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 Twenty-Seven: Kenet

27: Kenet

I wondered if the wagon would roll all night. Didn’t horses need to sleep, too? What about the driver? For myself, I was not sleepy at all. I was thankful for the summer night, as a chill stole over me that surely would have been unbearable had the air been colder. The creaking of the wheels and the sound of the hooves lulled me, but I did not sleep.

I could see little of what we passed. The road down the mountain was lined with trees, then at some point the way became flat. I could see from the stars above that now the mountains were to one side of us. East. We were going east, but I had no idea how far.

I thought about slipping away, leaping off the back of the wagon, before I could be discovered, but then how would I know where to go? How far away was the army? If that was where Jorin had been sent, then surely I needed to get there as quickly as possible. These thoughts battled back and forth like two fencers, until I felt the wagon begin to slow. I could not risk being discovered or I would surely find myself delivered back into Seroi’s hands in an instant.

But I had missed my chance. I heard voices shouting; it was too late to jump without being seen. I huddled down under the cloak, below the edge of the wagon’s gate, trying to think of what I might say to them when they lowered it and discovered me. I kept waiting for the rattle of the latch and the chains, but all I heard was the creaking of the wagon as the driver climbed down, and then more voices.

“Here you go.” That was the driver’s voice. “The whole load is to go straight to the mustering ground, to General Roichal’s camp. And I mean the whole load. The barrels have been counted.”

“What do you take me for, a thief?” came the affronted answer. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Just telling you. The whole castle’s astir and the king is not happy.”

“Oh? What could possibly be upsetting him besides famine, war, pestilence…?”

“You think your tongue is so sharp. Get up there, go on.”

The wagon shifted again and I could hear the sound of the horses being changed, too. I dared a look over the top of the gate as we pulled away, but there was little to see other than the small light of a lantern in someone’s hand as he walked the opposite direction. I could make out what might have been the edge of a building, a stable perhaps? It didn’t matter. A few moments later I could not see it at all.

The new driver liked to sing and whistle to himself as the horses went along. I began to doze off as the sky lightened and I could see gray trees now hanging over the road. Gray trees? As the light strengthened, the color returned, verdant and vibrant, and I understood that in the predawn light I had been unable to see the color of the leaves.

Just as from inside the castle I had been unable to see past its walls. Now Jorin was out here somewhere and I had to find him. That was my last thought before I finally fell asleep.

I woke with a start as the gate banged open and a surprised voice cried out, “Oho! Jort, you’ve got a stowaway here!”

I scrambled up, but the man grabbed me. He was nearly as big as Bear, his arms as muscular, and wriggle as I might I could not get loose.

The driver, still whistling, came around the wagon to look at me. “What’s this?”

“He was in the back, hiding there.” The man twisted me until he could hold me by one arm behind my back. Now if I struggled, it hurt, so I stood still, my heart pounding, trying to think of what to say.

The driver, Jort, sauntered forward. He was wearing a military jacket, but it was loose, unbuttoned, hanging from his shoulders. I flinched back as he reached for my face, but all he did was fluff my hair. “So fair. And barefoot and barechested. Must be an escaped Frangi boywhore, hm? What twisted noble’s dungeon did you escape from, eh boy?”

I said nothing. They had no idea who I was. If they thought I was a Frangi, maybe I could feign misunderstanding, too.

“Let go of him, Bettin. If he runs, we’ll have some sport bringing him down and spearing him, eh?” Jort chuckled and something in the tone of his chuckle made me think it wouldn’t be knives of metal they’d spear me with. The big one let go my arm and I cradled it to my chest. “No no no,” Jort said. “Let’s have a look at you.” He gestured to the cloak.

I couldn’t very well pretend to be too stupid to understand that, could I? My fingers trembled as I undid the clasp and Bettin took the cloak from me and handed it to Jort.

Jort ran his fingers along the seams and then sniffed the cloth. “Definitely some noble’s plaything. Feel the weave on this cloth…” He shook out the cloak and folded it then started to stuff it into a rucksack.

I made a distressed noise and reached for it. I’m not even sure why. Because it was Jorin’s, and because without it I was far too exposed to their eyes. He just looked up at me with raised eyebrows. “Oh, you think this is yours? But we’re going to feed you and keep you warm and dry when the rains come tonight. You owe us for that.”

I pretended not to understand and just reached for the cloak again.

“No,” he said, as if I were a grabby child. “Bettin, count the barrels. I need to think about this. You, come.” He gestured for me to follow him.

Not knowing what else to do, I did. He led me to a tent by the mouth of a cave in the hillside. I looked around for the first time and saw we were in a camp of sorts, with one or two wooden buildings and tents in the clearing between the edge of the woods and the start of the rocky hills.

He pushed me through the tent flap and I stumbled and fell onto a surprisingly soft carpet. Another man was there, and he looked up from the paper he was marking something on. “Jort? What’s this?”

“I’m not sure,” Jort said. He opened a chest and took out a bottle of something and drank deeply from it, then corked it and put it back. The other man handed me a metal flask of water and I drank greedily. Jort pulled out a piece of cheese from the chest and the crust end of a loaf of bread, and handed them to me where I was on the carpet. I gnawed on them like a mouse, trying to pretend I wasn’t listening to every word they said.

“What do you mean he was in the wagon?”

“I mean, Bettin opened the back and there he was. The way I see it, there’s two possibilities. He’s an escaped boywhore, or he’s supposed to be a secret gift for General Roichal. But Pelter didn’t say anything specifically about it, only that the ‘whole load’ was supposed to go straight to Roichal.”

“Jort! You don’t suppose he suspects us…?”

“No, he just doesn’t like me and he doesn’t like having his milksacks in a sling.” Jort sat on a low stool and ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. “I mean, if he is a gift for Roichal, that isn’t the sort of thing one would say out loud. But it just seems far-fetched, even given the General’s reputation…”

“A far out-dated reputation, I might add,” the other man said. “When I was with him on campaign last year, I swear he never even spilled once in the night. Never had a camp follower in his bed. Nothing. All the man thinks about is strategy. He’s no milksucker. I think he’s dry between the legs, honestly.”

Jort gnawed one fingernail. “Our best bet is to make him Roichal’s problem, though.” He stood then. “Leave me alone with him for a while.”

The other man chuckled. “Can’t hurt to sample the goods, eh? Jort, you pervert.”

“Shut your mouth. That’s what he’s used to, isn’t it? Poor thing probably needs a good fucking if he’s been on the run. Isn’t that what they say about the Frangi? They train them to crave master’s milk?”

The other man just made a disgusted noise and pushed the tentflap aside, carrying his papers with him as he went. Jort secured the flap with a tie and then turned to me.

“I’m not convinced, you know, that you’re not a spy sent by Pelter to catch us smuggling,” he said. I just stared at him like I had no idea what he was saying. “Though where he found such a fair-haired youth as you, I couldn’t guess.”

The canvas of the tent was a cream-colored fabric and in the sunlight the interior was plenty bright to see by. Jort took me by the forearm and bade me stand again, then pushed my leggings down to my ankles. I wanted to cover myself, but was caught between on the one hand thinking then he might be sure I was a spy of some kind and on the other hand wondering if I truly were a Frangi boywhore, how would I react? The result was I stood as still as a well-trained horse having its saddle changed while he ran his hands down my back and over the curve of my buttocks.

He made an appreciative noise. “Not a mark on you. You’re more and more of a mystery, little Frangi.” Then his hand cupped my balls, as if weighing them. “Or perhaps not so little after all.”

I was hardening in his grip and he stroked me, hastening the process. Then he stepped back to look at me. “You can see why the Frangi are such corrupt, decadent men,” he said, more to himself than to me. “You’re hard to resist.”

He bent me over the chest then, and ran his finger up and down the crack between my cheeks. Then I struggled, fighting him. No! I didn’t escape from Seroi to just have some corrupt smuggler soldier stick his prick into me.

He laughed, wrestling me down to the carpet. He kicked his own trousers off at some point while we fought and I could feel the threat of his hard heat against my thigh as he pinned me down.

The only thing I could think of was if I could make him spill, he would be unable to spear me. I wasn’t even completely sure that was true, but it seemed likely. Jorin would always go soft in my hand and sometimes he wouldn’t even want his prick touched at all afterward.

I got one hand free and stroked my fingertips up the side of his shaft where it was trapped against my leg. He shuddered and I licked my lips, fluttering my tongue suggestively.

He ran a finger around the wet edge of my lips and then plunged it slowly into my mouth. I sucked and felt his cock twitch against my leg.

“Are you offering me your mouth instead of your hind hole?” he asked.

I just swirled my tongue around the tip of his finger and then sucked harder.

“Thunder’s roll,” he swore, moving quickly then. He sat up on the stool and pulled me between his knees with his fist in my hair. I don’t know where the dagger in his other hand came from. “If this is all a trick to use your teeth…” he warned, holding the point in the soft spot behind my ear.

I drew a trembling breath but pretended this was the sort of treatment I was used to. I began licking his balls and was rewarded with a groan. His cock was a dark color, not just suffused with blood but darker like all his skin when compared to the pallor of Seroi. It had a graceful curve to it, like the bone hilts of the Pellonese swords my father had received as a tribute gift once. The knob was tapered and salty, tasting much more like Jorin’s than like Seroi’s.

I licked him up and down, up and down, and was just working up the nerve to actually suck him into my mouth when he took the choice from me and shoved in, holding my head steady as he thrusted. I gagged but that only seemed to spur him to push deeper, again and again. I couldn’t breathe but it didn’t matter for long, as he spilled in my mouth and all over my face quite speedily.

“Lightning strike me if that wasn’t the sweetest mouth I’ve ever had on man or woman,” he swore, head lolling back.

He seemed not to care that I was wiping as much of his seed from my face as I could onto the carpet, nor that my own prick was still as hard and straining as it had been when he’d stroked it into that state.

I wondered if I should try to run. But I was naked and I didn’t know how many men were around, and his earlier description of a “hunt” made me shiver.

“Jort, you finished? Bettin’s done swapping the casks.”

Jort motioned at me to get my leggings back on. I did while he got dressed himself and untied the tent flap. “How many?”

“Just two. Let’s not take too many chances if they already suspect something.”

“I told you, they don’t suspect anything. Pelter just doesn’t like me.”

“Here.” The other man handed him some papers, then looked at me. “What did you do to him? No no, don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear it. The poor thing looks like he’s about to burst into tears.”

I did? Very well, I knew a sympathetic spirit when I saw one. I pointed frantically at Jort’s rucksack.

The other man crossed his arms. “What did you take of his?”

“You can’t be serious. Whether we consider him a whoreslave or a prisoner of war, he doesn’t ‘own’ anything.”

“Jort.”

“Fine. Maybe he’s just cold.” He dug the cloak out again and threw it at me. I gathered it up greedily and pulled it around my shoulders.

“If you leave now, you can make the outpost by nightfall.”

Jort stretched and yawned. “All right. The sooner we’re rid of this load the better. Rations are scarce enough as it is. Hey whore, you’d better take a piss before we get going. I’m going to chain you in the wagon so you don’t make trouble.”

I blinked, pretending I didn’t know what he said.

He took me to a small shed then, standing alone at the edge of the camp, and I wondered what it was until he opened the door and I could smell it. There was a barrel lid over a hole in a shelf, and he lifted it and pointed down into it, then pointed at my cock in my leggings, and then pointed into it again.

“Oh, lightning strike me if you get it wrong,” he said, and took out his own cock and pissed in a long, pungent stream. “Got the idea? Okay. go on.”

He actually left me alone then, although I could hear him standing outside the door. I freed my cock from my leggings but I was still too hard to piss. My only real choice was to milk myself.

I tried to make it quick, but although I reached the point of spilling quickly, I could not seem to go over the edge. I tried until it became painful. Even imagining it was Jorin’s hand milking me did not help. Neither did imagining it was Seroi’s, and yes, I was desperate enough to try that. But no, I could not bring myself off.

I emerged from the shed near tears, on shaky legs, but Jort did not seem to notice. He led me back to the wagon which looked unchanged to my eye and urged me to take up my spot in the back. Good to his word, he looped a chain around my ankle and locked it tight, then locked it to the gate latch, slipping the key into his own pocket.

Within minutes we were on the road again, and I let myself cry at last, when the sound of the wheels and the horses would mask the sound. I cried myself to sleep and when I woke much later I found my cock had finally gone to sleep, too. I pissed off the back of the wagon, leaving a dark trail in the dust of the road. At least by tonight we would reach the army camp, wasn’t that what they’d said? The outpost, at least. Maybe I would catch up to Jorin there. Surely once we were together we would figure out a way to get free and run away. Maybe we could run all the way to Pellon.

* * *

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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.