The Prince of Slaves

Chapter 1:

Preceding her out of the icy stream, he turned, bending over to offer her his hand.  She stood in water up to her knees, her eyes at a level with his cock.  Shrunken by the cold water, it hid beneath his foreskin, like a small child hiding beneath a blanket.  His balls, seeking warmth after being immersed in the icy water, were tight against his crotch.  Shrunken as it was, his cock seemed almost as small as it had been the year before -- before he got his man hair.

This, the first warm day of spring, was the first time they'd been swimming together, since the previous summer.  Having begun her menses when she was eleven, she'd had her maiden hair, but he hadn't his man hair.  He had grown it sometime during the winter.  As he offered her his hand, she saw his eyes drop from her face.  He had a strange, almost hungry look on his face.  "What is it?" she asked.

"They're bigger," he said.

"What?" she asked, even though she knew what he meant.

"Your tits," he said.  "They've grown."

"That's not all," she answered, "something else has grown -- is growing."  His cock had poked its head out of it's hood and was growing as she watched.

"Yes," he said glancing down at it, "It's always like that."  By that time -- stiff as a rod -- it was pointing at the sky."

"Do you ever..."  She hesitated, fumbling for the right word, but not finding it.  She knew boys did it, but she didn't know what they called it. "Do you ever touch it?" she asked.  She'd seen two slave boys -- two lucky enough to still have their cocks and balls -- do it one day in the stable.  She'd hidden behind a partition, watching them through the cracks between its boards.  Each of them had pulled on his cock until he'd shot white cream from it.  At first, she thought it had pained them, the way they had scrunched up their faces, but they must have liked it, because they had done it again.

"Do you mean, have I pulled on it?"  His face must have burned, because it was red.

"Yes.  Have you pulled on it?  Have you made it shoot the white cream?" 

His seed.  She wondered if he'd pulled on his cock and shot his seed.  She knew about sex of course.  She'd even seen a stable boy fuck a maid in the same stable she'd seen the two boys pull on their cocks.  And she saw cocks all the time.  During good weather, most young boys went naked.  Few slave boys wore clothes when it was warm, but most of them lost their cocks and balls before growing their man hair.  Most were cut at ten or eleven, although a few were cut younger.

She'd seen them cut.  How they screamed when their cocks and balls were cut off with a hot knife.

Men and boys, too. played at sports in the nude, their cocks and balls bouncing up and down as they ran.  That's why girls watch them play, she thought, to watch their cocks bounce up and down.

He turned redder still.  "Yes," he said.  "I've jerked it off."

"Is that what you call it?" she asked, "Jerking off?"

"That's one of the names," he said.  "There's others."

Out of the water now, she shivered in the breeze.  "Hold me," she said.  "I'm cold." 

Her tits stood straight out and her nipples were hard, only partly because of the cold.  She stepped toward him, and he enfolded her in his arms.  She felt his hard cock press against her stomach.  He was warm, but it was hot, like a poker just pulled from the fire.  Reaching down, she brushed it with her hand.  He drew in his breath.  She felt his cock jump.

She wrapped her fingers around it.  It throbbed, like it had a life of its own.  "Can I do it?"  she asked.  "Can I pull on it?"

Looking up at him, she saw his eyes were closed.  As an answer, he nodded.

She pulled, feeling loose skin slide over a hard shaft -- pulled until the skin covered his cock's exposed head, then pushed down, butting her hand against his man hair.  In a moment, he began thrusting with his hips, trying to shove his cock farther into her hand.  Then he screamed -- and shot -- his white cream shooting so high that a drop landed on her face.  For a moment, she thought he'd fall, his knees wobbled so.

"Was it good?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered, panting a little.

She took his hand, placing it on her mound.  She was wet, not from the stream, but from the juices flowing from her cunt.  She'd never felt quite like this before.  She hungered, but not for food -- for him -- for his cock.  She wanted it.  She wanted it inside her.  Reaching up, she pulled his face down to hers, kissing him on the mouth, running her tongue into it, when he opened his slightly.

Then, as his tongue darted into her mouth, his finger found her cunt.  It was her turn to stiffen and gasp as he inserted his middle finger into her cunt to the hilt.  His cock, hard again, pressed against her.  Although she hated to pull his hand from her cunt, she took both of his hands and pulled him down onto the grass, rolling on top of him, kissing him, once he was there, exploring his mouth with her tongue.

She felt his cock press against the entrance to her cunt.  The gate she'd sworn to keep closed, until opened by the man she married, was wide open.  Her cunt beckoned his cock -- nay, it screamed for it to enter.  Whether it was a thrust of his hips that did it, or a thrust of hers, she would never know, but suddenly she felt a sharp pain -- and he was inside her.  His cock filled her cunt.  The pain had been sharp, but had passed quickly, replaced by -- sweetness.  She didn't know what else to call it

By now, they were both thrusting.  He had her buttocks in his hands and was pulling her to him, ramming his cock into her.  She felt a tension build in her groin -- build until it exploded in waves of unbelievable pleasure.  They rolled over her like waves at the sea shore.  For a moment, the world seemed to wink out of existence, leaving only that feeling of pleasure -- of release.  She heard someone screaming.  It was only later that she realized it had been she. 

She had climaxed.  The girl in the stable had screamed as she had just done.  When she had asked her later why she had, the girl had said that she'd come.  She'd wondered what it felt like.  Now she knew, not that she could ever tell anyone.  Nobly born, she was supposed to be a virgin when she married.  Part of the wedding night ritual was for the husband to bring out the blood stained sheet to show the wedding guests.  Without glancing down, she knew there would be no blood stained sheet on hers.

"You're bleeding," he said, glancing down.  Blood stained his cock and her groin.

"You've broken my maidenhead," she said.

"I've ruined you," he said.

She looked at his face.  She'd never seen such an abashed look.  "I'm sorry," he said, beginning to cry.  "I couldn't help myself.  I didn't think -- I couldn't think --  I was all cock and no brain."

"Don't blame yourself," she said.  "I wanted it, too."

'Still, I'm to blame.  I fucked you.  I broke your maidenhead.  It was a shameful thing to do.  I could have any slave or servant I want, but I fucked you."

"Did you not want to fuck me?" she asked, feeling jealous at his mention of fucking others, whether they be mere slaves.

"The God, yes, I wanted you.  We should have never come here to swim.  The moment I saw your breasts and the red hair covering your mound, I felt I had to have you.  That's why I jumped into the icy water so quickly.  Otherwise I knew you'd see my hard cock."

'But, we always come here to swim," she said.

"I didn't have my man hair then -- and you didn't have those," he said, pointing to her tits.

"I'm a girl, and you're a boy," she said.  "It just happened."

"I'm not just a boy," he said.  "I'm the prince.  How can I ever face your mother?  Thank the God your father is dead, so I don't have to face him."  Then, realizing what he'd said, he added, "I don't mean that I'm glad your father is dead.  It's just that --"

"Shh..." she said, placing her first two fingers over his mouth.  "I know what you mean.  If it's anyone's fault, it's mine.  I seduced you.  I pumped your cock and then climbed on top of you.  It didn't matter to me that it would cost me my maidenhead.  I wanted you.  I wanted you to fuck me.  I wanted to feel your cock inside me."

"By the God, I wanted you," he said.  "I've never wanted anyone so much."

"Have you had a girl before?" she asked.

"He lowered his head again.  "Yes," he answered, "slave girls.  But with them, it was different, not like it was with you.  With them it was like jerking off -- better than that, but not much.  Having you jerk me off, felt better than fucking any of them."

"And jilly boys?" she asked.  "Have you fucked any jilly boys?"  Jilly boys were neutered slave boys.  They ranged in age from five to fifteen.  Most had been cut before growing their man hair.   Some just had their balls cut off, but most had both their cocks and balls cut off.

The question seemed to embarrass him, although it shouldn't have.  Most men, married or not, fucked jilly boys.  Some preferred them to both their wives and women slaves.  A beautiful young boy, fully neutered, fetched a high price in the slave markets, especially if they weren't badly scarred by the cut.  Most eventually grew hair on their crotches, even if cut before puberty, but that hair grew like a woman's, forming a neat triangle, not splashed across his crotch like a man's.

"Yes," he said, after some hesitation.  "I've fucked jilly boys."

"Did you like them?" she asked, more now out of curiosity than jealousy.

"Some are good," he answered.

"Some?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.  "How many have you fucked?"

"I haven't kept count," he said.

"More girls or more jilly boys?"

"Jilly boys, I guess.  Most have been trained to pleasure a man.  Usually, they are better at it than women."

"Better than me?" she asked.

"None were better than you," he said.  "I never knew it could be so good as it was with you."

"Then, let's do it again." she said, aroused by all the talk of fucking.

"We can't," he said, "You know I can't marry you.  I've ruined you, but I can't marry you."

"I know, she said, "You're betrothed to Princess Wynne of Kidwelly."

"Then you know I can't marry you, though I would, even if you are ruined." 

"If I'm already ruined, what harm can it do to fuck me again?  My maidenhead won't grow back, whether I fuck or not."

"But --"

Then she used his guilt on him, "If you've ruined me, don't you think you should at least fuck me now that I'm ruined.  Do I have to turn to some slave, like do neglected wives for a fucking.  If no man will have me, can't I be your hussy?  You can still have your jilly boys and hussies, but can't you fuck me once in a while?"

"I would fuck you to the exclusion of all others," he said, but I might get you with child.  That would be disastrous for us both -- for the kingdom."

"My mother prepares potions that will prevent pregnancy.  I can take one of those."

"You would tell your mother?" he asked.

"No," she answered, horrified at the thought of what her mother would say, had she known that she had broken her maidenhead, much less that her mother knew she had fucked the prince.  "I can take it without her knowing."

"You would do that to fuck me?"

"Yes," she said.  "Do you think me a harlot?"

"No," he said, "I -- I love you.  I could never think that."

There.  He said it.  Born within a month of each other and raised in the castle together, she couldn't remember a time when they hadn't been friends.  He was Emrys, crown prince of Gwynedd, son of Gwaid.   She was Megan, daughter of Trista, the king's healer.  He was the prince, and she was a wizard like her father.  There had always been a bond between them, but this was the first time he'd ever told her that he loved her.  She had always loved him.  For as long as she could remember, she had loved him.

"I love you," she said, leaning over to kiss him.  His cock was hard again.  She reached for it.  He gasped.  She knew then, that he would fuck her again, no matter what he had just said.

She lost count of the times they fucked.  Young as he was, he'd been able to do it time and again.  She had felt as if she would never get enough of fucking -- of his cock, but she had been exhausted, almost as spent as he, when he'd said, "I can't do it any more.  I want to, but I can't.  No longer hard, his cock hid within its hood, red from all the pounding of her cunt it'd done.  She was tired -- and sore -- but she would have done it again.

"I would marry you," he said.  "I wish to the God I could."

"Even though I'm ruined?" she asked.

"He grinned.  "Well, I'm the one that ruined you."

"Will you ruin me again tomorrow? she asked.

"I don't know whether I'll even be able to walk tomorrow," he said.  "I may be the one ruined."

Others might consider her ruined now her maidenhead was broken, but Megan didn't feel ruined.  To the contrary, she'd never felt so right in her life, so whole -- so happy.  If this was what it was like to be ruined, she was glad she had been.  She never wanted to marry another man, anyway.  After loving Emrys -- even if she hadn't fucked him -- how could she settle for another man?  Now that she had fucked him, she surely couldn't.  He could fuck his slave girls and jilly boys, but she wanted only his cock, no others.

They washed the secretions of their love making off in the stream, drying off the best they could afterward, wiping the water off with their hands.  The sun almost down, it was cool.  Megan slipped her dress over her head.  She wore no undergarments.  Neither did he.  He wore a shift, one piece and cut straight, ending above his knees.  He slipped it on over his head.

Megan tiptoed up to kiss him on the lips, feeling underneath his shift for his cock as she did.  It was limp and soft.  "Oh," she said.  "I think I've killed it."

"Yes," he said, grinning, "I think you have."