There she was, tucked away in holding cell #3, that troublesome Arusian princess. Allura. The unyielding pilot of Blue Lion, and the reason for all of Lotor’s failures. Zarkon couldn’t fathom how one loathsome, human woman could bewitch the Crown Prince of Doom upon first sight. Even Haggar’s magic couldn’t contend with her.

It was a powerful spell the princess wrought over his son, one that amplified Lotor’s brashness, his tenacious zeal and his increasingly overwhelming idiocy. His past few attempts in annihilating the Voltron force were proof of that. He was hasty, didn’t think things through.

His mind was consumed by the princess.

Zarkon set his jaw, peering through the small window of the prison door. It was an unhealthy obsession and it had gone too far. Measures had to be taken. It was something he was reluctant to do since the beginning, Zarkon wanting his son to prove himself a suitable, self-sufficient heir to the throne, but watching Lotor fail time after time after time, he couldn’t take it anymore. Zarkon had to save face somehow. Doom would not be the laughingstock of the Drule Empire.

“You are my son’s greatest weakness,” Zarkon muttered darkly to the cold metal door. He traced a finger around the perimeter of its window, watching the princess with distaste. She didn’t behave like a captive slave, sniveling and shivering in the corner, screaming pleas for her freedom at the top of her lungs. No. The princess sat there looking around the holding cell for what Zarkon supposed was a route for escape.

He did not know what Lotor saw in her.

Pressing a series of numbers into a small keypad next to the door, Zarkon thought about it. She was human. And human women were a fetish for many drule men. It’s why they had harems. He couldn’t fault Lotor for that. He was exactly the same.

“But there is nothing else attractive about her,” Zarkon said as the door slid open. The princess acknowledged his arrival with a gasp, her eyes growing wide behind the visor of her helmet. Zarkon laughed. He took pleasure in her dreadful look of surprise. “You thought I was my son, didn’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Allura nodded her head in answer. She was afraid. He could tell.

Zarkon continued. “My bumbling son, bless his rotten soul, could never conceive such a plan, let alone execute a successful one to catch you.” His eyes narrowed. “It was me who brought you here, not him.”

The princess stood, looking up, and balled her hands into fists.

“Where is Blue Lion!?”

Zarkon laughed. “Why? Are you in a hurry to leave?” He stepped toward her and ran his hand down the side of her helmet in a mocking caress. “No, you won’t be going anywhere today.”

The princess jerked away. “Keith and the others, they’ll come.”

Zarkon growled and pushed Allura. She stumbled backward, hitting the wall with a loud thud. “You don’t seem to understand. No one is coming to get you. Your kingdom. The Voltron force. My son.” He moved a finger under her chin, forcing Allura’s eyes up to meet his. “Especially my son. You have been a problem for everyone, Lotor most of all. And because of what a huge distraction you have proven yourself to be, my dear, sweet Arusian princess, some measures must be taken against you.”

She was trembling; he could feel it. With a sharp tug, her helmet was off and rolling sideways to the opposite side of the cell.

“My planet will never be a disgrace to the Drule Empire. Ever.

At the realization of what was happening and what Zarkon promised, the last bit of Allura’s resolve crumbled away. She screamed.

Zarkon smiled at her, devious and wry. The sound felt good in his ears, a cacophony of misery and dread with just a tinge of anguish. That was suitable behavior for a slave.

Zarkon picked her up by the neck, his large hand wrapping tight around her throat, and lifted her from the floor. He wanted a better look at her, to see why Lotor fought to make her his with a dangerous amount of persistence and insubordination.

She was fair, slim yet curved in all the right places. Just like every other slave in his harem. His son had a penchant for blonds, but so did he. So did many drules. There wasn’t anything special about her.

A dull throb of pain in his chest made Zarkon nearly drop her. He glared at Allura, who now had her knee pressed into his robes. She kicked him. Hard. Enough to knock a bit of wind from him.

“Disobedient slave!” Zarkon boomed. He grabbed her by the neck, now with both hands, and flung her to the floor. He thought about stepping on her back, grinding his heel into her spine. “I have quite the mind to make you suffer before you meet your end!”

Coughing, shivering, Allura pushed herself up from her stomach, looking back at him. Her hair had come unbound, spilling in waves over her slim shoulders, and her eyes reflected the light of absolute hatred and fear.

Zarkon stormed over to where she lay and seized the princess by the hair, forcing her to stand on quivering legs. She wouldn’t stand on her own so he caught her when she fell. “I have a whole list of things I could do to you, none of them at all pleasant,” he said, hooking a claw around a loose ringlet of hair. It looked familiar. Smelled familiar. The princess swallowed hard as he leaned in close. “But right now I’d rather have you do something for me.”

She fell again, but this time because Zarkon pushed her–right to her knees.

“I want to see how well you would have served my son,” Zarkon mocked. His hands went inside his robes, working quickly before Allura could figure out what he was doing. She was smart and caught on fast, biting back a cry before trying once again to escape. Zarkon grabbed her face with one hand, his other still working within his robes.

“Please!” she cried. Zarkon felt her plea, warm and desperate against his hand.

He pulled her forward, Allura’s knees scraping against the rough stone of the holding cell floor. “You should find this an honor, Princess Allura of Arus. It’s not everyday a slave is asked to serve the king of Doom quite like this.”

“You didn’t ask, ngh!”

Zarkon’s held her face between his hands as he guided her mouth closer. “Wider,” he grunted, shoving more of his length into her mouth. She was struggling to keep him out, biting down, pursing her lips, gagging. It didn’t deter him in the slightest. “I said wider!”

A claw slid down her cheek, Zarkon’s thumb pulling open her jaw. He groaned and thrust forward, pressing the claw of his thumb into her chin. He felt her blood warming his skin and his eyes rolled back.

“My son… would be very… disappointed,” Zarkon said between each movement of his hips. He saw Allura sputtering, drooling around him as she set off a series of muffled screams. “You should see yourself, princess. See how you look with a big drule cock in your mouth.”

First a moan and then a blush crept across Allura’s cheeks. Zarkon noted this with a sharp bark of laughter.

“So the little princess is easily embarrassed?” Another hard thrust. He still wasn’t all the way inside, so Zarkon grabbed her hands and wrapped them tightly around what Allura couldn’t fit in her mouth. “I bet you have a… ngh, pretty trim vocabulary. No vulgar words or phrases, am I right princess?”

Her blush deepened. He thrust again.

“I try to keep myself in check,” Zarkon went on as he helped Allura jerk him up and down. “Even we rulers of the Empire have to watch our tongues every now and then. However, when I’m being sucked off by a human slave, no matter how bad she… aah!”

Allura cried out, panic in her eyes as she tried to back away. Zarkon held her in place, then shoved her down further.

“Not yet, princess, but I’m almost there. Almost.” Zarkon grunted, forcing Allura to move against his thrusts. “I think… I think I’m hitting the back of your throat. Does it hurt?” She screamed at him, her eyes watering, her body quivering. “I asked, does it hurt?”

Allura frantically nodded her head.


Ripping the princess by her hair, Zarkon pulled himself quickly from her mouth and spun her around, pressing her back against his chest. She struggled against his hold, twisting back and forth in his arms in a last ditch effort to escape. Zarkon hissed, pressing a claw down the back of her flight uniform, and leaned forward, brushing hair away from her neck. Fangs skimming the delicate flesh of her throat, Zarkon smirked, then bit down. Allura screamed, jerking back from the feel of his teeth and claw digging not just into her uniform but into her flesh as well.

“Please. Please stop.”

Blood welled in his mouth, warm and sweet, and though he had better, this wasn’t distilled or watered down. He drank, lapping gently at the wound, pressing down to coax more and more out of her. Zarkon moaned, holding her tight. He wished he had the foresight to bring a chalice.


Down her back all the way to her rear, Allura’s uniform tore. “I will admit you are a pretty little thing,” Zarkon said when he had just enough to drink. He peeled back the flight uniform, pushing it over Allura’s arms like a discarded husk. “However, some things just aren’t worth all the trouble, no matter how pretty they are.”

Like Lotor’s mother.

Zarkon startled at the realization. Allura reminded him of that bewitching, human slave with whom he created a seemingly worthless heir. All of Lotor’s faults, all his shortcomings, he blamed it on the taint of human blood. Zarkon seethed at his foolishness. Not again. He would not punish the entire Drule Empire by giving Lotor the chance to create an even more worthless heir. He would not allow him. His son would not make the same mistake.

Growling, Zarkon dragged her backward, digging his claws into her hips, and settled in a corner with the princess of Arus impaled and recoiling in his lap.

“Aaah! Stop! Keith! Keith, help me please! KEITH!”

“No one can hear you, princess.” Zarkon leaned against the wall, forcing Allura’s legs to spread wider. As he traced his fingers in a pattern over her back, Allura continued to whimper for the leader of the Voltron force. “No one is coming for you. Not now. Not ever. Besides, even if someone did…”

Zarkon raised his hand, claws pale in the dim light of the holding cell, and slashed across the princess’ back.

“…you’d already be dead.”

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