They say you can’t pick who you love. I initially picked Auggie not out of love but because he was a sweet, hungry, and willing bottom when we were both students at Stanford. It didn’t mean much to me at the time that his full name was Prince August Maximilian Ormandy. No did I take into account that before we graduated from Stanford, he’d rise to be monarch of a postage stamp-sized princedom on the Mediterranean that maintained its independence by hosting a world-famous gambling casino, being a tax haven for professional athletes, and providing a flag-of-convenience home for questionable-activities shipping vessels.

When I let Auggie take me home to his Mediterranean paradise with him, I continued to call him Auggie in private, but I soon learned to call him My Prince in public.

That didn’t mean that he was in any way “my prince” when I had him writhing under me with my hard dick working his channel.

It did mean, however, that I had to carefully remain in the background, ever mindful of a Byzantine political game of chess that would have impressed Machiavelli and the Borgias. I had done far better at Stanford than Auggie had and came out of college with far better prospects—if you didn’t take into account that he was the potentate of a square mile of pure gold and had nothing to prove by doing well in college.

The reality was that most everyone in my new home thought of me as Prince August’s valet. Only his closest associates knew of me also as the close friend and confidante that he liked to have near him, and although even a few of them suspected that in private, behind locked doors, I fucked the shit out of him and he delighted in that, they didn’t voice it in more than whispers among themselves. His wasn’t a lese majesty type of princedom, but he paid so well that no one wanted him to fire them.

The valet cover—not really a cover, as I had to perform the function. It also wasn’t a position of derision in that tiny little relic reflection what “the court” had once meant in Europe. As a member of the prince’s immediate household, I was given positions on various boards in the princedom, with my staff giving me position and my education giving me respect in the position. At the same time I was grooming the prince’s wardrobe, I was gaining respect in overseeing the functioning of the city’s principle casino.

My position as the prince’s valet helped explain why my bedroom was connected to his. This continued even after he had married, as tradition demanded he do, to the woman his father had picked out for him in a negotiated deal for money before the man had breathed his last.

Madeleine was a Hapsburg from the industrial northern German city of Hamburg. If I were to be asked to show an image of an ice maiden, I would flash a photo of Nordic blonde Madeleine—all very nice tits and ass; long, long legs; and cold, cold blue-eyed stare. She came with attitude, a discerning suspicion of my place in the scheme of things, and two thugs to guard and be totally devoted to her. That both were fucking her, sometimes as a threesome, taking her together, front and back, was something I made it my business to verify.

I didn’t tell Auggie of this, though. He either already knew it and didn’t care or he didn’t know it and didn’t care. Even if the princedom didn’t maintain the Borgia-like historical context of Italy’s past in any other way, it most certainly did with the smoldering sexual promiscuity and perversity that lurked under the very proper surface of the court.

I held my own with Auggie—being his only functional spouse—through the night after the wedding. Madeleine conceded the position voluntarily on the wedding night, helped by the convoluted wedding ceremony customs of the princedom, which I observed from the fourth-row position from where the line of “staff” started.

The full-day ritual left both bride and groom exhausted, and Madeleine begged off the nuptial bed until both were more “up” for it. The prince agreed, and as they maintained separate bedroom suites, Madeleine retired to her room, and I shut and locked the doors of the master bedroom suite to the world, while the prince lay, exhausted at the foot of the massive, gilded, four-poster bed, still wearing all of his wedding finery.

As I undressed the Mediterranean-dark, handsome young man of androgynous beauty and slight and trim stature, I was functioning as the valet of the prince. When I took his cock in my mouth and gave him suck, he was My Prince. But when I crouched over him, lifted his right leg to my shoulder, slid my thick cock inside a channel that had been well-reamed by my specifications, and started to pump to the sounds of his groans and moans, I was the master and he was my bride.

Symbolically and atypically, I wasn’t sheathed with a condom. This was Auggie’s wedding night. I was not ready yet to cede my position as his lord and master in the bedroom. I seeded him, my bride, twice in the night before withdrawing to my own small chamber connected to his.

Madeleine’s chamber also was connected to his, but I had made sure that door was locked. But I made no attempt to stifle Auggie’s groans and small cries as I fucked him hard and deep. I wanted Madeleine to hear and know.

She was to make no overt indication that she knew the lay of the land. She also knew her purpose, as did Auggie. The prince’s primary responsibility was perpetuation of the line. As a Hapsburg Madeleine understood this well too. On the third night after their wedding, she opened her chamber door and her legs to the prince, who did his duty, knowing that it was his duty. Within weeks Madeleine was pregnant and less than a year after the marriage, she had provided the prince with a male heir, Maximilian Gregor.

The struggle for ascendance over the prince between Madeleine and me continued for a year and got nasty—at least on Madeleine’s part. I had to watch what I ate and I had to be careful not to be alone with Madeleine’s two thugs. Unfortunately, I didn’t watch what I drank enough. The pressure got to me, but rather than withdraw—there really wasn’t any reason I could give that I clung to Auggie—and on too many nights I drank so much that I couldn’t control myself.