The Prince & the Pauper. by DavisTrell@aol.com
"You'll have to be bathed, young man. A little too much of London's grimy streets."
Prince Hal couldn't be punished for being bad, after all, he was the boy-king to be. But I could be punished in his place. I had this great job inside the palace; I was the whipping boy. If Hal forgo a royal perogative and broke etiquette, like farting and giggling in front of the Spanish Ambassador, I'd be in for it.
Short hard swats with the royal slapstick, across my bare buttocks. If Hal were to say, flash his joint in front of the Lady Wellesley, I'd have to be thrashed right royally. By the Master of the Bedchamber, one Miles Houghton, so fuckin' good looking usually I spermed off as soon as my jerkin was removed. I encouraged the prince with suggestions for activities that would guarantee me a spanking. I looked so much like him, that naked, in front of the mirror, no-one could tell prince from pauper, except his butt was white, and mine flecked with pink imprints of hand, whip and teethmarks. And he still had the royal foreskin, while I'd been docked as a child. We would lie under the quilted sheets in the humongously large four-posted bed, wherewe could draw the curtains and I'd tell him of my life down in Pudding Lane. Like the time the parish Priest , after choir practice, asked for a volunteer, to remain, to help him fill the censer, arrange the altar-piece, practise the catechism and tell my parents I'd be late home tonight.
My blue-bloodied friend enjoyed my red-bloodied stories. Like going down to the docks, going down on the sailors, earning pennies, which I would give to my Mum, and hide from my Step-Father, who'd only waste it on Ale. I'd tell him my stories of Cheapside life, in bed, whilst having my bottom cleaned out by the regal princely tongue. He's getting better at it; I'm a good teacher. But when it came time to put in the royal scepter, he made a keflummox of it, but he did his best and soon my buns got sticky. He licked it off himself. Extending the royal perogative, he said he wanted to fuck me. But he couldn't do it right, he needed to be shown, have thr concept demonstrated. But when I clambered on top of him, Prince Hal, told me to stop, no way he was gonna let a peasant, fuck the royal butt. So we ended up, mutal masturbating, and I came in the royal prescence, and he did the same and the peasant was blessed.
"You have such an interesting life, it sounds such fun, not like here, in the boring palaces of Westminster, I wish I could go, where you live and play."
He's from another world, he thinks grit and grime is cute. He has no concept. But I don't tell him the truth, I sugar-coat the reality of what it's like out there. Big mistake, that turns out. He gets this idea, that we should switch clothes; rubs some sootfrom the chimney on his face, and demands I put on his white tights, periwinkle and ermine robe, climbs out the window, down the trellis, and slips out the gate, headed for London's poor quarters, where I used to live. Say Hi to all from me.
I could get used to the life of luxury, and eat a few of the peeled grapes but quickly get bored. Prince Hal follows the river, like I told him, that's the way, to Whitechapel, past Blackfriars bridge, turn left and your nose will lead you the rest of the way.
For the first time he feels free, of responsibility and the court, that was so stifling. No one marks him, he feels wonderfully ignored. From the Embankment he looks down at the mighty Thames, boats passing by, laden with goods, to feed the populace, his subjects. He's lost in a reverie when the stranger approaches. From behind.
Prince&Pauper part 2/2 by DavisTrell@aol.com
Like, I'm fed up up of grapes, so I ring the little tinkly bell, and a footman , stoops low, kisses my feet, and I ask for a chicken banquet and the booby thinks I'm the prince and so off he scutters to the kitchen, to go fetch. But when he comes back, with him comes Lord Burleigh, the king's top minister, the lord chamberlain. He's come to check on my welfare, must've said the wrong thing, realises, I'm not the real McCoy. He goes under the bed pulls out the royal bedpan and checks out the royal urine.
"My Prince, art thou well? You know that chicken upsets the royal stomach. The doctors have said it doesn't agree with you."
"Fuckit, I'm the Prince! I get what I want!"
I'm emboldened, I'm gonna brazen it out; I'm hungry.
"Young sirrah, lookest thou, at the ships, dreaming of adventure, derring-do upon the high seas?"
The Prince looks up, sees a soldier, and is mildly annoyed at the invasion of his privacy.
"Thou art impertinent, knave, to address me thus, you have not our permission to speak, we gave you no leave."
The man roars a laugh.
"Thou'rt a cheeky young tyke, why, thinkest thou art the bees-knees, the cat's-miaou?"
He slaps Hal hard on the rump, so that it smarts, and laughs again.
"Don't worry, I'll pay. Three pennies the going rate, methinks."
He grabs Hal by the arm, pulls him up as he climbs his horse, and places England's heir, in his lap, spurs his horse on, and they ride off, to a darker part of town. He dismounts, ties up his steed, pulls Hal down, enters a grim alley, and expects the Prince to perform.
"Suckest thou cock, boy? Showest thy stuff"
He exposes a broadsword size penis, pulls Hal down to it, stuffs his engorged member in between princely lips.
Things not going to well, at the palace, I've not been acting princely enough. The royal bedroom's full of people, who think I've gone mad.
"Leavest me alone, get thee the fuck out, except Miles Houghton,'tis my wish he should stay."
They leave, scattering like rabbits till only Miles, my chastiser from my whipping boy days, remains.
"Come close, the Prince wishes you to partake of a royal request.."
"What is your highness' wish? I'm yours to command."
He's so subservient, and I want him so.
"Ever wanted a poke, up this royal ass?"
Miles looked shocked at what he took as lese majestie. But his codpiece grew forward, so I knew that he might. Meanwhile, the real Prince, dressed in my hand-me-down rags, was gobbling cock, of the soldier, that had fresh picked him up. Much bigger than Tom's, the current whipping-boy, until then, that was the biggest penis he'd e'er seen. But this was man-cock, and had seen many a battle, breached many a wall. It sure tasted good as Prince Hal sucked all the taste out of this piss-stained cock.
"Prithee, boy, thour't good. Keep up like this and I will be delivered, and feed thee a glollop of spermiage, and thou'll quaff of my dick."
Oozing and splurting like tapioca, that had to be exported from the East, the prince swallowed the unfermented whey like cream, after the soldier ejaculated into the boy's brimming mouth. Edmund de Quincey, home from the wars, took a fancy to the young stripling, decided to have sixpence more fun.
"Make we now anon to the charming hostelry, "The Buckeyt of Bones", they've a room upstairs, for the likes of you and me. Sally we forth, and you'll be mine till daybreak."
The prince was overcome with the big man's charm, and thought, this is like the adventures Tom Canty, the whipping boy had told him about. They rode off into the fast encroaching night, and Edmund spurred hard into his steed's flanks, urging him on, causing the prince, now seated aback, to hump, fortune's soldier, like a puppy in heat.
Back at the royal bedchamber, I'd commanded Miles to take off the cod-piece, take off the brocaded doublet, down-gyve the hose, take off the shirt, and lay with the prince.
"The Buckeyt of Bones", a threadbare alehouse slash hostelry, a den of thieves, vagabonds and cutpurses, rickety wooden, sawdusted to soak up bodily fluids, smelling of unmentionable odors, the air rent with musky smoke and cusswords. Everything I told Hal about, that had sounded romantic to the future king, and now he could sample it for himself, a royal turn-on.
Edmund went to the bar, clutching his prize close, threw down four groats on the counter, the price of that upstairs room.
"Miles, thou'rt hung like a horse. Big helmet. Looking good."
"Sire, art though well? What you're proposing, if good King Henry were to discover me thus, the executioner's axe would sing its sweet song."
He kneeled on the expensive blankets, the dishevelled satin sheets, me pushing close with my butt, my legs wrapped around his hips, his balls hanging down, the weight resting on my urchin dick, pressing up against his gorgeous erection.
"Be not afraid Master Houghton, and serve. Take firm hold of the royal bone, taste the flesh, sucketh deep, finger the butt, get me ready so I can take all of you in my princely hole. The prince needs agood shagging."
"Thou speakest like a costermonger, sire, but I will do my duty, thy princely cock, thus wilt I take into my mouth."
"Suck softly, but hard, use the spouting when it comes, oil up the prince's ass, so he can recieve your staff, so I can contain its admirable size."
He was cautious at first, flitting glances at the oaken door, but got in to what he was doing, and did it really well.
The one-eyed alekeeper, accepted the fee, poured out, a measure of Malsmey wine, Edmund drank deeply, and offered the dregs to the prince, who drank coyly, flirtatiously, others watching, not a cock in the place remained soft.
"That youth is verily a sodomite's dream, where'd you find him?"
"By the Embankment, leaning over a balustrade, the breeze wafted, I got a glimpse of his lily-white ass, eminently fuckable."
Edmund started to boast of his conquest, but his face went silly, as he crumpled, the blow on the head unexpected, but effective. Three men, filthy with ucher, teeth black, bodies gnarled and surly, surrounded the prince.
"A marketable boy, a sellable boy; to the swashbucklers out on the Spanish Main, where a cabin-boy's the only entertaiment, on the lonely high seas."
The prince looked aghast, as they bundled him away.
I lay on my belly, gripping the lacy pillows, to stifle my moans, tearing the fabric with my teeth, as Miles rode a top me slamming all ten inches of pleasure, into my three inch deep hole.
He had penetrated, got his rosy-red tip to force its way in, bludgeoned its way in, rammed the shaft as far as it would go, and drove it in further. I wanted that rod so bad, but he had to push hard. Kept thrusting, each blow entering me further, deeper.
"Jesu, Jesu...harder...harder...more...more..."
When he came, it was magnificent. He hugged me hard, till all was spent, till I was filled, till it splashed out, and the hot cum cooled in the air, but warmed me thoroughly throughout. He lay on top, gently releasing me as he pulled out his mighty weapon, kissed the nape of my neck, my shoulders, back, slipped down to my butt, and started to lick off the sticky sperm, and my sore-tired asshole. His ministrations were tender. He stroked my trembling, quivering butt-cheeks and then noticed the prince's butt was marked with pink welts, and remembered who'd put them there. Him.
"Tom Canty! The whipping-boy! Thou'rt not the prince!"
A lack of foreskin too. He put a silver dagger against my throat. I had to tell him what had happened.
"The Prince! He's out there in Cheapside?!? You let him go to the worst, the dirtiest part of town?"
"Hey, he's the prince, how'm I supposed to stop him?"
Miles rapidly dressed, or dressed rapidly, I ferget; he told me to do the same, he jumpt out the window, leapt down onto his horse, waiting below, and yelled me to do the same. We galloped off to my birthplace.
"How the fuck do you expect to find the prince?" I yelled, but my words fell on deaf ears.
Miles thought-process ran thus-wise. The real Prince has run off to go to the vilest part of town, from what that idiot Canty tells me, he's romantized the shittiest region. The prince eager to get laid.
Where would he go. I know something of the sodomite underworld, where would Igo?
The prince showed no fear. Surrounded on all sides. "Unhand me, varlets. Obey me, your prince! Touch me not."
Not only did they touch him, they grabbed him, roughly, and bound him with string. They knew a ship due to sail at midnight, so they bundled him, squirming in a baggage cart, normally used for horsemeat, and the wagon rumbled ominously toward the dockside over cobblestone steets. The prince worked hard to free himself, the skin tearing round his wrists and ankles, being bumped and joggled as he lay in the back. One finger free, then another, then a hand, he undid the knots around his ankles. He sat up, seeing the backs of his captors who were urging the horses on.
"Help, help!" he screamed loudly, "Save your prince!"
Was it luck or coincidence, or simple lack of the authorial skill, but just at that moment, Miles Houghton, Tom Canty heard the Prince's yell. Miles stopped the stampeding wagon, slaughtered, and rescued the boy who was born to be king.
"Thour't my saviour! I will shower you with gold, give you an earldom, knight thee... but first could we rest awhile, at a charming hostelry that I know. I left a friend there, we have unfinished business. But we'll need four groats, hast thou any cash?"
All was well come the morning. After the wildest night, Miles got his Earldom, Edmund's now employed as royal bodyguard, and I got the worst whipping of my entire life.
So dear readers, nowthat you've heard my story, my tale is done, it's time to bid adieu to the pauper, who was formerly known as Prince.