The Rise of the Demon King's Consort

He awoke to the smell of food. He turned to find The Demon King sitting next to the fire, turning on a small roast, frying it on all sides. Paris frowned to find himself wrapped in soft, warm furs. He was lying on a warm brown pelt as well, and he realized he’d been deep asleep for hours. It was bright outside. He looked to The Demon King again, finding the whole image of the king roasting meat to be rather surreal.

“Nice to see you awake. I missed your brown eyes” The Demon King muttered, glancing at Paris.

“I’m sorry” Paris muttered back, grudgingly leaving the comfort of the warm furs, imagining he was slipping away unseen, his mouth watering at the sight of the roast. It was difficult to take his eyes of the food, of the fresh apples in a heap next to The Demon King’s feet, nuts and bread. Paris sighed. He needed to relieve himself, and started down the stairs.

“You need to stay, Paris” The Demon King said, swallowing hard, tugging at the collar. It was a little tight, pressing on his Adam’s apple.

“I’ll do as you command. I beg you though, allow a minute to relieve my bladder” Paris bowed his head meekly, still not understanding why The Demon King was in chains. He heard voices downstairs, banging and chiselling, loud male voices calling, and it frightened him. He went down stairs though, eager to find a spot to relieve his need. Coming down to the foot of the winding stair, he found a corner, and faced against the wall, squatting and then peed. Swift and soundlessly it was, and he tip-toed upstairs again, wondering why the voices sounded so familiar. Almost human. The Demon King eyed him as he returned. Paris knelt by the ledge of the stair, feeling the cold draft, wishing he could hide underneath the warm furs again.

“You should cover yourself up” The Demon King said quietly. Paris gazed across the room in an effort to obey, before replying: “There’s nothing for me to cover up in, Your Highness”. Paris shivered. The king still looked tired, like he hadn’t slept at all. Most of all he looked moody and tormented, resigned and helpless. Paris so wanted to ask about the chain, feeling a pang of empathy with the king. As the king looked to meet his gaze, Paris looked away in shame. Who was he, who was but a whore, to think himself worthy to console The Demon King? Not even The Treasure Child saw him fit to occupy the whore’s belly once more. Why else was it stalling the moment of unity?

“Will my services be re—“ Paris was cut short as there was a commotion downstairs, a shouting of voices and scrambling. Sakias all of the sudden appeared in the window, folding his wings elegantly to allow room to enter inside the room.

“Good. You are awake. Have you eaten?” Sakias turned to The Demon King before Paris could reply, asking: “Have you fed him yet?” Neither did the king get the chance to answer, before the Light that was the Treasure Child came bolting inside the room, zig-zagging between them before coming to a halt. Its vitality and energy washed out in waves, and it displayed the eagerness of a child and the desires of kings. The Demon King put the food aside, motioning for Paris to come closer.

“Come, Paris” Thyrion said again, beckoning with his hand. He stole glances at the ball of light while urging Paris to come. The young Trojan obeyed grudgingly, sighing as he crawled over on hands and feet, doing his best to ignore the food. When coming close to the king, he turned around, positioning himself on hands and feet, spreading his thighs, offering his hole to his king. He heard the majesty gasp quietly, scrambling to touch him, and Paris shuddered as the demon touched his buttocks, caressing his backside. He felt the hungry hands of the king, felt them shiver with need. The king bowed to lightly kiss one perfectly rounded cheek of Paris’ behind, lingering there for a moment, smelling his skin. Paris tensed, wishing with all his heart that it wouldn’t open up inside him, allowing him to be with child again. He couldn’t bear to lose another child, yet he craved to feel the kicking of little feet inside. Those magical moments…! His and the child’s alone, such pleasure to feel Life when all around was death, misery and demons. Paris woke from his daydreaming as the king stirred behind him, tripping and nearly falling onto Paris. The child glowed stronger with its intensity, wanting something. The Demon King came to stand behind Paris, then faltered and moved away, and Paris understood that the king did not want him. He’d been found unworthy. The kiss on his buttocks lingered even though the king had moved away. It reminded Paris he way a man would kiss his lover. A kiss of passion and…, something else which Paris failed to name. He jumped as there was a loud shrill from the child, a shrill of rage, and it launched itself upon the king, searing him with its brilliance. The king screamed as the light encompassed him, and he writhed helplessly as the child possessed him without mercy. Then the king stilled, and got to his knees, moaning and sobbing, his hands opening and shutting time and time again, like he was trying to control them. His face was twisted in sheer fear, his eyes glassy and wide open. Like a possessed soul. He staggered on hands and knees against Paris, wailing between gritted teeth, tearing asunder his clothes, howling like an animal as he/it mounted a petrified Paris.
There was no opening to be found, and he/it searched for it with The Demon King’s erection over and over, the pre-cum slicking the Trojan’s cleft. Painfully aware that The Demon King wasn’t anywhere near in control of himself, Paris shuddered, praying to whatever gods who might still hold some grace for the prince, that he would stay shut. The Demon King’s claws cut into his soft flesh, his fingers rigid and spastic. Paris sobbed at the pain, and the king immediately went limp, falling on top of the petrified prince. They fell to the floor, and Paris immediately scrambled to escape the weight of the king. He dragged himself off, but upon finding that he was moving towards Sakias, he twisted and went in the opposite direction, towards the window. Sakias was there immediately to stop him. The Light that was the Treasure Child, had left the king’s body. It spiralled through the room displaying a child’s fury over not having its way with its toys. Paris recognized the behaviour, but did not dare to speak up. Not with so many demons around. It was best to be quiet. A whore would not speak unless spoken to directly. He’d easily have been raped for lesser demeanours. One wrong look was all it took. But someone should talk to the child, teach it proper manners. It was Sakias who said it: “I let you try so you could see that you cannot force them, brother mine. Let them eat and rest, and I assure you they’ll be more receptive next time”.

Sakias’ words settled the golden child, being content to hover in the midst of the roof, watching his parents underneath. The king was coming round, and he sat up.

“Father, I brought some water” Sakias spoke quietly to Paris, giving him the wooden bucket, “sit now and eat”. He finally had to walk Paris over to the fire, sitting him down there, doing the same with the king. As the king sat weakly down, Paris immediately backed away, sensing it would be imprudent to sit there as and equal to the king, fearing the king would be displeased. Sakias was there to herd him back, remaining watchful, bringing Paris back to the hearth every time he strayed, until Paris finally understood he was meant to sit there too, and that The Demon King wasn’t the one calling the shots. Paris hesitated, not sure what to do next. He picked up the piece of wood the roast was resting on, offering it humbly to the king in an attempt to please the demon.

“He shall not eat until your belly is full first”, Sakias spoke mildly to Paris.

“I would not eat that if that was all that was left on the face of this Earth!” The Demon King remarked briskly, “it’s cooked. And it’s cooked only because you told me to cook it” he continued, speaking to Sakias. “I want raw meat. Fresh, with hot blood still pumping through the veins” the king grinned.

“From now on you eat what our father eats” Sakias replied.

“It’s disgusting. It’s cooked!” the king retorted, folding his arms decidedly. Paris put the slice of meat down. He swallowed the bite he’d taken, feeling it fill his belly with guilt. He backed away quietly; finding a wall which he huddled by. He wouldn’t want to do anything that would disgust the king. Sakias was there though, and dragged him back to the hearth by his arm. Paris sat down again, despaired because he was made shame of, feeling sorry for disgusting the king with his presence.

“If that is how you feel, Sire, then you might just as well starve to death. Nothing would please me more than to be rid of you, traitor!” Sakias spoke grimly, making Paris shudder. “You shall stay a slave to your own unborn child, the child you consequently murdered, until your death. And what a death it shall be! Until then, you will experience hunger. And every other emotion my father had to endure in your name.”