The Escape at Chateau Morego

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

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The Great Count of Morego stood silently over the forlorn body, still gracious in admiring its firm stocky muscles as the unique but handsome being slept soundlessly at The Count’s sizeable feet.

The Count and his many guardsmen laid the hairless creatures with the large glowing white wings in the middle of the garden, under the moonlit stars. The Count desired a chance of scenery for the human-like creature he had christened Angelwings, an unusual being he had under lock and key for several months he kept hidden in a secluded chamber not far from the dungeon of the sprawling manor. The Count believed, with the festivities going on over in the nearby rolling hills the gray ambiguous skin covering the beast was more becoming of the night.

It was where The Count came across Angelwings for the very first time, at night, and in that particular garden. The Count was on his way to make good use of the young farmhands that doubles as lowly hustlers after the harvest moon in the nearby local villages. During at which time as The Count was leaving the chateau, his eye caught a shimmering flash of light dance down from the heavens above. The Count was anxious to ignore such a spectacle. His dark nature was throbbing at full staff, with the knowledge that somewhere out there in the nearby villages was an untouched peasant lad awaiting the nightly thrust of his doleful spear and viscid semen. He was very much undeterred until, from his angle, in the front, he saw the dash of light was moving towards the back of his manor.

The Count was concerned about his home, but not enough to change his plans, as he sent his servants to check the interior of the chateau for fire or any other indicators of a meteorite (meteor showers were prevalent in the area). As the Count waited to hear word back from the house, he snuck off into the courtyard of the midnight garden where he went to retrieve a boxed kit he kept in a bench for the nights he went out to seek the hustlers.

The Count was fortunate to come across the box, and in the nearby distance was Angelwings, naked, sprawled out on the ground, mildly disoriented.

The Count, though a tall heavy black man with a thick manicured goatee framing his supple lips, stood cautiously over the enormous being trying his hardest to reconcile its human-like features against his large spanning wings cropping out of his back and dull gray skin.

Oddly enough, not knowing whether the creature was a human in disguise or some kind of celestial being, The Count was nevertheless pleased with his universal looks. He sensed the feeling was quite mutual, with a look of pure lust burning red in the creature’s black eyes. Yet, The Count was unsure if he should indulge his perverse fantasies with Angelwings as he feared Angelwings might cause harm to him if the being were to reject him or his advances.

“Count,” The Count heard a voice called from the front of the manor. “Count!”

The Count, a usually calm and calculated man, suddenly became flustered, not knowing if moving the creature on his own might or might not be a wise move.

“There you are Count.” Dukor, a stout oatmeal-colored youthful-looking manservant appeared naked out of the chateau in a hurry towards His Count and the garden. “Morrow,” the head house servant, “has been looking all over for you. The manor is clear. Your chariot awaits you.

“Damn, the chariot,” The Count barked angrily at the only man he had ever truly trusted, knowing exactly what needed to be done in a secretive short period of time as The Count bent over to help the creature upright. “I need you to help me get this inside.”

Dukor, absolutely stumped in figuring out what “it” was, obliged by helping The Count lead the docile being into a room off the stairwell before descending totaling into the dark unexplored dungeon. It was there The Count and Dukor suspended the body of Angelwings in cuffs for both men to admire his flesh and strength.

“He’s quite exotic yet traditionally good-looking.” Dukor commented, with a fine mat of thick hair coving the front of his flat belly and spreading across his square chest.

“I agree…that is why it will be your job to stay in here and get him prepared while I am gone.”

“Gone where?” Dukor asked in an attempt to stop himself from getting the words out, knowing full well he was in no position to question the count of the manor.

“That, my boy, is none of your concern where I’m heading off to.” The Count offered offended.

At that late of hour, Dukor already knew his beloved count was primed to go into the village and satisfy his sexual appetite.

An insatiable need Dukor often felt he felt short of sating.

Dukor with his porksword dangling long and soft between his leonine thighs was more than a domestic servant to The Count. His roles included trusted confidant and submissive sex slave, being used at any given whim, without refusal, to pacify any perverse act The Count felt the need to inflict on him.

“Too bad for you,” Dukor offered to Angelwings after The Count retreated into the village. “After The Count has had his way with the man-whores that litter the back alleys, he will return refreshed and ready to reignite his fire at your expense.”

Dukor spent several minutes studying Angelwings intensely, as a whole, as the being hung off the wall. But Dukor soon found he had to stop short of drooling over the spitting cobra lazily nestled between his legs.

Without thinking, Dukor reached over for it, grabbing hold to it as if it was his own, slowly stroking it until it was hard and pointing straight forward.

“Feeling nice?” Dukor asked to the mounting backdrop of the elated whimpers coming from the captive.

Dukor descended onto his knees and onto the stone floor, holding the long-heated dick to his puckered lips. He stuck out his tongue, coating and massaging the fat mushroom head with tender swabs of saliva, eventually swallowing the large monster whole. It would have been a feat for anybody, but Dukor had long learned the secret of relaxing his tongue and opening his throat to yield to a hefty dick.

Dukor was impressed.

Not only of himself, but at the beast, that could hold out longer than The Count usually could, and that Angelwings dare tasted like the salty flesh of His Count.

Dukor began to suck even more furiously, closing his throat at certain places, hoping Angelwings willed his way to orgasm—if a creature like him could.

At last, in the mist of Angelwings growling in pleasure, Dukor felt the usual swelling of an already swollen dick in his mouth. And just as it was about to erupt, Dukor pulled his lips off him—a luxury The Count never granted him—and watched the powerful jets of creamy white stuff fly where it may, as Dukor listened to Angelwings pant.

“Thought I was going to drink your seed?” Dukor rose to his feet and asked with one of the smuggest looks a dastardly servant could even give. “There is a saying it is better to have had than lost than to never have had at all. Once, you had freedom out there. Then, to your dismay, The Count found you out there and now all you will ever know is pure hell. And as a parting gift to an even great gift you lost, I just released you of your final act of sheer pleasure.

Dukor walked over to a nearby table equipped with several small drawers. It was there, out of one of them, he pulled out an abnormally huge lifelike, two-toned black flesh colored dildo with a large helmet head and a thick skin covering otherwise deep veins running along the shaft with two-oversized orbs trapped in the loose folds of a sac. And out the other drawer, Dukor pulled out a small jar of off-white cream.

“You like?” Dukor asked, taking the stuff from the jar and smearing it onto the faux penis. “I made it from hardened gelatin and colored it to perfection using the soil and flowers from the gardens. Of course, it took me many of tries with the hardened gelatin, the coloring, and the carving to produce such a specimen.”

Dukor sat it on the table and walked over to the other side of the room where he gauged a small freestanding table stand against the waist of Angelwings floundering in the distance, trying to break free of the strains that were keeping him suspended.

“I take it you know what will come next, I see. Telling me you’ve had something up that gray bung of yours before?”

Dukor went about his business, taking the small table and sliding it behind Angelwings who was kicking violently to no good use. He was too far off the wall with the table directly behind him to do anything. The best he could do was bump against it from time to time, hitting it to his hurt and annoyance rather than knock it over.

“You tired yourself out, I see.” Dukor sated after Angelwings subsided in flailing his lower limbs.

Dukor went back over to the table with the drawers and pulled out another jar and a cloth, covering the cloth with the jar, and came behind Angelwings, moving the freestanding table over to the side, placing it over his nose and mouth.

Being that Angelwings appeared to be hanging like a bat sleeping upright, Dukor knew better. He knew from experience the beast and his other sense were keen and wide awake, if not heightened by the sudden droopiness of his heavy eyes and the temporary paralysis of his strong limbs.

“My Count asked me to prepare you for him…and that is exactly what I plan on doing.” Dukor said, standing behind the captive with the greased dildo.

Dukor teased Angelwings with the huge thing, sliding it up and down his crack and teasing at his entrance, letting Angelwings know that insertion was only a moment away. Dukor took one hand spreading open his butt checks to get an exact location of his ground zero, as he began to push the slimy thing into the strange being. Angelwings was stubborn at first, as much as a sleeping hole could be, before Dukor unyieldingly rammed the dildo into him in one vicious thrust. In spite of the sedative, Angelwings jumped and yelped while Dukor slid the table underneath him to hold the dildo in place.

“If you think this is cruel and unusual, The Count has a true sense of hell to offer.”

Dukor was right. The Count came home, and he worked over his newly awakened conquest. He began moving Angelwings from his suspended state to the large slab table, placing his arms in retrains next to his body and bound his poor legs and feet to two separate planks connected to the table, like fingers to a hand. The Count initiated Angelwings into his world by covering the heavenly creature from head to toe in his post-nutt piss stored from the fourth hustler he had mastered that night. The Count used some of the acrid liquid and started to rub it around the recently unplugged, still-lubed hole

Despite the dildo, his hole snapped back into a tight puckered mystery. The more The Count was able to work his hole open the more fingers he was able to thrust into him until he had his full hand inside of him, trusting and turning it with deep sobs of exhale coming from his winged captive creature.

It was on the brink of being uncontrollable sobs when The Count offered his forearm, causing sweat to roll off of man and beast as Angelwings started to breathe harder and deeper with each invading inch, squeezing harder and tighter than ever before. And as The Count took the harsh role as his bully, punching in and out of his insides, Angelwings began to find a reluctant pleasure in his searing pain causing a flurry of distaste and confusion when he came again.

…and that was just the beginning.

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Many of seasons had come and gone. The Count had meticulously molded Angelwings to subject to his perverse whims. And whenever The Count felt Angelwings had become too comfortable in conforming to his deepest darkest desires, The Count found a way to muster many more deviant impulses.

The Count was in the throws of passion one night with Angelwings, ramming his large schlong between the whimpering lips of Angelwings’ quivering butthole when their entire world was shattered. Dukor had come in, interrupting their tryst to announce that the region was under siege by the neighboring countrymen. Up until then, it had been many days since Dukor had laid eyes on Angelwings, who he had graciously befriend over the months, frequently bathing him and taking care of his own otherwise deprived carnal desires whenever The Count left the chateau for any substantial amount of time.

The Count did not act to kindly to this news. Not of the pending war of the land, but to a mere manservant interrupting him in his rhythm and stride. The Count scolded Dukor, pulling out of Angelwings to strike the manservant with his hand over and over again. It wasn’t uncommon for The Count to strike Dukor, in private or in public, but this time The Count was relentless in knocking Dukor down onto his knees.

“You stupid, stupid, degenerate!” The Count gnarled after one of his blows caused Dukor’s nose to bleed. “Come here little fuck! This will teach you to interfere with Your Count.”

The Count then grabbed Dukor by the strains of his short, cropped hair and forced his mouth onto his groin.

It was practically unbearable to hear the demonic gurgling filling the room, with Dukor gagging and choked on it, trying to breathe for his dear life. For a short while after, it looked as if Dukor stopped breathing as The Count held him by the throat with both hands, offering only the sound of his dick working over his wet open mouth, fucking it until he came—finally letting go of his chokehold.

As all this was going on, Angelwings’ was bound to the slab, trying to free his limbs. Though there was nothing new or peculiar about the way The Count acted, especially towards him, Angelwings was disgusted by the way it looked when he was inflicting it on someone else for the very first time. Angelwings was enraged, attempting to break out of his restraints and help his friend. And then something wonderful happened.

Instead of breaking through the restraints like he wanted, Angelwings had melted through them, still leaving the cuffs intact. He soon realized this and got up. Rather than walking over to him, though, like he thought he could, he flew over to The Count, who had already begun his second round of assaults on Dukor.

The scuffle was brief. It appeared, at first, Angelwings was overpowering the man that had violated him for many months but was quickly subdued by his larger-than-life wings fluttering about in a relatively small room. The Count grabbed Angelwings by the cusp of his pinion and manhandled him into the stone wall. In an even quicker effort, The Count grabbed a nearby sedative and threw it into Angelwings’ face, soon weakening the raging beast.

The Count, though private about his dealings in that particular room and in the nearby dungeon, called for his guardsmen to haul the sleeping creature back out into the midnight garden.

It was out there The Great Count of Morego stood over his forlorn body, still a great admirer of his stocky muscularity that made up the winged beast he called Angelwings, with a silver sword in his hand. He couldn’t live with an unruly subject. Yet, he couldn’t dispose of him in the chateau because blood and death was an unbearable stench to get rid of, something of an unfortunate experience The Count knew all too well.

The Count had his sword in hand ready to dole out death when Dukor grew a conscious and interfered once more. The Count paused on his behalf, as it appeared he was contemplating his words, before Dukor felt the wrath of The Count swinging his sword at him. He was startled his beloved count would turn on him so easily after so many years together. Even more damning was that the guards Dukor had befriended over the years stood by idly, like he was some sort of sworn enemy of The Count. Dukor understood they were men of The Count, hired to defend him at all costs but, he had shared so much of his adult life with them, and the bonds that came with growing together, he thought it meant something. Especially since with him and the beast out of the way, it meant The Count was more likely to pursue the hunky men to quench his sexual thirst.

Dukor was backed into a corner against the chateau with the guardsmen surrounding him and The Count swinging his blade at him. The Count was about to plunge for the merciless kill when Dukor saw the man he saw as his master and torturer eyes bulge out his socket, with death at his back. For it was. Angelwings had grabbed a dagger from an unbeknownst guard and stabbed The Count with it, causing him to stagger wildly before ultimately falling to the ground.

And before the guards could intervene, Angelwings grabbed Dukor and flew off towards the moon and landed in a densely wooded area on the other side of the rolling hills.

“You killed him.” Dukor said trembling the moment he had both feet on the ground.

Angelwings looked down upon Dukor, fully taking in the significance in their respective heights. While it didn’t easily permit, Angelwings leaned forward and kissed Dukor. And in spite of the vertical awkwardness the kiss felt natural on both parts, with each hungry mouth wanting more of the other. Angelwings then took Dukor by his solid middle and straddled him to his waist, slowly entering into his seasoned abyss. Dukor began to groan instantly the more his moistened hole began to become more impaled on the dick, twisting roughly for his pleasure. Angelwings met his mouth, withdrawing entirely and the pushing back in. The more Dukor panted and moan the more Angelwings pumped into him with even greater fervor. Eventually the sensation became too much, leaving Angelwings to buy his long-yearning seeds into the now former manservant.

Angelwings was heavily spent, waiting for the swelling inside of Dukor to subside before pulling out, and helping him to the ground.

▪           ▪           ▪

As Angelwings awoke groggily and heavily spent on the ground from their tryst, his eyes awoke to Dukor standing over him with a sword.

“You were sweet, but I must avenge my lover.”