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-Nine: Kenet
If ever I doubted that one man’s milk tasted different from another’s, I doubted it no longer after taking as many as I did as a mouth whore in Port Aris.
I was set to work in a stall in the bathhouse, where the air was full of steam and sweat and some sweet flower I did not recognize. I needn’t have feared for my virtue, as I was neither alone nor was my arse even visible to customers, though my cock was. There were six of us, each strapped to a kind of wooden seat in the center of the room, our backs to each other and the wooden dividers between us fanning out like the petals of a flower. The dividers were about the height of a man’s chest, so the men we serviced could chat with each other easily, yet not see each other’s cocks nor the boys who sucked them unless they craned their necks over the low walls.
I gathered that for some segments of Pellonese society, actual sex between men was frowned upon as a vice, but that having one’s milk sucked regularly was a sign of status. It was confusing to me, and though Roichal found it somewhat baffling as well, he merely said there were surely as many customs around sex as there were kingdoms in the world, and as many justifications for why it was right or wrong. I needed little convincing on that point, after all. I had thought long and hard about what it would mean in Trest for me to take the throne with my whipping boy for a lover. I had come to no conclusions other than Jorin and I would have to be very careful.
And that was if I survived the attacks of my enemies and the plots against me. That I could even dream of a day when Jorin’s kiss would bend me back so deeply that my crown fell off my head spoke volumes for my optimism and for my faith in Roichal.
He stayed close by in the bathhouse, talking amiably with customers and soaking from time to time, though never undoing the swaddle around his groin. I saw many other men swathed that way, but they would unwrap, of course, to be suckled.
A few of the other boys were owned or at least supervised by other older men, who were at first a bit suspicious of us, but Roichal won them over easily enough. One of them even offered a trade, his boy’s mouth to Roichal in exchange for mine. Roichal declined most politely, offering the man a try at me anyway, but courtesy seemed to demand that the man refuse as well.
Once, between customers, Roichal leaned down to kiss me, running his tongue across my swollen lips. He said nothing, but he did not have to.
I was quite busy. A few customers from my first night returned on the second, and even more on the third, asking for me specifically. Siphal grudgingly increased our share of the take, even giving me a small portion of what others earned if a customer came asking for me, but was shunted to one of the other boys for expediency’s sake.
My lips began to get sore, until one of the other men traded Roichal a special salve in exchange for a go at me, and after that it was somewhat easier. The salve tingled somewhat and I gathered that it made for a pleasurable sensation on the cock, as well.
After three nights of nearly constant work, Roichal sent a message to Tendrif, offering my earnings. By early the next evening, we had heard no reply. Dursht’s master dropped by to visit with Roichal that night, saying the boy had done very well in the Trials, and though Dursht had been eliminated before the finals, had sold for a handsome price. The man then paid Siphal to sample my mouth himself, choked me with his cock until tears and snot ran down my face, then declared my technique lacking.
“He has potential, though,” he told Roichal. “I would be happy to buy him from you now and teach him properly.”
I think perhaps Roichal would have drowned the man in one of the soaking pools then, had Jort not stepped between them, distracting the man with a request for the tale of how Dursht had performed in the Trials.
In the wee hours of the night business slowed down, and all the boys and most of the men had supper together in the common room on the first floor. It was during that night’s meal I noticed Jort was missing, as he normally ate my share as well. I could not say anything about it, though, until Roichal and I were in bed alone together that night. “Has he run off?” I asked.
“I do not think so,” Roichal said. “Though he is surely finding out how long his leash is. Do not worry over him, my pr— Page.” He slid his hand up my bare thigh and massaged my taut milksacks. “Worry over this.”
“Shall we try again, sir?” None of our attempts had succeeded, yet, though we had tried about every other night, and now all it took to arouse me was a bare touch of his hand to my cock or milksacks, or his kiss on my lips.
“I am curious to experiment with one technique we have not yet tried,” Roichal said.
“Oh? What is that?”
He leaned over and pulled something from the small chest by the side of the bed, holding up a beautifully carved statuette of a fish… except it wasn’t a fish. It was a phallus for certain but artistically decorated. I swallowed nervously.
“What’s the matter, Page? I assure you it won’t hurt you.”
“It’s just… my enemy… he used something like that. A small one at first, and then he wanted me to take a much larger one, but I refused. That night he told my father I had defied him, and… and… that was the night I escaped.”
Roichal pulled me close and kissed my hair. “Are you afraid using something like this might… strengthen your enemy’s hold on you?”
I shivered in his arms. “I do not know. Please, sir, if I must…” I found my cheeks were hot with shame as I tried to ask.
“If you must what, Page?”
“If I must… have something… inside me.” I closed my eyes, unable to watch his face as I begged. “Please may it be your own finger?”
His tongue found its way between my teeth then, darting in a gentle penetration of its own. He answered not with words, but with his hands, turning me over and stroking me, oiling my cock and loins and inflaming me.
When he slid a finger inside me, all time seemed to stop for a moment, and my cock twitched like a mad thing. He pulled it free then, and a whine of need escaped me, prompting him to push it back in. I squeezed then, as if I could pull him deeper. He added more grease and began to push and pull, and the tighter I clenched the better it felt.
But though fucking me with his hand eventually made me scream with the intensity of the pleasure and ultimately fall exhausted into his arms, I did not come. I did not spill. No matter what command he issued, not matter what punishing blow he delivered when I failed, somehow we had lost the knack of it.
He ended up kissing my arsecheeks, saying, “I have bruised you, Page. I have left my mark upon you, and yet still your body has a will of its own.”
I craned my neck, but I could not see the marks he spoke of. I wished for a hand mirror, but we had no such luxury with us. He chuckled and shifted our positions so that I could lie in his arms.
As we lay there, damp with exertion, I asked, “Do you suppose Marksin is doing all right without us?”
Roichal smiled against my hair. “He will never lack for willing bedmates if that is what you mean. But I am certain he misses us as dearly as we miss him.”
“Could it be his absence that has changed us?”
“I do not think so, Page. We were successful after parting from him for a short while.” Roichal stroked my hair, as if calming an overworked horse. “If anything, I must suspect that it has something to do with the reversal of our authority.”
“Though I own your pleasure and you are at my whim, we both know who you are and to whom my knee bends.”
“Ah.” Could that be it? We were no longer in the military camp, and we had made quite a show for Jort of my authority, as well. If that were so, could it be helped?
I fell asleep to such restless thoughts, and dreamed again of Seroi. He stood before me, his cock pendulous and huge, even more gnarled than before, like a branch of an ancient tree. “You should have taken the training phallus I offered you,” he said, as his hand traveled up and down his considerable length. So heavy was he that even when stiffly erect, the thing still hung between his legs. “You spurned what mercy I offered you, my prince. So there shall be none when I take you.”
“Will I come when you do?” I asked.
“Oh yes, my prince, though I do not think you will call the sensation pleasure when I tear my way into you with this and then wring your release from you. Your craving will cease, though, at least for a little while.”
I looked more closely at the thing that hung so close to me that if I had leaned forward and stuck out my tongue, I could have licked one of the dewy droplets from the gnarled end as big as my first.
I drew back suddenly, as I realized what I was seeing. There were multiple tiny slits on the bumpy head, each one oozing a clear drop, as if his cock were fashioned from several cocks lumped together.
“I do not know which I will enjoy more,” Seroi said, “tying you down and forcing my way into that tiny rose of yours the very first time, or the second time, when I will wait until you can stomach the craving no longer, and you beg me for permission to impale yourself on it because your need has grown so unbearable that the pain of tearing yourself open in order to be fucked by me is preferable. Oh, my prince, you will be mine both willingly and unwillingly, and I shall enjoy both as my due.”
Eventually though, the nightmares subsided and I slept late, as all the whores did when preparing for a busy night of milksucking, but when I woke my cock was still as hard and painful as the night before.
* * *
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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.