The Ing's Balls

The small kingdom had been occupied by the Warlord's forces for over a month, with the bulk of his army laying siege to the castle of the king. In the cramped war-room at the top of the keep, the king and his staff had been listening intently to the Warlord's terms for surrender as received by the vizier.

"...and the final term of the surrender should be clear, I want the king's balls." The old nobleman finished reading and coughed. Looking at the king, he said, "Frankly Sire, I do not understand that last part."

A hush fell over the room, the military leadership looking furtively at each other, they knew what it meant.

Then the king laughed nervously, "It must be some sort of mistake, perhaps you read it wrong?"

"Sire," one of the older generals spoke up, "this is no mistake. The Warlord has conquered all of our neighbors to the South and in each case, the reigning king was relieved of his stones. No one knows what the Warlord does with them, but by castrating the king he ensures docile obedience to his rule. There was a rumor that one ruler, of a kingdom in the West, refused and every man and boy in that land was crucified, emasculated, and left to bleed to death. All of the women were taken to the Warlord's domain as slaves."

The men assembled in the room were collectively surprised at the king's composure over this revelation. "So be it," he declared gravely, "I either offer this barbarian my cods willingly or he will decimate and destroy our kingdom and take them anyway. At least this way I get to keep my phallus and our lives."

At one hour before sundown the next day a small, open cart drawn by a donkey and led by one of the Warlord's soldiers appeared at the keep. The king appeared, dressed only in a very brief breechclout. He climbed into the cart for the trip to the Warlord's tent as his noblemen watched in sadness. His people had lined the short road from the keep to the main gate, but each of them cast their eyes to the ground, refusing to give obeisance to the humiliation delivered to their monarch, who they loved dearly.

The loincloth did not bother the king at all, in spite of the fact that it hid nothing. He was often seen competing in public contests of strength and physicality. At thirty summers of age, the young king was the picture of health, his chiseled physique a marvel to the women of his kingdom and a source of respect, and in some cases jealousy, by the men. He stood eighteen hands tall and was slightly under fourteen stone. His short-cropped dark hair and short beard framed a face with the most piercing blue eyes one could imagine on a man--some said that they were too much like those of a wolf to be normal.

As the cart cleared the main gate the soldiers of the Warlord, unlike the loyal subjects of the king, had gathered to mock and jeer the young ruler as the cart made its way towards the center of the encampment where the Warlord waited.

"Hey your highness! You'll be walking funny after today!"

"Should we start calling you Queen?"

"Hey Your Royal Highness, you won't miss those tiny bollocks!"

...and so on until the cart drew up to the huge tent pitched at the center of the camp. The soldier leading the donkey pulled the opening flap up to allow the king to enter, the two massive eunuchs guarding the entrance stiff and silent as they leaned on huge scimitars. The king blinked as he entered the tent, his eyes adjusting to the dimmer light within. A thick carpet led from where he had entered to a large platform with a huge carved throne. On that throne was the largest man the king had ever seen. He was easily 21 hands tall, even judging from his sitting position, rippling with muscle, his upper torso framed by a gold harness that tightly wrapped the furrows of his musculature.

His huge nipples pierced with gold rings as were his ears, with bracelets made of iron and worked with gold on his arms and wrists. His head was clean-shaven and almost seemed polished in the flickering light of the braziers that lit the tent. His white beard was thick and long, twisted and braided as it separated underneath his heavy, square-jawed chin. His entire chest was covered with a snowy-white carpet of fur and the king marveled at the deep furrows of the Warlords abdomen given his age, which was hard for him to fathom. The Warlord wore a thick sword belt with only a large, intricately worked silver codpiece at his crotch, his legs as thick and sinewy as tree trunks spread wide and planted in calf-length boots.

The throne was surrounded by beautiful women in delicate, breezy and revealing skirts, their chests bare with their ample bosoms exposed. They fawned over their master, their gold jewelry tinkling as they moved, but upon seeing the king they surreptitiously sized up the newcomer, their eyes giving quick glances to the large pouch formed by his loincloth.

"Come here" the Warlord bellowed, "and kneel at my feet!"

The king moved forward and then dropped to his knees in front of his conqueror.

"Don't you think," the king said suggestively from his kneeling position, looking up directly into the dark, brooding eyes of the Warlord, "that you should dismiss your ladies? For our privacy of course."

"WHAT?!" the Warlord screamed, rising to his feet and instinctively reaching for his sword, his women moving away in all directions. "How DARE you presume...wait, perhaps I should dismiss them," his voice lowering, thoughtful, less menacing, as he glared at the king.

"Leave us," he commanded suddenly, sitting back into his chair as his women quickly exited the tent.

"Now then, stand-up and pull off that cloth!"

The king obeyed, rising slowly, and even more slowly unravelling the breechclout, casually tossing it to the side as he stood, legs spread before the Warlord.

Now the Warlord had his huge broadsword in hand and reached it forward, the wide tip touching gently at the base of the young kings sack, his ample balls separated to each side of the point.

"A shame, really, to relieve you of these beautiful orbs."

"Yes, I would agree!" the king nodded, feeling his bag draw up at the coldness of the steels touch.

"I will tell you when to speak, pup!" the Warlord yelled, snapping the tip of the sword up sharply, tapping the base of the king's jewel-bag and causing him to double-over from the pain. As the king regained his composure, he stood once again, stiffly.

"Look over at yonder frame," the Warlord said as he replaced his sword in a stand by the throne and pointed towards one side of the tent. The king, looking to where the Warlord gestured, could not control his mouth from dropping open. A large, intricately carved wood frame stood, with thick threads woven into a loose matrix of squares and in almost all of the squares, easily twenty of them, he saw hanging small, wrinkled leather pouches, like coin purses. Each of them varying in shades of tan, brown and some quite dark, all covered with a sparse sprinkling of coarse hair. He knew immediately what they were and a hard pit formed in the depths of his bowel.

Seeing his discomfort, the Warlord bellowed a huge laugh. "Yes boy, soon your sack will join those of your brothers in rule."

The young king gulped involuntarily, his hands instinctively moving together to protect his privates.

"Hands at your sides, boy!" the Warlord roared and the king snapped to a soldiers position of attention.

"Yes, Sire!"

The Warlord smiled. "Perhaps, boy, you are wondering what I plan to do with your stones after I remove your purse for mounting on my display?"

"Yes, Sire, that had crossed my mind," the young king admitted, thinking back to what his generals had said.

Again the huge man bellowed a laugh. "One of my wives is a consummate cook. She will coat them in a spiced batter of ground dried peas and then fry them until they are brown and crisp. Then the two of us will dine on them, perhaps with some fava beans and tomato. I also have a very tasty wine that pairs well with the salty flavor of king balls!"

Now the young king looked innocently into the eyes of the Warlord, his own bright blue eyes sparkling in the flickering light from the braziers. The Warlord seemed transfixed.

"May I speak, Sire?"

"Yesssss," the Warlord said, almost dreamily as he stared deeply into the king's eyes.

"Might you want to sample my balls in a different way? Frying them up and eating them is so permanent, and a fleeting pleasure as well."

The Warlords eyes dropped to look at the kings ball sack and as he did this it was as if a spell had been broken. "WHAT?!" he screamed, snapping out of his muse. Again he stared at the younger monarch, but now seeing for the first time his manly beauty.

"I only thought, Sire," the king continued as again he entranced the Warlord, "and with the greatest respect for your magnificence, that you might prefer to enjoy my company a bit closer and more intimately."

"I see. Show me what you mean."

As the king locked gaze with the Warlord, he went on, speaking in a soft whisper, like a man uses when calming a horse or dog, "SIre, may I approach?"

"Come forward boy," the Warlord answered and although his gaze was transfixed by the eye-spell of the young king, his hand reached out instinctively to rest on the hilt of his sword in its stand beside his throne.

The king moved forward, never dropping his eyes from their fix on those of the Warlord. Kneeling between the great man's wide-spread legs, he placed his hands on the huge knees and then slowly slid them along the hard and taught inner thighs. The Warlord gasped as the gentle touch sent a sharp tingle through the base of his cods. Still maintaining eye contact, the younger man slowly undid the leather thongs securing the huge codpiece to the Warlords belt and freed it. The Warlords cock was as huge proportionately as the rest of his frame, but the king resisted the urge to look directly at it, instead using his hands to sense its proportion.

"Sire," he said as his hands caressed the Warlords cock, "this is truly your mightiest weapon!"

The Warlord chuckled and reached forward and grabbed the younger man's head, guiding him to accept the massive tip of his rapidly engorging member. The young king was surprisingly skilled and took it all, deep into his throat, all the while looking deeply into the eyes of his captor. His hands moved to the Warlords sack, heavy with balls the size of large hens eggs. As the Warlord face-fucked the young king, the king's hands squeezed and pulled at the largest set of balls he had ever encountered. Now the Warlord moaned and his eyes fluttered shut in his ecstasy. The spell remained unbroken, it was too late to stop now. The young king was adept at pleasuring a man as only a man can know. He smoothly accepted the Warlord's cock, treating it as if it was the source of his own manhood, gently flicking the piss-hole with his tongue as the in and out motion of the organ gained speed and the heavy grunting of the Warlord filled the tent.

Outside, the guard eunuchs glanced towards each other slightly, the briefest of smiles crossing their lips as they silently acknowledged to each other what they knew was happening in the tent.

The young king felt the massive stones of the Warlord begin to move slowly towards his body and he knew the peak approached. Now he sucked more strongly on the cock, forcing his new master to pull harder on the out stroke, then blowing forcefully on the in. The Warlord shuddered and then came, a sudden flow of incredible volume. It tasted to the king of fruits and tannic wine and he gulped and drank the thick fluid as if it were mother's milk, not allowing even a drop to escape as he kneaded and squeezed the huge balls until the final shudder of the massive man subsided. The Warlord pushed the kings head gently away as he lay back, spent, on his throne.

Now the king sat back on his haunches, waiting on the Warlord, his own cock, not as impressive as that of his master, but substantial nonetheless, stood up tight and hard at his crotch. The Warlord opened his eyes and again met the mystical gaze of the young king, but now a brooding kindness had replaced the dreamy enchantment of before--the Warlord smiled. "Stand, pup!" he commanded and the young king complied.

The Warlord reached out and placed two heavy, rough hands on the younger mans chest, squeezing his muscular breasts roughly, flicking his erect nipples with his nails--the king moaned at his touch. Then the Warlord reached down to cup the tight sack hanging below the stiff cock. As he kneaded the king's balls he said, "I would have liked to have these with fava beans, boy, but now I think I'll have them fresh." He grabbed the younger man and spun him sideways, with one arm on his shoulder and the other behind his thighs, then lifted him to lay across his lap, then buried his face in the young man's crotch, nuzzling under the sack like a pig rooting for acorns. He breathed deeply of the young musk that emanated from the kings furry cods and then sucked both of his balls into his mouth.

For a brief moment the king thought he might bite them off, but that was not the Warlord's intent. He rolled them roughly with his tongue, biting them gently, but forcefully enough to make the young man wince and moan with pleasure-pain. As he did this, he reached a free hand up to shove a huge index finger into the kings mouth. "Suck this," the Warlord commanded after pulling away from the kings balls. After it was wet with saliva and remnants of the Warlord's cum, he pushed the finger roughly between the tight buttocks of the king and found the entrance to his tight back door. Pressing firmly as the king gasped, he pushed into the man, finger-fucking his ass as the pup squirmed and bucked on his lap.

The Warlord leaned over, adjusting the position of the lean physique of the king so that he could suck in and engulf the hard bone of his cock. The king moaned as the ruler of the thirty kingdoms fucked his ass and sucked his cock like a possessed demon. The younger man cried out and then came with the Warlord savoring each spurt of the youthful serum pumping out with each rough thrust of the Warlords finger in his ass. The king grew limp in the arms of the Warlord, totally spent, but with a contented smile crossing his lips.

Standing, the Warlord carried the king down off the dais like a child and laid him gently on the fur rug and returned to his seat.

The king slowly recovered and moved again to a kneeling position at the feet of the Warlord. Now he looked down at the floor as the Warlord said to him, "You enchanted me, did you not?"

"Yes, I did Sire. Few know that my mother, the Queen of Westkeep, was the Witch of Westfrost before that. She enchanted my father, although he would have bedded her in spite of the geas, and I am the result. I have always had the power of suggestion, but only while locked in sight. Now I succumb to your wishes willingly, you may have my balls, I only ask that I not be forced to partake of one myself."

The Warlord bellowed a huge, deep laugh, then growing silent, he commanded "Stand then, pup, and prepare to pay your tribute!"

The king stood, still averting his gaze. "Wrap your breechclout around your head to conceal your eyes!" The king did as he was told.

"Guards! Send in my women!" the Warlord bellowed and after a moment his wives entered the tent. "Prepare him for the ceremony and under no circumstances remove his blindfold or meet his gaze. Drain him thoroughly." The women collectively nodded assent and led the young king from the Warlords tent to theirs. The king wondered what "Drain him thoroughly" meant, but he did not have to wait long to find out. In the women's tent he was bathed gently and massaged with aromatic oils by the many hands of the Warlords wives. As they ministered to him, their hands caressed and rubbed him erotically. Some tickling his balls, some pulling and stroking his cock, rubbing his buttocks, fingering gently around his anus, his chest, all over. Soon he was swooning as they sucked and licked and brought him to multiple orgasms until at last he was spent and drained thoroughly.

"It is so sad that such a beautiful man will be disfigured," one said as they worked on him. "Yes, the others were all old and fat, it made no difference that they were relieved of their stones," another commented. "I will not be happy to cook these, that is for sure." The king assumed that the wife who just spoke was not only the one fondling his sack, but also the cook. One called for the guard and then the king felt heavy iron bands being attached to his wrists and ankles. Then a cord was tied to the tip of his cock, wrapped around his waist and tied behind him, pulling it up vertically against his stomach. He was led from the tent into the cool night air and then after a short walk felt the heat of a large bonfire and heard the idle background chatter of a horde of men. Then the guard stopped and the king felt his hands raised and attached to something, likewise his legs, causing his body to take the form of a large X, apparently stretched tightly into a frame.

"My horde," he heard the Warlord bellow and the chatter of the assembled men ceased abruptly. "before you is the king of Westkeep, here to pay his tribute!" The men roared at this announcement, collectively chanting "OFF WITH HIS BALLS!"

After a few rounds of the chant, the men quieted again and the Warlord commanded "Do not look into this man's eyes!" then he signaled and a soldier removed the loincloth from the king's head. He blinked in the bright light from the fire and as he looked over the assembled horde, none of the men would meet his magical gaze. The Warlord snapped his fingers and two soldiers came forward carrying what looked to be a large post of wood. On one side at the top was a small round cut-out, stained with dark red. They placed the block between the kings legs looped a leather thong around his sack and fixed it to the post so that his balls were clear of the top of the block, stretched tightly across it.

The Warlord approached, holding a long-handled knife, the sharp, narrow blade glinting in the firelight. As he moved towards the king, a soldier, his eyes cast downward, came forward holding a glowing poker. The Warlord met the gaze of the king, staring intently into the glistening blue eyes.

"Do you willingly offer me your tribute?"

"I do, Sire," the king replied calmly.

"So be it!" the Warlord growled and lifting the knife, swung down towards the block, the young king still holding his gaze.

A high-pitched shriek came out of the king as the knife landed. He was in incredible pain, his eyes snapped shut, and he could not move for the frame he was attached to. After a few moments, the Warlord laughed. Then the king opened his eyes, wondering in a macabre way why the soldier with the poker had not cauterized him. Looking down he saw that his balls were still attached to him and the Warlord was holding the blade of the knife having smacked the kings balls roughly with the hilt of the weapon!

"Sire! What sick torture is this?" the young king pleaded.

"No torture, my boy," and with a gesture the block was pulled away and the king was released from the frame. He crumpled to the ground, kneeling before the Warlord, exhausted and confused, his balls still throbbing. The horde was silent, now staring at the two men at the edge of the bonfire.

"Thirty summers past, when I was a young, lone reaver about the age you are now, I chanced upon a cottage deep in the woods in the kingdom of Westfrost. Entering that cottage seeking food and drink, I encountered the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Aside from her alabaster skin, voluptuous hips and heavy bosom, she had the most piercing blue eyes that twinkled with a white fire from within. She fed me and gave me drink, and then she bade me fuck her, which I gladly did. I told her that I could not stay with her, nor did she ask me to."