Alassares and the son of the marquis

by brazboy   

Alassares, the second prince of the Great Northern Empire, is a talented Mage—but one doesn’t transform potential into power without a lot of study and hard work! While Alassares is focused on studying, there are all sorts of things that demand his attention, including the obnoxious and cocky scion Idsor, the son of the Marquis of Sanandrs.

After winning a game of polo against a team of other members of the nobility who were enrolled at the Magic Academy, Alassares and his friend Oblodun went to the Collective Baths—a huge building where all the students could enjoy long baths in hot, warm and cold pools, as well as several other services and the attention of servants to help them remove dead skin and apply a wide range of products in order to make themselves cleaner and fresher. The sight of the Second Prince of the Empire entering the Academy’s Collective Baths was unordinary enough and worthy of attention, but being him accompanied by the 12th prince of the Centaur Khanate was enough to have all heads turning in their direction. Also, with them came their other friends and teammates, none other than Karierike, third son the Grand Duke of the Easternland, and Otopan, the first son of the Prince of the South, whose ancestors had submitted to the Empire many generations ago and as a reward had been allowed to preserve their title and ranking.

The young noblemen wanted to relax after their victory in the field, and as such went straight to the hot baths, talking cheerfully and laughing on the way. Several onlookers glanced towards them, as the lads exposed their naked bodies, their muscles and long dangling cocks denouncing their ancient and noble lineage—Alassares, the longer of them, had a soft cock of more than a foot, and even Karierike who was the smallest, covered completely limp more than a span (22-23cm). Oblodun, of course, being a centaur, was about twice as large as any of them, but his organ remained hidden and as such was much less impressive.

Unfortunately, as they reached the hot pool, they saw Idsor, son of the Marquis of Sanandrs, whom they had just defeated in the arena, bragging to his small group of followers about how “Prince Alassares had to bring out his monstrous centaur friend to be able to beat us, and even then, he barely managed to win.” Hearing that made Alassares’s blood boil—not so much because of his personal pride (which Idsor was much below being able to injure), but because Idsor was calling Oblodun a monster and pretending that playing against him amounted to cheating even after they had agreed to it before the match.

Alassares was about to go confront the pale muscular lad who boasted to his followers, when Oblodun walked in front of him, his horse body preventing Alassares from going forward.

“Let him be—he is not lying, after all, I am a centaur and we did beat him!” said Oblodun, and Alassares sighed, deciding to respect his friend’s wishes. The four lads then went to wash themselves before plunging in the hot pool where they relaxed their muscles and talked to one another as they swam around. All their play and the heat of the water had made their male organs comfortably engorged, and so when Alassares decided to leave the water, his still soft cock was prominently displayed for all to see.

“I’ll get some oils on my skin,” he announced, as he left the pool and asked some servants to bring him perfumes and oils. As he waited, however, he saw Idsor’s crowd now messing with a smaller apprentice whom Alassares didn’t recognize. They seemed to be having fun laughing at the young man’s pitiful penis—only 7 centimeters, in its soft state.

“It’s so small I can barely see. If it weren’t for your lack of any curves, I’d have mistaken you for a woman,” said Idsor, boastfully. His small entourage seemed amused and responded positively to his joke—they were all from the lower nobility, it seemed to Alassares, except for the four of them who had lost against his team at polo. “That’s why I think peasants should have their own baths: their penises are embarrassing to the sensibilities of better developed men. It is like showering with an ape, a minuscule ape—in fact, I don’t even know why such people are accepted in the Academy.”

Several laughs followed.

“Must be so some of the smaller nobles don’t feel embarrassed about their own size,” said Olontor, son of Count of Obrof, causing far fewer laughs from their small crowd, but greatly amusing Idsor. As Olontor talked, his long and thin limp cock bounced—much resembling his tall and skinny body, almost devoid of any meat or muscle.

“Actually, he is smaller than most of the servants,” said the shorter but far more muscular Ibirir, an apprentice of the Holy Order of the Phoenix who had come to study at the Imperial Academy to expand his horizons, as he came from an old family within that order. His cock, also similarly to his body, was not too long, but incredibly wide.

If one had chosen to look around carefully and inspect the cocks of all those present in the Collective Baths, they would find the words Ibirir discharged to be true in their literal sense: most servants had longer cocks than their victim, and that was a fact. However, what one would also find, was that more than a few of them also spurted longer sizes than Ibirir, or more thickness than Olontor. At least one, the one who was coming to bring oils and other products to the Second Prince, had them both beat in their strongest point.

“True, true,” said Idsor, amused at the comments from both of his friends. He then directed his attention back at the small man he was humiliating. “You, worm, let’s compare our sizes,” he commanded. The smaller man tried to resist, but Idsor’s powerful arms pulled him close, and then his hands held, one his own large semi, and the other his victim’s small penis.

“It’s ridiculous,” said Olontor, laughing.

“There’s not even a comparison,” noted Ibirir, amused. The contrast was indeed absurd: a 28cm semi compared to a 7cm limp cock, that is, a difference of four time in length, and even more than that when you accounted for girth! Idsor’s hands served as the frame which showed the absurdity of the difference between those two organs: one was smaller even than Idsor’s palm, while the other covered his whole hand almost entirely.

That was when Alassares exploded, unable to contain himself—he just left the servant who was about to start applying oils on his skin, and had to go intervene. As he walked with heavy steps towards Idsor and his band, Alassares’s friends—who were still waiting for him in the pool—noticed the prince’s actions and immediately moved towards him. Yet, by the time Alassares got to Idsor, he was alone amidst an unamicable crowd.

“Why don’t you compare yourself to me, Idsor? Or is getting beat by me once a day already too much for your honor?” asked Alassares, while also violently holding Idsor’s arm and forcing him to release the cock of the smaller man from his grip. His own imperial dick, even completely soft beating Idsor’s sizeable semi in length and breadth, swung and hit the nobleman’s leg with a slap.

Angry at the meddling, and even more so because it was done by someone he couldn’t beat in either social standing, sports or penile mass, Idsor snorted and immediately forced the prince to release his arm by jolting backwards.

“You are very confident just because you happen to be longer than me right in our current state, but what about comparing our organs when they are at their full stature?” he spewed, daring Alassares. The Second Prince was fine with being dared.

“What will I get if I win?” asked the prince, crossing his arms in front of his thick pectorals, and swinging his limp member left and right as he adjusted his standing. The movement of the royal member silenced the crowd.

“What do you propose?” asked Idsor, recovering him composure. Alassares seemed to stop and contemplate for a while.

“I don’t think there is anything you can offer me that I’d like to take from you,” he said, measuring every word. “But what if we bet our cocks themselves? Whoever wins can do whatever he wants to the other’s cock for… 24 hours? What about that?” he proposed. Idsor’s face seemed to frown.

“What the fuck?!” he retorted, but with all eyes on him, he didn’t want to back down from the bet. Looking down at the prince’s cock, however… it was so long. It seemed almost endless, when you stared at it for a while. Even… even if he lost, would it be so bad? Idsor broke the visual connection with the hypnotic imperial cock and cleared his throat. “Just you and me, right? No one else?” he asked. Alassares smiled with contempt, but also contentment.

“Weren’t you so sure you’d win, huh?” teased the royal, before nodding. “Yes, just us. No third party can be involved, and no permanent damage can be done,” he clarified. Just thinking about that second possibility, which he hadn’t previously considered, made Idsor’s stomach twist.

“Okay, then, I accept it!” responded the lesser noble. For a second, silence dominated the space, as nobody dared say anything.

“Hmmm, so, should we get ourselves ready?” asked Alassares, taking his soft cock in his hands. Idsor nodded, and also took his rod in his hands. A second later, both were stroking their impressive dicks, which responded to the attention by expanding in girth and length. Alassares teased his rival by waving at him with his red cock, as it grew. Idsor responded by starting to use his hips to hammer his cock against his hands.

Soon both their cocks were hard, purple, and gleaming with precum. Both members were impressive, but even now when they were separated by almost two meters of air, and even as people looked from afar, it was clear: the Prince was larger. Idsor got embarrassed, but he couldn’t just give up now—”and still,” he consoled himself preemptively, “even if I lose to Alassares, I might still be one of the largest men in the Academy.”

“Come, let’s compare up close,” said the Second Prince, pretending to be oblivious to what was going on in his rival’s mind—although he could almost hear what everyone else was thinking, just from looking at their hungry eyes staring at their huge endowments.

Before Idsor had time to react, Alassares overcame the distance between them, and brough their cocks together with his hands, surprising his rival. The comparison was beautiful, amazing, astonishing: framed by the two studs’ hot bodies, their abs forming pillars and their pecs meeting on top two creating an arch, there stood, crushed together, two large purple rods with thick fat heads rubbing one against another—one, covering a total of 49 centimeters, the other, just shy of reaching 44. The balls under them were also vastly different—on the one side, you had large mangoes, on the other, melons. It was so clear that no one had to call for an impartial judge—everyone could just tell which of them had the longest dong.

“It seems I win once more,” said Alassares, pleased with himself, as he felt the thrill of overpowering his rival’s body as it rubbed against his. “And this time you cannot say I cheated,” he added, causing some people in the audience to laugh.

Idsor gets red—of anger, sprinkled with shades of embarrassment—and pulled away from the hot royal’s body. He looked around—there were many men in the hot bath, and many who were watching them, he recognized most of their faces. They seemed to judge him, and think less of him, and still, many of them remained smaller than him now, as they had been minutes earlier… even that pitiful worm who, he realized, now dared to mock him as well, as it had the Prince’s protection!

“It is true you have me beat in penis, Your Highness,” said Idsor, with poisonous spite. “But do I lie when I say this peasant has a worm where a true Mage should have a snake?” he argues, pointing at Krol and his 7cm softie. Alassares smiled, and looked down towards both the penises in question: Krol’s soft 7cm, and Idsor’s hard almost 44cm. He inspected them for a moment, generating silence and suspense.

“Honestly, I think he fits the image of a Mage perfectly,” said Alassares, calmly, causing Idsor to sneer in anger and contempt. “He is mocking me! But does he not see that in mocking me, he mocks his own cock, his own nobility?!” thought Idsor to himself, seeing much more in common between him and the Prince than between that worm and either of them.

“I see you are confused by my statement,” said Alassares, smiling. “Here, let me compare you two, then,” he added, and then moved his hand towards Krol’s small 7cm softie. He smiled at its owner, and said to him in a whisper: “Don’t be nervous.”

As Alassares’s right hand tie around the tiny cock, Krol feels an intense heat burning his organ—magic, he recognized! The prince’s hand started pulling his rod, but instead of leaving his small member entirely, it was literally pulling more cock from inside him! And his penis was getting girthier too, which forced the prince’s hands to widen their grip on the expanding cock as it grows. Soon, it was 14, 19, 24, 29 and finally 34 centimeters in length! Longer than the prince himself, in that limp state!

“See, he is longer than both of us now!” said Alassares, leaving all the crowd surrounding him dumbfounded, except his friends who were laughing their assess off a few meters away. Their laughter attracts the attention of all the other students in the large hot room to the dispute between the Second Prince and Idsor.

“How does he do that?” asked Olontor, jealous, feeling his long thin cock rising as he saw the Second Prince pull endless cock from small Krol. His saber-like cock pointed straight up, as if it were saluting the Prince.

“Fuck, that’s body-shaping magic, it’s really advanced stuff!” said Ibirir, biting his lips and remembering that some of the Masters and High-Masters of his Holy Order of the Phoenix often changed their bodies for ceremonial purposes—even the most talented ones, however, usually wouldn’t be comfortable enough with those techniques to do it in such a relaxed manner, without any previous preparation. The Second Prince was certainly a genius, someone who was extremely talented in magic. Had he known, he’d never have joined Idsor in messing with him!

Red and humiliated, Idsor snaps: “That’s ridiculous, it’s cheating! That’s not his real cock, you changed him!” he contested, and then his eyes widened. “Maybe you cheated yourself!!!” he accused, screaming. Now it was Alassares’s turn to laugh.

“Me? I am all natural,” said the Prince, confidently, looking down on the smaller man, bouncing his lengthy erection left and right, and making precum fly from it as his huge tower danced. “But we are Mages, in a Magic Academy. Yes, I changed this lad, doesn’t that just prove my talents? Talent, Idsor, that is what you need to be a Mage, not cock. Who cares about the size of your penis, when you can change it at will?” he proclaimed, theatrically, in a very loud and audible voice, so as to make his words resound around the whole bathhouse. And then he conmtinued: “Unless, you are so untalented that you can’t…” he finished. And then he moved his hands towards Idsor’s groin with a devious smile—the nobleman tried to flee, taking two steps back, but he fell back with his ass on the floor.

“Remember our deal,” alerted the prince. “Your cock is mine to do whatever I want to for the day,” Alassares said, as he simply lowered his body, and then took Idsor’s hardon in his hand. He stroke it, slowly, and it continued hard—with each stroke it decreased in size. It went from 44 to 34, 24, 14 and then only 4 centimeters! Hard! Alassares used only two fingers to stroke continuously, despite its diminutive size, when he finally said:

“So untalented. I wonder why this Academy accepts such shameful students as you, it’s a stain on all of us,” he said, loudly, while staring at Idsor in the eye, and then he looked towards Krol, who was now rock hard, sporting an impressive wet erection of 66cm—longer even than the famous knight Oberion! Thick like an ace!

“Fuck off, Alassares!” yelled a humiliated Idsor, his voice breaking between words. His small cock still being stoked by the Prince, and his ass was still on the tiled ground, he screeched: “You are defending a peasant against the son of a Marquis, how low you have come!”

Alassares rolled his eyes while lifting an eyebrow.

“How low we have come, or how high has he come, to be able to mingle amongst us, sons of the nobles of the land. If he is here with us, either he is talented, or we are supremely untalented,” he said, so softly that it could only be heard by Idsor, “…or both,” he almost whispered. And then his other hand moved towards Idsor’s balls, which started to collapse into themselves until they were no greater than an almond.

“Stop, stop it! Stop stealing my balls!” shrieked the once proud nobleman, to the astonishment of the surrounding onlookers. Alassares only smirked.

“I’d much rather have more talented peasants here than the likes of you,” he said, and then Idsor came, his diminished balls producing only a few droplets of cum. Alassares sneered and stood up again. “Don’t worry, Idsor, your ‘snake’ and ‘mangos’ will return to normal by tomorrow, even if your own magic can’t fight against my enchantment,” he said, and then he went to his friends, who were laughing so much that some of them had collapsed on the ground.

Krol had to spend the following half an hour by himself, in one of the few private rooms of the Collective Baths, beating his newly acquired humongous penis. Each time he had come, he was overwhelmed not only by his orgasmic bliss, but by the volume of white spunk his newly improved balls produced and ejected over his small body. When he came a third time and the beast seemed to finally allow his mind to clear up again, he washed himself and went to Alassares so as to thank him for his earlier intervention. The Second Prince responded that he was sorry for having changed Krol’s penis without his previous consent, but that while he touched Krol’s member he had sensed a lot of magical talent inside the smaller man.

Krol was ecstatic—the Prince had made it obvious that he was a powerful Mage, and being acknowledged by someone like that was like a dream come true.

“Thank you for your kind words, Your Highness,” said the smaller man, with a deep bow. Alassares told him to rise.

“You know, the enchantment I used is a pretty complex one, and it takes a long time to master,” Alassares said, looking at Krol’s enormous cock, which still stood erect, and was so large that in his smaller body it reached just bellow the line of his eyes, his head dangling like a carrot one could hardly resist in front of his face. “But if you want, I can give you some tips on it. I don’t want you to have unreal expectations, and it will probably take you more than a year before you can reproduce something even close to what I did, but I think that if you try, you can do it yourself,” offered the Prince, from a place not so much of pity as of legitimate kindness.

Krol was shocked, receiving such kindness and attention from a nobleman—one of the highest in the land, no less—was really turning his world upside down. He was a freshman in the Academy, at only 18 years-old, but his experiences there so far as a commoner hadn’t been that great. He thanked his brother Ocimez, who was working away in the army, for providing him with this opportunity, but sometimes he had almost decided to quit—until he remembered how proud his brother was whenever he talked of “my talented younger brother” who “is going to be a Mage, you know?” And then he stayed, but at what cost? Humiliation, torture. No more.

“I hope Your Highness won’t be overly burdened by my pertinence, but I accept your offer,” said the smaller lad, decided.

Alassares smiled then looked down towards Krol’s angry one-eyed snake, which seemed to stare back at him with rage as it spewed its clear salty poison, annoyed that it wasn’t being touched enough and that the prince was stealing its owner’s attention.

“Great! Come to my room, then, tonight…” he said, and then stopped, before smiling and continued, “No, make it tomorrow night. Take the next 24 hours to enjoy yourself,” he added, and Krol thanked the prince before leaving him to go take care of his own strenuous affairs.

Alassares returned to his friends, who now wanted to move to the warm room where there was less steam and the water wasn’t as burning hot. As they walked there, Karierike hugged the Prince around the shoulders and pulled Otopan in with his other arm as well.

“Damn, ‘Our Highness’ here might soon find himself with more fans than he can take care of! Next time you expose your erect length, you might well do it in the main square of the Academy, because I think that as it is maybe the birds or the stones of the watchtower haven’t yet seen your member!” joked the eastern nobleman. Otopan laughed at the remark, as Alassares smirked silently.

“Indeed. Soon the women will have heard of your prowess as well, and then what? You’ll master body-multiplying magic next?” mocked Otopan, actually leading Alassares to raise an eyebrow.

“Not a terrible idea, but I’ll have to do some more research on that,” the prince responded, bringing his hand to his chin as to pretend to be giving the cause serious consideration. The four friends laughed but, as they continued to walk to the warm room—but Alassares’s mind started flying away and devising new plans.

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