Feels Like This Is The Dirtiest Thing I've Written Yet Because There's Something Kinda Dark About It Too - Blog Posts

Royal Privilege Pt. 2 (Male Possession)

PART ONE

Having successfully gotten away with stealing the body of a royal prince, Bartelby kept his head down and followed the maid towards the prince's chambers. He had to restrain himself from gaping at the finery around him (it would be unbecoming of a prince) until he was alone in his new rooms, when he finally allowed himself to cackle with glee.

Impossibly, food was already waiting for him when he arrived– but that was just the life of a royal, he supposed. He had merely to ask and it would be given.

An array of delicacies laid spread out on a table before him: fruits, roast meats, sweet sugar spun delicacies that he had seen during festivals but never been able to afford. And here it was being given to him for free.

Suddenly starving, Bartelby fell upon the feast like a wild animal. He was almost afraid that the food would be too rich for him to stomach, but of course his new body was used to it. But each new flavor was still a delight for his mind and he savored every bite– he almost cried when he tasted chocolate for the first time.

A large bottle of bubbling yellow liquid had been provided as well and he recognized it as champagne, which peasants had whispered about as one of the finest spirits ever brewed. Bartelby drank greedily straight from the bottle, feeling his head grow light and his body loose.

His belly fuller than it had ever been before and his basic needs satisfied, Bartelby turned his attention to other matters.

Bartelby approached the mirror that hung on one of the walls of the room, and the face of prince Nicholas stared back at him from its shiny surface. He leaned in close and gazed into those blue eyes– the eyes of a prince hiding the soul of a peasant. Rags to riches like a fairy tale; now he was Prince Charming.

Curious of his new body, Bartelby began to divest himself of his clothes, and beneath the finery he found something even better than riches.

He had assumed, naturally, that thanks to their life of luxury all royals would be fat and lazy– but of course that wouldn't be the case for a seventh-in-line prince like Nicholas. A seventh-in-line prince like Nicholas was so far removed from the line of succession that he was essentially breeding stock, destined to be married off to some foreign royal to forge a diplomatic alliance. His only job was to be pretty– but my, he did that exceptionally well.

"You probably haven't been missing many meals," he whispered to himself as he pressed his hand to the prince's firm midsection. The muscles there were individually sculpted, different than the kind of raw strength the men developed toiling in the fields, but as he explored the grooves with his fingers he found they held their own appeal.

He flexed one of his arms, watching as the muscles bulged up appealingly. Prince Nicholas had probably never lifted a shovel or even swung a sword in his life, but his family had most likely assigned him private tutors whose job it was to ensure that he would have big, firm arms like these that he could use to catch the princesses who swooned before him.

These were show muscles, Bartelby realized with disgust. Pretty to look at, but they would be useless for any real work.

Then he laughed and shook his head– none of that mattered, he'd never be going near a field ever again! He had to stop thinking like a peasant and start thinking like a royal. His new body was beautiful, like a marble sculpture. He was a walking work of art.

Bartelby's hands drifted over his skin and he marveled at how soft and smooth his body was now– other than the strange blow to the shoulder (the only reminder his previous life) there wasn't a blemish on prince Nicholas. This was the skin of a man who grew up sheltered from the blistering sun, the skin of a man who bathed.

He'd get to bathe now! In a proper tub of warm water, with soap, and perhaps even fragrant oils.

As Bartelby's eyes devoured the handsome man in the mirror he felt a stirring in his britches and could resist no longer. Without further ceremony he lowered his trousers, letting his scepter and royal jewels spill out to hang majestically before him.

"Well," he said, his mouth quirking up into a smile. "This must be that divine right of kings I'm always hearing about."

Nicholas's manhood was thick and long, sitting atop two huge balls as if they were a throne. Curiously it lacked the folds of skin that had surrounded Bartelby's old cock, but as its mushroom crown pulsed and flushed dark pink, he couldn't bring himself to care. This was a cock befitting of a prince.

Bartelby seized upon his cock and began tugging at it, eager to stake claim over his new body, but then he cursed– even as soft as his new hand was, he still wanted something to wet his cock and ease the motion.

His eyes searched the room and settled on the champagne bottle that stood upon the table. He licked his lips.

Seizing the bottle in one hand he raised it high and poured the champagne upon himself, licking a few drops into his mouth but feeling the rest of liquid spill over the crevices of his muscles and trickle down to his cock. His hand slick with the golden spirit, he began to pump on his new treasure.

In his old, frail body, weak from hunger and tired from overwork, his manhood had been a sad snail of a thing between his legs that could barely muster up a few droplets of cum before his reserves were exhausted. Now it poured from him like a fountain, his healthy, virile balls churning as they ejaculated load after load which flew up as far as his face.

He panted and stared down at his muscular torso, his broad chest heaving with each breath. He was still drenched and the light reflected off the sweat and semen as if someone had poured diamonds over him; even his mess was beautiful.

People around the village always joked that sex was the one place where peasant and royal were equal, and Bartelby now knew that wasn't true because the orgasm he'd just received felt like a gift from heaven.

Just another pleasure in a life that would be full of them

Drunk on champagne and power, he barely managed to stumble over to the prince's bed and collapse atop it. He groaned anew as his naked body embraced the bed– silk sheets and a mattress stuffed with feathers, the softest things he'd ever felt. He drifted off to sleep in moments.

-

He awoke in the morning to knocking at his door.

For a moment, Bartelby was scared that it had all been a dream, but when he opened his eyes and saw the finery around him he knew his mind could never have conjured this up.

His new cock bid him a good morning, eager to please its new master, and he grinned down at the sight of the sizable bump beneath the covers. He rolled over and pressed it into the bed and groaned in pleasure as he felt his manhood grind into the silk. He thrust lazily as he chased that leisurely pleasure, feeling his muscular arse flexing behind him as he humped the mattress.

The knocking came again, irritating Bartelby enough to stir from his slumber to see what the fuss was, but he was a prince now. He would take his time.

He rose from his bed and strutted over to the closet he'd seen at the other side of the room, his mouth gaping at the sheer number of garments it contained. He selected a green silk robe and began to decide on a shirt as well before he paused and left his chest bare. No sense in hiding his blessings. For his lower half he donned only modest undergarments that bulged with his still hard cock.

Bartelby flung the door open and instantly recognized the man before him: it was the servant who had turned him away at the gates.

For a moment, anger flared up within Bartelby, but it flickered out just as quickly. Why should he be angry? The man had done him a service by turning him away, it had lead him to this new life. And besides, as the prince, a servant like this was insignificant. Bartelby was now above him in all ways– wealth, status, and even height.

He peered down at the man before him and realized with amusement that the servant was frozen with his mouth hanging open dumbly, his wide eyes running Bartelby up and down as if he didn't believe what he was seeing.

Did Prince Nicholas often answer the door open unclothed, Bartelby wondered? Would he allow his servants precious glimpses of this magnificent body? Whatever the answer, Bartelby enjoyed the attention.

"Well?" He asked the servant, draping himself against the doorframe alluringly.

"Apologies, your highness," the butler managed to blather out, still struck dumb by the sight of the nearly naked prince. He cast his eyes to the floor and regained some composure. "But I was told to remind you that your father requests your attendance at dinner tonight."

There was silence for a moment as Bartelby scrutinized the servant before him. With his strong jaw, thick hair, and broad shoulders, he was a rather attractive fellow– surely all of the maids in the castle were swooning over him. But, Bartelby wondered as he glanced at the way the man shuffled before him, did he desire them back?

"And now," the butler gave a bow, and then began to back away nervously. "I must away to-"

"No no, stay," Bartelby commanded, and the man froze in place instantly. Bartelby gestured for the man to step into his chambers, and to his delight, the man complied.

Bartelby nearly shivered with the display of power, and he now understood what had driven this servant to be so cruel to him at the gates– the pleasure of subordination, of having someone else be the weak one. It was intoxicating.

He could have his servant thrown in the dungeon, whipped, tossed out into the street and torn limb from limb by wild horses– but Bartelby wasn't a cruel man. No, he instead he had his mind on something he thought they might both enjoy.

He bent down and dropped his loincloth, letting his massive new cock spring forth and hang between the two men. The butler gasped, and Bartelby grinned.

"My cock is hard," Bartelby announced, sweeping one hand down the flesh that jutted out before him and shaking it. He shivered for a moment when he felt the heft of it, much greater than his old cock, and a strangled whine escaped the throat of his servant. "As you can so clearly see."

In his old life as a peasant, Bartelby would have never dared to be so forwards– people in his village were not open minded and he could have been stoned for acting upon his desires for other men. But who would tell him what to do now that he was a prince? He was free to do as he pleased, and what he wanted to do was to sample that which had been forbidden to him for so long.

And now he had something to offer as well, a beautiful body with delicious muscles and a generous cock that would satisfy any man.

Bartelby watched the way that the butler's eyes searched him up and down, traced the hard lines of his physique, lingered on the obscenity bursting forth from his groin, and he knew that this man wanted the same thing too.

"You are my servant, are you not?" Bartelby continued, and his butler nodded weakly. Bartelby smiled. "Well as my servant, I command you to do something about this. Personally. Have I made myself clear?

The servant's eyes went wide, and he licked his lips. "As you wish, my lord."

His loyal subject kneeled before him to kiss the royal scepter, and Bartelby groaned in ecstasy.

It's good to be the prince.