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-Three: Kenet
I was accompanying the general the next day, on horse, as he greeted another battalion commander just arriving from an area near the Frangi border. The commander was a grizzled old soldier with one eye named Harman, and it was clear he and Roichal had known each other for many a year. I had barely dismounted from my horse when they were embracing, beating upon one another’s backs.
“I have something to show you,” Harman said. His voice was as rough as his face.
“Indeed?” Roichal beckoned me to follow.
Harman hesitated. “You might not…”
“My page is not so tender as he looks. What is it, Harman?”
“You’ll see.” He led us to where his own command tent had been pitched, in the shade of a large tree.
He opened the flap and led us inside. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness but I had heard a cry when he had entered.
There were six boys there, huddled together, the smallest ones covering their eyes with their hands.
“It’s all right,” Harman crooned. “You can look.”
At first I thought there must be something they feared about the general, but as they peered at him curiously that did not seem to be the problem.
Harman explained. “We took them from the hold of a Night Mage near the border. They have been held in the dark and their eyes cannot bear the light.”
Roichal started. “Held for how long?”
The eldest of them, who couldn’t have been more than a year or two younger than me, answered. “Four years, Sir.”
“That is our guess from what we could tell of the passing of the seasons,” he said, voice clear, though his eyes slipped closed as if accustomed to being that way. “I was taken in summer. The others have been nearly as long.”
One of them moaned, the smallest one, and the others moved around him, touching him instinctively in the near dark. He was lying on an improvised pallet and wore just a tunic over him, exposing his emaciated arms and legs.
“What is wrong with this one?” Roichal asked in a quiet voice.
“We don’t know, Sir,” the eldest boy said. “We have not seen our master for nearly two months, and he cannot seem to eat without him.”
Roichal and I shared a glance. Roichal continued to question them in a gentle voice. It seemed this mage had kept up the pretense of the youngest being his favorite, and had always fed him fine fruits and tender meats before the boy would… suckle. They were all pale, having been kept in the dark for so long, but the weak one had a shock of black hair like Jorin’s.
I felt ill. I could not move from Roichal’s side, yet I did not want to hear another word about what uses these boys had been put to, in the name of Night Magic. It was one thing for Jorin and I to have explored one another as boys, at play, and something entirely different for them to have been kidnapped and forced.
“The others are recovering well enough, with gradual exposure to light,” Harman was saying in a low voice, “except for Istin.”
Roichal pulled Harman to the deepest corner of the tent and they continued speaking to each other in urgent whispers.
I went and knelt by the sick boy. The others all looked up at me hopefully. “Are you a healer?” one of them asked.
I shook my head. “No. I… I am also escaped from a Night Mage,” I said. Their eyes only widened. “I… I think I may know what your friend needs.” I brushed the boy’s hair from his forehead. He was too weak to do anything more than smile at me.
“If what you mean is more Night Magic, we shan’t,” the eldest said. “We would rather die than let another man touch us ever again.”
I shook my head. “Not Night Magic, not exactly. I will never go back to the mage who made me what I am. Not willingly. But… though food will not sustain him, there is one thing that will. It need not come from the mage. It can come from any man.”
One of them clutched at his stomach as if he were ill. The eldest covered his eyes again. Then he uncovered them and looked at me. “You suffer from this as well?”
I nodded. “There is a soldier who accommodates me,” I said. “A good, kind man. But we do not speak of it and only he and the general know my story.”
“Of course not,” one of the others said.
The eldest shook his head. “I think Istin would rather die than suckle another man’s pisshole.”
At that pronouncement, though, the other one who looked quite young threw his arms around his comrade and burst into tears. “Istin, Istin, don’t die! You can have my milk, every drop, served to you in a golden cup from a silver spoon if you want.”
Istin’s weak arm folded over his friend, patting him on the back. He croaked a few words that only the other boy could hear.
Roichal and Harman returned to us just as the eldest was asking me, “Is this a curse that cannot be broken?”
“I do not know,” I said. “Will I be like this all my life? Would killing the mage who bound me like this release me? Or will the effect fade over time as I continue to be separated from him? I do not know.”
“I will never leave you,” Istin’s friend swore to him, then looked around at us. “Leave us. Leave us, please!”
Harman said to Roichal, “Well, it would appear your page has settled the matter among them. Let us go, then.”
Three of the boys tied scarves over their eyes and followed the eldest to the tent flap. They followed us outside, into the shade of the tree. Their leader squinted and shaded his eyes, but withstood the brightness.
Roichal spoke to him. “For now I must leave you in the care of Commander Harman who will report to me of your welfare. Come, Page, we have much to discuss.”
When we were mounted and riding once again, where none could eavesdrop, he told me what a quandary the boys presented for him. “We are fortunate that they are not all afflicted as you are, but even one, and so young…” He shook his head. “They will allow no man to touch them, and I do not blame them in the slightest for that, but any man who would oblige the suckling of such a boy… I would want to run through with a sword myself and then leave to die of a gut wound on a buzzard-covered field.”
I said nothing, just feeling ill thinking on it.
“We are fortunate that you coaxed them to a solution,” Roichal continued. “If, indeed, we are correct about the boy’s troubles. But it seems likely, does it not? It also increases my resolve that you must be provided for.”
I looked at him in surprise. “You are not thinking of… of telling anyone else?”
He chuckled at my alarm. “Fear not, Page. You know I will not turn you into a whore for the camp.”
“I… of course not… I…” My cheeks must have burned crimson. “I mean, the field marshal is plenty for me. I don’t w— That is, there is only one…” Curse my tongue for having led me into a field of brambles again. I had no choice now but to plough through. “There is only one man I would… I would consider in addition to him.”
“You, Sir.” I could not meet his eyes. I could barely look at the reins in my hand. All I could do was repeat myself in a whisper. “You, Sir.”
Both horses pulled up short and I found his hand rubbing my knee affectionately. He looked back and forth, ensuring we were alone, before answering. “Knowing you desire it so keenly makes me wish your wish could be granted, Page,” he said. “But it cannot.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said, feeling the disappointment as keenly as the desire.
He patted my knee again. “You must tell me, though, what desires you have, no matter what they are. You will do this for me as a service, if you are both loyal and obedient.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said again. “May I wait until nightfall, though, Sir?”
He laughed, heartily and loudly. “Yes, Page, yes you may.” He spurred his horse into a trot and mine followed eagerly.
Nightfall and time for my evening “meal” came soon enough. Roichal insisted we vary our routine somewhat, and he and the field marshal played a game of cards with two of the other officers outside Marksin’s tent while I sat quietly by, watching. After a while, the other two left, and Roichal and Marksin went into the tent. Only then did Roichal tell him about the boys who had been rescued.
“I hope this tale has not sickened you so much that you cannot perform well for our young page,” he said. “For I would hate to see Page sicken and wither as that one did.”
“Fear not,” Marksin said, sitting on the edge of his own pallet and starting to remove his boots.
“May I?” I asked, sliding to my knees beside him. I looked back at Roichal, for I was asking for the general’s permission as much as Marksin’s.
They both assented, and I worked Marksin’s boots off, then rubbed his bare feet. That produced louder—and more lascivious-sounding—groans than the times I had suckled him! Roichal laughed.
As I rubbed Marksin’s feet I told him, “The general has asked me to demonstrate my loyalty and obedience by performing a service for him.”
“Yes. I have promised to tell him what I want.”
Marksin seemed bemused by this. “And what have you told him?”
“So far, only that I wished I could suck his milk as well as yours, but he says that is a wish he cannot grant.” I dared not look at the general as I said this. “Other than that, well, you two do not leave me wanting for much at all. Except, well…” I was rapidly realizing how silly what I was about to say would sound. But they both pressed me gently to go on. “Except… for wanting to perform more services, so that I might demonstrate my loyalty and obedience.”
Marksin seized my wrist and pulled me up to look in his eyes. He and Roichal shared a glance. “And is it the spell that compels you to behave this way?”
I jerked in surprise and dismay. “No. No, I do not believe it is the spell that makes me feel this way.”
“Are you sure?” he pressed.
I sighed unhappily. “No, I am not sure. But if my feelings are my own, then they are feelings of gratitude. You and the general have earned my loyalty and my respect. You have earned my affection, as well, and as for obedience, well, that is one of the only ways I can show my loyalty and my appreciation.”
I felt the general move behind me and felt the warmth of his hands stroking my hair. “You are a good boy, Page,” he said, in a whisper.
“Thank you, Sir.” I bowed my head. Was it the spell? I remembered feeling this before, when Seroi praised me. But was it Night Magic, or was it just something about me?
I could count the times my father had praised me on my fingers, while Jorin bore countless marks of his disappointment. Sergetten had not been much freer with his praise.
Seroi had only praised me for surrendering to him. Bit by bit. How then, could I submit to these men, and feel so good about it, without it being Night Magic?
The difference was that these men had earned my loyalty, my obedience, my affection, and my love. I leaned into Roichal’s touch. “I am not a gift from Fate,” I said, my eyes closed. “You have earned me.”
He chuckled then and pulled me into a kiss. “Get undressed. Both of you. Down to your bare skin.”
The lanterns were all out in the next nearest tents and the night was warm enough for sleeping in nothing. Marksin and I both stood and we helped each other out of uniform, until we were both naked.
“On your back, Page,” Roichal said. “Marks, atop him, feed him even as you taste him yourself.”
Marksin climbed over me, straddling my face so that his prick hung down. I lapped at it like a ripe fruit hanging from a vine. Meanwhile, his own mouth sought out my prick, his dark hair tickling me as it hung down.
His prick felt all wrong like this, upside down in my mouth, and I worried that I would scrape him where he was sensitive with my top teeth, but if the enthusiastic way he began to pump his hips, fucking my mouth, was any indication, then it felt good enough.
He was more aggressive sucking me this time, and one of his hands tugged and played with my milksacks while he sucked. Roichal circled us, looking at different angles, but did not touch us.
“Pull out now,” he told Marksin as he might have been getting close. He knelt by my feet. “Page, pump him with your fist and lick his head, but don’t make him spill yet. Marks, I want you to make Page spill, though.”
“Yes, Sir,” Marksin said, then put his mouth back where it had been.
“Page, when you are ready, you will ask my permission to come. I may grant it right away, or I might not. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said, then went back to licking. Salty droplets were oozing freely from Marksin and I lapped them greedily. At that point, I would have gladly swallowed his piss had he wished it, but that was an abasement they did not seem inclined to pursue. I thought again of the boys they had rescued from the dungeon of a mage and the many depravities they had been forced to suffer. I was lucky to have fallen into Roichal’s and Marksin’s hands.
I had to pull Marksin’s prick aside to call out hoarsely, “Oh, please, Sir, may I spill now?”
Roichal chuckled. “Ten more thrusts, Page,” he said, sinking his hands into Marksin’s hair and holding him fast. “On the tenth you may spill. Ten thrusts hard, into this willing mouth.”
Marksin’s groan was muffled by my cock, but it did not sound like a protest. My hips were already pushing upward, so close, and his throat was so soft, hot, wet… I made it to the seventh thrust before I began to cry out, but I gave three cries of agony before my release finally came. Marksin swallowed just as greedily as I usually did, then suddenly my cock flopped wetly onto my belly as Roichal pulled him into a rough kiss.
While they kissed, I resumed pumping Marksin’s shaft with my hand, licking the head all over. His groans into Roichal’s mouth took on a desperate tone.
Roichal broke free, and traced Marksin’s swollen lips with his fingers. “Up for a moment.” He directed us to shift, so that now Marksin straddled me again, but with both of our heads pointing the same direction. His cock fit better into my mouth this direction, and I wrapped my fist around it again, mouthing the head.
Roichal repositioned himself to play with Marksin’s arse. He was still fully clothed, but straddled my hips with his knees.
My mouth was busy now, waiting for Marksin’s milk, but the two of them could both speak. Marksin surprised me by doing so, though. He was normally so stoic and quiet. “Sir,” he said, jerking as Roichal did something behind him. “Would you… you you consider it… a… a sign of my… my loyalty and obedience…” He gasped as Roichal did something else. It felt like he was probably fucking him with his finger.
Roichal finished the sentence for him. “Were you to tell me what your desires are? Aye, Marks, I would be honored to know.”
But then Marksin fell silent, and it felt like the general was pumping his fingers in and out, driving Marksin’s cock into my mouth. There was another rhythm in his body, though, and I laid a hand on his chest, realizing that he was weeping.
“Come for me, Marks,” Roichal said. “Hold nothing back.”
And then a flood of milk was pumping down my throat, and Marksin’s sobs broke.
When the seed and tears ceased to flow, Roichal urged Marksin onto his side, and me into his arms. He put a cloak over us, there on the floor of the tent. “Hold him for me, Page,” he said quietly, kissing me on the forehead. “Stay with him. You did well.”
Then he kissed Marksin on the forehead, too. “Thank you, Marks. You please me well, too.”
Marksin was too overwhelmed to answer, just a few fresh tears leaking from his eyes, which I kissed away. Roichal stood. “Stay together,” he said, and then withdrew.
I wondered where he could be going, but I had my orders and would not stray from them. Marksin’s tears were salty, and when he kissed me again, his tongue tasted sweet in comparison. We kissed each other deeply, and though each of us burned with a passion for someone absent, it did not matter. The kisses were still sweet.
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About the author: Cecilia Tan is the award-winning author of many erotic books and stories and the founder of Circlet Press.