“With these muscles and that beard,” said the elderly lord, “he ought to be at the lowest work in the village. In the fields in fact.”
I stared expressionless at the lady but she smiled warmly.
“Well, now, that will be the decision of the King or the Queen,” she replied. She turned and requested from someone that her strap and paddle should be brought.
Now, likely, my blushing stopped and I drained of all color. I was suddenly terrified. What if I couldn’t endure it, couldn’t endure standing still for it, couldn’t possibly— I felt a sudden urge to drop to my knees and ask them to give me a moment to prepare, but that was absurd, and absolutely unacceptable.
“You don’t want to send him on to be spanked?” asked Prince Tristan.
“No, I want to see it settled here and now,” said the lady. “I like this one.”
“Well, then you’ll allow me to put him to the test,” said the elderly man.
He reached past me and took a long black leather strap from someone who had just brought it for the lady.
It was a thick strap.
There was a noise behind me, a soft sound, and as the lady turned me around now, or I should say as she turned me to the side, I saw a low stool there.
“Up on this, you crude little brat,” said the elderly man. “Move now. I’ll see what you’re made of! You want to serve in Bellavalten, do you?”
I climbed on the stool—it was only a foot off the ground—and the two princes stood in front of me. The lord’s voice stung me to the quick. But I was determined to endure. Indeed I was so determined that it seemed I had no choice. I felt elated.
“Reach up over your head,” said Prince Tristan. “Yes, that ring. Grasp it with both hands. And keep your eyes fixed downward, as is proper.”
The tears were splashing down my face. But the elation grew ever more intense. It was as if I were floating.
As I took the round leather-clad ring firmly in my hands, Prince Tristan stepped up closer.
“Now be brave, Brenn, you want to serve, remember?” said Tristan. “Your lips are to remain closed—sealed, as we say in the kingdom. You may cry, of course. Your masters and mistresses fancy the pretty sparkle of tears. But sobbing, moaning, whatever you cannot suppress, all this must be done with lips tightly shut.” His voice was so gentle it was like being comforted, stroked. “I’m going to hold your chin firmly while you’re beaten. And please know that Prince Alexi here and I both know how hard this is for you.”
I pressed my lips together, vowing not to make a sound.
Though I was looking down I could see them both through my tears. And the voice, the tenderness in the voice, was as piercing and paralyzing as the anger of the old Lord Gregory. I couldn’t quite understand why, but it made me cry all the more freely.
“Keep your legs closed,” said the elderly gentleman. “Those balls of yours are enormous. I don’t want to hit them. And if you dare move your feet from the wood or your hands from that ring, I’ll beat you over every inch of your body before I send you back where you came from!”
He drew up close, his garments touching me all over in a feathery way, and he said in my ear: “If you dare to waste my time, you’ll be sorry for it!” Then he moved back.
The strap almost knocked me to the side. He must have doubled it because the blows came so fast, one after another, cutting me from below and then slicing across my thighs.
Tristan’s fingers tightened on my chin, and another hand, the hand of Prince Alexi, reached out and began to gently squeeze the tip of my cock.
“That’s it,” he said softly. Same loving tenderness as Tristan. “Stand firm, Brenn. You are doing very well.”
I barely heard him over the loud smacking blows, coming so fast I’d lost all count. My bottom felt as if it had doubled in size and was ablaze with the sweetest pain, a strange delicious pain, a throbbing pain, and I was afraid suddenly that if Prince Alexi didn’t stop I would come in his hand. Maybe he wanted me to do this!
I was so confused, so helpless, being pushed this way and that by the strap, struggling to stand firm and not to come, that the tears just flooded my eyes and I could hear, hear as if it were someone else, my own sobs behind my clenched teeth.
I realized I was struggling, but I hadn’t moved either my hands or my feet, and I closed my eyes shut, I couldn’t help it and tried with all my will not to wriggle or squirm when the strap hit me.
“Stand up straight!” said the angry lord. He whacked away at my thighs now, back and forth, back and forth, and worked down now to my calves, jumping past the tender underside of my knees.
The blows stung in a different way on my calves, but all my backside was aflame from the strap. The strap whipped at my ankles, hard, and then suddenly it was back up again on my bottom.
“See, it is a very shapely and lovely bottom,” said the lady.
The lord paused in his work. I shook violently all over. A surge of electric sensation passed through me. I felt I was floating again.
Prince Alexi, thankfully, let go of my cock.
I felt his fingers cup my balls. He was using both hands.
“Priceless,” he said. “Their Majesties will love this equipment.” There was that dark slightly mocking tone again. But he wasn’t mocking me. I knew it.
I couldn’t stop the tears, hadn’t been able to stop them from the start, so I stopped trying and just stood there feet together, hands grasping the hook and cried.
“Keep your eyes down now, Brenn,” said the lady. She moved around until she stood between the two princes who made way for her.
I thought, If she touches my cock, I’ll spend. Nobody could ask otherwise!
“Now, Lord Gregory, perhaps you should beat the young man a little more. I want to see this cock perform.”
The strap struck hard. The intense hot pain felt gorgeously sweet again and agonizing at the same time. I felt weightless, as if I were rising when I wasn’t, and the blows filled my senses, my ears with the sound, my flesh with the vibrating smack, and even my eyes as the darkness into which I gazed seemed to throb and brighten.
I turned my head towards my left arm, but Prince Tristan said no very clearly to this and held my chin firm.
Again and again the strap crisscrossed my backside, and the pain seemed to flood my entire body, to move through my legs and even my arms, and to gather in my cock.
The lady’s hand closed over it and began to stroke it, stroke it hard and fast and tight. Her hand had been greased and the greasing made it slip very fast back and forth.
I came with a loud irrepressible groan.
On and on she stroked until the spasm stopped.
I hung there, the strap slowing, the leather almost caressing me.
“You’re adorable!” said the lady. “Just adorable. And I think the King and the Queen will eat you up with a golden spoon.”
“Yes, madam,” I said. I might have fallen then on the floor.
“I vote to send him on now to sign his documents,” she said.
The Princes agreed. The elderly old man said nothing.
Then I heard him clear his throat.
“Well, that makes two for this morning, and what was her name?”
“Sybil, my lord,” said the lady. “Let go of the ring, Brenn, and step down.”
Sybil. They had spoken her name. They had confirmed it. Two, and they had accepted her and accepted me.
I stepped off the stool though my legs were positively vibrating like harp strings.
The lady turned me around to face where she had stood before. And once again, she held my face in her hands.
I’d dropped my hands to the back of my neck. I hoped this was right, hoped I had done it gracefully and properly.
My backside throbbed with the most penetrating and exquisite sensation.
“Now walk quietly to that door,” she said. “You’ll sign your documents and then you’ll be groomed and oiled, you understand? But think hard in these next few minutes on all you’ve endured here. I’m recommending you to the Court itself, to the very highest level of the kingdom. And yes, I know that you are eager for news of your friend, Sybil, and she has been sent on for the Court, for the King and Queen, as well.”
“Thank you, most gracious madam,” I whispered, though it seemed impossible that I had formed words at all.
I was weak with relief, weak to hear her speak these kind words, these merciful words on Sybil, but the old lord was mumbling that I was not fit to kiss Sybil’s toes, that she was the very kind of Naiad that the old queen had cherished, but I was a crude hairy satyr fit only to be hunted through the forest by the King for sport, if anything. . . .
“Come, darling,” said the lady guiding me to the door. To the guard, she whispered, “Take him to sign his documents and tell the groom that Lady Eva said she has taken a special interest in Brenn as she has with Sybil. I want them rested and ready for me by dusk. Shave this one’s face, of course, closely and trim the hair of his head but only a little—and trim absolutely nothing else!”
iii
The office of the clerk was down a long carpeted corridor. And what I’d imagined as a gatehouse was revealing itself to be a large stone compound. Bright summer light burned through the narrow arched window at the far end, but we never got that far.