Alassares and the exiled god-king

Arbator was the only surviving son of the dethroned God-King of Atteronoa, and, as such, considered himself—and was considered by the loyalist groups—as the true ruler of that faraway land; and more, a living incarnated God. Nonetheless, he now studied magic in his exile, in the Great Northern Empire where he lived off his inheritance and some donations he received from loyalists alongside his small entourage. Considered a God by a whole nation in his childhood, back home, and even now by the small community of Atteronoan refugees, the young man had had a difficult time getting adapted to the Magic Academy.

“Slave, go get the door,” he said, ordering one of his ten attendants to welcome the visitor to his humble dorm room. This was an important part of Arbator’s big master plan for climbing the social ladder in the Academy and also in the Empire: getting the Second Prince to join his followers. With that, soon he’d amass enough strength to crush the revolt and reclaim his rightful throne.

The slave—a strong young man who was wearing nothing but loincloth—went to the door with his eyes glued to the ground, and opened it. He, like all other slaves, had brown eyes, bronze skin, and perfect muscles, cultivated by years of menial labor and disciplined training. After having opened the door, without looking at the guest, he said, solemnly:

“Welcome, honorable guest. His Holiness is expecting you.” Alassares raised his eyebrow at the scene in front of him: ten similar-looking muscular men, all wearing loincloths, none of whom had a single hair apparent in their whole body; one of whom was holding the door for him and looking at the ground, while the others were all attending Arbator. It was a unique scene, which somewhat reminded him old stories he had read about Atteronoa.

Out of the slaves that attended their master, one was directly under a naked Arbator—in fact, Arbator was sitting on him, rather than on ordinary furniture, as if he were a small bench, covered on fancy fabrics. Two more stood on each size of the exiled nobleman, one stroking each of his legs, and two other stroking his arms; another one stood behind him, stroking his back, and two below, massaging his feet. The last one was right in front of Alassares’s colleague, sucking his cock in his mouth while making minimum noise.

“What the actual fuck is this?” asked the second prince, and Arbator stood up, opening his arms. His sudden movement made his slaves take a step back, and as his cock left the mouth of one of his slaves at once, it then bounced up against Arbator’s abs.

“Welcome, welcome, Alassares,” he said, then walking towards the guest, hugging him, and bringing him inside the room. The slave closed the door behind the prince. “We haven’t talked much, unfortunately. How are you doing?” asked the exiled King.

“Hummm, I’m fine, thanks for asking,” said a confused Alassares, breaking away their hug and looking uncomfortably at the bald slaves around them. “Why did you ask me to come and what is going on?” he asked. Arbator smiled at the question, and his slaves approached him slowly, their eyes always to the ground, their heads always looking down.

“It’s kind of you to ask,” he said. “But before, is there anything you want? Something to eat, drink, fuck?” the host suggested, and Alassares shook his head.

“Just an explanation would suffice,” said the second prince, and Arbator sighed.

“Of course,” said the exiled lord, walking with his cock erect and then putting his hand on the head of one of his slaves, stroking it slowly. “These are my loyal slaves, who accompanied my family in our exile and now have been given the honor of serving me during my stay in this academy,” he explained, leaving Alassares a little surprised, although he didn’t externalize that.

“I see,” said the busy prince, then clearing his throat. “But what does that have to do with me?” he asked, and Arbator felt a sudden discomfort—he had never been treated with such blatant disregard in his life before, not even by his late father. Just having that mortal look at him was bad enough—although he had gotten used to having his barbarian hosts breaking all sorts of protocols. But this—this blatant disrespect for his needs, for his desires. That was shocking and unacceptable. Yet, knowing that in the worldly realm this barbarian prince was still a member of the imperial family, he chose to contain himself in his reaction to that offense.

“Of course,” he said, gritting his teeth, and still stroking the head of his pet slave, which served to comfort his inner anger. Another slave slowly approached and engulfed his lord’s cock in his mouth, suckling on it once more—there, there, now Arbator felt more comfortable once more. “I invited you to propose a deal,” he said, smiling more softly.

Alassares was surprised, but also amused and interested.

“Oh, what kind of deal?” he asked, now going to the couch and sitting on it. From there, he had to look up to see Arbator in the eyes, and so the exiled nobleman exulted to himself:

“Ah, it seems he finally felt the difference in our standing! His body has already manifested submission by looking up to me, soon he’ll not even be able to look me directly the eye,” he thought, and spurted a huge smile. “Ah, yes,” he said out loud. “I am willing to offer you something very valuable; in return, I ask for something which is almost insignificant, but I am willing to make this concession,” said Arbator, and suddenly all his slaves started murmuring—except the one whose mouth was busy.

“Oh, our God, so kind,” and “Oh, our God, so generous” and, “Amazing, behold the gifts from God!” and so on.

Alassares actually found it weird and as such stood up again. He rose his voice so as to deafen the murmurs.

“And what is it specifically that you talk about? What does that deal entail?” he said, in a commanding voice which made the slaves shake in their knees, and the murmur died out. Standing so close to Arbator, the exiled God-King noticed how tall the second prince was—taller than him; and he felt weirdly ashamed of himself for a second.

“I…” his voice broke, but he soon recomposed himself. “Hmmm…I… I offer you the favor of the Gods in exchange for you submission to Us,” he said, and the slaves murmured again, except a couple of them groveled and started kissing the feet of their God-King, and the one who sucked—that one just continued to suck, keeping the exiled God calm and relaxed.

Alassares looked at the scene with disgust, but above all, filled with contempt. He laughed, shaking the whole room and making all stop whatever they were doing. Even the cock-sucking slave suddenly stopped licking, as he felt the room change. Alassares then approached Arbator, and put his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. This caused Arbator to tremble—he… he was being touched by a lesser being, a non-enlightened one, not one of his servants! And yet the touch was so strong it paralyzed him, and made his erection fall, and shrink to its softened state. The sucking slave was surprised by that, and pulled away, revealing the exiled royal’s wet, smaller, softer and thinner member to everyone.

“I think you misunderstand our situation, Arbator,” said the prince. “You are a guest in my Father’s realm, I am already entitled to whatever favors you can grant me. Besides, what can your Gods give me that I could want, when they couldn’t secure your throne?” he mocked, with a tone serious and flat which was even more humiliating to Arbator.

The slaves shrieked, as if physically hurt by those words. The slave who had been sucking their lord moved away from between the two nobleman, while prostrating to the ground. Another of them, trembling, slowly moved from Arbator’s feet to Alassares’s, attracting the young prince’s attention. He took his foot away from the slave’s hand.

“Stop it!” he commanded. “Get off the ground and quit this nonsense!” his voice demanding—no, ordering!—that the slaves rose, which they slowly did to Arbator’s and their own shock. Still, they did look to the floor, as they were primed to do, but they no longer dragged themselves like snakes.

“I…I can offer you the crown!” said Arbator, frantically, trying to recover his control, his position. “The Gods can give you everything and anything, and with my aid nothing and no-one will stand in your way,” he said, his voice trembling and breaking as he saw Alassares’s face turn cold and then fiery, as those words entered his ears.

The second prince’s light touch on the foreign noble’s shoulder then turned into a heavy hand, forcing him down—he tried to resist, but then he shrieked, and fell to his kneed. Suddenly, he realized, all his slaves were standing and he was the only one close to the ground. As he looked up—up!—he saws the eyes of his slaves, big brown pupils, staring at their falling God from above. He trembled in fear and anguish—what, what had he done wrong?

“Ask for forgiveness,” said the prince. “And never speak such words again, or they will be your last,” he commanded, and the fallen God fell in a grovel, to the prince’s feet, and apologized profusely.

“I am sorry, I am sorry, I didn’t mean to offend Your Highness,” he cried in a lowly plead. Alassares was still disgusted by the idea of betraying his Father and Brother, but looking around and seeing the slaves now coming closer to him like flies attracted to the light, he knew he had to fix this situation. Unintentionally, he had demoted a God to a cockroach, but he had no intention of becoming himself a God in his stead, and that meant reforming the whole dynamic around him.

Realizing that, Alassares cleared his throat.

“You are forgiven, I will be merciful,” he said, and then pointed to the slaves, so that they raised Arbator from the ground, which they did. “In fact, I will even propose a deal, which will be favorable to the both of us,” he said, and suddenly the red and wet eyes of the fallen God shone in gratefulness.

“Yes, please, Your Highness, please!” he said, while still being held up by two slaves whose soft cocks, Alassares now saw, were substantially larger than Arbator’s own.

“No need to be so loud,” he said, causing the other man to become silent. He thought for a while, before continuing, “You, I will take as a vassal, and you will now respond directly to me. As for your entourage, I shall take them under my protection as well,” he said, and Arbator just thanked him for his kindness, as they all realized there was nothing to “accept” or “refuse.” The prince’s words were just a statement of fact, and not a treaty open for negotiations.

“Now, you bunch. As members of my retinue, I can’t have you staring at the rugs on the floor all the time,” said the prince, making the former slaves shake. He took the face of one of them and, using his hands, lifted it until his own eyes met theirs. “If you prostrate to lowly beings, it’s as if I were prostrating to them myself,” he said, and then the former slave fell down to the ground in tears, thanking his new lord for his protection in a grovel. Soon, something similar happened to all the other nine, and Alassares saw himself surrounded by a mountain of people trying to get over one another to worship him.

He sighed. “This is not what I had predicted I’d be doing today,” he thought to himself, before calling Arbator.

“Yes, Your Highness?” he asked, avoiding the prince’s eyes as he talked to his suzerain.

“I noticed my new clients seem to be extremely frustrated,” he said, then lowering himself as to pick the one he found had the nicest body and force him up from his groveling. Alassares touched that man’s muscles, which were tight—thanks to many years of servicing his former God—and noticed his cock was long and thick bellow his loincloth, and now stood up proudly as it had dared not before.

“I suppose, Your Highness,” agreed Arbator, feeling a little awkward due to the silence.

“Yes, they need release, and it is my duty and that of my vassals to guarantee the happiness of those under my protection, wouldn’t you agree?” said the prince, and Arbator had to agree, even as he saw the prince’s hand moving down towards the hard cock of one of his former slaves. His imperial hand untied and released the loincloth, revealing the man’s handsome erection to Arbator.

“He… he is… stroking someone bellow him? What is this nonsense?!” Arbator thought to himself, shocked. But Alassares continued.

“Yes, so I have a plan. What do you think of sucking the cocks of my new vassals until they can release their worries?” asked the prince, his voice now much softer but still commanding. Arbator knew he had no choice—rather, he knew his choice had been to follow the prince’s commands, now and always. His choice was, now, to follow.

“All ten of them, Your Highness?” responded the former God, a bit afraid as he had never taken a dick in his mouth. Alassares smiled and looked down at all the other muscular men who groveled around him, as he continued to stroke that one nice erection.

“Of course not, that would take forever! I am imagining, rather, you take five in your mouth, and five in your ass, one at a time, of course,” he said, and Arbator’s eyes opened wide as he looked at his lord, who had a devilish smile. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. As I said, I only bring happiness to my vassals,” he informed.

Arbator suddenly felt embarrassed—he had been such a bad ruler when he held power, and he felt bad he had ascribed the same judgment onto his lord. Of course, the second prince wasn’t about to torture him, he wanted him to be pleased and to feel nice. He knew better than him, and that’s why he wanted Arbator to take all these cocks—it was not vengeance, as that would be the work of a lesser soul. His lord was not lesser, like he was. It was a lesson, and a reward.

“No, Your Highness, I welcome your call,” he said, and then Alassares helped the larger man whose erection he held in his hand to penetrate Arbator’s willing but inexperienced mouth. The man initially shook, apparently uncomfortable with the idea of fucking his former God’s mouth so soon, but Alassares coaxed him into doing it, and told him to gently give Arbator pointers on how to perform the best possible blowjob, which he soon started to do. Alassares then picked up the second most muscular men, and pointed his erection towards Arbator’s tight ass, which was soon to be penetrated to both of their delight.

As he watched the three men fucking, Alassares smiled, thinking this was certain to change the dynamics of that little group and make it more to his own image, shifting it away from Arbator’s twisted memories of his fallen homeland. The prince then noticed the other former slaves had lifted their heads from the ground and were now watching the fucking while sporting hardons under their own loincloths. Seeing Arbator moan with a cock in his mouth and the former slaves hard as they watched it made the prince smile.

“You guys can jack off if you want, or even please each other. That is fine,” he said to those under his protection, who looked at him surprised that they were being given command of their own bodies. Some started to stroke their long erections as they saw their former God impaled in cock, but four of them ended up forming a huge orgy where it was hard to identify who was in whose mouth and what ass was being licked by what tongue.

“That’s a lot of pent-up energy,” thought the Second Prince, while watching all that unfold. After thinking for a little, however, he came to the conclusion that this development was not surprising as all these hot young men were apparently not properly taken care of by Arbator, when he had had that responsibility.

While it all continued, Alassares felt that Arbator’s lonely erection—bobbing around as he was fucked from both sides—also needed a little bit of attention. As such, he approached the three men he had selected to mate, and put his left hand on Arbator’s back, which he caressed gently. Arbator sensed it and felt truly taken care of by his lord. After that, Alassares used his right hand to capture his vassal’s hard cock, and started milking it.

“Your juice, I will have spilled on the ground this time,” said the Second Prince. “Because you have been naughty today. Next time, if I deem you worthy, I may have it spilled somewhere more useful, like a flowerpot, and eventually I’ll finally allow you to share it with someone else once more. Soon, you’ll be repentant and then I shall allow you to command my new clients as my vassal, but first you’ll need much re-education,” he informed, even as he continued to stroke the fallen God, who moaned around the dick that filled his mouth.

Even filled in both holes, as his dick was milked by his lord, Arbator knew those words rang true. It made so much sense to him, and his lord had even been so kind as to explain the logic of his Justice—he just wished the time when he’d earn his lord’s trust would come soon.