Date: Sun, 23 Jan 2022 12:57:47 +0000 From: "out-cast@hotmail.com" Subject: The Fall of a King The Fall of a King This story includes scenes of a sexual nature between adult men and between a man and multiple stallions. It is up to you to establish whether you want to read that, and whether your local laws allow you to. If you decide to read this story and enjoy it, remember that Nifty depends on our contributions to survive and provide us with divertion. ------ My life is a sham. For the last 13 years, I am supposed to have been the leader of a people of 4000 men - and an unknown number of women and children. A king since my ascension to the throne at my father's death when I was 14. I have half a dozen beautiful young wives, and I visit their tent every night when I am not touring the land or warring with a neighbor: I have sired 21 sons in 12 years. I am a warrior king, young, tall and muscular, ruling from the Eastern Sea to the Green Mountains: the richest and most powerful man in the richest and most powerful people in the known world. I have come as close to divinity as a mortal can get. As I said, my entire life is a sham. Firstly, there is the myth of my authority. For the common members of our tribe, I may seem to be mighty and all-powerful, but those closer to the top know that I only rule by the grace of the Council. For 13 years, they have stood between me and my tribe. They have controlled the people's access to me, and my access to my army. Every day, the Council confer with me, `advise' me, ask for my decisions and then they do what they wanted to do in the first place. I know I need to try to wrest power from them, appeal to the warriors themselves to disobey their clan's leaders and follow me directly, but I also know that if I fail, I am dead. For 13 years, I've quietly assented and sat back as the Council ruled in my name, but now I cannot stand it much longer. In recent months I have put out the most tentative of feelers to sense the mood among the junior commanders. Not much longer until I am ready to take control for myself. The second lie concerns my virility. Don't get me wrong, I do genuinely visit my wives every night and they have nothing to complain about when I leave their tent. My sons are all my real sons from my own loins. But what I do in that tent, comes from obligation rather than desire. These thoughts are the same every night as I walk from the Queens' tent to my own, and I am practiced at hiding my unhappiness. Head up, shoulders back. The swordsmen guarding the entrance fold back the flaps and let them fall closed again behind me. The only real power I have is to insist that nobody enters my tent without my permission. This is my true domain, this is the only small patch of land where I rule absolutely. It is also the only place in the world where I can be myself. Mikhal approaches with a beaker of wine, face down and eyes to the floor as appropriate for a servant. I accept the cup and take a mouthful of the sweet red nectar. As Mikhal makes to back away, I grab him by the shoulder, a finger under his chin lifts his eyes towards mine. It is one of those nights when I need him with me. My servant is 5 years my junior, but looks 5 years younger still: beautiful, delicate, diminutive, and of course subservient. My life was a pure nightmare before he became my servant, but it has become more bearable when he is with me, as long as we are discreet. My lips find his, my free hand finds his waist and pulls him against me. His head is back, his warm mouth open to receive my tongue. I am more than a foot taller than the boy. "I can taste the wine on your lips," he whispers with a smile. I give him a sip from my cup. I expect he sometimes drinks from my supply, all servants probably do, and don't mind it, least of at all from him. I savor the contact of his lithe body against mine as we silently kiss for ages, silently because any sound that betrays what is happening here could spell disaster. If my position is uncertain now, it will be untenable if they know I favor men. I pull his jerkin over his head and let it drop to the floor, reengaging our kiss. While I let my hands roam his soft skin, his fingers fumble with the buttons of my tunic until it slides from my shoulders. The touch of his hands on my bare chest is electrifying. I guide him to the bed and lie back, pulling him on top of me, never breaking our kiss. Somehow, we suddenly find ourselves naked, having got rid of the rest of our clothes in the intervening minutes. Mikhal's fingers find my manhood, but I push them away. I shot two loads earlier tonight with my wives, and while I could easily shoot another, it is not what I need most right now. I roll over, pushing him off me, onto his back. My hands are on his groin, my mouth is on his tool, his monster, his beautiful massive horse cock, which is starting to rise to its full majestic hardness under my attentions. Its staggering size is further highlighted by his slight frame. "I have to have you inside me," I whisper as I feel around for the small tub of animal grease that sits next to my bed. It won't have come as a surprise to him, as I make my servant ride me most nights we lie together. Greased up, Mikhal kneels between my legs. I am belly down, my legs underneath me, my arse up in the air. I am ready to be fucked. I prefer being taken like this, like a subservient animal mounted from behind by a dominant male. His bulbous head pushes against my ring, pushes hard and forces me to open up. I bite down on a pillow to stop me crying out when his fat cock pops into my arse. However often Mikhal has taken me already and will take me in the future, it will never be easy. His massive tool rams deep into me, hard thrusts that stretch my gut. I can't stop a quiet groan escaping from my clenched jaw. Soon, too soon, Mikhal bottoms out inside me. Long as he is, I wish he had another couple of inches more. There are unexplored areas inside me. I want it to hurt, when he thrusts ever deeper into parts of my belly that are yet to feel him. He fucks me with long driving lunges, each ending with his big balls slapping against my bare cheeks. As my arse relaxes around his big girth, I let go of the pillow and whisper encouragement. I want to be fucked hard and violently, ravaged like a beast. He picks up the tempo, ramming in faster and harder, and deeper too it seems. Just as he silently fills my gut with his seed, the tent flaps fly open and 2 dozen men push into the tent. "What the ...," I begin to protest, but it is hard to act imposing when you're on all fours with a young man up to his balls inside you. "Grab him!" Lord Arkhon points at my lover, who is violently dragged away, his cum-spewing manhood yanked from my gut. "Take him away!" I roll onto my back and try to cover myself with a corner of the blanket. "What the hell do you think you're doing in here?!" "Sire, what we have witnessed here is unworthy of your rank and your status." Behind Arkhon stand the leaders of three of the most powerful clans of my people, all members of the Council. Behind them are a score of warriors, members of their bodyguards most likely. All fiercely loyal to their clans and unlikely to come to my rescue. "You will appear before the Council who will decide your fate. Put something on him and take him." With just a loose cape to cover my nakedness and a blanket over my head, I am dragged from my tent and across the encampment. I've been given roughhewn hose and jerkin, unbefitting my position, but I suspect that that position is no longer mine. At least the blanket has been removed, so I can see my surroundings. The four warriors inside the tent presumably recognize who I am and yet show no deference whatsoever. The tent where I am kept must be one of Arkhon's clan's and the warriors must be his to command. As if to confirm my suspicions, the President of the Council enters. The two soldiers behind me grab my arms and force me unwillingly onto my knees. "Gyangar, my boy, I am so disappointed in you. You have disgraced your Royal position with your deviant behavior, conduct unbefitting for a king. It is therefore the decision of the Council that you are no longer our leader. Your eldest son, Birim Gyangaziv, has inherited your throne. The trial to decide your future will be tomorrow." "The people won't stand for it," I reply quietly with more conviction than I feel. "The people won't do anything simply because they don't know anything. As far as they are aware, you've been murdered by your servant, a perverted lunatic who lusted after you and who got upset when you laughed off his advances. You're dead and your son, the heir, has taken over as the laws specify. Be grateful that we kept your memory intact; to your people and your sons you will always remain a manly warrior." "What about Mikhal?" "You murderer has already been punished appropriately," Arkhon smiles cruelly, "He was castrated before getting hanged, cut down while still alive and beheaded, a thousand men howling for his blood as they witnessed his death." My heart chills as I listen to the fate of my lover. "His head is now on a pole in front of your former tent, his manhood stuffed into his mouth. Which was not an easy fit, by the way. You must be utterly depraved to have enjoyed that thing." I decline to answer, as nothing I say can help me. They won't want to hear about my love for Mikhal or the amazing feeling of his heavy cock sliding into me. "Your final fate will be decided by the Council, but we need to ensure that you won't be recognized accidentally, now that you are officially dead." He snaps his fingers and one of the servants behind him produces a thick leather hood. Any attempt to struggle is prevented by twisting my arms onto my back and the leather is pulled tight over my head and fastened with metal studs that tell me that they do not ever intend to remove it. There are no eye holes! I will be blind to the world from now on. "Did you really think you could get away with it?" "We were discreet," I mumble through the small hole over my mouth. The tight hood makes speech difficult as I can hardly open my mouth. "Didn't show any affection in public." "Not that, you stupid fool, that is just an excuse. I'm talking about your attempt to take power away from the Council. Your attempts to recruit our warriors. You're just as foolish as your father, who also thought that he could get rid of us when he was a full-grown man." "My father had an accident." "Of course, he had." The sarcasm drips off the words. "Like you, he came to the throne young, too young to rule. Like you, he thought he could rule in his own right when he grew up. Like you, he died young by a freak event. Of course it was an accident. Your father was proud and predictable: he would always ride at the head of his troop. We only needed to undermine the Sea Road to make sure it collapsed into the ocean under the weight of the first rider crossing the weak point. And it did." "You bastard!" Mumbled as it is, the insult lacks the impact I intended and Arkhon laughs dismissively. "King Birim is only 12, he should have a nice long reign before he too gets hungry for power and dies in an unfortunately incident." "Gyangar Fodroziv, you have been found guilty of gross depravity, unnatural acts, perversion of a younger man, and abuse of your position to take advantage of a servant." In my mind's eye, I can picture the Council sitting at their table, facing me, outwardly grim-faced, inwardly pleased with the way events have turned out. "The Council has sentenced you to die in accordance with your crimes. You will be taken from here to the Royal Compound and bound to a frame, where the stallions of the Royal Household will be allowed to abuse your body until you die. Your corpse will be buried in a pauper's grave, as befitting your degenerate desires and corrupt soul." Fucked to death?! Are they seriously planning to have me fucked to death by horses? They obviously are, because less than an hour later I am strapped hand-and-foot to a wooden frame, naked except for the never-changing hood over my head. Around me are the familiar sounds of the horse pen, neighing, snorting, hoofs scratching in the dirt. I can hear how the lads looking after the horses have gathered around, enthusiastically chatting about what they are about to witness. The public's shouts make it clear that I am alleged to be Mikhal's lover and accomplice in the murder of the late King. Executed as an accomplice in my own murder! An animal is led up, snorting excitedly, stamping with impatience. I can hear and feel the thuds as its front hoofs land on the frame on either side of my head. A fat lump pushes against my hole, his dickhead. A stallion's dickhead, bigger than a man's fist, much bigger than Mikhal's painfully large cock. Instinctively, my ring clenches to keep it out, but I am breached effortlessly, a casual movement drives the massive cock deep into my defenseless body. I scream! I scream as loudly as the tight leather allows, grateful that I do not need to be quiet anymore when I get fucked. I scream at the white-hot searing pain that spreads along my gut into the very core of my body. At least it doesn't last long. In three of four powerful thrusts the stallion has rammed more meat into my belly than I ever felt. More meat than I can bear, stretching my tender bowel along its entire length. Almost immediately he begins to fill me up, hot cum flooding my gut to bursting. Still shooting, he pulls out, allowing the release of the pent-up seed. I feel it gushing from me, running down my bound legs. In and out in just a couple of minutes. "That was the late King's favorite horse, Pervert. The good King whom your depraved lover killed so cowardly. I hope you enjoyed it. King Birim's palfrey is next." My son's stallion, a handsome animal, but not as large as my own, mounts me and almost instantly drives his manhood deep into me. I can't help another scream, even if it is less desperate than before. This animal lasts longer, ramming his monster into my backside again and again, deeper than anything I have felt before. The assault on my innards makes it hard to breathe and I am grateful when I feel him shooting his seed into my belly; even if the sheer volume fills me up painfully, I know that the animal is about to finish. I don't know how long I can survive these assaults. Perhaps they didn't expect me to withstand the two violent rapes, because there is a period of rest, giving me time to recover, hanging over the wooden frame. I hear the animated chatter of the onlookers, the stable lads discussing the sight of my poor arse getting penetrated violently, stretched around the huge horse cocks. I hear the men taking bets on how many I can take before I would succumb to the violence. "Lord Arkhon's warhorse now, Degenerate. He's hung larger than any animal walking the earth. Let's see whether you can handle him too." I am torn open from arse to throat. A vast heavy meatpole rammed into me with such force I fear it will exit through my mouth. I try to scream but my voice seems to have given up. Four, five, six violent thrusts, faster and deeper than I can possibly survive. He begins to cum, continuing his fucking movements and pumping the semen deep into my gut. There is so much of it! He is too large to take, too violent for my bowels not to rupture as he drives his monster into my midriff. My belly bulges from three horse loads of cum inside me, and a gulf of it escapes when the stallion's massive cock unplugs my arse. About an hour on the frame and I have survived three assaults. There are about 100 stallions in the royal household, at least 1000 in the wider tribe. I don't think they will be running out of animals before my body gives up. The next fuck is easier, a palfrey from one of the other Lords, not as heavily hung as Arkhon's animal, I suspect. The animal fucks hard and deep, but no harder and deeper than I've taken already, and while it hurts badly, it is not unbearable anymore. My arse is no longer struggling to resist each entry, another palfrey, a couple of warhorses, all big, all painful, but somehow also stimulating. The continual pounding of my gut by each massive manhood is starting to excite me. Despite the pain and despite the violence, I am getting aroused by the overpowering animalistic savagery. My helplessness at the receiving end of their irresistible lust is the most thrilling thing that ever happened to me. Don't misunderstand me, I don't want to be here, I am in more agony with every next assault, but the longer I'm being forced to continue against my will, the firmer my manhood is getting. By the time they take me off the frame, I've lost count of the number of animals that have deposited a load inside my belly. I am sure it is more than two dozen. I am so bruised and battered, and in so much pain. And yet somehow, I am actually excited by the experience. "Gyangar, my dear Gyangar, you have surprised us," Arkhon is standing over my abused and exhausted body, lying on the floor of a stabling tent. "There was us thinking that just a couple horses would finish you off, and yet here we are, a week later ... about 200 or 300 times you've been taken by a horse and you are still going. Enjoying yourself, even, if the rumors are true." Three-hundred fucks? I can believe that, the way my backside feels. Every morning for 7 days they tied me to the frame, brought up horse after horse to ram their cocks hard and deep into my belly. Hundreds of loads of horse cum, that must be a couple of gallons at least. It feels like it, at times my belly felt pregnant with animal seed. It still hurts every time I am used, the size of their cocks and the violence with which they are forced into me, but it no longer is unbearable. I am not enjoying it, not really. But I am aroused when I get filled with monster cock after monster cock, load after load of cum. The brutal lust that the stallions inflict onto my powerless body; I cannot stop it reacting, my cock getting hard and spraying my seed across the grass underneath the frame several times a day. In the evening, when they take me down, I feel empty inside, a great hollowness that needs to be filled. At night I lie, battered and bruised, and dream of the animals that will assault me tomorrow, fearful of their violence but longing for their long hard cocks rammed into my defenseless ass. Usually there is cum still leaking from my backside when they drag me up to be refilled the next morning. "As we have failed to kill you, the Council has decided to commute your sentence. From now on you will be enslaved in the Household." Is that good news? I don't wish to die, but enslavement needn't be much better. Backbreaking work from dusk to dawn, little food ... no horses to abuse me. "As you know, before every tournament, the stallions are milked to make them a little more manageable, better behaved. Normally that is done by the stable lads using their hands, but from now on, you will service them with your body." My heart skips a beat. Can I live like that? Can I survive as a cumdump for stallions for the rest of my life? The constant assaults on my body, my belly bursting with horse seed at the end of every long hard day? There are tournaments most weeks, sometimes several days in a row. I will have to see to dozens of the biggest and most violent stallions each tournament day for the rest of my life. "Day after tomorrow the tournament on the occasion of Birim's coronation will begin, the largest and longest contest since your own coronation 13 years ago. I suggest you get rest, you will need it." I picture 40 huge warhorses raring to use me, all pure power and pent-up fury. Rage that will get channeled through their massive cocks as they violently release themselves inside my body. I picture 40 loads of horse cum filling my belly and stretching my gut, a wave gushing from my gaping hole and down my bound thighs every time the next giant cock is forced into me. My manhood begins to throb in anticipation. THE END