‘What do you think, Your Highness?’ said Ancel.
The Prince turned, and Ancel found himself the sole subject of the Prince’s attention.
‘I think your master would prefer you intact,’ said the Prince.
‘You could tie the slave up.’
He saw the moment the Prince took in the idea. There was something more in the Prince’s eyes, something private, though it was only there for a moment, before the Prince’s expression hardened.
‘Why not?’
Two handlers began to move towards the slave. They were going to restrain him further, because he was dangerous.
Ancel looked Berenger right in the eyes. ‘Tell me how you want me to fuck him.’
‘I don’t want you to fuck him,’ said Berenger.
‘I do,’ said Ancel. ‘I want to do it with you watching.’
You mean with the Prince watching, Berenger didn’t say. Instead, Berenger frowned in that way that he had, turned to the handlers, and gave some instructions about safety. Ancel barely heard him, only half aware of the flurry of activity, the preparations being made.
Drawn by the rarity of the spectacle, a few other courtiers had drifted over, and then a few more, a small audience gathering. Servants approached, distributing refreshments. The clink of glassware and serving trays seemed too loud.
Ancel didn’t need Berenger. He was going to do it with the Prince’s slave, in front of everyone. No other pet had ever won the Prince’s attention.
Because the tiny gold chain was not strong enough, handlers had secured the Prince’s slave to the bench, where he was positioned with his wrists cuffed to the metalwork above his head, his torso one long line of muscle, his legs spread.
The slave’s eyes lifted to meet Ancel’s for a moment, radiating fury, before he turned the full force of it on the Prince, who just stared back at him coldly.
And then it was time, everyone was taking their seats on the bower benches, and Ancel was approaching the slave with all eyes on him.
Close to, the slave was a dominating presence, the long muscles of his thighs bunching as Ancel knelt between them. Ancel remembered the trail of blood in the arena, and adrenalin spiked his pulse higher. This slave had clubbed his opponent to the ground in the ring. He wasn’t a court pet, or a brothel client. He an Akielon, named for the Akielon prince-killer.
Ancel could see, as he put his hands on those thighs, that the slave disliked him. That was irritating. Did he think Anc
el was salivating to suck his cock? Pets had to do things they didn’t like all the time. Ancel leaned forward and wrapped his hand around it. It was big, and not hard yet.
It had been a long time since Ancel had given head, thanks to Berenger’s prudery. It was disconcerting, uncomfortable at first, like he didn’t want to be this close, or put his mouth on it. He pushed past the feeling. He was good at this. He knew what to do and how to do it.
The uncomfortable feeling grew. The slave was too stupid to realise he was supposed to be performing. He was slow to rouse, half hard and unmoving. How had he ever achieved a court position, with skills this poor? Wasn’t he trying at all?
And then came the cool words, ‘I wonder if we can do better than this. Stop.’
Ancel felt the slave jerk, his cock hardening as the Prince settled himself on the bower seat alongside them. Ancel shifted as the Prince’s shiny boot extended out right next to him. He looked up, and saw that the Prince’s eyes were on the slave, while the slave sat with his jaw clenched, his face turned away.
‘You’re more likely to win a game if you don’t play your whole hand at once,’ the Prince said. ‘Start more slowly.’
‘Like this?’
The wait was deliberate, to make the Prince say it.
‘Like that.’
Ancel clasped his hands behind his back, mostly for show, and used his mouth only, bowing his head to tongue the slit. Fully hard now, the slave was bigger than any Ancel had taken.
‘He likes that. Do it harder.’
He felt the slave jerk again, heard the new hitch in his breathing. He did like that, tugging unconsciously on his restraints as Ancel, on the Prince’s instructions, began to slowly suckle the head.