15. Creamed Cock
“An egg?” called Lord Geoffrey. “Surely our proud cock cannot lay eggs?”
“Oh I think you’d be surprised, your Lordship, at just what might emerge from this creature’s talented hole!”
Darius quivered with shame to be described thus by his most hated foe.
“Come, chicken! You know what to do – show us how you lay your eggs…”
The Arab looked at the Steward helplessly.
“Very well, I shall aid you in your task,” and as he spoke these words, he ripped the tiny sliver of silky thong from the slave’s hips, so that it fell to the floor, exposing his considerable cock, which swung, large and flaccid from his groin. Then Alexander clutched the glossy feathers emerging from the slave’s ass. Tugging the fantasy tail, he pulled, until, with a loud plopping sound, the butt plug came free from Darius’ hole.
“Ahhhh!’ cried the exotic bird.
“No complaining, bitch! It will merely aid you in the laying of your precious cargo to have your ass muscles loosened a little… Now – squat for your masters and lay an egg like a good little chicken!”
The beautiful soldier whimpered in despair as he did as he was instructed, lowering his torso towards the ground, and pushing his arse out.
Will craned his neck to get a better view as a hush fell across the room. How, he wondered, could Alexander achieve this?
“Come, slut-bird,” taunted the Steward. “Force those arse lips apart and produce a big egg for us…”
Darius gritted his teeth, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead as he strained his muscles to produce his burden.
“The egg appears!”
And sure enough, the very tip of a large white egg began to appear as the slave bird’s hole began to stretch. Clearly, Will realised, with a slightly guilty thrill, Alexander had already inserted the egg into his slave’s butt before plugging it with the fantasy bird tail. The atmosphere in the large hall was electric. Everyone remained silent as they watched the obscene entertainment unfold.
The monstrous egg grew wider, porcelain white and coated in the sticky mucus of the Arabian’s arse. Darius the slave’s face grew redder with the shame and the exertion.
“And I’ll take a little clucking from you, as well!”
Darius the bird creature screeched in pain and shame, and as he did so, he let out a squelching fart sound as the fat egg was released from his gaping butt hole. It clattered to the floor with a heavy thud, and Will realised the egg must be of some considerable weight and must have caused the Arab much pain in attempting to retain it. Fidgeting in his tights, Will was reminded of the plug that had until recently permanently rested in his bottom. Will could only sympathise with the slave’s much abused arsehole.
A roar of appreciative laughter echoed around the Hall, and a derisive smattering of applause followed.
The slave collapsed onto his hands and knees, panting from the pain and exertion of producing his precious cargo.
Alexander crossed to the defeated and broken soldier and crouched down to whisper in his face.
“I’m proud of you, my peacock… You see how much better off you are stripped of that misplaced arrogance – and of your dignity! Do you see what you have become? A bird of fantasy. To be mocked and laughed at by your bitterest enemies. How does it feel to know all of these men are rubbing their cocks through their silken hose even now at the thought of you straining to produce a porcelain egg from your beautiful arse?…”
One final vestige of Darius’ defiance remained. Raising his dark, handsome head, he spat in Alexander’s face.
A shocked silence fell across the room.
Alexander rose to his feet and calmly wiped the spittle from his cheek.
He turned to his captive audience and smiled wickedly.
“I would now like to introduce a very special guest to you all. With all due respect to Mistress Olwen, our wonderful cook, I have invited a gentleman who is a true specialist in the art of cuisine. I give you the illustrious Monsieur Francois!”
The large doors swang open, and Will turned his head to catch a glimpse of the new arrival. The man who now entered the Hall was very short and very round: only about five foot in height – and very nearly the same size in diameter. His face was pale and doughy, with two little black beady eyes like currants. His doublet and hose were white, and he acknowledged the applause of the castle’s occupants with a self-satisfied nod as he waddled towards the platform at the end of the Hall.
Meanwhile, at the far end of the Hall, Alexander had ordered some of his servants to move a large wooden table into view. The table was covered with bowls, pots and other receptacles. And a heady aroma of herbs and spices emanated from its direction.
“Welcome, Monsieur Francois!” called the Steward. “You honour us with your presence!”
“Well, my friend” replied the fat little man, in a thick Gallic accent. “Yours was a most unusual request but I have never been able to resist a challenge! And to do so to celebrate ze birthday of Lord Geoffrey – how could I refuse?”
The greying Lord of the Castle raised his goblet in acknowledgment.
“All is as you requested, monsieur. I shall leave it all to your expertise…”
Will craned his neck to watch as the little foreigner took up a position behind the table.
“My friends!” he declared. “I am ze greatest chef in ze world! And you will have ze privilege of watching me work! Today I prepare a new recipe. It is called “Coq au Crème!”
He paused for dramatic effect.
“Now, I do require some volunteers for zis challenging dish. Four good strong men to help me in its preparation. Your Lordship, perhaps you would be so kind as to nominate your most trusted men…”
Lord Geoffrey smiled quizzically at the funny little man, and then indicated the four knights who sat closest to him. Will gulped as the four fantastic specimens of manhood rose to their feet – all of them chisel-jawed, with bulging muscles. Their colours of their tights ranged from grey to burgundy to black, but every one contained awesomely proportioned thigh muscles and engorged bulges, still excited from the sight of Darius the slave bird and his egg-laying trick.
“Now. Ze most important part of zis recipe is to find a really succulent piece of bird flesh. Would you gentlemen know where I could locate a fresh hunk of male poultry, per’aps?”
The knights shared a conspiratorial look and strode over to where the Arab slave lay, spent and exhausted on the floor. As he saw his enemies approach, a flame of resistance again seemed to leap in him, and Darius began to scramble to his feet. But there was nowhere for him to flee. Some of the black feathers became dislodged as the knights grabbed his muscular form, and they fluttered to the ground. One knight held the struggling bird of fantasy at each limb and dragged him over to the chef’s table.
“Bon. Bon. Tres bon!” purred Monsieur Francois. “A most delicious-looking specimen! And now to prepare him! First – he must be plucked!”
A raucous laugh from Master Yorick echoed around the hall.
“Non, non, monsieur! I said plucked!”
Darius’s eyes widened as the little chef produced from beneath the table a large (and very sharp) pair of shears.
“Now, gentlemen. You will ‘ave to keep him very still. I do not want to clip something off by mistake!”
Geoffrey’s handsome knights pinioned the terrified, sweating slave boy against the wall. Francois approached him slowly and slowly and sensuously ran the cold blades of the knife down his trembling body.
And then… snip… snip… snip… The chef began to strip the feathers from the young man’s succulent flesh. He was an expert and soon the soft black down lay at a pile at the Arab slut’s feet.
“And now – his hair must also be shaved!”
One of the knights reached over and removed the fantastical head dress from their captive’s head. And so soon, the glossy black mane of Darius’ hair also met its downfall. The chef took a step back so that his enraptured audience could appreciate the view.
Darius the slave stood like a bronzed statue: completely hairless from head to toe. His pectoral muscles glistened with sweat. His face was drawn with shame and humiliation.
“Excellent! Zat is more like it!” crowed Francois.
In spite of himself, Will found that his cock was rock hard in his tights. He couldn’t help himself. And blushing pink, he realised that a part of him envied the Arab soldier his predicament. How Will wished he had four gorgeous hunks, all clad in the slinkiest and silkiest of materials, all pressed against his naked body. Their muscular asses looked divine in their fine hosiery. And each of them was also turned on by having the beautiful slave at their mercy.
“Now, my friends! Bring ze chicken to ze table. We must prepare our bird for dinner.”
The delighted knights dragged the struggling slave to the large wooden table, grinning amongst themselves at the prospect of yet more humiliation for the unfortunate hunk. Between the four of them, they hefted the naked man onto his back on the table and then took up positions at each of the four corners, two at his wrists and two at his ankles, to ensure he could not escape.
“We must truss our turkey, gentlemen!”
Quick as a flash, the chef handed some sturdy pieces of rope to Lord Geoffrey’s knights. And the knights needed no further instruction.
Despite Darius’ struggles, his legs were raised and securely tied to his ankles. The captive bird’s feet pointed to the sky, and his ass lay inviting and vulnerable.
“Excellent! And naturally we begin with ze most important and tasty part – ze stuffing! We have all seen the capacious anal cavity that our bird possesses. It will take some stuffing to fill him all up, I think!”
A vast clay bowl appeared from nowhere, and Francois plunged his chubby hand into it, lifting out a pale brown, gunky substance.
“My secret recipe! A divine blend of breadcrumbs, egg yolk, butter, chopped onions, carrots, cranberries and herbs and spices give ze stuffing a gorgeous piquancy!”
Darius struggled against his bonds, but it was no use. He was stuck fast, helpless to whatever perverted treatment the Frenchman determined to mete out.
“Does everyone have a good view of ze bird’s bottom?”
A cheer from the throng assured him that this was indeed so.
“Bon. Zen here we go!”
The chef took a large handful of the gunk. “Would you be so kind as to part ze cheeks?” he asked two of the knights with excessive politeness. They did so only too eagerly; and skilfully, the chef began to push the stuffing into Darius’ swollen arsehole.
“Ahhhh!” the slave cried out, as he felt the gloop enter his backside.
“Ah,” said the chef. “Did I mention, I like my stuffing to be very spicy? I have added extra pepper, extra ginger and extra chilli to ze recipe! I fear my little bird of paradise zat zis will not be a pleasant experience for you…”
Half of the audience winced at the thought of the slave’s burning ass ring. The other half thrilled with the sadistic pleasure of what he would suffer. Will shifted uncomfortably as he realised only he was fantasising that he was the one lying there, naked and trussed up on the table in front of everyone, his bottom being abused in the obscene parody of a meal being prepared.
Darius’ hole continued to be stretched as Francois fed more and more of the slimy mixture into him. His fat little fingers pushed and prodded the stuffing deeper and deeper.
“I shall soon have you full to ze brim, my little chicken,” he cooed.
Will remembered how humiliating it felt to be filled with food. And now to see this once proud, noble warrior reduced to this demeaning position made him shake his head in wonder.
Darius was moaning as the spicy mixture was inserted into the depths of his bowels.
“My, my, what a noisy little bird, we have here! My friends, would you find something to gag zat mouth of his?”
One of the gorgeous young knights – the tall, well-built Sir Antony, rifled through the various bowls and containers sitting on the table and produced a fat yellow lemon. He rubbed the fruit casually against the crotch of his fine black tights.
“Will this do, Monsieur?” he smirked.
“Excellent!”
The lemon was pushed between Darius’ lips, into his mouth, and tied in place, effectively gagging him and ensuring that the only sounds he could make were muffled moans and sobs. Of which there were plenty…
The stuffing was just about gone. The whole bowl was wiped clean and its fiery, gunky contents were all now residing within the slave’s guts.
“Now, my little bird. We must make sure none of zat delicious stuffing leaks out, mustn’t we? Perhaps you would be so good as to pass me another of zose juicy lemons?”
The slave bird’s eyes widened as the considerable amount of stuffing, packed solidly inside his fundament was impacted even further.
“In we go…”
And the large, pimpled yellow fruit stretched the slave’s anus yet more.
“We are packed very full,” Francois smiled as the lemon met resistance at the slave’s swollen hole. But eventually, he succeeded and the bulbous citrus fruit penetrated the opening.
“Arrrgggh!!” screamed Darius.
Monsieur Francois was determined and adept. He worked away at the opening until the fruit went all the way in. The chef stepped back for everyone to appreciate his handiwork. Some of the breadcrumby gunk was smeared around the slave’s ass, and the presence of the lemon was all too visibly obvious. The slave’s asslips were parted just a little and the yellow fruit’s end protruded slightly for all to see. Darius moaned and whimpered through his lemon gag, his body clearly too stuffed for his arse to close over the intrusion completely.
A wave of amused applause came from the audience. Will could only imagine how the once proud soldier must feel to be on display, trussed up and exhibited in this fashion. His body abused for the entertainment and arousal of his enemies, who had prevented even his bumhole from closing properly.
Clearly, however, his torment was not yet over. The fat little chef was instructing his hosed assistants, and the four beefy hunks were now lifting the unfortunate slave-chicken from the table and into a large, shallow tin tub that Francois had produced.
“And now,” he chuckled wickedly. “Ze chicken must be oiled!”
A large green bottle of cooking oil appeared on the table and soon the sleeves of Sir Antony and his companions were rolled up as they eagerly got to work.
Copious amounts of oil were poured into their willing palms, and soon they were rubbing, caressing, fondling the struggling body of the slave Darius so that every inch of that perfect form was covered in the oil – shimmering and sensuous.
The gloopy oil ran down their captive’s long, muscular thighs, and the strong palms of the knights rubbed and massaged Darius’ massive pectoral muscles. Meanwhile, Sir Antony reached between the Arab’s still-tied legs and, with an oily fist, began to pump at their captive’s generous cock.
“Our chicken is enjoying the attention!” he called out. “See how stiff his cock has become!”
“Ah” – Francois interjected. “Ze most succulent piece of any chicken! We must make sure zat is given particular attention!”
The chef made a great play of seasoning Darius’ cock with salt, pepper and herbs, rubbing them into the shaft and inserting a bay leaf into the man’s cockhole.
Finally, Francois reached in to wrap the oily penis in a thin tin foil. Once again, the spectators in the hall burst out laughing to see the Arab’s erect cock wrapped in a humiliating shiny sheath.
Suddenly there was a commotion in the tub as Darius began to rock back and forth in the oil, moaning painfully.
“Ahhh,” cooed Francois. “Is it becoming painful, my little chicken, to hold on to all zat gunky stuffing? Your body must want to expel it very badly. And yet you cannot, can you? Zat naughty lemon is keeping it all tightly packed inside you! All for our amusement!”
Will could only sympathise. He knew that full sensation only too well!
“And now, my friends – for ze next part of ze recipe! Ze marinade!”
The chef fetched another large crockery pot with a heavy lid.
“We must make sure ze chicken is fully coated so zat he will be as tasty as can be!”
Francois removed the lid and rested the pot on his considerable belly and stood at the head of the large roasting tin. Tantalisingly slowly he began to tip the pot forward.
“Ze marinade is a thick gravy – wine, flour, onions, carrots, potatoes and chicken stock! All to be poured over our little bird here…”
The viscous liquid began to spill over the edge of the pot and the crowd gasped with delight as some of it splashed onto Darius’ oiled chest. The marinade was cold and the slave shivered as it hit his body.
“A little more I think is needed…”
The gloopy brown fluid came more quickly now, and Francois ranged about the roasting tin so that it fell on the humiliated Darius’ legs and crotch. Chunks of vegetables plopped onto his writhing body and finally the chef emptied a generous amount right over the slave’s head. Darius blinked and choked as the gravy slowly slid down his face, over his eyes and down his nose.
The little chef deposited the empty pot on the floor and then hefted the slave into a sitting position so that the whole room could see the cold, wet, miserable creature: his arse and mouth stuffed, his whole body stained with the brown marinade.
More raucous laughter erupted, along with appreciative applause for the entertainment Francois had afforded them.
“Bravo!” called Lord Geoffrey. “Bravo!”
Francois bowed theatrically and then paused and frowned. In a pantomime gesture, he dipped one finger into the tin and licked the brown goo from it. He shook his head sadly.
“I fear zat ze recipe is not quite right. It lacks one important ingredient.”
He turned to the four knights who still stood with him.
“Of course! How can I prepare cock au crème when I have not added any cream! My friends – would you be so kind as to oblige me and provide ze cream for zis most exquisite of dishes…”
A moment of puzzlement, and then Sir Antony understood.
“Why, monsieur,” he declared. “We should be delighted.”
And with that he strode over to stand at the roasting tin. He fiddled briefly with the waistband of his tights, and soon he had freed his large, veiny cock from its slinky confines. His three compatriots did not hesitate to join him. And soon all four hunks assembled round the roasting tin, pumping away at their manmeat, their tightly muscled, hosed backsides clenching and unclenching as they worked their way to climax. And glancing around the Hall, Will could not help but notice the envious looks of the male spectators, all wishing they could be the ones wanking off over the gunged and humiliated slave bitch.
A grunt and a cry suddenly erupted from Sir Antony and with a shudder that passed through his whole body, he ejaculated a thick stream of white cum into the air. It seemed to hang in space for a moment before splashing satisfyingly across Darius’ potato covered chest. Darius cringed as the man-cum hit his naked torso. The white slime mingled with the brown as it slowly ran down his glistening body. And soon it was joined by that of the three other knights: one gloopy strand hitting Darius right in the face, blinding him momentarily and then dripping onto his full lips, still forced permanently open by the lemon gag.
At this, Alexander could restrain himself no longer. He leaped to his feet and joined the erotic tableau at the end of the Hall.
“What a fucking site, slave bitch! Not so proud now, are you? Look at you! Stripped and shaved: arse stuffed with breadcrumbs, and a lemon pushed in either end of you to keep you well and truly plugged. And then coated in a savoury brown gravy, with an extra coating of real men’s cum! You must be so humiliated now. And to be exposed like this in front of all your enemies!”
Indeed, Darius was now shivering with the cold and the humiliation of the experience. Will had never seen a man look so broken, so devastated.
“Our thanks and gratitude to Monsieur Francois.”
Once again the fat chef bowed to acknowledge the applause of his audience.
“And only one thing remains. And that of course is this. Our “Coq au crème” must be cooked!”
Francois looked a little puzzled. Clearly he had not anticipated this part of the entertainment. The chef’s bewilderment was echoed by the spectators, and a gasp of realisation escaped them, when two of Alexander’s lackeys from the dungeon rolled an iron stove on castors into the room.
Darius’ eyes widened in terror as the implication of the stove began to sink in. Surely they did not intend to roast him alive? He tried to scream in protest but the lemon lodged between his teeth muffled the sound. With a flourish, Alexander flung the door of the oven open and Will could see glowing embers of firewood within to show it had been prepared and heated to a desired temperature.
The crowd were hungry now – whipped into a frenzy, they wanted nothing less than to see the exquisite slave roasted in his exotic marinade.
Will watched open-mouthed in astonishment as the four knights hauled the roasting tin, Darius thrashing impotently within, onto their shoulders and then pushed it into the stove.
The audience were afforded a final glimpse of the desperate Arab before Alexander, with a wicked laugh, clanged the iron door shut and committed the slave to his doom.
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