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6. BLUNT FORCE

It begins by disguising itself to draw in the host. Today's host, a cleric with a heart too big for her own good, is drawn in by the muffled and indistinct shouting coming from inside a trunk in the dungeon. The sound stops as the cleric's footsteps arrive in front of the trunk, and she lifts its heavy lid with both arms as though she'd noticed no sign of deception. No sooner does the cleric lift the mimic's mouth as its prehensile tongue slings around her throat and drags her forward into the chest. Fleshy tendrils begin undressing the cleric, folding her knees to her chest, and holding her in place. By this point only her ass can feel the stiff air of the dungeon, and the rest is beset by an onslaught of sensations from wet tendrils dragging across her skin.

The mimic's tongue fights its way into her mouth, and begins pumping its aphrodisiac down the cleric's throat. Heat rises from under her skin, and her muscles relax into the guiding control of the mimic. The tongue gently thrusts itself into the cleric's throat as the mimic eases her into the new sensation of its touch. A thick tendril takes advantage of the host's newly pliable state to glide into her cunt. The tendril uses the cleric's sensitivity to draw orgasm after orgasm out of them, dulling their mind and muscles until they feel open. Any adventurers who'd pass at this point would be able to do little but watch as the cleric's bare cunt is pumped full of eggs over the course of several hours.

Once the mimic is done filling the host with eggs, of course, there still remains the issue of fertilizing them. The mimic keeps the host locked in it's jaws, baring her holes to the dungeon air. Not wanting there to be confusion of which to use, the original tendril inserts itself into the cleric's ass. After so many gulps of aphrodisiac pumped into her stomach, and the mimic toying with her ass, one can smell the cleric's needy cunt from several halls over. An adventurer pitying the cleric's fate might breed her cunt themselves to help speed up the process. It would take an entire party of adventurers, unfortunately, to pump enough cum into the cleric for the mimic to free her. More frequently, all manner of monsters know of the mimic and are drawn to it's most recent prey.

he gasps and drops his head down, his fingers gripping tighter into the bedsheets beside my hips. 

right, sweetheart? i lift my hand to his cheek, and he whimpers as he lays his temple against my palm. he nods. 

and that’s why you’re gonna fuck me slow, pet. be a good boy and don’t make me slow you down again. 

he nods as though he understands, and i’m sure he does. i’m sure he wants to be good more than anything, and knows what he’s meant to do. it’s not his fault that his poor brain can’t handle how overwhelmingly incredible my hole feels, wrapped around his cock. it certainly isn’t his fault that his body just knows how to thrust, and fuck, and breed, and take. he’s so good to try to listen, try, even though eventually his instincts overwhelm him and have him fucking into me at a deep and fast pace. such a stud, this is what he knows how to do. claim and breed. 

so i tighten my thighs to hold his hips in place, lifting one hand to the back of his neck to hold his eyes to mine and control him there. 

ah-ah, sweetheart. slow and smooth. savor it. 

and that he does. he presses in and out, trembling though he might be, to feel as his size pushes my muscle out of the way and seat himself home inside me. he whines with how he wants to move, but he stays good for me, and keeps every smooth, wet slide for himself. i grip his hair whenever he gets too fast, and i see it happen as his thoughts of the outside world leave his mind, and all that matters is the timeless this, the in and out, the being one. 

he only notices that it’s been hours by the ache in his muscle when i finally let him fuck me at full speed. 

even so long denied, he’s perfect. he has a single minded focus of staring at me while i shudder and buck with the orgasm he swiftly brings me to before he can cum himself. he waits until i’m clear of mind again before he stills inside me and pumps me full, trembling laying on my chest.

normally, a king would be proud to have all alpha sons. a sign of a strong bloodline, strong heirs. dominance and assurance in the future. 

this king was not proud. he was scared. all three sons were alphas- his daughters, too. every child an alpha. what would normally be a strength was a curse, as it could not help him now. 

there was a young king, butting up against their border. what had once thought to be a nuisance or even a weakness, their young king was new, inexperienced, unknown. but when the kingdom opposite this royal alpha’d family attempted to take advantage of the young and inexperienced king, their kingdom fell. the young king’s empire grew. as did his army, and his power. and his bloodlust. 

he crushed a revolt, only a year later, from his conquested kingdom’s militia. he carved out pieces from his eastern and western borders. through every battle, every negotiation, every victory, he proved that his blade, tongue, and mind were equally sharp. he was accruing power at a rate that made long-standing reigns weary. 

the kingdom he inherited by blood adored him. those kingdoms he conquered respected him. those kingdoms bordering him were terrified. 

the alpha king, of an alpha queen, with five alpha children, desperately wanted to avoid war. an ally was preferred to an enemy, and he saw what happened to kingdoms who resisted. peace was preferred, and what better way than offering a spouse to the young king, preferably an omega to be controlled and toyed with, so that the kingdom could remain uncontrolled, untouched? 

his youngest son, his sweet prince. an alpha, but the most likely to submit to a young but obviously alpha king. he was dressed in ceremonial cloth and jewels and taken to the young king. the prince was stunned by the beauty of the king… but not the ruggedness the prince expected. he was not a muscular and scarred military man with blood splattered across his chest, but instead a small man with legs crossed and his chin resting, bored, in his palm. soft hair framed a curious expression around bright, curious eyes. 

“young alpha prince,” the king says, the corners of his lips only barely tugging into a smile, “welcome to my kingdom. welcome to my home.” 

the prince kneels before the king and bows, touching his head to the floor, his robes pooled around him on the tiled floor as a great island of nobility. he stays as the king stands, graceful steps taking him to the prince. 

“quite generous of your father, sending me a toy of such noble stature.” the king circles him, his gaze drinking in the prince. “stand.” 

the prince does as ordered and raises his chin. he finds the king slightly shorter than him. “an alpha, i smell. tell me, are you afraid of me?”

the prince lets his gaze flick to the king, who still circles like a predator. 

“majesty, i will regard you however it is you should require me to,” the prince responds, and the king finally smiles full and across his face, but his eyes are dark. he comes to stand in front of the prince, and lifts a hand to his face, but stops just short of touching. 

“may i?” he asks, and the prince hesitates in surprise at the question before nodding. the king’s hand is warm as it slowly cups his face. 

“have the prince shown to his quarters and dressed,” the king addresses his men without breaking eye contact with the prince. “return him to me once he is settled in.”

the prince marvels at his living space. it has high ceilings and double paned windows that face the western skies, a plush bed larger than the one he’d had at home, and a bath with working plumbing. the hearth was alive with warm fire when he arrived, and two servants awaited to help him dress and fetch him food. not even as the prince of his kingdom had he ever felt so taken care of, so privileged. only when his handmen showed him to his wardrobe did he feel again like a plaything. his closet was not befitting a prince- it suited a concubine. hardly covering cloth draped from metal chains and jewels, his dignity spared by only a few inches. he chose the outfit that covered the most of his skin, but even that wasn’t much, and what it hardly covered could still be seen through the fabric. 

“do you know what the king wants of me?” he asked one of his handmaidens, and she shook her head. 

“i’ve long stopped questioning his intention. he hasn’t lead us wrong yet. he did order, though, that robes be made available to you, if your decency was less than to your liking.” she opened yet another wardrobe, and the prince sighed in relief that he could at least drape a large fur cloak over himself before he was sent before the king. 

he wasn’t led back to the throne room, as he had expected. instead he was taken to an office study, where the king sat hunched at the end of a long dark wood table over maps and other papers. he took a seat at the king’s left and dared not look at the scribblings, lest he be reprimanded for curiosity above his station. 

“your father is a smart man.” the king breaks the silence. “even being so far from the throne, he would’ve prepared you, yes?”

“Yes, highness,” the prince responds.

“Perhaps you will notice something i haven’t. this river isn’t supposed to flood- it never did, during my mother’s reign. but it has thrice in mine, and i can’t work out why. each time it floods, it destroys homes, and i can’t have that any longer.” 

the prince sits in stunned silence before he responds. 

“you’re asking… my opinion, sire?”

“why wouldn’t i? a pretty face does not a lesser mind make.”

the prince can only be glad his complexion hides blushes before he leans in to study the maps. 

the royals emerge hours later with flood plane maps and funding plans for village relocation drawn up. the king takes the hand of the prince and sends him back to his chambers, but not without first again holding his face. 

“my pet, from now on,” he says, his smile unexpectedly fond, “sit at my right hand.”

the bed is too plush for the prince; he cannot stop his mind from wandering. the king was not at all what he had expected. not just small and soft, beautiful and graceful instead of rugged and rough, but also kind, generous. though the prince was rarely called anything but ‘toy’, ‘pet’, ‘gift’, he was treated like not only a royal but a confidant, an advisor. the touches that he had expected from his new king had never come, and those that did were only soft enough to make him desire more. and his plush pillows were no help, hugged into the curve of his frame and just the right plushness. it made him buck before falling asleep. made him grind as he woke. made him whimper through his dreams of serving the king as he once thought he would be required to. 

“highness,” the prince begins one morning, over breakfast. “is there anything more i could be doing for you?”

“for me?” the king asks, setting down his utensils and locking his fingers together, resting his chin to his knuckles and his elbows to the table. “how so?”

“i am but to serve you,” says the prince, “it is my purpose, my life. if there would ever be anything more you need from me, you need only ask.” 

he couldn’t be sure, but the prince swore he smelled an arousal spike, and for the first time it made him wonder at the king’s designation. all had assumed him an alpha, but not once had the prince smelled an alpha scent from him. until this moment, in fact, not a scent at all… his eyes drifted to the metal chains that wrapped his neck with links and leather. the prince has assumed these pieces armor, but maybe they were more. maybe they hid the king’s scent. 

“you are servant to me,” echos the king, fondness in his voice and tugging at the end of his lips. “you believe so?”

“i am lost to it,” says the prince, wishing he could take back how his voice cracked. too many times recently had he been erect in the presence of the king, his only disguise being his fur cloaks. too many time had he woken up dripping with the idea of the king ordering him around, owning him the way he truly was owned. 

“very well,” says the king, and he stands from his breakfast. “walk with me.” the prince gladly does so, half a pace behind the king. 

“with honesty, i have been waiting,” he says, hands clasped at his back. “when i took you as my own, i wanted it to be of your choice. i couldn’t help but be impatient.” 

the king’s chamber door opened into a small room first, empty but for light furniture. this is where the king turned to the prince, hopping up onto a table top to sit nearly the same height as the prince. 

“touch me,” he says, his voice not even close to hard enough for it to be an order. the prince obeys nonetheless, his fingers rising up the king’s sides to tease his tunic over his head. still, the leather and link around the king’s neck remains. the prince moans with the skin revealed to him, and breathes out raggedly. 

“you mustnt tell anyone,” the king says, and the prince blindly nods without knowing what he was meant to keep secret, far too focused on exploring the king with his hands and the way the king’s legs have latched into him and knocked the fur cloak from his body. he manages, though, to follow the king’s hands to the armor around his neck, and a few seconds later the armor falls to his lap. 

the prince’s head spins. not only was the king’s scent entirely new to him, new and perfect, but it was omega scent. it was omega, and aroused, and strong, and so incredibly sweet smelling that it must’ve been crafted just for him. if he hadn’t been hard, he would’ve swelled to full size from the smell alone. 

“don’t be dumbfounded,” the king says, “i know i’m an omega, but that’s why i’m so strong in battle, so people-“ 

“i don’t care,” says the prince, diving his face to the king’s neck and scooping the king by the legs into his arms, “i don’t care what people assume about you. you smell so good, highness, that i wouldn’t care if they all were watching us, right now.” 

the king moaned and held onto the prince as he opened the door to the king’s bedroom. he had never seen it before, and now he could guess why- the scent of omega, aroused and needy, hung heavy in the air. the prince placed the king down in his bed, which now that he could see, he could tell was filled with pillows and blankets, woven into a perfect nest. still he did not leave the king’s neck, salivating over the scent that made his head spin. he lathered open-mouthed kisses along his neck, scraping his teeth over the omega’s scent gland and prompting a wanton moan straight from the prince’s dreams. the prince cursed under his breath and unthinkingly thrusted his hips, his thin clothing doing nothing to hide either his arousal or the sensation of grinding against the warmth of the king’s body. 

“pet,” says the king, breathing ragged but hands still strong as he holds the prince away from him, just enough. “undress me, pet.” the prince didn’t nod, didn’t hesitate, just pushed the king onto his back and grabbed his waistband, lifting his hips as he yanked downward. he did it with ferocity, desperation, and hardly had the mind to hear the king’s chuckle over the sight he was greeted with. the king’s hole was nothing short of everything he’d dreamed of in every rut-fevered sleep, soft and wet and warm, so wet he was dripping. the scent was strong and still so sweet, tuned to his nose alone, like it was made for him. he kneeled before his king and held onto his thighs, sliding forward, but the king closed his legs and trapped the prince just beyond his knees. 

“my king?” he asked, desperate eyes looking up at the king as his chest heaved. was this what catching an omega’s heat felt like? he had rut before, but this was different, like he was driven by something external and so ravenous that he could devour the king. but he didn’t smell heat, as he had before from his oldest brother’s wife. the sticky sweet smell wasn’t among the king’s scent, his beautiful dripping warm and wet and soft scent. this feeling was all his own, without heat, without rut. he was this pathetically desperate, all his own. 

the king had sat up, and finally his hands pet through the prince’s hair, held his jaw. 

“put your mouth to me, pet,” says the king, “your lips, your tongue. and don’t emerge until you’ve tasted my high and swallowed it. don’t come out of it until you’ve smeared yourself in my slick and no one will be able to even smell your breath without knowing i’ve been on your tongue.” 

with an unprompted moan the king falls back down into his bed and opened his legs for the prince, who presses the king’s thighs further open and eats like a starving animal. he nearly cums through his clothes at the taste, his cock strained and weeping and impossibly, painfully hard. he does not spare a hand for himself, too focused on the king’s bucking hips, his loud moan whenever he sucked against the king’s cock, the way his moans cracked and whimpered when he dove his tongue deep. to his surprise, it doesn’t take long; the king clamps down around his tongue and bathes his face in the smells of satisfaction and warmth and arousal and most of all, need. 

the prince feels like a wild animal rising from his kill, his face dripping and his breathing rough. the king looks upon him with pleasure, his breath hard, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“toy, love,” says the king, barely untangling his fingers from where they had gripped into his bedsheets, “i had planned to do a lot of walking tomorrow. force me to change my plans.” 

the prince shivers and undresses himself quickly. the clothing he wore couldve easily been torn, or even pulled to the side, but he took the time to yank them from his body, catching sight of his own cock for the first time that morning. he was surprised to notice an angry, throbbing knot- he had rut? 

his hesitation catches the attention of the king, who sits up enough to see the knot, and his moan is nothing but heavenly as he falls to the bed again. 

“i’ll milk that best if you’ve had me twice more,” promises the king. “get me there, toy.”

thrusting into the king nearly had him over the edge, but he couldn’t swell his knot without being deep inside the king, without satisfying his orders. he had to control himself, had to fuck into the king’s sloppy, throbbing, hot and wet hole without losing himself to it, but it felt like a pointless battle. he was too far gone, the scent of omega burning in his nose and making his eyes half lid, his hips snapping into the king and pulling back only halfway before impacting with the king’s tightly wrapped legs before thrusting deep again. 

he growled in dissatisfaction—not the right angle, not deep enough, not lewd enough moans from the king—and pulled out to flip the king onto his stomach, pulling his hips back, and thrusting in. the noise he pulled from his omega was high-pitched and filthy, and the prince’s gaze moves between the hungry and soaking wet hole that suckles against his knot with every thrust, and the blissful expression and soft, drooling lips of the king, pressed into his bedsheets. 

he barely notices as the king gets tighter, and tighter, before he clamps down again and screams, his voice broken but loud, catching and announcing every shudder, pulse, tremble, twitch, broken with soft words the prince could barely hear, words as “toy,” and “love,” and “yes,” and “pet,” and, the worst of them all, the one that had him throbbing, “alpha.”

the prince pulls out to flip the king over again. he is pliant and panting, flushed down the front of his body and looking up at the prince with undisguised adoration, obsession, lust. the prince has to look away to focus; he wants nothing more than to be inside the king and satisfy him again, but he needs to make it better. the nest he had crawled into is well constructed, and he wouldn’t dare rip at the pillows built into walls, but there is one that doesn’t seem to be for either structure or for laying heads on, one that seems thick enough. he lifts the king and lays the pillow under his back, propping up his hips to the prince, splaying his thighs open to show the soaked and reddened, throbbing, abused hole. the prince has to break his own hypnosis to move his eyes away and back to the king. 

he crawls up, cock hard beneath him, and for the first time kisses the king, their mouths dancing together, tongues tangling and teeth clacking. he sinks into the king’s hole like he belongs there, lined up perfectly and finding no resistance. the king moans into his mouth and his arms come up around the prince, nails latching to his back. 

“knot me,” begs the king, his ankles locking behind the prince. “knot me full, take me, mark me deep.”

the words were pleas, not orders, but the prince obeys without question. he thrusts into the king with what feels like every ounce of power in his body, deep and fast and strong. his body is alight- every sensation his to memorize. the sting of his omega’s nails on his shoulder blades. the lustful moans just next to his ear. the near-stickiness as their bodies part before coming together again. the warmth of his omega’s body. the heavenly softness of his hole. every sensation, his, and too easy to burn into his mind forever. his omega begins to tighten, to whimper, his moans sliding higher pitched, and the prince keeps his same pace, desperate to please and to do as the king ordered. the king does not cum, yet, holds himself with tension in every muscle and teeth bared. 

“knot me, alpha,” he whispers, eyes bright and hungry. “so deep your seed will never find its way back out.”

the prince drops his gaze to where they meet, his knot nestled against the king’s entrance, and he lifts himself so that he can hold onto the king’s hips. he stares at the fluttering muscle of the king’s body, trying to suck him deeper, trying to be one with him, and his mind swims. still, he pulls, strong and slowly pulling the king toward him as he pushes his hips closer. the king breathes shallow, unable to see where they meet and so watching the prince, pliant and soft and beautiful as the prince guides them together. he pulls with more strength, grits his teeth, pushes forward until they snap together, knocking the prince onto his elbows again, face inches away from the king’s, who looks lustful but bewildered, as though he has looked upon heaven for the first time. 

“alpha,” he breathes, unfocused eyes finally moving to the prince. “my alpha.”

“my omega,” answers the prince, and he kisses him deeply. 

he rocks his hips gently, unable to move the knot but just enough to pull the climax they had both been seconds from. it crashes over the king, who thrashes and screams, and washes over the prince, who collapses and spills. he can feel them throbbing in time, his omega’s hole milking him, pulling everything from him. they bask in it for an eternity, unable to move, unable to speak, hardly able to breathe. finally, the king touches his face again. 

“my pet, from now on,” he says, his eyes unfocused and body still trembling, “sleep in my bed. never leave my side. never let me be without you.”

“i am servant to you,” the prince echoes the king’s words of hours ago. “i am whatever you require.”

“whatever i require?” the king repeats, his eyes lazing closed, blissful enough in his knotting and his alpha’s rut to fall asleep, still clamped around a knot and milking it gently. “you are mine.”

the prince no longer felt the need to wear his fur cloaks. whatever skin that the kingdom could see was marked with the king’s adoration, scratches and bites and hickeys decorating every bit of his body. he fetched the king breakfast and helped him dress, but equally undressed him around hallway corners and beneath banquet tables. he let the stuck-up old nobles turn up their noses at his hard cock trapped beneath only shear fabric, all thoughts of embarrassment wiped away by the soft touch of his king, squeezing him and reminding him of the privilege only he wields. 

theres no way it has your name on it- oh. well, that’s interesting. you do have a common name, it may be a coincidence.

an adventurer? no, i think i’d remember if you were an adventurer, love. youve always been my little lover, as long as you can remember, haven’t you?

although, i suppose it’s a story i may have heard before. a brave young knight coming to slay the dragonling. they never expect us to be so beautiful, or so alluring.

shh, darling, no need to get upset. listen to my voice, see the pretty colors in my eyes? that’s it. you’ve never been a knight, this sword belonged to someone else. you’re happy here, loving me and feeling my warm dragon cock inside you. that’s home, isn’t it?

there you go, beautiful. come, let me dry your tears. i know what’ll make you feel better, my love. how about you sit on my cock while we read today? i know it’ll make your brain go fuzzy, so i’ll read to you rather than have you try to focus your eyes on the words.

finally, he gives in and takes it off for you. he's as beautiful as he is horrible, as fearsome as he is strong. he expects you to run away screaming, but you only want him more.

after all these years spent chastely at your side, he worships you, his cock drooling its hunger for you. he takes you in your bed, surrounded by piles of pillows, as slow as he can so you don't break apart. his cock is so big, not all of it can fit inside you.