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"Young Alphas get easily riled up when they catch another Alpha’s scent near their mate. They see it as a sign they’ve failed to protect and satisfy their mate, therefore, more work needs to be done. On the other hand, older Alphas aren’t as ruled by instinct, but that doesn’t mean they don’t feel jealousy on an emotional level.”
“Please… have mercy…”
Scar couldn’t believe the pathetic plea had fallen from his own lips. He. HE. The once-crowned king of these realms, now lay prostrate beneath a tall and lusty youth. Simba’s fiery red mane spilled down like flames with every brutal, wild thrust. The raw energy of the new king left Scar gasping for air, his mind fogging over until all he could do was moan and beg.
Scar had never been with anyone. Ever since he presented as an Omega, shame had consumed him. He’d destroyed his own scent glands. Every heat since then had been pure agony. He had never tasted delight, never savored the fruits of desire, such a shameful lifelong virgin.
He had killed his brother. Tried to assassinate his nephew. He’d thought he could at least go out in a blaze of glory, deceiving the last remnants of mercy in that youth, thrusting him from the precipice as he had. But Simba was younger. Stronger. And unlike Mufasa, he wasn’t blinded by endless kindness. Simba had flipped the tables completely.
What Scar never expected was that single act would strip away the last of Simba’s mercy. Now he was a prisoner of war in truth.
And prisoners possess no rights.
Simba deigned not to answer the wretched supplications. The young, broad-shouldered lion only smirked in triumph, his mighty hands seizing Scar’s ankles and yanking them up to his shoulders. The classic position left Scar completely exposed, legs spread shamefully wide, his dark, aged entrance laid bare under the dim, cold light of the dungeon.
He had already endured a beating most cruel for daring to assay the new king’s life. Bruises flowered dark upon Scar’s swarthy skin, lip split, cheek swollen, blood staining him in streaks, yet Simba cared not. The younger lion spread Scar’s legs even wider and drove his thick, burning cock straight to the hilt into that sensitive core.
“What are you begging for, Uncle?” Simba laughed, his voice still carrying that polished royal tone laced with contempt. “Look at you… that old cunt is so tight and soaked. I’ve barely thrust once and your slick is already gushing everywhere.”
Scar bit his lip hard enough to draw fresh blood, trying to hold back, but his hypersensitive Omega body refused it's own mind. Clear, slippery slick kept pouring out along Simba’s shaft, coating his thighs and dripping onto the cold stone floor. Every savage thrust made his walls clench violently, sucking greedily around his nephew’s cock in the most humiliating way, wet sounds echoing obscenely in the cramped cell.The new king’s angelic, youthful visage only heightened Scar’s terror, he never imagined Simba could do something like this with a face like that.
“Simba… please… Your Majesty… slow down…” Scar rasped, voice hoarse, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. The more he tried to resist, the more slick flooded out, soaking his groin and slender thighs.
Simba paid no attention to the weak begging. After all, they were both losing their virginity with each other days ago. It was pathetic to even think about. But Simba would never admit it. He tightened his grip on Scar’s ankles, lifting them higher, and slammed in harder with ferocious rhythm.
“You murdered my father. You tried to kill me too. And you still think yourself worthy to beg?” Simba sneered, his tone mockingly polite. “You really have no shame.”
The thrusts only grew more savage. The sharp slap of skin on skin filled the dark cell.
“At least I’m not as shameless as this pathetic cunt,” Simba growled, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “I’ve only fucked you a few times and you’re already dripping like this. Aren’t you embarrassed? Or do you actually like your new king using that worn-out hole as his toy?”
Simba deliberately emphasized “new king.” He knew the words made Scar tremble with rage. Sure enough, the tight heat around him clenched even harder.
“Oh? You squeeze like that just because I said it?” Simba laughed in triumph, the corner of his slanted eyes crinkling like a peacock’s.
Scar had to have inhuman endurance to hold on this long without losing his mind. Yet an Omega in the presence of so potent an Alpha-especially one of Simba’s caliber, had no dominion over his flesh. Slick kept flowing, spilling with every thrust, streaking his dark skin and pooling on the stone. He knew Simba lied, yet his Omega nature had no strength left to defy.
“Say it, Uncle,” Simba whispered, his voice sickeningly sweet. “Say ‘Your Majesty, please spare your servant. And I’ll go easy on you.”
Scar ground his teeth. His face burned with lust, defiant eyes glistening with tears. He was crying even as he fought it, humiliated yet drowning in pleasure he couldn’t suppress. He knew Simba was lying, but his Omega instincts had no strength left to resist.
“Your Majesty… please…” Scar’s voice shook, breaking on every word.
Simba’s lips curled into a cruel smile, still carrying traces of boyish innocence-and he sped up immediately. Each thrust hit deeper, slamming straight into Scar’s most sensitive spot. Scar jolted violently, shameless moans spilling out nonstop.
“Your Majesty…”
“Your… Ma..j-jesty…”
The pleas dissolved into broken, lew, filthy cries in time with the brutal rhythm.
Scar couldn’t hold on anymore.
His body convulsed hard, walls spasming wildly around Simba’s cock. A hot rush of slick gushed out, soaking both their lower bellies and thighs. He came in the most degrading way possible, an aging Omega forced to orgasm by the very nephew he once tried to kill, undone by just a few savage thrusts.
At that moment, Scar stopped caring about anything. All he felt were the thick veins pulsing along Simba’s shaft, the iron grip on his ankles, and the overwhelming Alpha scent swallowing him whole. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was years of suppressed hunger, but right now his mind held only one desperate need, and he now only wanted to fulfill his duty as an Omega. He wanted to be claimed. Marked. Bred.
Simba had once seen his uncle as a hero.
This young king had been a haughty princeling- equal parts enthralled and terrified by the predatory bloodlust stirring within. In those days he had sought Scar’s comfort. No matter how often Scar rebuffed him with his attitude, the elder had never truly harmed him.
Now Simba understood. It had been empathy. Because back then, Scar had been just as weak and broken as he was. Simba had watched his father fall from that cliff and lived with that nightmare for years, convinced he was responsible. But everything had changed. Scar had fought, then lost. Simba had triumphed. And now he marked his uncle’s body with his seed, drowning him in shame and utter surrender.
Simba flipped Scar onto his stomach. This time the older lion cooperated far more eagerly. Scar braced his hands on the cold stone, arching his ass high. He was already lost in the haze.
“Now I’m going to fuck you like this,” Simba rasped, rubbing the swollen head of his cock against Scar’s dripping entrance. “Who knows? You might even get pregnant.”
“Pregnant…” Scar echoed unconsciously, voice trembling with a mix of terror and dark hunger.
Simba immediately fisted Scar’s thick black mane and yanked his head back sharply, forcing his spine into a humiliating arch. He planted his feet, straightened his back, and began pounding from behind with ruthless force.
“Ah…! Your Majesty…!” Scar cried out in pain as his sensitive walls clenched violently around the invading cock. Hot slick poured out endlessly, splashing with every deep thrust and dripping onto the already-soiled stone.
Simba tightened his grip on Scar’s hair, yanking harder so the older lion’s body bowed with every slam. Each time he pulled nearly all the way out and drove back in, Scar jolted, wet obscene sounds filling the cell.
“S-slow… slow down… it’s too deep…” Scar gasped brokenly, voice thick with shame. He tried biting his lip but couldn’t stop the weak, needy moans, pain and pleasure hopelessly tangled.
“You sound so good,” Simba mocked, but it's true, he loves it, with his bođy still pounding hard. “Beg louder!” he commanded.
“Your Majesty…! You’re fucking me too hard… my cunt… going to break…” Scar wailed, tears streaming down his face as his body shuddered. Every brutal thrust hit that sweet spot dead-on, forcing more slick to squirt out and soak their thighs and Simba’s lower belly.
Simba only fucked faster, the wet slap of flesh echoing sharply. He kept Scar’s hair fisted tight, back straight, using his full weight to drive as deep as possible. Scar was learning fast, when the head of Simba’s cock began to swell, when the base started to expand for the knot that would lock them together. His body had already learned to welcome it with frantic hunger, eagerly swallowing every drop.
Scar arched his ass higher to meet the thrusts. Simba gripped his hair tighter, slammed in a few more powerful strokes, then let out a low growl. He came hard, flooding Scar’s insides with thick, scorching seed.
Scar shook violently, his walls milking Simba’s cock like he wanted to wring out every last drop. He took it all. Nothing escaped. His lower belly swelled visibly, so full he thought he might be sick, yet instead of discomfort, his body sang with satisfaction. He needed this. His slender frame twitched, legs trembling, while fresh slick squirted out in rhythmic pulses, soaking the floor and both their thighs. His soft, plush ass was squeezed and kneaded freely under Simba’s hands.
Simba pressed his face to the back of Scar’s neck, releasing pheromones as he tried to mark him.
“You can’t,” Scar panted. “You can’t mark me…”
“At least it makes you even tighter,” Simba chuckled, still buried deep. He rocked slowly a few times, as if pushing his cum even further inside. His cock hadn’t softened yet. He brushed the messy strands of hair from Scar’s face, revealing the utterly debauched expression of post-orgasm bliss, and laughed softly. Leaning down, he whispered against Scar’s ear in that cocky young voice:
“Well done. I’m very pleased.”
Scar gritted his teeth. Simba was treating him like a whore who had just finished her job.
“If you keep behaving this nicely, I’ll treat you better. Proper food. A soft bed…”
The same things Mufasa had once given him without asking for anything in return.
Simba pulled out slowly, leaving a gaping emptiness and a thick trickle of white cum leaking from Scar’s swollen, reddened hole. He gave the older lion’s ass a light slap, already imagining chaining him up like a dog next time, then stood.
He glanced back at Scar, who looked half-dead, and suddenly felt a flicker of unwanted softness. Why? In the end, Simba couldn’t bring himself to keep punishing the wretched man.
He gave Scar some water and fed him a bit of soft food before leaving. Even though he didn’t want to admit it, he hoped it would be enough to fill Scar’s stomach. When some of the food dribbled down Scar’s chin, Simba wiped it away carefully. Scar hissed in pain as the cloth brushed his fresh bruises. Simba felt a pang of guilt-he hadn’t realized Scar could still be plotting even in the middle of such intense heat, and his rage had taken over. He cleaned and disinfected the wounds, making sure Scar’s sleeping spot was warm and comfortable.
“I’ll be back soon. Next time, actually eat instead of saving the utensils to try and kill me.”
Scar didn’t answer. He just lay there, breathing weakly, belly still swollen and tight. When Simba’s footsteps faded and the cell door clanged shut, Scar slowly crawled toward the pile of discarded clothes. The heavy Alpha scent clinging to the fabric enveloped him. He burrowed deep into the makeshift nest, curling into a tight ball with his eyes squeezed shut.
All that remained in his mind was exhaustion, shame… and a strange, aching hunger. He drifted off wrapped in Simba’s scent, body still trembling faintly from the aftershocks.
“Father? Aren’t you asleep yet?”
Simba sounded surprised to find Mufasa still wandering the gardens near the isolated prison wing, staring up at the bright moon. The king who had returned from years in exile carried a deep, shadowed sorrow in his eyes. He had made it clear he would never forgive or want to see his treacherous brother again. Besides, Mufasa didn’t have the keys to the prison area, so Simba wasn’t too worried.
“I’m having trouble sleeping,” Mufasa said with a gentle smile. “Just taking a walk to clear my head.”
“You shouldn’t come around here… it'll bring you bad luck, ya know.” Simba murmured.
“Thank you, my son. I know.” Mufasa smiled, but his eyes remained unreadable.
Simba suddenly found himself reflecting that the long years he had wandered beyond the bounds of his homeland had rendered him somewhat wilder than his disciplined father. Indeed, there were moments when his bearing seemed to have shed a measure of its noble grace, his gestures grown looser, and his manner of speech less restrained. Yet plainly, this very change made others far more ready to lower their guard in his presence.
Scar himself, deceived by that innocent countenance, had judged him lightly, believing that fortune had delivered him an easy prize, as though a humble mouse had stumbled upon a jar brimming with grain. Did Simba mention that his old dear uncle willingly went to bed with him the first time? That bastard, driven by instinct, slept with his own nefew! He deserves all the misery he's getting. He should be grateful that Simba is a generous person and should star to learn to spread his legs less reluctant-
“And what about.. the marriage?” His father's voice suddenly brought him back to reality.
“Ah,” Simba startled slightly. “I don’t want to get married yet.”
“How did the girl react? You seem very close, my child, you should think about her honor, leaving her family and going to find you, alone.”
" We’ve already talked about it, father.”
Simpa was plainly learning to rein in the restless force within him and to carry himself with greater courtesy and restraint; yet it was no easy thing for him to stand before his father without sensing, deep within his breast, a quiet weight of oppression he could scarcely cast aside.
"I have rewarded her and bestowed upon her a title. I have done so with an open heart, and that is enough, for I am the king."
“Forgive me, my son, for I had forgotten my place as one who ought to offer counsel, rather than command.”
“I… did not mean that, Father.”
Mufasa only nodded quietly, saying nothing more.
It was, indeed, a most uneasy moment. Had Scar been present, he would have discerned the discord at once; for the instincts of a former sovereign and those of the heir who now stood before him revealed themselves as plainly as daylight, their dissonance impossible to conceal.
Why was his father suddenly asking about this?
Their silent psychological standoff lasted only a few minutes-two men, king and the former king exchanging seemingly harmless questions. They loved each other, but the closeness from Simba’s childhood days was gone. Two mighty Alphas naturally kept their distance. Simba had grown estranged even from his mother. Mufasa and Sarabi had parted ways after failing to find harmony. Since Mufasa’s “death,” Sarabi had made new plans for the future.All three in their immediate house were Alphas.
In a rigid, artificial, and most unrighteous tradition, the just and merciful kings of old had preserved a pure Alpha bloodline in their heirs. Thus Scar was the black sheep- perhaps some ancestor had succumbed to forbidden love and allowed an Omega’s child to ascend the throne unknowing. The Omega blood still flowed hidden through later generations.
“I’ll head in first. I have court in the morning.”
“Sleep well,” Mufasa said kindly.
The moment Simba’s footsteps faded, something dark and unreadable flickered deep in Mufasa’s eyes.
...
“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”
Mufasa’s low, resonant voice made Scar flinch violently. He scrambled away from the bars, eyes wide with pure terror. Was this… Mufasa’s ghost coming for revenge?
He couldn’t believe it. Standing before him was the revered King Mufasa-the one Scar both feared and loathed more than anyone. Compared to Simba, who in Scar’s memory was still just a child, Mufasa was the true nightmare.
Mufasa stood motionless outside the bars, inhaling slowly. Scar’s pheromone scent drifted out, jasmine mixed with warm milk.
Sweet. Soothing.
He had caught that fragrance many times and always turned away. Never had he imagined his own mercy would be so brutally profaned, ground into the dust of his dignity.
Scar was naked as the day he was born. His body bore bruises in abundance, dark skin mottled with purple. His lower belly remained swollen, white seed streaked across his thighs and the stone floor. He wept and begged while arching eagerly to meet Simba’s thrusts- nothing like the proud prince who once rode to battle at Mufasa’s side, the cunning strategist who helped win wars.
The more Mufasa recalled, the fiercer his wrath burned.
He stared at his wretched brother. His shadow stretched long across the floor, shifting with each step.
“Who are you?”
“Who am I?” Mufasa echoed coldly. “Brother, have you truly forgotten who I am?”
Scar trembled, eyes huge with horror.
“You’re alive…? Impossible, I-”
“Apushed your own brother off a cliff,” Mufasa cut in, arms crossed, face full of judgment. “But you failed. Father was right” Mufasa shook his head, “you’ve never been good at anything.”
Scar forced a smile, painful and twisted. He tried to act like nothing was wrong, but his body betrayed him miserably. He backed away, shaking with every step Mufasa took, cowering like a cornered animal waiting for punishment.
“Oh… brother.”
Every step Mufasa took radiated terrifying authority. He looked Scar up and down with no visible emotion.
“Don’t call me that. It disgusts me.”
The words sliced into Scar like a dagger. He hated them beyond endurance. He had lived with that contempt for years, knowing in his marrow he deserved it. But hearing it from Mufasa’s mouth still shattered him. How dare he? How could someone so universally adored speak like that?
The more he beheld Mufasa, the less Scar perceived his own failings. He saw only the ghost of his former self, such a proud, haughty youth with a heart still capable of love and hate.
“One day, I will rule this land, and you will stand by my side, brother.”
The eyes of that young man had once burned with youthful defiance.
Scar could bear no more. He turned and crawled desperately back into Simba’s pile of garments, hoping the Alpha scent would banish the gosh. It didn’t. His cowardly retreat only provoked Mufasa further. The older lion produced a key from somewhere, unlocked the door, and strode in. He grabbed a fistful of Scar’s black hair and yanked him roughly out of the nest.
Scar curled in on himself, terrified. He had never seen Mufasa like this. As an Omega in such a hypersensitive state, he shook even harder. He feared the pain, feared facing the past, feared looking at the man who had once trusted him with his life, who had chosen mercy for Scar’s selfishness again and again, only to refuse it now.
He struggled wildly, clawing and biting at Mufasa’s arm. The bite drew deep blood, but Scar kept scrambling backward in panic.
“Wait… let’s talk about this calmly, brother…” Scar’s voice cracked with every word.
“Get up,” Mufasa ordered coldly. “Where is the warrior spirit you once had? Where is the one who dared challenge me for the throne?”
Images of Scar lying beneath Simba-crying, moaning, eagerly arching to take every thrust-still burned in Mufasa’s mind.
Scar backed away, then suddenly lunged, trying to ram Mufasa and escape. The older lion easily slammed him down onto the cold stone.
“Most pitiful.”
Mufasa’s voice was low and majestic, like a king passing judgment on a traitor.
Scar shook uncontrollably. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to face this. He just wanted to crawl back into the nest. He dragged himself forward on his knees, body covered in bruises from both father and son, crawling toward the pile of fabric as if hiding there would make everything disappear.
That miserable sight struck something dark and deep inside Mufasa. He told himself he was simply cleaning up a mess, fulfilling his duty as king-nothing more. He refused to admit the scene was awakening something dangerous in him.
Mufasa stepped forward, grabbed Scar’s hips, and yanked him back out of the nest. The Alpha scent alone was enough to drive Scar insane.
Scar panicked completely, eyes bloodshot, limbs flailing. He snatched up Simba’s shirt, buried his face in it, and inhaled frantically, rubbing his cheek against the fabric like a drowning man.
Mufasa’s patience snapped. He brought his hand down hard, delivering two sharp smacks to Scar’s ass.
“Ah…!”
Good heavens above… what the hell??? What did his brother-no, that vengeful ghost, just do to him?
No, it can't be.
Scar jolted, but instead of stopping, he desperately reached between his own legs right in front of Mufasa. His fingers plunged in roughly, thrusting fast and frantic. Slick sprayed everywhere onto the stone.
“How disgraceful. How shameful,” Mufasa said, hands clasped behind his back, voice regal and icy. “The once-proud prince is now fingering himself like a cheap whore in front of his own brother.”
Scar sobbed openly, voice breaking in frantic desperation:
“It won’t come… it won’t come out… please make it stop…!”
He pressed his face deeper into Simba’s shirt, ass raised high, fingers frantically working his swollen, red entrance-but the more he tried, the further away release felt. His ruined glands and starving Omega body craved an Alpha to the point of madness.
Mufasa watched, his stern gaze gradually softening. Inside him, a silent war raged as he tried to convince himself he was only doing what was necessary-not giving in to desire, just helping his brother regain his senses. He let out a heavy sigh, voice still carrying the weight of kingship:
“What am I going to do with you…”
He reached out, gently rubbing the reddened ass, then slid his fingers down between the cheeks, pressing directly against the spasming entrance.
“Mufasa…?”
“We’ll finish this quickly,” Mufasa said hoarsely, voice low and just so commanding. “So you can think clearly again. That’s an order.”
Mufasa said nothing more. He slowly pushed one thick finger inside, then a second. Scar thrashed, shaking his head wildly, trying to escape.
“No… don’t… brother… please don’t…”
He couldn’t let this happen. He wouldn’t be able to face himself if Mufasa did this.
But Mufasa used royal authority and raw strength to pin him down. The first finger slid in, Scar trembled, suddenly seeing flashes of their childhood, climbing the tall old tree, and looking down over the kingdom. The second finger, the raven hair man nearly collapsed, and Mufasa caught him, those innocent memories twisting into the humiliating scene unfolding now.
No!
Scar tried to flee, but Mufasa pressed him facedown onto the stone, one hand pinning the back of his neck. A third finger joined the others, thrusting deep and rough, relentlessly stroking the most sensitive spot.
Scar bit his lip until it bled, but his sensitive Omega body refused to obey. Slick gushed out in waves, soaking Mufasa’s hand and the floor.
“I won’t let you go, my little brother. I’ll lift you up. I’ll keep you.”
“No…!” Scar sobbed desperately, voice shattering.
Mufasa sped up, fingers plunging harder and deeper, forcing Scar toward climax despite his frantic resistance. When Scar finally convulsed, walls clamping violently around the three thick fingers as a hot rush of slick sprayed out, Mufasa could barely hold back any longer.
He sat up, hand still glistening with his brother’s slick, and unzipped his pants. His massive, veined, heavy cock sprang free, that thick, long, the flushed head already leaking.
“I won’t do this…” Scar panicked, voice shaking.
Mufasa looked down at him, voice cold and regal:
“Why don’t you get on with it? Just like the eager little slut you were for Simba earlier. Before he comes back and finds you having sex with his father?”
Scar’s mind was a mess. His head spun, body still twitching from the recent orgasm. He hesitated for a second, then leaned down and took the enormous cock into his mouth.
He had never done this before.
Scar awkwardly took just the head, his mouth far too small for Mufasa’s size. He sucked tentatively, tongue licking clumsily around the tip, drool already spilling from the corners of his lips. Every time he tried to take more, the thick length hit the back of his throat and made him gag, tears streaming down his face as his body jerked. He pulled off gasping, a long string of saliva connecting his lips to the cock, then dove back down, terrified yet frantic.
His mouth trembled. He licked along the shaft without rhythm, occasionally scraping with his teeth because he didn’t know how to control them. Mufasa frowned slightly. Scar was trying his hardest, but he looked utterly pathetic.
Mufasa let out a mocking laugh, voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain:
“Are you treating it like it’s ice cream? Don’t act like you’ve never sucked these things before.”
Scar really hadn’t. He had no idea what he was doing.
At first Mufasa stayed detached. He sat still, watching Scar struggle to take even half the head, tongue moving clumsily, mouth quivering with fear and inexperience. But the longer he watched, the clearer it became. My my… this really was Scar’s first time.
“Surprising that Simba hasn’t made you do this yet.”
“...The boy doesn’t know about these things. He wouldn’t.”
“Then I’ll have to teach you how to serve him properly.”
Strangely, that realization softened something in Mufasa unexpectedly. His voice grew gentler, almost tender:
“First, let it touch your lips. Get it nice and wet with your spit. Let it slide in slowly. I want to feel your tongue… relax your jaw a little. Yes, just like that.”
He reached down and stroked Scar’s thick, curly hair, his thumb wiping away the drool running from the corner of his brother’s mouth.
“Lick around the head first… Good job.”
Scar trembled as he obeyed, his clumsy tongue sliding along the thick head. More drool spilled, dripping onto the stone. He tried his best but still gagged softly whenever it hit his throat.
Mufasa continued guiding him, voice low and satisfied:
“Don’t forget to breathe. Take it a little deeper. Relax your throat, don’t clench… Excellent. See? You’re doing it.”
Even though Scar was still terribly awkward, he followed every instruction. His mouth was full of saliva, drool running down his chin and dripping onto his chest. He looked utterly ruined and obscene.
Mufasa had never been naturally gifted at love’s arts. He had bedded many women, even before reaching manhood, because it was the cursed duty of a pride’s leader. Yet he had never enjoyed it as he wished. It always felt hollow, like a beast slaking base instinct. No man could truly relish lying with one he loved not. Yet he had done so. It was empty, tasteless, even forced. He had grown skilled at feigning pleasure, at satisfying those brought to his bed-
“What are you doing?”
That was his brother, the only one who ever truly cared what Mufasa wanted, who saw him as an equal rather than a breeding tool, a ruler, or a symbol in their impossible dreams. They had fought together, grown up together, and protected each other since the day Scar was born.
“Nothing...I’m just resting.”
Scar had come over and laid down, resting his head against the apple tree beside Mufasa. The wind rustled the leaves, sunlight dancing across the boy’s face.
“Do you think… um… I’ll ever be a strong and grate Alpha like Father?”
I want you to be an Omega. Then we could stay together.
“Of course you will.” Mufasa smiled. Damn it, he’s your brother, Mufasa. Your own flesh and blood. Mufasa had told himself that many times.
Just so he could bear the sight of Scar with his own son.
Mufasa couldn’t hold back any longer.
He fisted Scar’s hair tightly and began thrusting into his mouth-slow at first, then deeper and rougher. Every deep push made Scar jolt and gag, tears pouring down his face. Mufasa didn’t stop, savoring the feeling of claiming his proud little brother’s mouth for the very first time.
He panted, voice rough with satisfaction and maybe, something deeper:
“You’re doing so well, Scar… It’s an honor to be the one who takes this first from you.”
Mufasa gripped the hair harder, hips snapping a few final times before he growled low. He came hard, flooding Scar’s mouth with thick, hot spurts of cum. He didn’t pull out right away, keeping his cock buried deep, forcing Scar to swallow some while the rest filled his mouth. He wanted to pinch his nose and eyes shut, make him swallow everything in a panic, but that would be too much for a first time. He wanted to leave him something gentler, so there could be a next time.
Cum overflowed from Scar’s nostrils, running down his lips and chin. His cheeks bulged, mouth unable to close. Scar shook violently, eyes rolling back from lack of air.
When Mufasa finally pulled out, a thick torrent of white cum poured from Scar’s mouth like a waterfall. He choked and retched, coughing violently, drool and semen covering his face, neck, and chest.
Scar panicked completely. He scrambled away on hands and knees, trying to crawl toward the cell door despite his exhausted body.
But Mufasa only had to reach out and grab his ankle, yanking him back.
“Got you.” Mufasa’s voice was low, still carrying royal authority but now thick with raw lust.
“You’ve gotten so good at seducing men, haven’t you? Just a moment ago you were arching and begging for Simba, and now you’re sucking your brother’s cock so eagerly. Since you’re already this much of a slut, don’t blame me for teaching you a proper lesson.”
Scar could not have imagined- indeed, could scarcely have believed even in his darkest hour, that the day would come when such base and reckless words would fall from the lips of that once great and virtuous sovereign.
He flipped Scar onto his back on the cold stone, grabbing his slender thighs and shoving them up to his shoulders, completely exposing the swollen red entrance. Without warning, Mufasa drove his entire massive, veined cock deep into Scar’s body.
“Aaaah…! It hurts…!”
Scar screamed, body jerking violently. But Mufasa didn’t stop. He began fucking with wild abandon- each thrust brutal, deep, and savage, as if he wanted to tear Scar apart. The sharp slap of flesh echoed, slick and cum spraying with every punishing stroke.
Every time he pulled nearly all the way out and slammed back in, Scar arched off the floor, walls clenching desperately around the thick cock. Mufasa panted, his voice was rough.
“Look at this pathetic Omega cunt of yours… so tight and wet it won’t let me go. You were born to be claimed, Scar. Stop pretending you’re above it.”
He grew even more frantic, pace increasing, every thrust hitting the deepest point and making Scar’s belly bulge visibly. Scar could only sob brokenly, tears streaming, body shaking in a chaotic storm of pleasure and pain.
“I’ll breed you until you remember exactly who deserves to own you.”
Mufasa gave Scar no room to breathe. He pinned both ankles down hard against the stone, folding the slender legs tight against Scar’s chest. The position lifted his ass high, the swollen entrance pointing straight up, completely exposed and ready to be claimed as deeply as possible.
“Keep this position,” Mufasa commanded, his voice low and regal, eyes blazing with raw hunger. “So I can fuck all the way into your womb.”
He thrust down hard from above. At this angle, his massive cock speared straight into the furthest reaches of Scar’s body, each powerful stroke slamming against the entrance to his womb and making the older lion’s belly visibly bulge with every brutal plunge.
“Aaaah…! Too deep…! Stop!” Scar screamed, his body jerking violently with each impact. His walls clenched madly around Mufasa’s thick length, slick forced out in powerful spurts that sprayed across his own stomach and chest
Mufasa grew even more savage. He gripped Scar’s ankles tighter, pinning them flat against the cold stone floor as he pounded down from above - pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into the hilt. Wet, filthy sounds echoed through the dark cell.
“Look at that cunt of yours, raised so high and eager for your brother’s cock…” Mufasa panted, his voice still carrying the commanding weight of a king, but now rough with pleasure. “You pathetic Omega…"
"So tight you’re trying to milk every drop of my cum. This is the instinct that flows in your blood, Scar.”
Scar could only sob brokenly, tears streaming down his face, mouth fallen open in wordless, desperate moans. His body was folded nearly in half, his entrance speared so deeply that pain and pleasure blurred into something unbearable. Every time Mufasa drove downward, the swollen head of his cock battered against Scar’s womb, making him shake uncontrollably as fresh slick gushed out like a fountain.
“No… I can’t bear it… brother… slow down… aaaah…!”
But the more Scar begged, the more it turned Mufasa on. He pressed Scar’s ankles harder against the floor and started thrusting with frantic, brutal speed - deep, punishing strokes like he wanted to tear his own brother apart.
"How greedy you are.” Mufasa growled. “It’s like you’ve been begging to be used like this the whole time.”
Mufasa could hold back no longer. He leaned down, pried Scar’s jaw open with rough fingers, and crushed their mouths together in a fierce, almost violent kiss. His tongue plunged deep, claiming Scar’s mouth, tangling with his tongue and sucking down the remnants of cum and saliva still lingering there.
His powerful arms wrapped around Scar’s slender frame, the size difference between them stark and overwhelming. He was taller, broader, far more imposing - his embrace swallowed Scar whole, as though he wished to devour him entirely.
Even as he kissed Scar with devouring passion, Mufasa continued to thrust upward with brutal force. Each savage stroke drove deep and hard, making Scar tremble violently within the cage of his arms.
He came a second time, flooding Scar’s womb with another hot, thick rush of seed.
Mufasa bent lower, dragging his tongue along the side of Scar’s neck before sinking his teeth hard into his shoulder.
“I will take responsibility,” Mufasa murmured, voice low and heavy. Yes- he would take responsibility for reducing his brother to this ruined, lust-drunk state. He would claim this defeated, sex-addicted little brother every single day until he was nothing but a trembling, obedient mess.
They might even have a child together.
“I don’t want it…” Scar shook his head weakly, voice trembling with fear. “I don’t want to get pregnant with your child.”
Mufasa paused for a moment, but jusst only for a moment, looking down at his brother’s tormented face. His voice dropped back into that familiar, commanding tone:
“Scar, I’ve known you since you were a baby in the cradle. Do you really think you can hide things from me things I already know better than you do? You love me.”
“I don’t.” Scar snarled through gritted teeth, his voice raw and defiant. “Not even a little. Never have.”
At least, that was how Scar saw it. The admiration and respect he had once held for Mufasa as an elder brother had died long ago, at the day Mufasa took the throne. He had never wanted this with his own brother. He had imagined lying with knights, with neighboring lords, even with some unknown Alpha stable hand. But never with Mufasa. Never. To Scar, Mufasa had always been too perfect, too great, too flawless, yes, it is everything he himself was not.
A good man like Mufasa would never do this. This creature before him was not his brother. Not the king. Not the Mufasa he had once known.
This was Scar’s punishment, it's the Hades returned from the abyss in his most primal form, come to claim his due.
“If I had known this would happen,” Scar gasped, breath coming in short, desperate bursts, “I would have left this place and never returned.”
Strangely, those words did not seem to please Mufasa. Though he had always fought against Scar’s twisted thoughts, even treated him as his opposite, the former king said nothing. His expression did not change, yet the air in the cell grew heavier.
“You don’t want to carry my child?” Mufasa said calmly, his voice ice-cold. “Fine. The moment I’m done with you, I’ll throw you to the guards and let them play with you however they want.”
“No!” Scar cried out in panic.
“No?” Mufasa raised an eyebrow.
“I’m the king’s brother - y..your brother,” Scar answered, his voice shaking. “You can’t do that to me.”
Oh heavens, was he truly trying to appeal to morality now?
“Scar, we have plenty of brothers out there. You’re not so unique.”
No. No. No. Mufasa had never trampled the weak like this before. Why? Why was he stripping away the last bit of pride Scar had left?
Scar ground his teeth.
“You… can..'t…”
The heavy atmosphere in the cell eased just a little. But Mufasa still wasn’t satisfied.
“I was only joking,” Mufasa said, slowly pulling out and leaving Scar’s belly feeling painfully empty. “Forgive this confused old man.”
He stood up and started pulling his pants back on.
“You’re free to leave if you want. I’ll allow it. If you don’t want to be locked up here anymore.”
Scar’s head snapped up, voice trembling:
“Just like that…? I can really walk out?”
“But if you step outside this cell, you’ll also be stepping out of this kingdom. We don’t shelter traitors.”
“Then tell me, Your Majesty…” Scar’s voice shook. “If that is so, where am I to go? What am I to do?”
An Omega deep in heat, stepping out of this cell would already be dangerous enough. If he were exiled, his life would be far worse than that of a common whore. At least in a brothel there were rules to keep one alive.
“That is no concern of mine,” Mufasa replied indifferently. “I’ll give you some money as compensation.”
The moment Mufasa began to fasten his trousers, Scar panicked and crawled forward, clutching desperately at the hem of his robe.
“Please… don’t do this.”
“I don’t want to keep you locked up like this anymore,” Mufasa said, his tone distant. “It makes everything feel forced. And I don’t like that. You know that if I wanted to, I could easily find other women to warm my bed. At least I know she's mine.”
Who could save him now? Simba? The boy would never fight with his father over a traitor.
Scar buried his face into Mufasa’s trousers, both hands gripping tightly as though begging him to stay, inhaling deeply the Alpha pheromones that soothed his trembling body. He was terrified, utterly desperate..
“I can… I can become your woman, Your Majesty. Please… give me a chance.”
Mufasa stayed silent for a long moment. Then a low, satisfied chuckle escaped him, echoing softly in the dark cell.
“You’re offering yourself willingly?”
Scar bit his lip hard, his voice shaky but determined:
“I’m offering myself willingly… my king.”
“I see no true ‘willingness’ yet,” Mufasa said, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “At least show me.”
Scar trembled, yet he still forced himself onto his hands and knees, arching his hips high.
“So you like this position?” Mufasa laughed deeply, a rich and mocking sound that filled the cell. “Well, well… How unexpected. Our proud prince enjoys being mounted from behind like a bitch in heat.”
Scar was nearly in tears.
“Yes… make it quick-”
At once, a powerful hand seized his hair and yanked his head back sharply. Scar let out a choked cry of pain before clenching his teeth.
“Speak. Am I raping you?”
“N-no…” Scar shuddered, voice breaking. “No… Your Majesty… I offer myself willingly.”
Only then did the hand loosen its grip. Scar noticed that Mufasa used his left hand to hold his hair, even though he was right-handed. Perhaps it was his sensitive Omega instincts that made him catch such small details.
Mufasa knelt behind him and drove his still-hard cock straight into Scar’s cum-filled hole. He let out a low growl of pure pleasure.
Without haste, Mufasa gripped Scar’s hips with both large hands and pulled him back slightly, forcing the thick length even deeper. His movements were steady and practiced, as though he had done this a hundred times with countless Omegas.
Yet Mufasa wanted only this, only with his own brother.
“I have never felt this way with anyone else,” Mufasa murmured, brushing Scar’s hair aside to expose his ear. He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of it, and caught a glimpse of the scar over Scar’s eye.
“Do not lie to me, brother.”
“You know I have never lied to you.”
Mufasa pulled back almost to the tip, then slammed in with one deep, powerful thrust, striking Scar’s most sensitive spot dead-on. Scar jolted violently, eyes rolling back, mouth falling open in a sharp, broken cry.
“…So tight,” Mufasa growled in satisfaction, voice low and rough.
He smiled with dark amusement and began a steady, relentless rhythm, each thrust strong and impossibly deep. He knew exactly how to drive an Omega in heat to madness. Every withdrawal was accompanied by a slow roll of his hips, rubbing against Scar’s inner walls, before he drove back in hard, hitting that same devastating spot. The pace was not frantic, but solid and masterful, like an old predator who knew precisely how to conquer his prey.
“You are doing very well. Do not be shy, move your hips for me. It won't hurt, I promise.”
Pleasure. Scar was drowning in it.
Not only that, Mufasa praised him, stroked his head, and encouraged him. He tended to both body and mind with careful attention.
It was far gentler than Simba had been, and Scar could not stop fixating on the difference.
Scar fought to keep the last scraps of his sanity.
Stay awake… do not… do not lose yourself…
But the next powerful thrust sent Mufasa’s thick, burning cock straight into his womb. Scar arched hard, tears spilling from his eyes.
“Ah… aahh…!”
He could hold on no longer. Every deep stroke sent waves of overwhelming ecstasy racing up his spine until his mind went white. The harder he tried to stay conscious, the more completely Mufasa crushed him.
“Look at you,” Mufasa laughed hoarsely, one hand stroking down Scar’s spine before gripping the back of his neck and pressing him down. “The proud prince, now nothing but a slut in heat, hips pushing back so eagerly. What is it? Are you too lost in pleasure to even speak?”
He increased his pace slightly, yet kept the rhythm precise, each thrust striking the exact spot that made Scar shake uncontrollably. His other hand slid beneath Scar, wrapping around the smaller cock that was leaking steadily, stroking it in time with his thrusts.
Scar moaned wildly, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth. He could no longer think. Every time he tried to cling to reason, Mufasa would grip his waist and slam in hard, pushing him deeper into bliss. Gradually, Scar stopped moving altogether and simply let Mufasa take complete control.
“Y-Your Majesty… aah… too much…”
“I know,” Mufasa replied calmly, voice steady yet thick with pleasure. “I can make you enjoy this greatly, but do not forget to serve me as well, brother.”
He leaned down and bit lightly at the nape of Scar’s neck, then suddenly pounded into him with a dozen deep, ruthless thrusts. Scar cried out, body convulsing, walls clenching wildly around the cock that was claiming him.
“Haa… a… uh… so good… aahh… I can’t… Your Majesty… aaaah…”
He could do nothing but moan senselessly.
Mufasa laughed, a deep, triumphant sound. He kept his steady, powerful rhythm, never ceasing to stimulate every sensitive place inside Scar. He licked, sucked, and even nipped at Scar’s nipples and chest, reducing the once-proud Omega to a trembling, melting mess beneath him.
Scar was utterly conquered. His mind held nothing but pleasure and the thick, intoxicating scent of Mufasa’s Alpha pheromones. Unconsciously, he began pushing back to meet every thrust, like a bitch fully tamed.
For the next half hour, the cell became nothing but chaos.
There were only two beasts locked together in the darkness, all the growling, biting, fucking with pure primal need. Mufasa took Scar as though he would tear him apart, while Scar met him thrust for thrust, moaning, shaking, tears and drool running freely, yet still instinctively pushing back every time the king’s thick cock drove into his womb. The wet slap of flesh echoed endlessly. The broken cries of the Omega blended with the satisfied growls of the older Alpha. There was no thought left, only things left is the heavy scent of pheromones, sweat, cum, and slick soaking the straw beneath them.
When it finally ended, Scar remembered he was still alive. He lay limp on the filthy nest, body trembling, hole swollen and red, thick white cum leaking steadily down his thighs. He had no strength left to move even a finger. Mufasa seemed unconcerned that Scar had already been used by another earlier.
Mufasa rose slowly, breathing a little heavier, and looked down at the conquest he had just claimed. He glanced at the now-soiled nest drenched in Scar’s release and gave a mocking smile.
“I seem to have made quite a mess of it. I suppose Simba will not be too angry, will he?”
Scar did not answer. He lay still, eyes glazed, silently thanking whatever gods remained that it was finally over.
“You will… release me and stop all this nonsense of your child, will you not?” His voice was hoarse, barely audible.
Mufasa was silent for a moment, then let out a loud, arrogant laugh - the laugh of a king who held all power.
“You did not truly believe that all your years of treachery would be paid for with only one night, did you?”
“Mufasa… you are a merciful man… at least thinking about your son.” Scar’s voice shook, close to begging.
“What about my son? He looked happy… Fear not, little brother.” Mufasa leaned down, gripping Scar’s chin firmly and forcing him to look up into his eyes. “This pain is but a small fraction of what I suffered when you pushed me from that cliff.”
Scar had lost again. The more he struggled, the deeper he sank into the mire he himself had dug.
Mufasa released his chin, voice calm yet cold:
“I shall return. And I will bring fresh clothes for you. Some clean, warm blankets so you may rest more comfortably.”
He cast one last deep look at Scar’s filthy nest. Scar gave no reply. He was exhausted. He dragged himself deeper into the pile of fabric and curled up tight. He needed Mufasa to leave immediately so he could cry. He would not shed tears in front of anyone, least of all him.
When Scar thought Mufasa had gone, the king returned with a basin of water and knelt beside him.
“What are you doing?”
“A proper Alpha,” Mufasa answered. “Have you eaten yet?”
“I have,” Scar whispered. They both knew Simba had already brought food.
Mufasa gently parted Scar’s thighs and began cleaning the mess between his legs with warm water. He wiped every bite mark and bruise, then applied something cool and soothing to the swollen, painful places. Scar shivered. The pain eased. Mufasa had always carried such medicine because he used to fight so often. Using it on Scar now felt strangely wrong. Scar knew it would reduce the swelling quickly, he had stolen it himself after fights with Mufasa in the past. Scar had always played dirty. That was what he had learned from their father: the wicked win, and the victor must always stay vigilant. So why had Mufasa, raised with the same lessons, become so wise?
He was not resigned to it, yet this was his brother. He should feel glad that Mufasa had forgiven him. He wanted to be held. He felt cold. He should have asked Simba to stay, but the words would not come.
“The look in your eyes now reminds me of you before we parted.”
“I think I have always been like this…” Scar whispered, voice raw. “Even when I pushed you from the cliff.”
“No. Not then.”
They both knew exactly what “then” meant.
It was the look in Scar’s eyes before Mufasa took the throne and married Sarabi. Before he had fallen for her and stood watching her hand in hand with his brother. Back then Scar had still been a sensitive young man. Why had it come to this? The only person who had ever truly cared for him, hand in hand with the one he admired most - the one he once believed was his destiny. He had not seen his own flaws. He had tried to become better, yet failed miserably.
“I have never regretted pushing you from that cliff.”
“I thought as much, my brother.”
Scar realized he had spoken his true thoughts aloud - the first time in his life he had dared say it so plainly. For one brief moment, he even felt a spark of pride.
But when Mufasa slowly stepped closer, each heavy footstep echoing, Scar’s courage vanished. He shrank back. When Mufasa’s large hand touched his cheek, Scar trembled violently. His Omega instincts took over: he lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Mufasa’s hand, then lifted that hand to his own forehead in the oldest gesture of complete submission and apology.
Mufasa paused and looked at him for a long time.
“In truth, I only wished to check if you had a fever. But I shall accept this clumsy apology.”
He looked as though he were greatly amused.
Scar felt a wave of crushing shame. He had just been proud of speaking the truth, yet one gentle touch had turned him into a dog kissing the hand of his enemy. His own cowardice made him wish to sink into the earth.
Suddenly Mufasa leaned down and placed a kiss on Scar’s lips. It was not the brutal, savage kiss from earlier. This one was deep, tender, almost affectionate. Mufasa held him in warm arms, one hand gently stroking the top of Scar’s head as though soothing a child. Scar melted against him, his exhausted body betraying him once more. He unconsciously leaned into the broad chest - then suddenly flinched.
“It hurts.”
Mufasa was trying to mark him. It clearly would not take, yet the sensation was strangely soothing and pleasant. The fingers Scar had dug into Mufasa slowly loosened.
“You cannot mark me…”
“It is still worth trying…” Mufasa whispered against his lips, voice warm and low. “Did I force you into this?”
At that moment Scar truly could think of nothing. He felt only bone-deep exhaustion and the bitter sense of being deceived by these sweet, empty gestures. Yet he still answered:
“No… I offered myself willingly, Your Majesty.”
Mufasa smiled in satisfaction and rose slowly, brushing off his clothes.
“You need not stand there any longer, Simba.”
From the dark corridor came the sound of footsteps. Simba stepped forward, his face carefully blank.
“I did not wish to disturb you two.”
Damn it. Scar cursed silently.
“Wait-”
Mufasa had trapped him. He had deliberately let Simba stand there and hear everything - using Scar’s own body and desperate pleas to assert dominance over the boy.
" Don't need to explain anything,” Simba cut in smoothly, walking closer at a leisurely pace. He crouched down, gripping Scar’s chin with two fingers and forcing his face up. Simba’s eyes were full of cruel amusement. “I have been wondering how to bring our family back together. This is perfect, isn’t it? My dear uncle has finally opened his heart.”
Simba tilted his head, staring at Scar’s ruined face - red eyes, swollen lips, messy hair, neck and chest covered in bites and hickeys.
“What is that expression, uncle Scar?” Simba smirked, voice sweet yet venomous. “Don’t think I will argue with my own father over something like this. And I won’t abandon you either. I’ll still come visit..”
..
In the days that followed, the endless sex left Scar’s mind in a constant haze.
Fuck, cuddle, kiss, then do it again.
“Hey, not there.”
Scar pushed Simba’s head away. The younger lion looked hurt, completely different from the rutting beast of moments ago. Suddenly a hand grabbed Scar’s chin and pulled him into a deep kiss.
“Focus,” Mufasa said quietly.
Scar’s lips were bitten until they swelled.
“I’m still here,” Simba growled jealously, thrusting harder and making Scar’s body shake violently.
“You should try it too, Simba. Maybe this pridefull uncle of your need two to be marked.”
“Yes father.”
Scar lay there, trapped between father and son, with no strength left to resist. He could only close his eyes and let Simba’s pheromones begin to spread, layering over Mufasa’s scent, turning him into an Omega marked by both Alphas in the same night. He had once craved affection and being held. Now that he had it, he realized how intoxicating it was. He no longer understood how he had ever lived without it.
Omegas especially needed to be held and protected throughout their heat to ensure fertility and complete safety.