“Speak!” Arel gritted his teeth.

“I allow you to come!” Kors immediately said in his mind, and Arel wheezed, in the mask he didn’t have enough air at all.

“More, more,” whispered Kors, it was delight.

“Lick,” Arel ordered hoarsely, lifting him and bending to his crotch, his low voice, distorted by a mask, was a stranger. Kors realized that this action was unacceptable, but complied.

He bowed obediently, Arel watched him, looking down from above with his inhuman eye. Kors gently ran his tongue along the side of his thigh, along his scrotum, feeling that Arel’s balls were drawn in with pleasure. Kors took them in his mouth, Arel threw back his head and groaned. He grabbed Kors by the hair on the back of his head, pulling him slightly and directing him to his cock, forcing him to swallow. Kors barely suppressed his gag reflex, fortunately, feeling only the smell of the prince’s semen and its salty taste. It was not as disgusting as he feared, even pleasant, because Arel groaned and guided him so proprietly, holding his hair, that Kors fully felt his subordinate position and new emotions from this. To be like this under the fallen prince, to suck him after himself was a violation of all taboos, and it was exciting. Arel knocked him over on his back, sat on his face. Kors closed his eyes and plunged his tongue into the soft, easily accepting, gouged hole, feeling the stretched walls and also scars, old scars. Arel inside was torn, and the tongue could feel these places where the skin was not so elastic. Kors stroked a clearly palpable scar with the tip of his tongue. Who did this to Arel? Leonardo? King? The demon would surely have healed Arel immediately, not leaving wounds, which then healed into such scars. Arel got off him and, putting his cock in his mouth, said:

“Swallow!”

Kors, who didn’t expect this at all, felt an elastic stream of warm salty urine flow into his throat, he instinctively tried to escape, but it didn't work.

“Swallow!” Arel growled, continuing.

And Kors, choking, involuntarily took several sips, urine flowed down his chin.

Arel stopped, Kors looked at him, wiping his face. The bed was wet too.

“I didn’t humiliate you like that,” he said, getting up from the bed with resentment, he no longer looked at Arel, didn’t want to meet his eyes.

“You can do it if you want,” Arel shrugged.

“I don’t want to be like Leonardo and others,” said Kors, and without looking at Arel, he rushed into the bathroom.

Arel very quickly came to him, went down to the pool. Kors no longer took offense at him, responded to the gentle touches.

“Take off the mask, I miss your face,” said Kors, “even if it is awful.”

Arel silently opened his face.

They started kissing again.

Chapter four

When Vitor Kors and Prince Arel, tired and satisfied, returned to the room, they found a servant-slave in it. In their absence, he brought a tray of dinner and remade the dirty bed. All the servants wore a helmet-mask on their heads, which completely covered their heads and faces. Thin, short, hunched over, it was clear from the proportions of the body that this slave was male. In a simple black clothing, a work robe and a long jacket over a shirt, gloves closed at the wrists with wide steel bracelets, while doing his work, he moved carefully, but without fussing.

Kors approached the table, lifted several heavy lids from the plates, examining what the slave had brought. Involuntarily, he poked his finger into a strange jelly-like dish, which easily swayed from the touch, and immediately restored its shape, as if there were no dents from the finger.