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Magic required focus. A concentration of will flowing through the meridians of the body as living desire to alter the world. Raghnall's blood pumped hot through his extended arms, carrying all the knotted desire of a prince denied his favorite pleasure. But what sort of man could focus with a cage between his legs?

After some sullen wandering around the palace halls, Raghnall had tried to take his mind off of Irfan by practicing his craft. He stood in the sandy palace training grounds, having ordered a few servants to gather a pile of loose stones in the center. Around the pile, he'd scribed a set of octagonal glyphs. They invoked structure. Purpose.

But as Raghnall moved his great, clawed hands through the air, his mind kept drifting back to the feeling of Irfan's paw weighing his fat balls—and how full they still were with thick, royal seed. His poor dick made itself even more sore as it tried to harden in its tight confines of steel. Raghnall's tail swished angrily behind him. He could feel warm, slick fluid soak into his loincloth, which was already saturated around the inside of his thighs. If not for the knee-length, pale red skirt he'd wrapped around his hips, all of General Dugald's training knights would have seen just how desperate their prince was.

As it was, those knights kept to themselves, sparring with blunted weapons on the far end of the grounds and only casting the occasional glance at the massive crocodile.

Raghnall managed to levitate the stones, cascading through the air in multiple little rivers, but they flowed into each other chaotically. There was no coherence to the form he was trying to create.

Raghnall gave his best efforts, even recalling the focusing mantras that his mentors had taught him when he lived at the Gatechasm Conservatory. But, back then, he'd been able to focus as he could actually masturbate in the morning.

_ _

A furious growl escaped his throat. The glyphs flashed with hot, orange light, and Raghnall barely had time to slam his pudgy palm downward before he lost control. The stones drove hard into the sand, pelting with such a clatter that one of the knights was distracted long enough for her opponent to land a staggering blow to her side.

Raghnall caught sight of Dugald watching him. Normally, Raghnall enjoyed sharing the field with the great general. He was a fine piece of crocodile meat. Dull blue scales strapped tight over a wide frame, stuffed with muscle and enough fat to cover all definition until the man flexed. But Dugald's meaty chest made Raghnall's loins ache, and his smirk deepend at the prince's clear frustration.

Maybe Irfan had told Dugald about the tamping cage.

Raghnall huffed. Probably not. Dugald would've made more of an effort to show off his physique in front of him. Or simply mocked him loudly in front of everyone.

“I-I'm sorry, Lustrousness." Firk's shaky voice squeaked across Raghnall's hunched shoulders. “It's the rocks, isn't it? The other servants didn't gather the right sort—I should have been checking—I'll go myself right now and gather a new pile! You can trust us otters of course, we know good stones."

“No," Raghnall snarled. He turned with heavy steps, having to manage the great stacks of fat smothering his flanks. Then, as he looked at Firk, he paused.

The otter's tubby gut shook with a nervous breath, clear against the gray of his loincloth. His eyes were wide. His fingers fidgeted, trying to resist the urge to mess with his already-tweaked whiskers.

Raghnall let his shoulders settle. It took great effort to dampen the frustration burning up from his thighs, and afterwards the prince was left with a sighing, melancholy voice. “You did as I asked. The stones are fine."

With the tension cut, Firk's paw began playing mindlessly with his whiskers, bending and curling them. “You didn't ask me to finish your massage this morning, Majesty. Perhaps your shoulders are sore?"

“You already got to my shoulders," Raghnall muttered.

“I might not have pressed hard enough," Firk continued.

Raghnall didn't even have those massages because of any habitual soreness, simply the pleasure of them. He cleared his throat and gestured dismissively at the stones. “I just got to fantasizing, forget it."

When Firk didn't answer, Raghanll peered at him curiously. The otter's eyes had wandered down from Raghnall's pillowy breasts to the expansive stretches of belly fat that hung far beyond the top of his skirt. He was staring at someplace between Raghnall's legs, just past the crest of his creamy under-scales.

“What?" Raghnall couldn't see past his belly of course, so he reached a hand down, lifting his own cumbersome flesh on his knuckles to feel right below his crotch. Just that familiar movement sent a new wave of needy heat racing across the scruff of his neck. It was usually the precursor to some fun toying with his foreskin. But instead, all he found was a growing wet spot—precum soaking through not just his loincloth but the skirt over it.

“Was the advisor unable to satisfy your Eminence?" Firk asked quietly. The otter wetted his snout.

Raghnall had to let out a growling little laugh. “I'd hoped he would."

“There are still some minutes before your lunch with the Queen," Firk ventured. “If your Majesty wishes it, I would treasure the chance to tend to your royal flesh."

It took everything in Raghnall's chest to suppress a needy whine. His dick tried to lurch at the offer of Firk's chubby face, his eager and delightfully fuzzy snout, but of course it only succeeded in further darkening the spot on Raghnall's skirt. He was about to deny the otter, not wanting to stoke his lust even further with no chance of release, but he caught himself. Raghnall had never simply turned down a direct offer from Firk before—it would plague the servant's head all day.

Thankfully, Raghnall had more than one kind of hunger, and it had been a few hours since breakfast. His belly growled, and he hefted as much of that buttery fat as he could in a palm. “Actually, I'm starved. Mother and I do too much talking over lunch, I want to stuff myself first. Go get me something from the kitchens. I'll be in my chambers."

“They're cooking prawns today, I think. The finest of them shall be yours!"

As Firk spun around and scurried eagerly away, Raghnall tugged at the folded waistline of his skirt. He'd need to change into a new loincloth. Raghnall growled. A prince wrapping his own loincloth, and all because of this wretched cage. A stupid bet. That cruel little jackal.

***

Beyond the walls of her personal chambers, Seonag carried herself with regality in every step. Many years ago, it had become second nature.

Sometimes, she envied smaller species. As a crocodile, she stood heads and shoulders above nearly everyone else, emerald scales like a beacon to each curious eye in the palace. Her every motion was obvious.

But then, she did enjoy watching noble heads tilt ever higher as she approached them.

“Something funny, Queen?" Ganbold, her bodyguard, asked with his rolling feline cadence. The wiry caracal leaned beside her chamber doors, paw habitually tracing the designs of his blade's hilt.

“Oh, nothing important." Seonag beckoned for him and her two constant servants to follow through her chambers. They emerged on a stone veranda overlooking the highest terrace of the palace gardens. She sat at a low table surrounded by fine cushions and scattered furs.

Eudoxia, a soft-spoken brown rabbit, stood beside the table in her usual way—hands behind her back, head lowered. “Majesty, lunch should be served in just a moment. Shall I pour some tea for yourself and the Prince?"

Seonag leaned back and finally let her shoulders relax. Her vibrant orchid robes slipped from one side, draping around an arm. “Yes, Eudoxia. I could drain a river." While the rabbit hopped off to prepare a pitcher, Seonag reached a claw above her clavicle and traced the flower and vine designs of her golden collar.

She needed just a moment to gather her thoughts.

To his credit, her personal scribe Kleon waited patiently beside one of the veranda's stone columns. The hefty water buffalo let a breeze play with his thick, shaggy shoulder fur while he quietly organized a handful of papyrus sheets.

Seonag watched him from the corner of her eye. He seemed a simple creature, dressed in nothing but a tightly-wound loincloth and the carrying bag for his implements. Fat of his belly shifting softly with deep breaths. Tail swishing idly behind him. But Seonag wasn't such a fool as to believe everything she saw, and frequently wondered what went on in the bovine's secluded mind.

Once his papers were organized—and Eudoxia returned with a pitcher and pair of cups—Kleon reached for a loose corded necklace that nestled in the untamed brush of his fur, and carefully pinched his thick fingers around the mechanism hanging from it. With one little hoof-cap pressed against a wooden base, his thumb flicked down on a lever. The metal bead at the lever's end struck the wood with an obvious but not unpleasant little sound.

Seonag took a relaxed breath and beckoned him closer. “You've copied all of the outpost reports?"

Holding his collection of papers, Kleon nodded.

“And you've brought the Captain's letter?"

Kleon delicately plucked the wax-sealed envelope from his bag. Then, he raised a stylus of glyph-inscribed bone and presented Seonag with a questioning look in his big brown eyes.

“If Raghnall has useful thoughts on the sea routes, do record them. Otherwise, it's merely lunch with my boy."

Each day, she and Raghnall shared lunch, and each day Kleon asked whether he ought to take notes. Perhaps it was his way of taking part in conversation. Or he just thought it would be presumptuous not to offer for the thousandth time. She could ask him, of course, and he would dutifully write his answer for her—but it seemed callous to demand explanations from the gentle bovine.

“Speaking of Prince Raghnall," Ganbold said and turned his head towards Seonag's chambers, his one remaining tufted ear flicking, and the tattered shreds of the other trying valiantly to join in.

Seonag couldn't quite hear Raghnall yet, but she could feel his lumbering footsteps reverberating through the stone beneath her hands.

Her chamber doors swung open, the guards dutifully clearing the entire archway for one of the very few people who needed so much space to enter.

Raghnall's shoulders swayed as he moved, both the habitual swagger of her royal son and the necessary waddling of such a massive creature. It drew the eye to his stomach and chest, both of which sloshed lazily with each stride—especially since he didn't care much to cover himself above the waist.

Seonag smiled faintly. He seemed perfectly aligned with his tremendous crocodilian size, born to lord it over all the little beasts of the world. Although, she couldn't help but notice a change in his stature today. His tail dragged heavy behind him, not swishing with his usual eagerness. His gaze lingered on the floor, brows knitted in thought. He always slouched a bit, but now seemed more weighed down by his own heft than usual.

He held skewers of fried shrimp, and at least stuffing them into his sloppily-chewing snout seemed to brighten the glimmer in his fine sapphire eyes.

As he stomped through her chambers, Seonag suppressed a chuckle. His personal servant skittered back and forth in front of him, frantically moving a wooden bowl in his paws. The fat little otter managed to catch most of the shrimp shells that Raghnall flicked from his fingers or let fall gracelessly from his snout, although it seemed like he might just trip over his own tail if he weren't careful.

Ganbold had clearly noticed him too. “Best keep on those paws, otter. I won't be scraping you off the floor." He snickered.

Firk's head darted over his shoulder, and in his surprise he lost track of where all his own limbs had gone. His paw kicked awkwardly at his thick tail and he fell with a quiet yelp.

Maybe it was for the best Firk had put on so much weight after earning his spot beneath Raghnall—it gave him more of a cushion to land on. While the rest of him splayed awkwardly on the floor, Firk managed to keep the shell bowl upright. He held it as proudly as if the world itself rested within. “A thousand apologies, Lustrousness," he babbled, staring up at the vast wall of crocodile belly above him.

Raghnall could probably barely even see him over his own flesh. But nonetheless, the prince gathered all the shrimp skewers into one great mitt and extended the other down.

“I'm undeserving, my Prince." Even as Firk spoke, he placed his free paw eagerly into Raghnall's.

With just the closing of his hand, Raghnall swallowed up a good portion of Firk's entire forearm. His fingers left no open space between their flesh. Raghnall lifted Firk with barely a grunt, used to moving many more times the otter's weight.

Firk nearly stumbled from the force, but quickly regained his footing and returned to catching Raghnall's discarded shells while they made their way to the veranda table.

There, the otter took his place opposite Eudoxia, patient and ready to serve at the whim of royalty.

Of course, no matter how dedicated a servant, they all had their own whims. Seonag already knew all there was to know about Firk—she'd not let an unvetted servant get so close to her son—but it never hurt to confirm one's suspicions, so she eyed him subtly.

The otter pretended to scratch at his whiskers with the hand that Raghnall had grasped, but his nostrils flared as he inhaled deep from his fur. And, perhaps more obvious, his belly wasn't quite heavy enough yet to cover the tented fabric of his skirt between his thighs.

“Tea?" Raghnall asked as he lumbered up to the table.

“Yes." Seonag nodded to Eudoxia. “Care for anything else?"

The rabbit carefully poured Seonag's goblet full, then waited for Raghnall to take his seat.

After nudging the array of cushions beneath him, Raghnall dropped onto his rump—the weight of him vibrating into everyone else's bones. Then, reclining to the side, he let the vast banks of fat across his body pool like a landslide in front of him. A tired huff escaped his grand chest.

More even than Seonag herself, Raghnall drew the attention of a room without effort. His vast body alone would have done it, but with his mother's emerald scales and his father's wondrous blue eyes, even the light itself caught on him.

Of course, what exactly anyone thought when they saw the Queen's son varied greatly. Pride warmed Seonag's own chest, but it was quite another feeling that sparked Firk's loins. In fact, the otter stared at the cushions crushed under Raghnall's massive hips, and his eyes were filled with a seething envy.

Seonag feared sometimes that Firk might die if he got what he wanted. Although, Raghnall's weight was only matched by his fleshy softness, so perhaps the gods would spare the foolish otter.

Eudoxia stepped silently around Raghnall as she filled his cup. The rabbit was so much smaller that she could have stood upright behind his lying form and been completely hidden from Seonag's view—ears included. And yet, despite her leporine nature, she seemed completely at ease around the gargantuan crocodile. Perhaps she was simply used to him, and lacked Firk's sort of interest.

Raghnall swiped his cup and drained it in a single quaff, washing down the last of his pre-lunch shrimp. “Wine sounds nice," he said, a smoldering edge of frustration poorly hidden under his voice.

After the kitchen servants arrived with platters of food, Seonag was glad to see Raghnall's appetite at least as hearty as ever.

He continued his feast of shrimp, snatching three at a time between his teeth before flicking his broad snout back to wrench the sweet flesh into the air. Though he caught every morsel deftly, their shells tumbled thoughtlessly onto the table. Once again, Firk scurried to clean them without getting in the way of Raghnall's immense arms. One swipe from them would bowl the otter over, no question.

Along with melted butter dripping from each shrimp, Raghnall slurped eagerly at goblets of dark wine. Seonag kept a silent count of his refills, but wasn't too worried. One benefit of her son's enormity was a remarkable tolerance for drink. Where most men would be reduced to mumbling piles on the floor, Raghnall was left merely fuzzy in the head.

“You didn't skip breakfast did you, Raggher?" Seonag slithered her claws beneath the shell of a shrimp, freeing every bit of its meat.

Raghnall lifted his eyes from the platter between them. He shook his head and spoke through a mouthful. “No, mama." His great, deep voice was quieted in a simmering mix of frustration and boyish uncertainty. “Just hungry."

He almost never lied to her. Seonag peered into the handsome features of his face. What could weigh so heavily on the shameless mountains of his shoulders? She set the shrimp on her tongue and thought as she chewed. “Irfan paid you a visit this morning, right?"

Raghnall's claws twitched, cracking the shells of another three shrimp. He tried to hide his face behind his goblet. “He did." Raghnall's chest filled with a reluctant breath.

Clearly, she was just troubling him more. “He must have interrupted your meal," Seonag said casually.

Raghnall let out his breath with relief. “Yeah. He didn't want to wait and eat first."

“Dugald mentioned that you seemed distracted on the parade ground, I'll have to tell Irfan not to make my son go hungry."

“Mama," Raghnall huffed.

Seonag held out her cup for Eudoxia to refill with tea. “You're his prince, after all. But alright Raggher, I'll leave him to you." That seemed to cast a shadow over his pretty eyes. She cleared her throat, wiped down her claws, and extended them to Kleon. “Care to go over the latest reports on the sea route?"

Raghnall stuffed another handful of shrimp past his teeth and took the papers, immediately staining them with half-melted fat and shrimp spices. At least he kept Kleon busy with the copying.

Though his frustration lingered at first, Raghnall spent a few minutes quietly slurping down more shrimp and his expression eased with different thoughts. “She's adamant, huh?"

“Dragons," Seonag tilted her cup, swirling the tea, “not known for their forgiving nature. Still, hardly fair to restrict our ships for the trespasses of another kingdom."

“Fairness is a virtue," Raghnall murmured with a hint of his usual teasing tone.

“Not an expectation." Seonag would normally bristle at her own words being tossed at her, but with Raghnall it at least proved he listened. “So, thoughts?"

Raghnall spoke through a big mouthful, spitting bits of melted butter. “We should accept her demands."

“Just like that?"

“Clearly Curaveia isn't feeling very trusting. If we respect her sovereignty, we'll probably be the first kingdom allowed to sail through the strait again." Raghnall shrugged.

Seonag considered, as she often did, whether Raghnall could become a valuable diplomat. “No telling when that'll be." But as Eudoxia ran off to have another platter of shrimp delivered, Seonag weighed his potential hosts' anger at having their coffers drained feeding such a massive prince.

“There are other sea routes," Raghnall reasoned.

“Longer ones. Not unclaimed, either." Seonag could certainly use a good diplomat right about then.

“Well what are you going to do?" Raghnall asked impatiently, as if it were simple.

Seonag smirked. “Hold a full advisory meeting tonight. Which, I'll note, includes my liaison with the Arcanist's Circle."

Raghnall grumbled deep in his chest as he chewed. “Can't Kleon just take notes for me?"

“Well he already writes your weekly reports to the Conservatory, doesn't he?"

Kleon shuffled uncomfortably by the pillar, trying to hide his big bovine form in its shadow.

“He likes doing them for me," Raghnall said graciously, while wiping a bit of melted butter off of his breast with his fat tongue.

“How kind of you to allow him the privilege," Seonag said.

Firk's snout scrunched in desire. Perhaps the poor otter would try to learn how to write.

“Please mama?" Raghnall whined, that tired frustration returning to his voice. “It's just been a long day." He always preferred lounging around in the gardens to sitting at the meeting table, but there was clearly more going on with him.

“It's barely past noon. You have until the evening to rest, Raggher." Seonag could see the dread settle on his scaled brows, and while she hated seeing her son in distress, she needed him at her side tonight. So, she gestured to Kleon. “But, for now, the Captain sent more than just some reports."

As he processed what she meant, Raghnall's tail swished behind him, and his eyes lit up their fine sapphire shade. Seonag handed the letter to him, and the prince slurped eagerly at his fat fingers and wiped them clean on his belly before reaching out to take it.

He slipped a claw under the seal of maroon wax and dug for the parchment inside. His eyes devoured all the haphazard lines scrawled on the sheets. Captain Ovorr never had the patience to work on his penmanship, but Raghnall and Seonag were both well used to his particular 'style'.

“So?" Seonag sipped her tea.

Raghnall chuckled, worries momentarily forgotten. “He says the crew misses me a lot out on the sea." He stretched, proudly showing off the bountiful, supple shape of his chest. “All bored without their prince."

“I'm glad they know how lucky they are to enjoy your presence," Seonag hid her smile in her cup. She wondered how far the stories of those sailors had traveled—bedding a prince would hardly stay behind their snouts for long. Ovorr sailed all the way to the Boreal Reaches sometimes, so perhaps the whole world knew by now. She paused at the thought. “Oh, Raggher, King Aksel will be here in a few days. You've been honing your Borean, right?"

Raghnall tossed some more shrimp meat into his maw and shifted his reclined posture. A deep rumble grew in his chest, such that each word he spoke jiggled through the thick fat of his neck.

Seonag could only understand the words 'king' and 'feast', and she wasn't sure which was behind Raghnall's eager expression. Likely both. “Sounds like a proper bear to me, at least."

Seonag sucked the meat from a few last shrimp, then wiped her claws on a napkin and pushed herself back to her feet. “The meeting starts at sunset. I would prefer it if my son weren't late, this time."

Raghnall's expression darkened again, but he at least tried to keep some energy in his voice, “I'll try."

—-

Every step he took, it got worse.

Fat pad, thighs, belly, the converging cushions of Raghnall's own flesh tormented him with its jiggling touch. He could feel the root of his dick being jostled by all the blubber smothering it. An endless stream of slick precum poured down from the cage, coating his mango-sized balls until they slid between his thighs with tingling promises of pleasure.

Every few seconds, he had to remind himself that he couldn't do anything to satisfy himself, as his hand habitually reached for his loins.

He'd thought an evening walk along the old palace bridges, full of ocean air and the green smell of trees, would help. But since when had walking given him anything aside from sore thighs and sweat?

He felt his cock twitch, and another glob of precum drooled out from the cage.

Tears of frustration started to swell in his eyes. He was a prince. His balls churned with royal seed, and he was being made to suffer this commoner's punishment. And now, to top all of his suffering, Raghnall had to piss after all the wine from lunch.

Worse, he heard Firk's paws padding eagerly behind him.

“My Prince, it's nearing sunset."

“So?" Raghnall snarled.

Firk froze. “Um… well, Majesty, it's the meeting… Queen Seonag asked—"

Raghnall's tail lashed against the stone. “I know what my mother said!"

A shaky breath made Firk's belly jiggle. Raghnall's cock ached so hard in his cage he winced. But as his vast shadow swallowed up the otter, Raghnall caught Firk's frightened eyes.

“I—I'm sure she… Her Highness… wouldn't mind if you took a few minutes." Even afraid, Firk couldn't bring himself to back away from the lustrous folds of royal fat before him. He swallowed a lump in his throat and squeaked out, “My Prince, you've not satisfied yourself since morning. I'm sorry I frustrated you further, I should have thought…" Firk widened his stance a bit, offering up his plump body, loincloth wrapped tight under the heft of his belly.

Raghnall spent a moment staring down at him, huffing meaty breath over the otter's head.

Would it be so bad for Firk to know? What if the otter could help?

Raghnall imagined beaching himself, begging his servant to make him cum somehow through his cage. Another drop of precum added to the saturated mass of his loincloth. But as much as the thought might have turned him on, Raghnall preferred Firk as the desperate one. Besides, the otter wasn't known for his discreet tongue.

Again, Raghnall strained in his cage at the thought of Firk's tongue. What he'd do to have that nimble, velvety strip of meat slipping under his hefty foreskin, lapping up the precum that dribbled from the ridge of it—

“My Prince?" Firk craned his head back to meet Raghnall's intense glower. He tugged at his whiskers.

Raghnall's sausage fingers squeezed hard into his palms. The desire in his lions was burning into an amorphous, growling hunger. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to do to this meaty little otter, but saliva poured from his jaws as much as precum from his loins.

Unlike Seonag's servants, Firk was under no request to regularly clean his own fur. His musk paled in comparison to Raghnall's, but those sensitive crocodilian nostrils caught it wafting from him. Peppery fish and clams, all wrapped up in a fatty little package.

“I'm hungry again," Raghnall rumbled.

Firk's voice barely made it out of his awestruck snout, “Of course, my Prince. I-I'll bring you another platter of shrimp—"

“I don't want shrimp." Raghnall huffed and stared at Firk's quivering belly.

“M…Majesty?"

The kitchens served their prince. Whatever he wanted, they would make for him. Raghnall would sate at least one of his hungers, even if he couldn't quite have what tickled his nose right then. He shut his eyes and blurted, “I want a pig, roasted whole. A big one." He pressed a claw into Firk's stomach. “With a nice, fat belly. There'd better be more lard on it than there is on you."

“Whatever you wish, Lustrousness," Firk stammered, while a drop of slick fluid leaked out of his pitched loincloth.

Before Raghnall could demand he turn and go already, Firk gathered enough of himself to scramble off towards the kitchens.

Finally alone, Raghnall found a section of the old walkway that stood in a pleasant patch of shade. He would have taken a swim, washed some of the precum off his thighs, but the mere thought of exertion drew more sweat under his flank folds. So, with little time left before he had to go sit at the meeting table, he stepped over to the side of the bridge.

Raghnall huffed at the effort of lifting his belly with one hand. Large as his palms were, fat bulged and poured untamed between his claws. Knowing he only had a few moments before his arm got tired, Raghnall tugged roughly at the skirt tied around his hips and shuffled until it slipped down around his feet. He tried to just loosen his loincloth, but fumbled. There was no possible way for Raghnall to see his own crotch. With all the pillowy flesh getting in his way, the prince's meaty fingers could just barely find the loose end of his cloth and yank with brute strength.

He growled as the loincloth fell to the bridge in wet folds. Thick strands of precum bridged all the way from the cloth to Raghnall's cage.

Raghnall didn't even dare touch the cage itself. His poor trapped cock was already pulsing with sudden desire at the simple action of undressing. So he just shuffled up to the edge of the bridge, hefted his belly out of the way with both hands, and let out a desperate huff.

Even the base pride of a loud, unbroken piss was denied by that wretched cage. Prince or not, Raghnall had to suffer the indignity of dribbling clumsily into the water below. Mostly into the water at least.

“Is this all you wanted?" Raghnall snarled, though the frustration couldn't smother all of the sad confusion in his chest. “Would you unlock it if I begged?" He lowered his snout to rest it on his breasts. His needy loins were burning into all the hundreds of pounds of his powerful, royal body. All because of a jackal he could smother without even noticing.

Irfan was probably going to sit with his haughty little smile and lavish in Raghnall's suffering for the whole meeting.

Raghnall bellowed, rousing his highborn pride and trying to banish the pain in his chest at the thought of Irfan's sneer. “Well I won't give you the satisfaction," he said. “I'm a prince. You won't make me beg for anything."

As Raghnall finished his business, he heard someone else approaching.

The footsteps were far too heavy to be Firk, and slowed as Raghnall glanced over.

Brackish water rolled lazily down General Dugald's scales, gathering and dripping from the loincloth plastered to his hips. He stretched as he walked by Raghnall, flexing the swaths of muscle filling his arms. “Well well, thought I smelled some sweaty whelp playing with himself."

Raghnall whispered a thanks to the gods that his belly covered his crotch so well.

Dugald smirked at the precum-slick loincloth at Raghnall's feet. “How many times is that today? Hmm… maybe just two. Looks like you got pretty pent-up." He brazenly grabbed a handful of Raghnall's belly fat. “All this has to get in your way pretty bad by now. Where's that walking cum-rag of yours?"

“The kitchens." He refused to explain himself further. Despite Dugald's high station, nobody but Seonag couldn't make demands of Raghnall.

“Ah, good, we'll all get to watch our prince feasting at the table instead of pleasuring himself under it." Dugald peered at Raghnall's fat-softened face. “Unless you haven't quite finished yet?" He trailed a claw up Raghnall's side, getting dangerously close to the sensitive under-scales on his breasts. “Don't have time for a proper roll in the hay, but I wouldn't mind you owing me another use of that decadent tongue."

“How many is that now?" Raghnall asked, the overwhelming weight of arousal forcing the usual sultry heat into his voice.

“Gods, the Prince can't even remember all of his whoring." Dugald's claw brushed the edge of his nipple, reminding Raghnall of his punishment with a fresh ache between his legs. “Maybe it'd be better for Uishdain if you really had buried your manhood in all this lard."

“Like yours would be? I still have enough to make you choke, if I recall right." Raghnall's toe-claws scraped angrily at the bridge beneath him. With the cage on, his cock nearly was buried. The possibility that Dugald could somehow make him cum anyway pressed on the back of Raghnall's head, but he knew he would never again be able to dominate Dugald in bed if he so much as saw it.

It was a burning pity, too, as Dugald snorted with a cocky grin. “Sit back on that overfed ass of yours and we'll see about it."

Raghnall had to tense all the muscles in his core to keep his voice steady, which thankfully couldn't be seen under feet of ponderous blubber. “Sadly… for you… I already gave the swamp the honor of my royal seed." He turned back to the palace, managing to pull himself away from Dugald's hungry touch.

Dugald snickered. “Since when was there ever a shortage of that?" He strutted past him. “But I suppose we're both nearly late as it is. Can't have some little upstart noble trying to sit at the Queen's side, can we?"

Raghnall started to walk beside him, but stumbled as Dugald's open palm struck his ass with vicious speed. His heart leapt with sudden excitement at his stinging, wobbling cheek.

“Forgetting something?" Dugald gestured behind Raghnall, and laughed as the prince noticed the discarded loincloth. “Might not make much a difference in the front, but I already share this plush rump with too many men for you to be showing it off to everyone in the palace."

Raghnall stomped back to his cloth and beckoned at Dugald. “Come pick it up and help me dress."

“Sorry, my Prince." Dugald flashed a victorious smile. “Her Grace ordered me to the speaking hall. Can't disobey the Queen."

As Dugald sauntered off towards the palace, Raghnall was left to struggle down onto a knee. Already huffing from just that, he had to figure out how to put these sex-drenched clothes back on.

Even the smell of his own sex made his cock strain again. Raghnall whined. Surely, no man in all of history had suffered as much as he.