“Oil, Jean, bring me the perfumed oil.”
Maximillian, whose mouth had been opened as if he were tasting the most wonderful worldly delicacy, spoke. Perfumed oil? Jean found himself frowning—while panting at the same time. His member was throbbing wildly, having been pulled out of Maximillian’s mouth. More... Just a bit more... Jean was awash with the desire to seize the man and command him to open his mouth again.
“Jean.”
Had he read the desire in Jean’s eyes? The prince held the red, throbbing member and kissed it on the shaft, calling Jean’s name. The voice was sweet, as if calling onto a pup, and cooing, as if suckling a child.
“Draw back the curtains, and you shall find the perfumed oil upon the table. Bring it.”
Alas, Jean could not deny these words. Fooled, he felt. Jean drew back the curtains in a hurry, and lo and behold, there lay the scented oil on the table. He brought it to Maximillian, who tickled his chin, gesturing that Jean had been good. Then, the prince held Jean’s hand, poured half of the oil onto the palm, and turned back. Jean saw the plump buttocks, and slightly below that, he could also see the prince’s stiff member.
Maximillian poured the remaining half of the oil onto his own buttocks. Jean soon understood the prince’s intention. He glared at the gap between the cheeks. The prince turned to look at him. Hurry, said the prince as he stroked his own penis.
Jean had no choice. He was of no mind to think of their difference in status, for he was in dire need himself. He was so filled with heat, so filled with passion, that he even suspected that what the prince had done was deliberate, to turn Jean just as eager for this deed. Jean carefully inserted his forefinger into the little orifice dimpled in between the prince’s buttocks. Owing to the slippery oil in the hand and the posterior, the penetration was smooth. Maximillian quivered below.
Jean added another finger, and with his middle finger also inside, he dug into the hole while rotating his digits. The buttocks lightly shook. Jean felt a strange desire to hunt, along with eagerness. His member was still engorged to the point of bursting, and all he desired at the moment was to penetrate the hole. Instead of being repulsed, he salivated at the sight of Maximillian’s buttocks. Jean had thought the man to be vile and base, but in the now and here, there was nothing more desirable than the prince’s body.
Maximillian flinched every time Jean moved his finger, and when Jean started digging deeper, the prince began moaning. Jean could see Maximillian’s hand growing faster, gratifying himself. He seemed to be ready to open his body, his hole. Jean observed the sight, pulling his fingers out slowly. Maximillian turned to look. He was slightly red around the eyes, and the orbs themselves were oddly moist. The face seemed to be a manifestation of immoral, indecent paintings.
Jean lowered his body over the prince’s back. He held his member and aimed the tip at the loosened hole. He had to exert force when he was entering the opening, but once the tip was in, the rest followed easily. The hole swallowed Jean just as gluttonous as the mouth had. He felt like he was being sucked in.
Damn it.
Jean’s reason told him that he should be slow and gentle in penetration, but his lust wreaked havoc in his mind, telling him to drive his member in all the way at once. And when Maximillian let out a throaty moan, even that fueled Jean’s desire more. Jean clenched his jaw and entered slowly. The inner flesh seemed to be sticking to his member. He felt like he would reach his bliss any moment now. Before he could stop himself, Jean slightly bit the prince’s neck.
“Ah, Jean...”
Jean brought his wandering hand and held the nipples that he had touched and pinched earlier. Maximillian tossed and turned as Jean touched his chest. His body must be as sensitive as it could get... Jean slowly widened the hole, pulling back slightly, then entering back in, repeating the motion. Simply pulling back out for a mere fleeting moment was enough to drive him mad. Jean was at his limit.
He grabbed the prince right below the thin waist and began thrusting. He saw Maximillian’s hands gripping onto the sheets. The slightly protruding veins oddly attracted his sight. Slowly but surely, Jean began gaining speed. His whole body was in heat. Jean went in, and in, and deeper in. Every time the Crown Prince moaned and cried, Jean found his bliss. All of his body, his senses, screamed in elation. And the earlier memory of Maximillian, so fragile as if he would shatter under the sun, all the more heightened the ecstasy. To think that the very same man had hidden something so wretched beneath that face—
“Jean...!”
Something so wretched that it gave such maddening pleasure—
“Erhardt, ah, slow... slow down... Ah...!”
This was the reason, Jean thought. This was the reason why his face, or his smile, veiled Jean’s sight as if it had conquered Jean’s entire world. Jean was sure that his own nature had found out ahead of his reason that the wretched prince had hidden something so sinister within him.
“Good... It feels good, Jean...”
He was a man who was so elated for having a man inside him that he cried tears of joy and dried them on his pillow. He was a man who deemed it natural that his member leaked fluid while having another man’s member inside him. Jean became more certain of the man’s wretchedness at the sight of him, losing his mind in bliss the more Jean pushed in. Jean became most certain that he had been enthralled, enticed by this lecherous madman.
“Is it... Ah... is it that good, Your Grace?”
It was akin to a scene wherein a depraved fallen angel extended his hand to Jean, smiling. How could a man stay sane before the lure? Especially now that he had a taste of a pleasure so strong, so all-consuming.
“It feels good, more... Ah, Jean...!”
Jean could think no further. His mind had gone blank. He cared not if he had been bewitched. As long as he could hold onto this man’s body, as long as he could release his seed this very moment, there was nothing he would not do. Jean watched Maximillian, who was rubbing his own member on the sheets while pushing his buttocks toward Jean at the same time. The face of the Crown Prince was stained with lust, pleasure, spittle, and heat. Jean grabbed onto the body and pushed his member in deep. The prince quivered, crying. And every time he did, the inner flesh quivered along, squeezing around the member. Jean could feel himself maddening. He was now a beast that knew nothing but for going back inside that hole again, and again. Jean embraced the man tightly from behind. He trapped the man in his arms to bar any movement and began moving forcefully like a dog in heat, only the sound of their flesh meeting together audible. Just a little more, barely a little more...
“Ah...”
It was the last moment when his stones touched the prince’s posterior. Jean’s sight went pitch black before sparking back to light. He knew he had released his seed. Jean embraced the prince tighter and pulled the man closer to him, unconscious of his action. The member that had been engorged to its limit trembled as it filled the inside of the prince. Perhaps their climax came on them at the same time, or the prince’s a little sooner than Jean’s. Whichever it was, there was a wet spot on the bedsheet where the prince’s member was. Jean’s instinct caused him to move his waist. He spurt out the last drop of his fluid inside the man. The strong wave of sensation was late to turn into a lull, cradling Jean. As if he had held his breath for long, Jean took a deep breath. And then, he heard it. A chuckle came from under him. It was cheerful.
“...Pray, what brings you laughter, Your Grace?”
Jean asked, holding onto Maximillian’s shoulders. The prince turned, and Jean could see that the soft lines of the prince’s face sheened with sweat. He was laughing, and there was no trace of mockery or sarcasm. He merely looked joyous.
“It occurred to me that for someone who sought an élixir d’amour, you had quite the appetite.”
Jean turned red at the remark. He couldn’t present any response. Maximillian chuckled again, and then, with his one hand resting on his forehead, looked at Jean. The smile was quite different from the one of mocking nature Jean was accustomed to seeing. The prince’s lips curved in a way that seemed out of his control; the end of his eyes slanted downward; his cheekbones were slightly elevated. Jean closed his mouth. He couldn’t utter a single word, as if his throat had closed up, pasted with glue.