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 Forty-One: Kenet
The next morning I opened my eyes expecting to find Marksin lying next to the pallet, but he was already up and about. The general stirred the moment I moved, and seemed much revived, claiming it had been the best night’s sleep he’d had since before the war had begun. His leg was stronger, and in the afternoon he and three commanders rode up onto a nearby ridge to survey the army from there. I stayed behind with Marksin. Neither he, nor the general, said a word about what had happened the night before, but Marksin and I acknowledged each other with a shared glance from time to time.
While the surveying was going on, Marksin enlisted my aid in paperwork, for I could read, write, and figure sums. “Each battalion will eat two bullocks a day, right down to the hooves,” he told me, “so figure for me how many head of cattle we shall need to feed the entire encampment for two more weeks.”
The missing part of the equation, of course, was how many battalions we were, with more arriving every few days, but it was easy enough to estimate based on expectations. The number I arrived at, though, seemed impossibly high. I did it again to be sure.
“Why so quiet, Page?” he asked, from where he was figuring something else, feed for the horses, perhaps.
“This does not seem like the right number,” I said, not wishing to admit any mistake. “When I know this number equals half the entirety of the southern herds, at the size of the herds before the blight.”
Marksin looked at the number on the parchment. “No, Page, I would say that looks about right.”
“But if we take all the meat in the country, what will the rest of the people eat?”
“Oh they will get by on what fruit they can pull off the trees, and wild deer,” he said mildly, but I looked up and saw the expression on his face. He was joking, but in the most serious way. “You see how high the cost of war is, yes?”
“And this is not even for war, just for a standing army,” I said.
“This is one of the reasons we may be ordered into action soon,” he said. “For while we are doing nothing but waiting, we are eating our way through the stores of the nation. And what goodwife would not give up her share of beef to ensure that her sons in the army are fed? None. But if the harvest is poor, and the animals continue to sicken? That goodwife may have nothing left to give.”
“But…” I was speaking aloud my thoughts without censoring them. “If she falls ill and her garden fallow and her village comes to nothing… then what is the army fighting to protect?”
He looked at me curiously, as if he had not expected this kind of philosophy from an escaped whoreslave. “Well, but can the army fight the blight? It cannot be beaten with swords or cannon.”
“But if the soldiers were home to work their crops, the pestilence might be slowed,” I said. “I have heard it takes two men ten days to burn the pestilence out of an orchard, from first tree to last. But in ten days the first tree purged may begin to show the signs again. Ten men, though, could clear the same orchard in two days, isn’t that right?”
“That may be so,” he said. “But this raises another question in my mind.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How do you know so much about the southern herds and the eastern orchards?”
I just blinked at him for a few moments. I couldn’t tell him I was the prince, no matter how much I trusted him. “I, my master…” What was a plausible explanation, that my master liked to discuss the economy while I suckled his milk?
Marksin cuffed me gently on the shoulder. “Don’t look so stricken. I know you cannot speak of him. Let us look at the farm yield reports that came in the last packet from the castle, and see what we may yet requisition.”
He set me to tallying grain yields, which quieted my curiosity for a time, but eventually I had to ask how much longer he thought we would remain here before the battle was to begin.
“That is the question on everyone’s minds, is it not?” he said, lighting a lamp over our heads. I had not even realized that the sun was already setting. “An army of this size does not amass without a plan of attack. I do not think it is my place to tell you anything more, Page, though I have little doubt the general might, should you ask him.”
He pulled his hair back in a tail and set his jacket hanging on a peg, rolling up his sleeves to bare whipcord strong arms. He sat and took up the ink again, as if to begin a new ledger, but his gaze remained on me.
“You think I should not ask him,” I said.
“You exert an influence on him unlike any I have ever seen,” Marksin said. “That is the plain truth.”
“And you think I could be a threat.”
“Night Magic has a hold on you, that much also is a plain truth.” He gestured in my direction. “Need I say more?”
“No, I suppose not. Yet if I am such a threat, why keep me so close?”
Marksin raised his eyebrow again. “You are surprised that he wants to keep you in his bed?”
“No,” I said again, but my mind was turning things over again and again. Was this merely that the general had taken a liking to me? But if it was, then again I had to ask why had he kept me pure? Even to the extent of protecting me from others. Perhaps it was best not to go delving into it too much; so long as the state of affairs remained as it was, I was safe.
We said no more about it, and prepared reports and requisitions to go by messenger at first light. Marksin had a man bring some bread and meat; it was enough for two, the man not knowing that I would touch none of it. The general came in some time later, and finished what Marksin had not. The distant sound of some men singing down in the camp reached us as the general tied the tentflap closed.
“I take it all three of us are not yet fed,” he said, removing his jacket and laying it across the chest.
“No, Sir,” I answered.
“And are you hungry, Page?” he asked, as he lowered himself slowly to the pallet. I hurried over to pull his boots free.
“Not especially, Sir, but I would not say no to a meal, either.” I began to rub his leg, a hopeful tone in my voice that I could not erase, for I hoped perhaps tonight it might finally be the general’s turn to spill into my mouth.
“Good boy,” he said, but he stopped my hands on his thigh. “I have been thinking about it, and think we should treat this condition with precision. What man does not need to eat every day? And surely your master, if he kept so fine a whoreslave as you, would never have skipped a day without the pleasure of filling you up?” He gestured for Marksin to come closer. “They say, also, that a man’s milk flows best if spilled with regularity, sweet and creamy if kept fresh, rather than souring in his ballocks. Though you, Page, would know that better than I.”
His words had set up a fine edge of anticipation in all of us, yet Marksin was still too much a soldier to do anything without an order to spur him. He was standing beside us, nearly at attention he was so stiff. So I took the initiative. “May I suckle the field marshal now, Sir?”
“Yes, Page,” he said, stroking my hair. “But don’t make him spill until I say. For now enjoy the appetizer that is the salt that comes before the cream.”
“Yes, Sir.” I stayed on my knees, undoing Marksin’s belt and baring his cock, the rest of his uniform rucked down around his thighs. A salty dewdrop was already awaiting me, and I took my time taking it up with the very tip of my tongue and exploring the tiny slit from which it had issued. The head was different from the shaft in both texture and flavor. The head was softer, and muskier from hiding all day in the folds of his foreskin, while the shaft was stiffer flesh and tasted more of his sweat.
Marksin’s hands were at his sides, while Roichal’s roamed over my back and hair. I barely noticed as he slipped me out of my jacket and shirt as I sucked and sucked. I opened my eyes, though, when he pulled me back gently from the prick in my mouth to kiss me, his own tongue taking the place of Marksin’s cock and seeking out what new flavors it could.
“Stand up, Page,” he said then, and “On your knees, Marksin.”
Marksin did not hesitate to drop to his knees, but he found it somewhat difficult with his boots and trousers still on. He paused to shuck them, then knelt where he had been standing.
“If you would be so good as to reciprocate Page’s attention,” the general said.
Marksin nodded as if he didn’t trust his voice, and his hands shook as he undid my uniform trousers and bared me. Roichal had one hand in the small of my back, one on Marksin’s shoulder, and smiled indulgently as Marksin rubbed his cheek against my hip, savoring the moment before his lips brushed against my cock.
I had thought myself careful, slow, and seductive, but he made me out like a bull calf at a teat in comparison. He nibbled and kissed all along the shaft, until I was twitching with the desire for more, and only then did his tongue dart out to taste me. I knew beyond any doubt that this was how Marksin would have treated Roichal, had he been given the opportunity.
Roichal groaned in appreciation. “Beautiful.”
Eventually things reached the state that they always must, though, and I was on the edge of spilling, though I did not fear that I would, not without a command from the general. It was difficult to keep silent, though, as Marksin continued to suckle and work.
“Switch places again,” Roichal said softly.
I put my hand on Marksin’s cheek as he eased his mouth from my prick. He stood, but before I could kneel, he pulled me into a kiss, letting me taste my own salt and musk on his lips. Roichal tugged at my hips then, and I sat in his lap like the night before, straddling his legs and facing Marksin, who fed his cock into my mouth eagerly.
We knew Roichal would be trying to recreate whatever it was that had triggered his release before. And we were both willing—more than willing, eager—to repeat it.
This time there was one change, though. This time instead of his hand pulling at Marksin’s hip, driving him into my mouth, he reached further around. I felt the jolt go through Marksin as he found his entrance being dandled, then heard the liquid sound of Roichal wetting his fingers thoroughly before reaching around him again.
This time when the command to come issued from his lips, he must have penetrated Marksin with his finger, for Marksin’s milk shot with intense force into my mouth, his cock thrumming madly. My own cock jerked in Roichal’s hand, answering the call.
But we had no way to know if the general had come, too, until he told us he had when we both inquired. And then he pulled Marksin in for another kiss, growling when it was over, “Tomorrow, you will kiss me with Page’s milk still on your lips.”
“Yes, Sir,” Marksin whispered, head bowed.
We lay down again in the same configuration as the night before, with Roichal spooning me and Marksin on the ground next to us, his face only a short distance from mine.
“Sir,” he asked, for this time the general had not fallen unconscious immediately, “is it truly permissible for us to use Page like this?”
“How do you mean? He cannot live without a man’s milk, and it is not healthy for him, or any man, to go too long without release. This is the only way for him.”
“No, no. I mean, is it truly all right for me to drink his milk, even if he is touched by Night Magic?”
“Ah, I see. Marks, I do not think we have anything to fear from the magic that courses through Page’s veins. Page is the only one who would be in jeopardy, were he not in our arms.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Stop worrying, Marks. He is a gift. A true gift of Fate. Some magic in him allows me the release I have sought for a decade. I shall not question that.”
“Thank you, Sir,” he repeated, then said, “Thank you, Page.”
“And I you,” I answered sleepily. Seroi was evil, of that I was sure, but perhaps some good would come of his spells.
* * *
Can’t get enough of Kenet and Jorin? Visit The Prince’s Boy fan art gallery on Cecilia’s website!
About the author: Cecilia Tan is the award-winning author of many erotic books and stories and the founder of Circlet Press.