The Time Between (The Sheets) – A Fan Fic

Disclaimer: There is no beating around the bush… well actually there is. That is the problem. This story contains scenes inappropriate for all ages. If you are underage you SHOULD NOT BE HERE, go look at kittens or something. if you happen to dislike gay people, gay erotica, or erotic erotica sexyness then you also will not find anything you like here. The kittens are waiting. Go there.

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What happened: Before I put up this story I should explain it. JP Marshman is my writing group friend who is writing an epic fantasy series. (The picture you see here is my fan art from that book) We have exchanged beta reading services, and after the latest switch, a series of short stories that happens in between the first and the second book, this little story ended up getting written by myself. I hold no claim to the characters in this story, but JP certainly does.

Side Note: Her books are not ‘sexy books’, which is what made this ever so much more fun. You should probably go read her first book Changing first so you can have heartier belly laughs. Go do that now! I can wait.Here is her site and everythin’.

http://jpmarshman.com/

Welcome back! There are some inside jokes in this, but that is okay. I’ve decided that you can laugh even without knowing them.

– CB

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 (This Ain’t) JP Marshman

The Time Between (The Sheets)

Actually by CB Archer

Copyright © 2015 CB Archer

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from either the author or the real author

This novel is a work of fiction based on a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Diversions

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Crack! Crick…

Both sounds were muffled against the cold stone of the underground room, drowning out all possible echoes.

The crack had been intensely satisfying. The practice dummy with the lopsided charcoal smile and dirty old mop wig, both of which had been provided by Sophia, had nearly been cleaved in two. She stood there, still swaying gently, dirty hair only hanging on by a few stray threads. A practice sword now was embedded in her chest, cleaving what would be her heart in two. Yes, the crack had been satisfying, and it brought a crooked smile to Alistair’s lips.

Sandy was dead, or at least the wooden practice dummy that had been drunkenly named Sandy through a joint effort of resident trouble makers Hession and Phia, was dead. Still the phrase ‘Sandy is dead’ did intensify Alistair’s smile. Hours of constantly beating fake Sandy with a large wooden beating implement had helped Alistair through so many of her ridiculous antics over the years.

Just who did she think she was? Fine, she was the Queen of a large kingdom, but still. Her overly helpful and cheery statements were always ruining his day. Always piping in with a “Here is your dinner dear!”, “Your kingdom loves you!”, “Talk to me once in awhile” or a “Blah, blah, blah, something, something”. Spirit’s balls she was annoying.

Alistair was going to have to replace Sandy now. The practice dummy Sandy, not the Queen Sandy. He relaxed his arms and let go of the murder weapon. He straightened up, but then he realized that he couldn’t. In all the satisfying greatness that was the crack, Alistair had completely forgotten about the secondary sound —the crick.

It did not take long to realize that the crick had been far more important than the crack. The crick had been from himself. In his needlessly aggressive display to destroy that dummy Sandy, Alistair had broken himself as well. the dummy. He could not move his back despite any of his best efforts.

Still caught a bit in his adrenaline rush Alistair screamed out at the dummy and made a great effort to kick at her with all his might.

“You spiritfucking bitch!”

#

Alistair awoke some time later on the floor. Best as he could tell he had passed out and was now certain of one thing, when your back is locked and you are in the worst pain that you have ever experienced, rage kicking an immovable wooden dummy that is bolted to the floor is a particularly bad idea, even if she looks like your wife.

How many hours had he been laying on the floor? Judging by the relative silence of the castle above him, it was late at night. A chill had permeated his body while lying on the cold stonework. The best course of action, King Alistair decided with all of his kingly judgement, was to get upstairs as quietly as possible, summon up the hottest bath that his secret personal Pyromancer bath technician could muster, and melt away any and all pain related to his back while warming up at the same time. That had always worked on his back pain before, and he could think of no reason why it wouldn’t work this time.

Alistair stood up, or more precisely he wiggled a bit on the floor and winced as he saw stars jolt through his vision due to the intense pain that can only be caused by losing someone you are told you love by driving a sword through their chest. A few attempts and some heavy breathing later and Alistair had managed to crawl forward to the entrance of his personal basement training facility.

Now the king had a new problem: Stairs.

Any and all attempts to defeat this foe were hopeless. Three stairs had been defeated in a little over an hour, but the rest of the stairs were too mighty a challenge to be bested through his brilliant squiggly worm manoeuvring tactics. He couldn’t move his left knee properly after the third step up, and that had been his chief wiggler.

A bell tolled quietly far in the distance, and Alistair cursed the spirits. It was the changing of the night staff, which meant that in just a few hours the castle would be bustling with activity getting ready for the arrival of Archduke Arivian of Altunia. That was just what the king needed, a formal procession to witness him slither across the floor towards his bedchambers.

He needed to get up these stairs and he needed to get up them now. Alistair thought deeply as the gooseflesh painfully reminded him of how cold his body was while plastered on the stonework. He came to two decisions, one: buy carpets, two: magic. When physical power doesn’t work, it is time for magical power. Even if his magical power was pretty physical in nature, it would be just what he needed to get out of this predicament.

With a well aimed mental Hadouken he could blast his body upwards, past his accursed nemesis (the  stairs), and to the relief of a hot bath. This was a great plan, Alistair rationalized to himself, and he carefully aimed his arms downwards and shot off a burst of mental energy.

#

Alistair awoke some time later when he heard a bell toll. It was the official changing of the staff. It was morning. He only would have a few minutes before he would inevitably be spotted by a ‘helpful’ palace worker. As his vision cleared, he realized something. His plan had worked! He was mostly up the stairs. Even if blasting himself mentally up the stairs had made him pass out, it had worked. He only had one stair left to wriggle up, and a newfound sense of determination gripped at the king.

With a great wiggle of might, and a terrible guttural grunt, Alistair had beaten all the stairs. It was the greatest sense of accomplishment he had felt since that day he had bargained a peace treaty out with Pirate King Vincent using only his words (and a solid gold man statue).

Alistair’s goal was in sight. It was just a quick scuttle across the throne room away, then a flip of the switch behind the throne to open the secret passage up to his chambers away. The passageway would draw less attention and had the added benefit of being slanted and avoiding the additional flight of stairs to his chambers. He made a mental note to install some ramps in this damn place, and hurried across the lovely plushy carpeted throne room. Rug burn was better than freezing your balls off any day.

Two close calls happened on his trip across the room. Alistair gave Sandy’s breakfast delivering girl a bit of a fright after he shattered her teapot when she was passing too close by, and again with Sandy herself who was thwarted by Alistair legitimately telling her that he loved her and needed her help. Desperation had softened Alistair towards his queen, temporarily and least, but she took his declaration of love as a joke, and stormed off to find out what was taking so long to get her morning tea.

A flick of the throne switch with his mouth, and a quick wiggle up the passage was all it took for Alistair to escape the throne room. He was proud of himself for making it this far. He just needed to push this fake painting aside and wiggle down to his room.

#

Alistair had a new nemesis, it was crafty, the perfect foe. Steadfast, unmoving, impossible for him to overcome. It went by the name of door. The brute force he could muster from the floor was not even close enough to the amount needed to break down the reinforced door to his kingly chambers, and any magic he used would echo in the hallway altering everyone in the castle to his actions. Whatever idiot had decided so long ago to install doors in this castle, this situation was all their fault.

Defeated by mahogany, his only choice now was to wait by his door and hope that the first person to stumble by was someone he could trust implicitly to keep his secret. It only took a few minutes in the well traveled corridor for someone to come by, and judging by the clinking noises combined with a faint whiff of rust it was a guard.

“Spirits! Your highness, are you alright?!”

Alistair recognized the voice, he had heard it before, but he couldn’t quite place it. What did allow Alistair to place the voice was the fact that during the entire time the guard had helped him up, opened the door to the chambers, and got him to his bed safely, it didn’t once stop talking. This was Balin, one of the original ten nameless guards that accompanied him, Aisling, and Leir on their original quest in the first book. It was most surprising to Alistair to hear Balin’s constant chatter, as Balin was a character that JP Marshman had not invented, but instead was invented specifically by CB Archer in his beta reading comments to make jokes.

Balin was the perfect person to keep Alistair’s secret, as he didn’t actually exist, and the king thanked his lucky stars. Even fake people in stories can get the best of you however, and Balin ran off to find a healer for the king, instead of Agrippa the Pyromancer and master of bathing like he had been instructed to. Alistair tried desperately to call him back, but as Balin didn’t actually exist there was nothing that could be done to stop the plot from advancing.

Alistair cursed his bad luck. That was not what he needed, the doddering old Thaddeus to come in and declare a strained back an emergency of the state. The king was fine, he rationalized, as he breathed heavily into his thick sheets unable to move after scuttling across the entire castle on his belly like a worm.

“Tsk. Tsk.”

The voice was accompanied by the sound of the door softly closing. It wasn’t the raspy old muttering of the chief healer Thaddeus, but someone else.

“Druid, what have you gone and done to yourself lad? You look ‘specially worse for wear.”

Oh great, Alistair thought, that non-existent character has gone and fetched Hession of all people. There would be no living this down now, Hession would be able to dangle this over his head forever. The king swallowed hard, might as well just get it over with, at least Hession could help.

“I think I hurt my back slightly last night giving it to Sandy. I broke her in half.” Alistair managed to admit.

“Uh… what lad? Becausin’ you and Sandy… well… In half you say?” Hession stuttered out in bewilderment.

“No! Not Sandy. Not the Sandy. Sandy Sandy. The other Sandy. Mop Sandy.”

“Oh! That explains it far better. Mop Sandy. I supposin’ that explains all the strange gossip I overheard from the staff this morning about King Alistair passed out on the stairs to his practice room, then scuttlin’ around the throne room like a crab. Personally, I thought you looked more like worm, Logan was certain you looked like a snake, but when Phia said that you clearly were doing a spot on impersonation of the humble meat creature, we all had to agree.”

Alistair winced, partly due to the pain, and partly due to the fact that his unnoticed trip had in fact been noticed by all sorts of characters with names, and who knew how many other castle staff. There was no point in delaying this any further, he was hurt, and Hession could help.

“Whatever I looked like crawling on the floor, it doesn’t matter now.” Alistair desperately wanted to let it go.

“Meat creature. Definitely. Just throw on three non-functioning wings, some hooves, and a waddle and you were spot on lad. Commendable really.” Hession was having far too much fun to let it go.

“Stop it!” Alistair’s annoyed reply caused him a little of pain when he tried to look back at his tormenter. He stuttered a bit of nonsense before finally getting out a feeble, “Magic heal me please.”

Hession approached the bed and gingerly felt the king’s back through his tunic before he replied. “Sorry lad. Magic don’t work like that. I can speed the recovery of a wound, or relieve the pain of one, but it cannot just magically fix you.”

“Then relieve the pain of this one!” Alistair shouted back.

“No,” Hession sighed as he continued to prod the king with gentle well practiced fingers, “ I cannot. If I tried to heal this I would only set your back into this position even worse. No that is not how I can fix this problem.”

“Then how can you fix it?”

“Are you sure lad?”

“Yes I am sure! Fix it!”

“Are you positive lad?”

“Why wouldn’t I be sure? I just said to do it. So do it. Fix my back already and stop jerkin—”

CRACK!

The sudden interruption as Hession grabbed him and pushed down hard on his shoulders, as well as the fact that the word ‘crack’ was in a bold font that was several pt. sizes larger than the rest of the story, caused Alistair to shoot up in alarm. Within an instant he had Hession by the scruff of the tunic and had even pulled the man several inches into the air.

The king shouted in alarm, “What are you crazy?”

Hession only giggled in response, and it only took Alistair a few moments to realize that he was now standing up perfectly fine. The king quickly backed down and stretched his shoulders around in appreciation.

“Thank you friend, I feel a million coins better! Now to go and—”

“Oh no you don’t lad. No rushing off. You are far from better. If I be leavin’ yah to your own devices you will be doubled over again within an hour at most. We need to fix you properly.”

“But…”

“No buts lad! Come with me.”

Alistair followed his personal savior down the halls, avoiding the glances of more than a few giggling servants. A flight of stairs proved challenging and helped confirm Hession’s statement of him being doubled over again within an hour. As they approached the little tower that Hession called both home and workshop Alistair realized that he had never been inside his friend’s room. Hession had always come to the royal suites to hang out.

The door swung open to reveal a very modest room. There was only some sort of odd looking piece of furniture in the middle of the room, and some drapes. Hession’s actual quarters were behind the obscuring lavender drapery on the other side of the room most likely, but Alistair’s eyes were transfixed on the odd couch/bed/chair/thingy.

“What is that?” Alistair asked mostly to himself.

“Just a little somethin’ I learned during my travels through Arluvia lad. Here is the first step…” Hession rummaged through a hidden compartment on the side of the obscure Arlivian couch. “Ah, here it is!”

It was a bottle of Arluvian Alvish Aliteration Ale. A single swig was powerful enough stuff to knock out a charging rhinoceros or to give Alistair a mild buzz. Alistair had to admit as he took a massive swig, this seemed like the best treatment ever!

The king was groggily placed upon the table like contraption, and was busy staring at the floor through a well placed hole.

Hession’s firm hands went quickly to work. With a few pulls, a bit of pushing, some rolling, and a yank or two the healer had managed to coax nine wonderful cracks from the king’s spine. Alistair was suspicious at first as to what these were doing, but every crack felt like the cosmic love of a thousand spirits had gently caressed his spine and kissed it. In the few minutes of work, combined with another few swigs of ale, Alistair was in pure back snapping bliss.

“The tunic lad, lose it.” the voice of the gruff healer from above stated this without any emotion in his voice, he was concentrating on his work.

“Wait, what?” Alistair suddenly blushed a deep shade of pink, it was probably just the ale hitting him he rationalized.

“Look lad, I can tell that you are more twisted up than an Aravappian contortionist hooker. Unlessen’ we work out the root of your problem you are just going to seize right back up in a few days.”

Not wanting to be caught again on the throne room rug doing a spot on impression of a meat creature, Alistair stripped off his tunic, took another swig, and did as instructed. Hession’s fingers instantly hit a massive knot, and a test rub caused an audible grinding noise to emanate from the king’s muscles. Every other test spot yielded the same results.

“Shit. I didn’t realize that you ‘ere as knotty as that hooker as well. Don’t you ever command any nubile young servant girls to rub your royal back?”

Alistair tried to shrug in response, but firm hands had begun to do their work and instead he just let out a little sigh of surprise. Each knot was grinded slowly out of his body by practiced hands. Every knot released seemed to cause two new ones to be discovered. Alistair did not complain in the slightest when something warm and oily was dripped over his back, it only let the fingers do their job that much better.

It felt as if Hession had worked on his back for hours, and every moment of it was amazing. Every piece of stress that was discovered and worked out felt like days of hardship over his life had melted away. Finally, when the very last ounce of stress had vanished and he felt again like a young man just about to leave the castle for the first time on a quest for the Gabal Mountains, Hession pressed firmly on his back causing a cascade of popping noises. Each was wonderful, a little pocket of bliss that made him see wonderful stars of happiness in his vision.

“Thank you Hession,” Alistair finally said after minutes of just melting there in his own skin, “That was wonderful.”

“Not a problem lad. Don’t be leavin’ it so long next time. Put you in a right spot that can.”

They shared a drink of ale, and Alistair spring up happily a new man.

crick…

Alistair dared not move. With Hession’s help he was again on the table in pain and being checked over.

“Strange lad. I don’t understand what happened. We got all the stress out, you should be better. I don’t think we found the root cause of pain lad”

Alistair snapped back harshly, “You think?!”

“Huh…. You know for someone that just got a free professional two hour back massage and chiropractic adjustment, you are awfully tense.”

“I AM NOT TENSE!!!”

“Really? I think you may be mistaken lad.”

Alistair bit his lower lip. He had just screamed for no good reason, and he was tense. Always tense, but he didn’t know why. He simply shrugged in defeat.

“Okay lad, we are going to get to the root of your problem here. It must be something else besides just a bad back. I am going to give you a good going over.”

“I have a physical every year with my royal physician though.”

“Well he is doing a shit job of it then lad. So shut up and let’s see what is wrong.”

Hession felt over the king in a thorough manner. First in the head and neck, the arms, the legs. He pressed on organs, listened to the abdomen, felt a pulse, and prodded various key points. He checked the levels of blood, and bile but could find nothing wrong. Finally when Hession got to the feet he paused.

“Wait a second. What is this lad?”

“My foot?”

“No lad. This.” Hession proved his point by pressing on a tender spot on Alistair’s foot. It caused Alistair to yelp in pain.

When the king could finally breathe again he stammered out a question. “What does it mean?”

“No idea lad. I always thought foot detection was a biggin’ load of rubbish. Let me just check the manual here.” As Hession checked the manual on foot detection, not being careful at all to avoid getting oil on the crisp never used before pages, he stopped on a foldout chart. “Let’s see… let’s see… Oh!”

“Oh? What does that mean? Oh.”

“It means we just found the root of your problem lad.”

Alistair was getting impatient now. “Well? Spit it out. What is the root of my problem?”

“How to say this? It looks like the root of your problem is… well… no, it’s better to show you lad. What you need to do is meet me after today’s festivities, and we will work out your problem. And for spirits sake, that is enough drinkin’ for one day!”

#

Alistair had begrudgingly agreed to the aloof Hession. Why hadn’t his friend just been upfront with the root problem he had discovered. The secrecy had slowly caused Alistair’s shoulders to tighten up over the course of the day. Dealing with the unpleasant Archduke and his double-stuffed wife didn’t help matters either, they were so affectionate in public. Each of their little pats, or smooches, or hugs just got further and further on the king’s nerves. It was as if each little peck drilled a screw into his tightening muscles.

Finally, after the Archduke and his wife left for the night, to no doubt keep the serving staff awake with their annoying screams of passion, Alistair felt some of the tension let up. He had been worried that he would have been immovable like last night, but the promise of escaping the castle had filled him with wanderlust. It may have been the thrill of adventure, or the two bottles of forbidden wine he had drunk with dinner that had loosened him up. Seriously, screw Hession, Alistair was king. He could drink if he wanted to, Hession’s orders be damned! Even if Hession was a healer he had no idea how hard it was for Alistair to watch double-stuffed and her husband all over each other all night.

He found the healer in their usual meeting spot. Hession was sporting a non-descript long tan cloak, and had a spare for Alistair. Wherever they were going, it was secret and Alistair legitimately got giddy at the possibilities while donning the roughspun garment.

“So,” Alistair said with more excitement in his voice than he had heard in awhile, “where are we going?”

“First lad, we are going to get some proper food into you. That castle dreck isn’t what you need right now, and besides I am mighty hungry!” Hession laughed out loud and patted Alistair on the back harder than the king would have liked.

The grilled meat creature burgers with anachronism fries certainly hit the spot. They came with a generous helping of beer, and even Hession reluctantly agreed that just one drink today would be okay with his plan.

The next stop was familiar to Alistair. He had been here before with Hession, it was the apothecary. Hession made no apologies for the personal errand stop and the duo continued on their way.

They specifically took an obscure route through town after that, in case they were being followed, and finally ended up at their destination. Alraune Avenue? This was the big secret. Sure, it was in the seedier part of town, but Alistair had been near this avenue countless times. Never directly on it mind you, and while the name seemed familiar, his drunken buzz was dulling his senses and he couldn’t quite place it.

A little wooden sign, paint cracked with age hung above the door to their destination. All this hullabaloo for a pub? They had just left a pub. Not that Alistair was complaining, he could use a drink, and along with his friend he stepped confidently into The Spread & Eagle.

There was a distinct sent of poppy when they entered the establishment. There was a permanent haze of smoke in the air and Alistair instinctively coughed, even though the smoke did nothing physical to his lungs. Fine silks of all different colours framed small rooms, which contained nothing in the way of furniture except for couches and an abundance of comfortable looking pillows.

Closer examination of the hanging silks led Alistair to revaluate the’ all different colours’ portion of his mental examination. At first it had seemed like there was a lot, but in reality there were only three. Blue, pink, and purple. They framed the pillowed rooms suspiciously, as if there was some sort of code here that Alistair just didn’t understand.

“Okay, I went to a lot of work gettin’ this here ready for you. This way lad.” The burly healer lead Alistair to an extravagant room near the back dubbed ‘The Royal Suite’. The top was framed with blue silk, and the sides were pink. Hession led Alistair inside, and then stepped out with a few words of encouragement, and a slap on the back. The curtains behind him closed with a snicket sound. These were magic, the snicket confirmed this, which surprised Alistair. Forbidden magics being used in his kingdom, he couldn’t believe it. The school he wasn’t certain of, but the spell he had felt Aisling cast before, this was a noise cancelling spell.

Not certain what to do, and with a heavy heart due to his mind wandering in the direction of Aisling, Alistair flumped down on a pile of pillows. Water was tearing up in his eyes, but a swishing sound caused him to reluctantly open them. There she was, in front of him. This was impossible, but there she was, clear as day. It was Aisling.

It was as if she hadn’t aged a day since they had last seen each other so many years ago when she vanished in the night. Alistair was spellbound as she approached, and he tried to stammer out something to say, perhaps something to scold her for leaving, or perhaps to forgive her for everything, but he just couldn’t make any words come out.

She said nothing as well, instead just approaching him with a sultry walk that went against her normally awkward self. Kneeling down on the pillows before him Aisling placed a single finger on the stuttering king’s mouth accompanied by a gentle shhh noise. He was still shocked when she leaned in and kissed him forcibly, tongue exploring the unknown corners of his mouth and throat. That was the Aisling he knew. Direct and forceful.

Stepping back as if to make a show of it, Aisling carefully undid the lace bindings down the side of her thin silk outfit. With a quickly executed flourish her breasts bounced free seductively. They were bigger than Alistair remembered them being, but that didn’t matter and Alistair took that as a win.

It took very little persuasion on Aisling’s part for Alistair to help remove her silky see through pants. Alistair was shocked, not only had Aisling grown some more impressive breasts, she had also finally started to keep herself trimmed up. Alistair was not so secretly thrilled by the fact that she had far exceeded his past requests and had waxed her lady dragon, as he had affectionately called it, completely. This was a double win.

She was completely naked, had bigger tits, a smoother lady dragon, and she was all his.

Alistair undid the laces on his hose and had them around his ankles nearly instantly. She giggled uncharacteristically, and turned around to expose her firm backside to him. She was already quivering and dripping wet and Alistair grabbed her backside roughly and approached. This was finally going to happen ‘on screen’ and Alistair was happy to divulge in this manner to appease the reader fan base.

“Oh yez,” Aisling spoke sweetly but with a thick accent, “taken me your majesty! I have been being ze very bad gurl. Ayes-ling is a bad bad gurl for you!”

Alistair’s heart sank. This wasn’t Aisling at all. This was someone who could polymorph into looking like Aisling, like some sort of less important backpack eagle. This hadn’t been a pub at all. He remembered where he was now, Alarune Avenue was reserved for the dens of ill repute. This was a whorehouse. Hession had taken him to a whorehouse! Within moments his heart began to boil over and the poor girl was forced to flee for her life from the blind rage of the king. Pillows were exploded into bursts of feathers, the walls marked with blasts of mental punches, and the scented candles extinguished indiscriminately.

“Whoa lad” Hession spoke as he parted the curtains, “You have to be mighty loud to be heard through the noise cancelling sex curtains!”

“What is the big idea you spiritfucker? Taking me here? Showing me that?”

“Oh shit, the lass talked didn’t she? I told her not to talk! Damn that cost me a lot of coins and took forever to set up. Do you know how hard it was to get a polymorphing contortionist whore here in just one day?” Hession shook his head.

“You better explain yourself you sack of crap!” Alistair was fit to be tied, so it was a good thing he was in a whorehouse, they would have the right equipment.

“You’ve been drinking again haven’t you lad? I specifically told you not to drink!” Hession spoke as he crossed his arms and shook his head with disappointment.

That was a strange question and it took Alistair off guard. “What?”

“Well just look at yourself. You just got seduced by an Aisling lookalike and you are as soft as fresh cheese. How are you goin’ to be relieve your root problem now lad?”

“What do you mean Hession? Tell me what is going on! I demand it!”

“Your root problem lad. It is your root.”

Alistair turned a shade of pink rivaling the silk curtains, and Hession continued. “When is the last time you had sex with your wife?”

“Let’s see… She was pregnant with Logan at the time and…”

“With a whore then?”

“I’ve never been to a place like this!”

“A concubine?”

“A what?”

“Jerked off?”

“Well, I forget the actual date but I am busy with the kingdom and…”

“Had a sexy dream about Aisling?”

“I haven’t had one of those in a few years because…”

“Of course not! It is because you are always too drunk to relieve yourself. Now you’ve got and givin’ yourself a powerful case of blue balls. That is your root problem, your root! Those swollen boys need to get off!”

“My balls are not blue!” Alistair defended his boys, as any good king would.

“Lad, they are near purple they are so blue!” Hession retorted with much pointing.

“My balls are fine!” Alistair said smugly.

“No they are not!” Hession countered.

“Yes they are!” Alistair would defend his family jewels as if they were displayed like the royal jewels atop his crown.

“That isn’t what healthy balls look like!” The healer was at his wits end.

“What do healthy balls look like then mister ball expert?” The king replied snidely.

“Like this!” Hession surprised Alistair by pulling down his own pants, exposing himself. Perhaps it was due to the aphrodisiac smoke that permeated the establishment, or perhaps it was just because the argument had gotten his blood boiling, but Hession was displaying hard and proud. He moved his impressive member to the side and showed off his boys. “See, look at them. They are flesh coloured. Yours are bluer than the sky!”

Alistair was shocked, but still tried to deny it. Hession stopped the argument by roughly grabbing Alistair’s balls with his free hand. This caused Alistair to yelp out in pain, and for his entire body to instantly become knotted and sore.

“See lad. Grabbin’ your balls isn’t supposed to make you double over in pain.” Hession proved his point by forcing one of Alistair’s hands to grab his own low hangers. “See, mine feel soft and relaxed, yours are stiff and near bursting. If you don’t do something with them soon you will rupture the poor things!”

It was hard to take the situation seriously, both men had a single hand on their own balls, and the other hand on the other man’s, but Alistair could take this seriously. The pain that had been filling his body for years, the stress that was with him at all times, it was all right here in his junk and he could feel it getting ready to rupture.

“What do I do Hession? I don’t want them to rupture! I really like my balls.”

“Well lad, you need to use them, but you’ve gone and become drunk again. I don’t think we will be able to get your solider up… unless…”

“Unless what man? Tell me!”

“Well,” Hession said with a smirk, “we are going to need to get to the root of your problem, by going right to the root itself.”

Alistair wasn’t even close to understanding what was going on. “What do you mean?”

Hession rummaged through his discarded pants and pulled out the earlier purchased apothecary bundle. “Ah, here it is lad. Analoype Leaf Balm. I thought we might need this and it will loosen you right up.”

Alistair almost got it, but not quite. “What do you mean?”

“You know, for a king you sure don’t know shit.” Hession accented his point by applying a large dollop of cream to his finger.

Alistair finally got it. “Nuh uh! No Way! Not happening. Story over.”

The End

“No wait lad. Just hear me out first before ending the story.” Hession pleaded.

Alistair had a very good reason for ending the story there. Butt stuff had once given him a very bad time. Once in a moment of passion he and Aisling were sharing off-screen he had gotten the bright idea (likely do to alcohol) to abandon her lady dragon and try to enter her other hole. This decision had not ended well for Alistair, and he still had nightmares about a polymorph giant angry dragon chasing him around the castle threatening to shove a tail up his rear entrance without warning and see how much he liked it. Hession was doing the puppy eyes look though, so Alistair relented.

“Fine.” Alistair scoffed, “Spit it out.”

“Lad, it isn’t my fault you went and got yourself drunk a’ter I specifically told you not to. Lil’ Alistair ain’t gettin’ up now to fuck anything and you need to relieve the stress in your boys before you rupture them. So either you shut up and take a finger up your butt now, or later on off camera you are going to literally bust your nut.”

A twinge of pain was what caused Alistair to question his purity. He was going to burst soon, and he didn’t want it to be of the eunuch causing variety. Hession was his friend, and only had his best intentions at heart, plus he was a healer and had to know what he was talking about. With a sigh he relented, but not with words, but with bending over onto some exploded pillows.

The cream was cold at first, but it warmed exceptionally quickly as Hession spread it over the second secret royal passage thus far in this story.

“Spirits lad,” Hession said absent mindedly, “this is the most stressed out boyhole I’ve ever felt. Good thing I bought the extra strength cream just in case.”

The practiced finger of Hession was gently playing with Alistair’s entrance. The king was trying to become accustomed to the foreign feeling when the sudden pressure of a prodding finger tensed him up. After some assurance from Hession that this was the best stuff on the market, Alistair calmed down slightly. It was at that moment that the healing finger pushed in without warning.

Alistair gasped. He had been expecting pain but instead he felt only some pressure. That cream was amazing stuff.

This pressure was an entire new feeling for the king, but then there was something new. A single wiggle of Hession’s finger was as intense as the entire worm wiggle across the throne room, but Alistair was not expecting what happened next. A very gentle finger was pressed right against the root of the king’s problem.

“Wow lad. This is the first time I’ve ever felt knots down here. I’ll be doin’ what I can.” Hession was sympathetic as he began to massage his friend’s tense root and Alistair was appreciating the sympathy on levels he had never expected to need. Each tender little caress of Alistair’s root was causing great surges of pleasure through his entire body, while every flick was causing a little bit of the stress in the king’s body to finally leave for good.

Alistair had not expected it, but he was feeling little Alistair slowly come to life despite his drunken state. He marvelled as he looked down at it hardening, it had honestly been awhile and the king wasn’t even sure that it still worked. Spellbound by his own semi-hard junk for countless sways, Alistair was finally jolted by to reality by some muttering from Hession.

“Lad, I can’t get to the deeper knots.”

Alistair had no idea that there were deeper knots, but now that they were mentioned he felt them. He wanted them gone. Needed them gone. More than anything else. He only managed a feeble “Please.”

Always one to be helpful, Hession began to play at Alistair’s entrance with an additional finger. He had said that two fingers would allow him to reach in further, and Alistair was only reluctant to try for a few intense seconds. After the initial shock, combined with the glorious double rubbing that followed, Alistair was more than happy to continue. Each little prod was combined with a jolt of healing magic, a technique that was causing Alistair to quickly reach not just a full erection, but one of the heartiest erections he had ever mustered.

His lil’ buddy was showing it’s appreciation by starting to ooze out healthy drops of pent up stress, and all Alistair knew was that he wanted more. He needed more. Desperately.

“Deeper. There is more stress deeper. I can feel it.” The king managed to gasp out.

“I don’t think I can reach that far in.”

“But you have to!”

“I guess maybe if I…”

“Do it! Do it now!”

“I was hoping you’d say that lad. Besides, you are more than ready.”

Alistair shuddered as the fingers were slowly removed from his royal passage. He let out a sex curtain noise defying scream as either three or four fingers filled his void to new levels and pushed far further than anything before had gone. They found purchase deep inside the root of his troubles and he felt his cock twitch excitedly.

The deep massage started slow at first, but the happy pants from Alistair caused the pace to quicken rapidly. When the massage hit just right spot Alistair would see stars in his vision, but as the speed was increasing Hession was becoming worse and worse at hitting the right spot. It was becoming more of a tease to Alistair than a relief and he turned to give Hession a piece of his mind.

Alistair’s jaw nearly dropped right off. There was Hession, both hands holding the king’s waist, (which you would think he would notice) and the healer was just giving it to him, and hard. The king started to try and say something but was interrupted quickly by his friend.

“What lad? It was the only tool that I had on hand that was long enough to do the job!”

Alistair blinked a few times, the humour had taken him off guard. Then he did something he did not expect. As opposed to getting mad at his friend for fucking him on the first date, even though he had bought him dinner, the king instead countered with humour.

“No you dork, I was going to tell you that you are really bad at hitting the right spot!”

“Oh really lad? Think you can do better?”

Alistair decided that he most certainly could, and he was going to prove it. He pushed Hession to a couch, turned to face him, and took the healer’s cock in his hands. This cock was impressive, and Alistair was surprised he had taken it at all in the first place, but his body needed it desperately and there were no problems for the king to remount his friend.

Now facing the healer he could mimic his own favourite sex position, cowgirl, as well as hit every single place of his insides that needed to be hit. It was true, he was better at this than Hession and he grinned in victory as his insides were pounded.

Panting and grunting, the duo met each others pace, and even eventual gaze. It was embarrassing, but intense and neither would dare look away.

With a few great thrusts the king began to feel his balls quake with need. He could feel his insides shudder with the anticipation of years of pent up stress. With one last needful thrust, the king’s balls tightened with a surprising pain, and he started to release without ever once touching his needy member. The seed began to rain over the couple in sticky glops, which was odd as Alistair was expecting it to come out in thick ropes. Each squirt was more than Alistair had ever seen himself shoot before, and they just kept continuing as he quivered and arched his back.

Hession clamped down hard and gritted his teeth, the quivering man on top of him was just too much, and he started to shoot his healing seed deep within the king. Even after the healer had calmed down, the king was still going strong.

After what seemed like hours of blissful dripping, the moment had passed and Alistair sunk down happily into his friend’s sperm and feather coated chest. There was a lot of it, but neither cared. They could just be sticky for awhile, and it was fine. It took until Hession’s flaccid member finally slunked out of the kingly hole that Alistair clued into something.

“Wait a second… why did you say you were glad you bought the stronger cream? You knew you might need to use it?”

“What lad? I certainly didn’t plan this entire thing or anything. That would be crazy. Why would I pick up this lube first, pay that hooker to talk, and only use half my fingers earlier? Just so I could pound that fine kingly ass of yours finally? That would be impossible.” Hession accented his statement with a smile.

Alistair was mad, instantly. “Why you! I could have you thrown in the royal dungeon for that!”

Hession gave the king a rightful spank. “Already been in there lad. It was tight and hot. I’d go again, anytime you need to get that stress out. Don’t leave it so long next time okay?”

Alistair could only laugh. It was true, it had been pretty great to finally get all that stress out. Perhaps he wouldn’t lock up Hession in chains after all… at least not in the dungeon.

And that is the story of how Alistair decided to stop drinking!

The End.

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