2025-09-25, 12:07 PM
The young Lord Burke Barton was very bored. It was, of course, exciting to be in the same room as the king, he guessed. Not to cheapen that fact, but he had just sat at the king's table the night before during the New Moon's Feast. There had been singers and jugglers and acrobats and girls. So many girls. And food. He started to reminisce about the serving wench from last night--the one he had bid come back to his room. Untying her bodice, kissing her breasts. She had run her soft hands all over his chest. They had felt like warm feathers when she had moved down and reached for his cock. Girls did not have such silky smooth hands in the highlands. Burke made himself stop when he realized remembering was making him hard. He was wearing his tight pants after all.
The High Council had started with a promising enough topic. The centaurs. Nature's abominations. There had been skirmishes in the highlands in the southwest, and the young Lord Barton had been excited at the prospect of a retaliatory force. Even this excitement was to sour though when, as Lady Anwa Blue put it, cooler heads prevailed. Instead it was decided that a diplomatic party would be dispatched to parley with the centaur caliph. Which meant, of course, more talk. Burke prayed quietly to the Sun King he would have no part in that.
For a while, Burke had lost himself in the stained glass mosaic in the ceiling above them all. There was a narrow pane at the top of it. A glorious gold and silver crown studded with five kinds of jewels. Burke could only name the ruby. Below was the bulk of the window showing a bright, burning sun. There were entangling spirals of oranges and yellows and reds coming off the mass. It almost look liked these swirls danced when clouds passed above covering and revealing the actual sunlight that shown through. At the bottom was a final narrow panel, here though it was an arc of the moon with black and stars above it. And then Burke Barton felt it for the first time.
He was not sitting at the table with the actual council. He was just an invited guest meant to observe. Two of the Kingsguard stood to his left at attention on either side of the door. On his right, two of Predicant Canton's acolytes sat in chairs like his own. None of them could have done it. None of them could have touched his ankle without him having seen it. Even if his head was thrown back to stare at the glass in the ceiling.
Then he felt it again--a cold grip just above his knee now. He could tell it was cold even through his pants. Burke shook his leg like it had fallen asleep. This only seemed to slide the gripping thing farther toward his crotch. And then, it felt like his balls had been dipped in ice water. A loud and desperate gasp escaped from him as he gripped the sides of his chair to keep from sliding down the front of it.
Predicant Canton had been going on about some drought and how it was obviously punishment for blasphemies in the Eastern provinces. But Burke's outburst had stolen the attention of the King and all his advisors. Lady Anwah who he was sure had been undressing him with her eyes earlier now looked at him like he was the king's fool, a patient smile stuck on her face. Canton gave him an old man's scowl and the King, well the king looked like he was about to laugh. His Uncle, Lord Archer Notney did not turn around. Canton still managed to frown even as he spoke. "Perhpas the young Bread Lord has some insight into the drought. You have our attention. Please share your thoughts."
Burke hated being called the Bread Lord. He didn't care about farming at all. He wanted to be a Warlord like his uncle. If he never again walked through the miles of wheat fields that were his birthright, that would be fine with him. "No. I have, um, nothing to say. My leg was asleep is all. Sorry Your Excellency"
The old pontiff rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. I'm sure it was just your leg that was asleep." The acolytes next to Burke sniggered at that. Burke guessed they were both about 10 or so, and wondered at what age it was the Brotherhood took away their balls. He wondered how Canton had escaped that fate. Canton the Whole he was called, but never to his face. Suddenly Burke was afraid the old man had been right. Burke had been asleep and just dreamed the whole thing. No, not afraid--relieved he'd only dreamed it.
But then he felt it again. It crawled on many legs over his cock, under his tunic. It was caressing his stomach, tracing the definition of each abdominal muscle. It felt like the coldest skin against his own. When he looked down, though, his tunic still fell flat against the front of his body.
The invisible hands moved up his muscled sides, over his young defined chest, stopping at each nipple just long enough to get it hard and sensitive. Burke grabbed the sides of the chair even more firmly now. His knuckles and small joints started to hurt from the strain. And then the phantom hands reached under his armpits. Sun in the sky, it was tickling him!
The Lord Barton prayed silently no one was watching him then. His cheeks were bulging with laughter held in. They escaped through his tear ducts. Tears streamed down his puffed out cheeks, while he gripped the sides of his chair even harder to avoid squirming. He tried with a determined desperation to listen carefully to what Lady Ahnwa was droning on about now. Something about how much relief the crown could afford to send the Eastern provinces. The Predicant insisted they send none until those lords and governors repented for the human sacrifices they gave to the false god, Modor the Sky Breaker. "Human sacrifices! Imagine!" Canton almost shouted.
Burke considered the night before. He had heard of the diseases wenches could spread. Was this one of those? It wasn't exactly a case of warts or puss though. It must be a trick. That was it! Someone in the room was playing a trick on him. But who? And how?
The High Council had started with a promising enough topic. The centaurs. Nature's abominations. There had been skirmishes in the highlands in the southwest, and the young Lord Barton had been excited at the prospect of a retaliatory force. Even this excitement was to sour though when, as Lady Anwa Blue put it, cooler heads prevailed. Instead it was decided that a diplomatic party would be dispatched to parley with the centaur caliph. Which meant, of course, more talk. Burke prayed quietly to the Sun King he would have no part in that.
For a while, Burke had lost himself in the stained glass mosaic in the ceiling above them all. There was a narrow pane at the top of it. A glorious gold and silver crown studded with five kinds of jewels. Burke could only name the ruby. Below was the bulk of the window showing a bright, burning sun. There were entangling spirals of oranges and yellows and reds coming off the mass. It almost look liked these swirls danced when clouds passed above covering and revealing the actual sunlight that shown through. At the bottom was a final narrow panel, here though it was an arc of the moon with black and stars above it. And then Burke Barton felt it for the first time.
He was not sitting at the table with the actual council. He was just an invited guest meant to observe. Two of the Kingsguard stood to his left at attention on either side of the door. On his right, two of Predicant Canton's acolytes sat in chairs like his own. None of them could have done it. None of them could have touched his ankle without him having seen it. Even if his head was thrown back to stare at the glass in the ceiling.
Then he felt it again--a cold grip just above his knee now. He could tell it was cold even through his pants. Burke shook his leg like it had fallen asleep. This only seemed to slide the gripping thing farther toward his crotch. And then, it felt like his balls had been dipped in ice water. A loud and desperate gasp escaped from him as he gripped the sides of his chair to keep from sliding down the front of it.
Predicant Canton had been going on about some drought and how it was obviously punishment for blasphemies in the Eastern provinces. But Burke's outburst had stolen the attention of the King and all his advisors. Lady Anwah who he was sure had been undressing him with her eyes earlier now looked at him like he was the king's fool, a patient smile stuck on her face. Canton gave him an old man's scowl and the King, well the king looked like he was about to laugh. His Uncle, Lord Archer Notney did not turn around. Canton still managed to frown even as he spoke. "Perhpas the young Bread Lord has some insight into the drought. You have our attention. Please share your thoughts."
Burke hated being called the Bread Lord. He didn't care about farming at all. He wanted to be a Warlord like his uncle. If he never again walked through the miles of wheat fields that were his birthright, that would be fine with him. "No. I have, um, nothing to say. My leg was asleep is all. Sorry Your Excellency"
The old pontiff rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. I'm sure it was just your leg that was asleep." The acolytes next to Burke sniggered at that. Burke guessed they were both about 10 or so, and wondered at what age it was the Brotherhood took away their balls. He wondered how Canton had escaped that fate. Canton the Whole he was called, but never to his face. Suddenly Burke was afraid the old man had been right. Burke had been asleep and just dreamed the whole thing. No, not afraid--relieved he'd only dreamed it.
But then he felt it again. It crawled on many legs over his cock, under his tunic. It was caressing his stomach, tracing the definition of each abdominal muscle. It felt like the coldest skin against his own. When he looked down, though, his tunic still fell flat against the front of his body.
The invisible hands moved up his muscled sides, over his young defined chest, stopping at each nipple just long enough to get it hard and sensitive. Burke grabbed the sides of the chair even more firmly now. His knuckles and small joints started to hurt from the strain. And then the phantom hands reached under his armpits. Sun in the sky, it was tickling him!
The Lord Barton prayed silently no one was watching him then. His cheeks were bulging with laughter held in. They escaped through his tear ducts. Tears streamed down his puffed out cheeks, while he gripped the sides of his chair even harder to avoid squirming. He tried with a determined desperation to listen carefully to what Lady Ahnwa was droning on about now. Something about how much relief the crown could afford to send the Eastern provinces. The Predicant insisted they send none until those lords and governors repented for the human sacrifices they gave to the false god, Modor the Sky Breaker. "Human sacrifices! Imagine!" Canton almost shouted.
Burke considered the night before. He had heard of the diseases wenches could spread. Was this one of those? It wasn't exactly a case of warts or puss though. It must be a trick. That was it! Someone in the room was playing a trick on him. But who? And how?