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 Fifty-One: Kenet
Something was going to happen. Something soon, it seemed, given the number of strategy sessions Roichal held among his top commanders, and the duration of them. One night they continued far past sundown, and I fell asleep sitting on the floor of the tent, leaning against a chest.
When I woke, Marksin was pulling my boots off. We were in his tent. From here, closer to the main camp, I could hear men singing along while one played a drum and another bowed a string. I tried to sit up, but he just twisted the other boot off and tossed it aside, his firm hands on my ankle.
“He’s given orders for me to feed you,” he said quietly. “And then I shall remain here as your guard.”
“Do you think that’s necessary?” I asked. After all, who would bother me if no one knew I was in the field marshal’s tent?
“It doesn’t matter if it’s necessary,” he said, kneeling close. “Those are his orders. Would you contradict them?”
“No! No, of course I wouldn’t…” I trailed off as he slid a hand into my hair. I could not meet his eyes.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ve lived a lifetime of discipline. You’re still learning.”
He cut me off with his words, as he unbuckled his sword belt. “How would you like it?”
His milk, he meant. “Er, um…” It felt distinctly odd not to have Roichal there directing us in what to do. It seemed neither of us quite knew who was in charge. “Well, it’s best freshest from the source…?”
He laughed. “Of course. I meant, what position should we adopt.”
I sat up then and moved from the cot, urging him to sit or lie down. “Please. Let me pleasure you as best I can.”
He sat and opened his trousers but did not remove any of his uniform. We did not enjoy quite the same privacy here as we did in the general’s own tent. I had forgotten that. I knelt between his spread knees and took his damp ballocks in the palm of my hand, easing them away from the bunched fabric, and then lowering my mouth to the pendulous cock that hung from them.
He tasted musky, of saddle and sweat, and the scent brought my own prick to quivering hard while I teased him with the tip of my tongue. I did not tease him for long, however, and quickly I was taking as much of his considerable length down my throat as I could manage. He whispered to me then, how fast, how much to squeeze his sacks, how hard to suck… the result of which was he spilled quickly and efficiently.
When I had swallowed all I could, though, he pulled me up into a deep kiss, his tongue searching after the taste of his own musk, it seemed. When he paused, we were both breathless. His lips moved against mine as he spoke. “Thank you, Page.”
“Tcha. Thank you, for the gift of your milk, as always.”
He shook his head slowly, his forehead against mine. “It always feels more like you doing a service to me than the other way around,” he said. “May I—?”
He broke off, no doubt just remembering the thing I then voiced. “I cannot come without him.”
“Of course,” he said, pulling back. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I kissed him on the cheek to show I had no hard feelings, and then got to my feet. “You were thinking of me and my needs,” I said. “That is admirable. But although at one time I think perhaps any man’s command to spill would have released me, I suspect that now, Roichal’s voice alone will do. And besides…” I shrugged, then, not quite sure how to express what I was thinking without it sounding like a rebuke to Marks.
But he finished the thought for me. “His orders were only to feed you, not give you release. Although I do not think he would begrudge it to you, I understand how loyal you feel, Page.” He took off his jacket then, but adjusted his clothing so that he was covered up once again. “They may be at it all night. We should get some sleep if we can. Will you be able to?”
I sighed. My prick had gotten used to a nightly release and sat up straight like an expectant dog. I would have to ignore it. “I think so. You take the cot and I will lie alongside on the floor.”
“No, you—” He stopped himself. “Well, all right. Except let us move so that the cot is between you and the flap.”
We rearranged, and he placed his sword within his reach on one side of the cot, me on the other.
I found, though, that getting to sleep in my rampant state was somewhat difficult. Marksin, too, seemed restless. I asked him softly, “Marks?”
“Would you truly have fucked me? That night, I mean, the first night I was here? If I had not cried?”
He was silent a while and I wondered if he had drifted off, but then he spoke. “Word traveled to me quickly that you were there. A whoreslave sent from the castle? You had to be an escaped slave, I thought, who had just hidden in the wagon, but I had to see for myself.”
“But how did you hear I was there? If no one suspects you of… of…”
“Hush. Most of the men know nothing of me, and then there are those who know of the exploits you have seen the general remind me to take part in, among the camp followers and the like. But you do realize by now, don’t you, that the ranks are rife with the perverse who would openly condemn any man who admitted he lusted after other men or boys, yet who jump at the chance to ram their cocks into any hole of boy or man willing in secret?”
“I thought that was just something about me. Didn’t the general say it might be magic?”
“It might be, Page, it might be, but there are those who have the urges, shall we say, and who only find outlet when something comes along like a spy to be punished. There is even a superstition among the ranks that spilling into a man will ensure they survive the next battle, while being the one to accept the milk ensures one’s doom.”
“Do you believe it?” I asked.
“Assuredly not,” Marksin said. “In fact, I know it not to be true, but I can hardly tell the men that. At any rate, I have not answered your question. But yes, Page, had you not started to cry, I would have surely taken you.”
“You would have been my first,” I said then, rolling over so I could look at him.
He was looking down at me in the flickering lantern light. “So I gathered.” Then he fell silent, studying me.
“I am not a whoreslave,” I said, to which he nodded. “There is… there is someone I want for my first.”
He nodded again, and I realized he must have thought I meant the general. I went on quickly. “Someone I’ve known for a long time, but we were separated. I had to flee danger and that was how I ended up here. He… I believe he is in the army.”
Light dawned in Marksin’s eyes. “That is why you have been sneaking looks at the names?”
I nodded. “But I owe so much to the general. For protecting me. I… I do not wish to betray the trust he has put in me. If… If I find the man I seek, I do not know what I shall do.”
“Will you tell me his name?”
I shook my head and we both fell silent.
After a while, Marksin said, “So long as the search for your missing companion does not interfere with what duties you are assigned, you may continue. But if you find him, you must tell us before you act. Do you promise you will?”
“I promise I will tell you if I find him before I try to speak to him.” I sighed as I felt the slight tingle that had to be the same magic that had bound me not to tell of Seroi.
We fell asleep soon after.
And I dreamed. I dreamed that Jorin was there, pulling me back against him, and then his hand reached down to stroke me. His cock was hot and insistent between my thighs, and I squeezed hard, trapping the length of him. You’ve gotten bigger, I tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come. While we’ve been apart, your cock has grown.
His answer was to pump it back and forth in the tight clamp of my thighs, his breath warm in my ear. It was a dream, so I thought perhaps he could hear me even though I didn’t speak aloud.
Oh, that feels good, I thought, hoping he could hear me. But I want you to spill inside me. As a man does a maid. I’ve been waiting so long for you, and it’s been so hard sometimes.
But he did not make a move to push into me, just kept up his rhythmic rocking.
Then suddenly he was torn away and the sudden cold on my back woke me. I blinked, taking a moment to realize that I had been asleep and dreaming, and that Roichal had pulled Marksin off me by either the hair or the ear, I couldn’t quite tell as I rolled over quickly and sat up, pulling my trousers up. Marksin must have rucked them down to my knees while we slept.
Roichal flung him down, perhaps too enraged to speak.
Marksin pressed his forehead to the canvas under us, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t realize. I was having a dream…”
“Tcha. You are the only one I trust and you cannot even trust yourself?” Roichal hissed back, but his demeanor was softening already. “Page, are you… hurt?”
“No, Sir,” I said quickly. Then added, “And if by hurt you mean was I breached, no, Sir, it was between my legs only. And I too, was asleep.”
Roichal shook his head. “We must protect you. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, Sir. I… I am quite willing to be protected in this matter.” I exchanged a glance with Marksin, who then rehashed for the general the conversation that he and I had earlier.
To my surprise, Roichal chuckled. “That explains why you have been trying to push Marks to fulfil the role of bedwarmer for me, eh? You have nothing to fear from me in that regard, Page, no matter how seductive your arse’s magic may be.”
I found myself speaking even though I should have merely kissed his feet. “You are good men and I want you to be happy,” I said, though I blushed as I did. “And I was not blind to how much care and regard you have each for the other.”
Roichal chuckled again. “Well said. And this is a scroll which, once unrolled, cannot be put back into its case. Very well. But our more immediate problem is that both of you were trying to consummate an act which both of you wish to prevent. Page, you need to spill, too, and Marks, you have a debt to pay him. There’s a simple enough solution to both conditions.”
He seated himself on Marksin’s cot before continuing. “Face down, arse up,” he said to Marks. “And reach back and spread your cheeks so I can see you. Hm. You need grease…” Here he retrieved some and thrust two fingers into Marksin, laden with the thick, white stuff. Marksin grunted stoically.
Roichal wiped the excess onto my prick and then gestured. “Have at, my boy. And don’t go easy. Your sweet prick isn’t enough to harm him.”
I was once again impressed by the field general’s discipline. I did not go easy, and yet he made not a sound.
* * *
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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.