Friday, 17 October 2014
The smell was sharp and pungent. That was the first thing he noticed: and it came as a sharp shock to his senses. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and his befuddled brain tried to make sense of where and indeed who he was. His vision was blurred, but the facts of his predicament came to him. He was lying on a bed, he was topless and his sole item of clothing was a pair of bright red tights.
He tried to move his arm, and at that moment, he felt a tugging sensation pulling first one, and then the other arm taut.
“What the Hell?!” he cried, as his vision finally swam into focus.
“Ah, our handsome Prince has awoken at last,” cooed the gloating Alexander Courcey. “And not before time. How good of your Highness to grace us with his august presence!”
Felix, fired up with sudden indignation, tried to struggle, but the ropes at his wrists, plus another wrapped around his waist and two more at his ankles, prevented any kind of movement. Suddenly, he became aware of a strange gloopy wetness adhering to his forehead and dribbling down his face.
Alexander grinned as the Prince’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“Your erstwhile servant, young Raymond here, has been busy whilst you slumbered, your Highness. Mere moments ago, he was looming over you, his rock-hard cock hanging out of the front of his tights, whilst he sprayed his boy spunk over your hunky body. I imagine you can feel it drying even now on your face and chest. Cum can be rather itchy when it dries, don’t you find?”
“Raymond! How dare you?!” exploded the disgusted Prince.
“Don’t be too hard on him. He was only doing as he was ordered. Although I fancy he did not find it too much of an ordeal. But his Highness is right, Raymond. You really should clear up your mess. Come over here.”
Felix turned his head and, for the first time, he saw Raymond lurking in the corner. Like him, Raymond was also bare-chested and clad only in his silver hose. Clearly Alexander had regarded both lads’ fine doublets surplus to requirements.
“I wasn’t particularly impressed by your prowess at licking up that custard from the floor of the Great Hall the other day,” observed Alexander. “It seems to me that you require further practice. After all, I may decide that your new role in life is to clean the castle top to toe – using only your tongue.”
Raymond swallowed instinctively, suppressing the overwhelming urge to fly at Alexander and knee him in his vulnerable, tights-covered groin.
“Hop up onto the bed again, my lad. And let’s see you lick your own cum off Prince Felix’s chest.”
Reluctance and distaste were etched across the dark young man’s face, but he knew he was outmanoeuvred, and he had no choice but to bend over the Prince’s body, and prepare to taste his own salty semen. Raymond planted his palms either side of the Prince’s naked chest and lowered his face to begin his unpleasant task. As he did so, his tights-covered crotch could not help but come to linger against Felix’s own silken bulge. An erotic thrill shot through him as their genitals made contact. And in spite of only just having emptied his load, Raymond’s meat began to stiffen once more.
“Get on with it,” snapped Alexander impatiently. “We have many more games to play and I don’t have all day!”
Raymond stuck out his tongue and tentatively began to lap at the rope of cum criss-crossing Felix’s washboard abdominals.
“Oh, and one more thing, lad! You’re not to swallow any of it. I want you to hold your cum in your mouth for now, you understand?!”
Raymond could only nod his acquiescence, although it was easier said than done, to try and prevent any of the semen slipping down his gullet. He had never acquired a liking for the taste of cum, and even though it was his own, he found the flavour of the now tepid fluid distinctly unpleasant.
“That’s it boy, suck up your own emissions... You’ve missed a blob just there by his Highness’s left nipple...”
Prince Felix seethed. “I demand you wash me properly, Courcey! This is obscene!”
“You never learn do you? You will be silent unless spoken to, Prince Bitch! Or I swear I’ll have you gagged.”
For once, Felix elected to do as he was told, and Raymond began licking around the Prince’s tit. The flesh was clearly sensitive, and Raymond could not resist brushing the nipple with his sharp white teeth.
“Ow!” yelled the Prince. “You bit me, you dolt!”
Raymond – cheeks bulging – glanced up fearfully. Alexander merely smirked.
“Your mouth is pretty full, now Raymond, isn’t it? Your cum mixed with your saliva. Ha! I can see the white liquid starting to dribble from your lips. Very well, you may now rid yourself of the fluid. And you are to empty it into the Prince’s mouth...”
Felix took an intake of breath, but before he had chance to protest, Raymond had done as he was ordered and dribbled a large globule of spittle and semen in between the Prince’s pink, perfect, pouting lips.
Quick as a flash, Alexander was at the head of the bed, where he gripped the Prince’s nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“Swallow it!” commanded the Steward. “Swallow your servant’s spunk!”
Felix coughed and sputtered, but he was left with no choice – and eventually the cum-laced saliva slipped down his royal throat.
“How did that taste? Rather a contrast to the venison and champagne that your palate has grown accustomed to, I imagine? Although I’ve always opined that the taste of boy cum does bear the slightest resemblance to caviar...”
Felix gagged as he ingested the concoction.
“Maybe we’ll leave the cum on your face as a moisturiser,” mused Alexander. “It’s a nicely humiliating reminder of your new lowly position.”
His tone of voice became sterner. “You can get off the bed now, Raymond. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you trying to grind your dick against the Prince’s, you little slut. Christ Almighty, I know you’ve been lusting after him for months but you’ve only just wanked over him. Are you fucking insatiable?! Go and stand in the corner until I decide what to do with you next.”
Raymond regretfully did as he was told, and Felix gritted his teeth as Alexander languidly came to sit beside him on the bed. Master Courcey stretched his long, purple legs out in front of him, and gazed down at the Prince’s beautiful, bound body. He tugged experimentally at one of the ropes attached to the Prince’s ankle, causing that beautiful, muscular, leg to jerk involuntarily. It looked as if Felix’s legs had been sprayed red, so tight were his tights – and the bound young man’s breathing was quick and shallow: betraying a mixture of fury and fear.
“You will not break me, Courcey,” vowed the Prince. “I have royal blood in me. Whatever depraved or disgusting act you might perpetrate upon me, I shall not grovel before you. I promise you that. And each new indignity ensures only that your charge sheet grows longer, and that your death, when it comes as it most surely will, will be more excruciating than you could ever begin to imagine.”
“An impressive speech, my lad. But I might take you more seriously if you were in a slightly more powerful position, and not spread-eagled in my bed chamber, tied up in an extremely revealing pair of scarlet tights, with another slaveboy’s dried cum splattered all over your face...”
Felix drew a breath but before he could speak, Alexander had placed his palm over the Prince’s mouth.
“You talk too much, Prince Pricktease. I’ve warned you once about the gag. I shan’t warn you again.”
Alexander smiled as Felix seemed to think better of issuing a retort. “You see – even the least promising of students can learn under my tutelage. Now, we were speaking of humiliating reminders, were we not? Raymond! Fetch that casket from the dressing table!”
Raymond found the velvet-covered box and brought it to Alexander. Master Courcey snapped open the clasp and withdrew from it: “A slave collar! Although as you’ll see this is a very special slave collar. Only the best for you, my Lord! The finest, supplest black leather, studded with gold and rubies. Red, red rubies. The colour of your tights – and the colour of whores! Which is most appropriate given what is in store for you, little Prince Pricktease!”
Felix, in spite of himself, remembered Alexander’s threat about the gag and stayed silent.
“Raymond, let’s see this fine jewelled collar strapped around his Highness’s throat!”
Raymond’s nimble fingers worked quickly, threading the thick collar around Felix’s muscular neck, even as the Prince glared at him.
“Feels humiliating, I bet – being collared like a dog by your former servant, no matter how pretty and glittering the adornment? And yet you’ve always enjoyed pretty adornments, haven’t you, my little Prince? I can see your muscles tense in fury – your strong pectorals, your thighs in your tights bunching at the humiliation. But you’re totally powerless – nothing you can do to stop me degrading you in any fashion I see fit. What a shame. What a damned shame.”
Raymond watched in fascination as Alexander goaded the Prince. He could tell it was taking all of Felix’s willpower not to spit directly in the Steward’s face.
“Now, my lad. I do believe you’re about to enjoy this experience a whole lot more.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember all those months ago when you lured me to your bedchamber with the offer of me using you as my slavebitch? You ground your crotch against my hand with all the practised ease of a Dunchester whore. You promised me your body that day, young Felix. And I have come to claim what I was promised.
“You see those bottles sitting on the shelf over there?” Alexander continued. “They are all powerful potions. The first I used to knock you out. The second to revive you, but the third... Ah the third is the best one. That will, with the merest sniff, drive a man with even the most humdrum and conventional of libidos, into a frenzy of lust. And by happy coincidence, this handkerchief I have here has been liberally doused in that very concoction!”
There was no time for Felix to react before the square of cloth was rammed against his face. He tried to resist, to hold his breath, anything. He knew from past experience, how powerful and overwhelming the concoction was. He tried to avoid inhaling the evil brew, oh how he tried, but pinioned in position as he was, all he could do was thrash his limbs about in protest. He fought with his naked arms and his hosed legs, but Alexander’s grip was strong, and very soon, his strength evaporated as his mind and body were flooded with lust.
Satisfied that his royal victim had inhaled a sufficient dose, Alexander removed the handkerchief. Felix gazed upwards through the fug in his mind as the Steward savoured his moment of triumph. He looked like a wolf about to devour his prey. Alexander licked his lips, and lurched forwards.
Felix’s heart pounded. His blood raced round his body as his new master sank into him. He smelt the scent of the man first: traces of cologne mixed with the heady aroma of fresh perspiration. The Steward was clearly excited at the prospect of having the Prince at his mercy. Felix tried to fight the intoxicating allure of the potion which drew him inexorably to the heat of another human being – any other human – in order to satisfy the rising tide of lust within him. But his cock seemed to have a mind of its own. And even though he knew it was due to the evil effects of the potion, he felt a desperate flush of shame as his cock began to harden. Without having to look, he felt his swelling dick rise and tent within the tight red constriction of his hose.
It took all the effort Felix could muster to try and fight the poison in his veins and turn his head away from Alexander Courcey’s lips. But the Steward was having none of that! He grabbed the Prince’s square jaw in his unrelenting grasp and, without any further hesitation, planted a long kiss on Felix’s mouth.
Felix tried to clamp his mouth shut to avoid Alexander’s long probing tongue, but the older man would not be dissuaded from his goal. Felix felt the soft black bristles of Alexander’s beard brush against his tanned, flawless skin. Even through the haze of lust, he bridled at the weirdly obscene intimacy of being taken and kissed by another man: the combination of masculinity as Alexander’s strong arms held him down. Indeed it was if Alexander himself had partaken of the potion, such was the intensity of his ardour. His moist lips worked at those of the Prince, smothering him so that Felix was left barely able to breathe, as if he would suck the very life essence out of the young man.
His tongue swirled inside the Prince’s mouth, their lips pressed ardently together. He was a good kisser, that much was true, and he seemed to know all the right buttons to push in order to work on and increase Felix’s burgeoning libido.
Then, at some strange and indeterminate moment, rather than fighting him, the Prince gave into the insistent onslaught and began to respond: the potion driving him on in a frenzy of long, deep, passionate kisses.
Raymond, forgotten about in the corner of the room, looked on longingly: how he wished he might be invited to join the masculine orgy on the bed. Instead, he had to make do with only his own hand to rub at his tights-clad groin.
On went Alexander, licking, lapping, slobbering at the defenceless beauty he had so efficiently trussed up. He could have gone on kissing that stunning, chiselled face of hours. Especially as the intoxicated Prince was now panting in response. But Alexander reminded himself that he had other plans for his newest slave victim.
He stepped back to admire the sight of the young Prince. A dastardly grin spread across his face.
“Now, your highness, I think it’s about time I made you a little less comfortable. After all we can’t have you lazing about in your tights in bed all day, can we?”
“Wha-?” mumbled the Prince, still flushed from the after effects of the potion. Alexander’s saliva lying wet across his cheek.
But Alexander’s meaning became apparent all too soon. The Steward grasped the free ends of the cluster of ropes, dangling from the pulley system on the ceiling, and, slowly but surely, he began to tug. Felix looked around him wildly as all at once, his arms and legs began to rise into the air.
Then, in a sudden and unexpected movement, Alexander let the rope go and the Prince’s legs dropped a little. Instead, the Steward selected another cord and began to jerk this - the rope fixed to Felix’s right arm.
“Like a marionette!” crowed Alexander. “My little puppet Prince. A beautiful doll for me to play with and manipulate! I can make your arms go up in the air like this! Or I can send them plummeting to the counterpane! I can pull your strings and send your legs flying into the sky – and then I can yank – yank – yank them so that they are spread as wide as they can go! Shall we try that, eh? Pulling those divinely muscled legs of yours apart so they’re stretched in delicious tights bondage?”
Felix was powerless as Alexander demonstrated the range of positions he was capable of forcing him into. And then, once he had tired of this little game, Alexander made his adjustments carefully to ensure that each of the Prince’s limbs were indeed stretched as far and as wide as they would go. He tied off the end of the ropes, and he purred with satisfaction at the sight of Felix’s muscular legs, encased in their figure-hugging scarlet tights, pulled apart, toes pointing to the ceiling, the groin and ass left vulnerably and enticingly available…
“Are you ticklish, I wonder, my puppet Prince? Raymond – come here! I can see you’re itching to get your hands on the Prince’s body once more. Here are the soles of the royal feet – only that thin layer of stretchy fabric to protect them. Show our captive here just how you can torment his stockinged feet!”
Raymond did not need to be asked twice. Alexander repositioned himself at the Prince’s head, handkerchief in hand, and administered another dose of potion to the trussed up royal.
Once more Felix fought the aroma, but once more it transported him to a heavenly Hell of sexual desire.
“You look so beautiful like this, your Highness,” remarked Alexander. “It is indeed a shame that you cannot see your own predicament. Let us remedy that!”
And with a flourish, the devilish Steward ripped the drapes from the chamber’s walls to reveal that every surface – even the ceiling – was now covered with mirrors. Felix could not avoid the sight of himself in his degrading and inescapable bondage: his arms, biceps bulging, pulled tight away from his chest and straining towards the ceiling, his scarlet legs tugged in opposite directions and spread wide like a common slut. His beautiful face, smeared with his own servant’s white cum, and red with exertion and the effects of the poison, stared back at him. And this image was reflected in every surface – over and over. There was simply no avoiding the sight of his own humiliation. And mortifyingly, the mind-altering effect of the potion changed even his response to the image.
In spite of himself, he found himself becoming aroused by the sight of his own tights-clad legs, his peachy arse bulging in his hose. His narcissism manifested itself through the mist of the poison and began to work against him. He was beautiful, and in bondage, his muscles straining, he could see what a gorgeous animal he was. And he understood how his beauty could not help but drive those around him mad with lust. Unluckily for him, he was entirely at the mercy of such a man.
He felt Raymond’s hands on his legs, roaming up and down, sliding against the soft silkiness of his tights, teasing and tickling his calves and the soles of his feet. He kicked his legs to try and avoid the torment, but there was no escape. The tickling went on and on and on, just as Alexander pushed the handkerchief harder against his face.
It seemed to last forever, and still there was no avoiding the punishment. All the while, Alexander’s mocking laughter rang in his ears.
After what seemed an eternity, the Steward appeared to decide that Raymond had had enough fun. Felix watched, hysterical and exhausted, as Alexander moved to the end of the bed, slapped Raymond’s round backside with a ‘thwack!’ and ordered him back into the corner of the room.
The Steward paused dramatically as he came to stand at the end of the bed.
“And now we come to the crux of the matter, do we not, your Highness? That most intimate, most private and taboo of spots. The place where no man has gone before – the royal arsehole.”
“Now don’t look so surprised. Why on earth do you think you were administered a powerful laxative last night? It was to purge you of any, shall we say, extraneous matter? I have no desire to wallow in your shit, not matter how royally divine you may consider it. And as you are now cleaned inside and out, our fun can begin in earnest.”
Monday, 6 October 2014
“They’ve forgotten about us, haven’t they?! Those treasonous swine have locked us up and forgotten about us!”
The Prince’s voice practically screeched with incredulity.
“Given that if they remember us, they might choose to slit our throats,” remarked Raymond drily, “I’m actually rather glad to be forgotten.”
The past three days had seemed like an eternity for the curly-haired youth. Prince Felix was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the ideal cellmate. The two young men remained shackled to the dungeon walls in their dirty tights. They had been fed and watered, forced to use the latrine in the corner of the cell, and, unceremoniously, ignored.
The sound of the key in the lock heralded the arrival of their evening meal. The rugged Sir Antony ushered in skinny young Mortimer who carried a tray of greasy stew. Lumps of fatty mutton bobbed in the congealing liquid.
Prince Felix turned up his nose. “I’m not eating that,” he pronounced with a sniff.
“You are a prisoner of his Lordship,” Sir Antony informed him blandly, “and you will eat what you are given. If you want me to hold your nose and tip it down your throat, then so be it.”
Mortimer carried the tray over to the Prince, who begrudgingly took the moderately more appealing of the two bowls.
“No, Prince Felix,” said Sir Antony. “The Chief Steward informs me that you are to partake of the other one.”
Felix turned pale. “Ah, so it has come to this, has it? I am to be poisoned like some plague-infested rat?”
“Alexander has not taken me into his confidence, but I understand that Lord Geoffrey wants you to remain alive for the time being.”
The Prince looked at Sir Antony with defiance. “Give me the bowl. I would rather meet my maker than be subjected to the perverted whims of Alexander Courcey!”
Gagging as he did so, the Prince forced himself to eat the stew. His rumbling belly protested, and Antony smiled knowingly as the final dregs of the meal disappeared.
“Well done, your highness,” he said. “Now, we shall bid you a good night and the most pleasant of dreams...”
And with that, he and Mortimer left the prisoners alone.
It was a long and uncomfortable night for them both.
It seemed that Sir Antony’s assurances were true. Felix’s supper was not poisoned. Instead it had been laced with a powerful laxative, which meant the unfortunate Prince spent the whole night running back and forth to the latrine in the corner of the cell.
Raymond sighed as the Prince cursed the vile and traitorous Alexander. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, Felix’s bowels seemed to calm a little, and Raymond fell into a fitful slumber.
It must have been late morning. Raymond’s ears pricked up as he heard the key being turned in the door of the dungeon. Sir Antony and Sir Dominic strode into the cell: knowing smirks illuminating their square jaws.
“Master Courcey has summoned the two of you to his chambers,” Sir Antony informed them.
Prince Felix groaned from the corner of the cell. “Tell him he’ll have to wait. I’m spent. I’ve not slept all night thanks to that foul stew he fed me.”
“It’s a summons, not a request, your Highness,” said Sir Dominic sardonically.
“He does want you cleaned up first though,” added Sir Antony.
“Really?” asked Raymond suspiciously.
“Indeed. Master Alexander is a sensitive man. Your current state would offend his delicate sense of smell...”
Reinstalled in his own luxurious chambers, Alexander was thoroughly at home once more. God, it felt good to be back where he truly belonged. The months of uncertainty, incarceration and fugitive flight were finally at an end, and he was in charge again. The past few days had been spent assisting Lord Geoffrey in re-establishing some kind of order after the chaos of the Prince’s rule. And now – finally – he could allow himself some leisure time.
He looked at the three corked bottles that sat before him on his oak dressing table. On this occasion, he had instructed the old witch to brew up a variety of potions, and to differentiate the three of them, affixed to each vial was a scrap of parchment indicating what would occur to whoever inhaled from each brew. The first read “To induce unconsciousness”; the second “To revivify”; and the last simply read “Lust”.
Of course, this final brew was one he had ordered from the old crone many times over the years. He toyed briefly with the idea of taking a draught of it now, and his cock, coiled and nestling expectantly in his purple hose, began to stiffen at the thought. His balls hung swollen and heavy with cum, and his tights bulged.
It had been nearly a week since he’d had any sexual release. He’d been working so hard that there had not even been time for a quick wank to relieve himself. How tempting to inhale the potion now and manipulate his prick through the sensous satin of his hosiery and leak his white man juice into the gusset of his tights... But instead he restrained himself. Ultimately, it would be sweeter to prolong his frustration. He had dreamed of this opportunity for a long time. And now it was nearly upon him, he was absolutely determined to make the most of it.
There was a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” he called, as he casually moved his beringed hand from his crotch.
“I have the prisoners, Master Alexander,” came Sir Antony’s voice.
“Excellent. Bring them in.”
The door swang open and Alexander turned to survey the newcomers. The strapping Sir Antony, broadsword in hand, entered: no attempt to conceal the grin upon his sunburnt features.
Behind him came Raymond. As per Alexander’s instructions, he had been cleaned up and was now a positive paradigm of perfumed spotlessness. His dark curls were glossy and sleek, his cheeks had been freshly shaved and he was now dressed in a fine grey doublet, slashed down the chest and sleeves to reveal rich black satin beneath. Naturally, the doublet rested above the waist, and from his hips to his feet he wore luxurious silver hose, his package a modest bulge. On his feet were black buckled pumps.
The chastened youth caught Alexander’s eye and tried to convey a mixture of subjugation and camaraderie, as if in that instant he hoped to undo the mischief he had caused and that the older man would both forgive and forget. Alexander returned the lad’s gaze, but he said nothing and his expression gave nothing away.
Behind Raymond, and as surely as the sun follows the moon, came his royal highness, the recently deposed Prince Felix of England. It was an apposite comparison, for the blond youth’s face blushed red with fury just as Raymond’s was pale. Like Raymond, Felix’s hair – falling as ever to his shoulders in golden waves – was freshly washed. His broad and well-muscled torso was adorned with a rich crimson doublet, heavy with gold brocade. And his bulging thighs and calves were encased in a bright red pair of tights. The hosiery had been ingeniously interwoven with golden thread so that the Prince’s impressive legs seemed to shimmer. The eye was inevitably drawn to the spot where lay the royal prick: for now an anonymous swelling in the stretchy fabric. Alexander itched to tell the Prince to turn round so he could drink in the sight of those perfectly peachy buttocks within the scarlet hose. He denied himself that particular joy for the time being.
The Prince padded in, soft suede boots on his feet, followed by Sir Dominic, who also carried his naked sword in his hand.
“Did they comply with your instructions?” asked Alexander.
“Pretty much,” replied Sir Antony. “His Highness whinged a little as he is wont to do. But they appreciated the opportunity to wash and clothe themselves.”
“Although,” added Sir Dominic with a grin, “I think the Prince slightly misunderstood and thought it meant he was being restored to his old position.”
Alexander gave an amused grunt as he watched the Prince seethe.
“You have served me admirably, my friends,” he said. “And you have my eternal gratitude. That will be all I require of you for now.”
The two knights looked a little crestfallen. “Will you be safe alone with the two of them?” asked Sir Antony.
“Have no fear. I can cope with two young pups like these. You may send a guard to wait outside my chamber door if you are truly concerned.”
The knights withdrew, their reluctance, Alexander felt quite sure, principally due to their expectation that they would at least witness, and perhaps even participate, in whatever debauched activity he had in mind for the Prince and his companion.
Felix flicked a glance to Raymond as the door slammed shut behind Antony and Dominic. Was this their opportunity to escape? Raymond responded with a barely perceptible shake of his head. The castle was crawling with Lord Geoffrey’s guards, and the two of them were hardly inconspicuous. How far did he think they would get?
“So, gentlemen,” purred Alexander, “after all this time, I finally have the two of you all to myself. How shall we pass the afternoon, I wonder? A game of backgammon perhaps? Or shall we take our horses and hunt in the forest? Would that amuse you, your highness?”
“I have nothing to say to you, you cur,” spat the Prince. “You will have your punishment both on earth and in heaven for the way you have treated me. And each outrage you commit against my royal person merely adds to the tally sheet.”
Alexander did not reply, but instead took a plain white handkerchief from the pouch on his belt and unstoppered the first of the witch’s potions. He doused the fabric liberally with the liquid and, quick as a flash, he was behind the Prince. He clasped the Prince’s body with one arm, and, with his free hand, he pressed the soaked handkerchief to the young man’s nose.
At once, Felix began to struggle.
“What evil is this?!” came his muffled cry.
“Mmm,” said Alexander. “I like to feel you struggle like that. Yes, you carry on. I’m grinding my hosed cock against the juicy, ample mounds of your bum. And every protesting move you make, tights against tights, serves only to turn me on and make my prick even harder!”
Raymond watched impotently as Felix, eyes bulging, writhed in the taller man’s crushing embrace. He could not help but be aroused at the sight of the beautiful Prince’s legs – looking as if they were painted scarlet so tight were his hose – thrashed and kicked. By rights, it should have been a more even struggle. Whilst Alexander was taller and leaner, Felix was more muscular and he was also a good fifteen years younger than Master Courcey.
“Breathe deeply, my pretty Prince Prick-tease!” whispered Alexander in Felix’s ear. “For soon you will sink into a dreamless slumber!”
The Prince’s eyes widened over the top of the handkerchief as, too late, he realised that he had no hope of escape whilst he inhaled its noxious fumes. He made one last-ditch effort to free himself from Alexander’s grip, a desperate wrenching lunge, and as he did so took a gulp of air. With that, the aroma finally overpowered him, and he slumped into Alexander’s arms.
“That’s it, boy, you have a nice sleep,” cooed the Steward as he cradled the Prince’s limp form against him. Smartly and efficiently, Alexander lifted the young man in his arms, his jewelled palm brushing against Felix’s shapely tights-clad thigh: and the feeling of hard muscle through the sensous, clinging fabric sent a thrill of lust through Alexander’s body.
He carried the unconscious Prince through into the bedchamber, pausing briefly to instruct Raymond: “Come with me.”
Nervous, but intrigued, Raymond did as he was told and stood obediently as Alexander carelessly let the comatose Adonis slip from his grasp and bounce onto the bed. The Steward took a moment to contemplate that Sleeping Beauty – scarlet legs akimbo – lying there entirely at his mercy.
For his part, Raymond could not help but be assailed by memories of this bedchamber. It was here, as a naive sixteen year old, that he, manacled and gagged, his tights pulled down to his ankles, had lost his virginity to Alexander. That occurrence had been repeated in every imaginable submissive permutation and humiliating position over the next few years, whilst the ambitious Raymond had consoled himself with the certainty that he might be the powerful man’s pet but at least he was his favourite pet.
This was the room where he had been put in charge of that conniving little upstart, Will, but also the place he had been cheated of his victory in the kinky ass-stuffing contest between him and the blond page boy, which had seen him banished to the vile Sir Wilfrid’s rooms. And of course – up until only a few days ago – these plushly furnished chambers had belonged to him. The chair in the corner still had its red velvet cushion, slightly smeared with the bananas Raymond had forced up Alexander’s ass. How far away that particular power play seemed now.
As if sensing Raymond’s thoughts, Alexander clicked his fingers at him.
“Strip his Highness of his doublet!”
Raymond knew better than to question an order, especially one issued in that tone of voice. He scurried to the bed and bent over the prone form of his former master, even as his new overlord planted a smart Slap! on his grey hosed buttocks.
“Get on with it, bitch. I don’t have much patience with you, you’ll be surprised to learn...”
Raymond’s mind raced as he fumbled at the finicky buttons on the Prince’s velvet doublet. How long did Alexander plan to keep Felix unconscious, and what precisely did he intend to do to him whilst he was in this condition? It was curious. Raymond had always thought that a big part of the turn on for his kinky master had been to provoke conflicting emotions in his submissive victims: the delicate contrast between sexual arousal and extreme humiliation. Would he achieve the same satisfaction if his sex slave were completely unaware of what was being done to him? He supposed all would be revealed soon enough.
Doublet removed, the Prince lay there on his back in peaceful oblivion, his smooth, muscled chest now naked and exposed.
“Take his boots off,” said Alexander curtly.
Raymond mumbled a “yes, Sir,” and hurried to the other end of the bed. A couple of tugs, and the suede boots were flung on the floor, leaving the Prince with his figure-hugging, glittering red tights as his sole remaining item of clothing.
Alexander looked at the dark haired youth. “There he lies, Raymond. Insensible and ignorant of what might happen to him. What shall we do with him, I wonder?”
Raymond hesitated. Was Alexander speaking rhetorically?
But Alexander clearly was not as unprepared as he had suggested. Reaching under the bed, he fetched various lengths of rope, and, moving swiftly, he tossed one rope across the Prince’s waist and fastened it securely beneath the bed. Then he attached two pieces of similar length to Felix’s wrists, and a further two were tied around his hosed ankles.
Alexander checked that the ropes were knotted well, and then he passed the end of each through the convenient metal rings that he had long ago screwed into the ceiling of his bedchamber. Then he stretched them along an ingenious pulley system, which left the free ends of each rope dangling in the air. For now, however, Alexander left the ropes hang slack.
He looked at Raymond and raised an eyebrow sardonically. “So, young Master StClare. Here we are. A fine situation, eh? And one I feel quite sure we have both been dreaming of for some time. That gorgeous peacock, Prince Felix, lies quite at our mercy. What are we to do with him?”
Raymond looked at the older man with incredulity. Was Alexander actually making him complicit and giving him permission to take advantage of the slumbering Prince? His heart skipped a beat.
“Oh, don’t get too excited, my lad,” chuckled Alexander. “It’s not like I’m going to let you fuck him or anything. You’ve really done nothing to earn that kind of reward. Far from it. But if you promise to do as you’re told, I might let you wank over him.”
“No it’s not a trick,” the Steward went on. “Slip off those leather pumps and climb onto the bed.”
Raymond did as he had been instructed, and, in his stockinged feet, clambered up onto the counterpane.
“Let’s see whether you can cum to order,” said Alexander, “and how good your aim is. Stand there, upright, one foot either side of our insensible young royal’s hosed hips. You have two minutes to orgasm. And I want to see your hot white jism spattering all over that broad chest and beautiful, chiselled face. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal clear, Sir,” said Raymond determinedly. His cock was already rock hard at the sight of the beautiful Prince lying knocked out at his feet.
Alexander made himself comfortable in a leather armchair. He picked up a small hourglass from the table next to him, and inverted it. “You may begin!”
With no time to lose, Raymond slipped his hand inside the waistband of his grey tights and began to pump away at his penis.
“Good lad,” purred Alexander, as he. “I bet that makes you feel really horny, doesn’t it? Standing proud and masterful in your tights, towering over that prime piece of royal meat. You could do anything to him now and he’d be completely clueless. He’s like a doll: a lifeless object for your pleasure. Wank fodder for you to use and abuse. Go on, unbutton that fine doublet of yours and play with your tits. I want you to get me excited too...”
Raymond did not need to be told twice. How long had he fantasised about dominating Prince Felix and wiping that arrogant smirk off his handsome face? He squeezed his pert nipple, sending a little thrill of pleasure and pain across his chest. He withdrew his hand from his hose briefly to spit into his palm, and then returned to his crotch, lubricating the cockhead and making it even more sensitive to his touch.
“Stick your bum out, boy!” commanded Alexander. “I need to see that hosed arse pushed out nice and far as you play with yourself, you dirty little slut.” Naturally, he too was fondling himself: his own cock thick and tumescent within the tight constriction of his purple leggings.
Raymond did as he was told, his breathing heavy and his face tense as he gave himself up entirely to lustful thoughts of dominating the Prince. He looked down at that perfect body, and imagined the ropes at Felix’s wrists and ankles stretched taut – the muscles straining under the stress, and the pain and agony etched onto the golden young man’s face.
“Half of your time gone already, boy,” observed Alexander. “I hope you’re coming close. There’ll be trouble if you don’t climax in time...”
However, there seemed little fear of that, as Raymond grunted and sweated with sexual ardour. Up and down the shaft of his cock went his fist, and precum began to leak into the grey fabric of his hose.
“Better get that cock out of your tights, slut. I want your cum spattered all over the Prince’s body.”
“Yes, Sir,” panted Raymond, pulling his tights down to below his balls.
Alexander watched eagerly. As the final grains of sand slipped into the lower bulb of the hourglass, Raymond’s legs tensed, his face screwed up. A pulsing stream of hot white semen sprayed from his cock.
Splat! Splat! Splat!
The Prince was unceremoniously anointed with his former servant’s jism. A big globule landed on Felix’s bare chest and began to slide towards his pink nipples. Another couple of blobs fell on his stomach, and then, as a second wave of Raymond’s cum erupted from his dick, a perfectly aimed emission descended onto the Prince’s face, dropping in a thick trail from his forehead, across his closed eye, full pouting lips, and dripped off his chin.
Alexander rose from his chair and nodded approvingly at the post-orgasmed Raymond, panting and red faced, cock softening in his palm. He looked down on the blissfully unaware Prince, now covered in hot wet cum, rapidly drying on that divine body.
“I think it is time for our Sleeping Beauty to awaken...”
Saturday, 20 September 2014
Will must have slept most of the rest of the day. He hadn’t realised quite how exhausted he was. Night after night, sleeping tied up in a bar had not been exactly conducive to good, wholesome rest. So the truckle bed in his tiny cell in the monastery now felt like the height of luxury.
Brother Ralf had told him that the novices and junior monks all slept in one dormitory, but that it would not be appropriate for Will to share their sleeping arrangements given that for now, he was merely a guest in their home. He still had not seen any sign of the other inhabitants, Ralf informing him that they were either studying or in private contemplation. He would meet his new living companions soon enough.
It was late afternoon when he overheard voices coming from the hallway outside his cell. Straightaway, he recognised the quietly mellifluous Brother Ralf: “It is good to have you back with us, Father. The monastery felt your absence keenly. May I take it that the Prince’s birthday celebrations were a success?”
A fruity guffaw burst forth from Brother Ralf’s companion. “You could say that. It certainly provided great entertainment for us. Although I fear the Prince may not have enjoyed himself as much as he expected to.”
“That is indeed a pity,” replied Brother Ralf sadly. “I will remember him in my prayers tonight.”
Will pushed open the door of his cell a tiny crack – just enough to enable him to peer out, hopefully unobserved. The man who had apparently attended the Prince’s party was of medium height, and looked to be around sixty years old. He had a ruddy complexion, a bulbous nose – and he was enormously fat. His clerical robes were more ornate than Brother Ralf’s and were trimmed with lace and crimson. Wiry grey hairs sprouted from his nose and ears: indeed from almost everywhere other than the top of his head.
Suddenly, his rheumy black eyes turned to look precisely where Will was lurking. “Well, well, who is this eavesdropping on our conversation?” he chuckled to himself.
Abashed, Will opened the door of the cell and stepped out into the corridor. Brother Ralf smiled serenely. “He is called Will,” he said. “And I have offered him shelter and sanctuary in his time of need.”
The fat man nodded, apparently satisfied with this explanation.
“Will,” continued Brother Ralf, “this is Our Holy Father, Abbot Cuthbert.”
Not sure of the proper etiquette, Will bowed deeply.
The Abbot smiled broadly. “Welcome, Will, to our humble abode. I trust and hope that you will find succour and peace in the arms of the Lord.”
The next few days passed quietly for young Will. Brother Ralf was compassionate and companionable, and most gratifyingly for Will, he did not ask questions about Will’s past, but accepted that if Will did feel the need to talk about something he would. Will gladly helped out weeding and harvesting vegetables from the allotment and was grateful for the honest physical exercise that doing so afforded, after his weeks of restricted movement, tethered in Lunk’s barn.
Brother Ralf introduced him briefly to the other monks and novices, but Will soon realised that they were being trained in solitude and silent contemplation, so there would be little or no chance for him to get to know any of them properly. If he were completely honest with himself, that was something of a pity. One or two of the older novices: tall, broad-backed, clear-eyed and handsome caused a definite spasm from his caged cock whenever they passed by the monastery gardens. In spite of himself, he found he was imagining them stripped of their unflattering and all-concealing brown habits, and dressed in the peacock-like finery of the castle page boys.
As Will turned the soil in the garden, he daydreamed of one particular young man, whose dark locks fell in waves to his shoulders. His upper body was lithe and well-muscled, and Will could only presume that his lower half would be equally well-proportioned. He checked himself at once. How had it happened that he no longer ever fantasised about young women like the full-breasted Jane StClare? Only of masculine young men with muscular thighs and pert bubble butts...
Then again, what else could he expect? After all, he had been surrounded almost exclusively by men for the best part of the past year! Mistress Olwen and his hated sister-in-law Lizzie had been the only females he had had any contact with. So, combined with the period of prolonged sexual chastity that he had been forced to endure, was it any wonder his libido was out of kilter? That was a reassuring thought, at least. Once he had recovered his strength, and the danger of being pursued by Lunk’s evil gang had passed, he would move on, and live a normal life...
His reverie was broken by a coarse cry from beyond the monastery wall.
“Why there you are, you little shite!”
It all happened in the blink of an eye. Before he could catch his breath, a tall, leather-clad man, swift as a shadow, had vaulted over the low wall and was sprinting towards him. Will could only gawp in astonishment. It was Ebony the thief.
Will had no intention of being captured yet again, so he picked up his hoe from the ground and made ready to use it to defend himself. However, he had no chance to strike a blow against the trespasser. From out of nowhere, Brother Ralf appeared and stepped in front of him.
“No,” said Brother Ralf, calmly but firmly. “This is God’s land. You have no right to be here.”
Ebony seemed to hesitate in the face of the implacable monk. Then he recovered himself and grinned crookedly. “I mean you no harm, Father. But this urchin belongs to me.”
Brother Ralf shook his head. “He has been granted sanctuary here, and here he will stay for as long as he chooses.”
“Is that so?” wheedled the robber. “I have a gang of a dozen strong men not two hundred yards from here. One call to them and I can take him by force, whatever you say.”
“You take him over my dead body, my son. Would you risk the blood of a clergyman tainting your everlasting soul?”
Will watched as the cocky smile faded from Ebony’s face. Clearly even an irreligious scoundrel like him had some limits. He reached his decision. “Alright, you can keep him. But this creature has stolen from me. A fur, a bag of coins, a dagger – and some boots that belong to one of our number. Am I to be robbed of those as well?”
This time it was the monk’s turn to smile, and he did so serenley. “No, my son. We have no desire to keep anything that is rightfully yours. Follow me into the monastery and I will gladly give you the material objects you so desire. But I do so on the understanding that you cease to lay any claim to this youth.”
Will observed, fascinated, as greed and lust tussled in Ebony’s mind. But ultimately, there was no question about which would triumph.
“Alright,” he conceded. “We won’t trouble you again, Father. And you have some balls, I’ll grant you that.”
Brother Ralf nodded, as dignified as ever, and keeping a watchful eye on the rogue, led Ebony inside to retrieve his hoard of treasures.
As the thief passed Will, he whispered in his ear, “Too bad, bitch boy. You should have come with me. We’d have had some fun, you know. And I might even have taken that pesky little cock cage off your dick. Looks like you’re gonna be stuck with it now...”
Will was relieved that he was not pressurised to participate in the religious rituals of the monastery. His faith had never been very strong to begin with, and his recent experiences made it very hard to believe that any kind of divine force was caring for him. That evening, as Brother Ralf made his way to the chapel for some private contemplation, he told Will that the Abbot had expressed a desire to speak to him.
“Have I done something wrong?” asked Will.
“No, my son,” smiled Brother Ralf. “Our Father takes a pastoral interest in all those under his roof.”
So it was that moments later, Will found himself standing obediently in the Abbot’s private chambers. He masked his surprise at the opulent tapestries that adorned the walls, and the rich red velvet of the Abbot’s robes: a sharp contrast to the ascetism of Brother Ralf and the novice monks.
“Come closer, lad,” smiled the Abbot indulgently. “Let me take a closer look at you.”
Will approached the Abbot’s chair, and caught a whiff of his breath: heavy with wine and red meat. The man’s lips were full and sensual, and coated with a fine sheen of spittle.
“Brother Ralf tells me you served at the castle for a while.”
“But that of late you have been in the company of vagabonds and thieves.”
“I’m afraid so, but through no choice of my own.”
“We must give thanks that the Lord has delivered you into ... friendlier hands.”
The Abbot rose from his chair, and crumbs of cake fell from his lap. Slowly and deliberately, he waddled towards Will and stood behind him.
“Now, young William. I take it Brother Ralf has conducted a full medical examination of you?”
Will was wrong-footed by the unexpected query.
“An examination, my Lord? No, Sir.”
The Abbot tutted to himself. “Dear me, that was most remiss of him. We must think of the health and welfare of all the monks living here. Who knows what terrible diseases you might have brought with you? Why, you could be riddled with parasites for all we know!”
The Abbot’s mouth was so close to Will’s ear, he could feel the flicker of the man’s tongue against his lobe and hot breath on his neck.
“It is fortunate that, as a novice monk, I underwent considerable medical training. I will be able to ascertain whether it is safe for you to continue to reside with us. Now, lad, remove your clothing...”
Will hesitated. He could not rid himself of the overwhelming suspicion that this supposedly holy man was in truth aroused by the prospect of having him stand naked before him. Surely it couldn’t be happening again? Just when he thought he had finally found a home where he would not be used as a sexual plaything! Moreover, the last thing he wanted to have to do was explain the presence of the chastity device hanging heavy between his legs.
“What are you waiting for? There is no need to be nervous...” The Abbot hissed sibilantly as he placed one sweaty palm on Will’s shoulder. ‘Do as you are told. Strip!”
Reluctantly, Will untied his cord belt, and stepped out of his long brown habit. The Abbot let out a small involuntary gasp at the sight of Will’s nude form. He rested a beringed hand on the back of Will’s neck, and slowly slid his palm down the smooth, pale flesh of Will’s back, until it came to rest just above his plump buttocks.
“Good. Good. You have no outward blemishes on the skin. No sign of leprosy or the plague.” The Abbot’s voice was hoarse and his breathing short.
The fat man’s hand continued its journey, and slowly carressed Will’s juicy arse cheeks. “A good, round rump! That’s what we medical men like to see! And strong, firm, thighs. Your body is deceptively muscular for such a short young man. Yes, a fine young specimen. Very fine indeed.”
Will blushed to hear his body being described in such glowing terms. And his cock, within its captivity, began to twitch, and once again show signs of the desire to harden. Instinctively, he moved his hands to try and hide his genitals, just as the Abbot made a move to examine him from the front.
“Ha! Now don’t be shy, young man,” laughed the holy man, swatting Will’s hands away from his crotch. “It’s nothing I have not seen before!”
Left with no choice, Will let his arms hang by his side.
“Now what have we here?” cooed the Abbot with interest. “A most unusual and unexpected find!” He reached out and hefted the chastity device and its contents into his sweaty palm. “Why have you been fitted with this, young William?”
Will was too ashamed to look the religious man in the eyes. “I was put in it at the castle.”
“Speak up now, young man! Nice and clear – no mumbling!”
“It was a punishment at the castle, Holy Father.”
“Hmmm... most interesting. I shan’t ask for what reason you were punished. We are all sinners after all – you can make your peace with God at confession. I can only assume that you have been locked into a chastity device due to an unwholesome attachment to the sins of the flesh. All of us here in the monastery have taken holy vows of celibacy. So it reassures me that if you have an inclination to lustful thoughts, measures have been taken to ensure you cannot act upon them. I approve, young William.”
The Abbot’s eyes twinkled with delight and he passed his tongue over his wet lips. He released the cock cage and lifted Will’s testicles into his wide palm, rubbing and rolling them between his fingers. Will’s cock – desperate to harden – started to leak precum through the hole in the end of the metal cylinder.
“Open your mouth, boy. Wider.”
And with that, the Abbot inserted two fingers into Will’s mouth and began to probe inside, pushing against his gums and tongue.
“One last place to check. Bend over, boy and touch your toes...”
Sighing deeply, Will did as he was instructed, and felt the familiar sensation of fat fingers nudging at his arsehole. The Abbot started with a couple of experimental prods, before pushing more firmly with his wet index finger.
“Oooh, there we go. Sliding in nice and smoothly. Good, good.”
The velvet robes of the Abbot brushed against Will’s naked thighs as he stood motionless, his pert bottom pointing towards the ceiling, the cleric’s finger wiggling around inside his anus.
Will felt bewildered. This was the Abbot himself: a man of God, and the holiest man he had ever met. Was he becoming arrogant and simply assuming that every man he encountered would naturally desire to fuck him? Surely this bizarre encounter was exactly as it appeared: a straightforward medical examination – didn’t it?! And yet experience of such things and the breathless panting of the obese man, who even now had his finger up his ass, certainly suggested otherwise to young Will.
At last the Abbot seemed satisfied, and withdrew his forefinger from Will’s tight hole. “You may stand upright, my son. You have no disease or infection as far as I can tell.”
Will did as he was instructed and reached for his brown robe.
“I think not,” murmured the Abbot. “Although we follow the example set by our Lord Christ, by offering our help and our forgiveness to all sinners, no matter how licentious; nevertheless, it would be unseemly for a peasant boy who has had to be chastised in the past for his lustful urges to wear the same habit as the holy monks who live here and who permanently dedicate their lives to God.” He paused to lick his lips. “Don’t you agree?”
Will, left with no other choice, nodded dumbly.
The Abbot opened a drawer and produced a white shirt, made of a thin, goassamer like material.
“You can wear this instead,” he said, handing the garment to Will. “Come along now. What are you waiting for? Put it on.”
Will pulled the chemise over his head.
“There,” said the Abbot, retying the cord belt around Will’s waist, “that is more appropriate!”
Will waited in expectation of being handed some breeches for his lower portions, but none seemed forthcoming.
“You may go, William,” came the instruction.
Will looked down forlornly at his new garments. The hem of the white shirt reached just below his crotch. A mere inch or two of material shielded the steel cock-cage from view. At the rear, the blouse barely skimmed his buttocks.
Anticipating Will's objections, the Abbot surreptitiously slipped his fat palm under the shirt and patted him lightly on the posterior.
“For autumn, it is yet mild. We don't want you getting over-heated as you work in the monastery gardens now, do we? This garb is most suitable, I'm sure you'll agree.”
Will could only nod.
“Now I shouldn't have to tell you twice, young man. You are dismissed.”
Later, in the kitchen, Will explained to Brother Ralf the Abbot's reasoning behind his new costume.
“The Holy Father is wise in all things,” was all the monk would reply.
It was a delicate question but Will could not help but ask, “Does he follow all the same vows as you – obedience... chastity...?”
“Of course. He is the wisest, the holiest, the best man I know.”
Something in Brother Ralf's tone warned Will to drop this line of questioning, but he remembered the lascivious panting of the fat old man, and he wondered just how strong the Abbot's vows of celibacy would actually prove to be…
Thursday, 4 September 2014
Will opened his eyes groggily. How long had he slept, he wondered. Gingerly, he raised his head and looked around him. Moonlight illuminated the sky, and the noisy snoring of the dozen bandits assailed his ears. He was still lying, discarded, in the corner of the barn. It all flooded back to him. After the episode with the beer enema, the raucous party had continued: the robbers growing even more inebriated. The alcohol had made them argumentative and aggressive and they had fallen to brawling, Lunk pummelling his cronies with his ham-like fists. Will, meanwhile, to his relief, had been forgotten about.
A sudden thought occurred to him. Could it be true? Could it be that, in their drunkenness, they had actually forgotten to tether him to the iron ring in the barn’s wall? Praise the Lord! Yes, they had!
A wild hope leaped within him. He would need to think quickly: a process hindered by the pounding headache he was experiencing. Had anyone ever had a hangover before from taking beer up their anus, he wondered vaguely.
What to do now? His first instinct was to get on his feet and to run as far and as fast as he could. Then, as his bleary head began to clear, the practicalities of the situation began to sink in. The chill of autumn had set in, and besides, he could not very well go traipsing around the countryside naked.
He tiptoed over to the haul of loot that the gang had snatched earlier that night and sent up a quick prayer of thanks that there, dumped amongst the silverware, coins and wine bottles, lay a small selection of furs. He picked up the largest and managed to wrap it around himself, tying it off with a leather studded belt. It was not ideal, but it made a kind of short tunic that at least covered his upper body and genitals, though it left his muscular legs bare and exposed. And for once, further good fortune smiled on Will as he noticed that one of the thugs had discarded his leather boots on the ground before falling asleep. They were too big for Will, but they were better than nothing and would at least mean he did not have to flee barefoot!
What else to take? He snatched up a handful of coins and a small dagger. He glanced over to the snoring throng. Once they awoke and realised he had slipped from their clutches, they’d be sure to pursue him. Would it be safer to slit their throats now as they slept? He rejected the idea almost immediately. He could not take the chance of one or more of them awaking before the job was done. He could never take them all on! Besides, in spite of the cruelty he had experienced at their hands, he did not think, even now, that he could bring himself to murder a dozen men in cold blood. No, the best thing to do would be to set off straight away and get as big a head start as possible before they woke and inevitably came after him.
Will inhaled a lungful of fresh night air and took one final look at Lunk, lying prone and unconscious on the ground. Then he stole out of the barn and started out on his way to – who knew where? For the first time in over a year he was master of his own destiny. Where that would lead him, heaven only knew!
No such luxury as freedom for young Raymond StClare and his highness Prince Felix of England. It may have been the early hours of the morning but there was to be no sleep for these two young men.
“They’ll pay for this, those fuckers,” swore the Prince through gritted teeth. “How dare they? How dare they?!!”
Raymond sighed deeply. The Prince had kept on with this theme, incandescent with rage, for the past hour – as long as the two of them had been incarcerated in the castle dungeon.
They had been taken, still naked but for their sopping wet hosiery, and with Raymond’s peachy arse hanging out of the back of his piebald tights, from the courtyard, under the watchful gaze of Alexander and his cronies. Now they were manacled and secured to opposite walls of the dungeon. Felix thrashed impotently at his chains.
“They will all die for this. Anyone who witnessed my humiliation this evening will pay. Every single one of them! I swear that as a solemn oath! Don’t they know who I am?!” His voice rose even higher and became a scream. “I am God’s chosen. The Prince of this realm!” He balled his hand into a fist and thumped the uncaring stone wall.
Raymond remained silent as the Prince continued his tirade. “And as for you – grovelling at the feet of that traitor! ‘Ravish me, Sir! Fuck my arse!’ What kind of man are you?”
“One who would stay alive,” hissed Raymond through gritted teeth.
For a moment, Felix was stunned into silence.
“Your highness,” Raymond went on, in a more conciliatory tone. “Remember when you first laid eyes on me? It was the lowest point of my life. I had been for months at the mercy of that revolting Sir Wilfrid – used day and night as his sex slave, his pisspot. I was a mere animal at the whim of a crazed and perverted old man. Did I give up hope? No. I had to believe that I would escape from that hellish bed chamber. And sure enough – you raised me up to your right hand. My point, Sire, is that the wheel of fortune has turned. It will turn again. But we must try and stay alive long enough to enjoy our return to power and the inevitable downfall of your godfather and Alexander Courcey. For now, that requires obedience and compliance.”
“And for that,” sneered the Prince. “You are prepared to prostitute yourself! To hawk your arse like some common slut on the street! Have you no pride?”
Raymond gritted his teeth. “Oh I have my pride, and believe me, I’m as angry as you are. But remember, I have not had your privileged upbringing, my Lord. My father was a squire to the king. He was a noble man, but he was poor, and when he died my sister and I inherited only his debts. However, I am a quick learner. And from the moment I arrived in this God-forsaken castle, I realised the quickest way to advance would be to wiggle my bum in Master Courcey’s direction. I did it before to become his favourite. I’m more than prepared to do it again in order to save my life.”
Felix shook his head. “I would rather die than submit to such obscene degradation.”
“Really, my Lord? You’re dead an awfully long time, you know. And if I’m not mistaken, didn’t you wiggle your arse at him not that long ago? When you tricked him into trying to seduce you?”
Raymond knew that this was a risky strategy, but the whirlwind events of the past few hours had made him reckless, and he was not particularly in the mood for the Prince’s sanctimonious cant.
“That was different,” stuttered Prince Felix. “I was trying to catch him out.”
“And you did so most successfully, your highness. But did you really gain no satisfaction whatsoever as he groped your tights and climb into bed with you...?”
Felix gulped. He well remembered how he had feigned lust and allowed Alexander to paw at his body, fondle his royal cock through his hose, even to lie atop him. But that had all been in order to trap the traitor and to ensure the Steward’s downfall. Yes, Felix conceded to himself, he had been moderately excited by the sensations – but that was purely due to the thrill of deceiving the treasonous older man and for no other reason. After all, he himself was not prone to such perversions.
The Prince recovered his dignity. “You and your fellow slut page boys might experience such stirrings of lust. I am from nobler stock,” he remarked pompously.
Raymond sniffed. “Whatever, you needn’t think Courcey will get away with this. When the King returns, I will personally take great pleasure in exacting my revenge on dear Master Alexander. I’m younger than him. I’m cuter than him. I’m cleverer than him. And I’m more ambitious as well.”
Silence fell in the cell as the two young men seethed indignantly.
Eventually the Prince spoke – and his voice was now rather meeker than before. “You’ve served Courcey for many years, Raymond. What do you think he will do to us?”
Raymond contemplated for a moment. “It’s hard to say: his sexual appetites are broad, and as you know already, encompass a range of kinks and perversions. His main turn-on – as you may have realised already – is humiliation: he loves seeing a good-looking young man completely at his mercy: ideally dressed in figure-hugging tights. He really loves to see a guy with a good body in a pair of hose that show off his legs, crotch and arse. So, with all due respect, your highness – the sight of you naturally drives him wild. He likes to humiliate boys verbally – to point out in great detail the exact predicament in which he has placed them, and how he is in complete control of their destiny. He gets off on tying lads up, gagging them, spanking their bums, forcing them to suck his cock... And he particularly enjoys playing with their arses, including rinsing them out with enemas. Sometimes with something as prosaic as mere water, but often with more imaginative enema solutions. Oh, and if there’s any food to hand, you can bet he’ll want to shove that up a cute lad’s hole as well.”
Felix’s handsome face turned as white as a sheet. “You don’t seriously think he would dare... invade me in that way!”
“You read some of that erotic literature that he keeps in his library. That gives you a broad indication of his tastes. And besides, what does he have to lose? He and Lord Geoffrey have gone this far. They both know by now that if and when you return to power, they are dead men. They will seek to degrade you in every way they can think of.”
“What can we do?”
“Very little, unfortunately, but submit. For now, they have the upper hand. But we will store up all these insults ready for our revenge.”
Raymond watched the Prince, as with growing horror, Felix realised that for the first time in his life, he was at the mercy of someone else.
“Forgive my impertinence, my Lord,” ventured Raymond. “But have you ever lain with either man or woman?”
“You are impertinent, Raymond,” snapped the Prince.
“I was merely curious, your Highness.”
“The fact is,” continued the Prince, full of steely arrogance, “I have never laid eyes on any man or woman who could be deemed worthy of my attentions.”
“Is that so?”
“I have always known that one day I would be required to provide the kingdom with a son and heir, but when that day comes, my bride must needs be the greatest beauty in the world.”
“Then you are as yet a virgin, my Lord? Is that not ... somewhat frustrating for a virile man such as you? Are you never tempted ... to relieve your undoubted sexual urges?”
“We may of necessity be cell mates, Raymond. But this conversation is straying into the realms of sacrilege.”
“My apologies, my Lord. I meant no disrespect.”
Felix turned his piercing blue eyes on him. “I’m no fool. I know you desire me. I’ve felt your manhood harden when we have wrestled. And I know you hope one day to conquer me in the bedroom. Let me inform you now, that that will never happen. I am God’s anointed and the very notion that I could ever share any kind of sexual encounter with a commoner like you is both repugnant and absurd. And if the treasonous Alexander Courcey were to attempt such a thing, well, Odin and Ulfgar may not be able to save me, but I know that God would intervene to protect me. Now, I am going to try and get some sleep. I suggest you do the same.”
And the Prince tried his best to make a bed for himself in the damp straw, his sodden tights outlining the perfect muscularity of his arse and thighs. Raymond’s expression was impenetrable, but there was far less certainty in his mind that divine intervention would prevent the Prince’s virginity being yielded up to Alexander in the not too distant future...
The sun rose, and Will slogged on. He had not dared pause all night: the one thought in his mind to put as much distance between him and the gang of robbers. He must have covered several miles of woodland and glade, and now he found himself desperately in need of a drink. He emerged from a small scrub of trees and saw that he had arrived on the outskirts of what seemed to be a moderately large estate. Various stone buildings nestled together, surrounded by walled allotments. Chickens pecked at their morning feed and a duckpond glistened in the morning sunlight.
A tall, middle aged man with a long face and grey hair, dressed in a long brown robe, was tending some vegetables in the allotment. He looked up and spotted Will by the wall. Will tensed and made to flee, acutely aware that he must look deeply suspicious: a grubby, bruised urchin dressed in only a rich fur cloak and too-big boots.
“No! Wait!” called the gardener. “I mean you no harm.”
Will hesitated. His trust in strange men had been sorely tested over the past year.
“This is a monastery,” the man continued. “We tend to the sick and the unfortunate. You need tell me no more than you wish to. But at least come inside and have a drink and something to eat.”
Will’s hunger and thirst overcame his suspicion. Nodding his head, he accepted the invitation.
The man’s name was Brother Ralf. As he led Will into the kitchen, he explained that he and his fellow monks spent their days in religious contemplation. Only a handful of them remained now, as even they had not been spared the forced conscription to fight in the King’s foreign war. Also living in the monastery were a dozen or so novice monks who were discovering whether God’s path was truly for them. These young men were under the pastoral care and tutelage of the Abbot.
Will fell gratefully onto the bread, cheese and water provided by Brother Ralf, and once he had sated himself, a silence fell and he realised that the monk was waiting for him to tell his story. Will was brief and opted to reveal the minimum amount of information. He told Brother Ralf that he had grown up on a farm, and that a year ago he had been taken to serve as a page boy at Castle Montford. He deliberately omitted any details of what had happened to him during his time in service at the castle: reliving the explicit sexual humiliation to which he had been subjected to this kindly-faced religious man would have been excruciating in the extreme! He told Brother Ralf that he had been returned to his family for a brief while, and that, subsequently, he had been kidnapped and held hostage by a gang of thieves, but that he had managed to escape and was currently on the run from them.
The monk listened in silence to his tale. For a moment, Will panicked that he had been foolish in saying anything at all: would the monk be tempted to betray him to Lunk and his cronies, out of greed or fear? But then he looked more closely at the sad look on Brother Ralf’s face and was reassured that he could indeed trust the cleric.
“You are welcome to seek sanctuary here for as long as you need it, my son,” said the monk. “You say you once worked as a farmhand, and you also have experience serving the nobility at the castle. If you are prepared to help out in our daily household chores, you will not find this an unpleasant place to live.”
Will did not need long to make up his mind. For the first time in over a year, maybe in his entire life, he was master of his own destiny. He was not interested in a life devoted to God, but, for a while at least, he would gladly accept the opportunity for a more peaceful existence. Unlike Prince Felix, Raymond, Lunk, his brother Jack or, yes, even the suave and saturnine Alexander Courcey, Brother Ralf showed no sign of wanting to bully, torment or use him sexually. And for that he was most grateful.
“Thank you, Sir,” said Will simply, his blond fringe falling in front of his deep brown eyes. “I accept your offer.”
The monk smiled and rested his hand on Will’s shoulder, his eyebrow raised as he appreciated the rich quality of the fur cloak. “I suspect this garment may have been acquired through somewhat dubious means,” he remarked, “I think we should find you more suitable, attire, don’t you?”
Will could not help but compare his welcome at the monastery to his arrival at Castle Montford. He remembered the way Master Yorick, the old rogue, had manhandled him into a bath and with soapy, slippery fingers had groped his vulnerable, naked arse. He thought back to having his cock and balls encased in the leather cock ring, and then that awe-inspiring moment when those freshly-laundered, skin-tight and oh so soft and silky blue tights were pulled over his feet and muscular legs, leaving him feeling so naughtily aroused.
His cock began to leak at the memory as he stood naked in the small chamber into which Brother Ralf had led him. Naturally, the hated cock cage prevented Will’s penis from becoming erect. The monk had left him alone, and so this time, he was not observed undressing. For this he was thankful. He did not want to have to explain the presence of the metal chastity device to him.
Will picked up the long brown monk’s habit that Brother Ralf had left draped over the chair. He pulled on the hessian robe, tied it at the waist with a knotted cord, and stepped into the leather sandals the monk had provided for him. He could almost hear Master Alexander’s voice dripping with scorn: “It’s a crime to cover up that tight little body with such a shapeless sack as that! You should be put in tights, lad, and made to expose every contour of that gorgeous, plump, peachy bum for my pleasure...”
Will shook his head at the memory, and, as he did from time to time, found himself wondering whether his former master had indeed managed to flee to safety on the Continent. One day he hoped he would find out, just for curiosity’s sake. He wondered whether Alexander ever found himself thinking of him: the young lad he had plucked from nowhere, used and abused for his pleasure, and who had risked his life to save his. Somehow Will doubted it. If Alexander were still alive, he felt sure, there would be some other sexy slutboy bound and gagged and at his mercy. He felt a pang. Of what? Envy? Regret? In an instant, he suppressed it. Alexander was in the past. And he now had to look to his future.
It was gone midday by the time Ebony the thief finally awoke. He grimaced. His mouth tasted like a stable floor and his head pounded in the autumn sunlight. On all fours, he crawled over to the water trough and plunged his head beneath the scummy surface. The cold water was a shock, but at least it took his mind off the thudding session in his brain.
Squinting, he glanced around the barn. The others were all still asleep, snoring noisily. Lunk was lying there motionless. And there was something about his particular stillness that seemed odd. Ebony dragged himself over to his gang leader. Lunk’s mouth gaped open, but, curiously, no breath escaped from it. Ebony lifted that massive, ugly head. A wound gaped at the back of Lunk’s skull, and it was covered in sticky, black, congealed blood. In a split second, Ebony realised what must have happened the night before. He had watched as Lunk, brawling with his cronies, had slipped on the beer-sodden floor. At the time, everyone had assumed he had passed out with drunkenness, but in truth, he must have struck the back of his head on this jagged rock. The blow had been fatal. Lunk, the gigantic terroriser of Dunchester, was dead.
In truth, Ebony could feel no remorse at this unexpected turn of events. Lunk had been a useful ally – and one no man in his right mind would dare cross. But with Lunk out of the way, Ebony could definitely see possibilities for himself. Almost inevitably, his mind turned to the pretty piece of ass that Lunk had protectively dubbed his “pet”.
And there of course, he was met with his second shock of the day.
“That little bastard!” he muttered to himself. “He’s got away!”