Note: This story takes extreme historical liberties, meaning that it’s mostly a work of fantasy. Many of the main characters lived centuries apart and doubtless would never have behaved the way they do in this story. The real-life characters were on the whole a pretty nasty and unsavory bunch; these characters are much more evolved.

I also refrain from using proper English because the form of English spoken 600 years ago bears little resemblance to modern day usage and would only bog the story down. My characters speak to each other in an accent closer to the made-up Mid Atlantic used by Hollywood in the 1950’s. If that grates on your nerves, my apologies. I never claimed to be a pro at writing authentic dialog!

I’ve been intrigued by King Edward II since watching Derek Jarman’s bizarre and unsettling film on the monarch when I was an impressionable youth. This question has been wiggling around in the back of my mind since then: What if Edward had been redeemed rather than murdered? Combine that thought with a meditation on sexism and gender bias in the Middle Ages and you have a recipe for…well, you have a recipe for this story, that’s what!

Cast of Characters

Phillipa – oldest daughter of King Henry IV and Mary de Bohun

Prince Hal – Phillipa’s younger brother, future King Henry V

King Henry IV – younger brother to King Edward II, forced Edward to abdicate

King Edward II. aka The Black Prince – Phillipa’s uncle, deposed King of England, exiled in Wales (Gwynedd)

Sir John Falstaff – Captain of the guard, close friend of Prince Hal

Piers Gaveston – former lover of King Edward II, 1st Earl of Cornwall, general of English army

Nigel Gaveston – Piers’ second son, Prince Hal’s manservant

Hugh Despenser, Earl of Winchester – former lover of King Edward II, exiled to monastery in Gloucester

Joan d’Arc – French prophet and leader of rebellion against the English

Catherine of Valois – Queen of France, supporter of Joan d’Arc

Lord Roger d’Armory – former lover of King Edward II

Robert the Bruce – King of Scotland

***

Chapter 1

Princess Phillipa decided to steal her brother’s gender on the night of his crowning. She sat in the great hall at the lower table with the rest of the noble ladies of the court and chewed on the inside of her cheek as she watched her younger brother, the new Crown Prince Hal, take his place at the high table to the right of their father, King Henry. Hal was radiant with pride, the golden fillet sparkling on his head.

Phillipa scowled. As the eldest child, she felt she was the rightful heir to the throne. Further, she–not Prince Hal–possessed a tactical mind without parallel. She even handled a sword better than he did. The ignorant wastrel was nothing but a party boy, scarcely suited for running a household much less the Kingdom of England.

It was sickening to watch her father, the garrulous and very drunk Henry fawn over him. All eyes were turned to them, everyone was merry, everyone was full of hope for the dawning of a bright future now that the royal succession was firmly established. Everyone, of course, but Phillipa.

She looked around the hall, wrinkling her nose at the smells of roasted meat, unwashed bodies, woodsmoke and dog feces. The place was oppressive. Too hot, too close, and far too dimly lit. Her long dress with its tight kirtle and linen chemise stifled her, reminding her of the life of confinement she faced in the court. She was under no illusions. She knew her destiny was to be married off to some fatuous and greedy nobleman to seal an alliance and fill his coffers with her dowry. She would be nothing but a royal broodmare, cloistered away to conceive and bear one brat after another until a male heir was secured. A male heir who would carry on the royal legacy, a legacy of conquest, bloodshed, and continued male domination. It was an endless cycle, one that stretched back to the dawn of humankind.

Not if I have anything to say about it, she thought to herself, making up her mind. I will use the Gift.

At the time, if she’d known the consequences of her impulsive decision, she probably would have swallowed the bile rising in her throat and forced herself to remain seated, carefully maintaining her composure and appearing to be the obedient and biddable Princess Phillipa. She was, after all, the good princess, the one who never complained nor seemed to possess a thought of her own.

Phillipa, however, was not in her right mind. Or maybe she was more in her right mind than she’d ever been? Whichever it was, she made up that mind and excused herself from the table, much to the confusion and disappointment of her mother, the queen. Phillipa waved her off, pleading indigestion due to her womanly problems. It wasn’t much of an exaggeration; her menses were copious that month and she felt bloated and irritable. Only later did she realize that Prince Hal owed his downfall to her estrus; if only he had been crowned a day earlier, things might have turned out quite differently.

***

Phillipa had been quite young when she realized she had the Gift. Unlike her uncle, the exiled King Edward II, however, she knew to keep this magical ability secret. She didn’t know how she knew this–she was far too young to have heard of, much less understood, Edward’s mistakes. Perhaps it was simply intuition? Certainly, the embarrassment and tragedy of Edward’s legacy was still fresh in everyone’s mind and the young Phillipa was impressionable. It meant that no one needed to tell her; she was at pains to conceal all evidence of her magic as soon as it manifested and no one suspected that Edward’s Gift had flowed down through the family to her.

That night was different; she cast off caution for the first time in her young life. The shreds of her previous life as a demure princess blew away, leaving an entirely new Phillipa in their place. Irritable and angry, she stormed out of the great hall, dismissing the servants who followed her and making a beeline for Edward’s hidden library. This was located behind a false wall in the royal library, an artifact from the exiled king’s time that had remained undetected by all save Phillipa.

She pressed the fieldstone to the right of the fireplace and entered through the doorway that appeared as one of the oaken panels slid aside. The room was warm and dry, located as it was behind the fireplace, and Edward’s leather-bound tomes lined the shelves before her. She whispered a quick illumination spell and pulled out the one with the red spine–red for blood magic–settling down on a low bench to pour over the pages.

It didn’t take her long. Within a few minutes, she had found a spell that would serve her purposes. Even better, the timing was perfect; for maximal effect, it required that the moon be full and that evening was indeed the night of the full moon. She could feel its inexorable pull on her innermost feminine organs; her cycles had always followed the waxing and waning of the moon.

Satisfied she had committed the spell to memory, she departed the library and headed for Prince Hal’s private chambers. The hallways were empty–even the guards were at the feast–and she slipped inside without being noticed. Wrinkling her nose at the foul, musky odor that permeated the rooms, she hid behind a dressing scrim and prepared to wait.

Prince Hal’s masculinity was nearly hers!

***

She had dozed off by the time he stumbled through the doorway, followed by Nigel Gaveston, his manservant and squire. The prince was quite drunk and barely able to stand, although he was blessedly alone. (Phillipa had worried that he’d bring a courtesan back to his room to continue the celebration. If that had been the case, her plans would have become decidedly more complicated.) Sighing with silent relief, she stood from her resting place behind the scrim and watched him through the tiny holes in the partition. Her heart was beating fast and her skin growing clammy with expectation.

Hal was a comely lad by any measure, although Phillipa generally failed to notice. To her, he would forever be the snot-nosed wretch who used to follow her around, tugging on the hem of her skirts and whining to be picked up. That night, though, she saw him with new eyes, perhaps because she was keen to familiarize herself with the body she was soon to inhabit. 

Tall and lean, he had black hair and smoky grey eyes. He was clean-shaven and kept his hair cropped short in the bowl crop that was common in those days. His features were strong and, she was forced to admit, even when drunk he possessed a regal bearing. She watched Nigel prepare him for bed with an almost clinical fascination, memorizing his movements for later. If she was going to pull this off, she needed to convince everyone that she was the true crown prince.

Hal pissed into a chamber pot and allowed Nigel to undress him from his rather worse for wear court finery, removing the gold fillet and setting it on a stand. The boy helped him into a loose nightshirt, bowed and, taking the chamber pot under an arm, blew out the guttering candles before departing for the night.

Phillipa was finally alone with her quarry and she smiled a cold smile in the darkness. It wasn’t long before she heard the telltale snorts and grunts of Hal’s snoring and she knew her time had come. She crept silently to the foot of his grand bed and held out her hand. A whisper from her lips kindled a palm full of glowing ether and she examined the sleeping prince’s face for a moment before casting a binding spell. His body went instantly rigid and he threw out his arms and legs as if they were tied to the bed posts. His eyes flew open and he opened his mouth to scream but Phillipa had already cast a muting spell and his cries were barely audible.

“Hello, Brother.” Her voice was surprisingly steady considering how furiously her heart was pounding. “I won’t take much of your time. I mean you no harm and do not wish you to suffer.”

Hal’s grey eyes bored into her own, cold as the grave yet simmering with rage. He had always been a bit of a hothead, much like their father, and–if she were being completely honest–like herself as well. 

“You…are…a….witch?” Although a mere whisper, there was no mistaking the accusatory tone of his voice. She wasn’t fooled, though. Beneath his rage, there was fear. Panic, even. She could see the wheels turning furiously in his mind as he struggled to comprehend this new knowledge. His sister, the beloved and obedient Phillipa, had inherited their uncle’s magic.

“Not a witch,” she corrected. “A sorceress. I’m far more powerful than a witch, Brother. And I do not dabble in potions or hexes. I prefer my magic clean and pure.” Hal’s eyes grew ever so slightly wider and Phillipa felt bad for him. While she harbored no love for him, she also did not hate him. Her quarrel was merely with his gender and all of the outrageous privileges it bestowed upon him. “Come now, let’s get this over with. I will release you briefly to remove your clothes while I do the same. Then we shall get down to business.”

His eyes grew wider still and she paused, realizing belatedly what he must be thinking and she laughed. “Oh, no! I do apologize! I have no intention of engaging in…unnatural…relations with my sibling! The magic I am going to perform requires our nakedness…and our blood.”

Hal thrashed about on the bed when he heard these words, doing his best to create a ruckus and rouse the sleeping Nigel. It was no use, though. Her spell muffled his movements as well as his voice and all of his thrashing barely amounted to the softest rustling. Phillipa ignored him and liberated the glowing ether to hover above them in a faint sphere. Then, turning her back, she unlaced her gown. Her fingers were trembling and it took longer than it should have (she had never allowed herself to be naked in front of a man before, much less her own brother!) but soon enough she was standing in the drafty room without a stitch on. She set her jaw and turned back to Hal, purposely refusing to look him in the eye.

“Go on,” she said. “Remove your nightshirt. We don’t have long.”

A slight modification in his spell and he was able to move his hands but only to pull off his shift. The rest of his body remained rigidly pressed into the bed. When her spell forced him to sit up and pull the furs back from his lower body, Phillipa stared. 

She had been so focused on planning for this moment, that she was unprepared for one thing: Hal’s penis. 

When she had decided to take on his gender, the thought that she would be taking on every part of his anatomy had only occurred to her in the abstract. Now that she was staring at his naked body in its fullness, she was taken aback, shocked and…disappointed.

Hal was the first man she had ever seen fully naked and thus his was the very first penis she had ever seen. On a human, at least. She had seen his stallion’s member many times and, in her girlish naivete, she had assumed that men were carrying around a similar appendage. Too late, she realized she’d been deluded. The reality of what a man had between his legs was nothing short of a letdown.

She gaped at her naked brother’s crotch, unable to believe what she was seeing.

This tiny, wrinkled flap of skin gave men all of their dominance and power?

Really?

Why, it was pathetic!

Heedless of Hal’s hate-filled eyes upon her, she stepped forward to get a better look. Yes, there was no denying that his equipment was quite meager and she snorted with laughter. This laughter, however, was soon followed by rage. She felt like the cruelest joke had been perpetrated upon her and upon all womankind. For her entire life, she had been made to feel inferior to men because she lacked a penis. And now that she had actually seen one for what it was, she realized it was a sham.

If anything, women were superior because their sex organs were tucked away within their bodies. Men’s organs were so fragile and vulnerable that it was they, not women, who should be kept locked away from potential harm. The slightest slip of a blade could sever the organ and render the man a eunuch. Not so with a woman!

Phillipa shivered, remembering belatedly she was still quite naked and the room was drafty. A sudden cramp followed by a telltale trickle between her legs reminded her of her menses. She sighed, realizing that this was one thing she would concede to men: At least they didn’t have to deal with the cramping, bloating and blood flowing out of their orifice each month.

She debated what to do. Now that she had seen what lay in store for her if she stole her brother’s gender, she was not quite so enthusiastic. Was it worth becoming a man if it meant having such a hindrance between her legs?

She pondered this conundrum, cognizant that she didn’t have much time. The swapping spell took a fair amount of time to complete and she guessed there were only a couple hours until morning. She had to hurry!

Oh, what to do? 

She paced around the room, mumbling to herself, praying for help from God or the devil or whatever being out there was listening. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long before the answer came to her.

Acting upon sudden inspiration, she turned back to her brother, still catatonic on the bed, and commanded, “Stand up.”

Hal instantly stood, stark naked and staring straight ahead as his cheeks burned with humiliation. Phillipa moved the glowing orb of light and paced around his bed, inspecting his body carefully.

Apart from the tiny flap of insignificance dangling from his crotch, he was otherwise quite impressive. Lean, muscular and well-formed…and hairy. Well, maybe not quite as muscular as she’d thought but he had good bone structure. It was a satisfactory foundation to work from.

That penis, however…

It simply would not do if she was going to be crown prince.

She could do better.

Much better.

After all, she was a sorceress and could do as she pleased. If she was going to become Hal, she would have a penis that matched her stature! She smiled to herself as she reached between her legs and smeared her fingers with the blood flowing down her loins. Then, lifting her other hand, she conjured a little dagger and deftly reached out to slice into her brother’s insignificant foreskin. Hal flinched as blood dripped out but Phillipa wasn’t paying attention. She was too busy catching his blood in her palm and rubbing it over her body. She didn’t need much, just enough to cover her vagina and breasts. When she was done, she wiped her hand clean and climbed up on the bed to do the same with Hal, covering his chest and that offensively small penis with her own blood. It was strange and disturbing touching her brother’s genitalia but she didn’t let it prevent her from doing her work. 

Hal stood there, rigid and silent, the whole time while she worked. Only after she was done did she notice he was crying. There was no way that he could know what she was up to but he wasn’t stupid; he must have some idea.

For some reason, seeing her brother cry affected her in a way she hadn’t expected and she felt briefly bad. This remorse didn’t last long, though, when she thought of what she stood to gain. It didn’t matter what the price was, she could never go back to her life as a princess. No, it was her time to rule.

She stepped down from the bed and lifted her arms, reciting the incantation in a somber tone. The air crackled between the princess and her brother and a hazy aura developed around both their bodies. Hal’s aura was blue and hers was red. As she intoned the spell, though, the auras began to change as both lights became purple. Slowly, her aura became blue and his turned to red.

And then their bodies began to change.

She doubled over, clutching her stomach as she felt her internal sex organs violently wrested from her. She cried out even as Hal did the same thing. The stabbing cramps slowly faded and she breathed a sigh of relief only to stifle a scream a moment later. It felt like her bones were shattering and she had to cast a quick muting spell on herself to silence her screams.

After that, agony was all she knew for several long minutes that felt like hours. She writhed on the floor, screaming silently and feeling her bones and muscles contort and rend and reform in an entirely new way. She sobbed, wishing fervently that she could undo the spell but it was too late. Her change was irrevocable. She would never again be Princess Phillipa.

When it was over, she groaned, starting in surprise at her voice. The muting spell was still active but there was no mistaking her deeper tone. She rolled over onto her side and held her head in her hands, giving another start when traced the contours of her skull. Her hair was short and thick and her fingers were longer and wider than she remembered. Disturbed and excited, she sat up and stared at her reflection in the mirror across the room.

It was nearly dawn by then and a pale light was illuminating the drafty chamber. Between that and the fading glow of her illumination spell, Phillipa had a clear view of her new body. Her skin prickled as she gazed upon her new visage, completely stunned by what she saw.

Phillipa made a handsome man!

Her features and body had reassembled into a very pleasing form, indeed. She lifted a newly elongated and much more muscular arm and ran it through her shaggy, black hair, cracking a smile. Her white teeth gleamed, set amongst a strong and square jaw that was covered in a dense beard. Her lips were full and yet masculine and her smokey grey eyes sparkled with wit and mischief. She straightened and took in the rest of her new body, inhaling with surprise at her torso, devoid of breasts but replete with muscles and a growing carpet of black hair.

When her gaze dipped further downward and she saw the hulking beast between her long, lithe legs, she grinned.

Now that was a king-sized penis!

She pushed herself to her feet and regarded herself in her full glory, relishing her tall and shapely body covered in hair and etched with perfect muscles…with the cock and bollocks of a true stallion dangling powerful and potent between her thighs.

There was no doubt; Phillipa made a very impressive man…which was rather more than could be said of her poor brother.

A movement on the bed caught her eye and she turned, taking an inadvertent step backward when she beheld what had become of Hal. Is that what I used to look like? she wondered briefly before shaking her head. No, she hadn’t been that homely! There must have been some problem with the spell because it had gifted her with the body of a young god and left Hal looking like a bedraggled and horse-faced woman. He gazed up at her with a mixture of confusion, horror and hatred distorting his lumpy and pock-marked face. His hair was knotted and his body deformed. The breasts depending from his hairless chest looked like half-empty bladders. It was all she could do not to look away in disgust.

“Get dressed in my old clothes and be gone,” she ordered in her newly deepened voice, pleased with its crack of authority. “I do not wish to see you again for a very long time.”

Hal flinched at her tone, giving her new body a long, envious look before looking down and cringing at his own. His mouth fell open when he spotted the hairy, gaping and bleeding wound between his legs and he raised his head to fix her with a hate-filled glare. She smirked back at him, unable to provocatively waggle the masterpiece slapping against her knees. “Go on,” she urged. “Back to your chambers, Phillipa.” She paused a moment to let the weight of his new identity hit him full force before adding, “Oh, and don’t try to tell anyone about this because you won’t be able to. That’s the beauty of this spell.”

The former Prince Hal, now ignominiously transformed into his sister, scowled and opened his mouth to retort but found himself quite unable to do so. She sneered in derision, flicking her hand dismissively, and he was left with no choice but to do her bidding. Shoulders falling, he scrambled off the bed, nearly tumbling off onto the floor as he struggled to acclimate to his newly diminished size. He moved like a drunken spider, scuttling and lurching around the room as he grabbed up her discarded clothes, pulling them on haphazardly. When he was dressed, he looked even worse than when he was naked, mostly because he had no idea how to don the complicated and restrictive garments of a noble lady.

When he was done, he gave her one last reproachful look. His mud-colored eyes were glassy with shock but they also held an animosity and loathing that left her chilled. She was opening her mouth to shout at him when he turned and staggered out of the room, his newly widened bottom swaying behind him.

***

Chapter 2

Nigel Gaveston

Nigel awakened Prince Hal several hours later. The boy allowed him to sleep late because he knew that the prince had been out carousing until the wee hours. He pulled back the heavy draperies from the slitted windows and emptied the chamber pot, careful not to make too much noise. Hal stirred on the bed, turning onto his back and throwing an arm out over the edge of the bed.

“Is his majesty ready for breakfast?” the youth inquired, pacing over to the bedside and lowering his head until addressed.

Hal yawned and stretched, sitting up in the bed. He almost seemed not to have heard Nigel’s question; for some reason, he was too busy staring at his arms and hands if seeing them for the first time. Nigel shook his head, wondering if the prince was still drunk, and then noticed something else: The prince was naked beneath the covers. Didn’t I dress him in his nightshirt before bed? For a moment, he wondered if he had interrupted one of the prince’s clandestine assignations. There was no sign of a lady’s garments, though, and he covertly sighed with relief; he hated covering for his majesty.

“Yes, Nigel,” Hal rumbled, reaching up to rub his chin. His fingers paused in doing so and he pulled at his whiskers as if he was surprised to discover them there.  “I am quite famished, actually. Would it be a bother to break my fast in bed? I do not feel like rising just yet.”

Nigel’s eyes widened slightly when he scrutinized the prince, perplexed by how long his beard and the hair on his head had grown overnight. The prince had received a fresh haircut the day prior and was clean-shaved when Nigel had prepared him for bed! Now his locks were decidedly shaggy and his beard was nearly fully grown. And there was something else about the man that seemed different but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

And then those smokey grey eyes alighted upon his face. Nigel’s breath caught in his chest and he was momentarily frozen, unable to look away, unable to move. The prince held him like that, captive in his limpid gaze, an unreadable expression playing across his handsome face. When he raised a slender eyebrow, Nigel felt heat creep up his neck.

Realizing he was staring, he forcibly broke from the prince’s spell and remembered that they had been speaking of breakfast.“‘Tis no bother at all, my lord!” he chirped, cursing himself for sounding like an eager young girl. “I will bring your favorite food from the kitchen.” He was turning to go when he stopped, remembering something. “And, my lord?”

Those lovely, intelligent eyes were upon him again and he paused, feeling like his body was no longer completely under his control. “Yes, Nigel?” the prince asked, his voice light and dusky.

Nigel shook himself, the tips of his ears pink. “Sir John is outside. He requests entry into the royal bedchamber.”

Prince Hal smiled then and it seemed the room was briefly flooded with sunlight. “Of course! Show him in!”

***

Sir John Falstaff

“Sir John.”

Hal propped himself on his elbows as Sir John Falstaff entered, still feeling rather the worse for wear after the previous night’s festivities.

“My Lord Prince,” John said, kneeling and bowing his head before quickly rising. He was a large man with powerful arms, a big torso and thighs the size of tree trunks. He kept his auburn beard close-cropped and his hair short, although he resisted the fashions of the day and did not shave the back of his neck.

“I trust you slept well?” Prince Hal asked, leaning back on the pillows.

Sir John was opening his mouth to reply when he stopped, momentarily dazzled by the prince’s twinkling eyes. Why had he never noticed Hal’s long, black eyelashes before? And those high cheekbones and full lips? Before he could stop himself, he had reached out to move a strand of Hal’s raven-black hair away from his eyes. 

Coloring at the prince’s bemused expression–What the hell am I thinking? He’s the crown prince, not a chambermaid!–John cleared his throat, choking, “I, uh, why, yes. I did manage to sleep well, despite only getting a few hours rest. My head’s still a-throbbing, though.” 

Hal’s soft lips quirked at this and John flushed. What game is he playing at? he wondered, feeling suddenly feverish. He’s so…changed. Indeed, it was as if someone had crept into Hal’s bedchamber overnight and replaced the man with a changeling. John shivered at the thought before chasing it out of his mind. There were no such things as changelings! And this man lying before him was most assuredly his lord prince.

“‘A-throbbing?’” Hal repeated, sensuous lips curving further upward. “I think I know what you mean.”

Sir John hastily cleared his throat again at this and was glad when Nigel returned at that moment carrying a tray with the prince’s breakfast. The youth cast a cryptic glance at John before stooping to lower the tray onto Hal’s lap. 

What was that look for? John wondered, aware belatedly that his pulse was pounding his ears and his cock… He quickly repositioned himself before he embarrassed himself. John was a very well-endowed man and had to exercise caution when he donned hose, making sure that he wore a doublet long enough to cover himself down there. He often complained to Hal about the court fashion for this very reason: He and his big cock longed for the days when men wore robes and baggy trousers!

Folding his big hands strategically in his lap, he turned to find Hal was still studying him with a wry expression. The prince’s beautiful eyes danced as if at some private joke and this only served to make John even more flustered. Beside him, Nigel lost his balance and John had to reach out to steady the lad before he toppled onto the bed. When he looked up, he could see the boy’s cheeks were scarlet, much like his own.

What is going on? he wondered, irritated as much with himself as with Hal for playing games with them.

“Care to share from my plate?” Hal inquired, holding out a forkful of sausage. “I do so hate eating alone.”

John stared askance at the proffered fork. It was unheard of to share food from a royal’s plate…unless you were that royal’s spouse. John must have looked panicked because Hal laughed, a deep, rich, throaty sort of laugh that sent shivers down John’s spine. “Oh, come on, Sir John!” he coaxed. “I know you’re hungry. You are after all a very big man!”

When he raised the fork to John’s lips, he had no choice but to take a bite. His lips folded around the succulent meat and then it was on his tongue, so savory, so firm, so… He straightened abruptly, aware that he’d closed his eyes and his face was suffused with pleasure.

“My liege is in a rare mood this morning,” he muttered, ears beet red. “You tease me.”

“Tease you?” Hal said, amused. “I assure you that I am deadly serious, my friend. My breakfast is your breakfast, Sir John. Just as my bed is y–”

“Sir John?” Nigel interjected as John was about to jump to his feet in outrage. Prince Hal had always been a provocateur but he had never succeeded in scandalizing John quite like this before. “Sir John,” the boy repeated, doing a supreme job of schooling his features. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about the crimson hue of his skin. “Wasn’t there an urgent matter that brought you here?”

It took some time to master himself during which John had to endure Hal’s amused gaze, feeling those bewitching eyes burrowing inside him, leaving him breathless and out of sorts. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer and averted his eyes. “Uh, y-y-yes,” he stammered, “a knight errant has arrived from Gwynedd and he seeks to pledge to your majesty’s service.”

Hal’s grey eyes clouded with thought briefly before brightening once again, drenching both Nigel and John with the brilliance of their regard. Much to his consternation, John’s cock twitched in his hose and he had to clamp down on his crotch once again to hide his growing tumescence. 

“Why, that’s excellent news!” Hal exclaimed before narrowing his eyes. “But why does this qualify as urgent business?”

John shook himself. Once again, he’d allowed himself to get lost in the depths of Hal’s beautiful eyes. “He says he will only pledge to you once you have bested him in single combat.”

“Really?” Hal said brightly, sitting up in bed and placing his fork (which had been poised to offer John another tidbit from his plate) back down on the tray. “How exciting! Why, I must prepare myself at once!”

Before Nigel could respond, he set his breakfast aside and, pushing back the covers, prepared to stand.

Stunned silence followed this casual movement on the prince’s part.

John realized his mouth was hanging open. Next to him, Nigel was likewise afflicted. Even Hal appeared frozen in surprise, the lower half of his body partially exposed in the narrow shaft of sunlight crawling across the bed.

All three men stared down at the same thing.

The same impossible thing.

The ridiculously impossible thing revealed beneath the coverlet.

John closed his eyes, certain he was seeing things, but when he reopened them, he realized he hadn’t imagined it. In fact, if anything, he’d underestimated the sheer giant size of the…

“Nigel,” Prince Hal commanded, recovering from his shock. “Bring me a robe.” He hurriedly pulled the covers back over himself before dismissing both of them. “If you don’t mind, I shall clothe myself this morning. You may wait outside.”

***

Prince Hal

After failing to squeeze a pair of hose, the now very male Princess Philippa was forced to admit she may have made a tactical error: Her magically-enhanced male appendage was too large to fit into any article of clothing in Hal’s rather extensive wardrobe. In the end, she was forced to leave her rooms wearing only a robe. It was difficult enough moving in this newly elongated and enlarged body but the massive organ between her legs made it nearly impossible. The bestial thing nearly tripped her with each step and she had to adopt a bowlegged gait in order to accommodate it. She felt ridiculous!

As bad as that was, there was something else that bothered her even more: She seemed to have lost her powers of sorcery!

She discovered this when she attempted to cast a spell to shrink her genitalia and found that she could not. Assuming at first that this was because her brother was no longer present, she tried another, simpler spell and that failed as well. Likewise with an even more basic incantation. This had never happened before! Magic had always been as natural for her as breathing! What was going on?

Heart pounding, she clenched her newly big hands into fists and cried out in rage, only to be startled by the deep, guttural roar that came out of her mouth. Just like her magic, even her voice was no longer her own. She sagged against the wall in defeat, the true magnitude of her impetuous decision finally sinking in. Oh, what had she done? 

The morning had begun with so much promise! She’d felt such joy when she woke up and realized she felt more at home in Hal’s body than she ever had been in her own. And then there was the surprise of the powerful attraction she felt toward John. When she’d been a woman, she had never given the big oaf a second thought. He was just Hal’s lapdog, more of a bumbling nuisance than anything else. But now that she was a man…

She shivered. 

The big man was stunning, there was no doubt. And the effect his proximity had on her was electrifying. It was so freeing and delightful to flirt! As a woman, she had never been allowed the luxury of such banter. But as a man, she could do anything she wished. It was intoxicating! Sadly, all too soon the flirtation and fun with Sir John evaporated and she now weighed down by the magnitude of her terrible error. Her impetuous decision had saddled her with a giant cock and balls and robbed her of even a trace of her precious magic! 

“Is his majesty alright in there?” Nigel inquired from the other side of the door. “Do you need my assistance?”

“No!” Prince Hal shouted. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a moment.”

She slammed a fist silently into the rock wall, welcoming the distraction of the pain. There was nothing she could do. She had stolen her brother’s gender and cursed herself with this laughable cock and lost all of her magic. She could not go back. She was now Prince Hal–the over-endowed, magic-less Prince Hal–forever. She would just have to make the best of it.

***

John Falstaff

Prince Hal emerged from the royal bedchamber and both Sir John and Nigel stood up straight. When they saw what Hal was wearing, they exchanged only the briefest of glances and, by tacit agreement, pretended as if it were completely ordinary for the prince to leave his bedchamber clad only in a robe. Their act was convincing, anyone witnessing it wouldn’t have realized that both were reeling with shock.

Prince Hal looked wan and his good humor had dissipated, leaving him gloomy and irritable. Sir John instinctively took up position by his side, perhaps a trifle closer than was customary. He couldn’t explain it but he now felt more protective of Hal than before his investiture. Maybe it was because he was now the heir apparent to the throne? Hal dearly needed the loyalty and support of all of the friends he could get! …Or at least this is the story that John chose to tell himself.

While Hal staggered along like a drunkard, John cast a covert glance over to him. His prince was tall and lean, standing nearly at John’s decidedly significant height. Even wearing a voluminous robe, John could see the muscles bulging beneath the fabric. He blinked, convinced he was seeing things. Hal wasn’t that muscular, was he? Perhaps the boy was finally filling out? God knew that he had “filled out” in another even more manly way. John flushed at the memory of the beast he’d spied under the covers. He grunted when his cock spasmed in response. What had gotten into him today?

“My prince.”

Hal paused mid stagger, wincing with barely concealed pain. “Yes, Sir John?”

“I believe you should refrain from fighting today.”

Behind them, Nigel chirped his assent, causing both men to look back in surprise at him. Nigel was a timid lad who never spoke his mind. Moreover, he was Hal’s servant and squire; it was uncharacteristic, bordering on impertinent, for the boy to assert himself into the crown prince’s business.

The boy flushed crimson at his lord’s bemused expression but he did not back down. “If my lord prince must fight,” he said, “let it be after his knights have tested their mettle against this nobleman.”

For a moment, Prince Hal seemed like he would object but then nodded his assent. “So be it. I will not have the man think me craven but I confess I do not quite feel myself today.”

Sir John heaved a silent sigh of relief. Hal was notoriously headstrong and, while far from the best fighter, was never known to back down from combat. John hoped this unusual forbearance was a result of the prince adapting to his new role.

***

A gorgeous midsummer day was dawning as they emerged from the great hall into the full light of the sun. John relaxed, happy for inexplicable reasons. He was with his prince and that was all that mattered. This was the way his life was meant to be, he was certain. He’d always shared a close friendship with Hal but previously it had been more like a mentor to a student, or maybe an older brother to a younger one. 

Now, however, he could feel the bond between them changing. He could almost feel Hal growing into the future king. From that day forward, John knew that Hal would lead and he would follow. And that was perfectly fine with him because it meant that his prince needed him more than ever. Any man made himself vulnerable when he became leader; it was John’s job to ensure that Hal remained protected, cared for and secure in his position. 

He turned and smiled at his prince and felt his heart leap when Hal returned the smile, adding a sly wink. Not for the last time, John got the sense that Hal had done more than read his thoughts; the prince surmised the entire contents of his mind and had already sprinted many leagues ahead. This was the new Hal. Hal the future king.

They arrived at the practice grounds to find a crowd of men clamoring to get in. They fell silent and stood aside, however, as soon as they saw Hal approaching. The prince pushed through them, head held high and exuding his customary arrogance. Only Sir John and Nigel knew the truth behind this show of bravado: Hal was laboring to walk and suffering greatly. On the way, he’d indignantly shaken off John’s hand from his shoulder and rebuffed him when he delicately suggested that he call for the royal physician. In John’s mind, the only way a man could sport an organ of such immensity between his legs was due to severe injury. He couldn’t understand why his beloved prince would resist his urging to be examined.

Nigel’s father, Piers Gaveston, the Earl of Cornwall, greeted them upon entering the gates. He bowed politely to Hal and nodded to John. If he noticed Hal’s unusual attire, he did not show it. Nigel waited off to the side, waiting for his father’s acknowledgement. John watched the father and son with some interest, taking note of their similarities. Piers was a tall man with broad shoulders and a regal mien. His dark hair was still mostly untouched with grey and he had kept in form, showing no trace of the paunch most men displayed when they reached his age. Piers was also clean-shaven, adding to his youthful appearance. His blue eyes sparkled as he gazed fondly upon his son. And why shouldn’t they? Nigel might still be a timid and callow youth but he showed great promise. There was no doubt in John’s mind that Nigel would grow up to be just as formidable a fighter and tactician as his father.

Nigel was at least as handsome as Piers, if not more so. Even though his face was shadowed by his unruly brown hair, John could nonetheless discern strong lines of a man’s visage beginning emerging from beneath the soft flesh of youth. The lad’s brown eyes were depthless and intelligent, not unlike Hal’s; it was as if he were always taking in more than he let on. 

Slightly taller than his father, he was already quite muscular and probably would grow to be a burly man. Right now, though, he was still decidedly coltish with a lower body more developed than his upper body. John couldn’t help noticing the teen’s prominent backside pushing outward against his skintight hose. (John liked his women–and men–to be solid and well-formed…especially down below.) He smiled to himself. Yes, Nigel was a comely lad indeed!

“My lord prince,” Piers said, executing another small bow. “I apologize for the inconvenience. This man is being most difficult. He refuses to leave the grounds until he has fought you.”

Hal nodded, seemingly amused. “And you say he’s from Gwynedd? I don’t recall anyone from that realm at the feast last night. Do you know from which noble house he hails?”

Piers shook his head. “He only arrived this morning, saying that he left his home upon receiving word of your impending vestiture. He refuses to give his name or title and he sports neither the crest nor colors of any house that I recognize. His armor, however, is most exquisite. Only one of noble blood could afford such raiment.”

Hal smiled and John felt his heart flutter. He cursed himself–and his mutinous cock–for being so fickle that morning. He and Hal had never been intimate together, even when they were quite drunk. The reasons for this were clear: Hal preferred the company of the ladies. Or at least he had until that morning, if John was reading the signals his prince was sending him. Why this sudden change? Was the prince toying with him? Was this flirtation part of a plan? It didn’t add up but in some sense it didn’t need to; John was too busy enjoying the playful game between them.

“Intriguing,” Hal pronounced, oblivious to John’s fluttering heart and achingly hard cock that he was covertly hiding with his hands. “But he will be disappointed to learn that I have no intent to fight him today.”

If Piers was surprised by this, he didn’t show it. (Piers was a consummate courtier and had not risen to his high rank without having firm possession of his faculties at all times. He never betrayed the slightest emotion unless it was for calculated reasons. John both admired and feared the man for this reason.) “I shall inform him of this,” he said simply. 

He was bowing to take his leave when Hal stopped him. “Wait, my lord earl. I have another game in mind. Would you please tell our mysterious knight that I shall fight him only if none of my other knights are able to draw his blood? That should achieve both our aims: I won’t have to fight and he shall be tested.”

There was the briefest pause and then, “I will do so, my lord.”

John watched Piers make his way across the grounds to the knight, trying not to crane his neck to get a look at this mysterious stranger. As Piers neared the end of the practice ring, John spied a man in a black cape with a hood covering his face. He appeared to be on the shorter side in terms of height but John could tell that this wasn’t much of a liability. The man might lack height but he made up for it with an impressive build that was both muscular and sinewy. 

Wide of stance and shoulder, everything about him spoke of casual and deadly competence with the sword. John tested many men in the practice ring over the years and it was plain to him that this man would likely be his match and then some. He worried that Hal had made a miscalculation: It was entirely possible that this knight would call his bluff and fight his way through Hal’s knights to duel with the prince himself.

The knight nodded upon hearing Piers’ proposal and turned to look in Hal’s direction. Hal adopted a relaxed pose, shifting his weight onto his back heel and exuding an infectious confidence that verged on cockiness. John looked at him and shook his head, feeling his admiration for his prince bump up a notch. Hal had never lacked for bravado but, before today, this had come across as empty bluster. Now, however, John firmly believed in his prince’s self-assuredness. If Hal was confident that this knight would fail, then the knight would fail. Just gazing upon him caused his tension to fall away and John felt himself smiling happily. He crossed his arms and prepared to be entertained by the coming spectacle.

***

Chapter 3

Nigel Gaveston

Unlike John, Nigel felt only cold dread as he watched the knight in the black cape. There was something wrong with the man, he could just sense it. It set the short hairs on the back of his neck aloft and he cast a worried look over at Hal before returning his gaze to the interloper. His prince was not a very good swordsman at the best of times but right now with that…that…that tumor between his legs, he was in no shape to enter the ring.

The knight was gazing in their direction and Nigel froze when he felt those shadowed eyes land upon him. Was it his imagination or did he grin wolfishly? No, it had to be his imagination because the man’s face was hidden within the hood of his cape. Besides, why would he smile in such a way at Nigel? If anything, the smile was meant as a challenge for Hal. 

Yes, that was it. The knight was trying to intimidate the prince! Nigel’s hand instinctively went to his sword but grasped empty air because he was still in his servant’s garb. Frustrated, he glared back at the interloper. If the man wanted to challenge Hal, he would have to fight his way past Nigel first!

In short order, the knight had fought his way through half of Hal’s knights. The fighting was only to first blood so none of them were seriously injured but, incredibly, the mysterious man was unscathed after fighting a half dozen men. Nigel was amazed; he’d never seen anything like it. He was so taken aback that he jumped when the quartermaster called out his name and beckoned for him to get suited up.

Fifteen minutes later, Nigel strode out of the armory dressed in his finest practice armor, reinforced leather breeches and a padded leather jacket. The fact that the armor was made from leather rather than steel made little difference: It was cunningly sewn to provide maximum protection while allowing him freedom of movement and, more importantly, speed. Wearing it made him feel powerful and that day was no exception. More than one person watching from the stands took note of the lad’s pleasingly muscular legs, narrow waist and broad shoulders. He strode confidently up to the railing and leaned against the wood, holding his leather helmet casually under an arm.

The little knight from Gwynedd was in the process of vanquishing his seventh contender. Around him, Nigel could feel the other knights growing increasingly agitated. He knew that they had assumed that their superior height and size would allow them to easily vanquish the upstart but they’d been seriously wrong; the knight possessed a speed, agility and power that belied his small stature.  

His skill was so remarkable that Nigel could hear the knights whispering of sorcery; they said there was no living man who could fight so well for so long. When it was their turn to take him on, their anger made them reckless. Case in point was the knight errant’s current victim, Sir Galarde. The hapless man was red-faced and puffing. Glimpsed through the eye holes of his helmet, his eyes bulged with hatred. He was a strong man who was normally a clever fighter but Nigel watched him make silly mistakes as his passion got the better of him.

A good fighter does not let his emotions lead his blade, Nigel’s father always said and the words certainly rang true today. As tempting as it was to add his outrage to the collective ire of Hal’s knights, Nigel refrained. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed and observed the fight from a detached part of his mind.

The knight errant was indeed a formidable fighter but Nigel quickly identified his weak spot and it wasn’t his lack of height: He failed to guard his chest. 

It was so obvious that he wondered why the other knights didn’t exploit this vulnerability. As he sat back on his heels and watched, this flaw went from obvious to perplexing. Was he doing it on purpose to draw the knights to attack him there? If so, his opponents didn’t seem inclined to do so and instead threw the weight of their attacks into extravagant lunges that were easily deflected. In short order, Sir Galarde had received a knick on the calf and a smart rap on his big bottom with the flat of the stranger’s sword. Slinking off the field in defeat, Garlarde’s face twisted with rage and he spat imprecations at the knight. Unphased, the little man inclined his head and motioned for his next opponent. 

There were only four more knights to go, plus Nigel, of course. The next challenger was Sir Valdosta, a spry and deadly foe. He was perhaps the fiercest and most skilled of the knights but Nigel watched him fall after scarcely five minutes of fighting. The rest of the knights met similar, ignominious ends.

And then it was Nigel’s turn.

Taking a deep breath, the boy slipped his helmet over his head and adjusted the strap. He was dressed lighter than the other knights because he lacked both the muscle mass and endurance to fight in full armor. When the knight turned and saw what Nigel was wearing, he paused and then surprised everyone by unfastening his own helmet and tossing it aside. The crowd gasped in disbelief the next moment when he smoothly extricated himself from his heavy armor and likewise kicked it aside. (How is that possible? Nigel wondered. A knight’s armor was notoriously difficult both to put on and take off.) 

In a few seconds, Nigel was staring dumbfounded at his opponent clad only in a light pair of breeches and a leather jerkin. The challenger spread his arms wide to the crowd, smiling broadly as they jeered this cocky show of bravado. He didn’t seem to care. If anything, their disdain only seemed to make him bolder. He ran a hand rakishly through his sandy brown hair and grinned. Nigel scowled when the man winked at him before retrieving his sword and tossing it into the air. With a showy flare, he deftly caught it as it spun in a dazzling arc.

Such a peacock! Nigel thought, understanding clearly that his opponent was trying to unnerve him. And he probably would have been immune to the tactic if he hadn’t made the mistake of eyeballing the man.

Good Lord in heaven above! He took a dazed step backward, head reeling and heart pounding. The challenger was breathtakingly handsome! While the man was scarcely older than Nigel, he was very well-developed for his age. Beneath his breeches and jerkin, Nigel could tell his body was corded with muscle.

And that face!

He was more beautiful than an angel and as sensual as a devil. Sporting a closely-trimmed, sandy brown beard and a stylish haircut that left his thick hair swept off to the side, his yellow-gold eyes sparkled with mischief and delight as he looked Nigel up and down with almost lascivious approval. Executing his by now signature mock bow, he smiled wickedly, teasing, “Ah, my next victim. Are you ready to lick my steel like your fellows?”

Nigel bridled, stung out of his appreciation of the man’s beauty. “You’ll be licking my arsehole, knave, by the time I’m done with you!”

The knight laughed merrily, calling out, “Now that is something I suspect we’d both enjoy!”

Nigel flushed crimson at this crude rejoinder and only barely managed to rein in his temper. Shoving it aside, though, he took up stance, widening his gait and positioning his weight over his feet. His challenger let out a wild whoop as he struck out, nearly grazing Nigel’s adam’s apple with the tip of his blade.

Although he didn’t know it at the time, this fight with the knight was the most fateful event of his young life. Through its course, he would up enhancing and tarnishing his reputation in equal measure. Further, this clash would define his manhood and alter not only the course of his own life but that of his prince as well. We’ll get to how he disgraced himself soon but first let’s focus on how his conduct during the fight transformed him into the man he was destined to become.

Prior to that day, Nigel had been a timid boy more likely to hang back than to take his place in the center of things. Afterwards, though, he emerged from his cocoon and increasingly took charge, much as Sir John predicted he would. Through his skill, ferocity and intelligence, he proved himself before his father, his future king and all of the knights. More importantly, he proved himself to the upstart knight. And perhaps most importantly, in disgrace he proved himself even more, learning to shrug off the opinion of others and follow his heart no matter where it might lead.

His observation of his opponent had been shrewd. The knight really did fail to guard his chest. When Nigel aimed a well-timed thrust directly at his heart, the man barely countered it. Strangely, even after that near-miss, he still neglected to guard himself. It was something that perplexed Nigel to no end–Why would he leave himself so open, especially now that he was unprotected by armor?–but he wasn’t about to argue with a gift horse.

Nigel was relentless, shepherding his strength and maintaining his calm, he methodically pushed the man back toward the railing while continuing to exploit the weak point in his guard. Despite his growing disadvantage, though, his opponent’s composure never cracked and he didn’t seem to tire. He didn’t even sweat as far as Nigel could tell. Very strange! he thought, sweat dripping from his own body. Is he made of ice?

The man’s grin grew wider as he deduced Nigel’s tactics. Still, he made no move to resist the inexorable push backward. When he was firmly back against the fence, Nigel struck. Using all of his guile and skill, he feinted and then immediately countered with a tiny thrust. It wasn’t much but it was enough.

The tip of his blade sliced through the lacing in front of the man’s jerkin and it parted, revealing the taut and muscular chest beneath. With a flick of the wrist, Nigel nicked the skin between those perfectly sculpted pectorals, right in the center of the man’s sternum.

It was enough to draw blood.

Or it should have been.

He felt the blade cut into flesh but, incredibly, it left no wound. At first, he thought he could see a small incision; however, when he blinked it was gone.

What the…?

“Ah, now I see what you’re about!” the man exclaimed, looking down at his newly bared chest. “Two can play this game!”

With a quick lunge, his blade severed the buckle on Nigel’s helmet and it went flying, landing in the dirt a dozen paces away. Nigel cursed himself for being too slow to counter the move but was surprised to find that the knight’s blade had not even touched his skin. Somehow, his aim was so precise that the sword severed the helmet’s buckle without grazing the tender skin of his throat beneath.

“Such beauty!” the man praised, taking a moment to survey Nigel’s visage. “I am definitely looking forward to having those beautiful lips tickle my arsehole!”

“Vile wretch!” Nigel shouted. “You’re cheating!”

“Cheating?” the little knight replied. “How so?” As he spoke, he executed a graceful twirl, his blade spinning in a shining arc that cut clean through the ties of Nigel’s leather shirt. Before he knew it, the heavy garment had tumbled to the ground at his feet. He scowled and kicked it aside.

“Stop with your chicanery and fight!” Nigel shouted, incensed by the liberties the man was taking with his person.

“Why?” the man queried in a light and airy tone. “You’re much more appealing this way. In fact, I believe you should always fight like this.”

Seething, Nigel looked down at himself; he was now bare from the waist up.

Such was the undisguised prurience of his attacker’s gaze that he had to resist the urge to drop his sword and cover his chest. He felt assaulted by those yellow-gold eyes lapping their way up and down his naked flesh. Only by sheer force of will was he able to shove his outrage aside and funnel it into his next assault. He intended to graze the knight’s side but the man pulled away at the last instant and instead Nigel neatly cut through the remnants of his jerkin. Soon, it had joined Nigel’s leather shirt in the dust.

“There,” the knight pronounced. “We’re even.”

Nigel scowled furiously, berating himself for failing to land the blow. Worse, now that his chest was bare, the knight was even cockier. He proudly flexed his broad shoulders, allowing the shreds of the garment to flutter off of him. And then he turned and puffed out his magnificent chest, displaying himself before all. Nigel rolled his eyes as the man rounded on him, prowling like a great cat getting ready to pounce.

And pounce he did, feinting and pivoting swiftly. Before Nigel knew it, the knight’s honed steel had ripped a slit from ankle to thigh up the left side of his leggings.

“Such a comely lad,” he praised, eyeballs salaciously feasting on Nigel’s exposed flesh like it was fine caviar. “When I have vanquished you, I shall toss those shapely legs over my shoulders and drive you through the gates of paradise!”

By this point, not only were Nigel’s cheeks stained scarlet but his entire neck was as well. Around him, he could hear rumblings of unease emanating from the assembled crowd. While it wasn’t uncommon for knightly insults to tilt toward the ribald, this man’s wit was edging perilously close to forbidden territory.

Nigel was powerless to fend off the man’s verbal assaults. Further, the knight followed each taunt with a precise attack and it was all he could do to counter. With his lewd banter, the man had shattered Nigel’s advantage and now possessed the upper hand. Nigel was forced to ignore the cool air caressing his skin through the slit in his leggings and focus on his counterattack. He was almost more angry at himself than at the filthy knight; he’d allowed the man’s insults to rattle him. He had to find a way to crack the knight’s smooth veneer!

In between deflecting the furious onslaught of attacks, he thought feverishly, striving to regain the advantage. Since attacking the man’s unguarded chest hadn’t succeeded, he needed to come up with an alternate plan. Unfortunately, he was growing tired and his poor mind was addled; the only strategy that came to him was to return the knight’s humiliation. In retrospect, it was a tactic doomed to fail. You can’t fault poor Nigel, though; he was way out of his depth in this fight.

He dodged a swipe and then spun around, neatly severing the leg of the knight’s breeches. The leather slumped down his calf, nearly tripping him, and Nigel pressed his advantage, thrusting his sword at the knight’s exposed upper leg. This time, he was certain he would draw blood. His blade pushed into the soft flesh of the man’s inner thigh at least an inch. Yet just like before, when the blade withdrew there was no evidence of injury and the knight barely flinched at the contact.

Nigel was so put off by the impossibility of this that he neglected to guard his side and seconds later felt fresh air tickle the skin of his right leg; the knight had slit his other pant leg wide open! This time, though, he managed to inflict even greater damage, somehow succeeding in severing Nigel’s belt as well.

No! Nigel’s stomach clenched as he felt his leggings loosen and begin to slide down his hips.

What could he do?

If he dropped his blade and clutched at his breeches out of modesty, the foul knight would win.

However, if he did nothing and let his leggings fall down around his ankles, he would not only be vulnerable to tripping but he would also be clad only in the tiny undergarment he wore beneath. Being nearly naked in front of the other knights was bad enough but it would be worse having to endure more of the man’s salacious abuse.

In the end, he punted, opting to hold onto the tatters of his leggings with one hand while still gripping his sword in the other. It wasn’t optimal; he preferred to have both hands free for fighting but he could do it. 

Or at least he thought he could.

Smack!

He jumped, howling in pain from a whack on his backside. The vile knight had hit him on the buttocks with the flat of his blade! It was a devious move on the part of his opponent; he was counting on Nigel’s instinctive reaction to turn and protect himself. Sure enough, that’s exactly what the boy did and, in doing so, he lost his balance and had to lower his guard to keep from toppling headlong into the dirt. By the time he realized he’d fallen into the knight’s trap, it was too late; he could already feel the man’s blade severing his belt on his other hip.

He was forced to make a critical decision, one that seemed minor at the time but in hindsight not only altered his own fate but also the fate of the entire kingdom. His seemingly innocuous decision would set into motion a series of events that, once started, proved to be unstoppable. Nothing would ever be the same from that point forward.

What was this momentous decision? A trifling matter, really: Nigel could either drop his sword to secure his breeches, thereby forfeiting the fight, or he could let them fall and continue fighting.

Perhaps it’s facile to place so much importance on a decision that any of us would have made in the same position. It really was a choiceless choice. Only an idiot would have chosen modesty over his sword–and Nigel certainly was no idiot. Gathering the shreds of his dignity, he gritted his teeth and gripped his sword, allowing the leggings to part with his lower body. They peeled away in slow motion, leaving him naked save for the meager protection of his loincloth.

And that was it; he was standing before everyone clad only in his boots, loincloth and sword. It was the most embarrassing event of his young life, made worse by the fact that his father and the prince were watching from the stands nearby. In reality, though, he scarcely gave his father and the prince a second thought. What rankled him most was the obscene regard of his foe.

The knight was surveying his naked body with unfettered lust. Embarrassment and humiliation vied in equal measure within him and Nigel felt his entire torso wash brilliant scarlet. He turned his body away from the man in shame…which again proved to be the wrong decision.

“As pleasing behind as at the fore!” the knight crowed, craning his neck to take in the sight of Nigel’s mostly naked and quite shapely buttocks. “I do hope you are as welcoming of…guests…at your back door as the front!”

Nigel ground his teeth in frustrated rage, warring with himself over dueling impulses. One was to flee the practice field in shame and the other was to feed the man every inch of his sword, extracting the pound of flesh that was his due. He wouldn’t stop until the man was pleading for his life, bound, battered and bloody from head to toe. He would…

He stopped himself. 

He couldn’t afford to get lost in fantasies of revenge when he had a fight to win. He would have time later to exact his vengeance. Right now, he had to fight. He set his jaw and squared his shoulders, studiously ignoring the knight’s gibes. Promising himself he would win, he turned slowly and faced down his opponent.

Fortune was about to smile–and frown–upon him in short order. The knight was so busy gloating at Nigel’s humiliation that he let his guard down. Nigel seized the opportunity and sprang with such speed that the man didn’t have time to dodge. A lesser opponent would have been impaled but this little knight possessed such preternatural reflexes that he somehow managed to sidestep the attack. The sword cleaved harmlessly through his trousers, reducing them to shreds.

Nigel watched his blade’s trajectory with disbelief, his chance at victory withering into humiliating defeat as the tatters of the knight’s leggings fell to the ground.

Good God, what have I done?

He couldn’t believe it. Far from vanquishing his foe, he’d played right into his hands. He’d only succeeded in throwing oil on the fire because, unlike Nigel, this knight couldn’t have been happier than being stripped naked in front of the crowd.

Nigel’s shoulders sagged as the stranger’s gloating cry of victory echoed across the practice grounds. Shorn of nearly all clothing (the loincloth he wore under his breeches was even tinier than Nigel’s), he immediately commenced parading about, strutting and gyrating in the most obscene manner. The crowd booed loudly but Nigel detected something else in their cries of disdain. Something directed toward him. It was almost like he was a target of their ridicule, too. But why would they blame him for this reprobate’s antics? He was innocent! He’d done nothing to encourage such disgusting behavior. He’d only–

And then he got it.

Oh, you vile bastard!

Too late, he understood that he’d been outplayed. This fight had never been about winning or losing or even drawing blood. It was about something else entirely, although just what that was escaped Nigel right then. He had been so obsessed with beating the knight that he had missed the obvious: They weren’t fighting alone, they had an audience. And not just any audience. The future king of England was in attendance.

Belatedly, he saw how depraved their fight must appear to the gathered knights: Rather than a serious duel, it had become an erotic encounter. And who could blame them for thinking so? Employing all of his guile and skill, the cruel knight had used Nigel’s blade against him, making it look as if Nigel was the perpetrator rather than the victim. It had been he, after all, who had first sliced open the knight’s tunic and exposed his bare chest. Judged from afar, it would look as if Nigel had been the accoster and the knight was only responding in kind to his advances. Sure, he’d been vociferous in his denunciations but, alongside his actions, his protests increasingly would have rung hollow to the ears of the onlookers.

Nigel hung his head; he’d been made into the knight’s accomplice in this carnal show. The bitter bile of defeat rose in his throat. This whole charade was as good as over because, even if he somehow managed to win the fight, he’d already tainted his reputation, possibly beyond repair.

Now that he understood how he’d been tricked into debasing himself, the disgust and indignation of the crowd beat down upon him. He despaired, realizing then that he hadn’t imagined the wolfish grin on the man’s hooded face before the fighting began. He really had been staring at him and not Prince Hal; Nigel had been his quarry from the start.

But why?

Nigel had never met the man before. Gwynedd was many leagues away and Nigel had yet to cross its borders. Further, even though Nigel was a member of a noble house of high renown in England, he himself was a nobody. He wasn’t even his father’s oldest son. He was still a squire, barely more than a royal stableboy. It would be years before he earned knighthood.

Why had this knight set his sights upon him?

It was a question that would have to wait because at that moment the foul knight redoubled his taunting.

“Oh, ho! What a lusty slattern you are!” he cried, theatrically picking up the shreds of his trousers and holding them up for all to see. “I know what you’re really after!” he goaded, lewdly thrusting his crotch toward Nigel. “The question is, now that you’ve let my stallion out of the stables, are you ready to take him for a ride?”

“A ‘stallion’?” Nigel scoffed, scrambling frantically to sound disdainful. It was probably a lost cause at that point but he would be damned if he gave in to this man! “More like a pony if you ask me.”

The man grinned from ear to ear, approaching until he was within a whisker’s reach of Nigel’s blade. “He’s a more spirited horse than you will ever find, my friend,” he boasted, laughing when he saw Nigel’s gaze drawn inadvertently downward toward his barely-concealed crotch. “You have only to say the word and he is your steed.”

The crowd jeered at them but Nigel almost didn’t hear. To say the knight possessed an attractive physique was an understatement. Within the wealthy estates of the city, Nigel had occasionally seen marble statues, the battered remnants of the Roman occupation in England’s antiquity. Mostly the statues were of noblemen clad in togas but he’s seen a few depicting nude male athletes. Their bodies were rendered in perfect detail, each muscle and sinew…and other things…painstakingly brought to life in stone. This beautiful knight could easily have served as the model for these works, such was his lean grace. His body was replete with muscles, each one superbly delineated beneath his tanned skin. Only a few hairs sprouted under his arms and around his belly, the rest of him was smooth as the freshest cream.

“Well, friend, what’s it to be?” the man teased, obviously savoring Nigel’s attention. “The sword or the shaft?”

Nigel was frozen. Inwardly, his mind was like a boat adrift on a roiling sea. Now that it was clear what the knight’s game was, he knew every moment that he wavered was another smurch on his reputation. He wanted in the worst way to pummel the man into oblivion. Yet, at the same time, he couldn’t take his eyes off that luminously beautiful body. He swallowed, keenly aware that he was teetering on the edge of a precipice. If he didn’t break this off now, he might never regain his standing at court.

He could feel the crowd’s disapproval growing the longer he hesitated. (Come on, Nigel! he urged himself sternly. Act!) These were the very knights and noblemen upon whom his future position rested! They were the elite members of the court, the wealthy and the powerful. Prince Hal might be the future king but these lords wielded the influence, they could make or break his kingship. Similarly, Nigel relied on their good will and respect for his own success. He simply couldn’t afford to tarnish himself before them!

He had to do something!

The knight wasn’t about to let Nigel off easily and opened his arms wide, offering himself for his inspection. He knew he had Nigel trapped and he was reveling in it. “Come, fair knight!” he entreated. “I am at your mercy! Do with me as you will!”

This proved to be too much for Nigel and he roared with fury, disregarding his father’s words and channeling all of his pent up emotions into the blade of his sword. He lunged with everything he had, managing somehow to catch the knight off guard. The man pivoted and thrust out his own sword but he was too slow.

Nigel’s heart leapt when he felt his blade catch on something as he rocketed past him. He’d done it! He’d finally scored! His heart soared, carried aloft by the sweet wings of victory.

He won!

He managed to redeem himself at last!

He’d vanquished the foul knight!

He was the man of–

What?

NO!

NO NO NO NO NO!!!

His ecstatic mood was shattered by the mocking laughter echoing across the practice grounds. Nigel froze, the sweet taste of victory souring in his mouth. Even before he looked behind him, he knew what he would see. And, as if to confirm his fears, the stunned silence of the crowd gave way to howls of disgust.

Even worse, at that very moment Nigel felt something that made his chest clench with dread.

A telltale and very unwanted sensation was coming from down below.

From his hips, to be precise.

From where his loincloth was tied with utmost care.

Or had been…

Something loosened against his tender skin and he cried out as the soft cloth fluttered down his thighs.

He closed his eyes, refusing to look down at himself. He didn’t need to; he already knew that the knight’s blade hadn’t missed him after all.

No, it hadn’t missed him. In fact, it had found its target with a surety that bordered on the unbelievable.

Somehow, the knight had succeeded in cutting his breechcloth free of the very loins it was meant to cover.

“Come, my love,” the hateful knight sang behind him, clearly not about to let Nigel off without rubbing his face in it. “We are now unfettered of all barriers between us. My arsehole awaits your promised kisses.”

Nigel gritted his teeth, trying to block out the sound of the man’s voice but, in the end, he couldn’t resist the temptation to turn and look behind him.

He blanched.

His worst fears had been realized.

He hadn’t been mistaken; his blade really had caught on something during that final, desperate lunge.

But it hadn’t caught on flesh.

No, in a cruel, reciprocal twist of fate, his sword had missed its target and instead cut clean through his opponent’s scant undergarment as well. Somehow, they had both succeeded in undressing each other  As Nigel stared, the shreds of the knight’s loincloth caught in the breeze and floated away, landing several paces away in the churned up dirt between them.

The knight grinned wolfishly–just like he’d done when he’d first singled out Nigel from the crowd of attendants before the fight–and spread his arms, standing before him and the assembled crowd completely naked. 

Nigel flushed, unable to endure the crowd’s scorn and the knight’s mockery. A voice–his father’s?–in the back of his head shouted at him to flee. By lingering there, he was only digging himself in deeper. If he had any chance at redeeming himself, he would leave RIGHT NOW. He willed himself to go. He pleaded with himself to go. He begged!

It was to no avail.

He didn’t flee.

Acting against all of his better judgement, he let his gaze fall inexorably down…down…down until he saw it. He saw it! He hated to admit but this was exactly what he’d longed to see from the time he’d first laid eyes upon this curious stranger.

He was a little disappointed. 

He gave a start of surprise when his eyes alighted upon the young knight’s vaunted ‘stallion’ only to discover that he’d been closer to the truth when he disparagingly called it a pony: Fully erect and pulsing with vigor, the knight’s penis pointed jauntily up toward the sky…

…at all of about four slender inches (and that was being generous.)

The knight’s cheeks colored with embarrassment for the first time since the beginning of their strange encounter. He lowered his eyes sheepishly before glancing shyly back up at Nigel. “He may not look like much,” he admitted, cheeks burning, “but he makes up for in spirit what he lacks in size. What do you say, my handsome knight? Will you let my trusty steed through your stable door?”

When Nigel opened his mouth to angrily decry this invitation, the knight forestalled him in an almost pleading manner. Holding up his hands, he brandished his sword before quietly letting it drop from his grasp. The blade landed with a soft thud in the dirt at Nigel’s feet.

“I give you my sword as proof of my surrender,” the man said simply. “You have won.” He paused to wink slyly before adding, “You have won all of me. What say you, fair knight?”

The man finished this invitation with a pointed look at Nigel’s own crotch. Nigel shook himself as if waking from a dream (or nightmare.) He’d been so focused on the knight’s perky twig that he’d completely forgotten about himself. At that moment, though, he became aware of something that the eyes of everyone present had been forced to bear witness to for several excruciatingly long minutes.

Not only was he just as naked as this cocky little knight, he was just as achingly turned on. Feeling his entire torso drench scarlet, he looked down and saw his own, much bigger penis pointing hard and long and fat at the target of its most forbidden desire.

***

Chapter 4

John Falstaff

Feeling a mixture of intrigue, consternation and alarm, John watched the very naked and aroused Nigel wavering before the equally naked and aroused young knight. This fight had not gone at all the way he’d expected from the outset!  At first, he’d been proud of the way the lad had conducted himself. His calm and confidence reminded John of the boy’s father, Piers. He’d been certain that Nigel would grow up to meet and possibly exceed the elder Gaveston’s competence with the sword.

As the fight had progressed and began more prurient, though, John increasingly came to believe that not only had Nigel inherited his father’s fighting skills but something else as well…something darker, something that had nearly cost the earl his head twenty years ago when Hal’s uncle had abdicated the throne in disgrace. Gaveston had managed to survive that disgrace but only by marrying Nigel’s mother and producing heirs. Heirs that were calculated to prove to the court that his youthful indiscretions with the king had been about currying favor and nothing more. Since that time, Piers had been the model of a perfect nobleman, his behavior impeccable and beyond reproach. But the sins of the fathers…

John shifted nervously in his seat next to Hal, chilled despite the warmth of the day. Here, playing out before them all, was the perfect reminder of why he couldn’t let his flirtation with the prince go any further, not if he hoped to keep his position at court and his hard-won status as a nobleman. He fought the urge to drop his head in his hands as the contest between Nigel and the knight reached its amorous denouement.

Oh god, Nigel! Why?

He cast a wary glance over at Piers only to discover that he was nowhere to be seen.

“I sent him away on an errand,” Hal informed him, guessing who John was searching for. He smiled, adding, “Don’t worry, John. He’ll be fine. As will our Nigel.”

John hoped to heaven that Hal was right but, as much as he wanted to believe him, he could see no path out of this unholy mess. Hal’s foresight in sending Piers away had only delayed the inevitable.

Once again, he covertly examined the prince. Hal was sitting adroitly beside him, lips curved in a small smile and grey eyes dancing as he took in the scene before him. John shook his head. How can he be so calm at a time like this?

The “fight” progressed towards its less than salubrious conclusion. The crowd of assembled knights was howling for blood by the time Nigel was stripped bare. John watched the boy’s very prominent erection bobbing before him and flushed. He almost felt it was he and not Nigel who was standing naked before his comrades (although, truthfully, his manhood eclipsed even Nigel’s massive size) and he wanted to melt into his chair.

How will he ever live this down? he wondered before quickly concluding, He won’t. Nigel will never be able to show his face at court again.

The fateful moment had arrived. John and the increasingly restive knights watched in stunned disbelief as the mysterious knight dropped his sword at Nigel’s feet. Hooking the boy’s discarded helmet with a foot, he jumped upon it, bringing him to eye level with the lad. Grinning, the little naked man held out his arms.

Go, Nigel! Leave! Save face and flee now! John shouted wordlessly in his mind. He adored the lad and would sincerely miss watching him mature into his role as a knight. Men like Nigel were scarce these days and more precious than gold. John was already grieving the boy’s loss.

For a few seconds it appeared as if the lad really would flee. John watched hopefully as Nigel shook himself and started to turn. But it was not to be. Much to John’s dismay, Nigel stopped and tossed his own blade aside. Clattering, it joined the knight’s sword in the dirt at their feet.

And then he did the unthinkable. 

Without further hesitation, he walked directly into the outstretched arms of the knight. The two naked men met and pressed against each other, smothering their mouths in a torrid and passionate kiss.

There was utter silence in the practice grounds. All of the men, save John and Hal, had averted their gaze but their outrage at this most profane act was palpable. No one could believe that Nigel Gaveston had dared to resurrect his father’s sin.

After what felt like an eternity, it was Prince Hal who finally broke the silence, startling John with his apparent good humor.

“Well, that was almost as informative as it was entertaining!” He stood and clapped his hands, voice booming with royal authority, “Everyone leave. NOW! Let them have their privacy.”

John’s mouth fell open–Does he realize what he’s doing?!–but even he wasn’t brave enough to defy the prince’s order. He stood along with the rest of the knights and hastily departed the practice grounds.

Before exiting the gate, John cast one last glance over his shoulder at the amorous duo. He was just in time to see Nigel fold down onto his knees and fall forward until his face was pressed into the sand. At a command from the knight, the boy lifted his hands behind him and pulled back on his big, soft arse cheeks, spreading them wide. 

John swallowed, unable to look away, as the little knight took up position behind the waiting lad and, smirking with victory, grabbed his hips and commenced buggering Nigel into euphoric oblivion. Their animal grunting and the carnal slapping the man’s thighs against those ripe and ready boy buttocks followed John out of the arena and tormented his waking hours. He would never have admitted it but he envied the lad. Oh, how he longed for Prince Hal to do the same to him!

***

Nigel Gaveston

When those confident, strong arms enfolded him and his lips met the knight’s awaiting kiss, Nigel understood two things and the arc of his life was defined forever by them. What were these two things? First, their union was fated and, second, he belonged to this man. This knowing wasn’t intellectual; it had nothing to do with his mind and even less to do with his achingly hard cock; it was a visceral kind of knowing. One you don’t question because it resides in your very bones and sinews…and heart.

This was his knight.

It all made sense now.

He was destined to win by losing.

By surrendering, he gained everything.

But, most of all, he gained his one, true love.

A true love who owned him, possessed everything about him. A true love whose commands he would never disobey. A true love who would protect him and sacrifice anything for him. 

Nigel was meant to serve his knight without question.

Such was the immanence of their meeting that he forgot they were naked and kissing publicly in the middle of the practice grounds. He forgot that his father and the prince were watching, he even forgot that, by stripping bare and throwing his sweaty body against the pleasing bulk of his opponent, he’d just destroyed his reputation forever. The din of the departing knights from the stands around them barely registered. All he knew was the taste of the strange knight’s mouth.

It was very sweet. 

Perched atop Nigel’s helmet, the little knight now matched his height and their cocks commenced dueling much like their swords had. If Nigel thought, however, that his superior size would lead him to victory, he was sorely wrong. The cocky knight proved once again that size was on his side. Even though Nigel’s pole was more than three times the size and at least four times as girthy, the knight’s slender prick was rapier-fast and lively as a stallion.

“You gave it your all, Nigel Gaveston,” the knight crowed, “but your arse was mine from the start!” He followed up this boast with a thrust from his little pecker that deflected Nigel’s blunt club, pinning it harmlessly against his thigh.

Nigel pulled back at the sound of his name. “Who are you?” he demanded. “How do you know who I am?”

The feral yellow eyes were upon him again and he was trapped, much like his hapless cock. “God, you’re beautiful,” his handsome lover mused, kissing him on the nose. He would have gone further but he stopped at Nigel’s frown. Sighing with impatience, he answered cryptically, “I am my fathers’ son. But you may call me Gavin. Sir Gavin of Llanllyr.”

“Llanllyr?” Nigel repeated. “I do not know it.”

Gavin laughed. “Nor should you. ‘Tis a backwater village in the middle of nowhere. Nonetheless, it is my home.”

“Gavin,” Nigel repeated, testing the name on his tongue and deciding it suited the man. “You are a cocky little bastard, you know?”

Gavin’s soft lips quirked. “You’re right in more ways you could know, Lovely Nigel. But let’s not dwell on pleasantries when my arsehole is impatiently awaiting your kiss.”

With that, he forced Nigel downward, laughing merrily over his objections. Soon, he was lying supine beneath Gavin, staring up at the man as his feet straddled his shoulders. This foreshortened view proved to be alluring and he couldn’t take his eyes off the furry cleft between the knight’s firm and shapely buttocks. And that wasn’t the only pleasing sight! There was the swinging pair of bullocks slapping against Gavin’s thighs. The man might not have much of a cock but he made up for it with an oversized set of testicles.

“Open wide and stick out your tongue,” Gavin ordered, squatting down.

Nigel’s eyes went round as he watched those perfect butt cheeks flare and he was greeted with his first sight of a man’s most private part. Even Gavin’s arsehole was pretty, a firm yet tender pucker surrounded by a thicket of black hair. That delicate rosebud parted upon contact with Nigel’s tongue and soon he was treated to the musky flavor of manbud. 

It was thrilling.

As Gavin writhed atop him, pushing his butthole firmly against Nigel’s eager mouth, Nigel demonstrated that he was just as quick of a study at analingus as at swordplay. Soon, Gavin threw back his head and yodeled at the top of his lungs, his arsehole twitching in rhythm to the jig that Nigel’s tongue was merrily dancing over its welcoming folds.

“Sweet mother of God!” Gavin praised after he’d recovered from the paroxysms of pleasure. “I had no idea you would be so skilled down there! That tongue and those lips!” He shivered in appreciation, gently urging Nigel onto his knees. “I do hope this doesn’t mean you’ve had a mentor in the art of bum-licking!”

Kneeling there in the sand and gazing up at the beautiful, little man, Nigel laughed despite himself.  His body was covered in dirt and sweat and he was gasping to catch his breath. (He’d hardly dared to breathe while his tongue was on that beautiful hole.)

“Is that the laugh of experience, my love?” Gavin inquired, voice suddenly chilly.

Coloring at the man’s arched eyebrow, Nigel sobered. “No, my lord knight,” he confessed, lowering his head. “I am a virgin. You are my first lover.”

Gavin relaxed visibly, pronouncing, “Your first and your last, my sweet Nigel. I am everything you will ever need in a man.” He winked, waggling his tiny prick in Nigel’s face and adding, “More than everything you will ever need.” When Nigel giggled at this, he scowled. “Why are you laughing? Do you doubt me?”

“Only a little,” Nigel teased, eyes locked on the knight’s nub dancing mere inches from his mouth.

Gavin drew himself up to his full, insignificant height. “You’ll be punished for that!” he warned, glowering down at him. “The gauntlets are coming off now!” With that, he shoved Nigel facedown in the sand, leaving his big butt sticking up in the air. Whie he chewed helplessly on dirt, Gavin ordered, “Grab your arse cheeks and spread them wide!”

Nigel was caught off guard by this sudden change in mood. He would soon learn, though, that Gavin was not to be trifled with. Should Nigel ever slip up and tease him again about his unimpressive height or size, he would be promptly put in his place.

“I said spread them NOW!” Gavin shouted when Nigel hesitated.

Mind reeling with confused shock (What is he going to do to me?!), Nigel did as he was ordered, reaching up and pulling back on his decidedly generous buttocks.

“Arch your back and flare!” Gavin shouted, slapping Nigel on the bum and making him jump.

Again Nigel did as he was told. It would never occur to him to question his knight!

He started to relax when he realized that Gavin was probably just going to return the favor and lick his arsehole. Smirking with anticipation, he pushed his butt backward, arching his back and drawing his huge arse cheeks wide apart. He couldn’t wait for that tongue to lap his eager bud!

Gavin spat behind him and Nigel braced, expecting that his hole to be the target of that saliva. When he didn’t feel anything, though, he tried to turn his head to look behind him but Gavin stopped him. “Hold! I didn’t tell you to move!”

Nigel grimaced but remained in position, his virginal hole puckering and unpuckering, awaiting the black kiss. He grew alarmed, though, when he heard a rhythmic, wet slapping sound. Too late, he realized what Gavin was planning and begged him to stop. “Please don’t!” he pleaded. “Not a buggering! Men don’t–”

“Nigel,” Gavin said in a low voice, “you will learn respect. Now be quiet and lie still. I’m going to teach you how to serve.”

While he was speaking, Gavin knelt, taking position behind him. Nigel gasped with fear when he felt the moist head of that little prick press insistently against his ‘back door.’ He’d never felt so naked and exposed and humiliated as he did then with his tender, little hole at the knight’s mercy. 

“Gavin, please!”

This was met with another painful slap across his buttocks. “Shut up and get ready. I promise you will enjoy this ride as much as I do!”

Gavin’s voice was so deep and gruff that it made Nigel’s heart pound. 

“Ungh!”

“Exactly,” Gavin said, laughing. “It’s time you understood that there are only two kinds of men in this world: Real men and those who get buggered.” He traced his finger over the contours of Nigel’s rosebud as he said this, moistening it. ”And I am the real man here.”

“I–Uh!–am–Ooo!–a man, too!” Nigel insisted, insulted by Gavin’s insistence on making him into the woman in their relationship. Even so, he couldn’t help shuddering in anticipation as the man’s finger worked its way inside his virgin hole.

Gavin chortled gleefully. “No, you are not.” He underscored this by surprising Nigel with a quick thrust of his finger. Seeing stars, Nigel realized that there were now a good two inches of Gavin’s finger inside him. “Your arse is mine,” the knight concluded smugly, “and my giant cock is yours, too. Never the other way around.”

“But that’s not–” Nigel started to object but he never finished because just then Gavin thrust the rest of his index finger inside him and tickled some hitherto unknown part of his anatomy that sent him rocketing into the stratosphere of bliss.

“See?” Gavin gloated as he writhed beneath him. “Was I wrong? Look at how quickly you ceded to me. You’re only good for one thing, Nigel, and that’s riding my stallion cock.”

Nigel wanted to complain but found he was moaning so loudly that he couldn’t. Gavin was without mercy, refusing to let him return to earth until he’d buried his cock up to the hilt inside his primed hole and driven him through the forbidden gates of buggery paradise. 

Gavin’s penis might be short but it proved to be just the right length to reach that secret place. He wondered at it later–How come he’d never guessed that such a special and electrifying place was hidden inside of his arse until Gavin’s cock had shown it to him?–but at the moment he was too busy enjoying a wild ride on that frisky stallion. Gavin pounded away in him, bucking madly the whole time. He didn’t stop until Nigel’s big cock spewed buckets of milky white seed far and wide across the dirt beneath him. It was his first spontaneous orgasm but certainly not his last.

Only when he had managed to capture his breath again and the hazy red fog was beginning to recede from his vision did Gavin pull out with a little pop. Still laughing merrily, he pushed Nigel onto his back and collapsed on top of him. Nigel moaned with happiness when the little knight wrapped his arms around him and hugged him fiercely.

“I’m ready for another go when you are,” he whispered, kissing Nigel’s earlobe.

“What?! But how?” Nigel demanded before he felt the impossible: Gavin’s rock-hard erection driving relentlessly against his thigh. He exhaled loudly, marveling, “It’ll be a while yet for me. I wish I recovered as quickly as you!”

Gavin merely laughed at this. “My sword is always sharp and ready to poke you. With a glorious, huge bum like yours, it will always be so!”

Nigel frowned. “Do you think it’s too big? I get teased sometimes by the other pages.”

“I wish it were even bigger and your cock was just a button,” Gavin admitted, working his hands underneath Nigel to grab his large, soft arse cheeks. “I would give anything to make it so.”

“Stop!” Nigel protested, blushing furiously. “Thank goodness that’s not possible. I don’t know how I could face my father and the rest of the court if–” his voice trailed off as he was hit with the true weight of everything he’d just sacrificed for the momentary pleasure of being buggered by Gavin.

“What’s wrong, my love?”

Nigel blinked back tears. “Nothing. It’s just that–”

And then those beautiful, golden eyes were locked onto his again and he forgot everything. The only thing that mattered was Gavin. Gavin was his knight, his man, his love.

“Don’t worry, my sweet,” Gavin promised, full lips curving into a smile as he kneaded Nigel’s buttocks. “All will be well now that I am here with you.”

It was a gigantic boast, one that couldn’t possibly be true, especially given everything that Nigel knew about England and the court of King Henry IV. There were laws against what they had just done, serious ones. They had put their very lives at risk in loving each other this way. Yet somehow when Gavin said it, Nigel believed him.

If Gavin said all would be well, Nigel knew it would.

Gavin was special that way.

***