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-Three: Kenet

53: Kenet

I gathered from the bits and pieces I heard that there was quite a bit of disagreement about how the military campaign was to be waged, and that this was the main reason we had not yet moved to attack. There were some towns refusing to send their men for fear of the Night Riders and the military leaders debated what to do about that. Then word came that a delegation from Pellon was at the castle and all planning ground to a halt. None of us could guess whether their ambassadors were there to sue for peace on Frangit’s behalf, declare their alliance with us, or merely allow our army to pass through their lowlands to attack Frangit where the border was not mountainous.

Roichal and Marksin spent an hour after nightfall, after the news had come, drinking some of the whisky that had come from the castle on the same wagon as me. They were both a bit redfaced as they got ready for bed.

“Lightning strike me if we must sit here ten more days,” Roichal swore as he sat heavily upon the pallet while Marksin and I, already naked and on our knees, pulled his boots free.

I could not help myself. “If not for the high cost to Trest’s livestock and harvests,” I said, “I would gladly spend another ten days like this.”

Roichal chuckled, his voice slow and warm from the whisky. “Oh, would you? You are lucky that it is high summer and so parading about in nothing but your skin is comfortable. If we wage a winter campaign, or a mountain one, I doubt such an enticing sight as your two bare arses will greet me each night.”

“We would if you wished it, Sir,” I said as I rubbed his foot and worked my way up his leg. He had shed his own jacket and trousers, but was still swathed in the heavy breechclout he always wore. “Marks and I can come up with ways other than clothes to keep warm.”

That even made Marksin snort with laughter.

He worked the right leg, me the left, even though Roichal had not complained of pain in some time. It was more a matter of the fact that we enjoyed touching him and serving him however we could, since he was adamant that when it came to intimate contact only certain things were allowed. He would touch us and kiss us, sometimes making us spill using his hands or on a rare occasion his mouth, sometimes penetrating Marksin with a finger or two, but never anything other than that. Never anything more than that.

He had no qualms about directing us to do what he would not, though. “Page,” he said, then, “I would like to feel what it is like to be kissing the field general when you penetrate him.”

“Indeed, Sir, with my finger, or my prick?”

“First one and then the other,” Roichal replied smoothly, and the two of us shared a smile at the deeper shade of red Marksin had turned on being discussed in such a manner. The general wasted no time in pulling him into a kiss, Marksin on his knees between Roichal’s. Roichal pulled him up until they were chest to chest, Marksin’s bare cock against the wadded breechclout that must have hidden Roichal’s own prick.

I could not allow myself to be distracted by the show they put on, however. I had my orders. I greased my fingers and slid them into Marksin, who made a gratifyingly high-pitched noise into Roichal’s mouth. I fucked him with my fingers then for quite some time, trying to get him to make that sound again, but he didn’t. Perhaps something bigger then, my own cock.

I greased myself up and positioned myself behind him, my hands against his hips.

“Marks’s hole must be the same shape as your cock by now,” Roichal joked, as he petted Marksin’s hair and held him.

“I am not so sure about that, Sir,” I said. “Even my fingers find him as tight as a fist.”

“Very well, then, you may take it slow, but I want you to go as deep as you can on that first thrust, all the way in, if you can manage it.”

“Yes, Sir, I am sure I can come close if not all the way.”

“Good boy.”

He never asked Marksin if he was ready, or anything like that, just pulled him back into a kiss, which Marksin joined with enthusiasm.

I pushed in to the hilt, not slowly at all, and the sound Marks made set all three of us to throbbing with desire. I could barely wait to pull back and thrust again, pushing into him with an urgency that had not been there until I’d breached him.

Each of my thrusts rubbed Marksin’s own cock against cloth. I knew the general had come from pressing against us in the past—perhaps this was the most direct stimulation he’d allow himself?

While wrapped in such thoughts, I nearly missed the moment when Marksin began to struggle, trying to pull back from the kiss and Roichal not letting him, plundering deeply with his tongue. Marksin’s cry was muffled and I realized as pulses rippled up and down my prick what must have happened.

Marksin had just spilled upon the general’s belly and breechclout. The struggle had been him trying to speak, no doubt to ask permission. Now he wailed a bit as spurt after spurt shot from him.

“May I take what I can?” I asked the general.

“But of course,” he answered. “I would not begrudge you your only meal of the day, Page.”

I pulled out of Marksin, who moved to the other side of one of the general’s legs and kept his head down as if in shame. I began licking all I could from the general’s belly, working my way down his front.

Surely it was the whisky to blame for the fact that his usual defenses were down, I thought, as I sucked some from the breechclout itself. Or was his lack of resistance to what I was doing a sign that he would at last allow me to suckle from his prick directly?

Before he could stop me, I pulled the cloth down so my mouth could move down his skin, seeking it.

Roichal jerked then, realizing too late what I had done, and Marksin gave a cry of protest as the hand that had been sunk in his hair pulled free roughly in an attempt to cover what I had uncovered.

I, for my part, did not even quite realize what met my eyes, for one sees what one sees before one realizes what one does not see.

Roichal had no cock at all. No milksacks, either, nor even hair like Marksin’s or mine. He sat up straight, pulling one futile moment at the cloth, and then sagging in defeat. “I knew… it was dangerous to let you get so close.”

To which I blurted, “I would never speak your secret, s—ma’am!”

At which point, both of them burst out laughing. That was hardly the reaction I expected from such a shocking revelation, and it was only after Marksin mastered himself enough to speak that I gathered they were laughing at me.

“Oh, Page, can you truly be such an innocent? This is no maid’s body you see before you.”

“But—”

“Trust me, I know,” Marks said, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes. He turned serious though, speaking to the general. “Sir, you were… you were not always like this.”

Roichal shook his head. His eyes were soft. “No indeed, but I have been since that ambush that nearly took both our lives.”

“But, but Sir, there is no scar,” Marksin said, incredulous.

Roichal’s voice was as quiet as a sword being drawn slowly from the scabbard. “The Mage who took my cock and balls did it with magic, not a blade,” he said. But then he reached out and ruffled my hair. “You see, I told you your arse was safe with me.”

Now that I realized the gravity of the situation, though, I found I could not joke. “A Night Mage… unmanned you? Just… just like that?”

“Well, there was a bit of fighting first, and he performed a complicated bit of spell. My memory of it is quite clouded,” Roichal said. “I do remember him taunting me, though. He said he was going to fuck me with my own cock. Like he could add it to his own and then bugger me with it. He never got the chance, though. Some fool page tried to take his head off with a sword just then and that’s all I do remember.”

“Sir,” Marksin said, but he couldn’t say anything more, and after a long silence, Roichal pulled him into a one-armed hug. I moved aside and soon the two of them were holding each other quite tightly.

Marksin tried again, “I thought… It never occurred…”

“I know what you thought,” Roichal said. “And I let you think it, thinking that I could never be what you wanted, what you needed, crippled as I am. Thinking that you would move on. That you would find someone else.”

“There is no one else!” Marksin hissed, vehement.

Roichal chuckled and stroked his hair. “I appreciate the sentiment. However, you’re mistaken. There is, in fact, someone else. Page?”

I had been trying to figure a way to withdraw. “Sir?”

“Come close and finish what you started. Don’t think I do not see how eager your prick is to be inside him again. Hm. How many stripes do you think we should lay across his arsecheeks for spilling without my permission? Three? Five? Well, perhaps later. I want to feel you in him again.”

I did as I was asked, and we resumed as before, only this time, without a stitch of cloth on any of the three of us.

* * *

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.