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-Eight: Jorin
The King and Sergetten left me chained to the foot of the bed when the time for afternoon audiences arrived, and for the first time since Sergetten had explained his reason behind collaring me I felt once again like a lowly pet. I curled up and pretended to sleep, like a dog would. The hood covered my eyes in any case, so they could not tell if my eyes were open or closed. Through the door to the outer chamber, I could hear them speaking to each other as Sergetten helped him to dress.
Their voices were light and they spoke familiarly with one another, and I wondered how long they had known each other. Had Sergetten been apprenticed or fostered in the castle as a youth? At the keep where he was called lord there was no indication of a family, though, no parents or siblings, no paintings or tapestries depicting his line.
My heart ached a little to hear their jaunty camaraderie, both because I knew that was a side that neither man would ever show outside these private circumstances and how wearing that must be, and, in truth, because being here in the castle I was so very much reminded of myself and Kenet. Of how we had once been.
And then they were gone, to the audience chamber, and I was left alone. At least, I was spared having to kneel naked and collared in front of Seroi. I do not know if I would have been able to maintain the masquerade that I was just some Night Magic trainee, some second or third son that Sergetten had seduced away from his family with promises of power and riches or however it was he normally found the boys he practiced his art with. What if Seroi took it into his head to test me? Or use me?
Despite these frightening and disturbing thoughts, boredom and exhaustion took their toll and I did fall asleep. When I woke, Sergetten was helping the king back into bed. It was not the creak of the bed that woke me, but a pained-sounding hiss.
“Korl—” Sergetten began.
“Hush. It is nothing.”
Sergetten chuckled. “It is far from nothing. In fact, if I recall correctly, it is impressively sizable.”
There was silence and I wondered if they were staring at each other, unmoving, but I did not dare raise my head to look.
Sergetten’s voice, when it came, was as soft the sound of silk sliding over silk. “There are ways to alleviate such a condition…”
A few heartbeats went by before the king answered. “Indeed.”
“Korl, you know that I—”
“There is one of them at the foot of the bed, am I correct?”
Another two beats of silence. Then, “Yes, my king. If that is what you wish. He is entirely obedient.”
“His mouth then. Boy!”
I did not move.
Sergetten then said, quietly. “Boy. Here.”
I was on all fours crawling toward his voice like a dog, until I reached the limit of the chain. Understand, no magic had compelled me to do so, unless understanding what he wanted was a form of magic.
“Tcha. So he is trained only to his master’s voice, like a good hunting dog,” Korl said, as Sergetten unhooked the chain from my collar and then tugged at my collar so that I would climb upon the bed. “Does he speak?”
“Not while his mouth is otherwise occupied,” Sergetten said dryly. I could feel a hand under my chin then, guiding me, and I parted my lips in anticipation. Korl’s hand, pulling me. And then quite suddenly, the blunt end of a cock was thrust into my mouth. I could not help it, I made a noise of protest, and he rammed in harder, hitting the back of my throat and making me gag. The hood must have had places for him to hold onto, for his grip was savage and unyielding as he pushed and pushed.
My teeth must have been scraping him, he was too large and fucking my mouth and the back of my throat too roughly for them not to be, but he did not seem to mind. I gagged and gagged again, and tears and snot came up, along with bile.
Then suddenly he pulled me free. For a moment I thought it was Sergetten who pulled me off, but no, it was still the king’s hand that held the hood fast. “Thunder’s roll,” he swore. “I thought your Frangi sluts had throats lined with silk.”
“This one is… still new to training,” Sergetten said. “My apologies if he is deficient, but I did not expect—”
“I should punish him, shouldn’t I?”
I held my breath, trying to hear every nuance of Sergetten’s voice, as he answered. “I am the one training him—”
“Does that mean I should punish you instead, Sergi?”
I expected a harsh denial, but heard only silence. Then, through clenched teeth, “It means if anyone is to punish him, it should be me.”
“Your whoreslave would be honored to be punished by the royal hand, though, would he not?”
“He is not a whoreslave, and seeing as he is from Frangit, your royal blood means naught to him,” Sergetten said, speaking slowly, as if to a child. “Please, Korl, there’s no need for—”
“His arse then. I cannot very well appear at banquet in this state.”
I found myself thrown roughly to the side, and then there was much rustling, which I took to be the king disrobing. I felt Sergetten’s hand on my shoulder, though, and knew his touch. He was trying to calm me.
He eased me onto my back, but the king spoke again. “Don’t be ridiculous. You think I’d take him that way, as if he were some travesty in my own bed, mocking my departed wife? I’ll take him like a dog. On all fours.”
I moved, rolling over and positioning myself with my arse toward his voice.
“You say he’s new,” Korl said, as he slapped his cock against my buttocks.
“Yes, my king.”
“Have you fucked him much?”
“No, not much at all.”
“He’s going to be quite tight then.”
“Yes, my king, I imagine he will be.” Sergetten’s voice was emotionless now, not even a hint of the sarcasm that was usually there.
The blunt end of him rubbed against my hole then. It felt a little wet from having been in my throat. “Take his voice. I don’t want anyone to come running thinking a murder is underway.”
“You’ll find it more pleasurable, my king, if you grease the way.”
“This isn’t about pleasure, you perverse old thing,” Korl replied. “If I wanted pleasure, I’d have a mistress or a whore or a chambermaid. Take his voice, and take his pleasure, too. I don’t want him to feel this is pleasure, even accidentally. And besides, I don’t want a mess in the bed linens.”
Sergetten’s assent was hoarse, barely audible. An executioner’s apology.
And then the king tore me open with his cock, and I could not even scream.
* * *
About the author: Cecilia Tan is the award-winning author of many erotic books and stories and the founder of Circlet Press.