King size
From Metabods
Contents |
Part 1: The Bone
I remember the moment he told me, because I had finally broken through the pain and had merged with bliss itself. The only way I could have soared higher was if the entire kingdom of Shap had their king inside them the way he was inside me at that moment, and I cast a spell that would let me feel all their joy all at once. It had been three endless, empty weeks! I missed him so much that when I saw him again everything else vanished. And now he was inside me there was nothing in the world but joy and love. That’s when he said it.
“Will?” he panted. I couldn’t see him. I was on my hands and knees, a thin mat the only thing separating me from the cold flagstone of the royal kitchens. We’d come down from his chambers looking for something to eat and gotten distracted.
“Yes, ‘majesty’?” I managed to be facetious, even though I could barely frame the words. His bone – I call it his bone, though I wouldn’t want to meet the animal such a bone came from! – it was so hard, and it felt bigger than ever, a physical impossibility I was sure (but that did not stop me dreaming of it often). (‘Bone’ was also a good name because – well, to put it coyly, regular bones are never soft, either.)
“Stop – calling me – that,” he breathed, giving his bone a playful shove that made me gasp. I grinned to myself as the pleasure/pain cascaded through my lower body. I had to tease him about the “king” business. We were only 17 summers old, barely old enough to pick up a lance. How could my lifelong friend be king? And how could I be a king’s chamberlain, much less the kingdom’s last member of the secret order of mages? It took an effort to believe we weren’t just kids who spent all our time swimming and laughing and playing at swords and tasting each other’s tongues and, well, playing at swords.
Rafe – my lover the king – was whispering now. His strokes were speeding up. Just slightly. Merciful stars, he was so big.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to do this again,” he breathed. I could just barely make out his words.
“That’s all right,” I panted. “Half as good next time will be ample.”
“No, fool,” he whispered. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. “No – next time. I can’t be inside you anymore.”
I didn’t believe him. “Why not, ‘majesty’?” Thrust thrust thrust.
It was a few heartbeats before he answered. “My ‘bone’ – growing. Getting bigger. Every day. Won’t stop!” And in that moment – I found out later he had been holding back – in that moment he thrust the REST of it inside me, a good four fingers’ worth. Dear holy mother earth!
My own bone exploded, dousing the mat and some of the cold floor in front of me. And Rafe exploded too, deep inside me. We exploded again together, and again. We always explode together. I cast that spell years ago. (To this day Rafe does not know. If you see him, do not tell him.)
He did not pull out of me right away. Instead we collapsed gently onto the stone floor, lying on our right sides, Rafe still mostly inside me. My vision was darkened for a moment and spots swam before me. My heart was pounding violently like an angry blacksmith. Rafe drew me toward him, his strong left arm wrapping around my lithe torso.
As my mind cleared and my body calmed I could feel Rafe’s always-hard manhood stretching me open, deeper inside me than I’d ever felt or thought possible. There was no question it had changed, that Rafe was telling the truth. But that only meant one thing.
“Someone cast a spell on you,” I said softly.
His hand was caressing my chest, feeling for the few stray hairs I’d sprouted there. “I know.” His feet were caressing my soles from underneath – Rafe is just a hand’s breadth taller than I am. Or rather, than I was.
“It wasn’t me.”
“I know.” He kissed my neck and I felt a shiver course through me. “It was Loren.”
That name had an immediate effect on me. For a brief flash the only emotion I knew was jealous anger. I moved to get up, to get away, but Rafe held me firmly.
“What were you – ” I began, trying to master my emotions. I love Rafe. I trust him implicitly, always. But Loren – him I did not trust. There had been a time I’d thought Loren seduced Rafe away from me. But that was past.
I began again while Rafe waited patiently. “What happened?”
“It’s very simple. I was on procession.” Rafe had been gone the last three weeks, visiting all the neighboring realms, and this time, for political reasons, I couldn’t come (he needed me to keep an eye on the chancellor’s son, who’d been making incautious remarks lately to his drinking buddies). For me, the longest three weeks I’d endured in years, not only because I missed Rafe desperately, but also because the chancellor, who ruled in the king’s absence, hated me and I heartily returned the sentiment.
I forced my thoughts away from the repulsive old chancellor to what Rafe was trying to tell me. “You were on pro – you mean, you visited Presshe along the way? Why?”
“Why not?” Rafe said. He sounded distracted, possibly by my ear, which he was presently nibbling, but I was pretty sure he was leading me around to get me answer my own questions.
“Rafe, Loren’s obsession ever since he became king has been about how evil we are and how Shap is out to destroy Presshe. He’ll never soften toward us. He’s taught all of Presshe to hate us.”
Rafe was moving on to a gentle tonguing of the inside of my ear. His bone, still stiff and deep inside me, twitched regularly. I took a deep breath, wanting to tell him to stop while we had this serious discussion, and also wanting him not to stop, never to stop.
“True,” he whispered. “But it was worth a try. ‘Risk is better than acceptance of failure,’ you know.”
I said nothing. The origin of that fatuous aphorism was me, quoting my father and mentor. I’d said it to Rafe several times two years earlier when war with the southern kingdoms beyond the great sea was looming. Now Rafe was throwing it back in my face. Or rather, into my very stimulated left ear.
“Unfortunately, it appears Loren has been studying magic,” Rafe said with a sigh, pulling back from my ear and resting his head on his right arm, still letting his left hand gently roam my naturally well-proportioned chest. “As soon as we were in private audience he caught me unawares with a spell that put me in thrall to him.”
“Rafe! I taught you how to resist – !”
“I know,” he said calmly. “I did. But when I pushed myself out of the spell, he became nasty. He told me I now faced a choice: submit to him – on behalf of Shap, of course – or face being turned into a monster. Then he laughed at me, Will. He said my reputation as, well, he said ‘as a stallion’ made it easy to decide what kind of monster to make me.”
This was easy to understand. Thanks to indiscreet servants, it was widely known that Rafe was twice as large between his legs as any man in all the northern kingdoms – Shap and Presshe included. “And then he cast another spell?” I said.
“I tried to stop it, but I’m no mage.”
“I told I should have come.”
“I know,” Rafe said, kissing the back of my neck. “I’m sorry. Believe me, you’re never leaving my side again, especially if Loren of Presshe is involved. He is coming in a month, he said, to collect my submission.”
“What’s the spell?”
“You tell me,” he said. “All I know is, it’s been getting bigger.”
“You’ll have to pull out of me,” I said resignedly. “I need to see. How much?”
Rafe began gently easing out of me. I bit my lip. “I’m not sure,” he said. “About a thumb’s breadth a day, I reckon.”
I whistled. At that rate, in only a fortnight his bone would emerge from the collars of his tunics! And as for a month –
“That’s in length,” he went on. He was almost out of me by now. “But it’s wider too.”
That I could have told him. “So, it’s keeping the same shape.”
“Yes.” He was out of me now. I turned myself over gingerly to face him.
“Can you see anything?” he said anxiously.
For the first time that week I allowed my eyes to slip, to fall into what I knew only as my other vision. It was an easy transition. Forcing my eyes back into normalcy was what took concentration.
The stone and wood of the kitchens changed little. But Rafe in front of me was transformed into a translucent, luminous being, an angelic creature. I was seeing his life as if it were light – not the red light of an ordinary cooking fire or they yellow light of fireflies, but the white light of the sun. I smiled – Rafe was beautiful in this vision – unendurably beautiful. The angelic Rafe smiled, knowing how seeing him this way affected me. He looked down. My eyes followed his.
His massive bone was glowing too, but with more than life. There was an envelope of power around it, tinged with red. Its weave was coarse and brutal but well-fashioned, churning with power drawn from the Source. Loren must have learned a great deal from some itinerant master.
“I see it,” I said softly.
“Can you unmake it?” he said.
I hesitated only a moment, wanting to give a different answer. “No.”
“Why not?”
I sighed, staring his magnificent glowing manhood. “It is set up not to be unmade,” I said. “If I unlink it from the Source, it will collapse.”
“And that would also collapse my –”
“Yes.”
We both shuddered. “Perhaps in this case, risk is not better,” Rafe said wryly.
I forced my vision back to normal so that I could look him in the eye. “There is one thing we can do,” I said.
“What?” Rafe asked, his eyes serious. I think he had an idea what I was going to suggest.
“We can transfer it.”
“To what?” he said.
“To my manhood.”
Rafe shook his head. “It’s little better for my chamberlain to be able to joust without a lance, than for me to.”
“The transfer would only be for a month.”
Rafe’s eyes widened. “Then you would transfer it to – ”
“To Loren, yes.”
Rafe actually laughed. “When can we start?”
“Just one problem,” I said, matching his smile. “It’ll take me a while to brew the potion.”
“How long?”
How long, indeed. I glanced down at his manhood, eyeing it judiciously. “I’d say – ten days.” Any more than that and he’d have trouble holding audiences even in his bulkiest robes.
Rafe raised an eyebrow. I think he knew I was exaggerating (four or five days was all I needed), but all he said was, “You’re the expert.” Yes I was – on magic, and on the king’s body. We kissed, and spoke no more that night.
Part 2: The Spell
Fortunately I started the potion the next day, because there was one thing I hadn’t factored into my lewd plan to let the king get as big as we could get away with.
The spell was accelerating.
Why that should be, I do not know. But by the second day it was starting to become apparent – it had grown more than two thumb’s widths in two days’ time. And by the fourth day! I pulled back the covers to find his bone was as wide as the king’s powerful forearm, and with its oversized head resting a mere hand’s breadth from his chin!
It was beautiful. But if it got any bigger Rafe would be unable to reign – the kingdom would be alive with gossip about the king’s demonic growth.
As I stared at him he awoke, and was immediately aware of his throbbing, monstrous appendage.
He looked both aroused and upset. “Will – ” he began.
“I know,” I interrupted him. “Give me two hours. Meet me in the my hidden chamber.” I was already throwing on my clothing.
Even in this moment Rafe grinned lasciviously. “Are you sure your ‘hidden chamber’ still has room for me?”
I grinned back. “Just.” And then I was gone, to prepare for the most important spellwork of my life — a casting that would transform my own life even as it saved my king’s.
Part 3: The Second Spell
But as I hurried from the king’s chamber and ran down the narrow castle back corridor, my long flat bare feet smacking on the cold stone, I was waylaid before I even got to the narrow spinal stairs that led down to the rear foundations – not by any agents of evil, or by the dark magic of Loren of Presshe, mind you, but by a 16-year-old boy.
Mind you, it wasn’t just any 16-year-old boy. This was Darek son of Drake, scion of the most powerful family in Shap outside the royals. In fact a branch of their line held the throne, the loremasters say, long, long ago, before it passed to Rafe’s family in a long-forgotten civil war. The result was that Darek’s family wasn’t royal – they just acted like it. He was deeply involved in the politics of the kingdom too, even including himself in the train of Rafe’s recent procession.
Either way, ancestry aside, he stood in my way, directly in the middle of the hallway. I pulled up short, nearly tumbling into him – I hadn’t seen him at first in the windowless passage, weakly lit as it was by a few flickering torches.
“You’ve just come from the king, I see,” Darek said haughtily, eyeing my bare feet and open, flying jacket over no shirt with interest. He was one to talk: Darek was almost always drilling in the marshals’ field, practicing the hundred different military skills he had at his command, and so was seldom seen outside state banquets wearing more than what he had on now: a short, loose pair of breeches and nothing else.
He smiled as I took in his sculpted torso, which had blossomed in recent years with muscle both hard and generous, and smiled, stepping closer to me. Darek made no secret that he considered me, even though I was 10 years his senior, as one of the “privileges” that ought to be accorded the second-most-noble man of the realm as equally as the first. I had rebuffed his advances – politely – more times than I could count.
I chafed – my plans had gone astray and my majesty’s “majesty” was already quite out of hand. I almost felt like I could sense the thick, armlike organ in the chamber down he hall behind me, growing and throbbing and pulsing with restless magic with every heartbeat, my lover staring at it in panicked awe, while far away, in a distant land, a cunning apprentice-mage of a king was laughing at his handiwork.
“I am sorry, my lord, I must attend to an urgent matter,” I said, and I attempted to step around him. But my tall and unusually broad-shouldered accoster easily blocked my way. And now his face was very close. It was comely – all the nobles of Shap were beautiful, and Darek was twice as beautiful as any (but Rafe, of course): sharp features, bright eyes, perfect lips. I found myself momentarily distracted.
“What services to you provide for the king?” he said softly.
I glanced directly into his eyes, startled. “What are you asking, my lord?” I whispered. I suddenly realized his large, strong, smooth hand was on my narrow, naked waist, inside my jacket. I felt myself shiver unaccountably.
“He has been getting stronger lately,” Darek explained, still in a soft, sweet voice. “And his sword has always been the biggest in the land.”
“I didn’t ensorcel him,” I said softly, matching his voice. His face was inches away. “He’s well blessed by nature.”
He looked at me shrewdly. “I know all the swords in the kingdom. And the king’s was vaster yestereve than it was a fortnight ago.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken, my lord,” I said, but my voice wavered.
“Shall we go see? You know by long tradition I can be admitted at any time,” he added, his eyes flickering just for a second down the hall behind me, before fixing themselves again on mine.
I had no answer. As he spoke again his lips were literally brushing against mine, moving softly across them as they turned and twisted, making me think in turn of how close his tongue was to mine as it danced and curled around his words. The gossamer touch of his lips, and the hint I could just feel of the soft bristle of his unshaven chin, aroused me suddenly and thoroughly, and I shuddered again against his unmovable iron hand, which was now resting against the small of my back under the jerkin.
I barely registered what he actually said with those lips, but when I did I was genuinely alarmed: “I want you,” he breathed, “to do for me as you did for his majesty.”
“My lord,” I whispered, my lips now brushing his in their turn, “you are already big – and strong – and beautiful.”
“Yes,” hissed Darek, adding in an admission he would only have made under these exact circumstances, seducing the court mage: “But my sword is not.” I had seen Darek bathe after exercise and on campaign – nature had been as overgenerous with him as it had with me, and Darek’s, if anything, was unnaturally wide; but we all suffered in comparison to his royal manhood, even before Loren’s mischevous spell.
And as if to seal his hold on me Darek pushed his sweet lips a hair’s breadth closer to mine, all that was needed for us to actually kiss. I closed my eyes for a moment, realizing as I did so that something was ... amiss. Darek and I had never kissed – I had never let him get this close. But his kiss, though brief, was sweet.
When my eyes opened they were unfocused, which, in a stroke of irony, made all clear to me. With my unfocused eyes I could see what my focused eyes (and heart) could not: Darek had been subjected to a spell. I could see it, like the ghost of a tiny red ribbon, twisting through the shadowy contours of his mind like a smoky tendril that was once the extremity of some great root.
I saw it all now. Loren hadn’t just put a spell on Rafe – he’d perceived Darek’s potent, longstanding desire for myself, and spelled him, I read from the shape and twists of the wisp of ribbon, to be irresistible to me and me alone. This was just like Loren – a ploy to keep me busy and distracted, so I’d be slow to stop Rafe turning into a “monster.” Probably Daek didn’t even know he was bewitched.
I felt my resolve harden. Loren had underestimated me again. My skills, and my love for Rafe.
Summoning all my years of training I emasculated Loren’s spell, and felt my compulsive attraction to Darek drain away like blood from a dead hare. But a new plan had already formed. Darek’s lust for me would be as useful to me as it was supposed to have been to Loren. I kept my position and repeated our sweet kiss, this time for my own purposes.
“So you want to receive the spell that has been increasing his majesty’s endowment?” I whispered, endeavoring to sound seductive.
Darek was sure he had me. “I insist on it,” he said, his dark blue eyes glinting.
My eyes, I am sure, glinted back. I pretended to agonize for a moment, then uttered, barely audible:
“So be it.”
I could tell he was trying to reign in an expression of triumph, but I was staring deep into his eyes and missed nothing. I smiled, which he took to be the smile of one enraptured. Then I said one thing more: “Come with me,” and, turning slightly so his arm was around my waist and mine around his shoulders, I guided him toward the rear spiral staircase that led down, down, down to my dungeon laboratory, where would receive the gift he sought – and more, much more.
