until her nose mashed against his pubic bone, throat convulsing around the invasion. Mei’lin laughed, low and delighted, and twisted the hair harder.
“Look at her, mein Führer,” the Shadow-Witch Mei’lin purred, beetle-blood lips brushing his ear. “The great Queen of the Amazons, reduced to a cock-sleeve. I have spent years dreaming of this. Years watching her strut, knowing one day she’d choke on a real man’s seed.”
Reinhard’s hand cracked across Niyol’tsa’s cheek, leaving a white print that flushed crimson. “Years you wasted, witch. But you delivered. Now make the blonde bitch useful.”
Ayana Chak’be knelt at the foot of the bed, wrists bound behind her with vita-sap cord that pulsed faintly, keeping her shoulders pulled back and her firm tits thrust forward. Her quartz-pale skin was mottled with bruises, finger marks on her throat, slap prints on her ass, bite marks ringing her nipples. The hummingbird-feather braids had been undone at Reinhard’s order days ago; now her blonde hair hung in sweaty clumps. Her glacial eyes burned with hatred, but her oath, sealed in the Xul-K’áax circle long ago, forced her body to obey. She crawled forward on her knees, thighs trembling, the lips of her cunt swollen and glistening despite herself.
Mei’lin released Niyol’tsa’s hair and shoved the former queen sideways. Niyol’tsa sprawled, cheek to the furs, ass in the air, cum bubbling from her stretched hole. Mei’lin grabbed Ayana by the throat and yanked her up until their faces were inches apart. “Mount him, Yax’balam Supreme,” Mei’lin hissed mockingly, referring to Ayana’s title as commander of the Amazon military. “Ride your Führer like the broodmare you are. Show him how a conquered general takes cock.”
Ayana’s jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in her cheek. Reinhard watched, amused, as the oath overrode her pride ... or perhaps it was the memory of cumming on his cock the last time he fucked her. She swung a long leg over his hips, knees sinking into the furs on either side of his thighs. Her cunt hovered above his cock, dripping despite the fury in her eyes. Reinhard reached up, pinched a nipple until she gasped, then guided her down.
The head of his monstrous eighteen-year-old cock breached her. Ayana’s breath hitched; her thighs shook. Inch by inch she sank, the thick shaft splitting her open, stretching the walls that had never known defeat until now. When her ass finally met his thighs, she was panting, sweat beading between her breasts.
“Move,” Reinhard ordered, voice flat.
Ayana rose, cunt gripping him like a fist, then slammed down. The slap of flesh echoed. Again. Again. Each impact drove a grunt from her throat, a wet squelch from her stuffed hole. Her tits bounced wildly; Reinhard caught one, mauled it, twisted the nipple until tears sprang to her eyes.
“Faster, you stupid bitch. I want to see those udders slap your chin.”
Mei’lin crawled behind Ayana, pressed her golden body to the general’s back. She reached around, found Ayana’s clit, and rubbed cruel circles. Ayana’s rhythm faltered; a strangled moan escaped. “Don’t you dare cum,” Mei’lin whispered, biting Ayana’s earlobe. “Not until he says. You’re a toy, not a woman.”
Reinhard laughed, the sound cold. He grabbed Ayana’s hips, fingers digging bruises, and fucked up into her, meeting each downward thrust with a brutal upward snap. The bed frame groaned. Niyol’tsa, still on her side, began to crawl forward, drawn by the wet sounds. She nuzzled Reinhard’s balls, tongue lapping where Ayana’s cunt stretched around his shaft, tasting the mixed juices.
“Good pet,” Reinhard grunted, threading fingers through Niyol’tsa’s hair. “Lick the overflow. Every drop belongs to the Reich.”
Ayana’s thighs burned; her knees scraped raw against the furs. Thanks to his mental link to the Crystal Throne, Reinhard could tell that humiliation scalded the General hotter than the cock splitting her. Ayana could feel Mei’lin’s fingers on her clit, relentless, coaxing pleasure she didn’t want. Her body betrayed her, cunt fluttering, juices sluicing down Reinhard’s shaft to soak Niyol’tsa’s tongue.
Reinhard sensed it. “She’s close,” he said, grinning at Mei’lin. “Make her beg.”
Mei’lin’s fingers stilled. Ayana whimpered, hips jerking involuntarily. “Beg,” Mei’lin repeated, voice honeyed poison. “Beg your Führer to let his conquered slut cum on Aryan cock.”
Ayana’s pride cracked. “Please... mein Führer ... let this worthless bitch cum...”
Reinhard slapped her tit, hard. “Louder.”
“Please, mein Führer! Let your jungle whore cum on your superior cock!”
He nodded. Mei’lin’s fingers flew. Ayana screamed, back arching, cunt clamping down as orgasm tore through her. Reinhard kept fucking, riding the spasms, until she sagged, trembling. He shoved her off. Ayana collapsed beside Niyol’tsa, chest heaving, cum and girl-cum leaking from her gaping hole.
Mei’lin pounced, straddling Reinhard’s hips in one fluid motion. She sank down his slick shaft with a moan of pure bliss, hips rolling in slow, greedy circles. Her cunt was tighter, hotter, practiced. She leaned forward, beetle-blood lips brushing his. “I love this,” she breathed. “Watching them break. Knowing I put you here.” She clenched around him, milking. “Use me, mein Führer. Break me too, if you want. I’m yours.”
Reinhard gripped her ass, spread her cheeks, and thrust up hard enough to lift her knees from the bed. Mei’lin gasped, laughed, ground down to meet him. Niyol’tsa crawled closer, began licking Mei’lin’s cunt where it stretched around Reinhard’s cock. Ayana, still dazed, was pulled by the hair until her tongue joined Niyol’tsa’s, lapping at the junction.
The room filled with wet sounds: Mei’lin’s cunt slurping, tongues slapping, Reinhard’s balls smacking Ayana’s chin. He reached down, fisted Ayana’s short hair, and forced her mouth onto his balls. She sucked obediently, tears cutting tracks through the mess on her cheeks. Mei’lin rode faster, tits bouncing, bone coils rattling. “I’m going to cum,” she announced, voice trembling with delight. “Going to cum on the cock that broke the Queen...”
Reinhard slapped her ass. “Do it. Squirt on your Führer’s shaft like the perverted witch you are.”
She did, screaming, back bowing, cunt gushing around him. He kept thrusting through it, then yanked her off and shoved her face-down beside the others. The three women lay in a row, asses up, faces in the furs, cunts gaping and dripping.
Reinhard knelt behind Niyol’tsa first. He spread her cheeks, spat on her asshole, and pushed in. The former queen moaned, a broken sound, as he sodomized her with slow, deliberate strokes. Mei’lin reached under, rubbed Niyol’tsa’s clit, cooing encouragement. Ayana watched, horrified and aroused, as Reinhard’s cock disappeared into the queen’s ass again and again.
He pulled out, moved to Ayana. She tensed, but the oath she had sworn held. He breached her ass in one brutal thrust. Ayana screamed into the furs, fists clenching behind her back. He fucked her hard, hips slapping her bruised cheeks, until she was sobbing, cunt clenching emptily.
Mei’lin crawled beneath Ayana, tongue finding her clit again. Ayana’s sobs turned to moans despite herself.
Reinhard pulled out, slick with Ayana’s ass, and slid into Mei’lin. The witch pushed back eagerly, fucking herself on him, laughing breathlessly as she took him in her ass like a champion. He gripped the bone-threaded coils of her hair like reins, rode her until she came again, squirting onto the furs.
He rotated them for hours. Ass to mouth, mouth to cunt, cunt to ass. He made Ayana lick his cock clean after every fuck. He forced Niyol’tsa to hold Ayana’s cheeks apart while he fucked the general’s throat. He had Mei’lin sit on Niyol’tsa’s face while he took the witch from behind, reaching around to choke Ayana until her eyes rolled.
At one point he lined them up on their backs, legs spread wide. He fucked each cunt in turn, ten strokes in Niyol’tsa, ten in Ayana, ten in Mei’lin, until all three were writhing, begging in different tongues. Niyol’tsa babbled “Führer ... Führer...” like a mantra. Ayana cursed between pleas. Mei’lin laughed and praised his stamina, his cruelty, his cock. He finished in Mei’lin’s mouth, flooding her throat until it overflowed. She kissed Ayana, snowballing the load. Ayana gagged but swallowed. Then Mei’lin kissed Niyol’tsa, passing the rest. The former queen lapped it down with a dazed smile.
Reinhard collapsed back against the pillows, cock still half-hard, glistening. The women curled around him, Niyol’tsa nuzzling his thigh, Ayana’s head on his chest, Mei’lin draped across his lap, fingers tracing his cheek. Mei’lin’s eyes gleamed. Ayana’s jaw clenched. Niyol’tsa just sighed, tongue flicking out to taste the sweat on his skin.
The vita-sap vines pulsed, drinking deep.
Dawn bled gold across the terraces of Kal’Yax, the city’s seven rings of white stone buildings catching fire as the sun crested the canopy. Reinhard descended the Ixchel’Kin steps in nothing but loose black trousers, his eleven-inch cock a heavy outline against the fabric, the crystal throne’s pulse still thrumming in his blood. Mei’lin’zhu walked at his left, golden skin oiled and gleaming, bone coils clicking softly with each step. At his right strode Ayana Chak’be, wrists unbound now but shoulders stiff, her blonde hair catching the light like frost. Niyol’tsa followed two paces behind, barefoot and dazed, a thin chain of vita-sap linking her collar to Ayana’s belt.
The city stirred. Markets already hummed, with ebony-skinned weavers bartering spider-silk, copper-skinned smiths hammering jaguar masks, pale elven jewelers setting vita-sap into obsidian labrets. Every woman they passed dropped to one knee, murmuring “Mein Führer” in voices that ranged from fervent to flat. The throne’s influence rippled outward, but Reinhard felt the drag, the sluggishness of minds not yet fully bent to his will.
Mei’lin led him first to the central canal, the Nah Yah. River-otters frolicked in the silver water, nosing woven baskets of fish. A dozen Amazons knelt along the bank, naked to the waist, performing the morning P’até Nah rite, submerging new arrivals, refugees from border skirmishes, baptizing them in the jungle’s pure waters. Reinhard’s gaze swept over them: a bronze-skinned human woman from the salt coasts, an orc-huntress with tusks filed to points, a willow-slender elf with silver hair. And there, rising dripping from the water, a tall woman with skin like fresh cream, blonde braids heavy with canal water, ice-blue eyes wide with awe.
Reinhard stopped. “Her,” he said, voice cutting through the rite.
The woman—named Kael’veth, Mei’lin whispered—knelt instantly, water streaming from her high, firm breasts. Reinhard stepped close, tilted her chin with two fingers. Her features were sharp, Aryan-pure: high cheekbones, straight nose, the faint scatter of freckles across the bridge.
“You,” he said, “are of the old blood. The blood that should rule.”
Kael’veth’s lips parted. “Mein Führer,” she breathed, the words trembling with something close to belief.
He unfastened his trousers. His cock sprang free, eleven inches of veined arrogance. The other refugees stared, some with hunger, some with dull obedience. Reinhard ignored them. He fisted Kael’veth’s wet braids and pulled her forward. She opened without hesitation, throat working to take the first six inches. He thrust deeper, feeling her gag, her tears mixing with canal water on her cheeks.
“Pure blood deserves pure use,” he growled, hips rolling. “Purebred bitches like you will bear my heirs. Strong sons to lead the lesser races.”
Kael’veth moaned around him, the sound vibrating up his shaft. He fucked her mouth in long, deliberate strokes, balls slapping her chin. Even at this distance, the throne’s power surged; he felt her body respond, her breasts swelling slightly, her nipples hardening to aching points, her hips widening imperceptibly. When he came, he held her nose to his groin, flooding her throat until cum leaked from the corners of her mouth. She swallowed greedily, eyes shining.
He pulled out, wiped his cock on her cheek. “Rise, Sturmführerin Kael’veth.” he said, pronouncing her new Reichdeutsch title, Storm-leader. “You command the canal patrols now. The mud-skinned one...” he jerked his chin at the bronze refugee “ ... scrubs decks until her hands bleed.”
The bronze woman bowed, face blank but obedient. Kael’veth rose, trembling with the promotion and aftershocks. The other Amazons murmured agreement, but Reinhard saw the flicker of doubt in their eyes. The throne’s grip was thin here, a mile from the ziggurat.
Mei’lin touched his arm. “Patience, mein Führer. The vines drink your influence slowly.” He snarled but moved on.
They climbed to the second terrace, where Tlalli trained in trios: jaguar-clad scouts, tree-perched archers, net-weavers dropping from vines. Sweat gleamed on every body—teak, ebony, quartz, alabaster. Reinhard watched a drill: a dark-skinned orc leading two pale humans through a mock ambush. The orc’s muscles rippled, her tusks flashing as she barked orders in Yaxkiná.
Reinhard’s lip curled. “That one offends me.” Mei’lin signaled. The drill halted. The orc, named Xo’chitl, he discovered, knelt, confusion in her yellow eyes.
“You may be strong,” Reinhard said, circling her arrogantly. “But strength without purity is waste. You were made to serve, not lead.” He gestured to one of the pale humans, a platinum-blonde with skin like milk. “You. Name.”
“Brynhild’ra, mein Führer.”
“Pure blood. You take command of this trio. The orc,” he spat the word, “carries water and sharpens blades. Fifty lashes at dusk for presuming authority.”
The orc Xo’chitl’s jaw tightened, but she bowed. “Mein Führer.”
The blonde, Brynhild’ra, hesitated, then nodded, a slow smirk spreading across her face. The third Amazon, a copper-skinned archer, looked between them, uncertainty plain. Reinhard saw it all: for some, eager devotion but for others, obedience without conviction. The throne’s reach frayed at the edges.
He spent the morning touring sacred sites. At the heart-tree grove, Lúthien’che the High Priestess sang to the vita-sap, her silver hair a river down her back. Reinhard watched the golden resin drip, felt the jungle’s pulse sync with his own. He fucked a pale elf acolyte against a trunk, her legs wrapped around his waist, her cries echoing through the leaves. “Your womb is mine,” he growled, spending deep. “Filthy elven trash to be used by the Reich.”
She moaned “Mein Führer,” but her eyes were distant, the throne’s influence diluted by distance.
In the Xul-K’áax chamber, now lined with fresh moss, two Amazons dueled for a minor grievance. Reinhard sat on a stone bench, Ayana and Niyol’tsa kneeling at his feet. The combatants were both dark, ebony and teak. He watched without interest until a fair-skinned spectator caught his eye: tall, blonde, breasts heavy and high. He crooked a finger. She came, knelt, took him in her mouth without a word. He fucked her throat while the duel raged, came across her tongue, then sent her back to watch with cum on her lips.
“Promotion,” he told Mei’lin. “She judges the next duel.”
The loser of the duel, a teak-skinned net-weaver, was bound spread-eagled. Reinhard ordered her flogged by the blonde. The whip cracked, but the strokes were tentative. The Amazons obeyed, but their hearts lagged.
By noon, Reinhard returned to the throne room. The crystal seat warmed under him, alive with power. He sat for hours, legs spread, cock hard and dripping. Amazons filed in by the hundreds, then the thousands, kneeling in rings that spilled down the ziggurat steps. He stared into their eyes, willing submission. The throne pulsed, sending waves of influence outward. Breasts swelled, waists cinched, asses rounded. Strength remained, muscles coiled, legs long and powerful, but curves exaggerated, bodies sculpted to his lust.
Yet the further, more distant rings of the city murmured “Mein Führer” only by rote. Patrols from the border vines arrived late, their obedience sluggish. Reinhard’s frustration boiled.
He summoned Mei’lin to the dais as the sun dipped. The throne room emptied save for his inner circle. He bent her over the throne’s arm, trousers shoved down, and took her from behind. Her cunt welcomed him, hot and eager, bone coils rattling against crystal. “Faster,” he snarled, hips slamming. “They resist. The mud people smirk behind their knees.”
Mei’lin pushed back against his thrusts, moaning, laughing breathlessly. “The throne drinks the jungle’s blood, mein Führer. It changes stone to flesh, flesh to will. But the jungle is vast. Give it days. Weeks. Months, even.”
He gripped her hips, fucked harder. “I want them broken now. I want the purebloods lording their superiority over the Untermenschen. I want legions chanting my name with fire in their bellies.”
She clenched around him, milking. “You will have it. Promote the fair ones. Flog the dark. Breed the pure. The throne amplifies your seed, your words. But roots grow slow.”
He spent with a roar, flooding her cunt. Cum dripped down her thighs as she turned, knelt, and licked him clean.
“Patience,” she whispered again, beetle-blood lips brushing his shaft. “Your Reich rises one moan at a time.”
Reinhard stared out over the darkening city, his frustration a live coal in his chest. The Amazons knelt in the squares below, bodies shifting, minds lagging. He would sit the throne tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, until every “Mein Führer” rang true.
The vita-sap vines pulsed, drinking deep.
Seven dawns after Reinhard’s frustration boiled over in the throne room, the war drums began to beat at his orders. They thumped from the lowest terrace of Kal’Yax to the summit of Ixchel’Kin, a rolling thunder that shook orchids from the vines and sent river-otters diving for cover. Reinhard stood on the ziggurat’s apex, wind whipping his blonde hair, ice-blue eyes fixed on the horizon. The target: the Duchy of Rivermark, a soft wedge of land wedged between the Eisenfluss River delta and the Amber Plains.
Rivermark lived on silver-scaled trout, river barges laden with grain, and the lazy trade of merchants who paid tolls to whoever asked politely. Its duke, an aging widower named Harlan the Conciliator, ruled from a timbered hall in the riverside town of Fordhaven. Forty thousand souls, mostly fair-skinned humans of mixed northern stock, scattered across water meadows and reed-choked islands. No standing army worth the name, just a few hundred militia with pitchforks and heirloom swords.
Reinhard wanted it all. Land to feed his growing legions. Bodies to enslave and breed. A first stepping-stone beyond the jungle.
He issued the order at dawn. By noon, the parade ground, a vast limestone plaza on the fourth terrace, ringed by heart-trees and normally used for market fairs, swarmed with Tlalli. Ten thousand Amazon warriors assembled in perfect trios: scouts in jaguar pelts, archers with poison quivers, net-weavers coiled in spider-silk harnesses. They stood six abreast, macuahuitl—those crystal swords Reinhard had seen in the caravan ambush—grounded, crystal blades glinting. No banners yet bore the swastika Reinhard longed to see; the women wore their traditional colors: jaguar spots, hummingbird feathers, orchid dyes. But every eye turned toward the reviewing platform as Reinhard descended the steps.
Mei’lin’zhu walked at his left side, bone coils clicking, a satisfied smile playing on beetle-blood lips. Ayana Chak’be strode at his right, tall and rigid, her blonde hair stirring in the breeze. Between them, on a leash of woven vita-sap, crawled Niyol’tsa. The former Queen wore nothing but a jaguar-pelt collar and wrist cuffs; her heavy breasts swayed with each movement, nipples pierced with tiny obsidian rings that caught the sun. Cum from the morning’s use still glistened on her inner thighs. She kept pace on all fours, emerald eyes vacant, tongue occasionally darting out to taste the air.
Lúthien’che, the elven High Priestess, stood at the platform’s edge, silver hair a banner in the wind, orchid loincloth fluttering. Her emerald eyes were stormy, lips pressed thin. She said nothing, could say nothing, but her fingers worried at the living vine torque at her throat.
Reinhard mounted the platform, a raised dais of white stone draped with fresh furs. The plaza fell silent save for the drums. He raised one hand. Ten thousand knees hit the ground in perfect unison. “Rise,” Reinhard commanded.
They rose. He paced the front line, boots ringing on stone, cock a heavy sway in his black trousers. The throne’s magic stretched thin over so many minds; he felt the strain like a bowstring drawn to breaking. Murmurs of “Mein Führer” rippled outward, but the cadence was mechanical, the fervor missing. He stopped at the middle of the front row.
“Rivermark falls at dawn tomorrow,” he announced, voice carrying on the wind. “We march at the moonset. Trios will ford the Eisenfluss River at the reed shallows and strike Fordhaven before the cocks crow. No quarter will be given. Every man and woman will be chained and marched back to Kal’Yax. The duke’s hall will become my governor’s palace. The fields will feed pureblood legions. The rivers will run with Aryan seed.”
A stir ran through the ranks. Ayana’s jaw clenched; Lúthien’che’s fingers tightened on her torque. Mei’lin’s smile widened. Reinhard continued, his voice booming despite his diminutive frame. “This is the first conquest of the New Reich. Proof that the continent will bow to our blood and iron. The pure will rule; the lesser will serve.”
He scanned the front rank, eyes narrowing on racial lines. Dark skins outnumbered fair by three to one, refugees from a dozen persecutions. He sneered inwardly. Untermenschen. Useful for now, but breeding stock only for the lowest tasks.
His gaze snagged on a woman in the second row. She stood a head taller than those around her, skin like fresh cream, chestnut hair falling in a high ponytail down her back. Ice-blue eyes stared straight ahead, high firm breasts straining her jaguar-pelt harness, waist nipped tight above hips that flared into an ass carved for war and womb. Her name, Mei’lin whispered, was Sigrid’vahl. She was a scout of northern stock, fled when her family farm was sacked by roving brigand, making her way to the jungle where she was raised among the Amazons.
Reinhard crooked a finger at the woman. “You. Front and center.” Sigrid’vahl stepped forward, grounded her macuahuitl, and knelt. The plaza watched. “Name and blood,” Reinhard demanded.
“Sigrid’vahl, mein Führer!” she exclaimed. “Born of the Eisenmark marches. Pure of blood!”
He circled her, trailing fingers over her shoulder, down the curve of her spine. There was something familiar about her, but Reinhard couldn’t place her precisely. She shivered but held position. “Are you willing to die for your Führer?” he asked, voice low but carrying.
“Yes, mein Führer!”
“To spill rivers of inferior blood for the Reich?”
“Yes, mein Führer!”
“To open your womb to Aryan seed and bear warriors who will crush continents?”
Her breath hitched and she trembled. “Yes, mein Führer!”
Reinhard stopped before her, unfastened his trousers. His eleven-inch cock sprang free, veins throbbing with throne-enhanced power. Gasps rippled through the ranks; eyes widened. Most of those assembled had not yet seen his massive cock in the flesh. Sigrid’vahl’s gaze fixed on the shaft, lips parting. “Prove it,” he said. “Here. Now. In front of your sisters.”
He hauled her to her feet by the ponytail and spun her, bent her over the platform’s stone railing. Her harness was peeled down in seconds, the jaguar pelt pooling at her ankles. Her cunt glistened, pink and swollen under the sun. Reinhard spat on his palm, slicked the head of his cock, and drove himself inside the scout.
Sigrid’vahl cried out, back arching, her knuckles white on the railing. The plaza erupted in a collective inhale. Reinhard gripped her hips, pulled back, slammed home again. The slap of flesh echoed off the heart-trees.
“Look at them,” he growled, thrusting deep. “Tell them what you are.”
“I am... mein Führer’s broodmare!” she gasped, voice breaking on each impact.
The troops stirred. Arousal spread like wildfire; thighs clenched, nipples peaked against leather and silk. The throne’s magic, though stretched thin, surged in power with Reinhard’s lust. He felt it coil, ready to snap.
He set a brutal rhythm, pounding her with long strokes that bottomed out, balls slapping her clit. Sigrid’vahl’s cries rose in pitch, legs trembling. Amazons in the front ranks began to touch themselves, fingers slipping under loincloths, eyes locked on the spectacle.
“Chant,” Reinhard ordered the plaza, voice ragged. “Chant for your Führer!”
The first voices were hesitant, a scattered “Mein Führer” from the purebloods near the platform. Then more joined, timed to his thrusts. Mein Führer. Thrust. Mein Führer. Thrust. The cadence built, ten thousand voices thundering in unison, shaking the stones.
Sigrid’vahl’s cunt clamped down, an orgasm crashing through her. She screamed, “Mein Führer!” her juices squirting around his shaft. Reinhard kept pounding, chasing his peak. The chant grew frenzied, bodies swaying, some Amazons openly masturbating now, others grinding against macuahuitl hafts.