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“You disappoint me. All of you. Your failures won’t be forgiven,” he said scornfully as he watched them kneel before him, their expressions wrecked with shame and worry.

None. None of them had had a spark of competency in the current conflicts. Even Sendak, his most talented Commander, had been a deadweight when facing the current Empire’s uprising.

None had been bright, smart, or had attempted something out of the typical Galran tactics. He frustratedly sighed, one hand going over his forehead to massage the plates. His drumming headache was getting worse. Usually, he could bear it for his Commanders’ reward. One… one among the lot who would rewarded. But none was sufficiently adequate.

“Fine… Dismissed. All of you failures,” he said, his other hand gripping his throne.

“M-My liege. What about our reward?” asked Commander Mar. Yes… technically, Mar had been the least terrible of the lot. He had managed to scrounge a few victories with a crippled fleet. But a fleet he had barely managed to maintain due to minimal control over the Dry docks abroad.

“Your reward for incompetency, for you all, is to survive another day knowing your life is on the balance!”

Zarkon smashed his armrest with a closed fist and darted his glowing eyes at them. At the trembling, pathetic, and useless commanders. All of them trembled but managed to be back on their feet and take their leaves. One… By one. They bowed in order of seniority until they were all gone, except for Zarkon’s druids and guards.

“My liege… Should we advance… With the feeding?” asked the elder Druid, a Galra whose face remained hidden and whose identity was better forgotten.

“Advance it? … Yes. Do it… And send them to my room. I shall not wait any further,” grumbled Zarkon standing up.

“It will be as ordered, oh Emperor Zarkon.”

Subservience, pathetic bootlicking. Still, Zarkon couldn’t deny it was expected when ruling an Empire spanning over Galaxies and more. It was an emerging property in which the lower beings would praise their betters in an attempt to get closer and reach a desired role. Maybe…

He sighed before he could imagine his next ruling: cull the weak among his commanders. Doing so would breed excessive fear and dissatisfaction, establish a precedent that could be exploited for a future rebellion, and apathy.

No… he had to foster that image of an elite that was coddled and appreciated. Their survival was… Against all odds… Necessary.

A cold necessity he would have easily discarded like his armor as he entered his quarters. Lifted was the tiara covering his forehead. Gone was his cape, flapping in his steps. Away were the plates covering his torso and shoulders. Thrown were his gauntlets and boots. Doffed were his pants until he stood naked in the room where he would welcome his commanders for their rewards if he so desired. But it remained empty, its dim lighting helping with his drumming headache as he sat on a sofa.

He… was a god. A God given life through quintessence. His Empire knew it. His servants knew it. He was above all of them. He was immortal, as his blood was willed by his soul and not his body. His will was everything, even to his body.

Yet. Not to this pain and thirst for quintessence as he needed it to survive. The same quintessence powering his Empire was his lifeblood. The hulking Galra was hungry after a mere month; there was the reason for that pain.

One, he would find… peace in sustenance.

A knock. He turned his head over the door, still sprawled on the sofa with his body exposed.

“My Liege. It is ready. Shal-“

“Let them enter.”

A cold order, but the Druid entered with two specimens of a gruff species. Those two seemed similar enough to imagine they were of the same lineage. Gray fur is all over their skin, and a mane partially covering their eyes and muzzles. Their four arms were all bound through magnetic cuffs. But even blind, they looked at him and seemed in awe by the Emperor.

He was awe-inspiring. His arms, muscular and powerful, could crush ships. His legs were dedicated to running and outpacing the lessers. His musculature was chiseled to perfect, and what was between his legs was… As well defined. For his genitals? He possessed a long cock with a broad tip and a thick corona forming four extensions overshadowing the lengthy and veiny organ. Below his median ring, his skin wrinkled and folded into a sheath… And below-said sheath was the Emperor’s jewels, churning with power, life, and a future lineage.

“What are you?” Zarkon asked as he handwaved the Druid away. He released the aliens’ bonds and fled. Then, the two beasts approached, emboldened by their numeric superiority.

“King Jaffan and Prince Kaffan,” said one of the bovines, the oldest of the two, as seen by the white hair over his muzzle, pointing himself first and then the second. “The lords… The Former Lords of Arval.”

Zarkon watched them… Then remembered. A world conquered only a year ago. Since, their population had been repurposed to mining and hauling materials from planets machines couldn’t access. Their muscular bodies were perfect for menial work, and they were… Tame.

“King and Prince. Is that all you have for yourself?” sneered Zarkon as he stood up, feeling the weight between his legs.

“I hav-“ started Kaffan, the youngest, as he raised two of his bound arms in outrage. Only for Jaffan to stop him, glance at him despite his covered eyes… And returning to Zarkon.

“I am sorry, I haven’t had the time to teach my son the rudiment of diplomacy. We are there for your offer. To release our dynasty of its burden. Shall you free us, as we accept your request?”

Zarkon looked at those bovines, bemused. Each time, they came for a different wording and reason. But the same fate awaited those leaders. Zarkon merely confirmed it by glancing down between the Bovines’ legs. Their genitals were primarily composed of a cock kept in a slit, barely visible through the furry groin. But their external testicles were visible. Not only visible, they were boulders that had grown; they were almost reaching the ground and forced the two males to walk with their legs spread… Boulders brimming and glowing with that deep purple hue linked to quintessence. They were… Ripe.

They were ready; the sloshing sound coming from each orb was a reminder of Zarkon’s thirst, hunger, and needs. He smiled, pushing back those.

“I will release your dynasty and your world of that burden,” he said, sybilline and cold as he lifted a hand towards the two while glancing to the right to his bed. “Lay on your back. Without a movement.”

The Aliens looked at one another in surprise, the son adding an ounce of consternation. But they bowed and followed, carrying their weight as they lay on the Emperor’s bed. The refined and soft fabric was lost on them, and they seemed distraught by the mattress’ caresses. They looked at their surroundings with a mix of awe and… despair.

It was a shame that ritual kept repeating, hammering against the Emperor’s patience each time. But he accepted it as he watched the two recline on the bed, half-resting with their body weights supported by their elbows.

“Now what?” asked Kaffan, the son with his face turned to Zarkon.

Such… Impatience and impunity, he thought he could ask Zarkon about his doings. Nonetheless, the Emperor scoffed at the remarks and ignored them. In due time would that petulant Prince learn what was to be. Instead, Zarkon approached, his steps careful, his movements calculated. A part of his mind focused on his bowels. Backside… The lubricant glans. He focused on them and maintained a single order as he climbed on the bed. He watched the young Prince and ignored him. First was the Father.

Pusillanimous, that one had kept his arms for himself and was waiting, a set of hands interjoined over his chest. Even without noticing his eyes, that mouth was contorted in fear, much like the many mortals Zarkon had met. And… Without a care, Zarkon reached for that one’s sheath. He slipped a wide finger into the wider sheath, pulled against the sheen skin and the folds. He gave another tug, feeling blood rush to the creature’s cock. It rushed and flowed and bloated until that organ had to extend and expand upward.

It grew… Its size going higher and higher… Until it looked almost like another of that King’s arms. It was massive, big… Such a size would be challenging for most species to handle. But not for Zarkon, as he merely stroked that shaft along the length while he ascended from his knees to his feet.

He placed himself above the Male’s groin and spread his legs, feeling the natural lubricant warming his insides and between his cheeks. He sighed and lowered his waist until that flat-tipped head pressed against his rim.

Their difference in size was enough… Enough to make the effort and the penetration simple for the Emperor as he felt his rim, lubricated as it was, open and… Swallow that cockhead. He sighed… And so did the King below, a deep moo escaping those lips.

“F-Father!” cried the Prince, out of surprise while his nostrils dilated and his mouth contorted in anger.

“Do- Don’t,” moaned the King as he raised one hand and gasped, feeling how Zarkon had lowered, another inch.

“Follow your father’s orders, Prince. He is graced by something many your better yearn and aspire to enjoy,” said the Emperor as he lowered himself, squatting above that bovine who seemed to… enjoy it like it was ecstasy.

Probably from the natural aphrodisiac Zarkon could produce, his body was apt and given more abilities from the quintessence. After one experience with him, people wanted nothing but him. Most of his fluids were even addictive and had effects on people’s psyches—even his kind. Mostly, his kind.

“Hrmphh. Your father is well-endowed. But what about you, prince?” asked Zarkon, his scowling face turning to the Prince while he rode on the Father, enjoying that fat rod pushing deeper within until his ass was stretching to its limits.

Kaffan wasn’t… As well endowed. It seemed not everything was running in the family. Not when the Prince’s erection was comparable to his hand. A direct comparison when said Prince had his hand gripping his shaft and stroking it. He was wide, sure… But the length. It was deplorable.

A shame when Jaffan’s dick started to punch Zarkon’s guts and widen them, too. But… It was nothing. A mental order and his body adapted, his bodily functions restrained, and so was pain. Remained only the satisfaction and the sensation of warm precum laden with Quintessence pouring within him, coating his guts as they absorbed it.

“Sh- Shut-!”

“S- SILENCE!” cried Jaffan, shushing his son as he raised two hands towards Zarkon. “May… I?”

A question to which Zarkon accepted with a firm nod, as firm as the Bovine’s grip over his cheeks. One that dug within the purple scales and allowed Zarkon to shift his posture and slightly recline, enjoying the Species’ strength as he descended and… More than two third of that length had gone within him. And already, he felt the warmth as the Quintessence within the Alien’s testicles moved up. Maybe the son would have noticed, too. As the fluids ascended, the underside of Jaffan’s cock would glow. And his testicles dim.

“Hrmphhh. You should learn from your father, Prince. He is dutiful. Up.”

Zarkon snapped towards the Prince, who stiffened and whose face was contorted with more anger. Good, he wouldn’t notice or try to fight back what Zarkon had in mind. The young Bovine stood on his hooves in his bed, his fur taking a redder shade across the muzzle as he approached.

“I- I am only doing this to relieve my Kind! To free them! Nothing more!”

Zarkon rolled his eyes, though none could see it. An old reflex he had kept.

The Son’s recriminations were lost on the Emperor as he descended, and his cheeks were filled by the Father’s cock while resting on his massive scrotum. It wasn’t a regal posture, one befitting a Lord, even less an Emperor. But it was good to feel the aura of Quintessence against his ass while his sphincters started to clench and press on Jaffan’s cock, giving it the firm squeezes a vice grip could offer.

To which, the old Bovine answered with more moos and cries.

“You can say that, but your father is enjoying it. As for me. I have no need for your pathetic mewling,” said Zarkon as he extended a finger toward the youngest’s groin. He almost reached it when a hand smacked his… Yet, he continued his movement and slipped an index under that cock.

“Fight me more… I could destroy your entire kind with one order, cow.”

“I don’t care. You’re alone, you’re exposed. I can do this!” shouted the Prince, reaching for Zarkon’s throat to crush it with his four arms. One for each quarter. Those arms were made for carrying weight, but their inherent strength allowed them to crush rocks and bones. They were weapons with the proper training, and the four of them could be enough to break a neck.

But not Zarkon’s. The Emperor glanced up and smirked.

“Is that all?” he asked, still riding Jaffan’s cock and massaging it, squeezing it as more and more fluids dripped inside Zarkon. Did the Son even notice how his Father hiccuped and seemed about to cry, lost in an orgasm? One that didn’t seem to end, with how the poor Bovine huffed and clenched his hands around the Emperor’s cheeks?

“Y-You!”

“It was a pathetic attempt,” said Zarkon, raising an eyebrow towards the Kaffan, his finger still stroking that cock’s underside. “Do you have something else in mind to “free your kind”?”

The Prince’s eyes widened, and his arms dropped, and so did his jaw. He looked down at his hands… Then back at Zarkon, who merely looked down and focused on the cock’s flat tip and the glowing precum at the tip.

“Then. Keep your arms to yourself if you do not want retribution,” he ordered.

The pathetic cocklet started to shrink down… It seemed the threat had calmed the Prince too much.

However, Zarkon’s lipless mouth soon closed on the shaft, and his tongue graced the greasy skin, tasting the robust and hearty aroma coming from the Bovine’s cock. He was clean, that was good. No traces of other fluids that could hinder the harvest as the Emperor’s tongue swirled and surrounded the beast's cocklet. It turned, twisted, until it formed a sheath around that cock and the prehensile end… Moved. Up. Down.

“HHhh! So- so fast! T- Too!” cried the Prince as his mouth opened and his voice broke from the stimulation and the aphrodisiac slathered over his cock by the Emperor’s tongue. Soon, his entire body would heat up, and his prostate would ceaselessly clench, sending him into a state of a continous orgasm.

Much like Jaffan. Much like the Father, whose first pair of hands were digging within Zarkon’s cheeks with such a strength they elicited blood, whereas the second were ripping the bedsheets apart.

That orgasm, those orgasms, they were an endless tide that grew and swept over his mind and body, breaking both through certainty.

Their bodies were riddled with hormones and drugs, heightening the sensations Zarkon expertly dealt to them, as he… Milked them.

Beneath his thighs, the King trembled and quivered while his testicles, inflated to the point of hindrance, were… Deflating. The skin wasn’t as taut, the flesh as round, the color as bright, the skin as perfect. More and more of that quintessence flowed upward his genitals into Zarkon, who smiled to himself while he serviced the Prince.

His mouth had no lips, but his tongue worked with a diligence that allowed the young male to enjoy the caresses and strokes. It was… blunt. It was brutal. It was… Desired.

From everyone.

Zarkon’s eyes would have rolled without his control over himself and the situation. The semen-riddled Quintessence was a boon and delight to savor. One delicacy only he knew about as he kept grinding his hips against the unresponsive King. He ground, clenched, and tightened his hole and sphincters. Even if that poor weakling had kept his wits, Zarkon would not have allowed his organ to get free and to spill any drop of that precious Quintessence.

“Hhh-… It’s… it’s too much!” moaned Kaffan, his mouth drooling while his hands dangerously approached Zarkon’s neck. An affront the Emperor chastised by smacking those hands away without much strength, yet he heard a crack. But no complaints from the lesser Male. Maybe later, once the drugs had worn off.

His tongue tied and swirled around the Prince’s cock, keeping him inside and carefully stroking his short length while the purple liquid flooded his throat and stomach, rejuvenating the Emperor. Already was he feeling stronger. Already was his headache gone. Already was… His worries afar.

Quintessence. Quintessence was all he needed and desired as it sloshed within his stomach and guts. It shinned through his scales, too, and it coated his mouth inside.

“Give… me more!” he suddenly ordered to both.

His hips moved, then. Not around, but up. Up went his legs as his sphincter clenched with enough strength to nearly cut the blood flow… But in so, they collected the last droplets coming from the King’s cock. More Quintessence had stuck to his skin, to his length. One Zarkon would not waste as he ascended, and more fluid was dragged up, feeling its warmth accumulating in his lower reaches… Until he dropped.

His hips dropped, hitting the King’s legs and eliciting a pained cry from the Beast. But then, followed another rush of Semen, of Quintessence… Without glancing, Zarkon knew that one was almost empty, his testicles almost devoid of all that harvested life.

Therefore, his eyes focused on… Kaffan.

On the young Prince who could barely keep to himself, from his moans to his prayers. That idiot cried and begged for mercy. He begged for Zarkon to stop. His legs trembled, and his broken hands were resting limp against his body, impotent. More than that, his groin clenched in rhythm with Zarkon’s movements.

His orgasms were many, wrecking that sod from the amplified shocks and the ignored refractory period. His swollen nuts, too, were starting to deflate… Though slower than Kaffan.

A young male was always more fertile and the harvest more bountiful. A thought Zarkon had as he watched that broad tongue drip from the side of that beast’s muzzle. That one’s breath was unstable, too. He would drop and fall…

In a sigh, in distaste, Zarkon raised his hips again, clenched… And lowered himself, sensing the last droplets coming from that one’s cock. Kaffan’s balls were empty… Done for. There were no more Quintessence left, and so… Zarkon pulled.

He kept himself tight all the way up, even when the wide tip forced against his rim… And he pulled that cock out without letting one single droplet out. He grunted, groaned… But he did so with care as he looked at the Son and released that pathetic manhood, watching how half of it had already been drained…

Maybe.

“I will keep you for now,” the Emperor said with a grin, swallowing and licking around his mouth, watching the weakened male drop on his backside. That one would be a snack for later… And a toy.

One that made Zarkon’s cock twitch with renewed vigor and envy as he stood up and approached. He knelt by the Bovine, his enormous testicles resting on that chest while his cock pointed to that muzzle.

Without even ordering, Zarkon had the pleasure of a tongue delicately stroking and massaging his cockhead. He sighed, smiled, and stroked that beast between his horns as he forced more of his length within…

Kaffan gagged, trembled, tried to lift his arms… But his weakened and drugged body did nothing more. He dropped, barely breathing a trickle of air as Zarkon fucked his mouth and throat, hitting the back of that head with little care for the tears streaking across that furry face. No… he smiled as he snapped, feeling an orgasm brewing in his prostate.

“What… is this, Emperor?” asked the Druid that had been by the door, waiting for the signal. That one watched his Emperor with apprehension and fear, as it should be. But he also watched the comatose older King and the desperately thrashing Prince.

“Send him back to his Kind. Tell them they’ve been relieved of Jaffan’s worthless genes. They’re now allowed to bear Galran children… And the Prince shall become one of my entertainers. For as long as he can last,” chuckled Zarkon.

And… As he looked down, facing the crying Prince, he flashed him a grin as he released his seed within that throat, an honor.

“Don’t cry, Pet. Or I’ll cut to the chase… And remove any traces of your distasteful dynasty.”