Chapter 26 - Death to the Prince!

            They were ordered onto their hands and knees, and now all four youths, clad from tip to toe in their clinging pink bodysuits, arses raised high in the air, awaited inspection.

            The gooey yolk and albumen had started to dry in patches on his skin, and Will observed that the itchy sensation was not unlike the familiar feeling of spilled semen drying on his stomach. The gloop had run down the inside of his legs and pooled at his knees, and the eggs he had failed to smash nestled in the sagging gusset of his tights suit.

            He risked an anxious glance along the line to look at his fellows: all of them shamed by being forced into yet another obscene display in front of their royal liege. Damn it, thought Will to himself, why must I be the only one whose prick gets hard and spills his seed at being treated like this! What had happened to that innocent, naïve lad who had arrived at the castle all those months ago? And why should treatment which should in truth provoke feelings of shame and humiliation excite him in this delicious and unexpected way? Even now, posing like a dog, his back arched like a whore and his bubble butt pointing at the sky, he cursed his deviant libido, as his cock began to swell once more.

            Odin and Ulfgar moved along the line, conducting their bizarre stock take. And when they reached him, and when the thick fingers of Ulfgar the Viking began prodding at his backside through his pink tights, counting one by one the eggs he had failed to smash, the sensation of those masculine hands roaming over his gunky bum and groin aroused him even more. Will bowed his blond head as he felt a sharp smack from Ulfgar’s paddle-like hand, which smashed one of the previously unbroken shells right against the ripe and tempting target of his arsehole.

            “Ouch!” he gasped as the egg shattered with a powerful thwack.

            “You say something, boy?” grunted the Viking as his finger pushed into Will’s boy hole through the soggy material.

            All Will could do was shake his head.

            The results of the contest were delivered to the scarlet-hosed Prince Felix. Maintaining the suspense, he paused for what, to Will, seemed an eternity before addressing the cowering page boys.

            “We have our victor. Unsurprisingly, you with the fat arse have managed to destroy all but two of the eggs that were tipped into your costume.”

            Humphrey let out an involuntary blub of relief.

            “You did, however, destroy the stool in the process. Nevertheless, I shall prove to you that I am capable of leniency. Your reward will be to have the eggs scraped from the inside of your costume – and an omelette cooked from them!”

            Will noticed that Raymond grimaced with disgust in the direction of his fat neighbour.

            “Meanwhile the punishment for our loser” –

            Ulfgar placed his leather boot against Mortimer’s wet backside and with a firm kick, sent the skinny page sprawling onto his belly.

-       “will be to mop the floors of the whole castle…”

Odin appeared at the Prince’s side, two wooden mops in his fist.

“On your feet, worm!”

A disconsolate Mortimer did as he was bidden. However, the devilish Prince was not quite finished.

“You will be joined by this depraved little urchin, who has shown once again an utter lack of self-discipline.”

Will gulped under the imperious gaze of his new royal master.

            “It becomes ever clearer just what kind of licentious house was run here under Courcey the traitor. I am sure that my dear godfather will be shocked to learn the kind of degenerate beasts that have been under his roof and under his protection.”

            Will thought back to his first few weeks at the castle, recollecting the lascivious way the handsome, silver-haired Lord Geoffrey had allowed his hands to wander over Will’s blue-hosed bottom. In spite of the lip service paid to religion and the church, in truth, the Lord of the Castle had not only known of but actively encouraged the kind of wanton behaviour that Prince Felix seemed to deplore. Will recalled ruefully his shock at the way his body had been groped. He had been horrified at the time to have his private parts – his genitals and his buttocks – fondled and toyed with by another man. However, compared to his life now, those seemed to be positively halcyon days!

            Felix continued to issue his instructions:

            “The two of you can begin by cleaning up this eggy mess that you have made in here. Odin, Ulfgar – you know what to do.”

            Mortimer and Will reached out to take the mops from the brutish Vikings.

            “Not so fast, worms,” said Odin. “You’re not going to be mopping with your hands…”

            Of course it would not be so simple, thought Will, as the Prince’s bodyguards fumbled at the gussets of their garments. They tore holes in the sodden pink fabric, tiny splinters of eggshell falling to the floor. Will noticed that Raymond was not even attempting to conceal his contemptuous amusement as Will and Mortimer were instructed to “assume the position”. Mortimer and Will both as the thick wooden mop handles were inserted into their yielding bums.

            “How far in should we go?” asked Ulfgar in genuine puzzlement, slowly pushing the wooden stick further up Will’s arse.

            “As far as it will go?” suggested Odin.

            “Please, no!” cried a genuinely terrified Mortimer, anxious of suffering permanent damage to his bowels from the fearsome invasion.

            But Odin was merely jesting. The mop handles were pushed about six inches inside the boys’ bodies, and then left to protrude ridiculously from their bumholes.

            “What are you waiting for?” demanded Prince Felix. “Get cleaning!”

            Unsurprisingly, the procedure was hopelessly ineffectual. Will did his best, and experimented with a variety of positions and stances – from crouching, to squatting, to standing on tiptoe. However, as he was not permitted to use his hands to guide the mop, all he achieved was a painful prodding at his prostate from the blunt end of the pole.

            Both he and Mortimer were forced to wriggle their behinds in a ridiculous fashion in an attempt to carry out the impossible task they had been set. Will tried thrusting his pelvis back and forth to give the mop the required momentum. This singularly failed to get any cleaning done and merely ensured that he ended up fucking himself on the end of the mop.

            “You’d better be cleaning rather than pleasuring yourself, boy,” warned Odin in a dangerous tone.

            “Yes, Sir. I’m doing my best,” pleaded Will, desperately. That’s all he’d tried to do since the day he arrived in the castle, he thought to himself. And where precisely had it got him?

           

            It was after midnight. Will lay in his bed, every muscle in his body aching. His thighs, his back, his shoulders were all weary from the unusual positions he had been forced to adopt as part of Prince Felix’s unconventional cleaning regime. And though he should have been used to it by now, his arsehole burned from having been raped, hour after hour, by the roughly hewn mop handle.

            For the first time in days, he was not wearing the ridiculous pink tights suit. Prince Felix had observed that the stench of eggs would rapidly become obnoxious and offend his delicate sense of smell. So, after they had finally been permitted to cease swabbing the flagstones of the castle with their “arse mops”, Mortimer and Will had been instructed to wash the four stained and gunky bodysuits in the castle laundry. Consequently, for now, Will was clad once more in his customary blue hose.

            He lay there, listening intently to the gentle snoring of the other three exhausted page boys. He reached under his pillow to where the large dungeon key reposed, and then, noiselessly, he slipped from his pallet and embarked upon his latest clandestine mission.

            “You have returned, then, boy. I wondered whether you would.”

Alexander’s voice was hoarse and scratchy through lack of use. He drank in the sight of the cherubic young page boy, who had once again risked his life to bring food and water to the fallen Steward.

            “There isn’t much,” murmured Will, “but I brought what I could.”

            “You are back in your blue tights,” Alexander observed, as he fell upon the slim pickings Will had filched from the larder.

            Will’s face reddened. “Prince Felix made us smash eggs against our buttocks. The pink tights suits are ruined.”

            “I see. That must have been humiliating for you.”

            “It was, Sir.”

            “I wish I could have witnessed it. Did you – enjoy it?”

            Will, abashed, did not speak.

            “Well? Did you, boy?”

            “I couldn’t help myself, Sir. The feeling of all those eggs cracking against my bum, the explosion of goo and gunk inside my tights…”

            “You came, didn’t you, lad?”

            “Yes, Sir. I did. I don’t understand it! Every new humiliation. Part of me hates it, but part of me…”

            His voice trailed off.

            “Don’t fight it, boy. Embrace it. Maybe you’re learning that it’s what you’ve wanted and needed all your life. Maybe that day I came along and stole you away from your mother’s hovel was the best thing that ever happened to you!”

            Will nodded in the gloom. In spite of the tortures and mistreatment he had suffered during his time in the castle, he was starting to think Alexander was right.

            “But what’s to become of me? Of all of us?” he asked.

            “That, my boy, is in the lap of the gods. But one thing I know for certain. I must escape this place. Sooner or later, that bastard Felix will come to check on my progress. And by then, I must be gone. Will you come visit me again tomorrow night?”

            “If I can, Sir.”

            “Then steal an iron file from old Master Daniel in the blacksmith’s forge and bring it to me.”

            “Yes, Sir.”

            “Now, come here and let me kiss those pretty lips …”

            Alexander leant towards the lad and with open mouth, probed Will’s tongue with his own. Licking and lapping, the boy responded, his dick in his tights hardening as the older man plunged his tongue deeper and deeper into Will’s eager mouth.

            “Go, boy. If you come tomorrow and if you do what I ask, then I shall fuck that sweet bum of yours. That is a promise.”

             

            The next morning, the late spring sun warmed the stony buttresses of the castle in a hazy glow. Prince Felix strolled along the drawbridge and glanced down at the fish circling in the moat below. He reached the dirt track that led from the castle down into the town and yawned languidly.

            “Ulfgar – I shall go hunting this afternoon. Make sure my steed is prepared.”

            His henchman nodded. “Of course, your highness.”

            “Boy – a drink.”

            Raymond hurried to his royal master’s side, still glowing smugly from the honour of having been chosen – ahead of the other three pages – to accompany the Prince on his walk this morning. Clearly, Prince Felix knew class when he saw it. Raymond handed a goblet of ruby red claret to the Prince and bowed low.

            “The weather is improving. And I wish to spend more time outdoors.” He glanced at Raymond. “That may come as a relief to you, my little worm. A respite from your diet of humiliation?”

            “My only desire is to serve,” murmured the page boy humbly.

            “Is that so?”

            “My father was a gentleman, Sire. I understand the etiquette of court better than these village urchins who were dragged into service by” –

            He stopped himself, wary even of speaking Alexander’s name lest it enrage the Prince.

-       “By the former Steward.”

“I see. And how would you seek to serve your Prince, boy?”

“In any way I can, my liege. Truly and devotedly.”

            Ulfgar sneered at the page boy’s obsequiousness. Raymond didn’t care. He knew that the uncouth and lumbering Vikings were in thrall to the Prince and as dependent on the King’s favour and patronage as anyone in the kingdom. Raymond bowed again and withdrew to a discreet distance. He would need to continue to judge the situation carefully, but his father had been clever at judging the politics of court and in that way had won both favour and fortune. Raymond saw no reason why he should not do the same.

            The Prince continued along the pathway, his fine cape, trimmed with silver fur slung casually over his shoulder. His taut male buttocks, framed deliciously in midnight blue hose, shimmered with each stride he made. Raymond was not sentimental about sex. For him, it was a weapon to be used by the powerful against the weak. And the Lord knew, he had been used and abused by sexual predators enough in his short life to have learned that particular lesson.

            After his father’s premature death, the King, supposedly his guardian and protector, had crudely grabbed his family’s wealth, and delivered the fourteen year old Raymond into the hands of Lord Geoffrey. A pert and pretty lad like Raymond, all jet black curls and button nose, inevitably attracted the attention of the lascivious Chief Steward. And Alexander’s reputation for enjoying the domination and humiliation of handsome page boys was well-known.

            Raymond hadn’t even minded particularly. Alexander made it plain that Raymond was his favourite – his personal plaything. And the night the Steward robbed him of his virginity, his tights pooled round his knees and his pretty arse expertly plundered by his master’s impressive cock, had been a moment of revelation for him. He was not, by nature, submissive. A streak of cruelty ran deep within him. But he had the wisdom to know that teenage page boys are more likely to be on the receiving end of sexual sadism, and that he would have to bide his time, and rise through the ranks to achieve a status where one day he could be the dominant one.

            It had all been going so smoothly. His path to succeed Alexander as Chief Steward as the right hand man to the lord of manor had seemed assured. And then it all started to go wrong: all because of that stinking brat from the village.

            Unceremoniously demoted from his place at Alexander’s side, Raymond had focused all his hatred and envy on the simpering usurper. Innocent, naïve, little Will – completely unaware of how his perfect arse, wriggling inside his blue hose, drove all the men in the castle wild with lust. How he loathed him. And how excited he’d been to be given the opportunity to humiliate him and administer daily enemas to that plump, bubble butt.

            Then, Raymond had made a rare miscalculation. Of course, he should have known Alexander would never give up his sexy little fuckbitch. And so, Raymond had been the one condemned to weeks of the foulest degradation at the hands of the loathsome Sir Wilfrid. Raymond never forgot and he never forgave. And as he spent day after miserable day, scrabbling about in the old man’s fetid sheets, he had sworn revenge on both Will and Alexander de Courcey. And somehow, some day, he knew, he would have it.

            His daydreaming was interrupted by a flash of light in the nearby woods. Raymond narrowed his eyes and squinted into the distance. There it was again: the unmistakeable sight of sunlight gleaming off steel. He barely had a moment to think, but his childhood nickname ‘Raymond the Resourceful’ had not been for nothing. Instinctively, he launched himself at his royal master and with all his weight behind him, threw the blond Prince to the ground.

            Felix screamed in anger and shock. He and Raymond tumbled into the grass, and in that precise moment an arrow whistled through the air, right past the spot where only a second before the Prince had been wandering idly.

            Ulfgar gawped as the arrow arced, shy of its intended target, and planted itself harmlessly in the soft soil.

            “Death to the Prince!” rang a clarion cry from the woods. “Death to all pampered royalty who live off the fat of the land whilst we good folk starve!”

            Prince Felix, heart pounding as he lay sprawled on the ground, made to move and to respond to the insolent peasant.

            “Please, your highness,” whispered Raymond in his master’s ear. “Stay still. It is too dangerous.”

            Felix did as he was instructed, and Ulfgar, drawing his sword with a terrifying roar, charged into the woods, in hot pursuit of the Prince’s would-be assassin.

            Raymond stayed where he was, shielding the precious body of the young man who would one day be his king. Felix’s breathing was shallow and rapid, every well-developed muscle tense and straining. Raymond revelled in the sensation of lying atop this gorgeous specimen. His chest pressed down on the Prince’s beautiful back; their legs were separated only by the thin sheen of their tights, the silky material rubbing together most sensuously; and Raymond’s hosed cock – suddenly rock hard in the heat and the adrenaline of the moment – pressed against the twin mounds of Felix’s beautiful bottom.

            “Are you alright, my Lord?” breathed Raymond into the Prince’s ear.

            From the woods beyond, Ulfgar’s bass voice boomed: “Die, traitor! Die!”  

And a sudden, gurgling scream from the distance informed both page boy and Prince that the danger had passed.

            A little regretfully, Raymond rolled off Felix’s body.

            Eyes flashing furiously, the Prince, with as much dignity as he could muster, got to his feet and began to dust down his soiled doublet and hose.

            “Yes, boy, I am well. No thanks to that lumbering fool over there.”

            Raymond remained tactfully silent on that point. “A thousand apologies for placing a hand upon your royal person without your permission, your highness…”

            Felix raised a jewelled hand and mopped the sweat from his brow. “Under the circumstances, you are forgiven. It seems that your vow to serve me was not an idle one.”