My voice caught when I first tried to speak. It was partly from fear, but more because hearing the prince talking about licking and sucking and swallowing had taken my breath away.
I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yes, your highness."
My hand trembling, I reached out and cupped his balls in my palm. As I had thought, they were heavy, but the skin was surprisingly delicate. I had never touched another man's balls before.
A bead of fluid dripped from the head of the prince's cock. My heart pounding with fear, humiliation-- and desire-- I licked at it. It was salty-sweet and slippery.
The prince's cock twitched under my tongue. It was responding to me-- to my touch.
I opened my mouth wider, taking in the entire head. My lips had to stretch to accommodate it; it was quite thick. The skin slid under my tongue, soft and velvety but covering flesh that was very hard indeed.
I licked along the underside, feeling the raised veins with my tongue. Fascinated and aroused, I slid my tongue around as if I was enjoying a ripe peach, dripping with sweet juice. Then I remembered that the prince had said to suck, so I sucked hard.
A hand came down on my shoulder, digging into my muscles with slim but strong fingers. I drew in my breath involuntarily, sending air flowing along the sides of his shaft. The hand clenched even harder, jerking at my flesh and opening the cut across my back and shoulders. The burning pain made me gasp again.
The prince thrust hard into my mouth, sending his shaft banging into the back of my throat. I choked and tried to pull away. The prince grabbed a handful of my hair with his other hand, holding me in place as he pumped away in my mouth. My nostrils were filled with the musky smell of him. His soft hair rubbed against my cheeks. His cock stretched my mouth, pushing down my throat.
His urgency as he fucked my mouth sent a bolt of arousal straight to my own cock. I longed to take myself in my hand and relieve my tension, but he hadn't given me permission. I groaned around his cock with desire and frustration, then sucked at his rampant shaft. If I couldn't satisfy myself, at least I could satisfy him.
Frantic with lust, I lapped hungrily at his cock, licking and sucking and thrusting at it with my tongue. I tried to swallow it down, eager to take it into my body as much as I could. The rhythm of the prince's violent thrusts made my own cock bob and thrust into the air.
With my hands, I caressed the prince's pale inner thighs. Then I ventured a finger along the soft skin behind his balls. For the first time, he made a sound, a soft gasp. If I hadn't been so close to him, I wouldn't have heard it. Emboldened, I rubbed my finger along that area, in rhythm to my sucking and his thrusting.
I had forgotten the pain of the lash. I had even forgotten the onlookers. There was nothing in my world but the gathering heat in my belly and groin, the prince's hands on my shoulder and twined in my hair, and the prince's cock thrusting with increasing violence into my mouth.
Prince Alar yanked painfully on my hair. With a soft groan, he spurted his seed into my mouth. It was hot and thick, and tasted salty.
Even as I swallowed it, I quickly looked up. I wanted to see what the prince looked like when he came. He was so icy and detached that I wanted to see him lose control.
But either that moment had come and gone so quickly that I had missed it, or else the prince never lost control, not even in the moment of his little death. His expression was as cool as it had ever been, and not a hair on his head was disarrayed.
He let go of my hair and shoulder, and stepped back. His softening cock slid out of my mouth. I licked my lips, tasting the last of his seed.
I was strangely sorry that it was over. My own cock was so hard that it was almost painful; it was difficult for me to think of anything but how much I longed to grip it in my fist, give myself a few rough strokes, and come. My balls ached for release.
The prince laced up his breeches, watching me with an enigmatic light in his dark, dark eyes. I wondered if I had pleased him. I hoped that I had at least pleased him enough that he wouldn't demand any sexual favors of my brother.
My brother! Only then did I remember that all the young men of my village had seen me suck the prince's cock. I couldn't help glancing around. Maju hung his head, staring intently at the grass. Some of the men sneered, while others looked disgusted; still others looked carefully blank.
A wave of shame crashed over me. I couldn't explain what I had done by pointing out that I had only been trying to protect Maju. It was true... but not the whole truth. They had seen my arousal. Even now, I was still hard as a rock. I would never be able to look any of them in the eyes again.
"That..." said the prince, pursing his lips. "...was not terrible."
Whatever blood wasn't filling my cock immediately rushed to my ears, until I thought they would burst into flames. My lips felt swollen, my jaw was sore, my back stung from the lash, my shoulders were bruised from the prince's fingers, and now my entire village knew I was a pervert and a sinner. And I hadn't even done a good job cock-sucking. And I was still painfully aroused. I wished the earth would crack open and swallow me whole.
A sharp pop startled me. The prince had snapped his fingers. "Pay attention when your betters are speaking, farm boy. I said, that was not terrible. I shall take you back to the palace, to enjoy you at my leisure."
"M-- me?" I stammered.
"Y-- you," mocked the prince. "Unless you'd prefer me to take your brother? I could, if you'd rather stay..."
"No!" I shouted. Then I remembered my place. "I mean, no, your highness. I will go with you."
I thought of adding a toadying, "I would be honored," but the words stuck in my throat and choked me.
"Herald!" Prince Alar called. "I wish you to prepare my slave. Here. Now. Oil him. Everywhere."
The herald gave a nasty snicker, then sobered under Prince Alar's chilling stare. "Yes, your highness."
The herald fetched a leather bag, opened it, and took out a bottle filled with some clear fluid.
"Stay where you are," the herald ordered me. "Don't move a muscle."
I remained on my knees. I couldn't fathom what had happened. One moment, I had my whole life laid out for me: marry a woman, work the fields, have children. Grow old. Die. Now, in a single snap of slender, black-gloved fingers, I was the slave of a cruel and beautiful prince.
The herald tipped some of the liquid into his cupped palm. It poured slowly, like honey. When he began to rub it into my shoulders, I realized that it was oil. It had a rich, heavy scent, but not flowery or spicy, like the perfume sold in the rich folks' side of the market at the town.
"Coconut oil," said the prince. "From a very far-off land. I insist upon only the best for my property."
I shuddered involuntarily. A farmer's life is a hard one, but at least a farmer is free.
The herald's hands were professional, not sensual, but that damned staff of mine would not go down. I could not stop re-living how I'd sucked Prince Alar's cock. I once again felt the thickness of the prince's steel-hard shaft in my mouth, tasted the salt of his seed trickling down my throat, heard that nearly-inaudible moan he'd let out when he'd spent...
"Now stand," the herald ordered.
I stood and let him oil my legs. Then he circled behind me and oiled my buttocks. I shifted uncomfortably.
"Do not move," said Prince Alar icily. "I forbid it."
I froze where I was, looking straight into the prince's knife-blade features, the cruel set of his lips, the creases around his eyes. Strange, for such a young man to have lines there. They looked like the marks of pain...
The herald jammed a greased finger into my asshole.
I let out a yelp and jerked forward, dislodging the finger
One of the watching men snickered, but he was out of my line of sight. I wasn't sure who it had been.
With no change of expression, the prince picked up the herald's whip and walked behind me.
"Let me teach you silence," came the prince's velvety tones. "For every sound you mak
e, there will be five additional lashes."
The whip cracked down. There was no other sound.
Then the prince walked back in front of me. "As I said, Garin: do not move. I will not warn you again."
I had no desire for another stroke of the whip. "Yes, your highness."
To my relief, between some man getting whipped and the herald sticking his finger up my ass, my damned stiffness was finally subsiding.
Prince Alar's lips curved into a smile. "You see, Garin, you will have much larger things inside you later on. You must be prepared."
For a moment, I had no idea what he meant. Then I realized: things like his cock. Instantly, I was rock-hard again.
At least this time no one sniggered.
The herald oiled his finger, then, more slowly this time, worked it inside my asshole. I flinched, but managed to hold myself still. I waited for him to pull it out, but he instead started wiggling it around. What was he doing? It was unpleasant and humiliating. I tried to distract myself by thinking of...
...nothing came to mind but the thought of the prince fucking me up the ass. Would that truly happen? The entire day felt unreal, like a dream, even as I was living it.
The herald's finger hit a sensitive spot inside me. I gasped, then clamped my mouth shut. The herald began to stroke and rub the area.
I had never known that place inside me existed. But whatever it was, it was as sensitive as my cock. It felt swollen, like a knot within my body. Pleasure rippled through every nerve in my body as the herald massaged it. I had to clench my teeth to keep myself from groaning aloud. My balls tingled and drew up, as if I was about to come.
"Oil him everywhere," ordered the prince.
As I looked straight into Prince Alar's midnight-black eyes and thought of having his hard shaft inside me, the herald grabbed my cock in his other hand and gave it a tug. Bliss burst through me, and I came hard. My climax pulsed through my entire body. When it finally ended, I almost fell over where I stood.
When I opened my eyes, I saw that the prince had stepped neatly aside. My seed had spurted across the green grass, leaving spatters of white.
"Your hands are oily, herald," remarked the prince with some distaste. "Clean them. I will collar him myself."
As I stood stunned and dizzy, Prince Alar reached into the herald's bag and drew out a wide black leather collar, chased with silver. He buckled it around my throat as if I was a hound.
"There," he said. "Now you are mine."
I bent to pick up my clothes, but the prince shook his head. "You come naked."
I stumbled after the prince in a daze as he rode out of the village. I did not think to ask to take any of my few possessions. I barely had the presence of mind to bid Maju farewell. I walked naked along the road, watched closely by the herald atop his bay steed, the prince's collar heavy at my throat.
Outside of my village, I found that the prince had a larger retinue waiting for him. I was unceremoniously loaded into a horse-pulled cart, and we all set off.
At the crossroad, we took the left-hand path. The right led to the nearest town, Campo de Oro. We visited its market weekly to sell our crops and buy items we could not grow or make ourselves. It was a three-hour walk, and the farthest I had ever been outside of Madriguera. The left, I knew, led to Navarra's capital city, Veleia. And the palace.
We rode all day, stopping only at mid-day to break our fast. The prince did not come near me, but a servant brought me watered wine-- far more rich than I had ever drunk before, tasting faintly of peaches and polished steel-- a heel of bread rubbed with olive oil and garlic, roasted peppers stuffed with salt cod, and a slab of venison seasoned with herbs. I had never eaten anything so delicious. In Madriguera, we were not allowed to hunt deer, which were reserved for aristocrats, and only slaughtered our cattle when they were too old to pull a plow.
I spent the first half of the ride in a daze, unable to believe that my life had changed so quickly. I was a slave, but I barely even knew what that meant. The slave trade had been banned in Navarra for over a hundred years; I could count on my fingers the times when I had ever even seen a slave. But though slaves could not be bought or sold like goods in the marketplace, they could still be kept under certain circumstances.
Prisoners taken in battle could be enslaved by their captors, I knew, until or unless their countries demanded their return. When the Vikings came to pillage the coasts, any wounded sea-raider left behind on the shores would be tended and, if he survived, set to work repairing the damage caused by his countrymen.
I was no foreign warrior. But royalty, I supposed, could do anything they wished. To whom could one seek redress, had one been wronged by a prince?
It was near sunset when we reached the towering stone walls of Veleia. They were taller than any tree, taller than even the spire of the church in Campo de Oro. Men and women in grand brocade uniforms guarded the huge wooden gates at sword point. They saluted and stepped aside when they saw the prince.
"Hail Prince Alar!" the guards all cried.
As soon as he had passed, they all stared at me-- the naked, oiled, collared farm boy hauled along behind the prince. I dropped my hands into my lap to hide my cock from sight. I wished the prince would allow me some clothing. Even apart from the embarrassment, it was getting cold.
Veleia was like a hundred towns jammed together. The smells, the sights, the sounds were overwhelming. I had never seen so many people. I had never even seen so many dogs!
It smelled like garlic and flowers, horse dung and baking bread, roasted meats and fresh fruit, dust and steel and perfume. I heard talking and shouting, the clatter of wheels, horses neighing, instruments playing, the cries of street vendors, children chanting in play, and voices raised in song.
Some people wore the rough clothing of peasants or servants, and others the more expensive garb of merchants and craftsmen. A few were dressed very finely, in delicate lace, embroidered linen, and worked leather. Men and women both often bore swords or daggers. But all, without exception, fell back and bowed to the prince.
Many buildings were made of pink sandstone, which had a mellow glow in the golden light of the setting sun. Others were painted white, with balconies that overflowed with blooming flowers and spicy-smelling green herbs. Even the poorest houses had windows with glass. Some buildings had two or three or even four stories, and several towers rose high to pierce the darkening sky.
But above all those tall buildings, the palace rose up like a mountain. It was carved of black marble, ornamented with turrets and towers, friezes and arches. But no flowers or herb gardens grew on its balconies. It had a fierce, austere beauty. Ferocious gargoyles leered down from every cornice, and warlike angels, sculpted larger than men, stood atop each tower, brandishing marble swords and blowing marble horns.
More elegantly uniformed guards paced around the palace and stood at its gates. We passed them in a chorus of hails to the prince.
The horses were taken away, I was beckoned out of the cart, and I was whisked through a dizzying series of courtyards and gardens. The herald hustled me through a set of gigantic double doors, and the next thing I knew, I was in a huge room full of people.
Though I spotted one man who was collared and scantily clad, I was the only person who was naked. Everyone else was fully and beautifully dressed.
I didn't know what I was supposed to do, and I had lost sight of the prince in the crowd. The herald too had gone. I stood where I was, bewildered and embarrassed. And curious. I looked around.
A husky young man wearing only a leather breechclout and an iron slave collar knelt at the feet of a strong-looking man in his thirties. The slave had yellow braids and pale blue eyes, so I guessed him to be a captured Viking. The older man was dressed in soft black leathers. He held a glass of red wine in one hand and a whip in the other.
The man with the whip was deep in conversation with two younger people. The woman was voluptuous and dark-haired, in a floor-length gown of ruby silk. The ma
n had hair like a golden coin and a gold brocade coat to match.
The man drained his wine glass and thrust it out toward the slave.
The slave took it and stood up. "I will get you another, my lord."
"Wretch," snapped the man. "Incompetent fool. How many times have I told you that you must anticipate my needs? You should have already had a new glass ready for me. I will punish you for this."
The slave cowered back. "Oh, please, no!"
Licking his lips, the man raised his whip high.
"Please, no!" cried the slave.
The slave was barely older than my brother Maju. An unreasoning rage filled me. Forgetting everything but the instinct to protect the helpless, I strode forward and snatched the whip from the hands of the brute who wielded it.
"He was about to get you the damned wine!" I shouted. "Is that any reason to hurt him?"
I had not realized how filled with chatter the room had been until every speaker fell silent. The entire room was staring at me, their eyes wide and mouths fallen open.
I realized then what I had done. I, a peasant, had confiscated the weapon of an aristocrat. Even now, I was threateningly brandishing it at him-- I, a naked, collared slave!
I lowered my hand, but did not return the whip. I couldn't bring myself to hand it back over to a man who would use it to strike a helpless slave.
"Alar!" the leather-clad man shouted. "Would you care to watch while I execute your disobedient pet?"
Prince Alar strode through the crowd. His black eyes took in the situation at a glance, and his exquisite features drew tight in anger.
Silently, he held out his hand. I immediately gave him the whip.
The prince cracked the whip. Without intending to do so, I sank to my knees before him.
My heart was pounding. Was I truly going to be executed?
"I believe there has been some misunderstanding," Prince Alar said silkily. He held up his gloved hand, ticking off the misunderstandings one by one. "One: Lord Catarain was not beating his slave out of cruelty. They were enjoying the dance of dominance and submission, the game of pain and pleasure: something you especially, Garin, should understand."
Bound and Bent: Ten Tales of Serving Him Page 11