The Prince’s Boy: Chapter 71

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 Seventy-One: Kenet

71: Kenet


My cock stayed angry red and erect all the next day. As Roichal strapped me into my wooden seat for that night’s work, Siphal commented on my aching member. Men would pay more, he said, for a mouth whore “in heat.” Each customer enjoyed the fantasy, he explained, that although the whores are jaded to their lot, he is somehow special. Each man believed himself more virile, more attractive, than the other customers, so much so that for him even whores would become aroused.

Roichal asked him then how much more they would pay. Siphal bent his head close. “Are you still seeking an audience with the court mage?”

Roichal admitted yes, and told him the sum we had offered so far, and that we had not even received a reply. Siphal whistled in sympathy. “You would do well to double it, if you can, but you are running out of time. Once the Trials end, they will leave Port Aris.”

Siphal was happy, however, to point out my turgid state to each new customer, and although some of the other owners were disgruntled at the favoritism, they could not much begrudge the proprietor the increased revenue he made from his percentage of my earnings. Especially when more than one of the men seeking me that night were repeat customers from the previous few nights.

I gathered from the murmurings of the others that it was unusual for some of these men to indulge quite so often.

And as Siphal had predicted, all were charmed by my erection. A few of the men even reached down to stroke me as if to prove my straining cock was not a ruse. One of them stroked me vigorously, then checked my milksacks, saying he thought surely I was being restrained artificially from coming, only to be shooed away by Siphal himself, who declared if the man wanted a cock whore he could visit the establishment of ill repute across the street.

I heard a sharp cry from one of the other mouth whores as his master slapped him once, twice, three times… I realized from the sound that it was the boy’s cock that was receiving the slaps, not his cheek. He only remained erect through the course of one customer though, a man who had come seeking me but who had been diverted.

As I suckled the man in front of me, it was difficult to make out other conversations, but it sounded like the boy’s owner cornered the customer about what had made me so desirable. “My boy is fair like him, and his lips, so full, so red. What is the difference? Does he practice some foreign tongue technique we know not?”

The customer demurred, but he continued to press. The man eventually admitted that not only was the orgasm he had with me more powerful than he’d expected, he’d found himself performing with his own wife far better than expected. Usually he left Siphal’s house too spent to perform if she demanded it, but instead they had one of their most memorable times together. He had come back to see if he could repeat the performance.

I was glad someone was satisfied, for I was surely not. Roichal and I did not try again that night, and my erection did not subside. I slept fitfully, with more dreams of Seroi, taunting me with descriptions of the tortures I would beg for at his hand.

When I woke, Jort had returned, and Siphal himself came to examine me. His touch was brusque, but thorough.

“He appears fine, if uncomfortable,” he told Roichal. “I can see, however, why you need the advice of someone versed in Night Magic. Did someone curse him?”

“I do not know what would cause such a thing,” Roichal answered without answering.

“Well, it is surely magical, though if he is not suffering too much, perhaps it is to your advantage? I have never seen such demand for a mouth whore as for this one.” Siphal slapped me lightly on the thigh and my cock jumped painfully. “Having watched him, I don’t think it’s his technique. There is some spell upon him.”

“Which is why we must see Tendrif,” Roichal insisted. “Will you not take him a message yourself? I fear the boy I entrusted it to before may have been led astray.”

Siphal rubbed his chin. “And how will you meet my price and Tendrif’s?”

“Did you not just say you have never seen such demand for a mouth whore? Set a higher price. If some turn away because of it, that is only to the good. My boy is too busy as it is.”

Siphal appeared to consider this. “I wish I knew more of this spell. One of my regular customers confided in me yesterday that he believes the suckling of your boy healed him of an old injury.”

“Carry a message for me to Tendrif, then, and if I learn this spell is benign and could be beneficial to your customers, we shall start charging for my boy’s mouth at healer’s rates, eh?”

Siphal laughed agreeably at that, and said he would try. After he was gone, Jort spoke up. “Do you think the boy’s suckling is magical?”

Roichal gestured for me to get dressed. “You tell me. Did you feel different after he drank your milk?”

“Well, now that I think about it, none of the usual maladies and aches I suffered as a soldier or as a fugitive seem to be affecting me now. But I had attributed it to eating so well and having a comfortable place to sleep.” He stretched and yawned, his tunic riding up to expose his flat belly and the glistening red tip of his cock which had forced its way up past the edge of his trousers.

He sauntered from the room, however, without asking me to do anything about it. Perhaps he was worried Roichal would demand my price this time.

I was in the midst of sucking a man that evening when Jort reappeared, and had a hushed conference with Roichal. Roichal became quite agitated, then calmed, putting a hand on Jort’s shoulder. When both the customer and Jort had gone, Roichal did not come to tell me what they had discussed. Jort returned a short while later, swaddled, and enjoyed a soak.

Just then a group of men came in together, very rich by the look of their clothes and already well into the evening’s enjoyment by the scent of wine they carried into the room with them. Siphal certainly greeted them with great respect, and Jort rose out of the steaming water to clasp hands with one of the men, then introducing him to Roichal. The group of them left the room and returned unclothed but for the swaddling cloths around their middles. A few of the men sought to soak first, but the one who seemed to be their leader, a short man with a small pointed beard, insisted they spill first or they would not be able to properly relax.

And so it was each of them took a mouth whore, the leader coming straight to me and exchanging a few words with Jort about me. It appeared the tale of my prowess had been spreading. He stroked my hair as I suckled him, murmuring to himself sometimes, talking with his fellows other times. He appeared in no hurry to spill, slowing my pace by stroking my temples. He had a large cock for an otherwise not imposing man, but he did not try to push it deep into me at first.

His fingers felt nice stroking my forehead and down my jaw, and the next thing I knew, he was fucking me deep in my throat, and yet I was neither choking nor unable to breathe. He murmured praise, and I wondered how long I would be able to keep going, almost in a trance from his rhythm, it seemed.

When he spilled, he spilled deep in my throat, holding me fast for a few moments while his milksacks emptied. Then as he softened, he said, “Very good. Clean me with your tongue, boy.”

I was glad to get every last drop oozing from him. When I had done that, I opened my eyes to see him crouch in front of me. He touched my cock with one finger and drew back as if it were too hot to touch, like an iron left in the fire too long.

“Come for a meal with me,” he said, reaching out to cup my chin, but he was not speaking to me.

Roichal was standing close by. I had not even realized it. “We have not yet met your fee.”

So, this was Tendrif. He waved his hand dismissively. “If I am right, you need not pay me for the boy’s cure, because I will not be the one to do it. You have given me more than enough already, however, for a consultation about what you should do. Come for a meal with me, and we will discuss it.”

Things moved quickly then, and I was unstrapped, and dressed in some fine clothes I knew not from whence they came, and Roichal, and I, and Jort were all transported by carriage up the hill to a very fine house’s back entrance.

In a grand parlor hung with flowers and lit from lanterns strung overhead, Tendrif and his retinue were enjoying the food already at a long table. We sat in the seats nearest him, and servants brought wine and all manner of things to eat while the conversation ranged across many topics, none of them very serious. One by one Tendrif’s cohort retired from the room, however, until we were at last left alone. Tendrif got up himself and bolted the door so that no more servants would enter.

“Now, my friends,” he said, taking up another glass of honey wine, “you must tell me why it is that this ripe morsel of a slave has yet to be plucked. How can he be virgin still?”

Roichal nearly dropped the glass in his hand. “Can you tell that he is pure by some magical means? Or did Jort tell you?”

Jort held up his hands. “I told him no such thing, only that the poor boy was in need of release, and that the townsfolk are spreading rumors that his mouth bestows magical healing.”

Tendrif chuckled. “Do not concern yourselves, my friend. There were many signs, including the fact that the sweet thing has eaten nothing of the fine food here, but drank my milk as if it were honey itself. His inability to spill is most definitely a symptom of an unfinished slave-binding spell, and yours is hardly the only Frangi whoreslave to be found wandering in recent months, masterless and in desperate need of a good fucking. The lucky ones have ended up in Aris, where at least they may find gainful employment. No, my fellows, you need not tell me where you happened upon this little lost lamb, but it is clear to me someone primed him for the taking, and then was interrupted in the task.”

He set his glass down on the dark wood of the table and looked into Roichal’s eyes. “You seem to be his master—at least you play the part—but you haven’t fucked him. The poor boy is in a desperate state of need, can you not see that? He needs a cock and he needs it soon, or he will start to suffer damaging effects. I can only guess that you are resisting being bonded for life to a whoreslave, because that is what will happen to the man who claims him first.”

Jort recovered from the hearing of this little speech before Roichal did. “Did you say other whoreslaves have been found wandering masterless?”

“Indeed. But our envoy to Frangit who went seeking the answer to why has not returned. I feared at first it was some ploy that would create an excuse for the Night Council to attack or invade us, when heretofore they have left Pellon out of the war with Trest. Now I fear perhaps there is something worse afoot.”

Roichal croaked out the single word, “Worse?”

“Perhaps I should not speak of it, but the fears of the night are lessened when they are dragged out into the light of day, are they not? I worry that someone, or something, has attacked or disabled the Night Mages of Frangit, and if it can happen to them, could I not be the next target?”

Roichal’s brow was furrowed deeply. “How long do we have?”

Tendrif scratched at his pointed beard. “You mean before your boy goes mad or loses his ability to ever find release again? How long has he been like this?”

“He ceased eating food perhaps two months ago,” Roichal said. “When we first met, I believe he could come freely. After a while, he could only come at my command. But my command ceased to compel him about seven days ago.”

“There is only one solution,” Tendrif said. “The binding spell is very easy to complete when the slave is already in such a receptive state. You must, basically, impale him in one commanding thrust, and then don’t let him off until you spill in him. The spell is restless and seeking completion. Already there is a powerful attraction about the boy, have you not felt it? It will only grow stronger, like the scent of a cat in heat drawing all the tomcats to her. You do not want to have to kill a man to defend a whoreslave’s virtue, do you?”

Roichal shook his head. “Unfortunately, I cannot consummate the act.”

“Indeed, my friend? It is but a small sum for me to revive a limp prick.”

But Roichal shook his head again. “Have you a spell that will restore a lost… limb?”

Tendrif blinked as if lightning-struck. “Oh.” And then he got to his feet. “Oh, that… that changes things considerably.”

Roichal also stood. “Yes, it does. I must speak with Lord Solliran.”

“Solliran! You cannot think I am going to endanger my liege lord for the likes of you!”

Roichal laughed, while I sat still, confused and wondering what they were each talking about. How did Solliran come into it? “The likes of us, ahhaha. My lord Tendrif, if you only knew the half of it.”

Tendrif was backing toward the bolted door. “I know enough to realize you must have fought a mage for this slave, but before you bested him, he took your manhood. Perhaps you are killing all Night Mages in revenge…”

Ah, so that was why Tendrif was suddenly afraid. Roichal could not move quickly with his stiff leg, but he motioned for Jort to block the door. “My lord Tendrif,” he said, still grinning. “You think I am the scourge that has been attacking the Night Mages, and that I am here for you?”

The little mage wrung his hands, looking back and forth for some avenue of escape or rescue.

“I assure you I am not. I mean you no harm. But I can tell you whom I believe to be responsible for the attacks on Night Mages, and why we must join together to meet this threat to Trest, Pellon, and Frangit. I will speak the name only to Lord Solliran.”

Tendrif swallowed. “You must think me stupid or crazy. Imagine yourself in my position. Would you believe a rag-tag band such as yourselves and expose your lord to such danger without proof?”

Roichal folded his arms over his chest. “Then we are at an impasse, unless… Can you perform a spell to determine the truth of what I say?”

“Well, there is… one way. But you are unlikely to… to accept it.” He chewed his lip unhappily.

“Why don’t you tell me what it is before you assume I will not accept it?”

Tendrif folded his own arms then, as if his loose robes were not enough for the night chill. “There is a spell that I can perform that allows me to tell if a man is lying or telling the truth. But to cast it, we must be… that is… my cock must be inside you. And not inside your mouth, as you’ll need that for speaking.”

A deeper chuckle than I had ever heard from Roichal came forth then. “When you hear the full truth of it, you will understand why I am willing to go to such lengths for this Frangi-haired whoreslave. Summon Solliran and I will let you stick your cock in me. That way your liege lord, too, will be assured of the truth. Call in your guards if you like, just give me your word that you will do as you say.”

“Show me your… injury first,” Tendrif said, “so that I might know at least that much is true.”

Roichal just nodded and undid his trousers, letting them drop to reveal his oddly smooth front.

Tendrif hissed as if in empathy. “Yes, that… that looks like the handiwork of a Night Mage,” he said. “Very well. Send the whoreslave for one of my servants and I shall instruct them to wake Solliran.”

I unbolted the door and went out into the antechamber, where I found one of the servants asleep on a low bench. He rubbed his eyes disbelieving, but came with me to receive Tendrif’s orders.

A short while later, a much younger man than I would have expected came hurrying into the room, his loose robes hastily belted and a minister of some kind following after him looking even sleepier than the servant had. His long, straight hair was sleep-tousled but he carried himself the way my father did. “Tendrif, what could possibly be so important as to wake me in the middle of the night?”

Roichal dropped to one knee and bowed his head, then stood again. “My apologies, but it was at my insistence. Lord Solliran, I bear important information about the Trest-Frangit war and the fate of the Night Mages.”

Solliran yawned, then looked at Tendrif, who sputtered a bit. “Y-yes, my lord, apologies. I was about to interrogate these men but they insisted you hear what they have to say.”

Solliran had dark brown hair past his shoulders and a long, thin face. His smile was a little crooked as he motioned to the man with him, who pulled the chair away from the head of the table and dusted it off. Solliran sat heavily and yawned once more. “Very well, very well. I daresay this will be better entertainment than the Trials were today. One gets tired of the same thing again and again.”

Tendrif sketched a short bow to him, then turned to Roichal. “Are you a virgin, sir?”

Roichal let out a short bark of laughter as he pulled his shirt over his head. “I daresay your liege had not been born when I was first breached, Tendrif. But if you are asking what to expect, it has been nearly that long since I have done any such thing.”

“You’re a eunuch?” Solliran asked.

“He lost a fight with a Night Mage,” I said, drawing myself up and stepping to the side of Solliran’s chair.

Solliran looked at me in surprise. “You’re not a Frangi! You sound like you’re from Maldevar.”

“Indeed I am. The story of my origin and how I came to be here before you today is what your mage will prove the veracity of.”

“Ah. Very well. Carry on.”

Tendrif had spread another carpet atop the one already in front of the chair and Roichal was on all fours upon it, facing us. Tendrif knelt behind him and opened a jar of something. Roichal grunted as he was greased and looked into my eyes. “Don’t waste too much time stretching me,” Roichal said. “Can’t you see they are waiting?”

If Tendrif was surprised that Roichal counted me and Solliran in the same breath, he did not show it, but perhaps he was occupied. He slicked himself and then got into position.

Roichal did not even grunt as Tendrif entered him, but I saw the sheen of sweat break out across his brow.

Tendrif whispered a few words in the Old Tongue, and then placed his hands on Roichal’s hips, fucking him slowly. Roichal gritted his teeth at first, but then his jaw relaxed, at least until Tendrif jabbed him with a sudden snap of his hips. “Well, out with it.”

“Lord Solliran, I must first ask, have you had any contact with the Lord High Mage of Trest?”

Solliran shook his head. “None in years. My last trip to Trest was when my father died, and I met him then. Tendrif did not accompany me on that trip.”

Roichal nodded. “The man standing next to you is no whore, but Kenet, Prince of Maldevar and heir to the throne of Trest. He has been driven from the castle into hiding by the Lord High Mage, who attempted to turn him into a night-bound whoreslave.”

Tendrif gasped at that and his rhythm faltered. “If I were not… testing the truth of that… I would never believe it.”

“I am Roichal, formerly the highest-ranking military commander in the land, and now Kenet’s protector. We cannot allow him to fall into the enemy’s hands.”

“Indeed not!” Tendrif added. “The bond spell that compels him is incredibly strong. He would be little more than a puppet to the mage, who would become the most powerful man in the world.”

“He already has my father wrapped around his finger,” I said, “believing his lies. And he was drinking my milk for months, using it for some kind of magical concoctions, all while training me to be his slave.”

“Drinking your milk?” Solliran asked. “Tendrif, could that mean something?”

Tendrif quickened his pace. “He would have gained immense power just from that. Ingesting the royal milk would be much like having royal blood running through his own veins. It is… it is the same power that allows the queen to have the same privileges as her husband, only it is Night Magic rather than Day Magic.”

“You see why I believe the Lord High Mage might be the one attacking other Night Mages,” Roichal said.

Tendrif groaned with pleasure as he must have been coming close to spilling. “Yes, yes, that makes perfect sense,” he said, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath. “My lord, the other problem is that Kenet here… er, Prince Kenet is suffering the effects of the incomplete bond spell. He is in dire need of a master who can complete the bond, before the magic eats him up from inside.”

“What a fine mess,” Solliran said with a sigh. “Well, that might explain why not one but two envoys to Frangit have not returned. I can only hope they are alive and held captive rather than merely murdered. I take it, though, if someone else bonds with the prince, the Lord High Mage’s plots to become supreme ruler of the world will be thwarted?”

“He will have a finite supply of Kenet’s milk. Once that runs dry, he is powerful, but no more powerful than any other mage,” Tendrif said. “Oh, except that is no doubt why he has been attacking them…”

Roichal grunted now as Tendrif drove into him harder. “Pardon me, but do you mind?”

Tendrif slowed his movement reluctantly but could not quite bring himself to stop. “Um. It would be, uh, considered polite, if you would allow me to finish…”

“Have you the knack of making a man like me find release, as well?” Roichal answered. “Fair is fair.”

Tendrif considered a moment.

“There were times when I was able to find release when the general did as well,” I added. “It would ease the pain and stiffness in his leg afterward.”

Tendrif rubbed his hand on Roichal’s rump. “Magically speaking, he and I are not bonded enough for me to be able to affect his release that way. However, I have been known to make men spill from my cock alone. If you experienced release despite your lack of equipment, I should be able to give you satisfaction.”

Roichal grimaced and pushed back against him. “Very well. You’re already in there, you may as well do the complete job. If you can make me come, you are welcome to spill in me in return.”

Tendrif grinned at the challenge and picked up the pace again. Watching them couple like that only made my cock throb harder and the ache in my gut intensify. I wanted… how very much I needed something, and soon. It gnawed at me like hunger. Eventually I had to look away, but I could not mistake the bellow of Roichal coming, followed by a kind of howl from Tendrif.

When I looked back, Solliran had gotten to his feet and was clapping for the performance. He shed his robe and I heard Jort gasp at the sudden nude form of the Pellonese ruler. He was quite erect and my mouth watered to see the glistening droplet hanging from the slit.

He pumped his cock once, twice, and another droplet gathered and then fell. “Well, it seems to me there is only one correct course of action now. Prince Kenet, you must be bonded to royal blood or a great evil will take hold of the world.” He held out a hand to me. “I will take on the role of your master, for the good of your people and mine. I swear to protect you and cherish you as my own. Kneel and kiss my scepter to demonstrate your fealty to the rule of Pellon, and I will take you.”

I fell to my knees, not in fealty, but because my nerveless legs would hold me up no longer. Had it come to this? I wondered as I slumped to the floor whether the spell would work even if I were unconscious. Knowing Seroi, it would. I hoped Roichal and Jort would protect me. Solliran seemed nice enough, his face as beautiful as his cock, but he was not who I wanted. A man with his cock stiff in his hand is difficult to reason with. A sovereign lord would surely not accept no for an answer.

* * *

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.


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