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 Thirty-Six: Jorin
36: Jorin
We drew ever nearer the castle, and one day we climbed a ridge and could just make it out, partway up a mountain on the horizon, like one small white tooth in a great jaw of grey teeth. With it seemingly so near, all I wanted to do was ride all night until we reached the walls, but Kan called for us to set up camp.
“We’ll wait here until a sentry can go and return with news,” he said as he dismounted.
“And how long will that be?” I was still on my horse.
“Two days, at least. We can go no nearer without knowing more. Seroi’s magic—”
“Save your explanations,” I said bitterly as I swung down out of the saddle. What I would have given at that moment just to have caught a glimpse of Kenet on a balcony, just to know that he was well. If he was well, that is.
Kan ruffled my hair. “I have something that will distract you today,” he said.
“Oh? And is that something about as long as a dagger but with a much blunter end?”
“Tcha. That, too, but no, I was thinking of fight practice.”
We grinned at each other. “I would enjoy that very much.”
“I knew you would,” he said, as we led our horses to tether and began removing their tack.
The Night Riders each had a task in setting up the camp. We were eight on this journey, and each man seemed to know just what was expected of him, and quickly shelters were erected, the horses tended and groomed, food prepared… I was the only one who had no role.
Or did I? Fight practice, Kan had said. I set to preparing a fighting ring, then, in a small dell. The trees here were tall and thickly leaved, and very little underbrush grew other than moss and ferns, making it easy to clear the space. Rocks and branches I flung aside, and then tramped down the ferns and other greenery.
No one ate heavily, but the fact that we ate before the fighting indicated to me that fight practice might go on for quite some time.
They already knew I could fight after the way I had bested Derget. The first few bouts were almost friendly. I exchanged falls with Pietri and everyone seemed pleased with that. I then got to watch Kan fight Gresh to a standstill, at which point they both conceded the ring to the next pair. I fought Derget a bit later, and this time he knew not to let me get hold of him, and we exchanged stinging blows. Kan was right, I greatly enjoyed the practice, and it was good for all of us to hone our skills.
A piercing bird call suddenly caught our ears and every man fell silent. That was Willim, who had taken care of the horses and who hadn’t fought, calling for caution.
Kan made a gesture with his hand and closed his eyes. Everyone held their breath but I could not guess what sign they were waiting for.
Then Kan made an answering bird call, the all-clear signal, and Willim confirmed it. I let out a sigh. I didn’t know how they knew it was safe, but I assumed it had to be Night Magic.
The sun was setting now; soon it would be too dark under the trees to practice more. Kan whistled to Willim more conventionally. “You ought to take a turn. Derget, you take watch.”
Willim limped reluctantly forward and I wondered what injury he had suffered that gave him such a limp. “There’s only one kind of fight I can do that could be at all fair,” he said with a smirk. “Anyone care to?”
Gresh spat in disgust. “I’d split you open like a lightning-struck tree,” he said.
Willim had chestnut brown hair hanging over one eye. He brushed it back with a hand. “What about you, Kan?”
Kan’s grin was wolfish. “If you insist. But do you really think you can take me?”
Willim pulled his tunic over his head to reveal a tanned chest and began to unlace his breeches. “I have before,” he said.
“Mm, don’t know which I’d like better sometimes,” Kan answered. He stripped down to nothing and I was interested to see two of the others return to the circle with a large piece of hide of some sort. By its size it must have been two hides stitched together. They pegged it down to make a smooth surface, padded underneath by the flattened bracken. Kan and Willim stepped barefoot onto it, then began greasing each other’s skin with something from a jar.
The greasing was arousing enough to watch, but as Willim wrapped one hand around Kan’s cock, one around his own, I felt the bond flare inside me. I stifled a small sound. The ache was sudden and intense, like the ice-chill of the lake in winter. I kept my mouth shut, though, hugging myself with crossed arms.
It was, as I had guessed from Gresh’s reaction, a fuck fight. Fuck or be fucked. But with each man slippery with grease, the wrestling was like none I’d ever seen before. I expected them to laugh from time to time, but each was giving it his full concentration, and that included the spectators. Willim, for all his difficulty walking, was a picture of perfect grace when on a horse, and was slippery as a snake on the ground. They fought like weasels, twisting over and over each other, each trying to gain the advantage.
The ache intensified as they went on, their cocks rubbing against each other and against the leather under them. It was the strongest I’d felt it, I realized. Was the bond strengthening still further? Or was it that both Kan and Willim were among my masters?
My breath caught as I realized what was happening. Every man there, even Gresh, was aroused by the sight, by the slick slip of skin over skin, and by the whimpering sound Willim made as Kan thrust between his legs, not able to get inside him, but fucking the tight space between his thighs. Then suddenly Willim wriggled in some perfect way to push Kan over, and nearly did push into him, ending up rutting against his tailbone.
Every thrust, every throb of blood in each of the cocks of the men there, beat inside me like a drum. I hadn’t been aware of standing, only of falling to my knees with one hand outstretched toward them, beseeching.
Both combatants looked up, then focused on me. “Thunder’s roll,” Kan swore. “Quick, get his clothes off him.”
Hands were stripping me, then, and I could barely see, because of the tears the intense need and pain had brought to my eyes. I could hear Gresh, though, demanding to know what was going on.
Kan’s explanation was short and incomplete, but his band did not question his orders once given. Willim was the first to get his cock in me and although I felt a wave of relief for a few seconds, the aching returned nearly as strong as before after a few minutes. Kan barked to Pietri to take my mouth, and quite suddenly it was filled with a sweet young cock. They had moved me now so that I was riding Willim’s cock, and sucking Pietri’s, but it still wasn’t enough. Kan knew. Somehow, he knew. I felt him behind me then, lifting me off of Willim’s prick and ploughing into me himself, for five, ten, fifteen strokes, then pulling out and pushing me back down onto Willim.
“Closer,” I heard him insist, and I had the feeling the others had moved in, even those I could not see. Each man was stroking himself. I could tell this without even having to look. I could sense where every cock in the dell was. Kan repeated his trick a few more times, pulling my hole free of Willim and fucking it himself quickly at intervals. But it wasn’t enough. It still wasn’t enough.
Then Kan pushed his way into me while Willim’s prick was still inside. And that was not only enough, it was very nearly too much. My cry was muffled by Pietri’s cock, but even to my ears it sounded more like a cry of ecstasy than of desperation.
And then, incredibly, Kan was ordering Willim to find my cock with his hand and to make me spill. Now it was too much, just too much sensation and too much magic and my body could not hold it all, and my milk shot from me with as much force as my scream. A scream that was quickly cut off by Pietri’s own spill into my mouth. I felt the hot rain of those close by, painting me with their seed, and deep in me, two cocks twitching against each other as they pumped me full.
I had never felt a release like it; a lightning strike could not have been so searing. I fell limp into their arms as if I had been struck, but there was at least a grin upon my face.
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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.
