Arbator, the sex-slave-loving son of the exiled God-King of Atteronoa and a fellow student at the Magic Academy, has a proposition for Alassares—but he’s badly misjudged his power with respect to the Second Prince.
Alassares had just beaten Adonui in a wrestling match in the large open area where the students of the Magic Academy practice sports. As the handsome prince stood victorious, he took off his shirt, revealing his beautiful sculptured upper body glistening under the afternoon sun to his audience. He then offered his hand to his defeated colleague so as to help him back onto his feet, which he respectfully accepted. Their little match had been watched by a few dozens of their colleagues, of both sexes, who had gasped at every movement of the two well-toned lads. Despite the general assumption that Alassares, the Second Prince of the Empire, would win—him being taller, more experienced and more muscular than his colleague—the onlookers still enjoyed the spectacle of seeing the nobleman giving his friend pointers in the art of wresting.
After helping Adonui back onto his feet, Alassares hugged him and patted his head, congratulating him for his performance.
“You have improved a lot in the last few months. No doubt you’ll become both a great Mage and a great knight, if you continue practicing,” he said, and the other man lowered his head out of habit. Alassares noticed it, and he didn’t say anything, but he did use his hand to raise his chin, so he could see all the onlookers who were gawking at them.
“Thank you, Al,” said Adonui, sweetly smiling back at his lord and friend.
“Go, give them what they want,” said the prince, breaking their hug, and an embarrassed Adonui took off his own shirt, making small murmurs start in their little audience. “Now let’s go, I want to take a bath before nightfall,” said the nobleman to his underling, and the two of them went back up to the dormitory of the students.
Much had changed in the small clique which had surrounded Arbator in the last two months, as Alassares re-engineered their structure—or, actually, as he tore it down and built it back up in accordance with his own wishes. Firstly, he had sent six of the eleven lads away, as he wanted them to blossom in their own unique ways: the three who had the most talent for fighting, he sent to the Military and Naval Academies; and the two who were smarter, he sent to the Imperial University; and the one who was great with his hands he sent to be an apprentice at the Imperial Ironworks, getting him a letter of recommendation which fast-tracked him to be an apprentice of the famous smith Ponticus.
They all kept in touch, of course, but in their day-to-day activities the small group now consisted only of the four who Alassares found to have magical talents and therefore whom he got enrolled in the Magic Academy, plus Arbator and the Second Prince himself. Not wanting to completely destroy the traditions of the former Atteronoan Holy Kingdom, Alassares returned Arbator to his place as the leader of his redesigned entourage, after having rewired the former God-King’s mentality.
Now, Alassares and Adonui were talking and laughing in the hallways of the Academy while going to Arbator’s room where the exiled nobleman lived with his four former slaves and where Alassares liked to hang out every once in a while—after all, Arbator had a pretty extensive collection of magic books inherited from his family which held secrets that were not that well known in the Great Northern Empire.
“Your Highness, Adonui, I already arranged for your baths to be ready,” said Arbator, when the two entered the large room, finding two wooden baths filled with hot water in the middle.
“Thank you, Arbator, that’s really nice of you,” praised the Second Prince, while Adonui removed his pants and submerged his strained body in the nice warm water. The prince also undressed himself while asking Arbator about his day.
“Nothing much, Your Highness, I just studied magic and practice enchantments as you recommended. Indeed, I can now control body transformations much better, as you predicted,” said the exiled royal. Alassares smiled, and entered his bath as he responded.
“That’s nice, this type of spells demand a lot of practice. I have high hopes for you,” he said, and then he plunged his head into the water to wet his hair and wash the sweat off his face. “Are you not feeling tired?”
“A little, Your Highness,” responded Arbator, shily, almost embarrassed.
“Hmmm-hmm, you should be if you practiced really hard,” said the prince, now scrubbing his well-formed legs to wash them clean. “Say, my friend, do you not feel like you should shower before dinner?” asked Alassares. Hearing that made Arbator swallow dry and lick his lips.
“I suppose, Your Highness, but unfortunately I have only asked the servants to bring two bathtubs,” risked Arbator, slowly, as his cock engorged under his pants.
“True, that. I wouldn’t bother our friend Adonui with such request, but you can bath with me if you so desire. That is, if you are willing to put up with bathing in water soiled with my sweat,” said the younger prince, with a devious smile.
Arbator started undressing before he could even respond, and then just said, “Yes, Your Highness!” before joining his young overlord in the tub.
As it was, Alassares was laying with his belly up in the warm water, and as such, when Arbator entered the tub, already undressed, his hardened ass laid perfectly on top of the imperial softie belonging to his larger friend.
“Hmmm, Arbator,” said the prince, feeling the ass sliding against his groin. “I get a feeling that you want some reward for your good job today, is that correct?” he asked. The lad who laid on him just nodded.
“Yes, Your Highness. As you said, I have come to realize many things, and practicing today I sensed you can help me evolve much more,” said a thoughtful Arbator. “The liquid of human life, as you said, is a great means to do magic, and I feel yours is particularly gifted,” he added, and Alassared nodded.
“Then lift your ass,” said the Second Prince, and when his vassal obeyed, the prince took his own hardening rod, stroke it for a while, and positioned it perfectly against the former God-King’s hole. When Arbator felt the head of his favorite penis scratching his hole, he plunged his ass on it, engulfing more than a full span (22-23cm) in less than three seconds—another span remained outside of him, but there’d be plenty of time to take that in as well.
As Arbator started lifting and lowering his body on the imperial rod inside of him, hammering the obelisk of delight inside his intestines and forcing his body to accommodate it, Alassares just relaxed and watched it from his privileged point of view. Not much after, he noticed two distressful things: his friend and client Adonui was sporting his own nice 29cm long hardon, which he left unattended as he watched his two superiors fuck; meanwhile, Arbator panted and grunted, his head bent backwards and his tongue reaching out of his mouth in stupor.
“Adonui, do you not want to join us?” asked the prince, surprising his client. He looked at his protector with curiosity. “He needs semen to help him develop his skills, can’t you help him?” asked the nobleman, nodding towards Arbator’s hungry tongue and mouth.
“Of course, Al, may I?” asked Adonui, still mindful of his place in society as someone who was born as a slave and was, even now, at most a commoner—although he was under the protection of the second prince of the land, which was nothing to be scorned at.
Alassares nodded affirmatively, and Adonui left his bath, took his sizeable cock in his hand, and walked towards the other tub. As he approached Arbator, who worked hard to impale himself with the prince’s long hard rod, he also pointed his dick towards his former God’s open mouth. Offering his erection to his former God was something that less than three months before would have been unthinkable to Adonui, but which had now become a semi-regular occurrence: he pushed his organ until his glans touched the exiled royal’s lips, and then hungry Arbator opened his mouth and took most of it in at once, starting to suckle on his former slave.
As Arbator was filled from both sides and moaned with his mouth full of cock, the two other lads conversed and enjoyed the treatment their cocks got. Soon, they gave Arbator his deserved supply of thick man seed, and after they were all satisfied, Arbator and Adonui washed Alassares in awe and with utmost respect, expressing physically their gratitude to their lord for their newfound lives. After being cleaned, Alassares went to the other side of the room to put on his clothes so they could go have dinner, and the other two stayed in the bath cleaning themselves.
“Would you mind washing my back, Arbator?” asked Adonui, still a bit weary of breaking taboos with his former God outside of the direct watch of Alassares.
Arbator, however, just smiled and took the soap, and started scrubbing his former slave’s muscles.
“Is this good?” he asked, then going south and scrubbing Adonui’s ass. Adonui agreeded by humming. “Honestly, I miss it a little,” said Arbator, very softly, almost as if whispering to himself, not apparently noticing that his thoughts had actually escaped his mouth.
Adonui enjoyed feeling Arbator scrubbing his ass cheeks, but when he heard what he said at a low voice he was taken aback for a moment. Does he mean he misses… his ass? Or maybe dominating them? Adonui hadn’t given that much thought, but now, feeling Arbator’s hands on his butt cheeks he had to admit that he did miss some aspects of his former life, although he would never return to that status quo. Having cleared his mind a little, Adonui smiled back and looked at Arbator in the face.
“I do too, sometimes, some parts of it…. You know what, do you want to take a turn at my ass after dinner? I still have my loincloth…” asked Adonui, softly, almost as if whispering to Arbator, who was so taken aback that he dropped the soap.
“Are you serious? What do we tell Alassares?!” he asked, confused, almost trembling in his knees due to his internal conflicts—the past, the present, his love of being fucked and his love of fucking, being taken and sometimes…taking? Was it even… allowed?
Adonui felt a little bad noticing he was actually the more mature of the two of them, and that he had managed to overcome their past existence better than Arbator—who was apparently just suppressing everything. “It seems he has not fully understood our lord’s message, yet,” he thought to himself, pitying the former God-King a little, until he considered that maybe he could step up and help him learn a bit more—”one step at a time,” as Alassares always said when they practiced anything.
And so, Adonui chose to lower himself and pick up the soap. As he did that, for a flickering moment, he rubbed his face against Arbator’s cock, very intentionally—the familiarity delighted him, and the contact made Arbator’s cock throb and expand. When he stood up again, Adonui took the soap and gave it to Arbator, holding the exiled King’s hand with his own as he did it, attracting the other man’s attention towards his face.
“It can be our secret for now. Just leave it to me,” he whispered, and then turned so his back was facing Arbartor again, and the former God started scrubbing once more.
On the other side of the room, Alassares buttoned his beautifully woven clothes (which perfectly hugged his pecs) with a self-satisfied smile, which he covered with his right hand—”stop, don’t let it go to your head, this is not only you. It is their accomplishment as well,” was what crossed his mind as he controlled his grin.
The Porters are a family of perfect men, all uniquely perfect in their own way. It’s how it’s always been, right?