Galran Rewards

by Daihios

Summary:

The Commander Sendak has always been a proper member of the Galra Empire. Loyalty, fealty, honor. Those values hold strong as he’s about to face his Emperor and… Find something he didn’t expect.

But soon, the other commanders will join the party.

Chapter 1: Sendak

“We arrived for the thirty-four Rotation… We are late,” sighed Sendak in his commanding seat as he checked the vessel internal clock.
The mauve-furred Galra looked at the systems displays in front of him and the reports coming from all the ship: engineers, logistics, or even his officers. Wherever he laid his left yellow eye or the artificial red one on, it was to see alerts. His vessel had collided with an unknown object during their transition, leaving the structure in poor shape. A part of the hull had been punctured, two engines out of four needed repairs, many decks had been vented out, and the line of officers had been affected.

Growling and tapping his elongated metal claws from his left arm, another lost part of his body, Sendak tried to smother the inadequacy he felt. He was a Commander, one of the best and most trusted within the Empire. His feats had sent ripples through the leadership until he had been deemed a proper soldier to approach his Emperor.
And now that it was time to return to the Central Command System with the proof of another world lived under the yoke of the Galran Empire, he was late.

A lesser officer would use the excuse of that anomaly to explain why Sendak was two weeks late. Or why they spent so many days drifting in outer space until the two working engines had given them enough thrust to start a new transition.
But he didn’t abide by that rule, neither his Liege did.

Therefore, that was why Sendak sat on his command seat, his furry and large ears dropping in frustration while his solemn face soured. Anticipation, fear, and anger churned in the Galra, and most of the people on deck were well aware as they kept their distance from him. Low-lifers, servants, and slaves gave him a wide berth or tried their best to flee his presence as they moved closer from the Solar system at the heart of the Empire. They were soon at base.
“How long until we arrive there?” he snapped, turning at another Galra. One with soft features, without horns, scales, or fur. Just one among many that hadn’t been graced like Sendak or Zarkon.
“Hmmm… Twenty minutes, my Commander,” meekly answered the navigator, his head into the screen.
“Fine. When the Central Command System requires it, send them my codes. I’ll be on my way,” answered Sendak, turning off the holographic display and standing up, much to the deck’s dismay.
“My Commander!” even shouted one of them. They were afraid, with reason. Failure wasn’t acceptable within the Empire.
“I’ll face my shortcomings head-on. You, stay on the ship until I approve any leave… Or my successor says so.” He said as he left his post and trudged towards one door leading to a corridor.

His steps heavy, Sendak sighed while he descended to the docking bay. His long ears picked up the cries and the outrage from the command deck, but he gave it no heed. He had his worries… And awe to handle.
After all, the docking bay had the best view from the ship: the furthest edge of the room had no wall but a forcefield delineating the separation from the cold space. And clad in his impeccable red and black armor, Sendak crossed his arms behind him.

The Central Command System was a wonder, bustling with life and energy. Center of the Galran Empire, the base of the intelligence and resource-gathering offices at the origin of the Empire’s endless means. And, of course, where the beloved Zarkon had taken seat.
Every eye gleamed with awe when a vessel approached the planet-sized ship either to bring prisoners or after being called to report. Even the most seasoned veterans were not exempted as they saw the magnificent architecture: purple plates protecting the thousands of thousand levels that constituted the Empire’s crown jewel, the massive engines whose trails were non-existent and moved the ship seamlessly, or even the mounted guns along the outer arms.
Nobody could deny the marvel of engineering displayed when facing the Central Command System. No one could also deny how the structure defied the laws of physics by its might and movement, although the Emperor’s druids might have a say regarding that observation.

Even Sendak, as cold and cruel, felt a tinge of appreciation for the structure he watched at the same time the ship drifted towards its main entrance: a large hole in one of the arms, a dry dock with an artificial atmosphere and a high number of qualified slaves to support any Imperial vessel.
At the front, Sendak observed the mechanical arms reaching for the ship, anchoring themselves through nooks on the exterior, and pulling towards the inside of the structure.
The ship’s engines turned off, ceasing the low hum throughout the decks.
All the while, the docking bay was closer and closer to its platform. And finally… In a loud “thunk,” the ship had been moored.
A small Galra, whose width won over height, stood ready until the force field dissipated. Like Sendak, that one wore the Commander armor. He had horns, white eyes without irises, and an imp-like face. That little one squirmed at Sendak’s approach.

“Morvok,” commented the feline-like Commander, potentially four heads taller than his counterpart, so much so that Sendak had to look down and keep a certain distance. At least, it was only that coward and not Prorok, a tool in the latest campaign.
“Commander Sendak,” retorted Morvok, more formal… And squirmy. Something was up.
It should have been Sendak who acted abashed, but not that little pusillanimous imp.
“I am here to report to the Emperor Zarkon about my arrival. Is there anything you must hand to me?” asked Sendak, extending his prosthetic arm toward the smaller Galra.
“No. Not at all. You must have been in a hurry. Hmm.. Zarkon is waiting for you,” answered the other Commander without providing anything. “I’ll proceed to the Ship’s repairs and inspection.”

But before Morvok stepped aside Sendak, the prosthetic arm outstretched. The claws were even extended towards the spineless Commander.
“No. I’ll handle it myself once I have met with Zarkon. You can stay here or vacate, but not enter.”
“Wait! This is highly unusual! I mus-“ started Morvok, his fingers pointed up.
But Sendak’s hand was already on his throat, the cold metal against the soft, warm skin.
“You must wait. Or leave. This ship is mine, and I will not allow your miserable fingers to sully it. Am I clear?” asked Sendak, hissing and lifting his ears.
“Clear! You- you are very clear! I’ll leave your ship!”
“Good.”

Sendak retracted the claw and his hand while he straightened his back. Browbeating lesser Commanders was unsightly and disapproved by the Emperor, who saw them as petty squabbles. But it felt good for Sendak’s nerves as he crossed his arms in his back and took a step before he glanced at the sweating Morvok.
“Oh, and… Did you forget your hovering platform today?”

He stepped further, listening to the little Galra’s muffled cries of anger. Poor little thing, always so eager to make himself look taller and bigger than he is. Sendak enjoyed watching him seethe as much as admiring others like Prorok fail.
He dared to hope that audacious and obnoxious furball wouldn’t come in the way as he walked through the corridors of the Central Command System.

Hopes that were rewarded as no one dared to waylay him. The usual Commanders, eager to stop him or ask for advice, the upstarts mooching on praise by his presence… or the mere commons who sometimes stumbled on his way. The lifts were empty as he took one directly to the Throne Room.
It was highly unusual. And somehow, the cruel and restless Galra felt he would have preferred a little more delay before facing his Emperor. But then, he swallowed that ounce of whining and pride, and stepped outside the lift.
The corridor to the Throne room was empty, except for the usual guards and druids… However, there was something off in their presence as they followed his advance with their empty eyes. And even some guards seemed slack-jawed by his arrival.

Was he so late his Emperor had already denounced him as a failure to the Empire? Would he be executed on the steps? Sendak chased those thoughts as he pushed the double doors and entered the massive concourse opening to outer space. The purple lighting felt ominous, the same for the oblong room he walked through before he bent the knees in front of the first ascending steps.
Head down, closed fist on the metal door, Sendak was ready to accept his punishment. His second arm, his eye, anything would be endured as long as he could remain of service.
“My Emperor, I am-“
“Were you so zealous to see me, Sendak?” cut dry the Emperor, his husky voice resonating in the throne room. They were alone; even the witch Haggar was gone. This was unusual, so unusual.

Sendak swallowed his saliva and lifted his gaze to see his Emperor. The Immortal Emperor Zarkon: a Galra like him. But so much grandiose with his sizeable red armor, cape, and helmet reinforced the Emperor's stoic expression befitting a conqueror. His iris-less purple eyes were frowning at Sendak while its mouth contorted in a scowl.
He was a Galra… He was a Galra… But so much more. His mauve scales were wonderfully formed, his ears long and refined. Even the scar across Zarkon’s right side of the face was a testament to his might and glory.
“I tried to come back from my mission as soon as possible. Here, I have the proof I fulfilled my duty!” sputtered Sendak, producing a little trinket from a compartment in his right arm. It was a royal broach from the Keyunar, a species he had crushed. And not only did the trinket serve as a decoration, but it also concealed another purpose.
With a single finger, Sendak pushed on the side of the opened broach. Followed a holographic display with schematics, but mostly a royal seal.
“Here are the keys to the Keyunar. We will soon relocate them for the Harvest! Everything as you ordered!” nearly shouted Sendak, outstretching both arms with the broach in his palms.

For a moment, nothing was said. Only resonated Zarkon's heavy steps, the boots stomping on the clean metal. Closer, closer. So much closer.
Sendak’s ribcage was about to explode from his heartbeat. His sweat poured on his side. His Emperor’s hand was so close. Did he become the target of his Emperor’s fury?
Finally, the broach was taken… And examined.
“This is authentic… You have worked well, Sendak. You are an efficient Commander.” stated Zarkon with… Yes. Just a tiny ounce of pride.

Enough for Sendak’s expression to relax and his eyes to dart at his Emperor, who stood upright, holding that “worthless” trinket.
“Really?!” he dared to ask, only to halt his question when his Emperor’s sour gaze returned.
“Yes. When Morvok warned me of your arrival, I thought you took my invitation as a reason to discard your duties. But no, you have duly followed my orders. And, perhaps, exceeded my expectations.”

Sendak’s eyes glimmered at the praise. This was rare, so rare. Never before had he felt so joyful, so energetic, so satisfied. He could listen his Emperor’s praise for days.
“I! Am!” began Sendak, almost exploding before he coughed, and stopped that effusive display. “I am thankful for your consideration, my Emperor.”
There was no other way to state this, as he felt his heartbeat in his ribcage. His Emperor… Cared for him. Valued him. In Sendak’s heart, amidst the weight of massacres and murders, existed an endless desire to be praised.
However, something disturbed him as he heard the chuckle from Zarkon. Those were rare.
“Has something happened during your travel to Keyunar? You would have already taken the opportunity to strip,” commented the Emperor.

For a second, Sendak’s right ear tilted. Then, the second, as he stood upright. He was unsure he heard it right. He blinked, so uncertain.
“Unless you no longer want your reward.”
“No! I want it! Generous Emperor Zarkon!” stated Sendak, bowing, bending, and nearly eager to return to his knees.

But he did not. His Emperor had considered Sendak to strip, and the eager Galra did. His ears perked up; he fought against the smile forming on his lips and tried to control his trembling fingers. He was eager, but he shouldn’t show weakness or signs of need.
“I am thankful for your kind consideration, my Liege,” mouthed Sendak as his artificial limb tugged on one of the magnetic straps holding the metallic plate together.
Zarkon did not answer.

Nevertheless, Sendak continued as the front plate fell, followed by the second. Next, shoulder plates. The instant after, his artificial arm dropped dead as the stump stood exposed with the folded and scarred skin at the end.
Scars. They covered most of Sendak’s form despite the bristled purple fur blanketing it. They drew clearer and darker notes amidst the bushes, marbling a body prepared for conflict. But each scar he bore was a sign of his pride and duty towards his Emperor.
“May I ask what my Liege desires?” asked Sendak, a mental command undoing the straps holding his boots and leg guards together. The formers even opened up, and in one step, his feet were freed from their embrace. He was free, liberated, though his guards remained.
Guards he undid without waiting for an answer, the metal and fake leather dropping down together.
“Your Liege has no need.”

In the fumbling and preparation, in the self-observance, Sendak hadn’t noticed Zarkon return to his throne while the feline-like Galra stood surrounded by the remnants of his armor… Until everything was exposed: powerful arm, mighty legs, broad torso, chiseled and sinewy muscles.
Even his Galranhood. His cock, purple and fleshy, had pushed off its sheath until its tip shinned in the room’s light. Pink precum dripped from the elongated tip onto the ground when it didn’t run along the throbbing length, whose width was bigger than Prorok; Sendak had compared.
As the precum dropped on the skin, then pulled sheath, then testicles, it coated the furry dark purple scrotum with its aroma. The two organs in there were snug and perhaps the least threatened part of the Galra’s anatomy.

“Are you dissatisfied with those rewards?” asked Sendak, stepping closer. Without his armor, he looked less prominent. So was the lack of his arm that made him naturally adjust and lean in that direction to balance the lacking weight.
With red and yellow eyes, he observed his Emperor sitting and reclining in his seat with a sour face. It was rare to see more than that, but every soldier wished to make their Emperor smile and be proud.
“Are you questioning those rewards, Commander?” retorted Zarkon, his hands joined before his torso.

“I am not. I wouldn’t dare put your judgment in question. I want this reward as much as I want to fulfill my Emperor’s needs,” retorted Sendak, a few feet away from his Liege.
Zarkon’s expression was thoughtful, or so it seemed, as he frowned and his eyes squinted. The Emperor scrutinized Sendak.
And Sendak looked back, trying to smother the tremor in his hips and legs. Oh, he needed it.
Finally, Zarkon’s fingers uncrossed, and a sigh emanated from him before he stretched a hand towards Sendak.
“I know you have been working for this reward and prepared yourself for this occasion. You are eager to show me what skill you have… Honed. Do it.”

Sendak restrained a cry as he approached and knelt between Zarkon’s legs. So close, the Commander felt the domineering presence, the natural intimidating aura exuding from that body. And the tender perfume of a perfectly fit male.
Without waiting, he extended his neck and mouth while lowering his ears.
“I trained my mouth to endure the worst of abuse. Should you desire to use it, you will find me prepared and ready. I will provide the ple- Grgl.”

Sendak’s voice stopped. He gargled when Zarkon’s fingers pinched his tongue to pull it out. The long and broad appendage extended forward, more red than purple. The surface was coarse, but had been facilitated through a little intervention as asked to the medics. Its grain would be softer to the Emperor than before.
Hence, Sendak wasn’t afraid when his Liege kept pulling and forcing the appendage out until two-thirds of its surface was out of his mouth.
Then, the pull stopped, and the fingers released.
“Adequate. What about your reflexes?”

This time, Sendak didn’t try to speak. He kept his mouth open for Zarkon’s scaled digits to slip between the lips. Slightly crooked, the three fingers explored and pushed the limit of the orifice. And prodded the Galra’s throat. The throat would be moist, covered in slime that was produced in ample amounts. Sendak was certain his Liege would find a well-lubricated hole to use. Oh, he yearned for Zarkon to use him that way until he passed out.
However, his Emperor wasn’t using him yet.
“How far can I go? Further?”

Sendak’s golden eyes blinked at his Liege. Further?
The three digits slipped further beyond the uvula, hooking onto the muscles while plunging deeper. Even now, a part of Sendak’s brain reminisced about the gag reflex he used to have. The first time Zarkon used him, it had been a shameful display of incompetence.
No longer as the fingers advanced and forced on the muscles. He relaxed, stopped the deglutition, and… Closed his natural eye.
Sendak focused on the air passing through his nose, on the jolts whenever the perfume from his Liege graced his sensitive nostrils. Then, on his arm, he relaxed.

Zarkon’s digits prodded deeper. Sendak could feel them through his skin, inside his skin, bulging beneath. This was a peculiar experience he couldn’t voice lest his vocal cords may be permanently wounded. But it was eerie… And pleasing.
Exciting even as he felt his groin burn with more needs.

Until it stopped.
Zarkon sighed, and a discreet smirk appeared on that face. A smirk! This… This was good. Sendak’s eyes fluttered. His dick throbbed with anticipation.
“This is adequate. Is this what you want?” asked Zarkon, his three fingers pulling out and allowing Sendak to croak and gasp.
Then, give a proper answer: “Yes. I promise to serve you all day. Without hindering your trials and asking for a pause.”
Now, that smirk grew a little more. Did Zarkon enjoy the prospect? Sendak almost smiled but then crushed that expression under a deadpan mask. He shouldn’t reveal he needed it.

“To serve me all day? Do you want me to peruse you on my throne until I am done with you? Exposed to all to see?” asked Zarkon, his husky voice almost singing with satisfaction as he outstretched a hand to lift Sendak’s chin. “Perhaps you want me to call onto my Commanders, and especially Prorok?”
Sendak’s jaw clenched; he swallowed a bead of saliva and grunted. Zarkon saw through him, and further words were dangerous. But yes, he wanted to rub it in against all those who forestalled him.
“Yes. You are right, as always. I want to prove to them that I served the Empire with my entire soul. And they shall work better to best me.”
“Perhaps it will push them further. But do not consider my agreement as a ground for petty quarrels and fights.”
“I wouldn’t dare to be on the Empire’s way!” retorted Sendak, feeling a cold sweat on his back.

His Emperor warned him. He indulged in those fights for his favors but didn’t accept if someone was to cause trouble for the Empire. The tale of the Commander Lyrok always echoed in the back of his mind.
Even when he heard his Emperor chuckle and release his grip.
“This will be your reward. I will use you the whole day, and I don’t want to hear anything from you.”

Finally, Zarkon’s fingers descended onto… His armor. Onto the groin. Onto the purple codpiece covering his private parts. The metal seemed quite resilient and able to endure many attacks. However, a mere press from the Emperor was enough to peel the plate away and reveal another layer beneath. One that presented itself as a double trap door. Finally, it opened.

Even without irises, Sendak’s vision seemed to heighten. His nostrils dilated. His ears fluttered, then dropped. His knees trembled. He prostrated in his fluids.
He saw his Emperor’s Galranhood again. A broad tip with an elongated purple corona pointing in all four directions. The skin dripped with precum, glorious pre-seminal fluid pristine and saturated with quintessence. Its tacky nature was only equaled by the light glow from each droplet, each possessing a savor so refined and pure it ruined every meal beyond that.
“Thank you, my Liege!” pleaded Sendak, ashamed to look directly at his Emperor’s imposing and erect manhood.
“Look up and open your mouth. This is your reward,” retorted Zarkon.

True.
Sendak gulped and lifted his head to be face-to-face with the outspread corona. So close it almost had the visual composition of a flower with extending parts and a bulging center where existed the vertical slit from which poured the precum.
However, Sendak knew porous orifice existed along the sinewy and coiling mast, all over the glorious reach, to coat the enormous dick with precum.
Nothing could have elated the Commander more than to observe this in detail and to pass his hand against the sticky skin. From below the corona to the base, to his Emperor’s scrotum marred with reinforced scales on the outer edges and a softer skin near the sheath. For a moment, Sendak was satisfied in observing…

But his Emperor’s grunt and harsh breath reminded him of his duty.
The Commander took a deep inspiration and opened his mouth as much as possible. His jaw ached, and the masticatory muscle burned. But this was nothing as he pressed his lips around the corona to usher the dick inside.
However, it struck him that the flesh was more pliable and tensile as, by ushering it in, he felt the outreaching corona bend, and the four extremities remained close to the shaft. It… it made it easier for Sendak as he closed a bit further his jaw, eased his muscles… And pushed the tip forward.

The precum dripped over his tongue, etched on the sensory organ of his Emperor’s magnificent presence. And much like Zarkon’s aroma suffusing from the glorious groin, the savor brought Sendak to a new height.

“Keep going, Sendak. You don’t want to disappoint your Emperor,” harshly stated Zarkon, bringing a hand to the Commander’s head. A hand so big, vast, and powerful it could crush a skull. But it merely nudged the inferior Galra to do his duty.
Sendak’s body shivered by the warm skin pressed against his fur; he felt more precum drip from his erect cock.
It was only the tip, but it was already so much for him.

Yet, he pushed further. He didn’t have a third of Zarkon’s Galranhood inside; still, he experienced the poking tip at his uvula. A touch of fear adulterated Sendak’s peace of mind: did he overestimate himself? No. The Commander frowned and pushed, urging the wide tip in his throat. The uvula, now adept, barely sent any signal while the dick struck it and descended further.
So did the esophagus and the vocal cords when the Emperor’s dick bulged in his throat, forming an obscene and cylindrical bump beneath the purple fur. That cylinder pushed deeper, so much so the skin was taut and tense. But Sendak kept going with his eyes frowning. He had prepared himself, trained his body, and modified it for this purpose. He could stay longer in apnea. He could control his reflexes better.
He was ready.

But in the face of that gargantuan challenge, the doubt kept nagging him. Could he please his Emperor? Could he fulfill the request? He took further, feeling that more than two-thirds had slipped inside. His esophagus started to pain him, to send him signals he had never sensed before. But he ignored them, focusing on the savory precum that oozed all over his tongue and tantalized the sensory organ.
He also looked up… And saw his Emperor leaning his head on a closed fist, a warm and charming smile decorating that otherwise stern face. Those purple eyes were watching Sendak, judging him.
But Zarkon smiled! And seemed to enjoy this!
“You can accept your defeat and give up, Sendak,” joyfully remarked the Emperor.

Defeat? Failure? Was Zarkon so considerate to estimate Sendak’s needs?
But the thought of being defeated, no. Sendak refused it. He couldn’t admit it, couldn’t let himself be bested by his shortcomings. He had to endure, to fight, to press on his advantage.
In a gargle, motivated by that suffering throat, Sendak pushed onward the last inches separating him from his Liege’s groin. His biological eye let out a tear from the sharp and intense pain overtaking the Commander’s torso. But it was done; it was there.
The Galra experienced it in his core: the presence of that massive and throbbing length. Its size was wondrous, its presence like a beacon.

To his surprise and pride, Sendak had managed to take Zarkon down to the base, even though his throat ached and his esophagus screamed in pain. He was proud to have his Emperor’s so mighty testicles against his chin.
So close he could hear them churn and appreciate the warmth they gave off and the strong masculine perfume they possessed. Sendak’s ears shifted slightly while his expression relaxed. He stopped to force on his muscles and closed his eye, blessed by his Emperor’s presence in his jaw and that hand above him.

“You did good, Commander,” started Zarkon with his body reclining. He wasn’t looking at Sendak, but that smile hadn’t dissipated. “But you could do better.”
A sting, a cold pinprick through the Commander’s heart as he remained on his knees? More? What else? His throat was entirely secured around the organ, and he was fighting against all the sensations that were exerted in that instant.
He-…

Yes, he could do better.
So focused he was on what he had failed to do and not what he could do, Sendak had forgotten the most crucial part for his Liege. Pleasure.
This was his reward to be used by his Emperor, but the Emperor had to enjoy it, too.

In a gargle, Sendak tried to nod but failed as his mouth, jaw, and throat were locked. His eyes turned up then down, accepting his shame while he lifted his unique hand to his Liege’s testicles. The balance was difficult, with only the legs to maintain upright. But Sendak managed it. He reached for those sumptuous and scaled testicles and felt their egg shape fill his palm one after another. They were heavy and full; his Emperor hadn’t had any proper release.

“Better,” commented Zarkon above, his surly voice echoing in the room's vastness. He seemed pleased by the change. An encouragement Sendak didn’t lose track of as he pressed his digits on the testicles: the little one toward the underside, the thumb along the base, the other fingers on the exterior.
His palm lay on the warm skin, prepared as he pulled.

Sendak pulled his head from the groin and departed from the sweaty and glimmering scales. His nostrils, coated with the fluids, were dilated as the perfume of his Emperor rushed inside once more and filled his brain with wonderful desires and needs.
But he pulled. He forced, feeling the Emperor’s corona drag and slow down by tugging at each part of the esophagus. A tear descended along his cheek as he experienced the sharp pain spring to life again. It…
It was terrible; it nearly forced Sendak to heave. But then, how could he look at his Emperor if he failed?

So he continued with his jaw trembling from the pain. His masticatory muscles were ablaze… His legs trembled. But he kept enduring and watched the length of his Emperor’s depart from his lips, covered with washed-out throat slime and precum. It dripped with precum at each pulse, and they were numerous. Its scent seemed all the more intense as, above, Zarkon grumbled and groaned. The Emperor liked it, that was certain.
It wasn’t a foolish act for nothing. He wouldn’t fail his Liege and leave him plagued by needs.

With a final tug, Sendak felt the corona pass by his tongue and nearly his lips. He stopped, properly giving a lick to his Liege’s flared tip. And he then plunged.
It did hurt; it did wound Sendak somehow, somewhere. But it was what he had to do.
Sendak plunged and threw himself at his Emperor’s groin while the enormous shaft bull-rushed his throat. Tears leaked from his eyes, his mouth quivered, and so were his legs.
He pushed on until his sensitive nose hit Zarkon’s groin and his chin against the testicles. His fingers were still there, holding on to the precious and churning jewels, and he felt the pressure growing inside them.
And he pulled.

Pull. Push. Pull. Push.
His tears didn’t end, soiling his fur and the glorious throne room.
Pull. Push. Pull. Push.
His legs trembled, wobbled, and threatened to fail.
Pull. Push. Pull. Push.
His jaw would soon fail; his muscles screamed in agony, and so did his throat.
Pull. Push. Pull. Push.
He… He was in pure ecstasy. His cock dripped with precum, so hard and prepared.
Pull. Push. Pull. Push.
His cock kept leaking on the ground, his ass clenched, a shiver ran through his spine.
Pull. Push. Pull. Push.
He didn’t end his caresses on Zarkon’s mighty testicles. He even gave them a tender squeeze.
Pull. Push. Pull. Push.
Saliva dripped from his mouth, mixed in with so much fluids.
Pull.
He was at the limit.
Push.
Air lacked, his body trembled from the lack of rest.
Pull.
He trembled… Quivered.
Push.
He- He moaned, silenced by his Liege’s wondrous cock.
Pull.
He came, delighted to please his Emperor like a good servant should. Maybe he could even give pointers to future Commanders.
Push.
He stroked those testicles and felt the tense skin as well as the contraction within the groin.
Pu-sh.

Zarkon’s gauntleted hand was on his head, keeping him close to his Emperor. It kept him there as the groin seemed to quiver before Sendak’s very eyes. Followed by the pulses within the shaft, within his esophagus. A pulse so strong it couldn’t be ignored.
His Emperor’s testicles contracted and almost slipped through his hand while a grunt shook the entire room. It wasn’t a mere footnote.

“HRMPH!” grunted the Emperor, opening his legs wider while Sendak’s stomach felt fuller. His teared-up eye opened wide as he conceived it, the churning and the flood passing through his lips and inside him.
Some of it passed through the lubricating canals, gifted Sendak a preview of the savory semen that was drained into his stomach and inflating it. The flavor was intense, luscious, complex, discreet, and yet forceful on the mind. It swirled, delighted, tempted Sendak, who melted against his Liege’s groin.

Zarkon was cumming inside him, using him like any breeding hole or a tank. That cum’s warmth could be experienced throughout Sendak’s entire body. It permeated his belly, torso, legs, and head. A permeating sensation the Commander tasted every second of it with a delighted and relaxed expression.
His cock had already softened once his orgasm had passed and his load spent. But he was satisfied by the mere fact of being used… And to have that hand keeping him close to his Liege, to those testicles, to that cock.
He could spend hours like those.

But already something broke the relative peace Sendak experienced. Behind him resonated the sound of the double doors opening and the people being ushered in. Their voices were muffled while he listened to his Emperor’s audible orgasm and the contraction pushing more semen within him.
“Do not move, Sendak,” ordered Zarkon.

But Sendak did not move; his hands and lips were riveted to Zarkon’s body. Did the others behind him speak or say something? It didn’t matter, lulled as he was by the churning that filled his mind with peace.
“Is that Sendak?”
“Of course. He had outdone all of us with his recent projects.”
“No, I got this. I mean, his ass?”
“What a slut.”
“I concur.”
“Please, you’re no better. I know what you’re sleeping with when on your ship.”
“What? Bu-! This is confidential!”
The commotion between the Commanders had started, with everyone giving their opinion about the situation. Jealousy always drove the Commanders further but also bred discontentment and disrespect.

“This month, Sendak proved himself the most worthy of my favors,” started Zarkon. His voice boomed in the throne room and silenced any disgruntled officer. It roared while its other hand lifted and extended beyond what Sendak could see. Perhaps those behind.
Sendak desired to let them watch and be envious of his success… After all, he had been forced to stay on the field, missing out on the last meeting on the third Rotation. He was sure they could see his swollen gut, glimmering from all the quintessence of his Emperor’s semen… And his ass.
“Bogh… Prorok… Drick… You have been wasting the Empire’s resources while others toiled. Your inaction won’t be tolerated any further.”
“Yes!” answered three voices in tandem, followed by boots stomping. Prorok was among them?

If Sendak hadn’t had his mouth occupied, he would have snickered. Instead, he smiled. And that smile was quickly set aside when Zarkon’s cold hand pressed on his head to keep that face buried against that musky groin.
“You may hope one day to take Sendak’s place by proving your worth. In the meantime, you can try to justify your failures.”
Now… It was the turn of those idiots, arrogant and upstart, to explain why they failed.

A delight as Sendak drowned in the musk of his Emperor, lulled by the heartbeat in his esophagus and fuller by the second. He had been the best, and this was his reward. However, he should have found a way to face Prorok and grant him a sign like that furball did last time Sendak had been put through the wringer. Perhaps next month, Sendak will work harder… He would allow Prorok to admire his gaped ass. The Commander would be given all the time to see and imagine how easily their Emperor could fit inside and fill him.
Sendak had bested them all… Although, the Galra wondered and pondered.

“I quelled an incursion coming from Commander Gnov’s sector that forced me to dispatch more than forty percent of my fleet. I assure you… We may be at the third Rotation, but I will provide sufficient results,” retorted Bogh’s voice.
“Will you repeat that at the thirty-three Rotation?”
Sendak blinked, thinking… They were not at the thirty-four Rotation but the third? In his mind, he could have chuckled if the revelation made no sense. But it was better to keep it under silence… However, he noted how he needed to discuss this with his chief engineer.

But he quietly discarded the thought and the worries by drowning himself again in his Emperor’s musk, barely heeding the counteractions from his fellow Commanders. He had a real duty to attend to.
And here was Sendak again, pulling his head again and arching his back to expose his stretched-out ass further. He would let them admire and envy him.
Those good-for-nothings would soon seethe with anger, make errors, and ensure his supremacy over the other Commanders. Perfect.

Chapter 2: Galran Rewards - Prorok

Summary:

Within the Empire, Commanders fight for their Emperor’s affection. Prorok? He’s no different. But he’s more cunning.

 

 

 

Prorok took a long breath, sitting at his desk within the Central Command System. The fluffy and purple-haired Galra must have been proud and happy as he was only a few levels away from his Emperor’s magnificent form.
If he desired, he only had to walk to an elevator, press a button, and ask for an audience. But it wasn’t enough for him. It wouldn’t be as he exhaled once more. He closed his golden eyes and tried not to clench his jaw so much. The doctors were telling him his canines were digging into his lips too much, therefore why drinking alcohol made his mouth burn.

But how could he relax? How could he ignore that a few levels above, Sendak had passed a whole day sucking on Emperor Zarkon’s magnificent manhood with nothing to cover himself? It should have been him instead! He had done everything requested, and his work had been of an outstanding quality!
He would have won this month if it hadn’t been for Gnov’s failure. She had failed to quell a rebellion, and while she had kept control of her sector, it had led to a cascade of conflicts across all systems.

The new fleet Prorok had planned to offer to his Emperor atop of his results? Sabotaged and delayed, most engines were purposefully rigged to explode whenever warmed up. It would take months, if not more, to find the culprits and kill them. As for the engines, none were safe as long as those betrayers were standing around. The dockyard would be kept under scrutiny…

“Damn them all,” groaned Prorok as he lifted the tablet from his desk and turned on the display. There was another notification, probably a message from Sendak. And it was, one with an associated file.
With a swipe, Prorok erased it as he knew what it was: Sendak’s recording of his reward. That artificial eye wasn’t only good for the show… And none had been exempted from that petty play, not particularly Prorok.
“Damn you, too,” he groaned as he put the tablet back and turned his gaze at his nearest aide de camp. A lithe and unassuming Galra, one from the colonies on the further edge. Not one with a good name or genes, either. But he was smart and could follow the orders.
“Get me Mar’s reports about his explorations and his prospects,” he ordered.
“Sir… Commandant Mar told me he won’t share his data with you anymore.”

Prorok clenched his jaw and curled his fist into a ball, making his aide jump and step back.
“Is he part of that pathetic attempt against my efforts? He is leading an exploration contingent. I don’t care if he’s still sore about the exploitation of that Balmera; I need his data. If he’s so angry, shouldn’t he ask to get his share? I’ve got what I wanted of it! He can get all the scraps he wishes!”
“Sir. He told me it isn’t an affair of gains but honor. He refuses incoming communications.”
“Then, say… Say... Send him a message through his representatives. He must share his data or I’ll reveal how he covered his protegee the last three years.”
“Sir?”
“He’ll get the memo. It’s an empty treat; don’t weigh into it much.”

Prorok waved his hand, waiting for the young male to step away before he reclined and moaned. He had been bottling that gasp up for a moment. And as he pushed against his desk, his chair hovered away…
Thus, displaying all his pleasure and shame. The origin of that cry.
Like all commanders, Prorok wore the red armor with large pauldrons, covering his body and protecting it from harm. However, his armor had been put on down to his round and plushy torso. Below? There were no pants, no belt, no parts that could cover his bulging belly. One belly he stroked as he looked down. The bulge was obscene, visible through the purple fur and the fat accumulated since his assignation at the Central Command System.
He wasn’t the young lad who would throw himself into battle to get his Emperor’s praise anymore. But he still yearned for his Lord.

At this moment, he yearned to feel his Emperor’s cock, and not a fake, within him. He wanted it to throb, to pulse, and to fill him with that godly semen. His golden eyes ventured, watched the slight increment marking the cocktip, then the fake veiny length. Even with all his years of experience, keeping such a colossal mast within him was somewhat painful. But it was necessary.
His Lord had always praised his ass: from its flexibility to its sheen. And whenever Prorok was rewarded, he had asked to be bred by his Lord or fingered by him… Sometimes, he even wished he could play the role of his conquered Wife. But… No.
It would be presumptuous of Prorok or of any commander to ask that of their Lord.

Emperor Zarkon was a fair Lord. Stern, yes. Cold, yes. Prompt to burst, yes. But it didn’t mean he wouldn’t reward one of his subordinates properly once every month.
“My Lord. I miss you,” mumbled Prorok, imagining it again… Delving and remembering it… His last time with Zarkon. Even his cock was spurting like crazy.

“You asked for me?” were Prorok’s words as he was ushered within Zarkon’s private quarters. Not his throne room this time, not that it mattered to the Commander. He knew his fellow commanders had all failed their duties but him. For that simple reason, he was the one to be rewarded. Within those dim quarters, his Emperor had welcomed him with nothing on him but his crown.
“You know why you are here,” his Lord curtly answered, with that wonderful manhood pointing forward. The tip had been dripping with glimmering precum. More than that, its scent filled Prorok’s nostrils as he approached, valiant but not foolish.
“It’s because everyone else has failed? I know-“
“Strip. Furball.”

The words had been rough, insulting, perverse. In another situation, a high-ranking Galra would have gasped at the insult. Furball, only the furred from the lower castes could be called as such. That word was to be a taboo, and coming from Zarkon’s mouth…
It had made Prorok melt in his armor, a dumb smile appearing as he stripped in front of his Lord. Piece by piece, the metal had fallen and revealed his pudgy form. His moobs had gotten a bit bigger due to the regimen he was followed, same for his belly. His ass, too, had gotten bigger and rounder, although this was due to his constant training and squatting. As for his genitals… Well, his testicles were much bigger, so much bigger since he had been keeping himself within that tight purple cage stylized to resemble Zarkon’s scales.

“Thank you, my Lord, for remembering it,” muttered Prorok as he approached his Emperor… And felt his gaze upon him. A cold, demeaning, and sensual gaze.
“Remembering what? That you are a slut? A failed male? A slut disguised as a commander?”
Each choice was like a spear, a remark, an insult. Each hitting Prorok’s ego, yet making his pathetic and caged cock spurt some more.
“Yes… For all that,” said Prorok with his head down, trying not to reveal his smile and the quiver through his body. But that was a failure; his legs trembled too much, and he couldn’t stay steady.

“You can thank me later after I ruin your body and make you beg for mercy,” continued Zarkon’s with his clawed hands groping that meaty ass and squeezing it. Even going so far as to lift it and slide a finger withi-
“Sir… Mar refuses to give his results! He told me… Hum. He told me he wouldn’t allow you to access his data. With many insults, sir.”

Prorok’s eyes frowned as he saw the aide entering his room. Instead of calling, he had barged in right the moment Prorok was feeling that tender sensation in his prostate. One he could only reach when his Emperor used him… And when he had that dildo and his whole hand inside him. All… All had been wasted. Moreover, he was lying naked, with his caged dick spurting on the ground while reclining. That young lad had seen his superior masturbating at his desk… Using a pale copy of Zarkon’s manhood.
“Fine. I’ll get to him directly. You, you are demoted to private. Go to embark to the nearest vessel to the Jaiar system.”
“Sir!”

Prorok didn’t budge… And soon, his sullen subordinate slipped away through the door, leaving him in his room.
“Fuck him, too. For wasting such a good moment!” groaned the Commander, stretching his back and moving from his position… It would do him no good to keep dreaming. It was better to shower and see Mar… And get a new Aide de camp. One that knew when to knock at a door.

---

His purple fur pristine and the scent of lubricant and semen gone, Prorok wandered the halls of the enormous Command ship. More than a vessel, it was close to a citadel that integrated many domes, simulating ecosystems within, as well as industries and even residential districts. Only the nobles and their families, born from Commanders, would live within. As for the industries, only the most docile slaves, those purposefully bred over generations, were allowed to step foot inside this sanctum.

In production, the planet was comparable to a planet, and only a select few were privy to its details. Moreover, it wasn’t rare for a Commander to take a shore leave while their ships were repaired in the dockyards since the vessel offered all amenities.
If you knew them, if you knew their schedules, if you knew when to reach them; it was easy to contact those pompous arrivists and talk with them. That was how Prorok slipped into one of the many bathhouses within the residential district.

As usual, its structure was of steel, standing out in the middle of the gardens, while it housed baths of all types for all types of nobles, soldiers, commanders… And thus, Mar.
Commander Mar, a burly and one-eyed soldier. Gruff, ruff, with a leonine mane he kept shaved and stylized like hair; he easily stood above most soldiers. Even Sendak…
His presence filled the discreet bathroom he had reserved for himself alone. Yet. The door opened without any issues once the right accreditations were provided.

“Hey, this is supposed to be closed!” Mar shouted, a towel over his face while he reclined with his arms outstretched, glancing over his shoulders.
“I know. But I am not keen on chasing you across the station and the universe one more time,” answered Prorok as he entered, nodding to his suite of slaves, and closed the door.
The stuffy atmosphere immediately made the Galra tug on his collar. Nonetheless, Prorok stripped and picked a towel from the rack at hand near the entrance. Meanwhile, Mar had stood still and… been thinking. Finally, Prorok’s armor dropped.
“You’re running out of blackmail material, and you come to grovel?”
“Not at all.”

“I am running out of blackmail material I can safely hand to my subordinates,” retorted Prorok as he approached the water. Opaque with all the oils and perfumes Mar abused. The squat Galra tipped a toe: the water was warm, agreeable. He stepped inside, throwing the towel on his side as he welcomed the blissful embrace. It would be so easy to ignore the cage he bore as well as other shameful details when fully submerged. But not Mar, not when he scowled like this.
“Fine. What’s your price this time? The maps? Already on your way,” said Mar, lifting a water-logged hand. “Is that enough?”
“Not at all.”
“What?” nearly shouted Mar, his eyes darting at the diminutive male.
“I want an alliance, Mar.”

Like a pin drop, the room fell silent except for the pipes sending more warm water and the flickering lights. They were facing one another, Prorok with his head almost submerged and Mar having it down to his belly.
“An alliance. You? The Backstabber Prorok? Who came first with blackmail and exigences?”
“Me,” answered Prorok, his head diving into the water before he emerged, his ears dripping and shaking. “I want an alliance of circumstances to handle Sendak. If my predictions are correct, he will hog all the Emperor’s rewards for the next two years.”
“Tssh. Again with that, furball.”

Prorok’s ears burned and twitched again. It wasn’t meant to be an insult, but to poke fun at his requests and what…. Suffused from the rumors.
“Don’t you want to be rewarded? It has been what? A few years since the Emperor deigned to give you his entire attention,” jabbed back Prorok. Even if it wasn’t the worst, an unrewarded Commander was perceived as weak and unworthy.
“Four. But I have grown beyond the squabbles. This is fine if I am not the best. I am not a backstabber,” said Mar. However, the slight bitting of his lips indicated something else. That, and the scent emanating from him, need.
“Don’t you want to be paraded on a leash again, full of our Emperor’s glorious semen? Nothing more than a pet? You would be perfect under his boots… As he removes y-“
“Stop!” groaned Mar, holding his hands out. “I get it. You appeal to my basest desires, as always.”

To complement this, Mar sighed and reclined against the basin’s edge. In the meantime, Prorok approached him with a devious grin. One that betrayed his line of thought.
“If we break a deal, you will get the first reward,” said Prorok, flashing his canines.
“You… Would you follow through?”
“I will do everything as long as Sendak gets no more rewards. Even if I have to make a deal with you, Mar. And every other commander,” stated Prorok.
“You have him under your skin… Did he send you the videos of his la-“
“Yes. Yes, he did,” cut the squat Galra as he backed up in frustration. “I will provide my expertise and shipyards. You will provide every map you have within your fleet’s system. If you encounter a prize, you don’t log it for analysis but send everything to me, directly.”
“You’re treading a dangerous line, Prorok,” said Mar as he seemed to fidget. If he were to back off now, Prorok would have to turn to someone else. Someone less efficient.
“No. We will link our systems; hence, it is normal for me to receive the information in advance before the Central Command System properly archives it.”

Now, Mar scoffed. All the tension in his last words was gone, replaced by a chuckle.
“You furball. You had planned this all along,” commented Mar… Before the Bath’s door opened again on two slaves. Two aliens whose undefined traits betrayed their shape-shifting nature. They were a rare kind, especially with their homeworld gone and destroyed. But they were not only docile but capable, too.
“Wait,” stuttered Mar, his eyes widening as the doors closed and the two creatures shaped changed. They became bigger. Their oily skin turned into purple scales. A cold gaze appeared where they had none… One scornful, cold, brutal.
“You didn’t dare?”
“I did… Now, shall we enjoy our rewards? Do not worry. They will keep their mouths shut. I instructed on how to satisfy your needs,” confirmed Prorok with another grin.
Before them, two copies of their Emperor appeared. Stern, beautiful… Physically perfect with all the details from the disdainful lips to the erected Galranhoods. And Mar, at Prorok’s side, seemed almost enthused.

---

Grin. Prorok grinned all the way as he stood in his Emperor’s throne room. All commanders were summoned by their Lord. Some didn’t attend, those unlucky and lost in the furthest expanses… But he was there this month.
The last one, to everyone’s surprise, but the Emperor’s and Prorok’s, Commander Mar had been selected as the best Commander. Their joint efforts from two sectors brought many of their projects to fruition. As it was, Mar’s fleet had been successfully improved. As for Prorok, he had managed to increase the number of produced ships within his shipyards by a factor of two digits. Better than any other Commander.

Despite his best efforts, not even Sendak had met their pace. The poor cat would be sad to know Prorok was confident of his victory. But it felt better for Prorok when he heard his Emperor’s words and stepped forth.
“This month, only a few of you have fulfilled my expectations. Failed culling, weak production… I left my Empire to incapables who should take the example of Commander Prorok. Through his efforts alone, he had compensated for all your failures. Therefore, he will be amply rewarded. As for you all… You are dismissed.”

Prorok could feel the sting in the back of his neck. Sendak should be raging and furious; as for Mar, he would be satisfied. He got his reward last month… He had been paraded like a good dog, his body thoroughly broken until he had to spend a few days attended by surgeons… That tendency could have jeopardized Prorok’s reward. But this was fine.

Everything would be fine. He heard the commanders step away, and his Emperor’s hand on his shoulders as they walked behind the throne toward the quarters.
“What trick did you use to gain my appreciation, Furball?” asked Zarkon, his voice demeaning and cold. He was seeing through everyone’s games… As always. But didn’t care.
“Mar and I are working together to streamline the Empire’s expansion, my Liege. Only that.”
“I see. You have been cutting through the administrative delay… Not bad.”
“Not bad?” answered Prorok, shivering.

Before him, his Emperor’s private rooms were revealed. The same ones as always… But the rough musk from them, the warm and stuffy temperature, the lack of commodities and soft furniture. It struck a cord within the squat Commander, his eyes not daring to turn to his Emperor and facing that armored belly.
“I have been thinking of changing the ways Commanders report to me and the Central command system,” answered Zarkon, snapping at his subordinate, who didn’t take long to doff his armor.
“But… I must be punished for going against your decrees, right? My Liege?”

Zarkon didn’t miss the play Prorok was going for. He chuckled, even laughed. His laugh was cold, cruel. And so was his hand as it danced on Prorok’s exposed and furred back, approaching that plump ass.
“Yes, you will be punished, Furball. You are a conniving and despicable Commander, a failure who uses artifices to get what he wants… Me.”
His Emperor’s words started, making the furred Galra clench his thighs and… His buttcheeks.

However, no amount of strength could allow him to resist as the scaled fingers were on the round fluff mounds, stroking them… Sliding within and prying them apart.
“You should feel shame for what you are. Backstabbing your fellows when you are not blackmailing them. You are nothing but an insult to the Empire’s honor.”
Prorok could have answered, but he bit his lips. His purple blood even started to trickle where his canines had pierced his soft skin. His Lord’s cold hands forced his cheeks apart, tearing down the meager resistance he offered. Oh, he loved it…
He loved the knuckle stroking his naturally gaping hole.
“All so I can breed that hole you ruined, for my pleasure.”

“Yes… My Lord,” stated Prorok through huffs. His dick started to ache within the cage, blood pulsing within it while the constraint forced back and… Crushed his cock. But he was so excited precum began to spout from the cage. It pooled on the ground, dirty and… Sticky.
“That’s your only saving grace, Prorok. Your loyalty. Not to the Empire, your blood, or me. But your lust… I could take it all away. And force you to accept it,” whispered Zarkon, leaning over.

The Emperor’s whisper was like a breeze in his ears, making them twitch and drop as those two digits had forced their way in and were wiggling deep into Prorok. One pair of knuckles, two, up to the limit. The fingers were fully inserted, and their caress was on the Galra’s sensitive and overswollen prostate. A mod that was… Well-liked among the Commanders. One that truly turned each moment with Zarkon into paradise. Even such as a mere caress, stroke, rubbing, drawing a circle around it while the poor inferior mortal heaved.
“Punish me, Zarkon. I- I am a traitorous whore. I deserve to be punished.”

“I might,” countered the Emperor, his clawed index poking at the swollen organ. He pressed it on and forced it against the taut flesh. The spewing precum increased in volume, the constraint on Prorok’s cage increased, and his breath quickened. “But I won’t.”
In an instant, all disappeared: pressure, finger, presence.
Remained then the gaped asshole dripping with lubricant produced by his modified glands.
“Em- Emperor?” swallowed Prorok, his cocky attitude gone, replaced by need. Would it be-
“Once I am done with you, you will present yourself to the medics. If you resist, furball.”

Those fluffy ears dropped further. He wasn’t like Mar, who would throw himself at Zarkon to get the worst out of him. He wasn’t as tame as Sendak. Hence… This… This was a supplice wrought from the inability to bear and reminisce his previous torments. Every mods was for his Emperor… But he yearned to be his Emperor’s property, ruined as seen fit.
“Yes… My liege,” he finally mumbled, his fingers lifting to caress his nipples.

Fingers joined by more, by more calloused ones. Those… They pinched, dug, and turned, and squeezed until each nipple was erect and hard.
“I sense a note of dissatisfaction, furball. Are you such a whore you would want those to be definitive? To portray yourself above your function and want to bear my child?”
“…”

Prorok didn’t answer but dry-heaved. Yes, that was all he desired and imagined. He had thought himself clever to request small rewards leading to this before… But his Emperor had seen clear through his game.
It didn’t mean he was authorized to speak and utter the world: To become his Emperor’s lover. Even a concubine was above his function, so much beyond what he could be.
But if he said no, he would-
“Speak… Whore.”
“I-“ stammered Prorok as he observed the scaled Digits grow brighter and more purple, and hotter. “I… I merely wish… To be punished by my Emperor and be used as he sees fit.”
He swallowed his saliva, not daring to look above his shoulder, and glanced at his Emperor’s expression. But a slow sigh came while the heat on Prorok’s nipples and breasts increased.
It… Was pleasant, sure. But it seared his skin, made it burn. He could almost smell the scent of burned fur. A distasteful smell that still brought ruin to the moment.
Oh… Why could he not keep his Emperor’s gift?

One so prominent as he glanced down and saw his breasts, fat and sagging, turn bright too… And his nipples almost blinded him before… Yes. A droplet formed at their tips. Quintessence. It was pure energy, something only the Druids and the Emperor could produce. A pure… Liquid Zarkon leaned to smell and smile.
“Fine. You will be punished as I see fit.”

Fit… That was the way the Emperor’s monstrous and enormous dick was, nestled and pushing between Prorok’s cheeks. A mere push, and the organ pried open the tightly-clenched orifice. It forced open that rim, made it gape and squeeze and suck on the organ. One that was bigger than an arm, one whose flared flat tip was complimented by an extended corona that stroked and distended Prorok’s orifice.
No one in the Empire had a Galranhood as good as the Emperor. Worse, none could reproduce the sensation of filling and heat emanating from it.

Prorok nearly fainted as his prostate was once more under assault. Not that his Emperor had started to rock that body. The shaft had barely pushed a quarter inside, and the tender gland was already squeezed so hard. Prorok moaned, he was on edge, at the limit of the orgasm. His precum turned white, and his loin burned. But he didn’t want to… Yet, he was about.
“This is what you have been looking for, furball. Wanting to have me inside… But this… This is just the beginning,” groaned Zarkon by his ear…. Before biting a bit off.

Prorok cried out of the pain. But this was only the beginning as his Emperor’s cock pushed deeper, and so those clawed digits danced on his body despite the luscious purple coat.
“Here’s your punishment for your failure at Daraun,” groaned Zarkon as his claw pushed.
“I should do more for what you did against Bogh,” added the rightful Lord as another purple line was drawn.
“The Kelohr, Jixis, and Praunt rebellions,” said Zarkon, making Prorok cry as the three punishments were inflicted at once: belly, breasts, thighs.

Those were old punishments, old failures, old errors. But their burning notes made Prorok’s mind sharper to the pleasure he received as his Emperor’s dick pulsated inside him and filled him with more cum. His belly already bulged from the sheer mast, and the sensation of fullness was all the more intensified by the shaft under his skin.
That… And the delight when, by turning to face his Liege, he had the voluptuous pleasure of feeling those dry lips close on his perky nipples. They suckled the produced Quintessence; his energy, his power, was given to his Liege.
His liege was taking his Quintessence, sucking him dry while replacing it with something Prorok had been yearning, like all Commanders: the intense high from that potent seed.

Already, his mind drifted on the edge of a true orgasm, approached, neared the moment. Not unlike the pathetic ejaculation he had produced through the prostate massages.
Prorok wished he could have moved his hands and caressed his Lord’s sweaty and powerful body at hand. But weak and ruined, he only had the pleasure of watching the sinewy muscles beneath the scales, the glimmering purple from the reflected lights, the scorn glance his Lord sometimes gave him as he suckled… Suckled… But stopped?

Prorok’s eyes rolled in their sockets, his mouth parched from the gasps and inhalations without closing it. Saliva dripped from its corners as he felt it once his Emperor departed from his nipples. They were depleted.
His Lord’s blessing to produce Quintessence had run out, and Prorok’s body couldn’t naturally produce more. Perhaps he should have begged Zarkon to be less hungry, not to suckle them as hard… But why would he?

Why would Prorok refuse himself the pleasure of hearing his Lord’s groans while Quintessence dribbled in that thirsty throat. Why when it made all the humpings and grinding against the prostate more delightful? Was it folly when a single lick onto the modified breasts sent an orgiastic shiver through the Commander’s spine?
It was unwise, foolish, to ask for something when everyone enjoyed it. Yet… It had stopped.

“You have given me more than expected, furball,” commented Zarkon, placing one hand by each side of Prorok’s head as they were on the bed. The Commander’s legs were tangled. His body was sore: genitals and prostate alike. His inner walls were… A perfect cocksleeve. But the rest wasn’t… Everything else was to be punished. He needed to be punished. Somehow.
“My- My liege… Please. I- I can give you more,” moaned Prorok, his orgasm about to reach him, to wash over, to overtake him. He couldn’t give in. Not without the torment.
“I won’t give you the pleasure of the final punishment, Furball.”
“N- No, hear- me out! My Liege!”

Prorok’s voice sounded like a cry of despair. But the thrusts, the lips, the movements, all stopped. Zarkon’s gaze was on him, judging each of his words.
“There’s… Something you can take, my Liege. Replacing it would be no issue for our medics.”
Prorok articulated his thoughts the same way he looked down, then up to meet his Emperor’s eyes. There was a scowl, a frown, a surprise. But then, a smirk. Just a discreet and almost unnoticeable smirk on that face marred with scars.
“You have been preparing for this. Haven’t you?” asked Zarkon, his fingers descending to give Prorok a firm squeeze. One that made him squeak.
“Yes!”

He nearly screamed from the pleasure and pain elicited from his body. His Liege’s hands were so powerful and brutal that they left him heaving with a potent pain in the abdomen. Within those scaled hands, the Emperor held his Galranhood. Two jewels, two precious orbs covered with purple fur, cinched by the gold of his cage. He felt the pressure within, the tension… And yes, all that pent-up needs that hadn’t been released yet.
He had denied those orgasms and would continue to do so until his Emperor willed it differently.
“I will personally send my medics to have that fixed,” said Zarkon.
“As expected, my Liege. I- I will bear no scars and… promptly return to my duties.”

No scars, no wounds, nothing was allowed to leave those walls. Zarkon could have broken each of his commanders one by one, ruining bodies and minds. But no, he kept them on the edge of oblivion. Enough to feel the attraction of self-destruction, not enough to get the reward.
Almost every Commander had been gratified by that addiction.
The desire to break themselves against the wall that was their Lord, be healed, and return there. Some gained scars or lost limbs through it. But Prorok… He would get that healed.

The hands on his testicles were warm. Just a glance above the bulging and stuffed belly, he saw the purple gleam from his Liege’s digits. They were so warm, so deliciously warm. Their touch spread it, letting it suffuse within Prorok until his testicles were hot. They burned; they were like scalding rocks in his scrotum, aching and making him almost beg to have them out.
But blood ran as he bit his lips.
“Regretting your misdeeds, Furball?”
“I- … I will never regret my Emperor’s… Justice.”

His toes curled further while shivers ran down his spine. His Lord’s Galranhood pulsated within him with an increased intensity. Even Zarkon was excited. Even his Lord desired it?
“You have no shame whatsoever.”
“No… My Lord.”

He bit his lips again, making the purple blood drop on his maculated fur while he felt it. The energizing presence coursed through his body while his Emperor returned to that back and forth. Like a vine, the sensation coiled around Prorok’s spine and progressed.
It pulsated like his Liege’s cock did.
It warmed like his Liege’s touch did.
It pleased like his Liege’s gaze did.
Prorok closed his legs tighter around Zarkon’s waist, although he had no power to halt or impose stillness on that body made for war.

His breath hastened. His body tensed. His claws bit his palms.
“HHHh… Yes,” he sighed as he felt what was to be an orgasm. And ejaculation, a profound reward. But his cock wasn’t shooting anything. Instead, the delayed sensation across his body increased, and… Quintessence poured from his nipples like faucets.

The luscious and powerful milk dripped from his moobs in glimmering trails that only stopped once the Emperor’s parched lips were on them. Zarkon suckled them dry. He gulped audibly, uncaring for what Prorok felt and thought.
Not that the Commander cared. His body was wrought by pleasure, his muscles tensing so much that his legs and arms ached. His hole? It had gone numb, though he could guess there were some weak contractions from it.
His feet were numb, too.
He was feeling numb and lightheaded. Perhaps from the blood loss?

He didn’t care as he closed his eyes and hissed. Another orgasm, brought by a powerful thrust, washed over him. A sigh followed, of course. But no fluids between his legs. Only more milk as the flow increased; thus, his Emperor’s mouth drank with renewed passion. A passion that made those teeth dig in the flesh and that tongue swirl. Like a vicious circle, it brought Prorok closer to these orgasms and faster.

One ejaculation… Two… Three… But no fluid. Only more milk as his body and brain were jolted. It had been a supposition, an idea of Prorok. A folly, perhaps. But he no longer wanted to be punished and ruined by his Lord… or instead, he had found something he desired above that. He had found his reward, his desires, his love.
His gaze drifted to the light above, burning and etching in his mind.
“Thank… You… My Liege,” muttered Prorok, feeling himself drifting in the sheer pleasure and satisfaction his Lord gave him.

He drifted away…
Only to return and wake up, welcomed by the same light above him.
He hummed, blinking and trying to move. All of his body burned from the gashes, but there was no blood, only faint scars below his fur. And the sensation of fullness inside and at the edge. He tried to move on the bed, feeling the fresh sheets wrapped over his naked body as he looked around. He was still in his Liege’s quarters, but there were no traces of Zarkon.

“Did I?”
Did he pass out during his reward? Did he miss the moment? Did he miss what mattered?
Prorok shivered at the thought, his Emperor perhaps gone and attending to his duty, expecting the Commander to be gone.
However… Prorok lifted his arms and admired his scars. His Emperor had mandated the medics to heal him, but it left the Commander weak, too. Not excessively. Not enough not to be on his feet, the sheets dropping behind him as he crossed the room.

No furniture kept him from advancing within the large but mainly empty room. His steps, trembling at first, were reaffirmed as he faced the sole mirror within that room. One that evidently dwarfed Prorok. But allowed him to glance at what… What today’s session had entailed.

From his deep purple, the clearer scar tissue stood in stark contrast. His entire body had been marbled and marked, and it would take more than a month to grow enough fur to cover those scars. However… What surprised him was the gold.
The gold he touched, the ring hanging from his raw and swollen red nipples. Two heavy golden rings that exacerbated his sagging chest. Rings he touched… Before he descended on his round belly, bright from his Liege’s semen sloshing within.
Zarkon had outfitted him with a mere plug, ensuring that the semen would be kept inside… A delicious and generous gift Prorok wasn’t about to forget. Nor what was below.
“You will have that healed by the next month, whether your performances are satisfying or not.”

Zarkon’s voice sounded like a thunderstorm just a few feet away. How did he enter the room without making a sound, despite the massive armor, Prorok couldn’t tell. It…
Prorok bowed, one closed fist over his chest as his Emperor approached.
“My Lord? What… Does it mean?” asked Prorok with a slight tremor in his voice.

His Lord’s steps were getting closer. So much so that the natural musk enraptured the Commander’s nostrils again. That… Then the large scaled hands descended to seize Prorok’s scrotum.

“Do I have to explain it to you?” scoffed the Emperor as he rolled them before the mirror.
Strangely, Prorok didn’t feel anything coming from the touch. They were numb, smaller… Cold even. So cold as he descended to touch them. It was odd yet exciting. Enough for… A drop of milk dripped from his left breast.
“H- How? And… Your blessing? I don’t understand, Emperor.”
“Should your little ploy with Mar come to fruition, unrest will breed among my commanders. Factions will appear, along with further political backstabbing. More than you could ever imagine,” started Zarkon, leaving Prorok at a loss.
Agape, Prorok observed how his Lord nonchalantly leaned to collect the milk bead and bring it to his mouth to lick it.

“Keeping you divided, separated, and unable to thrust your other Commanders. That’s a strength I have been breeding and preparing over generations. Your actions, Prorok, may ruin that prospect.”
“I- I am sorry, my Liege. For failing you.”
“You failed me, furball,” continued Zarkon as he leaned to pinch the nipples. The sensation was so intense, so raw. So… Pleasing. More milk poured. “But I have something better than a mere monthly reward for you. Your performances won’t matter in the grand scheme.”

Prorok held his breath, the fingers on his testicles closing onto it as more quintessence was drained out of them.
“I will harvest you.”

---

Prorok sat at his desk; his fingers joined before his face.

Before him, Commander Mar paced and ran in a circle, fuming and thinking while grumbling. That was one of Mar’s weaknesses: his inability to control his thoughts and emotions appropriately. Something Prorok watched, thinking about the possibilities.
“You dare to betray me? After we had our system working? What has been getting into you, furball?” finally shouted the armored Galra, pointing his index at Prorok.

That was expected. One day or another, Prorok had to announce their alliance was to be revoked. Mar would return to the fray, perhaps more inclined to overwork so he could finally get the abuse he sought at the hands of his Emperor.
Emperor who, in his clarity, had already requested a change within the Empire’s administration to remove the loophole Prorok and Mar had exploited. Now, Data and information would be automatically synced without passing through a long and tedious integration process.
Of course, it meant more fake or subversive data could be injected from the Commanders. But should one be found guilty of such practice, it would spell their demise or their assignment to a forlorn planet.

Hence… It all returned to Prorok and Mar, the latter fuming.
“I have no gain in helping you. The advantage and data you held over me is now shared with the whole Empire. I don’t have to grovel or ask for your permission anymore. Why should we continue our little alliance? However… Should you return in kind, I am eager to offer you little favors.”
Mar huffed at the remark. Yes, he could get favors… But it meant that Prorok dangled vessels and fleets over his head. It would be a change: the Commanders assigned to the Central Command System holding power over those exploring the deep space.

Mar wasn’t stupid, and with another huff, he left and slammed the door behind him. Therefore, leaving Prorok alone in his office… Enough for him to push on his desk and have his chair scoot back. Once more, the squat Galra wore nothing but the top of his armor.
Once more, he used a replica of his Emperor’s Galranhood to satisfy and please his over-swollen prostate.

But his eyes were between his legs. His testicles had recovered well from the treatment and the additional drugs. They were swollen, constantly full, and needy. Even now, his cock would drip with cum even if he wasn’t cumming or feeling any stimulation. That was an issue the medics had warned him, as well as the impotence he might suffer from the excessive dosage.
That was fine for Prorok.

That was fine as he stroked where the hair had been shaved and where had been inked the few sigils he desired: “Ready for harvest”. Soon, his Emperor would request his presence for another milking session…. One Prorok was gladly awaiting.

Chapter 3: Zarkon

Summary:

It’s time for Zarkon to get his own little reward

“You disappoint me. All of you. Your failures won’t be forgiven,” he said scornfully as he watched them kneel before him, their expressions wrecked with shame and worry.
None. None of them had had a spark of competency in the current conflicts. Even Sendak, his most talented Commander, had been a deadweight when facing the current Empire’s uprising.
None had been bright, smart, or had attempted something out of the typical Galran tactics. He frustratedly sighed, one hand going over his forehead to massage the plates. His drumming headache was getting worse. Usually, he could bear it for his Commanders’ reward. One… one among the lot who would rewarded. But none was sufficiently adequate.
“Fine… Dismissed. All of you failures,” he said, his other hand gripping his throne.

“M-My liege. What about our reward?” asked Commander Mar. Yes… technically, Mar had been the least terrible of the lot. He had managed to scrounge a few victories with a crippled fleet. But a fleet he had barely managed to maintain due to minimal control over the Dry docks abroad.
“Your reward for incompetency, for you all, is to survive another day knowing your life is on the balance!”
Zarkon smashed his armrest with a closed fist and darted his glowing eyes at them. At the trembling, pathetic, and useless commanders. All of them trembled but managed to be back on their feet and take their leaves. One… By one. They bowed in order of seniority until they were all gone, except for Zarkon’s druids and guards.

“My liege… Should we advance… With the feeding?” asked the elder Druid, a Galra whose face remained hidden and whose identity was better forgotten.
“Advance it? … Yes. Do it… And send them to my room. I shall not wait any further,” grumbled Zarkon standing up.
“It will be as ordered, oh Emperor Zarkon.”
Subservience, pathetic bootlicking. Still, Zarkon couldn’t deny it was expected when ruling an Empire spanning over Galaxies and more. It was an emerging property in which the lower beings would praise their betters in an attempt to get closer and reach a desired role. Maybe…
He sighed before he could imagine his next ruling: cull the weak among his commanders. Doing so would breed excessive fear and dissatisfaction, establish a precedent that could be exploited for a future rebellion, and apathy.
No… he had to foster that image of an elite that was coddled and appreciated. Their survival was… Against all odds… Necessary.

A cold necessity he would have easily discarded like his armor as he entered his quarters. Lifted was the tiara covering his forehead. Gone was his cape, flapping in his steps. Away were the plates covering his torso and shoulders. Thrown were his gauntlets and boots. Doffed were his pants until he stood naked in the room where he would welcome his commanders for their rewards if he so desired. But it remained empty, its dim lighting helping with his drumming headache as he sat on a sofa.

He… was a god. A God given life through quintessence. His Empire knew it. His servants knew it. He was above all of them. He was immortal, as his blood was willed by his soul and not his body. His will was everything, even to his body.
Yet. Not to this pain and thirst for quintessence as he needed it to survive. The same quintessence powering his Empire was his lifeblood. The hulking Galra was hungry after a mere month; there was the reason for that pain.

One, he would find… peace in sustenance.
A knock. He turned his head over the door, still sprawled on the sofa with his body exposed.
“My Liege. It is ready. Shal-“
“Let them enter.”
A cold order, but the Druid entered with two specimens of a gruff species. Those two seemed similar enough to imagine they were of the same lineage. Gray fur is all over their skin, and a mane partially covering their eyes and muzzles. Their four arms were all bound through magnetic cuffs. But even blind, they looked at him and seemed in awe by the Emperor.

He was awe-inspiring. His arms, muscular and powerful, could crush ships. His legs were dedicated to running and outpacing the lessers. His musculature was chiseled to perfect, and what was between his legs was… As well defined. For his genitals? He possessed a long cock with a broad tip and a thick corona forming four extensions overshadowing the lengthy and veiny organ. Below his median ring, his skin wrinkled and folded into a sheath… And below-said sheath was the Emperor’s jewels, churning with power, life, and a future lineage.
“What are you?” Zarkon asked as he handwaved the Druid away. He released the aliens’ bonds and fled. Then, the two beasts approached, emboldened by their numeric superiority.

“King Jaffan and Prince Kaffan,” said one of the bovines, the oldest of the two, as seen by the white hair over his muzzle, pointing himself first and then the second. “The lords… The Former Lords of Arval.”
Zarkon watched them… Then remembered. A world conquered only a year ago. Since, their population had been repurposed to mining and hauling materials from planets machines couldn’t access. Their muscular bodies were perfect for menial work, and they were… Tame.
“King and Prince. Is that all you have for yourself?” sneered Zarkon as he stood up, feeling the weight between his legs.

“I hav-“ started Kaffan, the youngest, as he raised two of his bound arms in outrage. Only for Jaffan to stop him, glance at him despite his covered eyes… And returning to Zarkon.
“I am sorry, I haven’t had the time to teach my son the rudiment of diplomacy. We are there for your offer. To release our dynasty of its burden. Shall you free us, as we accept your request?”

Zarkon looked at those bovines, bemused. Each time, they came for a different wording and reason. But the same fate awaited those leaders. Zarkon merely confirmed it by glancing down between the Bovines’ legs. Their genitals were primarily composed of a cock kept in a slit, barely visible through the furry groin. But their external testicles were visible. Not only visible, they were boulders that had grown; they were almost reaching the ground and forced the two males to walk with their legs spread… Boulders brimming and glowing with that deep purple hue linked to quintessence. They were… Ripe.
They were ready; the sloshing sound coming from each orb was a reminder of Zarkon’s thirst, hunger, and needs. He smiled, pushing back those.
“I will release your dynasty and your world of that burden,” he said, sybilline and cold as he lifted a hand towards the two while glancing to the right to his bed. “Lay on your back. Without a movement.”

The Aliens looked at one another in surprise, the son adding an ounce of consternation. But they bowed and followed, carrying their weight as they lay on the Emperor’s bed. The refined and soft fabric was lost on them, and they seemed distraught by the mattress’ caresses. They looked at their surroundings with a mix of awe and… despair.
It was a shame that ritual kept repeating, hammering against the Emperor’s patience each time. But he accepted it as he watched the two recline on the bed, half-resting with their body weights supported by their elbows.
“Now what?” asked Kaffan, the son with his face turned to Zarkon.

Such… Impatience and impunity, he thought he could ask Zarkon about his doings. Nonetheless, the Emperor scoffed at the remarks and ignored them. In due time would that petulant Prince learn what was to be. Instead, Zarkon approached, his steps careful, his movements calculated. A part of his mind focused on his bowels. Backside… The lubricant glans. He focused on them and maintained a single order as he climbed on the bed. He watched the young Prince and ignored him. First was the Father.

Pusillanimous, that one had kept his arms for himself and was waiting, a set of hands interjoined over his chest. Even without noticing his eyes, that mouth was contorted in fear, much like the many mortals Zarkon had met. And… Without a care, Zarkon reached for that one’s sheath. He slipped a wide finger into the wider sheath, pulled against the sheen skin and the folds. He gave another tug, feeling blood rush to the creature’s cock. It rushed and flowed and bloated until that organ had to extend and expand upward.
It grew… Its size going higher and higher… Until it looked almost like another of that King’s arms. It was massive, big… Such a size would be challenging for most species to handle. But not for Zarkon, as he merely stroked that shaft along the length while he ascended from his knees to his feet.

He placed himself above the Male’s groin and spread his legs, feeling the natural lubricant warming his insides and between his cheeks. He sighed and lowered his waist until that flat-tipped head pressed against his rim.
Their difference in size was enough… Enough to make the effort and the penetration simple for the Emperor as he felt his rim, lubricated as it was, open and… Swallow that cockhead. He sighed… And so did the King below, a deep moo escaping those lips.
“F-Father!” cried the Prince, out of surprise while his nostrils dilated and his mouth contorted in anger.

“Do- Don’t,” moaned the King as he raised one hand and gasped, feeling how Zarkon had lowered, another inch.
“Follow your father’s orders, Prince. He is graced by something many your better yearn and aspire to enjoy,” said the Emperor as he lowered himself, squatting above that bovine who seemed to… enjoy it like it was ecstasy.
Probably from the natural aphrodisiac Zarkon could produce, his body was apt and given more abilities from the quintessence. After one experience with him, people wanted nothing but him. Most of his fluids were even addictive and had effects on people’s psyches—even his kind. Mostly, his kind.

“Hrmphh. Your father is well-endowed. But what about you, prince?” asked Zarkon, his scowling face turning to the Prince while he rode on the Father, enjoying that fat rod pushing deeper within until his ass was stretching to its limits.
Kaffan wasn’t… As well endowed. It seemed not everything was running in the family. Not when the Prince’s erection was comparable to his hand. A direct comparison when said Prince had his hand gripping his shaft and stroking it. He was wide, sure… But the length. It was deplorable.

A shame when Jaffan’s dick started to punch Zarkon’s guts and widen them, too. But… It was nothing. A mental order and his body adapted, his bodily functions restrained, and so was pain. Remained only the satisfaction and the sensation of warm precum laden with Quintessence pouring within him, coating his guts as they absorbed it.
“Sh- Shut-!”
“S- SILENCE!” cried Jaffan, shushing his son as he raised two hands towards Zarkon. “May… I?”

A question to which Zarkon accepted with a firm nod, as firm as the Bovine’s grip over his cheeks. One that dug within the purple scales and allowed Zarkon to shift his posture and slightly recline, enjoying the Species’ strength as he descended and… More than two third of that length had gone within him. And already, he felt the warmth as the Quintessence within the Alien’s testicles moved up. Maybe the son would have noticed, too. As the fluids ascended, the underside of Jaffan’s cock would glow. And his testicles dim.
“Hrmphhh. You should learn from your father, Prince. He is dutiful. Up.”

Zarkon snapped towards the Prince, who stiffened and whose face was contorted with more anger. Good, he wouldn’t notice or try to fight back what Zarkon had in mind. The young Bovine stood on his hooves in his bed, his fur taking a redder shade across the muzzle as he approached.
“I- I am only doing this to relieve my Kind! To free them! Nothing more!”

Zarkon rolled his eyes, though none could see it. An old reflex he had kept.
The Son’s recriminations were lost on the Emperor as he descended, and his cheeks were filled by the Father’s cock while resting on his massive scrotum. It wasn’t a regal posture, one befitting a Lord, even less an Emperor. But it was good to feel the aura of Quintessence against his ass while his sphincters started to clench and press on Jaffan’s cock, giving it the firm squeezes a vice grip could offer.
To which, the old Bovine answered with more moos and cries.

“You can say that, but your father is enjoying it. As for me. I have no need for your pathetic mewling,” said Zarkon as he extended a finger toward the youngest’s groin. He almost reached it when a hand smacked his… Yet, he continued his movement and slipped an index under that cock.
“Fight me more… I could destroy your entire kind with one order, cow.”
“I don’t care. You’re alone, you’re exposed. I can do this!” shouted the Prince, reaching for Zarkon’s throat to crush it with his four arms. One for each quarter. Those arms were made for carrying weight, but their inherent strength allowed them to crush rocks and bones. They were weapons with the proper training, and the four of them could be enough to break a neck.
But not Zarkon’s. The Emperor glanced up and smirked.
“Is that all?” he asked, still riding Jaffan’s cock and massaging it, squeezing it as more and more fluids dripped inside Zarkon. Did the Son even notice how his Father hiccuped and seemed about to cry, lost in an orgasm? One that didn’t seem to end, with how the poor Bovine huffed and clenched his hands around the Emperor’s cheeks?

“Y-You!”
“It was a pathetic attempt,” said Zarkon, raising an eyebrow towards the Kaffan, his finger still stroking that cock’s underside. “Do you have something else in mind to “free your kind”?”
The Prince’s eyes widened, and his arms dropped, and so did his jaw. He looked down at his hands… Then back at Zarkon, who merely looked down and focused on the cock’s flat tip and the glowing precum at the tip.
“Then. Keep your arms to yourself if you do not want retribution,” he ordered.

The pathetic cocklet started to shrink down… It seemed the threat had calmed the Prince too much.
However, Zarkon’s lipless mouth soon closed on the shaft, and his tongue graced the greasy skin, tasting the robust and hearty aroma coming from the Bovine’s cock. He was clean, that was good. No traces of other fluids that could hinder the harvest as the Emperor’s tongue swirled and surrounded the beast's cocklet. It turned, twisted, until it formed a sheath around that cock and the prehensile end… Moved. Up. Down.
“HHhh! So- so fast! T- Too!” cried the Prince as his mouth opened and his voice broke from the stimulation and the aphrodisiac slathered over his cock by the Emperor’s tongue. Soon, his entire body would heat up, and his prostate would ceaselessly clench, sending him into a state of a continous orgasm.

Much like Jaffan. Much like the Father, whose first pair of hands were digging within Zarkon’s cheeks with such a strength they elicited blood, whereas the second were ripping the bedsheets apart.
That orgasm, those orgasms, they were an endless tide that grew and swept over his mind and body, breaking both through certainty.
Their bodies were riddled with hormones and drugs, heightening the sensations Zarkon expertly dealt to them, as he… Milked them.

Beneath his thighs, the King trembled and quivered while his testicles, inflated to the point of hindrance, were… Deflating. The skin wasn’t as taut, the flesh as round, the color as bright, the skin as perfect. More and more of that quintessence flowed upward his genitals into Zarkon, who smiled to himself while he serviced the Prince.
His mouth had no lips, but his tongue worked with a diligence that allowed the young male to enjoy the caresses and strokes. It was… blunt. It was brutal. It was… Desired.
From everyone.

Zarkon’s eyes would have rolled without his control over himself and the situation. The semen-riddled Quintessence was a boon and delight to savor. One delicacy only he knew about as he kept grinding his hips against the unresponsive King. He ground, clenched, and tightened his hole and sphincters. Even if that poor weakling had kept his wits, Zarkon would not have allowed his organ to get free and to spill any drop of that precious Quintessence.
“Hhh-… It’s… it’s too much!” moaned Kaffan, his mouth drooling while his hands dangerously approached Zarkon’s neck. An affront the Emperor chastised by smacking those hands away without much strength, yet he heard a crack. But no complaints from the lesser Male. Maybe later, once the drugs had worn off.

His tongue tied and swirled around the Prince’s cock, keeping him inside and carefully stroking his short length while the purple liquid flooded his throat and stomach, rejuvenating the Emperor. Already was he feeling stronger. Already was his headache gone. Already was… His worries afar.
Quintessence. Quintessence was all he needed and desired as it sloshed within his stomach and guts. It shinned through his scales, too, and it coated his mouth inside.

“Give… me more!” he suddenly ordered to both.
His hips moved, then. Not around, but up. Up went his legs as his sphincter clenched with enough strength to nearly cut the blood flow… But in so, they collected the last droplets coming from the King’s cock. More Quintessence had stuck to his skin, to his length. One Zarkon would not waste as he ascended, and more fluid was dragged up, feeling its warmth accumulating in his lower reaches… Until he dropped.
His hips dropped, hitting the King’s legs and eliciting a pained cry from the Beast. But then, followed another rush of Semen, of Quintessence… Without glancing, Zarkon knew that one was almost empty, his testicles almost devoid of all that harvested life.

Therefore, his eyes focused on… Kaffan.
On the young Prince who could barely keep to himself, from his moans to his prayers. That idiot cried and begged for mercy. He begged for Zarkon to stop. His legs trembled, and his broken hands were resting limp against his body, impotent. More than that, his groin clenched in rhythm with Zarkon’s movements.
His orgasms were many, wrecking that sod from the amplified shocks and the ignored refractory period. His swollen nuts, too, were starting to deflate… Though slower than Kaffan.

A young male was always more fertile and the harvest more bountiful. A thought Zarkon had as he watched that broad tongue drip from the side of that beast’s muzzle. That one’s breath was unstable, too. He would drop and fall…
In a sigh, in distaste, Zarkon raised his hips again, clenched… And lowered himself, sensing the last droplets coming from that one’s cock. Kaffan’s balls were empty… Done for. There were no more Quintessence left, and so… Zarkon pulled.

He kept himself tight all the way up, even when the wide tip forced against his rim… And he pulled that cock out without letting one single droplet out. He grunted, groaned… But he did so with care as he looked at the Son and released that pathetic manhood, watching how half of it had already been drained…
Maybe.

“I will keep you for now,” the Emperor said with a grin, swallowing and licking around his mouth, watching the weakened male drop on his backside. That one would be a snack for later… And a toy.
One that made Zarkon’s cock twitch with renewed vigor and envy as he stood up and approached. He knelt by the Bovine, his enormous testicles resting on that chest while his cock pointed to that muzzle.
Without even ordering, Zarkon had the pleasure of a tongue delicately stroking and massaging his cockhead. He sighed, smiled, and stroked that beast between his horns as he forced more of his length within…

Kaffan gagged, trembled, tried to lift his arms… But his weakened and drugged body did nothing more. He dropped, barely breathing a trickle of air as Zarkon fucked his mouth and throat, hitting the back of that head with little care for the tears streaking across that furry face. No… he smiled as he snapped, feeling an orgasm brewing in his prostate.

“What… is this, Emperor?” asked the Druid that had been by the door, waiting for the signal. That one watched his Emperor with apprehension and fear, as it should be. But he also watched the comatose older King and the desperately thrashing Prince.
“Send him back to his Kind. Tell them they’ve been relieved of Jaffan’s worthless genes. They’re now allowed to bear Galran children… And the Prince shall become one of my entertainers. For as long as he can last,” chuckled Zarkon.

And… As he looked down, facing the crying Prince, he flashed him a grin as he released his seed within that throat, an honor.
“Don’t cry, Pet. Or I’ll cut to the chase… And remove any traces of your distasteful dynasty.”