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-Seven: Kenet
67: Kenet
I never did learn Dursht’s master’s name, but he brought us to a place up the hill from the docks that he said was reputable, and paid for the three of us to eat the evening meal (Jort happily devoured my share) and to have a well-appointed room on the top floor for the night. He also introduced Roichal to the owner of the place, a man named Siphal, and while Jort and I enjoyed dessert and honey wine (well, I had only a few sips of the wine) the two of them talked in low voices.
The room held a large bed in the center and a small pallet off to one side. Jort took the pallet, while Roichal and I settled into bed together. Honey wine made Jort snore, but I did not mind. I buried myself into Roichal’s arms with a sigh. It was not quite like being in bed with Jorin, but it was the most comfortable I had been in months, and I knew now to appreciate the luxury while it lasted.
“Will we stay here long?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” he answered. “They do not practice Night Magic openly in Pellon, though as you have seen they enjoy the decadence of many forms of sexual acts.” We had seen whores, both male and female, displaying themselves on balconies as we had come up the hill. “Siphal says the most experienced practitioner is a healer named Tendrif in the Solliran’s court. The sovereign lord and his courtiers are in Aris for the trials, but Siphal says it is very difficult to gain an audience with the mage.”
Pellon was a protectorate of Trest, ruled by their own hereditary lord, but they spoke our language and shared many of our customs, though obviously not all. “But surely if he is the sovereign lord’s…?”
“Hush. We cannot be sure of allies or enemies here. What if that snake has poisoned Solliran against the crown of Trest? Everyone believes you are my pampered, personal whore. There is no reason not to play that role with this healer and find out if he can cure you without revealing your identity.”
“But you just said it is very difficult to gain an audience with him.”
“According to Siphal, he is not above being bought. If we offer enough, Tendrif will not say no.”
“But where will we get the money…” I stopped short as I asked it, the answer already forming in my mind.
Roichal spoke the answer aloud, though. “Your reputation already precedes you. Siphal heard that you bested Dursht, who is known to him. He told me he has one place for a mouth whore open, which he will lease to us for a percentage of the earnings. With the Trials going on, there are even more customers in town than usual, and he does not like the thought of losing his share to another house. I will not, however, agree to his offer if you do not want to perform what is required of you.”
I held in a laugh. “How many cocks would I need to suck in a night? I will feast.” I licked my lips then to try to make him laugh or grin, but he merely answered soberly:
“Six to ten each evening would be my guess, unless you start to fetch a higher price, and then perhaps fewer.”
“And how many until we have enough to contact this healer mage?”
Roichal shrugged. “After Siphal’s percentage? I would guess no more than twenty to twenty five.”
He was playing it as if it were of no consequence, but I could feel a tension in him. It could not be worry over whether I would agree to the plan, could it?
I laid my hand against his breastbone to feel his heartbeat, realizing what troubled him so. It was that he did not want another man touching me, much less spilling into me. But he accepted the situation.
As did I. I rutted against his leg. “No. I will do it,” I murmured into his ear, “only because you command it of me. And then each cock that passes these lips shall be as if it were your own, master. That is the only way I shall accept this task, the only way I shall have the strength to see it through.”
He pulled me into a kiss, and ground my cock against his hip.
Jort made a disgusted sound, roused himself, and left the room. I chuckled as he closed the door firmly behind him. “He knows what’s coming.”
“As do you, my golden slave,” Roichal growled, pulling me against him now with one hand tugging at each arsecheek. “I am a man of honor, but were I fully equipped I do not think I could remain sane and not bury myself in you.”
I whimpered as I recalled the feeling of his finger probing at my hole, just teasing there, and wondered what it was going to feel like when Jorin—for I could picture no one else—speared me at last. I gasped as the knot of desire in my gut wound so tight it was painful.
And nothing Roichal did to me that night could untie it. He struck me until my rear was inflamed, and my cock twitched and throbbed as it often did while I spilled, but no milk came forth, and no relief. Eventually I lay limp with a kind of exhaustion, though, and we kissed tenderly, as if each asking forgiveness from the other for failure. I fell into a deep sleep then.
In my dreams, the scent of incense clung to my skin, and I felt the wetness of a velvet mouth take my cock in, but I could not see whose.
Then I felt the scrape of a tooth, like a viper’s fang, and I found myself struggling to flee, only to wake in Roichal’s arms. He was holding me fast, and speaking to me, though it took me a few moments to hear the words through my fear. I must have been thrashing about in my sleep.
I settled back, but the softness of the bed and the gentle scent of the perfume in the linens were no longer the comfort they had been. I wished for the hard pallet that smelled of horses and leather. When my heart had slowed enough that it no longer felt like it was in my throat, I spoke. “Just a dream.”
“A dream, my dear? Or a nightmare?”
“A nightmare,” I allowed. “I did not see his face, but it was of my enemy.”
Roichal hummed low in his throat. “I had hoped crossing the water would be enough to keep him from finding you.”
I buried my face against his chest, making my own voice loud in my ears. “No. Just a dream. This bed reminds me of the castle. And of him. He cannot find me through my dreams. I refuse to believe that.”
Roichal kissed my hair then. “You are safe in my arms. I will let no harm befall you.”
I slipped back to sleep. I would need the rest, as the following night my mouth would be in high demand.
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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.
