Galad was a man of principles, married wholeheartedly to his duty. Few could stand to replace him among the Brothers in the Order today. And of those, none could stand in his place and be so steadfast a bulwark for the Order as he.

He was the iron gate—the indefatigable wall—that barred passage to and from the unclean world beyond and the sanctuary of the faithful that lay behind. He wore his station as a badge of honor and bore solemnly the burden of responsibility that rested on his shoulders as the knight-captain of the Knights Protector.

Galad was diligent and just. He was faithful and devout. He held to the Scriptures as best as he could, remaining humble and austere in the course of fulfilling his duties.

He observed the modesty and restraint that were expected of the Mirellian Church’s brightest children and expected his men to do the same. To that end, he was strict and harsh, but only as far as he needed to be to ensure that his subordinates were following the Church’s teachings as was only right.

And yet, Galad was only human. Though none would contest that his discipline was anything but ironclad, that his will was as solid as the foundations of the very fortress that he protected, he had his weaknesses. There was no such thing as an impregnable wall, least of all those that surrounded a man’s mind and heart.

It was Galad’s self-control that doomed him. Vows of celibacy didn’t protect him—they gave him a blind spot. When the taint that Vayne had been spreading in the Order touched him, his very pride locked him into a cage that he would never willingly break free of.

He repressed his lust. He swallowed his desires. Day by day he labored to suppress the arousal that inflamed his passions, reciting prayers in the hopes that they would ward away the evil—the sweet temptation pulsing in his breeches.

Galad fought the insistent need between his legs. Morning and night, he waged war against his own body. The battles were fierce—near as fierce, he imagined, as the skirmishes fought by the other knights against real demons on the battlefield.

He thought that he was winning. With every day that he did not succumb, he thought he came closer and closer to victory. Though the battles only became more difficult, he saw it as a sign that he was nearing the end of his tribulations—that he would emerge on the other side a stronger and more faithful knight of the Order for his efforts.

Galad was wrong. Every day that he did not succumb, the pressure only built. Like a stoppered kettle, it was only a matter of time before he blew.

His suppressed desires coiled tight inside him, ready to spring free at the slightest provocation. He ignored the sensation and dove into his work, failing to realize how close the danger was, how imminent his defeat.

Galad was all but unprepared when it happened. He was so wound up, so in denial of his desires that when his squire gave him a little push in just the right direction, he came wholly undone.

Every ounce of lust and arousal he’d suppressed spilled out of him. It broke him. It shattered his pride. He fell into a cycle, depravity one day, and cloying guilt the next. On and on it went.

Galad sought the pleasure he’d denied himself for so long as if he were a man parched halfway to death, and then brutally castigated himself for giving in when control returned. Except, those moments of lucidity gradually shortened, clarity of mind and purpose becoming increasingly sparse and fleeting as he sank deeper into the morass of his repressed desires.

He was floundering, swimming for the shore even as half of him tried to pull him under. It was in this state that Vayne found him, struggling to keep his head above the muck, barely holding on.

Galad thought that Vayne had come to give him succor. Perhaps it was not his fault that things had gone so far—perhaps it was the influence of demons and not his own desires.

Though they’d had their differences in the past, he saw the hand Vayne offered as his salvation. He never imagined that it would push him deeper instead—that it would drag him into an abyss from which there would be no return.

---

The look on Galad’s face was priceless. The faint fear, the guilt, the conflict and unmistakable arousal—Vayne couldn’t overstate the sheer satisfaction that he felt.

Proud, principled Brother Galad, stalwart of the Order and vicious guard dog of Fort Radiance, was now firmly dancing to his tune. The man could have stood up at any point, could have pushed him out and resisted his influence, but here Galad still was.

The supposedly-stern Knight-Captain of the Knights Protector was hunched over his exposed cock with flushed cheeks and parted lips, taking shallow, ragged breaths as his arousal twitched against Vayne’s foot. “Brother…” he said, practically moaning the word.

Vayne chuckled, the corner of his mouth turning upward in a smirk. He flexed his toes, rubbing the big one up and down the side of Galad’s cock. “Could you, perhaps, be forgetting something, Brother?” he said coyly.

Galad turned his gaze up to meet Vayne’s eyes. He frowned and tilted his head. “W-what could that be, Brother?” he said.

Vayne flashed his teeth in an impish little grin as he teased Galad’s arousal with his foot. “Are you not the responsible one, Brother? Surely, you should know,” he said.

Galad’s brow furrowed. It was almost cute, the way his face scrunched up as he wracked his head for the answer to the question that Vayne had posed. A minute passed, however, and Galad seemed just as confused as when the question was asked. “I… I don’t know what you mean, Brother,” he said.

Vayne shook his head, feigning disappointment. “I would have thought that the illustrious Brother Galad would be more knowledgeable as regards Scripture.”

He bent forward at the hip. Even with his legs stretched out in front of him, he had no issues doing so. Preternatural flexibility was another of the gifts that his time with the hellborn had endowed. “What are the prescriptions about one’s workplace, Brother?” he asked with a smirk.

Galad frowned again. “One should keep it neat and tidy at all times. Messes are not to be tolerated as they reflect an unruly mind and cleaning is an opportunity to meditate and reflect…” he trailed off, seemingly with a better idea of what Vayne was getting at, now.

Vayne chuckled. “And would you not say that you have made a mess?” he said as he traced the underside of Galad’s cock with the tip of his big toe.

“Y-yes, Brother,” said Galad, his eyes widening as he finally came to understand. He made to push Vayne’s feet off his lap but stopped when Vayne clicked his tongue.

“B-Brother, I must grab a rag to wipe my… my…” He gulped audibly, his cheeks taking on a tinge of pink. “I-I can’t clean my mess unless you let me up.”

Vayne scoffed. “Why waste a perfectly good rag, Brother?” he said with a cocked eyebrow.

The comment gave Galad pause. He squinted at Vayne, his cock flagging as he tried to parse what was said. “Then what would you have me use, Brother?” he said.

Vayne’s smirk grew. “Have you not already dirtied your tongue with your untruths today, Brother?” he said as Galad’s eyes widened in comprehension and horror. “As soiled as your tongue is already, it would make little difference if you soil it further with the mess that you’ve made.”

“B-Brother you go too far with your japes,” said Galad, looking and sounding genuinely consternated although his suddenly hard and throbbing cock betrayed his true thoughts about the prospect.

“Did my tone give you the impression that I was speaking in jest, brother?” said Vayne sternly. “If so, I apologize. But I was being quite serious.”

“I-it would be improper, Brother!” Galad protested as his eyes darted briefly to the globs of white splattered all over Vayne’s foot.

“So is speaking mistruths,” said Vayne with a little smirk. “To say nothing of attempting to hide perverse desires—desires that very well constitute relevant information to a Brother that is investigating the possibility of demonic incursion.”

Galad visibly blanched but his cock only got harder still. A glob of pre-cum dripped off his tip onto Vayne’s big toe.

“Perhaps your confessor should hear from me,” said Vayne. “Though, on the other hand, your actions are so unbecoming of a Brother of this Order, much less the Knight-Captain of the Knights Protector… Perhaps a conversation with the Lord Commander might be more suitable…”

Galad paled. The horror in his eyes was genuine—and priceless. There was also understanding there. He knew what Vayne was doing. And yet his cock seemed only stiffer for it. “Brother, you can’t… Please… You mustn’t tell anyone else…” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Then do your duty,” said Vayne, squeezing the shaft of Galad’s hard cock between his big toe and the one after that. “If you do a good job cleaning your mess off my foot, then I shall consider it your penance done and forget any malfeasance that I may have witnessed.”

Galad swallowed audibly, his cock visibly straining as he took Vayne’s cum-splattered foot in his hands. He made to lift it to his face but Vayne yanked his foot back. “Brother, what…?”

Instead of responding, Vayne just smirked and lowered his leg to the floor. He placed his heel against the stone and wiggled his toes. “Go on, then,” he said.

The way the faint hint of pink in Galad’s cheeks darkened to a rich shade of scarlet as he realized just what Vayne was asking him to do was nothing short of priceless. It was incredible.

The only other time Vayne had ever seen Galad so embarrassed was the time when one of their fellow novices—at the time—made away with Galad’s clothes while he was washing himself. He had to suppress a laugh at the memory. He remembered it as vividly as if it were yesterday.

The young Galad—naked, shivering, dripping wet, and bright red from head to toe as he desperately tried to cover up—running through the halls of the novice quarters had been quite a sight to behold. It was a pity that his younger self had been too much of a devoted dork that he failed to appreciate the sight for what it was.

Indeed, the younger Vayne had felt so guilty about laughing at the incident that he’d spoken about it in confession with their then-Rector. It resulted in not just the culprit being punished, but Galad as well, allegedly for showing something shameful and potentially inciting impure thoughts in the other novices by running naked through the halls.

If looks could have killed, Vayne would have been buried and long gone. The baleful glare that Galad had given him upon returning from the Rector’s study was what taught Vayne the meaning of hatred.

That fury was absent this time. Galad could barely even raise his gaze to meet Vayne’s as he slid onto the floor, his knees landing with a dull thud on the stone. He leaned forward onto his hands and lowered himself to the floor until his face was level with Vayne’s foot.

It was amusing. Galad’s form was perfect, pretty much the ideal half push-up. He was debasing himself, literally lowering himself, and he couldn’t help but maintain the proper form.

Though his arms were steady, a faint tremor disturbed Galad’s otherwise textbook form as he pressed his lips against the side of Vayne’s foot. It could have been anger, but the spike in the scent of arousal wafting off Galad’s body suggested otherwise as far as Vayne was concerned.

The sensation of Galad’s hot, wet tongue tracing the contour of the side of his foot sent a chill up Vayne’s spine. The pleasure went straight to his cock, making it throb in the confines of his breeches.

It wasn’t a novel experience in the slightest. Vayne had done as much and worse under his Master’s tutelage. He just never imagined how good it could feel to have his “rival” prostrate and worshipping his foot.

The rush of it was incredible. He felt powerful. And he supposed that compared to the men of his Order, these poor repressed souls that couldn’t even begin to imagine the world of pleasure that had been denied them until he came around to teach them, he was.

Galad’s trembling only worsened as he dragged his tongue along Vayne’s foot. His chest heaved with every hot, ragged breath, arousal wafting from his body in thick, intoxicating waves.

Vayne tilted his head back and groaned, giving himself a moment to simply enjoy the sensation of Galad’s tongue on his foot. He had to wonder if the other man thought he was being slick, dragging his tongue over parts of his foot that were never touched with cum.

He kicked his foot lightly, giving Galad a bit of a jolt. It had the desired effect as the other man looked up at him in askance, a clear desire to get back to what he was doing in his eyes.

“How does it feel, Brother?” said Vayne as the corner of his mouth turned up in a self-satisfied little smirk. He had a few guesses about how things could go once he leaned into provocations but judging by the way that Galad reacted to his question—with an audible hitching of breath—he was pretty confident that the outcome would be the one he hoped for.

Galad took a moment to respond. When he did, he broke from Vayne’s gaze and looked down. “…Unbecoming of my station,” he murmured.

The words were spoken so softly that Vayne might have missed them if not for his enhanced hearing. Of note, however, was that Galad made no attempt to extricate himself despite the admission.

Vayne lightly kicked his foot and to his delight, Galad understood what was expected of him. “You aren’t wrong, Brother,” he said with a light laugh. “Imagine what the others would say if they were to see you right now.”

Galad paused. “I-it does not bear thinking about, Brother,” he said, sounding genuinely aghast at the prospect despite the sudden arousal that his scent betrayed.

Vayne gave Galad leave to continue, enjoying the feeling of that hot, wet tongue along the top of his foot. After a minute or so, he pressed on. “I must admire your resolve,” he said casually as if expressing an idle thought when he’d chosen the line carefully.

“M-my resolve, Brother?” said Galad, lifting his head from Vayne’s foot to meet Vayne’s gaze for a moment before turning his attention back to his work.

“Yes. Your resolve. Your ability to surrender your dignity and your pride,” said Vayne, allowing a hint of arrogance into his words. “One would think the indignity and humiliation of licking your greatest rival’s feet difficult to swallow.”

Galad flushed a deep scarlet. At a loss for words, he just dragged his tongue in careful lines along the length of Vayne’s foot. He slurped up every smear of jism that he came across, his arousal growing with each drop and splatter that he had to swallow.

Come to think of it, the largely one-sided rivalry that Galad had with Vayne and Arthur intensified shortly after the stolen clothes incident.

---

All the novices were punished for their part in the matter. It was improper to take delight in the misfortune of their fellows, after all. They were made to clean the novice quarters top to bottom twice over, and the Rector was meticulous in checking whether even a single speck of dirt had been missed.

The perpetrator, of course, wasn’t spared. He was made to clean the latrines, instead. The stink that clung to him was so potent that he was forced to take supper away from all the others lest he spoil their appetites.

Galad, on the other hand, got it the worst of all the novices. Modesty was a core tenet of the Church and by running buck-naked through the halls of the novice quarters, he had committed a wrong so great he was punished more severely than the culprit despite being the victim.

He was made to copy the Scriptures three times in their entirety while kneeling before the altar at the chapel next to the novice quarters. Though he excelled in his physical training, he struggled with his education. He was notorious for his poor handwriting and borderline illiteracy and, consequently, he had to start over a handful of times.

It took Galad the better part of a year to see his sentence through and even then, he only escaped because the Rector finally took pity on him. After the ordeal, Galad changed. His obsession with “defeating” Vayne and Arthur returned with a vengeance. He threw himself into his training and his studies, never parted from one of his personally scribed copies of Scripture for very long.

His efforts were not without fruit. His drive saw him rise through the ranks quickly. He was the first among his fellows to become Knight-Captain, and of the illustrious Knights Protector, too.

---

“It must have felt like such a victory when you were invested as the Knight-Captain of the Knights Protector,” said Vayne with a little smirk as he drew his attention back to the present. “Arthur and I hadn’t even figured out where we belonged in the Order at the time.”

Vayne caressed Galad’s cheek with his big toe. “‘Finally,’ you must have thought, you had finally eclipsed us. You had won.”

Humiliation, perhaps, and indignation stained the tips of Galad’s ears crimson. His broad shoulders shook ever so slightly, his breath hitching in his throat.

Without saying a word, he continued his work, bathing the top of Vayne’s foot with his tongue. If he could have smelled himself the way that Vayne did, he would have been mortified.

“What a punch in the gut it must have been to see me appointed as the Knight-Captain of the Brighthand Regiment,” said Vayne with a little smirk.

Galad said nothing, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. Vayne was getting under his skin and the best part was that it was turning him on.

“Then, Arthur joined us. How it must have grated on your nerves. But at least it was a return to the status quo. We were all peers.”

Galad trembled. He sucked in a single, tremulous breath.

“Until Arthur was elevated to the Lord Commander’s Confessor. Entrusted with the spiritual health of our leader, second to none but the Lord Commander himself within the bounds of these walls…”

Vayne lowered his voice, all but sneering as he continued, “How it must have shattered you. All that time and effort, and for what? You lost, in the end.”

A quiet whine escaped Galad, his back arching as he pressed his face harder against Vayne’s foot.

The desperate little bitch has a humiliation kink. Big surprise, Vayne thought wryly to himself as the corner of his mouth drew up into a devilish smirk. Galad must have been hiding an erection on that fateful day.

“How crushing it must feel to have amounted to nothing,” said Vayne, his register low and dripping with sanctimony. “So many years wasted to obsession and all that you are is a glorified gatekeeper.”

“T-there is dignity in my s-station,” Galad muttered against the arch of Vayne’s foot, though he didn’t sound particularly convinced.

“You will never know the glory of the vanguard, nor the taste of influence,” said Vayne. His voice was low and sibilant. The words rolled off his lips with ease as if he possessed a serpent’s tongue. “You will waste your best years rooted here, locked in a prison of your own making.”

Vayne lightly kicked Galad off his foot. He hooked his toes under Galad’s chin and forced him to sit up with his knees folded under him. then, he pressed the sole of his foot against Galad’s face. “Knight-Captain of the Knights Protector,” Vayne scoffed. “So dignified. So respectable. So pretentious.”

He rubbed his foot all over Galad’s face. If the man had had any self-respect left, he’d have pulled away. On the contrary, Galad leaned into it. He actively rubbed his face against the bottom of Vayne’s foot.

“You might look the ideal Brother to the rest when you hide behind the prestige of your station but I know what you are, Brother Galad,” said Vayne as he jammed his big toe up Galad’s nose. “You are scum. Filth.”

Galad’s nostrils flared, their appearance exaggerated by the way that Vayne’s foot deformed his nose. A low moan bubbled out of his throat as his cock twitched, a glob of pre-cum dripping down along the underside.

“Your obsession with beating Arthur and me, your desire for affirmation and validation, all of it is to hide what you know you are, deep down.” Vayne didn’t blunt his words. He didn’t want to. Nor would it have been productive.

“Worthless! Inadequate! Inferior!” Vayne hissed. Every cutting invective brought another thinly suppressed noise to Galad’s lips. “Where you are right now is where you belong. Where you’ve always belonged. At the feet of your betters.”

“No,” Galad whispered, shaking his head from side to side as he reached up to grasp Vayne’s foot by the ankle. “Th-that’s not true. I-I’m worthy. I-I’m deserving…”

He trailed off as he pressed his mouth to the heel of Vayne’s foot. His cock bobbed up and down between his legs, leaking slick all over his tight balls. He stuck his tongue out and licked a stripe along the arch of Vayne’s foot, moaning into the callused sole as he did.

Galad’s eyes fluttered open, clarity fighting to regain control even as he swirled his tongue around the base of Vayne’s foot. “I-I am owed… the same… basic respect… as the rest of you…” he said, pausing in between every few words to lap at Vayne’s sole as if his life depended on it.

Vayne scoffed. “Perish the thought, Brother,” he said, emphasizing the final word with particular scorn. “Look at yourself. What are you doing? Is behavior like this becoming of a man of your purported station?”

Galad might have said something but Vayne pushed ahead. He shoved his foot against Galad’s face, grinding the man’s nose into the calluses of his sole. “Your demand for respect while shamelessly debasing yourself only proves how unsuitable you are for your position. So many worthier candidates and you took the title. And for what? To satisfy your need for validation? To lord a victory over the heads of your rivals? Pathetic.”

“No,” Galad gasped, his cock straining and pulsing between his legs. “I…did the work… I…fought for…the chance… I am…no less…deserving…than you…” He panted as he stuck one hand between his legs to stroke his cock with.

“You’re weak!” Vayne snapped. “Look how you pleasure yourself! You are slobbering on your Brother’s dirty foot and stroking your bloated cock to the taste.”

Galad was close to breaking. Vayne could tell. The air was thick with arousal and the bitter note of inner conflict.

The corruption was winning. The temptation was too great, the pleasure too good to deny. “How readily you debase yourself! How easily you succumb to the carnal desires of your body! If this is how you crumble in the face of temptation then we might as well throw wide the gates and invite the legions of hell into Fort Radiance!”

Galad whined, his hips rolling as he bucked into his hand.

“The hellborn would march through your precious gatehouse and trample you like filth underfoot. And I imagine you would thank them for the privilege.”

“No,” Galad gasped. He slurped on the heel of Vayne’s foot, his tongue sweeping over callused skin as his hand flew up and down his cock.

He gulped audibly, swallowing the taste of Vayne’s foot on his tongue before shaking his head in vicious denial of Vayne’s words. “Never… I would never…betray us…to the enemy…” he said, mustering the dregs that remained of his resistance.

“Never?” said Vayne with a little smirk as he fished his cock out of his breeches.

Galad’s eyes widened when he noticed. The sweet scent of his arousal in the air peaked as Vayne idly stroked himself, his gaze riveted to the hardness between Vayne’s legs.

Vayne lowered his foot to rub his toes over Galad’s lips. “I have seen the hellborn. I have fought them. They are incredible,” he said almost breathlessly, his fingers tightening around his cock as he reminisced about the time he spent with his Master.

Galad’s breath hitched.

“They would cast you down with ease, send you sprawling to the ground with a single blow. And then, they would step on you to keep you down,” Vayne practically growled. The hellborn had many ways to break men to their will and some men required harsher persuasion than others.

Galad strangled a low moan that threatened to spill from him. He stared at Vayne’s cock as if spellbound. He parted his lips as Vayne’s toes pushed against them.

“Did you know that they fight barefoot?” said Vayne as he openly stroked his cock, not even bothering to hide the grin that split his face as he watched Galad do the same. “They would break down your little gate and grind you into the dust with their big, musky feet.”

Galad couldn’t hold back this time. A low whine overfilling with desire and desperation issued from his nose as he closed his lips around Vayne’s big toe.

He moaned as his cheeks dimpled around the toe. His cock dripped pre-cum all over his fingers, which glistened with the incredible amount of slick that he’d leaked while Vayne was speaking.

Galad sucked on Vayne’s toe as if it were a sweet, an almost disappointed groan escaping him as Vayne pulled the toe out with a wet pop. He accepted the next toe without question as it was presented to him, his tongue flicking at the callused toe pad pretty much the moment it was in his mouth.

“That’s it,” Vayne groaned, enjoying Galad’s gradual descent into depravity. “Get your tongue in there. Slurp on my foot. Be the gutter-dwelling filth you were always meant to be, ‘Brother’ Galad.”

“I—” Galad managed, somehow, between tongue-fucking the spaces between Vayne’s toes the way any normal person would their lover, “I am…better than…this…”

Vayne scoffed. “It doesn’t feel that way,” he said with a smirk, his eyes glinting with a malicious, sadistic glee. “It doesn’t look that way.”

Galad moaned as he fit two of Vayne’s toes into his mouth, his tongue slithering back and forth over the crease between them. “This…is just…a moment…of weakness…”

Vayne laughed. “You should embrace it,” he said, as he fucked his toes in and out of Galad’s mouth. "Stupid bitch! Scripture is not the absolute authority on how to live. Neither is the Church!

He pushed his foot deeper into Galad’s mouth, managing to fit a third toe in there. Despite the nominal protests, Galad’s tongue was eagerly caressing each one and bathing them all in warm spit.

“If this is what gives you pleasure, then you should seek it. You should chase it,” said Vayne, his voice touched by a thread of demonic influence that seeped only too easily into Galad’s vulnerable mind.

“There’s nothing wrong with being degenerate filth,” Vayne whispered. “If perverse pleasure is what gives you satisfaction, then so be it. Be depraved. Be wanton. Be a base creature given to carnal desires. Life is too short to waste on repression.”

Vayne’s lips twisted into a devilish little smirk. “Don’t you want to be better at something than Arthur and me?” he said.

Galad’s eyes darted up to meet Vayne’s gaze. Even in the depths of this depravity, some things never changed. Galad had made his one-sided rivalry such a core part of him that the prospect of a “win” reached him even in this state.

“Lay back,” Vayne commanded. He rose from his seat as Galad did the opposite and lay against the stone floor. He looked down on his would-be rival with a cold smirk. “Be the biggest foot slut in the Order,”

Galad’s breath hitched.

Vayne placed his foot on Galad’s face, rubbing the wet, spit-slicked sole all over the man’s handsome features to make a mess of him. “Be the most depraved, gormless, reprobate loser you can be.”

Galad’s hand went back to his cock. His chest heaved with ragged breaths as his fingers flew up and down his shaft in a blur. He couldn’t hold back this time, moans spilling from his lips as his hips bucked and he sucked on Vayne’s toes.

Vayne just grinned, savoring the sight as the final dregs of resistance faded from Galad’s eyes and the corruption took hold. He pushed his toes into Galad’s mouth, wedging the man’s jaw open as he forced his foot halfway down Galad’s throat.

Fuck, he thought to himself as he stroked his cock. He wished he could immortalize this moment. The look of utter bliss on Galad’s debased face as his lips were stretched to their limits around Vayne’s cock was priceless.

“This is what you are,” said Vayne, practically touching the back of Galad’s throat with his toes as he face-fucked the man with his foot. “This is where you belong! You could never reach Arthur and me because we are meant for higher callings. You were always and forevermore destined to sink deeper and deeper into obscenity.”

Whatever else Galad might have said was muffled by the foot wedging his jaw open. It came out as little more than a groan. But Vayne didn’t need to hear what Galad had to say to divine the intent, judging by how much more desperate Galad’s stroking of his cock had gotten.

Vayne wrenched his foot out of Galad’s mouth with a wet pop. Strings of spit and slime dangled off of his toes.

Galad’s mouth hung open, his eyes glassy with bliss. The corners of his lips turned upward in a vacant little smile as he groaned and spread his legs.

“That’s right,” said Vayne, licking his lips as he kicked Galad’s hand away from his cock. “Be the dirtiest, nastiest toe muncher you can be.”

He stepped on Galad’s rock-hard erection, grinding his heel into the base of the man’s stiff cock and savoring the way that it throbbed and pulsed against the sole of his foot. “Sink deeper into your depravity so that when the demons come—and they will come, mark my words—you’ll be able to give them the proper welcome they deserve.”

A feral grin split Vayne’s face as Galad’s moaning reached a fever pitch. The man was close, he could tell. He stepped harder on Galad’s cock, almost tempted to crush it underfoot just to hear the man squeal, but he stopped just short of causing any actual pain.

A little push. That was all that was left. He stroked Galad’s cock with the sole of his foot. It twitched and swelled, just about ready to burst. “Deep down, you know what you are,” said Vayne, his voice low and sibilant. “You’re no stalwart. You’re no guard dog. You’re a welcome mat.”

Vayne stomped lightly on Galad’s cock. “When the demons come, you’ll open the gates to them,” he said, stroking his cock and approaching the edge himself as he imagined his Lord and Master, Azzagg strolling uncontested through the gates of Fort Radiance.

The Knights Protector would be on their knees, mouths open and watering, prostrate before their new rulers. “You will receive them,” Vayne hissed, stomping again on Galad’s cock as his own throbbed in his hands.

“And you will clean their feet of the filth of the outside! Because that’s what you are! That’s your purpose!” Vayne growled, panting raggedly just like Galad, and to nearly the same rhythm.

“And when you swallow the taste of earth and sweat, of ash and brimstone on your tongue, you will thank them for showing you your purpose,” said Vayne, his words trailing off into a whine as he desperately tried to hold back. “And you will guide them on your hands and knees, like the animal you are so that they might feast on the perversion of your brothers and the Order you love so much.”

Vayne and Galad moaned at the same time, their voices harmonizing into a single, desperate note. “You will welcome our downfall with open arms, and it will fill you with pleasure unlike anything you’ve ever felt before!”

With those words, Vayne lifted his foot off of Galad’s cock and slammed it down, crushing Galad’s bloated hardness under the arch of his foot. Galad came hard, hot white seed spraying every which way.

Vayne couldn’t resist and came, too, spurting ropes of thick jism into the air that splattered all over the ground, Galad’s face, and even the desk and the documents that were still on it.

“Y-yes, Brother,” Galad moaned as they came down from the high of their mutual orgasm, his eyes gleaming with fresh purpose. “T-that is how it will be… I will drag you all into the depths with me!”

Vayne grinned once he’d finally caught his breath. “That’s the spirit, Brother,” he said, licking his lips.