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 Sixty-Three: Kenet
I woke to the sound of Roichal’s boots making the stones and shells crunch as he made his way back to the shelter. There was barely enough light in the sky to see by, and I could make out the colorless shape of Jort, still asleep on the far side of the shelter, leaning against the wall with his hands bound behind him.
I could hear Roichal was limping. He groaned as he heaved himself up onto the platform with one large step of his good leg.
“Sir?” I sat up.
He slid down the wall beside me tiredly.
“May I rub your leg? I know we lack the salve… Could some be procured in the town?”
His hand fell heavily to my hair, stroking. “It is nothing to concern yourself with, Page.”
“Isn’t it? How much more country have we to cross?”
“That depends on where we decide to go.”
“Sir, forgive me if this is improper to suggest, but I do not think it is all the walking that has taken its toll on your leg.”
“I assure you, the same idea has crossed my own mind,” he said as his hand slid to my neck and kneaded gently at the tops of my shoulders.
The last time Roichal had experienced release had been back at the military encampment. His leg was at its best when Marksin and I had been triggering him to come nightly, by whatever magic had allowed that to happen. Could it even be done without the field general’s help? I did not know.
And then there was my own difficulty spilling. Was it related to my hunger for milk? Or something about Roichal’s mastery over me?
He pointed toward the now light blue sky. “We are just across the water here from Pellon’s shore. Their close commerce with the Frangit has made their ports into havens of decadence. It is one of the reasons, of course, that footsoldiers call navymen milksuckers.”
“And are they? I mean, do they suck milk more or less than the footsoldiers?”
“Assuredly neither more nor less, Page. For as you have seen, whenever men are placed in close quarters with other men, they suckle nearly as much as calves in a dairy. However, they reassure themselves that they are never nearly so bad as some other group they can name.”
“What, then, do the navymen say?”
“Oh, I cannot be certain, not having been one myself, but I believe their claim is that we cavalrymen prefer the milk of our horses.”
He laughed and stroked my crimson cheek. “They would be sorely disappointed to learn that most of our mounts are mares and geldings. Or perhaps they think Kinsall has a harem of company commanders to service him.” He stretched then. “Perhaps we shall find out.”
“Who knows whom we shall meet in our travels?” was his only answer to that. He limped over to Jort and kicked the sole of his boot. “Deserter, are you looking for a way to serve your country and get back into the good graces of your ruler?”
Jort jerked and wiped his chin on his own shoulder. “What do I have to do?”
“Just lie back and keep your mouth shut,” Roichal said, as he bent down to undo Jort’s trousers. “Page, come have breakfast.”
Jort’s hips were thrust upward as he lay back on his bound hands. His cock stood up eagerly.
I did not hesitate to wrap my lips around that warm head. While I suckled, Roichal continued speaking.
“He’s a randy one, this one. Something tells me he doesn’t much mind this service to the crown, either. It beats sentry duty and mucking stalls, doesn’t it?” Roichal chuckled as one of Jort’s heels began to drum against the floorboards. “Goodness, Page, you’re becoming good at that. I wager he won’t last another—”
Jort came with a shout and I greedily swallowed all I could.
When my throat was clear, I asked. “What shall we do with him?”
Roichal sighed. “He knows too much for us to let him wander on his own. He’ll have to come with us.”
“How can we be sure he won’t run away?”
“We can’t. However, if he meets any other ranking officer of the army, they could easily run him through, not knowing that I’d granted him a pardon for serving us. Besides, he looks like he’s been living rough. With us, at least he is guaranteed to have his cock sucked every day, perhaps more than once. What say you, Jort?”
The man was lying as limp as the rags that had once been his uniform, but he raised a hand in a weak salute. “I’ll come with you. Lightning strike me if I lie, I would gladly do as you asked to have my milksacks emptied like that every day.”
“Good enough. Go down to the water and relieve yourself and stay there until I call for you. I’ll release your hands after that.”
Jort did as he was told, leaving Roichal and I alone in the shelter. “Sir?”
“Show me your cock,” he commanded in a gentle, yet firm voice.
I bowed my head as I bared myself, revealing that I, too, was as erect and straining as Jort had been.
He knelt beside me and stroked it with his large, callused hand.
“Can you come, Sir? If I do?”
“I do not know, Page. I know I feel your arousal in my own gut, as if it were my own, but if I must strike you now for you to find release…? I do not know enough about this magic.”
He shucked his own trousers then, and rolled them up to pillow his head as he lay back. He pulled me down atop him, so that my cock pressed against his stomach and my legs were to either side of his. I could not help but thrust against his belly and he bade me lick a stripe of wetness in the hollow of his hip. Now he pulled at my buttocks, driving my cock against that wet flesh, until I was once again at the edge of spilling.
“Don’t hold back, Page,” he said, “Can’t you feel how much your master wants you to spill?”
I could not answer with words, only a frustrated growl. Then I made a wanton sound as he slipped a rough finger down the crack of my arsecheeks and over the sensitive pucker there. Each brush across there made my hips buck harder, but still my cock would not go.
Finally he began to strike me, each heavy slap of his hand driving my cock against him again and again, until at last I screamed with release.
The ordeal left me limp and sweaty atop him, unable to catch my breath for several minutes. Eventually, though, he roused me with a kiss. “Up. A quick wash of our skin in the sea, before we resume our travels.”
I climbed off and opened my mouth to ask if he, too, had managed his release, but the stiffness with which he limped to the edge of the platform and the groan he let out as he lowered himself to the beach was answer enough.
As we made our way slowly across the flat expanse toward the figure of Jort by the water, I asked him where we would travel today.
“I believe we should sail to Pellon,” Roichal said. “There we can seek out the knowledge of someone versed in Night Magic. Perhaps there is a way to reverse what has been done to you.”
And you, Sir, I thought, though I kept the words to myself.
* * *
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, of use the coupon code UU3ULDAN to get 20% off the cover price if you purchase one or both volumes from Createspace! (Volume one | Volume 2)
About the author: Cecilia Tan is the award-winning author of many erotic books and stories and the founder of Circlet Press.