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(All characters mentioned herein belong to the Walt Disney Company, with the exception of Akase, Busara, and Makedde which belong to John Burkitt and David Morris, authors of "Chronicles of the Pride Lands". Of course anyone who does not like M/M sex, seeing non-anthro lions mating, or Rule 34 raping their childhoods should not be reading this, nor anyone under the age of 18. Lastly, contrary to what might seem to be the case, Simba is NOT underage in this story: it explicitly takes place on the day of his mantlement ceremony, i.e. the day he is considered an adult by the rules of the pride, and I never once describe him as looking like a cub in any way, and never would: I am most vehemently against underage sex in any shape or form.)

A Father's Blessing

The sun was just cresting over the eastern horizon, its shimmering rays of rose, mauve, honey, and burnished orange washing over the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro to pick out the details of leaves on the highest branches of the acacia trees as they stood as lone sentinels on the flat expanse of the savanna, flowing like golden water over every crevice and ridge of distant kopjes and boulders. It was a morning like any other in Africa, making the Pride Lands come alive with wonder and glory as it had for more mornings than leonine memory could recall. But each time he saw it, Prince Simba was just as awed and entranced by its power and beauty, never forgetting the sheer majesty of the land in which he lived, the land that would one day be his to rule.

And today, it promised something more. Or so his father had told him.

A long, leisurely stretch, with his rump thrust high above his lowered forequarters, his tail lashing lazily from side to side, each claw extended to the utmost from its sheath, until his shoulders popped and his back arched pleasurably, was followed by a massive yawn to expose his gleaming fangs to the dawn light. Then, with a warm nuzzle to his mother Sarabi, and another to his best friend Nala, he shook out his growing mane and padded out of the pride den.

Climbing the well-worn ledges to the peak of Pride Rock, he could already see his father Mufasa sitting atop the summit, as he had for every morning Simba could remember, gazing out over his kingdom--everywhere the light touched--while awaiting his son to come for another lesson. Of course, this special, private time with his father had changed over the months, and not just because of the content of the lessons.

Ever since that day what seemed eons ago now, when Mufasa had rescued his son from the wildebeest stampede at the gorge and then banished his brother Scar for his part in the treacherous events, there had been an undeniably powerful connection forged between them, a bond stronger even than that of father and son. They had both almost lost each other that day...and as Mufasa had said the night after the elephant graveyard, contemplating such a loss brought a fear more intense and overwhelming than anything he'd experienced.

That fear, and the equally intense determination not to allow such a tragic day to ever occur again, had driven Simba to put aside his cubbish ways and to be a true son and prince of the kingdom. He'd never been far from his father's side after that, and while he still retained his playful nature and a youthful tendency to get into trouble, he never allowed it to lead him into deliberate mischief anymore.

And while it would be many weeks before Mufasa would trust him to come along on patrols, Simba was always waiting for his father's return, and was always the first to greet him when he came home. Scar's wicked scheme to tear them apart, even kill them, had instead drawn them even closer together, a fact which had to canker the old villain's soul--assuming he still lived and hadn't been torn apart by his hyena henchmen or thrown himself off a cliff somewhere.

Simba smiled to himself. Another change in the relationship, naturally, had come with the attainment of his adolescence. Although nowhere near the size of Mufasa, or the size he himself would one day achieve, he had grown a great deal and now stood only a scant few inches short of the king's shoulder, a fact which made him inordinately proud. And he had also grown his mane...or at least the start of one, a scruffy and admittedly pathetic example, and one that invariably flopped down into his eyes at inopportune moments. But it was his, and in the words of the old sacred ritual, it was the sign that the favor of the ancestors was laid upon him.

He'd heard from Zazu, as well as a few other far-traveling ibis, that there were lions without manes, somewhere far to the southwest. But he couldn't imagine it, or how the males there managed without them. True, the cursed hair was itchy and hot, and encouraged him to stay out of the deepest heat of the day. But that was actually a good thing, to judge from his father's rather disturbing descriptions of animals he'd found delirious and dehydrated on the desert hardpan, and had to put out of their misery. And perhaps it suggested too much store was placed in the lion's mane, for surely fathers in these maneless prides had other ways of instilling confidence in their sons.

But damn, will I be a looker when I've got a mane like Dad's!

Even as these thoughts were running through his head, Simba's paws were leading up to the peak, until at last he stood at his father's side. For the next few minutes he could only keep half an eye on the sunrise, as the rest of his attention remained fixed on Mufasa. The enormous lion remained an impressive and astonishing sight, and it was not at all difficult to understand why he had such power, why he was such a respected and well-loved ruler in the Serengeti. And why Simba himself could still feel such a deep and abiding hero worship for him. No matter how much he himself grew, he knew his father would always loom large in his life, in one sense or another.

Then, too, there were the feelings he kept to himself...the feelings he'd been having ever since he first hit puberty...for it was hard to deny that Mufasa was also an incredibly arousing and masculine lion. Even beyond the well-developed musculature anyone could see and the rumbling voice that seemed to reach deep down inside and latch onto something primal and hungry, there had been the time Simba caught his father after a mating with Sarabi. The glimpse he'd caught of the king's anatomy was enough for him to risk a little clandestine spying--and once, he'd managed to observe Mufasa at the waterhole from downwind, and gotten quite the eyeful when the king took matters into his own paw, and muzzle!

The memories of that still burned within him, and danced behind his eyes when he first began experimenting in his own self-pleasure. He'd started to notice Nala, too, of course, and to find her intriguing in ways that had nothing to do with friendship. But there was something else at work in the complex connection he had with his father. Something that called to him, resisted whatever denials and refusals he attempted, overcame whatever barriers he had to what surely must be an immoral act, something that would dishonor him before the Great Kings. Mufasa was another male, and his own father...and yet there was an illicit appeal.

As if he'd read Simba's thoughts, his father suddenly spoke. "I know why you came here, son, and I promise you, today you will receive all you desire."

"Dad...?"

Mufasa turned his heavy head to him and smiled encouragingly. "Today is your mantlement ceremony, Simba. Today, the entire pride shall know you are an adult lion."

Hoping his cheeks didn't flush crimson from the entirely inappropriate spin he'd put on his father's words, Simba sighed and smiled too, unable to keep the love and respect from his voice. "I know, Dad. You can't know how much this means to me...how much I've been looking forward to this day."

"Of course I can. You've never left me alone about it, not since I first told you about it when you were a cub." At Simba's flattened ears and glum expression, Mufasa only laughed softly and reached over in a decidedly un-regal gesture to ruffle his son's mane with his huge paw. "Seriously, son...I know this is not a day to be taken lightly. You are following in the pawsteps of our forefathers, and that is why I wanted to make sure this day was particularly special for you."

The paw slid down the side of his head to rest on his shoulder. "Much is expected of you, and from here on, you will have many more responsibilities in the pride. There will be even more for you to learn, and still more for you to demonstrate as an example to others. But today, at least, will be different." The king's face turned away, his golden eyes dimming, lost in some private, haunting pain. "It is a day I once feared I would never live to see...a day that means all the more because it celebrates your life, and the close bond we share."

Just thinking about what would have happened if Scar had succeeded in killing either of them brought tears to Simba's eyes and choked his throat with a solid lump. "We don't need a ceremony for that, Dad. I thank the Kings every day and every night for having mercy on us. I never take you for granted...you mean the world to me." Once he might have felt self-conscious, making such blatantly 'mushy' statements about his father, let alone to his face. But after the gorge, he never wanted a day to go by when he might regret something said...or left unsaid.

"It wasn't mercy, son. The Kings simply decree that each thing must happen in its own time. It was not time for you, or for me. And they gave us the chance to mend our ways, to make up for past mistakes...for blindness and wishful thinking." The king's visage was as plain to read as a cloudy sky before a thunderstorm--sadness and regret warring with anger and bitterness. But after a few moments contemplating these solemn, self-recriminatory thoughts, Mufasa suddenly seemed to shrug them off, like a layer of savanna dust, and then smiled again.

"But that wasn't why I called you here. The past is behind us, the future ahead. And I wish you to know of the joys that lie in that future. This will be a day for relaxation and play, not kingship and duty. But there is one thing you do need to add to your education. Something that has been passed down through the Pride Lands, from father to son, always on the day of his mantlement."

Simba quirked a brow, puzzled and curious. Part of him secretly hoped what this might be, but the rest of him knew better and clamped down on such ridiculous and lustful thoughts. After all, even if they weren't wrong, his father would never... "What's that, Dad?"

Now Mufasa rose to his paws and shook away the last drops of morning dew clinging to his pelt in a scattered spray of crystalline light, and then he turned and gave Simba a frank, knowing expression. "Today you are an adult. That means, son, you need to know everything an adult knows. I hope you won't embarrass us both by making me be more explicit. You do know how cubs are made, don't you?"

Despite the sensitive nature of the topic, Simba felt relieved. At least this was something he could deal with, something he knew about. Something that kept him from pursuing his suggestive thoughts. He shot his father an annoyed and exasperated look. "Of course I do, Dad. Mom told me all about it." Nevermind that I learned more than she'd ever dream of telling me, when I met that young zebra in his first rut...

"Hmmm." This noncommittal reply was followed by a rather playful expression as Mufasa began to saunter in a slow circle behind him. Simba tried very hard not to notice how similar this activity was to the way his father acted around Sarabi when it was mating season. Or how there was a decidedly strong tang of male musk to the air. And what was that odd shadow he saw before his father's hind leg moved in the way...? He tried to focus on his father's words. "I see...but do you know the full extent of a lion's...needs, son? Or what he can do to...relieve them?"

There was definitely another meaning implied, one that made Simba swallow hard. Perhaps this wasn't safe territory after all. "If you mean what I think, Dad, I already know about hollow logs and old honey badger dens." Now he knew his face was crimson. As crimson as his father's... Stop it.

Mufasa made a disgusted grimace, tsking under his breath. "Oh, there's much more creative and pleasing ways to do it than that. You truly are a novice, aren't you? Did I ever tell you the story of my father Ahadi and his mate Akase?"

Momentarily thrown by the seeming change in the subject, Simba blinked. "Um, no..."

The Lion King chuckled softly, shaking his head in some bemusement before continuing. "Well, son, suffice it to say that my mother had what might be called a delicate constitution. Despite my father's best efforts, Akase seemed unable to carry any cubs to term, and in fact each time she was to birth, she came very close to perishing herself along with her unborn offspring. It came to the point that Busara, the mandrill shaman at the time, stressed in no uncertain terms that if she were to become pregnant once more, she would not survive, even if the heir she produced did. Obviously they found a way around this, since with the help of Busara's apprentice Makedde, your uncle and I were born. But that is a story for another time.

"The important thing to remember," and here his voice became stern and impassioned, as well as a trifle imploring, "is that Ahadi had no wish to place the life of his mate in danger, certainly not for something as trivial as the needs of the flesh. At the same time, he could not deny these urges existed...something had to be done to alleviate them. Something which had been taught to him by his father, which he taught to me...and which this day, I will now pass on to you."

Even as Mufasa related this tale, he never left off his deliberate, purposeful circling of the promontory--in fact each circuit brought him a pace closer as he spiraled slowly inward. That, coupled with the increasingly overpowering scent in the air, made his desires and purpose clear to Simba even without the suggestiveness of his words. And as he paused now and then to emphasize a point, or in his son's estimation to simply show off his kingly physique, the prince could no longer ignore what was now proudly unveiled to his sight, swaying from side to side where it hung between his father's widely-spaced hind paws.

Whether because of close proximity, his own shameful yearning for it, or Mufasa's equally strong need for his son--a possibility that made Simba's head swim at its headiness as much as its unlikelihood--the reddish flesh now exposed and dangling from its furry protective sheath seemed larger than he ever remembered it. And not only was it pulsing visibly thicker and longer, even as he stared with eyes he knew had to be as large and round as the full moon, but the very tip glistened with something silvery and wet...something that slowly trickled out in a long, sticky strand to splash on the sun-warmed rock. All the signs were there...the king was ready for mating...and it was Simba himself who had prompted this reaction!

It can't be...Dad wouldn't...but he said Grandfather and he... Looking up wildly from where he realized he'd been blatantly ogling, the bewildered adolescent met Mufasa's gaze--a blend of wise understanding and, oddly, a beseeching hopefulness. There was no mistaking it...his father truly wanted this, and it was not only a satiation of masculine loins, but something private, tender, and infinitely loving.

In spite of himself, Simba swallowed, feeling deeply moved. Such a strong, respected, and honored lion...a brave and noble king renowned throughout the Serengeti. And he wanted to grant his son something like this, something personal, to share in a closeness offered to so few. How could he turn away from something his father so obviously needed? Especially when he'd been fantasizing about this very thing more and more the last few months...

Of course at that moment, the king broke the solemn and beautiful moment with a suggestive wink, and Simba shook himself as if breaching the surface of a freezing jungle pool, his face an even brighter scarlet. What was he thinking?! "Wait...Dad, I don't--no, this can't be right!" Jerking his head from side to side, he scrambled back several paces until he stumbled and sat down hard on his rump. Unfortunately this not only made him look a clumsy laughingstock, it exposed his groin to his father's view...and he was quite obviously aroused.

Mufasa arched his eyebrow even more sardonically, a very knowing smirk on his muzzle. "Your words say one thing, your body another, son. And why do you think this wrong? Producing cubs is not the only reason we were given these urges. It is true that when Aiheu fashioned our ma'at, darker instincts and cruelties were mixed in by mistake. But this is not one of them. Aiheu gave us such needs because He wished us to celebrate life, to truly enjoy and revel in His creation...He offered us pleasure as one of His greatest gifts."

Even as his voice became more passionate and intense in its rhetoric, Simba saw that the Lion King's erection had not flagged an inch--in fact it seemed to be swelling, thickening, and throbbing all the harder. He swallowed. "It is not a sin to indulge in such things with another male, Simba. We are always ready to mate; lionesses are not. If we lie with one another, we sate ourselves...this spares us from forcing ourselves upon them, and they from having to claw us until we desist. It is those acts which would be truly wrong and wicked." Again he circled his son, now openly licking his lips in a lascivious manner while a vigorous purr rumbled in his throat.

"B-but..." The adolescent didn't like the cubbish whine in his voice, but couldn't help it. "But you're my father!"

The enormous golden lion chuckled softly, somehow more amused than offended at the nature of his protest. "Who better to teach you of such things? Who would make certain to give you the most pleasure possible, to truly show you how to be an adult, without bringing you any undue harm?" For several moments, the blatant lust in those amber eyes he had always adored faded into genuine concern and caring again. "You don't need to be afraid, son...I promise, I will be very careful, as my father was with me, and his with him. This is to be a time of union and love, of joy and passion, not pain and torture. I would never hurt you...you know that."

And then the slightly roguish, suggestive grin was back. "Besides...I know very well you've been, ah, admiring me for the last few months. There is no shame in it...I did the same to Ahadi, it is perfectly natural. This way, you can satisfy your needs, fulfill a fantasy, and learn how to be a lion all in one."

Simba was still very much torn up inside--his father's assurances that he would not hurt him, and that neither Aiheu nor the Kings would judge him poorly for such an act, struggled against the notion of doing anything so unnatural with his own father. But he did say it was a tradition in the Pride Lands going back generations, and none of the kings had turned out worse the wear for it.

And there was the growing heat in his own loins...he couldn't tear his eyes now from his father's member, as if it were a choice portion of meat he longed to devour, and almost against his will his own penis was oozing, dripping, and drooling preseed into the grass between his hind legs. He also couldn't help but notice that the amount he was putting out was swiftly catching up with his father's...and the scent in the air was just as rich and potent. This made him obscurely proud.

Tearing his gaze away to look back up again, cringing in spite of himself--at any moment he expected this all to be just a long, lucid, realistic daydream, and he would soon be backhanded and punished severely for daring to covet the very organs which had generated him--the prince instead saw a warm, loving, and inviting look on Mufasa's blockish face. "Go on...it's all right, Simba. Do whatever you wish with me...this is your day. Everything you do and learn will only make you more of a lion in my eyes."

Blushing furiously--or was that a flush of overpowering arousal?--the adolescent swallowed once more, since no matter how quickly his mouth produced saliva, it seemed to evaporate in seconds, leaving his throat as parched as the Sahara. Then, nerving himself, he rose to his still oversized paws and tentatively approached his father's side.

This close, the scent was even more intoxicating and intriguing, its unusual headiness drawing him in like insects to sweet-scented jungle flowers. He wanted to smell it right in his nose...it was the essence of his beloved father, it made him feel even more connected to him, more loved by him. And his doubts, fears, and discomfort were fading away as something else grew stronger--a need to find out just what his father tasted like, too.

He hadn't even realized his body had obeyed his yearnings, but before he knew it he was ducking his head down, right under where Mufasa's belly sucked in, past the broad flank of his thigh...and there it was, bobbing and swaying majestically as it hung from his sheath like the limb of a baobab, its own great weight making it jerk and swing even when his father wasn't consciously flexing his groin muscles. Dark pink, and growing closer to red the more blood swelled its once-spongy length, its underside covered with the same spiny barbs as Simba's own (though much larger of course), arching up at just the right curve to press hard into a lioness...or inside a muzzle...

Purring softly, he glanced up once more to make sure this was all right...saw Mufasa's bright eyes and encouraging smile...and then, closing his eyes, Simba plunged forward, opening his muzzle as wide as he could so as to take that slick, pointed tip into his maw.

It filled his muzzle instantly--a taste so rich, so flavorful, so strong that he would have almost choked even if not for his father's appreciable girth. He gasped sharply, eyes widening in disbelief...and then immediately he squeezed them shut and caught his lips around Mufasa's shaft, suckling harder than he did to draw the marrow out of bones, harder than anything in recent memory, most likely harder than he did to draw milk as a cub. He simply had to get more of that delicious taste, directly from the source...and he wasn't disappointed.

For with every purse of his lips and lap of his tongue, more of that slick, sticky fluid escaped from his father's tip, leaking and spurting heavily with each of the Lion King's heartbeats. It seemed to spray out from that barbed tip so quickly and copiously that one shot started before the previous had even ended, so much being produced it couldn't get out fast enough. It sang on his tongue, it overflowed his mouth until it dripped and ran down his chin...and he loved it.

That, and the strange, exotic flavor of his father's flesh itself, had him harder and more aching than he'd ever been in his young life. But he did nothing about his dangling phallus, instead focusing all his attention and energy on the delectable gift he'd been offered, what he'd been dreaming about, secretly, for so long. Bent down beneath the king's taut belly, muzzle plunged into that musky, shadowed gap, nosepad filled with the musk of a male lion in his prime, and paws braced firmly against Mufasa's spread thighs, he set to work at once.

Won't Dad be surprised? he thought a bit smugly, as he began to apply what he'd learned from that zebra--his education wasn't as incomplete as his father thought...

Mufasa's response was instant and immediate--Simba heard, even through the great king's fervent groans and grunts, the sound of his claws scraping across the ancient stone of Pride Rock, even gouging out furrows. And this was accompanied by those golden haunches shoving toward him with eager motions, plunging the thick, tapered length into the prince's mouth. He barely had time to gulp down air and then breathe through his nose (filling it even more with that King-sent aroma!), and to open his jaw wide to accept the throbbing pink flesh.

At first he thought it was merely because the Lion King had gone without mating for a rather considerable time, or perhaps (the thought made him blush profusely as well as shuffle his hind end restlessly) anticipation of this exciting moment. But then he realized his father was reacting in exact response to every purse of his lips, swirl of his sandpapery tongue, and firm suction. He wasn't just pleasuring Mufasa, something he had never dreamed could actually happen, he was doing it so well it had his surely experienced sire already rutting.

Pride surged through him, and Simba took a deep breath before plunging back onto that unyielding limb, taking it as far back as he could go and applying even more pressure to its solid heat. Thanks to that zebra practice, he was in fact able to engulf the entire thing, his nosepad planted firmly in musky groin fur, his lips flush with skin, his chin bumping against that heavy pair of leonine nuts.

The thought he was only inches away from the very place where he had been before birth was so illicit, but also so thrilling, that it made his own cock surge and slap hard against his belly in the same manner as that zebra stallion's had, something that made him even more proud--as his father had told him, he was indeed announcing his manhood!

Taking another breath and then working his jaw looser, he once more drove himself into place, pierced his own gullet with Mufasa's pointed tip so that that delicious musky fluid spurted and oozed down his throat...and then worked his tongue out between his black lips, past the base of that crimson lion dick...until finally it flicked and stroked over the upper curves of his father's balls. Again, and again, and again. In time with his bobbing muzzle and belling cheeks, so that he practically inhaled the pre, and with each brush of his tongue over those orbs the veined expanse of the king's haunches flexed and tensed under his paws, shoving forward once more with another grunt of effort and need.

He lost track of time after that. Considering his father's arousal and the swiftness with which lions achieved their peaks (he himself had been no different, the first time he'd licked and suckled himself to orgasm), it couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours. Hours of pure bliss, hours in which he felt, oddly, closer to and more connected with Mufasa than he ever had, and not just literally: somehow being able to feel his father's heartbeat in his mouth, to taste his fluids, to feel every twitch and throb of his shaft, seemed to bond them all the more. It was exquisite and wonderful, all he had dreamed and more, and he never wanted it to end.

In a way, the adolescent got his wish. Soon enough, time came out of its eclipse and he heard the great king's roar from above, resonating throughout his powerful body as he unleashed his first copious load, shot after shot of seed so musky and intense it made his head swim (or was that also from his delirious happiness?), gulped rapidly down his throat to keep from choking but still prolific enough as to overflow his lips, run down his chin, and leave a telltale white stain around his mouth.

But after this short but potent display of masculinity, Mufasa pulled back with a shudder, paws kneading at the rock as he continued to throb and jerk fitfully, splattering the last few spurts of his seed onto the ground. And despite having just released, his erection swung heavily from his sheath, not losing an inch of hardness.

"Hhhrrrr...oh my, son...you are a natural at this. It seems this is one lesson I barely have to teach you." His father stepped back and smiled down at him, that fiery hunger never leaving his amber-gold gaze. "But there are many more left to teach. Shall I show you what they are?"

Simba didn't hesitate; all sense of this being disturbing and wrong, even his rather justifiable fear of what would happen when his virginal tailhole tried to accept Mufasa's quite girthy endowment, disappeared like sweat off an elephant's back at high Serengeti noon. He wanted to please his father, he wanted to truly be an adult, he simply wanted it. Was this how lionesses felt when they were in heat? "Yes, show me..."

"Then turn around and get in position for me, my boy. I know you have seen it before, you know what to do." Indeed he did, though he still wasn't sure which had startled and embarrassed him more--catching his father and Sarabi at it, or his father and one of the many other lionesses in the pride... "Raise those fine haunches for me, and let an old pro show you how it's done..."

Hearing Mufasa speak of this now, so boldly, openly, using those familiar words with an entirely different and decadent meaning, simply hearing them in that resonant, rich voice, set off a visceral reaction. And if that didn't do it, seeing the Lion King slowly and deliberately circle his paw in the air, as he had once done to Zazu but again with a completely different meaning, would have.

Moaning in flagrant desire, Simba whipped about at once, planted his forepaws on the still warm stone, and thrust his hind end up as he'd seen the lionesses do it, tail hiked out of the way for ready mating. Hoping he didn't look too ridiculous, he peered back over his shoulder, already panting...his father was so tall, he should still readily fit beneath him...

Spying that lurching length hanging below the king's belly as he approached with calm, confidence, and even conquest in that noble visage, Simba swallowed hard--but then splayed his hind legs a bit more and gritted his teeth, waiting for that moment when he would truly be a lion.

It happened sooner than he expected, yet also not nearly soon enough. In seconds, with a scrabbling of claws on stone and a bunching of powerful muscles, Mufasa was leaping, pouncing atop him in a mirror of old cubhood games given an entirely new connotation. That great weight settled onto him, bearing him downward until he braced himself, drawing on his own burgeoning muscles to stiffen his legs and shoulders, and then Mufasa's own forepaws caught the majority of his mass. Even then, he still felt his father's body pressed intensely close, thick fur brushing and rustling against his own, the radiating heat of it--especially from his loins--and it was all so satisfying. It felt right, like he belonged there.

Not that Simba felt inferior, or subservient, or that he could never imagine being in his father's current position, although who could possibly deny Mufasa's authority, masculinity, and dominance? It was that this was his father. Of course he ceded control to him, of course he accepted the lioness's role...there was so much to learn, and this was the only way to do it.

For a few moments more, though Simba had no idea how a willpower that iron could exist, his father restrained himself, shifting his hips about slowly, even tenderly, grinding about against his narrower, uplifted haunches--surely to find the waiting opening, even to loosen and prepare it, though he was sure it also had to be to work up his lust to the breaking point. Then, as he bent down, bringing his muzzle to the back of Simba's neck to lick, then nibble, at the growing scruff of his mane, the Lion King finally growled, "Now you are a lion..." And he drove into Simba with a slow thrust of his thick, tapered tip.

Mufasa tried to be gentle, just as he'd promised, Simba could tell--he could actually feel his father's whole body tremble with the conflict, his urges telling him to thrust, pound, drive into that tight, wet heat as rapidly and uninhibitedly as he could while his mind told him to keep his son safe and protected. But even working those few inches of shaft back and forth had Simba biting his lip, groaning, and crying out...it was so thick, and he was completely unused to anything penetrating him there, that he was trembling too. But he endured--and he wanted more. After all, once the pain was past, it had to feel better, right? He simply had to get it over with. So...gradually, he began to rock back and forth, working himself little by little onto that pulsing length.

It did start feeling better. Eventually. But what he discovered was that, even before that point, his eager and encouraging motions along Mufasa's shaft was exciting his father far more than he'd expected. Glancing back up over his shoulder, he spied a look he never thought he'd see--his own sire's face twisted in an expression of unconcealed lust, eyes screwed shut and gritted fangs exposed, a constant growl vibrating in his throat. It was enough to make his pawpads break out in a sweat and his insides turn to water...even as his tailhole actually constricted tighter around Mufasa's member.

Soon enough he couldn't resist anymore, despite the still aching pain under his tail. He needed more. And so he picked up the pace, rocking back and forth with increasing momentum, digging his own claws into the rock for purchase so that he could drive back into his father's groin as firmly and vigorously as he could. He was rewarded by greater trembling from the king's hind legs, until Mufasa finally panted, "Son...ohhh...are you certain you want to do that? Much more of that...and I...I won't be able to hold back..."

"Yes. I...I want it, Dad. Please...please take me like a lion, the way you want to..." Simba swallowed, throat dry, for he knew what he was asking for. Yet he couldn't help it, he needed to prove himself...he just plain needed this. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and thrust back hard--completely impaling himself on his father's length.

A reverberating roar echoed around Pride Rock and across the savanna--actually, a twin roar, as Mufasa was as overwhelmed by the sudden tightness completely surrounding his maleness as Simba was by being so utterly filled. At any other time Simba would have been proud of the fact he could finally roar so impressively at all, let alone so similar to his father, just a pitch or two above him. But just now he was lost in the indescribable sensations...including the intense lust flaming inside him that pushed him to draw away until only that tapered tip was within him--then thrust back again, just as hard.

That did it. With another bestial roar that would have been blood-chilling if it didn't make Simba's whole body shake with an aching yearning, the Lion King drove forward again, this time latching onto Simba's neck scruff and growing mane quite securely with his teeth...and his son discovered why this mating bite was necessary, since otherwise his body would have been shoved forward with each pound of his father's hips. Again and again he slammed into Simba, his lusty growl never leaving his throat as he plowed him with an uncontrolled abandon that took Simba's breath away. How long had it been since his father had sated himself? Was his lust just this powerful? Or...could he have wanted Simba this badly?

Whatever it was, he had to dig his claws into the rock to leave deep scrapes himself just to keep himself in place--and Mufasa didn't stop. Relentless, needy, possessive, he claimed the tailhole being given to him and made it his own; Simba was sure it wouldn't be the same after this and he would be walking quite funny for several days. It was a good thing he didn't have to do the hunting! But even though his rump was already aching, his inner walls being stretched by that girth until he wondered if they would ever return to normal, he didn't want it to stop.

He wanted to feel his father's balls slapping him with that arousing rhythm. He wanted to feel his pointed tip spurting out slippery pre to coat him, soothe that burn and ease his passage in and out. He especially wanted Mufasa's cock to keep rubbing against something deep inside him, a nub of flesh he hadn't even known he'd had but which felt incredible when stroked and ground against.

So he did his best to please his sire...trying to clench his inner muscles, to squeeze and massage and bear down on his shaft each time it entered him, giving his father the best time he could. It didn't hurt that...this made it feel ten times better to himself as well. He could smell his rutting musk in the air, as well as the scent of his own pre as it heavily splattered the stone beneath his belly...and strangely, it was turning him on even more! Though at this point, everything seemed to be doing that...

Panting until he thought he'd pass out, Simba yet refused to give in, instead maintaining the stamina that proved he was a lion, even steadily increasing his pace until he had matched Mufasa's...and was even starting to surpass it! In, out, in, out, he rode the Lion King's length until his hips were as much a blur of motion as his father's, and as the burning within him became nothing but pleasure he found he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. And neither did Mufasa.

Which was proven only a few moments later. With another fierce roar, the older lion pierced his tailhole all the way to his thick base, hind paws scrabbling on the rock, and as he throbbed even harder than before, Simba could actually feel his father's sticky, hot seed gushing madly inside him, sheathing his shaft and making a deliciously wet, slippery bed for it to delve through. And each time Mufasa impaled him and then drew back, the king's barbs flexed and caught at Simba's inner flesh, sending incredible pulsing waves of pleasure mingled with pain through his young body.

Unsurprisingly, by the time he began to come down from that blissful sensation of riding on the whirling winds of the savanna sky, and the Lion King had slipped back into a slow, gentle, rocking rhythm that only moved his member a few inches back and forth under his son's tail, Simba realized he too had spilled his cub-making fluids on the ground. He was also growling and moaning softly under his breath, his whole body twitching, shuddering, and tensing in time to his panting, and he was still rigidly erect. So was Mufasa.

That seemed to be enough incentive for his father. Before Simba had taken more than a few deep breaths, the heavy, muscular body atop him began to grind, thrust, and hump again--and with his tailhole already filled with seed, it was even easier to drive that thick member into him, and it felt even better. "Oh...Dad...just like that, you can--?" He knew that when he had found ways to pleasure his adolescent self, those urges had always seemed rather strong, not readily sated, but he'd had no idea that meant...

"Nnnfff...yes, son..." Mufasa grunted fervently, his breath hot on the back of Simba's neck. "I told you our...mating urges were strong. And...it takes many attempts...hrrr...to produce cubs..." Simba shivered in arousal. Just how many? Would his father take him just as often?

It seemed he would find out. For the next several minutes, the Lion King's hips rose and fell, pushing the prince's hind end down onto the rock, while his warm bulk covered him exactly as it would a lioness. Each motion sent that delicious slick, slurping sound into the slowly cooling evening air as his father's member churned within his seed-slickened passage. Each beat of his father's mighty heart made that thick shaft throb tangibly under his tail, drawing forth moans from his gaping mouth--where he could still taste Mufasa's fluids. And each rocking, pistoning motion made his whole body ache and yearn to be speared all the more.

Finally he could feel those full balls pulling up close again, but what truly sent a thrill through him was when a deep, building growl sounded in his ear, accompanied by a renewed pressure on the scruff of his neck. His father was holding him in place with his fangs again, the mating bite which meant he belonged to him, was his and no other's.

Just the thought of that alone set him off again, all his muscles trembling as he let out another roar of his own--which even though, with age and practice, it was beginning to sound truly adult and masculine, he still felt it was nowhere near on a par with Mufasa's, and never would be--and released another load he swore was bigger than his first. It certainly made quite the impressive splash beneath him, and growing patch of heat on his belly!

Of course his tailhole constricted, and the Lion King grunted, snarled, shoved in to the hilt, and sent another cascade of his potent brew into Simba's hind end. But once again that wasn't all, for even before he had finished spurting Mufasa was again launching into motion, dragging his barbed flesh over his son's tender lining until he yowled, falling into an ancient rhythm set down by Aiheu that was as inexorable as a rainstorm, or the march of the seasons. And Simba loved every moment of it, losing himself in the seemingly endless series of wild, passionate, irresistible ruttings that was as far as he was concerned a gift from the Kings.

He lost track of purpose, of time--he was aware of the sun setting and evening settling in, but otherwise nothing more--of everything but this determined and most forceful of leonine lessons his father was teaching him. For much of it he found himself staring off into space, panting and gasping as ecstasy radiated through his body without inhibition or hesitation, his own urges building to their peak as fast as Mufasa's...in fact he found himself releasing more and more frequently, until a veritable pond had formed underneath him and the air was as full of his own pungent musk as his father's.

Each time was more blissful than the one before, and he wondered fleetingly how he could have gone without so much constant pleasure. He was glad for Mufasa's teaching, it gave him something he could never have often enough with the lionesses unless he liked being swiped by their claws...and it was a dream come true for him, a deeper bond between them. Over and over, he felt that rampant maleness impale him and release another steady gush from those now dripping balls, overflowing him again to soak both their inner thighs and groins, and over and over he roared and moaned at the exquisite feeling of so many deposits sloshing and flowing around inside him.

He looked up and back once more to see that kingly visage twisted into a grimace of sexual hunger that made him release on the spot again, those eyes as glazed over with lust as he suspected his own were, that squarish muzzle letting out repeated snarls and growls of triumph as he sprayed another hard stream of his essence into his son. There was so much slippery seed, so much of the very thing which had given him life, and instead of it seeming disgusting and wrong it felt proper and right, even holy. Or maybe he was just lost to the lust...but it did make him feel closer than ever to Mufasa, a way of expressing their love like no other...

Finally, after the last volley his father could launch had been dumped inside of him--he'd lost count after twenty--the Lion King gave one last almighty thrust and another powerful burst of seed before at last letting his legs buckle, draping himself heavily atop Simba's back. He couldn't hold his father's weight, of course, but somehow being trapped between him and the stone wasn't all that bad. He didn't even feel crushed at all, just wonderfully warm and protected.

"Mmm...son, that was..." Mufasa seemed unable to find the words. "I have...always wondered how it felt to be on the other end of this, after my father Ahadi took me in the same way. Now I know it is just as overwhelming, just as arousing, and just as much a blessing. You are...truly a lion, as far as I am concerned. Your mantlement will be a mere formality, for the eyes of the pride alone. Thank you...for having the courage and trust to accept this."

Simba paused, still trying to catch his breath and let the welter of confusing emotions sort themselves out--most notably the buzz of arousal that still burned in him even now. "Are you kidding, Dad? That was better than anything I've ever done before! Please tell me we can do it all the time...it feels so good, and I don't ever want to be apart from you if I don't have to." He swallowed against a lump in his throat.

His father nuzzled him tenderly, licking away the tears that had welled up, then nodded with an air of solemnity. "Of course, son. We may do it whenever you wish, whenever the lionesses are not ready to bear cubs."

"How about right now?" Simba grinned at him devilishly, wriggling his rump around to make those barbs flare anew.

For a long moment Mufasa was silent save for inelegant panting and those deep lusty groans. Then he chuckled, appreciative and lewd, before saying something neither of them had ever thought he would. "Simba, you are such a naughty boy. Just like your dad always was. C'mere, you!"

It was good to be the king. It was even better to be the king's son.