I realized there were at least four people around me, and from the sound of voices and other noise that I was in a large space.

At once a woman appeared before me, clamped her soft hands on the side of my head, and told me to look at her.

In a blur I saw the others were all men in long rich tunics, and that she was a goddess with red hair, or so one might think.

Her green eyes were beyond anything I’d ever beheld and so were her smiling lips.

“And you’re known by?”

“Brenn, madam,” I said. I almost stammered. I feared suddenly I’d faint! That was absurd, but the weakness I felt in my belly and the hardness of my cock were paralyzing me.

“That’s a pretty name,” said a tall blond-haired man beside her. He had a long sheet of parchment against a writing board and was scratching on it with a quill pen. The board had an ink well in it. He was remarkably handsome, with curling golden hair, and his own eyes were almost as exceptional as the lady’s eyes. “Brenn, is this the name you wish to be known by in the kingdom if you are accepted?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“You look down now, little Brenn,” said the woman, “and you must not raise your eyes again. Remember, you are being tested in all things and have been for some time now. You must do your best to be obedient and perfect, but dignity is also highly desirable—only you must remember that your masters and mistresses ultimately define what is dignified.”

“Yes, madam,” I said.

My head swam. It was all too real! It was beyond anything I might have imagined, because I had never been able to imagine just how it would play out in detail here.

“And know that when I call you ‘little boy’ or ‘little Brenn,’” said the lady, “this is customary with all slaves to refer to them with such pet names and diminutives.” Her voice was kindly and sweet.

“Yes, madam.”

The tall blond man stepped forward and putting his hand on my shoulder he directed me to turn around.

“You are in fact a splendid big boy in every sense, Brenn,” he said. “And sometimes you’ll be called a ‘big boy’ with just as much affection as anything else.” His voice was more tender than the lady’s voice, deeper naturally and ever so more melodious. I found it disconcertingly beautiful. Somehow the way he said his words, the resonance, it made me feel more naked. But that seemed ridiculous.

I was now facing two other persons I could not clearly see.

“He’s too muscular for my taste,” said one, and it was a quavering elderly voice and full of anger. It was as if he’d slapped me.

“Now, Lord Gregory,” came a much-younger male voice, “I find this a most appealing sort—”

“Oh, yes, of course, Prince, you would,” said the elderly Lord Gregory. “And I’m sure His Majesty is likely to agree with you!” This was said with nothing short of disgust and rage. But the lady behind me was laughing.

I stared at the carpet, stared at the slippers of the men, stared at the ornate hems of their robes . . . at golden bees and curling vines, and pointed leaves embroidered on velvet. My face was flaming.

All at once, there were hands all over me, touching me, squeezing my arms and my legs, and my backside. Again, I thought I might go down in a faint like a coward! But I held steady. Even the long white hand of the elderly gentleman came out and touched my right nipple. Then he pinched it hard. I bit down not to cry out. He did the very same thing to my left nipple.

Then he slapped my cock so hard he almost knocked me off balance. I couldn’t help but make a little sound but my lips were sealed, as the pretty girl had told me they must be.

Meanwhile the others continued to examine to their heart’s content. The lady removed my right hand from the back of my neck and examined my fingers. And to my utter amazement I felt tears spring into my eyes, tears of utter helplessness. As she gently stroked my left hand I realized my legs were wobbling.

And to think this had all been done to Sybil, but then they’d likely said the nicest things about Sybil. Oh, what had made me think I’d be acceptable! Double dose of the potion that makes for a man or a woman!

The elderly man rubbed my shaven beard and made a sound of revulsion. “And look at his pubic hair, well, that will have to be groomed.”

“Oh, nonsense, my lord,” said the lady behind me. “It’s gorgeous. Black and thick. The King will love it. And I suspect the Queen will love it. Indeed, there is something about this one which suggests to me that the Queen might adore him. Now if the King likes him, well, the problem will be finding any other slave to match him if the King wants him for a team to pull his chariot.”

Pull his chariot!

“Steady, little boy,” said the Prince behind me with the wicked Lord Gregory. “I think you’re beautiful, simply beautiful. What do you think, Tristan?”

“Tristan” answered that he thought so too. “He’s what I would call quite wondrous. Unique certainly. He is near to six feet, near enough, and his thighs and calves are like a Roman statue’s! And look at his feet. They’re large but high arched with short thick toes. I like that. I like his shoulders, and well, his backside is perfect. The thing about his backside is, that for all his muscularity, he’s softly padded there. The Queen will love these details. Anyone would love these gifts.”

Keep steady, just keep steady, I thought to myself. Just as the Prince said to do. Keep steady. They are accepting you! Yet a sweet terror was threatening me.

I felt a hand for the first time on my balls. My cock was bobbing and I couldn’t control it. It was the hand of the Prince behind me. I felt something prod at my backside, prod at my anus.

Well, if I was actually going to faint it would be now. I knew this. But I didn’t. I felt a peak of excitement it seemed I’d never known before. A gloved finger was exploring my anus, and fingers were pushing at my bottom. The gloved finger had been oiled, and it went deep into me.

“I say not only is he acceptable,” said the lady, “but that he should be sent directly to the King and Queen as soon as he’s properly prepared.” As always her voice was almost gay and cheerful.

“Agreed,” said the one named Tristan. “All the details are perfect.”

And was it possible that he was the famous Tristan, friend of the King and Queen, who had helped to revive the kingdom?

The elderly man grumbled; indeed, he positively growled.

“Lord Gregory, look at his little backside,” said the lady, and I was turned around now to face her, so that I saw her slippers and the pretty ribbons sewn to her skirts. “Don’t you see how charmingly he’s made? The Queen will take an interest, I assure you. Indeed, I have an idea for the Queen with this one.”

I realized my eyes had glassed over. Never in all my life had I experienced anything like this moment. It was at such a pitch of intensity that I couldn’t measure it.

“He has aptitude,” said Tristan. “That’s plain enough and I like his nipples. The area around them—”

“The aureole,” said the lady.

“The aureoles are dark and large and beautiful. The King will love that. And I’d be amazed if the Queen didn’t love it too. Yes, the pubic hair is thick and unkempt. Look, it crawls up to his navel and down his thighs, but again, look at his face, his eyes . . . he’s like a . . .”

“He has a highly unusual combination of endowments,” said the Prince behind me. There was something faintly amused and mocking in his tone, but I think it might have been meant for the elderly gentleman. “I like him myself very much, and if neither the King nor the Queen chooses him, I’ll choose him. That’s quite enough for me right there.”

The garrulous old lord snorted. Then his wicked hand was on my bottom squeezing it painfully. Had to be his fingers doing this.

“You overrule me as you always do,” he muttered behind me.

“Well, not always, my lord, that is not fair,” said the Prince beside me. “And more often than not we all agree as we did with the last young lady.”

This might mean Sybil. Desperately, I had to believe that it meant Sybil.

“Now that was an appropriate applicant,” said the old man. “And proud and spoilt and deserving of punishment. But decent, nevertheless, promising.”

The tears were now flowing from my eyes, but I held steady, swallowing, trying not to work my lips. They had all agreed on Sybil! Think of that. Now I must be accepted.

“Look at me again, little boy,” said the lady lifting my face. Punishment. The word echoed in my ears. And real punishment had not even begun.

It was a shock to see her face, to see anyone’s face, because this meant that others had been seeing my face all along. When you look into a person’s eyes you feel that they are looking at you.

“Now stop trembling so much, little satyr,” she said. “You’ve been well brought up, haven’t you? You’ve dined with nobility.”

“Yes, my lady, clerk to a duke,” I said and then bit my lip.

“Ah, excellent. And you have lovely hands. And you keep them on the back of your neck as you’ve been told.”

“Yes, madam.”