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"Whatever happens, have faith in me."

The private quarters echoed those few words, spoken by a gruff voice with a delicate and reassuring tone. A composed symphony spreading within the emptied corridors joining the mazelike rooms inside the Palace. A soft whisper breathed across those furbished rooms: steaming and perfumed baths; delicate and ornate bedrooms; discrete and persistent studies; private and secretive gardens.

All dedicated to one person, one single soul that had since ousted everyone. But one.

The Emperor sighed, his breath heavy and trembling, his eyes closing fast to figure it out. When it all started? Why were they alone? Why was he finally giving in?

The former Mortal, the Shuriman lord, shivered.

Ravan.

Ravan had always been a steadfast Ascended who didn't shine as bright as the Curator and his belligerent brother, forcing himself to be discreet and yet... Reliable. Reliability and Diligence. Two virtues used promptly to dispatch the threats against the Empire, even if it hailed from Nerimazeth, Ravan's birthplace.

No such servants could have stomached a cruel twist of fate, but he did. Even though he talked of it as a crime committed against his kin, Ravan never allowed his anger to be unleashed on his current Emperor. But those golden eyes, so distant and observing, captivated and wiled.

"Do you have faith in me?"

Azir finally nodded. At times, his body felt too rigid for him to do anything. At that moment, he did feel his whole form was of crushing gold. It weighed on his feathered arms and hands, it weighed on his gray chest, it weighed on his falcon-like beak. But not his blue eyes as he fought against the forces at play, and all the worries, to extend a hand.

Beneath his fingertips, there were those tusks whose tip had been decorated in gold, the large ears, the rough leather skin, the elongated muzzle, the hair no longer tied in the man's back. And finally, he returned to cup the Elephant Ascended's cheekbone within his palm.

And Azir spoke with a raspy voice: "Of course, anything for you."

"Do not speak so trivially of your future."

"I pondered my choice, Ravan. And this is what I aspire to be."

Ravan's breath was onto Azir's feathers, scouring the gray expanse while he descended his tusked mouth lower to deposit a kiss on the Emperor's chest; despite the semen coating some of it. And the more he descended, the more fluids would he encounter in his path. More fluids, more his, more of the Elephant's fluids. Until another flavor came to be, a faint acridity that merged rather well with his natural salty taste. Which would grow and finally outpace Ravan when the Elephant reached the Emperor's manhood.

And circumvented it despite the erection the Emperor sported. Despite the utter size of that mast, longer than anything a mortal possessed, spewing viscous fluids in Ravan's wake. It coated what beneath was: two testicles, taut in the dark gray scrotum, two orbs suffused by magic and light. They hung heavy and low, solely to be supported by the bed's mattress and then the Elephant's calloused fingers.

Another kiss and above, the Emperor sighed while clawed fingers moved and inched hither to his manhood, his face directed at his lover and better; a man of strength, a pillar against which he could lean when everything collapsed. And who didn't judge him. No, Ravan solely desired to help Azir in this moment and ordeal.

And so, the Elephant gave two kisses. One for each orb, one for each testicle brimming with virile and royal semen. In his palms, they felt like two miniature suns due to the heat they gave out... And he massaged them, rolled them until finally looking above.

There was his Emperor, holding his manhood between the two hands... Most of the fingers were maintaining the base. But the two indexes pressed on each side of the urethra. Beneath them, the purple flesh gave in and opened, revealing the mucous inside, the swollen meatus.

Ravan's lips abandoned the testicles, as well as his hands, with a formal departure. His movements were calculated. His fingers moved away, supporting his whole body against the bedding while his head approached from the wide glans.

And he breathed.

He expired. Not air, not words... Magic. Something comparable to dust and sands but whose direction was the Emperor's manhood and his opened urethra until it stopped. And the Emperor released his fingers, letting his manhood flop down.

Swiftly, the Elephant returned on his legs and circumvented the bed, his wide feet trudging heavily while he didn't allow the Emperor to escape his gaze. That relaxed muscular body, that calm face, those expectant eyes. Finally, they both heard it. A wince.

"The deed is done. Nerimazeth thanks you," bluntly stated the Elephant as he arrived behind the Emperor's head, already taking the pillows supporting that nape away.

Azir didn't need those for what Ravan planned to do. And in removing them, he could see the Falcon's head and extended neck directed at the Warrior. To see Ravan who had cursed the Emperor, who had condemned his manhood, and to observe him with languishing eyes. Those blue eyes were astonishing, magnificent. And so was their twitching whenever the curse spread over the Emperor's manhood like a sickness, or poison.

It would spread along the urethra without eliciting much reaction. It wouldn't touch the sensitive walls nor affect them, permitting the magic to progress and reach the prostate... From there, the organ would warm up and send confusing sensations to the Emperor: slivers of pain, of pleasure, of cold, of warmth, of shock, of relaxation. But the curse wouldn't stop there, its path led further. And finally, as the spell pushed through the tunnel and lower, it-

"AH!"

The quavering exclamation from the Emperor said it more. Under Ravan's eyes, the Falcon trembled and shivered. The delicate and unaccustomed hands lowered toward the manhood, toward the clenching and trembling thighs. And toward that now fully hard cock that spewed more fluids, even if Azir's ministrations were for his testicles. But the Deed was done.

As so... Ravan kneeled and leaned over the bedding, his tusk a centimeter away from the Emperor's face. The Bird's voice was shaky, likewise to his breath. And his mumbling weren't words nor sentences to be hearkened.

"Azir, this is what you want. To expunge your faults," affirmed Ravan, bringing a hand to stroke the Falcon's beak, watching it open and close inadvertently.

"Yes- This... Hrmph... What I desired," continued the Emperor, his blue eyes now rolling to meet with Ravan's golden ones. "But this- This. HHHH... This."

This was painful, horrible even. But Ravan didn't utter what his lover thought. He merely allowed the Emperor to repeat his words, broken on the spoken "This"; The words that wouldn't follow: "This is torment", "This is horrible", "This is pleasant", "This is perfect".

What could the Emperor say without betraying himself to his lover?

Ravan pondered, but then, he kissed the Bird's forehead. He moved and massaged both shoulders by holding them in his embrace, pushing on the pulled muscles.

"Say it, Azir. You must let it all out."

And... Azir cried. He cried and almost threw his head back, only for his beak to meet with the Elephant's chest. His whole body had been set afire. His talons curled, his fingers clenched, his knees quivered. But he kept massaging his testicles, now hearth of an incandescent pleasure and pain rooted inside his body, along his spine. Similar was his cock, its spewing tip burning ceaselessly. Everything Azir was... Everything he had been. Burned.

And he moaned, his voice now reduced to a mewling breath.

"This is... Incredible," he finally said, tears forming at the edge of his eyes. He was a mess.

And unwilling to answer back to that lie, Ravan stretched both arms along Azir. He even went so far as nudging the Emperor's head forward with his belly while he grasped the Falcon's hands. The Elephant directed them to that purplish erect cock, guiding each digit to wrap around the mast as if they were of an impotent child.

One by one, the fingers closed and held on the sputtering manhood until Ravan returned to his Emperor, stroking that cheek... That face wracked with pain.

"I- I can't... Ravan. This is-" mewled the Emperor, his face breaking with regrets and fear, his ugly tears dripping onto the bedding.

"Yes, you can. You must do it. You must be absolved of your crime, Shuriman Emperor."

"It-"

Ravan held the Emperor's beak, watched that prideful face crumble into a pitiful one as he leaned down... And kissed that beak. Then released his grip. Then forced his tongue inside. His trunk wrapped around the neck, but he focused on his tongue pushing through to taste Azir's sapid saliva. Just for a second.

"Do it... Show me how inferior Shurimans do to please themselves," he ordered with that callous voice. He called out the Emperor... Even though Azir wasn't his Emperor. Had never been.

Especially now as the Falcon moved his hands. First upward, squeezing and holding onto the foreskin he dragged. Then down, even so slowly, as it exposed the swollen glans. With the precum coating it, the skin seemed to shimmer in the sunset, reflecting red and gold as the flesh moved and danced under the weakened fingers. And the pace hastened: slow and steady, but clearly for the Nerimazethian.

"Better. Play with that cock. I want to see you spill your worthless seed. Do it, touch yourself like the pervert you are."

The Elephant pulled away, straightening himself. And looking down at his lover, at the failure of an Emperor, at the man who sought himself to be a god.

One who had betrayed his lineage and dynasty.

Ravan had every reason to despise him and his family for what they did to his city and kind, to keep Azir in his state. However... Whenever he saw those tearing eyes and choked-up hiccups, he smiled. He saw something beautiful only one word could describe.

"You will be mine. My Wife, Azir. Nothing more than that, do you understand?"

"Yes... Yes! Please Ravan! I- Please, do something!" cried the Shuriman without an ounce of self-respect. And without stopping his mindless strokes despite that body being wracked in pain.

And already Ravan saw signs of the magic at work. The pathetic spewings from Azir's manhood were turning whiter and brighter, like pure milk... Or something more invested even. His curse would not falter in its course. It would break down what it affected, even an immortal body such as his and Azir's.

"No."

"P- Please," whined the Falcon, swallowing his saliva. "It's ruining me!"

"No. There is nothing I can do, the Deed is done. And you will be absolved."

With the tenderness he could muster, Ravan cupped Azir's head between his hand. With the thumb, he stroked the edge of that quivering beak, those damp cheeks, that corrugated forehead. Then, he moved it. He forced the Emperor to stretch his neck, his forehead to almost rest on the bedding and pried that mouth open.

"P-Pleashe," attempted to beg the Shuriman.

"No. Be a good wife."

He said as Azir's blue eyes disappeared from his sight so the pretty Shuriman could focus on what mattered. What Ravan possessed between his legs and what he had used to ruin Azir's orifices. A shaft, black as ebony, whose skin was leathery and yet covered with a fine layer of fluids: cum, precum, sweat, and then more. A monster of flesh that opposed human conventions. But as an Ascended, he was unfettered by them. Unfettered to have a cock ending in a flared extremity, with a medial ring along its length, and folds anointed with an overwhelming scent.

One monster of ebony flesh hanging low, following a trajectory reaching down the Elephant's nuts. A delight to behold, a perfume to inhale. And a delicacy to savor.

Ravan slipped his thumb within the Ascended beak, prying it to the limit. The muscles snapped, so did the articulations. And ever so slowly, the Nerimazethian slipped his length within the opened mouth. Inches by Inches, he pressed his dick against the Shuriman's tongue. And the squirms from the pretty Bird gave it all away. As much as those feathered hands wrapping and pumping that worthless shaft with frenzy.

"Enjoying yourself, Shuriman bitch?" asked the Elephant. Those words, they came naturally to him with the spurn and the tone right as his flare and corona passed through, dragging along the tip of Azir's tongue in their way. Until the Bird managed to flick the appendage and began to... Well, use it for good.

Despite being nothing but a slut, the Shuriman knew how to flick and move his tongue to massage his better's shaft. Perhaps it was to appease Ravan's spell with that delicate attention to the skin folds, to the veins below it, or to the manhood itself.

But in the end, even a Shuriman Slut like Azir would know better... And accept the truth.

It was all for the savor, the sensation of someone's pulsating manhood stretching your gullet and throat, to experience the raw taste of flesh spread and impregnate the tastebuds, to feel... Worthy.

Worthy of being used, of being abused, of being disabused of that wrong notion: He may have been the Shuriman Emperor, but he, Azir, was nothing but this man's concubine.

A concubine that felt the tip progress and advance, piercing through the gullet and yet pushing on. Inches by Inches, the trickle of air slowed and diminished. It reduced, lowered, died out down.

Replaced instead by the gurgling noises whenever the Bird's abused muscles attempted to squeeze the intruder out.

"Keep clenching, I love it," mocked Ravan with that spurn in his voice. And yet, care in his fingers as he lowered them to trace the path followed below Azir's throbbing neck.

He stroked the skin, felt his own veins below, sensed their united pulse while the Shuriman squirmed and trembled. Surely, that Slut enjoyed the sensation. But the squirming and spasming body did not agree to that massive phallus being ushered within a limited throat.

And the contractions became more intense, more brutal, more fast. Everything was faster as the Bird's chest lifted and struggled: no air, no breath, nothing.

"Still yourself. You don't need it."

And he didn't... Azir didn't need that trickle to occur, that massive ebony shaft to withdraw and release the pressure inside. But the Bird fought, and struggled, and failed. His hands were still on the shaft, massaging it with the slightest of movements. But the talons' grip was rigid and tense... Until. He dropped.

Azir dropped still on the bed, his body unmoving and inert. His lungs wouldn't move.

But his arms... They did, and so the fingers, creeping upward onto his own cock. On the purplish flesh, he stroked and massaged, pressed and squeezed with a renewed strength while more precum spurted out of it.

Even his throat had stopped moving and opposing Ravan's entrance.

And the Ascended sighed: "Finally. Now starts your contrition, Wife."

On those few words, the Ascended began to pull away with his hands and hips, pushing onto the Bird's face. Slowly, steadily, the shaft escaped the mouth's grasp while throat fluids covered it all, glistening in the nascent night and lit sconces.

The black cock shun, almost glimmering while the median ring escaped.

Only for it to disappear by a sudden thrust.

Below, Azir gurgled and contracted his mouth, his tongue danced, and his chest spasmed. But he kept stroking and stroking, massaging and masturbating while his lover underwent what he desired to do.

And what Azir had to endure.

Once more, Ravan pulled. But faster, without care. He pulled out until strings of saliva joined the cock's base and the Bird's extended tongue. And jabbed! Piercing through the pretty Shuriman's uvula and making him squirm before he pulled back.

It was steady, regular, but increasingly tense. Until...

Until the separation of each thrust was less than a dozen of seconds until the strength from these hips grew tenfold what it was.

Until Azir began to sense it...

His mind slipped, bequeathing to the sensations he felt. All of them enrapturing and tempting.

The raw flesh he tasted, his saliva and mucus; the pressure on his vocal cords, his throat, and beak; the sweaty scrotum against his face, blinding and rigid.

And it stopped.

"It is time. Brace yourself."

The words came from Ravan... But what did they mean? What would happen?

Ravan thrust! His balls hit the Bird's face like a hammer.

The Nerimazethian thrust! His cock pushed the neck's depths.

The Ascended thrust! His corona dragged along the tired muscles.

The true Emperor thrust! His veined cock throbbed within.

And below. Below, the Concubine squirmed and pleaded in silence.

With each push, it was for those testicles to hit the feathered face and rattle that brain. With each shove, it was to fight the spasming body trying to oppose its purpose. With each pulse, it was for Azir to still his tongue and stop it.

With each thrust...

It was to be remembered.

Above Azir, Ravan used his throat like a vulgar toy. The man he loved, desired, aspired to live with, plunged his cock so far inside it felt intimate. That cock was here to crush and destroy him, to ruin him, to erase what he was.

And it was a real man's cock... Something nothing like what he held in his tender and trembling fingers.

Beneath, his manhood was nothing of note: it was too small compared to his lover, too ridicule, too useless... And at this moment, he sensed it. His balls had grown numb to the pain and heat, so was his phallus and flesh. He barely sensed when his little finger brushed the scrotum or his index squeezed the glans.

In his mouth, he sensed that manhood throb and spurt, alive and warm. In his hand, it was cold, diminishing, numb.

And Azir stroked it, he kept stroking that organ as his lover had asked. But nothing came from it, no pleasure, no delight.

Instead...

The Concubine forced on his eyes, strangled those tears. While holding onto his manhood.

There was nothing to care for there, and so... So, he stopped to.

Instead, he opened his throat, extended his tongue, and pressed it against his lover's dick. He embraced that shaft, closed his muscles onto it, held it, tugged it, massaged it. The Shuriman welcomed that man ruining him and thrusting in him, stretching him beyond anything he had experienced.

And as the pace grew, the tension increased, the hit became frantic... He knew he made the good choice. More so when that hand stroked his cheeks, and through gruff grunts, his lover spoke: "Good work."

The man was articulate but here, each word followed an exhalation. Above, Ravan was plunging again and again, ceaseless.

Until... Two hands grasped Azir's neck, held it firmly, squeezed, crushed it. Both hands held him in a vice grip. And the pace became a hammering onto the Bird's face. Those boulder-likes testicles hit and coated his face. His beak was forced further than before.

It hurt, it pleased, it... It Burned.

It was good, filling, and fulfilling even.

Above, the Elephant's body shuddered and trembled. But even then, the true Emperor didn't take it as an opportunity to stop. His hands quelled Azir's breath and vocal cords, but then he began to pull on it. On the skin's folds to massage his cock, to give it the last few strokes as he felt the heat pervading his genitals and urethra spill out and empty itself in the Bird's guts. Moments, seconds, minutes.

Ravan's stroke continued... Until he anchored himself on the bird's neck and pulled out entirely in a matter of instants. And gushes of cum followed from the Bird's ruined mouth and guts, squeezed out by those calloused hands.

A terrible sight to admire as the Shuriman lay on his bed, his head hanging from its edge while cum dripped out of the open mouth on the beak before it rolled over the side below, reached the feathers, dropped onto the ground.

Already the Ascended's tumefied throat began regenerating and recovering from the brutal embrace. But only weak moans escaped the Concubine's mouth, led by the ebb and flow of fluids slipping out...

An unsightly situation for whom had pictured himself to be the eternal Emperor.

Worse as the Elephant began to pick up that head with an uncaring expression, then passed a hand behind the Bird's back to lift his chest and gaze.

Azir's blue eyes were drenched in tears, his stoic and controlled mask utterly crumbled. But Ravan was not done as he climbed onto the bed and used his chest as a buttress for the exhausted Concubine.

Exhausted yet steadfast in the work... Between the Bird's squirming legs was still his manhood. But its color had taken a brighter red hue, and his testicles seemed deflated. The scrotum itself had become wrinkled while the orbs rolled within the oversized pouch at each moment.

From the ridicule phallus had oozed cum; more than in any normal amount, even from an Ascended. And even if that shaft looked solely half-hard, assuming not less, the Bird had been keeping his fingers on it, pinching and squeezing.

"You did good, my Wife. You are such a diligent empress," praised the Elephant by extending a hand onto that cum-coated shaft, prying the clawed digits one by one despite Azir's bemoans.

"Let your husband do his duty," castigated the Nerimazethian while finally pulling the cum-slathered fingers away. And picked up the limp shaft between the index and big finger. More was unnecessary and would slip his grip.

In his massive hand, the organ seemed so small and unordained to be manhood. And yet, Ravan stroked it while pinching it, pulling down the foreskin to see the bright purple glans below. Glimmering and shimmering, it attracted the eyes when the Elephant used a third finger to rub the tip and the meatus, toying with the urethra.

Again, much to the Bird's plea and bemoans. Tears kept dripping, and finally, he spoke with that coarse and whiny voice: "Wh- What have I done?"

"Your best."

A laconic answer, a perfect comment for Shurima's inferiority and failure. Followed by those constant strokes and caresses of that calloused tip rubbing what remained of the cock's sensitive skin while holding onto Azir.

And again he rubbed, he pressed, he massaged... Until, by his chest, the poor Bird began to heave and moan. His voice was a wheezing compared to before. It was a mewling sound borne from fear and regrets. But the deed was done. And Ravan stroked more, more and more as he increased the pressure on the cocklet and so increased the temblors within those large legs.

"Ra- Ravan," he pitifully pleaded.

"Hold on, this is but the beginning," cooed back the Emperor as he was giving this failure a last orgasm.

One last for the Shuriman dynasty, one last for the forefathers, one last for the lineage. Ravan's manhood throbbed at the thought of it, shaken by that sight. Beneath his hand, he held Shurima's future. And that poor excuse of an Emperor was giving it away.

Those balls were cold and done, nothing more than inert and deadened pits. And their last bestowed token of affection had been a kiss... His goodbye kiss.

Oh, yes. Ravan felt the need raise again in his groin as he watched his lover squirm and tremble, as he observed that orgasm grow and the pretty bird reel from it. Azir's groin lifted, a whisper breathed out. Those blue eyes closed, dry of any tears.

That little manhood teared up, finally. Tiny white weeps descended from that cock, slow and steadily, but then poured higher, stronger. From single drops became a flow of semen, pearly white and dense. It dripped and flowed out, with enough pressure to fall onto the Bird's belly and testicles, his thighs, and bedding. And the contraction kept coming, portended by the heaves and contractions from Azir.

Everything from his hands to his feet kept clenching regularly, motivated by the burst from within his groin.

Groin that kept shaking and moving, slightly humping the air as if it would ease the pleasure, the orgasm, the burn, the bite. And Ravan observed, stroking that beak again as he watched the white flow turning translucent. It weakened, it receded, it ended... Until nothing but a trickle would suffuse over the purplish glans, clear and water-like. Nothing but a rivulet that pierced through the puddle of warm and masculine fluids Azir had ejaculated, soiling his feathers and skin.

Even though the staunch scent assaulted the Nerimazethian's nose by its impurity, Ravan still leaned on to kiss the Bird on the forehead, stroking that beak with his thumb... He let the former Emperor hiccup and tremble, shivering as if standing in the frigid desert night. He let those eyes lower and observe the quaint and well-furbished room, their room, then beheld what remained between his legs.

Finally, Azir shuffled his knees and legs, approached his digits, and touched It...

Only for a whimper to escape that beak.

"Is- Is this done?" he asked, unable to tell despite facing the accomplished act.

And back was Ravan, holding his shoulders and whispering to the Bird's ears: "This is but the beginning. A grand future awaits."

---

Clap! Clap! Clap!

The sound echoed within the throne room, surrounded by no guards, if not those constructs Azir could sprout from the Desert sand. Today's grievances had been answered, much to the satisfaction of the little people, soldiers, clergy, and Ascended alike. Pleas had been handed and answered, thanks had been exchanged, comity had been observed.

But with the vacated room came something different. Far more perverse, devious, but pleasing.

It was what Azir had been waiting for all day and he was finally getting it.

His V-cut robes torn apart, their tatters spread all over, while his golden bracelets and amulet clanged around the rhythm of the thrusts shaking him. In his back remained his throne, a symbol of the Shuriman's supremacy and glory...

But it was against it he was being railed by Ravan, nothing more than a concubine. Above, the Emperor grunted and growled while teasing Azir's love-point, crushing the swollen and needy organ under the sheer weight of that ebony-black cock.

"Hhh- My-... Love," whined the pretty Bird, with his feet held by the man's calloused left hand and trunk, forced to keep them spread. All so the Elephant could pound that ruined and glazed hole, nothing more than a cunt for a real male: the shape had been wrecked, and from the tight pink ring he had possessed, remained nothing but a massive hole taking up a vertical slit... Ceaselessly lubricated.

"You look more beautiful by the day, my Empress," bluntly stated the male, leering at that lithe form like an owner to his slave.

And yet, today was a perfect day for Azir. He had been allowed to play... And his unclawed fingers held onto his shrunken shaft with nothing but two digits. A ridiculous nub that befitted his empty and wrinkled scrotum that flopped with each thrust... One day perhaps Ravan would have the latter removed, but the sight of it aroused the Emperor as much as pinching it made Azir tremble and quiver.

No different from now. He stroked that sterile cocklet, felt water-like fluid pour onto his finger and groin while he... Was allowed to stretch his neck and gather at the tongue-tip something ravishing his mind.

A pearl of sweat, borne from a day of fighting and training under the Sun for the oncoming Nerimazethian empire. A bright future... Which brought Azir sustenance in that pearl of salty water he collected and swallowed, letting it coat and slather his tongue with that devious and earthy perfume. Before he extended the appendage again, that time to urge it further and reach for one strand of hair. The scent of it was strong, assailing nose and mind. Yet, Azir relished it as he inhaled and filled his nostrils with that reeking stench... He sensed the tingle of it in the back of his head, a poison taking root... But soon, the sensation became tantalizing and warm, fuzzy even while he collected more sweat from Ravan's pits.

One by one, his long tongue rolled further and further to grace those strands and collected the sweat a whole day had accumulated. And to return there when enough time had passed for that divine nectar to imbibe the hairs anew. And he licked, swallowed until the ghostly taste persisted even though only saliva remained... And a whimper escaped his mouth. He yearned for more, he reached, but there was too much saliva, not enough sweat. The delicacy had been diluted.

"Hrmphh... You- You are too hungry, Wife," growled the Elephant above, plunging and pulling into the Bird's depths without a care for his wellbeing.

Not that anyone cared... Azir was a god, an immortal, nothing could wound him... Except what he bore between his legs and kept stroking despite it no longer holding weight.

"I-... I am sorry," mumbled the Bird through heaves, again leaving that helmeted head against the throne while enjoying the sensation of a flow filling his guts and flooding them. But he kept stroking that shaft... And clench his loose pucker.

He did not possess a vulva like the Imperial concubines Ravan now used and impregnated, but the Elephant always came back to fuck him each day. Each day, the Elephant ensured those guts were properly branded and his fattening ass red from abuse... However.

However, as Azir looked above, he saw the Warrior's contracted expression, his jaw clenching, his golden eyes closed.

"Wh- What is it? Did I anger you?" asked Azir, but no answer came.

If not more brutal thrusts that shook and made the former Emperor waver and tremble, shake and whimper, exhale and... Drip.

More dripping came from that tiny cocklet, in such an ample amount it began to slather over the emptied scrotum and below, onto that ebony shaft that kept pumping inside in a torrent of fluids, Ravan's... And.

It stopped.

From a moment ago, the man had been crushing the Bird's gut... And now he was settled within, that groin quivering while the Elephant fumbled, released his grip, and leaned against the throne with sweat dripping from his face, chest, and belly. He towered above the Bird, hiding him from the light as he wiped the fluid on his forehead and exhaled.

"You have guests to attend to," stated the Elephant, fighting the slurs from exhaustion.

"But, there are no more gri- HRMPHH!" attempted to answer Azir, only for another thrust to punch his swollen guts and spread that fuzzy sensation further. All of his comely form was embraced by it, overtaken by that delightful warmth.

And the Bird exhaled, lowering his hands down to his hole and the branded vines over his perineum and thighs. Beneath his fingers, he felt the magic in those vines and spaded leaves. And deliberately inched closer to the hole and held onto it with one knuckle.

Enough though, to hold the swollen orifice inside when Ravan pulled out brutally. In a swift movement, all that massive equine-shaped mast exited, followed by a flood of vile and reeking cum that dripped and flowed onto the pedestal of the Shurima's throne. And down, down the lane Azir could behold. Leading right onto the contingent of Nerimazethians standing there.

Those men were large, muscular. Their skin had been gifted by the kiss of the sun... And more than that, they stood naked in that holy room, their ebony-black shaft pointing proudly before them as they approached. But they didn't give Azir reverence. No, they gazed at Ravan, stepping aside. The Emperor wore a smile on his tusked mouth... Chuffed as he extended an arm.

"Please, Azir, our guests have traveled from afar to discuss the restitution. Much has to be done to pardon the Shurimans.," he said with a gleam in his eyes.

Those words were formal, but the situation was not... Not at all as Azir slumped over his throne, his legs in dangerous equilibrium on the carved armrests. To his left, he saw witnessed Ravan's goading expression along with a slight stroke over that equine shaft... And Azir knew what he had to do.

His fingers moved, slipping below each leg to grab a handful of his round and massive posterior to spread it. There, he exposed the swollen and abused rim, the pinkish flesh of his inner walls, and allowed more Nerimazethian seed to spew out from that gaped orifice while his empty scrotum and tiny dick stood out in the open, exhibited.

His body was no longer muscular and fit for combat, his body branded by the vines of love... He was nothing but a whore, and as such, he gave those newcomers the most cajoling smile he could muster.

"Please, my Lords. My worthless ass is yours to use while you convene with my Husband. Let it know Azir the Shuriman knows his place in our new Dynasty," stated Azir... Unknowingly letting saliva drop from the corners of his mouth as he saw those sweaty hairy men approach him, their shafts in hand.