Tannen Rose, Elven Prince of Glen Bannon, bucked and writhed as the ring of naked boys surrounding him grasped his lean form between them, fondling and caressing him as they herded him down the forest path. Having just stripped him out of his clothes, each of his nude tormentors used hands and fingers to tweak his nipples, grope his crotch, and prod at his firm, round ass cheeks in order to arouse the young prince of the Fairis Dayan.
Today was his Name Day, and the ritual Hunting of the Stag was to be performed by ten of Tannen’s boyhood companions, all in their late teens. This band of boys were playing as the Hunters, while Tannen, having reached seventeen summers, represented the White Stag.
The Fairis Dayan of Glen Bannon celebrated the birth day of their young men with a wild race through the Emerald Mist forest, and at the ending of such a race, the Hunters “speared” the Stag in both a symbolic gesture and one that was most memorable for the boy taking on the role of the Stag.
Unless, of course, the boy whose Name Day being celebrated could outrun all ten of his pursuers and make it to the safe haven of Falcon’s Rock. In which case the tables were turned on the lusty Hunters, and the Stag was allowed to dominate the ten of them any way he saw fit.
“Ah!” Tannen gasped, feeling the tingling sensation shooting through first one tit then the other as two Elven boys twiddled their fingertips over his nipples.
“Oh! Ahh! Unhhh!” He began alternating between expressions of pleasure and muttering breathless little gasps as another boy’s fingers grazed his hardened cock, running back and forth over his pleasure spot.
“Release the Stag!” Fayn Barren commanded, and at once the hands and fingers of the playful boys withdrew from the quarry standing there glistening with sweat, his aroused penis dripping pre-cum from just the short amount of time they had spent fondling him.
They had worked him up and fired off lusty urges inside him, ones that almost had him submitting to their playful ministrations there on the spot. But as Fayn reached out and placed one finger on the pulsing head of Tannen’s very hard cock, electric thrills ran through him reminding him if he won the race against them, he would not only command them for the next several hours, but also at the end of the day he would choose one of them to take to the dome of the Tree Haven, where an entire night of artful pleasure was to be shared between them.
Fayn slowly withdrew his finger, drawing a thick strand of pearly white pre-cum away from Tannen’s shiny cock head. All nine of the other boys stared at the glistening matter with pure fascination as Fayn slipped his fingertip into Tannen’s mouth.
“Almost tempted to taste the royal juices of my prince and lord,” he said to the others, grinning wickedly, “without waiting for the Stag to be run to ground. But we can’t have this, can we, lads?”
The nine Elven boys shook their heads, their long, golden hair cascading to their slim shoulders in tiny waves and rivulets. All turned their eager eyes upon Tannen, each of them looking forward to having their way with him—if they could catch him.
“Stag?” Fayn Barren said. “You are free to run the woods now. Remember, we will not spare you if we catch you. No mercy will be shown and no quarter given. Believe me, Prince Tannen, we will not stop playing with you until all of us have tasted your royal seed. And you will be ours to do with as we please for hours. Understood?”
Tannen nodded.
He inhaled deeply, let his breath out slowly.
He broke away from the circle of naked bodies and began to run.
Sunlight trickled down through the forest greenery, casting an emerald haze on the pathway far below. Tannen’s lithe and supple body burst through the lime-shaded clouds of mist as he bolted onto the slender ribbon of deer trail.
Startled by his sudden appearance, a herd of white deer grazing on either side of the winding trail sprang away, darting right and left, for brief moments confused by the boyish laughter bursting from the mouths of the nude runners racing to catch the prince.
Nearly colliding with the white-furred bodies of the frightened deer, Tannen twisted and spun, agilely dodging does and fawns alike as he continued on through the deep woodlands. Behind him, his pursuers were breathless, for the chase had lasted longer than expected.
Fayn, his long blond hair streaming over his shoulders, led them. Ahead of him, Tannen darted away, keeping even with the long strides of a white buck racing away from all the commotion behind him. Tannen looked over to the sixteen-point buck running beside him, then glanced back, offering Fayn a wild grin as he continued to outdistance the pack of Elven runners.
As the buck sped away from Tannen, the majestic creature veered off into the thick undergrowth to the left of the trail. Its white form shimmered for brief seconds as it plowed through the greenery, portions of its massive spread of antlers barely visible in the heavy foliage. And then it vanished, swallowed up by the forest, the slight snapping of branches echoing in its wake as it ran.
Tannen turned to look in the direction of the disappearing stag, and his foot came down wrong and he broke stride. Falcon’s Rock was no more than thirty yards ahead of him when he tripped, stumbled, and fell there in the middle of the trail.
Behind him, the Elven boys let out a wild whoop of delight. In the swift seconds it took for the entire pack of Hunters to surround Tannen, all of them had their “spears” rock hard and ready for action.
The Stag groaned in mock despair at the prospect of the ritual sex play about to begin. He put up a futile, brief struggle as four of the boys dove on him in a tangle of arms and legs, madly humping any flesh of Tannen’s that they could plant their dicks on.
“Pick him up,” Fayn ordered the four boys. “Carry him to the mossy carpet at the base of the Rock. We shall take him there.”
The four were joined by three others who crowded around Tannen’s bucking, writhing form as they placed hands on him, hoisting him up between them. Again, he put up a brief struggle while growing harder.
By the time they carried him to the mossy ground surrounding Falcon’s Rock, he had been hand-pumped over a dozen times by unseen hands reaching under him as he dangled down between them. One boy even whispered, “Prime the pump, lads! Churn the sperm, boys! Stir his flame to a full-blown fire!”
The naked mob planted Tannen on his hands and knees before them. Someone ran a hand down his arched back, running fingers down into his crack. Someone else spread his legs farther apart so that someone else could lather his butt ring with a sweet-smelling, flowery gel. Another worked his crooked finger into his hole in light, feathery strokes.
Two hands from two separate Hunters ran up and down his chest, smearing the flower-petal gel all over his nipples, causing Tannen to gasp and cry out as his tits hardened into tight little nubs.
Someone else snaked beneath his kneeling form, working his tongue all over the dangling balls, up and around his hard shaft, and finally performing tongue flicks on and over his pleasure spot.
Fayn Barren produced a leather pouch evidently left there before the Rock earlier. Inside were the long, white feathers from the wings of a Steppes eagle. The boys armed themselves with them and began to lightly skim their tips over Tannen’s tits, balls, ass, and cock.
The Hunters played with the Stag for almost an hour as they prepared him for the spearing ritual. Tannen gasped, mewled, panted, groaned, moaned, and cried out with wild abandon. He turned his head from side to side. He arched his back. Thrust his ass up high. Tannen was driven slowly over the edge.
By the time the spearing ritual was to take place, he lowered his head and offered his lathered ass up to the small mob of Elven boys lining up behind him, their lusty eyes fixed on his round, pink ass ring displayed boldly before them.
As the first of the Hunters slicked his own cock with a minty-smelling lube, Fayn Barren called out, “I call First Rights to the Stag! I proclaim sanctuary for Prince Tannen to be held in the Haven of the Tree Dome!”
A loud groan came in unison from the other boys. Peering up at Fayn standing over him, Tannen’s eyes glazed over. The sexual override on his system had put him in a slight daze.
“Go,” Fayn said. “Pleasure yourself with each other. I claim First Rights, sparing the Stag the spearing this day. Besides, we can’t have all of you literally raping the beloved son of the King of Glen Bannon, can we?”
The others laughed good-naturedly and paired off to find release from the pent-up sexual pressure. Fayn took Tannen by one wrist and led him to the nearby Dome of the Haven perched high in the branches of an ancient oak tree.
Three hours later, as Fayn took Tannen from behind for his fourth time, Tannen peered out over the dome’s balcony, and as he had softly whispered at the end of his three previous orgasms, he murmured the name of the love of his life one last time: “Blackthorn…Rian Blackthorn.”