Heart of Darkness
by Thamiris
Heart of Darkness
by Thamiris

Broken light slid between the evergreens, catching the lavender along the path. A light breeze wafted perfumed air over Iphicles' face, and he breathed in deeply.  Sweet relief after the endless meetings he'd endured over the past two weeks, trapped in a windowless room with his councillors, a quartet of  foreign dignitaries, and Julius Caesar.

Thinking of the emperor, Iphicles' tension returned, and his booted feet slowed.  While arguing for a few dozen plethron of land in the Roman-occupied territory to the north, the king would look up from the  map and into the emperor's assessing green gaze.  Disconcerted, he'd look away, recalling rumors of Caesar's decadent sexuality: affairs with everyone from his favorite advisor to the war god himself.  Iphicles tried to suppress unbidden images.  He'd never been with a man, and the idea, he assured himself once again, was repulsive.  But his cock grew hard.

To make matters worse, Caesar's favorite,  a tall, elegant man with a vaguely Celtic accent, stayed unnaturally close to the Roman ruler.  Methos never touched the emperor, only lurked in the background like the shadow of death.  Occasionally, he too eyed the king with a gaze like ice stinging hot skin.  Since the delegation's arrival, darkly erotic dreams haunted the king's sleep.  He recalled them in the bright morning with a flush of humiliation: hot tongues against his cock; strong fingers teasing his nipples; and...other things.  His own lips closed around hard male flesh.  Penetration.  Force.

And he'd kick off the tangled, musky sheets, only to lie still, fighting the desperate urge to bring himself off.  Arms rigid by his side, cock throbbing with need, Iphicles would shut his eyes and think of his dead wife.  When his fingers finally held his swollen shaft, the king convinced himself that he jerked off to Rena, and not to...the others.  A soft, pliant woman.  Not hard, dominant men.  Not men who took him roughly, ignoring his protests, and made him cum harder than ever before.  Especially not a dark god who--


But when he came, hot semen arcing through the air like white lightning onto his sweat-soaked chest, the king  thought of Ares. Iphicles had seen the god once, not in Corinth or Rome, but in the distant city of Papremis, in the Nile valley...


From a high window in a friend's home, Iphicles surveyed the bustling city, watching the Egyptians prepare for a festival.

Housewives, their bodies carefully concealed beneath layers of gauzy fabric, placed incense in wooden holders outside their homes and hung wreaths of red and white flowers on their doors.  Children played tag, running breathlessly around the adults, or shot marbles under the shade of overhanging eaves, while white-robed merchants swarmed the narrow streets, their sandaled feet slapping against the smooth stones, calling out to pedestrians as they sold dates and magic amulets, oranges and palm-frond fans.  Also, less expected, the vendors hawked long, thin sticks carried in sheaths hanging from leather belts slung low across their hips.

Iphicles turned to his host, Akhenan, the local landlord. "What sort of festival is this?"

"Tonight, oddly enough, we honor your war god," the man explained in thickly-accented Greek.  "According to legend, Ares' mother dwelt in that temple--" he pointed one brown finger to a colonnaded building by the river "--and one day her handsome son returned from a far land to visit. Unrecognized by the shrine's attendants, the god was turned away.  Furious, Ares went to a neighboring village, gathered a coterie of men, and returned to storm the temple.  Every year since then, the young men reenact a battle before the temple doors."

"Does Ares ever appear?"

The man gave an sly smile.  "Without fail.  He's...well-compensated for his visits."

That night, Iphicles stood with Akhenan in the crowd, watching the violent spectacle: young men, naked skin gleaming with oil under flickering torchlight, whipped each other with the wooden switches until blood spilled onto the sandy ground.  The sight shocked the king, but he couldn't look away from the firm, young flesh.  Until, from the corner of his eye, he saw a tall, hooded figure a few cubits away, studying him.


How he knew, Iphicles wasn't sure.  But when one tanned hand pushed back the hood, exposing thick, dark curls and an impossibly beautiful face, the man recognized the war god, whose image he'd seen in countless mosaics, on dozens of statues.  None, though, conveyed Ares' strength, or his sensuality.  The king shivered, then flushed when the god smiled knowingly, as though sensing Iphicles' excitement.

His arousal.

Then the cloak fell to the earth, and the leather-clad god strode through the cheering crowd, then up the stone steps, before vanishing inside the temple.  The panting, bloody boys followed him.

"What happens next?" the king asked Akhenan, then regretted the naive question.  The erotic subtext hadn't escaped him.

"They'll service the god, to ensure that he returns next year." A slight hesitation, then: "The chief priest is a good friend of mine.  If you like, we can enter by a back entrance, and watch the ceremony."  Another pause.  "Even participate in it."

"No," Iphicles said stiffly, taking a step back.  "I'll see you later; I'm going into town."  He walked away quickly, leaving Akhenan stuttering an apology.  Shortly, the king arrived at a brothel he'd noticed earlier in the day.  A quick exchange of gold coins with the procuress, then he headed upstairs, clutching a bottle of wine, one arm wrapped around a young, slim-hipped girl, whose dark curls spilled to her shoulders.

Inside the room, he took long sips of the acrid wine, letting it burn his throat.  Then, under a blue cotton canopy, Iphicles fucked the whore, ramming his cock into her, battling other needs he refused to acknowledge.  The king spent the night drinking and fucking, buying more wine and more whores, until, finally  he passed out, free at last from the images of a dark god surrounded by the hungry mouths of handsome, naked youths.


A few months later, back in Corinth, Iphicles awaited the Roman delegation.  Seated on his throne in the great hall, the king barely focused on the courtiers who gossiped in small clusters before him, distracted by the low, steady, unending thrum of desire.  Ever since Egypt, ever since he saw the war god, Iphicles couldn't escape the needs of his treacherous flesh.  His body felt hot and damp under his clothes; all fabric now seemed to chafe his skin deliciously, and his cock, as always lately, was swollen and tender.

He craved relief, but nothing, it seemed, could stop this fever of desire.  Since the last new moon, he'd ceaselessly prowled the city looking for lovers.   Every night another female mouth or cunt wrapped around his cock, bringing him off in unsatisfying, halted bursts of half-pleasure.

The king shifted uncomfortably against the cushioned seat, trying to ease the pressure between his thighs.  When the herald announced the Romans in his sonorous voice, Iphicles looked up, grateful for the distraction.

It didn't last.

Once the first group of arrogant foreigners had assembled around the dais, eyeing the plainly- decorated room with raised eyebrows, the emperor himself strode into the hall, imposing in gold and purple.  Behind him strolled a dark-eyed man with a thin, angular face.  As they advanced toward him, Iphicles gripped the carved armrest of his throne. Like Ares, these two men exuded power.  Dominance.  Heat.  His heartbeat quickened, and he felt warm even in the airy hall.

Caesar stopped directly before the king, but refused to bow. Instead, he inclined his head.  "King Iphicles.  An honor to meet you at last."

"Caesar.  Welcome to Corinth."  He rose, then advanced to embrace the other man.  Somehow, the greeting became too close, and one hard cock pressed against another.

But when he tried to draw back, the emperor stopped him with a hand at the back of his neck.  "He told me you were beautiful," Caesar whispered.  "And he was right.  I look forward to deepening our relationship, Iphicles."  Before the king could ask what he meant, the Roman stepped back.  "This is Methos," he said, extending his hand toward his companion.  "With the others, he'll be advising me during the negotiations.  We'll need a room together, so we can discuss in private how best to dominate you." A show of teeth, passing for a smile.  "During the talks, of course."

Iphicles decided to ignore the implications, political or sexual, of Caesar's words.  He had to. "We'll see." He gestured to a grey-haired man hovering to his right.  "Diomedes, my steward, will take you to your chambers."

"Until later, Iphicles.  I'm looking forward to our games."

As the Romans trailed out behind the steward, and the Corinthian court dispersed, Methos lingered behind.  "I hope Caesar didn't offend you.  He can be so aggressive sometimes.  I prefer a more subtle approach.  Our goal, of course, is the same: to win."  He leaned, indolent, against one of the columns.

"This isn't a battle," the king reminded him.  "We're only partitioning conquered territory."

"Yes--the ‘conquered territory'.  We each want a piece of it."  Absently, he stroked his thigh.  "But Iphicles, don't be fooled. Everything's a battle.  Some of us will dominate; others will submit."

"Is everything a contest with you?"

"Of course.  Life is a contest--a game.  You simply haven't started playing yet."  With a mocking bow, he left the room.


That evening, at dinner, Iphicles watched the two men.  As the most important visitors, the steward had seated them, one to the king's right, the other to his left.  The head of the table became a strangely-insular triangle, and the other guests sensed the invisible barrier, leaving the three alone.  Even the waiters remained at a discreet distance, appearing only when signaled.

Initially, the trio spoke of Rome's recent conquest of western Gaul, Iphicles' recent triumph in the Argolis region.  Then the conversation turned more personal. Always, throughout the exchange, the king suspected that the other two inwardly laughed at him over some shared secret.

"You have no wife?" Caesar asked, tearing a chunk of fresh bread into smaller pieces.

"She died.  Rena was the love of my life." He didn't miss the amused glance they exchanged.

Methos took a sip from his crystal goblet.  "And whose company do you now keep?" He smiled when Iphicles flushed.  "Ah...whores, I suppose.  No need to be embarrassed.  We all need pleasure.  Are they women or men?"

"I don't think this is really an appropriate--"

"Come on, Iphicles. We're all adults here," the emperor said, as he delicately licked the basil- flecked oil from a marinated tomato slice.

He considered pushing it, but deferred to his guest.  "Only women.  I'm not...I'm not into men.  I never have been, and I never will be."

The emperor wiped his mouth with a linen napkin.  "No need to get defensive, Iphicles.  I'm sure your whores keep you very satisfied."  His lips pursed, as though a smile threatened to erupt.  "Don't you want to know about me?  Or is this talk of sex making you too uncomfortable?  Most people are curious about my sexual habits."

"I'm not uncomfortable," Iphicles lied.  With one hand, he brushed back the curls falling into his eyes, then ordered a server to open the latticed windows.

"Good.  I like thinking about sex.  And to hearing what other people think about it."

"And doing it, too.  Especially with sweet, confused virgins."  The two men exchanged a look.  "I have a question for you, Iphicles."  It was Methos who spoke, leaning forward on both elbows.  "Do you fantasize about fucking men?"

Feeling trapped, the king tilted the contents of his glass into his mouth, swallowing until the last drop fell onto his tongue.  "Of course not," he replied firmly, setting down his glass so forcefully that it shattered.

All conversation ceased.

Profoundly embarrassed, angry almost to tears, the king rose to his feet.  "Excuse me," he said curtly, then walked away, each footstep echoing with unnatural clarity on the polished marble floor.

Back in his room, Iphicles stripped quickly, lying face down on the bed.  The sheet was soft and cool beneath his overheated body, and he rubbed against it, hating his weakness, but unable to stop.  Burying his face in a plump pillow, clutching it like a child would after a nightmare or a scolding, he pushed his cock hard against the down-filled mattress.  The muscles in his ass tightened as pleasure flashed through him, and he slid a finger into his mouth, biting down to keep from moaning.

As he thrust repeatedly, almost roughly, Iphicles stopped biting and began to suck his finger, enjoying the smooth, wet heat of his mouth, the tight pressure of his lips.  He wished for a mouth like that on his cock, sucking him hard, a full, lush mouth, then someone throwing him down and fucking him--


He blocked the images until his orgasm started: then Ares, Caesar and Methos blurred into one, and he came in that demanding mouth.  His desire, though, remain unsated, but he struggled like Sisyphus against the implications of that endless longing.  If he could just cum enough, the need would leave him.

Rolling over to a drier part of the bed, he took his cock in own hand, feeling like a horny teenager at the mercy of his body.  But he had to cum again.  Once wasn't enough. It was never enough anymore, he thought in frustration.  This time, Iphicles decided to jerk off slowly.

Dipping his fingers in the warm semen coating his stomach, he smeared it onto the head of his hardening cock.  That soon dried, though, and he jumped to his feet, fumbling in a wooden chest  for a jar of oil.  Breaking the seal, he poured a liberal amount of the liquid onto his hands, then directly onto his shaft, before returning to the bed.

With one finger, he outlined the thick head, while gripping the base tightly with his other hand, lingering on the most sensitive spot.  The sensation grew too intense, and the king turned instead to his nipples.  Like his cock, they seemed permanently stiff and tender, almost sore to his touch.  His back arched when he squeezed them.  Startled by his own responsiveness, Iphicles let go, instead lightly tracing the puckered skin, avoiding the hardened tips.

Did Caesar do this to--his lovers?  Did Methos? Did Ares?

Iphicles licked the tip of a finger, then rubbed the saliva over one taut nipple, making his hips buck.  Tempted to find a warm body in which to bury himself, he half-rose, then collapsed back.  Somehow Caesar and Methos would find out, and he didn't want them laughing at him.  He already felt like a schoolboy around them, and cringed inwardly at the memory of dinner.  His thoughts wandered again to the two men.  What did they do together? And...did Ares ever join them?  Just curious.  That was all.

The king kept one hand on his nipple, teasing it, while the other closed around his painfully-hard cock.  They must suck each other, tongues moving with expert knowledge over familiar flesh.  Using the tips of his fingers, Iphicles mimicked the motion of a tongue exploring his cock.  But what about...They must fuck each other, too.

He'd seen it before, usually on the battlefield.  One man plunging into another one, the second, submissive one on his knees, loving the thick cock that banged into him, both grunting like animals.  It was disgusting.  Unnatural.  The philosophers he'd read agreed. In the Phadrus, Plato called same-sex gratification ‘lawless.'  Against the natural order because it meant succumbing to base desire.  Iphicles' father told him the same thing, after Amphitryon caught his eleven-year-old son fondling and being fondled by a young friend...after his father beat him for the first and only time in his life.

Fuck, he wanted a mouth around his cock right now.  He wanted hands stroking every inch of his body, even...there.  Raising his knees, Iphicles tentatively eased the end of a wet finger into the tight opening.  Immediately, the muscles clenched.  With his eyes closed, the man gave himself up to sensation, stroking his erection and gently sliding the finger in and out of his ass until his body tensed, then shuddered under the force of his orgasm.


After a fitful sleep, troubled by fragmented visions, Iphicles lay in bed, blinking against the warm sun.  His thighs felt damp, and the king realized that he'd cum in his sleep.  At least today's negotiations with the Romans would distract him from his uncontrolled body.

They didn't, of course.  Not when Caesar stood beside him, surveying the map of Argosia, the length of his body brushing against the king's.  Or when Methos joined them, standing at Iphicles' other side, closing him in.  They never touched him deliberately, never said anything explicit, but the meetings felt like...foreplay.  Like a long, slow, teasing seduction.  And every word the two men spoke reverberated with erotic undertones, as though it was really his body they quarreled over, not the land.  As though he were spread on the table.

And for days after, Iphicles went through a private hell.  It grew worse when he overheard servants' gossip about the sounds issuing nightly from Caesar's bedroom.  In addition to the expected moans from the emperor and Methos, a third voice had joined in.

"Deep and ever so seductive," a laundress swore to a groom.

"It's Ares," the old man responded.  "I heard him once, years ago, during a battle between the Spartans and the Argosians.  I've never forgotten," he added in an awed whisper. "He could force a man to his knees with that voice."

The idea captured the king's imagination, even as he quickly hurried toward his council chamber.  To have all responsibility and power taken, at the complete command of a powerful lover...where nothing mattered but pleasure.

During the ensuing meeting, Iphicles could barely concentrate.  His cock ached with the need for release, and his head hurt from the conflict with his flesh.  He excused himself early, despising his weakness, and stumbled outside into the lavender-scented air.  When his guards tried to follow, he shouted at them to leave him alone until, reluctantly, they did.

Soon Iphicles found himself on a darkening path in the woods at the end of his estate, walking toward the cool, inviting river.  He wanted the struggle to end, wanted the oblivion of Lethe to wash away his confusion, wanted to be overtaken.

The king never reached the river.

Distracted by his own tangled thoughts, Iphicles never saw the shadowy figures who crept up on him, never heard the boots crushing the leaves underfoot.  But suddenly he was grabbed roughly from behind, dragged deeper into the woods, then forced to stand with his arms pinned behind his back by a man inhumanly strong.  Even as he struggled violently, someone else tied a cloth tightly over his eyes, and his world went black.

"Stop struggling," a deep, throaty voice commanded in his ear.  "You want someone to hear you? You want someone to see what we're going to do to you?"

Iphicles froze.

"That's better, king," the voice continued.

The hot, apple-sweet breath of the man holding him sent shivers down Iphicles' body.  And for the first time he felt the hardness pressing against his ass, and understood what these men were going to do.

Rape him.

"Not rape," he was assured.  "We're not going to hurt you--we're going to give you what you want.  What you've always wanted."  Then, to the man before him, the voice issued another command.  "Cut off his clothes.  I want him naked."

Someone before him gave a familiar, amused laugh.  Then a hand grabbed his shirt, and Iphicles could hear the sharp blade of a knife slicing through the thin fabric.  A few tugs, and he stood topless in the dusk, his nipples hardening in the light breeze.  The sharp edge of the weapon returned, tracing a light pattern over his chest.

An appreciative growl from a third man.  "Perfect," he said shortly.  "He's perfect.  I can't wait to fuck him," and the king heard the oddly melodic echo of Britannia.

Then rough fingers replaced the blade, tugging at his nipples, pinching them.  A moan escaped his lips.

"You're so ready for this, aren't you?" A tongue flicked against his ear lobe, and the man holding his arms pulled Iphicles tighter against his rock-hard body.  Against his rock-hard cock.

Then a hand fell on his thigh.

"Don't move," continued the voice. "He's using the knife again, slicing through the leather.  If you breathe too hard, he'll cut you."  The figure behind him stepped back, allowing one of the others to peel away the shredded material of the king's ruined clothes, to pull off his boots.

Then the man at his back returned to his original position, and Iphicles gasped in surprise as bare skin met bare skin.  "How...?"

A finger touched his lips.  The ironic Celt, not the one with the cruel fingers.  "Don't worry about it, Iphicles.  But if it'll make you feel better, imagine he's a god.  A beautiful, violent god.  Imagine he's Ares."

To his shame, the king's hips thrust forward, and he realized that his cock was hard.

The others noticed.

"I told you he'd like it," the cruel one said, trailing his nails down Iphicles' chest, over the blindfolded king's taut nipples.  "He's ripe for it.  Look at that big cock."   He laughed.  "Now he's blushing.  He's delicious.  Nothing like a hot, desperate virgin."

A warm mouth closed over one of his nipples, and the king moaned.  The animalistic noise embarrassed him.  How could he find any pleasure in this?  It was--

A second mouth broke his concentration, especially when one began to lap, the other to bite, and two pairs of hands began to stroke his hips, his thighs.

"You want them to suck you," the deep voice noted.  "Don't worry--they will.  We're going to be together for awhile, Iphicles.  Until we've all cum inside you a few times."  He pulled his hips back, until the king felt the oiled head of Ares' (?) cock pushing against his ass, almost--but not quite--penetrating him.   At the king's whimper, the god bit Iphicles' shoulder, then laughed.  "He's right--you're ripe for it. I should've taken you that first time, but I waited instead.  Until he convinced me one night in bed that this was the only way.  That you needed to be forced."

Ares thrust his hips forward, and the king felt himself being stretched by the huge cock.  Panicking, he tried to break free, but the arms holding him were too strong.

"You're not going anywhere.  And relax--I don't want to hurt you, and I will if you tense up."

"I don't want this," Iphicles protested, tears stinging his eyes behind the cloth.  "Please."  His words caused eruptions of laughter from all three, and the king's cheeks flushed again.  Even he didn't believe his declaration.  How could he? His cock was so hard--his whole body burned with need.  But he had to fight it.  "It's wrong.  This is wrong. All of it."

"Show him how wrong it is," Ares ordered, pushing a little deeper into the king, making him cry out.

The mouths detached from his swollen nipples, only to lick/bite a path down his stomach, over his hips, across his thighs...Then strong hands pried his legs apart.  "No," the king said weakly.  "No..."

Someone held his cock by the base, running his hot tongue over the engorged head.  Trying to pull away, Iphicles only succeeded in pushing himself further back on Ares' cock. At the sudden pain, he drew in his breath, only to expel it in a loud hiss as a wet mouth engulfed his erection.

At some point his wrists became bound with a leather strap, and the god's arms were now free.  Reaching around, Ares made Iphicles suck his index fingers, then slicked the moisture onto the king's nipples...just as he eased further inside the man's body.

"Fuck--you're so tight," the voice growled, and the teeth sank again into his shoulder, almost breaking the skin.  With his fingers, he tugged harder on Iphicles' nipples, and the king leaned back, his knees almost buckling.  The action closed the space between the man's ass and Ares' balls.  Behind him, Ares grunted.  "I want you licking his cock now," he told the men. "Back and forth.  But no more sucking.  I don't want him to cum yet."

A hand cupped his balls, and the fingers around his shaft guided the head to a hot tongue that darted quickly and efficiently into the slit.  And when Ares began to pull his cock from Iphicles' ass, the king, his body ahead of his brain, let a soft "no" escape.

The god chuckled.  "Don't worry, Iphicles.  I'm not going to stop until I've cum inside you.  I'm just...going...to start...fucking you now."

He heard the desire in that husky voice, felt the incredible heat rising from the massive body pressed damply to his back.  The knowledge that he could evoke the god's desire nearly equaled the intense pleasure shooting through the king's limbs.  And when Ares plunged into him, striking some deep, hidden spot, and the two tongues between his legs began to work simultaneously, Iphicles almost collapsed--only the god's powerful embrace kept him up.

Ares, panting now, mumbled a litany of lust, telling the king how good he felt, how hot, how much he wanted to spill his seed inside him.  "Tell me you want me to cum in your ass."


"Tell me, Iphicles.  Everyone here knows how much you want it.  Just admit it."   He never stopped the long, regular strokes, even though his sweat ran freely between their bodies.  And every time the god pushed back in, his cock struck that spot, until Iphicles couldn't stop grinding back against him.  "Tell me you want it!"

He tried to deny it.  But even as he opened his mouth, ready to insist that he didn't want any of this, that this was rape and he hated it, the words of protest fled.  "I want it," he whispered, his voice breaking.  "Fuck--I want it so much.  Cum inside me.  Now."

The admission seemed to inflame the god, and, with a final, rough thrust, he wrapped his arm around Iphicles' chest and shuddered against him.  Wet heat filled the king, and he almost came-- but the mouths suddenly left his cock.  He'd never been so aware of his helplessness: blindfolded, arms bound behind his back, held in place by a figure who must be a god.  Completely at their mercy.

"You can't...cum...yet," Ares said, through gritted teeth, as his cock pulsed inside the king.  "That's... why... they stopped.  I want to see your... face when you do.  They know...I'll kill them...if it happens too soon...Been waiting...too long."

As he pulled his wet cock from Iphicles, the man sensed that at some point they'd moved.  This was no longer a forest: the grass beneath his feet had changed to a cool, hard surface.  "Where are we?"

"If he's the war god, then you must be in a temple," the Celtic voice announced.

With no one now touching him, the king stood, disoriented, afraid to move, almost cowering as the others moved around him.  When a hand connected with the small of his back, shoving him forward, he uttered a sharp cry...only to land face-first on a soft mattress.

As he struggled up, someone approached him and freed his wrists, then rebound them, this time in front of him.  Next, the figure raised the king's arms, and affixed them to a hook in the headboard, before climbing over Iphicles' body, sitting astride him.  The bed shifted, as the others joined.  Once again, the king panicked, fighting the restraints that kept him so vulnerable.  So exposed.

The figure sighed, bringing his face down to Iphicles'.  Even before the bearded cheek brushed against his own smooth one, Iphicles knew that he now lay face to face with the god of war.

"Relax," came the deep rumble.  "You're going to be fucked again, but by one of the others.  Another one will suck your cock."

"What are you going to do?"

"It's not what I'm going to do.  It's what you're going to do."

Then strong hands lifted him, while another man crawled under his body.  This time the voice in his ear from beneath--Caesar's?--was mocking, arrogant.  "I've been wanting to fuck that tight ass of yours forever, ever since he first told me about you, little repressed king. Ares, hold his hips higher."

The hands under his thighs obliged, until Iphicles felt the hot head of another oiled cock ready to penetrate him.  This time, when he struggled, the man beneath him laughed.  "Struggle all you want.  I like it--but you might not."  He tightened his fingers around the king's hips.  "I'm ready, Ares.  Let me fuck your king."

Iphicles felt himself expanding again--an exquisite pressure in his ass as the cock slowly filled him.  As a hot tongue surrounded the head of his cock, the king's lips parted in a low moan.

"You like it up the ass, don't you?" the man inside him said, thrusting upward.

"Yes," the king grunted.  "Oh fuck...Yes!"  This time he responded more quickly, as the cock in his ass pushed up into him with quick, sharp strokes, and the tongue on his shaft moved with slow, deliberate ones.  But when Ares moved up his body, straddling his chest, and the tip of the god's cock brushed his lips, Iphicles twisted away.

Long fingers tangled in his curls brought his mouth back.   "Suck it.  Don't fight me because I'll hurt you."  To prove his point, he lightly struck the king's cheek.

Iphicles jerked back, tears of humiliation stinging his eyes.  "Fuck you," he snapped.  At that moment, the mouth between his legs deep-throated him, and when his head went back, Ares shoved his cock between the full lips.  The worst shock didn't come from having the god's cock in his mouth, tasting the salty wetness, feeling the soft hair, or inhaling the warm, doughy smell....

It came from liking it.

Hesitantly, his tongue touched the smooth skin, wondering if the loosening of his inhibitions sprang from desire for the god, or for the exquisite pleasure of the cock driving into his ass and the mouth sucking greedily at his cock.  Both, he suspected, and licked more aggressively.

With a groan, Ares pulled back to make the exploration easier.  "I knew you'd like it," the god said from a distance.  "You were made for sex, Iphicles.  Knew it the second I saw you. Oh, that's good.  You're a natural.  Just a little bit higher...yeah. Right there..."

The god's response made him grow bolder, and he dipped his tongue into the slit, tasting more of Ares.

Another moan.  "That's what it'll taste like when I cum."

"You'll... love it, Iphicles," came the ragged voice from below him.  "You'll love...having... your...mouth and ass...full of cum...at the same...time."

Fingers clutched at his biceps, hard enough to bruise, and he felt the now-familiar pulse as the emperor's cock emptied inside him.  He sucked hard on Ares' cock, and felt the thighs around him tense--then warm, slightly bitter liquid spilled onto his tongue.  If the mouth on his cock hadn't vanished at that second, Iphicles' control would've snapped.  Instead, he focused on the semen pouring from the two cocks, any remaining traces of disgust drowned under pleasure.

The one beneath him spoke, when his cock finally stopped throbbing.  "You're such a whore.  I can't wait for you to suck me."

As the men shifted position, Iphicles considered the other man's words.  Had he resisted his desire for so long because he feared just that: complete abandon to pleasure?  Because he couldn't deny it anymore: he loved what they were doing to him.  He loved being a slave to their tongues and fingers and cocks.  He loved the loss of control.  The submission.  The humiliation.  And especially the pleasure.

The king started when Ares picked him up, easily flipping him over so that he now crouched on his knees.  The others retreated behind him, and he listened to their comments, wondering if his cock would explode.

"Nice ass.  Look at all the cum dripping out.  It's going to feel good sliding into that, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes.  I'm looking forward to it."

Fingers touched him, smearing the semen onto his skin, then entered him.  "You're going to love fucking him--he's so tight."

A sharp bite on the left cheek of his ass made him shudder.

"He likes some pain--it figures."

A barked laugh, then a quick slap that Iphicles felt in his balls.

"You like that, king?"

When he said nothing, he was slapped again.  Harder.

"Tell me you like it."

"I...like it. Do it again."  Fingers on his cock again as the hand came down a third time, making him gasp.  And gasp again when other fingers penetrated him.

As the spanking continued, Iphicles barely registered that one of the trio had climbed in front of him, adjusting the restraints, until he felt a hand under his chin, raising it.  Without a word, a cock was pushed between his lips.  This time, the king accepted it without complaint, worshipping it with his tongue, while the man stroked his sweat-drenched hair.

The blows to his ass fell harder now, but the heat in his cock counteracted it, leaving him quivering.  He wanted to beg for more, for one of them to fuck him while the other stroked him to orgasm, but couldn't with the cock, like a gag, in his mouth.  The inability to speak excited him even more--with sight and speech taken away, they controlled him absolutely.  He couldn't even thrust back onto those probing fingers; the restraints were too tight.

"Look at him suck that cock," the man said admiringly.  "You should feel how hard he is--he must be so desperate to cum."

And Iphicles was: his body trembled uncontrollably, dripping with sweat.  He licked the cock in his mouth with renewed vigor, knowing that when this man came, it would finally be his turn.  It wouldn't be long now--the king could feel the vibration under the skin, the sudden tension...then a hand wove into his hair, and he nearly choked when the thick cock slid down his throat before spurting semen.

But when the cock was removed, nothing happened.  Confused, unbearably aroused, he waited for the god to take him.  Nothing.  Then he understood.  "Please fuck me, Ares. Fuckmefuckmefuckme.  Hard.  Make me cum.  I'm begging you.  Please.  I need it more than anything. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life.  Fuck me."

He heard sounds, shifting, a door closing.  For one terrible second, Iphicles thought the god had left him here--until the bed moved, and he was flipped over, so that he lay again on his back.  The king drew his knees up to his chest, spreading his thighs.  He almost sobbed with relief when the heavy cock pressed against him.

"Just one more thing before I fuck you."

The restraints vanished, then the blindfold, leaving Iphicles rubbing his sore wrists and blinking in the candlelight.  At first, he could see nothing, but as his eyes adjusted, Ares' beautiful face drifted into focus: curls tousled, cheeks flushed, full lips swollen.

"Now you're ready."

As the god shoved into him, Iphicles slid his aching arms around Ares' neck, pulling him down for a long kiss.  Their tongues met at the end of the first thrust, and the king cried out into his lover's mouth, then moaned when the god began to stroke his cock.

"I...can't...hold back," the king panted, every muscle in his body straining for release.

"Cum," Ares whispered.  "Cum for me."

Staring into those black eyes, Iphicles at last gave himself up to pleasure, writhing against the cock ramming into him, against the fingers caressing him.   With a shout, he came, calling the god's name.  Then Ares kissed him again, his tongue searching, as he came deep inside the king's body.

Another kiss, then the lovers collapsed in each other's arms.


Iphicles awoke in his own bed.  Lying dazed in the dark, the king wondered if he'd dreamed of his encounter with the trio...until he tried to move.  Then he felt every sore muscle, every bruise,  and groaned softly.

"I hope that's not regret," came a deep, seductive voice beside him.  "I've been planning that, with the others' help, for a long time, Iphicles.  To break you.  The way you wanted."

Struck with relief, and something that felt like happiness, Iphicles laughed, laying his head on Ares' chest.   "No regret.  Ever again."

The End

Note: The description of the festival at which Iphicles first glimpses Ares was loosely inspired by Herodotus' account of the festival at Papremis apparently in honor of the Greek war god (The Histories II.63-64).

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