Warnings: Bad language and M/M sexual situations.
Disclaimer: The Bee owns none of the characters used
in this story.
Summary: A new take on the old fable of Rumpelstiltskin.
Xander is held in the tower prison of the evil King Liam and has
been ordered to spin a roomful of straw to gold. Can he do
it? Is there someone who can help?
Author's note: This story is not betaed or spell checked by anyone but me.
If there are errors that you simply have to point out, feel free but
don't be upset if I don't care.
Thanks to Naughty Fae for the pre-read and encouragement
It was a cold and very dark night. The heavy clouds in the sky threatened an early snow
and blocked the star's and moon's reach of illumination. Fortunately, the lack of light was not
a hindrance to the residents of the small village since none had any reason to be outside the
safety and security of their meager cottages at this late hour. Chores were completed
before dinner. All of the water buckets had been toted from the common well and the
wash had been taken in from the lines while the sun was still high in the sky.
By the time the daylight had fully retreated, the shutters were closed on the windows
and the fireplaces were stoked to a high blaze. The hogs and horses were secured within
the barns and the only sounds to be heard were that of a random barking dog or hooting
owl. It was a time of peace. Of rest from the hardships of life.
At the edge of the village sat a small, one room tavern that offered the few men of the village
a reprieve from their nagging fishwives and a place of warmth and comradery on the long
cold winter nights. It was pipe smoke and loud bawdy language. It was wine and rich,
heady ales. It was hard wood tables and straight-backed chairs. There were no woven
rugs on the floor and no curtains hung at the windows. It was no women allowed.
The meager yellow glowing light came from the oil lamps that sat on the tables and
swung by hooks on the walls. The warmth was supplied from the potbelly stove and the
wool-clad men that clustered around it. Together, they drank, played cards and begged
off a few moments from the brutal hard labor of the days of cutting wood and working in
the mines during the day followed by the mind-numbing boredom of their families at night.
"BOOOO!!!" The dark room of the old tavern erupted in a united shout of good natured
protest at the drunken story teller's latest claim. Each evening the snaggle-toothed old
vagrant would stagger into the thatch-roofed pub and regale the locals with outlandish tales
that he exchanged for drinks of ale.
"No! No! I don't jest!" Tony Harris waved his arms and adopted an air of righteous
indignation at the insinuation that he was not to be believed. He pounded his fist on the bar
and waved his empty glass in the air. "I swear that it is the truth. I stand by my claim that
my son, Alexander is a boy of extraordinary talent and magic ability and if I am offered
the meager refill of a glass, I would be more than glad to expound."
Willy, the barman hesitated. On most nights the tavern was packed with paying customers
who were willing to share in the cost of the old man's entertaining narratives but tonight the
till was light. If Tony Harris' mug was to be refilled, it would have to be on the tavern's
coin. After a moment's consideration, Willy decided that it would be an investment in
keeping the few customers he had tonight, happy and, thus, drinking. With that in mind,
he gave a reluctant nod and he tapped the barrel.
The other men were all enthralled. Not because they believed the silly ramblings of a
deluded old man but because they waited with baited breath to see just how outlandish this
next tale would be. No one could imagine that this one could top the story Tony told last
week of seeing a wild troll with razor sharp teeth lurking about in the forest.
Tony gripped the handle of his stein and he watched as the foamy head overflowed and
cascaded in a rivulet down the side of the glass and over his dirty hand. He twitched his nose
and snuffled at the heavenly, alcoholic scent before taking nearly half of the warm, bitter ale
in one big gulp. He then set the mug back down on the rough hewn bar top, let out a long,
self-satisfied sigh and licked at the foamy moustache on his upper lip while the crowd
And he finally began to speak.
"As I said, my son, Alexander has been gifted with an incredible talent. Although you all
know him to be a strong and brawny woodcutter, he is actually a lad with magic hands."
Gunner Morgan leaned back in his chair. "That is not what my daughter, Anya says."
The tavern roared with laughter but Tony chose to dismiss his heckler and he continued. "He
can do what no other can do. At his birth he was touched by the spirits of Mother Earth and
now the boy can spin straw into gold."
The tavern fell silent.
Finally, young Mickey let out a loud whoop which instantly spread and within seconds,
every man and boy in the tavern was stomping their feet and applauding the imaginative concept.
As the first to get his laughter under control, Willy swiped his rag over the puddles
of condensation on the bar and he asked what they all considered to be the logical response.
"So if your boy can spin gold from straw, why do you and your woman live in the shabbiest
of cottages? Where is your barn of livestock? Why are you not rolling in riches and dressed
Tony simply snorted at the ignorance of these plebeians. "I choose not to live a braggart's
life. Besides, what value would my boy learn in life if he wallowed in luxuries? No, we
could have the best of cows and land covered with chickens and goats as well as fields of
crops but I want my boy to work hard for all he has just like I did. It will make a man of him."
As he swallowed the last of his ale, Tony received a companionable slap on his back from
the village mayor, Ethan Rayne. "Ah, yes, tis a true fact, neighbor Harris, you are indeed a
lucky man to have a son so talented and although I would love to stay and hear more about
his rare gift, as well as your parental skills, the air smells of the threat of snow and my good
wife will be worried. I take my leave but before I do...."
Ethan fished around in his watch pocket and retrieved a coin which he dropped on the
bar. "Willy! Another ale for neighbor Harris and I will pay the shilling."
Tony's eyes lit up and his rosy cheeks glowed. He waved his mug in the direction of
the retreating man. "Thank you good mayor! You are a man of understanding and appreciation."
With a snort of derision, Willy filled the tankard one last time as he watched several of the
other men face the hard fact of the ugly weather and admit that it was time to head out and
into the night before the conditions got worse.
In the back of the room a stranger cocked his head to the side as he studied the drunk at the
bar. Wesley had arrived just before the setting of the sun and rented a room in the rear of
the tavern for the night in shelter from the coming storm.
As a tax collector for King Liam O'Connor, it was not uncommon for Wesley to travel
through the countryside for days away from the castle. Of course as soon as the village
inn's proprietors were told who he was, Wesley would stay, eat and drink for free.
As for the locals, Wesley often gave the impression that he was a traveling salesman or
a transient in search of work and he swore the inn keeper to secrecy. While Wesley had
no concerns that the exorbitant taxes he collected left most families living on the edge of
poverty, he concealed his true purpose in order not to have his dinner or sleep disturbed
by mobs with pitchforks and torches.
Moving about incognito also served to pinpoint radicals and anarchists who attempted to
squirrel away extra goods and coins due the king. As an emissary and sometimes lover of
King Liam, Wesley was more than happy to also be his snitch.
And tonight seemed knowledge that Liam would like to have. A boy that can spin straw
into gold? It sounded absurd and outlandish and yet.... This was a time of magic and spells.
It was days of normalcy and nights of evil, frightening things that roamed the forests and
moved about in the shadows. It was demons and witches.
Was a mystic boy with the powers of enchantment so unbelievable and out of the realm
Wesley sipped his own ale and gave it thought. If true, this was the type of information
that Liam would be thrilled with and, in turn, reward Wesley with a permanent spot in the
king's court. There would be no more wretched traveling on horseback from one stinking
village to the next. Wesley would, instead, sleep in the castle. On silk covered bedding.
With Liam's cock planted firmly up his arse while the King's arms would wrap around him
in true affection.
Sir Wesley was a bit of a romantic.
Finally, the tax collector would have the respect of the King's court that he deserved. He
would be looked up to. He would have all of the young men he wanted and the King would
be begging Wesley for his favors. This was the opportunity Wesley had sought and waited
for and he would not squander it.
And so, his plan took form. Within the week, Wesley returned to the castle of King Liam
and immediately he requested audience with the King. When it was granted, Wesley relayed
the tales that he had overheard in the tavern on that cold dark night. In mimicking the old
man, Wesley told the story as he paced back and forth in the throne room while King Liam
sat, listening intently and lounging on his huge, high-backed chair of distinction.
When Wesley stopped to breath, Liam leaned forward on his throne and rested his arms
on his thighs. "The boy spins straw into gold? Bah! How can this be true?"
Wesley raced over to sit at his master's feet. "Tis so, me lord. Even the village mayor
believed and paid homage to the lad's father. I say, what have we to lose? Why not bring the
boy here and lock him in a room of the tower. If he has the gift, we get the gold. If tis all a
lie, we charge him with treason, kill him and no one is the wiser."
King Liam rubbed his chin as he rose from his throne. He clasped his hands behind his back
and his long, heavy robes swayed around his ankles as he walked and pondered the entire
odd suggestion. While it seemed, on the surface, preposterous, Liam had, himself, seen
may unexplained things. He had witnessed the moon covered in blood, and a plague of
locust and toads. He had suffered a witch's curse that caused a draught of their drinking
water and heard of foot soldiers who disappeared overnight from their posts never to be
In fact, Liam's own mage, Sir Rupert of Giles had done some amazing things. One act
in particular had resulted in the very acquisition of Liam's crown. Yes, this was indeed a time
of great magics in the land and maybe Wesley was right. This was not a chance to be
overlooked or dismissed.
"GUARDS!" Liam's brow furrowed as two of his pages jerked open the massive double doors
of the throne room. Seconds later, six of his most trusted guards rushed in and immediately
fell into formation with their heads bowed while they awaited their King's command.
Wesley's body quivered and his butt hole winked as he watched his masterful lover bellow
the orders and directions to the scrambling guards. "Listen to me, you buffoons! You will
do as I command!"
The guards remained straight-backed, bold and fearless as they listened to the issuance of
orders. They were to be dispatched immediately into the forest toward the valley of the
wolves. From there, they would proceed to the village of the woodcutters and they were
not to return without the boy.
After giving full instructions to his horsemen, Liam then spun around and pointed his finger
at the man who had brought this amazing news. "You shall be rewarded with a ride on my
cock. Prepare yourself, Sir Wesley of Price."
Wesley was thrilled and he jumped to his feet. With a squeak of delight, he turned to run
toward the King's private chamber but was immediately stopped by the booming voice of
the master of the castle. "NO!" King Liam's eyes sparkled and his lips curled in an evil
smile. "Your reward will be here. In the throne room. Remove your robes."
Wesley paused. He looked all around the room and counted no less than a dozen private
guards, handmaidens and men of court milling around, curious and interested in this strange
turn of events. Wesley then turned his attention to Liam, expecting the King to dismiss the
others and provide the privacy that a sacred moment such as this deserved.
But apparently that was not to be.
Wesley was horrified to see Liam casually open the front of his robes to reveal an erect,
swollen cock that was already hard and eager. Probably more from the possibility of magical
gold for the royal coffers than from lovemaking with the tax collector.
"OIL!" On Liam's command, one of the hand maidens rushed forward and produced a small
vial of rose oil which she dribbled onto the head of his obscene dick before proceeding to
coat and massage him with her hand. Wesley watched as she proceeded to jerk him off.
From her technique and efficiency, he could tell that this was not her first time to provide
the King with her handy services.
After only a moment and a few cursory strokes, Liam grabbed her wrist then shooed her away
as he turned his attention to Sir Wesley. "I haven't all day. My wife, the queen awaits
my pleasures. Tis Thursday and her majesty enjoys a platter of roast pig, an evening with
the court jester and the privilege of wrapping her plump lips around my royal pecker. I
mustn't keep her waiting. Bend yourself over the arm of my throne and allow me access to
Wesley was horrified as he glanced around and noticed the others snicker and wink
amongst themselves. The level of degradation was unimaginable and to make matters
worse, Wesley could feel himself harden and lengthen at the thought of this ugly public display.
Quickly, his face softened and his posture became pliant and affectionate. His voice dropped
to a murmur and he batted his eyes at his King. "But, your highness, I thought we could...."
Liam continued to stroke himself to maintain the slight tingle in his royal balls and encourage
the plumpness of his cock. With his other hand, he shoved Wesley on the shoulder to turn
him around before roughly bending him over. "Enough talk. Pull up those robes. Show yourself."
Knowing that if he wanted his head to remain planted on his shoulders, refusing the king was
not an option. Warmed by his humiliation, Wesley felt his legs turn rubbery as the rush of
need surged within him. Shamefully, he found himself immensely excited by the fact that he
was about to be arse fucked for the pleasure of the king and the entertainment of the
court. It was an act that he knew he would live to regret.
His body quivered in anticipation and lust as he rucked his robes up around his waist and he
bent over the wide wooden arm of the King's royal throne. Stepping his feet wide apart,
Wesley kept his head downward so he couldn't see the expressions of shock and intrigue
in the faces of the others.
Without hesitation, Liam roughly pulled open Wesley's cheeks. Then without preparation
or warning, the King's probing finger found and breached the tight,wrinkled opening. After
a couple quick pokes of his fat digits, Liam removed his hand and he lined his slick dick
up as Wesley murmured over his shoulder. "Wait. Liam. I..."
With no hesitation, the King rammed it in so hard that Wesley was shoved forward and
nearly toppled off his feet. "Ugh!"
For the next three minutes, the king plunder and plowed Wesley's arse on a wave of
burning, splitting pain and mind-blowing pleasure while the audience of the court
stared dumbstruck and aroused. At no time did the king offer to place a hand of
reciprocation on Wesley's erection and as Wesley needed both of his own to hold his balance
and his robes, his bouncing, aching hard-on went unattended.
Then, as abruptly as it began, the encounter ended with a guttural grunt from His Highness as
he rammed in one last time before expelling the royal seed into Wesley's bowel. As the
regent gripped his subject's hips, Liam's eyes rolled up while his head flopped back as he
gave several slight, shallow humps while his orgasm ebbed and finally waned.
When his release was complete and his royal balls were empty, Liam pulled his dick out
and shouted, "Cleaners!"
Immediately three handmaidens appeared at his side with strips of bleached, white cotton
and linen. One gently swabbed the King's deflating cock while another scrubbed
between Wesley's butt cheeks and wiped the discharge that ran down the insides of his legs.
The third cleaned the foul spatter from the side of the regent's throne.
When the worst of the mess had been removed from his body, Wesley dropped his robes
over himself and tried to ignore the painful erection that still tented the front of his clothing.
As he forced himself to look around the room, the glint in the eyes of the king's guards
told Wesley that from now on he had better be wary of echoing footsteps in the castle hallways
The fear and implication sent an explosion throughout his body. His legs wobbled and
he staggered as his own orgasm shot load after load of spunk into his robes while the
other guards licked their lips, briskly rubbed their palms together and smiled.