The old ox heaved its last breath at noon, collapsing between the furrows with a wet thud that sent crows scattering from the nearby barley field. Joshua wiped his forehead with the back of a calloused hand, staring at the twitching animal as its ribs settled into final stillness. "Damn it," he muttered, kicking the dirt. The beast had cost his family two months' wages, and now the south field would go unplowed before the rains came.
Behind him, his youngest brother Tomas sniffled. "We’ll have to sell the wheat early again, won’t we?"
Joshua didn’t answer. He was already calculating how many nights he’d need to haul stone for the castle garrison to make up the loss when a shadow fell across the dead ox.
The boy’s shoulders bunched beneath his sweat-soaked tunic, the fabric clinging to the hard ridges of his back like a second skin. Years of swinging a scythe and hefting grain sacks had carved his body into something that made tavern girls whisper and soldiers pause mid-drink—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, thick forearms corded with veins that stood out when he clenched his fists. The sun had burnished his skin to a deep gold, highlighting the dusting of freckles across his nose and the stubborn set of his jaw. Even exhausted, his mouth held a fullness that seemed at odds with the sharp angles of his face, lips slightly parted now as he breathed through the frustration tightening his throat.
Leaning down to examine the ox’s harness, the movement pulled his tunic taut across his chest. Tomas stared, as he often did, at the way his brother’s nipples pressed against the rough linen—dark, prominent peaks atop mounds of muscle honed by labor. The king’s road workers had taken to calling him "the plowshare" last summer when he’d stripped to the waist during the heatwave, his sweat-slick abs moving like separate living things beneath his skin with each swing of the pickaxe.
King James’s fingers tightened on his carriage window’s velvet drapes. The procession had stopped to water the horses when the monarch caught sight of the struggling farmer through the dust—the way his shoulders flexed as he yanked at the dead beast’s yoke, the sweat tracing the cleft between his pectorals. Levin recognized the tremor in his liege’s exhale immediately. "Shall I inquire about the boy?" he murmured, already summoning a servant with a flick of his wrist.
James’s tongue darted over thin lips. He still remembered the first time he’d pressed his face between a laborer’s thighs at sixteen, how the musk of hard work had made his cock twitch against his silks. Levin had been the one to teach him the artistry in breaking strong men—how to twist pride into desperation until they begged to flex their biceps for his amusement.
Joshua barely looked up when the royal carriage rolled closer, his knuckles white around the ox’s traces. Only when Levin’s shadow stretched across his boots did he straighten, wiping sweat from his brow with a forearm that made the sorcerer’s nostrils flare.
"Young plowman," Levin murmured, circling Joshua like a butcher appraising a prize steer. His gaze lingered where the farmer’s damp tunic clung to peaked nipples, then slid lower—over the dust-caked ridges of his abdomen, the bulge straining against threadbare breeches. "Tell me, how many mouths does those shoulders feed?"
Joshua swallowed, wary of noble attention but desperate enough to answer. "Three siblings, sir. And my father—his legs don’t hold since the war."
Levin’s fingers traced the silver embroidery on his sleeve, considering. The boy’s sweat-shined throat bobbed when he spoke, tendons flexing like bowstrings. "His Majesty requires strong men for palace guard," he lied smoothly. "Double wages, a cottage for your family. All we ask is... thorough physical examination." His gaze lingered on Joshua’s biceps where they strained against rolled sleeves, the dark curls peeking above his collar. "You’d report at dawn tomorrow."
Joshua’s calloused fingers twitched at his sides. The offer stank of deceit, but winter was coming, and Tomas’ ribs already showed. "Examinations, sir?" he asked cautiously.
Levin chuckled, plucking an imaginary speck from Joshua’s shoulder—letting his thumb press just shy of painful into the hard curve of deltoid. "Merely ensuring His Majesty invests in... prime specimens." He stepped back, snapping his fingers. A servant materialized with a purse that clinked heavily. "For tonight’s supper," Levin murmured, already turning away.
The coins burned hotter than fever in Joshua’s palm as he trudged home, the weight of them doing nothing to ease the grip around his lungs. That night, while his siblings celebrated over stew thickened with royal silver, Joshua lay awake tracing the cracks in the ceiling beams. The nobleman’s gaze had slithered over him like oil—lingering where no employer’s eyes should. Yet dawn found him lacing his boots with trembling fingers, the memory of Tomas’ hollow cheeks outweighing the dread pooling low in his gut.
The palace gates loomed taller than harvest stakes, their iron spikes gleaming like teeth. Joshua’s breath hitched as guards in polished breastplates fell silent mid-conversation, their eyes raking over his frame with knowing smirks. One nudged another, nodding at the way Joshua’s shirt stretched across his chest when he lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the morning glare. Whispers coiled around him like smoke as he crossed the courtyard—"Another one for the king’s collection," followed by a wet chuckle that made his nape prickle.
Inside the grand hall, marble amplified every footfall, every rustle of his coarse clothing against skin that suddenly felt too exposed. Courtiers paused their ministrations to stare, fans fluttering like trapped birds as they dissected the breadth of his shoulders, the taper of his waist beneath his belt.
King James lounged on his throne—a spindly figure dwarfed by gilded lions—yet his gaze pinned Joshua like a lance through the ribs. "Ah, our plowman," he murmured, voice sticky as honey left in the sun. "Levin wasn’t exaggerating." His fingers twitched toward the sorcerer, who stood poised at his elbow like a well-trained hound. "Those hands have known nothing but soil and calluses, yet look how they’ve sculpted him." The king’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Tell me, boy, have you ever been properly… appraised?"
Joshua’s fingers curled instinctively into fists, the movement making veins writhe beneath his forearms. "Your Majesty, I came to serve as guard—"
"—and serve you shall," Levin interrupted, stepping forward to trace a fingernail down Joshua’s biceps without touching him. The sorcerer’s breath hitched at the involuntary flex it provoked. "But first, we must assess if this"—his gesture encompassed Joshua’s body—"meets royal standards." His smile showed too many teeth. "Take off your tunic"
Joshua’s breath stuttered, sweat cooling between his shoulder blades. The king leaned forward like a starved man catching scent of roasting meat, his pallid fingers twitching against the armrests. Every eye in the chamber burned against Joshua’s skin as he gripped his hem. The linen peeled away with a whisper, revealing shoulders that could carry entire harvests, pectorals sculpted by years of swinging axes—and, as Levin noted with audible appreciation, nipples darkened by sun and labor, stiffening in the throne room’s chill air. King James moaned softly, his own narrow chest heaving.
The king lurched up, his embroidered robes pooling around skeletal ankles as he closed the distance. Joshua recoiled when James reached out—not toward his face, but toward his left pectoral. A manicured thumbnail flicked the stiff peak once, twice, sending sparks of shame down Joshua’s spine. His heel struck marble as he stepped back, muscles rippling beneath golden skin, but Levin’s voice froze him mid-retreat: "Hold, farmboy. Unless you’d prefer your family learns what happens when peasants insult their sovereign?"
Joshua’s throat worked around nothing, his disdain warring with terror as James resumed his inspection. The king’s fingers traced each abdominal furrow with necrotic slowness, pausing to pinch at the sweat-damp trail of hair leading below Joshua’s waistband. Some noblewoman stifled a giggle behind her fan. Levin’s robe tented obscenely as he watched his king press an open mouth against Joshua’s solar plexus, lapping at the salt there with a groan. "Prime specimen indeed," James gasped against quivering flesh—but Joshua was staring past the gilt ceiling, counting cracks to keep from retching.
"Remove everything," James ordered with sudden sharpness, stepping back to adjust the silk straining over his lap. When Joshua hesitated, Levin’s fist clenched—and the farmer’s belt unbuckled itself with a whisper of magic, falling to the marble like a dead snake. Joshua grabbed for it, but his trousers followed, pooling around scarred boots. Courtiers murmured approval at the sight of his thighs—thick as barrel staves from years of stomping through mud—and the heavy cock that twitched between them in involuntary response to the scrutiny. Levin’s chuckle curled around Joshua’s nakedness, a noose tightening with every breath. "You see, Your Majesty? Even defiance shapes him beautifully."
Joshua lunged toward his clothes, but Levin flicked two fingers sideways. An invisible force wrenched his arms behind his back, palms pressed flat against his spine-blades. The position thrust his pectorals forward obscenely, nipples pebbling tighter in the throne room’s draft. His abdominal muscles clenched instinctively, ridged like plowed earth beneath golden skin. James circled him slowly, pausing to drag a ringed finger through the sweat valley between Joshua's pecs. "Marvelous," he breathed, watching the farmer’s attempt to pull free only make his shoulders bunch harder, veins rising in bas-relief across his throat.
Magic forced Joshua to his knees with a crack that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. The impact sent his cock swaying—half-hard now despite himself—and James dropped to a crouch to catch it in one bony hand, squeezing just shy of pain. Joshua’s growl dissolved into a gasp when Levin’s spell tightened, forcing his spine into a deeper arch that thrust his ass back, his chest higher. The sorcerer licked his lips at the sight of Joshua’s thighs trembling with strain, every muscle defined in desperate opposition to forces he couldn’t see.
Emerald light coiled from Levin’s fingertips, wrapping Joshua’s nipples and cock in pulsating tendrils that throbbed in time with his hammering pulse. The sensation was electric—like a hundred tongues lapping hungrily at his most sensitive flesh. Joshua’s groan broke ragged from his throat as his hips jerked involuntarily, cock swelling to full hardness under the spell’s relentless suction. Pre-cum leaked in pearly streaks down his shaft, each droplet vanishing into the hungry magic. His nipples stood painfully erect, the spell tugging at them rhythmically, mimicking a suckling mouth just firm enough to make his balls tighten.
"Oh gods—" Joshua choked, fingers clawing at nothing as pleasure coiled white-hot in his gut. He was close—so close—the pressure building like floodwaters against a dam. But just as his stomach muscles clenched for release, Levin flicked his wrist. The emerald bands constricted suddenly around the base of his cock like a noose, cutting off his climax with brutal precision. Joshua screamed—half agony, half delirium—as the denied orgasm ripped through him without relief. His vision blurred with unshed tears while his cock throbbed angrily, still trapped in the spell’s cruel grip.
Levin circled him slowly, trailing a finger along the quivering ridge of Joshua’s abdomen. "Lesson one," he murmured, pausing to pinch one abused nipple between thumb and forefinger, twisting just to watch the farmer’s face contort. "This body belongs to His Majesty now."
Joshua panted through gritted teeth, still shuddering from the denied climax, the phantom echoes of pleasure still jolting through his nerves. He could feel the weight of Levin’s threat pressing down heavier than any yoke—his family’s safety dangling by a thread. The sorcerer leaned in, breath hot against his ear. "Fail to please, and your father will lose more than his legs next time."
The emerald bands dissolved with a flick of Levin’s wrist, and Joshua collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, sweat dripping from his brow onto the cold marble. His muscles trembled from exertion, his cock still painfully hard and neglected between his thighs. King James wasted no time—his bony fingers traced the furrows of Joshua’s back, mapping the way his shoulder blades flexed beneath golden skin as he fought to steady himself. The king’s breath quickened as he knelt behind him, spreading Joshua’s cheeks with greedy hands.
Joshua flinched when a slick fingertip pressed against his entrance, unprepared for the intrusion. His spine arched instinctively, but he choked back a protest, biting his lip until copper filled his mouth. James chuckled darkly, working the digit deeper with cruel precision, relishing the way Joshua’s thighs quivered with suppressed resistance. "Such a proud beast," the king mused, crooking his finger just to hear Joshua gasp. "But even stallions learn to kneel."
Withdrawing abruptly, James rose and wiped his fingers on Levin’s robe with casual disdain. "See that he’s properly... softened," he ordered, stepping back as two guards materialized from the shadows. Their hands dug into Joshua’s biceps—not that he could resist, his muscles still twitching from Levin’s magic—hauling him upright. The walk through torch-lit corridors was a blur of muffled laughter and wandering touches, every groping hand mapping the sweat-slick terrain of his body until they reached a windowless cell where iron manacles hung from the ceiling.
Levin entered moments later, his robes parted just enough to reveal the straining outline of his own arousal. The sorcerer circled Joshua like a predator assessing fresh meat, pausing to flick a calloused nipple that hadn’t yet softened from earlier torment. "On your knees," he commanded, snapping his fingers toward the cell’s center. Joshua hesitated—just long enough for Levin’s eyes to darken with warning. "Must I remind you how swiftly fire spreads through thatched roofs?" The threat hung between them, thick as the musk rising from Joshua’s still-hard cock.
Swallowing bile, Joshua sank onto the rough stone, the cold seeping into his skin. Levin’s smile widened as he trailed a knuckle down the farmer’s sternum, pausing to swirl around his navel. "Good boy," he purred, leaning close enough for Joshua to smell the cloves on his breath. "Now, let’s discuss how you’ll repay His Majesty’s... generosity."
The sorcerer snapped his fingers, and the guards stepped forward—one gripping a braided leather crop, the other unbuckling his belt with deliberate slowness. Levin circled Joshua like a falcon, his voice dripping honeyed venom. "Your body will be honed—not for crops, but for the King’s pleasure. Every muscle will swell under our hands, every drop of seed wrung from you until you beg to spill it." He gestured to the guards. "Teach him."
The first lash landed across Joshua’s shoulders with a crack that sent fire racing down his spine. His gasp was muffled by the second guard’s palm pressing against his lips—only to be replaced by a warm tongue lapping at his nipple, rough and insistent. Pain and pleasure twisted together like vines, his muscles seizing as the crop found fresh skin. Behind him, the guard administering pain exhaled sharply with each strike, his free hand kneading the reddening flesh of Joshua’s thigh.
"Posture," Levin reminded, nudging Joshua’s trembling abdomen with a boot tip. The farmer’s spine arched involuntarily as the guard’s teeth scraped his other nipple, his cock pulsing against nothing. Every gasp was met with another lash—each stroke timed to the flick of a tongue or the squeeze of fingers around his balls. Sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat, his body caught between shuddering away from the pain and pressing into the relentless teasing touch. Levin watched, rapt, as Joshua’s resolve fractured into ragged groans, his muscles quivering like plucked bowstrings.
At the thirty-minute mark, Joshua’s thighs gave out, sending him sprawling onto the cold stone. His chest heaved, sweat-darkened hair clinging to his forehead as his biceps twitched with residual tension. Levin crouched beside him, fingers sinking into the farmer’s damp curls to wrench his head back. "Pathetic," he murmured, though his own breathing was uneven. "You collapse faster than a harvest drunkard." His grip tightened as Joshua’s cock jerked against his thigh—still rock-hard and leaking under the spell’s cruel denial.
Emerald light flared as Levin traced a sigil in the air above Joshua’s groin. The magic coiled tight around the base of his shaft like an invisible vise, ensuring every torturous stroke of the guards’ hands would leave him writhing without relief. "Endurance training begins tonight," Levin announced, rising to his full height. He gestured to the guards without turning, his gaze lingering on the way Joshua’s abs contracted with each labored breath. "Double the edging. Triple the lashings. I want him so sensitive by dawn that a breeze could make him sob."
The moment Levin’s footsteps faded down the corridor, the taller guard—Peter—let out a slow exhale through his nose. His companion smirked, unbuckling his vambrace with deliberate slowness. "Your turn to polish the plowboy," he taunted, tossing the crop onto a nearby bench. "Try not to enjoy it too much." Peter waited until the cell door clanged shut before kneeling beside Joshua, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he guided the farmer’s trembling form upright against the bars. "Breathe," he murmured, fingers skimming over the welts without pressing—just close enough for Joshua to feel the heat radiating from his abused skin.
Peter dipped a cloth into a bucket of tepid water, wringing it out with calloused hands that had known their own share of palace brutality. "Levin’s last toy lasted three weeks," he said quietly, dabbing at the sweat-slick hollow of Joshua’s throat. "Had calves like granite from running the stairs with weights chained to his ankles. The king milked him eight times a day until his balls ached purple." The cloth traveled lower, catching on a raised welt across Joshua’s pec. Peter’s thumb brushed the farmer’s nipple—briefly, accidentally—and they both froze at the bitten-off gasp it elicited. "Point is," Peter continued, voice gruffer now, "fight in the ways that matter. Groan pretty when they want it. Save your strength for when the chains loosen."
Joshua blinked salt from his lashes as Peter produced a vial of something iridescent, swirling like mercury in torchlight. "Nipple training," the guard muttered, uncorking it with his teeth. The scent of crushed mint and something darker filled the cell as he dipped two fingers in, coating them thickly before circling Joshua’s left nipple without touching the peak. "King likes them puffy. Sensitive enough to come from just this." His fingers closed—slowly, inexorably—around the hardened nub, twisting just shy of pain. Joshua’s back arched off the bars as fire shot straight to his cock, the sensation somehow magnified by the cooling tingle of the salve. Peter watched his throat work with clinical interest. "Breathe through it. The more you resist, the longer Levin makes the sessions."
Joshua’s fingers dug into Peter’s forearm, his voice raw. "There’s got to be—ah!—some way past the spells." His hips jerked when Peter’s thumb found the exact spot that made his vision whiten, the salve sinking deeper with every torturous rotation. The guard leaned in until his stubble scraped Joshua’s ear. "Walls have ears," he breathed, flicking the abused nipple hard enough to draw a choked whimper. "Levin sees through every shadow in this fucking place." To emphasize his point, he dragged a salve-slicked palm down Joshua’s abdomen—slow enough for the farmer to feel each ridge of muscle twitch under the cooling burn—and wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock where the magic still throbbed like a second pulse. "Stop thinking about escape," Peter ordered through clenched teeth, his own arousal evident where it pressed against Joshua’s thigh. "Start thinking about survival."
The clank of iron echoed as Peter secured Joshua’s wrists and neck to the cell bars behind him, forcing his arms into a torturous curl that stretched his pectorals taut, nipples jutting obscenely forward. The position left his entire torso exposed—every carved ab, every rope-like vein in his biceps—for Peter’s slow, deliberate appraisal. The guard’s tongue dragged across Joshua’s left nipple without warning, hot and wet and impossibly skilled, circling the pebbled flesh with just enough pressure to make Joshua’s knees buckle against the chains. "Breathe," Peter reminded darkly, switching to the other nipple and sucking hard enough to pull a ragged cry from Joshua’s throat. His cock jumped violently, pulsing against the magical bindings that denied him release, pre-cum dripping uselessly onto the stone beneath him.
Peter alternated between nipples with cruel precision, his teeth scraping one while his fingers pinched and rolled the other, each touch sending electric jolts straight to Joshua’s trapped cock. "King’s got a thing for ruined nipples," Peter growled against sweat-slick skin, his free hand kneading Joshua’s pec hard enough to leave bruises. "Wants them so sensitive you’ll come from a fucking breeze by week’s end." Joshua’s vision whited out as Peter bit down suddenly, the pain-pleasure so intense his back arched off the bars, muscles straining beautifully against the iron restraints. His cock throbbed in time with each suckling pull, the denied orgasm building like a storm with nowhere to break.
Within minutes, Joshua was shuddering through his third forced climax, his scream echoing off the dungeon walls as his body convulsed without release. Peter watched, rapt, as the farmer’s abs contracted in helpless waves, his cock spurting nothing but agony while the magic kept him achingly hard.
The guard’s fingers traced the quivering ridge of Joshua’s bicep, squeezing just hard enough to make the muscle bulge obscenely under sweat-slick skin. "His Majesty doesn’t like his toys twitching like spooked fillies," Peter murmured, dragging his tongue along the throbbing vein in Joshua’s forearm. "When he touches you, you flex—slow, controlled—like you’re savoring every fucking stroke."
He demonstrated by straddling Joshua’s waist, pinning him against the bars as his hands roamed the farmer’s torso with deliberate precision. One palm slid up Joshua’s abs, pausing to circle his navel until the muscles beneath fluttered obediently. The other gripped his bicep, kneading the hard curve until Joshua instinctively flexed, his veins rising like ropes under Peter’s approving fingers. "Good," the guard breathed against his neck. "Now arch when I suck—yes, just like that—Christ, you learn fast."
Joshua’s groan caught in his throat as Peter’s mouth descended on his nipple again, this time with rhythmic pressure timed to the roll of his hips. Between the salve and the relentless stimulation, every flick of Peter’s tongue sent shocks straight to his trapped cock, his thighs trembling with the effort to stay still. "Eyes open," Peter ordered between sucks, tilting Joshua’s chin toward the dungeon’s shadowed ceiling.
The farmer obeyed mechanically, focusing on the damp stone overhead—anything to avoid the slick sound of Peter’s lips dragging across his skin. His mind clung to images of his siblings huddled around their father’s sickbed, the way his youngest sister had tucked their last coin into his palm before he left. But even those memories fractured when Peter twisted both nipples simultaneously, the pain pleasure so intense Joshua’s abdomen spasmed involuntarily, his cock twitching against the magical bindings.
Peter chuckled darkly at the shudder that wracked Joshua’s body, his fingers tracing the ridges of the farmer’s clenched jaw. "Still thinking about home?" he taunted, scraping his teeth along Joshua’s collarbone. "Good. Hold onto that. It’s the only thing that’ll keep you sane when Levin starts pumping you full of aphrodisiacs tomorrow." His hand slid lower, palming Joshua’s abs with possessive familiarity, each stroke coaxing the muscles to ripple obediently under his touch.
Joshua’s breath hitched as Peter’s thumb found the divot below his navel, pressing just hard enough to make his cock jerk uselessly. The sensation blurred his vision momentarily, scattering his thoughts like chaff in the wind. For a heartbeat, he was back in the fields, the sun on his shoulders and earth under his nails—until Peter’s mouth sealed over his right nipple, sucking hard enough to pull another broken sound from his throat. His fingers flexed against the bars, the iron biting into his wrists as he fought to reconcile the humiliation with the white heat coiling in his gut.
The manacles clanked open unexpectedly, and Joshua barely caught himself before his knees buckled. Peter stepped back, arms crossed, watching the way Joshua’s muscles trembled under their own weight. "Hold yourself," he commanded, voice rough. "Like the king wants you—chest out, abs tight." Joshua swallowed hard, forcing his shoulders back and arms into a controlled curl at his sides, his biceps flexing instinctively under Peter’s scrutinizing gaze. The guard circled him slowly, trailing a single fingertip along the ridges of his obliques, watching the way Joshua’s skin pebbled under his touch. "Better," Peter murmured, and then his mouth was on Joshua again, tongue swirling around a nipple while his free hand kneaded the farmer’s pec, coaxing the muscle to swell under his palm.
Joshua gritted his teeth, focusing on the rhythm of his breath—in through the nose, out through clenched teeth—as Peter’s ministrations grew more insistent. His abs flexed involuntarily when Peter’s teeth scraped his nipple, but he held the pose, sweat dripping down his temples as he willed his body to obey. The guard’s tongue dragged lower, tracing the defined lines of his abdomen, each lick sending fresh tremors through Joshua’s thighs. He could feel his resolve fraying like a rope under tension, his cock throbbing in time with Peter’s relentless exploration. Just when he thought he might collapse, Peter pulled back, leaving him panting and glistening under the torchlight. "Again," the guard ordered, and Joshua forced his spine straight once more, his muscles quivering but holding.
By the seventh repetition, Joshua’s thighs were slick with sweat, his calves cramping from the effort of maintaining his stance. Peter’s mouth was a brand against his skin, each suckling pull threatening to unravel him, but he’d learned to anticipate the waves of sensation—arching into the touch without losing his form, flexing his pecs when Peter’s fingers demanded it. The guard’s approval was a low hum against his sternum, vibrating through Joshua’s body like a plucked string. "You’re adapting," Peter observed, his breath hot against Joshua’s damp skin.
Another hour passed in a haze of torment and discipline. Joshua’s abs quivered under the relentless attention, his nipples swollen and oversensitive from Peter’s alternating bites and soothing licks. The guard’s hands mapped every inch of his torso, pausing to knead a particularly taut muscle or trace the ridges of his ribs. "Breathe," Peter reminded, pinching Joshua’s nipple hard enough to make his vision swim—then easing the pressure just as quickly, forcing Joshua to ride the edge between pain and pleasure. The farmer’s jaw ached from clenching it, his cock a throbbing, neglected weight between his thighs.
When Joshua finally managed to hold his flexed posture for five unbroken minutes—chest out, abs carved like stone—Peter stepped back with a grunt of approval. "Enough," he muttered, unlocking the manacles with a twist of his wrist. The sudden release sent Joshua crashing to his knees, his muscles trembling with exhaustion. He caught himself on his palms, sweat dripping from his brow onto the cold stone beneath him. Peter’s boot nudged his ribs none too gently. "First part’s over," the guard said, voice devoid of its earlier cruelty. "Marcus will handle the rest. He specializes in… endurance." The way he lingered on the word sent a fresh wave of dread through Joshua’s gut.
Joshua swallowed thickly, his throat raw from stifled sounds. "I don’t—" He broke off, shaking his head. The thought of more, of worse, coiled like a lead weight in his stomach. Peter crouched beside him, grip firm on Joshua’s nape as he forced their eyes to meet. "You don’t have a choice," the guard said flatly. "Only way out is through." His thumb brushed the shell of Joshua’s ear—almost tender—before he shoved to his feet. The cell door groaned open, revealing Marcus’s hulking silhouette in the corridor. "Enjoy your break, plowboy," Peter tossed over his shoulder. "It’s the last one you’ll get."
Marcus stepped into the torchlight, rolling a heavy leather strap between his fingers. His gaze raked over Joshua’s prone form, lingering on the sweat-slick valleys between his muscles. "Up," he commanded, voice like gravel. When Joshua hesitated, Marcus’s boot connected with his ribs—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to steal his breath. "On your knees. Hands behind your head." Joshua forced his body to obey, every movement aching. Marcus’s smile was a slow, predatory thing as he circled him. "Good," he murmured, dragging the strap along Joshua’s inner thigh.
The guard produced a slender vial from his belt—Levin’s concoction—its contents swirling like liquid moonlight. He dipped a needle into the vial, the metal glinting as it emerged slick with oil. "One for each ridge," Marcus mused, pressing the needle’s tip against the dip above Joshua’s first ab. Joshua’s breath hitched as Marcus pushed—slowly, deliberately—until the needle pierced skin. A whimper tore from his throat as the oil burned through his muscles, amplifying every twitch. Marcus continued, methodically skewering each defined ab, his fingers lingering to twist the needles just shy of snapping.
When Marcus slid the needle’s tip under Joshua’s left nipple, the farmer’s body convulsed violently, his fingers clawing at the stone floor. The guard tutted, pausing to admire the way Joshua’s pecs trembled. "Soft already?" he taunted, flicking the needle to make it vibrate. Joshua screamed—a raw, broken sound—as the sensation ricocheted straight to his cock. His knees buckled, sending him crashing onto all fours, his arms instinctively curling protectively over his chest. Marcus’s boot stomped down between his shoulder blades, pinning him flat. "Disobedient," he growled, unhooking the crop from his belt.
The first lash landed across Joshua’s lower back, the sting igniting like wildfire. He arched, a choked sob escaping as Marcus continued—five lashes, ten, each meticulously placed to avoid breaking skin while maximizing agony. Joshua writhed, his muscles seizing, his pleas for mercy dissolving into gasps. Marcus paused only to yank the needles from his abs, chuckling at Joshua’s shuddering inhale. "Begging won’t save you," he muttered, dragging the crop’s tip along Joshua’s twitching cock. "But this might." The next lash landed directly across his nipples, and Joshua’s vision whited out as his body betrayed him—arching, shaking, utterly undone.
Marcus’s grip shifted, fingers tangling in Joshua’s sweat-drenched hair as he hauled him upright. "Look at you," he sneered, slamming Joshua against the iron bars, the metal biting into his spine. "Muscles trembling like a virgin on her wedding night." The studs on his gloves glinted as he curled his fist, driving it into Joshua’s solar plexus. The air rushed from Joshua’s lungs in a wheezing gasp, his abs clenching instinctively around the pain. Marcus didn’t let up—each punch landed with surgical precision, alternating between his ribs and the vulnerable hollows between his defined abdominals. Joshua’s groans grew ragged, his strength leaching away with every brutal impact.
By the twentieth gut punch, Joshua’s knees threatened to buckle, but the chains held him upright—neck craned back, arms splayed, his torso displayed like a butcher’s prize cut. Marcus stepped back, admiring the way Joshua’s sweat-slicked muscles quivered under the torchlight. "Pretty," he mused, rolling his shoulders before donning the studded gloves. The first strike with the metal-knuckled gauntlet split Joshua’s lip; the second drove into his diaphragm, forcing a strangled scream. Blood and spit dripped from Joshua’s chin as Marcus worked him over methodically—each punch carving deeper into his endurance, each impact a lesson in submission.
The studs left cruel indentations across Joshua’s pecs and abs, the pain blurring into a white-hot haze. His vision swam, his breath coming in shallow, wet hitches. Still, Marcus didn’t relent. He gripped Joshua’s jaw, forcing his head up. "Still with me, farm boy?" he taunted, dragging a thumb over Joshua’s bruised nipple. When Joshua only whimpered, Marcus grinned—wide and vicious—before driving his fist into Joshua’s gut one final time. The farmer’s body convulsed, his scream echoing off the dungeon walls as he hung limp in his chains, utterly spent. Marcus wiped his gloves on Joshua’s thigh, murmuring, "Levin’s gonna love what I’ve done to you."
Joshua’s arms trembled as Marcus released him from the manacles, letting him crumple to the floor in a heap of sweat-slicked muscle and shuddering limbs. The stone was cool against his overheated skin, a fleeting reprieve before Marcus’s boot nudged his ribs, rolling him onto his back. "Look at you," Marcus sneered, straddling Joshua’s waist, his weight pinning the farmer’s hips down. "Peter’s done a pretty good job—your nipples are practically begging for more." Joshua thrashed his head to the side, but his arms, though unrestrained, stayed limp at his sides—knowing better than to resist. Marcus chuckled, his thumbs finding Joshua’s swollen nipples, twisting them mercilessly until Joshua arched off the ground with a choked cry.
Leaning down, Marcus sealed his mouth over Joshua’s left nipple, sucking hard enough to pull another broken sound from the farmer’s throat. His tongue flicked over the abused nub, alternating sharp bites with soothing licks, while his hands roamed up to knead Joshua’s biceps. "Such perfect arms," Marcus mused against Joshua’s skin, his fingers tracing the thick veins that stood out in stark relief. "Bet you could lift a plow all day with these." He squeezed, forcing Joshua’s muscles to flex under his grip, then dragged his nails down the length of them, leaving angry red trails in their wake. Joshua’s breath hitched, his cock twitching traitorously against his thigh—betrayed by his own body’s conditioned response.
Marcus’s laughter was dark as he palmed Joshua’s pecs, his thumbs circling the farmer’s nipples in slow, torturous spirals. "You’re getting good at this," he murmured, biting down just hard enough to make Joshua’s abs clench. "Soon, you’ll be begging for it." His hands slid lower, mapping every ridge of Joshua’s abdomen, pausing to dig his fingers into the soft hollows between each defined muscle. Joshua’s hips jerked involuntarily, his thighs trembling as Marcus’s weight settled more firmly against him, trapping his aching cock between them. "But we’re not done yet," Marcus growled, his breath hot against Joshua’s ear. "Not even close."
A slow, cruel smirk curled Marcus’s lips as he reached for the candle perched on the nearby brazier. The wax hissed as it dripped onto Joshua’s left nipple, the molten heat searing into his flesh. Joshua’s back arched off the stone floor, a ragged scream tearing from his throat, but Marcus held him down with an iron grip. "Still," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. "You can thrash that pretty head all you like, but keep those arms down." Another drop landed just below his navel, the wax pooling in the dip of his abdominals, and Joshua’s fingers clawed uselessly at the ground, his toes curling. "That’s it," Marcus murmured, his free hand tracing the outline of Joshua’s cock, already slick with precum. "Let me see how much you can take."
The wax came faster now, a relentless cascade coating Joshua’s chest, his abs, the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. His muscles spasmed under the heat, sweat mingling with the cooling wax as it hardened against his skin. Marcus paused only to scrape it away with the edge of a dagger, the blade’s cold bite contrasting sharply with the fresh wave of molten wax that followed. Joshua’s breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, his body trembling with the effort of staying still. When Marcus’s fingers dipped into a vial of oil, slicking it over Joshua’s tortured nipples, the farmer’s vision blurred—the sting of the wax magnified tenfold by the sensitizing salve. "Please," Joshua choked out, his voice raw. "Please, no more—"
Marcus silenced him with another flood of wax, this time directly over his cock. Joshua’s entire body convulsed, his legs kicking out instinctively, but Marcus pinned him down with a knee across his thighs. "You don’t get to say when we’re done," he snarled, leaning close enough for Joshua to feel his breath against his lips. "You belong to the king—every inch of you." He twisted Joshua’s nipple between his fingers, relishing the way the farmer’s muscles locked in agony.
The wax dripped slower now, each drop strategically placed—across the throbbing vein of his cock, over his trembling abs, along the arch of his collarbones. Marcus dragged the blade across Joshua’s skin again, scraping away layers until the farmer’s chest gleamed raw and pink. "You think begging makes it stop?" He pressed the dagger’s tip under Joshua’s chin, forcing his head back. "Every time you disobey, your family’s rations get cut. Every time you flinch, your father’s medicine gets halved. You want to kill them?" Joshua’s breath hitched, his eyes widening in horror.
Marcus smirked, tossing the dagger aside to grip Joshua’s jaw instead. "Then take it." He poured the rest of the molten wax over Joshua’s chest in one relentless wave, watching the farmer’s throat work around a silent scream. The salve Levin had applied earlier made the pain unbearable—every nerve ending alight, every muscle seizing—but Joshua held still now, his fingers trembling against the stone floor. "Good boy," Marcus murmured, stroking Joshua’s sweat-drenched hair almost tenderly before yanking his head back to expose his throat.
By dawn, Joshua’s body gave out. His vision swam, the torchlight blurring into streaks of gold as Marcus’s voice faded into a distant hum. The last thing he felt before darkness took him was Marcus’s hand sliding between his legs, squeezing his oversensitive cock in a cruel mockery of release. Then nothing.
The grating shriek of rusted hinges startled Joshua awake. He flinched—barely—his muscles screaming in protest as he blinked against the harsh morning light flooding the cell. Levin’s silhouette loomed in the doorway, the sorcerer’s sharp features carved into a satisfied smirk. "Position," Levin commanded, his voice like chilled steel. Joshua’s limbs moved sluggishly, his knees scraping against rough stone as he struggled onto them. His back protested the forced straightness, his arms heavy as lead as he clasped them behind him—displaying his battered but still-defined pecs and abs like a prize stallion at market.
Levin circled him slowly, his fingers tracing the bruises Marcus had left—purpling thumbprints on Joshua’s ribs, the angry red welts striping his abs. The sorcerer hummed approvingly when Joshua hissed at the press of a fingertip into a particularly tender bruise. "Excellent," Levin murmured, dragging a nail over Joshua’s left nipple, watching it pebble instantly under his touch. "The king will be pleased—his feast begins at sundown, and you, my boy, are the main attraction." He stepped back with a flourish of his robes. "Guards, prime him."
Peter and Marcus entered, their expressions unreadable as Levin swept away. Peter’s fingers curled into Joshua’s sweat-damp hair, forcing his chin up. "You heard the master," he murmured, his other hand already gliding down Joshua’s flank to knead the abused muscle there. "Time to make you shine." Marcus’s laugh was a dark promise as he unfurled a length of silk rope, the fabric whispering against Joshua’s skin like a lover’s touch. Joshua’s breath hitched—he knew this dance by now. The guards’ hands would sculpt him into perfection, their torment a grotesque art. And by nightfall, he’d be nothing more than a canvas for the king’s hunger.
The banquet hall reeked of roasted meats and spiced wine, the cloying scent clinging to Joshua’s throat as the guards marched him forward. Torchlight glinted off his oiled skin, catching on every ridge of his overworked muscles—his pecs still twitching from Levin’s earlier attentions, his abs taut as bowstrings. The noblemen’s murmurs slithered over him, their bony fingers twitching toward their goblets as if starved for a taste. King James lounged on his throne, one lazy hand gesturing toward Joshua’s trembling form. "Behold," he purred, "our peasant Hercules—conditioned to endure, yet so eager to please." A murmur of delight rippled through the gathered lords. Joshua’s knees struck the dais steps, his body folding into the required kneel—back arched, arms bound behind him, his cock straining obscenely against the thin silk of his undergarments.
Levin’s fingers traced the rope binding Joshua’s wrists, his nails scraping just shy of pain. "Observe the definition," he commanded, his voice weaving through the hall like smoke. A nobleman—Lord Harwick, his eyes fever-bright—leaned forward to prod Joshua’s left pec, his touch featherlight yet electric. Joshua’s nipple hardened instantly under the attention, his breath escaping in a shudder. Harwick chuckled, turning to the king. "You’ve outdone yourself, Majesty. Even his sweat tastes of submission." James’s grin was a knife’s edge. "Oh, but we’ve only begun," he murmured, snapping his fingers.
Levin stepped closer, his robes brushing Joshua’s oiled thighs. "This morning, Marcus had him holding a twenty-pound iron bar overhead—his arms straight, trembling—for an hour," he explained, fingertips skating over Joshua’s deltoids where the strain still lingered. "When he failed, we suspended him by his ankles and let gravity stretch his spine." Harwick’s tongue darted out to wet his lips as Levin demonstrated, pressing Joshua’s shoulders down until the farmer gasped. "Peter trained his cock next," Levin continued, twisting Joshua’s nipple between thumb and forefinger, "edged him raw—two dozen guards taking turns, his precum dripping like a tapped ale barrel."
Joshua’s jaw clenched, but Levin’s telepathic voice slithered behind his eyes: *Shall I send word to the barracks? Your father’s medicine replaced with vinegar tonight?* A tremor ran through Joshua’s bound arms. Levin smiled. "Tell Lord Harwick," he purred aloud, his grip tightening on Joshua’s throat. The words burned like bile, but Joshua forced them out—hoarse, broken: "My... my body is for your pleasure, milord." Harwick’s delighted laugh was drowned by the king’s approving hum. "Good," Levin whispered into Joshua’s mind, *now hold still.* His palm landed sharply across Joshua’s left pec, the slap ringing through the hall. The sting radiated outward, pooling low in his belly. Joshua bit back a moan.
Harwick’s hand replaced Levin’s, kneading the reddening flesh with greedy fingers. "Such obedience," he mused, pinching Joshua’s nipple until the farmer’s thighs quivered.
Levin’s telepathic voice coiled behind Joshua’s eyelids like smoke—*Don’t you dare slump—show the king how well Marcus trained those shoulders.* Joshua forced his spine straighter, breathing through the sting as Harwick’s other hand found his right nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger with sadistic precision.
The nobleman leaned closer, his hot breath ghosting over Joshua’s collarbone. "Tell me, peasant—did Marcus teach you to leak like this?" His fingers traced downward, gathering the precum beading at the tip of Joshua’s cock and smearing it across his abs. Joshua’s hips jerked involuntarily, his muscles flexing under the slick slide.
A collective murmur rose from the watching nobles as Harwick hooked fingers into Joshua’s mouth, forcing him to taste his own arousal. Levin’s mental chuckle vibrated through Joshua’s skull—*Perfect. Now arch your chest higher—let them see what years of labor gave you.* Joshua obeyed, his pecs trembling under Harwick’s relentless attention, his cock pulsing against the silk restraints with every twist of his nipples.
The nobleman’s hands mapped every ridge of Joshua’s abdomen, fingers digging into the valleys between muscles that quivered under forced tension. "Marvelous," Harwick breathed, pressing an open palm flat against Joshua’s solar plexus to feel the rapid-fire flutter beneath. Levin’s telepathic voice turned icy—*You’re slacking. Do you want Marcus back here with his needles?* Joshua’s abs contracted violently, his breath hissing through clenched teeth as Harwick traced the fresh bruises left by last night’s gauntlets.
Levin’s sudden grip on Joshua’s jaw jerked his head back, exposing his throat. "He needs priming," the sorcerer announced to the hall, producing a slender vial filled with iridescent liquid. Joshua’s pupils dilated—he knew this potion. Levin plunged the needle into his navel without warning, the serum burning through muscle fibers like wildfire. Joshua’s body convulsed, his abs locking into grotesque definition, veins snaking across his torso in obscene relief. Harwick moaned outright, palming Joshua’s now-unyielding stomach.
Joshua’s cock twitched violently against the silk, untouched yet leaking fat droplets onto the dais. Harwick bent lower, his tongue flicking Joshua’s left nipple—once, twice—before sealing his lips around the stiff peak. Joshua’s hips bucked, a strangled groan tearing from his lips as Harwick sucked hard, teeth scraping the abused flesh. Every nerve screamed—Levin’s potion magnifying sensation beyond endurance—yet Joshua couldn’t collapse, Levin’s fingers digging into his trapezius muscles like iron hooks.
"Steady," Levin murmured aloud, while his telepathic voice slithered deeper: *Your body exists to be used. Feel how they worship you—how your suffering becomes their pleasure.* Harwick switched nipples, biting down just as Levin twisted Joshua’s right nipple between clawed fingers. The farmer’s scream shattered into a broken whimper, his thighs trembling wildly, but his posture remained flawless—back arched, shoulders spread—the picture of agonized submission.
Harwick pulled back with a wet pop, Joshua’s saliva-slicked nipples glistening under torchlight. "Magnificent training," he praised Levin, then stroked Joshua’s cheek almost tenderly. "And what a canvas you’ve provided, boy." Levin’s grip tightened in warning as Joshua’s eyelids fluttered—until a sharp pinch to his inner thigh jolted him back to full awareness. King James’s chuckle rippled through the hall. "The night is young," he purred, swirling his wine. "Let’s see how much more beauty we can carve from him."
Harwick’s fingers danced lower, tracing the deep grooves between Joshua’s abs with agonizing slowness. Joshua’s arms shook violently behind him, tendons straining against the silk ropes—every instinct screaming to shield his overstimulated flesh—but Levin’s telepathic snarl froze him: *Move an inch and I’ll have Peter flay your father’s back raw.* Harwick’s thumb pressed into Joshua’s navel, twisting cruelly as his other hand finally closed around the farmer’s cock. The slick glide of precum made Joshua’s hips jerk, his breath fracturing into ragged gasps. "Already?" Harwick murmured, twisting Joshua’s left nipple between thumb and forefinger. "Such a desperate thing."
Joshua came with a shattered cry, his abs contracting in violent spasms as pleasure crested—only for Levin’s whispered spell to yank the sensation backward like a tide reversing. The orgasm ripped through him incompletely, leaving him shuddering and oversensitive as the gathered cum was forced back into his swollen testicles. Harwick laughed, delighted, and pinched both nipples simultaneously. "Again," he demanded, stroking Joshua’s cock with relentless precision. Tears streaked Joshua’s cheeks—he couldn’t stop the tremors wracking his body, the way his muscles clenched and released under Harwick’s expert torment.
The nobleman’s mouth found Joshua’s right nipple again, teeth scraping the hardened peak as his fingers worked the oversensitive cock beneath. Joshua’s vision whited out as another aborted orgasm tore through him—Levin’s magic trapping the pleasure like a noose around his throat. His knees buckled, but Levin’s invisible grip held him upright, forced his trembling thighs apart wider. .
Harwick moaned against Joshua’s pec, sucking bruises into the sculpted muscle as his free hand mapped every ridge of the farmer’s abdomen. "Look at him," he panted to the watching nobles, thumb pressing deep into Joshua’s navel just as his other hand twisted both nipples sharply. Joshua’s scream dissolved into wet, broken gasps—his cock pulsing violently against Harwick’s palm, another wave of cum forced back inside him by Levin’s spell. The nobleman laughed, licking a stripe up Joshua’s sternum. "His body begs even when his mouth won’t."
Joshua’s arms strained uselessly against the silk bonds, muscles quivering with the need to shield himself—but the memory of Levin’s threat about his father’s flayed back kept his limbs locked in submission. Harwick’s fingers dug into the valleys between Joshua’s abs, nails carving red trails as he worked downward to the twitching cock. "How many can we wring from him?" Harwick mused aloud, thumbing the slit just as Levin’s magic pulsed—Joshua’s balls tightened painfully, another orgasm ripped from him and reversed mid-spurt.
Tears blurred Joshua’s vision as his body convulsed between them—Levin’s magic holding him open, Harwick’s hands wringing pleasure into torment. He bit his tongue bloody to keep from begging, but his muscles betrayed him, flexing obscenely under their touch. When Harwick’s teeth sank into his left nipple at the same moment Levin’s unseen fingers pressed deep into his prostate, Joshua’s back arched like a bowstring—silent screams shaking his frame as his limits shattered.
Harwick’s nails raked down Joshua’s abdomen, leaving crimson furrows in their wake. "Make them work for me," he growled, pressing the flushed head of his cock against the groove between Joshua’s lower abs. The farmer’s stomach convulsed—instinct recoiling—but Levin’s grip on his hair forced him still as Harwick rutted forward, his length sliding slick with Joshua’s sweat along the carved ridges of muscle. "There—yes—" Harwick’s hips snapped shallowly, groaning as Joshua’s abs rippled helplessly around him. Every contraction milked him deeper, the nobleman’s balls slapping against Joshua’s trembling thighs.
Behind Joshua, Lord Bryn’s fingers pried him open without preamble, the stretch burning as his cock breached the tight ring of muscle. Joshua’s groan was gut-deep, his hips jerking involuntarily—only for Levin to yank his head back by the hair. "Your hands stay bound," the sorcerer hissed, magic cinching the silk ropes tighter. "Use those pretty muscles instead." Joshua’s abdomen flexed on command, rippling under Harwick’s thrusts as Bryn hammered into him from behind. The dual violation wrenched another aborted orgasm from him—his cock pulsing empty air, Levin’s spell trapping the pleasure like a cork in a bottle.
Harwick’s breath came in ragged bursts, his cockhead catching on Joshua’s navel with every snap of his hips. "Tighter," he demanded, digging his thumbs into Joshua’s hipbones. The farmer’s abs locked around him like a vice, sweat-slick contractions milking Harwick toward his peak.
Then two other noblemen—Lord Bryn’s brothers—crowded in, mouths descending to Joshua’s nipples. The farmer gasped, shoulders jerking instinctively away from the sudden wet heat—only for Levin’s magic to coil around his torso like iron bands, forcing him back into Harwick’s thrusts. "He’s not yours to deny," Levin whispered into Joshua’s ear, while his hands guided Joshua’s pecs upward, presenting pliant flesh to the noblemen’s teeth. The first bite made Joshua buck wildly—his scream choked off as Levin’s magic flooded his throat—while Harwick groaned approval, rutting harder against Joshua’s flexing abdomen. The second nobleman sucked Joshua’s left nipple in deep, tongue flicking the abused nub until precum dribbled freely down Joshua’s restrained cock.
Joshua’s vision swam—black spots dancing as the sensations crested beyond endurance. He threw his head back, the throne room’s vaulted ceiling blurring above him. *Father’s hands rough with calluses, his youngest sister’s laughter—* The memories frayed as Harwick came with a shout, his release splattering hot across Joshua’s clenched abs. Bryn’s thrusts turned erratic behind him, his fingers bruising Joshua’s hips. Levin’s lips brushed Joshua’s temple—a mockery of tenderness—as he murmured, "Again," and the noblemen renewed their torment, teeth and tongues wringing fresh tremors from Joshua’s overstimulated body.
Joshua’s knees finally gave way, but Levin’s magic held him suspended mid-collapse—spread-eagled between their hands, his pecs still offered for hungry mouths, his cock twitching pathetically against the silk. Harwick traced the come-streaked lines of his abdomen lazily. "Perfect," he sighed, pressing two fingers into Joshua’s slack mouth. "Such a pretty sacrifice."
King James clapped his hands, the noblemen rising obediently as he gestured toward the banquet hall’s long table. "Enough appetizers," he murmured, eyes glinting as Joshua’s muscles trembled under their lingering touches. "Let the feast begin." Levin wrenched Joshua forward with a flick of his wrist, silk bonds snapping taut as he draped the farmer across the table’s edge—his arms curled behind him like a prize stag’s antlers, his abs flexing involuntarily under the torchlight. Two guards descended immediately, their tongues lapping at Joshua’s swollen nipples while a third stroked his cock with practiced precision.
"Release his seed," Levin commanded, snapping his fingers. The invisible constriction around Joshua’s cock vanished—and with it, the dam broke. The farmer arched violently as the first orgasm ripped through him, thick ropes of cum splattering into the silver goblet positioned beneath him. The guards didn’t pause, their hands and mouths working in ruthless tandem—twisting his nipples, thumbing his slit—until Joshua’s hips jerked again, another spurt forced from him barely a minute later.
Lord Bryn lifted the goblet first, toasting Joshua’s trembling form before draining it in one gulp. "Like fresh cream," he sighed, licking his lips as the guards redoubled their efforts. Joshua’s moans pitched higher, his cock pulsing almost rhythmically now—each orgasm weaker than the last, but Levin’s magic ensured he had no respite.
One nobleman—Lord Cedric—rose abruptly, seizing Joshua’s left pectoral and kneading it until the muscle quivered under his grip. "When you milk him dry," he ordered the guards, "pinch his nipples hard between each spurt—I want to see his abs clench." Joshua gasped as fingers twisted his already throbbing nipples, his stomach muscles rippling violently with each fresh wave of forced pleasure. The guards obeyed eagerly, their mouths sucking dark bruises into his skin while their fingers worked his cock like a pump handle.
King James watched lazily from the head of the table, his fingers steepled as Joshua’s cum dripped into the fourth goblet. "Levin," he murmured, gesturing toward the farmer’s twitching abdomen, "show them how deep his training runs." The sorcerer smirked, pressing two fingers into Joshua’s navel and murmuring a spell—Joshua’s abs immediately locked into a grotesque, vein-strutted tableau, his cock spurting weakly despite his exhaustion. The nobles roared approval, clinking their cups together.
Joshua’s vision blurred, his body reduced to a shuddering vessel as the fifth orgasm tore through him. The guards laughed, twisting his nipples in opposite directions just as his cock jerked—forcing out a pitiful dribble that Lord Harwick caught on his fingertip. "Not quite empty yet," he purred, smearing it across Joshua’s lower lip. "We’ll have every drop before dawn."
His silent plea—*please, no more*—reached Levin like a whisper in a storm. The sorcerer’s fingers tightened possessively around Joshua’s throat as his telepathic voice slithered in reply: *Your body is not yours to surrender. Every tremor, every drop of seed—they belong to the crown.* A fresh wave of images flooded Joshua’s mind—his father sitting by a roaring hearth, his youngest sister twirling in a new dress—each vision interlaced with Levin’s cruel reminder: *This is the price of their comfort.* Joshua’s next sob twisted into a moan as his cock twitched against Lord Bryn’s palm, another weak spurt dripping into the goblet below.
King James rose, his silk robe brushing Joshua’s sweat-slicked thigh as he surveyed the wreckage of his prize. "Enough," he declared, flicking a hand toward the guards, who stepped back instantly. Released from their torment, Joshua collapsed forward—only for Levin’s magic to catch him inches from the floor, suspending him in mid-air like a marionette with cut strings. "Tomorrow," James murmured, tracing a finger down Joshua’s trembling spine, "we test his limits in the courtyard. The people should see how beautifully he breaks."
Levin snapped his fingers, and the magic dissipated—Joshua’s body hit the stone floor with a thud, his muscles twitching helplessly. He couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t curl his fingers, but he heard Levin’s boots pause beside him. "Rest, boy," the sorcerer murmured, nudging Joshua’s ribs with his toe. "Dawn comes early for those who serve." The torchlight flickered as the hall emptied, leaving Joshua sprawled in his own sweat and spendings, his family’s smiling faces haunting the edges of his consciousness like a promise—or a curse.
