The Blue Prince

A closer look and he was sure; His Imperial Majesty the King’s smoothly formed features, cleft chin and rosy complexion were perfectly echoed on his older sons, but Mihai’s face was sharper and leaner, his pale complexion closer to olive. There was some little likeness to his mother, who surely was his mother as nobody in a Queen’s position would take on somebody else’s child as their own under such circumstances, but only in the angle of her jaw, the shape of her hairline.

Gerulf did some mathematics in his head; He’d been five years old when he’d started going to the village school, which was when the news had arrived that the King was injured and might have to withdraw from some of his duties. The teacher had made them stand and say a prayer. So 26 years ago. And Mihai was no more than 25 years old, probably younger. So, conceived well after the King was rendered bedridden.

So what exactly was the Queen up to?

And who was this man he’d been fucking?

*

Troubled, Gerulf made his way back to his room. To his surprise, he found the way fairly quickly once he realised that he could smell food coming from one corridor off the Great Hall, and followed his nose to the kitchen, from which it was easy to find the scullery and the little door just beyond it. The chilly wind outside cut remorselessly through his clothing and he felt heartily glad that he’d left the breeches with Marta, in favour of the long wool trousers. The sky was gloomy with the promise of snow and Gerulf grimaced; snow, on one hand, would make it cold and damp, which made his scars ache. But on the other hand…snow was snow. He’d always liked the snow, some childish part of him that loved the novelty of it, even when the novelty lasted for weeks and months at a time.

Letting himself into his room, an unfamiliar presence inside shocked him. He flinched and raised his arms to defend himself, the reaction entirely instinctive as he took in the changes in the room…then felt a fool when he realised that his own possessions were spread neatly on the bed and desk. Armas’ messenger had finally come through.

It was early afternoon by this point. If Armas wanted him to be at the Prince’s rooms by nine again, he had some time in which to amuse himself, if Armas ever showed up that was; Gerulf wasn’t sure if he was supposed to take yesterday as an example of his professional schedule. A knock at the door, and he opened it to admit Mrs Burry, who handed him a tray with a covered plate on it.

“You missed lunch, so you’ve cold.”

“Thank you.”

“Seamstresses, eh?”

“Yes, His Majesty wants me to wear more blue.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, then turned and bustled out. He almost wished it had been Zita so he could have talked to her properly, perhaps find something out about the Prince’s true father, but how could he possibly raise a subject that had so clearly been covered up? Perhaps nobody else had even realised…

The food, though cold, was good; fresh bread rolls with butter and chunks of beef in gravy with sliced potatoes cooked in milk and garlic. He ate fast and tidily put the tray on the end of the mantelpiece nearest the door, for whoever came to pick it up. The task for the rest of the afternoon was clear; he had to put his things away, make his little room a bit more home-like.

The rest of his clothes went neatly into the drawers. Despite his reservations regarding his new attire, he understood why he needed to dress appropriately for the palace. Most of his old clothes, while not exactly shabby, were old and much altered and patched. Hell, he still had a shirt that had belonged to his Grandfather.

The only exception was his nightshirt, a plain white garment that he’d bought about six months ago, after taking his lodgings with Mrs Bell. In the night, another tenant, a heavy drinking woman it seemed, had developed a bad habit of coming in late at night and leaving the front door off the latch so that it swung and banged in the wind. Mrs Bell was half deaf and had never awoken, but it had kept Gerulf awake and, more importantly as he saw it, it woke the little lass with the baby who had the room next to his. Skinny slip of a girl who worked twelve hours a day on the market with her little one strapped to her back. So Gerulf, who hated to sleep in anything more than his own skin, had gone out and bought a cheap nightshirt so he could go downstairs and shut the door when it happened. Except one night the silly bitch had come in in a temper and slammed the door loud enough to shake the damn house. The baby had immediately started its wail, and Gerulf didn’t even think of the nightshirt, he just threw back his bedclothes and marched downstairs to give her a telling off.

Nearly gave her a heart attack, if the way she screamed was any indicator. That had woken Mrs Bell, so Gerulf had run back up the stairs before she could stick her head out the door, and listened with satisfaction as she gave the other tenant a sound scolding for being so noisy late at night. The next night however, the door was slammed again, and Gerulf wondered if he should repeat his performance. Then it slammed once more and he became suspicious. So he slipped on his nightgown, picked up his knife and crept to the top of the stairs.

At the bottom stood Mrs Bell, slamming the front door and squinting hopefully up the shadowy stairs. Well, Gerulf would be no kind of man if he couldn’t be nice to an old lady; he threw the nightgown and knife back into his room, dashed out onto the landing, then immediately dashed back, pretending to be embarrassed.

Mrs Bell had always been nice to him.

Apart from his clothes, he didn’t have much to his name. His watch and wallet he’d brought with him on that first night. There were a couple of books, a small writing case with some old letters inside, his deck of cards and a mourning ring with a lock of his mother’s hair inside. That was really all his worldly possessions. He put them neatly away, and then sat in the chair at the desk, at a loss. All that was left to him now was to consider the situation of the Prince and his family. To worry about it.

Blast it. He got out his cards and set up a game of solitaire.

*

Having struggled to amuse himself all afternoon, he began to feel rather uneasy around eight o’clock. No sign of Armas, no sign of a bath and no idea of what he was supposed to be doing.

Finally, there came a knock at the door and he was on his feet to answer it before the sound had ceased. The sight of Armas’ face was almost welcome. Gerulf stood back a little to let him in.

“His…his Majesty requests you to attend him in his rooms, Gerulf.”

“I see. The same situation as yesterday, may I take it?”

“No,” Armas replied, looking a little lost. “You …aren’t to bathe and…well…he always asks for them to bathe...” His voice was faint and he seemed so confused Gerulf almost managed some sympathy for him.

“This is unusual?”

“Unheard of,” Armas replied, before regaining his composure a little and sticking his nose in the air. “Did you do something to him, Gerulf?”

“I did to him exactly what I was paid to,” Gerulf replied. “Am I to attend him now?”

With a sigh, Armas nodded and withdrew from the room, waving Gerulf after him. Gerulf slipped on his new jacket and followed him, out into the corridor, up the stairs and through into the Prince’s chambers. Armas opened the door to the sitting room, then withdrew.

Prince Mihai sat in one of the armchairs, staring into the fire with a tense expression on his face. He didn’t look up as Gerulf came forward, taking care to stand in his field of vision.

Silence reigned. The tree outside tapped its branches against the window. Footsteps travelled across the landing outside. It was, perhaps, two or three minutes before Gerulf decided to speak.

“You required my presence, my Lord?”

“What was it, Gerulf?” The Prince’s voice was faint.

“I…beg your pardon, my Lord?”

“What did you give me? How…how did you give it to me?!”

“…what, my Lord?”

The Prince closed his eyes, scrunching up his face slightly. He still hadn’t looked at Gerulf.

“Last night,” he said through clenched teeth, “you gave me some sort of…drug or…aphrodisiac of some kind. I want to know what it was. Tell me!”

What? “I…my Lord, I don’t know what you mean. I gave you nothing.”

The Prince’s eyes remained tightly closed. “You…never before have I …acted…has my body reacted like that, and you expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with it?!”

He was angry, that was clear enough, but still he didn’t raise his flushed face to look at Gerulf.

“What reaction disturbed you so, my Lord?” he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice soothing.

Prince Mihai bared his teeth lightly, his eyes still tightly shut. “If you can’t…you made me…” he tucked his chin to his collar bone and sucked in air through his clenched teeth. Gerulf felt a chill run through him as he realised that the Prince was close to tears. At a loss, he dropped to his knees before the Prince’s chair, restraining himself from moving closer when he saw the young man flinch.

“My Lord, I swear on my honour, I gave you no drug. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

The Prince’s answer was so faint Gerulf had to strain to hear it.

“When I was in the bath…you made me…made me spend! But I’d already done it. How could I have done it again, if not for…for…”

“You came to orgasm a second time, my Lord? You’ve never done this before?” Gerulf was so shocked he couldn’t keep the tone of astonishment from his voice.

“You say this as if it were normal!” the Prince cried, finally turning his wide, reddened eyes to Gerulf’s face. “You…I’ve…”

“It is normal, my Lord. It may have never happened to you before, but I swear on all that’s precious to me, I’ve done no harm to you.”

The Prince’s grey eyes studied his face carefully, his expression tense and suspicious. Gerulf waited.

“On all that’s precious to you?” the young man asked softly.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And what would that be?”

Gerulf couldn’t quite keep the corners of his mouth from turning up. “I’m not sure I could say sir. I’ve not much left. But I’ll swear on all I have and all that ever mattered to me. I’ve done nothing to harm you.”

Prince Mihai lowered his eyes, nodded briefly and stared down at his lap. Silence once again, but Gerulf could almost feel the Prince’s mind working, weighing up what he’d heard, what he’d been told…

Finally those pale eyes were on him again, sweeping their gaze up towards his face, then back down, lingering on his chest.

“You look better this evening, at least. Your clothes…”

“Thank you, my Lord. The seamstresses are very talented.”

Prince Mihai nodded. Gerulf remained kneeling in front of him, watching him carefully. Gradually, a little natural colour returned to the sharp featured face, a look of weariness set in around his eyes. He was still lovely.

A log snapped in the fire.

The window panes creaked with the pressure of the wind.

Prince Mihai shifted in his seat and very deliberately looked Gerulf in the eyes.

“You say…you truly believe that what happened…it’s normal?”

“Yes my Lord.”

The Prince pursed his lips and looked absently around the room.

“Would you like me to prove it to you, my Lord?”

When his eyes met Gerulf’s, there was no hesitation in his look, no false modesty.

“Yes, I would.”

*

Once again, Gerulf stripped and waited at the foot of the bed, while Prince Mihai prepared himself in his bathroom. The bedroom was cooler tonight, testament to the sudden drop in temperature outside. Gerulf took the liberty of adding some more wood to the fire and stirring it until it roared. The Prince always seemed to be chilly.

There were no dramatics tonight. Mihai climbed onto the bed, cast aside his robe and beckoned Gerulf over, taking his now familiar position, crouched on his knees and elbows at the foot of the mattress. He looked nervous, like a frightened man making a point to himself.

Which he was, in truth.

Gerulf climbed up onto the bed behind him. All day this young man had been tense and scared, believing himself to have been poisoned and assaulted and Gerulf felt for him, he really did. But it only showed how many pieces of this strange puzzle he had left to find; how had the Prince, after so many lovers, truly not known?

Feeling rather guilty now, he reached out and smoothed his hands up Prince Mihai’s back, cupping his palms over the prominent shoulder blades, hoping to offer a little soothing, a little warmth. The Prince didn’t move.

The jar of grease was on the cabinet next to the bed, and Gerulf reached for it and opened it one handed, his left hand still on the Prince’s back, rubbing small circles over the knobbles of his spine. Slicking his fingers with grease, he smoothed a generous amount onto his member, then slid his index finger into Prince Mihai’s body. Gentle tonight; he’d been quite rough these last two nights, and if the Prince wanted to be fucked twice this evening, he’d have to be careful to avoid hurting him.

He was quite tight still. Gerulf slid another finger into the warm channel and spread them apart, still as gentle as he could be, stretching and coaxing.

“I already did that, Gerulf.”

“I know, my Lord. I just want to make sure. As we’ll be doing rather more than you’re used to-”

“Yes, yes, I take your point.”

“Are you ready, my Lord?”

“Mmm.”

“Very well.”

He carefully pressed the tip of his penis into the tiny pink ring of Prince Mihai’s anus, holding the pale hips lightly. A gentle rocking motion seated him a little way, then a little more. The Prince pushed back, but Gerulf tightened his grip to stop him and kept easing in.

Slow and slow, so much so that the Prince was wriggling and making grumpy sounds by the time Gerulf was halfway in. He briefly entertained the idea of just shoving in and proving his point, but steeled himself against it.

The gradual push into clinging heat was both torturous and delightful. All other sensation, the texture of the satin bedclothes against his shins, the radiant warmth of the fire, the texture of oil on his hands, all of it faded into nothingness against the rush of pleasure inside Prince Mihai's body.

The mattress creaked underneath them. Outside the wind roared. The fire leapt.

Slow, steady work with his hips and his hand, and it was truly a fortunate man whose labours brought him pleasure, whose master was so rewarding to satisfy...

Finally, Prince Mihai came with a soft gust of a sigh, more gently than before, but still squeezing Gerulf inside him with a sweet pressure that was almost too much to bear. He had to stay still for a moment, clutching the Prince's sweaty hip with one hand, his softening member with the other, before he could bring himself to pull out, back away across the wide bed, far enough that he couldn't just shove his way back into the Prince's body, no matter that he wanted to so badly.

The Prince shivered a little as Gerulf's warmth left him, then shuffled on his knees until he could roll comfortably to his side and recline. He sighed calmly, rubbed at his stomach, then glanced at Gerulf. Took a proper look at him when he realised...

“You didn't...do ...”

“I didn't come to completion, my Lord?” Gerulf put one hand around his member and stroked, shuddered.

“Easily remedied, my Lord. After all, I must be ready to properly satisfy you again soon, no?”

“Y-yes,” the Prince replied, and tore his eyes away from Gerulf, sliding off the bed to walk gingerly to the bathroom.

Determinedly not looking at his servant.

Gerulf smiled to himself and stayed where he was, listening to the click of the door and the slosh of water as he brought himself off. Work of a moment, and he breathed deeply to calm himself. Usually it didn't take him too long to get himself back to full mast. Although, even as gentle as he'd been, relatively at least, the Prince might not want to continue right away.

He may even wish to postpone Gerulf's 'proof' for another evening entirely.

Not knowing what to do with himself now, Gerulf remained where he was, sitting on his heels on the bed, enjoying the musky scent that rose off the warm sheets. By the sound of it, the Prince wasn't taking his usual bath, fastidious as he was, but rather was washing himself at the basin. The gurgling of water down a drain was followed by the familiar, faint sound of a brush through hair, and Prince Mihai emerged, once again in his brocade robe.

Not sparing a single glance in the direction of Gerulf and the bed, he walked lightly over to the fireplace, settling in the twin of the chair where Gerulf had left his clothes. The large frame of the wing chair dwarfed him and left shadows across one side of his face, making him look even younger than he was. Gerulf smiled helplessly at him. It went unnoticed.

“That was...different. To usual. Don't you agree, Gerulf?”

“If I may say, my Lord, it was deliberate on my part.”

“Oh?” The Prince finally looked up at him, eyes large and apparently genuinely interested in this unexpected response.

“As I said earlier, my Lord, if you wish to have intercourse twice this evening, it will be more demanding on your body than our previous, ah, evenings together. I don't want to do you harm.”

The Prince slouched in his seat a little, then with a tired sounding sigh, he drew up his legs and curled his body round, so his face was turned towards the fire.

“You don't want to do me harm. Of course you wouldn't,” he replied quietly.

Gerulf felt a little chill, somewhere inside him.

“My Lord?”

The Prince's eyes cut towards him, then darted back to the ornate rug at his feet. His mouth opened and the barest beginning of a word emerged...and then his lips closed. He shook his head, almost unnoticeably. Got to his feet.

“Are you ready, Gerulf?” he asked softly, unfastening the tie on his robe.

“Yes, my Lord.”

The Prince nodded, his eyes still turned away from Gerulf, and approached the bed. Suddenly faltered a foot away from the edge of it, his hands gripping the robe around him.

Gerulf realised; usually it was he who approached the bed, with the Prince already upon it. This new situation was entirely unaccustomed, to the Prince, not only that his servant was already present on the bed, but that he was returning to his company having already been sated.

He looked nervous.

No, he looked afraid. The unknown was...frightening

Feeling a flicker of apprehension inside him, Gerulf rose from the bed and stepped behind the Prince and reached to slide the robe from his pale shoulders, using the shape of his cupped hands to stroke the heavy, soft fabric down Prince Mihai's upper arms. To his relief, those shoulders seemed to ease a little, and as he turned away to hang the robe up, he heard the creak of the bed as the Prince climbed into his usual place.
Turning back, he saw the Prince's slender body fold forwards as he leaned once again onto his forearms and...in the very instant that the thought crossed his mind, the words escaped his mouth;

“No, not like that.”

The Prince sat up straight immediately, turning to look at him with that slight crease of a frown on his face.

“What was that, Gerulf?”

Gerulf suppressed a sigh and approached him again.

“My Lord, may I speak to you freely?”

The Prince frowned. “You know that you may always speak freely with me Gerulf,” he replied tightly, his tone of voice distinctly communicating 'watch what you say'. Gerulf found himself struggling against the urge to shake his head.

“My Lord, you always prefer to have intercourse in that position, with your head buried in the bedsheets and your backside in the air. Might I know if there's a reason for this? Is there never a time when you'd like to try something else?”

The Prince's eyes were wide. Gerulf waited.

“I...” A faint click sounded from the back of the Prince's throat, but no more words. The Prince was clearly at a loss, and once again, Gerulf found himself feeling astonished; so many lovers, at least from what he'd heard. Had he never known this either?

“There is more than one way that two men can...arrange themselves for sex, my Lord,” he said gently, approaching the bed once again. He reached out to touch the Prince's shoulders and, after a quiet, heavy moment, felt the slight movement of relaxation there that told him he could continue.

Keeping his touch light and guiding, he eased the Prince's body around until the younger man was sitting in the centre of the bed, , his back to the pillows. His face was still a picture of surprise, verging on alarm. Gerulf drew back for a moment, to think of the best way to go about this.

Moving the grease jar so it would be to hand, he climbed onto the bed, and knelt before the Prince, then lifted those pale, sleek thighs and spread them over his own. Prince Mihai jerked backwards as his body was tilted, landing on his elbows with a grunt of surprise.

“You can lie back, my Lord,” Gerulf told him. “Don't worry, I'm sure you'll enjoy this.”

“You're always so damned sure of yourself, Gerulf!” his employer snapped. “What makes you think you know what I like?”

“Have I been wrong thus far, my Lord?”

The Prince met his eyes, all surprise vanished from his lovely face to be replaced with that oh-so familiar mask of irritation.

“We've not seen that ribbon again, have we, my Lord,” he pointed out, and with a scowl, the Prince dropped his gaze again.

He wouldn't have been surprised to find out that the ribbon had been thrown upon the fire.

With a grunt of derision, Prince Mihai allowed himself to drop back onto the thick pillows, reclining in a languid display of indifference. Gerulf smiled, cupped his hands under those lovely thighs, and moved him again.

The Prince ended up with his legs spread wide, his feet in the air and his bottom placed neatly in Gerulf's lap, inches from his groin. Not a remotely dignified posture.

“Gerulf! What are you-”

The yell was smartly cut off as Gerulf slid two fingers inside him and gently pressed in exactly the right spot. Words tailed off into a cringe of pleasure, and the Prince settled, quiet and dazed with sensation, against his pillows.

The channel around Gerulf's fingers was already sufficiently relaxed and slickened, and yet he couldn't resist continuing his exploration, couldn't resist the delicate twitches of the firm flesh against his fingertips. Never before had he been able to see the Prince's face as he did this, and the expression of addled enjoyment on the young man's face was both deeply endearing and deeply arousing to him.

The Prince's thoughts seemed to be travelling the same path as his own, as those pale grey eyes dopily tracked their way across Gerulf's bare body, edging warily down towards his groin, until the Prince was staring, unreservedly, at Gerulf's penis, where it thrust up bare inches from his own. Upon perceiving that the direction of his gaze had been noticed, the faintest flush of pink lit across the bridge of the Prince's aristocratic nose, and Gerulf had to stop himself from laughing; the young fellow had had it inside him not so very long ago, and now he could barely look at it without becoming shy.

“It feels...so different...” Prince Mihai breathed, dazedly. Gerulf waited to see if any more would be forthcoming, before deciding to respond.

“The second time, my Lord, the body feels less urgent. It is easier to simply enjoy the sensations, which of course, feel stronger, as the body is still all a-buzz from the first.”

“Yes...ye-es...” the Prince murmured, which Gerulf could only imagine meant it was time.

Pushing the Prince's left ankle up onto his shoulder, wrapping the right leg high around his own waist, he lifted himself on his knees a little. Prince Mihai's eyes widened in a moment of alarm as he felt himself being lifted, but then Gerulf began to ease himself into the little opening of his employer's body, and the worry was cast aside.

It was easy, this time, to slide deep and keep himself there, slowly withdrawing a mere inch or two and enjoying the incremental glide back into place. Prince Mihai's head was pressed back into the pillows, his mouth slightly open and his eyes almost closed. Gerulf thought that a less observant man could have mistaken this for thoughtfulness, given the Prince's analytical nature, or even for boredom. But he himself could see the clenching of the Prince's throat as he fought not to make a sound, could feel the trembling in the shapely legs slung around him, and knew that his employer was enjoying himself, perhaps even more so than in their previous encounters.

Lifting higher on his knees, Gerulf began to use his back, the momentum of his weight, to put more into each thrust. Not merely more pressure, but more energy, more heat and the Prince's body twisted in his grip, ground against him more so when Gerulf shifted the weight of his body in his arms so he could take his iron-stiff member in hand.

Prince Mihai's mouth was wide open now, his eyes scrunched shut in the throes of pleasure, his lovely body shaking and gleaming with sweat. The heat within him was incredible and Gerulf could feel that the young man was moments away, seconds away from coming, just as well because Gerulf's own body was aching, he could barely resist...

And then with a rippling arch of his body, the Prince let out a thin, keening moan; beauteous music to Gerulf's ears. The young man's pretty penis throbbed in his fist and splattered semen up Gerulf's chest, tinglingly hot against his skin.

Listening to the deep panting breaths, feeling the twitch and flinch of the sated body against his own, it was all Gerulf could do to resist simply continuing, fucking that sweet body until he reached his own completion, seeing that pink hole dripping with his own release...

With a supreme effort of will, he dragged his member from the Prince's body, and lowered him as gently as he was able, back onto the bed.

There was no way, no way for any human with blood in their veins and certainly no way for Gerulf, to back off though. While his employer obliviously pulled himself back together, he clasped one hand around his own penis, rubbed the other through the streaks of semen decorating his chest and finished himself off.

Lust faded, as the Prince squirmed into a more comfortable sitting position in front of him, and Gerulf got out of his way so he could stretch his legs. There were drops of his own spend on Prince Mihai's shin. He could hardly bear to look at it.

The room stank of them now, or at least the bed did. The Prince sighed and fanned at himself with his hand, then looked appraisingly at Gerulf.

“I believe you've proved your veracity, Gerulf.”

“I believe so, my Lord. How do you feel?”

The Prince turned his eyes to the ceiling for a moment and seemed to chew this over. “Quite good, I suppose...tired, but...satisfied.”

“Then it seems my job is done, my Lord.”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Yes, Gerulf, you may go.”

He may have been mistaken, but he felt that perhaps there was an unsaid qualifier on the end of that sentence. Something along the lines of 'if you must'.

“May I help you into your bath before I do so, my Lord?” he asked politely, and Prince Mihai simply nodded at him and waited patiently while he rose and opened the door to the bathroom.

Only the second time he'd done it and already carrying the Prince in his arms felt natural, the light way the slender body sat against him this evening marking the difference that the Prince's acceptance of the favour made. The water was already steaming in the large tub when he pulled back the bath cover, and he watched silently as the Prince eased himself in, wincing and hissing as his sore body stretched to summit the edge of the bath.

“I really do feel quite well, Gerulf,”he said suddenly.

“That's good to know, my Lord. May I assume that you'd like to partake in this evenings activities again another night?”

“Hm...I think you may assume that, yes.”

Milky skin and dark hair, slender limbs and that chilly voice...perhaps he was overstimulated or something of that nature, but at that moment Gerulf could have done it all over again, just dragged the Prince out of the bath and taken him there on the floor. Before he knew what he was doing, he was on his knees once again, leaning on his elbows on the side of the bath.

“My Lord, there are many other ways, you know?”

“You mean...like the one we tried just now? With...with-”

“With you on your back and your legs around me, my Lord. Yes. Many ways for our bodies to meet.”

The Prince swallowed hard and nodded, his eyes fixed on a spot of light on the tiled wall.

“If you should wish, there's more we could do this very night. Even if you're sore my Lord, I could always see to you with my mouth.” That would be enough after all. He'd always enjoyed sucking a lover to fulfilment, the feel of warm seed in his mouth...that would be enough for one more...

“What? What do you mean Gerulf?”

What?

“I...perhaps that is an activity for another night, my Lord,” Gerulf replied falteringly. Once again it struck him; did he not know?

“Very well. I appreciate your offer, but I'm tired. Goodnight Gerulf,” the Prince said with an air of finality.

“Good night my Lord. Sleep well.”

And Gerulf left the bathroom, put his clothes back on and went back to his room, his mind swimming with confusion.

A regular stream of men occupying this little room, set aside specifically for the Prince's 'companion'. How many in total, he wondered, would he ever know? Lover after lover, and none of them had ever fucked him in any position but that one, none of them had ever taken him twice in one evening or fellated him or...or any of the other things that they could have done. And not only that, but the Prince wasn't even aware of the potential existence of these activities. It seemed simply absurd! And to think, even on top of this there was his discovery of that very afternoon.

His confusion, however troubling and impenetrable it seemed, was not quite sufficient to stop him from stroking himself to completion one more time before sleep, however, the image of the Prince's pale body stretched out in the bath at the forefront of his mind.



Note : Finally! Thank you to everyone who waited patiently for this update. I apologise for the time it took to produce. Unfortunately, not long after I posted the previous chapter, my computer flipped out and I had to reformat the hard-drive to get rid of all the crap from it. Then Word wouldn't reinstall and the people at the help desk were really unhelpful, but now I've got a lovely copy of Open Office and have gotten chapter 6 together. I really hope you enjoy it.
As usual, many thanks to Paradox13 for betaing.

If you like my writing and want to know when I put new stories and chapters on this site, the fabulous Paradox13 has set up an email notifier for my stories. If you want to be included, send an email requesting inclusion in the mailing list to DancingGrimmUpdates@gmail.com, from the email address that you want to recieve the notification from, and she will send out an email every time I add something to the site.