Porcelain 34

The crowd was cheering, riled up to a point that not only rivaled their enthusiasm of the previous night, it surpassed it. Lotor supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, he had been exceptionally quick and ruthless in the arena tonight, his sword turning red with the blood of his opponents. A robeast lay dead behind him, one of three he had dispatched in an efficient but showy manner.

The robeasts had been huge, monsters that towered over him by a good three feet. He had taken them on all at once, his sword on constant move, his body dodging with rolls and leaps. The fight had barely lasted the required ten minutes, Lotor forcing himself to remember to hold back and give the crowd their money’s worth. And now he was barely winded, Lotor calmly shaking the blood free of his blade.

Slaves were around him, the humans working quickly to remove the dead robeasts from the sand pit center of the arena. Such was the monster’s girth that it required five slaves per robeast to even lift them up off the sand. Lotor waited, impatient for the next fight, wanting the battles over with for the night.

Flashes went off from the crowd, people taking his picture. He struck a more valiant pose, and prayed they were getting him at an angle that showed him in a more favorable light. Ever the born performer, Lotor knew how to give the crowd what they wanted, be it something as simple as a picture, or awe inspiring feats of swordsmanship in the arena.

The arena was now empty save for Lotor, the slaves having finally succeeded in removing the robeasts. Haggar, his father’s witch would study the monsters, try to figure out what had gone wrong that they hadn’t been able to last against the prince. She’d try to improve the next batch of monsters, hiding behind offering him a challenge, though the prince wondered if the witch just wanted to get him out of the way.

They didn’t have a good relationship, Haggar and him, the young man still remembering the hours following his mother’s death. How Haggar had barely been able to contain her glee at the thought of Adaline being dead. He had seen through her attempts at false comfort, barely disguising his open hatred of her. Haggar seemed to respond to that hate in turn, the witch enjoying riling him up with words and looks, though never anything overt enough for him to gain the justification needed to dispose of her.

She kept him on his toes, Lotor aware the witch was watching, spying on him at the most inopportune times. She had his father’s ear, and she whispered constantly to him, expressing concern about Lotor and his quirks of personality. The need to hide his emotions, to suppress any weakness was a constant struggle in his life, Lotor all too aware of his human blood and the curses it bestowed on him.

He had to be more of everything, more ruthless, more angry, more Drule. It was the only thing his father would accept from him, leaving Lotor to wear a mask of emotions to hide what he truly felt. He was almost never able to relax, especially out in public, constantly aware that even a smile could be misinterpreted. It placed unneeded stress on him, stress he sought to alleviate with fighting and sex.

It was getting more difficult to find those who would do the former with him, Lotor’s accomplishments with the sword and in the arena making the nobles leery of challenging him to duels. Only the most fool hardy challenged him now, brazen idiots whose confidence did not match up to their skill with the sword. It was pathetic, the fights over with quickly, Lotor turning to the arena for more challenge, more sports.

Every week, if not every day he fought, honing his skills, and sharpening his killer instinct. He wondered if he had a soul left to lose, Lotor thinking much of it had been shattered with the killings he had done as a small boy. He tried not to think of that time though, not wanting the memories of the fear and sadness to overwhelm him, not wanting to remember the moment when the killings made him feel empty inside.

A reaction from the crowd drew Lotor out of his thoughts, the prince turned expectantly towards one of the three gates that lined the walls of the arena. One was for the releasing of the robeasts, another the servant entrance for the slaves to come out to clean up the messes he made. And the third? It was for the gladiators, and was currently opening.

Human men stepped out, armed with shields and swords, gifts given to them by the prince himself, giving Lotor a fair if not overly challenging fight. These humans were not the gaunt, sickly men that so many favored when fighting in the arena. These men had been kept healthy, well fed and under worked, all for the purpose of giving them the illusion that they might have a chance at winning.

They were also men from Demos, identified as much by their uniforms as their red hair and blue eyes. Captured during one of the many wars with the rival Empire, Doom had many of these men rotting away in their dungeons. Lotor liked keeping them alive, all for the purpose of fighting him, the prince taking out the frustrations of a long harbored grudge out on these men.

The gate closed, and the five humans began moving, separating but not too far as they inched towards Lotor. He knew what they were intending to do, the men wanting to surround him, leave him open to their attacks from all sides. He wouldn’t let them, Lotor charging forward with a loud, bellow of sound.

Lesser men would have been intimidated to see a large Drule in full attack mode charging them, but these humans were used to fighting. War had hardened their hearts, and they had an added incentive to win. The king had promised they would go free if they could but only kill his son. Determination shown in their eyes, the men scattering as Lotor swung his sword.

He sliced through air, pivoting on his heel to meet the blade of one human who had not bothered to run very far. Their lazon blades clashed together, sending up warm sparks that cascading down onto their hands. They wore gloves so did not feel the burns, Lotor pressing down hard on the blade, bending back the man’s sword arm bit by bit.

The man gritted his teeth, glaring at Lotor. The prince sensed movement form behind him, and shoved hard, knocking the first man back. He was already turning, sword swinging around to meet the blade that had been about to bite into his shoulder. Swords rebounded off each other, Lotor twisting and parrying, before stabbing forth with his sword. The second man died with a gurgled out gasp, blood spitting up out of his mouth as his heart was impaled on Lotor’s blade.

The first man saw this, and did not hesitate, slashing open the back of Lotor’s uniform before the prince succeeding in removing his sword from his victim. The crowd let out a sound, voices as one as they went wild to see their prince earn an injury. Lotor could feel blood trickling down his back, but the cut was shallow enough that the prince did not feel concern.

Instead he looked at the one who had injured him, and the man already white from weeks spent in the arena’s dungeons, paled even further. Lotor allowed a smirk to curl his lips, the prince lunging towards the human, the man putting up a hasty defense with his shield. The shield was cheaply made, and did not stand up to the cleaving blow of Lotor’s sword, lazon splitting the metal into two halves.

The human was still gasping out his surprise when Lotor drove his sword into his throat, the tip coming out through the back of his neck. The eyes went lifeless as he watched, Lotor pulling his sword free with an arc of blood splattering onto him and his front. He didn’t react to the shower of blood, instead turning to look for the other three humans.

They had made it to the far side of the arena, one having abandoned his sword and shield to try and scale the smooth walls. He kept slipping, hands sliding down the smooth metal, and the crowd watching booed and jeered him, tossing down garbage to further impeded his actions.

Calm and patient like a panther, Lotor began stalking towards his next opponent. The two not trying to scale the wall were resigned to their fates, teaming up to duel Lotor simultaneously. It kept his blade on a constant move, Lotor’s sword rebounding off of one to strike into the other, making the crowd restless. A particularly hard blow from him had one of the human’s sword flying, the break he needed to work on demolishing the defense of the other.

While the one human went scrambling for his sword, Lotor killed the other one, an efficient blow that added more blood to his clothes. The smell of blood was thick about him, filling his nose with the sickening scent. To another Drule it would have been a heady experience, the blood a potent perfume that aroused and brought on the killing lust. But to Lotor all he could think of was sickness and death, his skin crawling as the blood soaked through his clothing and touched bare skin.

Lotor killed the other human just as the man was lifting his sword up off the sand, the prince not even pausing to watch the body land on the ground. Instead he walked to the last fool, the so called soldier still in a panic, still trying to climb the wall.

Catching the man by the back of his shirt, Lotor pulled, hauling him away from the wall. The man screamed like a girl, wild and fearful, Lotor throwing him down onto the sand. The man landed on his back, and before he could push himself up, Lotor’s foot was there, on his chest and pinning him down. His sword struck forward, the tip of it
pausing just between his eyes.

The crowd was cheering, yelling for him to finish off the final human. Lotor briefly looked up from his prey, his eyes seeking out his father’s box. The King was seated on his throne, a cup of wine in his hand, the man grinning down at his son. Their eyes met, and Zarkon gave the slightest inclination of his head, the message clear. Lotor did not hesitated, driving the sword into the man’s face, the excited crowd leaping to their feet, exploding into wild applause. They approved of how Lotor had killed the men, the prince listening to the thunderous applause as he drew back his sword, blood and gore on the blade.

He was careful not to look at the ruin of the human’s face, fearing that even that act of gruesome cruelty would prove too much for him. Instead he forced a smirk on his face, and lifted his sword high, the crowd going more wild. Lights flashed again, people taking pictures to commemorate this moment.

The human slaves were released, the men hurrying out into the arena, working to pick up the bodies of the Demos soldiers. Their remains would be packed up, shipped to Demos as another taunting message to their King. Lotor wondered why his father bothered, they just wasted ships and money on returning these bodies, the King of Demos hardly cowed into terror by the deaths.

He shook his sword, some of the blood flying free of the blade, Lotor walking towards the gladiator’s gate. Waiting on the other side would be other sword masters, the men wanting to congratulate the prince on his latest kill. Lotor would nod and allow them to clap him on the back, the men expressing how proud they were of him. He’d endure their talk, the men wanting to go over his latest kills, and through it all the urge to shower would be strong.

He stepped through the tunnel, aware that other humans turned expectant eyes towards his entrance. They couldn’t veil their disappointment, they had hoped that one of their comrades would have succeeded in killing Lotor tonight. It just meant their torments continued, the prisoners from Demos knowing that soon each of their own turns in the arena would come.

“That was some fight!” Cossack, a young Drule said, approaching Lotor with a mug of some kind of potent brew. Lotor nodded and took the mug, downing it’s bitter tasting contents in one swallow. “Thought you might be in some real trouble there for a moment when those two had you pinned between them.”

“It will take a lot more than that for these scum to kill our prince.” An approaching sword master replied, the others nodding their agreement. “Still…” The sword master continued, frowning at Lotor. “That was sloppy of you, allowing that one bastard to cut you open like that.”

” A minor wound.” Lotor shrugged it off, positive it had stopped bleeding.

“You’ll want to get it looked at all the same.” The sword master said, moving around Lotor to view his back. “You don’t want it to scar.”

“I dunno…” Cossack interjected with a grin. “Scars tend to be popular with the ladies…” Some of the more scarred sword masters nodded, smirking in agreement to what the young Drule had said.

“The prince is popular enough with the ladies to not need to resort to tricks.” The first sword master said.

Lotor listened to the good-natured laughter of the other men, inside squashing down his impatience. The blood was thick in his nose, to the point he wanted to choke and gasp for air. He was dying to get into the showers, and clean this filth off of him.

The sword masters were still talking, wanting to go into detail all the things he had done right and wrong in the last fight. Lotor stood there, tired and annoyed, listening to them prattle on, until at last they ran out of things to say. Nodding his good-byes, he strode towards the showers, already working to strip of his blood stained clothes.

He left a trail of ruined clothing from the holding cells to the showers, Lotor stepping inside a stall, and closing his eyes. For one all too short moment he felt at peace, the water pelting down on him, washing the filth from his body. He stood there under the water’s spray, keeping his mind calm, and not thinking about what he had done. When the last of the blood was gone from his body, only then did he turn of the shower, and reach for a towel.

He stalked into the changing room, slamming open his locker as he got out a fresh uniform. It was an exact duplicate of the outfit he used when fighting in the arena, Lotor pulling on the soft leather pants. Once dressed, he ran fingers through his wet hair, an absentminded attempt to restore some order to his unruly mane. The eighteen year old then gathered his sword, hooking it’s belt around his waist before heading towards one of the exits.

It was not to the castle that he chose to return, Lotor instead stepping out to a crowd of people who turned excited at his appearance. They were mainly fans of his, but among them were photographers, the paparazzi determined to get more pictures to publish in their news reports. He kept an impassive look to his face, Lotor posing for pictures, and signing autographs for his fans.

Women approached him, a huddle of five who giggled nervously as they smiled flirtatiously at him. They used the excuse of wanting an autograph to get close to him,
one pressing close to his side so that her large, soft breasts squished against his arm. She was posing for a picture with him, and took that opportunity to whisper a salacious offer to him.

Lotor looked over the women before her, noting that they were pretty enough for his tastes. He nodded, and the woman all but squealed, taking a possessive hold of his arm. Another woman tried to take his sword arm, but he chased her off, the prince not fool enough to leave himself defenseless. She pouted but seemed to understand, the five women crowding around Lotor as they began to lead him through the crowd of fans.

Disappointment was voiced, the remaining fans realizing Lotor had dismissed them to leave with the women. A cruiser was waiting for them, Lotor and the women getting in. It was crowded inside, the woman who had made the offer sitting in his lap. He didn’t care, wrapping his arms around her, and breathing in her scent. She had too much perfume on, but for once it was a blessing, distracting him from the blood that he swore still lingered on his skin.

The woman began touching him, twisting about to face him as she straddled his lap. The two on either side of him also began touching him, running their hands up and down his muscled arms. The remaining women who had the misfortune of sitting across from them could do nothing but watch jealously as their friends got first dibs on the arena star.

“You washed the blood off…” The woman on his lap sounded breathless, a pout on her lip as ran her fingers through his hair. “I wanted to see it on you….to lick it off with my tongue…” He repressed a shudder at her words, hardly turned on by the Drule’s idea of foreplay.

“You’re so talented with the sword…” Another said, peeling off his right hand’s glove. “You make it look so easy to kill.”

“That’s because it is easy.” Lotor told her, finding to his regret killing became easier with each person dead at his feet.

“Maybe for someone like you….” The woman said, and began licking at his bared fingers. He held back a hiss when she began sucking on the tip of his one finger, the woman teasing him in a manner reserved for a more specific body part.

“You’re a natural…” said the one on his left, nuzzling her face against his biceps. “You were born to fight, to kill…”

He didn’t like the words coming out of her mouth, Lotor fighting not to stiffen. She didn’t seem to notice, pressing kisses along his upper arm, the woman on his lap shifting her fingers so that she got a firm grip on his head. He let her take control, watching as she leaned in to kiss him, her lips pressing hard enough against his that he could feel the imprint of her teeth.

The left one’s words still bothered him, distracting him from the kiss. The woman on his lap senses his sudden lack of enthusiasm, pulling back with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He lied, and moved to pull her against his chest once more. This time he initiated the kiss, thrusting his tongue greedily into her mouth. She responded with a glad cry, her tongue being brought forward to duel with his. She wasn’t a docile woman, it simply wasn’t in a Drule’s nature to submit, the female battling him for control of the kiss.

It was almost more effort than it was worth, Lotor tired and wanting someone who would do as he asked without challenging him at every turn. He forced himself to gain control, his hands gripping her hair, holding her in place. She began letting out urgent whines in response to his kiss, wiggling in place on his lap. The soft leather offered no protection from her grinding movements, his cock getting the delightful pressure of her body and responding to it.

“Yes…” She sighed happily, her hands moving over his chest, rubbing one minute and pulling at the fabric of his shirt at the next. “Like that…..ooooh…” He didn’t know if she meant it, or was just playing to soothe his ego, but Lotor kept on kissing her, giving her tiny nips of her bottom lip that did not break the skin. “Harder…” She begged. “Make me bleed…”

Words that were an instant turn off to the prince, Lotor fighting back a frown. The smell of blood was bad enough, but to taste it was even worse, the prince kissing the woman, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth to silence her. He had no desire to bleed her, to bleed any woman, and to his shame he knew that made him less than a Drule. His father would be displeased if he learned about this defect of his, Lotor working his tongue in a hard motion that mimicked the thrusting he wanted to do with his cock.

The woman let out a frustrated sound, but did not try to bite him back. He was a prince after all, and whatever status she had was overridden by his. She could not bleed him without his expressed permission. Nor could she force him to bleed her, Lotor letting go of her hair, to slide his hands down her back. His found the curve of her ass and squeezed, the woman lifting up over him, her hands pulling up his shirt.

“When we get to the hotel, I want to see the wound that filthy human gave you.” She whispered huskily, the others voicing their excitement at such a thought. Lotor had no doubt they wanted to do more than see it, they’d touch it and run their tongues over it, try to get it to well out some of his precious blood. He could endure that much if it meant fucking them after.

“All right..” Lotor said, and she grinned, her hands dropping to his pants, working the fly open. She squealed happily when she saw his erection, and the two besides him turned greedy, reaching to grab at it as well. The one hovering over his lap growled out a warning, chasing the others’ hands away as she grasped hold of his cock.

It wasn’t that great a surprise that the woman on his lap wore no panties, the eager female already taking measures to seat herself on his erection. Lotor hissed, and shifted, beginning to bounce her on his shaft. She purred and mewled, moving with him, her body doing hard bounces up and down. The other four women watched enviously, eager for their turns and knowing they would have to wait until the cruiser reached the hotel.

Her perfume continued to cloud his senses, Lotor growling, his movements becoming more vigorous. He continued on fucking the female, right up to the point of his release, and never once did he bothered to find out any of their names. It didn’t matter, they didn’t matter, the women nothing more than groupies out for a quick thrill. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, one Lotor expected would have no lasting repercussions


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