Tuesday, 15 July 2014
“Sir Antony, Sir Dominic, would you be so good as to tie our young Princeling to his throne?”
The strapping knights bowed to acknowledge Alexander’s request.
“You were ordered to clean me!” snapped Felix.
“Hush your incessant whining, boy!” ordered Alexander. “You will be dealt with at a time when I see fit.”
“How dare you!”
“You’d better gag him as well. It seems our young Prince takes a long, long time to learn. But he will be broken in the end. All young studs are broken – eventually.”
Antony and Dominic efficiently manhandled the Prince – sticky and shivering in his ruined hosiery – into the throne, and there they bound and gagged him.
The assembled throng of assorted party guests – drunk with exhilaration and wine – turned expectantly to Alexander.
“We have the former Chief Steward of the castle to deal with, after all,” he said, resting his hand lightly on the shoulder of Raymond’s silver doublet. “How the Wheel of Fortune turns...”
His desperate mind made up, young Raymond slipped from his chair and sank to his knees in front of Alexander. “I’ve been a fool, my Lord” he gibbered. “My ambition got the better of me. But please, Master Courcey – you would have done the same in my place, wouldn’t you? I saw the opportunity and I grabbed it. I learned at your feet, Sir. At the feet of the master.”
Alexander gazed down contemptuously at the grovelling youth.
Raymond went on: “I know that my behaviour deserves only the sternest of punishments but I’ll do anything, Master! Just let me keep my life. Please I’m begging you!”
A low muttering reverberated around the Hall. Then a lone voice cried out: “Kill the little shit! Take him to the courtyard and hang him from the gallows that are standing there!”
Raymond scrabbled on his knees to Alexander’s feet. His hosed buttocks bobbed in the air as he sank to plant a kiss on the Steward’s leather boot.
“You hold my life in the palm of your hand, Master. Show mercy, please. And spare a thought for that pretty youth who lost his virginity to you in this very castle only a few years ago...”
“You really are a pathetic creature, Raymond, you know that?”
“Yes, Sir. I know. I’ve been an idiot.”
“This is true.” Alexander withdrew his dagger from its sheath and positioned the deadly blade against Raymond’s neck. “So give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slice your traitorous throat this very instant!”
“Compassion, my Lord. Forgiveness. Christian charity. And my solemn promise that I have learned my lesson once and for all!”
Alexander paused: an enigmatic expression on his saturnine features. He raised his dagger in the air. Raymond screwed his eyes tight in anticipation of the killer blow. Then, in one swift motion, the dagger slashed open the front of Raymond’s gorgeous black doublet. “Take it off, bitch,” he instructed. “I want your smooth chest vulnerable to the penetration of my blade.”
Raymond blanched and, shivering in fear, slowly shrugged off the remnants of his fine tunic. He crouched at Alexander’s feet in only his black and white particoloured hose. He waited for what seemed like an eternity. The crowd of guests held its breath as Alexander gently tested the sharp point of his dagger against his palm.
Eventually he seemed to come to a decision. “I’m going to spare your life – for now at least,” he said. “But you do realise you must be punished, boy, don’t you?”
Raymond swallowed nervously. “Yes, Sir. I see that I’ve been a very wicked boy and that I must be punished.”
“Some public humiliation to begin with, don’t you think?”
Naturally, Raymond was expecting this. “Whatever you say, Master Alexander. I’ll obey your every command!”
“Too right you will, you snivelling little bastard!” And Alexander slapped Raymond sharply across his cheek. A small trickle of blood ran from the youth’s pink lips and a tear sprang, involuntarily, to his dark eyes.
Alexander snorted with contempt and then raised his eyes to survey the Great Hall. “My, what a mess the dirty young Prince has made in here!” he exclaimed.
Unable to speak, Prince Felix’s eyes flashed with utter loathing.
Alexander bent down and grabbed a fistful of Raymond’s dark curls. He forced the lad to look down at the floor. “I think you need to clean it up, boy. I want you to crawl on your hands and knees and lick up every lump of cake, every globule of pudding, every dollop of cream and custard that has been spilled on this hallowed, ancient floor. And you’d better do a good job of it, you vile little slut!”
Alexander released Raymond’s hair and gave the boy’s tights-clad arse a firm kick with the sole of his leather boot. The boy’s body jolted in surprise and sprawled to the floor.
Raymond did not need to be told twice. With the catcalls of the audience ringing in his ears, he scurried off to carry out his demeaning task. The thin material of his finely woven hose afforded little protection to his poor knees, and the cold, hard floor soon made them sore. Although that was the least of his worries. On all fours, like a dog, he bent down to lick at the yellow streak of custard smeared across the floor.
“That’s it, Master Steward!” jeered a voice from the crowd. “Eat up your din-dins now!”
Shrieks of laughter rang forth, as Raymond stuck out his tongue and gingerly began to lap at the congealing slime. It tasted sweet and sickly, and there was definitely bits of grit in it, he realised ruefully.
“Swallow it,” ordered Alexander. “You’ve got a lot of clearing up to do and we don’t have all night!”
On he crawled, licking and lapping at the gunge that was splattered on the floor. Fairly soon the combination of chocolate, sugar and cream started to make Raymond feel distinctly queasy, but he knew he had no choice but to continue with his disgusting task.
“No better than a mangy mongrel dog licking up the left overs!” declared an onlooker as Raymond scrabbled desperately over the flagstones.
The youth had now done a whole circuit of the Great Hall. He had made some inroads in clearing up the mess but the floor was still largely covered in gunge and gloop.
“A pitiful job you’ve made of this, young Raymond,” said Alexander, shaking his head in mock sorrow. “Crawl over here to me and let me examine you!”
His knees raw through the soft material of his tights, Raymond did as he was ordered. He gazed up miserably into Alexander’s cruel countenance.
“Look at the state of you!” the Steward cried. “Your once-fine tights now filthy and laddered. And your face smeared with cream and custard.”
He leant over, wiped some of the gunk from Raymond’s cheek and then flicked it into the lad’s eye.
Raymond winced and belched from the amount of sweet food he’d been forced to ingest. Titters rang out from the crowd as Alexander shouted:
“On your back!”
Raymond did not need to be told twice. He was prepared for whatever perverted humiliation Alexander might choose for him, provided it did not end with his body hanging from the gibbet. His naked back made contact with the cold and dirty floor.
“Lift your legs, boy! Spread ‘em!”
Raymond’s hose-clad legs – one black, one white – immediately went in the air, the soles of his feet pointing at the ceiling. Raymond looked up to see the baleful forms of Odin and Ulfgar, long-forgotten, still swinging from the chandeliers. No time to think of them now: he had his own skin to save!
“Nice tights,” remarked Alexander. “You’ve been spending Lord Geoffrey’s wealth most freely at Dunchester market, haven’t you?” His hand rested on the muscular curve of Raymond’s hosed thigh. “Only the most exquisite material to sheath your legs, I see...”
“Whilst the rest of us poor folk starve!” cried a voice from the drunken crowd.
Alexander’s boot prodded Raymond’s tights-clad arse. “Seems a shame to have to tear them, but I need access to your hole, boy.”
“In fact, you can do it yourself. Go on, bitch. Rip me a hole in your tights so that puckered little pussy of yours can get some air to it...”
Obedient and compliant, the curly-haired youth fumbled at the gusset of his luxurious legwear.
“Hurry, slutboy. I don’t have all day, you know...”
Finally Raymond’s shaking fingers found purchase and he managed to rend a small hole in the clinging material.
“It’ll need to be bigger than that, boy,” growled Alexander, nonchalantly rubbing at his hosed cock.
Raymond dutifully expanded the slash in the fabric, so that a promising slice of pale pink flesh could be glimpsed through the black and white silk.
“Now, boy, get those legs spread as wide as they’ll go and beg me to fuck that puckered little cunt of yours...”
Raymond didn’t need to be told twice. Only this morning the prospect of grovelling for mercy and begging to be fucked publicly by his hated nemesis in front of hundreds of peasants would have mortified him. Now he longed for it more than anything else he could have wished for. For he knew that the only way to save his miserable skin would be to turn Alexander on and to get him sufficiently horny so that Raymond was more use to him alive - and fuckable - than dead. Grasping his legs and yanking them as wide as they could possibly go, he babbled his desperate mantra:
“Please, Sir, I know I’m not worthy of it. I know the last thing I deserve is to take your cock up my pathetic boychute but please, I beg of you, please, please, fuck me. I’m desperate, Sir! Desperate for your massive manmeat to plunge deep into my worthless asshole! For you to use me for your pleasure and entertainment. Rape my slit till it’s raw! Ravish my aching arse! Degrade me like the piece of meat I am! I beg of you, Sir. Please! Please!”
Raymond tried to block out the screeching, mocking laughter of the servants, the merchants and the peasants in the Hall; the amused disgust crossing the faces of the handsome knights, Antony and Dominic; the scornful sneer of Prince Felix. And he knew that when the moment came and Alexander knelt between his legs, parting his hosed buttocks and penetrating him with that long, thick cock of his, he could expect no mercy. Alexander would rape him painfully and brutally. It would hurt, he knew that. Alexander would relish every second of his revenge. But at least... at least he would be alive.
He watched fearfully as Alexander approached his asshole, his forefinger extended towards him.
“Now, should I lubricate your cunt, bitch, or shall I force you to take it dry, I wonder?” he murmured.
Raymond knew what he wanted to answer, but instead whispered, “However you want to take me, Sir.”
Alexander smirked at the boy. “This sudden compliance suits you, Raymond. Now, what should I use? My spit? Or what about this? You’ve missed some custard here. Tut tut tut. This is going inside you one way or the other. Your arsehole is as suitable as your mouth, I suppose. There’s not a great deal of difference, after all. Both are now just convenient orifices for my sexual pleasure...”
He scooped some of the yellow gunk from the floor and, just as Raymond had predicted, he squatted down between the younger man’s thights. Tearing the particoloured tights even further along Raymond’s crack, Alexander slowly inserted first one, and then another custard-coated digit into the boy’s puckered hole. Raymond gasped with shock. It had been a long time since his ass had been violated, and certainly not in this humiliating fashion.
Alexander left his two fingers inside the youth, allowing him to grow accustomed to the stretching of his sphincter muscles. Then, smiling evilly, he withdrew his fingers and wiped them across Raymond’s lips.
“Lick, boy,” he ordered, casually.
Raymond’s tongue lolled and lapped at Alexander’s manicured fingers just as he was told to, tasting the custard from his own asshole.
“That will do for now, bitch. You may lower your legs.”
Raymond hesitated. Was that it? Was he truly going to escape any further punishment? Truly, he thought, Alexander’s time spent in the dungeon and fleeing across England had soften the sadistic old bastard.
“What’s that, slut? Disappointed that you’re not going to be speared on my cock? Oh have no fears. There will be time for that later.”
Raymond slowly returned his feet to the floor. Alexander gave the lad’s tights-clad bulge a squeeze and then stood up straight.
“It’s a warm and pleasant evening, ladies and gentlemen. I think we should take the Prince’s birthday party outside...”
The inebriated onlookers began to troop out of the Hall and to make their way into the courtyard, eager to discover what entertainment they would be provided with next: confident that it would involve the two unfortunate young men: Raymond and Felix.
Mistress Olwen, still grasping Jane by the wrist, whispered in her ear: “Not you, missy. We have some cleaning up to do in here. And I think we’ll use more conventional methods.” A tin bucket and a wooden mop were plonked down for Raymond’s younger sister to use.
Meanwhile, Odin and Ulfgar attempted to draw attention to their predicament in the rafters, but their cloth gags successfully muffled their protestations. They were left in their excruciating bondage, forgotten in their pink and yellow tights as they watched the Hall slowly empty.
It was past midnight, and in spite of Alexander’s pronouncement, there was a definite chill in the air in the castle courtyard. Sir Antony and Sir Dominic prodded the bedraggled form of Prince Felix at the head of the procession. Raymond staggered out into the cold: bare-chested and acutely aware of the fact that his naked bum was hanging out the back of his split tights. Alexander hovered menacingly at his shoulder.
The stark and ominous form of the gallows loomed in the moonlight. Raymond felt sick. The last thing he needed was for Alexander to be reminded of the fate that had oh so nearly befallen him this evening. Would he even live to see another morning, Raymond wondered, or would his naked body be swinging from that rope before the cock crowed?
Alexander turned to address Raymond and the Prince: “Now, my lads. Let’s have the two of you standing against the castle wall, side by side. So we can take a good look at the pair of you!”
Alexander flung Raymond towards the stone wall and the blond Prince Felix – seething at the indignity of it all - came to stand next to his partner in crime. Laughter continued to bubble from their intoxicated audience. They were quite a sight, mused Master Courcey: two sexy young men – one blond, one dark – stripped naked to the waist: their pert bums and muscular thighs clad in body-hugging tights, hating the fact that they were being ogled and leered over by the common peasantry, sweet goo congealed and clinging to their beautiful forms.
Felix’s filthy cloth gag slipped loose from his mouth. “You were ordered to clean me!” demanded the Prince.
“Have no fear, your Highness. It’s time for your ablutions...”
Right on cue, a shaggy carthorse appeared in the courtyard, and behind it trundled a large wooden wagon. The pageboys Humphrey and Mortimer guided the horse over the cobbles.
“What new mischief is this, Courcey?” cried the Prince.
“Let me introduce your highness,” replied Alexander, “to the castle fire engine.” He walked over to the wagon and slapped the large wooden barrel. “This is full of gallons of ice cold water. I think we should hose you both down, don’t you think? Get all that nasty gunk off your lithe young bodies!”
Antony and Dominic unfurled the hose from the side of the fire engine and at a signal from Alexander, unleashed a powerful jet of water at the cringing young men.
“Aaaaaahhhhh!” cried Felix in shock as the full blast of freezing water hit his chest.
Raymond gulped in shock and his teeth chattered as he too was soaked through.
The force of the stream was painful as it pummeled their bodies. The two young men did their best to avoid the stinging water. But as they attempted to dodge the flow, they merely turned the activity into a game for the onlookers. Yet more laughter rang in their ears as the icy water chased them up and down the length of the castle wall, dousing every inch of their bodies.
Eventually, Alexander raised his hand and the water was extinguished. Both lads sank to the ground, exhausted by their exertions, their tights sopping wet and their teeth chattering.
“Now wasn’t that refreshing?” mused the Steward, an evil grin playing around his lips.
Tuesday, 17 June 2014
It was an awful nightmare, Prince Felix assured himself. It had to be. It was the only explanation for the madness around him. His subjects turned traitors; his own godfather committing treason and placing him into the hands of his worst enemy: the foul Alexander Courcey who had perpetrated the most obscene and disgusting treatment on his royal body.
As if reading his mind, Alexander leaned in and whispered to the Prince: “On no, your highness. This is no dream. Although I’m sure you wish it were...”
He was right. Felix could not fathom how, but he truly was here, in the middle of the Great Hall of the castle, stripped to the waist, wearing only his jewel-covered white hose. His royal rump was soiled with cream and chocolate cake, his crotch wet and pink, the dollop of blancmange, partially melted, still lingered awkwardly in the gusset of his beautiful, ruined tights. He willed his cock to go down, desperate to retain even the barest shred of dignity in the midst of the sniggering peasants. But it was to no avail. Alexander’s expert manipulation of his prick had left it standing to attention in his silken hose.
“What next for our naughty young Prince?” asked Lord Geoffrey.
“Well, as it is his birthday,” said Alexander. “As a special treat, I think he should be allowed to sample all of these delicious puddings. He’s already had the white chocolate cake and the blancmange. Hmmm... how about this rather decadent-looking dark chocolate mousse?”
“An excellent suggestion! Where could that go, I wonder?”
The Steward did not take long to decide. “Perhaps down the back this time?” And with those words, he stepped behind the cringing Prince and pulled open the back of his white tights. Felix gulped as, without warning, the entire bowl of mousse was tipped in.
The confection felt cold and wet and claggy as it hit his bum, and he shuddered as Alexander let the waistband of his hose ping back into place. Reluctantly, the Prince glanced behind him to see that huge dollop of chocolatey mess bulging inside the constricting material of his tights.
“Oh dear,” cooed Alexander. “It seems his Highness has had a little accident. All that mousse does make your arse look massive now in your hose. And that dark brown stain spreading through the whitness – it rather looks as if Prince Felix has messed himself.”
Lord Geoffrey tutted as the crowd hooted with delighted glee. “What a disgraceful sight he looks! Turn around, boy, so everyone can see your humiliation. And I think you should stick your arse out as you do it so that everyone can see you properly...”
But the arrogant young Prince could contain his fury no longer. His hands clenched into fists at his side, he screamed to the Hall: “You can go fuck yourselves! This has gone far enough!”
In an instant, the lightning reflexes of Sir Antony responded, and the Prince found the sharp point of Antony’s sword beneath his chin.
“I think,” murmured the knight, “that his Lordship will decide precisely when this has gone far enough. And I also think that you should obey his Lordship’s instructions....” He traced the point of his sword slowly down the Prince’s naked chest. “Or I may accidentally slice off something you consider to be of value...”
Raymond watched in dismay as the Prince’s beautiful face screwed itself into a mask of impotent fury. A single tear of frustration ran down Felix’s golden cheek as he began to shuffle around on the spot to display his bum in his soiled tights to the gawping audience.
“His Lordship told you to stick your arse out, bitch,” Alexander reminded him smugly.
With no choice but to obey, Felix bent his knees and did as he was told.
“That’s better, boy,” the Steward went on. “I’ll wager your bum feels really cold and wet with all that chocolate mousse melting inside your tights! And that position makes you feel nice and slutty, I bet! All whorish – exposing your lovely asset for everyone’s entertainment!”
And although he would have died rather than admit it, that was precisely how Felix did feel: forced to stick his filthy, chocolatey bum out as far as it could go, the crowd mocking him with their laughter and their jeers. He completed his circle and then stood, miserably anticipating the next humiliation.
Once again, Alexander’s baritone rang out in the Hall. “Is that chilled chocolate mousse melting against your hot boyflesh, Prince Felix? I bet it is. In fact, I can see it - starting to drip and dribble down the backs of your legs. Little brown rivulets running down your muscly thighs inside those delicious clinging tights. Let’s help that along shall we...”
And the older man placed both of his palms on Felix’s buttocks and began to squeeze the chocolate pudding against the Prince’s plump arse cheeks, through the thin sheen of hosiery. Felix had to bite his lip to avoid screaming obscenities at the sheer audacity of the devil – daring to grope and fondle his most private and intimate parts. His arse was still sticking out, vulnerable and available, and his stance merely assisted Alexander as the older man pushed and prodded, swirling the chocolate gloop over that divine bubble butt. The mousse warmed and became more liquid, and Felix tensed his muscles as he sensed Alexander’s probing fingers approach the deep crevice of his arse through the thin fabric of his tights.
“No,” hissed the Prince at the horrific prospect of his hated enemy penetrating his hole in any way. But Alexander pressed on, sliding a finger, made slippery with melted chocolate, slowly all the way down the Prince’s silk-covered asscrack. He lingered briefly at the spot where nestled Felix’s virgin anus, and pushed experimentally against it through the fabric of the tights. Felix gasped but Alexander moved on. “Maybe later,” he remarked casually.
“I could go on groping your chocolatey arse all day, boy,” he told him. “But we have so much more entertainment in store for you.”
In a sudden movement, he grabbed the waistband of the Prince’s tights, and, as he had done so before to so many unsuspecting young lads, Alexander hoiked the hose up as far as they could go. Felix cried out as the wet material bisected his butt and the sensitive flesh of his perineum.
“Mmm... that really does look delightful. The liquid chocolate oozing out of the tights, and the sculped globes of your ass picked out perfectly in the stained brown material. It almost looks as if your naked arse has been painted brown by some expert artist. And – oh dear, my own hands have been dirtied by all that chocolate. I shall need to clean them off...”
And Alexander purposefully wiped one palm and then the other across the Prince’s glistening chest, leaving streaks of brown across that perfectly tanned torso.
“You look as if you need a good wash, your Highness,” he added. “And your poor white tights all mucked up. Still, at least your upper half is relatively clean. And your gorgeous face is without blemish. Maybe we should do something to rectify that. Your Lordship, what do you think?”
Lord Geoffrey beckoned the Prince over to where he sat at the large oaken table. “Come here, young man, and let your godfather inspect you.”
Begrudgingly, and leaving a slippery trail of warm, wet chocolate in his wake, Prince Felix gingerly walked on stockinged feet over to where he had been summoned. On the table in front of him, atop an ornately decorated glass pedestal, perched a gigantic cheesecake.
“That’s right, my boy. Stand right there. Now Sir Antony, Sir Dominic – you know what to do.”
It all happened in a flash. Suddenly the two muscular knights were either side of the Prince. One of them grabbed his wrists behind his back, whilst the other started to force his head down towards the table. Felix struggled, but they were too powerful for him.
“Get your hands off me!” he wailed, as his head inevitably descended towards the creamy surface of the cheesecake. He took a sharp intake of breath just as his head plunged into the gooey mixture. He struggled, spluttering into the fluffy texture of the cake as he was held down. He began to panic. The creamy topping went up his nose and filled his mouth. Did they truly intend to suffocate him in a pudding?! Surely he would not suffer such a humiliating demise! But just as that possibility occurred to him, he felt the ruffians grabbing a clump of his golden hair, and his face was yanked out of the cheesecake.
At first he was blinded by the creamy filling but he could certainly hear the waves of laughter reverberating around the Great Hall. Someone wiped the gunk out of Felix’s eyes, and a mirror was shoved in front of him. He gazed back at the ridiculous sight – his whole face smeared with thick lashings of creamy cheesecake, plastered across his handsome features like a mask.
“Maybe later we’ll let everyone have a go at shoving your head into a custard pie!” suggested Lord Geoffrey, as a blob of goo dripped from the Prince’s face and landed on his bare chest. “But for now, I think you should return to good Master Alexander for the most sacred sacrament of the coronation ceremony.”
Felix hesitated, still recovering from being forced head first into the cake.
“You heard his Lordship!” bellowed Sir Antony. “Scram!”
And he shoved the Prince in the small of the back. Felix, his hosed feet now wet and slimy from the accumulated blancmange and chocolate mousse that had run down his legs, slipped and skidded on the smooth flagstone floor, and with a painful crash, he flew into the air and then crashed down again onto his sore and filthy bottom. Yet another roar of laughter greeted him as he struggled to his feet and, his dignity in shreds, he headed back towards the throne and, he had no doubt, to yet further humiliation.
“Hush now!” commanded Alexander to the near-hysterical crowd. “We now reach the most sacred part of the coronation. The anointing of the royal head - the placing of the crown on your Highness’ brow. Come and take your rightful position on the throne, my Lord!”
The dishevelled and disgruntled young Prince hobbled over to his tormentor, concentrating fiercely on maintaining his balance in his sodden and dirty hose.
“That’s a clever boy,” cooed Alexander in his most patronising tone. “Come and sit your pretty little bottom down on your throne.”
The remnants of the cream cake still clung to the rich velvet upholstery, and it was with a sigh of resignation, that Prince Felix again sat down on the damp cushion. Once again his tights-clad bum squished into the soft cake. “What revolting and degrading treatment are you going out to dish out to me now, you traitor?”
“Degrading? Surely not. You will be anointed with only the best there is – the finest vanilla custard direct from Mistress Olwen’s kitchen...”
Alexander swung a large earthenware jug into the air and Felix cringed as it was positioned deliberately over his head. For a tantalising moment, nothing happened, and then Felix felt the first droplet fall onto his golden hair. Then another, and another, and then Alexander let loose a steady stream of thick, cold custard. At first it pooled on the very top of the Prince’s head, before reaching a critical mass, at which point it started to run down Felix’s cream-covered face and splashed onto his shoulders. On poured Alexander: a deluge of viscous yellow liquid gunging the royal Prince, who had no choice but to sit there and submit to the sensation. Soon his hair was soaked in the opaque, milky fluid. The custard gushed incessantly down his shoulders, down his back and torso, pooling in his lap and under his arse, and finally dripping off the seat and plopping onto the floor. His entire body was now coated with the slimy yellow gunge.
“The holy anointing of King Felix!” announced Alexander solemnly, as he crouched in front of the soaked Prince. Felix began to shiver. The cool custard, his near nakedness and the draughtiness of the Great Hall were a distinctly uncomfortable combination. Once again, he found the Steward’s hands upon his body, this time ensuring that every last scrap of his fine white tights was now coated and sodden with yellow custard.
“Ah what a pity,” said Alexander. “His highness’s state of arousal seems to have faded. Let’s see what we can do about that.”
And he reached into Felix’s custardy crotch and began to tug at the royal prick, manipulating it in his palm with expertise, rubbing the thick yellow fluid into the cockhead, and using it as a kinky lubricant.
Felix cursed his prick’s lack of self-control. Much as he loathed every minute of this obscene spectacle with every fibre of his being, nevertheless, there stood his cock, outlined in the custard soaked tights: as hard and perky as ever.
“That’s better,” decided Alexander. “And now, time for the pièce de resistance! Your royal Highness is to have his wish granted. You will be crowned – with this glorious trifle!”
He couldn’t get any filthier, Felix though to himself. However, the idea of having the huge fruit trifle dumped on top of his royal brow was the last straw.
“No! No! No!” he screamed. “I will not submit to you!”
He leaped to his feet, but the gathered throng were neither cowed nor impressed. He was, after all, a truly ridiculous sight: his beautiful form painted from head to hosed toe in thick yellow gloop.
“Hold him down,” ordered Lord Geoffrey with supreme calmness.
Felix struggled and writhed as he found each custard-coated bicep gripped by his godfather’s loyal knights, but it was to no avail. He was forced back into the throne, and held there by the two men.
Hefting the massive bowl of trifle into the air, Alexander intoned solemnly, “I pronounce you Felix of England – Prince of Prickteases, Sovereign of Sluts, Baron of Bitches, and Lord of Lustfulness. You thought you were God’s chosen one. But now – well now, as all can see, you’re just a gunged up whore – naked apart from your clinging white tights which show off your assets quite deliciously. You’ve been coated in custard, covered with cream, and slathered with chocolate. All of this now befits your new station. You are no longer the Prince of this realm. What are you, slut? You are degraded. Humiliated. Reduced to a messed up, fucked up bitchboy in your hose – your pathetic cock all hard and straining and begging for release. And you’d better get used to this treatment, boy, because this is only the beginning. You have no idea of the abuse and the humiliation you’re going to suffer under this new more ‘enlightened’ regime. You have an awful lot of wicked deeds to your credit that you need to pay for, young Prince Felix...”
And with Alexander’s scornful speech ringing in his ears, Prince Felix tensed his beautiful body. The bowl of trifle was upended and, with a noisy squelch, layer upon layer of pudding cascaded onto his vulnerable head.
First he tasted the cold white cream, then the tangy fruit jelly, then custard – more custard! – chunks of pineapple, raspberries and apricots, a layer of blancmange, and finally alcohol-infused spongecake dumped directly onto his royal head. The heavy dessert sat there for a moment and then began to tumble over every inch of his body, covering him with chunks of fruit, cake, dollops of cream and jelly. It was all true. Everything that Alexander had crowed about. From the Prince of the realm, he had been brought low and reduced to the position of a messed up, humiliated slutboy. Then the final indignity: the upside down bowl was placed on the Prince’s head in a mocking parody of a crown.
Still dangling from the ceiling, almost forgotten, Odin and Ulfgar watched the spectacle impotently – the cruel ropes and tight tights cutting into their ample flesh. The centre of the Hall was a mess of cream, chocolate and custard: food was splattered over the floor and the walls. But the baying crowd seemed not to notice, so intent were they on the humiliation of the hated Prince Felix. In spite of their discomfort, the Vikings found themselves grateful that they were not on the receiving end of the mob’s attention.
Lord Geoffrey rose from the top table and cleared his throat. “Now, godson, I think you should allow your loyal subjects to pay homage to their new King of Gunk. Let’s see you processing before them so they can fully appreciate their monarch in all his glory.”
The smirking Sir Antony and Sir Dominic released their grip on his arms, and then, dithering with cold and with fury, Prince Felix rose to his feet, a congealed mixture of fruit, sponge and custard dropping to the floor, from where it had collected in his lap. The glass bowl wobbled on his slimy head, and lest he needed any further reminding, the insistent prodding of Sir Antony’s swordpoint against the small of his back prompted him to begin the royal parade.
With a furious frown on his face, the Prince began his ludicrous tour of the Hall, his sopping and filthy white tights made almost translucent by the slop that had been poured over them, making him feel and look as good as naked in front of the slathering hoard of peasants.
“See how the mighty have fallen!” exclaimed Alexander as the tittering guests were afforded a close-up view of the degraded Adonis. “Reach out and touch the soiled princeling. Not so arrogant now is he? Forced to parade up and down in front of his subjects in his gunged up tights...”
The commoners did as they were invited to, and soon Felix found himself assailed by a multitude of clawing, grabbing hands, poking at his muscular body, groping his private parts, and rubbing the creamy, claggy mess into his smooth flesh and up and down his hosed thighs. And he flinched every time one of them dared to make contact with his sullied royal skin. The bedraggled Prince, containing his wrath until it wrapped his stomach in knots, completed his circle of the room.
It was left to Lord Geoffrey to put an end to the obscene ceremony.
“I think that’s enough for one birthday party. I need my rest and I shall call it a night. There will be more entertainment to come. In fact, young Felix, I should be very much surprised if good Alexander did not dedicate an entire week of festivities to celebrate your change in fortune. And as for you, the night is yet young. But alas, for me, it is time I was in my bed.”
“What of me?” demanded Felix. “Am I not to be cleaned or will you leave me stinking and befouled?”
“Your point is taken, godson. See to it, will you, Alexander? I will leave the Prince in your more than capable care. I’m sure you will know exactly what to do with him...”
Lord Geoffrey swept out of the Hall, and Alexander turned to the page boys, Mortimer and Humphrey.
“You heard his Lordship,” he said. “Fetch some water to clean the Prince. And make sure it’s nice and cold. Ice cold I think.”
The two pages scurried away to do Alexander’s bidding.
“You’ll regret this, you bastard,” threatened the Prince.
“Oh no, your Highness. I think not. I feel sure that this day and the memory of your humiliation will count as one of the highlights of my life. And remember, this is only the beginning. We have all the time in the world...”
Thursday, 24 April 2014
The world had turned upside down, thought Raymond desperately to himself. How could it all have gone so desperately wrong? In less than a day, his prospects had plummeted alarmingly: far from becoming a major power and influence over the throne, he now found himself in a distinctly precarious position.
He sat miserably in his chair at the end of the Great Hall: Alexander de Courcey’s hateful hand still gripping his shoulder and reminding him that there was no possible chance of escape. He looked up at the high vaulted ceiling where the bound and gagged Ulfgar and Odin dangled in their humiliating hosiery: the seams stretched to breaking point as they cut deep into the Viking’s ass cracks.
However, the gawping guests had all but forgotten about the savage giants, as the centre of attention was now undoubtedly the beautiful but despised Prince Felix. The proud young Adonis, desperately seeking to retain his dignity in spite of his very public spanking, had been released from being bent over his godfather’s lap, and now stood, panting heavily with rage and frustration. He faced Lord Geoffrey.
“There may still be a chance you can keep your head,” hissed the Prince, “if you kneel before me and beg forgiveness for the treatment I have endured at your hands.”
The silver-haired lord nodded solemnly as he appeared to consider Felix’s offer. The Hall held its breath. Would Geoffrey yield in the face of his royal godson? Eventually he spoke. “Perhaps I was a little hasty. It is, after all, a momentous thing to overthrow a monarch. You want to become king, your Highness? Well, a king must have a coronation, must he not?”
“You have finally regained your senses, godfather,” snapped Felix.
Geoffrey gestured to the raised dais where his ornate throne stood in the centre of the Hall. “It’s not quite as grand as Westminster Abbey, but it will suffice. We shall hold this most sacred of ceremonies here. You will indeed be King Felix, God’s own anointed.”
Felix looked around him suspiciously, noting the sinister smiles of Lord Geoffrey and his knights. The older man stepped close to him, and placed his hand on Felix’s chest. The Prince flinched and scowled.
“Hmm… it occurs to me that his Highness is somewhat overdressed for the occasion. Alexander… would you be so good as to divest him of his tunic?”
Alexander stepped forward, a mocking smile playing about his lips. “It is good to see you again, your Highness,” he said. “Although our positions are somewhat reversed since our last meeting, wouldn’t you say?”
“How dare you? To even consider laying a finger on me!”
“Oh I think that beautiful body of yours is going to experience more than just a fingering.”
Crude laughter erupted in the Hall.
Alexander slowly circled the outraged Prince. With the lightest of touches, he reached out to stroke the royal butt cheeks, those forbidden, yet divine globes of muscle, glistening and shimmering in their bejewelled hosiery. Felix gritted his teeth as the older man fondled his bum, still smarting from its spanking, but the threat of Sir Antony’s sword kept him still for now.
“I seem to recall that the last time I touched you, your Highness, you had me flung in prison under false pretences. You flaunted your arse at me, and then, like some prick-teasing whore, you whipped it away. Well you know what they say, young man: everything comes to he who waits…”
Alexander stood so close to the Prince that their tights-covered bulges practically touched. The Steward, a couple of inches taller than Felix, breathed softly into the younger man’s livid face and began to unbutton the Prince’s satin doublet. Soon the jacket was unfastened and Alexander smirked openly as he pulled at the sleeves and revealed the broad, smooth pectoral muscles of Felix’s chest.
“Such a handsome young fellow, your Lordship,” remarked Alexander. “You are wise to expose his body for all to see.”
Felix fumed in impotent silence. There he stood before his inferiors and his subjects, stripped of his bolero jacket and naked save for his bejewelled tights and satin shoes.
“Take off your shoes, boy,” ordered Lord Geoffrey. “I want to see you in your stockinged feet – standing before me in only your hose.”
Raymond rose instinctively. “Allow me, your highness.”
Geoffrey shot him a warning glance. “You stay where you are, boy. My godson needs to learn some humility. He can bend over and take his own shoes off now.”
“Might I make a suggestion?” asked Alexander. “The Prince should turn his back on his guests as he removes his footwear. That way they get the best possible view of his bum as he bends down.”
“Excellent,” replied Geoffrey. “Well, Felix – you heard Master Courcey. What are you waiting for?”
The Prince glared at his godfather, but Sir Antony was weighing his broadsword particularly ominously and ultimately the Prince had no choice but to bend over, his tights-clad bubble butt presenting itself for the delectation of the gathered throng.
“You see how straightforward life will be if you continue to learn your new status, my son,” said Lord Geoffrey amiably. “Now I wonder – for the sacred rite of coronation, should the Prince be entirely naked?”
Felix blanched in horror at the prospect. But he need not have worried as Alexander quickly intervened. He had no desire to see the Prince divested of his gorgeous and extremely tight-fitting hose. “Plenty of time for that later, my Lord! But perhaps a tiny adjustment or two would be in order.”
Raymond recalled how particular Alexander had always been about the proper way for a man to wear tights, and he was not surprised to see the Steward reach around the Prince’s torso to grasp the waistband of his hose.
“We’d better make sure these are pulled up as far as they can go, hadn’t we? Our friends Odin and Ulfgar up there provide an excellent example of how one should wear one’s tights, don’t you think?”
Felix squirmed as the clinging material was yanked firmly up between the delicious curves of his arse, neatly bisecting his plump butt cheeks.
“Much better,” said Alexander with satisfaction, and he allowed his palm to linger against the Prince’s buttock. “Ah – still warm from your spanking, your Highness. Is your little bot-bot sore?”
“You’ll pay for your impertinence, Courcey,” spat the Prince. “If it’s the last thing I do.”
“Come, come, Felix,” said Lord Geoffrey. “There should be no rancour on a joyous day like today. Now, it’s time for you to come and take your rightful place – on the throne.” He gestured to the ornate chair. “You must process through the Hall so that all your loyal subjects can pay their respects – and then you may finally rest your aching buttocks on that fine, velvet cushion.”
The Prince hesitated, unwilling to take the demeaning walk through the snickering throng.
“Good Sir Antony - escort the Prince, will you? He seems reluctant to go alone.”
Sure enough, the threatening form of the fair-haired knight loomed at Felix’s shoulder, and the Prince felt the sharp point of Antony’s sword prod the naked flesh between his shoulder blades. Attempting to muster all the dignity he could, the King’s son placed one white stockinged foot in front of the other and made his way slowly, in his ultra-snug tights, to the throne. The Hall rang with mocking laughter as he was paraded in front of them, stripped to the waist - his indecent hose offering no kind of protection to the lower half of his body: his glittering crotch was on full display for the audience’s inspection and amusement. He reached the throne and began to lower himself onto the seat in preparation for what he knew would be a travesty of the sacred coronation ceremony.
“Wait a moment, godson!” called Lord Geoffrey from the top table. “Alexander, would you be so good as to plump up the cushion so that it’s as comfortable as possible for the Prince?”
“My Lord, it would be an honour,” smiled the Steward, and clicking his fingers, Humphrey the fat page boy appeared in the doorway from the kitchen. The lad was carrying aloft a gigantic cake. Mistress Olwen had clearly gone to town here: the fat sponge base was decorated with lashings of white chocolate mousse and thickly whipped cream. Humphrey, practically drooling at the delicacy in his arms, transported the cake to the centre of the Hall. Then, he placed it carefully, as he had clearly been instructed to do, on the seat of the throne. Felix watched with the dawning realisation of what was going to happen next.
“Come along, your Highness,” beckoned Alexander obsequiously. “Come take the weight off your stockinged feet and rest your smarting bottom.”
“You’re mad,” declared the Prince, “if you honestly think I’m going to sit down in the middle of a giant cream cake!”
Alexander shook his head sadly and glanced towards Lord Geoffrey, whose face became suddenly stern. The Lord bellowed at his godson: “Do as you’re told, boy!”
The party guests began to clap slowly, excitement gathering at the prospect of the handsome Prince being forced to deposit his arse in the midst of the gooey cake. Felix seethed, but the prodding point of Sir Antony’s sword was eloquent, and the Prince had no choice but to position his muscular, hosed bum over the cake.
The clapping continued and was now joined by an excited chant: “Sit! Sit! Sit!” Gingerly, his face grimacing in anticipation, Felix began to lower his buttocks towards the waiting confectionary. The mocking laughter of the crowd rang in his ears as his arse made contact with the cake, and he gulped back a stifled sob as he felt the cold whipped cream touch the pristine whiteness of his tights.
“Get on with it, boy!” snapped Lord Geoffrey, and with an evil grin, Sir Antony slapped Felix's naked shoulder with his palm. The sudden force plunged the Prince's bum to into the very centre of the cake.
Splat! Thick cream spurted out of either side of the throne and an anguished “Aargh!” slipped from Felix's lips as he was overwhelmed by the humiliating sensation of his tights-clad buttocks sinking into the cold, gooey wetness of the velvety gateau. His breathing quickened as he heard the hooting, mocking laughter of everyone in the Hall, and as the gunk seeped into his tights. He wanted to leap up and flee: but he was going nowhere. Sir Antony's strong hands kept him firmly in place. He began to squirm in agony, desperate to be free from his predicament, but his writhing served only to rub even more of the gungey cake into his arse.
“Dear me,” tutted Lord Geoffrey. “Have his Highness's nice clean tights got all dirty? Stand up, young man. Let's have a look at them!”
Felix gritted his teeth in fury. Sir Antony finally released his grip on his naked shoulder, and slowly, he rose from his chair: dollops of gloop falling from his backside as he did so. “You bastard...”
“Hush, boy. That's distinctly unroyal language, don't you think?” Geoffrey smiled indulgently. “Now, turn around and show everyone your filthy little arse.”
A snarling grimace marred the Prince's beautiful features as he slowly shuffled to display his bottom to the assembled throng. Alexander chuckled to himself. Sure enough those peachy globes were now spattered with globs of moist chocolate cake and streaked with gooey cream. The hooting laughter of his subjects rang triumphantly in Felix's ears.
“You naughty boy – squashing that delicious cake,” murmured Lord Geoffrey. “It's quite ruined – as are your tights. How are they feeling by the way? Bet they must be rather sticky against your boy bum”.
“When my father finds out what you’ve done” –
“Ah, but that’s not terribly likely, is it, Felix? You were quite prepared to leave him to rot in his prison. And on this rare occasion, I’m inclined to agree with you. Now, my loyal Alexander, what do you suggest next?”
Alexander winked at Lord Geoffrey, “Well, your Lordship. The seat of his Highness’ tights have been sufficiently messed up. In the interests of symmetry, it seems only apt that the front of them should be too.”
“Excellent! What do you suggest, Master Steward?”
Alexander’s eyes twinkled with malice as he produced a large silver platter from behind his back. “I was thinking – Mistress Olwen’s delicious raspberry blancmange?”
Felix, snarling with fury, spat at the Steward, “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Wouldn’t I now? Do you really think I wouldn’t dare tip this whole blancmange down the front of your tights and rub that ice cold, fruity pudding into your princely crotch? After all we’ve done to you so far, you learn perilously slowly, your Highness. We know we’ve crossed a line now, and we have nothing more to lose, isn’t that right, your Lordship?”
“Precisely, Alexander. We’ve all gone this far. There’s point no stopping now. I have a feeling your ritual humiliation is only just beginning, Felix. It would be far simpler if you were to accept your fate.”
“Never!” declared the proud young Prince. However, Lord Geoffrey merely shrugged.
“It makes no difference,” he said. “You’re going to be gunged and messed up regardless. You can waste your energy scowling and cursing if you wish. In fact, it’s rather amusing to see.” He turned to Alexander. “In your own time, my friend.”
Master Courcey came face to face with the defiant Felix and fixed him with a devilish smile. The Prince flinched as, with his left hand, Alexander grabbed the waistband of Felix’s diamond-encrusted hose and pulled it towards him. He glanced down and raised an eyebrow.
“Well, look at that pretty royal cock lying there, all clean and perfumed and unsuspecting.”
Felix clenched his fists in frustration.
“Are you ready, my Prince?” he cooed. “Then down we go!”
And with that, he gently tipped the platter towards the Prince’s smooth stomach, and the gelatinous blancmange began to slide its wobbly way down the tray and towards Felix’s naked flesh. The Prince held his breath as the dessert slithered ever closer. Alexander paused, levelling the tray teasingly and temporarily slowing the blancmange’s descent. Then, just as abruptly, he tipped the tray vertically. The pudding plummeted downwards, and, with a resounding “squelch!”, landed squarely in the gusset of the Prince’s tights!
A deep, ragged breath escaped from Felix as the chilly gunk made contact with his cock: he gasped as his prickhead sank into the goo and the cool blancmange slowly fell in glutinous blobs around his bollocks.
Alexander let go of the waistband of the tights, allowing it to snap back into position against the Prince’s torso, and then his hand moved south. He hesitated for only a moment, before slowly, but surely, beginning to massage the bright pink gloop into the Prince’s crotch.
“I knew that, one day, I would get my hands on your royal meat,” purred Alexander in the Prince’s shell-like ear. “How does that feel? You like the sensation, don’t you? Me rubbing that gunge into your cock and balls. All cold and wet. Lubing you up. You can grimace all you like, your highness. But I know what I’m doing. And I know just how to manipulate a submissive boy cock. I can make you feel sooo good. Breed you. Milk you. Or I could keep you permanently and tantalisingly on the edge of orgasm. Forever if I so desire.”
He continued to knead the milky pudding into the young man’s groin. “Ah, there we are. You’re starting to get hard, aren’t you? In spite of yourself, you’re enjoying this. I knew you would, Felix. Shall we show everyone, eh? Shall we reveal to all these people just how your throbbing dick is straining against your soiled tights?”
He removed his hand away and stepped to one side so that his eagerly expectant audience could enjoy the view. Sure enough, crotch of the agonised young Prince’s white tights was damp and stained with a blossoming bloom of lurid pink. The outline of his cock was standing rock hard as it pressed urgently against the constriction of that oh so tight, silken garment.
“What a messy boy!” catcalled a lout from the crowd.
“Yes!” responded Alexander. “Filthy young man – bright pink blancmange tipped down the front of his tights. How humiliating for him, eh?”
Prince Felix blushed the same dark pink as the pudding as the hall rocked with raucous laughter at his shameful predicament.
Raymond couldn’t help but look. The Prince’s body, which he had lusted after all this time was there, exposed for everyone’s enjoyment. And crushingly, it was further from his reach than it had ever been. How he wished he was in Alexander’s place, the one fortunate enough to be meting out the humiliation to the arrogant Felix, getting the chance to tip food over his god-like body and embarrass him in front of all these yobs. Raymond cursed the gods for his ill-luck, and, then, remembering for the first time his pretty young sister, looked over towards the kitchen. Jane had clearly anticipated which way the wind had turned and, whilst everyone’s attention was fixed firmly upon the spectacle of the humiliated Prince, she began to creep towards the door. Raymond allowed himself a sad little smile for what might have been. At least she might make her escape, he though to himself. But at that very moment...
“Where do you think you’re going, missy? Surely you’re not thinking of leaving us so soon?”
The buxom form of Mistress Olwen the cook interpolated itself between Jane and the exit. Gripping the girl’s wrist firmly, the older woman propelled Jane back into the Hall.
“There’s a reckoning to be had, madam,” she continued, her eyes flaring triumphantly. “And neither you nor your brother are going to avoid it.”
Jane struggled, but Olwen was stronger and the girl’s efforts were in vain. The cook threw a gloating look in Raymond’s direction and his heart sank even further.
“Don’t I know it!” he murmured to himself.
Sunday, 16 March 2014
It was a triumph far beyond his imagining: beyond anything that Alexander Courcey had ever managed to organise. Raymond looked around the Great Hall as he processed slowly through the ranks of birthday guests. A couple of paces in front of him strode Prince Felix, dressed head to toe in his new finery. He glittered with gems all over – looking every inch the King. Raymond’s eyes couldn’t help drifting downwards to the royal ass: that perfect bubble butt, encased in sequinned white tights. Raymond’s fingers itched to stroke, to caress, and, yes, to spank those inviting globes. But that was for later. There was much to enjoy before that delicious moment could arrive.
He glanced around the Hall, at the brightly coloured banners hanging from the rafters and the equally brightly coloured musicians he had imported for the occasion. The fanfare of their trumpets rang in his ears, heralding the entrance of the Prince. All the guests rose to their feet. Admittedly, some of them did so rather reluctantly, but they all knew better than to show their dislike of their royal master too openly. Indeed, some of the merchants and squires Raymond had invited had chosen to stay away all together, so he had been forced to fill some of the lesser seats with a cartload of tourists from nearby Dunchester.
The Prince strutted proudly through the throng, waving a ringed hand casually at the gawping non-entities. No sign of Odin or Ulfgar, Raymond noted with irritation. Their noses were clearly out of joint at having been supplanted as the Prince’s chief confidant. Raymond nodded to his sister, who was on her feet, applauding, looking radiant in a golden gown. He himself had chosen his attire carefully – a new doublet of black velvet, and the particoloured hose he favoured: one leg jet black and the other creamy white. Felix was the sun and he the moon, content to bathe in the reflected radiance of the godlike Prince: in public at least. In private, he thought to himself, it would be an entirely different matter!
They arrived at the long table at the far end of the room where Lord Geoffrey stood waiting, bathed, refreshed and dressed in deep scarlet robes and hose. His handsome companions, the strapping Sir Antony among them, applauded gravely as the Prince approached. Felix swished around the table and reached the throne in the centre. He turned to his godfather on his right hand side and offered his hand. Geoffrey sank to his knee and kissed the Prince’s fingers.
“Welcome, subjects!” declared Felix. “Welcome and share in the joyous celebrations of my birthday! You may be seated.”
The Prince gestured for Raymond to sit on his other side and said to his Steward, “So, tell me, Raymond, what do you have prepared for me?”
Savoury pastries, venison, fish courses, pies and rich cream sauces all appeared from Mistress Olwen’s kitchen, served up diligently by Mortimer and Humphrey, who both wore a new silver livery in honour of the occasion. The best wine flowed, and for a while, even those who had no reason to love the Prince began to enjoy themselves. Olwen hovered expectantly, as the multitude of puddings and desserts she had prepared were carried aloft and deposited onto the tables.
However, at this moment, the Prince rose to his feet. “Loyal subjects!” he announced. “Twenty-five years ago today the Earth was blessed by my arrival. And for this it is right and proper that you celebrate. But there are further reasons for jubilation on this glorious day. Due to the indisposition of my father, I must tell you that before the week is out I will be leaving you to travel south to London. There I will take the throne as regent. You are looking upon your new monarch.”
Raymond rose to his feet to join his master. “Three cheers! Three cheers for King Felix the Beautiful!”
The assembled guests looked from one to another in confusion. What could this mean? What had happened to the old King? Could they truly celebrate the accession of this arrogant young man to the throne?
A frown of vexation crossed Felix’s handsome features.
“Three cheers for the King, you scum!” declared Raymond.
Both Prince and Steward turned in astonishment to look at who had spoken. There, sitting as calmly and gravely as ever, was Lord Geoffrey.
Felix was almost speechless. “What – what did you say?”
“I said no, godson. You will not become king. I will not allow it.”
The Prince’s face flushed an angry shade of puce. “Explain yourself this instant. And you had better make it good!”
Lord Geoffrey rose to his feet. “I speak for the barons and nobleman of England. We have suffered under twenty years of your father’s rule. His reign has seen the exchequer stripped bare and the slaughter of England’s best and bravest men in his obsessive pursuit of war and territory. We are not prepared to sit back and watch the throne go to his spoiled brat of a son.”
“Godfather or no, you will hang for this!” sputtered Felix.
“I think not, godson. You’ll find no friends here or anywhere in this land. Your arrogant behaviour has seen to that.”
Raymond’s heart began to pound. In an instant, he saw all his hopes and dreams begin to crumble before his eyes.
The Prince looked around him urgently. “Guards! Servants! Arrest this traitor!”
Nothing happened. All the guests, the staff, the musicians sat as silently and immobile as each other.
“You will all perish for this insult!” screamed Felix. “Odin! Ulfgar! Arrest them all!”
You could have heard a pin drop.
“Your bullying thugs cannot help you, your Highness,” said Geoffrey in those same measured tones. “I anticipated that you might seek to seize the throne for yourself, so I decided to take some precautions. Still, I have no doubt your Viking friends wish to pay their respects on this special day.”
Geoffrey smiled knowingly at the strapping Sir Antony, who winked back at him and made his way to the corner of the Hall. There, he grasped the iron crank that was used to raise and lower the massive wooden chandeliers which, when filled with candles, illuminated the great room. As Antony began to turn it, the spectators in the Hall looked up to the ceiling and were greeted by an exceedingly curious sight.
The chandeliers had been removed and instead, attached to the stout ropes, now being lowered towards the ground, dangled none other than Ulfgar and Odin. A titter ran round the guests seated below. Then some of the spectators began to giggle. Finally gales of laughter erupted from the throng. The Vikings had been stripped of their sinister black leather jerkins and trousers. Each of the massive men were bare-chested, their vast, hairy torsos glistening with sweat, and both had cloth gags shoved into their mouths to prevent them from making any sound. Their hands were tied behind their backs and their ankles tied together. But the laughter was provoked by the fact that each of the two men were wearing matching pairs of pink and yellow candy-striped tights!
The stretchy hose encased their bulging thigh muscles and made their large, round buttocks look immense. The outlines of their gargantuan cocks and balls were all too apparent through the revealing hosiery. And most humiliatingly of all for the hardened warriors, was the fact that the ropes they swang from had been cunningly fastened to the waistband of their tights, in such a way that the material was stretched as taut as possible. It cut deep into their arsecracks, and gave each of them excruciating and very obvious wedgies.
Raymond looked up as the two giants were lowered from the rafters, his mouth suddenly dry. At any other time he would have joined in with the laughter erupting around him. After all, the bullying brutes deserved a reckoning, and Raymond knew just how much they would be hating being dressed in the clinging hosiery. The two terrifying ogres had been turned into clownish buffoons – their faces red with shame, their bodies on display, and their humiliation plain for all to witness. Odin and Ulfgar struggled in their tights bondage, tears in their eyes as the material splitting their arses in two caused them excruciating pain. Their eyes bulged with shock at being bundled into this terrible position. Their tree-trunk-like, hose-clad legs wriggled, which only increased the painful effect of the wedgies. Raymond’s mind was racing. What should he do? Stay loyal to the Prince or try to ally himself with Lord Geoffrey and turn against his royal master? He glanced across at Felix, whose chiselled features were deathly pale.
“Release my bodyguards, now,” the Prince commanded in a dangerous tone of voice.
But Lord Geoffrey shook his head implacably. “You’re no longer in a position to issue orders, godson.”
Felix looked around him. With the exception of a distinctly queasy-looking Raymond, he saw no friends – only hard faces lined with hatred. In a split second, he made his decision. He vaulted athletically over the long dining table and began to sprint down the hall to the oak doors at the far end. He ran for his life, like a beautiful, white, glittering stag. His lungs burst with desperation, and he had nearly reached the doorway when a booted foot stuck itself out casually, blocking his path. Felix tripped, and went flying through the air. He landed face-down on the floor. His jewelled diadem skittered across the flagstones, and his muscular white legs splayed beneath him. He barely had a moment to recover himself, for Sir Antony and Sir Dominic grabbed him under his armpits, and hauled the panting young man to his feet.
“Surely you don’t intend to leave us so soon, your Highness?” asked the handsome Sir Antony. “These are, after all, your birthday celebrations. You’re not going to desert your own party?”
“Get your filthy hands off me. I am of royal blood,” hissed the Prince.
But Sir Antony merely smirked and gripped him more tightly. “You seem to be without your usual escorts, Sire. Allow us the honour of taking their place.”
Antony and Dominic manhandled the struggling Prince back to the table. Felix tossed his golden locks and looked at his godfather defiantly. “You are making the biggest mistake of your life,” he said.
Lord Geoffrey ignored the threat. “You have been busy in my absence, godson. In little more than six months, you have dismissed and made destitute the bulk of my household, mutilated the local peasants, stolen my possessions, slandered and falsely imprisoned my Chief Steward, and caused the death of my dear uncle, Wilfrid.”
“Says who?” sneered the Prince.
But Raymond knew already the answer to that particular question, and as the drapes behind him parted, his heart sank as he heard the smooth baritone of a familiar voice.
“I have submitted a full report to Lord Geoffrey. The timing of his arrival was most fortuitous. I’m afraid that whatever entertainments we may have tonight to celebrate your birthday, Prince Felix. My demise will not be among them.”
Felix could have spat with fury. There in all his former finery, as smug and handsome as the devil, in a burgundy doublet and sleek black hose stood Alexander Courcey. The Prince made to lunge at the Steward, but between them, Sir Antony and Sir Dominic held him fast.
“You bastard, Courcey!” declared Felix. “I’ll see you in Hell!”
Lord Geoffrey, as calmly stoic as ever, tutted to himself. “Your language, godson, is most unbecoming. That’s no way to address my most loyal servant – particularly whilst you are staying under my roof – and under my protection.” He turned to Antony and Dominic. “Fetch him here!”
Geoffrey’s knights did as they were bidden, dragging the blond Adonis over to their lord and master. The guests in the Hall stared in disbelief at the scene playing out before them, and the apparent fall from grace of the all-powerful Prince.
“It seems to me, Felix, that I have a duty as your godfather to instil some manners into you. You’ve behaved like a spoiled brat since the day you arrived mewling and puking into this world. And because your Father believed the sun shone out of your beautiful arse, you were never once reprimanded or disciplined. Well, I feel responsible for this omission, and I intend to rectify it immediately.”
Geoffrey sat down in his velvet throne and spread his hose-clad legs wide. “I’m going to give you your first spanking, young man.”
Felix blanched. “You wouldn’t dare lay a hand on my body!”
Geoffrey sighed wearily. “This evening is rapidly going to become very tiresome if you keep repeating that same old mantra. Let’s just accept that I have dared. I have dared to depose you, and I am daring to teach you a long overdue lesson, boy.” For the first time, Geoffrey’s eyes flashed dangerously. In that moment, Felix saw the fierce warrior beneath the sophisticated exterior. “Let’s have that pretty little tights-clad bum of yours over your godfather’s knee and you’ll feel the force of my palm!”
Raymond had had enough. He could not see how the Prince could possibly extricate himself from this predicament. Whilst everyone in the Hall was focused on the confrontation between the lord and the prince, he began to slide surreptitiously out of his chair.
Suddenly, a hand clamped firmly down on his shoulder.
“Where are you off to, Master Raymond?” asked Alexander. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost your appetite for partying as well!”
The Steward pulled up a chair next to his usurper and placed a ringed hand high on Raymond’s hosed thigh.
“You’re going to stay and enjoy the fun, aren’t you, lad?”
“It seems I have no choice,” replied Raymond through gritted teeth.
It took the combined strength of both Sir Antony and Sir Dominic to position the struggling Prince over his godfather’s lap, and Felix continued to rage and curse as they did so. The Prince was forced into this new humiliating position, his head dangling and his beautiful bottom, vulnerable in the sparkling, white material, was arranged to Geoffrey’s satisfaction. Sir Antony slid his sword from its scabbard with an ominous scraping sound.
Geoffrey gripped the Prince’s golden hair in his fist and bent to whisper in his ear. “You will take your spanking, boy. If you do not, Antony here will be forced to pierce your smooth flesh with his weapon…”
Raymond couldn’t be entirely sure whether the threat was literal or metaphorical, but either way, he knew the Prince had no choice but to submit to his godfather’s instructions.
Felix screamed with rage but Geoffrey ignored him and instead addressed the rapt spectators. “Young Felix here has been a very naughty boy, my friends. He is to be punished. And his punishment will be prolonged, public, and very humiliating. After all, it is long overdue.” Felix flinched as Geoffrey began gently to caress the royal arse. “This hosed bottom, plump and perky as a peach, lying across my lap is going to get a paddling like you wouldn’t believe!”
The Prince began to writhe and struggle in protest. “If you dare lay one hand on me...!” he gibbered. But Lord Geoffrey merely laughed and raised his arm to administer the opening blow. “You’re never too old for a good spanking, boy!”
Felix gasped as his godfather’s palm made contact with his exquisitely muscled butt. It wasn’t particularly painful, for it was a mild slap at best. It was the utter shock that his divine body had been unceremoniously tipped over his godfather’s lap and his bum spanked like a child. It was utterly inconceivable. It couldn’t truly be happening to him, could it?
“Keep still now, boy, or I’ll spank you harder,” warned Lord Geoffrey as his hands roamed freely over the Prince’s tights-covered, muscular legs and butt. “It must come as a shock finally to be put in your place and given the treatment you’ve deserved for so long!”
Felix was excruciatingly aware of the gaze of the sniggering audience, drinking in the sight of his sacred body lying powerless as he was spanked. “No! No! No!” he cried as his bum began to feel warmed by the paddle-like slaps administered by his godfather.
“You’re no longer in a position to issue commands, Felix - as you will soon realise all too well. Yes, you go ahead – you kick your legs in your pretty white tights, you wriggle your hosed arse and press that lovely cock of yours against my leg. That bum of yours is getting nice and red and warm now, isn’t it? I can feel it heating up nicely through this fine silken hose,” Geoffrey chuckled. “And I think you need to learn some manners, young man. I think I’ll take a “thank you, Uncle Geoffrey” from you as I spank you. Are you ready? This one’s really going to hurt. One, two, three…”
“Owwwwww!!!” cried Felix as Geoffrey’s palm thwacked against the sensitive flesh of his buttocks. “Damn you! I’m a Prince of the realm and I will never plead or beg or grovel to a traitor like you!”
An ominous hush fell across the hall as Geoffrey paused in his use of his godson’s lithe body.
“You know, your Highness. I do believe you’re right. What am I thinking putting you across my knee? You are royal and you should be treated royally. You wanted to become King Felix? Then we should grant your wish. What say you, Alexander?”
Felix raised his head and gazed up at his foe – a baleful expression in his sparkling blue eyes. Alexander ignored the glaring young man and instead, bowed to his lord and master. “I quite agree, my Lord. I believe the time has come for the Prince’s coronation…”