And Arel readily crushed him under him, leaning against him.
“No, wait,” exclaimed Kors, dodging, “I can't do that, let me put a mask on you. Your spoiled face bothers me now. I cannot obey a disfigured slave.”
Arel let him at once. Kors got up, went to the bag and took out his mask, put it on Arel. So he was almost the same prince, with a strong and beautiful body, and Kors could obey him. Arel immediately inserted his cock into his ass, and, lifting his face, obscured by a mask, looked at him, at his reaction. Kors endured, and Arel's unclean eye, his iris, lit up somehow strangely, becoming from dark brown more and more bright orange, and the pupil in front of the astonished Kors’ eyes stretched out into a vertical strip. Kors screamed with delight and fear, feeling now from Arel the same demonic energy that the Demon had.
“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.
