FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Prorok took a long breath, sitting at his desk within the Central Command System. The fluffy and purple-haired Galra must have been proud and happy as he was only a few levels away from his Emperor’s magnificent form.

If he desired, he only had to walk to an elevator, press a button, and ask for an audience. But it wasn’t enough for him. It wouldn’t be as he exhaled once more. He closed his golden eyes and tried not to clench his jaw so much. The doctors were telling him his canines were digging into his lips too much, therefore why drinking alcohol made his mouth burn.

But how could he relax? How could he ignore that a few levels above, Sendak had passed a whole day sucking on Emperor Zarkon’s magnificent manhood with nothing to cover himself? It should have been him instead! He had done everything requested, and his work had been of an outstanding quality!

He would have won this month if it hadn’t been for Gnov’s failure. She had failed to quell a rebellion, and while she had kept control of her sector, it had led to a cascade of conflicts across all systems.

The new fleet Prorok had planned to offer to his Emperor atop of his results? Sabotaged and delayed, most engines were purposefully rigged to explode whenever warmed up. It would take months, if not more, to find the culprits and kill them. As for the engines, none were safe as long as those betrayers were standing around. The dockyard would be kept under scrutiny…

“Damn them all,” groaned Prorok as he lifted the tablet from his desk and turned on the display. There was another notification, probably a message from Sendak. And it was, one with an associated file.

With a swipe, Prorok erased it as he knew what it was: Sendak’s recording of his reward. That artificial eye wasn’t only good for the show… And none had been exempted from that petty play, not particularly Prorok.

“Damn you, too,” he groaned as he put the tablet back and turned his gaze at his nearest aide de camp. A lithe and unassuming Galra, one from the colonies on the further edge. Not one with a good name or genes, either. But he was smart and could follow the orders.

“Get me Mar’s reports about his explorations and his prospects,” he ordered.

“Sir… Commandant Mar told me he won’t share his data with you anymore.”

Prorok clenched his jaw and curled his fist into a ball, making his aide jump and step back.

“Is he part of that pathetic attempt against my efforts? He is leading an exploration contingent. I don’t care if he’s still sore about the exploitation of that Balmera; I need his data. If he’s so angry, shouldn’t he ask to get his share? I’ve got what I wanted of it! He can get all the scraps he wishes!”

“Sir. He told me it isn’t an affair of gains but honor. He refuses incoming communications.”

“Then, say… Say... Send him a message through his representatives. He must share his data or I’ll reveal how he covered his protegee the last three years.”

“Sir?”

“He’ll get the memo. It’s an empty treat; don’t weigh into it much.”

Prorok waved his hand, waiting for the young male to step away before he reclined and moaned. He had been bottling that gasp up for a moment. And as he pushed against his desk, his chair hovered away…

Thus, displaying all his pleasure and shame. The origin of that cry.

Like all commanders, Prorok wore the red armor with large pauldrons, covering his body and protecting it from harm. However, his armor had been put on down to his round and plushy torso. Below? There were no pants, no belt, no parts that could cover his bulging belly. One belly he stroked as he looked down. The bulge was obscene, visible through the purple fur and the fat accumulated since his assignation at the Central Command System.

He wasn’t the young lad who would throw himself into battle to get his Emperor’s praise anymore. But he still yearned for his Lord.

At this moment, he yearned to feel his Emperor’s cock, and not a fake, within him. He wanted it to throb, to pulse, and to fill him with that godly semen. His golden eyes ventured, watched the slight increment marking the cocktip, then the fake veiny length. Even with all his years of experience, keeping such a colossal mast within him was somewhat painful. But it was necessary.

His Lord had always praised his ass: from its flexibility to its sheen. And whenever Prorok was rewarded, he had asked to be bred by his Lord or fingered by him… Sometimes, he even wished he could play the role of his conquered Wife. But… No.

It would be presumptuous of Prorok or of any commander to ask that of their Lord.

Emperor Zarkon was a fair Lord. Stern, yes. Cold, yes. Prompt to burst, yes. But it didn’t mean he wouldn’t reward one of his subordinates properly once every month.

“My Lord. I miss you,” mumbled Prorok, imagining it again… Delving and remembering it… His last time with Zarkon. Even his cock was spurting like crazy.

[I]“You asked for me?” were Prorok’s words as he was ushered within Zarkon’s private quarters. Not his throne room this time, not that it mattered to the Commander. He knew his fellow commanders had all failed their duties but him. For that simple reason, he was the one to be rewarded. Within those dim quarters, his Emperor had welcomed him with nothing on him but his crown.

“You know why you are here,” his Lord curtly answered, with that wonderful manhood pointing forward. The tip had been dripping with glimmering precum. More than that, its scent filled Prorok’s nostrils as he approached, valiant but not foolish.

“It’s because everyone else has failed? I know-“

“Strip. Furball.”

The words had been rough, insulting, perverse. In another situation, a high-ranking Galra would have gasped at the insult. Furball, only the furred from the lower castes could be called as such. That word was to be a taboo, and coming from Zarkon’s mouth…

It had made Prorok melt in his armor, a dumb smile appearing as he stripped in front of his Lord. Piece by piece, the metal had fallen and revealed his pudgy form. His moobs had gotten a bit bigger due to the regimen he was followed, same for his belly. His ass, too, had gotten bigger and rounder, although this was due to his constant training and squatting. As for his genitals… Well, his testicles were much bigger, so much bigger since he had been keeping himself within that tight purple cage stylized to resemble Zarkon’s scales.

“Thank you, my Lord, for remembering it,” muttered Prorok as he approached his Emperor… And felt his gaze upon him. A cold, demeaning, and sensual gaze.

“Remembering what? That you are a slut? A failed male? A slut disguised as a commander?”

Each choice was like a spear, a remark, an insult. Each hitting Prorok’s ego, yet making his pathetic and caged cock spurt some more.

“Yes… For all that,” said Prorok with his head down, trying not to reveal his smile and the quiver through his body. But that was a failure; his legs trembled too much, and he couldn’t stay steady.

“You can thank me later after I ruin your body and make you beg for mercy,” continued Zarkon’s with his clawed hands groping that meaty ass and squeezing it. Even going so far as to lift it and slide a finger withi-

[/I]“Sir… Mar refuses to give his results! He told me… Hum. He told me he wouldn’t allow you to access his data. With many insults, sir.”

Prorok’s eyes frowned as he saw the aide entering his room. Instead of calling, he had barged in right the moment Prorok was feeling that tender sensation in his prostate. One he could only reach when his Emperor used him… And when he had that dildo and his whole hand inside him. All… All had been wasted. Moreover, he was lying naked, with his caged dick spurting on the ground while reclining. That young lad had seen his superior masturbating at his desk… Using a pale copy of Zarkon’s manhood.

“Fine. I’ll get to him directly. You, you are demoted to private. Go to embark to the nearest vessel to the Jaiar system.”

“Sir!”

Prorok didn’t budge… And soon, his sullen subordinate slipped away through the door, leaving him in his room.

“Fuck him, too. For wasting such a good moment!” groaned the Commander, stretching his back and moving from his position… It would do him no good to keep dreaming. It was better to shower and see Mar… And get a new Aide de camp. One that knew when to knock at a door.

---

His purple fur pristine and the scent of lubricant and semen gone, Prorok wandered the halls of the enormous Command ship. More than a vessel, it was close to a citadel that integrated many domes, simulating ecosystems within, as well as industries and even residential districts. Only the nobles and their families, born from Commanders, would live within. As for the industries, only the most docile slaves, those purposefully bred over generations, were allowed to step foot inside this sanctum.

In production, the planet was comparable to a planet, and only a select few were privy to its details. Moreover, it wasn’t rare for a Commander to take a shore leave while their ships were repaired in the dockyards since the vessel offered all amenities.

If you knew them, if you knew their schedules, if you knew when to reach them; it was easy to contact those pompous arrivists and talk with them. That was how Prorok slipped into one of the many bathhouses within the residential district.

As usual, its structure was of steel, standing out in the middle of the gardens, while it housed baths of all types for all types of nobles, soldiers, commanders… And thus, Mar.

Commander Mar, a burly and one-eyed soldier. Gruff, ruff, with a leonine mane he kept shaved and stylized like hair; he easily stood above most soldiers. Even Sendak…

His presence filled the discreet bathroom he had reserved for himself alone. Yet. The door opened without any issues once the right accreditations were provided.

“Hey, this is supposed to be closed!” Mar shouted, a towel over his face while he reclined with his arms outstretched, glancing over his shoulders.

“I know. But I am not keen on chasing you across the station and the universe one more time,” answered Prorok as he entered, nodding to his suite of slaves, and closed the door.

The stuffy atmosphere immediately made the Galra tug on his collar. Nonetheless, Prorok stripped and picked a towel from the rack at hand near the entrance. Meanwhile, Mar had stood still and… been thinking. Finally, Prorok’s armor dropped.

“You’re running out of blackmail material, and you come to grovel?”

“Not at all.”

“I am running out of blackmail material I can safely hand to my subordinates,” retorted Prorok as he approached the water. Opaque with all the oils and perfumes Mar abused. The squat Galra tipped a toe: the water was warm, agreeable. He stepped inside, throwing the towel on his side as he welcomed the blissful embrace. It would be so easy to ignore the cage he bore as well as other shameful details when fully submerged. But not Mar, not when he scowled like this.

“Fine. What’s your price this time? The maps? Already on your way,” said Mar, lifting a water-logged hand. “Is that enough?”

“Not at all.”

“What?” nearly shouted Mar, his eyes darting at the diminutive male.

“I want an alliance, Mar.”

Like a pin drop, the room fell silent except for the pipes sending more warm water and the flickering lights. They were facing one another, Prorok with his head almost submerged and Mar having it down to his belly.

“An alliance. You? The Backstabber Prorok? Who came first with blackmail and exigences?”

“Me,” answered Prorok, his head diving into the water before he emerged, his ears dripping and shaking. “I want an alliance of circumstances to handle Sendak. If my predictions are correct, he will hog all the Emperor’s rewards for the next two years.”

“Tssh. Again with that, furball.”

Prorok’s ears burned and twitched again. It wasn’t meant to be an insult, but to poke fun at his requests and what…. Suffused from the rumors.

“Don’t you want to be rewarded? It has been what? A few years since the Emperor deigned to give you his entire attention,” jabbed back Prorok. Even if it wasn’t the worst, an unrewarded Commander was perceived as weak and unworthy.

“Four. But I have grown beyond the squabbles. This is fine if I am not the best. I am not a backstabber,” said Mar. However, the slight bitting of his lips indicated something else. That, and the scent emanating from him, need.

“Don’t you want to be paraded on a leash again, full of our Emperor’s glorious semen? Nothing more than a pet? You would be perfect under his boots… As he removes y-“

“Stop!” groaned Mar, holding his hands out. “I get it. You appeal to my basest desires, as always.”

To complement this, Mar sighed and reclined against the basin’s edge. In the meantime, Prorok approached him with a devious grin. One that betrayed his line of thought.

“If we break a deal, you will get the first reward,” said Prorok, flashing his canines.

“You… Would you follow through?”

“I will do everything as long as Sendak gets no more rewards. Even if I have to make a deal with you, Mar. And every other commander,” stated Prorok.

“You have him under your skin… Did he send you the videos of his la-“

“Yes. Yes, he did,” cut the squat Galra as he backed up in frustration. “I will provide my expertise and shipyards. You will provide every map you have within your fleet’s system. If you encounter a prize, you don’t log it for analysis but send everything to me, directly.”

“You’re treading a dangerous line, Prorok,” said Mar as he seemed to fidget. If he were to back off now, Prorok would have to turn to someone else. Someone less efficient.

“No. We will link our systems; hence, it is normal for me to receive the information in advance before the Central Command System properly archives it.”

Now, Mar scoffed. All the tension in his last words was gone, replaced by a chuckle.

“You furball. You had planned this all along,” commented Mar… Before the Bath’s door opened again on two slaves. Two aliens whose undefined traits betrayed their shape-shifting nature. They were a rare kind, especially with their homeworld gone and destroyed. But they were not only docile but capable, too.

“Wait,” stuttered Mar, his eyes widening as the doors closed and the two creatures shaped changed. They became bigger. Their oily skin turned into purple scales. A cold gaze appeared where they had none… One scornful, cold, brutal.

“You didn’t dare?”

“I did… Now, shall we enjoy our rewards? Do not worry. They will keep their mouths shut. I instructed on how to satisfy your needs,” confirmed Prorok with another grin.

Before them, two copies of their Emperor appeared. Stern, beautiful… Physically perfect with all the details from the disdainful lips to the erected Galranhoods. And Mar, at Prorok’s side, seemed almost enthused.

---

Grin. Prorok grinned all the way as he stood in his Emperor’s throne room. All commanders were summoned by their Lord. Some didn’t attend, those unlucky and lost in the furthest expanses… But he was there this month.

The last one, to everyone’s surprise, but the Emperor’s and Prorok’s, Commander Mar had been selected as the best Commander. Their joint efforts from two sectors brought many of their projects to fruition. As it was, Mar’s fleet had been successfully improved. As for Prorok, he had managed to increase the number of produced ships within his shipyards by a factor of two digits. Better than any other Commander.

Despite his best efforts, not even Sendak had met their pace. The poor cat would be sad to know Prorok was confident of his victory. But it felt better for Prorok when he heard his Emperor’s words and stepped forth.

“This month, only a few of you have fulfilled my expectations. Failed culling, weak production… I left my Empire to incapables who should take the example of Commander Prorok. Through his efforts alone, he had compensated for all your failures. Therefore, he will be amply rewarded. As for you all… You are dismissed.”

Prorok could feel the sting in the back of his neck. Sendak should be raging and furious; as for Mar, he would be satisfied. He got his reward last month… He had been paraded like a good dog, his body thoroughly broken until he had to spend a few days attended by surgeons… That tendency could have jeopardized Prorok’s reward. But this was fine.

Everything would be fine. He heard the commanders step away, and his Emperor’s hand on his shoulders as they walked behind the throne toward the quarters.

“What trick did you use to gain my appreciation, Furball?” asked Zarkon, his voice demeaning and cold. He was seeing through everyone’s games… As always. But didn’t care.

“Mar and I are working together to streamline the Empire’s expansion, my Liege. Only that.”

“I see. You have been cutting through the administrative delay… Not bad.”

“Not bad?” answered Prorok, shivering.

Before him, his Emperor’s private rooms were revealed. The same ones as always… But the rough musk from them, the warm and stuffy temperature, the lack of commodities and soft furniture. It struck a cord within the squat Commander, his eyes not daring to turn to his Emperor and facing that armored belly.

“I have been thinking of changing the ways Commanders report to me and the Central command system,” answered Zarkon, snapping at his subordinate, who didn’t take long to doff his armor.

“But… I must be punished for going against your decrees, right? My Liege?”

Zarkon didn’t miss the play Prorok was going for. He chuckled, even laughed. His laugh was cold, cruel. And so was his hand as it danced on Prorok’s exposed and furred back, approaching that plump ass.

“Yes, you will be punished, Furball. You are a conniving and despicable Commander, a failure who uses artifices to get what he wants… Me.”

His Emperor’s words started, making the furred Galra clench his thighs and… His buttcheeks.

However, no amount of strength could allow him to resist as the scaled fingers were on the round fluff mounds, stroking them… Sliding within and prying them apart.

“You should feel shame for what you are. Backstabbing your fellows when you are not blackmailing them. You are nothing but an insult to the Empire’s honor.”

Prorok could have answered, but he bit his lips. His purple blood even started to trickle where his canines had pierced his soft skin. His Lord’s cold hands forced his cheeks apart, tearing down the meager resistance he offered. Oh, he loved it…

He loved the knuckle stroking his naturally gaping hole.

“All so I can breed that hole you ruined, for my pleasure.”

“Yes… My Lord,” stated Prorok through huffs. His dick started to ache within the cage, blood pulsing within it while the constraint forced back and… Crushed his cock. But he was so excited precum began to spout from the cage. It pooled on the ground, dirty and… Sticky.

“That’s your only saving grace, Prorok. Your loyalty. Not to the Empire, your blood, or me. But your lust… I could take it all away. And force you to accept it,” whispered Zarkon, leaning over.

The Emperor’s whisper was like a breeze in his ears, making them twitch and drop as those two digits had forced their way in and were wiggling deep into Prorok. One pair of knuckles, two, up to the limit. The fingers were fully inserted, and their caress was on the Galra’s sensitive and overswollen prostate. A mod that was… Well-liked among the Commanders. One that truly turned each moment with Zarkon into paradise. Even such as a mere caress, stroke, rubbing, drawing a circle around it while the poor inferior mortal heaved.

“Punish me, Zarkon. I- I am a traitorous whore. I deserve to be punished.”

“I might,” countered the Emperor, his clawed index poking at the swollen organ. He pressed it on and forced it against the taut flesh. The spewing precum increased in volume, the constraint on Prorok’s cage increased, and his breath quickened. “But I won’t.”

In an instant, all disappeared: pressure, finger, presence.

Remained then the gaped asshole dripping with lubricant produced by his modified glands.

“Em- Emperor?” swallowed Prorok, his cocky attitude gone, replaced by need. Would it be-

“Once I am done with you, you will present yourself to the medics. If you resist, furball.”

Those fluffy ears dropped further. He wasn’t like Mar, who would throw himself at Zarkon to get the worst out of him. He wasn’t as tame as Sendak. Hence… This… This was a supplice wrought from the inability to bear and reminisce his previous torments. Every mods was for his Emperor… But he yearned to be his Emperor’s property, ruined as seen fit.

“Yes… My liege,” he finally mumbled, his fingers lifting to caress his nipples.

Fingers joined by more, by more calloused ones. Those… They pinched, dug, and turned, and squeezed until each nipple was erect and hard.

“I sense a note of dissatisfaction, furball. Are you such a whore you would want those to be definitive? To portray yourself above your function and want to bear my child?”

“…”

Prorok didn’t answer but dry-heaved. Yes, that was all he desired and imagined. He had thought himself clever to request small rewards leading to this before… But his Emperor had seen clear through his game.

It didn’t mean he was authorized to speak and utter the world: To become his Emperor’s lover. Even a concubine was above his function, so much beyond what he could be.

But if he said no, he would-

“Speak… Whore.”

“I-“ stammered Prorok as he observed the scaled Digits grow brighter and more purple, and hotter. “I… I merely wish… To be punished by my Emperor and be used as he sees fit.”

He swallowed his saliva, not daring to look above his shoulder, and glanced at his Emperor’s expression. But a slow sigh came while the heat on Prorok’s nipples and breasts increased.

It… Was pleasant, sure. But it seared his skin, made it burn. He could almost smell the scent of burned fur. A distasteful smell that still brought ruin to the moment.

Oh… Why could he not keep his Emperor’s gift?

One so prominent as he glanced down and saw his breasts, fat and sagging, turn bright too… And his nipples almost blinded him before… Yes. A droplet formed at their tips. Quintessence. It was pure energy, something only the Druids and the Emperor could produce. A pure… Liquid Zarkon leaned to smell and smile.

“Fine. You will be punished as I see fit.”

Fit… That was the way the Emperor’s monstrous and enormous dick was, nestled and pushing between Prorok’s cheeks. A mere push, and the organ pried open the tightly-clenched orifice. It forced open that rim, made it gape and squeeze and suck on the organ. One that was bigger than an arm, one whose flared flat tip was complimented by an extended corona that stroked and distended Prorok’s orifice.

No one in the Empire had a Galranhood as good as the Emperor. Worse, none could reproduce the sensation of filling and heat emanating from it.

Prorok nearly fainted as his prostate was once more under assault. Not that his Emperor had started to rock that body. The shaft had barely pushed a quarter inside, and the tender gland was already squeezed so hard. Prorok moaned, he was on edge, at the limit of the orgasm. His precum turned white, and his loin burned. But he didn’t want to… Yet, he was about.

“This is what you have been looking for, furball. Wanting to have me inside… But this… This is just the beginning,” groaned Zarkon by his ear…. Before biting a bit off.

Prorok cried out of the pain. But this was only the beginning as his Emperor’s cock pushed deeper, and so those clawed digits danced on his body despite the luscious purple coat.

“Here’s your punishment for your failure at Daraun,” groaned Zarkon as his claw pushed.

“I should do more for what you did against Bogh,” added the rightful Lord as another purple line was drawn.

“The Kelohr, Jixis, and Praunt rebellions,” said Zarkon, making Prorok cry as the three punishments were inflicted at once: belly, breasts, thighs.

Those were old punishments, old failures, old errors. But their burning notes made Prorok’s mind sharper to the pleasure he received as his Emperor’s dick pulsated inside him and filled him with more cum. His belly already bulged from the sheer mast, and the sensation of fullness was all the more intensified by the shaft under his skin.

That… And the delight when, by turning to face his Liege, he had the voluptuous pleasure of feeling those dry lips close on his perky nipples. They suckled the produced Quintessence; his energy, his power, was given to his Liege.

His liege was taking his Quintessence, sucking him dry while replacing it with something Prorok had been yearning, like all Commanders: the intense high from that potent seed.

Already, his mind drifted on the edge of a true orgasm, approached, neared the moment. Not unlike the pathetic ejaculation he had produced through the prostate massages.

Prorok wished he could have moved his hands and caressed his Lord’s sweaty and powerful body at hand. But weak and ruined, he only had the pleasure of watching the sinewy muscles beneath the scales, the glimmering purple from the reflected lights, the scorn glance his Lord sometimes gave him as he suckled… Suckled… But stopped?

Prorok’s eyes rolled in their sockets, his mouth parched from the gasps and inhalations without closing it. Saliva dripped from its corners as he felt it once his Emperor departed from his nipples. They were depleted.

His Lord’s blessing to produce Quintessence had run out, and Prorok’s body couldn’t naturally produce more. Perhaps he should have begged Zarkon to be less hungry, not to suckle them as hard… But why would he?

Why would Prorok refuse himself the pleasure of hearing his Lord’s groans while Quintessence dribbled in that thirsty throat. Why when it made all the humpings and grinding against the prostate more delightful? Was it folly when a single lick onto the modified breasts sent an orgiastic shiver through the Commander’s spine?

It was unwise, foolish, to ask for something when everyone enjoyed it. Yet… It had stopped.

“You have given me more than expected, furball,” commented Zarkon, placing one hand by each side of Prorok’s head as they were on the bed. The Commander’s legs were tangled. His body was sore: genitals and prostate alike. His inner walls were… A perfect cocksleeve. But the rest wasn’t… Everything else was to be punished. He needed to be punished. Somehow.

“My- My liege… Please. I- I can give you more,” moaned Prorok, his orgasm about to reach him, to wash over, to overtake him. He couldn’t give in. Not without the torment.

“I won’t give you the pleasure of the final punishment, Furball.”

“N- No, hear- me out! My Liege!”

Prorok’s voice sounded like a cry of despair. But the thrusts, the lips, the movements, all stopped. Zarkon’s gaze was on him, judging each of his words.

“There’s… Something you can take, my Liege. Replacing it would be no issue for our medics.”

Prorok articulated his thoughts the same way he looked down, then up to meet his Emperor’s eyes. There was a scowl, a frown, a surprise. But then, a smirk. Just a discreet and almost unnoticeable smirk on that face marred with scars.

“You have been preparing for this. Haven’t you?” asked Zarkon, his fingers descending to give Prorok a firm squeeze. One that made him squeak.

“Yes!”

He nearly screamed from the pleasure and pain elicited from his body. His Liege’s hands were so powerful and brutal that they left him heaving with a potent pain in the abdomen. Within those scaled hands, the Emperor held his Galranhood. Two jewels, two precious orbs covered with purple fur, cinched by the gold of his cage. He felt the pressure within, the tension… And yes, all that pent-up needs that hadn’t been released yet.

He had denied those orgasms and would continue to do so until his Emperor willed it differently.

“I will personally send my medics to have that fixed,” said Zarkon.

“As expected, my Liege. I- I will bear no scars and… promptly return to my duties.”

No scars, no wounds, nothing was allowed to leave those walls. Zarkon could have broken each of his commanders one by one, ruining bodies and minds. But no, he kept them on the edge of oblivion. Enough to feel the attraction of self-destruction, not enough to get the reward.

Almost every Commander had been gratified by that addiction.

The desire to break themselves against the wall that was their Lord, be healed, and return there. Some gained scars or lost limbs through it. But Prorok… He would get that healed.

The hands on his testicles were warm. Just a glance above the bulging and stuffed belly, he saw the purple gleam from his Liege’s digits. They were so warm, so deliciously warm. Their touch spread it, letting it suffuse within Prorok until his testicles were hot. They burned; they were like scalding rocks in his scrotum, aching and making him almost beg to have them out.

But blood ran as he bit his lips.

“Regretting your misdeeds, Furball?”

“I- … I will never regret my Emperor’s… Justice.”

His toes curled further while shivers ran down his spine. His Lord’s Galranhood pulsated within him with an increased intensity. Even Zarkon was excited. Even his Lord desired it?

“You have no shame whatsoever.”

“No… My Lord.”

He bit his lips again, making the purple blood drop on his maculated fur while he felt it. The energizing presence coursed through his body while his Emperor returned to that back and forth. Like a vine, the sensation coiled around Prorok’s spine and progressed.

It pulsated like his Liege’s cock did.

It warmed like his Liege’s touch did.

It pleased like his Liege’s gaze did.

Prorok closed his legs tighter around Zarkon’s waist, although he had no power to halt or impose stillness on that body made for war.

His breath hastened. His body tensed. His claws bit his palms.

“HHHh… Yes,” he sighed as he felt what was to be an orgasm. And ejaculation, a profound reward. But his cock wasn’t shooting anything. Instead, the delayed sensation across his body increased, and… Quintessence poured from his nipples like faucets.

The luscious and powerful milk dripped from his moobs in glimmering trails that only stopped once the Emperor’s parched lips were on them. Zarkon suckled them dry. He gulped audibly, uncaring for what Prorok felt and thought.

Not that the Commander cared. His body was wrought by pleasure, his muscles tensing so much that his legs and arms ached. His hole? It had gone numb, though he could guess there were some weak contractions from it.

His feet were numb, too.

He was feeling numb and lightheaded. Perhaps from the blood loss?

He didn’t care as he closed his eyes and hissed. Another orgasm, brought by a powerful thrust, washed over him. A sigh followed, of course. But no fluids between his legs. Only more milk as the flow increased; thus, his Emperor’s mouth drank with renewed passion. A passion that made those teeth dig in the flesh and that tongue swirl. Like a vicious circle, it brought Prorok closer to these orgasms and faster.

One ejaculation… Two… Three… But no fluid. Only more milk as his body and brain were jolted. It had been a supposition, an idea of Prorok. A folly, perhaps. But he no longer wanted to be punished and ruined by his Lord… or instead, he had found something he desired above that. He had found his reward, his desires, his love.

His gaze drifted to the light above, burning and etching in his mind.

“Thank… You… My Liege,” muttered Prorok, feeling himself drifting in the sheer pleasure and satisfaction his Lord gave him.

He drifted away…

Only to return and wake up, welcomed by the same light above him.

He hummed, blinking and trying to move. All of his body burned from the gashes, but there was no blood, only faint scars below his fur. And the sensation of fullness inside and at the edge. He tried to move on the bed, feeling the fresh sheets wrapped over his naked body as he looked around. He was still in his Liege’s quarters, but there were no traces of Zarkon.

“Did I?”

Did he pass out during his reward? Did he miss the moment? Did he miss what mattered?

Prorok shivered at the thought, his Emperor perhaps gone and attending to his duty, expecting the Commander to be gone.

However… Prorok lifted his arms and admired his scars. His Emperor had mandated the medics to heal him, but it left the Commander weak, too. Not excessively. Not enough not to be on his feet, the sheets dropping behind him as he crossed the room.

No furniture kept him from advancing within the large but mainly empty room. His steps, trembling at first, were reaffirmed as he faced the sole mirror within that room. One that evidently dwarfed Prorok. But allowed him to glance at what… What today’s session had entailed.

From his deep purple, the clearer scar tissue stood in stark contrast. His entire body had been marbled and marked, and it would take more than a month to grow enough fur to cover those scars. However… What surprised him was the gold.

The gold he touched, the ring hanging from his raw and swollen red nipples. Two heavy golden rings that exacerbated his sagging chest. Rings he touched… Before he descended on his round belly, bright from his Liege’s semen sloshing within.

Zarkon had outfitted him with a mere plug, ensuring that the semen would be kept inside… A delicious and generous gift Prorok wasn’t about to forget. Nor what was below.

“You will have that healed by the next month, whether your performances are satisfying or not.”

Zarkon’s voice sounded like a thunderstorm just a few feet away. How did he enter the room without making a sound, despite the massive armor, Prorok couldn’t tell. It…

Prorok bowed, one closed fist over his chest as his Emperor approached.

“My Lord? What… Does it mean?” asked Prorok with a slight tremor in his voice.

His Lord’s steps were getting closer. So much so that the natural musk enraptured the Commander’s nostrils again. That… Then the large scaled hands descended to seize Prorok’s scrotum.

“Do I have to explain it to you?” scoffed the Emperor as he rolled them before the mirror.

Strangely, Prorok didn’t feel anything coming from the touch. They were numb, smaller… Cold even. So cold as he descended to touch them. It was odd yet exciting. Enough for… A drop of milk dripped from his left breast.

“H- How? And… Your blessing? I don’t understand, Emperor.”

“Should your little ploy with Mar come to fruition, unrest will breed among my commanders. Factions will appear, along with further political backstabbing. More than you could ever imagine,” started Zarkon, leaving Prorok at a loss.

Agape, Prorok observed how his Lord nonchalantly leaned to collect the milk bead and bring it to his mouth to lick it.

“Keeping you divided, separated, and unable to thrust your other Commanders. That’s a strength I have been breeding and preparing over generations. Your actions, Prorok, may ruin that prospect.”

“I- I am sorry, my Liege. For failing you.”

“You failed me, furball,” continued Zarkon as he leaned to pinch the nipples. The sensation was so intense, so raw. So… Pleasing. More milk poured. “But I have something better than a mere monthly reward for you. Your performances won’t matter in the grand scheme.”

Prorok held his breath, the fingers on his testicles closing onto it as more quintessence was drained out of them.

“I will harvest you.”

---

Prorok sat at his desk; his fingers joined before his face.

Before him, Commander Mar paced and ran in a circle, fuming and thinking while grumbling. That was one of Mar’s weaknesses: his inability to control his thoughts and emotions appropriately. Something Prorok watched, thinking about the possibilities.

“You dare to betray me? After we had our system working? What has been getting into you, furball?” finally shouted the armored Galra, pointing his index at Prorok.

That was expected. One day or another, Prorok had to announce their alliance was to be revoked. Mar would return to the fray, perhaps more inclined to overwork so he could finally get the abuse he sought at the hands of his Emperor.

Emperor who, in his clarity, had already requested a change within the Empire’s administration to remove the loophole Prorok and Mar had exploited. Now, Data and information would be automatically synced without passing through a long and tedious integration process.

Of course, it meant more fake or subversive data could be injected from the Commanders. But should one be found guilty of such practice, it would spell their demise or their assignment to a forlorn planet.

Hence… It all returned to Prorok and Mar, the latter fuming.

“I have no gain in helping you. The advantage and data you held over me is now shared with the whole Empire. I don’t have to grovel or ask for your permission anymore. Why should we continue our little alliance? However… Should you return in kind, I am eager to offer you little favors.”

Mar huffed at the remark. Yes, he could get favors… But it meant that Prorok dangled vessels and fleets over his head. It would be a change: the Commanders assigned to the Central Command System holding power over those exploring the deep space.

Mar wasn’t stupid, and with another huff, he left and slammed the door behind him. Therefore, leaving Prorok alone in his office… Enough for him to push on his desk and have his chair scoot back. Once more, the squat Galra wore nothing but the top of his armor.

Once more, he used a replica of his Emperor’s Galranhood to satisfy and please his over-swollen prostate.

But his eyes were between his legs. His testicles had recovered well from the treatment and the additional drugs. They were swollen, constantly full, and needy. Even now, his cock would drip with cum even if he wasn’t cumming or feeling any stimulation. That was an issue the medics had warned him, as well as the impotence he might suffer from the excessive dosage.

That was fine for Prorok.

That was fine as he stroked where the hair had been shaved and where had been inked the few sigils he desired: “Ready for harvest”. Soon, his Emperor would request his presence for another milking session…. One Prorok was gladly awaiting.