Samuel Smith
A rebel is taken prisoner by a Duke
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I had been nothing more than a peasant in the western reaches of the kingdom — a forgotten corner ruled by a Duke whose lands had once been synonymous with hunger and dust.
When he inherited the title, his dukedom was the poorest in the realm.
Now, it was the richest.
The transformation came at a cost.
New farming laws reshaped the land with an iron hand. Fields were seized, traditions erased, and men like me were left with blistered palms and empty bellies. Resentment grew in the soil faster than any crop ever had. So we rebelled.
It was over almost before it began.
We were dragged in chains to the dungeons beneath his estate, where the air tasted of rust and damp stone. That was where I first saw him.
The Duke.
He stood above us like a figure carved from shadow and moonlight — beautiful in a way that felt dangerous. Power clung to him as naturally as breath.
We were hauled into the courtyard at dawn. One by one, the leaders of our rebellion were forced to their knees. Steel flashed. Heads fell. Blood soaked into the earth we had tried to defend.
Then mercy came — cold and deliberate.
The Duke announced the rest of us were free to go. A lesson had been given. A warning.
The others fled without looking back.
I tried to follow.
The guards stopped me.
Iron snapped around my wrists. I was dragged away, through torchlit corridors, and thrown into a chamber that smelled faintly of smoke and something darker.
He was already there.
Waiting.
That’s how I ended up naked with my arms handcuffed behind my back straddling the Duke, his big cock nestled between my ass cheeks, like it belong there while planting kisses all over my neck