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[b][u][center]The Bonds of Church and State

For RayoElgatubelo

By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

Bishop Girgisse had been the watcher of his flock for some time. Christians were not quite in the minority in the Meradi Sultanate, but they were…well, they weren’t in the majority the way that they were in the west. They did not have the same privileges, in many ways.

That had been fine for his predecessors, but they hadn’t had to deal with the Schism.

Girgisse shifted from foot to foot as he stood in the great hall of the great Palace of Merad, waiting for his turn for an audience with Sultan Adil al-Gassimi. The Schism was causing a divide between the different Christians of the country, and it meant that their population was more vulnerable to the followers of the Prophet, and to the other minor religions that wandered through the land. The balance between them had always been kept safe, officially, by the freedom of religion that the royal family allowed throughout the country, but also by the fact that there were so many followers of both religions out there.

Now that they were splitting, breaking, that balance was at risk of being destroyed. And so, he had come to beseech the Sultan for his protection. Official protection, not merely the freedom for them to practice, but that they would be protected by the arm of the royal family.

[i]May the lord grant him a reasonable mind,[/i] he thought, bowing his head for a moment before looking up again.

He had been waiting in the same line as every other petitioner, and they ranged from lowly merchants to high nobles of Merad. Turbans clashed with high caps and they, in turn, clashed with bare heads in this great place. Robes, jerkins, vests, and more were on display, and if it were not for his own desperate moment, he would have called the hallway one of the more cosmopolitan places of the world.

As it stood, it was one more reminder of the number of people outside his own community, and the many dangers that the world had for those of the cloth and faith.

One by one, the line dwindled, until he was finally at the front. Bishop Girgisse stood with his hands folded before him, breathing the hot air of the desert country that was made worse by the closed stone hallways. It felt, at times, as if he was both standing beneath the hottest point of the sun and swimming in a boiling ocean as the walls trapped both heat and water from those that walked within the palace.

He was grateful when the doors opened, if only for the stir of air that the cracked opening provided. The Bishop bowed his head to the guard at the side of the doorway, and stepped through.

It was not his first visit to the throne room. He had come to visit the Sultan before, giving him advice regarding the population of Christians within the borders of Merad, as well as surreptitious advice regarding the other practices of the church. More than once, he had advised the throne of the activities of the beasts that wandered without the desert borders, though never so directly as to give the royal family the idea that there were such monsters as the church knew existed. That was the domain of those that followed the lord, not those that chose not to follow his strictures.

Regardless, it meant that he had a working relationship with Sultan Adil al-Gassimi, and he was one of the few to be allowed to address him by name. Nevertheless, he followed the purple carpet through the center of the hexagonal room, approaching the curtain-swathed throne with mild trepidation.

The man that sat upon it was dark, though not as dark as some of the warriors that he kept around the palace. His head was ever-swathed in a thick turban, one that hid whether he had gone bald or not in the years that he had spent on the earth, and he wore a robe that was both open to the air and yet covered him completely from head to toe. It seemed almost more a series of loose wraps than a robe, but the Bishop supposed that was the way that one would stay comfortable in this cursed clime.

As he approached the curtains, he bowed his head, an acknowledgement of the mortal powers without giving them superiority over the greater powers of heaven. The Sultan smiled as he lifted his head again.

“Ah, my Bishop.”

“My lord’s Bishop, oh Sultan,” Girgisse said, bobbing his head once more, his beard swaying. “I belong to no mortal lord.”

“Technicalities,” the Sultan said with a wave of his hand. “But I hear from my little friends that you come with more of a request than a warning, this time.”

“There are none that are under threat this day, save for those within my flock.”

“Ah, you speak of threats. I see none.”

“They are not yet here, but they come.”

The Bishop had been watching the slow split, and he had seen that there were arguments forming between those that followed the religion as he taught it and those that wanted to follow it as Rome believed. He knew that it would inevitably come to a great split, and if Rome reached out its hand, then there would be nothing that he could do. They needed something, somewhere, to take shelter.

He lowered his head, bowing once more to the greater Sultan.

“I come to beg the protection of your hand.”

“My hand? Is not your god’s touch sufficient?”

“Against all the hordes of demons, yes, but against the hand of men, we must see to our own protection.”

“Ah, and you believe that I will give it?”

“Your soul, though not held in the loving embrace of my lord, is kind and wise. You would not see your subjects brought low merely through a disagreement of the faith.”

“Indeed, I would not see any hurt…though we may have disagreed on that in the past.”

The Bishop blinked, momentarily thrown off his own mental track. He shook his head, trying to push forward.

“I beseech you, Sultan. Reach out and name my flock as protected.”

There it was. He had other ways of phrasing the request, but the main one had been made. Girgisse had a number of thoughts of how that might have been accomplished, how his people would be safeguarded, but if the Sultan dismissed him out of hand from the start, then there was no point in pushing further. He had to know where he stood.

The Sultan tapped his chin for a moment, looking at him. Girgisse did not move, even as his skin crawled from the way that the other man looked him up and down. There were many appetites that were common in this part of the world that were against all that he taught. He tolerated them where he could, and preached against them as he might.

He could tolerate a stare if it meant that there was a chance for his flock to survive.

Eventually, the Sultan nodded slowly.

“You accept, then, great Sultan?”

“I am willing to accept, though there are, of course, conditions.”

“I will hear them,” he said. “Surely, they cannot be that harsh.”

“First. There are those among your congregation, specific individuals, that have caused great harm in my lands. I will see them punished before I reach out my arm to protect you and yours.”

“If they have caused harm, great Sultan, then that is well within your rights,” he said, “though I cannot imagine who they might be.”

“I have your word, then, that they will be dismissed and rejected, upon being named?”

“If they have caused harm to you and yours, then I will support this. But only if they have caused harm.”

“I have your word?”

“Of course,” the Bishop said. After all, it was hardly likely that there were many. And if they had already started fights with the Muslims of the country, then he needed to get rid of the bad apples.

The Sultan smiled, and suddenly, the Bishop wondered if he had lost something, something key to his position.

“Then you will disband the Redhoods this night.”

Girgisse stopped breathing for a moment, his eyes going wide. His face paled, his hands shook.

“How…when did you…”

“I have known of them since you began advising me, old friend,” the Sultan said. “I have known of them since you started telling me where they hunted. And who.”

“…”

“If you are to stand at my side, if you are to feel the protection of my hand, Bishop, then you will dismiss them. They are not welcome in my lands from this moment forth.”

“But they…they hunt…”

“They hunt me and mine,” the Sultan said, and for the first time in their many meetings, he reached up and removed his turban.

As it was set to the side, two large ears, fox ears, rose from beneath the cloth that had covered them. They stretched upwards, long and twitching, flicking from side to side. They were akin to the ears of the desert foxes, the ones that would run and burrow and dig through the sands, whose ears were almost bigger than they were.

Yet, they sprung from someone who, until this moment, the Bishop had considered human. He took a step back from the throne in shock.

“Keaton…”

“That is what I am,” the Sultan said, nodding as he folded his hands over his lap. “And you have hunted many of my people.”

“They are monsters.”

“Is that what you would call me, then?”

“…”

“I am one of them, and I will protect them. I am willing to protect you, as well, but not at the cost of the others. Do you understand me?”

“…I understand why you ask this.”

“Heh…you will need time to decide. I understand. But you will stay in the palace until then,” the Sultan said, putting his turban back on a moment later. “That will be the first condition of my protection.”

“And the second? Human sacrifices? Women to be rutted? Children to be eaten?” the Bishop spat.

“Hardly. Merely yourself.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“Yourself,” the Sultan said, smiling as he leaned back on his throne. “You have a fine body, Bishop, and I believe that you would look even finer beneath me, squirming and begging for the touch of your Sultan’s shaft.”

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. It was not just against church doctrine, but against all that they believed. He sputtered, trying to find the words for how wrong it was, how much it offended him.

Yet, the Sultan merely stared at him. There was no further demand, no further humiliation. It was a true offer, and a better one than he would get from most any other lord in the land. Certainly, it would come with better gains for him and his people than he would get from any Christian lord that would look his way.

“I…must have time to consider this.”

“Consider as you will. My guards will escort you to a private room. I will come to you tonight for your decision.”

And doubtlessly with a means of execution if he decided against taking the offer. He could not imagine that Sultan Adil al-Gassimi would risk this secret leaving the palace. Regardless, he bowed to the other man – the keaton – and made his departure. He had scarcely walked through the doors before two guards intercepted him and walked him towards the royal apartments.

#

Time passed, and it did so with a rapidity that terrified him. He knew that his decision would be due upon the Sultan’s arrival, and he had still to make it.

Did he betray all that he believed merely for a moment’s safety, for his own life? He knew that it would be down to him to make that decision, to decide whether his faith was worth his life, or the lives of his congregation. When it had been merely the possibility of failure, he had been brave, but now that he had to imagine himself submitting to the very beasts that he’d ordered the hunting of…

And yet, at the same time, he [i]knew[/i] the Sultan. For all that they disagreed on matters of faith, they were of one mind when it came to the rights of man and beast, of the way that the people of the Sultanate should be treated. They believed in the dignity of life, though the Sultan certainly had a way of looking at it with more hedonistic pleasures than the priest did.

Regardless, he remembered their debates and arguments with fondness rather than anger, even when he had been unable to win. For all that it was wrong to take a man in bed as a lover, he could see himself…tolerating it.

Not enjoying it, certainly, but tolerating it.

[i]For my people? Or for myself?[/i]

He leaned back on the bed he’d been provided, his hands brushing through the silk that covered the mattress. They were sheets of such richness that nothing that the church had could compare, and he could imagine all too well that the Sultan might wish for him to stick around, to stay in the palace for a time to ensure that he could be trusted. This would be a regular thing, if he gave in. If he betrayed his principles.

The idea should not have been so tempting.

Bishop Girgisse sighed, leaning forward against his hands. The idea that the Sultan himself was one of the very beasts that the church was supposed to hunt had shaken him to the core. They were monsters, unable to think, unable to reason. The little mind that they had left after their transformation was suitable for seduction and for the low cunning that allowed them to hunt man in the first place. It should not have allowed for the ruling of a full nation. No ruler had ever gone that far once they had been transformed, save for perhaps a few legends that were not true beasts, but rather cursed folk.

He put that out of his mind. The truth had been revealed. What he had to decide now was what he was going to do with it.

[i]I could send a messenger…[/i]

It was unlikely that the runner would reach the church, however, and less likely that he would be believed. It would be decided that either he had been caught and was trying to throw the blame on someone else, or that he [i]and[/i] the Sultan were beasts, and they had had a falling out. He would be doomed regardless, and the faithful would be stripped of their rights when they tried to rise up against the Sultan.

Or he might try something himself. The beads he wore were connected with a silver wire, and he had other accessories that had a trace of silver among them. He could fight, perhaps even go so far as to mark the beast so that others would know what the keaton was. That was unlikely to work, though. He imagined that the Sultan would come to him expecting a fight, despite their long friendship, and he would be right to think that.

That left but a single option, and one that he didn’t like to imagine.

[i]I cannot die. I cannot just let them down…[/i]

Though it made him sick to the stomach to imagine doing what was asked of him, he would. For the sake of his people…

And the silk sheets below him.

The hours passed, and the door finally opened. The Sultan himself, in all his fine silks and linens, stepped inside. The guards remained outside, and the door shut behind the other man. The monster. When they were alone, the Sultan once more took off his turban, setting it to the side and sitting on the one chair that was in the room.

“Have you decided, old friend?” Adil asked.

“I have.”

“And?”

“I…will take your offer.”

“I had hoped you would.” The mostly-man’s ears twitched slightly as his smile grew. “Then we will start with the disbanding, and then move on to the more…pleasurable aspects of the night.”

“If we must.”

“Come. Be cheerful. I promise you, no woman will please you the way that I will tonight.”

“I have never had a woman.”

“Not once?”

“No.”

“Ah, then this will be most enjoyable, indeed…”

The Sultan reached into his clothes, pulling free paper and laying it upon the desk that was pressed against the wall. He stood from the chair, pulling ink and a quill from the drawers, and then gestured to it.

“As you will.”

Girgisse sat down, penning an order that he had never thought that he’d need to write. This order alone would be enough to get him excommunicated by Rome, and he had little doubt that it would happen as fast as they could hear that this had happened. The church did not suffer heretics to live, and he would be considered one for doing something so dangerous.

He penned the order to disband the Redhoods, even going so far as to banish them from Merad and the Sultanate in general. As he wrote, he could feel Adil watching him from behind, and he shivered.

The moment that it was done, drying sand was cast across the ink, and a bit of wax was dripped upon the paper. He pressed his ring to it, sealing the order to his authority, and the keaton took the paper from him.

“And now, from unpleasantness to pleasure.”

“Must I?”

“You must, if you want this.”

“…Will I become…like you?”

“Heh…not tonight. Perhaps, in the future, but not tonight,” the Sultan said, guiding him from the chair to the bed. “I will see you become someone powerful, Girgisse. My Bishop you will be, and you will be rewarded.”

They stripped, not as quickly as Girgisse would have liked, but also not as slowly, either. His robe was discarded, leaving him in nothing but flesh pale and wet with sweat and worry. He blushed, feeling exposed in a way that he had not been since his teens. Despite only being in his thirties, his body had already started to slim down in the limbs, losing the muscle that he had had as a boy, and with a slight gut that had started to grow from his scholarly lifestyle. His body hair was thicker than he’d like around his groin and elsewhere, and he felt like it hid things that might have been rather pleasant to show.

The Sultan, on the other hand, was as dark beneath his clothes as he was above them, and it made the Bishop wonder how often Adil took those wraps off when there was no one watching. He was oiled beneath his wraps, too, his skin shining, and surprisingly fur-free in many places. Even down between his legs, where many men would have a thick thatch of hair, he was bare-skinned, looking as if he had been trimmed and razored just that day. His shaft hung down, long and firm, with a heavy sac behind and a full foreskin that covered him completely.

It was a very masculine look, and one that made him uncomfortable in ways both old and new.

“How do we…”

“Are you afraid, my Bishop?” the Sultan asked with a smirk.

“No.”

“You are. I can smell it on you. But as arousing as that is…and it is [i]very[/i] arousing…” The Sultan paused, twitching his cock upwards with pure muscle control, making it bigger as it grew. “You need not be. I will not be cruel… though I will be…rough.”

Girgisse was about to say something, something about how that wasn’t better, but his words were stolen from him as the Sultan began to change. His eyes widened as he saw the soft cream and tan colors pushing from beneath the other man’s skin, running out from the chest first, and then along the shoulders and arms. It spread in soft waves, like sand slowly clinging to the other man.

As it spread, the Sultan groaned in apparent pleasure, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck as he was transformed. As the fur spread cross his body, it seemed to bring with it a litheness to the monarch, making him both stronger and slimmer at the same time. He was not the burly soldier that many of the warriors about the palace were, but rather a figure that moved with a grace that belied his form. Something that was feminine and masculine at the same time, beautiful and handsome.

To his regret, his cock started to rise as the transformation continued, and he sat down on the bed to wait, watching it with his fingers slowly curling through the sheets in guilty fascination.

The Sultan seemed to savor the transformation, enjoying himself, running hands that were slowly growing claws along his sides and over his face. His head stretched, nose and lips coming together and slowly cracking, slowly grinding forward. Lips pursed and stretched backwards, a smile turning into a jaw-clenching growl as teeth grew and shifted and dropped and changed. Sharp fangs replaced flat teeth, and that smile turned into something far more dangerous and predatory.

Those ears, already large, grew slightly larger, looking as out of proportion on the Sultan as they did on the real fox of the desert. He shivered, seeing them sway slightly, twitching, turning and tilting to catch every sound that could be heard.

The fur spread down, down, cupping at the Sultan’s rising shaft, holding it at the base and pulling it upwards. The dark skin started to shift, going from a brown to a red, and then from a red to a crimson. The foreskin peeled back, dragging towards the base of the shaft and becoming something like an animal’s sheath. No, exactly as that, something that held the tapering cock tightly and forced it into a specific direction.

Cream-colored fur sprouted from the other man’s sac, and the sac itself swelled, growing larger, heavier, and it hung down like a champion stud’s balls. The Bishop had never seen a man so well-endowed before, and he doubted that he would ever see it again.

As they grew, the soft crick-crack of something else growing caught his attention. He tried to see what it was, but there were no clues until –

CRACK!

The keaton almost stumbled off his foot as something wriggled out behind him, and the Bishop stared. A long tail had burst free, sprouting fur and growing bushier as it arrived. Then a second followed, and a third, and more besides. Each one slithered free as if it had a mind of its own, moving like a serpent through the sand.

Eventually, seven bushy tails stood out behind the Sultan, each one shimmering in the low light of the candles in the room, each one seeming to glow of its own light besides. As the Sultan leaned forward, his feet cracking as they grew fur and claws, he realized that the transformation was nearly complete. The price for his submission and protection would come due soon, and that would mean…that would mean taking that…thing…

He could feel the sweat running down his body. Fear-sweat, he was sure, though he couldn’t honestly say. He gritted his teeth as he watched the Sultan, now a fox, a fennec fox on two legs, shifting from one altered foot to the other. He stood on his tiptoes, now, and he had a different voice. Slightly higher, slightly softer, but no less powerful.

“There…I am ready.”

“I…I can hardly believe…”

“You will.”

“…”

“Turn around, my old friend.”

[i]I shouldn’t do this, I shouldn’t do this…[/i]

But he’d already signed and sealed the order for the Redhoods. There was no going back now. If he was going to sell his soul to the beasts, then he might as well get the payment for it at the end of the day. He turned around, resting his hands on the bed, and no sooner had he done so than he felt a furred hand grip him between his legs.

He huffed, hissing softly as he felt the tight grip of something inhuman down there. To his shame, his cock started to grow almost immediately. The years of chastity were not helpful to him in this regard, and he groaned under his breath as he felt his member betraying him to the bestial Sultan.

“Not bad, Bishop. Not bad at all. Not as large as mine…but not bad…”

The heat of the Sultan’s shaft followed, rubbing between his cheeks. Girgisse gritted his teeth, trying to think of anything besides the fact that he was about to be sodomized, but when you had a large, animalistic shaft between your cheeks, rubbing up and down near your hole, there was very little else that one could think of.

He leaned forward a bit more, not sure what he was thinking or doing. All he knew was that he wanted to be further from that cock. Climbing onto the bed, he felt Adil following him on, and soon, he was on all fours. His cock was pulled back between his legs, the head brushing against the fox’s balls, and he realized that he was in the perfect position for getting rutted like the Sultan’s vixen.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine of disgust and trepidation.

The tapered cock of the fox rubbed against his pucker again and again, and it oozed pre-cum against him every time. There was so much of it, too, running along the space between his cheeks like a fountain that was on the verge of exploding. He felt like he was being drenched in slime from behind, and he curled his toes and gritted his teeth.

“Just…just do it,” he muttered.

“Trust me. I will.”

“Just…do it!”

“Do you think you can command your Sultan?”

“I –”

“You are mine, Bishop. Finally, you [i]do[/i] have a mortal lord…and now, he will claim you.”

The tapered tip brushed his hole again, and this time, it pushed. Girgisse gasped, his eyes going wide as he felt pressure going in for the first time in his life. He had avoided the fate of many novices, never getting the touch of a priest in his youth, but now…now, he was getting something worse.

The heat that followed from the initial penetration was far stronger than he expected, and he gasped for breath as the soft ‘pop’ that followed left him feeling broken in. He slammed his fist down on the bed, grabbing for a cushion, for something, anything to muffle the groans and whimpers coming from his lips. There was heat, friction, sheer size and hardness back there, and it forced him further and further open.

The tip brushed something inside of him that sent a little spark of pleasure through to his cock, but it was meager, too small to distract him from the sheer sensation of being filled. Further, further it went, and only the distraction of the occasional stroke along that spot inside him and the Sultan’s grip on his own cock kept him from completely losing himself to the discomfort, the shame.

[i]I’m being…being fucked…like a woman…[/i]

The thought sent another feeling of shame down his spine, leaving his face burning as he closed his eyes tight. This was for his people, he told himself. This was for his flock, his faithful. If he didn’t do this, they wouldn’t be safe. If he didn’t do this, he would lose everything, and so would they.

Adil pushed all the way in, eventually, and he could feel the beginning of the other rather animal bit of anatomy all the way down at the bottom of that dick, that throbbing thing on the verge of growing too big for him to contain. He groaned as the Sultan pulled back, not taking the time to let him get used to it. After all, that wasn’t part of the deal.

‘Pop’ went the growing knot, already big enough to drag at his pucker, already big enough to start making itself known. He gasped, wheezing for breath as he was filled again, the Sultan burying his cock with force, slamming in, fur to flesh and flesh to fur and everything drowned out compared to that thick, spreading, heated feeling that was building up inside of him.

Worst of all was the slimy feeling that came with every thrust, the squirting pre-cum that was already filling up his guts. He could feel each slimy thrust sending the flow further into him, running deeper than the cleansing flows that some of the nuns in the medical houses tried. He gasped as he felt it starting to fill his stomach, occasionally belching and tasting something foul as it went through him.

“Nnngh…ulp…nnngh…”

“You will remember this for the rest of your life, my Bishop…”

In, out, in, out, that cock moved. He could feel the tip rubbing that little pleasurable bump inside of him again and again, distracting him more and more, and he started embracing that little jolt of pleasure every time he felt it. Corruptive? Perhaps, but he needed something to take his mind off of the swamp of slime and goo that was building up in his stomach and down in his hole.

The Sultan loomed over him, now, holding him down and rutting him with all the force that he could bring to bear. That knot had stopped popping in and out, only grinding on him now, but it was more than enough to remind him of just how much that was going to spread him any second now. He gagged, gasping, swallowing hard as he could feel something running up from inside of him. His stomach felt taut, tight, the skin stretched beyond what it should have been, almost like he had eaten too many full meals.

[i]Impossible…impossible…[/i]

He burped again, feeling some of the thick, salty slime running up against his tongue from the wrong direction. He gagged –

“Mmmph…mmmph…”

And the Sultan slammed forward. The thick knot ground against his hole for a moment, then another. He felt the strain, felt his body trying to fight back, felt the flood of seed already inside of him waiting to come loose, and then –

POP!

In it went, and what followed was a geyser beyond anything that he had ever imagined. The first pulse made his stomach hang down from all the extra liquid that he was forced to take, and the second left him spewing goo from his mouth. White, clear, and more, it came flooding past his lips, dripping down to the bed below.

With each successive throb, more keaton juices stretched his stomach, and the excess only had one way to go. He vomited it up, never tasting his stomach, never tasting the foulness of the acids or the bitterness of what must have been further down. The keaton’s seed drowned out everything.

It continued for almost a minute, leaving him in a messy bed, something soaked in slime. He shivered as he felt that knot stirring him up, not quite pulling out, but not quite giving him mercy, either. The Sultan sat him up, holding him on his lap, and Girgisse gagged again, coughing with how much seed had come up.

“Heh…you will remember that.”

And then, the Sultan kissed him. He didn’t know what to make of it, but he knew that he had sold himself to a most unchristian thing. He just hoped he’d get enough to make it worth it.

[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]

Summary: A priest of one sect of Christianity is trying to safeguard his people by making a deal with a local ruler. It doesn’t go well.

Tags: M/M, kitsune, keaton, human, priest, sacrilege, anal, fondling, masturbation, knot, knotting, creampie, hyper orgasm, orgasm, vomiting, vomiting cum, transformation, fennec, desert, humid, heat,