Battle For The Top [DamonHuntington x Janus]

[DamonHuntington]

With his Zweihander in his clutches, Warlord Tristan Drakton watched his surroundings, fully knowing that the fate of the war depended on the result of this one battle. One battle to determine the victor.

One battle to determine who lost it all.

---

Radukor-Lothark War Frontline, Seven Days Before The Fight

The war seemed to drag endlessly, without any side getting any kind of advantage over the opponent. Tristan analysed the reports and saw that yet another group of warriors died in battle that night; likewise, the provisions of Radukor were dwindling little by little. Soon there would be no water to sustain the whole regiment, nor enough food to maintain the levels of energy that the combatants required to operate appropriately.

He knew, however, that the situation in the Lothark Kingdom's front was not different - after all, his spies reported the same level of resource depletion and low morale on the other side of the frontier. This could be expected, as the war dragged for more than six lunar cycles at this point; the conflict seemed to have no resolution in sight. By this rate, everyone would perish and the whole war would've been of no practical result.

"I shall not accept this", said Tristan with a plan in mind. He grabbed his quill and a piece of parchment, writing a missive that would put end to the whole conflict.

---

To the Warlord of Lothark,

The war, as we both know, is currently not sustainable. These conflicts have lasted for long enough, and there are no signs of impending victory from both sides. If this continues, the winner will have a plot of land devoid of anything to rule; I do not need to inform you how counterproductive that would be.

Ergo, I come to you with a final proposition. We shall duel, you and I, until one emerges victorious - the result of this fight will determine who emerges victorious and takes control of the land, whereas the loser will be stripped of it all. No power, no control, nothing but a life of servitude under the rule of the winner.

I need not remind you that war agreements are legally binding. I doubt that you'll emerge victorious, so it would be smart for you to refuse the agreement. In case your folly supersedes your prudence, though, I shall await for you in the seventh day from the arrival of this letter.

Tristan Drakton,
Warlord of Radukor

---

During that same night, the emissary came back with the response from the opposing side. The war agreement was accepted.

"Perfect", Tristan spoke to himself. "It seems like my plan is working exactly as intended."

---

Present Time

The event took massive proportions - nary a seat in the area was free, as all of the slots were filled with warriors that chanted and screamed for their respective Warlord to overcome victorious. The arena was filled with the sounds of fight, acting as a harbinger of the destiny that would befall the two nations.

Tristan held the Zweihander upright as he taunted his adversary. "Come and show me what you're made of, show me what you're worth. I doubt you'll stand your own for a whole minute", he professed with acid sarcasm, trying to get under the opponent's skin. Tristan fully knew that war was not only physical, but mental as well; disrupt the opponent's thoughts and you end up disrupting the opponent's body.

The arbiter of the fight raised his hand to the sky and shouted loudly, indicating that the combat had started. Immediately, the Warlord held his sword in an offensive position and began moving closer to his target.

Soon it would all be over.

 

[Janus]

[td]

Radukor-Lothark War Frontline, Commander’s Quarters

---

A deep, thundering roar cut through the campgrounds, silencing the raucous whines of steel being forged to blades. Even the boisterous chatter among the warriors, which, at often times had gotten to the point of being deafening, immediately fell quiet. All heads seemed to turn towards the hefty red tent that stood out at the end of the grounds, cautiously awaiting command, with none daring to approach.

“Does he dare to think that I would fall to him,” the booming voice spoke inside the commander’s tent. Aiden Greymane crushed the parchment in his hand, sent from that spineless Drakton. Despite the strands of long, messy brown hair brushing over his face, anyone could see the rage in his eyes quickly build. “He doubts my victory? Does he really think he can take down Aiden Greymane, Commander of Lothark?” The man chuckled loudly, his rough hands reaching up to brush his hair back before shaking away the perspiration on his fingers. The commander leaned over the table, his palms pressing into the wood surface, which was covered in annotated maps and documents. His eyes turned back to the messenger, who had his head down and back pressed against the walls of the tent, standing as far away from Aiden as he possibly could. Aiden grinned deviously as he gripped the edges of the table. “Let Tristan know that—”

Aiden was interrupted as a short, pudgy man appeared from what seemed to be a mountain of documents scattered on the ground, with his own arms trying to hold on to what he was already carrying. An advisor to the lord, Duncan Gleeston was more of a glorified nanny, making sure that Aiden didn’t make too many bad decisions or spiral out of control. Both of which were going to happen right now. “N-Now, my lordship, we’re gaining momentum in the war. I don’t think it’s wise to—”

“Quiet!” he barked, grabbing a quill as he uncrumpled the piece of paper and signed his name. Which, one couldn’t honestly tell the difference from chicken scratches. Folding it back up nicely, he made his way around the table and walked up to the pale messenger, who was just about to collapse underneath the man’s presence. Aiden’s firm hand came up to the trembling man’s neck and pressed against it, feeling the quickening pulse race press into his open palm. He lifted the young man up, waiting to hear the muffled choking sounds as he leaned in closer, until his growling breaths brushed against the messenger’s forehead. His other hand, which had the letter, came up and smacked it into the boy’s chest, earning another gasping cough. “You run back to Radukor,” he seethed, “and you tell Drakton that I’m going to paint that arena red with his blood.”

He released the young man, letting him fall to the ground as he scurried up and fled. Aiden paid no more attention to him as he reached over for his beloved Claymore, swinging it up easily with one arm despite its weight. “Are you ready, my love?”

---

Present Time

---

Aiden could hear the rumble of the colosseum, the roar of the crowds who had all gathered—but he silenced them all out. He had one target in mind and the only thing that he could focus on: Tristan Drakton. From the arena chambers, he exited, followed by a group of servants who adjusted the copper armor encasing his body, making sure everything was fastened correctly before he stepped out into the light. The cries from the crowd had amplified with his presence now, but they couldn’t seem to draw his attention. Aiden’s green eyes burned onto Tristan, who stood smugly and motioned him closer. “Take my pelt off,” he ordered, as quick hands pulled the wolves skin off him and the warlord made his first step onto the stage, clenching the handle on his Claymore.

He eyed the man down before taking a few steps towards him, a bloodthirsty snarl forming as he dropped the tip of his sword to the ground, letting the sound of metal cutting through the stone ring. “Your proposition screamed of desperation,” he spat, lifting his sword up, ready to lunge forward. “You think I would fall to the likes of you, old man?”


His posture shifted as his weight switched between his heels, lunging himself forward. Blade in hand, his grip swung back, gathering all his power and momentum as his eyes found an opening at the oncoming commander. “A minute is far more than I would need,” he growled, his Claymore slashing towards Tristan.
​

---

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[DamonHuntington]

The bravado screamed by Aiden fell in deaf ears. For Tristan, nothing but the thrill of the fight raged in his ears and surged through his blood. One, two, step to the side, the sudden motion of the blade as it tried to cut through steel and flesh - these instructions were all that the Warlord focused on, unwilling to distract himself with any trivial details that could cause him to perish. Aiden dashed forward in a fierce lunge, but the motion was far too obvious; all that he got in return was an effortless strike of Tristan's blade that deflected the motion to the side. "Is that all you have got, Aiden? I have barely started, and I can already see that this will be too easy for me", the commander of Radukor spoke with evident disdain, preparing his feint strike.

The tip of the Zweihander rushed downwards, as if the sharp blade was intent on severing the nerves and the veins of Aiden's neck; with a flick of the wrist, the weapon changed its course ever so slightly, directed at the chest of the opponent. Tristan knew well that, even if that hit did not make contact with the other Warlord, he would likely be fazed by the sudden motion. "You are not on my level, and you'll only realise that in the middle of the combat because you were too arrogant to listen to others", the Warlord taunted with a ferocious tone, preparing a second strike aimed at Aiden's left arm.

His feet stepped gracefully side to side, slowly encircling the area around the commander of the Lothark Kingdom, like a rabid wolf would do with his prey that would slowly, but surely, fall into the predator's clutches. Tristan seemed to notice some foul play was ready to be launched after the teasing, and in response he gave a back-step and swung the blade with its flat side towards the position where he believed Aiden's head would be during the next second.

 

[Janus]

[td]

Aiden’s’ head stopped short just before running into the flat of his sword. He looked up, his eyes furrowing as he recoiled. “Are you mocking me, Tristan?” His wrist pulled up, striking the sword away as he reclaimed his balance, his body hunched as he faced the man. Another cry into battle as he charged forward, insulted by this mockery.

The clash of steel rang through the arena, as Aiden’s strikes were continuously blocked by Tristan. He glared at the opposing warlord, who stood with nary a scratch on him as Aiden tried to shrug off the stinging pain that the cut on his left arm was giving off. The Lothark warlord gave a deep growl, as if to scare off the throbbing ache and refocus himself on the fight. White knuckles clenched around the handle as he parried forward, enraged by every strike that was met in return.

“I will never be beneath you,” Aiden snarled, throwing away any tactics he might have had to win him the fight, fueled now by nothing more than pure ferocity. He burst forward, gripping the blade with both hands now as he struck at Tristan, each powerful strike of his Claymore rushing at the Radukor commander. Though it made each and every one of his movements predicable, Aiden didn’t care. He was determined to crush this man through absolute strength alone.​

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[DamonHuntington]

Apparently, Tristan's plan to enrage the assailant had been completed without a hitch - despite missing the hit, Aiden bit the bait and took insult to the deliberate motion that was done in such a preposterous way. The Warlord for Radukor smirked and spoke aloud. "Thought I'd give you the chance to dodge something, for once. I was almost worried when it seemed like such a predictable movement would hit you, but maybe in retrospect I shouldn't have been that surprised", the commander laughed, striking in a bladed flurry that changed the angle of attack with each hit. The Zweihander moved quickly for its sheer size, reaching out to touch whatever flesh it could.

Still, it seemed like Aiden was trying to change tactics now, perhaps trying to avoid any kind of technique for the sake of solely employing his bodily force. With a derisive chuckle, Tristan also modified his methods - rather than parrying each of the strongest blows, the Warlord simply moved to the side and dodged - sometimes deflecting the course of the Claymore if necessary, but never spending more energy than the bare minimum. If his opponent kept this up, soon he'd be out of energy.

And it was at that specific moment that Tristan saw an opening take shape right in front of his eyes. Aiden's arms seemed to be relenting little by little, each fierce blow made slightly less fierce and each swipe made a little shorter than before. The whole battle seemed to grind against the Lothark Warlord's nerves, making him more exposed - and, as Tristan well knew, any mistake could be determinant to victory. Unwilling to fall into a trap, however, the commander decided towards a very unorthodox movement: he took one step to the side and closer to his assailant, ducked to dodge the incoming swing and swiped the sword upward to make contact with Aiden's neck and chin.

He knew that the arbiter would be forced to rule this a victory for him if the blow worked as intended.

 

[Janus]

[td]

The strike made contact. Aiden couldn’t believe it. The force of the blow knocked him back, and as he tried to bring his foot behind to catch the fall, his body just couldn’t do it. There was no more adrenaline, no more energy, no more strength left. It was as if each of his limbs had been shackled with weights, all pulling down on him to hit the pavement. How could he have not even landed a hit? All of the cuts and marks left on him singed, and all he could focus on now were the searing wounds that were painted across his body.

But he was not going to go down like this. Aiden could hear the faint cheers to get up, mixed in with the boos from those who wanted a longer fight. His hand reached for his sword, determined to win in the name of Lothark. But all his fingers could do was dig into the stone floor. His sword…where did it go? Crying out in pain, he pulled himself up, wincing as his muscles tensed, and tried to scan around for his trusty Claymore. The air was dusty from his fall, but he couldn’t see his Claymore anywhere. Until he finally saw it. There it was, inserted into the ground, outside of the arena floor. Aiden had lost.

“Lord Aiden Greymane has been disarmed! The victory goes to Lord Tristan Drakton!” The crowd erupted in both applause and screams, but all Aiden could hear was the arbiter’s voice ringing in his head. The lord—or rather, the former lord slumped down to his knees, his body crouched forward as his hands clawed into the stone floor until his fingers were nearly bleeding. He let out a visceral cry, one that shook the colosseum as he sat back up, wiping the blood across his dirty neck. “I know that you struck me with the blunt of your sword. Go ahead and kill me now, because I would rather die than serve at the likes of you,” he bellowed, his last few words drenched in venom.

Scowling, he pulled himself back up, fighting every urge inside of him to fall back down as he reached his arm across and unclasped the lock on his shoulder. He yanked his chest armor off and tossed it onto the ground, exposing his muscled, but weary body. “You win, Tristan Drakton,” he said as Radukorian soldiers rushed into the arena, surrounding the stage.

“Take my blood, because if you don’t, I’m going to spend the rest of my life seeking yours.”​

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[DamonHuntington]

The battle finished in the blink of an eye, nearly five minutes after it started - barely enough to provide any kind of amusement for the ones that were watching, but sufficient to show which of the men was more fit for ruling. The battle ushered in the beginning of a new era, and Tristan would make the nation grow stronger and fiercer. "People of Radukor!", he addressed every citizen in the area, "tonight we unite under a single flag, a nation that shall not be defeated nor destroyed by any other. We are reborn today by blood and sweat, a nation of brothers-in-arms that is destined to have the strongest Kingdom upon the land. There will be no prisoners of war and no punishments for anyone that was formerly a citizen of Lothark; after all, none of you were at fault for serving such a weak ruler. I will see it personally that both sides of this fight are at last reunited, and that we shall all reap the spoils of this endeavour", the Warlord proceeded, aiming to consolidate his power starting at that very moment.

That meant, however, that Aiden would get a fair share of public humiliation during the same opportunity. "This man slumped on the floor has failed you. He was weak, and despite his weakness he came to this fight light a lamb to the slaughterer. He ran the risk of putting your whole civilisation under servitude, in case I were a callous and ruthless ruler; that's why he deserves nothing but your scorn and repulse!, the commander stated right before he spat at Greymane's direction. "A man never goes back on his word, and this is how you know the person in front of you is not a real man. He signed a treaty which stated, in clear lettering, that the loser was indebted to the winner's servitude - and how does he react now, after he was bested? He runs away, like a coward, from his obligation, Tristan spoke as he slowly turned to directly speak to Aiden. "You show that you never deserved the position of leader; that all you've ever could be is a servant, and today the truth was revealed. Ergo, I will give you the treatment you deserve - guards!", the Warlord screamed, motioning for them to seize Aiden and bind him in shackles.

Warlord Drakton then walked very slowly to Aiden's Claymore, which seemed to be an object of admiration for the former lord. He weighed it in his hands and snarled. "I cannot understand how you'd get tired wiggling a sword like this around. This substandard weapon is lighter than a feather", Tristan said in an obvious taunt while pointing the blade towards Aiden's chest. "Wouldn't it be ironic if you died by your own sword today? Alas, I am not going to do that. I'm going to teach you how to be a man and how to never go back on your word. I'm going to show you what a real man is made of!", the Warlord grunted at his now-prisoner, right before he placed the tip of the Claymore to the ground. With a series of stomps, the commander strained the steel until it snapped close to the hilt, irreversibly damaging the blade. "Cut his remaining clothes, guards! His service starts now.", Tristan stated.

The soldiers began stripping Greymane from the rest of his dignity, pushing his slumped and naked body to the floor of the area. "Put him on his fours, and use your swords to pin the chains to the floor. I don't want him to move a single inch", the ruthless commander ordered, standing right in front of the defeated warrior. Tristan started to take off his vambraces and chest armour, revealing the strong arms and muscled body that hid beneath the metal. The armour covering his legs and the leather pants were removed shortly after, exposing the stiff cock of the Warlord that stood straight in a length slightly superior than 11 inches. "You'd better look very well, because this is what a real man looks like. You should be ashamed of what you have and thank me for the opportunity to let you serve", Tristan stated as he circled the area and directed himself close to Aiden's ass. The commander then spat on top of Greymane's hole, rubbing his thumb to spread the liquid around to lubricate the area.

And, without a warning, Tristan pushed his dick hard and fast into the one that was turned into his servant.

 

[Janus]

[td]

Aiden watched in horror as his Claymore snapped, the metal blade flying off the arena and landing onto a cloud of dust. He fought against the bindings, his body writhing and twisting as his muscles bulged against the iron cuffs. The people in the audience watched in horror at their fallen king, some even turning their eyes away at the disgraceful sight. The former warlord screamed, veins pulsing at his neck as he tried to fight off the soldiers, knocking a couple back, even while he was bound. But strength comes in numbers, he soon found, as he was quickly contained back down onto his hands and knees. He snarled at them like a feral wolf, his body covered in sweat, blood, and dirt as he tried to snap at them. Aiden looked up at the crowd, at his people, through wincing eyes. He could see fingers and disappointing looks aimed back at him, at their former king. Others seemed to cheer on Drakton, satisfied that their new ruler had claimed victory.

His body hunched, he turned his head around to see Tristan’s naked display, not even realizing that he himself was stripped. “Fuck you! FUCK YOU!” he howled, his body pulling and yanking at the chains. His arms nearly dislocated from his shoulders as he fought against the bindings, only to be forced back down as more soldiers pressed their weight onto their swords, effectively locking him down for display. Greymane was a man of pride, and to be exposed and stripped in front of Drakton, of all people, had only infuriated him more. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” he hissed, “I’m going to take your hea—”

Threats soon became screams as Aiden’s body was suddenly thrusted forward, and he felt a scorching pain like he had never before felt in his life. The former warlord’s ass had been ripped open, and it felt like he was on fire. His shrieks and howls rang across the arena, feeling the cock push inside of his virgin hole. His body went limp from the overwhelming pain, and he nearly had to catch himself on his forearms. But the shaft kept going in deeper, to the point where he didn’t think it would ever stop. “What do you think you’re doing,” he gnarled, trying to pull himself away, only to feel gloved hands reach for him and yank him back.

“You’re our lord’s servant now,” the soldiers barked, laughing at the humiliated commander. They roughed him around, making sure he stayed still as Drakton fucked him. The pain was unbearable, as the thick cock pushed deeper and deeper into him, and he couldn’t take it. “Stop it," he growled, "I command you to stop this—” His pleads were interrupted as the unrelenting cock used his hole, and each thrust seemed to invite a new source of pain that made him lose focus. His throat had gone sore from screaming, but he couldn’t stop it. His hole had been ripped apart. And he had no other choice but to stay on all fours and take the monstrous cock. He fought against the hands holding onto him and turned his head back at Drakton. His long hair was drenched in sweat, and his eyes were filled with bloodlust as his words trickled out through gritted teeth.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, you piece of shite.”​

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[DamonHuntington]

The sight of Aiden screaming at Tristan's girth only made him feel more and more aroused; Drakton's cock bulged and throbbed with each shout, ravaging the tight hole with intense lust. The opening puckered around Tristan's massive tool, making him apply more and more pressure to push into Greymane's body; each inch driven forward required an herculean effort and a fierce thrust of Tristan's hips.

"Command as you wish, servant. You have no power anymore - no one to reply to your pleas and heed your call", the Warlord said amid the pushing and pulling of his dick, ravishing the hole with the strongest force he could muster. "Doubt you're going to kill me too, since you had the opportunity and failed. You're all bark and no bite, just a man that speaks too much and does too little. Now you'll have a reason to scream, though", he asserted while making a strong effort to push two more inches into the hole that was getting, little by little, more pliant to every motion.

"I bet you want to know how much you're taking inside you, bitch; that the curiosity of knowing how much your hole can be filled by a real man must be building up in your mind", the commander proceeded, in an attempt to make both her servant and his previous followers question his value as a man. "I've barely started. You only have almost four inches in you; I can triple this length and still have more to spare", the man aggressively claimed as he grabbed Aiden's waist and brought him closer with the strength of his arms, pushing yet two more inches inside. "It only gets wider from here on, so you'd better open up more", Tristan ordered at the exact moment he hit the other male's prostate.

Drakton grabbed hold of Greymane's long hair, intertwining his fingers amidst the long strands and pulling savagely on them like a horseman controlling his ride. A sharp tug made Aiden look upwards, towards the direction of the crowd that was watching the man that was formerly a lord fall into utter disgrace. "This is your life now. You'll be nothing but my toy, and the best part is that you'll start to like it with time - maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but you cannot escape the inevitability of this discovery. You know that what I say is true", Tristan asserted as he thrusted more and more against his servant's gland and felt the puckering of the hole grasping the sides of his gigantic shaft.

 

[Janus]

[td]

Aiden clenched his fists, continually convincing himself to endure the pain, to show his people that he was worthy. But as the huge cock forced its way into him, deepening the penetration, Aiden couldn’t stop himself from screaming in pain. He tried to tighten his anal muscles, hoping it would push the beast of a cock out, but it only drove harder into him, claiming his hole.

He could feel palms digging into his shoulder blades, keeping him down like some kind of neutered pup as his head yanked back, forcing him to look at the crowd. He could see soldiers he had trained, villagers he had saved from bandits—his people. The look on their faces had made his chest tighten, a feeling foreign to him as he could see their fallen respect. “Don’t listen to him!” he screamed out, saliva dripping down his chin. “I am still your king! I shall return to my people once more!” Aiden tried to speak through the brutal fucking, but as he felt the shift in girth—that swell that stretched his hole even further than he could have possibly imagined, the former commander failed to hold back his cries.

The throbbing vein on the underside of Tristan’s cock rammed against his prostate, sending a pulsing sensation throughout Aiden’s hips, causing his body to tense up as his back suddenly arched. He could feel a tingle against his own arousal, but the searing pain from his torn hole had greatly overshadowed it. And as the cock thrusted further into him, all he could think about was the pain. It was exhausting him.

His body began to weaken—too tired to fight against the men holding him down as well as the unrelenting invader that was claiming his hole. His head dropped as well, hoping to hide the shame in his face as he prayed for it to end soon. With trembling lips, he could see a drop of blood splatter on the arena floor beneath him. It was from his lips. He was biting on them so hard to try to keep his composure that his teeth cut through them. The audience went quiet. All one could hear now was the wet sounds of Tristan’s large cock forcing itself in and out of him, breeding his hole for all to see. Aiden knew that there was nothing he could do right now. But he’ll be damned at Drakton’s lies.

“You can try to fuck me like a bitch all you want. But I’ll never be yours,” he hissed, tilting his head just enough to catch the man’s conceited gaze. “I’ll never—”

A blow to the head interrupted him, as the soldiers holding him down laughed. Aiden gasped, his vision blurry for a second as he tried to hold his balance. “Fucking bitch making demands. Just shut up and take our commander’s cock, you bitch.”​

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[DamonHuntington]

The words coming from Aiden's mouth only made Tristan chuckle in derision. "You're still king? You'll return? You signed a paper that relinquishes all control to me. From the moment you signed that declaration, you were doomed to this fate; you were bound to serve me like you're doing and like you will do for the rest of your life", came the reply from the Warlord's lips, punctuating each sentence with a stronger shove at its end. Tristan threw his head backwards in pure delight at the fact he was now fucking, without any degree of care, his most hated enemy. The realisation that Aiden was now his for as long as he lived washed across his body, renewing the strength of each jab that forced its way into Graymane.

"Never again you'll be respected. You're bound to be known forever as the one that got fucked by me in front of an audience. Even if you escape, you'll have no land and no respect, whore. Even if you kill me, you'll be dishonoured as the one that did not fulfil the declaration you signed yourself. Can't you see that you put yourself into this position, bitch? You put yourself on your fours right in front of me, and now I'm making use of the position you elected to be in", spoke the man amidst groans of delight and pleasure. Tristan began slowly working more of his cock in Greymane, reaching nearly nine inches inside before the pressure was too much to handle against his shaft's base. "You'll have a lot to learn in order to serve me, slut. I'm going to teach you how to take me whole with time and a lot of practice, but for now this will suffice", Drakton asserted as he looked downwards and noticed Aiden's flaccid cock.

"Now I know why you lost. Can't even keep your sword straight in battle", he said as he prepared the final piece of torture for all to see - the gran finale to a display of complete dominance. "Here, I'll teach you how to keep it up; still, by the looks of it, a one-handed sword would've done you more justice, is that not so?", the commander mocked, eliciting laughter from the nearby soldiers.

Tristan's plan was simple, but not less devious because of that. The Warlord began moving slower into Aiden's ass, pressing tight against his prostate and forcing the fluids involuntarily out; his right hand reached over and stroked Greymane's cock, first in a slower pace and then faster. The commander wanted, with this series of actions, to force his servant's cock into staying hard and upright, as a display that he was enjoying the act of subservience - and maybe, who knew, perhaps force Aiden to orgasm from the constant stimulation he was being subjected to. Whether that plan would succeed or not had yet to be seen; still, even if it did not, that would be only one more reason to ridicule the former lord in front of the public.

The rhythm of each pound build up as the hole was penetrated in a much more pleasant way than the former brutish penetrations. "That's more like it", spoke Tristan as he sped up the movement of his hand over Aiden's cock as well.

 

[Janus]

[td]

Rough hands wrapped around his cock, causing Aiden to jerk in surprise as he pulled back. Unfortunately, this only pushed Tristan’s cock deeper into him, eliciting another ached cry, though not as loud as before. The fallen warlord’s hole was slowly stretching to meet the girth of the invading cock, and while he still felt the sting at his stretched anal muscles, it was starting to become at least somewhat bearable.

Aiden grunted as Drakton’s hands started to slide along his cock, now suddenly more aware of the slight tingle of pleasure he was feeling—the pleasure that had been buried underneath all of the aching pain. “S-Stop this at once, Drakton,” he demanded, though the deep timbre in his voice had fallen, now almost trembling as he tried to pull his hips away from the man’s grip. He clenched his eyes shut, hoping to isolate himself from everything that was happening, to ignore the stimulation of his own cock. The man gritted his teeth, tightened his muscles, steadied his core…but everything was too much. Every hard thrust of Tristan’s cock pulled him back to reality and reminded him of the situation he was in.

“Stop touching me,” he barked again, though his cock was starting to harden up. At eight inches, it was nowhere near the magnitude of the warlord’s member, but it was starting to throb in his hands. Aiden could feel his body shiver as the cock inside of him pounded into his prostate, a sensation foreign to him, but seemed to have a direct response on his cock. He could feel that it was leaking precum, which only made him feel even more humiliation, as his body was inadvertently enjoying this. And while his resolve was sound, as Aiden forced himself to stay still in the upright position he had been bound to, it didn’t stop his cock from throbbing against Tristan’s palm. “Fuck you for doing this to me,” he growled, “Fuck you for toying with me like this..”

But as the strokes became faster and firmer, Tristan was slowly losing himself. He could hear the soft, muffled groans that escaped through gritting teeth, feel the slight rocking of his hips into the hand, as well as the shivers that rang through his body whenever Tristan fucked into his prostate. Aiden began to pant, letting out loud beast-like snarls and grunts, as if to pull his focus back, as if to regain himself from the hands of Tristan Drakton. “I will not fall,” he kept repeating to himself, like some kind of mantra to remind himself of his former position.

The words seemed to have ignited whatever remaining spark in him, as it gave him the strength to yank his left arm up, lifting the sword that held it in place off the ground and giving him some leverage. Immediately, he swung his arm to knock back a couple of soldiers closest to him, taking them by surprise as the force of the blow pushed them to the arena grounds. With hope of freedom in his eyes now, he tried to do the same to his right arm, but he wasn’t quick enough. A new set of soldiers instantly replaced the fallen, grabbing his freed arm and immobilized it, nearly dislocating it from the socket as they forced him back on all fours, sinking the sword through the chains tighter. “My lord, your bitch is a disobedient one,” they chortled, slapping Aiden’s face around as he tried to snap at them like a wild dog.​

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[DamonHuntington]

The sudden outburst surprised Tristan, truth be told - but there was no way in Hell that he'd let others notice his reaction. Upon seeing the sudden release of the man in front of him, the Warlord glared at one of the guards that was watching the scene and used his head to motion that he needed to take care of the situation immediately, before he had to face the wrath of the commander personally. The soldier rushed to the spot with his nearby group, seizing the disgraced man once more. Crisis averted. Relief washed over Tristan, but he stifled the sigh that formed into his throat; he needed to look like he was in absolute control.

The comment about his 'disobedient bitch' elicited a hearty laugh from the Warlord. "You know what they say, the best bitches start like that. They only need someone strong enough to take them by the reins ruthlessly", was the reply that Drakton addressed to his men. The resistance from Aiden made everything much more enjoyable, especially so because of the pre-cum that dripped slowly to the floor with every thrust. "Look at him, he can't even hide how much he likes to be taken by his Lord. Considering his short length when I started pounding his ass, the current size of his manhood must have been the largest he's seen in his entire life", the Warlord of Radukor replied as he drove himself forward in small waves, prodding against the servant's prostate in a series of brief and sharp motions.

The commander's hand moved towards the tip, fingers tracing the underside of Greymane's shaft slowly, until they slightly brushed the frenulum in a touch that could barely be felt. His right hand closed tightly against the part of the opponent's dick that was closest to the head, and lingered there for a while.

Out of a sudden, that same appendage begin stroking Aiden's cock vigorously, synchronising the motion of the thrusts with the movement his member was subject to. Each push and prod became part of an intense crescendo, while Tristan's free hand scratched, and then slapped, Greymane's ass. "If it's a fucking that you want, I'll give you that", said the man as he restlessly pumped into his servant and slapped his bottom once more.

 

[Janus]

[td]

The crowd had begun to thin out, as most were unable to watch this act of degradation any further. As Aiden glanced up, he could see the torture in their eyes as they left, and he made a silent promise to them that he would escape and return to his people.

Aiden’s body jerked forward as the rough palm crashed against his cheeks. Though it wasn’t something he’d ever take notice of, the former warlord had a plump ass, which only caused the marks left by Drakton to burn even with every strike. It wasn’t long before his cheeks were imprinted with the commander’s hand, a crimson representation of his status on pale skin. And as the strikes continued, he did his best to mask the whimpered cries as hardened grunts.

The growl in Aiden’s throat soon quivered as the thumb grazed against his frenulum. He could feel his dick throbbing at the faint touch, and while he would have barely registered the contact were it anywhere else, the sensation that he felt had only seemed to amplify. His hips gave out a slight shudder as his foreskin was slowly pulled back, and through the brutal fucking that Drakton was giving him, touching that bridge of skin underneath the slit of his cock was almost pleasurable. That feeling quickly evaporated as Drakton continued his ruthless onslaught, to the point where Aiden was becoming more and more exhausted from the mere act of taking this monstrous cock and the Tristan’s unrelenting stamina. His body couldn’t help but fall, caught by the soldiers as he slumped into their arms. The hunched beast who bared his fangs against his predator was now a weakened man on all fours, with his ass high up in the air.

And as the pain of his used hole began to numb, Aiden’s mind suddenly recoiled back to Drakton’s fingers on the sensitive head of his cock, playing with him. It had been a breath of fresh air through the tormenting fog, and the fallen warlord felt himself gravitating towards it. He found his body wanting that sense of pleasure, to feel something other than the stinging burn of the man’s giant cock. His head fallen, he slightly tilted his hips back, not enough for anyone other than Tristan to notice. He could feel his muscles tighten up, as if his head was telling him to silence himself and endure it until it was over. But soon the words escaped from his dry throat before he could even notice.

“D…Do that again,” he croaked in between thrusts, hoping that no one, not even Tristan, had heard him. “Touch my cock again.”​

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[DamonHuntington]

Despite Aiden's hope, Tristan did listen to his plea to be touched by his Master. Drakton, however, would not give the former lord what he wanted that easily; no, if he wanted to feel the pleasure, then he would need to beg for it.

The Warlord slowed down the movement over Greymane's cock, reducing it to a frustrating sluggish motion that only served to make the other man's pleasure pile up without any release. "You want me to make you feel like the bitch you are, huh? Then beg. Beg for your Master to give you the pleasure of being taken completely, until you fall to the ground breathless and tired. Say those words loud and clear, and I'm going to give you the pleasure that you deserve so much", Tristan proceeded to state, changing the position of his hand's grip to the base of Aiden's cock. His hand jerked the servant's shaft forwards and backwards in a pace that gradually grew, making Greymane's testicles rock forwards and backwards in a fast motion. "You'd better not cum before you implore for my permission too, or I'm going to get you whipped once you get to your new home", Tristan reinforced, followed by a deep scratching of Greymane's ass with the Warlord's free hand.

The sensation was more than exciting - to Tristan, it was intoxicating. His eyes scanned the crowd that began to disperse; most of the citizens that were formerly Lotharkians could not take the shame and degradation. Conversely, the Radukorians seemed to be enthralled by the show in front of them, as if they were living vicariously through Tristan. This thought, too, pleased the Warlord very much, and made him feel compelled to do the best he could.

A sudden motion was perceived against Drakton's legs - was it his impression, or had his bitch just moved towards him, rather than away? With renewed vigour, the commander slid the head of his shaft against the internal walls of the fallen man, pressing tightly against the flesh in a series of slow and warm pulses. Tristan's dick throbbed, hot and heavy, while the feeling of pleasantness began to slowly but surely build up inside his body.

The man grunted loudly and released an upwards growl of clear pleasure. "So, what's it going to be, whore? Are you ready to admit you are mine and reap the benefits from it, or do you still want to insist on your petty and broken pride to ridicule yourself more in front of the others?", the Warlord of Radukor inquired.