Chapter Text
It was sometime deep into the night when they had been summoned to His Majesty’s chambers.
They were most certainly a queer lot: beyond the king’s valet and personal guard, some came from the kitchen, some from the stables, some from the halls; some, even, from the castle walls. Some had never even seen one another before in all their years of service, and they glanced curiously and conspicuously upon these new candlelit faces, wondering.
Any confusion they had had was promptly explained: within the resplendent canopy of the bed, letting off a sickening, milky aroma, writhing around half-naked in his precious cream sheets, making sounds of agony like a dying bear, was the king – and as he practically threw himself at his retinue, just barely able to stable himself to stand on his shaking legs, he was quite clear in his instructions to them.
Quite clear, indeed.
“One – one of you, any of you, you must – knot me. Now. Your – your king commands it.”
Assertive though the king was (albeit hesitantly), he met with no response. Naturally, his chosen attendants were in disbelief – most were forbidden even to touch him, much less know him carnally, and wondered that they should be selected for this matter, knowing well enough that it was the queen who was responsible for handling it – and made no move to adhere to his will, unbelievable as it was.
Their lord’s reaction was exactly as anyone should have expected.
“What are you – why are you just standing there?! How stupid are you lot?! You have to – to knot me! I command it, so you will!” his voice thundered, bouncing off the walls like a lion's roar, despite the pitiable state he was in.
The men looked between each other cautiously, mentally deliberating, before one of them spoke.
“Forgive us, Your Highness, that won’t be possible. We’re – forbidden to, Your Highness, if you were to fall pregnant, God forbid –”
“Shut up! Shut up and obey me, you stupid – stupid dog, touch me or I’ll have your head! Now!” he barked back, nearly foaming at the mouth – even knowing how harmless he was at a time like this, a couple of the men still flinched out of instinctive fear, like that of a man coming upon a mad wolf.
Another brave soul tried to placate the beast. “Please, Your Highness, you have to understand –”
Henry growled, prideful as ever, as though his cunt-wet weren’t dripping to the floor.
“Do it! Do it! Now!” he shrieked, then, shrilly as a brat having a tantrum, “Touch me! Now! My God, I’m dying, can’t you see?! Do it! Do it, you – ! You – you pig, you whore’s son, all of you, you stupid pigs, I’ll – I’ll quarter you, I’ll take your entrails and rip them out and stomp on them with my boots and I’ll feed them to my horses, I’ll kill you, I – oh!”
An emboldened servant had crept up behind him during his fit, and swatted him on his bottom – all it took was one light smack for the king to crumble to the ground like a woman.
“If you insist, my liege,” the offender declared as he casually freed his cock from his breeches, took a handful of his lord’s wet hair and jerked his head up, “Then we are in no position to deprive you of anything.”
He had borne his king’s daily humiliations for years, now, had given him the most precious time of his youth, time he could have spent to mate and propagate his own family, his own life, indeed, had borne the endless emasculations and taunts and dares with a statue’s face of stone – he couldn’t imagine how long his compatriots had done the same, forbidden as he was to speak to them, though their wrinkled faces and bolts of white hair said enough for them.
It would be a bold-faced lie to say that having him under his hands was not deeply vindicating.
The king, completely turned off of his previous combativeness, nuzzled his face against his prick frantically, shamelessly, still shouting his pleas and shedding warm tears even as he practically marked himself with its scent like a bitch.
“Please! You can’t – oh, you can’t leave me like this, knot me, please, please, it hurts, it hurts!”
Such a strange treasure it was to hear a king beg. Such a strange treasure, indeed. It pushed the man, finally, to action.
“Hm. Yes, I suppose we may be permitted to assist you, my lord, seeing as Her Majesty is not here to take you in her loving arms – nor will His Grace be much help to you now, I imagine,” he sneered, observing with pleasure how his lord flinched, snapping out of his intoxicated stupor for just long enough to let sorrow paint his face, “Though I’m afraid we truly must insist against filling your womb. It would be terrible if you were to birth a bastard, wouldn’t it?”
“No, please, please – I’m – so empty, it hurts, it burns, I need it, in my womb, please, anything, God, I’ll do anything, you have to!” Henry went right on pleading, sobbing, entirely crazed.
The servant took his chin between his finger and thumb and tenderly lifted his face, still smudging his manhood against one wet cheek. “If you want our seed so badly, my King, why don’t we feed it to you another way?”
“Yes, alright, do it – anything, just – please –” the king whimpered frantically, teary-eyed even as he reached up to try to rub the cock in his white hands.
“As you wish, my lord,” he declared, and dropped his grip on Henry’s face. He turned away – ignoring the little cry that came when his cock left the king’s face – and addressed the royal audience, as it were.
“You all shall join me, then? After all,” he spoke to his fellow men, incapable of hiding his grin at the hesitant looks on their faces, “His Majesty commands it.”
A grin which grew yet wider when he saw one of them begin to approach. One was followed by two, and two more, and soon they had all come and surrounded their king, encasing him in a ring of strong legs.
“I’m taking his cunt first,” he disclaimed, and the circle of beasts scoffed and grumbled. “He begged for me first, you know. The rest of you old bastards can come after, supposing you can keep your pricks stiff for that long.”
“Well, I’d like his arse,” one man – smelling of the hay of the stables, nearly middle-aged from the looks of him – grandly proclaimed, “Always flaunting it, he is, swaying it under his little skirts, begging you to come take a bite, Christ in Heaven, I’d like to rip it apart with my teeth.”
“I want his tits,” another resounded, younger than the previous, his face smudged with cinders from keeping the kitchen-fire, “Seen ‘em poking out of his shirts for too long. Displays ‘em like a wet-nurse, like a common girl. I could take his mouth, too, I bet.”
“Greedy bastard!” yet another man teased, and the circle let out a chorus of laughter.
Henry, kneeling on the floor beneath them, burned bright with humiliation, hearing his men, his servants divide him up like cuts of lamb at supper. He’d always known how they thought of him, took cruel amusement in seeing their reactions, even, yet hearing with his own ears the extent of what they wished to do to him was mortifying. He had worn his blood like a blanket for so long, hiding behind his nobility for protection from his baser nature, and without it he was naked. To these men, these commoners, these dirty, filthy Saxon commoners, he was not a king, not a regent of God on Earth, not the son of conquerors: he was a bitch, a whore who held no value besides the dripping holes between his legs, a toy to be used until broken and then discarded. And in his heart and his loins, he could find no resistance to them.
Debased beyond words, he removed what meagre clothing still covered his shame, presented his naked body, and closed his eyes.
The men fell upon him like vultures once they had completed their lewd conference, grabbing and groping at every stretch of skin that was laid bare to them. He was on the ground, the next he knew, his back against a firm wall of warm, hirsute flesh, legs spread and hips lifted up: he was not afforded even the privilege of being taken in bed rather than on the cold ground.
One cock lined up at his cunt, tapping at the hole before sliding in fully – he had hardly even processed its presence before a hand was already pressing at his anus, and he squealed as two rough fingers pushed inside easily.
With only a cursory stretch of the sensitive rim, he was penetrated there, as well, offered barely ten seconds of adjustment before the cock began pistoning in and out. His fevered mind turned any pain such a thick intrusion would have inflicted into burning pleasure, ordering his body to happily release more slick which squelched perversely with every entrance and exit.
The prick in his cunt thrusted with the one in his pulsing anus in a wild, uneven rhythm. His men were lifting him up and down on the cocks like a doll of stuffed straw, and his head spun with all the movement as they jeered at him.
Everything was happening so suddenly, he could hardly comprehend what was going on besides as fragments of incrementing pleasure: his hands being taken and wrapped around a thick cock, then forced back and forth until his fevered mind latched onto the hint and he began to stroke the hard shaft independently; one man slapping his prick down in the small valley between the soft, snow-white slopes of his heat-swollen breasts, thrusting demeaningly against them while pinching and rolling his dark pink nipples as though trying to milk them; another cock hitting his hot face and nudging its way into his open mouth, making his cheek bulge obscenely before it came down into his throat; a pair of hands holding the top of his head and thoughtlessly shoving it back and forth, back and forth, until his eyes rolled back.
All throughout his impalement, calloused hands coveted every inch of his body, pinching and stroking and smacking his flesh with careless abandon – rough voices mocked him as he shook uncontrollably, whispering crude, awful things that rang in his ears and pulsed scarily in his groin – hungry mouths threatened to devour him, nearly-canine teeth biting into his neck, his collarbones, his ears, searing tongues sucking and licking at him and drinking his sweat and tears like a pack of vampires.
“Christ, his cunt feels good,” he heard somewhere above him, and his pussy throbbed especially embarrassingly hard at hearing the vulgar praise.
It, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed.
“She likes it, does she?” came from behind him. “I feel her trembling ‘round me. She must have fallen for me, I reckon.”
More laughter. His cheeks ached from how furiously they burned.
He closed his eyes and focused only on the sensations wracking him.
Under all the men’s chaotic ministrations, it took nearly no time at all for Henry to be worked into climax. Despite the madness of it all, he found himself taken into a strange, pleasant trance, sinking peacefully into submission, soothed by the fucking as he would be by sucking his thumb.
He sunk deeper into the feeling, pressure building deeper and greater all inside him, and –
“The bitch pissed on me!”
His eyes whipped open, and the spell was broken.
“You stupid boy, you’ve never seen one of his kind come to crisis, have you?” another voice popped off from his left side, as though he weren’t even there. “I’ll bet this is your first time even laying with something other than your own hand, isn’t it?”
Henry’s ears were buzzing much too loudly to hear the ensuing argument, his head burning until it ached; he shut his eyes again, tightly, from the mortification, as though he could hide in the dark behind his eyelids.
Rather than cooling his fever, the warmth of his completion lingered in his body, anchored in his loins where it tugged on him as a deep weight.
He only felt even worse for it.
Evidently, the spasming of his muscles must have been quite pleasurable – he noticed, dimly, that the cocks previously filling each of his holes had pulled out and spurted hot seed onto his flesh. The prick in his mouth soon followed suit (and as horribly as he needed a knot, the thought of having his throat blocked that way still raised alarm from whatever survival instincts still had power over him), ejaculating onto his burning face, making him gasp like a caught fish – his tits, pushed together until they just barely wrapped around the cock rubbing between them, were the final target of this obscene marking, spattered with watery-white semen.
He was passed off almost automatically, lifted onto the shafts he’d been stroking with his hands and hammered into once more. He felt them push against one another between the thin barrier that separated them, so full he thought he could die, yet so empty that he ached. Mindlessly, he rode the cocks, shoving up and down, back and forth, nearly sobbing with exertion.
Someone slapped him on the buttock, already tender from being so sternly pinched and squeezed, then hit him again, and again, timing each strike with the thrusts of his hips until it smarted so fiercely that he had to stop moving, feeling like a branded cow. Now he could only lay there as his holes were pounded, crying and shaking, all while he could feel another orgasm cresting in his belly already.
He could have wept when he felt the thick base of the cock expanding inside his cunt, stretching him almost to his limit – but the growing barb was quickly popped out, and stayed out, and he was fucked only with the remaining length of the man’s shaft. Reignited with new desperation, Henry fought as hard as he could to force it back inside, ignoring the smacks that were still brutalizing his aching backside, the awful names echoing in his ears; everything but the knot so close to filling him, so close and yet so agonizingly far.
“Knot me, please, please, don’t, I’ll die, I need – knot! Please!” he warbled, drunk on pleasure and pain, and tried so desperately to push himself onto the bulb that his stinging hips had to be held in place.
Of course, the man only pulled out and spent onto his pubis instead.
“No!” he wailed, thrashing in place in utter despair – such cruel denial, much less from someone so very far beneath him, was agony.
It was an agony he knew very well, yet he could bear it no better now than he could before.
Oh, Thomas…
Another cock took the place of the previous, then, and took no time in pounding his swollen cunt just as vigorously. One hand rubbed the semen still cooling on his flushed skin into his lightly bulging belly as though performing some arcane fertility ritual, then pressed down upon the bulge, hard.
Henry, obviously, could only gush again in response.
Another prick slipped between his lips, as though to cork up his screams.
“Still tight as a glove,” the man fucking his pussy grunted, unfazed by his hysterics, “Tight as a virgin. You must have been – made for this, weren’t you?”
“‘Course he was,” said the voice attached to the cock that was filling his mouth, “Born to be our whore. Isn’t that right?”
The man pulled out and slapped him across the cheek, as if expecting a real response out of him.
When Henry did respond, his voice was quite small and quite hoarse. “Please, please – knot – I feel – this isn’t…” And his mouth was plugged right back up.
This man must have been waiting his turn for quite a while, for it only took a couple deep thrusts more for him to finish, thankfully only leaving with him a mouthful of his spend rather than a knot, strong and bitter though it was. Still, the servant clamped Henry’s sore jaw shut, pinched his nose, and forced him to swallow it all down.
He did, and with his mouth finally free, he coughed, trying once more to get through to them. “Knot – me – I don’t – I don’t want to come anymore, please, I’m – it’s enough, please, stop making me, I can’t anymore, I can’t, just, a knot, all I want is a – knot, please, I’ll die –” he babbled on hysterically, “I’m afraid, please, please help me, it’s too much, too much, I – !”
“Very – well. You’ll have – gngh – your knot, Your Majesty,” the man behind him hissed into his ear.
Henry felt it, then, the knot swelling in his anus, growing so large that the servant no longer bothered thrusting up into him, only holding him in his hairy arms and pressing him down – then came a rush of boiling hot semen inside him, jets of spend that shot into him and wouldn’t stop, exactly what he needed but in the wrong place, all wrong –
Some wayward hand gave his filled cunt a brief slap, the calloused fingers landing squarely on his clitoris, and Henry just couldn’t help himself.
A rouse of cheers came up in the men’s loose circle as the king squirted again, thrashing and kicking his legs so violently that they needed to be restrained. His muscles clamped down viciously enough that the man occupying his cunt only just managed to pull out before his completion, dousing his hole and perineum with his seed.
The combination of the sight of the king’s eruption and the vibrations of his shaking body was what finally brought those among them who hadn’t yet had their turn to climax. Being older men, they lamented their poor fortune in shooting off before they had a chance to properly penetrate their whore, the fact of their age restricting them from a second go of it; but they begrudgingly stayed on the sidelines, anyways, to watch whatever new depravity would be coming next.
“Bad, bad girl,” one man – the first to fuck him – mock-admonished with a vulpine grin. “You dirty thing. You didn’t think you’d be getting away with doing that to us, surely?”
He chuckled, and while Henry was still panting, he raised his hand above his blushing mound, still painted with semen.
Then brought it down, hard.
He did not abstain from the derisive laughter that echoed off of the stone walls at the sight of the little king screaming and squirting more juice from his oversensitive cunt, either. More slaps followed, from himself and his fellow servants, falling all upon the omega’s poor pussy, and soft buttocks, and pale tits, with wet sounds like the patter of raindrops accompanying his helpless whimpers.
Once the damp body started seizing from the overstimulation, however, the man decided he had done quite enough. He motioned for the other men to stop, and oddly enough, they obeyed without preamble – likely just as wrung out from the labor of using their lord as he was himself. He gave the swollen pussy one more hard smack, laughed once more at the animal noise that came out of the king, then let him go.
When His Highness was finally released from the hands that had kept him captive in their touch, lifted gingerly off of the now-deflated knot that he had been locked onto, he crumpled to the ground and curled up like a sleeping fox, holding himself and muttering.
“Thomas, Thomas, help me, please, Thomas,” he mewled and writhed into the floor, evidently delirious from the heavy load his nerves had been made to bear, “It hurts, it hurts so much, Thomas, my Thomas, please…”
Most of the servants paid him no mind as they got up and dressed themselves. Others watched him in some strange mix of awe and disgust; disbelief, most likely, that this little heap of sweat and tears had been the tyrant who held their lives so firmly in his hand – and that they would stay there, despite it all.
“What shall we do with the bitch now? She’s half-ruined, I’d say, and I’m right well exhausted,” one man broke the uncomfortable semi-silence after he had gotten dressed, nudging at the body on the floor with his shoe. It flinched, but gave no other reaction.
Another shrugged as he pulled up his trousers. “Take him to Becket. That’s who she’s been crying for, isn’t it? Let him comfort his little concubine, we’ve borrowed her long enough.”
“Blasphemy,” the oldest among them grumbled, “‘s not right, putting a thing like this before his eyes; a holy man, a man of God.”
“Oh, shut up, will you?” the youngest snapped back, “Christ cured the Magdalene, didn’t he?”
Henry was deaf, yet again, to the petty squabbling of sacrilege that followed. When the quarrel – one which couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes, but seemed to fill the space of many hours – had ended, after his naked body was hefted up by two strong sets of arms and lugged between them, the jostling of their steps put him half to sleep.
He didn’t question where they were going as he was carried off and away. Every thought his feeble mind could muster was of Thomas.
Chapter Text
Thomas was still awake, of course, when his king fell at his door. Consumed, as ever, by troublesome thoughts, he could not bring himself to lie his heavy head upon his pillow; hour after hour of blackness stole upon the land, and he had only watched the moon’s slow creeping in the sky with silent, profound detachment.
He heard a travelling whisper of laughter float closer to him, then a thunderous knocking, and when he came to the door, there he found the cause for his troubles, the same cause as always, lying at the threshold. The cause: naked, panting, crumpled into a heap upon the step like a twisted white blanket.
Yes, for so long as he and Henry shared this world, breathed and talked and walked under the same sky and moon, he would not know peace. Not now, and not ever.
His prince was deeply dazed as he slowly, laboriously lifted his head to look at Thomas, confusion in his teary eyes. He brought himself to his elbows, then began to crawl toward him like a lowly beast, murmuring in odd tongues, and only then Thomas began to truly see him.
And the sight of him – sweat shining on his delicate skin, tallied all across with handprints and bites and bruises, both holes twitching open and closed, his bullied anus leaking semen – was like a vision out of Hell.
Satan himself wouldn’t have been cruel enough to put such a view in front of Christ in the desert.
His heat-rich scent cloyed dizzyingly, the fragrance of rose-milk tampered down mildly with the smell of musk and semen but still strong enough to hurt Thomas’s head.
Thomas was too weak to draw away as the little king crawled to him – perhaps from the curdling sweet pheromones, perhaps from a lack of sleep, most certainly from an absence of honor – and stood, instead, frozen as a carved effigy as the devil came closer, chanting his name.
“Thomas… Thomas, it’s… Oh, my Thomas, I need you – please – Thomas, oh, they – oh, please…” Henry clung to his legs like a little boy and begged him, pitifully, with his blue eyes. “You – help, you’ll help – me… Hurts, too much, please, help, please – I need…”
Then he buried his face in Thomas’s crotch like an ill-behaved mutt.
He nuzzled the clothed prick furiously, utterly, helplessly debauched, too stupid to even think to disrobe his little Saxon. The state of him was a sick perversion of the Lord’s covenant, on his knees and worshipping him fanatically: he made a God out of Thomas – out of his manhood, more like – and the anger he had been feeling simmering all these years worked itself, at last, into a boil. He could not keep so much as his faith uncorrupted by Henry, by his mad lust and foul mouth; not one thing private could belong to him, not one thing could he keep for himself, not one thing he could keep clean, unsullied. Everything belonged to Henry. Everything.
Henry was mouthing at his cock through the fabric which restrained it, sniffing it with all the air he could steal for himself like an animal, almost inhuman with lust, almost frightening. Almost disgusting.
Even now, he was treating Thomas as though he belonged to him.
“Thomas, Thoma-a-as, oh, God, my God, please, please, please, Thomas, breed – I need – knot,” the whore gasped between his desperate, fruitless attempts to take him in his mouth.
Thomas took his shoulders and pulled him off his knees. His trembling body was shockingly light, limp though it was. He raised his lord to his feet with the kindness of a gentleman escorting his lady.
Then, callously, thoughtlessly, he pushed him down.
Almost the instant he had landed upon the sheets the bitch was presenting himself to him, his shaking thighs spread so far apart he was nearly split in two, peeled down the middle. It made Thomas feel sick.
Seeing his prince like this, so deeply debased, he wanted – something. To destroy him? His own men seemed to have done a fine enough job of that already. To punish him? That was for God to do, not him. To own him? He was not willing to pay the price of his keeping. To kill him? There would be no sport in it, now. To love him?
To love him? To love him, after all?
There was no love in him, not for anyone.
To ravish him would have to do.
Not bothering to remove his gloves, he stuck his fingers into the red cunt and twisted them around cruelly – were it not for the depravity of what Thomas was doing, the uncaring coldness of his movements could have been considered surgical, though the wet sounds of the fluids inside removed any such pretense of cleanliness, of honor or distinction. They soaked the fabric, but he was beyond caring. It gave him some sick satisfaction, that they should both be so ruined.
Henry, quite beyond himself (or perhaps finally revealing himself, his true self), hardly had the strength to kick his legs at the brutal frigging, and barely the strength to keep begging him. His words slurred, but his breathless pleas were easy enough to decipher.
“Knot… Knot… Giv’me… B’good… Knot… Slow… Need… To… Thom, as…”
“Are you not satisfied, then? How I have spoiled you, my prince,” Thomas whispered with a chill in his icy voice, bringing his fingers to grate at the spot inside his prince which made him weep like a woman, “Yet still, I can deny you nothing. Not even myself.”
He exposed himself and gave his manhood light strokes, beginning to laugh when he saw how intently Henry watched him, then laughing harder when he felt him pathetically pushing his hips against his torturous hand.
He crossed an arm across those shaking hips and held them down, pulling his hand away from the hole it had been brutalizing: it looked like a soft, breathing mouth as it clenched wetly around the air.
“What was it you said, my prince, when we came upon the peasant girl? The one you gifted to me?” he leaned forward and spoke into the pearl shell of his king’s ear, “About keeping her in the castle, keeping her as a whore? Whether she would still be pretty when you were finished with her?”
There was obviously no reason left in his lord. All his words were only met with puppyish whining: Thomas doubted he was even capable of remembering anything in the state he was in. Still, the taste of vengeance was irresistible to him, bitter though it was.
“I think I should like to test your idea for myself. How many men have taken you tonight, my lord? Four? Six? Eight? I wonder how many more could have you before you’ve broken?” he could not stop the sin dripping from his lips like black tar – how Henry always brought out the very worst in him, how he took such delight in doing so – “You ought to be stationed in the castle with your greedy legs spread, my lord, and then we shall see just how much is too much for you. Perhaps you should be given to all your men to enjoy; we could even keep you in stocks. A true man of the people, a whore for your subjects rather than your barons. History would look upon you so fondly.”
Again, Henry only whined – then it was back to begging. All that his world had narrowed down to, Thomas reckoned, was the cunt between his legs and the prick that was absent from it.
He rubbed the man’s swollen lips and sighed. “I don’t know why I bother. I’ve only wasted my time trying to reach you all these years, haven’t I, you stupid beast? All those books, all those lessons, and look at you now. This is what you are, really. This is what you’ll always be.”
When he looked up, Henry’s eyes were shining like a begging puppy’s, staring helplessly at him. Poor Henry. Poor, poor Henry. Thomas wanted to kick him.
Instead he pulled back and gathered the king’s legs over his shoulders. It was best to get this matter over with, before his lust or his cruelty completely consumed him. He had not been able to trust himself for a long time, and could not trust himself any more as a man of the cloth than he could as a whoremonger.
Without any more preamble, he slipped inside Henry with a crude, unceremonious noise. He didn’t bother giving him time to adjust – he was more than open enough already. He began to fuck in and out of him, and the squelching as he took him (on top of the neverending senseless pleas, too big and too fast and please Thomas wailed in perpetuity like a dying bird’s song) was revolting. It made him imagine that he was defiling an open wound.
That was not far from the truth.
Frustrated, he pushed down harder, folding his prince past the point where a less nubile man would snap like a twig and placing almost all of his weight onto him. He was tired, so tired, soul-sick and worldweary, and he lost himself in the punishment he meted out, slamming into the hot, trembling body splayed out beneath him with all the force reserved in his own useless one.
The cunt wrapped around him had been loosened, somewhat, by overuse – other men’s and his own – but it was searing hot and soaking wet, nonetheless, and it still embraced him eagerly, and Thomas found his body reacting as excitedly as ever, ardent in its affections in a way that his heart could never be. Shamefully, ever a slave to pleasure, Thomas indulged ever further. Sweat beat off of his brow with the violence of his exertion, and it dripped onto the naked skin under him like teardrops.
Henry, meanwhile, felt like he was in Hell.
He was held ruthlessly under the heavy, burning body, incapable of escaping the violent pleasure for even a moment: the scrape of the thick, bearish hair on his Saxon’s square chest against his tortured breasts; the barbarian grip upon his wrists; the heat of the alpha’s skin rubbing into his own feverish flesh; most of all, the fat length of his manhood that ravaged his pussy remorselessly. He felt each stimulation not as its own individual torture, but as an abstraction of intense sensation, as though each part of his body were one throbbing organ, being touched and rubbed and grated and fucked, and all he knew was that it was not enough.
All that he could do was beg, and begging would not give him what he needed, and he cried, and cried, and cried. He could not even wrap his arms or legs around his love as he wished to, could not hold him as lovers did; at his mercy in every regard.
His Thomas began to reach almost unbearably deep inside him, and he felt guttural groans torn uncontrollably from his chest as his innermost depths were breached by the inhumanly large cock that pulsed so strongly against his walls, so frighteningly.
“Thomas, please, please, Thomas, my Thomas – too – you’re – killing – help – me – help –” His words, mewled between his labored breaths, were ignored.
On it went, his pussy stretched nearly to its fullest capacity, each sensitive point he had targeted and savagely abused, pounded and pounded and pounded as he felt himself losing all that was left of his mind, all that Thomas had left for him, Thomas, oh, his Thomas…
Slick smacking sounds resounded between them, getting faster by the moment, so low, so disgustingly common. The sensations grew unbearable, building and buzzing in his skin as an orgasm would, only his release just wouldn’t come; panicked by the overstimulation, Henry twisted as best he could in the hold he was in, trying to touch Becket, to reach him, to break him out of the spell he was under before he broke himself, but his bones had always been brittle, his body always useless, and he couldn’t shake him.
He shook and sobbed even harder. His words had only failed him thus far, but they were all he had, and he was already far beyond the shame of begging another man to fill him.
“Thomas, Thomas, knot, put it – knot, please, Thomas, please, hurts,” he wept like a sick child, therefore, pinned underneath the bulk of his dear little Saxon’s body like a rabbit between a fox’s teeth, “It hurts! Need it, please, please, help, Thomas, help me, please!”
Thomas, not for the first time, thank God, took pity on him. He was so wet, so completely open, all it took was one hard push.
The engorged knot slipping into his throbbing pussy brought him such relief that he felt himself release in an instant, spraying whatever was left inside of him onto the firm base of the Saxon’s pelvis and drenching himself ever further.
As soon as he felt the first shot of ejaculate touch his womb, the peace he felt was so complete that he fainted in his exhaustion, body satisfied, for now, that he had finally accomplished its mission of being fertilized, and rewarding him, at last, with some scrap of rest from the tireless fucking it had demanded of him.
Thomas, of course, stayed tied to his prince – what more was there for him to do? He freed his shoulders of the white, maidenly legs and let them fall limp like a doll’s; helpless to resist the temptation of his prince’s soft body, even now, he ground his hips into circles to feel the delightful clench of the hot walls massaging his knot, still pumping out thick ejaculate with the lazy pulses of his heartbeat. Under him, Henry whimpered sweetly, trying to roll his hips toward this unknown source of pleasure warming his dreams. Perhaps he could have even been brought off once more this way, if Thomas were to rub at the engorged little bead of his clitoris enough; but that seemed at once too cruel and too generous of him, and he kept his hands to himself.
Meanwhile, he thought, fought against the emptying of his mind with his seed, and prayed, and prayed.
He was not to blame for this, he told himself, not at all. He had been accosted by a wild harlot, after all, and given no choice but to surrender to this mortal indulgence, given no more choice than a man had to lie with a succubus, in fact. The Lord would forgive him for his waywardness, and accept the stained, strayed sheep into his flock once more, as he had done before, he prayed.
He found God as silent to him as He ever was. Still, he prayed.
Notes:
you ever randomly get an insatiable urge to see a character you don’t even gaf about getting fucked by a mob of ugly guys and also by another character you g even less of af about
20th_century_epiphany on Chapter 2 Thu 29 May 2025 01:41AM UTC
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combatsalaciousremoval on Chapter 2 Thu 29 May 2025 04:02AM UTC
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WerewolfHighlander on Chapter 2 Tue 10 Jun 2025 08:45PM UTC
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