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The chocolate-colored seal's sweat fell from his brow as the dust from the ground irritated his nose. Rosco had hoped not to inspect the arena floor quite so closely, but the weight of his opponent--a massive, brutish equine--pinned him so completely that for all his flailing and thrashing, his massive thighs and biceps straining and twitching, all he accomplished was to force yet more dirt into his mouth and eyes. When finally he could resist no more, he fell still.

The horn sounded from the small crowd of onlookers and the horse relented, leaving Rosco gasping for air, splayed out on the ground. He'd lost.

He'd lost.

He lay for several moments before slowly clambering to his feet, the sweat and dirt grinding at his sensitive, exposed areas. They'd all been required to compete nude, of course. The king had required it of all the applicants for this position in the royal court. They'd been told that it was to ensure a fair competition, to prevent someone from gaining an unfair advantage if a tunic twisted awkwardly or if a sandal lost grip.

Rosco had his doubts, given the king's famous excesses. Stories of massive orgies and debauchery-filled evenings with the king at its center had occupied the public's imagination for years. Indeed, they were one reason why Rosco had submitted himself for the position. He hadn't dared hope that such revelry would extend to the servants, but to be seen, perhaps even admired for his body by the king would be a story to pass down generations, even if nothing more came of it than this performance.

Unsteady on his feet but determined not to let it show, the seal trotted to the side of the arena where the others were gathered. Anger and disappointment welled in his chest and he fought tears as the member of the royal staff spoke to the pool of hopefuls. This chance that he'd fought for and prayed to the gods for, this opportunity to not only be on the king's staff but to serve him directly, personally, to cater to his every whim--gone. Evaporated like the sweat he'd left on the arena floor.

It wasn't as though he wasn't grateful to have made it this far. Thousands had turned out, from the great cities and farming villages alike, for this chance. No one in the empire, it seemed, would turn their nose up at King Maximus. He was not only a fierce and competent ruler, but everyone had heard stories of his charm, his wit, and his allure.

The liger was truly larger than life. It had been a privilege to have made it to the final dozen. It had been weeks of trials, not only in the arena, but tests of his eloquence, intelligence, and knowledge of courtly etiquette and decorum--not to mention numerous inspections of all facets of his body.

Rosco wasn't listening to the royal staff member, but as the other candidates turned to jog off to the housing the court had provided them, he turned with them, supposing they'd been dismissed. This was the last trial, they knew, and--

Rosco felt a paw grip his shoulder.

"Where ya headed, Rosco?" said the sharp voice that the seal had only heard once before, at the summer festival.

The seal turned and looked up at the figure. There the massive, chiseled liger stood, towering over him yet also just a few inches taller, radiant yet understated, a god yet a man. His aura was as overpowering as his muscled figure. He wore little but the minimal armor of his legions, with a codpiece and bracers but his torso and legs exposed. He had enormous shoulders with bulging pecs to match, and Rosco's gaze trailed down the king's chest and massive arms, each muscle visible in striking relief, firm and powerful.

The king cocked an eyebrow. He'd seen Rosco gawking.

"My liege," Rosco said, hastening to fall to one knee, but the liger gripped Rosco's shoulder a bit more firmly, preventing him from kneeling.

"No, nope" he said with a resonant chuckle. "You can kneel all you want in a minute. For now, follow." He turned on his heel and strode towards the side door of the arena, away from where the other hopefuls had disappeared. He did not look back to see whether Rosco was following.

Rosco stood, dumbfounded, for a moment. Was this some sort of consolation award for those who were dismissed this late? An audience with the king? The king, he now realized for the first time as he ran to catch up with the liger's long, confident strides, who knew his name?

The two passed into the long corridors of the palace, the seal's vision dimmed from the time in the sun. Vast, ornate tapestries covered the walls, muting the echo in the otherwise stone building. Each weaving seemed to tell a similar but unique story--this one of Maximus's decisive victory against the eastern barbarians, that one of the king's legendary oration before the senate. Of each, Maximus was the focus, surrounded by admirers and acolytes. The liger led him through hall after hall so anointed with his own image, past seeming legions of servants and attendants all abustle with tasks.

Rosco realized with a start that he was the only one nude among them. Maximus hadn't allowed him to collect his clothes. He wondered whether he should speak up, but the aura of imposing intentionality with which the liger moved trapped the words in his throat. Had the king wanted him to gather his things, he would have said so.

Not that Rosco felt shame about his body. The seal was no King Maximus, but he was a supreme specimen of masculinity, nonetheless. His muscles were the envy of his village, bulked and honed over years of intense training--whenever he wasn't occupied with his lessons. He had become accustomed to the stares of those he passed in the streets.

And yet he found he was still envious of Maximus's form.

After an interminably twisting route through the palace's corridors, the king strode up to a massive pair of oak double doors. With a flippant casualness, he shooed aside a waiting attendant who tried to open the doors for them and instead grabbed the ring and, with a sharp pull, flung the doors open. They struck the walls to either side with a percussive crack, and the attendant instead scurried to prevent them from bouncing back closed. Maximus stepped through, and Rosco followed into what he immediately realized was the throne room.

The hall was massive, and if the corridors had been ostentatious, then the adornments here were positively dizzying. At least twenty members of staff occupied the hall, shuffling scrolls or dusting the dozens of artifacts of Maximus's reign that lined the walls or sat on plinths. As he padded in behind Maximus. Rosco was struck by how out of place he felt, parading through the hall naked, even as none of the workers spared him a glance, instead their attention homing in on the massive presence of the liger.

Maximus walked up the dais where sat his throne, a massive seat of gilded wrought iron, twisted into impressive geometric patterns. He did not sit but instead turned to regard Rosco, who felt simultaneously as though his soul was exposed for the liger, but that the liger instead simply looked through him.

"So," the king said, "you got the job. Good for you."

Rosco's jaw dropped. He stared at the liger, dumbstruck.

"_This_is the part where you kneel," the king said with a smirk.

Rosco fell to his knees, his face feeling warm. "But...my lord, I...failed."

The king let out a guffaw as he shrugged off his tunic, revealing the enormous, chiseled muscles it had barely concealed, positively exuding power. He let the garment drop to the ground. "Get a load of this guy," he said to no one in particular. "Here he beat a thousand people for the job and he's gonna ask questions?"

The attendants laughed.

"But the horse--"

"Yeah, the horse, he pinned you, whatever, but he's dumber than dirt. If you're gonna be my personal valet, you should at least be able to spell my name right." One corner of the king's mouth lifted in a slight smile before he added, "But really, you're just hotter than him."

Rosco knelt silently for a moment, trying to gather his wits, even if he was distracted by the liger's arresting physique. None compared to the power that Maximus exuded, his pecs and abs flexing as, mouth agape, he shot the seal a toothy grin and dropped his underclothes, revealing his manhood. It was flaccid, but even so, it was easily the length of a normal man's forearm, and just as thick around, jet black--and starting to stiffen.

"I'm...I won?"

"Is there an echo in here?"

More laughter from the attendants who watched as the liger strode down from his dais towards the seal. As he walked, he took his cock in one paw, stroking it slowly and working it to its full hardness, and several of the king's more senior advisers, in their fancier garb, approached them, watching intently but not speaking.

With a laugh of his own, the king hoisted his cock in his paw as he stood before Rosco and let it flop down onto the seal's shoulder. He could smell the powerful male's musk, clean yet strong enough to make his head go a little fuzzy. He felt his own crotch stir and one or two of the entourage glanced down between his legs before returning their attention to Maximus, which only made the seal harden quicker. None of them seemed fazed by the king stripping naked and bandying about his cock--indeed, Rosco seemed to be the only one not to be perfectly at home.

"There. With the power of the royal scepter," the liger said with a wink, "you're a knight now."

Rosco looked up with wide eyes, meeting the king's gaze as he looked down at the seal. He stammered for a moment but was interrupted as the king placed his tip directly at the seal's lips.

"Your first royal command," the liger said, "is to open up."

Rosco obeyed his king.

With a satisfied groan, the liger slipped his cock past the seal's warm lips, Rosco's jaw straining with the effort of opening wide enough to accommodate the king's size. The seal was no stranger to satisfying men orally--indeed, he was rather proud of his skill--but none before had prepared him for something so outlandishly oversized. But still the king pushed, gripping the back of Rosco's head with his paws, the seal taking a few last breaths before the liger cock cut off his air, the seal's throat spasming uncontrollably against the mighty thing.

Deeper the king sank into his newest servant's throat, until finally his meaty orbs brushed against the seal's chin. Rosco heard the king purr as his head was gripped tighter, the king's claws grasping his fur.

Rosco's own cock had fully awakened, dribbling pre onto the marble floor as his heart pounded in his chest, starstruck. Never had he imagined that the privilege of serving the king this way would be part of the job. Everyone knew that he liked men, of course, and that his appetites favored a variety of partners, but to learn that the royal appetites extended to his personal servants was more than he'd dreamed. The seal had expected that had he been chosen for the job, he would be limited to stolen glances in the baths and furious time wit his own paw in his quarters.

The cock throbbing in his throat suggested otherwise. The king pressed his balls against Rosco's chin, exchanging glances with raised eyebrows with his advisers, before yanking his cock free with a wet slurping sound. Rosco gasped for air, steadying himself before looking up at his king.

"Yeah," said the king through a grin, "he'll be good. Did you guys see that? He took the whole thing! Didn't even gag."

Rosco's cock twitched as the king spoke about him this way. He didn't reply, simply looking up at the liger and his entourage, aroused and eyes watering, the king's claws grasping his head tightly.

Without warning, the liger's paws yanked, thrusting Rosco's mouth back down on the feline cock. He swallowed again dutifully, expecting to be held down against Maximus's balls, but the king quickly withdrew his length all the way to the tip before plunging back down, beginning to fuck Rosco's throat in earnest. Maximus began to work his hips in a rhythm with hard, decisive thrusts, and it was all Rosco could do to fall into his own trance, breathing in for three counts and then out for three counts as the king had his way with him. His world closed in on this fever dream of flexing and writhing muscles, the king's powerful thighs and abs quivering with the strain but not slowing for a moment.

Wet sounds of fucking filled the hall and Rosco's knees began to ache against the cold marble. He noticed that several of the entourage were gripping and working their own groins through their robes, males and females alike, though each remained covered. Most of the staff, though, had simply set their tasks aside and watched eagerly, though none seemed surprised. As interested as they were, it was clear this was not a rare occurrence.

He barely had space for these thoughts as the king worked his cock. The thrusts were powerful--he was sure that if Maximus weren't gripping his skull, they would send him toppling backwards. The liger gave satisfied groans among the slurping and smacking, all of which were music to the seal's ears. To know he was giving his king such pleasure was a euphoria superior even to having his own dick sucked.

The king knew it, too. Rosco glanced up and saw Maximus gazing down at him, a self-satisfied smile plastered over his face. The king wasn't looking into his eyes, though--his attention was fixed on the drool that was falling from Rosco's lips and pooling on the floor, mixing with his own pre, which he saw Maximus look at appreciatively as well. The king seemed amused at how aroused Rosco was simply from receiving a throatfucking, though it was clear that Rosco's pleasure was not the priority.

On and on the king went, his massive, powerful thighs and abs letting him keep up the pace for far longer than any normal man. Soon, though, Rosco knew that his king would need release, and indeed he could taste the liger's pre becoming stronger and more copious, his grip tightening on the seal's head.

"Ohhh, yes...this one's going to be good..." Maximus said, and within seconds, the king let out a roar that shook the rafters. His fingers dug into Rosco's head hard enough to be painful as the first rope of liger seed shot down his throat, followed instantly by a second and third, just as powerful. Salty and musky and overwhelmingly male, it filled his stomach and just kept coming, shot after shot. He could feel it bulging his stomach ever so slightly, the liger semen backing up his throat and into his mouth, filling it and spurting from either side of his mouth and even from his nose, joining the puddles of his own pre and saliva on the polished floor.

With a start, Rosco felt his own body tense and begin to convulse, his muscles tightening as his own cock began to shoot of its own accord, pushed over the edge just from the sensation of his throat being filled and fucked so thoroughly. His mind was full of nothing but cock and cum and pleasure at being so fully claimed by the god of a man that was his king.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the king gave a contented sigh and pulled his cock from Rosco's mouth with an almighty squelch. The seal tried to keep Maximus's offering inside, but the volume was such that he couldn't help but lose a good mouthful of it down his chest, coating his own front cock in the liger's seed. Maximus looked him up and down and the corner of his mouth twitched in a smile.

"Glad to have you on board," the liger said waving away the towel offered by an otter attendant whose own arousal was yet visible, and instead simply grabbing the otter's tunic and using it to wipe his cock clean of the semen and saliva. "Alvinius, get him quarters," he instructed the otter, then turned and strode through the hall, shamelessly nude, to a door at its rear which, like Rosco's throat, opened itself to receive him.

And with that, he was gone. The royal servants and advisers, save for Alvinius, broke out into excited murmurs.

"Did you see all that cum?"

"Oh, that was spectacular--you'd never have known he'd just blown a load this morning."

"It's so hot to see him just let loose when he grabs somebody's head, really get those arms flexing."

"Can you cover me? I need to go jerk off after seeing that."

"Gods, I hope it's me next."

After a moment to compose himself, Rosco got to his feet again, shakily, for the second time that day. Without a word, the otter set off for the hall's main double doors, Rosco following even as he dripped cum and drool over the floor.

As he walked, a wide grin broke out over his face. He was going to like his time, he thought, in service to his king.

_____

Written by Auroras | FA--habook2 | SoFurry--habook2 | Twitter--@ArcticAur

Characters owned by Nostson | FA--Nostson | Twitter--Nostson