Chapter Text
Prince Tibor sat down on the grand chaise that had been brought to the courtyard for him. He situated himself comfortably, sighed, and then turned towards the prisoner and the executioners. He had discovered years ago that executions were best done outside prior to a heavy rain. Every time his sage cleric warned him of heavy weather, Tibor called forth the longest-standing criminal sentenced to death.
That morning, storm clouds hung heavy above their heads, casting a moody darkness across the beautiful, green courtyard. Tibor’s brother, the King, kept it full of flourishing, flowering plants and Tibor thanked the corpses of their dead for the color. Against the dark grey skies, the green of the bushes and vines beamed with vibrance. In the middle of it all, a shaking man was knelt between four guards, mumbling prayers to a God that didn't care to listen.
“Paul the Younger,” Tibor’s big, dark eyes fell on the man. He couldn't have been older than thirty, the youngest of four brothers and the least successful. In and out of the Rathaus for years, charge after charge after charge of sodomy, rape, battery, and theft. “Tell me again, man, what crime you've committed against crown and country?”
“P-Please,” Paul panted. “Please, don't do this. Don't do this— I’ll work! I’ll work until the day I die!”
“You'll work until the moment you die, yes,” Tibor nodded. One strand of long, brown hair tickled his jaw as he cocked his head to the side. “You've earned this death, Paul. Remind me of your crime, and remember I will not ask again.”
Paul shuddered. He imagined he may have pissed himself were he not dehydrated. “I s-stole from… and disgraced a-a wealthy man…”
“No,” Tibor said. He tried not to smile as the man started to cry out of fear. Shivering, he had tears rolling down his cheeks, and the sight of his misery alone…
“I laid with the Baliff’s daughter whilst she slept,” the man’s breath heaved, like he was fighting not to drown. Tibor nodded to one guard, and the man produced keys to unlock Paul’s cuffs. Immediately, he rubbed the raw skin of his wrists, averting his eyes from the Bloody Prince Tibor.
“No,” Tibor repeated. “Twice you've lied to me. Tell me the truth, or I’ll instead leave you outside to starve and be slowly, painfully eaten by crows.”
Paul sobbed, rubbing his face with his hands. The tears in his eyes seemed to blind him. “God! Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus—”
“Tell me the truth, Paul!” Tibor shouted, raising his voice for the first time that day, and Paul seemed to startle like an animal. It was delicious. He gasped for breath and shivered with his cries, but he was frozen with fear before Tibor.
Swallowing, Paul spoke lowly to say, “I put herb paris in young Aranka’s tea so she would not wake when I laid with her. I f…” He lost his courage and closed his eyes.
Tibor urged, “Go on, Paul,” and leaned forward. If he had the man alone, he would already have buried himself in the man’s anus and violated his last strength as a man. But God was watching, and as the judge of criminals acting in His name, Tibor had to honor God first, and the law close behind.
“I fucked her. Hard.” Like he was glad to admit it, Paul raised his eyes to Tibor’s. The Prince savored the color of life in them. “I fucked her until I spent, and then I fucked her until she woke up. But I ran, and she didn't remember my face. She didn't think it was me. Th… Mother Mary, forgive us sinners, forgive me God… Then… Then when she was… heavy… with child, I took a club to her stomach until I knew the child was dead.”
“Disgusting,” Tibor smiled. He couldn't help it. The image of this meek, miserable man beating a woman to death had him excited, and for that, he was sorry— the Baliff’s daughter was innocent and he prayed for her soul— but enacting punishment on this man would be particularly rewarding. He said, in his princely voice, “You are a disgusting man, Paul the Younger. You escaped the noose for nigh a decade now, escaped my every attempt to hold you for your crime… and now you have murdered the Baliff’s daughter.”
“Lord in Heaven, forgive me!” Paul the Younger looked to the sky. Thunder rumbled in the heavy clouds.
“God won't hear from a sinner,” Tibor stood from his lounge. “And now I have to purify you… Remove his clothing.” The guards— the executioners— obeyed without pause. Paul squirmed away from their gloved hands, crying like a virginal girl as they pulled from him his tunic and hose, ripping his underthings without care. Tibor stood before Paul the Younger and grabbed his soft, dangling cock in his hand. “If you grow aroused from my questions, God begs you to take my cock. If you remain limp, your body remains that of a man, and not my bitch. Do you understand, Paul?”
The man nodded weakly. He was held in his feet only by the guards beside him and not by his own strength. Already, he could feel heat in his loins from the rough touch of the Prince.
“How many men did you defile?”
Paul frowned. In the first bit of real courage since his arrest, he asked, “How many did I fuck, or how many didn't ask for it?”
The Prince fought back a smile and the urge to smack the damned criminal. “How many men did you sodomize?”
“I’ve stuck my prick in at least thirty men,” Paul spat out his words, “You've only got me for ten.”
Tibor nodded to the guards on the man’s left. The first pulled Paul the Younger’s left arm taut. The criminal braced for the pain of his shoulder's dislocation, or an attack to his side. Instead, Tibor asked, “How many men asked for it? How many of those bitched sodomites asked you to… 'stick your prick’ in their anuses?”
Paul felt his loins throb instinctively at the memories and could only pray Tibor didn't feel the heartbeat in his member. “Maybe half,” he admitted in a low voice.
“You've ruined their souls,” Tibor said gently. He wished he were alone with Paul the Younger, this particular wretch would have been so delicious to play with. “A bitched man will never reach God’s side, did you know that?” The man nodded. Tibor repeated, “You knew the immortal soul of a sodomized man would be dragged to Hell, and you sodomized thirty men still?”
Gritting his teeth, Paul whimpered at the feeling of the Bloody Prince squeezing his cock and balls, tugging hard to make him gasp. “Yes, my lord,” he murmured. To the sky, he said, “Yes, Good Lord.”
“And you're proud of this, Paul the Younger…” Tibor could feel the swell of the cock in his hands. His grip had softened, letting blood rush into it, and the member began to shudder in his hand. He held the man’s gaze as he nodded. Tibor looked to the left executioners and gave a sharp nod.
He watched the executioner behind the criminal raise his sword— short, but heavy, and sharpened beyond any blade for war. In one strong downward swing, he drove the sword into the man’s arm, just above his elbow. It cleaved through his skin and muscle and struck the bone so hard it broke.
Pain bloomed through Paul’s mind, radiating from his arm. He turned his head to watch the shine of a blade as it struck his arm a second time… and all he could think to do was wail as that second strike split his arm from his body. He saw blood, red blood, red muscle, bone. White bone. He screamed. He screamed so hard his body shuddered, and he tried to reach for the man holding the blade, but his hand was simply gone, and instead he felt blood oozing from the stump.
Tibor loved the animal sounds of a man in pain. A moan grew in his chest, hidden by the screams of the bleeding man. “You're aroused,” he said. Paul, shocked and sobbing, glanced down to his cock. It was so hard that its head was purple. Tibor asked, “How much gold have you stolen from men?”
To his disappointment, Paul the Younger didn't answer. Yanking the prisoner’s cock with one hand, Tibor grabbed his dark hair in the other and forced his eyes from his flailing, bleeding stump to the Prince’s face. “How much gold have you stolen?”
“The Lord is with thee! Blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus!” He wailed, “Jesus Christ, the fruit of thy womb! Jesus Christ, pray for us sinners! Pray for us now and in the hour— pray—!”
“Enough to buy ten horses?” Tibor raised his voice shaking the man’s head in his fist, “Fifteen horses? Twenty?! How much gold have you stolen, Paul the Younger!”
Tears running down his face and snot on his lip, Paul the Younger cried, “Fifty! Fifty horses! I've been a thief my whole damn life! A hundred horses! Two hundred!” Panting, he could only shiver with the way the guards around him held him upright. He would have collapsed otherwise.
“You're still aroused. You've destroyed livelihoods and your cock is throbbing,” Tibor’s hand, smooth from never working a day’s labor, stroked the man’s cock. Paul made a horrified, undignified noise that sent lightning through Tibor's body to his royal loins.
Paul watched as the Bloody Prince gave a nod to the men behind the prisoner. They pulled his arm taught, and he tried to flinch away in anticipation of the pain. It didn't work. It shot through his body and he cried out again. His chest was heaving as the sword’s second strike cleaved his right arm from his shoulder.
His cock was dripping. Tibor stopped himself from tasting the miserable dribble that spilled from its delicious little slit. After a deep breath, stroking the man’s hair to soothe him, Tibor said, “God wants you to pay for sins, Paul the Younger. I will make you pay for your sins on this Earth, and the Good Lord will make you pay for your sins in Hell.”
“Please!” Paul the Younger howled like an animal in agony. He wasn’t sure what he was begging for. To be released? To be killed? For it to be swift, maybe. For Tibor to be merciful. He pleaded, “Anything! I’ll do anything!”
“We’re going to bleed you like a pig,” Tibor told him with a laugh. “There's nothing you can do, you poor wretch.”
Tibor backed away from the miserable, bleeding man. Gushes of red blood still spurted with the beat of his head from his stumped arms, which he moved as though he were trying to rub his face with hands he no longer possessed. It made Tibor hungry to gnaw on the edge of his amputation, taste the bone and the blood. He would never consume any flesh but that of the Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, but men cried out like animals when teeth dug into their skin. Tibor imagined how much the bitch would cry if he spat its own blood and flesh into its face.
The Bloody Prince nodded to the executioners. Two men grabbed Paul the Younger’s body and hauled him to the edge of a sturdy wooden table and bent him over it. His head hung off one side of the dark wood, and his ass was presented on the other. He was to terrified to argue and too weak to fight, but after his time as a proud sodomite, he knew what was going to happen to him. He was proven correct as Tibor wasted no time lining his manhood with the man’s hole and, yanking his cheeks apart, speared him with his cock.
Paul cried out like he was dying even faster than he was, squeaking like an animal in its death throes. Tibor spat on his cock and shoved back in. It was dry, dragging uncomfortably on Tibor’s throbbing, hungry member.
The Prince’s cock was, at its hardest, nearly the length of his forearm, and was at least as wide as his wrist; he had heard the guards present during trials and punishments refer to it as a “bitchbreaker” and Tibor was rather fond of that. Not only did he carve out bitches, but he broke them beyond repair. He was going to break Paul much the same.
“Pray your Hail Mary, you cunt!” Tibor growled. He waited until the man had started his prayer to impale him again, this time refusing to let up until he had torn through the inner ring and could feel the man’s innards embracing his cock.
“Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee!” Paul whimpered. His grating voice dipping from murmuring to shouting as he recited the prayer. “Blessed art thou among women and the fruit of they womb, Jesus Christ. Pray for us sinners now and in the hour of our death, Amen! Lord, God, amen!”
After spitting on the hole and his cock, Tibor slapped his meaty cock against the prisoner’s ass, finding his hole and probing it with a cruel curiosity. He felt it fluttering as the tip of his cock breached once more, this time wetter and more receptive, like a filthy sinner’s used arse was meant to be. If Tibor had this bitch alone…
After the man’s third Hail Mary, Prince Tibor looked to one of the executioners that had yet to bloody his blade, this one carrying a curved sword. Paul watched him approach and tried to beg once more, only for Tibor to grab him by the hair and yank him backwards to expose his neck.
The executioner sliced his blade across the prisoner’s throat with a clean, swift cut that left Paul the Younger gasping. His mouth spat blood, his neck bubbling as it aspirated. Tibor wished he could see the terror in the meat’s eyes. He hoped the executioners and guards were enjoying it, and that at least a few of them would be tugging their filthy cocks as soon as they had the chance. Some day soon, he would demand they fuck his prisoners again— the only reason he had ever stopped was because one guard had brought a venereal disease to the entire complement.
“Pay your crimes,” Tibor said to the prisoner that deserved far more than just one cock violating his body. He was alive and squirming, but his every movement was weaker than the last, and his filthy anus was loosening.
The sky opened up. Rain pattered slowly at first once… twice… before a bucket was poured onto the lands from the clouds above. Tibor relished it, watching the man’s cut limbs struggle to lift himself as the bloody ground turned to mud, washing away his filth and his blood.
“Pay for your sins,” Tibor shouted over the rain.
The meat under him gurgled. He struggled to breath, to think, to scream, and to grab. It was clear he was trying to escape from the assault on his virgin anus, but Tibor was not to be deterred, especially by the weakest, armless cunt bitch purified by blood for his cock alone.
“Die for your crimes!” Tibor growled. He thrust hard into the ailing body. He started hard and stayed hard, his cock demanding nothing less than a brutal, bruising place. The meat suffered, squirming, throbbing, fighting him. Its efforts only excited Tibor.
He reached forward and grabbed the man’s dark hair and pulled him up. Blood gushed from his throat and his mud covered face twisted with pain. “Face judgement!” Tibor panted out, his round stomach embracing the bare back of his victim.
A crack of thunder shook the sky. The Prince dropped the body and let it still. With his own knife, sharpened for executions alone, Prince Tibor lifted the man’s head and hacked at it, making quick work of his flesh. The bone was harder, but Tibor had been lucky to strike at the right angle, and his knife slid through without a twisted fight. He let the head fall from the table to the mud and kept fucking the body, staring at its stumped arms shifting with his every thrust. His climax hit hard and thunder rumbled over them as he sprayed his seed inside the corpse’s anus.
Tibor stood, softening cock still throbbing with hubs thundering heart. He sniffed, looking upwards into the rain while he fixed his hose. He clasped his hands, taking one knee facing away from the corpse with his cum buried in its guts, and said a prayer to the Almighty God.
To his Captain of the Guard and Prison Master, he said, “He has faced judgement, our Lord God forgives him, and the Crown has been satisfied. Have at him, but send the knacker to my Cave with his head.”