Noble, 33

Punishments Are Only Effective If They Deter You From Earning Them Again

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Geoffrey held Javier’s hand as four young guards with DiGorre crests on their breasts lead them to the throne room. They stood outside the open doors while someone shouted that they were here to appear before the queen.

“It’ll be okay,” Geoffrey told Javier quietly.

“I know. That doesn’t mean I’m excited to see it.”

Geoffrey nodded. He wasn’t particularly excited to be spanked in front of the court either, but it was a small thing and then they could go home. It was just a game. “It’ll be ten minutes and then this is all over,” he said.

Another guard came out. “The queen will see the traitor,” he said to the others.

They nodded, and marched Geoffrey and Javier into the throne room. Geoffrey had expected it to be public and it was; the whole court was present. Of course, they couldn’t just say they’d punished him, they had to actually do it so people could go home and gossip about it, and so they’d know he hadn’t gotten off easy.

Hopefully he didn’t actually get off, Geoffrey thought. That would be embarrassing.

They led him and Javier down the rows and rows of nobles, all of whom, even though who’d been on his side, were looking at him like he was toxic. Whatever. Let them. Geoffrey was more important to Kyaine than any of them were. There was a clear absence, he noticed, of noble sons. Giacomo had said he’d already put together his harem. At the house, he’d said. Geoffrey would get to see them soon, and wouldn’t that be a nice way to relax after this.

He stood before the dais, where Dahlia was sitting on the throne, Giacomo standing beside her. He looked striking in green, but mostly in the crown on his head. It suited him. Hans was on Dahlia’s other side, looking smaller than Geoffrey remembered him. There were some other people as well, including the two wizards who’d attacked Geoffrey, but he ignored them.

The guards moved Javier away, and he tried to resist. “No, I’m his companion.”

“It’s okay, Javier,” Geoffrey said, touching his arm. “It’ll be fine.”

It took a minute, but Javier nodded, and let them lead him off to the side.

“Geoffrey of House DiSheere,” intoned Dahlia. “You are accused of treason, fomenting war, the abduction of the queen, and attempted regicide. Are you here to protest your innocence?”

Geoffrey nodded, and he dropped to his knees. He was kneeling in front of Giacomo, not Dahlia. “I am not, my queen, my king. I am here to profess guilt, and to disavow my treason, and beg the forgiveness of the crown.” It physically pained Geoffrey to say it, but it was what he had to say. It was just a game, it didn’t mean anything. “Please, I beg of you, see fit to have mercy on me. I made a mistake and now all I want is to make amends and to serve Kyaine as best I can.”

Dahlia nodded. “Your family has long been loyal to House DiGorre, and you and your brother were instrumental in toppling the regime of the usurper Stephan Fyrhawk. We are willing to overlook your…indiscretions, but not without punishment.”

Geoffrey had to try not to smile. “I subject myself to the mercy of the crown,” he said, making sure his voice rang. “And accept whatever punishment it deems fit.”

“My queen,” said Giacomo, and he didn’t sound rehearsed at all. “There are those who may doubt my loyalty to you, given my relationship with the traitor. Please, allow me to be the one to dispense punishment to my brother.”

Some muttering went up, idiots who didn’t realize this was all a play.

“Dispensing justice is the job of the queen,” Dahlia reminded Giacomo.

Geoffrey was looking at the floor, but he could imagine Giacomo’s sweet smile. “I know. But please, let me do this for you. I didn’t get you a wedding gift.”

Dahlia was silent for a minute as she pretended to deliberate. “Very well. But don’t let his being your brother cloud your judgement.”

“I won’t. He’s a traitor to the crown.” Geoffrey imagined Giacomo tapping his own crown. “That’s more important than a family relationship. Geoffrey, everyone’s been talking about you like you’re a criminal, a dangerous mastermind who tried to topple House DiGorre and conquer Kyaine. But you’re not. You’re not a mastermind or a conqueror.” He was quiet for a second. “You’re a brat. You’re a misbehaving little boy whose temper tantrum got a lot of people hurt. Your father should have spanked you more often growing up, so that’s what we’re going to do. Get him up here.”

Geoffrey was hauled to his feet, and only heard the sound of a knife being drawn just before it came close to him. “Hey!”

The knife cut through his shirt, and his pants, and the guards ripped his clothes right off. “Hey, what the fuck?”

“If you submit to your punishment with dignity, the crown is more likely to show you leniency,” Giacomo said. Geoffrey looked up at him. This hadn’t been in the plan. But Giacomo was looking at him expectantly, so Geoffrey held out his arms and let the guards cut the rest of his clothes, loincloth included, off. He lifted his feet and let them take his boots, and then stepped up onto the dais nude.

Dahlia got up and Giacomo took her place on the throne, and he glanced at the floor. Geoffrey got back on his knees, feeling the eyes of the whole court on his ass. This part was in the script. “I humbly beg for the crown’s punishment,” he said. “Please, punish me to the extent I deserve.”

Giacomo nodded. “Come here.”

Geoffrey climbed up, willingly positioning himself over Giacomo’s lap, which was a bit awkward since the throne was tall and had wide arms, but he made it work, his ass in the air, his hands on the floor to keep himself steady. He had half a boner, squished between Giacomo’s legs. Geoffrey started to take in a breath.

Without warning, Giacomo’s hand hit his ass, and Geoffrey made a sound. He’d meant to suffer this in silence—with dignity—but it came so fast and it hurt more than he expected. Giacomo had been wrong before, Geoffrey had been spanked by his father. He’d even been properly beaten, a few times. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what it felt like. But it had been a while and he hadn’t expected Giacomo’s hand to hurt at all.

But it did, and then it hurt more as Giacomo kept hitting him, not giving Geoffrey time to breathe. He tried to keep track of the blows but lost count after the first ten, focused on the way the hits felt on his ass, on the sound of slapping echoing obscenely through the throne room.

Everyone could see him, everyone could see him. He had to keep it together, it would be over soon. It was just a game. Giacomo hit him again, and Geoffrey’s ass got hot with the strikes, sore and tingling all over.

Giacomo stopped, and Geoffrey sighed. That hadn’t been so bad. It hadn’t been…

The blows started again as soon as Geoffrey was relaxed, and he whimpered aloud again, then couldn’t stop himself from doing it. He wasn’t going to cry. Not here, not in public. Not in front of this court full of idiots who’d either sided against him or not listened to him. They were all idiots, and Geoffrey wasn’t going to look like a fool in front of them.

Giacomo shifted underneath him, his knees digging into Geoffrey’s chest as he struck harder. It was hard for Geoffrey to keep his balance, his feet on the floor, and Giacomo was holding him up. He hit Geoffrey again and again and again and it hurt so much, why did a game hurt this much? It must be almost over, it had to be almost over. Geoffrey just had to hang in until Giacomo was done, and then this would be over and he could go home and…

Giacomo stopped again, but Geoffrey didn’t fall for it this time. He was tense, waiting for the next blow.

It didn’t come. “Get up,” Giacomo said.

Geoffrey let out a sigh that was almost—almost—a sob, and he climbed to his feet, shaking a little. Proud. He hadn’t broken. He stood tall, trying to smile at Giacomo.

His king smiled back, gesturing at the floor. “Face the other way, my hand is getting tired.”

“Wh…what?” No, it was over. It had to be over.

“Did you not hear me? Face the other way, traitor.”

Numb, Geoffrey obeyed. What else was he supposed to do but climb back over his brother’s lap and present his ass once more?

Giacomo started hitting him again and Geoffrey was struck with the surety that he’d be hit just as much this time as he had been last time. But he didn’t know how much there’d been last time, or how long it had lasted. It had been a lot. A long time. His father had never hit him for this long.

Giacomo was hitting him with the hand he wore his rings on and those hurt too, the metal stinging against Geoffrey’s throbbing ass. Everything hurt, his whole body hurt, the pain radiating outwards. He was so hot, he was hot all over. Why did it feel like this?

Tears sprang down Geoffrey’s face and no, Geoffrey wasn’t going to cry, he wasn’t going to fucking cry in front of these people, they didn’t deserve that, they didn’t deserve to see that part of him, they didn’t deserve…

He was sobbing and Geoffrey only realized it when Giacomo paused, letting the sound of his spanking fade so the sound of his crying could fill the throne room instead, and it was so loud, it was so loud and all he wanted was to stop but when he tried to stop it just got louder and louder and it was such a blessing when Giacomo started hitting him again to mask the sound, fuck.

Geoffrey couldn’t feel the blows anymore. Everything hurt so much that every bit of extra hurt was just added on to be felt later, not now. Now all he felt was fire, the fire in his chest because this wasn’t what he’d planned. This wasn’t a small thing that wouldn’t matter tomorrow. This was…everything. This was all anyone was ever going to remember about him.

This was all Geoffrey was going to be from now on. Lord Geoffrey the Spanked. Every blow, every slap, every touch brought him lower and lower until he was nothing, nothing at all.

And it was Giacomo doing it.

He didn’t even notice that the spanking had stopped until he was on the floor, curled up, crying, trying to make everything stop.


He looked up at Giacomo’s voice, seeing his king, blurry through tears. He had his dick out, and Geoffrey moved towards it.

A stream of piss hit him right in the face and Geoffrey froze, shutting his eyes against it. It went in his hair, in his mouth. Giacomo aimed up and down his body, wetting him all over. And when he was done, Geoffrey just sat there, waiting for more that didn’t come. “Say it, Geoffrey.”

Say what? Say…right, he had a line, for after the spanking. It was, that had been so long ago. “I…” he tried to speak loudly enough to be heard, but he could barely hear himself. “I beg the crown’s mercy,” he sobbed, choking over the words. “I can never be p-punished enough. I beg you to…to do it again…”

If Giacomo did all that again, Geoffrey would die.

“We will,” Giacomo said. “Not today, but occasionally, as a reminder. For now, you will be made a hostage of House DiGorre and will be treated as such. The other hostages are being kept at my house in the city. You’re free to go join them.”

“The crown forgives you for your crimes, Lord Geoffrey,” said Dahlia. “Welcome back into the fold. You may return home.”

Geoffrey nodded vaguely. He had to do something, to move. Where was Javier? “I…I thank you for your grace, my queen. My king.”

The guards had to haul him up and pull him off the dais. He looked around. “Where’s my companion?”

“We sent him to the house already,” said one of the guards, giving Geoffrey a push. “Go on..”

Nobody offered him any clothes. Geoffrey walked slowly towards the throne room doors, alone. They were all staring at him, and he was wet and sore and everything hurt and he was on fire and everyone was staring at him.

Geoffrey started to cry again and he burst into a run, racing out of the throne room. The house. He had to go to the house. He ran through the palace, past servants, guards, all the way to the front doors. There was no carriage waiting for him, so Geoffrey just kept running, down the long walkway to the gates of the palace, which were open. There were people out there, a crowd of so many people. Everyone would have known that the traitor was being punished today. They’d come to see if they were going to put his head on a spike.

Geoffrey had to get through them to get home. So he ran into the crowd, past the guards keeping them out of the palace, and pushed past people. They shouted, pushed him back. Most of them didn’t know who he was. Not naked and alone and covered in piss and sweat like he was. But some of them knew. “It’s him!” someone shouted. “It’s the traitor!”


They grabbed him, grabbed his legs, his arm, his hair, his ass, his cock. Every part of him was touched and grabbed, but Geoffrey slipped away from them, got through the worst of the crowd, pushing and elbowing and headbutting his way through. Somebody pushed him and Geoffrey pitched to the ground, struggling to get up. He was halfway to his feet when arms wrapped around him from behind. “I got him!”

“Let me, let me go,” Geoffrey pleaded, but the arms didn’t, and more arms grabbed him, grabbed him, he was surrounded by people on all sides, pressing in on him. They were going to kill him, oh, God, they were going to kill him.

They pushed and pulled on him and kicked him and spat on him, and then, and then. “Open up, traitor,” said one of the people, and there was a cock in Geoffrey’s face. No. No, Geoffrey didn’t—the man shoved his cock right in Geoffrey’s mouth and Geoffrey gagged on it, not that anyone cared. The crowed loved this, cheering as the man thrust his cock in and out of Geoffrey’s mouth.

Where were the…no, of course the guards weren’t going to help him, were they? They were Giacomo’s guards. Giacomo was letting this happen. Maybe he’d even arranged it. He’d arranged everything else, hadn’t he?

The man slammed into Geoffrey’s mouth like he’d paid for it, and the cheering only increased. “He’s good at this!” someone shouted. “I bet his daddy did this to him every day!”

The cheering got even louder, and a second later Geoffrey realized why as another cock touched him, pressing against his ass. Geoffrey struggled, trying to move, trying to get away, but it was shoved right into his hole and it hurt, everything hurt so much now. The cobblestones were scraping his knees and belly, the cock was pushing into his asshole, the other one into his throat.

There were other cocks on him, Geoffrey realized, rubbing against his sides, his armpits, his hair, even. The man in his ass just kept pushing in more and more, until he was all the way in. The first man came down his throat, nearly choking Geoffrey before pulling out. Another, longer, cock took his place immediately. The crowd kept shouting. “Traitor, traitor! Let’s punish the traitor!” as if any of them cared a spurt of cum about Dahlia or House DiGorre.

Geoffrey tried not to hear them—easy when they were all saying the same thing. Even as he blocked them out with his ears, their words rang through his head. Traitor, traitor, traitor.

The cock in his ass left and was replaced, again and again. He stopped noticing every time it happened. What did it matter? Someone could pull their cock out and there was always another cock to replace it. The whole city was going to take their turn on him.

A hot stream hit his face as someone pissed on him, and all it did was make Geoffrey realized how cold the cobblestones were underneath him. At least the body heat from the crowd was keeping him from freezing.

A hot pain ran through Geoffrey, his ass stretching too far, and someone shouted and hit him. “Bite my cock,” someone growled. They hit him again, and then his mouth was full once more. Geoffrey didn’t want to get hit. He just wanted them to stop hitting him, if they did that they could rape him all they wanted.

Two cocks were sliding in and out of his ass now, and Geoffrey was fuller than he’d ever been. How did people do this for fun? Why was this fun? Did…anyone like this. Did nobody like this?

Had Giacomo never liked this, all the times Geoffrey had done it to him?

His throat filled up again, not with thick cum but with liquid as someone pissed right down his throat, giving Geoffrey no choice but to swallow or choke. He wanted to choke. But his body wouldn’t let him, working to obediently swallow, to keep itself alive, to feed off the hatred of this crowd.

Why did they hate him so much? What had he ever done to them? None of could have picked him out of a crowd before today, he was sure of that. And here they were, doing this to him. Doing this to him. Doing…

Geoffrey didn’t even know what they were doing. He just left all the hurt, floated away from it. Let them touch him, pull him, kick him, hit him, rape him. Let them fuck his ass like it was a toy for them to use. Let them. What did he care? He’d already lost everything. He may as well lose more. He may as well lose more. He may as well…

Geoffrey was cold. He was so cold, why was it so cold when he was surrounded by people and…oh. Everyone was gone. He was alone, laying naked on the cobblestones in the dark, tears and piss and sweat and cum covering his body, freezing him further.

“Get up.”

Geoffrey curled up, refusing the touch.

“Get up, Lord Geoffrey.” He was pulled to his feet by some guards. “Go home, the streets are clear.”

Clear. He could. All he had to do was walk home. Geoffrey took a step, fell down. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, or you’ll sleep out here,” said the guard. “We’re not allowed to help you.”

Because the king had told them not to. Geoffrey nodded. He got up again. Everything hurt. “Did you rape me too?”

“Just go home, my lord.”

Geoffrey wasn’t anyone’s lord. He took another step, and another. There was nobody around. His house wasn’t far. His feet were numb, his whole body was numb. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t make himself move, so he just walked slowly, slowly home. Until he saw his house, bright in the night. And as soon as he did something broke inside Geoffrey and he started to sob, started to run, and he raced to it like it would offer him some protection.

And then he was home, through the gates of his house, which someone shut behind him. He ran up the front door, feet bleeding, and pulled on it. It wouldn’t open, so he banged on it. “Let me in,” he cried. “Please, let me in.”

The door opened, and Geoffrey fell to the ground. Terry was standing there, Colin beside him, both in nothing but sheer loincloths. “Hi, Geoffrey,” he said, looking down at him. He was moving his loincloth aside. “I’m really sorry, but Giacomo said we had to do this before we could let you in.”

Geoffrey had no idea what he was talking about. And then he was hit with a hot stream as Terry pissed on him too, and Colin. He shut his eyes and let it happen, and happen, and happen, and after a minute he realized it wasn’t just them. Other boys had come out, in pairs. All the hostages, all Giacomo’s harem. There were so many, and all of them used Geoffrey as a privy, over and over, drenching him, and Geoffrey just lay there while it happened.

“Hey.” That was Javier, crouching at his side. “Hey, Geoffrey.”

Geoffrey shook his head. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do it anymore.

“It’s okay, it’s over now. You can come inside, come on.” Javier pulled him to his feet, holding Geoffrey even though Geoffrey stank, and walked him into the house. “We’ll get you a bath, clean you off and warm you up. You’re shivering so much. It’s okay now, okay? It’s over now.”

It was over, Geoffrey agreed, as he crossed the threshold into what had used to be his house. Everything was over. All he had left was the fire inside him, the burning shame that he knew would follow him forever.

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