The king sagged between us, arms limp, trusting us to hold him, to keep him upright, to use him until nothing remained but worship and need. My lips found the hollow behind his ear, sucking hard, marking him, tongue tasting the salt of his skin and the slick running down his neck.
Akintola’s hands gripped the king’s hips, knuckles white with restraint, hips slamming forward in slow, merciless strokes. The tight heat of the king’s ass milked us both, clinging, trembling, fluttering, every nerve inside him alight with sensation. My hand dropped to the king’s cock, fist slick with lube and sweat, stroking him in time with our thrusts, dragging him closer and closer to the edge.
“Feel us, Majesty,” I hissed, voice trembling with the force of holding back. “You’re being worshipped, ruined, owned. Every inch of you is ours. You want it, don’t you? You want to be marked from the inside, to be filled, to be used until there’s nothing left but pleasure.”
A deep groan from Akintola, thick and guttural. “Hold him. I’m going to—” The words choked off, replaced by a snarl as he forced himself as deep as he could go, hips flush to the king’s ass, body shaking with the effort.
I felt the pressure build, white-hot and savage, the need to claim, to mark, to possess overwhelming every other thought. My cock pulsed, every nerve on fire, my bladder full, the urge to let go becoming impossible to deny.
My lips found the king’s shoulder, biting down hard, claiming him with teeth and tongue as Akintola pressed his mouth to the king’sneck, groaning as his own control slipped. My body trembled, hips locked tight, cock buried deep, and I let go—piss flooding out of me in a hot, unstoppable rush, flooding the king’s hole, mingling with sweat and lube, the heat spreading between us.
Akintola groaned, hips grinding in short, desperate thrusts, and he let go too, piss pouring out of him, filling the king until it overflowed, running down his thighs, splattering onto the velvet below. The sound of it—the humiliation, the worship, the sheer filth of it—made me shudder, head falling back, breath coming in jagged gasps.
The king’s body shook, every muscle flexed, every nerve strung tight, his cock leaking onto the rug, the scent of sex and sweat and piss filling the air, thick and heavy, impossible to mistake for anything but worship.
We stayed locked together, bodies shaking, pressed so close I could feel the king’s heart pounding through his back, Akintola’s breath ragged against my neck, the heat of our piss and come and sweat sealing us together in a filthy, sacred tangle.
No one moved. Not yet. The moment stretched—holy, brutal, perfect. Two bodies inside one, every inch of the king marked, claimed, filled to overflowing. I pressed my lips to his temple, a whispered benediction lost in the chaos. Akintola’s hands gentled, stroking the king’s hips, grounding him, anchoring us all to the center of the world.
“Still with us?” I murmured, voice wrecked, throat raw from restraint and need.
The king nodded, limp in our arms, eyes wild with gratitude and surrender, the gag damp with spit, every line of his body singing with the proof of what we’d done to him.
Akintola’s hands steadied the king, and for a moment all three of us just breathed, caught in that suspended moment where everything existed at once: sweat and salt, the press of flesh, the holy ruin of being split wide open and filled. My heart thundered against the king’s back. His body shivered, nerve endings sparking, muscles trembling in our grip.
Pressure rose in my chest—a wild, feral need to move, to claim, toown every part of the man in my arms. My grip tightened, nails digging into the king’s hips as Akintola’s mouth pressed to the nape of his neck, kissing, tasting, murmuring filthy promises. The spell finally broke. I jerked the king upright, powerful arms lifting, forcing him to his knees, then to his feet, using him as easily as a ragdoll.
“Wall,” I growled, voice thick with threat and adoration. “On your feet. Need you pinned, need you open, need you to remember who you belong to.” My hand fisted in the king’s sweat-soaked hair, dragging him up, Akintola’s arms locked around his waist, guiding, supporting, controlling every movement. The king staggered, legs shaky, leaking, mindless with pleasure. A low, helpless whine vibrated through the gag.
Weight pressed into my chest as I hauled him across the dungeon, slamming him back against the cold stone. My palm flattened over his sternum, pinning him hard, the heat of his skin a living brand under my touch. Akintola’s mouth moved to the king’s throat, biting, worshipping, marking his way down a slick, trembling chest until lips found a nipple—laving, sucking, teeth scoring a dark bruise. My cock throbbed, buried deep, still hard and aching inside him.
The king’s head lolled against the wall, eyes glazed, a mess of spit and sweat. Akintola gripped his jaw, fingers slick, working the buckle of the gag loose. The heavy black silicone slipped from parted lips, clattering to the flagstones. The king gasped, breath coming in ragged bursts, chest heaving, desperate for air and more.
“Please, please, Viktor—don’t stop—” Voice torn raw, throat bruised from begging, words slurred by hunger.
A feral sound broke from my chest. I pressed forward, pinning the king with my hips, cock punching up into that greedy heat, both of us slick and raw. “You want more?” My hand closed over his throat, squeezing just enough to make his breath stutter, the pulse under my fingers thundering. “You want to be fucked like you’re nothing but a hole to worship? Like you were made to be destroyed?”
His lips parted, tongue flicking out, voice reduced to a hoarse, needy plea. “Yes—give me all of it, need to feel you, need to break—please, Viktor?—”
Akintola dropped to his knees, hands tracing down the king’s belly, mouth hot and relentless as he devoured every inch of the trembling body pinned between us. His lips found the king’s cock, tongue swirling, sucking him deep in one hungry, wet motion. Spit pooled at the base, trickling down to my fist, slicking everything. The king’s body arched off the wall, writhing in my grip, hands flying up to clutch at my shoulders, digging in, marking me in return.
Driving into him with merciless rhythm, I fucked up hard, cock pistoning deep, each thrust a claim, a demand, a threat. The king sobbed, mouth open, voice echoing off the stone, a symphony of pain and pleasure and wild, shattered gratitude. “Please, I can’t—don’t stop, never stop, need it—need to come?—”
Akintola’s hands spread the king’s thighs wider, locking him open, mouth working over the swollen, leaking head, swallowing him whole. Each pull of his lips, each swirl of his tongue, sent shockwaves up the king’s spine. Muscles tensed, cock pulsed, body straining to break apart in our hands.
“Give it to him,” I snarled, voice guttural, hips slamming into the king with savage, bone-deep thrusts. “Come for us. Give Akintola everything. Paint him. Show us how you worship. Come now.”
A sound wrenched from the king’s chest, almost inhuman, as his body seized. Cock erupted, thick ropes splattering across Akintola’s cheeks, lips, chest, a brutal, messy crown of white streaking dark skin. Akintola groaned, tongue lapping, mouth open, feeding hungrily on every drop, sucking the head between his lips and swallowing, not spilling a single drop. He pressed the king’s cock back to those gasping, ruined lips, forcing him to taste himself, to swallow his own release, to be baptized in the filth of his pleasure.
The sight shattered me. My grip on the king’s hips turned bruising, hips snapping up, cock buried to the hilt, every muscle in my body tightening. My orgasm tore through me, heat exploding from the base of my spine, cock jerking, emptying deep inside the king, filling him until slick ran down his thighs, mixing with sweat and spit and everything that made us holy.
Akintola’s eyes met mine, wild and victorious. His own cock, stillhard, pressed against the king’s thigh, slick with precome. I barely pulled out, body shaking, cum dripping from the king’s hole, before Akintola surged up, spun the king in his arms, and pinned him to the wall. The king sagged, still trembling, mouth open, tongue out, begging silently.
Akintola pressed in, cockhead sliding through my spend, lining up at the ruined entrance. “You ready for another load, Majesty?” His voice thundered, the command absolute. “Ready to be marked again? Open for me. Take it. Take all of it.”
The king nodded, a wild, desperate noise rising in his throat, ass pressing back, greedy for more. Akintola drove in with one powerful thrust, burying himself to the root, sweat slicking his skin, arms locked around the king’s waist. Each thrust forced another moan from the king, body limp, used, adored.
Akintola’s pace quickened, hips snapping, cock battering that battered, hungry hole, grip turning possessive. His mouth crashed to the king’s, sharing breath, swallowing every whimper and sob, feeding him his own taste.
