The King & The Boy-Nymph

Author's note: This story involves themes of forced sex & impregnation of a mythical being with transmasculine anatomy. All characters are over 18.

In some lands, the fertility nymphs are bold—male and female alike—choosing their mates & riding them hard, thereby placing their own sons on the thrones of men (the better to meddle in our affairs). But in my land, they're aloof, recalcitrant, difficult. They think themselves above mortals and rarely, perhaps never, mate with a human man of their own volition. For this our crops have suffered and our armies lack the demi-god heroes that lead our rivals against us. I myself live hardly better than a poor farmer, though my blood is noble and I am by rights king of this humble land. Most in my position would marry strategically, wooing the least sought-after daughter of the most powerful house I could find. But my tastes do not run to women (though I have tried) and my ambitions are too big for a loveless political marriage. I vowed to capture one of the boy-nymphs in his fertile time and plant my seed in his belly. My heir will be the son of a god and my kingdom will prosper. Someday my people will thank me for not settling for a convenient princess.

In truth, I was not even certain where I'd find such a creature. Here they were little more than a tantalizing legend. The myths were frustratingly spare of details, or so obviously embellished as to be quite literally unbelievable. Still, when I set my advisors to collecting the scraps they could, a few clues recurred often enough that I began to trust them. Fertile boy-nymphs always emerged in the mysterious light of dawn and dusk. They gather to bathe where rivers meet the sea. You cannot tell them from ordinary youths until they remove their garments, revealing their divine anatomy—strong jaws, narrow hips and lithe figures married with a cleft between their legs like a girl's. My member stiffens just imagining what it would be like to bed one.

We have no mighty rivers, besides I did not think I could capture one out of a crowd—if his fellows came to his defense, as they were said to, I'd be ripped limb from limb. My only hope was to find the guardian of a humble creek and take him alone. I selected a modest stream that flowed only a few leagues from its spring in the coastal mountains to the north, meeting the sea before ever melding with another tributary. And it was within my lands, only a few days journey. I packed a horse-cart, bringing food and shelter, as well as quite a bit of rope. I could have walked, or ridden, but I was not sure how to bring my bridegroom home without his escaping unless I could bind him & carry him safely in the cart.

The journey was uneventful & left me hours and hours to imagine how I might plan my assault, which I considered from every possible angle with the zeal of a tactician and the libido of a sailor with but one night till port. In keeping with my plan I denied myself release—the myths suggested the nymph would come to accept, even crave, my touch once my seed was planted inside him, but I could not divine whether that meant he must be with child, or if the transformation would occur as soon as I orgasmed within him. Some even said it might happen the moment I penetrated his divine orifice. Even so, it seemed wise to do all I could to ensure I'd impregnate him in our first mating. The paradox was agonizing: the more I reminded myself I needed to unleash a torrent of my most potent semen into the boy's womb right away, the harder it was to keep my hand out from beneath my robes.

On the third day, I stopped an hour's walk short of my destination and made camp one last time, so that the next day I arrived at the mouth of the stream in late morning and had all day to plan. I built a snare and a blind—as though I were hunting an enormous hare—that I hoped would suffice. Within the snare I placed my dowry gift, a basket of perfect cherries from my orchards.

But the heat of the day lulled me to a stupefied slumber and I awoke too late—it was nearly dark, and the cherries were gone with the trap still set. I panicked—I had not thought to hold any back for a second attempt—and rushed out onto the beach like a man gone mad.

But there, on a rock just offshore, was my prize. His tunic was folded neatly back on the sand and I saw him first in profile, looking away up the beach. He had a perfect crown of curls, flowing black and glossy as obsidian to the top of his strong shoulders. His angular jaw bore the faint trace of a young man's beard, though he was old as the earth itself. I could not yet see the prize between his legs, but my basket sat empty next to him, a neat pile of pits glistening beside his hand.

I was feral with desire. I'd failed to capture him with my wits, but I could manage brute force. Though his body was finely muscled, he was small and slight, while I was tall and thick. My cock would not be denied—not by his tricks, nor my own weakness.

I grabbed the rope and flung myself into the water. The waves sucked at my knees, trying to pull me down the beach in a riptide. I was halfway there when my splashing alerted him—I saw the full beauty of his face for the first time, stricken with fear. He dove off his rock into the water, barely skimming the surface as he beat against the tide. His flight reminded me of a deer, swift and graceful in its panic. I dove after him, weighed down perilously by the rope and my robes. Soon I became so tangled in my own encumbrances I feared I might drown. First I threw the ropes to shore; perhaps they'd be of use later, but here they were only a burden. But I was still pulled down as though Poseidon himself were trying to keep my from my quarry. I tore off my garments without a thought, and they were whisked out to sea before I could consider the consequences. I'd return home nude, either proudly leading my new boy-queen to my bedchamber in the palace, or a naked failure.

As though the sea had accepted my sacrifice, a fortuitious wave pushed us together. I grabbed the nymph by his perfect ankle, my right to his left. He swore and kicked, but I held fast. Soon I had the other and began to reel him in, bracing my heels in the sand while the waist-deep water sucked at us both. I pulled his naked form to me, spreading my arms wide to tug his criss-crossed legs wide until the twist reached his torso and he was flipped around—no longer swimming away from me with crossed ankles, but facing me with his legs spread open. With all my strength, I pulled my hands behind my back then, closing the distance between us until I could instead dig my nails into one floating thigh on either side of my upright form.

When he came close enough, the nymph began to pound me with his fists. He tried to pry my fingers from his flesh, and for a moment I lost one of his legs while trying aim my straining cock. Quickly I grabbed his wrist instead, moving his prying hand away & immobilizing him before he could twist his legs closed. Between the clouds of sea foam I could see I had what I came for: where I half-expected to see a scrotum, the curls between his legs gave way to a bright red tunnel, purple in the emerging moonlight. Atop it was not a clitoris, but something like a smaller cock, standing proud as my own but in miniature.

My cock was the same color & rock hard, a spear flowing towards its mark. I jerked his body to mine and missed my mark, though I could feel the heat of him. A wetness wetter than water slid the top length of my shaft until his pubis slammed to mine. I pushed him back by the thigh and lined up again, though my cock bobbed in the seawater. Thinking quickly I turned us a quarter way round, such that I faced the shore and he the sea. The next wave drove me into him, past a maidenhead stronger than any woman's. He let out a mournful, otherworldly cry, wordless but like an animal trapped by a predator it knows does not deserve to eat. His rage and despair made me want to stop and apologize, but that could be worse—I reminded myself the legends said our supernatural bond could only be completed by creating a child in his womb. Were I to stop now, his virginity gone but the act incomplete, he might be trapped in this pain forever. It was a kindness, I thought, to finish what I'd started. A hunter may choose to spare his prey, but only by never striking at all.

He bled, but that only inflamed my pleasure, both physical and sadistic. I knew from my own tutor that if a man fucks you hard enough to bleed, it is a blessing to bleed copiously. He already has what he wants, you have already felt the pain of being torn open. But if you give enough blood, his way is smoothed inside you and the pain is lessened.

In truth, only a small honorable part of my mind even bothered justifying what came next. I'd hungered for months to put my child inside him, but until now I'd dressed it up in rationalizations—I needed an heir, my land needed a ruler more powerful than I to follow me. Among my people, there was only one acceptable way to rule with a boy-queen, and I'd chosen the dangerous path to my heart's desire. It was the will of the gods—the boy nymphs had dared chastise Zeus for his rapes of mortal women, and in his rage he cast them as his opposite—bait to be raped by mortal men, until they learned their lesson and would bow to his authority.

But the animal part of me made no excuses. As soon as my manhood grazed the gateway to his womb, all my words and plans left me. I was fueled by the boiling heat inside him, an unimaginable pleasure contrasted with the cold night tide against the rest of my skin, I was breeding him like a beast of the forest, ramming home with a desire that eclipsed reason. I grabbed his ass and pulled him onto my shaft so hard I could feel my length bend inside him as he stretched to accommodate my considerable manhood, and his cocklet pressed into my pubis. I lifted my feet from the sand and let the waves carry us to the shallows. Though his fists continued to pound my chest, I cradled his head above the water until the surf deposited us against the shore. When the back of my hand scrapped sand, I removed it. He was sandwiched beneath me, laying on the beach with the foam of the wave receding from the side of his face. I pinned his fists over his head with my own, pulled my length nearly all the way out, and as the next wave roiled our hips I thrust back into the tight fist of his cunt.

It did not take long. I could not restrain my lust. And while it was clear I was stronger and had claimed the advantage, he was no weakling and was still fighting me; it was possible that if I tarried he might escape. Besides, though I would savor this night forever, for his sake I would not be so cruel as to draw things out this first time. Only a handful more waves rushed out before I gave one last mighty push, and rather than withdraw I began to spasm within him. The heat between us was exquisite, molten sex heating the frigid shoals of our skin. He screamed and I roared, trapped in the moment of release for longer than I thought possible, so long I could nearly swear it was some fairy time-trick. I could feel the twitching and shooting of my cock, and his pulse squeezing me with each heartbeat.

Then it was over. I softened within him and withdrew myself. A slow river of semen began it's path to the sea, reaching towards the last waters of the mountain stream an inch deep around him. I felt a moment of shock and revulsion at myself, but even at that moment, his countenance changed completely. The twisted rage on his divine face melted into a dreamy satisfaction. The tension left his body and I released my grip on his hands. Languidly, he traced a finger over his slit, dipping into the little basin just within him, where a tidepool of my essence was overflowing & trickling down to his perfect anemone of an anus. A streak of blood from his tattered maidenhead mixed with my seed within it.

"I see it is done" he said, his voice lilting and gentle. He reached out and took my hand, bringing my finger to dip in the pool as his had. "Best not to let any more of your seed escape me. The sea has her offering."

With that, I slid my fingers deep into his fresh-plowed field, exploring the contours of my conquest. His sheath was more muscular than a girl's, I could feel different involuntary muscles clench firmly around my fingers as I taunted him lovingly in different ways. He moaned with a profound pleasure and slipped one hand down to his cock, more engorged than ever, almost as big at its peak as my now-soft cock. I began to re-enact our first joining in what would become a ritual for the two of us: I whispered to him that he was mine, bound and bred, as he moaned and stroked himself to orgasm. All the while, I pounded my seed deeper inside him, whispering to him to relax, let go, he'd fought bravely and now he could enjoy the pleasure or respite. That in admitting he enjoyed the violation, he could concede and accept his fate with dignity. That if he would but shout my name as he came, he could rule an empire of men, and our son (for there was no girl-seed between us, he could only give me sons) would rule both men & gods.

And for the first time in our new life together, he obeyed me. Though I had not yet told him my name, the moment he clamped so hard I thought my fingers might break he shouted my name until it echoed back to me from the hills behind us.