Filthy Kings Ch 14

 

Chapter 14

Hades’s Third Act

 

Lazar lifted her with both hands at her waist.

Zara positioned his cock and she slowly brought her pussy down onto his cock.

The serpent heads twisted at her entrance first.

She gasped.

Then, they slipped in deeper as he continued to bring her down.

“Oh fuck.” Her eyes rolled back as the apadravya piercing drove through her in devastating strokes. The gold serpents caressed her walls.

“Ah!” She made a sound she had never made before that landed between a scream and a prayer.

Lazar fell back against the bed.

God.

How long had it been since he’d felt wet pussy hugging his cock?

All those dark nights. He had denied himself physical touch, even keeping Dayo with the boundary of the computer screen between them.

Lazar groaned. “Oh fuck!”

Every nerve ending in his body vibrated with pleasure.

She was worth the wait.

He closed his eyes as she rode his cock perfectly, and Zara was a blade plunging into his chest, finding his heart with unerring accuracy, and piercing him so deeply he knew he would never be whole without her again.

Over and over.

Deliriously slowly.

She rose and then came back down on his big cock.

The serpent heads trembling.

Twisting.

Massaging.

Her thighs shook against his hips.

She planted her hands flat on his chest and spoke in Serbian, “Do you like this, baby?”

He opened his eyes. “Oh, my little devil. I would kill for you. I would die for you.”

“And I may have you do both.” She leaned over. Her curly hair fell forward around her face and framed her bouncing breasts.

Her eyes burned into his, pupils blown wide with a hunger that bordered on violence. "Your cock feels like it was carved from my darkest fantasies."

Was it the Veritrex that transmitted her words with brutal clarity?

Or was it simply her daggers of truth that she would have told him regardless?

"I hate how perfectly you fit." She frowned. "It terrifies me how much I need this."

His fingers tightened possessively at her waist. "Good, because I will consume every part of you. There is no after this. No escape."

“Oh, Lazar.”

He groaned and his hands moved from her waist to her thighs, her hips, her waist again.

Unable to settle.

Unable to stop touching her.

Six years of watching her across tables, auction floors, and hostile negotiations and he had his hands on her now and his brain had not yet accepted the reality of it.

He groaned, "Đavolice."

Then, Miloš moaned on the right.

Lazar turned his way and saw his son stroking his cock.

Dear God!

Lazar’s breathing skittered.

Miloš had taken the broken pomegranate and dragged it all over the full length of his cock, coating every thick fat inch.

The juice ran vivid.

Bright red.

Glistening.

His cock looked so juicy.

And the seeds.

They clung everywhere.

Scattered across the pale skin of his cock like scattered rubies set without a jeweler. Some caught against the Frenum barbells where the steel met flesh. Those seeds nestled along the silver like gemstones. Some had rolled to the underside and stuck in the crease where shaft met root. A cluster of them had gathered at the crown, dark and glistening against the swollen head, trembling with each slow stroke of his fist.

Lazar could not look away.

His son's cock was pale white—always had been, even as a boy he had been fair-skinned where Lazar was tan—and against that pallor the pomegranate transformed everything. The red was obscene against the white.

The seeds sat like offerings.

Miloš stroked upward and three seeds burst.

Lazar groaned.

The pressure of Miloš’s fist split more seeds open. Small, wet sounds rose. More juice released and ran down between the barbells.

Lazar watched a single seed travel the full length of the Frenum ladder, catching on each barbell in turn, pausing, releasing, moving to the next.

His mouth filled with saliva.

I want to lick that off him.

The thought arrived with Veritrex clarity—clean, honest, and fully formed.

In fact, Lazar yearned to put his mouth at the base of his son's cock where the juice had pooled darkest. He wanted to drag his tongue up the ladder of piercings the way the seed had traveled.

Barbell by barbell.

Slow.

Tasting the pomegranate and his son’s pre-cum and the salt of his son's skin.

Lazar wanted his lips stained red. He wanted to know if the seeds that had burst still held sweetness or would they all taste like Miloš.

Miloš stroked again and more seeds shifted, some rolling free onto the furs, some bursting against his palm, and the juice was everywhere now.

Coating his fist.

Running down his wrist.

Dripping along his inked fingers.

They’re both going to ruin me.

Lazar’s eyes burned into Miloš, unblinking, drinking in every filthy detail as Zara kept rolling her hips in that slow, torturous rhythm and her soaked pussy gripped his cock like a fist.

Miloš’s hand pumped his big cock faster. The six frenum silver barbells gleamed wetter now, coated in a thick sheen of pomegranate juice, pre-cum, and spit he’d already worked into the shaft.

The show must have affected Zara too because she paused and watched him. “Oh my God. This is the best birthday ever.”

Lazar blinked.

He had watched this boy become a man.

The infant crying and cooing.

The child with scraped knees and nightmares.

The young man who learned to hide his grief for his mother far away from his father.

The teenager who stood in his father's shadow and chose to stay there.

Lazar carried all of them, always, stacked inside his chest like transparencies laid one over another.

And now this.

The adult man that Lazar now wanted to lick and suck.

Zara and Lazar watched Miloš's fist work his cock—those inked hands Lazar had watched learn to hold a gun, sign a contract, break a man's jaw—now wrapped around himself with a fluency that suggested long practice and zero shame.

So filthy.

The pomegranate juice running down the piercings.

The sounds he was making.

The way his eyes kept returning to his father's face and then Zara making sure they were witnessing his pleasure.

Lazar could not have looked away if the plane had been on fire.

The pomegranate.

It came back to that, always. The dark fruit split open on the cabin table, its seeds scattered across his son's cock like rubies shaken from a god's fist.

The old story surfaced again.

Am I a monster like Hades?

Because he desperately wanted Zara and his son badly.

His heir.

The prince of the underworld, covered in the fruit that sealed the bargain, stroking himself in the dark of a cabin suspended between earth and sky while their queen rode the king's cock and everything that had ever been forbidden hung in the air between them, evaporating into smoke.

Or perhaps I’m not a monster at all. Perhaps this is the most human thing I’ve ever felt?

 Too human for normalcy.

Past the edge of what polite civilization allowed and into the territory where only the most honest animals lived.

Or. . .I’m just an animal, then.

He considered that.

The pomegranate seeds on his son's cock caught the light.

Rubies.

Offerings.

The specific red of a bargain made and kept.

Zara had eaten the seeds and could not fully leave.

And Lazar, watching his son, felt the seeds take root in him too—felt the belonging move through his blood the same way the Veritrex had, the same way everything true moved, without permission and without apology—and understood that the myth had a third act the poets had never written.

The moment when Hades finally stopped ruling the dark from a careful distance and let the darkness fully rule him.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

He wanted his son.

He had wanted him for longer than he would ever say aloud.

And he was done pretending otherwise.

Miloš lifted his hand on the next upstroke, fingers dripping crimson and clear, strings of it stretching between his palm and the pierced underside. “Tata, you both look so delicious.”

Without breaking eye contact with Lazar, Miloš brought those slick fingers to his mouth.

Lazar bit his lip.

Zara even slowed up her movements and turned.

Miloš sucked fingers in—two at first, then three—hollowing his cheeks, tongue swirling loud enough to hear over Zara’s soft, broken moans. The wet, obscene slurp filled the room.

He pulled them out slowly, lips shiny, a thin thread of saliva connecting his tongue to his fingertips before it snapped.

“Fuckin’ sweet,” Miloš rasped. “Tastes like pussy, fruit, and sin.”

Lazar grunted.

Zara licked her lips.

Miloš lowered his chin and spat hard right onto the head of his cock. Thick ropes of spit landed with wet slaps, mixing instantly with the pomegranate mess and running down the ladder of piercings in slow, filthy rivulets. Each barbell caught a droplet and glistened.

Miloš wrapped his fist around the base of his cock again, twisting on the downstroke so the lowest piercing—the one pressed right against his balls—dragged through the fresh spit.

The metal clicked softly against his skin with every pass. “I’ve improved my strokes. Do you see, Tata?”

Lazar shivered. “Yes, son.”

“I can’t wait to shove this in our queen and split her pussy open.”

Zara whimpered. Her rhythm faltered, causing the serpents to twist viciously inside her.

“Oh!” she cried out.

Miloš grinned and it was dark and feral. He spat again, this time aiming lower so the glob landed right on his heavy balls. “Yes. There we go.”

He smeared the spit around his balls with his free hand, cupping and rolling them in the sticky mess. “Tell me, Tata. Should I fuck her now? Or should I make her lick every fucking piercing clean before I make her cum too?”

Lazar couldn’t even speak, so pumped up on hormones, adrenaline, and Veritrex. His eyes widened and his hips jerked up involuntarily, driving deeper into Zara. A guttural sound tore from his throat.

“Yes, Tata. Fuck her like that.” Miloš’s hand sped up—just a fraction—stroking faster now, the wet schlick-schlick of spit and juice obscene in the quiet between Zara’s gasps.

He dragged his thumb over the top piercing and flicked the barbell so it vibrated against the sensitive frenulum.

“Oh, fuck,” Zara moaned, watching Miloš and riding Lazar harder.

Miloš spat one more time—hard, messy—right onto the shaft. The spit ran in thick streaks down the piercings, pooling at the root before dripping onto his sac.

“Yes. I’m ready now.” Miloš squeezed his cock, milking another fat bead of pre-cum from the slit, then smeared it over the lowest barbell with his thumb. “Look at how it shines for you, Anđele.”

She trembled. “Come here. I want you too. Now.”

Miloš growled.