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The King's Claim

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Well this is a continuation to my earlier two commissions, detailing the life and times of a very interesting monarch indeed, and sponsored by the very generous Heru who wanted to see more black panther King action...so here you have it! I hope you have a good time, and do remember to leave me a comment to tell me how I did!

Have an interesting read!

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The Justice Square was a grand part of the city, its size only rivalled by the courtyards of the palace or the great bazaar market where traders and craftsmen would come to sell their wares within the city premises. The great cobbled open square, lined by official, palatial building, greatest of them all the house of the Grand Jury, complete with its imposing stone spires and rumors of torturous dungeons underground.

The Square was a living mass, a throng of three thousand men and women kept in check by a line of soldiers with their swords drawn and crossed to create a wall of steel between their arms, one to discourage anyone from approaching even closer to the wooden stage that had been hastily erected in front of the house of the Grand Jury. The squirming horde of cats were looking as eagerly on the simple wooden pedestal as they were curious of the stalls behind them, currently populated by many of the grandest gentlemen and women of the realm, watching the proceedings from their comfortable chairs, tended by their servants, protecting their charges with parasols held over their heads while the robed, veiled figures waited with as much excitement as the common folk on the ground.

On the stage, a single man stood. He was a lion of some stature, standing with his arms bound upon a wooden cross, spread wide, wearing a white smock of linen that hung oversized over his body. The once white cloth was a wet mess of colors and juices from the countless rotten fruit and vegetables and eggs that had been thrown from the crowd onto the man who stood with his head hung down, ears flat as he contemplated the extreme humiliation of his situation. The lion's tail was limp and his muzzle dripping with egg yolk, and had tomato seeds stuck on his whiskers, spreading their pungent odor.

The crowd had mostly quieted now, chatting quietly to themselves after spending most of the previous half an hour shouting obscenities at the bound lion until their throats were hoarse with their anguished yells. Even if they were quiet, and only the occasional stinking piece of garden produce would fly over the line of soldiers and splatter on the stage, it was obvious that their lust for revenge was not yet entirely sated. They were waiting, as were everyone on any side of the stage, none more than the lion who stood there, his mane slick and sticky with fruit juices.

"NO MORE!" someone yelled, a robed official of the crown in purple, looking important with his mortar board headgear and a scribe's box in his paws.

A hush fell upon the murmuring crowd. That could only mean that they were about to proceed. And true enough, servants, or workmen, did appear, and began to scrub the stage with brooms and buckets of water to get the worst of the slimy residue away, before a thick red rug was spread over the bare wooden surface.

Many hearts beat quickly as the expectation grew and grew, and the lion looked worriedly when soldiers approached and removed him from the cross of humiliation. He did not resist besides a few snarls when the dirty smock was removed from him, leaving the lion to stand utterly naked in front of the jeering crowd.

"GIVE EM TRAITOR WHAT 'EE DESERVES!" an uncouth voice hollered from the crowd on the ground.

Besides his messy mane, the lion's furs seemed disheveled and somewhat unkept, too. He was entirely naked without his smock, and his embarrassment only seemed to be completed by the presence of a shiny metal ring that enclosed his scrotum. Off this ring a metal chain hung down, to the ground for the moment, but one of the soldiers picked it up and pulled it taut so that the lion's balls were tugged quite harshly, making him rumble audibly while the lion was watched by the jeering crowds who were obviously enjoying his debasement.

First came the drums, playing out a sharp rhythm, followed by the horns, them a particular symbol to create movement in the assorted folk. The peasants, the cityfolk, falling to their knees and bowing on the ground, the furs upon the stands, taking to their feet and pressing their ring-bearing paws against their bosom, heads bowed in their own sign of respect as the guards pulled open the grand doors of the House of the Grand Jury.

The Judges appeared first, splendid in their robes and headdresses, taking standing positions on the platform opposite to the nobles. They were followed by the crier of the House, a cheetah with a great scroll in his paws, as he walked over to face the assembly of the nobility and the commoners.

"IN THE DEED OF THE GRAND JURY HEREOF THEREFORE WE SHALL JUDGE THE COUNT ALDER - "

He stopped for the jeers that were inevitable, and almost had to dodge an egg someone had still had hidden in their sleeve, that splattered upon the platform near one of the many guardsmen who now populated along the grand sight of the jury and its judges.

"NO MORE THROWING!" one of the senior soldiers yelled.

"...COUNT ALDER OF ALDERTOWN IS STRIPPED OF HIS LANDS FOR THE DURATION OF HIS IMPRISONMENT FOR FIVE YEARS FOR TREACHEROUS ACTIVITIES AGAINST THE JEWELLED THRONE - "

More yelling, obscenities of the sort that'd make a sailor blush. At least there were no more eggs to be thrown.

" - THEREFORE BE HE PUBLICALLY SENTENCED TO DEFERRATION TO THE GREAT KING SMARAGDOS - "

Now the crowd applauded and cheered.

"HIS MAGNIFICENCE, THE FATHER OF THE LAND, THE GREAT CLAW - "

More applause and stomping of the ground.

"IN HIS DIVINE JUDGMENT AND RULE - "

The cheers erupted spontaneously, and loud.

"LET HE BE PRAISED!"

And with that he put his scroll away and bowed, for now, through the doors, the King himself appeared, fur as black as the night, eyes blue as the sea, and his smile shining like the famous jewels of his throne, basking in the attention and reflecting it upon the worthy with his stern wave and his confident walk.

The crowd hushed, bowing anew, the nobles saluting with a wave of their paw before the King nodded for them, allowing them graciously to settle back onto their comfortable, padded seats. The simple folk on the ground would not have that luxury, but they too could raise their heads eventually, so that they could view the proceedings properly.

The King strolled along the circumference of the stage, his head held high, tail swaying expansively while he let everyone take a look at him in his fine robes. His exquisite garb was embroidered with the royal colors on silk and golden threads. He seemed to shine with the innate mysterious energy of the royalty - somehow off-worldly in his coloring and the radiance of his physical might. It could be felt as a stirring in the hearts of both the less easily impressed nobles as much as the simple peasants gawking in awe upon his presence. For most of them it was the first time they had seen the great King in the flesh, and they were more than eager to see the great cat in all his splendor. They could have watched him for hours, his confident strides and the fine, careful movements of his body, speaking of great strength and might, a feeling they all shared, whatever their class background.

"GREAT KING SMARAGDOS SHALL NOW ISSUE HIS CLAIM!" the court yeller announced to the crowd, which erupted in waves of cheering, clapping and stomping the ground.

The King walked over to the lion, standing between his two guards, one of them whom had him by the balls, quite literally, holding the metal chain looped around the gauntlet covering his paw. The two soldiers bowed at the approach of the monarch, but assumed their guard postures momentarily, the King standing in front of them. He looked at the lion, whom was deferring to him by not meeting his gaze, and the flat ears and the powerless tail told the black panther that his fellow cat was well on his way into submission. The public heckling, shaming, the fruit, the stripping of his titles as much as his clothing, they had taken a great toll in the proud lion, and he was standing there with the look of a man whom just wished it to be over with.

"Count Alder," the King spoke, in a measuredly low murmur. He did not shout or raise his voice, their audience needn't hear this part. They weren't here to listen, they were only to watch, and their frenzied cheering was going to drown out their words either way, still droning on before them while they approved of the lion's further humiliation.

The lion did not look up, even when being spoken to. He knew that at this point in the proceedings, he wasn't even supposed to. Even amidst such heights of humiliation, he knew that there was some protocol to adhere to, and so did the black panther, standing face to face with the golden-furred man.

"I do not envy your position, Alder," the black panther murmured, "this is not how things should go in my kingdom...but wrongdoings cannot be tolerated, otherwise everyone would think it is their right to challenge the Throne..."

The nude lion let out a rasping breath, but did not speak anything else.

"This is how it must go."

"Y-yes..." the lion whispered.

"Just think that it's...not me, not really...." the King rumbled on, deep, sublime, "...it's the Throne...and I am its living Jewel...duly elected...and a humble servant...of greater things..."

"Yes..." the lion grunted.

"Hmph," the King snorted. He waved his paw.

"Such a shame...shame on you..." King Smaragdos rumbled.

Pages moved in from the side and stood by the King, whom pulled cords upon his splendid gilded robe and the spread his arms so that the servants would be able to remove it upon his person without trouble.

A collective gasp passed through the benches and the crowd on the ground when the King was bared, not a single shred of cloth upon his body once his robe was duly carried away by the servants bestowed with it. The King's black fur shone in the sunlight that had decided to come about from behind a cloud to illuminate the very core of the shaming of Count Alder, and it made the King appear even more magnificent. Black fur, blue eyes fierce as mountain ice, and a dash of red, upon the ruler's stiff, barbed prick in full erection.

Oh, there was leering, there was fainting. There were awkward glimpses and the envious glares, and a stirring in quite the few breeches as the menfolk imagined being the carriers or possibly even the recipient of such an endowment. The disgraced lion looked away from the King's musky member, even though he knew that it would only be delaying the inevitable.

"Pass me the chain, fine man," the King spoke nonchalantly to the guard holding the links of steel leading upon the Count's body.

The soldier bowed and offered the chain, which the King pinched between his large fingers and pulled taut. The lion let out a rumble, feeling the ring around his testicles be tugged when the King tugged upon the chain that bound him ruthlessly onto the King standing in front of him.

"A little unsophisticated, but effective..." mused the King, as he played tug of war with the lion's balls, enjoying watching them bounce with every move he forced upon them. The lion growled, but did not raise a paw in his defence, or tried stepping away or perhaps grab the chain in order to save himself from this humiliating ordeal.

"I hear they will attach this chain to the wall of your chamber in the dungeon to discourage you from trying to escape...I would...recommend agreeing with the chain..."

He pulled again, and it made his own cock pulse, leaking clear fluid out of the tip and spreading musk into the immediate air around the great King.

"I do hope that they had the foresight of allowing some anointing for you, Count, otherwise this will be very rough upon you...buggery should not be undertaken lightly..."

The King laughed, but the lion did not.

"Down then, Alder...they even washed the floor for you...well...for me, really...but I would not...complain..." the King clicked his tongue smoothly.

It was not required of him, but the King bestowed upon the lion a small kindness, in that he allowed the chain in his paw to run slack so that the lion would not suffer the further discomfort of having the ring around his nuts pull on them painfully when he did as he was instructed to. The planks were bare, though smooth, but the danger of splinters upon his pads was more than real, the King thought idly, as he watched the lion settle down onto his paws and knees. His posture and positioned were carefully choreographed as part of the display - facing the peasants on the ground, with the nobles viewing him from behind, allowing them to receive another interesting vantage point into the proceedings.

The King stepped behind the lion, unhurried, and waited patiently, looking at the still buzzing audience in front of him. His proud member was certainly not suffering from any kind of performance anxiety, that much was for sure from the sight of his fully hard, angry member pointing out into the gawking faces in the crowd. The King's wait was both for everyone to get a good look, obviously, as well as to give the servants time to place the flat velvet pillow down onto the ground so that the King's own knees would not have to suffer the disgrace of having to touch the damp, hard planks with his own body.

The pages hurried away, and the King finally settled, paws landing upon the lion's back. He could feel the nobleman tense, his tail swishing about nervously, still firmly pressed against his rear to protect whatever little remained of his modesty, which by now was precious little. The King's cock throbbed with somewhat cruel thrill at feeling the lion's tension, knowing that he was not exactly doing this by personal choice, but simply complying with ancient rituals of the land that were his only way to get through the political disgrace he had caused for himself without getting his head lopped off and infamy declared upon his kin for generations to come. The alternative might've preserved his life and some of his wealth, but his pride was certainly going to suffer a figurative decapitation in the paws of the King now fondling his vassal's rear.

Smaragdos enjoyed the feel of the lion's rump, relatively solid muscle, which was a pleasure to find, quite pleasant fur as well, though lacking perhaps the softness of some of the more attractive servants he had had the joy of bedding in his day. The size of the lion's body certainly added to his enjoyment, since it seemed that a true submissive streak for man-sex seemed to reside in men of slighter shape, though the King had known many exceptions to that rule as well, much to his pleasure in the past. The reluctant Count was more than sufficient to put his blood on the heat, and to let the King to stroke the lion's rump under his palms. The King knew that he was expected to project a king of a detachment over this whole act of dominance, and knew that spending too much time savoring the lion's body was likely to be considered somewhat rude or even unusual - this act wasn't meant to be pleasurable, per se, though the King did expect to receive a fantastic climax from the conquest of the treacherous lion's rear in due time.

"Raise it, Alder," the black panther whispered, intentionally being quiet so that it would only pass between them, not heard by the audience diligently watching and listening their every action. The show elements would come from other things, and really, there had already been enough grand announcements by the criers that very few things the King could say would have the same impact as the actions he was about to take.

The slow, reluctant lifting of the lion's tail, for example, rolling to the side to expose him even further, certainly was much more powerful than another tirade of declarations over the marvels of the King Smaragdos of the Jeweled Throne. Seeing a powerful Count bare his ass for their King to take it was more than enough to bring forth the King's might, especially since he made it happen with a mere word, even if the King might have preferred to grab it and do the lifting himself, like he often did while playing rough with some of his more amenable manly sex friends. The slightly hesitant movement of the lion's tail was unquestionably erotic, not the least because it also exposed his asshole for the King's scrutiny.

The lion's pucker was very tight, at least by the visual inspection, surrounded by curls of black hair the King took in with his eyes, enjoying the detailed view he could get while his paws still continued to 'hold down' the lion, which, in reality, was just him enjoying the feel of the lion's rear flexing against his pads while the noble cat was desperately trying to find a comfortable position for himself.

"I am sure I do not need to tell you to relax, Alder," the King whispered again.

The black panther moved forward, then, using one paw to aim himself into the target of the lion's rear opening, as inviting as any a hole the King ever had the joy of finding for his pleasure, and brushed the tip of his cock rudely against it in what was meant to be the only amount of warning he would give to the Count when it came to the matter of invading his bowels with his royal prick.

He didn't have much patience for preliminaries, and wasn't in the mood for it, either - he was not meant to lavish the lion's rear with a great amount of enjoyable foreplay, something the King never tired of doing, of course - this time he was simply to begin to flex his hip and to bore into the lion's hole. It had been lubricated with some sweet oil in the dungeon in preparation for his public deferral of his rear for the King in exchange for his release to the prison, and hence the King was not trying to force himself into a dry hole like some vile beast. They weren't going to be that cruel on the Count now would they? The King was representing an old monarchy with his public act of copulation, not some disgraceful pirate king who grabbed any ass he fancied and damaged them.

That wasn't to say that the lion enjoyed it immensely, likely not, for his hisses and snarls were loud when the King pushed himself into the man's rear, spreading open his hole and then extending the pressure into the oiled tunnel beyond. The King himself breathed hard, but kept his noises down, letting the crowd only to hear the lion's vocalisations upon having his rear invaded by his King. It seemed that their audience too was picking on this significance, since their earlier leering had given way for something of a hushed silence, watching the events unfold.

The King gripped the lion's hips and began to drive himself in and out with short, first thrusts, each of them meant to spread him open, sink his cock about halfway into the lion, and then pull out until only the sweet ring of his hole was kissing on the King's member before he would roughly shove himself back inside the lion's ass. The rapid in and out motion caused the lion's hole to pump back and forth as it clung to the black panther's shaft and provided even further stimulation for both parties involved in their mating. The hole might not have been extremely eager in swallowing cock, but soon the King had a good rhythm going without the express fear of dropping out of the lion's rear,which might have been amusing in a general tryst, but when giving a show, it could truly break the...proper flow of things.

The black panther almost laughed aloud, and he was certainly smirking, though it looked more like a scowl, his muzzle clenching as he bit down on his teeth to stay somewhat more quiet. His breaths were slowly turning into snorts. His tail swung from side to side, adding to the balance of thrusting on his knees, using the weight of his body to his advantage while he pumped in and out of the lion's smutty rear. It was a pleasurable penetration, the King had to admit it, the lion's hole providing quite the amusing orifice to fuck, whatever the purpose of their mating. It was a shame the lion wasn't really interested in more than that, but you couldn't always get everything. It would very easy to stop being humble when one got everything handed over to you on plates leafed with gold.

The crowd was getting more and more into it while the big black panther bred his captive. There was the occasional shouted encouragement, the kind of obscenities the nobles on the stands might have been thinking in their own minds but would have never even dreamed of speaking anything of the sort in polite company, let alone yelled such things to their King and Ruler. The monarch didn't seem to mind the rough voice suggesting he should 'breed the man's cunt' or 'make him yours my lord!', he simply thought they were rather apt proposals of action to take. Even if this was a show, he didn't need to to play coy...

"Hmmmrr..." the King purred, his silky paws sliding along the lion's tensely flexing hips while he continued to bugger the Count's butthole in such a public display of dominance.

His new posture allowed him to pull, to drag the lion's body back to him to meet the thrusts he was doing, and more, too, to slowly start to lift the lion's torso from the floor, from his crouch. The King was easily strong enough to accomplish such a thing, it was nothing he hadn't done before, even with someone of the Count's bulk. Besides, he enjoyed the muscle tension it created, on his own body, adding to the arousing feel of blood rushing into every part of his strongly flexing body.

With every inch he lifted the lion, he fucked him harder, and the peasants, the townsfolk, could see more of the lion being bred, while the nobles behind him got an ever better sight of the roll of the King's hips and the tension of his shoulders, how his own ass cheeks pushed together whenever he thrust balls deep into the lion's pucker and then pulled out, his tail swaying eagerly while he increased the tempo of his pounding pumping inside his captive bitch. The lion wasn't being quiet about it, no, he was full of rumbles and grunts, sounds forced out of him by the cock pumping into his rear and filling him again and again with the King's might. His eyes were shut tightly, both to block out the leering crowd and to help his concentration, in taking the ploughing without making too much of an embarrassment out of himself while he was so publically taken roughly in the ass by the King.

The breeding continued at the pace set by the black panther, roughly humping into the lion whose paws no longer touched the platform, held up by the King's paws under his armpits. His ass was flush with the King's lap, being pounded into with every deep thrust the King threw at his direction,pumping deep into the hole he was taking for his might and his pleasure now. The sun shone upon him and helped him work up a sweat, accompanied by a strong musk. He seemed to glisten by now, slick with his sweat and making loud slapping noises whenever his nuts swatted those of the humiliated Count taking it in the ass in front of his peers and the peasants alike. His breaths had degenerated into snarls and he seemed to be as sweaty as the King plowing away in his asshole, his mane, once slickened with eggyolk now beginning to be soaked back in his own sweat.

It looked rough, and it looked exactly like it was meant to be, a rough show of dominance, for the people of the Realm to know that the Count had committed a wrong against the Throne and now he was paying the price with his honor.His ass took the brunt of this very public punishment, while his body struggled to maintain the posture he'd been forced into by the King's very strong grip. The Count seemed to be hovering, almost, his rump being humped again and again, muscles bucking and burning -

Then, quite suddenly, and spectacularly, the Count threw his head back and let out a yowl - while pearly cum streaked out of his cock, only partially hard inside his sheath, but nonetheless, he was shooting a rapid fire pulsing of watery, white cum all over the dank wooden stage. The crowd seemed to go wild with it, cheering and stomping, and the King, too closed his eyes, just letting the waves of tension from the Count's rear as well as the deafening noise go through him, setting him off as well.

The King lurched forward and bit the lion's shoulder, quite hard, enough to bruise it, certainly, if not to draw blood, but it was the final, symbolic element of his domination of the lion. His balls drew up and expelled the first burning splash of seed into the lion's rear, coming in thick gushes that made his body flex and jerk forward to try and drive himself as deep as possible.

After only a few of such bursts, the King pulled out, releasing his grip on the lion and pushed him down. The Count landed quite heavily, with a groan, muzzle down and ass up, and the motion caused the King's till-spurting cock to slip out of his rump.

The King gripped himself and aimed, more than stimulated himself, to ensure that the thick, harsh globs of cum would all land onto the lion's back and his golden-furred rear, and not go to waste by falling simply to the stage. The musky marks would remain on the lion's furs for quite some time, he knew, grinning harshly while his paw flew over his member, milking even further seed from his surging cock. The Count even partook in it, perhaps somewhat involuntarily, when his jittering tailhole clenched and expelled a trickle of the seed that'd already been put into him earlier, joining on the mess the King's spurts had made of the lion's taint.

King Smaragdos did not linger for very long once he was done. He summoned his servants whom helped him to slip into his robe again, he greeted the audience once more with his nod, and retired into the House of the Grand Jury while the drummers and the horns conjured up a storm of music to accompany his departure. The gathered crowd cheered him, the lion's humiliation almost forgotten when they once again simply stood in awe of their mighty ruler, visible for only a few further moments before he disappeared behind heavily bolted doors and iron bars.

The Count lay on the puddle of his own come until everyone had left the Justice Square, and only then, just then, the guards had been instructed to clamp shackles on his paws and take him by a wagon to begin the service of his sentence in the dungeons of the foreboding City Tower,its black spires reaching for the sky like angry, leafless branches of a dark, dead tree.

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Thank you for reading! I hope you had an interesting time, and I look forward to your comments! Do remember that all votes, faves and watches will help others to find these stories to enjoy as well!

Cheers!