This is a work of fiction by Mutantbearman. Categories: Gay Male - Authoritarian & Gay Male - Historical. The author has written over 40 works of erotic fiction, some of which is presented here at Nifty Archive. I love your feedback, so don't hesitate to email me at mutantbearman@gmail.com or tweet me on Twitter at @Mutantbearman. Nifty Archive is a great site for writers and readers of all kinds of erotica and deserves our support. Please stop by donate.nifty.org and be as generous as you can.
He is my King. He is everything.
I stand here, in the servant's dungeon beneath the King's chamber. Waiting and praying. I wait, always, for the King's pleasure. I pray to serve Him faithfully. My scarred knee is shaking as I lean against the shadowy wall in the dungeon. My knee is shaking and my hand is fingering my crotch, like I do when I'm anxious.
The dungeon is full of men in states of half-dress, strong arms, soft folds of bellies, long thick thighs. Men stretching their ballsacs, fingering their assholes, sharpening their blades. Two men wrestling for the favor of the soldier's guard, in hope he'll "put in a good word." The soldier's guard stands at his post beside the entrance to the dungeon. The soldier is beautiful. Full belly, moon-faced with a heavy beard, a bit gray. Manly and confident. Everyone around the King, it seems, is beautiful. The guard is sexy enough, I'd gladly take him deep inside me, if it wouldn't be seen as currying favor.
I'm a servant in the King's palace. One of many. A tall drink of water, but I make up for it with a round, welcome belly, hairy pecs, and the unwavering need to serve. My hair is cut short and my beard is grown long and gray. My strong faithful blade rests in its scabbard on my back. I have scars from long years of battle for the King, but men say I'm still reasonably handsome. My ass is thick, my hands are fast, and my mouth and throat are experienced, so I never get complaints.
I lean against the wall relatively alone. Another servant leans not far from me, biting his nails.
"Have you seen him yet?" the servant beside me asks without breath. He is as nervous as I am. He is barely dressed, a small ragged pair of shortened pants with the back torn out, revealing his muscular hairy ass. A bit bold, in my opinion. Too bold. I look at his tousled hair and crooked grin. Wonder how he could think he's ready to see any King, let alone The King.
"The King, I mean," the servant adds, like I might not know who he's talking about. "You ever seen him?"
None of us know who will be called next. Or if anyone will be called next. Or if ever we will be chosen.
"I have not yet seen my Lord in person, may I be granted such joy," I say quietly, eyes on the floor, "but I have had the privilege of seeing his likeness."
"He's fucking beautiful, he is," the servant says, licking his dry lips. "Those big fucky arms, that hairy daddy chest, that kissable face. And --" He makes a crude gesture with his hands indicating a large cock. "I'd like a piece of that shit, I tell you what."
Fury, like a dark fire, rises from my chest. My body responds without thinking. Abruptly, I turn to the other servant and punch his face hard. He hollers, recoiling with pain and shock, falling against the cold wall. Several other servants grow quiet and turn to see the newest drama. A few laugh.
"Fuck!" the man says. "What did you do that for?" He daubs at his nose, but there's no blood there.
I grumble at him. Is this idiot even worth it? "You're lucky I didn't draw my sword," I say quietly, looking deep into his eyes with my eyes of fire. He is tense, pissed off for a moment, but slowly he seems to understand, and softens.
"Didn't have to hit me so hard, cunt," he says rubbing his face. I offer my hand to him and help him stand upright again. "You'll get worse than that, if you don't mind your place," I say. "A servant speaks always with reverence of the King," I say. Jesus, he should know this. "You are nothing. I am nothing. He is everything. He is... the King."
"Well, aren't you earnest," the servant jibes, quickly backing away to avoid any further remonstrance from me.
"When it comes to the King," I say, leaning back against the wall, "everything is earnest. I live to serve the King."
There is commotion at the dungeon door. A well-dressed servant has stepped inside and is talking to the handsome soldier guarding the door. They are too quiet to hear. The man I struck leans against the wall, watching. The other men have grown silent. All eyes are on the two at the door. When the well-dressed servant steps back out, he closes the door with a heavy thud.
"The King desires the service of number sixty-six," the guard says loudly.
The whole room groans and sighs. The two men resume their wrestling.
"Damn it!" the servant I struck barks. "Thirty-five," he says, resigned. He turns around and clunks his forehead against the wall dejectedly.
I stride to the soldier at the door. "I am sixty-six," I say, looking directly into the soldier's eyes. The soldier looks me up and down, and smirks a bit. He knows what the King likes. He opens the door and steps through. "Follow me," he grunts.
As the door closes, I hear the guy I struck, mumbling to himself, "Lucky son of a bitch!"
I take a deep breath. My heart pounds. My light white cotton shirt, open all the way, shows my hairy chest and soft round belly. I have heard the King likes that style. The very thought of meeting the King gets me hard, and it shows, but my pleasure is nothing. The King's pleasure is everything. I dust off my pants, which I have painstakingly stitched and groomed for this meeting, adjust my hard cock so it's not obscene. My sword hangs heavily from my back, sharp and deadly, ready for the King's bidding.
I assume I will be sent off to do battle again. I am honored. I serve at the pleasure of the King. My eyes are cast to the floor as we walk up a flight of stone steps. My shirt billows behind me as I walk, openly flaunting my soft belly and the hills of my hips. At the top of the stairs, the soldier opens a door, and I slowly step into the King's chamber, full of firelight. The soldier leaves, closing the door behind him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a fireplace roaring with a heavy popping fire. A large bed, richly covered in heavy furs, lounges in the other corner. Large chairs and overstuffed pillows.
The well-dressed servant moves to stand before me, then walks in front of me a pace, his brocaded cloak swaying softly as he walks. The stone beneath our feet clicks with each step. I cannot even feel the presence of the ceiling, it is so high above me. Like my King is high above me.
The servant stops and bows deeply. "Number sixty-six, my Lord" he announces.
As the servant moves off to one side, I step one step forward. I dare not lift my eyes, but I can see a soft golden carpet and the base of a throne of stone and wood. Two strong, beautiful feet stand before the throne, with no sandals to protect them. His feet are perfect. For a moment, looking at the King's feet, my head grows dizzy.
I bow deeply to His Majesty, mostly in reverence, a bit out of light-headedness. My cock aches in my pants. I am nothing. The King is everything.
"Take off your clothes," the servant says.
I do not hesitate, though I do not understand the reason. I keep my eyes glued to the King's marble feet as I unsheathe my sword and lay it quietly down on the floor in front of me. I remove my scabbard and the open shirt from my white, rounded shoulders. I hear a grunt. I beg you, my Lord, please be a sound of approval, I pray. I unbuckle my pants and slide them off my full hips, struggling over my plump, ample ass, and down my long, hairy legs. I stand upright again, my hard cock getting in the way. I can't do much about that now, but I slightly arch my back hoping the King won't be displeased.
I must not look up. Instead, I dream of what I would do to those precious feet. Soft, caressing kisses on the arch. My King. My flat tongue coursing along the pad of His feet. My Lord. My hands moving along the length of His legs. He moans softly. His big toe. Deep in my tonguey, wet, eager mouth. He groans. Your Grace. His big toe, His hard needy big toe, deep in my --
"Thank you, number three," a golden Voice says.
The servant's footsteps move away from us. A door closes.
The quiet is deafening. I breathe as softly as I can, Naked here, big man that I am. No matter what happens, I will remember this day with joy until the moment I die.
The King approaches me. He is fully naked. I see his feet. His strong, muscular, furry legs and the slight curve of his muscular, manly belly. He must be almost as tall as I am, maybe six feet. He is precisely proportioned to that hard, muscley form that sparks the urge to serve in me. His hard, veiny cock, a King's cock, worthy to sire a nation. Straight out from his dark bush of fur, a slight thick upward curve, it nearly touches my belly. I can feel his desire coming from the tip of his smooth, perfect glans aimed at my crotch. I can feel the heat and strength from that perfect projectile, his hefty ballsac full of his power, and again I begin to feel faint. I am under his royal sway. I would do anything... anything... for him.
I keep my eyes down. He slowly circles me and I can feel the heat of his body as he moves to my left, and behind me, and to my right. And in front of me again. He steps a bit closer and I can see his brawny, hairy chest. The potent curves of his muscled arms full of power and will.
For a moment, I am sure I will pass out.
The thing that awakens my senses is the fire of his touch. His touch is lightning bolts. It is shivering grace. He runs his fingertips across the hair on my chest softly. My eyes close, focusing on his touch. But in a moment, his hand drops, and grips my cock hard. I gasp, but fight against the desire to wince. I'm trying desperately to control myself, but my cock wants so bad to shoot just from the shear pleasure of the King's touch. My hard cock throbs once, twice, but does not shoot. I take deep breaths to stop the urge. The King releases my cock.
"Good," he says to himself. He moves behind me again, dragging his fingers over my nipple, my biceps, my back. My body is a pyre, waiting to be consumed. I give it to thee, oh Lord.
"Sixy-six," the King says. "I'm impressed by your past battles in my Name. And... I've seen you before, you know." His touch is the greatest gift I've ever received. My brain struggles to function. "My lord?" I gasp.
"I sometimes watch my servants from afar," the King says quietly. "From this very chamber. For my own pleasure."
"The pleasure of the King is everything," I say. It is a mantra keeping me from surrendering to pure ecstasy. "There is no other thing, living or dead, more urgent than the pleasure of the King." I can barely breathe. His fingers stroke down the length of my back and rest on the upper curve of my ass. "I live to please you, Sire," I say. "I am utterly, completely yours."
The King's fingers move down softly into the cleft of my ass cheeks. I moan softly. The small hairs of my ass cheeks thrill at each pass of his fingers. Without thinking, and I pray not assuming too much, I move my hands to my ass and gently pull my cheeks apart. I am thoroughly prepared, cleaned and lubricated, as all good servants should be. But I never dreamed I would be so honored by the King. His strong fingers feather across my pucker, and I suck in my breath, my cock throbbing heavy against my weighty balls.
I arch my back enough to allow the King his pleasure. I feel the long, strong fingers of the King move into my hole. I bend forward, taking him. His strong fingers, it feels like two of them, but might be three, push against my pucker repeatedly, sending shivers of joy into my body. It is not for me to enjoy. It is the King's pleasure I seek. I groan and it seems to please him.
"The King desires you to do him a boon," the King says to me, his fingers pushing against the silky strong walls of my sphincter, feeling the tight, willing heat coming from my asshole. "Will you be my champion?"
I can barely breathe. "It is..." I stumble out, "my utmost pleasure... My Lord... to serve."
The King fucks me with his heavy fingers. He is very strong and it is slightly painful, but there is no pain when it comes to the King's desires. I take it deep. Like a man. Like a good servant takes it, with joy. Soon with each thrust of his fingers, my sphincter yields to his touch, the groans escape my lips without a fight, and I yield, I yield to the King's need. I try my best not to think of his cock entering me. I would definitely pass out.
"Do you enjoy the King's pleasure?" the King asks quietly. I feel his thick, veiny cock throb against the back of my thigh. It sends me reeling.
"I live for your pleasure," I almost shout. And push back onto his fingers. Deep, deep, to the knuckles. Maybe a bit past. I have never done this before. It makes me cry out. The King moans luxuriously in my ear. I'm in complete ecstasy, and the pleasure is exquisite, but it is the King's pleasure that makes me moan.
"Very good," the King says.
Without removing his fingers completely, the King moves around to the front of me, his arm stretched across my back with one fingertip pawing at my ass still. His magnificent cock is bobbing directly in front of my face. It is everything I can do not to part my lips, reach out, and take his hard, throbbing cock into my mouth. My eyes are unfocused. I am completely cock-crazed. It takes all my decades of preparation and will to resist sucking on that hard, perfect piece of throbbing, veiny man-flesh inches from my lips. For a moment, I am reminded of my dog, my hand stretched out with a morsel, saying, "Wait for it..."
"Good," the King says. A bead of precum emerges from the tip of his cock and if something doesn't happen soon, I am definitely going to burst. The King pulls his finger from me and it feels like the grace of God leaving my body. He stands up fully, the precum on his cock begins drooling down towards the floor between us. I cannot stop staring.
Finally, I open my mouth, breathing heavily. His cock bobs slightly before my face. My head spins with a vision of the cum of the King filling my mouth, invading my throat, and filling my stomach with his power and majesty. I would drink every royal drop. But I don't take him in. I serve at the pleasure of the King. I wait. After a moment, the King takes a few steps back from me. I can't help the guttural whine that escapes my throat.
"Yes," the King says. "I think you'll do."
The King reaches out his hand and pulls my chin up, forcing me to look into his eyes. The entire universe is there. His smile is the only joy I need. I am looking into the face of God. "You will train to take a cock of my length and girth," the King says to me. "It will take several of my men stretching you out for a while, but you must remember each time, they do so in my Name."
"I serve at the pleasure of the King," I say, my heart racing. I must be dreaming. I am not this fortunate.
"Yes," the King says. "Serve me faithfully, and you shall be called to my bed some nights. But you will no longer serve me should you fail to please me."
The thought of failing the King has never showed its ugly fearful face in me. I fall to my knees before him. "My Lord," I say firmly, "I shall never fail you. I give myself to you body and mind, to do as you please, from this day forward." I stare deeply into his eyes. He is dazzling. He is the sun. He is a living god. He is everything and I will serve him mightily and without fail.
"Your obedience pleases me," the King says. He distractedly fingers his nipple as he speaks, looking over his possession with shining eyes. His cock drool touches the floor in a long thin thread of ooze.
"I will obey you always, My Lord!" I shout.
The King smiles at me. He walks back to me, and bends down, lightly kissing my forehead. I feel there, with his kiss, pleasure, lust, joy, and a kind of benevolence. My cock throbs wildly. I am so afraid I'm going to cum. After kissing my forehead, the King stands upright, and places his hand beneath the heft of his royal cock, lifting it to me. His cockhead drips with precum. My heart is joy. My soul is his Service.
"You may kiss me now, Sixty-Six, my newest plaything," he says.
I lean forward, my lips open, and I kiss the end of his hard, salty drooling cockhead. I swirl my tongue to take in all the thick creamy fluid. My tongue lingers beneath his heavy glans, tasting every nuance of his royal precum. My lips close over the head of my King's powerful cock.
"And you may cum," the King says. And I shoot. I'm not touching myself. But I shoot and shoot and shoot, crying out, more cum than I've ever shot before. The King smiles. Laughs. I am a almost weeping, a besotted dog of lust and cum and obedience, cumming out my gratitude before the King.
The King pulls on his long thick cock, a glob of precum sliding onto his fingers. He holds his fingers to my lips. As I lick them clean, eyes closed, completely lost in Him, the King says, "Well done, my good and obedient servant."
His cum is all the nourishment I will ever need. His desire is my only desire. He is my King, and my King is everything.