Chapter 35: The Prince's Eternal Need
The antechamber’s silence swallowed Valerius whole after Ethan left. He slid down the heavy door until his ass hit the cold stone floor, his legs splayed. The dust motes danced in the thin light from beneath the door. He looked down at himself. His cock stood rigid against his stomach, a dull, persistent ache radiating from its base to the tip. It glistened, wet not from any climax, but from the constant, slow seep that had become his new normal. A pearl of fluid welled at the slit, quivered, and fell onto his thigh. He watched it trace a path through the dust on his skin.
He brought his fingers to the spot, smearing it. The sensation was a lightning bolt. His whole body jolted, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth. The sensitivity was monstrous. It was as if his nerves were on the outside, raw and screaming. He probed the head of his cock, just a feather-light touch, and saw stars, his vision swimming with a pleasure so acute it bordered on pain.
Ethan’s words echoed in the hollowed-out spaces of his mind. My masterpiece of need.
He didn’t try to get up. He simply sat there on the floor of the storage room, listening to the distant music from the feast hall, and let the feeling own him. The emptiness inside him was a physical presence, a yawning hole that clenched around nothing, aching to be stretched, to be filled. He was a puppet of exquisite need, and every string led back to Ethan’s hands.
He didn’t know how long he sat there. Time had lost its meaning, measured only in the relentless throb between his legs and the occasional, helpless drip from his asshole—a slick, shameful leak that made the seat of his fine trousers damp. The humiliation of it was a hot coal in his chest, but he cupped that coal with both hands, cherishing its heat. This was his. This proof.
Finally, when his legs were numb from the cold stone, he hauled himself upright. He rearranged his clothes, the fabric abrasive and tormenting against his oversensitive flesh. He straightened his tunic, ran a hand through his hair. He was a prince. He had appearances to keep.
He walked back to his chambers through the deserted corridors, his gait slightly stiff. The few guards he passed saluted sharply, their eyes fixed ahead. Did they know? Could they smell the desperation on him? See the slight, damp patch on his trousers? The thought made his spent, denied cock give another feeble twitch.
In the solitude of his bathroom, he stripped. He avoided the mirror. He didn’t need to see the wreckage; he could feel it in every cell. He stood under a cascade of lukewarm water, washing away the sweat, the dust, the tangible evidence of Ethan’s possession. The water on his cock was a barrage of sensation, almost too much to bear. He braced his hands against the tiled wall, head bowed, and let it happen, shivering as the water sluiced over his aching balls, his tender, dripping hole.
Clean, dry, but no less frantic, he pulled on a simple sleeping tunic. It offered no relief. The soft linen was a new kind of torture. He lay on his vast, empty bed, staring at the canopy. Sleep was impossible. His body was a live wire. He could feel every pulse of his heartbeat in his cock, in his ass. The emptiness inside him was a gnawing vacuum.
A soft click sounded from the corner of the room. The surface of his full-length mirror shimmered, then cleared to show Ethan’s study. Ethan was seated at his desk, a book open before him. He didn’t look up.
“Can’t sleep, Your Highness?” Ethan’s voice came through the glass, clear and intimate as if he were in the room.
Valerius pushed himself up on his elbows. “No.”
“Your body won’t let you, will it?” Ethan turned a page. “It’s too busy wanting. It’s learned its purpose. It doesn’t need rest. It needs to be used.”
Valerius said nothing. He just watched Ethan’s reflection.
“I’ve been reading,” Ethan said conversationally. “About sympathetic magic. About creating… feedback loops. Your condition is a good start. But it’s passive. I want it to be active. I want your need to be a tangible thing. A tool.”
He looked up from his book, his eyes meeting Valerius’s through the magical lens. “Tomorrow, you have a tour of the city’s new granaries. A public appearance. You’ll ride through the streets, accept the people’s cheers. You’ll be the picture of benevolent rule.”
Valerius felt a cold dread trickle down his spine, unrelated to the heat in his groin. “Yes.”
“I’ve made a modification,” Ethan said, his tone light, almost cheerful. He held up a thin, plain silver band. It looked like a bracelet. “A little something for you to wear. It will… amplify things. Make your body communicate its true state to the world. In a subtle way, of course.”
“Amplify?” Valerius’s voice was a dry croak.
Ethan smiled. “You’ll see. Now, get some rest. You have a big day tomorrow.”
The mirror went dark, returning to its normal reflection. Valerius stared at his own pale, wide-eyed face. He didn’t sleep. He lay there, feeling the slow, constant drip from his cock soak into the sheets beneath him, the hungry clench of his hole a relentless, silent scream.
Morning arrived as a grey insult. Valerius dressed with the help of silent attendants, his movements robotic. The silver band was on his dressing table. He picked it up. It was cool, surprisingly heavy for its size. He slid it onto his right wrist. It fit perfectly.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a wave of warmth emanated from the band, washing up his arm and spreading through his torso. It settled in his groin, a deep, resonant hum that intensified the ever-present ache tenfold. His cock, which had softened slightly in the night, sprang to immediate, agonizing fullness. A gush of pre-cum spilled from him, soaking through his smallclothes and staining the front of his breeches with a dark, wet patch.
He gasped, grabbing the edge of the table. The attendants glanced at each other but said nothing. Their Prince was often… intense.
The band wasn’t done. The warmth pulsed again, and a corresponding throb echoed from his asshole. It fluttered, clenching rhythmically on nothing, a slick pulse of pure, shameless need. He could feel the wetness gathering, threatening to seep through the layers of his formal attire. It was a constant, low-grade reminder, a hidden obscenity beneath his royal robes.
He was hardening further, his cock straining against its confines, the wet patch spreading. The silver band glinted innocently on his wrist.
Ethan met him in the courtyard as the royal procession was assembling. He was dressed in traveling leathers, looking more like a ruthless scout than a future consort. His eyes swept over Valerius, noting the strained expression, the subtle way he stood to avoid putting pressure on his groin.
“A tight fit today, Your Highness?” Ethan murmured, stepping close to adjust a nonexistent flaw in Valerius’s cloak. His hand brushed against Valerius’s hip, a fleeting touch that sent a shock through the prince’s system.
“The band…” Valerius began, his voice tight.
“Is working perfectly,” Ethan finished, his smile sharp. “I can feel it from here. Like a second pulse. Now, mount up. The people are waiting.”
The ride through the city was a blurred pageant of pain. Valerius sat tall on his gleaming white stallion, waving to the cheering crowds that lined the streets. Every step the horse took jolted through him. Each trot sent a shockwave of pleasure-pain directly into his swollen cock, grinding it against the saddle. Each bounce made his asshole clench and spasm, the slickness inside him growing. The silver band on his wrist warmed with every surge of his denied arousal, a private, mocking applause.
He smiled. He waved. He nodded to dignitaries. Sweat beaded on his temple, cold under the spring sun. He could feel a warm trickle escape his asshole and dampen the saddle leather beneath him. His cock was a tortured rod of iron, dripping relentlessly into his breeches. The shame was a molten river, but he rode it, letting it buoy him. This was his truth. This was his service.
At one point, a little girl threw a bouquet of spring flowers. It landed in his lap. The simple, innocent gesture, the sweet smell of the blooms, contrasted so violently with the filthy, desperate state of his body that he almost laughed, a choked, hysterical sound he disguised as a cough.
Ethan rode just behind him, a shadow. Valerius could feel his gaze like a physical brand between his shoulder blades.
The tour of the granaries was a special kind of hell. Endless walking on stone floors, nodding as engineers explained ventilation and pest control. The standing still was worse than the riding. It allowed him to focus on the relentless, pulsing need. The band hummed on his wrist, a constant vibration synced to the throbbing in his cock. He leaned against a wooden support beam at one point, subtly rubbing his ass against the rough surface, seeking any kind of friction, any relief. A soft, choked moan escaped him. The engineer paused, thinking the Prince was impressed by the grain storage capacity.
Back in the courtyard of the citadel, as the attendants led the horses away, Ethan approached. The public smile was gone from his face.
“My study. Now,” he said, his voice low.
Valerius followed, his legs unsteady. Every step squelched faintly.
Ethan’s study was a sanctuary of quiet and smell—old books, wax, and a faint, sharp tang of something herbal. The door clicked shut. Ethan didn’t speak. He walked to his desk, sat down, and extended one booted foot.
“They’re dusty from the road,” he said, his tone casual. “Clean them.”
Valerius stared at the boot. The world narrowed to the scuffed leather, the smell of horse and earth. This was different. This wasn’t sexual. This was purely debasing. A stone settled in his gut, heavy and cold. He looked at Ethan’s face. It was expectant, devoid of malice, simply stating a fact.
Slowly, Valerius sank to his knees on the expensive rug. He leaned forward. The position pressed his tormented cock agonizingly against the front of his trousers. He ignored it. He took Ethan’s boot in his hands. He could see the grit ground into the seams. He bent his head.
The first touch of his tongue to the leather was a surrender deeper than any orgasm. It tasted of dirt, of outdoors, of mundane toil. He licked a broad stripe across the toe, his throat working against the urge to gag. He did it methodically, cleaning off the dust and grime, his tongue finding every crevice. His own arousal, his desperate physical state, became a distant, buzzing backdrop to this profound, psychological nakedness.
When he finished the first boot, Ethan wordlessly lifted the other. Valerius repeated the process. His jaw ached. His tongue felt thick and coated. When he was done, he sat back on his heels, his head bowed. He was panting slightly.
“Good,” Ethan said. He didn’t sound pleased or disgusted. He sounded like a man acknowledging a completed task. “Now, the trousers. Off.”
Valerius scrambled to obey, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings. He pushed them down, along with his soiled smallclothes. His freed cock bobbed, impossibly hard, purple-tipped, slick from its own constant production. A thin string of fluid connected it to his stomach. His asshole, exposed to the cool air, clenched visibly, gleaming wet.
Ethan stood up and came around the desk. He didn’t touch Valerius. He just looked. His gaze was clinical, appraising.
“The magic is integrating beautifully,” he mused aloud. “Your body is learning. It’s becoming more efficient at producing its own lubricant, its own desperate signals. You’re like a well-made clock, wound too tight, ticking towards a release that will never come.” He circled Valerius, who remained on his knees. “The band… it’s not just an amplifier. It’s a collector. Every pulse of your need, every drip, every clench… it feeds back to me. I can feel it. A constant, sweet pressure in the back of my mind. Your suffering is my symphony.”
He stopped in front of Valerius. He unbuckled his own belt, loosened his trousers. His cock, already half-hard, sprang out. He fisted it, stroking himself to full hardness as Valerius watched, mesmerized.
“Your mouth looked busy with my boot,” Ethan said. “Put it to better use.”
Valerius lunged forward, no hesitation left in him. He took Ethan deep into his throat, his nose pressed into the coarse hair at the base. He swallowed around the thickness, his eyes watering. He bobbed his head, using his tongue, hollowing his cheeks, a slave to the rhythm Ethan set with his hand on the back of his head.
Ethan fucked his mouth with short, brutal thrusts. “That’s it,” he grunted. “Your hungry little hole is dripping onto my rug right now, isn’t it? You’re trying to fuck the air. Pathetic. Beautiful.”
Valerius moaned around the cock in his mouth, the vibration earning him a sharper thrust. He was adrift in sensation: the taste of Ethan, the burning in his lungs, the agony of his own untouched cock hanging heavy between his legs, the slick, empty ache of his ass pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
Ethan pulled out abruptly, his cock slick with saliva. “On the desk. On your back.”
Valerius scrambled up, lying back on the polished mahogany. The surface was cool against his feverish skin. Ethan pushed his legs up and apart, exposing him completely. He spat into his hand, slicked his cock, and without ceremony, drove into Valerius’s waiting hole.
It wasn’t just sex. It was possession. A claiming. Valerius’s body arched off the desk, a silent scream on his lips. The fullness was a revelation, a blessed end to the hollow ache. But it was also an escalation. Ethan’s thrusts were deep, punishing, each one jolting his prostate, sending white-hot wires of pleasure directly to his screaming cock. He was so close, so unbearably close, just from being filled.
Ethan leaned over him, his breath hot on Valerius’s face. “You want to come, don’t you? You want to spill all over your princely belly while I’m buried inside you.”
“Yes!” Valerius cried, the word ripped from him.
"Good," Ethan hissed, his hips never breaking their ruthless rhythm. His hand snaked down Valerius’s sweat-slicked torso, fingers wrapping around the prince’s weeping cock. The touch was electric, a searing promise of culmination. Valerius bucked, a sharp cry tearing from his throat as the dual sensations converged—the deep, grinding fullness inside him and the tight, sure stroke around his most desperate part.
Ethan’s pace was a metronome, a deep, driving fuck matched by a twisting, upward pull of his fist. "But you’re not going to," he growled, his voice low and rhythmic, syncing with the slap of skin. "You’re going to say it. You’re going to tell me what you really want."
Valerius’s vision blurred, his whole world narrowing to that punishing rhythm and the vicious pressure building in his balls. "I want to come," he sobbed, his body arching, every muscle taut as a bowstring. "Please, Ethan, let me—"
Ethan’s thrusts became sharper, shallower, a relentless tap against that spot inside him that sent sparks behind his eyes. His hand twisted on the upstroke, a corkscrew of near-unbearable friction. "No," he commanded, the word a flat stone dropped into the maelstrom. "You want to stay right here. On this edge. You want to burn."
"I want to come," Valerius gasped again, but it was weaker, his will fraying under the surgical precision of the assault.
"Look at me," Ethan demanded, slowing his hips to a deep, rolling grind that made Valerius whimper. His stroking hand slowed too, a maddening, feather-light caress. "Say it. ‘I don’t ever want to cum.’"
The contradiction was a mental sledgehammer. Valerius shook his head, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Ethan’s hand squeezed his cock, a warning that was also a reward. The rhythm began again, deep and steady, a physical chant. Fuck and stroke. Grind and twist.
"I don’t…" Valerius choked out, the words alien on his tongue.
"Say it," Ethan urged, his voice hypnotic, a seamless part of the rhythm. Fuck. Stroke. "You don’t ever want to cum." Grind. Twist.
The pleasure was a wall, impossibly high, and Ethan was backing him into it over and over, never letting him breach the summit. The need to climax became a white noise scream in his skull, but beneath it, a darker, deeper current pulled. It was the constant hum from the silver band on his wrist. It was the blissful, endless ache of being full. It was the look in Ethan’s eyes, owning him completely.
"I don’t ever want to cum," Valerius whispered, the words tasting like a sacrament.
"Louder."
"I don’t ever want to cum!" he cried out, the declaration both a surrender and a revelation.
Ethan’s rhythm intensified, becoming a brutal, perfect machine. "Because this is better," he prompted, his voice hot in Valerius’s ear. "This permanent need."
"Because this is better!" Valerius echoed, his voice breaking. His body was a instrument played to its limits, vibrating with a note that never resolved.
"Because your leaking, desperate cock is your truth."
"Because it’s my truth!" Valerius screamed, his back bowing off the desk. The orgasm gathered again, a crushing wave, and he was sobbing, "I don’t want it, I don’t want it, please don’t let me—"
Ethan’s hand clamped down at the base of his cock, a vicious, pinching vise. The wave hit a dam and shattered, reverberating through his entire body in a series of wrenching, dry convulsions. Nothing emerged but a strangled scream and a violent tremor that racked him from head to toe. The pleasure was trapped, cycling back inward, a feedback loop of agony and ecstasy.
Ethan fucked him through it, through the shuddering aftershocks, his own breath coming in harsh grunts. "That’s it," he panted, his rhythm losing its precision, becoming frantic. "Your perfect, ruined edge. Hold it. Keep it."
Valerius clung to the edge, suspended in a void of endless climax, his mind blank, his body a vessel for pure sensation. He chanted it between gasps, a broken mantra. "Don’t want to… don’t ever want to…"
With a final, deep snarl, Ethan buried himself to the hilt and came, his release painting Valerius’s insides with a searing heat. The sudden, wet intimacy of it, the claiming, snapped the last thread of Valerius’s coherence. He floated, wrecked and empty, yet more full than he’d ever been. Ethan withdrew slowly, his softened cock slick with spend. He looked down at the prince, a masterpiece of ravaged need sprawled across the mahogany.
Valerius’s own cock, still gripped in Ethan’s fist, twitched pitifully, a swollen, purple testament to the new law of his existence. It wept a constant, clear fluid onto his stomach.
Ethan leaned down, his lips brushing Valerius’s ear. His voice was soft now, almost tender. "Now you understand. The end is a disappointment. The edge…" he traced a finger through the mess on Valerius’s belly, "...the edge is forever."
He stepped back, cleaning himself with a cloth from his desk. Valerius didn’t move. He couldn’t. The room slowly came back into focus—the smell of sex and sweat, the ache in his limbs, the cool air on his wet skin. The deep, throbbing emptiness inside him was already a nostalgic ache. The constant, gentle drip from his cock was a comfort.
He slowly pulled his legs down, wincing at the tenderness. He sat up, Ethan’s spend leaking from him, a warm, shameful trickle down his thigh. He looked at Ethan, who was now calmly reading a ledger as if nothing had happened.
"The granary reports from the eastern quarter are dissatisfying," Ethan said without looking up. "You'll need to review them before council tomorrow. Ensure the quotas are met."
Valerius swallowed, his throat raw. The transition was jarring, yet it felt perfectly logical. This was his life now. "Yes, my lord."
He stood on shaky legs, his soiled clothes clinging to him. He was a prince, covered in the evidence of his own ruin, being given administrative instructions. And it felt right. The unbearable sensitivity between his legs was a focus, a grounding wire. The silent, slick drip was his rhythm.
As he turned to leave, Ethan’s voice stopped him. "Valerius."
He turned. Ethan finally looked up from his ledger, his eyes holding a cold, satisfied light. "You did well today. Both in the city, and here. The band worked perfectly. I felt every moment of your… discomfort."
A strange warmth, pride, bloomed in Valerius’s chest. He had pleased him. He nodded, unable to speak.
"Tomorrow," Ethan continued, "the band will remain. We’ll see how you function during a full court session. How you greet the Kethian ambassadors with your cunt dripping and your cock begging." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I wonder what mantra you’ll need to recite then."
Valerius left the study, walking the corridors back to his own rooms. The phantom sensation of being filled lingered. The ache was a companion. The people he passed saw a prince, a bit tired perhaps, returning from a long day. They saw the ruler. They did not see the empty, willing vessel, already craving the next time the emptiness would be torn open and made whole again. The edge was indeed forever. And it was his.