The Rise of the Demon King's Consort

The young prince of Troy screamed as he was manhandled the minute he set foot in the demon’s palace. Giant eunuchs with four arms grabbed him and pinned him to a desk. He could see a fireplace with iron instruments of torture in front of him. The eunuchs held him by the shoulders, lying him down on the enormous oak desk, their enormous muscles flexing as they grabbed hold of his ankles, forcing his legs apart. The demon king smiled smugly, undressing in front of Paris, revealing a beautifully slim waist and a taut torso. His erection was ready for attack. He poured a small bowl of a transparent fluid onto Paris’ abdomen. It stung slightly, burning with pleasant warmth, and Paris moaned in surprise, feeling a little more confident, as the demon king embraced his cock with slender fingers, stroking Paris off as he positioned himself at his entrance. Tears of sweat poured down Paris’ forehead as he tried to relax, knowing what lay ahead. The demon king pushed inside gently, his left hand wandering across Paris’ taut stomach, and chest, touching his nipples. He tried to get his panic under control, witnessing time and time again that the demon king didn’t seem to be out to hurt him.
Paris began to breathe laboured, writhing as he felt himself rise to the occasion, growing hard in the experienced hands of the demon king. He looked up at the eunuchs. They were at least twice as tall as him, and broad-chested like bulls in their prime, seemingly indifferent to Paris’ situation other than holding him down. They pressed his shoulders down to the desk and pulled his ankles up in the air, not hurting him at all, merely bending him. The demon king pumped in and out of his wet hole. It was soaked with oil, leaving Paris in no need to be prepared. The warmth it had produced did it for him. Paris saw the demon king arch his neck, a delicate neck, milky white silken skin with an Adams apple just begging to be nibbled at. Paris felt himself approach the inevitable end, begging inside that it would go on a little while longer, completely succumbing to the lust. A small voice in the back of his head told him that this wasn’t him, this wasn’t how Paris of Troy would usually conduct himself in the presence of a king, but he couldn’t help himself.
The demon king stopped to gaze at him, pleased with the young prince who had been reduced to a shaking, pleading, warm, wet hole. Oh the positive adjectives were many.

“I’m going to hurt you now. But just a little. I think you’re ready.”

A hideous, vile looking creature stomped its way over to the demon lord, presenting him with golden rings fitted to pierce through flesh. Before Paris could get his blurred, lustful mind around what it was he was looking at, the creature presented a red hot thin needle. Paris was so absorbed in heat and passion he failed to understand before the needle had actually pierced his left nipple. His scream ended in a loud moan, working himself up to a panic. The eunuch to his right took better hold of him, immobilizing him by pressing harder, gripping him by the neck. The demon king only laughed a wicked laugh, still pumping away, easing Paris’ pain and helping him to reach new heights. One of the golden rings were immediately applied. The demon king bent down to slowly and carefully lick the swollen and slightly bleeding nipple, taking care not to move the ring too much. Paris gasped at the sensation, then screamed as the other nipple was pierced as well, the same procedure with the other ring following suit.

“Good” the demon king said afterwards, stroking Paris some more. Now his foreskin.”

His what?!! Paris strained to catch a glimpse of the demon king to see whether he was joking or actually serious. To his horror, it was the latter, as the creature whose face was full of crawling insects, approached with the pin. Paris, who overcome by lust did everything just to open wide a little more to the demon king, began to struggle to free his legs, and when the demon king held his erect cock forward, pinching an area of his foreskin at the top next to the chrome facing Paris’ belly, Paris screamed again, closing his eyes in the last minute, looking away as pain filled his cock. The pain washed throughout his groin, and he sobbed and pleaded for mercy as the sharp end of a third ring pierced the bleeding hole. It was in pure gold as well, and the burning sensation mixed with pleasure as the demon king laughed again, pumping away more than ever.

“And his belly button!” the king added, stroking Paris until the young man saw stars, the muscles of his legs straining as he sought release, but none was to be had. Yet. His breath was caught in his throat as he felt the pain anew, differently and vaguer as it was further up on a not so sensitive place on his body, and he moaned as they placed a ring with a small diamond on it, attaching it through the hole. They then released him completely, and Paris immediately tried to sit up, testing his freedom.

“Under no circumstance are you to attempt to remove the rings” the demon king panted, burying himself deep into Paris. Paris wriggled underneath him, lying back down again, wrapping his legs around the king. The motion took the demon by surprise, and he smiled in appreciation at Paris’ willingness, stroking him some more until Paris finally came. He watched the young man moan and arch his back. The prince’s hands wandered, looking to find something to hold on to, and they found the demon king’s torso, the flesh of his palms roaming across the demon king’s nipples and taut belly. Paris opened his brown chocolate orbs, black as they nearly were, in the flickering light from the furnaces behind the king. He gazed at the demon’s finely chiselled face, touched his soft hair and lips as he convulsed, clenching his muscles around the king’s cock. The king moaned, laughing as he felt the contracting muscles, enjoying the sweaty body writhing beneath him. He then came himself, pouring into the young prince. He released himself from Paris, taking a step back to admire his handiwork. Paris was still breathing heavily, and as the heat gradually paled, he felt the soreness and pain emerge through the haze. He looked around, looking closer at where he was. It was an old stone building, with several furnaces in front of him, the demon king’s body as a dark silhouette against the flickering fires. The heat was growing intense. Paris jumped as more creatures emerged through a doorway to his left, the same way the king had come in with Paris. They were hauling rough sacks with something live in them, and the voices screamed and moaned with words Paris recognised as Greek. He looked to the demon king, who had dressed himself again, his black crown sparkling in the light of the fires. He presented Paris with a golden collar, and said:

“Never before has a slave of mine touched me in such a way, quite without my permission” he said, ignoring the screams from the ones in the bags. Paris watched in horror as the sacks were thrown in the furnaces, their cries pitching into frenzied wails of pain. He began to back away as panic seized him. He was immediately seized by one of the eunuchs, and the king caught his attention once more as he said: “So short a time in my service and already you have impressed.” He put the collar around Paris’ neck, closing the hatch and sealing it by adding a chain, a slender golden chain. “You’re most welcome to my harem.” Paris could hardly hear his words, for the screams from the unfortunate people almost drowned the king’s voice. “Take him to my chambers and have him cleaned and shaved. I don’t want a single hair on his body, except on his head. And have him in your sights at all times. No one is to defile my temple.”

That was three years ago.

Paris peered out through his golden mask. It was dark and they were in the middle of nowhere.
Paris watched the giants, who were the king’s honour guards, set camp around a small blaze of hellfire. Four humans lay huddled in a heap, their deformed bodies shivering in the cold as they received no warmth from being placed so far away from the fire, instead relying on each other to produce some kind of heat enough to get them through the night. Paris no longer pitied them. He’d spent enough time with them to know they were no longer humans, simply brainwashed bodies with minds so derived by terror and pain they’d resigned to acknowledge only the most primitive of needs. They were without legs and some were even without their arms. Only their heads remained as a long gone reminder that they’d once been sane men of the World of the living. Some of them had swollen bellies, and they’d been bestowed kindness upon by been wrapped carelessly inside a blanket so they wouldn’t freeze too much. Demons of Hell weren’t completely careless, especially not for their unborn young. The surrogates however, were an entirely different matter.
Paris was tired, and he felt cold and so endlessly alone. He looked over to the giants, singling out Hephaisthos, who had been his personal bodyguard for more than two years. But no more. Paris had gone from harem slave to Prince Consort, felt the demon king’s love and his wrath on his body, giving the king two offsprings. Children of love. Paris had been powerful, and he’d used his influence to save many a Trojan from Menelaus’ wrath, whisking them away in the night through hellish portals and then relocating them on another shore, commanding them to keep Troy alive in their hearts and live in peace. He would atone for their sins instead, surrendering to them the sword of Troy. And just as he’d been at the peak of his power, everything had gone so terribly wrong.

Paris crawled on hands and knees towards the band of giants, aiming for Hephaisthos. They hadn’t spoken in a while, and Paris hoped the giant still held some grace for him. He lowered his golden masked head, displaying as much humility he could muster. He was so tired, so longing for a warm body to comfort his sore muscles and tired mind. If he could just for a minute or two pretend everything was back to how it used to be, to be able to pretend he was safe, protected and loved, then those memories would mean a world of difference when he lay abandoned after another night of being used by demon soldiers, undeads and nameless deformed wraiths. Then he could lose himself in those memories, dive into them and pretend he still had a family. For he had had a family, right? He often wondered if the happy memories of feeding an infant and playing with the child had been the result of another poor soul’s story , which Paris had mixed together somewhere in his deprived mental state lately. Perhaps he was remembering a lie.
He would risk the giants assaulting him. Even if Hephaisthos decided to assault him, then he wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t matter. Paris had nothing to lose. He could no longer distinguish the infinite multitude of distorted and cruel faces of the servants of Hell which had raped him over and over, forced him into doing the most obscene things to himself and others. He could no longer remember what it was like to grieve and be despaired over being tormented such, to be broken over and over. He no longer remembered a reason why he’d all of the sudden been cast out into the cold. Why the Demon King had given up on him, forsaken his so called love and respect for Paris. Paris could no longer remember the faces of his children and that he had any. He didn’t quite know why it was so hard to remember. Paris had simply shrunken away from an important key person to simply existing as a shadow, without face and without name.

As he entered the giants’ midst, he lowered his head further and tried not to flaunt his behind. Paris imagined himself to be a dog with his tail between his legs, making himself as small and unseen as possible, praying they would leave him in peace. He was naked, his taut and starved body full of bruises and cuts and his puckered entrance still sore from the daily onslaught. The chatter silenced as he ventured further with his heart in his throat, braving the danger of becoming the victim of a gang rape. He did not dare to look Hephaisthos in the eye. The tall, brown coloured giant with the fast working mind and the slow working tongue did nothing to prevent Paris from curling up between his legs, resting his mask-covered head on his broad muscled thigh. Hephaisthos could see the galled areas around the prince’s neck, the open wounds which were never given time to heal. Paris closed the space between them, nuzzling his backside as close as possible to Hephaisthos’. And Paris dreamt of safety and love. He did not know for how long he lay like that, falling in and out of sleep. He failed to see the giants’ scrying eyes which surveyed every inch of tanned, bruised flesh. The slim golden chain which ran from the golden collar around the slave’s neck, split in two by his chest bone to run through the nipple rings and reunite through the ring attached to his belly button. It gleamed in the firelight. Hephaisthos covered him with his robe out of old habit, prompting Paris to awaken abruptly. He squirmed, and Hephaisthos met the worried gaze of two chocolate brown eyes as they peered up in question at him.

“I dreamt of children” Paris told him, “and that I was –happy- with them. Do I have children, Hephaisthos?”

“You had two.”

“Are they well?”

“They are well.”

“Why are they not with me? Shouldn’t they be with me?”

“They were taken from you. As a punishment” Hephaisthos managed to say, after having struggled to form the sentence. Talking wasn’t a giant’s strongest skill.

“Yes, that’s right. I was punished for something” Paris’ distorted voice brightened, “what was it? I can’t remember ever having been told a reason.”

“You fornicated with someone” Hephaisthos replied.

“Yes. I kissed a man other than the King, as thanks for him helping me with my illness. I admitted to kissing him yes. Yes I did” Paris said to himself rather than to Hephaisthos, “a chaste kiss, yes. How foolish of me to think I could give away something that wasn’t mine to give. I had his love. I think. But the children are well. Good, they don’t need to know me. I’ve had some time to think about my crime, Hephaisthos. Ii is better they grow to fine young men not knowing the truth if it can be avoided. The shame is to be mine alone. It is best if they don’t recall me.”

“He gave you to his soldiers because you—!“ he silenced as they all became aware of the presence of the demon king. He materialised out of the hellfire, striding out from the flames in a fury. He’d obviously heard some of the conversation.

“I don’t see a cock up his ass” the demon king raised an eyebrow at Hephaisthos. The giant didn’t answer, but quickly turned Paris around, pinning him to the ground and almost squeezing the air out of him as he quickly mounted the prince. As the chief warden he was allowed certain freedoms, and made sure Paris had pleasure from it as well. The pleasure was welcome to Paris since few seemed to notice that he was more than a hole to thrust into. But it also embarrassed him for he knew his that his function was to suffer and to please others, not to be pleased by others, especially not in front of a king which no longer acknowledged him.

Hephaisthos hoisted Paris’ abdomen unto his lap, thrusting in and out while he reached forward to play with the nipple rings. It brought Paris up in frenzy in no time; as a large amount of unreleased sexual tension had built itself up inside. He arched upwards, twisting and moaning, feeling bad about displaying himself as the whore the demon king had labelled him to be, leading to his downfall. Hephaisthos stroked him off, bringing him to orgasm, and Paris rejoiced at the long gone sensation, and Hephaisthos gave the young man a pause before he flipped him over, thrusting hard into his hole from behind, coming shortly after.

“Just a kiss? That’s not my associate’s version. He claimed the slave went all the way” the king looked at Hephaisthos, excluding Paris from the conversation, not even acknowledging his presence. “The entire court laughed of me. Tell me, harem slave” the demon king sat down to look Paris straight in the eye, a challenge which made Paris’ blood freeze in his veins, “how come you never spoke of this to me? It’s been more than six months. I’ve let nearly every soldier and lowlife scum in my realm have you. Why?”

“I do as I am told, Sire. The king’s word is my law. I did not want to make a scene. I only regret—“ Paris suddenly remembered his place and clenched his jaw together, minding not to speak more words for the general rule was that his words did not serve any purpose but as to annoy.

“Regret what?” the demon king stood.

“Had I known then, I would have begged you to put my punishment on hold, at least, so I could—“ Paris struggled with the growing lump in his throat as he kneeled on the ground, “—could, for I didn’t know I was with child. Again. And the soldiers—, I couldn’t, it was too much. But you had already disowned me when I found out. I—I deserve your punishment. I killed your child. But they handled me so rough, and they kept hitting my stomach, -your men- , I …” His distorted voice broke, and he bowed his neck, sobbing quietly, not wishing to upset the king or anyone around him. He tried to pull himself together, to will away the tears, feeling Hephaisthos’ sperm trickling down his thighs at the same time. The presence of the king scared him, for they’d grown apart. As a harem slave open to anyone, Paris had not seen the king or felt his touch for six months, growing accustomed to the idea of never having his favour ever again.

The king turned in fury, turned again, pacing back and forth, clenching his fists, his red robe littered with sparkling beads blowing as he strode.

“I want that piece of lying scum brought before me right now!” the king’s voice thundered. They all cowered before his might, and Paris shuddered, stricken with panic as he assumed he was the lying scum. He would not beg, he reminded himself, there were no excuses to be made, he was ultimately responsible. For everything. For Troy, for his downfall, for the deaths of his family, of Helen. Everything came tumbling down, and he could no longer stop the tears. They ran down his cheeks, wetting them and the insides of the golden mask. There was going to be more punishment, he knew it. More and worse. And more shame, more misery. His thoughts went to his children, the two boys he’d fathered yet who were no longer his. The king had taken them from him, cast him out from the palace, ordering him to become a common whore since he’d proven himself as one. He prayed they would have long lives. Good lives, for surely now he’d never live to see them again.

The Demon King’s wrath shook the dark hellish sky, and they all stood to watch the hillside with its burnt surface crumble at the feet of the king as he brought it down.

“I have lost a child!!” he screamed to the wind, and the sincere grief in his voice only added to Paris’ already more than guilty conscience.