Captive Practice

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Content warning for shit & noncon. Don't continue if either of those freak you out!

Prince Bellino planned on asking out the duchess of Hyrain at the banquet next month. She was so pretty and he could barely contain himself when he met her at the party over the weekend. He wanted to take her even if they didn't end up engaged. And he wanted to make sure that when he did so, he was good at it.

He'd fumbled around with peers before, but never went all the way. He'd never gone as far as to actually stick his dick in anything other than a mouth, nor had he done so to anyone he genuinely cared about (and subsequently didn't care about impressing them). He didn't consider himself a virgin per se but he was definitely inexperienced. He didn't want to do a bad job and fumble a potential wife just from being a messy, hormonal 18-year-old with no stamina and no idea what he was doing.

He could pay a whore. His father joked about buying one for him multiple times and there were ones that exclusively served the court he could approach any time. But he feared if he were bad then they'd tell others in the court and he'd ruin his reputation. He needed someone who wouldn't talk, or at least if they did, no one would believe them.

A captive would do. After his thrice-weekly military training, he swung round the prison not far from the grounds. He stole a key from his commander and made a copy of it. He wore a bulky corps cape and kept the hood up to prevent onlookers from knowing he was there. He snuck in and walked through the maze of cells for the more petty criminals. He saw a few that were pretty, including a girl whose plaque said she was a thief. He'd love to practice on her. But the cells up here were fully open and he wasn't sure he had the guts to unlock one, bring the prisoner to the interrogation room, and then bring them back.

He'd have to settle for whoever was in solitary in the lower floor--the kind of person who was irredeemable. He headed down the damp stairwell, the scent of mildew and stale sweat filling his nostrils. It was dimly lit on the lower floor and he had to squint to read the plaques. There were three rooms with thick, soundproof doors. 2 of the plaques were blank. Only the third had a name and a reason on it. Floriano Campana - treason.

Treason was such a loose term that whoever Floriano was, they could've done anything. Sure the usual case had to do with selling military details to foreigners but it got applied haphazardly when the people arresting or prosecuting someone didn't like them. Lesser charges like sneaking into the palace, saying the wrong thing to a guard, or refusing to open packages at the post to demonstrate they were safe could all get called treason if you were unlikable enough. Part of Bellino hoped it was one of these lesser reasons so he wouldn't be entering a room with, say, an assassin. And another part of him hoped it was legitimate and dangerous so he didn't have to feel bad about pressuring them into an activity they would likely find humiliating.

Not that he cared that much about humiliating someone who was pathetic enough to end up in prison. He unlocked the door and made sure to tuck the key in a hidden pocket deep in his cape to keep the occupant from finding it. He stepped into the room that was lit just as dimly as the hall and had the same awful gritty stone floor. The only consolation was that it was dry this time.

He found a gaunt man about his same age sitting on a very worn out mattress, his one leg shackled to the wall so he couldn't approach the door. His copper-tinted hair was messy and he had burn scars on his bare arms that seemed to be multiple years old. He looked up with pale brown eyes and slunk back toward the wall.

Well, it could be worse. He was definitely weak, thin from not getting enough food, and his initial reaction of fear meant he probably wouldn't act out. Honestly, something about the patheticness made him kind of cute.

Bellino made sure the door was properly shut before unclasping his cape. He pulled it off and slid a finger into the flat door knob to open it enough to tuck the fabric in and hang it there. When he looked back at the captive, he was wide-eyed.

"Floriana, yeah?" Bellino said, not bothering to police his speech.

"Y-yes sir!" the man said. His voice was high-pitched and trembling.

"Great. For the sake of this endeavor, my name's... Amante," he told him, filling it in with the word for a lover.

He dipped his head in a bow but said, "S-sir, aren't you..."

"Amante," Bellino repeated. He wilted. Bellino rolled up his sleeves and stepped into the center of the room, barely a foot away from him. He set his hands on his hips and looked down at him. "Have you ever killed someone, Floriano?"

"No, your highness."

"Call me Amante, not your highness."

"Y-yes. Yes, I mean, no, Amante."

Bellino nodded. "Have you ever struck someone without just cause?"

"No, Amante."

"You would not consider yourself the violent type, would you, Floriano?"

"No, Amante."

"You'll do, then." Bellino gestured at him. "Stand up."

Floriano scrambled to get up, but his ankle gave way and he folded back onto the floor with a pathetic squeak.

"I-I'm sorry, sir, I--" He tried again, wincing and panting as he tried to put weight on an ankle that was either sprained or outright broken.

"Nevermind. You may stay seated." Bellino shook his head. Pathetic. Least he knew he'd be more at his mercy than he first anticipated. "Floriano, what we're going to do I don't want you to mention to anyone. I never came here at all. Got it?"

"Y... Yes Amante," he said uncertainly, grabbing his ankle and gently tilting it to try to get it to sit right. He winced at his own action.

"Good. Now, remove your clothes."

Floriano blinked. He was staring at Bellino's shoes rather than his face, so he squatted down to get into his line of sight.

"I said, remove your clothes," he said, quieter and colder. Floriano hesitantly untied his pants and pulled them down. He took one leg out, but could not remove the other due to the ankle shackle so he simply bunched it over it. He wasn't wearing anything under them. Bellino looked him over. His pubic hair was unshaven and messy to the point it made his already small penis look smaller. He thankfully didn't look diseased at all, just a bit damp. "Get on all fours and turn your backside to me."

Floriano slowly got on his knees and turned around. He tried to keep his legs closed.

"Spread your legs and tilt so I can see your ass."

He did as he was told, his dick and balls hanging down unimpeded. It spread his flat asscheeks and Bellino leaned closer to look at his anus. It was slightly triangular, puckered tight with just a bit of wiry hair near it. No signs of illness.

"How many people have you had sex with?" Bellino asked.

"Two," Floriano mumbled uncomfortably.

"Females or males?"

"Females."

"You've never had a man penetrate you, then?"

"No, sir Amante."

"The trick is to relax and let it happen without complaint." Bellino licked his finger even as he saw Floriano tense. He understood what was going to happen today. Bellino set one hand on his cheek to hold it open and pressed his wet pointer to his hole. It puckered reflexively and he rubbed it.

"S-sir, I--"

"I said let it happen without complaint," Bellino reiterated sternly. Floriano fell silent. "I was hoping there'd be a girl down here but there's only you at the moment, so you get the honor of my attention. If you cooperate, I will look into your case for you and determine if perhaps you deserve better than this cell. Got it?"

"Y-yes sir Amante..."

"Good." As he said it, Bellino pushed the tip of his finger into the captive's anus. He tensed. Bellino ignored it and pushed in to his second joint. It was hot and slimy inside and he could feel something firmer push against his fingertip. He ignored that too and fingered him in and out. After a few motions, he noticed flecks on his finger. He clicked his tongue and pulled his finger out, looking at the filth on it. He wiped it on the sweat stained mattress.

"Empty yourself," Bellino told him, standing up and stepping back. Floriano turned, sat, and looked up at him with eyes filled with fear. "I said, empty yourself."

Floriano crawled off the mattress and across the floor to the hole in the corner that functioned as a latrine. He squatted over it with his back turned to the prince. Bellino crossed his arms and waited. His bad leg shook and he strained, clearly nervous about defecating in front of someone. It took a moment but he did it, wet excrement sliding out and plopping deep into the abyss. His asshole winked a few times at the end to rid him of the very last dribble. Bellino expected to be disgusted by the action but he found he didn't care at all; it was on par with one of the hunting falcons shitting in front of him--except this time it left him staring at a slightly-gaped asshole that was going to be taking his cock in a moment. That moved it from completely neutral to... almost compelling.

Floriano shakily knelt in front of the sink, wetting his hand and using it to wipe his ass. He shut off the water once washed and crawled back over to the mattress.

"On all fours again," Bellino instructed. He squatted behind him and licked his finger again, not caring that it had residue on it. It smelled off but didn't taste of anything more than his usual skin. He inserted it into Floriano's anus again and was able to push it deeper this time without contacting anything objectionable.

He'd never gone this far with someone but had been instructed on how to do it by his mentor. Theodotus was very direct in his instruction and didn't shy away from certain topics that he believed those in their position should be familiar with once adults. He explained the process of sex--both the reproductive and nonreproductive varieties--to him and his brother without batting an eye. It'd made him squirm in his seat when he was younger but now a few years later he'd grown appreciative of the lessons. And with any luck, he'd put them into practice and that practice would land him a good reputation with the girl(s) he fancied.

He spat on Floriano's hole and pressed a second finger in. He worked them in and out, up and down, swirling them to open him up. The taut muscle eventually began to relax. The wet warmth on his skin made him desire it elsewhere and he felt blood filling his nethers. He ran his other hand over his britches. He had to remind himself that while this would undoubtedly be fun, the point was not to get off as efficiently as possible. It was to sort out how it felt, the exact motions he should make, and how to hold back. He wasn't bucking against his hand alone in his room. He was preparing to bed a woman. He'd need to be coordinated and measured and all those other things that would get her whimpering his name. He needed to outlast her.

He considered reaching under and grasping Floriano's small penis. He could get him hard, give him a bit of enjoyment during this. But he wouldn't be doing that with a woman so he ultimately decided against it.

He spit on him more and worked a third finger in. He seemed open enough and rather well lubricated with saliva. Bellino unbuttoned his britches and pulled them down his thighs without fully removing them. He didn't want to set his bare knees on the dirty mattress and only needed them out of the way enough that the wetness of this act didn't stain them. He already started planning out how he'd bring a towel for next time so he could remove his pants and still have something to kneel on.

He spat on his palm and slicked it over his erection. Floriano was shaking. "I expect you to bear it without complaint."

"Y-yes sir Amante..."

He rubbed his cock between his nearly nonexistent cheeks, using his thumb to put pressure on it. The skin-on-skin contact made him twitch. He relished the dampness for a moment before lining himself up, pressing harder with his thumb to the glans to nudge it directly on the captive's asshole. He could feel it pulse under him as if goading him to get on with it. And he did.

He pushed. There was resistance, more than he expected. He had to press with two fingers and his cockhead suddenly popped into the tight ring of muscle all at once. The captive gasped and almost fell forward, barely holding himself up with his emaciated arms. He looked down and stared at the fold of brown skin sucking on the very tip of his cock. The grip was intense and the inside was so very warm.

You start slow no matter which hole you're in. Bellino replayed his mentor's words, the increasingly red face of his younger brother at the peripherals of the memory. But with anal, it's imperative. You'll hurt them if you rush. Press in just the tip and hold it for a moment to let them adjust. Then you can begin to rock in and out, slowly and shallowly.

He gripped Floriano's lean waist. He stared at the triangular divet of his lower back where the muscles connected to his pelvis. He slowly and shallowly rocked in, nudging in a centimeter before pulling it back out. He repeated the motion multiple times, working in more of his shaft until he was about halfway in. The sucking of the ring of muscle was making his dick tingle. He stopped and tried to breathe. He was not about to cum less than a minute into the endeavor.

Floriano was still shaking like a leaf in a neverending draft. It drew his attention away from the warm friction, a welcome distraction.

"Are you in pain?" he asked.

"A bit, sir Amante..."

"You oughtn't be."

Floriano had no response to that. Bellino grabbed his cheeks and spread them wider to check his hole. It was gripping him tightly, the little creases visible just around the meeting point. He hocked up saliva and let it drip onto them. It landed on his shaft rather than the intended target and he quickly used two fingers to slick it upward. He rocked outward, lubed the upper portion of his shaft with it, then thrust in.

Floriano seemed no better from the extra lubrication. No matter; he was intending to fuck women the normal way anyway and that pairing would be more forgiving. He began to slowly fuck him rather than just rocking. The captive's asshole was so tight though, following him with each stroke rather than letting him rub in and out freely. The inside was a bit more agreeable and mostly held its position against his advances. He could feel its sliminess enveloping him. Perhaps if the slime coated the outer portion it would work more like he wanted it to.

He pulled out. His dick popped out with an audible noise and Floriano's hole puckered with a loud fart. A dribble of brown-tinged goo followed and Bellino noted that the slime he was enjoying on the inside was shit-stirred intestinal fluids rather than just spit. He could smell it.

He knew he should be disgusted. But he found he didn't mind, instead rubbing his cockhead over the messy hole that was trying to close and wiping its unseemingly residue around. He spat again and got it on the correct spot. He squished his cock back in with the spit and it went much more smoothly this time. A bit of air was squished out in the process.

That was better. Everything was slimy now just as he imagined a woman would be. He immediately felt compelled to thrust and grabbed the captive's waist to hold him in place. He pushed his entire shaft inside in one stroke and felt it knock into something in the back.

If your penis is big enough, you'll hit the curve of the bowel, Theodotus had explained. It's about the same as hitting the back of a vagina. You shouldn't do it hard. However...

He dropped his voice furtively. Little tip--if you angle yourself just right, you can pop the bend and get even deeper.

Bellino pressed. He pressed hard. Floriano whimpered pitifully and slapped his hand to his calf to signal him to stop, although he was too submissive to properly pull away. Bellino pulled back briefly, tried tilting his hips, and thrust upward. Floriano cried out in pain.

He tried a few more times but couldn't do the popping thing and gave up. He didn't need to know how to do it anyway. He instead fucked him, the pained whimpering quieting to soft moans. He tried to pay attention to his hip motions but the sensations and the compulsions clouded his head. He wanted to get off, practice be damned. He gripped the captive firmly and fucked him faster than he intended. The buzzing increased way faster than he ever experienced and he tried to slow down. But it was too late--his muscles tensed all at once and he orgasmed, his dick pulsing and spilling his seed into such a filthy thing. It was simultaneously embarrassing and exhilarating. All of his senses clouded for a few seconds, and those seconds were incredible.

He pulled out, holding Floriano's cheeks open so he could watch the motion. His ass let out a wet gurgle and thick brownish slime slopped onto the mattress. His hole pulsed as it tried to shut, only to stay gaped open with more slime clinging to it. It was... a lot. And the arousal was quickly fading, compelling Bellino to finish this nonsense.

He stood and hustled to the sink. He wet his hand and rinsed off his penis. When it was clean, he stuffed it in his underwear and rebuttoned his britches. Floriano had stayed put and didn't meet his eyes when he looked over. There were little splatters of brown between his legs. But something else drew his attention--his little cock had grown to nearly twice its size and the tip was leaking clear fluid.

Weirdo must be gay, Bellino thought rudely. Not that he was in any position to judge.

"You do not tell anyone of this," Bellino told him firmly.

"Yes sir Amante," he whispered uncomfortably. The prince nodded. He grabbed his cape, strung it around his shoulders, and left.

----------

Bellino originally planned to give Floriano's case a quick glance and then return the next day. Instead, he found himself properly reading through the whole thing, trying to parse what exactly happened that landed the guy on death row as a traitor. There were multiple reports with conflicting details and while the ruling was done by a man he considered reasonable, he was left wondering if something had gone awry.

Floriano was a smuggler. That part was as real as the table he'd sprawled the parchment out on. But at some point he went from smuggling inoffensive goods to smuggling poisons. He'd been implicated in a plot to assassinate a viscount from a province on the southern border through which most of the trade with their allies passed. How much involvement he actually had as well as whether he knew what he was carrying was blurry. The discovery of what he had was unclear too--one report said a crate was opened at the border with his name on the forms, while another said he was pulled aside by border patrol due to 'nervous demeanor' and a vial was found stitched in his coat pocket. Multiple reports from multiple men of multiple varieties cluttered the file and Bellino had no way of knowing which portions were true.

All he knew was that the whole thing was stamped by someone rather high up on the chain of command and the man's fate was sealed. He'd be dead in 5 weeks after a preceding 2 months of rotting in that dungeon if no one protested, all at the age of 23--five years his senior, he noted, despite him striking him as the same age. The weight loss must've muddied his looks.

The whole thing left a sour taste in his mouth. He washed it down with rosé​ and retreated to the library to take his mind off it. He found himself gravitating toward the back shelves that housed rather unspeakable content on the bottom. Three shelves of books that would be embarrassing to be seen with that he'd furtively flipped through with his brother a few times in their youth. The rush they'd gotten from reading words that shouldn't be in their mouths at that age was intoxicating.