The New Page Boy

The New Page Boy

Tuesday 17 April 2012

Chapter 24 - Alexander's anal balls




Alexander led the devastated farm hand out into the stables.
“It gives me no pleasure to have to do this to you,” he lied glibly. “But we did make a deal.”
Peter nodded dumbly as he traipsed along, naked save for his clinging tights: his cock remaining inexplicably proud and causing an embarrassing tenting effect in his yellow hose.
“Now, let’s see what else I have in my satchels to use on you, my farmer boy…”
Peter watched, alarmed, as Alexander reached into his bag and produced an instrument the likes of which he had not seen before: a thin glass tube with a hole at one end and a rubber bulb at the other. Alexander congratulated himself on having acquired the portable douche for a bargain fee at the last market he had visited. He’d hardly dared hope to find a use for it so soon!
“Fetch me a pail of water,” he ordered imperiously to one of Peter’s friends. The fake bonhomie had evaporated. He was in the role he was accustomed to adopting – the boss.
Nervously, Rodney pottered off to do as he had been bidden.
“Now, if we’re going to play, my young farm hand, I want you to be clean. Lord knows what filthy diseases you may have picked up from all those animals you work with.”
“Clean, my lord?”
“Bend over that wooden hurdle there. I want your arse high in the air where I can get to it easily.”
“My - ?”
Alexander sighed. “Remember your agreement, Peter. You agreed freely to submit to me. Do you really want me to spread the news that the word of the men of Mickelsfield cannot be trusted?”
Peter shook his head sorrowfully, and duly assumed the position Alexander had demanded.
“Delicious,” murmured Alexander as the two muscular globes of Peter’s bottom rose high into the air, his head dangling beneath his two canary yellow butt cheeks.
“Wh – what are you going to do to me?”
“All in good time, my friend. I’m going to have some fun with you. And you’ll co-operate, won’t you? Or I’ll be forced to fetch the delightful Griselde from behind the bar to witness your humiliation as well.”
“No, please, Sir,” begged Peter. “Anything but that.”
“Then you’ll be quiet and merely submit. Although if I were Griselde, I think I would insist on you wearing tights all day and all night long. Bodies like yours should be on display, not hidden away beneath unflattering smocks.”
Peter flinched as Alexander’s hand made contact with his tights-covered rump, caressing the taut flesh through the fine hosiery. It was a novelty for the Steward to have such a prime specimen of masculinity quivering beneath his touch.
Gently he began to roll down the waistband of the yellow hose to reveal the farmhand’s cheeks, pale against the tanned flesh of his torso. Peter trembled  as his impressive bottom was exposed to the imperious stranger.
“Ah-ha! And here is the pail of water – perfect timing!”
The bucket was deposited on the floor, and Alexander squeezed the douche’s bulb to fill it with the cold fresh liquid.
“This will feel strange,” he warned the nervous young man. “But it’s not necessarily unpleasant. Some men even find they are aroused by the stimulation of being douched. Although it’s clear from the bulge in your tights how much you’re enjoying this predicament – whether you know it or not.”
Peter shook his head adamantly. “I don’t understand – why?”
“Best not to fight it,” came the patronising reply. “Sometimes we are turned on by things we never even knew we needed.”
Alexander applied a little grease to the tip of the douche and then slowly inserted the device between those inviting arse cheeks. Peter shuddered as his hole was invaded for, what Alexander imagined was in all probability, the first time in his life.
“First time, eh, boy? Don’t tell me you’ve never been tempted to diddle your boy cunt whilst having a wank?”
Alexander placed one hand on Peter’s sweating back, as if calming a skittish colt.
“Now I’m going to fill you up, boy,” he whispered. “Nice clean water to flush out your dirty hole. Are you ready?”
As he squeezed the bulb, the water flooded up into the hunk’s body.
“No – please – no!” begged poor Peter.
Alexander turned to look with contempt at the farmer’s yokelish friends. The two bumpkins were clearly ashamed to see their idol forced into such a humiliating position, having his bottom fondled and filled by another man.
The douche delivered three more doses before Alexander decided that sufficient liquid had been deposited up Peter’s backside.
“Hold it in now, boy,” he warned. “I don’t want to see you embarrassing yourself any further by spilling any of that water.”
Alexander picked up the wooden pail and tipped out the remainder of the unused water. Then he tossed it to Martin. “You. Come round here.”
Stepping to one side, Alexander instructed the overwhelmed young man to take up a position about four feet behind the hurdle over which his friend was currently bending.
“Your task is to catch the shitty water Peter here expels. I need hardly point out to you that you will not want to miss any – especially if it splashes onto you.”
Martin gulped in apprehension at his allotted task.
“Very well, Peter. You may release your bowels. Get rid of all that nasty water inside you!”
Alexander smiled as he watched Peter’s face flush a deeper shade of red: whether through shame, exertion or the fact that his upper body had been hanging upside down for some time, Alexander neither knew nor cared.
Peter screwed up his eyes and, with some relief, water began to squirt from his puckered butt hole. The fluid arced through the air and Martin shuffled forwards to try and catch it before it splattered to the stable floor.
“What a sight you are,” crowed Alexander. “Shooting dirty water out of your arsehole for your friend to catch in a bucket! Maybe we should set you up in the village square as a kind of water fountain. The whole village could see their resident strongman reduced to spraying water from his man cunt!”
Eventually, Peter came to a shuddering, quivering halt as he finished emptying his bowels. The reluctant water carrier, Martin, stumbled over to join his other friend at the side of the stables: a look of intense distaste on his face. Alexander saw that the farm hand had not been entirely successful in his endeavour to catch all of the water expelled by Peter, and there were damp patches on his hessian smock.
Alexander was unconcerned, however. Instead, he crouched down so that he was level with where Peter’s head dangled.
“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it? After all, I could have done almost anything to punish you, couldn’t I? I could have cut your balls off. One little purge like this is nothing for a brave young man like you, surely?”
The farm hand started to lift his head, clearly believing his ordeal was at an end.
“You must submit to me for the whole evening,” Alexander reminded him sternly. Peter’s head drooped in despair. What further humiliation did this domineering devil have in store for him?! He was to find out before long as Alexander withdrew yet more items from his pack. A looking-glass about three foot long was produced, followed by a fabric bundle tied with a pink ribbon.
“Come over here,” ordered Alexander.
Peter rose gratefully and began to pull up his tights around his damp bum.
“Oh no. I didn’t tell you to pull up your hose, did I, boy? You keep that proud, bouncing cock of yours on full display now. I want your tights left precisely where they are.”
“Now,” he went on. “Down on the floor with you. I want you in the straw, sitting down with your legs stretched as far apart as you can. I want to see your hosed toes pointing to the two corners of this stable.”
Alexander placed the looking-glass against a wooden post.
“I want you to see every moment of this, so the image of your humiliation is forever emblazoned on your memory, boy.”
“Why – why are you doing this?”
“Because it amuses me, boy. And because I can.”
Peter helplessly did as he was bidden, his bare bottom resting on the prickly straw. He flushed to see himself in this embarrassing predicament: naked apart from the tight-fitting bright yellow hose still covering his legs like a pair of stockings. His thick uncut cock still resolutely pointed towards the ceiling, red and throbbing – inexplicably so to the poor, humiliated farmer. He looked up at his friends, the respect they once had for him slowly ebbing away.
“You heard me!” snapped Alexander. “Point those little toes of yours now, bumboy…”
“Please, no more!” begged his victim.
Alexander ignored him, and instead, placed the fabric bag down beside the handsome young man. He untied the ribbon and the spectators were finally able to see what was contained within.
With a flourish, Alexander produced a long rope of twisted leather. At intervals along the rope hung a heavy leather sphere – four in all. The leather ball at one end was maybe two inches across, with the diameter of each globe increasing until the final one was fully five inches wide.
The uneducated fools gawped in confusion, clearly failing to understand the implications of the toy. For Peter, at least, realisation dawned as Alexander knelt in the straw, his luxurious grey tights resting alongside, almost touching the yellow silkiness of his slave’s hosiery.
For a second time, Alexander withdrew the small pot of grease from his jerkin, and coating a couple of fingers with the pungent lard, he reached between the sweating arse cheeks of the farmhand. Smooth, he thought to himself. Barely a hair nestled in the obscene crack between those beautiful bum cheeks.
Alexander looked deep into the boy’s eyes and saw his victim flinch as his long finger stroked the puckered flesh of Peter’s anus. Tense and frightened, the muscle was squeezed as tight as tight could be. Delicately, Alexander deposited a coating of gloop around the sphincter. And then gently, almost tenderly, he began to push his middle finger into the hole.
“Ah – ah – ah!” gasped the masculine specimen.
“Just my finger, pushing its way into your boy pussy. And it’s only the beginning of how I intend to truly possess you…”
More grease was applied, so that now a liberal coating of gunk nestled in Peter’s arsehole. His two friends seemed horrified and fascinated in equal measures by the humiliation of their one-time idol. And Peter’s helplessness increased as by now, a small gathering of onlookers from the inn had joined to partake of the view.
“Onto your back,” ordered Alexander.
The farmhand reluctantly shuffled to lie in this new position.
“Now, lift your feet off the ground and tuck your knees against your chest.”
With a deep, ragged sigh, Peter did as he was bidden. And as his hosed thighs came to rest against his broad and sweating chest, he knew only too well just how exposed and vulnerable this left his arse.
In his deepest and darkest fantasies, Peter had imagined the perky Griselde in this very position: sluttish and feminine, ready to open to him and his thrusting ardour. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that he would face the public humiliation of adopting this pose himself, naked saved for the silkiness of these hateful yellow tights, now pulled down to just below his arse cheeks. And still, his fucking, fucking prick was as rock hard as ever. Could it be that on some demeaning level, he actually desired to be used in this depraved and devastating fashion?
The stranger must be some kind of powerful wizard, Peter reckoned, to have achieved mastery of him with such ease. Peter looked up to see the dark Mephistophelean features of Alexander gazing upon him, ill-disguised lust written across the older man’s face.
And then, the sensation began. At first, it was a dull pressure at Peter’s arsehole as the smallest of the leather spheres was pushed against his tensed sphincter. He gritted his teeth. The humiliation, the subjugation, the pain was too much. He could not allow this devil to invade his body with this obscene sex toy.
But the pressure was relentless.
“Don’t fight it,” whispered Alexander. “Open your arse to it. Take it. One way or another it’s going inside you. You may as well co-operate.”
“No, no. It’s filthy. It’s wrong.”
“I know a way to make it feel better,” cooed the older man.
And then an odour unlike any Peter had ever smelled assailed his senses as Alexander pushed his little glass bottle under the farmhand’s nostrils.
“Breathe. Breathe deep, bitch.”
The hulk of a man had no choice but to do as he was bidden, and as he was flooded with the intensity of lust, his breathing deepened, his heart pounded and all his senses swam. And sure enough it did become easier to accept the intrusion into his arse. He felt himself begin to stretch as Alexander continued to push the gunk-coated ball into his bumhole.
“Ah – ah – ahhhhhh!” he gasped.
That’s right,” purred Alexander as he watched with pleasure as the circumference of the ball began to pass through the straining portal of his victim’s pink anus. “Take it, boy. Take that ball deep inside you.”
And then, finally, the ball had passed its widest part, and, all too eagerly it seemed, was sucked through Peter’s hole. A desperate, ragged cry escaped his lips at the sudden shock of the intruding leather ball, nestling now within him.
“Mmmmm, your hole is hungrier than I thought, boy… You will find it easier now to take the next one.”
“The … next …?” stammered the trembling farmhand. He had already begun involuntarily to lower his muscular legs.
“No no no,” admonished Alexander, “you are to keep your tights-covered legs high in the air just like that: a slutty whore, displaying your wares for all to see - and to mock.”
The dastardly potion was again forced under Peter’s nose and again he felt its erotic powers coursing through his body as he lay there, naked save for the yellow tights pulled down to his knees. The damp crotch of the garment taunted him, mere inches from his face. He writhed in impotent, delicious torment, as the potion worked its aphrodisiac charms on his unwilling mind and body.
            Then, all Peter’s attention was once again forced to focus on his arsehole as the second, slightly larger leather sphere began to be pressed against his puckered boy pussy. His anus stretched more quickly this time, and then, he realised with horror, that the evil stranger was reaching between his legs to play with his still-hard cock.
            “No, no, please, no,” he begged, his mind swirling and whirling.
            “Come now, bitch. Your prick wants this sooo badly, doesn’t it?”
            He was his arse. He was his cock. That’s all the gorgeous young stud could think of as Alexander manipulated both, and a little ripple of laughter ran around the small crowd as the second of the heavy leather balls disappeared up his rectum.
            “Oh! Oh!” Peter gasped as his asslips closed again. But they were to be offered no respite. Alexander gave a couple more tugs on his victim’s pecker, and then began pushing the third ball into the young man.
            And this one was wider still.
            “Push, bitch. Push your arse out as if you were taking a shit,” advised the stranger in his deep, silky tones. “That’s it. Now – grab those muscular bum cheeks and spread them for me, pull them apart. We need to make sure you take all my toys up your mancunt.”
            His will to fight utterly spent, Peter did as he was ordered, spreading his arsecheeks wide to try and accommodate yet another wicked invasion. As the newest ball began to push inside him, he felt the other two jostling, protesting inside, as if unwilling to allow yet another intruder to join them inside the warm wetness of his arse.
            But Alexander was not to be defeated, and with a triumphant grunt, the third ball joined its fellows in Peter’s overcrowded anal cavity.
            “Feel full, now, I bet, don’t you bitch?” the older man gloated.
            Peter whimpered his concurrence. The heaviness of the balls deep inside him were incredibly uncomfortable. He wished nothing more than to be allowed to empty himself of them.
            “And yet we still have the biggest brute to go!”
            A cheer went up from the crowd. Starved of entertainment, the public spectacle of the handsomest man in their village, humiliated and laid low before them, grovelling in the straw, naked save for some skimpy yellow tights, his arsehole on display for all to see - this was the event of the century for these yokels.
            For a final time, Alexander administered the potion to his unwilling victim: “Breathe deeply, now. Take it deep inside you. It’s the only way you’ll succeed in taking the final toy…”
            Overwhelmed by sensation, Peter’s arse was raped by the final and largest globe. He never knew his hole could stretch so wide. He whimpered, wriggling his toes in their yellow tights, beads of sweat breaking out all over his body, and leaving the indecent, clinging material damp and translucent against his tanned flesh. Wider, wider, his ass stretched. He moaned and cursed. Surely his body could not take any further invasion? He would split in two!
            And suddenly the pressure stopped, and with a sucking, shuddering sound, he realised Alexander was done.
            “You disappoint me, boy,” tutted his new master, as Alexander tipped the looking glass to show Peter the sight that all in the barn could see.
            There the beautiful farmer lay, red-faced and dripping with sweat. Cock proud and swollen, yellow tights clinging to his legs. And there at his hole, he saw the black leather ball lodged in his still-gaping anus, the overcrowding in his rectum refusing to allow any further invasion from the obscene sex toys.
            “You have failed me, bitch. You have not taken all four of my anal balls. So what on earth am I to do with you now?”

Thursday 5 April 2012

Chapter 23 - The Farmer Wears Some Tights



It was a beautiful midsummer evening. The sun cast a warm, golden glow across the undulating hills of the English countryside. Alexander dismounted from his fine black stallion and drew in a deep, satisfied breath. God, it felt good to be alive!
He unfastened his saddle bags and made his way into the inn. It was a homely affair with crude wooden furniture. But it was clean, and the smattering of locals already established in their regular corners raised a welcoming smile to the traveller. Alexander returned their welcome with a nod of his head. They were farming folk, and for once, he was relieved that it seemed he would be able to keep his sword sheathed in its scabbard. Meaner hostels usually contained a rough element who, emboldened by ale, decided to try their luck with the elegant, well-dressed stranger.
The innkeeper bustled out of his kitchen to welcome the illustrious guest, clearly impressed by Alexander’s embroidered riding cloak, long leather riding boots and luxurious grey hose. Alexander negotiated a room for the night, ordered some food and a flagon of ale and then settled down for the evening.
It had been a successful trip. He had only been in Lord Geoffrey de Montford’s service for a few months, but had already earned his master’s trust. Geoffrey had expensive and specific tastes. Rumours would circulate of a new fashion in clothes or food, and his Lordship would demand to have the latest on display at his castle in the north. And whom could he trust to send on such important matters? Why, Alexander of course. And now, his packs full of such expensive luxuries, Alexander was finally on his way home.
Home. The very thought of it conjured up images of the wide-eyed junior page boy, Henry. How Alexander longed to get his hands on that enticing youth: innocent and virginal-looking in spite of his sixteen years. Alexander’s cock twitched in his tights as he fantasised about seducing the lad. One day, he thought to himself. One day, I’ll get my chance. Nicholas – the Steward that Geoffrey had inherited from his crusty old father – could not go on forever. And when the old man vacated the position, Alexander was determined to take his place. And when he did, would there be some changes at Castle Montford!
Young Henry wouldn’t be wandering around the castle in the plain, drab costume that was his current uniform: thick grey woollen hose under a beige sack-cloth tunic which hung down to below the lad’s knees. No, Alexander would personally see to it that all the pages would be dressed in the finest silken hosiery, best to accentuate every curve and bulge of their legs and arses: their perky cocks framed in their tights and on permanent display. He rubbed his own bulge idly beneath the inn table and thought how very much he would like to have young Henry here at this moment.
He was roused from his reverie by a noise at the door. He glanced up to view the new arrivals. Just some farm workers, he thought to himself. And then he looked again. Three young men. Grimy and weary from their day in the fields. The first two Alexander dismissed instantly as being of little or no interest, straw-haired bumpkins with peg-like teeth and cauliflower ears. Probably inter-bred, he thought. But the third was a different matter.
This one was tall: as tall as Alexander himself. And the first thing that Alexander noticed was the young man’s wide and dazzling smile. His skin was brown from his time working outdoors and he had a strong, square jaw. A mop of curly brown hair adorned his head, and his good-natured eyes glowed a piercing blue. He must have been about twenty-three, mused Alexander, and as one might expect, his arms were well-developed and muscular from working in the field. The newcomer was laughing heartily as he strode over to the bar to order.
Alexander silently cursed the rough peasant smock and baggy cotton trousers that concealed the detail of the well-proportioned body that surely lay beneath. If only, he mused, he could find a way to liberate the handsome stranger from his unprepossessing garb…
“Allow me to get these.”
The farm workers protested but Alexander insisted, and soon the three of them had joined the suave and well-dressed stranger at his table. Introductions were made.
“I’m Peter Davenport, Sir. Lived here in Mickelsfield my whole life. These are my best friends, Martin and Rodney…”
Peter went on but Alexander was barely listening. He had no interest in the two friends, after all.
The barmaid brought over the four tankards of ale to their table, and Alexander noted with interest that Peter and his fellows were transfixed by the blonde girl in her lacy, low-cut blouse. All the better for me, he thought, as their total distraction meant that he was able to pour a fine, white powder into one of the tankards.
The barmaid lingered flirtatiously: clearly the attraction between her and the manly Peter was mutual.
“That will be all, girl” said Alexander peremptorily. But as he dismissed her, he took a silver shilling from the velvet purse at his waist for her tip. With some satisfaction, Alexander noticed all three of the farmers’ eyes widen at his generosity.
A lingering disappointment in Peter’s eyes as the girl withdrew was soon replaced by the prospect of ale, and Alexander pushed the drugged flagon towards the alluring young farmer.
They idled the time in chat for a while. The initial nervousness of the village lads soon dissipated as the ale flowed down their gullets. Alexander rapidly appreciated that Peter was something of a local hero: his handsome face, fantastic physique and good nature attracting all those around him. Had I more of a conscience and given what I plan to do, I might even feel sorry for him, Alexander thought to himself.
Another round of drinks and he suggested a small wager based on the outcome of the roll of a die. There was reluctance at first.
“We are poor farm workers, Sir,” pointed out the amiable Peter. “And we cannot compete with your wealth.”
Alexander dismissed the objection. “Certainly I shall bet with my cash, but it would not be fair for you to wager an equal amount given the difference in our status. Let us say, rather, that if you were to lose, you would perform a small forfeit instead.”
At this, Peter brightened. That seemed a fair proposition. A drunken night with his friends in the village invariably degenerated into a game of forfeits: holding a boulder above your head for a minute, balancing on the narrow bridge across the stream, stealing a kiss from the barmaid, the delightful Griselde.
“Besides,” added Alexander morosely. “I have deuced bad luck with the dice. Lady Fortune rarely smiles on me, I’m afraid. More often than not, I find I leave a game of dice with a much lighter purse than I came with.”
This clinched it. Peter’s two friends took up ring-side seats, as Alexander faced the farmer as his opponent.
The game began, and all proceeded precisely as Alexander had intended. His special weighted dice were produced, and to begin with, his prediction about his own ill-fortune at the game seemed only too precise. The grin on Peter’s face spread wider and wider as the pile of little silver shillings accumulating in front of him grew ever greater.
However, then, almost imperceptibly, the tide began to turn. Before long, Peter found that his shiny winnings were dwindling rapidly. One of his friends started to urge him to stop.
“Come now,” cooed Alexander. “Would you be such a poor sport as to quit when you’re winning? Surely you would not be so underhand as to deny me the chance to draw level with you! Besides, I am sure this little victorious streak of mine will – as it always does – prove merely temporary.”
“Shame on you, Martin,” admonished Peter. “Do you want this fine gentleman to think we in Mickelsfield are bad sportsmen?”
And so he ploughed on. And surely, soon enough, he had lost all he had earned so far. And, were he to lose, the next throw of the dice would for the first time plunge him into Alexander’s debt.
The two cubes skittered across the table – and a groan escaped from Peter’s two friends as their hero lost yet again.
“So, my good man. You must pay a penalty,” said Alexander with a sorrowful shake of his head. “And as I know you are an a good sportsman and an honest fellow, I’m sure you will not try and shirk the forfeit.”
Ruefully, Peter shook his head. His reputation in the village would never recover if it were known that he had broken his word.
“Let me see…” pondered Alexander, deliberately prolonging the young man’s agony. “What do I have here in my packs?”
He rooted about in his saddle bags, and eventually, he produced one of the fine garments Lord Geoffrey had charged him with procuring.
“I think we would all be highly amused to see you stripping off your peasant garb and wearing these…”
Peter’s eyes widened as he saw a pair of long, silken tights draped over Alexander’s arm.
“You may go outside to change. But the forfeit I give you is to come in here wearing nothing but this canary yellow hose…”
His friends were stunned at the prospective loss of Peter’s dignity, and yet all knew that he had no choice but to carry out Alexander’s command.
“Please, my lord –“
“Come now,” tutted Alexander. “Surely you will not shame yourself by grovelling to try and avoid what you have earned yourself. Take your forfeit like a man!”
The handsome hunk trudged miserably to the door. A low chatter of anticipation ran around the inn, all of its denizens having been attracted by the drama of the game.
Alexander waited patiently for Peter to return. And finally, the inn door creaked open. There was a stunned silence, and then a great guffaw of laughter as Peter stood in the doorway.
Alexander Courcey was not disappointed. The farm worker’s shoulders were broad and tanned, his upper body muscular and lean. And then – oh joy! – Peter’s legs were as hot as he had anticipated. Thick, well proportioned thigh muscles, nicely turned out calves, all encased in bright, bright yellow. The tights clung to every part of him, indecently highlighting every scrap of strong masculine flesh.
Gleefully, Alexander noted that the aphrodisiac powder he had been using to drug Peter’s ale had done its job, and that Peter’s prick stood swollen and proud in its constricting yellow cage. The look on the man’s face said it all – he could not have felt less sexually aroused, and yet his cock seemed to have a will of its own, and was hard and throbbing for all to see. Vainly, he tried to cover the considerable bulge in his tights, but his clasped hands across his groin served merely to draw attention to his state of excitement.
“Turn around, my friend,” called Alexander. “Let us all enjoy the spectacle you’re providing!”
Slowly and reluctantly, Peter rotated on the spot. Alexander nodded appreciatively as the globes of the hunky farmer’s bum came into view, the delightfully sensual yellow tights pulled up so that the material disappeared into his arse crack and the two butt cheeks separated – hard, smooth and round. He was a bit more muscular than the type Alexander usually preferred, but there was no denying that he had a certain unique charm. Peter’s whole body seemed to flush scarlet at being exposed in this way before his friends and neighbours.
“Come join us at the table!”
Eyes cast down on the floor, still attempting, unsuccessfully, to conceal his erect cock, Peter shuffled over to join his half-stunned friends.
“Don’t look so upset,” comforted Alexander. “You’re not the first lad to get turned on by being put in a pair of tights. And I’m sure you won’t be the last. Feels good against your skin, yes?”
Peter the farmer just looked up, helplessly at him, confused as to how he’d ended up in this humiliating predicament.
“Come along, now,” Alexander continued cheerfully. “You’ve been a good sport – so how about I return the favour? What if I give you the chance to win my purse of silver here?”
“No, no more dice,” stammered the bare-chested hunk.
“No, no, no. My luck seems to have turned in my favour after all this time. I was thinking of something that would give you a big advantage. You’re clearly a strong young man. What if we were to arm wrestle? If you win, you take the money fair and square.”
Peter’s sidekicks began to nod eagerly. Their friend was the strongest in the village. And whilst there was a lean muscularity to the wealthy stranger, they had no doubt that Peter would best him.
Equally, the curly-haired farmer himself needed little time to think over the proposition. “It’s a deal,” he said forcefully, barely contemplating what would happen if Alexander were to win.
“And if you lose – which I feel sure is most unlikely given your youth and vigour – then you must submit to whatever I choose to do with you for the rest of this evening.”
“Yes, yes,” said Peter, impatient to get his hands on Alexander’s purse and out of his humiliating yellow tights.
Alexander removed his riding cloak and his jerkin. His bare arms were lean and sinewy. However, Peter remained confident that he held the advantage.
Both men placed their elbows on the table between them, and at a signal from the innkeeper, the contest began. Both tensed and began the effort to defeat the other. Peter was surprised to find his opponent stronger than he’d anticipated. He gritted his teeth, mustered his strength and pushed against Alexander’s arm.
It was to no avail. The saturnine Alexander’s arm resolutely refused to budge and indeed, it was Peter’s which seemed to start to give way. Had he known that all evening he had been imbibing a drug which sapped all a man’s strength from the rest of his body only to focus it all on his genitals, he would not have been so surprised.
Sweat burst in droplets from the farmer’s brow as his anguished friends began to realise that Alexander was slowly forcing their hero’s arm to the table. Peter gave a strangled cry of despair as his knuckles finally came to rest against the oaken surface. He had lost.
Alexander, displaying no sign of exertion whatsoever, looked at him with mock sympathy.
“Well, my friend. It seems that you are mine for the evening…”