A long time ago in a faraway kingdom, there lived a handsome Prince.  His name was Prince Dashing the Dashing, and as a matter of fact, indeed he was dashing, athletic, and attractive in a very masculine way.  Yes, he was certainly everything that anyone could ever want a prince to be.  And certainly everything that his father, King Carlo the Carnal and his mother Queen Dorothea the Dutiful could ever want the prince to be.  Except for one teeny little thing.   They had recently had several reasons to correctly suspect that their only son and heir apparently might be,  (dare I say it) homosexual. 

 

They had no deeply religious opposition to this, of course, but there was the inescapable fact that Prince Dashing would be expected to sire an heir of his own.  It was very important that the kingdom, Avalanta, endure forever, and under the same royal family.  Tradition was something one had to take very seriously.  

 

This was so disappointing to King Carlo, who had had enormous hopes that the boy was going to turn out to be a carnal pussychasing, whoremonger and rapemaster, just as he was.   A chip off the old block, so to speak. 

 

The King had even decided to start his boy early on the road to manhood.  He believed in a thorough sex-education.  The boy had to learn the rules of privilege and the rules of conquest.   One day, when little Dashing was seven years old, he brought him into his private chamber.   “Today I, your father, will teach you things that you will be doing very soon.  As soon as you get a little older.  It is important that you learn the art of subtle seduction, and how to maneuver your way between a woman’s lovely thighs, until she screams with joy.  And you, my son, will feel the most exquisite pleasure that can be felt in this transient world we possess.  I am going to teach you how to fuck a woman.” 

 

“What is fuck, papa?” 

 

“I will show you before your own eyes.  You will see soon enough.   I want you to climb up on the bed and sit at the foot, and watch carefully everything your father does, so that you too will know how to fuck when you are of age.” 

 

“Yes, papa,” said little Dashing, who was the sweetest, most affectionate, most obedient child any king could ever have had for his prince.  King Carlo’s heart gave a little leap of unbearable affection and squeezed the boy to him, kissing him on his cheek.  Dashing clung to his father.  He loved him greatly, and wished he could be with him more, but King Carlo was very busy pillaging and plundering other kingdoms and raping their women, and so did not have a great deal of time for his little boy.  He was not usually this demonstrative. 

 

Carlo lifted the boy onto the bed and let him sit back against the frame at the bottom, so that he would be facing the length of the luxurious purple taffeta sheet, which covered the mattress. 

 

“I have summoned our latest captive, The Princess of Pelvistan.   She is waiting in the outer chamber.  I shall have the guards bring her in,” Carlo told the boy, while pulling on a heavy silk rope, which rang a bell throughout the outer chamber.   There was a knock on the door. 

 

“You may enter,” called King Carlo, climbing up ten steps and into the high throne, against the left wall of the room. 

 

The door opened, and the two handsome young guards, Silvio and Florestan entered with the captured princess.  Dashing was terribly fond of both Silvio and Florestan, who were very kind to him, and indeed paid more attention to him than his father usually did.  They were both very hansome, slim, but muscular young men in their early twenties.  And they joked a lot and laughed a lot, and drank ale, and were always very merry.  And they never failed to give the boy an affectionate scratch on the head, whenever they saw him, and also licorice. 

 

The Princess’s hands were bound in front of her.   She was very beautiful, with long black hair, and natural red lips, which needed no berry juice to give them color.   Her black eyes flashed in anger when she saw the king. 

 

“Why have you brought me here?” she asked King Carlo, looking up at him in his high throne.  She had not yet noticed the boy on the sheeted bed. 

 

“You are my prisoner, Princess Penelope, but I promise you that you will not be sorry that you have become my prisoner.”  Carlo stood up and walked down the ten steps until he was at floor level.  He approached the beautiful princess and took her bound hands in his own, even raising them to his lips to kiss them.  He glanced over at Silvio and Florestan.  “You may go,” he told them. 

 

When the door had closed behind them, the princess spoke.  “You have still not told me why you have brought me here,” she said. 

 

“I have brought you here to help me to educate my young son in the ways of the world,” he announced and pointed to the boy. 

 

“And what ways are those?” asked the Princess, fearing the worst. 

 

“The ways of intercourse between a strong healthy man and a beautiful young woman.” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Yes.  I am going to fuck you.” 

 

“But I am a virgin.  You must respect my purity.” 

 

“You will soon discover that your virginity has been a curse that you are well rid of.   One day you will thank me for this.  Maybe even tomorrow.” 

 

“No.  If I am your prisoner, you are bound by the laws of the Erasma Conventions, and I must be treated with kindness and dignity and respect.” 

 

“The Erasma Conventions have no meaning here.  This is my kingdom, and I do as I damn well please.  And it pleases me to fuck you.”  The King flashed a little smile at his young son, as he demonstrated his Kingly mastery. 

 

“Sir.  I prefer to remain a virgin.  You have no right to violate my vaginal privacy.” 

 

“I am the King, and I have every right.   And before we are finished, you will bless me for it, for I am going to bring you to heights of passion and ecstasy that you could never have imagined, nor indeed ever have found among the tepid young princes in your weak little kingdom.” 

 

Forcefully, he dragged her over to the bed, and it was only then that she saw little Dashing sitting timidly at the foot. 

 

“You are going to rape me in front of this child?” asked the Princess, incredulous.  “What kind of a monster are you?” 

 

“I am no monster.  I am the most magnificent of male specimens, which you will soon learn, and you will celebrate our union.   And yes.  I told you that I want to teach my son the art of intercourse.  He is approaching the age when he must know such things.” 

 

“I shall file a report with the Erasma Conventions Committee,” insisted the Princess, but at that point, the king stopped her mouth with a kiss.   The boy saw his father’s thick tongue enter the Princess’s perfect red mouth.   At first, she struggled and battered her small fists against his chest, but the more deeply he kissed her, the less her struggles became.    

 

The boy watched as his father lifted off the Princess’s dress, and unlaced her tight bodice.  She had two very lovely maidenly breasts.   King Carlo’s hands began to stroke them gently as he deep-kissed her.  He began to flick her nipples.  Then he lowered his mouth and began licking her breasts, drawing each nipple into his mouth and sucking on it, as he flicked his tongue.   The Princess had stopped struggling.  This felt so very, very lovely.  This could surely be no violation of the Erasma Conventions.   

 

The little Prince sat at the foot of the bed, and studied it all with great concentration.  It was very interesting.   So this is what big people did. He did not feel particularly stimulated, except perhaps intellectually.  He liked to learn new things. 

 

Now the King stripped the remaining garments off the Princess, and laid her down along the length of the purple taffeta sheet.   He spread her legs, and still clothed, climbed upon the bed and crawled beneath her naked thighs.   There was like a little pink slit between her legs, which Dashing had never seen before.  It was so interesting.   The King lowered his mouth and began to lick and lick the little pink slit.  Up and down.   Up and down.  Dashing could see the King’s thick tongue lashing against the little fleshy part near the top of the slit.  The Princess was moaning and writhing on the bed.   

 

“Such a sweet pussy,” murmered the King over and over.  “Such a pretty pussy.  I love pussy. MMMMMMM.”  And he began to tongue it voraciously again.  It was all wet now, and the King was putting some fingers in it and turning them left and right, spreading the opening.   He looked back over his shoulder at Dashing. “Look at this beautiful pink pussy, Dashing.  Isn’t it beautiful?” 

 

“Yes,” said Dashing.  “He knew that it was supposed to be beautiful so he said it was.    

 

“Would you like to lick it a little, son?” asked the King kindly and gently. 

 

The boy froze within himself.  He just began shaking his head.   No.  He didn’t want to lick it. 

 

The King laughed.   That’s fine, boy.   All in good time.  You will soon learn how sweet a pussy is.”  He went back to licking it, but as he was licking it, he began to strip off his royal garments, until he was down to his royal Jockey’s, and then they too came off.   The little Prince was still in shock, from the invitation he had just received, and was a little put off by the whole intercourse thing now.   

 

But wait.  Now King Carlo the Carnal was buck-naked.  And magnificent.  The boy had never realized his father was such a spectacular creature.  He had never seen the King unclothed before.  There were always so many voluminous, bedazzling robes. 

 

He saw the wide strong shoulders, and the muscled arms, and the back, which tapered to a narrow waste, expanding into two perfectly magnificent smooth, firm rounded globes.  He admired his father’s long legs, and muscular thighs.  Yes.  He was noticing it all as his father, now naked, kept licking the Princess’s pussy.   But the boy wasn’t look at the pussy now.  He was looking at his father’s incredible bottom, which was so very close to him.  Directly in front of his eyes.  It was so beautiful.  Could a bottom be that beautiful?   He looked at the Princess’s bottom, which of course was lying on the bed, so he couldn’t see it very well, but it did not seem so beautiful as his father’s. 

 

And then the king lifted the girl’s thighs onto his strong shoulders and knelt in front of her, placing his man-thing into the slit, and gently easing forward.  The girl gave a little scream, and the boy saw that she was bleeding.  His father had hurt her.   But the king just kept his man-thing there in the pink slit, without moving for a few minutes, and then he gradually eased it all the way down into her and was lying on top of her, his strong chest floating on her breasts. 

 

He began a gentle hunching movement with his behind.  The boy was fascinated. The movement of the King’s bottom was hypnotizing him.   He had noticed the extraordinary length and width of the King’s member.  That was something he had never seen before.  It was a little exciting.  He felt a little stirring in his small boy-thing, and he noticed his boy-thing was stiff, exactly like his father’s man-thing. 

 

He watched the humping, and grew more and more excited.  Maybe there was something to intercourse after all.  He saw the thick shiny weapon saw up and down inside the tight, wet, pink slit, which was no longer bleeding, and he saw his father’s heavy balls hit against the girls upturned buttocks as she threw her legs around him and screamed and cried and moaned.   She was really liking intercourse. 

 

But what the boy liked most was the sight of those strong muscled buttcheeks.  The way they flexed.  The way the sides of them dimpled from the tension of Carlo’s forward movements.   And then as he lightened that tension, the mounds relaxed and even spread apart a little, and the boy could see the most beautiful round hole nestled between the two muscular cheeks.   So round.  So perfect.  And yes.  So pink.   The boy had recoiled at the thought of licking the pretty pink pussy, but he was now thinking that he might like to lick the rosy round rectal hole that was periodically flashing in front of his eyes.  Only now did he touch his little penis, and begin to rub it, as his father fucked and fucked before his eyes. 

 

Then the maiden was screaming and tearing at the purple taffeta sheets, and her legs were shaking in the air, around his father’s beautiful behind.  She locked her ankles together and obscured the little hole the boy had been watching.  Her body was going into all kinds of crazy spasms with her head tossing to the left and then to the right and then to the left and then to the right.    

 

King Carlo the Carnal, now began a loud deep roaring, as a lion in the jungle, and his buttcheeks were slamming and slamming down and then pressing in, as he laughed delightedly.  He was obviously having a good feeling.  But so then was the Princess. 

 

Prince Dashing would never forget this night.  He would carry the image of the seduction in his mind for the rest of his life, and every time he would recall it, his little prick would stiffen. 

 

Queen Dorothea the Dutiful asked him where he had been and what he had been doing, when he entered her private chamber to kiss her good night. 

 

“Nowhere.  Nothing,” he answered quite simply. 

 

The queen gave him a light kiss on the forehead, before turning back to her loom, where she was weaving one of the endless tapestries that hung all along the hallways of the Royal Palace.  They were very beautiful.   

 

But what the boy had seen could not easily be forgotten.  In the following days and weeks, he began to secretly study all the bottoms of the different men who worked in the palace.  He longed to see them without their clothes.   Would Silvio’s globes be as magnificently firm and round as his father’s?  Would Florestan’s?  And what about the palace electrician?  And what about the gardener? 

 

Prince Dashing tried to put all these thoughts out of his head, and concentrate on his private tutoring.  His tutor, Reginald, also was very handsome, and seemed to have a most attractive bottom, under the formal pinstriped suit he always wore. 

 

But a few years went by, and puberty was fast overtaking whatever childlike innocence remained.   He wanted to see a bottom.  He wanted to see a naked male bottom.  He could make that happen.  He was the Prince, wasn’t he? 

 

He had a plan.  He went to witness the Changing of the Guard, and watched Florestan take Silvio’s place in front of the Palace steps.   Silvio, having been relieved, was heading back to his quarters for a nice rest.  Dashing decided to tag along, and made meaningless conversation about his lessons on the way.  When they got to Silvio’s quarters, Silvio opened the door and turned to the Prince. 

 

“It was nice talking to you, Dashing.  We’ll talk soon again,” and he was about to close the door in the Prince’s face, when the Prince stuck his foot in the doorway. 

 

“Silvio, may I come in for a little bit?” 

 

“Well, I really wanted to take a nice hot shower and take a little nap.” 

 

“I won’t stay long,” he promised.  “I forgot to tell you about my Latin declensions.” 

 

“All right,” Silvio said.   Could he say ‘no’ to the Prince? 

 

“Why don’t you go ahead and take your shower?”  suggested Dashing, when they were in the quarters. 

 

“No.  I won’t be able to hear you with the water running,” said Silvio.  “We’ll talk first, and I’ll shower when you leave.” 

 

“No.  The Latin isn’t that important.  You’ve been guarding the palace all day.  You must be tired.  You need to relax.  Take your shower.” 

 

Silvio was more than a little impressed with how considerate the young prince was.  Certainly his father was not that considerate.  He was a very bossy King. 

 

“Okay,” said Silvio, and walked into the bathroom to turn on the shower water and adjust it.   The boy sat down on the bottom of Silvio’s bed, which faced the open bathroom door.  The shower was directly in front of him, and fortunately the glass on the shower door was clear and not frosted. 

 

Silvio started to undress.  He had been undressed before other men before, so he did not think very much of it.   “Would you like some licorice?” he asked the boy.  After all these were his quarters, and the boy was his guest. 

 

“Okay,” said Dashing.  He loved licorice.  He took the long stick from Silvio and began to chew on it as he watched Silvio undress.   Silvio, of course, was a little bit modest, and did not want to expose his dangling privates in front of the boy, so he turned his back to him as he stepped out of his pants. 

 

Dashing’s breath caught in his throat, and he almost choked on a bit of licorice. What a beautiful bottom Silvio had.  Not so large and muscular as his father’s, but still very lovely.   He wished he could see the little pink hole, but Silvio was now striding into the bathroom, his balls swaying.   He got into the shower and closed the door and began to soap himself all over.  Dashing walked into the bathroom and stood before the shower door, greedily watching everything. 

 

“Puella, puellae, puellae, puellam, puella,” announced Dashing loudly. 

 

“What did you say?”  called Silvio loudly over the spray. 

 

“Puella, puellae, puellae, puellam, puella,” said Dashing, but Silvio had to open the shower door and stick his head out to hear.  He was puzzled. 

 

“What’s that?” asked Silvio. 

 

“My Latin.  First declension singular,” said Dashing. 

 

“Oh.  Very good.  Very good,” said Silvio, shutting the shower door to continue his shower. 

 

Silvio was a little embarrassed with the boy standing in front of the shower, watching him like a hawk.  He turned his privates away, and faced his rear toward the boy, which was so what the boy wanted to see.   It was lovely.  So lovely.  If only he could touch it a little.  Did he dare ask?   Did he dare touch it? He didn’t have the courage, so as Silvio toweled himself off, he went through the second and the third and the fourth and the fifth Latin declensions.  All singular.  He hadn’t learned the plural yet.   

 

Finally, he had no more excuse to stay there, and he left Silvio alone in his quarters to take a needed nap.  But what a beautiful bottom Silvio had had.  If only he could have touched it a little.  If only he could have………. 

 

Now that he had seen Silvio’s, he was desperate to see Florestan’s.  Florestan was the handsomer of the two.  He was larger and more muscular, and dark-skinned.  He had that thick curly black hair, which usually is gifted to men with that swarthy complexion.  He knew it would be difficult to pull the shower trick again, but he had an idea.   When Florestan was not on guard one day, he told Florestan that he was hot and was dying to go down to the creek for a nice cool dip, and would Florestan be so good as to come along and guard him, and watch out for his safety. 

 

Florestan, of course, felt compelled to accompany the young Prince down to the creek, which was deep in the woods on the palace grounds, and quite deserted. 

 

“Oh, that water looks lovely,” said Dashing, starting to strip off his garments. “Come, Florestan.  Swim with me.” 

 

“No thank-you, young Prince,” I’ll just stand on the bank here and watch you. 

 

“But suppose I should trip on a root in the creek and fall and hit my head, or suppose I should get a cramp and start to drown.  I would need you there to save me.” 

 

“Yes.  Yes.  Of course,” said Florestan, only now beginning to realize the many dangers associated with swimming in the creek.  He was a palace guard, and it was his job to protect the royal family, even with his life, if it came to that. 

 

He got out of his clothes, and folded them on the ground next to the boy’s.  Dashing noted that Florestan was covered all over with thick black hair.  His arms, his legs, his chest, a little on his back, and even on his bumcheeks.  It was different from the smooth cheeks he had seen on both his father and on Silvio, but it was not unattractive. 

 

Together they stepped into the creek.  It was very cold.  Florestan hated cold water.   Dashing also hated cold water, but he was not about to allow a little frigid temperature to deter him from his goal.   They splashed around in the creek, and Dashing splashed some icy water on Florestan, who retaliated by splashing him right back.  It was only a game.  Florestan submersed himself and began to dog paddle a short distance down the creek.  He heard the boy close behind him, paddling away.   The boy was a strong swimmer for his age. 

 

Florestan stopped paddling, and allowed his feet to sink to the bottom.  The water came up to his shoulders.   The boy did the same, directly behind him.  Suddenly there was like a trip and a splash, and he felt the boy’s hands clutching his bum cheeks.  He was momentarily shocked. 

 

“Sorry,” said Dashing.  “I tripped on a stone.  I almost fell.”  

 

“Be careful, Prince.  You don’t want to cut your foot,” he said. 

 

“I’ll be careful,” said the Prince.  “I’ll just hold on to you keep myself steady.” 

 

But what he was holding onto was the man’s jutting hairy bottom cheeks.  Florestan was a little embarrassed but decided to say nothing, as they waded back up the creek to where their clothes were. 

 

“I’ll use my undershirt to dry us off,” said Dashing to Florestan, who was relieved that he would not have to get back into his clothes dripping wet. 

 

Dashing picked up his undershirt and did a perfunctory job of drying Florestan’s hair, and face, and arms, and legs, and chest, and then he began to dry Florestan’s bottom.  He dried, and he dried.  Those firm bouncy cheeks beneath his fingers and the wet undershirt.   His eyes feasted on the handsome butt before him.  If only he could see the little pink hole.  How he wanted to see the little pink hole.  But after all the little pink hole was wet, and needed to be dried also, didn’t it? 

 

“You have a very handsome, manly, muscular bottom,” observed Dashing, surprised at his own adventurous bravery in saying such a thing.  Meanwhile he was drying it and drying it. 

 

“Thank you, Prince,” said Florestan, and he was flattered and was also getting aroused by the drying process.  His thick swarthy ‘john thomas’ started lengthening before him.  A massage can be very sensual. 

 

Dashing spread the cheeks apart a little, so that he would be able to dry the flesh between them, and there it was.  What a wonderful perfect round pink bottom hole.  So beautiful.  So beautiful.   Dashing could no longer restrain himself.  He knelt forward, and stuck out his tongue.  He touched the tip of his tongue to the tender pink flesh which quivered at his lingual touch.  Dashing’s penis was stiff as a curtain rod.  This was so exciting.  So exciting.  He held Florestan’s butt cheeks apart and continued licking between them concentrating on the tight pink ring, and even trying to work the tip of his tongue into the opening. 

 

Florestan did not protest.  He said nothing.  He was out of his mind with pleasure.  The Prince was licking his ass.  The Prince was licking his fucking ass.   He bent forward a little, pushing his ass back into the Prince’s face.  The Prince’s delicate aquiline nose, was now caught between his strong buttcheeks.   

 

“Aaaaarrrrrrggggg,”  moaned Florestan, grasping his thick hard cock, and spasmodically jerking it.  This licking was going to make him blast his thick white load onto the forest floor.   “Yes.  Yes.  Yes.”  With his other hand, he reached around and pressed the back of the boy’s head even further into his ass. As the juice welled up and shot out of Florestan, so did it well up and shoot out of Dashing.  It was his first cum, and it was a wondrous thing.  Whatever had he discovered? 

 

They headed back to the Palace, and Florestan said, “I think this should be our little secret.  I don’t think King Carlo has to know,” he said. 

 

And somehow, deep within him, Dashing knew that Florestan was right.  His father would probably not approve of him fraternizing with the hired help.  They were of a lower class, of course.  It was probably best to keep all this as a secret between the two of them. 

 

Dashing had enjoyed the afternoon so much that he was eagerly looking forward to a repeat of it, and Florestan might have been agreeable except that he was being kept so busy, guarding the palace, and all the prisoners they had captured from the King’s latest conquest, the Kingdom of Werble.  The Werbles were a warlike and bothersome people and even as prisoners required much guarding. 

 

Still one morning, they met on the grounds as Florestan was off to the Prison. They exchanged pleasantries, and Florestan began to walk to the Palace Prison.  Dashing gazed longingly at his beautiful muscular retreating rump.   When would he know such joy again? 

 

He headed back to the Palace and to the Schoolroom.  It was time for his lessons.   On the way he stopped into his mother’s chambers and she pushed away from her loom long enough to kiss the boy on his cheek.   The new tapestry she was working on was The Battle Of Landova.   It would be very large and very colorful, and would be hung in the Royal Ballroom. 

 

“Puelli, Puelloris, Puellorian,  Puellorac, Puelloros,” spouted the Prince in the schoolroom.   

 

“What in heaven’s name is that?” asked Reginald the Royal Schoolmaster. 

 

“What you told me to study.  The first declension plural.” 

 

“Where is your mind, Dashing?  It is Puellae, Puellarum, Puellis,  Puellas, Puellis. You have become a very lethargic student.  You are not doing your homework.  I shall really have to discipline you.” 

 

Dashing had always been a good student, and had never before been disciplined, so that he was upset with this new turn of events, and he was upset with himself for not studying properly, because he was thinking of too many other things like his father’s bottom, and Silvio’s bottom, and Florestan’s bottom, and the silky feeling of the tight ring on the tip of his tongue, and he was getting so excited that he could not help taking out his prick, which was stiff all the time now, and it never used to be, and it was itching and it was driving him so crazy that he couldn’t concentrate, so he grabbed it in his hand and started jerking it back and forth, which felt really so wonderful.  And then he shot a large load of cum onto his taffeta sheet.   This was so great.   He did it every five minutes all night long.   It was better to look at a bottom, but even to remember one seen before was good enough. 

 

“Take off your pants,” said Reginald. 

 

“Why?” 

 

“Because you are not doing your lessons, and you must be disciplined.  I shall paddle your bottom.   Take off your pants.” 

 

Dashing was too stunned to do anything but obey.  It didn’t occur to him that Reginald, a commoner, had absolutely no right to paddle the bottom of a Prince, whereas, for whatever reason, a Royal Prince might have every reason to paddle the backside of a commoner. 

 

The moment Dashing stepped out of his pants, Reginald pulled him over to a wooden straight-back chair.  Reginald sat down, and pulled the boy roughly across his lap, so that Dashing’s bum was immediately accessible. 

 

Reginald had never paddled the boy before, and indeed, there was no paddle in the room at all.   He thought about pulling the belt out of the loops of his pinstripe pants and using that, but he didn’t really want to hurt the boy, and he reasoned that the flat of his hand would sting sufficiently to teach the boy to do his homework. 

 

“Puellae.” Smack.  “Puellarum.” Smack.  “Puellis.” Smack. “Puellas.” Smack  “Puellis.”  Smack. Smack.  Smack.  He looked down at the boy’s bottom, which was now of an almost rosy hue.  He patted the bottom gently a couple of times to soothe it, and then stood the Prince back up on his feet, to pull up his pants. 

 

“Now. Perhaps, you will do your homework,” said Reginald. 

 

That night as Dashing was in his bedroom studying the second declension plural, he was burning with indignation.  How dare a commoner spank the Royal Prince?  Somehow he would have his revenge.  He would get even.   He thought and thought, but didn’t know how he could get back at Reginald.  But he would.  Somehow he would. 

 

Several weeks later, an opportunity presented itself.  They were doing Algebra, and Reginald wrote out a complicated equation, showing that X equaled 2Y squared over P.  It just so happened that Dashing was mathematically inclined and saw at once that the premise was false and that X equaled no such thing, but indeed equaled the sum of 3Y plus P over G.   

 

“I’m sorry, your Highness,” stammered Reginald contritely.  “You’re right, of course.  I don’t know how I came to make such a mistake.”  He was very embarrassed at being caught out by his student. 

 

Dashing knew that this was the moment he had been waiting for.  Reginald, sitting there, oh so primly, in his neat, perfectly-pressed pinstriped suit with the unpleated trousers which fit him so tightly around the small cannon-ball like cheeks above his long slender legs.   Dashing smirked,  “You know you really should not have the position of Royal Educator, if you do not even know your Algebra.  You should really be dismissed.” 

 

“But your Highness, I have been teaching you for several years now.  I would like to continue.  It was just a small mistake.” 

 

“There is no such thing as a small mistake in Algebra,” said Prince Dashing sternly.  “I should really report this to my father.” 

 

“Oh, please Prince.  I beg you.  I’ll try to be more careful.  What can I do to show you how sorry I am?” 

 

“You should be punished severely,” decided Dashing.  He had him now.  The man wanted to keep his royal position. 

 

“Yes.  You’re quite right,” agreed Reginald, trying to appease the overwrought boy.  But how would he be punished?   The boy was not going to tell the King, so there was no chance that he would be publicly flogged in the town square.  “What must I do?” asked Reginald. 

 

“You must take off your pants right now, Reginald” 

 

“What?” 

 

“You heard me,” said Dashing fiercely.  “I am going to give you a good spanking.” 

 

“But your Highness.” 

 

“Just as you gave me when I was wrong, so will I do to you now.  Besides.  I am a Royal Prince and you are a mere commoner.  You will do exactly as I command.   Get out of those pants and lie down across my lap.” 

 

Reginald’s face was quite red.  He had no choice but to comply with the Prince’s orders.  He stripped off the tight pinstripes, and approached the straight back wooden chair where the boy  (No.  Really the young-man) was now sitting. 

 

“And the undies,” ordered Dashing. 

 

Mortified and defeated, Reginald dropped his drawers.  He lay himself over the young man’s lap, his vulnerable buns naked for all the Gods to see.  Dashing licked his lips and raised his open palm, bringing it down with a firm thwack. 

 

SMACK 

 

“Ooowww,” screamed Reginald. 

 

“Puellae,” yelled Dashing triumphantly. 

 

SMACK 

 

“Ooowww!” 

 

“Puellarum.” 

 

SMACK 

 

“AARRGGHH!”  Reginald’s behind was really stinging now.   

 

“Puellis.” 

 

“AAGGGUUUHHH!”   As he rolled around on Dashing’s lap, Reginald could feel Dashing’s prick erecting.  And also his own. 

 

SMACK 

 

“aaahhhhh.”  This was a high-pitched keening, more of pleasure than of pain. 

 

“Puellas.” 

 

SMACK 

 

“OOOHHH.” 

 

“Puellis.” 

 

SMACK 

 

“uuuuuuuuuuu.” 

 

“So you see, I have learned my first declension plural,” crowed Dashing. 

 

“Yes, your highness.   That was wonderful.  Very, very good.” 

 

Now Dashing was feeling of the two warm firm mounds, which were more than a little pink.  He had never noticed Reginald’s bottom before.  He was not a handsome Palace Guard, but merely the Royal Schoolteacher, but he was of a young age, and really very nice looking.  That formal pin-stripe suit had put Dashing off.  He had never imagined what might lie beneath it.  But what was beneath it was now lying right before his eyes, and it was spectacular.  He continued rubbing the two mounds, and Reginald did not move.  He held his breath. 

 

“You have a very beautiful bottom, Reginald,” he said. 

 

“Thank you, Your Highness.” 

 

“In that suit of yours, I did not realize there was such a fine figure of a man.”   Dashing knew now that he was all-powerful.   He was Royal.  He could command.  He separated the two hemispheres, which had been tightly clenched during the spanking.  And then he saw it.  A perfect, tight, round, blushing pink hole.  He felt the saliva gathering in his mouth.  How he wanted to run his tongue along it, and into it.  How he wanted to lick it and spear it with his tongue.  He licked a finger and began playing with the hole.  Reginald made some muffled sounds, but did not complain.  He raised his bottom a little, as if in encouragement. 

 

Dashing slipped his finger in.  Oh.  Oh.  Oh.  It was so smooth in there.  So warm in there.  He wanted somehow to be in there.  But how? 

 

And then he remembered how his father had licked the pink slit of the captured princess, and then had stuck his large stiff penis into the pink slit.   He wondered if a penis could go into a tight little round pink hole, which was really much tighter than a pink slit.  He figured that yes, it probably could.  And Dashing realized that his own penis, which was now fairly large also, was quite stiff, and even tingling a little.  He would try it.  Reginald would have to let him do it.  He was the Royal Prince, Heir to the Throne, after all. 

 

“Go over to the desk and bend over it,” commanded the Prince, now fully envisioning how he would proceed. 

 

“Yes, Your Highness,” said Reginald, quite docilely, and walked over to the desk. He bent at the waist and rested his chest on the hard desk.  His bum was quite exposed.  Was the Prince going to give him another spanking? 

 

When Reginald was well-positioned, Dashing knelt before his curvaceous shrine, and began to worship it with his tongue.  The smooth hard cheeks.  Around the bottom of them, up the sides of them, over all the surface of them, and then, parting them, his tongue struck home.  The tight little round pink hole. 

 

“Oh, Your Highness.  Your Highness,” moaned Reginald in delight as the Prince tongued his sensitive bottomhole.   The Prince continued for several more minutes, before standing up and unhitching his trousers. 

 

“Now,” said Dashing.  “I am going to fuck you.” 

 

Reginald had gone to an all boy’s middle school and an all boy’s college, and had heard that some of the other boys were doing things like this, but he was always so busy with his studies, it just never occurred to him to pursue the matter.   But now he almost wanted the Prince to proceed. 

 

Dashing gathered a quantity of saliva in his left hand, and covered his rigid prick with the slimy spit.  He was thinking that the spit would help his getting it into the tight little round pink hole.  He rested the tip of his prick against the opening, and eased forward.  Eased.  Eased.  The opening was parting, ever so slowly, and his prick was moving inside, deeper and deeper.  And it was so smooth.  And it was so warm.  And it was so fantastic.  Yes.  You could fuck a little round pink hole.  It was the very best thing to fuck, and now finally for the first time in his life, and at last, he was fucking one, and from this day forward, he would fuck little round pink holes until the day he died. 

 

“Ohhhhhh,  Your Highness,  Your Highness,” breathed Reginald pressing his butt back towards the Prince’s abdominal muscles, to get as much of the thing in as possible.  He could feel the Prince’s large balls hit against his own.  And that feeling inside his ass.  This was what life was all about.  Why hadn’t he realized this before?  All these years wasted.  The Romans had known about it.  He had read about such things in Latin. 

 

And then the Prince began to feel a burning in his balls.  He was going to cum again.  But this time he was cumming inside a tight little round pink hole, and his spunk was going to shoot inside that hole, and it felt so wonderful, and so   “AAAAAAAAAA.” 

 

“aaaaaaaaa,” agreed Reginald.  He didn’t even need to pull on his prick.  A little spunk jutted out all on its own.  But though spunking felt wonderful, feeling the Prince’s hot spunk burning in his bottom was even better.  They both knew that from now on this would become a part of the daily lessons. 

 

But Dashing was a teenager.  And teenagers need to explore and experiment, and one tight little round pink hole would never be enough.  He thought fondly of Silvio and Florestan, but was afraid that they wouldn’t let him.  He needed someone lower on the scale.  Someone who really looked up to Royalty, and feared the consequences of disobedience. 

 

From then on, there wasn’t a laborer in the Palace whose asshole was safe from the randy Prince.  The Royal Plumber, The Royal Electrician, The Royal Handyman.  All bent over and had their asses stuffed with the thick cock of the horny young Prince.  And neither King Carlo the Carnal nor Queen Dorothea the Dutiful, who had by now woven ten more tapestries, had the slightest inkling of their darling boy’s activities.  

 

Until one day.  

 

They had just hired a handsome young man to be the new Royal Gardener, after the death of William who had served them many, many years.   Dashing was fascinated with the Gardener, whose name was Stanton, and he would often find excuses to strike up conversations with the hunky young man, as he worked around the gardens. 

 

“But do you think that Carnations really need a lot of water?” he asked Stanton naively as Stanton knelt in the Carnation bed and tended the Carnations. 

 

“The more the better.  Carnations love a good rainstorm, Your Highness,” answered Stanton, continuing to work. 

 

One day Dashing saw Stanton from one hundred feet away.  He was bending over at the waist to pull a Dandelion.  His tightly encased rear was like the blinding beacon from a lighthouse to a ship, which is lost and tossing in a stormy sea.  What an ass!   He had to have that ass. 

 

Late one afternoon, Dashing saw Stanton heading toward the potting shed, and quickly ran doublepace across the lawns to get there.  Stanton had only been inside for a moment, when the Prince entered.  He was lifting a large bag of fertilizer and his biceps bulged. 

 

“Hello, there, Prince,” said Stanton, startled.  He hadn’t seen the Prince anywhere around when he went into the shed. 

 

“Good afternoon, Stanton.  So this is where you keep the fertilizer.  I haven’t been in here for such a long time, that I’d forgotten.” 

 

“Yes, sir.

 

“That bag of fertilizer seems very heavy.  You are very strong to be able to lift it like that,” said Dashing. 

 

“I’m used to it, I guess,” said Stanton, shrugging and laying it on the large pile of bags with all the others.   When he bent to set it down, his raised ass stretched the seat of his pants, and Dashing almost lost it. 

 

“Look at those biceps.”  He went over and began to digitally admire Stanton’s arm muscles.  “Fantastic.  I wish I had muscles like that.” 

 

“It’s just all the hard work,” explained Stanton. 

 

“But they are fantastic muscles.  And I bet your thigh muscles are very powerful too.” 

 

“I guess so,” said Fenton. 

 

“Let me see them.  I’m very interested in developing my legs, and would like to see what well-muscled thighs look like.” 

 

“You want me to take off my pants?” asked Stanton, incredulously. 

 

“Well.  Yes.  If you wouldn’t mind.  Would you do that, please?” 

 

Stanton didn’t really want to take off his pants, but this was the Royal Prince, the son of his employer, the Royal King, and he didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize this highly sought-after and well-paying job.  He unhitched his belt and lowered his trousers.   

 

“Yes.  Very, very nice.  You have really well developed thighs.  Turn around and let me see them from the back.  Yes.  Very nice, Stanton.”  And with that he came over and knelt down beside Stanton and began running his palms over the taut thigh muscles.  Stanton was both uncomfortable, and possibly a little aroused with this physical attention.  He felt his member thickening inside his ‘tightys’. 

 

“And you have a very well developed gluteus maximus,” said Dashing, cupping the two firm mounds in his palms.  “Very, very nice.  Take down the ‘tightys’, Stanton, so that I can observe the full musculature.”   Stanton stepped out of his ‘tightys’ and let the Prince continue to fondle his rear. 

 

“You have a very handsome bottom, here, Stanton.  Very handsome, indeed.” 

 

“It’s good of you to say so, My Lord.” 

 

“Nonsense.  This is not a false compliment.  It is the absolute truth.  Your bottom is absolutely spectacular.”  And now Dashing leaned forward a little and began to run his tongue over the powerful jutting mounds.   Stanton jumped.  He had not expected this.  It was so…… so…..intimate.   Dashing lavished his lingual praises all over the prized mounds.  He licked into the creases where they joined the thigh, he licked the dimpled sides, he licked around the top, and over all the surfaces.  And then.  Yes.  He parted the two meaty cheeks and looked between, where the beautiful small tight round pink hole seemed to wink at him.  He moved his entire face between the large mounds and plunged his tongue front and center. 

 

“Aggghhhh.”  Your Highness, said Stanton.  No one had ever licked his ass before and it did feel rather nice.   “I don’t think……” 

 

“Does it feel good, Stanton?   Do you like having your little asshole licked like this?” 

 

“Yes, but…..” 

 

“What a lovely asshole.   If I had to award a prize for the most perfect asshole in the kingdom, I would award it to yours.”   Dashing tried to probe inside a little with his tongue.  The hole was very tight. 

 

“Lie down on these bags of fertilizer here, Stanton?” 

 

“Why Prince?” 

 

“I want to fuck your ass.” 

 

Stanton was appalled.  Things had gone very far.  He had never imagined that he would be sexually approached by a royal person, especially one of the male gender.   “Sir.  I beg you.  I am not inclined that way.” 

 

“Well I am the Royal Prince, and I am used to having my commands obeyed.  But if you do not wish to.   Well, we can always find another Royal Gardener, I suppose. 

 

Yes.  This was sexual harassment in the workplace, but in the Kingdom of Avalanta there were no rules against it.  Stanton would have to make a choice.  To lose his cherry or to lose his job.   He decided.  He lay down across the bags of fertilizer, and raised his ass up a little to show the Prince what he had decided. 

 

Dashing, of course, knew that this was a foregone conclusion.  Unemployment in the Kingdom was high, and Stanton had luckily stumbled onto a coveted job. A job which he most certainly did not want to lose.   Dashing stepped out of his clothes, and after a few more licks at the tight little ring, and a generous lavishing of saliva on his extended organ, he positioned the tip and slowly pushed forward. 

 

“Your Highness.  It hurts,” complained Stanton. 

 

“In a few moments the pain will go away, and you will feel a new kind of enjoyment,” explained Dashing.  He was very considerate, and spent a long time easing it in and out, and getting the little hole used to his Royal Member. 

 

“Is it feeling a little better now?” he asked Stanton considerately. 

 

“Yes, Your Lordship.  It is not painful anymore.  It is just a strange full feeling.” 

 

Hearing that, Dashing began a slow gentle fuck, enjoying the feeling of the bouncy round buttcheeks that he was literally riding on.   Oh, what a nice hole.  So smooth.  So hot.  What a nice fuck.   Yes.  This was heaven.  Heaven in the potting shed.  They fucked that way for a considerable amount of time, and it occurred to Dashing that he would like to try a new position.  Would it be possible to go into the ass if the man was facing him?  He would try it.  He withdrew his cock, and ordered Stanton to roll over.   Instinctively knowing what had to be done, Stanton raised his legs, bending them at the knees, and lifted his hole for easy access.  The Prince knelt between the Gardener’s strong muscular thighs, and eased his penis back into the hole, which was now not so tight and not so dry.   This was lovely too.   Dashing was really enjoying it.  He liked being able to look in Stanton’s eyes and see the pleasure he was providing the man registering on his expressive face.   Stanton was really very handsome.  And such a delicious fuck.  And this was so wonderful.  He felt almost as if he were in love with Stanton.

 

Stanton, for his part, was really liking the feeling of the thick cock plunging in and out of his rectum, providing undreamed-of titillations.  The Prince lowered his head and did something he had never done before.  He deep kissed the Gardener.  He plunged his insistent tongue between the man’s lips, and into his mouth.  He was fucking Stanton’s mouth with his tongue, and Stanton’s ass with his penis.  A double fuck.  Just great.  Just great.  So great he could not hold off any longer from coming.  And Stanton himself, feeling the Prince’s prick hitting his prostate, set off on a long convulsive orgasm which sent his asshole into convulsive spasms around Dashing’s dick, ensuring that they would spout almost simultaneously.  And they both roared like jungle tigers in heat, as all that seed splashed forth. 

 

And as they were roaring, the door of the potting shed opened.  And there stood Lucy Lambert, the young girl they had recently hired as a maid to dust the North Wing of the Palace.  Her mouth fell open, aghast at the sight of the two men and their unnatural connection. 

 

She turned, and with her arm flung over her crying eyes, she ran blindly back to the castle.   It seems that she had been in the habit of sneaking out whenever she could in the late afternoon to meet Stanton in the potting shed, where they would fuck like mad.  Lucy loved getting fucked by Stanton, and was waiting for the day when a baby would bloom in her belly so that he would chivalrously agree to marry her, and she would have him with her for the rest of her life, fucking her and fucking her.   

 

All her romantic dreams were now shattered.  Her girlish heart was broken.  She was disconsolate and embittered. 

 

When she got back to the Palace, the other servants saw the state she was in and they were concerned, and they asked, “What is it, Lucy?  What is it, girl?” 

 

Now while men are circumspect and do not indulge in gossip, women are not that way at all.  Women blab.  Lucy blabbed.  She told everybody.  She told everybody what she had seen in the potting shed.  Her heart was broken and her dreams were dashed.    

 

The Prince was plugging the Gardener on a very regular basis now, and was so happy in his youthful love affair, that he did not notice that the other servants were looking at him in a very strange way. 

 

Once rumors get started, they have a way of spreading, and somehow they reached King Carlo the Carnal.  No one actually went up to him and said that his son was a homosexual and was fucking the Gardener, but somehow word got around and finally the King became aware of things.   Perhaps the walls had ears after all.  The King heard innuendoes not only about the Prince and the Royal Gardener, but perhaps even that Dashing might have tiddled with the Royal Plumber, and the Royal Electrician, and the Royal Handyman, and the Royal Chef, and the Royal Butler.  And on.  And on.  And on. 

 

“Goodness gracious,” exclaimed Queen Dorothea, when King Carlo told her what was being talked about, around the palace.   She stood up from her loom, white as a sheet.   “Whatever shall we do?”   She wanted her husband to tell her what had to be done, because she never had an idea in her head but was always very obedient and very dutiful and would do anything that her husband told her to do, except perform fellatio. 

 

“This is a bad turn of events.  To have a Royal Prince who is a Nancy Boy.  It is the Prince’s most important duty to produce an heir to the throne.  The line must continue, unbroken, at least until the Apocalypse is upon us,” uttered the King bitterly. 

 

“I know.  I know,” sobbed the Queen.   It was her failure as a mother.  If only she had woven one less tapestry in his formative years. 

 

“Dashing must marry!” Decided the King.   “As quickly as possible.” 

 

“Yes,” agreed Queen Dorothea.  That would be the solution.  “But to whom?” 

 

“We shall throw a Grand Ball in the Palace Ballroom, with music and dancing and wine and confetti to celebrate Dashing’s eighteenth birthday.  And we shall invite all the beautiful young women from all the highborn families throughout the Kingdom to attend.   We shall let it be known that at the end of the evening, Prince Dashing will make his selection from these beauteous maidens, and the lucky lady will be wed to the Heir Apparent of the Kingdom of Avalanta, and will from henceforth be a Royal Princess, and one day a Royal Queen” 

 

“What a grand idea,” exclaimed Queen Dorothea.  We haven’t thrown a ball in ever so long.  I shall arrange for the Royal Caterers and the Royal Orchestra, and first thing tomorrow morning I shall set the Royal Decorators to work.  The ballroom must look spectacular.” 

 

“I shall go now and tell Dashing of his happy approaching wedding.  He only just needs a little push in the right direction,” decided King Carlo. 

 

King Carlo walked down the hallway and knocked on his son’s door.  When he entered, he found Dashing deeply involved in doing a charcoal drawing of Cain about to smite Abel.  Cain was standing over Abel holding a cudgel, and Abel was lying on his side on the ground at his feet.  Both men were nude.  King Carlo noted the tremendous and excellent detail in the musculature of the two biblical brothers.  Particularly the thighs, and the prominent buttocks.  It was really most remarkable.  He had never known his son possessed artistic talent.  He, himself, had none. 

 

He gave Dashing the happy news about their plans for his approaching eighteenth birthday party.  Dashing smiled wanly.  He had known this day would one day come.  After all, it was his Royal duty to marry and sire a Royal heir to the throne.   He just didn’t want to dwell upon how he was going to do that. 

 

He had been so happy recently, tumbling in the potting shed every day with Stanton, who had decided that he was never so happy as when the Prince’s cock was up his Commoner’s ass.   Stanton didn’t mind in the least that Lucy would no longer speak to him, and indeed turned away every time they saw each other. 

 

But Dashing could still tumble with Stanton later on.  He didn’t have to be unmarried to fuck ass.   So maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

 

On the night of the Grand Ball, Dashing stood with his parents at the Grand Entrance to the Grand Ballroom.   The Royal Orchestra was playing waltzes and the Royal waiters were circulating among the guests with trays of caviar, hors d’oeuvres, and crystal glasses filled with champagne.   

 

The Royal Family stood side by side on the receiving line, and welcomed all their guests as each one was announced by the Royal Herald.   This way Dashing would have a chance to examine all the young ladies as they entered.   King Claudio the Carnal was also examining them.   Some of them were so lovely, his loins were tingling.  Each young lady was escorted by a male relative: a father, an uncle, a brother, a cousin. 

 

“Mr. Alexander and Miss Lavinia de Lancey,” announced the Herald loudly.  “Son and daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Chembelshire.” 

 

Miss Lavinia was an exquisite creature with long silken black hair, and flashing dark eyes.   Her breasts were full and luscious, as the cleavage above her low cut gown showed.  And she had a delicious, narrow waist, over what seemed to be two perfect buttocks.   Her gown was long, but you could see her delicate ankles beneath the hem.  King Claudio was quite overcome with the sight of her.  How he hoped his son would select Lavinia. 

 

And indeed Dashing thought he had never in his life encountered a face so beautiful, so artfully contoured, with such thick curly black lashes which fluttered over smoldering brown eyes.   Alexander was absolutely the most magnificent young man he had ever in his life encountered.  He seemed to be about five years his sister’s senior.  Dashing was smitten.  He longed to get to know Alexander better.   Perhaps if he were to dance the Schottish with Lavinia? Yes they were playing a Schottish.  He loved the Schottish.  He offered his hand. 

 

“Madam, would you care to?” 

 

“I’d be delighted, Your Highness,” Lavinia said demurely, and bowed respectfully to the King and Queen before joining the young Prince on the dance floor.  Dashing was quite a good dancer, and so was Lavinia.  They whirled and spun around the crowded dance floor until Dashing slammed butt to butt into the male half of another dancing pair.  He turned to look, and it was none other than the beautiful Alexander, brother to Lavinia.  He stared into the eyes beneath the dark curling lashes, and blushed a little. 

 

“Sorry,” he said.  “Clumsy.” 

 

“Not at all,” said Alexander gallantly.  “It is I who am clumsy.  Your Highness is the epitome of grace.” 

 

“Thank you,” murmered Dashing.   The young man had a magnificent body.  Slender and narrow like his sister, but with the thrilling power of masculinity.  He was probably six inches taller than Dashing, and had wavy black hair just as his sister had, and the whitest, most even teeth when he smiled, as he was smiling now.  Dashing felt a little weak in his knees.  He stumbled slightly.  Just the sight of Alexander made him a little dizzy.  As he stumbled forward, Alexander grabbed him firmly by the arm to steady him. 

 

“Are you all right, Your Highness? He asked in great concern. 

 

“Yes.  Fine.  Fine,” Dashing stammered.  “Perhaps it’s a little close in here.  Perhaps I need a breath of fresh air.  Perhaps a short walk in the gardens.” 

 

“You must let me accompany you,” Alexander said.  “You still do not seem too steady on your feet.” 

 

“No.  Really I’ll be fine.  Really.” 

 

“I insist,” said Alexander, and linking his arm in the Prince’s they walked through the open French Doors into the cool night air.  That cool night air immediately invigorated Dashing, and he became a little steadier as they walked through the paths of the Royal Gardens.  The stars glittered high above their heads.  And Dashing felt as if he were embarking on a great and glorious romance.  A love that would last his life.   He looked down to check, and yes, he had been right, Alexander’s butt was molded to perfection.  You could see every curve and crease of it through the clinging pants of his black tuxedo.  How he longed to caress it, to stand against Alexander penis to penis in the fragrant nocturnal garden where they were quite alone.  To gently clasp and manipulate the two hemispheres as he raised his face to Alexander’s, who would grasp him firmly in his strong arms and kiss his mouth with an unquenchable thirst. 

 

And then it happened.  Just as he had been wishing it could.  They turned to face each other, and stood penis to penis, and their arms encircled each other, and Alexander’s mouth was greedily on his own.  Dashing was being swept off his feet.  Literally.  Alexander’s arms around his waist were so strong and tight that he would have been able to lift his feet off the ground and remain in this position. 

 

He knew that he could not order Alexander to submit to him, submit as a commoner to a Prince.  He wanted to win the heart of this glorious young man.  For the first time in his life, he felt sexually submissive.  However, he still wanted to be the one on top. 

 

“Oh, Alexander,” he breathed, as his lips separated from those of his great passion. 

 

“You are a dear little Prince, Dashing.  I find you most enticing.  You are adorable and exactly my type.” 

 

“I want us to be together, Alexander.” 

 

“I also would like us to be together.”  He reached down and fondled Dashing’s stiff penis through his formalwear.    “Aaahhhh,” he smiled approvingly.  Apparently he liked a nice stiff cock as much as Dashing liked a beautifully rounded firm bottom.  Could it be that they were made for each other? 

 

“How can we arrange this?” asked Dashing. 

 

“Ah.  Well, there is a way.  If perhaps you would select my sister, Lavinia, to be your princess.  She would of course live here in the palace with you.  And I would be left all alone with my aging and quarrelsome parents in that godforsaken estate in Chembelshire.   I detest living in Chembelshire.”   (Chembelshire really was a dull, drab, out-of-the way part of the Kingdom.)  

 

“What were you thinking?” asked Dashing, waiting to hear the rest of the proposal. 

 

“Well perhaps as your brother-in-law, you could arrange for me to occupy a lovely apartment in the Royal Palace.  That way I would always be near my sister and also the two of us would always be in convenient close proximity.  Do you understand what I am saying?” 

 

“Yes.  Yes.  And do you know?  There is such an apartment.  In the East Wing.  Very close to my own quarters.  We would be virtually down the hall from each other, so to speak.” 

 

“Oh, dear Dashing.  It sounds like a mad dream.  It could never happen.” 

 

“But, of course, it will happen.  I shall see that it happens.  Trust in me, Alexander” 

 

“I shall, dearest boy.”   And again Alexander lowered his lips onto Dashing’s and they kissed and kissed, their hard peters rubbing against each other’s.  Oh, to be rid of all these clothes. 

 

They returned to the Ballroom, and out of politeness, and also to show that he was being impartial, Dashing danced with many of the lovely maidens.  He danced all the dances.  The Polonaise, The Minuet, The Mazurka.   He whirled and whirled around the ballroom in a giddy anticipation of life with Alexander.  And at the end of the evening his father approached him. 

 

“Well, Dashing.  Whom have you decided upon?” 

 

“I have decided upon the lovely Lavinia.  She will be my bride, and the Royal Princess of Avalanta.” 

 

“My boy.  I am so happy.  You have made me so proud.  She is exactly the one that I would have chosen.  We have exactly the same tastes.  Like father, like son, ehhh?  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”   And he gave his son a conspiratorial elbow nudge in the ribs. 

 

The next few months were a flurry of wedding preparations.  There was a general joy and celebration throughout the entire Kingdom, that their Young Prince would be getting married, and soon yet another generation of Royals would be born to carry their Kingdom into an infinite and everlasting future.  Every street corner was garlanded with flowers.  Pubs were offering free cocktails to the first five customers at Happy Hour.  Posters were everywhere.  “Congratulations, Prince Dashing.  We love you.” And “Best wishes from your adoring subjects” It was a heady time. 

 

Dashing had artfully arranged for his father to prepare the lovely apartment down the hall for Alexander.   Alexander and Lavinia were so close.  She would be so lonely without her beloved brother.  It only made sense to have him be near her in the Royal Palace.  King Carlo understood completely and sympathized.  He could see that Lavinia was a very inexperienced and innocent young girl.  It would give her great comfort to have her brother within shouting distance. 

 

The wedding was a vast State affair, held in the Royal Abbey, with delegations from many other Kingdoms in attendance.  The Archchanter of Avalanta conducted the ceremony on the high dais.  Prince Dashing stood nervously at the altar waiting for his beautiful bride.  And here she was now, being escorted down the long flower-strewn aisle not by her father who had slipped in the shower and fractured his pelvis the preceding week and could not even be in attendance.  The bride was escorted down the aisle by none other than her handsome older brother, the aforementioned Alexander, who was due to move into his Palace apartment sometime during the following week. 

 

Queen Dorothea had taken her ruby tiara out of the Royal Bank vault, and was wearing it proudly in honor of her son’s wedding.  And King Carlo had on the white silver studded uniform, which he wore proudly into battle with neighboring kingdoms.   Dashing, himself, wore the same tuxedo he had worn the night of the ball, with the pleated white shirt and the jaunty little black bowtie. 

 

Lavinia, it is supposed, looked utterly beautiful on her wedding day, however it was impossible to see her face under so many white veils.   And Alexander had never looked so handsome, stepping in rhythm down the aisle to the strains of the Wedding March. 

 

The service began.  A lot of mumbo jumbo about the divine creator.  And this man and this woman who were being joined together, etc. etc.   Dashing yawned.  And then came the vows.  And then the rings were exchanged.  And the groom followed the tradition of grinding a large cockroach underfoot, and they were pronounced man and wife.  “The groom may kiss the bride,” intoned the Archchanter, most musically. 

 

Lavinia flailed at her veiling and finally succeeded in raising them above the level of her lips and Dashing leaned forward, and they exchanged a short affectionate peck. 

 

There was an enormous Wedding Reception in the Royal Reception room, with much liquor, and much food, and much dancing, and much jollity.  And all the men crudely joked about how the lucky Prince would soon have the opportunity to pop his bride’s cherry in the Royal Honeymoon Suite.  Dashing heard all this, and his heart sank.  This was the one moment he had been dreading.   How would he get through it?

 

The Prince and his new Princess shyly undressed before each other, and the Princess lay down on the Honeymoon mattress, which was covered with towels to catch the blood which would prove her purity to the people of the Kingdom on the morrow.   Lavinia was really very beautiful, and she had lovely small beasts with small pink aureolas around her nipples.  The Prince looked lower.  Yes.  There was the little pink slit that Princesses seemed to have instead of a penis.  He gazed at it, and gazed at it, remembering how beautiful his father found it.  But he was not aroused.   Maybe if he saw her bottom.  He loved bottoms.  He asked her to turn over, which she obediently did.   Dashing looked at her bottom, which was quite pretty, but more oval than round.  He touched it, and the flesh was soft and pliable.   They were not the hard firm mounds, which he lusted after.   

 

He would try.  He took her in his arms, and kissed her mouth.  He did not enjoy the flavor.  It was a distinctly different flavor than he was used to.   He moved his lips down tickling her chest and began to tongue her breasts.  He flicked his tongue across her nipple and she gasped.  She was enjoying it.  He wasn’t. He knew what was to come next---he would have to move his tongue down to the little pink slit and lick it.  He shuddered.   He did not want to lick the pink slit.  Perhaps he would just put his penis in it.  That was really all that was required.  But his penis hung limply in front of him as if to say ‘Not me, Pal.’ Dashing was seized with panic.  He had only one thought.  He needed help quickly.  He threw on a Royal robe and excused himself and ran down the hallway still in a panic, where he banged loudly on King Carlo’s bedroom door.   

 

“Who is it?” called King Carlo. 

 

“It is I.  Your son.” 

 

“Come in, Dashing. “  He entered the room and found his father lying in bed in his Royal Pajamas reading the Kamasutra.  The King immediately noted his son’s distress.  The boy was trembling and almost in tears.  And this was his wedding night.  He should be jubilant not agitated. 

 

“What is it, Son?” he asked gently, placing his arm around the boys trembling shoulders. 

 

“Oh, Father.  You must help me.  You must help me.  I don’t know what I shall do.” 

 

“But help you how?” asked the King. 

 

“Remember when you gave me my first lesson.” 

 

“Yes,” said King Carlo.  He remembered it well.  He had shown his little man how to take a woman and have her love it. 

 

“I’ve forgotten everything, father.” 

 

“But Dashing.  That’s impossible.” 

 

“No.  It’s true. It’s true.”  Dashing began to cry.  “I have forgotten everything.  I need your help father.  I need you to show me one more time.” 

 

“But Dashing.  This is your Wedding Night.” 

 

“Please please please, father.  I have never needed you so much as now.  You will know exactly what to do.  Please come with me and help me.” 

 

King Carlo patted his son on the head and soothed him.   “Of course, son.  Of course, I’ll come.  I’ll give you all the help you need.”  He put on his Royal Bathrobe and followed his son back to the Honeymoon Suite where Princess Lavinia was lying on her back, patiently waiting for the honeymoon to begin.

 

 

“See her beautiful little pink slit, Dashing.  What you should do is lick it well, first.  Get her nice and wet down there.  Excite her, so that she will be anxious for the thrust of your penis.”

 

 

“I know that, father.”

 

 

“Well then, Dashing.  For heaven’s sake lick her pussy.”

 

 

“I don’t know how.  Could you show me again?”

 

 

The King looked at Lavinia’s little pink slit, and it was perfect and beautiful.  More beautiful than he could have imagined.  He longed to crouch between her luscious thighs and spread the tight lips of the little pink slit and slip his tongue in, and tongue her and tongue her, and especially suckle her smooth little clitoris, until she was screaming with passion and begging to be penetrated.   Such a perfect little pussy.  He threw off his robes and pajamas and climbed onto the bed, where he crawled between her thighs.  He lowered his face and tasted the heady wine of youthful femininity.  His tongue lashed up and down and into her pussy.   It was luscious. 

 

Dashing threw off his robes and sat at the foot of the bed, where he had sat so many years before, watching his father pleasure a beautiful woman.  Lavinia was moaning and clutching at the sheets and towels and twisting her body all around.  She loved what King Carlo was doing.   

 

“Come, Dashing.  Lick it a little,” urged the King. 

 

The boy froze up and shook his head.  He just could not bring himself to lick a pink slit. 

 

“Silly boy.  It won’t bite you.  It has no teeth.  It’s a pussy.  It’s a lovely warm opening into which you can slide your penis and squirt your seed.” 

 

Dashing just kept frantically shaking his head from side to side. 

 

The King shrugged his shoulders.  The boy wasn’t going to lick the pussy.  And the Princess was longing for a hot experience tongue.  He went back to licking the pussy. 

 

“Can you put your penis into her, son?” 

 

“I don’t think so, father.” 

 

“The wedding must be consummated.  The bride must be relieved of her virginity.  The Kingdom expects it.  The Kingdom demands it.” 

 

“Please, father, can you do it for me?” 

 

“Dashing.  Lavinia is your bride.” 

 

“Please father.  I need you to help me.” 

 

The King realized what he would have to do, and was not entirely displeased.  The girl was a treasure.  From the moment he had first seen her, he had longed to fuck her.  And now he was going to fuck her, for the good of his son and for the good of the Kingdom.  He was a noble King. 

 

King Carlo climbed on top of Lavinia, and inserted the tip of his throbbing hard penis into the parting of her lips.   Oh!  What heaven!    

 

He felt the maidenhead snap, and she gave a little jump of pain, and the red ran out onto the towels where all the citizens could see it flying from the flagpole the next morning.   The King waited for the pain to alleviate, and then he moved forward.  He lay on top of her and his muscular buttocks moved.   As soon as Dashing saw the hunching movement of his father’s behind, he was overcome with lust.  His penis sprang immediately erect.  And on the outstroke he was able to see his father’s beautiful tight round hole.  The first hole he had ever seen and the first hole he had ever loved.  That was what he wanted to lick.  His father’s beautiful tight round rectal hole.  He crawled up the bed, between all the legs, and lowered his face.  His whole face was now between his father’s strong hunching cheeks, which pressed his nose closed on the downstroke.   Dashing stuck out his tongue and licked the hole. 

 

The King was dumbfounded.  He had never imagined this.  The boy was licking his bottomhole.  This certainly was not proper.  But it was feeling kind of good, so he didn’t say anything.  To have your bottomhole licked when you are fucking a beautiful woman is not a terrible thing.   The King began to uuuuu  and aaaa, and make other pleasure noises, which further excited the young Prince.   Finally, he could stand it no more, and he climbed upon his father’s back planning to stick  the head of his rigid penis into his fathers very wet bottomhole.  As the King pulled his bottom back in an upstroke, his son’s penis unexpectedly thrust into his anus. 

 

“Dashing.  No.  No.  What are you doing?  Stop this at once.” 

 

“Oh, father.  You have the most masculine magnificent bottom.  I have always thought so.   Please let me.  Please.” 

 

This was Incest.  This was Sodomy.  This was Homosexuality. This was everything depraved and disgusting.  But to have a penis in your bottom gliding against your prostate when you are fucking a beautiful woman.  The King put aside his preconceived objections and let the boy continue. 

 

This was a new thrill for King Carlo the Carnal.  This was more carnal than anything carnal he had ever done before.   He was out of his mind with pleasure.  He felt the smooth penis gliding up and down his anal canal, as he plowed into the beautiful young bride.   My god.  My god.  He could not stop himself.  He was going to come.  He was going to shoot a royal load inside his son’s bride that would be like no load he had ever shot before.  He knew in his heart that he should pull out, that this powerful cum he was about to blast into her could not help but impregnate her. 

 

Oh.  Well.   What the hell.   No one would ever know.  And the child would still be of Royal Lineage.  Only of his own loins not his son’s.   He blasted and blasted inside the princess, who wrapped her arms around him and could not seem to get enough of him or his ejaculate.   As the seed was spouting forth, his ass muscles tightened to such an extent that it literally sucked the sperm out of Dashing.   He had filled his father’s ass and not his bride’s pussy with his Royal liquor.  And it had been wonderful.   The three of them lay there for a while in great happiness.   They slept a little.  They repeated the act.  They slept.  They fucked. 

 

Every night they continued their strange triumvirate, until the following Tuesday, when Lavinia’s brother, Alexander, moved into his Royal Apartments down the hallway.   That night, Dashing left King Carlo and Princess Lavinia to their own devices, and disappeared. 

 

He reappeared later in the evening, knocking on Alexander’s door.  Alexander invited him in.   And.  Well.  You know the rest.  Alexander was so very, very handsome.  Those beautiful long black eyelashes.  And that incredible round tight bum.  Dashing couldn’t wait to get his tongue into the little bottomhole nestled between the taut cheeks.   

 

After kissing and cuddling, for a very short time, since they were both anxious, Alexander raised up his legs and pulled open his cheeks for Dashing.  He had had his bottom licked before, and there was only one thing he liked better.   

 

And the Prince was very good at licking buttholes.  It was the best butt-tonguing Alexander had ever had.  And he had had many butt-tonguings.   He stretched his arm down and wrapped his strong fingers around the Prince’s rampant erection and guided it toward his very wet hole.  It was what they both desperately wanted, and they knew it.  What Alexander liked even more than a tongue in his ass was a cock. 

 

“Fuck me.  Fuck me, Dashing,” he cried.  And Dashing acceded to this importuning with great glee.   

 

As the Prince fucked him, Alexander contorted his upper body so that his lips would be accessible to Dashing’s lips, and they kissed and fucked and kissed and fucked.  This was the honeymoon Dashing had been longing for.  Now he had it.  He had his male bride.   Dashing seeded his brother-in-law.   A pity that no buds would ever grow.   Alexander, feeling the warm milk shooting into him released his own onto the taffeta sheet, without even touching himself. 

 

The next few years were very happy for the Kingdom.  One after another, three young Princes were born.  Heirs to the throne.  The Monarchy would be safe into the foreseeable future.   Of course, everyone thought the young Princes were the sons of Dashing.  No one could ever have imagined that they were actually the sons of King Carlo, himself. 

 

Queen Dorothea, as always, was very Dutiful, and asked no questions.  She had long ago ceased to have Marital Relations with her husband.  They were distasteful.  And if her husband were to find other consolations------well, so be it. She had her own chambers, and really was very unaware of Palace happenings.  Perhaps a servant or two knew about the King and his daughter-in-law, but they were sworn to silence under penalty of death.  During these years, Queen Dorothea wove some of her very finest tapestries, which stand in the Palace to this day, and visitors come from far and wide to take the daily guided tour of the Palace for the not inconsiderable price of twenty berbels. 

 

About ten years passed.  And there was peace on the planet.  But one day, when Prince Tarin, the oldest of the three Princelings (who would one day succeed to the throne after Dashing) was nine years old, one of the neighboring Kingdoms, the Kingdom of Cressing, started a small war.  They raided across the demilitarized zone, and took several Avalantan soldiers as prisoners.  It was a border dispute.  They felt that their own kingdom historically had been ten feet wider, and that Avalanta had long ago illegally occupied those ten feet.   The Cressing Army reoccupied the disputed territory.  King Carlo could not let that happen, so he donned his white and silver-studded war gear and went into battle with the Kingdom of Cressing.   Since Dashing was a full-gown man now, it was expected that he would accompany his father into battle, which he was glad to do.  Things were getting a little boring at the Palace.   Alexander wasn’t quite as gorgeous as he had been ten years earlier. 

 

All he liked to do was laze around all day and gorge himself on the delicious Palace foods, prepared by the incomparable Palace chefs.   His waistline was now at least eight inches larger than it had once been.  He now had a pot (belly).  Plus also, his beautiful, tight, chiseled buttocks were going to flab.  They were not the same taut globes that Dashing had once worshipped. 

 

So, in a way, Dashing was glad to go into battle beside his father.  It was new.  It was exciting.  And he was surrounded by many well-trained, young soldiers with excellent physiques.  He enjoyed fighting side by side with these new comrades, who had such strong, robust, muscular bodies, and tight young asses.   He rather liked war.   At night in his tent, he would often sample the delicious young bottom of one of his conscripted subjects.   

 

But then a terrible thing happened.   King Carlo was struck through the heart with a jet-propelled arrow.   Dashing’s heart was broken.  His dear, dear father.  Slaughtered in battle.  The Bastards.  He would show them.    

 

The next day, he bravely rallied his troops and in a final fusillade defeated the enemy and annexed an additional twenty-five feet of their kingdom, which would now belong to Avalanta.   But twenty-five extra feet of Cressing was hardly worth the death of a father.    

 

Dashing returned victorious to the Capital City.   There was a Grand Triumphal March through the City Square, with orchestras and confetti, and much cheering. And he brought back many prisoners from Cressing.  Men, who had been soldiers, but now would become slaves in Avalanta.   Their proud warrior heads bowed, and forced to do the bidding of the Avalantans.  A cruel fate. 

 

There was a Royal Funeral, with the whole Royal Family in attendance.  The three ‘grandsons’, Prince Dashing, Queen Dorothea, who used many tissues during the ceremony, and Princess Lavinia who sobbed and carried on as if it were her own husband that they were burying.   What a wonderful daughter-in-law! 

 

The next day there was a coronation ceremony in the Royal Abbey, and the Archchanter of Avalanta crowned Prince Dashing the new King, on the high dais, and placed the crown upon his head.  

 

Dashing’s life would never be the same.  He was now King, and was expected to behave with gravity and decorum.   He moved into his father’s Royal Chambers, which were the King’s Chambers, and he was now the King.   As Lavinia was now alone during the long nights, so was her brother, Alexander, in his lavish apartment down the hall.  He wasn’t getting any more cock.  But the cakes and the puddings.  Divine! 

 

One night, not long after, in the evening, alone in his room, Dashing felt restless.  He pulled the silken cord, and soon the Royal Butler was at his door. 

 

“Yes, Your Majesty?” 

 

“How many Prisoners are there in the cells in the cellar, Judson?” 

 

“Over one hundred, Your Majesty.” 

 

“Ah, yes.  I am afraid that the Cressings might be planning some future attack.  I wish to question one of the young soldiers that we have captured, to find out if he knows anything.   There is one young soldier I have noticed.   A very tall, good-looking, athletic chap.  I think he goes by the name of Hector.   Bring him to me.” 

 

“Very good, Your Majesty.”    

 

The orders were carried out, and soon several Palace Guards (not Silvio or Florestan) brought Hector to the King’s chamber.  They wanted to stay.  They did not want to leave their King alone with a strong, resentful young enemy, whose hands were bound in front of him, but Dashing insisted that they leave.  He said he could better question the captive, if the two of them were alone together.  The guards departed. 

 

“Why have you brought me here?” Asked Hector suspiciously. 

 

“I have heard rumors that there is a plot against my life and my Kingdom.  I have heard that the Cressings intend to rise up against me.  I want to know their plans.” 

 

“I know nothing of such things,” said Hector.   “I am only a common soldier.”   

 

“No.  I think you know more than you are telling, and I will get it out of you, my boy.” 

 

“What are you going to do to me?” asked Hector, a little worried. 

 

“I am going to rape you.  I am going to fuck your tight little ass.” 

 

“Sir.  That is physical torture.  I am a Political Prisoner, and such treatment is against International Law.  It is entirely contrary to the rules of the Erasma Conventions.  I shall file a complaint with the Erasma Conventions Committee.” 

 

“We do not recognize the Erasma Conventions in Avalanta, Hector, so you had better tell me what you know.” 

 

“But I know nothing.” 

 

“We shall soon see,” said Dashing cruelly, throwing the young man down on the purple taffeta sheet and stripping off his lower garments.   Hector was foolishly thankful that he was face down on the bed and that the King could not see his penis.  His penis was private. 

 

But Dashing didn’t want to see Hector’s penis.  He wanted to see exactly what he was now seeing.  The strong, athletic, muscular, firm, round, asscheeks of a handsome young man.   And they were to die for.   

 

“What a pretty bum,” observed Dashing.  “I shall truly enjoy fucking it.  Sticking my big cock up your tight little asshole, if you do not tell me what I want to know.” 

 

“But Sir.  I swear to you.  I know nothing.” 

 

“That is what you keep saying.  But I think it is a lie.  We shall see how silent you remain when you feel my long prick up your little virgin bottomhole.” 

 

Hector was trying desperately to free himself from the ropes which bound his hands and made him helpless.  He tried kicking back with his legs, but it was all useless.   Dashing smiled, and knelt between the boy’s thighs, gazing down at his prize.   That great ass.   He would fuck it.  Yes.  But first he would lick it.  He would lick it so well that Hector would beg to be fucked. 

 

He knelt down and began licking the strong cheeks, and then between them, and then the tip of his tongue touched on the secret opening into the inner recesses of the young man’s body, and the young man was struggling in a different way now, almost as if he wanted the tongue to penetrate his sphincter.  He was even raising his bottom up to Dashing’s lashing tongue.   And finally Dashing could wait no longer.  His prick had long been ready for the ‘Cressing’ invasion.   He positioned it and thrust it home. 

 

Hector screamed. 

 

“Now, you’ll tell me about the secret plot,” laughed Dashing, pounding away on top of the man’s bouncy bottom. 

 

“Sir.  Please.  There is no secret plot.  I swear to you.  I know nothing.  Please, sir, it hurts.  Please, your Majesty.  Please take it out.” 

 

But his Majesty did not take it out, and within several minutes he knew that Hector’s ass was warming to the thrust of his prick.  It was even starting to rise up to meet him half way.   And the cries were no longer those of pain and suffering, but something quite different.    

 

Dashing was now the King of Avalanta.  He had conquered the enemy Kingdom in a bloody battle.  He had taken many prisoners.   And he was at this very moment fucking one of them.  His father would have been so proud of him.