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THE LOST PRINCE—CHAPTER 23
Contented with the large portion of jerky he’d been
allowed to eat during the
The Sempai seemed unruffled by her late night, but her aide was even more withdrawn than usual. What exactly had happened in the tent Daka didn’t know, but he’d seen enough in his short life to make a good guess. Pipa stared at the floor, never once looking up, her hands clasped in her lap.
The Sempai and Daka’s Mistress kept exchanging cryptic looks all through the morning. As the ponies jerked the carriage forward once more the women exchanged another look.
“Daka, take off your clothes,” Lady Koho ordered.
His head jerked up, a look of surprise on his face. “What M’lady?”
“Take off your clothes,” she repeated. “It has come to our attention that young Pipa here has a serious lack of sexual experience, which could hamper her objectivity at the seed farm.” Daka loosened his robe and pulled it over his head, not sure exactly what was coming next. Pipa sank even lower in her seat and looked to be trying to pull her head inside her robe.
The Sempai looked him over with a blank gaze, thinking that the robe disguised just how muscled Daka’s lean body was. She’d seen huge numbers of bare young men as part of her duties, and physically, in comparison, Daka was unremarkable. The hopes and expectations heaped on him, however, added unexpected emphasis to everything he did and was. The tattoo on his shoulder appeared exactly as it should, but she didn’t want to display too much interest in it. Not yet.
“That too,” Lady Koho said, nodding. Daka looked down at his loincloth, then back up at the audience. With a mental shrug he undid the knot and pulled his loincloth off too, tossing it onto the robe piled on the seat. The two women stared at him, frankly evaluating all that he had uncovered. Daka wasn’t sure what he should be doing, or what he should look at. It seemed safe to watch Pipa, who was trying to disappear inside her robes.
The Sempai tilted her head to the side and squinted. “Ringed?”
“Yes,” Lady Koho said.
“I had forgotten. Wise decision. Well, we’ll need a container.”
Daka’s Mistress produced an ornamental teacup, handleless, glazed a cherry red. “Will this do? Do we need something . . . specific?”
“The legend does not say. I suppose this should do as well as anything . . . unless it needs to be delivered directly, with no waystation in-between. Again, the legend does not say. I suppose we may have to experiment.” She took the cup, stared into it for a few seconds, then handed it to Daka. He examined the cup curiously. Pipa peeked out from under her bangs, saw Daka was still nude, and ducked down again.
“Fill it with your seed,” his Mistress told Daka. Confusion knit his eyebrows together, and he looked into the cup again.
“My seed?”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause. “You want me to fill this? Um . . . .”
“No, not fill it,” his Mistress said, losing some of her composure. “But put your seed in it. Stroke yourself. We need your seed for . . . something.” This dunce was supposed to be the Lost Prince, the latest in the true bloodline?
“And you are to watch,” the Sempai ordered her assistant, who had nearly disappeared inside her robe. Pipa cheeped and twitched. “You were an embarrassment to me last night, and I will not have it happen again. How are you to learn of the world if you never look past your nose? Such a commotion over what should be as natural to you as breathing. Do you want another hiding? Your bottom still must be striped from last night. No? Then sit up, pull that hair out of your eyes, and watch.”
Daka was at a loss as to how to proceed. The ringing left his organ curved unnaturally. Not only did it keep him from inserting his tool into anything, it made it very difficult for him to grasp his shaft. He finally settled into an overhand hold and began tugging at his flesh. The audience made him a little anxious, their proximity as much as anything else, but he dutifully and awkwardly tugged at himself until his organ responded.
Pipa, not wanting another beating, had straightened up slightly, and was watching Daka stroke himself through the ends of her bangs, but more as one stares in fascination at a disfigured person than with desire.
Watching the three women watching him masturbate was a little too much for Daka. He sank to his knees on the floor and placed the cup beneath himself, and stared at it as he pumped his hand around his curled shaft.
“Big,” Sempai Nodo murmured, too soft for Daka to hear. Lady Koho nodded. The Sempai opened her mouth to say more, but relented, and just watched quietly. She and Lady Koho sat side by side on the bench seat, elbows nearly touching, as quiet as if they were praying in a place of worship. The carriage rolled along smoothly, the thud of the ponies’ hoofboots faint below the crunch of the wheels on the gravel-strewn road. Outside the windows rolling fields passed by, interrupted by small clumps of trees. Here and there late-blooming wildflowers added dashes of color.
The carriage swayed and rocked gently on well-oiled springs as Daka, breathing heavily, hunched over. Unbidden, images of the mounts pulling the carriage sprang into his mind, of them as they lay together in the water station stable two nights previous, panting and rubbing against each other. As if she was still there Daka could feel the wet glove of the tattooed mount’s sex around his hand, clenching and bucking. They were all just a few scant feet away, running easily, their toned bodies slick with sweat, big thigh muscles bunching with each step, breasts bouncing, bouncing.
With a hiss Daka pushed the ceramic cup against the purple head of his organ, just as the first ivory stream leapt from its tip. His body trembled as he kept pumping his bowed shaft. To his surprise, somehow, blindly, he managed not to spill any of his seed on the carriage floor.
He held the cup, panting, and examined the results. The ivory fluid which clung to the ceramic seemed so paltry compared to the effort required to produce it. Sempai Nodo demanded the cup and he handed it over, still somewhat bewildered at the turn of events. This was a far cry from the duties of a stablehand.
Sempai Nodo peered at the seed he’d squirted in globs into the cup with a professional’s eye, but his product looked no different to her than any other seed she’d examined. She held the cup out for Pipa to take, but Pipa inched away, poorly disguised disgust on her face.
“You take this,” the Sempai growled. “You tasted the driver’s seed last night. I want you to see how each man tastes different, yet the same.”
“But Sempai, what has this to do with becoming a court historian?” Pipa squeaked, still unwilling to take the cup.
“This is history,” the Sempai snapped. “Don’t question me. Do you want another beating?”
Pipa took the cup, looked into it, then tipped it on its side. Nothing dripped out. She looked at her elder.
“Use your fingers,” Sempai Nodo instructed. She and Lady Koho watched intently as the young woman distastefully dipped her fingers into the cup. They came out glistening with Daka’s thick seed.
Lady Koho and the Sempai both held their breath as Pipa stuck her fingers into her mouth. She grimaced at the tangy, salty stuff, but swallowed it dutifully. The two women perched on the edge of the seat and stared at Pipa, waiting for any sign, any change in her expression, anything. There was nothing.
“Eat it all,” Sempai Nodo said, voice dull. She was the foremost authority on the Lost Prince, but nowhere did the legend say exactly what effect the Prince’s seed would have. Maybe it should have been put into a ceremonial bowl first. Maybe she should have been the one to urge his seed forth. The problem was she didn’t know. Waiting until they were in the middle of nowhere had seemed a good idea when she’d discussed Daka with Lady Koho at the estate, but maybe they’d made a mistake. Maybe they should have stopped the carriage, done it in camp, but the Sempai wanted to keep their suspicions about Daka secret, from everyone, even her driver, for as long as possible.
Pipa finished the cup, licking her fingers clean one final time, and held the cup out. Sempai Nodo took it from her, examining Pipa’s face closely, looking for any sign that Daka’s seed was different than any other man’s.
“Well?”
Pipa shrugged and made a face. “It tasted no different than the driver’s. Salty, unpleasant.” She squirmed a little as the two women continued to stare at her, and she looked down at her own hands. The boy was still kneeling on the floor, nude, and she turned away from him. She knew he was a slave, and so hardly counted as a person, but men made her nervous, and nude men, well . . . . Prior to the start of this journey, she’d only ever seen two, and both of those were slaves being beaten.
Lady Koho glanced at the Sempai, who frowned and stared out the window at the passing scenery. Finally she sighed, and her shoulders sank. “I suppose it was too much to hope,” she muttered, and looked at Lady Koho.
Lady Koho pinched her lips together, then reluctantly nodded. “Put your clothes on,” she snapped at Daka, and sat back on the bench. “Where do you suppose he got the tattoo?”
The Sempai shook her head. “The Legend is no secret. I suppose someone hoped to make some money off of him. Maybe he brought a high price when he was a child.”
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Lady Koho lamented. “Barbarians attacking clan members, the Queen making ill-informed decisions, Berserkers on the road . . . .”
“You had high hopes for him,” the old woman said. It wasn’t a question. Lady Koho shrugged and looked down.
“I’m not a young woman anymore, and my Clan does not have the voice in the royal court that it once did.” She looked up, and waved a hand around. “This trip was to buy me time to think, but. . . .” Her voice trailed off, and her eyebrows came together. The Sempai turned to see what she was staring at.
Pipa sat in her corner still, staring out from under her bangs as usual, but now she was staring at Daka as he pulled his robe on. Her chest rose and fell as she pulled in one deep breath after another.
Sempai Nodo turned the rest of the way around and watched her student. In a month she’d never seen Pipa more than glance at a man, and now she was staring at Daka, mouth partway open, and nearly panting.
Suddenly she sat up and began undoing her robe, as if she’d forgotten there were other people inside the carriage with her. The grey robe came open and she slid it down her shoulders, revealing a thin white undershirt beneath. As she pulled that over her head Lady Koho snuck a glance at Daka. He was oblivious to what was happening, and had just finished fastening his robe about his waist.
Pipa had a skinny, pale body, with small, almost boyish breasts tipped with pale pink nipples. In fact, with her narrow hips and short hair, her breasts were the only thing that kept her from being mistaken for a boy. She stood up, and let the robe bunched around her waist fall to the ground. Daka saw her now, saw her bend over to tug the loose white shorts off her hips. She stepped out of the shorts and moved toward Daka, who was frozen in place. The Sempai reached up to stop her student, but her hand halted in midair.
Pipa sank to her knees beside Daka and immediately began tugging at his robe. He blinked in surprise and didn’t know what to do other than stare. As she fought the loose knot holding his robe closed Daka watched her small breasts, just inches away, jiggling enticingly. A faint downy wisp of hair was all that adorned her mound.
“Pipa, what are you doing?” the Sempai called out.
“I need him,” she mumbled in response. Her eyes were remote, almost vacant to Daka as she finally succeeded with trembling hands in undoing the knot of his sash. Her hands whipped his robe apart, then began tearing at his loincloth.
“Pipa, stop that this minute,” the elder commanded, watching intently. Pipa gave no sign she’d even heard her. “Pipa! Stop that this instant!” Pipa mumbled something unintelligible and kept on. Daka searched out his Mistress’ gaze, looking for guidance. She held her palm out, telling him to stay put.
“Young lady, stop touching him right now or I will have you beat bloody,” the Sempai threatened, and then watched to see what effect the threat had.
Pipa pressed her thighs together and started bobbing up and down as she tugged at the knot around his waist, but ignored her teacher’s threats. The lust, the fire between her legs, in her head, was almost more than she could bear, and she had no thought for anything other than Daka. As she bent over him, frantically tugging at the knot of his loincloth, she squeezed her thighs together over and over, pressing against her sex. As the knot came undone the first trickle escaped her folds, running down the inside of her thigh. It caught the sunlight coming in through the window, and both older women saw it.
Pipa pushed him over onto his back and grabbed at his still stiff organ, trying to free it from its bonds. She half-squatted over him, and tugged fiercely at his big organ, needing it inside her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, all she knew was she wanted him, had to have him.
“Ow. Ow! Hey!” Daka yelled as she yanked on his bound organ so fiercely his backside left the floor.
“All right, that’s enough,” the Sempai said. She leaned forward and grabbed Pipa’s arm. “Boy, help me,” she commanded Daka. Pipa had resorted to grinding her sex against the curving shaft of his tool, gasping and moaning like she was on the verge of death.
Pipa fought ferociously, but finally Daka and his Mistress got the skinny adept pinned down in the corner. The Sempai had tried to help, but hadn’t near the strength required to fight the bucking young woman.
“Fuck me, give it to me,” Pipa entreated Daka, who was bent over her, restraining one arm and one leg, sweaty from the struggle. She licked his forearm like a wild animal, which was all she could reach, and shuddered at the taste of him. Daka was shocked at the transformation that had occurred in her, from a mousy little thing afraid to even meet his eyes to a sex-crazed beast he could barely keep contained.
“Let’s see if this calms her down at all,” the Sempai said, kneeling before her adept, who was bent nearly double and yet still struggled.
Spitting on two of her knobby fingers the Sempai deftly slid them into the inflamed sex of her assistant. The spit was unnecessary; she was as wet as a river, and hot as a kettle of boiling soup.
Using just two fingers, the old woman displayed an expertise learned over a lifetime as she stroked her adept’s inflamed flesh. Pipa screamed and grunted and fought as her teacher’s nimble fingers quickly brought her to three explosive climaxes. After the last she went almost limp and stopped trying to fight her way back onto Daka’s tool, but the Sempai wasn’t satisfied; slowly and gently she worked the young adept to climax again not once but twice, until the skinny body was limp in their arms and Pipa seemed hardly aware of her surroundings. Daka and Lady Koho lifted her thin body onto the bench seat where she slumped, dazed and blinking slowly like a fish long out of water. Her body glistened with sweat, but she wasn’t alone—they all were slick with the stuff after wrestling with her for three quarters of an hour.
The Sempai produced a decorative kerchief and mopped her brow, then offered it to Lady Koho. The ends of the Lady’s hair were damp where they touched her forehead. The effort of restraining the slender assistant had her sweatier than she’d been in months—the girl had writhed like a snake the entire time, fighting to get to Daka until all her reserves had been spent.
The women wiped their faces and hands, eyeing Pipa, as Daka sat back down on the opposite bench.
“Well, my heart is filled with hope now,” the Sempai said carefully. “But I fear we may have unforeseen problems on our hands.” She was looking at Pipa, who sat sprawled on the bench, legs splayed apart. She seemed slowly to be coming around.
“What happened to her?” Daka asked. The young aide was seemingly unaware that she was without clothes or that she was displaying her swollen and still juicy sex to all in the coach, which was filled with the smell of her.
“She has . . . come into season,” his mistress told Daka.
“She’s fertile?”
“Maybe. It is difficult to explain. Be quiet now, boy.” She turned to the Sempai. “If when she recovers her behavior is unchanged we’re going to have to bind her.”
“Let us wait and see,” the historian said. “The legend says that women who eat of . . . it . . . lose their will. It makes no mention of an all-consuming lust. Maybe that is just an initial, temporary condition.”
“What if his issue is delivered to other . . . orifices? Will the effect be the same?”
“The legend only says ‘females who eat of his seed’. It makes no mention of normal intercourse having the same effects, but remember, we’re talking of legend here. What is true and what is embellishment, expanded over time, I know not. Until now I never realized how many important details were lacking.”
“Well, the legend as we have learned it is apparently no mere fancy,” Lady Koho observed.
“Apparently,” the Sempai agreed. She studied her student as Pipa slowly sat up. As soon as her eyes found Daka she sat up and moved to his side. The Sempai held a staying hand up to both Daka and his Mistress.
Pipa sat on the bench next to Daka and pressed herself to him. She nuzzled his neck and kissed his ear, making him squirm. Her arms hugged and caressed his shoulders and body, but she did not try to attack his manhood as before. Daka seemed very nervous, unsure of what to do with the young woman hanging on him.
“Boy, my assistant seems to be in some sort of delirium,” Sempai Nodo told him. “I want you to help me determine just how . . . out of sorts she is. Tell her to do something you think she would find . . . distasteful.”
“M’Lady?”
“What is she whispering into your ear?” his Mistress asked. She’d finally noticed Pipa was murmuring fervently to him, eyes half closed, nearly sitting atop him. Daka was greatly discomfited.
“She seems to think I am royalty,” he told the ladies with some distress. “She’s saying ‘My Lord, My Master, uh . . . I am yours.’” Daka was so uneasy he could barely get the words out.
“Well, tell her something, boy,” the Sempai instructed him. Pipa seemed to be trying to wrap all of her limbs around him as he sat on the coach bench.
“I, uh . . . .” he said, eyeing the skinny young woman burrowing into his side.
“Tell her, boy!” the Sempai spat.
“Uh, m’lady, m’lady,” he said to Pipa, grabbing her shoulder to get her attention.
“Her name’s Pipa.”
“Pipa. Pipa!”
Pipa stopped her frantic nuzzling and looked up into his eyes. “Yes my Lord?”
Daka was at a loss as to how to proceed. Sempai Nodo, for her part, was convinced Daka was the One, and his seed was true, if for no other reason than her mousy young assistant who yesterday couldn’t bear to be touched by a man and seemed to have no interest in sex had changed in just a few seconds to this elemental creature who sat naked before them, sweat drying on her body. But what kind of sway his issue held over her—that was the question. But Daka, for his part, was used to taking orders, not giving them.
“Daka, you clod, stand up and tell her to clean you with her tongue,” Lady Koho directed him. “Take your robe off.”
“Better still,” the Sempai saide, “have her clean your backside.”
“M’Lady?”
“You heard her,” Lady Koho snapped. Daka now stood in the center of the coach, his robe around his feet. Pipa sat on the seat and gazed adoringly up at him.
“Uh, Pipa,” he said hesitantly. He glanced at the two women scowling at him. “You heard the Sempai. Um . . . clean me.”
“Oh, thank you My Lord.” Pipa dropped to her knees on the floor, scooted around behind him, and immediately buried her face between his cheeks. She took hold of his thighs to stay close as the cabin gently swayed on the road.
The two women watched the comical series of expressions running across Daka’s face. He reached up and put his hands on the ceiling to keep his balance. After another minute he spread his legs wider, and his eyes half closed in pleasure.
“Is she using her tongue?” Lady Koho asked.
“Yes, m’lady.” Pipa’s face was hidden behind his hips.
“Have her put it deep in your dirt hole,” the Sempai said.
“Unnh. It’s there now, m’lady,” he said with a little effort. The veins from his hard curving shaft told the women just what he thought of the treatment he was getting.
“Will her . . . willingness fade after the seed she’s eaten is digested completely? Or is the effect permanent?”
“I don’t know,” the Sempai admitted. “There is much that I do not. Does it affect all women to the same degree, for instance. How much of his squirt needs to be eaten for the effect to occur? If we had but another with us to spare . . . but neither of us dare risk it, and I don’t think it’s wise to try it with a pony while on the road.”
“I agree.”
“Daka. Boy! Is your backside clean enough now?”
“Unh. Ahh. Uh, yes,” he grunted. He was ready to come at any second, but didn’t want to reach down and touch himself without permission.
“Good. Have her come around and clean your front now. You can touch her if you wish.” The Sempai murmured to Lady Koho, “Let’s see if more seed doubles the effect on her, or if it just goes down like so much snot.”
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