PECs Chapter eight: To the Royal Taste Evan Andrews ©2022
This set of stories is not a fan fiction, although it is high space opera. (So forgive the really dated terminology.) As always, though, I had a cast of faces in mind for the characters, a list of whom follows the story. Your image may differ, which is cool. This story should not be considered a true representation of the sexuality of any of the men in real life.
The story depicts males in pulp sci-fi sexual situations with other males. If this offends you, if you are underage, or if reading such is illegal where you are please stop reading now. Thank you.
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The next day, the fifty senior members of Colonia Prima's Senate made their choices from the remaining pec slaves—with the captains and crew and the Reserve pec slaves observing.
Once again the Hall of the Clans, echoed with moans and sighs as over seventy enslaved Terrans disported themselves for the Senators' education and entertainment. Since none of the Black Clan's pec slaves had been taken by the Council of Six, all of Speed's training buddies were still on the block—or in the puppy pile. At a perverse level, Speed was pleased to see how the men in black briefs displayed themselves to good advantage.
The Senators proved to be much more hands on than the Councilors had been. Shedding their finery early, save for their titanium senatorial arm rings, they waded into the mass of submissive men and had their way with them. For the first time, Speed witnessed a body of men who were definitely not adverse to using pec slaves as objects of sexual domination. The Senators took slave after slave from the orgy so that they could indulge in a bit of one on one time before making their final choice (an understandable precaution since Speed understood that the Senators were to be allowed only a single pec slave, and no returns).
Choices made, one by one, the Senators took their select studs back to couches that the staff had placed around the chamber. Reclining on their sides (very Roman, Speed thought) the Senators pulled their pec slaves close and settled down to enjoy the Vril flowing from their slave's tits. For what it was worth, Speed smiled to see seven more Black Clan pec slaves chosen and giving suck to their masters.
Beef was guarding the Reserve, standing by Speed's side as the two dozen or so unchosen pec slaves were ushered out of the hall and back to the holding stables.
"Don't look so distressed," Beef said as the selected slaves were stripped out of their slave briefs and fit with titanium cock-rings. The crewman took hold of Speed's weeping length. "Your audition's coming soon. I promise."
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The Prince's representative was sleek, suave, and seductively handsome. Dark skinned, wavy black hair brushed his shoulders; a trim beard lined his jaw; and his body (the family jewels stuffed into a pair of dark burgundy trunks) was one that any PEC warrior would be proud to own. Speed loathed him on sight.
The anonymous courtier (attended by three equally impressive subordinates also sporting burgundy trunks) strode down the facing lines of Reserve slaves (all in proper slave display position), glancing at them with a jaded eye. (Speed wondered how he had come by that.) He stopped by Speed at the right end of the second line and addressed the men of the Reserve.
"Slaves," he said laconically, glancing off away from the men he was supposedly addressing, "I am Viscount Yordan, seventh of that name, and I am the Royal Taster. Since you can have no idea how important an office that is, I shall deign to educate you. I, and I alone, take the first bite of the Prince's food and the first sip of his drink. Further, I wear all his clothes before they are allowed to touch his skin. I sit in his chair first and crawl between his sheets—all to make sure that His Highness does not fall to the assassin's art. Therefore, it's only natural that it should fall to me to choose and supervise His Highness' newly established stable of pec slaves. You should feel honored."
The pec slaves all watched Yordan closely. He was here to select, and that meant that they would once again be put through their paces. Speed tried to read the strange man, to intuit what he was looking for—and failed, which didn't help reduce Speed's dislike of the colonial one iota. Yordan was more than he seemed, but what exactly the redhead couldn't fathom.
Yordan the whateverth glanced back at the slaves and frowned.
"Tell me, Bishop, do you honestly believe that these pathetic hunks, pretty though they may be, have what it takes to please and satiate the Prince and the Royal Creche?"
"Excellency," Bishop said, "My fellow captains and I agreed, after long deliberation, that these pec slaves were the cream of the crop. Earth's Peripheral Exploration Command sets high physical standards for its warriors (hence the bodies), and these slaves' tits, out of all our take, suck the highest quality Vril. But... if you think they will disappoint the Prince, we can send them to the Council of Six instead and head out to hunt for more and better. His Highness is, after all, renowned for his patience and understanding."
Speed was pretty sure that Bishop was being ironic and that the Prince was anything but. The redhead had been in Bishop's service for long enough that he was beginning to be able to read the captain's face, and what he was reading there was, `And how would you know the first thing about pec slaves, you mincing pretty boy, since you never have sampled one before?'
Yordan strode up the lines of slaves again. Bishop had, prior to Yordan's arrival, ordered them stripped of their clan color-coded briefs and had their clan-colors collars replaced with gold bands bearing their names-- no numbers. Alluringly naked, therefore, and positively rigid with hormonal frenzy, the pec slaves put forward their best faces—and chests-- and chubs. Bishop expected them (or some of them at least) to please this haughty Taster, and because of Yordan's hot body and dangerous good looks most of the pec slaves were eager to give it the old Academy (either PEC Academy or shipboard pec slave academy) try. As for satisfying the Prince, that was a question they would worry about if and when they stood before him. Or knelt, or prostrated themselves. Speed got the impression that this Prince might do any of those—or all.
"Perhaps," Bishop went on, "Your Excellency should taste them first—that is to say taste their Vril. Fuck slaves may be able to get by on good looks and killer bodies, but pec slaves require that special something extra."
Fuck slaves,' Speed thought. That's new.'
"Hmpf," Yordan snorted, but he and his staff spread out to examine the lines of enslaved men more intimately— starting with Speed.
Much as he hated the man, Speed appreciated the skill the Taster and his staff showed in their inspections. Lazarus, the one with the closely cropped hair assessed the redhead's entire musculature. The youngest, Elroy, with his easy smile and cascading locks ran his fingers through Speed's spikey copper hair and even gave him his first masculine kiss on the mouth—which Speed returned, hard. The last, Saul, with his lion's mane and massive pecs took it upon himself to stick fingers up Speed's ass and stroke his filled-out chub. When Saul had a hand that was squelchy with Earthing precum, he lifted his fingers and licked them clean. The hormones driving Speed's body made him want to fall to his knees and worship this trio, but suddenly Yordan was in his face.
Without a word, the dark, handsome Taster bent over and applied his lips to one of Speed's pert pink nipples.
"Oh, master taster," Speed moaned, "That's soooo goooood!"
And it was. The redhead was convinced he could feel the colonial wet dream's lips twist into a smile.
"Ah!" Speed sighed as the Taster's teeth grazed his flesh.
Speed knew by now that his Vril was supposed to be top of the line, and he hoped the Taster agreed. In fact, Speed hoped that, lacking experience, the colonial might press him too far and give him what he needed to orgasm. He'd been stewing for days and was ready to pop.
Of course, the pec slave couldn't be that lucky. Yordan and his trio of servants abandoned the frustrated Speed and passed on to Shore, and thus down the lines. Once the colonials had tested and tasted all fourteen pec slaves (without rewarding a single one with an orgasm), the representatives from the Royal Creche stepped back into their aloof professional stance.
"Well, Captain," Yordan said, his men fallen in behind him, "You may in fact be right. There is some promise in these slave bodies, and the Royal Creche might be well adorned by the addition of a few of them."
A few,' Speed thought, Fuck, is this where they finally separate me and Feral?'
"Let it be as your Excellency dictates," Bishop said, "Which ones meet your exacting standards?"
I will take this one to serve his Highness," Yordan said, walking up and, hooking a finger under the gold collar, pulled the man out of line.
"Slave Speed, Excellency, a fine choice."
Pushing the redhead towards his staff, the Taster continued, "And his friend here, but for the Prince in Waiting."
"Slave Feral, Excellency."
`Thank space,' Speed thought.
"A simple `sir' will suffice, Captain," Yordan said, and he pushed Feral after his partner, "And this one as well for His Highness."
He chose the big Indian.
"Slave Devi, sir."
"This one for the Bloods Royal."
The muscular Limey.
"Slave Pack, sir."
"This one for the Prince in Waiting."
The blond heartthrob.
"Slave Angel, sir."
"This one for the Prince."
Big, muscular, handsome-- cuddly if you were into such things.
"He's called slave Nice, sir."
"And this one for the Bloods and to round off the stable."
A Japanese powerhouse.
"Slave Cosh, sir."
"Good. Now get them ready to travel. Scrub them down, and clean them out. My shuttle launches in the hour."
"And their garb, sir? Our processors can whip up anything in a matter of minutes."
"Load them naked as they now are. The Prince will want nothing to interfere with his private examination of his new property."
"His Highness is the font of all wisdom," Bishop said, "And the model of correct behavior."
I doubt that,' Speed thought, His Highness just wants us naked so he can more easily breed us all like bitches—oh fuck, I can hardly wait,' and with that realization, Speed's cock shuddered and loosed a new thread of viscous precum.
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Once slobgoblins had prepared the new royal pec slaves, the seven naked men followed Yordan's staff to his shuttle. The rocket's cabin boasted a dozen chairs like the ones in the Black Hunter's Academy, waiting to receive their human cargo.
"Slave Devi, lie here," Lazarus said, pointing to a chair, and he strapped the massive muscle slave down tight.
"Ugh!" the big Indian grunted.
For a moment, as the remaining slaves were assigned places and strapped down, Speed wondered why Yordan had stopped at just seven men. Why hadn't he taken enough men to fill every chair? If there was a good reason, Speed couldn't fathom it, but then it was his turn and he had other things to worry about.
"Lie down on that chair, slave Speed" Lazarus told the redhead.
Unlike the chair in Black Hunter's Academy, these chairs were contoured so the slaves' thighs were spread slightly, allowing access to the slave's asshole. Speed could not imagine a reason to have such fittings in a rocket, but then he remembered the term `fuck slave'. Instead of dwelling on that, the redhead simply lay back and waited for the touch of leather straps to immobilize him.
"Why are we being restrained this way?" Speed asked Saul, when the leonine colonial fastened the last buckle.
"Simple," Saul said, "This assures that none of you get up, wander around, injure yourselves or others, and interfere with the landing."
"And the legs?"
"The trip will take a few hours," Saul said, smiling as he massaged his sizable basket. "What do you think?"
The last buckle being fastened; Speed was secured for planetfall. Brave new world that this planet would be to the Royal Seven, it was obvious that each and every pec slave was remembering the last time they were strapped to a chair like this. Accordingly, they all started the descent to Colonia Prima with raging boners.
Several minutes into the flight, Yordan, looking serious, approached the restrained Irishman.
"Do you want to suck my tits again, sir?" Speed asked hopefully. "Please, sir."
Yordan bent down and whispered in the redhead's left ear, "Don't be a fool, oaf. Listen and play along. I took you for the brightest of the lot; don't disappoint me."
"Sir?" Speed said, confused, as the Taster's right hand ran over the slave's pale white torso.
Looming over Speed's supine body, Yordan took his own personal inventory of the slave's body.
"Yes," Yordan said loudly, "The Prince likes big submissive muscle-studs. You'll please him, and I shall enjoy `tasting' you each and every time you are called to his Highness' presence."
That said, Yordan hit a release and spread Speed's legs wider yet.
"Sir?" Speed said, unsure of where this was going.
Yordan, coming between the spread thighs, ignored Speed and instead cupped the pec slave's balls in his left hand before sticking two fingers of his right hand the redhead's tight ass.
"Oh, sir!" Speed gasped, wriggling as his insides were probed. "That's.. Oh, sir, that's doing things to me!"
"That's what everyone will believe," Yordan hissed. "Lie still, fool, and act like you're entranced by me fingering your cunt."
Cunt,' Speed thought, As in hole for fucking. Oh space, and I want it fucked!'
"Listen closely," Yordan whispered to him. "I'm an ASS man."
"Yes, you are, sir," Speed gasped as he twisted on the probing digits. "Fuck my ass, sir!"
"ASS as in Advanced Scientific Survey, oaf," Yordan said. "Earth's Advanced Scientific Survey."
Yordan's fingers took a careful inventory of Speed's most sensitive interior zones until he located a spot just alongside Speed's prostate.
"Oh!" Speed moaned, "Right there, sir, yes!"
Yordan seemed to agree, and his index finger pressed something, a thumbnail of metallic mesh that felt like the Id Tap had before it burrowed into Speed's head, against the sport, but this device integrated itself instead into the flesh of Speed's anal wall. And, as with the Id Tap, Speed could feel as the mesh became part of him, and...
"Wha...?" Speed started to say, because he could feel the incredible stimulation of the Id Tap waver and regress.
Yordan pulled back his left hand and slapped the big pec slave across the face.
"I said to lie still, slave, and that includes staying quiet. I'm not done finger-banging your tight hole."
In those extra couple of seconds, though, Speed realized his Id Tap had either been turned off or turned down to a manageable level. The enforced submission caused by the insidious device was definitely on pause. The fuck?
"Master?" Speed said, confused.
Yordan bent down and, still fingerfucking Speed's ass pressed a savage kiss on him. A kiss to which Speed responded.
"Shut up and listen, oaf. I may be the Royal Taster and a privileged member of the Royal Creche, but as an ASS man, I'm also an agent of the Terran Empire. The device I just planted in your ass, the Repressor, will mitigate the most debilitating side effects of the Id Tap on your brain and body and allow you to function nearly as effectively you did without it. To turn it on, you only need to stick a finger up your butt and press the spot where it lies, as I just did. To turn it off, and you need to be sure always to turn it off when the time comes to return to the Id Tap's wet dream space, press that spot again. And I do mean press. Hard. The Repressor's built not to be set off accidentally by, say, the pounding of a hard cock in your butt."
"But.. off..?" Speed gasped between an assault of sloppy kisses.
"Even when the Repressor is turned off, the submission impulse of the Id Tap will manifest at a low enough level for you to remember how to turn the Repressor on. I hope you're a good enough actor to pull this gambit off."
"But why, sir? I don't understand," and Speed really didn't.
"Because, you, oaf, will be close to the Prince, very close, as in "giving up your mouth and ass to him on a daily basis" close. You may be one of the closest. Judging from what I know of the royal predilections, His Highness will be sure to choose you before any of your fellows, and, trusting in your absolute submission, he will feel free to say things around you that he never would before a free man. Not even his boon companions. This makes you the perfect spy, and we need a good spy right now."
"The War Faction controls half the seats on the Council of Six just now, but they possess influence beyond that. If they can swing a fourth vote on the Council, or if they can use their contacts to incite the Senate to some sort of action, well--you've seen what the Ancients' technology can do. If the War Faction decides to move on Earth, they could, having that technology and the element of surprise on their side, emerge victorious. Earth needs to know in advance if they amass that much power, or if they plan to use it. So listen and learn the Prince's and Council's plans so that we can warn the Empire if and when the State (meaning the Prince) decides to attack. If you fail at this, oaf-- well, can you imagine all of humanity under the control of devices like the Id Tap?
"Ah!" Speed gasped.
Whether the redhead gasped because he grasped Yordan's point or because the Taster had just massaged his prostate again was something only Speed knew.
Yordan whispered, "Do you understand?"
"Yes! Yes, sir," Speed cried out, "This slave was born to serve the best mankind has to offer! Oh, suck my tits, sir! I need to cum, or I'll go insane.
"That prerogative belongs only to the Prince, slave Speed," Yordan said as he pulled his fingers out of Speed's tight ass. "I suggest you strive to please him if you want to earn release."
"Argh!" Speed cried as Yordan ran a finger around one of the pink nipples.
"So responsive. Yes, His Highness will be very pleased to have you at his beck and call."
Speed whimpered as Yordan's fingers once more invaded his butt.
The Taster whispered, "I will implant your fellow pec slaves with Repressors now, but I'll leave them inactive. Of all the men in the Royal Creche, only you and I will know how to activate the devices. If you decide to Repress the Id Tap on any of the other pec slaves, I recommend you restrict yourself to those you can trust with your life. All your lives, actually, because if even one Repressed slave slips up and gives the game away, you will all be killed. As likely will I and my staff. Gruesomely. Do you understand, oaf?"
"Yes! Yes, sir," Speed moaned. "This pec slave understands perfectly, sir!"
"Good, then back to wet dream land, slave Speed."
And that said, Yordan deactivated the Repressor in Speed's ass, leaving the redhead to feel the not-quite-full assault of the Id Tap as it hammered its message of need and submission once more.
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Possible cast:
Colonials: Bishop, Triple H (WWE)
Tasters: Viscount Yordan, Bogdan (Bogy) Yordanov (model) ; Lazarus, Lazar Angelov (model) ; Elroy, Cameron McElroy (model) ; Saul, Saulius Sungis (model)
Terrans: Royale Creche slaves: Speed, Sheamus (WWE) ; Feral, Finn Balor (WWE) ; Devi, Sangram Chougule (bodybuilder) ; Nice, Tony Nese (WWE) ; Angel, Brad Patton (gay porn) ; Pack, Pac (NXT) ; Cosh, Yujiro Kushida (wrestler)
Rejected slaves: Daze, Daz Black (wrestler) ; Tight, Rhett Titus (ROH) ; Tio, Joe Tiamanglo (MMA) ; Paris, Aldis Jakic (model) ; Lupin, PJ Black (wrestler) ; Shore, Alexander Masson (model) ; Rod, Daniel Shoneye (gay porn)