Alassares and the exiled god-king

by brazboy   

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.

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.

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.

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