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-Five: Kenet
Just as no one had told me how the sea would sound, no one had told me how a ship would smell. Like salt and spray, and like the sweat of men working, that I expected. But the sails and deck in the sun had a scent of their own, sweet in the way that some of the fragrant trees in the deep woods smelled.
As we sat on the deck in the sun, I remarked upon this to Roichal, who merely looked at me curiously.
We were not the only passengers aboard. Roichal had secured us a place upon a vessel bound for Port Aris. As he explained to me we would merely remain on the deck of the ship during the night. He had sold Kinsall at a hurried price, and bought food for himself and Jort for the short voyage, as well as a new shirt for me, and held the rest in reserve rather than waste it on a cabin below. There were others who spent on such luxuries, though I heard them complaining that the cabins were dark and cramped.
Roichal had wanted to have a pair of boots made for me, but there had not been time before we had to catch the tide. If we had clear sailing, he said, we would be in port by the next noon.
The day had been clear enough, and soon the excitement of leaving behind the land gave way to the monotony of sea on all sides and the endless rushing of the water against the side of the ship. Jort was ill over the rail, but the motion of the waves did not affect me. The sailors made quite a favorite of me over this fact, though I did not tell them that I thought it because I had no food in my stomach to make me sick. There was much praising of me.
And appraising. I was no longer surprised by this. I knew how they saw me, a shoeless blond youth in the company of an older man. Roichal kept a close watch over me, though, and the sailors made no advances while the sun shone.
After sundown, however, the crew shared some strong drink, and took to singing and performing, not unlike the soldiers in the camp. The passengers were welcome to join them, and the other group, who had stayed below much of the day, had come up to take the night air and enjoy the festivity.
Their leader, I saw, was an older man, older even than Roichal, his face seamed and polished. In his company he had a few other men and a somewhat chubby youth.
He looked to be about my age, perhaps slightly younger, or maybe that was his baby-cheeked smile that made him seem so. He took to gamboling about with the sailors. He had thrown off his tunic early in the dancing, and I saw rather than trousers he had a dark-colored cloth wound all around his privates. He tugged on the hands of several of the men, urging them to dance as well, yet I was unprepared for it when he suddenly leapt over to me and pulled at my hand.
“Dance, dance!” he said. “We should dance together!” A great roar of approval went up from the sailors at that prospect.
I pulled my hand back, but he held me fast. “I do not know this dance,” I said. “I do not…”
“I will show you,” he said, with an exaggerated swivel of his hips, prompting more cheers from the men.
“No!” I most assuredly did not want that kind of attention.
Roichal was there, one of his hands on my shoulder, the other on the boy’s, pushing us apart. “I do not allow my boy to dance,” he said.
The other boy bared his teeth at him in a kind of feral grimace, then went scampering back to his leader. They had a hurried conversation that only they could hear, and then the man called out, “You have insulted Dursht.”
Roichal stood with me behind him. “I mean no offense. But my boy does not display his charms before others.”
That prompted a great chuckling. “You mean,” said the elder, “except for a price. But surely you see the value in advertising the goods? Or are you saving him for the competition?”
I felt Roichal tense. What competition?
“Do not play dumb with us, my compatriots,” the elder said. “Why else would you be traveling with a manservant and a Frangi-haired whore to Aris? The trials are about to begin, and you know what they say, the winner of the Trials of Aris will return home laden with gold equal to his whore’s weight.”
“Quick, Dursht! Eat more!” one of his fellow said, prompting more laughter.
The boy, who had reddish-brown hair and tanned skin, sauntered forward. “You think you are too good for us, like you’ve already won.”
“That isn’t it at all,” I said, even as Roichal held out his hand to stop me. I fell silent then, feeling foolish for having spoken out.
“Let us have a little wager, just a little one,” their elder said. “There will be no harm in it, and will give everyone here the sport they have been craving, and perhaps you could earn the coin for your passage back after your timid little whore is sent to defeat in the first round of the Trials.”
Roichal sighed and crossed his arms. “What wager?”
“Dursht’s mouth knows no match. I wager that he will make your boy spill before your boy could do the same. They will suck each other at the same time.”
Roichal rubbed his chin as if pondering. “And what are the stakes?”
“Enough coin for a good meal and a comfortable place to sleep tomorrow night when we reach port, is that reasonable?”
Roichal shook his head. “There are only three of us, and six of you.”
“For three, then.” The elder held up his hand, and Roichal limped over to him and grasped it, setting off another round of cheering from the men. When he came back to me, he gave me a small nod.
I knew what he was thinking. Unless the magic that bound me reversed suddenly, or worked differently over water, there was no way Dursht could make me come, no matter how talented his mouth. But I did not feel it unfair; after all, it was not as if we had sought out this challenge.
Dursht grinned at me and began to unwind the cloth around his waist. His skin was dusted with freckles, and he swung his hips from side to side as the cloth came undone, showing that the freckles were not merely on his face. One arsecheek was revealed first, then the other, and lastly, his cock, jutting from his body as it was freed.
I had no such seductive show to make. Or did I? Roichal turned me to face him and undressed me himself, pulling my shirt over my head, and then lowering my trousers to reveal my backside to everyone.
Roichal gave me a light slap on the thigh and then turned me to face the others. I heard more than one intake of breath. I looked down at my cock, past the pink circles of my nipples to the golden curls and my flesh as stiff and eager as my opponent’s.
They quickly prepared a mat for us in the center of the deck where all could see us. Dursht pranced around the edge of it, raising his hands to make them cheer more. More money was brandished and I assumed side wagers were being placed. Then he lay back and wiggled his hips. “Come on, golden boy,” he called. “I’ll give you a head start. Come and suckle. I’ll still beat you.”
I knelt between his spread feet and lowered my head to taste him. I cupped his milksacks in one of my hands, making his cock stand stiff and straight, and then taking a cue from him, made a great show of running my tongue slowly up and down his length.
He was silent but the men around us were groaning. I continued over the bulbous head, curious whether he, too, would have the salty taste I had come to expect. He did, fluid as clear as tears welling up to meet my tongue.
Someone slapped me on the rump then, encouraging me to move into place, so that my cock dangled toward his mouth. He fluttered his tongue over the head, making me cry out with pleasure, and then with a slurp he had sucked my entire length in.
Not to be outdone, I did the same, and cheers rained down on us.
It was not a fair contest, and I knew that, so I tried to concentrate most on pleasing him. When he rolled us over so that he was on top, thrusting his cock into my mouth, I let him. He brought me to the painful edge of spilling very quickly, but I could not have come, even had I wished to. I choked as he reflexively thrust into my throat. I had to do more to arouse him.
We ended up on our sides, licking and sucking, the cheers and encouragements of the men only growing louder and more fevered with each passing minute in which neither of us gave in. He pushed me onto my back again, his hips thrusting out of control now, but I could sense this meant my victory was nigh. He battered my throat with his cock, and beat his fists upon the mat, even as he tried to suck the milk straight out of me, but to no avail. He finally let go my cock when he screamed angrily as he came, pumping bitter milk down my throat.
They pulled him free before he was entirely done spilling, and I regretted the drops that fell to the deck, but they wanted to see the evidence themselves. There was quite a roar, and one of the men milked a bit more out with his hand and made a show of licking his palm. There was much commotion, and more cheering, and they hoisted me up on their shoulders for a bit, but I soon found myself huddled against the rail, wrapped in a blanket and Roichal’s arms. He was murmuring praise.
The night’s entertainment over, we were alone on the deck except for a steersman and a sentry, and Jort, who appeared to be asleep already against a coil of rope on the other side.
I was, of course, still painfully aroused. Roichal wrapped his fingers lightly around my shaft, and stroked soothingly. It sounds odd to say, I know, but there you have it. His touch was different, not teasing or arousing, is all I can say, and I felt warm and safe with him touching me like that.
From somewhere came a sharp, high-pitched cry, quickly silenced, and I could not help but stiffen upon hearing it. Over the sound of the water rushing by, though, there came a rhythmic creak from somewhere below us. After a short while it ceased, then began again, slightly slower.
“Is that… Dursht?” I asked in a whisper.
“Yes, Page,” Roichal answered, as he nosed through my hair.
I shivered, thinking of how I had been tied in the stall the night I had arrived at the military’s encampment. “Will he… will he take very many tonight?”
“Hush, my dear, it is not as bad as all that. He is not being punished. We played right into their hands, displaying his charms for all to see, stoking their lust until sailors and passengers alike would meet his price. Indeed, I could have made a small fortune, had I wished to, or at the very least secured our passage for nothing, as the captain himself inquired as to your availability.”
He was teasing me, and yet my breath caught and my heart raced to think on it. He kissed my temple.
“You are safe with me, Page,” he reminded me. “As is your virtue. The captain inquired after your mouth alone, but I do not trust that some wicked magic might not seize him at an inopportune moment.”
“My mouth alone?”
“Indeed, it would appear to be a Pellonese custom. They have whole brothels of ‘mouth whores’ whose hind ends remain covered.”
“Is Dursht one of those?”
“His master aspires for him to be, but from the sounds of things, that is not the case with him tonight.”
We listened for a time, and I made out another muffled cry. Roichal kissed me gently. “Do not worry over him, dear one. The sounds of pleasure are indistinguishable from those of pain. He may be tired in the morning, like a horse that has been ridden hard, but his master will be pleased and they will eat well for weeks to come.”
We pretended to sleep then, Roichal and I, and indeed it was pleasant to drift in the rushing sound of the ship moving through the water, but I do not think either of us fell into a deep sleep. Roichal’s leg was too stiff to allow him to relax, and the sounds of Dursht taking man after man did not subside until the sky began to lighten.
* * *
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.