The Prince’s Boy: Chapter 2

Welcome to The Prince’s Boy by Cecilia Tan, a tale of a prince and his whipping boy ensnared in a plot of dark erotic magic. Warning: explores themes of dubious consent and situations of sexual jeopardy. NSFW.

A new chapter appears every Wednesday. This week is Chapter Two: Kenet

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It took me a long time to realize that being whipped in front of all assembled on his first day in the castle was no less a cruelty than Jorin expected. He hadn’t known exactly that his fate was to be my whipping boy, but he hadn’t expected life to be kind. The orphanage was not a kind place. The castle, at least, would be a step up. He told me this later, much later. Back then, he didn’t tell me anything, because he hardly ever spoke.

That did not bother me in the slightest as apparently I talked enough for us both. I have only the vaguest memory of that time. He slept in my bed with me and went everywhere with me, except for the meetings with my father, twice a week, the only times my father and I were ever alone, unattended.

Jorin started to speak more than just the occasional word to me after we began formal schooling. Reading, writing, mathematics, ancient tongues, and fencing. Until then I think most of the household believed him mute. But he had to speak when our tutor asked him for answers. He still almost never spoke to anyone but me. And why should he? What did he have to say to guards or maids or attendants?

We spoke the most at night. In whispers.

Some things have not changed, now that we are of age.

 

Jorin’s breath was sweet from chewing on sechal bark, and warm against my neck as he spoke. “Sergetten says he won’t teach me anymore,” he said.

“That’s ridiculous.” I was holding him close, our limbs entangled as usual. After banquet we’d sat on the stone edge of the balcony, just the two of us, chewing sechal and watching the stars fall until our noses grew cold. And then we’d climbed into bed like we have done for more years than I can count, wrapped around each other until sometimes I couldn’t tell which hand was mine. “He can’t teach me without teaching you.”

“I’m not so sure about that. He said I’m to start training with the heavy weapons, broadsword and axe. I’ll do that while you study political theory or something else that I won’t need to know.” His breath was warm and his lips brushed against my skin as he spoke.

Something sparked in my belly. “Jorin…”

He took his name as a cue to move subtly against me, lips now tracing a vein in my neck, no longer making a pretense of speaking. My blood surged and I knew he felt the hardness growing against his thigh. Was he hard, too? I couldn’t quite tell as we were, and I shifted in his arms. He rolled easily under me and I slid my cock, swathed in silk pajamas, against his. Yes, just as hard as I was. I shed my silk and pulled his down and then rubbed against him bare skin to bare skin, my back chilled by the night air but I didn’t care. Jorin was heat beneath me and I rutted against him for a while, until he pushed me to my side, slicked his hand with spit, and took both of our lengths in his grip.

I have no idea why his spit was always so much slicker than mine. Royal blood was supposed to be thicker than others’, wasn’t it? Was thin spit the trade-off? Or did he just have a knack I didn’t? I was grateful, though, as Jorin stroked us.

“Faster,” I rasped.

“No,” he said, a gleam in his eye. “You’ll spill too soon.”

“But…”

“Hush and let me.”

I fell silent in acquiescence. He kept his strokes long and even, his thumb drawing a circle around the slick tips at the top of each stroke, mixing our dew together and keeping his grip slippery. Every now and then he would lick his palm to make sure, but his touch never felt rough or dry to me. “Jorin…!” I whispered with some urgency.

“Yes, Kenet, my prince?”

“I want… I want to come…”

“You will. Have I ever left you hard?”

“Well, no…”

“Seriously, Kenet, is it that you like to beg? Or do you actually think if you don’t, I might forget to finish you off?”

“You can’t talk to me that way!” I hissed. “I’m the Prince of Maldevar!” But it was a jest, and we both knew it, because in the night, in our bed, he whispered that sort of thing to me all the time.

“Yes, my prince,” he said, with infinite patience. “Of course, my prince.” He had added a twist to his stroke that robbed me of my ability to answer temporarily.

But once I could speak again, I couldn’t help myself. “Make me spill Jorin, and then you can finish yourself using my milk to make it slick.”

“Tempting,” he breathed. “But maybe it should be the other way around. Maybe I should spill all over your cock and then stroke you so hard you nearly go blind when you finish.”

“I… that… that would be acceptable, too.”

At that he just laughed and slowed his stroke even more.

~* Continued next week! Full list of chapters: here. *~

Prefer reading on paper? You can mail order the finished books of The Prince’s Boy, Volumes One and Two, right now and have them within days! Order direct from Amazon here, or use the coupon code UU3ULDAN to get 20% off the cover price if you purchase one or both volumes from Createspace! (Volume one: https://www.createspace.com/5746475 | Volume 2: https://www.createspace.com/5801327)

About the author: Cecilia Tan is the award-winning author of many erotic books and stories and the founder of Circlet Press.

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