The Slave Prince

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This is the direct sequel to the 1000 Words story: The Spice Merchant. I had meant to release it as a part of a compilation e-book, but other events and projects have since taken precedent (especially since my PC is out of control right now). Anyway, long story short — a few of you asked for this and here it is. Enjoy! -B. 


‘The spacious and greatly appointed hall of a once great prince has become something less than palatial in recent days.’

This was the rumor that brought the prince Azad to his younger brother’s court. At the prince’s right hand was his champion of one dozen campaigns, the hirsute Basit. At his left was the vizier, Fahim, who was known to some as a chanter of old lore and a shaman. They arrived to the great hall to find not a prince sitting on the ebon chair, but a beautiful creature with the reddest of hair and an incisive violet gaze. The prince, brother to Azad, son of Hazael, sat at the creature’s feet and wore a golden chain like chattel.

All around the great hall there were men engaged in unholy communion in every imaginable configuration. The place reeked of bodies, sweat, cum and the deep, musky arousal of a great many men. The slave prince himself sat naked at the foot of the throne in the midst of stroking his full erection idly as he stared at the newcomers without the spark of recognition in his eyes.

Basit, recognizing this as the work of fell spirits laid the symbols of his god across his chest. The shaman Fahim muttered charms of protection under his breath and drew his robes close around him. Azad stepped forward and spoke in an iron tone.

“Creature, I name you a demon. Release my brother from bondage and quit this place,” he said.

The creature smiled without mirth. “And under what power do you compel me to do so, great prince? The voice of your god is very quiet indeed within these halls.”

The slave prince barked out a sharp noise and spilled his seed on the ruined carpet beneath his bare feet. The creature who had become his master snapped a finger and the once proud prince went to his knees and began humbly collected the semen with his tongue. He did so with his back arched and his ass high in the air so that the creature sitting his throne might pry into his hole.

Azad’s cheeks burned with shame to see his brother brought so low.

“Set my brother free at once, demon. I promise you will not have another warning.”

The creature shifted and cocked a head to the side. His fingers were still inside Azad’s brother.

“Perhaps I could release him.” It swept its free hand across the entire hall. “Perhaps I could release all of them from my grasp. It could be done if you would only best me in a few simple challenges.”

Fahim shuffled quickly to the prince’s side at that. “I humbly council you to accept no bargains from the creature, greatness. Its promises are smoke and its intentions are fire.”

Azad’s brother finished collecting the last of his seed from the floor. The creature removed its fingers from him and he sat back on his heels like a docile creature. His cock was already half hard again and stirring between his legs. Azad could hear his counselor’s words, but it was as if they were coming from a great distance.

“Name your challenges,” he said.

It grinned again and revealed a set of too-white teeth. “The winner will decided in the best of three challenges: a contest of strength, a contest of magic, and a contest of faith.”

Basit stepped forward unbidden and bowed to his prince with grace and humility. Azad gave his consent in a nod and Basit took off his vest to reveal an immense chest beneath a mat of fine black hair.

“I can match the strength of any man twice over. Choose your champion, demon.”

The creature gestured and a man stepped forward. Azad recognized him vaguely as a merchant’s servant. He could neither recall the man’s name nor the name of his master, but he was finely made and well muscled. If he was not Basit’s equal it was through no fault of his own; there were not many who were.

The two stood before each other and at some unheard signal, they both surged forward and threw their bodies against each other. They grappled against like two heroes clashing in some ancient myth. After only a few minutes they were both sweating, their grunts and taunts drew some of the gazes of the enthralled men about the hall. As their struggle continued, Azad noticed with a increasing embarrassment that there were men masturbating to it.

Basit had long been the prince’s champion and together they had faced many adversities of both the supernatural and mundane varieties. There had been long nights away from home, in the desert or in the far jungles, where Azad had been without the company of his wives. It did not need to be said by either of them that what had transpired had been out of desperation and that those act things would never be spoken of.

Yet there was something in the way Basit wrestled this merchant’s servant that brought those nights back to the prince. Something in his expression that spoke of the pleasure he took in overpowering another man.

Before long Basit’s victory was a foregone conclusion. The other man slipped, just a small mistake and Basit was wrenching his arm behind him and forcing him down to one knee. Azad’s champion was victorious and the leering grin on his face was matched only by the obscene bulge beneath his izaar. Azad looked away from it and whispered an earnest prayer.

“Such prowess,” said the creature, and that was all it said of the match. “The next shall be a test of magic. Will your magician accept, O magnificent prince?”

Fahim stepped forward like a man to his death. His skin took on a pallor, but his face was calm.

“I would wrestle any viper for you, my prince. Allow me to use my arts on your behalf.”

The prince allowed it, because in truth he trusted no man above Fahim in the provinces of magic. The vizier took a place before the creature and it took many moments of waiting before Azad realized that the contest was already underway. Sweat dripped down Fahim’s forehead and his fists were tightly clasped. No holy fire was flung, nor arcane chanting searing the air. Only the deathly silence between the mystic and the creature. Minutes passed and only a slight upturn at the edge creature’s mouth suggested any change. In the next instant Fahim slumped to the ground, breathing heavily.

Azad went to him and found his flesh feverish and trembling. His loyal vizier was a wreck, mumbling incoherently and thrusting his hips into the air. Like Basit, his challenge had lead to a great engorgement of his member. It was clear that the creature had bested him.

“A noble effort, but I am not so easily beaten,” the creature said. “Your champion has won a contest and so have I, so the fate of all these men falls on you, O greatness. How solid is your faith that your god can deliver you through every iniquity?”

Whatever Azad had expected, he would have been surprised. Basit fell upon him from behind and wrenched both the prince’s arms up and behind his head. Azad cried out, but Basit held him firm and Azad could feel his champion’s enormous prick pressing against the middle of his back. In his ear Basit whispered the full content of the desire within the furthest recesses of his want. He detailed how he desired to fuck his prince, to ride him mercilessly in the dark of their tent while alone and away from prying eyes. He explained how deeply he would cum and fill his prince with seed like some common whore. He wanted to pass around his sworn liege lord to other men and watch them conquer him, saving the last round for Basit himself who would then revisit Azad’s hole with a long hard fuck. Afterward he would lovingly cleanse his prince’s channel orally. These and more immodest fantasies did Basit whisper into his prince’s ear as he held him in a position from which there was no escape.

Azad thought of his wives and his children and his nieces and nephews, all the children of his own blood and his brother’s blood who would never again see their fathers should he fail. He thought of the goodness of god and the faithfulness of his angels. But when he tried to recall the most holy parables, the sermons that the priests had intoned, none of them seemed so near and so accessible as the filthy, hungry desires that Basit was whispering into his ears.

I am damned, Azad thought, and closed his eyes. Then all the pressure fell away like it had never been and the prince allowed himself to grow hard from the talk.


The prince Naji arrived at the great hall of his youngest brother and regarded the place from the outside. It was the meanest of their family’s dwellings and still it was resplendent in the sunlight. There were rumors that his brothers were disappearing into the haunted dwelling and he had travelled a great distance to see if there was any truth to those claims.

He rode in a palanquin carried by ten strong men and conversed with his chief guard as they approached the hall.

“Do you believe what they say? That a ghost has possessed this place and driven away the senses of my brothers?” Naji asked.

His guard, a worldly and pious man, offered an unsure pose. “I do not know, highest of princes, but together and under the gaze of our god we will discern the truth. Should your brothers be close to any danger, we will draw them back from it.”

Naji made a sound of agreement and they rode the rest of the way in silence. It was eerie, Naji noticed, that there was no one attending the great hall. On a day like today, early in the summer, the grounds should have been littered with water-bearers and messengers. Instead there was no one. Only chickens and cows with no masters. Crows circling the great hall and the abandoned town around it without a single man with a stick to drive them off. Naji took it as the first ill omen.

If he had been wiser it would have been the second. The first omen of the doom that awaited him should have been the smell of the place which was subtle and delectable. It was something like vanilla and cloves, warm cream and honey. It made the mouth water. The servants carrying the prince’s palanquin, tired from long hours of walking, stepped a bit quicker as they drew nearer to the great hall that was supposedly haunted. Naji thought it was good that his servants were so eager to get to the truth of the matter. He did not suspect that it might be something else driving them closer, tempting their senses, and inviting them in.

3 responses to “The Slave Prince”

  1. Ingonyama says:

    One thing I love, as a writer, is when stories form out of little throwaway ideas or older projects.

    It doesn’t happen as often for me anymore, but “Spice Merchant” was the first story of yours I read, so seeing a sequel is nice, especially one as tantalizing as this. And I think “tantalizing” is the right word…you don’t go into explicit depth on the sexual aspect, so it’s not porn in that sense, but the feel and flavor of it is everywhere, so to speak.

    • Benji Bright says:

      Good call on the idea of throwaway ideas and older projects. I think for me the two kinds of really successful projects are those that I go into with full zeal and adoration. And also those that I circle back to later and kind of do a post-mortem where I determine what the strengths were. Then I can go back and capitalize on those.

      I also think you’re right about what you called “feel feel and flavor” in this story. I wanted to make it clear that the djinn/demon/idea/monster was affecting the world around him/it very tangibly. I wanted to write atmosphere and I’m excited that it was, to some extent, successful.

      Thanks, as usual, for your thoughtful commentary.

  2. […] Or read the first two installments: The Spice Merchant & The Slave Prince. […]

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About the Author

My nom de plume is Benji Bright and I’m an erotica writer. I write the kind of smut that I like to read: hot, whimsical, occasionally thoughtful, and sometimes just plain silly. Outside of writing I’m a film buff, a music lover, and an RPG addict. Also I’m a real person: so feel free to contact me.

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