Chapter 16 - Encased in Tights

Lord Geoffrey’s birthday celebrations had been deemed a great success. The evening had degenerated into a night of drunken debauchery. And for once, the strict regime at the castle was allowed to lapse a little. Even Mistress Olwen had to admit that the feast was indeed magnificent, although only the most adventurous of the guests dared to taste some of the dish of the day – Francois’ exotic “Coq au crème”. Those who did declared that it was utterly divine.

Geoffrey asked Alexander if the slave boy had indeed been roasted and if it was his carcass that now adorned the dinner table. Alexander replied with an enigmatic smile that he would beg to be allowed to keep that particular information a birthday secret, but something told Geoffrey that all was not as it had seemed.

Eventually, everyone made their way to their beds: Raymond perched miserably on the shrivelled Sir Wilfrid’s lap, and Sir Antony and his three companions disappeared into Lord Geoffrey’s bedchamber for a kind of entertainment Will could only imagine.

Will himself, meanwhile, was not at all surprised to be summoned to the Chief Steward’s chamber for the attention that he had received all too infrequently over the past few months, whilst Alexander’s attentions had been trained on his slave-bird.

“Enter, boy!” Alexander’s masculine tones instructed as Will once again waited outside the bedchamber, dressed in his skimpy page outfit and tight-fitting hose.

As usual, Will’s heart was in his mouth as he contemplated what Alexander could possibly have in store for him this time.

However, it seemed that, mellowed by wine, Alexander was in a more conversational mood than usual.

“So, slutboy,” he drawled. “What did you think of the evening’s entertainment?”

As always, Alexander’s very presence made Will feel nervous. And this was a new development. He was not usually asked for his opinion on anything!

“Did it turn you on, eh? Get that pathetic little boycock twitching in your tights to see the humiliation of a great soldier – being reduced to a mere chicken?”

Will panicked trying to work out what he was supposed to say. Would it anger Alexander more if he told him he was turned on or that he wasn’t?

“Answer me, bitch. Or are you still more interested in that slutty little serving girl?”

“No, Sir,” Will stammered as he recalled Jane’s devastating revelation.

“Ah, so you have learned the truth about that little minx then. Don’t say you were surprised! As if a woman would have had any use for you. You’re good for one thing and one thing only. To be tied up and to have a cock stuck in one of your ends. A real man’s cock!”

As if on command, Will’s dick twitched in his tights at this verbal humiliation.

“I was right, boy, I see…”

“Now, come over here and get your waistcoat and pumps off. I want you naked apart from your tights…”

Will did as he was instructed. He wondered if he would ever get accustomed to that terrible, wonderful thrill of excitement as he was ordered to strip down to merely that most revealing and erotic item of clothing – his tight-fitting hose.

“Sit on the end of the bed…”

Will did so. And he sensed Alexander climbing onto the sheets behind him.

“Master Yorick has been hard at work for you, my boy. He’s been helping me with a little project. I’ve decided I want to see and feel my little slave bitch entirely covered in tights – from head to toe.”

Will felt an item of clothing slip over his head. He soon realised that the material was the same stretchy, clingy material as his tights. Alexander guided the page boy’s arms into the garment. It appeared to have long sleeves that ended in gloves. The older man rolled down the torso of what appeared to be some kind of leotard. Alexander lifted the boy’s bottom as he fastened the body around Will’s arsehole.

“Beautiful,” cooed Alexander. “And now the finishing touch…”

Will felt Alexander’s hands at his temples, as the Steward began to force a kind of hood onto his head. Will panicked slightly until he realised the material was again the same as that of his tights. The hose-hood slipped over his face but was light enough for him to be able to breathe through and (although his vision was restricted) he could just about make out shapes through the fabric.

“Mmm. Perfect. Stand, boy.”

Will did as he was instructed, and Alexander stepped back to appreciate his creation. That lithe body, the strong muscular thighs and that pert, perfect bum all entirely encased in tights from head to toe.

“Now you truly are my tights bitch, boy.”

Will’s cock was rock hard as ever. His senses were muffled slightly. Sounds and sights came to him differently through the clinging, blue material. And as Alexander’s manly hands began to roam over his body, the sheer sensuousness of the all-over coverage made his cock ache for release.

He felt himself being pushed back onto the bed, and once again felt the familiar sensation as his limbs were tugged into a spread-eagled position and fastened to the bedposts.

“My kinky little tights slave tied up and ready to be used…”

The heady aroma of Alexander’s potion filled the air as the bottle was forced under Will’s nostrils and he had no choice but to inhale through the tights-hood.

Then the bottle was gone and Will’s hips bucked as he felt Alexander’s face sink into his, his master’s tongue pushing against the tight material and into his mouth. Will responded. The hosiery formed an erotic barrier between the two of them, preventing their salivating tongues from meeting, as the effects of the potion drove Will crazy with desire and lust.

The material was damp as Alexander withdrew his tongue and replaced it with his impressive cock.

He sat astride Will’s chest, pounding his dick into his blue boy’s mouth.

“Take it,” he hissed. “Take my cock, slut boy.”

Will did as he was told as best he could. And then Alexander withdrew, leaving him gasping for air through his hood.

“Now I want to see you writhe. Struggle and writhe. Struggle, moan and writhe. My tied up bitch. My kidnapped hostage. My tights slave.”

Will did as he was told, straining against his bonds, thrashing and moaning and whimpering, the potion coursing through his body, knowing that the sight was only arousing his Master more and more. The material of the tights encased him completely and caused yet more exquisite arousal.

Will felt Alexander’s stockinged foot ranging over his tights-clad body, pressing against his tits, his cock, his balls, his thighs…

And then he heard the grunt of ecstatic release as Alexander came, and hot, thick cum spattered over Will’s hosed body.

Will waited as the cum started to cool and dry on his leotard and tights. Then, to his astonishment, he felt Alexander grab his cock and start to rub it through the silken material.

“Don’t get used to this, bitch. This is a special treat in honour of Lord Geoffrey’s birthday…”

Will began to moan in ecstasy as he felt his cock wanked through the gorgeous silky hose.

“Silence, bitch!” And Alexander clamped his manly palm over the boy’s nose and mouth. Will squirmed even more as the hand muffled his squeals and restricted his breathing. But the clamped hand served only to arouse him even more!

“I’m milking you, slut. Breeding my tights bitch…”

And then, try as he might to delay it, Will’s adolescent hormones betrayed him. He spurted – over and over and over – into the crotch of his hose. Alexander pumped away at his cock until he had milked it completely dry.

Will lay there, gasping post-ejaculation, astonished that Alexander had relaxed his own rules and allowed his page boy to come.

“There are going to be some changes around here, soon, boy,” Alexander warned the tights-clad figure lying prone and tied to the bed. “War is coming. And that means uncertainty for us all…”

The Chief Steward was not wrong. Mere days after the celebrations had taken place marking the occasion of Lord Geoffrey’s birthday, rumours began to circulate that the King was embarking on another foreign military campaign, and that any able-bodied men faced conscription into his army.

Sure enough, within days, Alexander had been summoned to Geoffrey’s rooms and given the news that Geoffrey, along with all his most able knights, were required to travel to Arabia to do battle with the King’s enemies there.

“It’s hopeless, of course, but the old fool is too stubborn to see it,” grumbled the Lord of the manor. “And in the mean time, good men must be sacrificed on the altar of his pride and ambition. Still, we must obey, my friend. And I fear the number of men I am required to supply means that some must come from your staff as well as those more accustomed to life on the battlefield.”

“I shall be honoured, my Lord, to fight alongside you” –

“No, no, my friend. Much as I would value it, your place is here. I need a man I can trust to protect the castle whilst I’m away. But I fear I must leave you with only a skeleton staff. All the strongest and bravest fighters must come with me.”

Will was safe. Everyone regarded him as a moronic peasant boy who would likely get himself killed within moments of arriving on a foreign shore. So there was no danger of him being conscripted. Besides, Will felt fairly sure Alexander intended to keep him very close at hand for the foreseeable future. But plenty of the other pages were required to attend some rudimentary battle training. And even Master Yorick – whose bulging muscles made him a prime target for the army – began to pack up his belongings and say his farewells.

By the end of the week, the parade of strong, handsome, virile men, with Lord Geoffrey at its head, was on its way. Tears were shed, embraces were made, and then they were gone. The castle’s chambers echoed – empty save for those deemed unworthy of military service.

Will found his day-to-day existence went on much as before. True, he had now inherited some of the duties of the other pages, but there were now far fewer residents in the castle to cater to. As for Alexander, well, he had been left in complete command. Not that Lord Geoffrey had ever seen fit to question his right-hand man before – but now the Chief Steward’s power truly was absolute.

It was a cold February morning. Will was fetching firewood to top up Mistress Olwen’s dwindling supply, when he heard an excited commotion arising from the courtyard.

“Well, boy,” snapped the old cook. “Go and see what is happening out there!”

Will hurried, all too eager to discover the cause of the disturbance. He ran outside and saw the large wooden gates of the castle swinging open. Like him, others had come to gawp at the visitors. And this is what they saw. It was a small procession, headed by a young village boy. He had been hastily recruited to carry a tall flag, with a golden crest emblazoned at its tip.

Behind the village lad rode two men that Will could only describe as giants. They were undoubtedly the tallest, broadest, biggest men that he had ever seen. Each of them must have been easily six foot six. One had masses of wiry black hair growing all over him: on his head, his face, and sprouting from his chest. The other man was equally dark, but where his companion was bearded and hairy, the second man was clean shaven, even down to his razored scalp. Both were dressed identically, wrapped up tight in long, furry, black robes that fell to their feet. They rode monstrous black horses, quite as big as the shire horses that Will’s neighbour Gyles kept back in the village farm.

The men in black each touched the hilts of their swords lightly, as if as a warning for anyone who dared approach. And they scowled evilly at the gawping servants.

As if the sight of these two ogres was not astonishing enough, the next rider in the little parade presented an even more extraordinary apparition.

It was a young man. Will guessed he was at most twenty-three or four. He was about five feet ten tall, and Will knew instantly that he was the most handsome man he had ever laid eyes on. His skin was a pure, flawless white, which contrasted with the golden waves of his shoulder length hair. His eyes were as blue as sapphires, and his nose was slim and straight. His lips red, full and slightly pouting, and his cheeks and bone structure were as fine and delicate as if they had been constructed in some heavenly forge.

His physique was easy to appreciate also, for unlike the monsters who preceded him, and in spite of the biting chill, the beautiful young man’s body was not engulfed in cloaks and furs. His shoulders were broad and his waist slim. His fine legs were clearly on display – muscular and shapely and encased in the finest, silken lavender hose. He wore leather riding boots that covered his calves, but his exquisite tights covered his thighs and then extended well beyond his flat stomach and over his chest. A silver embroidered “bolero” jacket covered the young man’s upper body and arms, but Will was all too aware that the stranger had abandoned warmth and comfort for the effect he knew his devastating attire would have on his audience. The only concession to the cold was a jaunty fur hat which perched on an angle atop his beautiful head.

The crowd fell silent as the newcomers entered the courtyard. Will could see from the young man’s proud expression that he was well used to being admired, indeed that he expected it from anyone he should meet.

The man reined in his pure white steed and called out in a clear voice: “Who is master here?”

“I have that honour – for the time being, your highness.”

Alexander had emerged from his office and stood at the top of the steps that led up to the entrance to the Great Hall.

“And who, pray, are you?”

“My name is Alexander Courcey. And I am the Chief Steward of de Montford Castle. Had we been forewarned of your arrival, we would have been able to prepare a proper welcome for you.”

“My journey here has been one of the utmost secrecy. Only my father and a few of my most trusted servants have known. My father did not dare risk my royal person by telling just – anyone.”

Alexander bowed low, but Will could see that the insult had found its mark.

“Please, then, your highness. Come this way. Our castle’s staff is rather depleted at the moment but I can assure you, we will do everything in our power to make your sojourn here a comfortable one.”

“See that you do, Courcey,” replied the young man. “My father would be most displeased if it were not.”

And with that, he swang athletically down from his steed, and followed by his hulking bodyguards, strode into the castle.

Alexander was struggling to maintain his composure.

Will suddenly realised Mistress Olwen was at his side.

“Who is it?” he hissed.

Olwen pulled a face. “That, lad, is Prince Felix: the only son and heir of our beloved King. And from what I hear of that young man, his arrival at our castle will mean only one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Trouble.”