The Prized Concubine
Forced to be a hostage, Richard will become more than a simple trinket in Gurush's collection
Commission for Gigaguess (FA)
The Prized Concubine
Forced to be a hostage, Richard will become more than a simple trinket in Gurush’s collection
The chains crashed with every step he took, the steel biting his wrists and ankles like a vulgar prisoner. Yet, it was with the chin up and a regal blue gaze he walked forward.
“You do not need those chains, you can remove them,” he said, his voice gravelly but under control. Even though he had been stripped of his armor and gold, he remained in control of his body while poked and pushed ahead.
“We have orders.”
Orders, he scoffed.
A while ago, it was him, King Richard, who gave orders to his soldiers and men to lead against the Orc army, pushing against the green tidal wave. A while ago, it felt like, though it had only been a few days since his surrender and his capture by the Orcs.
Finally, he was stopped and the chains yanked so he would kneel in the middle of the oversized tent Gurush-gro-Kash used as his “palace”.
The vain Chieftain exposed his conquest in it through trinkets, statues, hung tapestries, or any item of importance. All the gold from those exposed rings, dangling from an extended wooden beam above the throne, existed to prove how much kingdom Gurush had plundered. Likewise to the marble slabs onto which were written words Richard couldn’t read, but whose ante might have left a Kingdom in shambles.
Yet, all those riches were only ornament, decoration Gurush used to prove his worth… And not invested, because that’s what Gurush was: a conqueror and destroyer.
A thought Richard kept as he scowled, his gray brows dropping while his chiseled jaw tensed, his lips pursed.
Richard remained on his knees as he looked up at the smug Orc, grinning back.
“My newest prize. Isn’t he beautiful?” asked Gurush, glancing at the cohort of Orcs generals, nodding and approving all the same. They would have clapped if Gurush had asked them to.
Still, Richard grunted and fought against the chains holding him down. He pushed with his legs, muscular from fighting all his life. He pushed with his chest and arms, developed from defending his Kingdom. And the Human stood up, with all the glory a mere brown loincloth cinched around his waist could permit.
His body was just as chiseled as his face, exempt from fat as he lived without excess. His age showed in the form of a long well-maintained beard, long white hair dropping over his shoulders, a wrinkled gaze, and a plethora of scars. The latter traced the many wounds he received, concealed underneath the body hair peppering his chest, belly, arm, and lower belly.
“I am here, Gurush,” said Richard, stern and immovable despite the jabs in his sides. “Because you promised my Kingdom would be spared. Honor your words!”
“I promised that?” asked Gurush, still leaning over his throne made of ebony wood, from some exotic land. Fit and muscular, the aging Orc exuded disinterest in Richard’s plea. Muscular to a fault, hairy with tufts of gray hair on his green chest. He, too, was covered with scars but completed with swirling tattoos depicting beasts or blades, enemies Gurush felled; the Orc should know the importance of Richard’s request. However, the disdain was palpable. And was a palpation of Gurush’s barely covered groin, of massaging his bulge concealed solely by a flimsy silky fabric reinforced with golden filigree and adorned with jewels of all colors.
Still, one General bowed and whispered to Gurush’s ears. He frowned, rolled his eyes, and waved the Generals off: “Well, get the army away. We still have the Eastern Coast to pillage.”
Richard sighed, letting go of the weight pressing on his chest and shoulders as he looked at the Generals leaving, emptying the room until there was only Richard, Gurush, and a cloaked figure in the back. Even the guards left as the tent’s flap dropped, with only the lamps illuminating the gargantuan tent instead of raw daylight.
“Thank you, Gurush. I will honor my words and remain in your cus-”
“Strip.”
“Sorry?”
Richard blinked as he looked at Gurush, still stroking his groin through the silky fabric before the Orc grunted and ripped it apart.
“’Gives me the itch!” scowled the Orc as he exposed his Orchood, another prized possession from the half-hard spire, whose foreskin couldn’t cover the bulbous dark-green tip, or his imposing scrotum dangling at the throne’s edge. “Yes, Human. Strip for me. That’s why you’re here.”
“I…” Started Richard, exhaling to recover his composure. “I was here to be held as a hostage.”
“Ah… My fault. You are a part of my collection, now.”
“Your collection?”
Gurush snapped his ring-covered fingers and glanced at the cloaked figure, nodding, then returned to Richard.
“My collection. I collect riches. But your Kingdom is too poor, too worthless. Except for you. I never had another conqueror in my collection.”
“You-”
Richard’s voice cut when he felt something akin to a cold-breeze caress his nethers and arms. He looked down. The chains holding his wrists and ankles were gone, vanished. But so was his loincloth that had been covering his modesty. For one Human, expected not to be as endowed as other races, Richard showed a generous prize. His testicles might not be as large as Gurush, but they filled one’s palm easily. And his cock, while not nearing the ten inches from the Orc, was around the seven inches which was quite impressive for his size.
Yet, as his uncut shaft dangled between his legs, Richard felt cold… And colder as the cloaked figure approached.
There was a stench following that Orc, even as he removed the cloak to show his pudgy face, peppered with a thin reddish beard, and red eyes. Or so, an aura Richard felt as he scowled.
“A mage,” he said, frowning.
“A Shaman,” countered Gurush. “But the distinction is lost on you, savages.”
Gurush mocked Richard, disdainful. But the Human remained stoic. Or he tried as the Shaman moved closer and had one hand reach for the Human’s chest.
One hand Richard swatted.
“Nunhun.”
A raised brow and Richard’s gaze was on Gurush’s disapproving finger.
“Let my Shaman do his work, or I’ll resume my campaign.”
“What stops me from fetching a blade and killing you?” scoffed Richard. Sure enough, Gurush’s collection contained blades, even shimmering ones.
“Him,” said Gurush, still smug. “And my blades. Even if you win, you’ll lose your Kingdom and… Your sons.”
Richard’s scowl grew. He only had his Sons from his previous wife, leaving them behind had been hard enough. But their death…
No, Richard sighed and let his shoulders drop.
“Fine. Do whatever you must, Mage.”
“Shaman.”
Shaman, right. Nevertheless, Richard looked at the Orc’s chubby face and the glimmering grin as the soft-fingers, untouched by war, danced on Richard’s groin. They stroked his lower belly, passed on the pubes, brushed the strands, and went as far as stroking the base of Richard’s cock.
Despite his will and desire not to be taken, Richard felt blood rush to his organ. Even as he thought away, as he tried to ponder about war or numbers, they always killed his mood, it got no result: he was erect.
His cock throbbed and stiffened, the veins bulging beneath the fair skin while the tip took a redder shade that spread down to the middle. And well, here was the cock that had claimed many girls before he settled with his wife.
A cock hard, throbbing, and stroked by the Shaman’s fingers.
“What is he doing?” scowled Richard, barely hiding his disgust for both Gurush and his “Shaman”.
“Shhh. Let him work, human,” said the Conqueror, one finger to his lips.
All that time, Gurush had not moved one second and his hands, covered with tattoos reminding of scales, went on his cock. They went on his shaft, on his dark-green cock that, too, started to grow hard and erect. The organ, contrary to Richard, was not pointing directly up but followed an arch until the cockhead pointed upward. And through Gurush’s ministration, the cock started to spurt fluids all over itself; a thick and sticky liquid.
Way more dense than Richard’s as his cock, too, started to throb and release its load, the droplets landing on the refined mat, depicting a Dragon slain by an archer, or on the Human’s tufty balls.
More… Something was strange.
The Shaman stopped his stroking, yet Richard felt his cock stimulated. More so, he felt the pressure around his cock, a phantom touch on his balls. No… He felt his entire groin getting swallowed by fingertips, by shy touches that did not exist but he experienced.
Likewise to the burn on his lower belly, mixed with the smell of burnt hair and burnt flesh.
“Wha- What are you doing?” asked Richard, gritting his teeth and tensing his legs. He looked down, noted the Shaman’s fingers had been removed. But on his lower belly, brazen lines appeared on the skin, like seared. A spell? Lines were forming and twisting, drawing one large canal and then two branching paths ending with two orbs. Around that symbolic, more twisting and curling lines were adding up, like knots and ropes, which culminated as they encircled the branches and the canal, forming atop it… A heart.
The moment the lines joined, Richard felt it.
An explosion. The touching and shy strokes turned into a ceaseless satisfaction. A desire he couldn’t contain. His cock, from the base to the tip, was afire. His testicles were massaged, held, and squeezed. His lower belly burned as Richard tried to grit his teeth and endure.
“What cur-HRMPH!”
Richard dropped on his knees. On his hands as he felt the heat at his cocktip burst and turn into an orgasm, a release. His balls lifted, his cock throbbed, his mind and soul were taken by the sudden pleasure. Even his jaw dropped and his eyes watered.
Such an orgasm, such an experience, such a delight.
Nothing could compare to it, not even Richard’s wife, not even the whores he ravished, not the princesses he had “claimed”.
Nothing could compare as that climax ran through his spine up to his skull and he blanked. Blanked for a moment before he sharply inhaled, his nostrils dilated, and looked at the mat. He had drooled on it, he came on it. Both fluids smeared the fabric as he tried to control himself, to… Get a grip of himself.
He gritted his teeth again, closed his eyelids. He breathed again, filled his lungs, and pushed against his hands until he was on his knees, capable of facing Gurush.
“What… Curse is this?” asked Richard, frowning at the Orc who happily stroked himself. His stench filled the tent, with a beastly musk. Gamey, bloody, rusty. That was Gurush’s perfume as he happily squeezed more precum out of his cock and massaged his nuts.
“You shouldn’t care about me, Human,” laughed the Conqueror, pointing at Richard. No, at his groin.
Richard lowered his gaze. The cursed tattoo remained there, and finally the Human could make out the form. It resembled… A womb?
But no, the Orc didn’t point at that but at Richard’s still erect and red cock. Despite the potent orgasm that had left a few trails of cum on the mat, the spire was rigid and eager for more. And eagerly explored by the phantom touch.
Yet… Did it look smaller? Shorter?
“You-HRMPH!”
Before Richard could utter more, another shock hit him. Another orgasm. This time, however, he was ready. The Human stood upright, enduring the tension wrecking his body, the pressure on his limbs, on his lower belly. But as he stood and remained still, Richard saw it.
He ejaculated, certainly. More white ropes shot from his organ, up in an arch before landing on the mat, stopping way earlier than the former ejaculation.
However, his eyes weren’t focused on the semen dripping and clinging to the fabric. Neither the droplets sticking to the exposed tip and the corona, nor the frenum. No, he watched how his cock throbbed and became… Smaller. Through and through.
He watched his erection shrink before his eyes, with his cock throbbing and yet losing in volume, in girth, in potency. He observed his manhood dwindle and wilt like a plant, losing in beauty and might. From the seven inches he had used to make girls cry and beg, he went to five inches. Yet, it seemed the rest of his manhood followed the same trend.
His testicles were smaller, way smaller, and they were tighter to his body, too. And there was… A tension.
“You-”
“I don’t need a King to my collection. But a Concubine’s fine,” said Gurush, smug, while handwaving the Shaman. “Finish this. He has soiled one gift with his seed. I don’t want any more mess.”
“Yes, Warlord Gurush.”
Richard frowned and scowled. He… he was getting emasculated before his very eyes. And to Gurush, it was only one mess, one detail, one more prize to his collection. Richard opened his mouth to shout.
And shout, he did.
But not for the good reason as another orgasm hit him. He closed his fists, had his nails biting his palms from the pressure he applied on his fingers. He had his ankles tense and burn. He even cramped his hamstrings. But the pain, even from biting his tongue as an attempt to control himself, was naught.
Naught compared to the pleasure he was bestowed in the form of climaxes. Continuous.
Mind-numbing. Will-Breaking. Soul-wrenching.
He couldn’t appreciate this. It was forced on him. But as much as he desired, Richard couldn’t oppose the waves of pleasure sweeping across his body. Nor stop his eyes from glancing at his cock, at his manhood.
Each inch he lost, it was another stab to his pride.
Each throb stealing his length, it was an assault on his name.
And each orgasm tying his scrotum closer to his groin, it was… Another take for Gurush.
Steadily, surely, Richard watched how his cock shrunk and became nothing but a nub of flesh clinging to his groin, likewise to his scrotum and his prized jewels. Yet, the orgasms continued far beyond the moment his climaxes went dry.
His scrotum had fused to his groin… But it also… Opened?
Pink arose from the dark-brown skin, like a line whose origin was at the middle of the scrotum and traced both up and down. From it flourished folds: the scrotum folded upon itself, releasing growing skin whose peachy color was followed by a sweet and honeyed aroma.
For his cock, for his spear, Richard watched how the line, the orifice, joined it and his cock formed the limit of what was to be… A vulva.
“I’m… not… A woman!” shouted Richard, his countenance back for a second before it was taken away by an orgasm. Different, feminine, internal.
The vulva contracted and with it, soft honeyed juice spewed out while Richard’s dick changed to become a hooded clitoris. From there, it was an internal change as the Human felt his organs churn and twist, tormented by the Shaman’s magic who, no different than his Warlord, happily stroked his bulge through his robes.
Perverts as they were, they did not care for the Human’s suffering and pained grunts, or the displeasure he felt at having his guts rearranged. A pleasure the orgasms no longer soothed. No, no more orgasms. Only that alien feeling of having something else, something new, carved into his groin and to watch it present itself as a hairy and drippy vulva, the labias already gaping… Fitting.
“Hhh… S-Shit,” mumbled Richard, putting a hand on his thighs. He dared to approach one finger, one index to-
“How does it feel, my Concubine?”
Hot. That was how Richard felt it. A searing presence reminding Richard he had been “cursed” and “claimed”. His body was not his anymore. And as he heard Gurush’s heavy footsteps, he was aware he would be branded in a whole different way.
So he looked down, touching the burning labias before… Well, he smelled it. The Orc’s spire. Green, greasy, with heaps of precum spread over the dark-green skin.
Richard frowned at the affront, but as soon as he took one single inhalation… It hit him.
His cunt started to ache and clamp, to pressure on his daring index finger while he looked up, at the smug Orc. There was no way Richard could escape that Warlord’s grip.
“It feels wrong,” growled Richard, frowning.
“I don’t know. Slaves find it enjoyable… Especially my presence,” said Gurush as he held his cock by the base and started to rub it against the Human’s face. He smeared that greasy precum over that beard and those cheeks, over those lips. Worse, Richard couldn’t resist the aroma as his stoic mask dropped, so did his aching jaw, so did his lolling tongue.
“Monster,” he managed to whisper, his voice raspy.
“Husband.”
“N-Never.”
Richard could cling to the fact that he was not that Bastard’s husband. But for how long? How long until that aroma broke his mind and will? Until he would allow his cock to sample the perfume that had turned so alluring, tempting?
A question unanswered as Richard felt something cold press against his neck. He didn’t look down, but Gurush held a golden chain and with a tug, he guided Richard to the throne.
On which the Orc sat, his spire erected and dripping.
“Sit on it. Feel your Husband’s cock.”
“I- Hate you,” gargled Richard, reaching for the golden collar around his neck. But stepping closer.
“Our treaty, human.”
“Y-You never said I had… To like it.”
“True.”
Gurush’s tusky mouth split into a grin as he pulled and reclined further, forcing Richard to nearly knee the Orc’s genitals.
“Get on with it, the heat will be gone once it’s inside.”
Inside… Well, with Richard leaning forward, that cock was almost inside. But it wouldn’t be so easy. The constant tugs were there to tell Richard to act faster and not to tarry. Each second, the pulsations within his chest and groin were bringing another ounce of need and brutal desire that wrought Richard’s heart.
Enduring that? He couldn’t. Not as he felt Gurush’s cock rub against his clit, his wilted manhood.
“Do not make me wait.”
Another taunt. Richard clenched his teeth. Hard. He climbed on the throne against his better judgment. And… As he positioned himself, he felt the Shaman’s unseen hand helping him and steadying his posture. It cupped his posterior, rubbed it, too. But it helped Richard be on his knees and have… His vulva right by the Orc’s bastardly cock.
“Go on. You want it.”
No, he did not. But steadily, Richard descended. He felt the pressure of that thick tip against his labias, spreading them. He felt… Well, the tension that peaked as he was about to be taken by a cock much bigger than he was.
But… No pain. No pain whatsoever even as an unseen finger played with his asshole, and… Gurush had one inch inside. The first, but the most important. The most humiliating.
And the most pleasing as the rubbing sent Richard shivering, crying, moaning… And climaxing. Climaxing not like a man, with his cock erect and shooting. But like a woman, his honeypot delivering its juices and coating the green spire, the heavy testicles… The groin.
“I- I hate you!”
-
“Where went your defiance, little King?”
Richard couldn’t answer. Not that he would like to. But the Warlord’s ringed fingers plunged and played with his tongue. The calloused end stroked Richard’s teeth, poked at them, but never would Gurush’s dastard touch would near the uvula.
No, Richard wouldn’t be retching and throwing up, though he desired to.
He desired as he tasted Orcish cum and sampled the flavor of ass. His own ass. His sweaty ass whose orifice had been played, stretched, given to the Generals so he would learn how to serve Orcs. Each day… Each night like that one, Richard would have to return to Gurush’s tent.
His body reeked of Orc sweat and cum, his breath was heavy with the smell of the dicks he was forced to suck. And worse… There was the oil Gurush’s shaman consistently applied on Richard’s neck and thighs to make his scent more “feminine”, therefore appealing to Gurush.
Humiliation after humiliation, Gurush was a perverted bastard. Nevertheless, a good lover.
A good lover whose cock nudge and again poked at Richard’s vulva, the sole untouched and unsoiled hole today. After an entire day sucking Orcs, smelling them, cleaning their sweaty belly and limbs… His cunt was afire, burning. Likewise to his womb tattoo that glowed like another lamp.
“You-” coughed and spat Richard, dislodging those calloused fingers. “You… Know why.”
“Elaborate, my Concubine.”
Richard scowled and frowned at the honeyed words whispered to his ear and the tusks biting his nape. But his lips would remain firm and locked, only giving the Orc a defiant glare through the mirror before the bed. Today, Richard was the little spoon, not that it changed much. But Gurush’s cleaned fingers descended along his pectorals, his abdominal waist, on the hips, then the thighs to lift the legs. To pull them up and stop the rubbing in-between. Instead… To have his thick cockhead rubbing against Richard’s aching cunt.
“Silence? You wouldn’t deny me this pleasure,” said Gurush, pumping with his hips to rub his cockhead against the entrance. Oh… Richard tried to resist but he had to grit his teeth. “Suit yourself, then.”
It stopped. The grinding, the presence.
“Wa-Wait!” shouted Richard, looking at the mirror toward the Orc that almost rolled out of the bed.
“Well?”
Gurush’s question hung in the air as Richard heaved. His cunt ached, his cunt burned, his cunt… Gaped. Without anything inside because it was missing it, missing something Richard hated as much as he could, but loved.
“I… Want you, Warlord.”
“Hmmm, hmmm.”
“I need you.”
“Hmm…”
Gurush’s voice was low, but he was so damning, so tempting as he moved back and bit Richard’s ear. It was what Richard had done to his wife before. Yet, not anymore. Here, he was the one bitten, with the neck covered with hickeys, the body battered and sore. But as much as pain coursed through his veins, it was nothing compared to that lecherous need.
One that was almost appeased when the Orc’s thick cocktip pressed against his vulnerable and feminine entrance to penetrate it. In… one… Movement.
One thrust and Gurush entirely hilted himself within Richard, stealing his breath while the Human’s lower belly bulged from the penetration. But with it, the pain vanished. Followed instead blissful pleasure, satisfaction, climax.
No longer did Richard ejaculate as a man. But so followed the truth he could experience more orgasms than before. Lesser, shorter, but more numerous. Ceaseless. Constant.
Constant as the movements inside his vulva, driven by the Warlord’s drive to breed and the pumping hips. Gurush’s stamina was almost daunting, and only another Warrior could endure it. Maybe it was why Gurush fancied Richard as his Concubine?
The thought had occurred inside the Human’s soul, and again it did as the Orc’s balls smacked against his labia, making them burn and making him wince.
But far from making Gurush stop, the cry seemed to drive him to go faster, deeper, stronger. The Warlord did not restrain his movements as he began to hammer Richard’s inside, plowing and taking that vulva like someone else would take it.
And with it, Richard’s inner walls clamped and held on tight, slowing down the shaft and massaging it but never stopping the course. Never stopping the Orc in his breeding lust.
Richard soon found his neck bitten and his chest massaged, forced to endure the caresses and fondling like the Concubine he was to be. Yet, it was in the mirror he saw the bulge beneath his belly move up and down, how he saw the spurting juices drip from his vulva onto the bed: whether Richard’s or Gurush’s.
But the worst was to witness his own stupid smile. Richard could not hide it, deny it. Oh, he enjoyed the many orgasms ascending his spine and body, making even his deepest and most profound thoughts fuzzy.
That damned Orc was ravishing him after he had beaten him. Yet… yet… Yet.
“Damn… Bastard,” groaned Richard, feeling his resistance eroding away. That damn Bastard was beating his cervix through and through. But the Shaman’s enchantment and womb tattoo stopped any pain… Allowing him only pleasure as the Orc’s grunts went lower and deeper. As the grunts were intensifying, coming close, and-…
Bliss.
Bliss swallowed Richard. Took him, captured him. His mind drifted as he felt echoes of pleasure and desires swarm his lower belly. As he saw the Tattoo’s glimmering color almost vanish, grow dull. Something… Was wet, warm inside his guts, he felt it. He knew it. And so he felt the pangs, the sparks, the little touches of electricity that formed deep inside his lower belly.
Through the mirror, Richard saw Gurush’s blissful expression, too. And he saw the Orc’s semen dripping from his ruined cunt, soiling the hairy thighs and silky sheets.
He… it happened.
Gurush conquered him, conquered Richard’s cunt. A truth the Human knew intimately and instinctively, like a wave washing over him and erasing everything, every part of his being until remained one detail: Blissful.
Blissful breeding.
-
“Is that true? Is that bastard back?”
“Yes. I don’t know how, but he persuaded the men not to alert me until now. I don’t know where the guards are.”
“I don’t care. I have my blade and so do you. We’ll cut the Beast’s head off ourselves!”
A nod. A silent nod and the two Humans were on the same diapason, even though they didn’t wear any armor, solely ceremonial blades. Even then, blades were made of steel and therefore perfect for cutting the head of the Orc army.
But why had Gurush returned? And why did the guards not warn them? Those questions were the same for Leon and Charles, the sons of the late King Richard. They ran through the empty corridors, finding no guards as they neared the throne room.
Not even a servant, nothing.
Fear clung to Charles’ chest, the youngest of the two and the one looking the closest to his Father with his long braided hair and beard. Leon was the oldest, but he looked younger without a beard. However, the scars and short-cut hair gave Leon a fierce look as they both entered the throne room with their ceremonial attires.
“Welcome! Welcome if you have grievances!”
“Gurush!” bellowed Leon, frowning. And frowning more when he saw all the guards and servants standing in the room, waiting and watching the two sons with a glint of fear in their eyes. “What is this?”
“A visit.”
“A visit?”
Charles’ question continued as he walked. Most guards were humans, theirs. Only a handful of Orcs were by the throne, bored and uncaring. Among them was Gurush, wearing… Nothing. Not only did the Orc sneak inside their Kingdom, but he soiled the Throne with his naked body… With that Whore he had at his feet, kissing those toes while bound with a collar and chains.
“Yes. A family visit. This is something my kind values. Our parents, siblings, and children, are important to us.”
“Cease this farce!” shouted Leon, pointing his blade at the grizzled Orc, pointing right at one scar running across the Orc’s chest, one brought by Leon’s hand. “Tell us where our Father is before we kill you!”
Silence.
Gurush frowned, looking at the blade tip. Then, he glanced at the Orcs around him, then looked at Leon as the Human continued to step closer. Only a dozen of feet away, a short distance to cross for a fighter. Yet, the Orc was unafraid. No, he even gloated.
“Do you hear that? I told you, it would happen!” roared the Orc, echoed by the laughs from his Orcish guards… And the nervous laugh from the nearby crowd. “They’re so stupid!”
“Cease… This… Farce… Tell us where our Father is. You dared to enter our Kingdom, you will-”
“Hey… Tell them, bitch.”
With a disdainful kick, Gurush pushed away the Whore that had been kissing his feet. Not that he was interested, but as soon as the “Bitch” rolled out, the Orc reclined and grabbed his cock, stroking it while everyone’s eyes were on the chained Human.
The white hair was dirty but not grimy, those forms and that roundness were befitting of a pregnant woman… But as the “Bitch” started to turn to face Leon and Charles… Well, they were bound to recognize that grizzled face that had been part of their lives for so long.
Richard was different, no longer the same. Those eyes seemed almost blank as they went over Charles and Leon, his sons.
“Are you the new Whores?”
More laughs from the Orcs and Gurush, more strokings from the Warlord who sneered at the red-faced Sons.
“Here’s your Father. It has been one year, almost. But he wanted to see you… I guess,” said Gurush, returning to his typical disdain. Disdain he maintained as he snapped his fingers, catching Richard’s attention.
“Come here bitch, I miss your mouth.”
Hastily, Richard turned and twisted, pushed against his legs and started to heft that round belly that had been weighing him down. Pregnant, yes, that was the truth. The womb tattoo on his belly no longer glowed, but the stretch marks and the complete rotundity were enough to tell he was pregnant. That and the constant fluids dripping from his vulva. Vulva his Sons could see when Richard knelt by the Throne, his legs spread. They saw their Father, a brutal and mighty Warrior, come worship Gurush’s green cock like it was the sacrosanct gift to mankind. More than that, the old Man was not afraid to reach between his thighs to toy with his orifice, to finger it while those spread legs were enough to divulge Richard’s swollen and creampied asshole.
He did not even look back at his Sons. No, Richard went solely for Gurush’s arched cock, covering the tip with kisses.
“Wh- Why are you here?” asked Charles, keeping his composure while his Father retched. “This is not…”
“I did not lie. I went to see my family,” chuckled Gurush, poking Richard belly with his right foot. “I would like to unite my family before Bitch gives birth.”
“B- He has a name,” gargled Leon.
“Had. But he gave that away. Your Kingdom, his name, his lineage.”
“Y-”
Gurush handwaved the answer, snapping his fingers as the Kingdom’s senechal, selected by Richard before his disappearance, stood out from the crowd and spoke up.
“My princes. Gurush is right. Your… Father signed it all away. King Richard is no more. Gurush is our new King. Richard is… His queen.”
The gaunt human looked grim. But grimmer when Gurush laughed, ignoring the suction from Bitch sucking his fat cock in the middle of the throne room. The Human gargled and gurgled while cumming and pissing all over the mat.
“That’s right. But say… I have a few more places for two more concubines,” said Gurush, watching the Humans’ blades vanish, erased with a single spell. “Why won’t you join your Queen?”