Chapter 32 - Milk and Molasses

            Night-time came and it was with some trepidation that Will entered the kitchen for his next appointment with Raymond. The large stone-clad room was unoccupied so it seemed: Mistress Olwen and her depleted staff having retired to their bedchambers. A fire had been laid and burned steadily in the hearth – somewhat unnecessarily, he thought, given the warmth of the early summer evening.

            “Hello?” he called out.

            From the shadows stepped the malevolent form of Raymond the Steward, his sleek silhouette – sheer grey hose clinging snugly to every contour of his legs, arse and bulge – a complete contrast to Will’s ungainly appearance: the crotch of Will’s white tights straining round his knees, and the nappy overflowing from the top of it.

            “Just the two of us,” purred Raymond. “Do you remember that night all those months ago? When I kissed you and wanked you off in your tights?”

            “I remember,” mumbled Will. “You did it to get me into trouble with Master Alexander.”

            “That’s as may be, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that you enjoyed it, does it? Come on, Will, admit it. You find me handsome, don’t you? You wouldn’t say no to me fucking you again, would you? Like that night all of us lads in the dormitory made use of your arse. You could even imagine I’m your precious Alexander Courcey if that would make you happy.”

            Will hesitated. He knew enough by now not to trust a single word that came out of Raymond’s silver-tongued mouth. He might be sweetness and smiles for now, but it was only that morning that he’d been pouring cold sludge over his head and calling him ‘goat-shit’.

            Raymond smiled enigmatically and gestured Will to the long wooden refectory table, on top of which lay several thick white towels.

            “Come along, baby boy. Let me change that nasty wet nappy for you.” Raymond patted the towels. “Lie down here for me.”

            Will did as he was bidden, flushing slightly at the infantilising language used by the other young man. He made to pull down his hose, but Raymond slapped his hand sharply.

            “No, no, baby boy. I’ll do that for you.”

            Will reclined and sank into the towels, so that his back lay flat and his knees were bent, his stockinged feet flat on the tabletop. He felt Raymond gently pulling down his under-sized hose as far down as his ankles. He heard a tinkling sound as the padlock round his waist was undone and felt the blessed relief as the layers of sodden padding around his nether regions were finally lifted away, allowing warm air to flow around his moist groin for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

            Raymond’s touch was, for once, gentle, and Will began to find the sensation almost soothing as the older youth’s smooth fingers caressed his naked buttocks and balls. Raymond dabbed at Will’s private parts with a flannel and some soapy water before running a clean dry towel around his genitals, and along the crack of his arse. He lingered there just a moment to prod his finger against Will’s puckered boyhole.

            Will’s cock desperately wanted to swell into hardness, but of course the constriction of the metal chastity cage prevented that eventuality.

            “Please, Raymond,” he moaned. “I need – I need – “

            But Raymond merely tutted and shook his head. “Oh no, baby boy. You’ve been too naughty. You don’t get to enjoy an erection. Not yet at least.”

            Fine white powder was patted into Will’s groin, and at the instruction “Lift your bottom, boy!” Will duly did as he was told and more talcum powder was applied to his firm fresh arse cheeks. The warmth in the room, the tender ministrations, it was almost enough to send the pretty blond lad into a peaceful sleep.

            He felt Raymond’s palm resting on his flat, naked stomach. “All this time,” mused Raymond softly, “and you’ve not pooped in your nappy…”

            Will bit his lower lip. He’d been determined to avoid that – the ultimate indignity.

            “You must be constipated,” came the diagnosis. “And I have just the treatment for that particular condition.”

            “Treatment?” Will repeated fearfully, his head rising to look Raymond in the eyes.

            “I ensured Mistress Olwen left all the right ingredients should this eventuality occur,” said Raymond. He lifted a heavy jug from the shelf on the wall and carried it over to the hearth, where a large iron pot hung on a chain above the fire. “Fresh, creamy milk – direct from Castle Montford’s own herd!” He tipped up the jug and the frothy milk splashed into the pot. Then he made his way purposefully to another shelf and fetched down a large earthenware jar. He removed the lid. “And here we have a rare delicacy!” He dipped a long metal serving spoon into the receptacle, and when he withdrew it, it was covered in a kind of thick syrup – jet black and gloopy. “Black treacle – known in some parts as ‘molasses’,” he whispered conspiratorially. “It’s very expensive and very hard to come by. You’re exceptionally lucky to be treated to such a luxury, baby boy!”

Will licked his lips in spite of himself. His diet as a child had been plain, and his time at the castle had introduced him to foodstuffs he barely could have dreamed of in his poverty-stricken past. He’d discovered he had quite the sweet tooth. The prospect of tasting a warm creamy bedtime drink sweetened with the black treacle was almost worth whatever torment Raymond might devise!

He watched eagerly as Raymond spooned one dollop after another of the treacle into the pot of milk, and then, when the jar was as good as empty, the older youth took the spoon and stirred the mixture firmly. “We must wait until it’s nice and warm,” Raymond said. “Though not too hot of course. We wouldn’t want to burn your delicate little … tongue.” If Will noticed the pause and the wicked smirk Raymond gave, he thought nothing of it. Indeed, the amiable attitude Raymond was displaying made him braver than he would normally have been.

“Raymond – Sir, may I ask you? Why do you hate me so?” he ventured.

“Why would you think I hated you, Will?”

“I didn’t ask for any of this, you know,” he persisted. “Everything that has been done to me since Alexander stole me away from my village. It’s all been out of my control. I never wanted to replace you in his bed. Or send you to serve under that horrible Sir Wilfrid.”

“No, you’re a total innocent. Completely naïve. A victim to whoever seeks to dominate you. You’ve no backbone. No intelligence. No initiative. You’re utterly passive. You’ve never made a conscious decision to do anything in your entire life. You dared to think you were worthy of my sister. And yet you were born in a goat-shit covered hovel. And if I had my way, that’s where you’d be right now. You’ve made it this far in your short life because you have a pretty face, a pretty body and a pretty bum. Is it any wonder you irritate the fuck out of me?”

Raymond’s diatribe was delivered in the same sweetly reasonable tones he’d used all evening. “Now,” he continued with a smile, “it’s time for your bedtime drink. I hope you’re thirsty. I think you’re going to enjoy this…”

He took the spoon out of the pot and tentatively touched the simmering liquid to his tongue. “Mmm, just right,” he purred. Will turned his head expectantly as Raymond lifted the pot from its chain but, instead of tipping some of its contents into one of the pewter tankards that hung from pegs along the wall, Raymond produced a kind of oilskin bag from a nearby drawer. Curiously, the bag had a loop of rope attached to the top of it and, rather than the bag being closed at the bottom, Will observed that a long length of flexible tubing dropped from it instead. A metal clamp was fixed to the tubing and then it passed through two curious balloon-like bulges – currently deflated – and each attached to their own individual squeezable bulb. The tubing terminated in an iron nozzle. Will began to get a familiar and distinctly uneasy feeling in his gut.

Raymond gazed at him, nodding knowingly. “Has the penny finally dropped, baby boy?” He started to tip the warm, black liquid into the oilskin bag. It gurgled as it flooded in, gushing down and filling the tube as far as the metal clamp. Will sniffed the air fearfully and smelt the distinct aroma of liquorice. “That’s right. You’re not going to drink my delicious concoction. It’s your new enema recipe.”

Will gulped hard. “What will it – what will it do?”

Raymond’s dark eyes glistened with anticipation. “Oh, it’s much harsher than mere water,” he explained. “The cream in the milk and the sugar in the molasses will combine in your gut to produce an enormous amount of gas almost immediately. It will be desperately uncomfortable and all you’ll want to do will be to expel it straight away. But of course we don’t want that. If it’s to do any good and clear up your constipation, it needs to stay inside you for as long as possible!”

Having emptied about half of the black solution into the bag, Raymond hung it from one of the pegs by the fireplace. Then he lifted the end of the tubing and brought the two deflated balloons level with Will’s face. “That’s what this little device is for!” Raymond scooped a handful of lard that had been left out to soften near the fireplace and set to work lathering it over the both the nozzle and the first of the deflated balloons.

Swiftly, he moved round the table from Will’s head to his rear end. Will lay there, semi-supine, his legs still slightly raised and his arsehole accessible and vulnerable. He gasped as he felt Raymond’s fingers, with practiced assurance, greasing his butt crack, and then swallowed hard as he felt the cold iron nozzle forcing its way between his larded cheeks. Raymond continued the pressure, and as Will felt the nozzle slide further into him, it was soon followed by the first of the strange balloons. Will felt his arselips open wider to accommodate the balloon and then clamp shut on the tubing as Raymond successfully wiggled the entire balloon inside.

Will felt his cock wanting to swell and harden as his arse was manhandled, but the inevitable constriction of the steel cage pinched his flesh and put paid to any notion in that direction. Raymond took hold of one of the bulbs and began to squeeze it – once, twice, thrice. As he did so, Will experienced the peculiar sensation of the balloon slowly expanding in his rectum, and before long the sides were pressing uncomfortably inside his anal cavity. Already he felt the desire to shit it out of him, but as his muscles attempted an experimental push, he soon realised glumly that the balloon had been inflated to a considerable diameter and that no amount of squeezing from him would force it to fit through his asshole.

“Oh no, baby bitch,” admonished Raymond in a whisper. “That’s stuck fast inside you now until I decide to let it go down.” He lifted the other bulb in his palm and repeated the action, squeezing over and over. This one, nestling against the outside of Will’s pink rosebud, was visible as it inflated, and Raymond experienced an erotic twitch in his tights to see the balloon pressing against Will’s most vulnerable and intimate orifice.

Raymond gave an experimental tug on the tubing, and having satisfied himself that all was secure, he returned to the side of the table to gaze into Will’s increasingly anxious eyes. “Are you ready for your enema?” he cooed.

“I’m frightened, Raymond. Please – please don’t fill me with that terrible mixture!”

“But it’s for your own good. You’ll feel so much better – afterwards.”

And with a snap of his fingers, Raymond released the clamp on the tubing. The height of the bag, hanging from its wooden peg, meant the vicious black fluid flowed swiftly, and Raymond was gratified to see that the physical effect on young Will was practically instantaneous.

For Will’s part, the warm liquid hit his insides like a tidal wave, squirting contemptuously and filling him rapidly. It wasn’t long before his belly started to swell and a moment later, he felt Raymond’s palm gently massaging his stomach, encouraging the solution higher and deeper, as it traversed through his bowels and into his guts.

Raymond checked the contents of the bag. “Your arse is guzzling all that milk and molasses with true alacrity!” he declared. “What a greedy little bottom you have! I can already see the last few dregs disappearing down the tube and filling your boyhole!”

Will glanced down at his body. There he lay, lying on his back, his legs spread, his white-hosed feet as wide as the tights would allow them to stretch, the fabric gathered in folds around his ankles. His gaze moved upwards along his smooth, muscular nude legs - bent at the knees, his boy cock imprisoned in its hateful cage, the enema tube snaking along the table, depositing the final drops of the tormenting solution inside him, and the external, visible balloon bulging against his buttocks.

Beads of sweat began to collect at Will’s brow. The warmth of the liquid had raised his body temperature, and the glowing fire combined to make him feel distinctly uncomfortable. But that was nothing compared to the sharp cramp that suddenly pierced his distended stomach.

“Ah, ah, ah!” he gasped as his poor insides suffered their exquisite torment.

“Ssshhh,” soothed Raymond, gently mopping Will’s fevered brow. “Breathe. Breathe nice and deeply. That will make the pain go away.’

Will panted anxiously, trying to control the waves of discomfort which were assailing him. All he could think of was trying to expel the wicked enema solution. He grunted and squeezed his bowls, desperate to try and rid his body of the noxious stuff, but the balloon catheter was stuck fast, and no amount of pressure could budge the blockage in his rectum.

“Not so fast, baby boy,” came Raymond’s mocking tones. “You’ll only be able to let that nasty stuff out of your bottom when I say you can.”

The older youth exulted in the other’s agony, rubbing his cock through the thin material of his grey tights. A bead of precum shone in the torch-light of the chamber, glistening against the shimmer of his hose.

“Pleeeease!” wailed Will as another devastating cramp coursed through him, causing his whole body to convulse in anguish. “I can’t take it! I’m going to burst!”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, tights boy. Here, let me give you something to take your mind off your predicament.”

Raymond kicked off his leather boots and nimbly hopped up onto the table. He planted his stockinged feet either side of Will’s tense shoulders and gradually began to lower his hosed buttocks over the blond lad’s face. He hovered for a moment, mere tantalising inches above him, before sinking down and pushing his bum hard into Will’s nose and mouth.

Will breathed in the scent of Raymond’s juicy arse and felt the sensation of the luxurious hosiery caressing his face as Raymond wriggled his buttocks over him. The necessity of trying to breathe through this new constriction did indeed distract him momentarily from the battle being fought between his bowels and the sadistic onslaught of the invading enema. However, just then another wave of cramps sent his tense and sweating body into new convulsions. He feared he would throw up if he did not emit the noxious substance soon. And he was certain that, one way or another, his body would have to rid itself of the enema, and that he would have no conscious control over it.

The guttural scream that escaped him would have woken the entire castle had it not been muffled by the insistent and fragrant pressure of Raymond’s hosed bum. Furthermore, the scream was not the only thing to slip from him as his bowels squeezed harder than ever in protest at the hellish liquid bubbling within them.

The pressure did the trick and, finally, his arse snapped open, wide enough even for the obstinate balloon catheter to be forced through it. Raymond continued to rub his hosed cock, watching in awe as the balloon and the tubing shot across the room, followed immediately by a powerful spray of black fluid. Jets of the liquid spurted yards across the room, pebble-dashing the walls and floors with their sweet-smelling aroma.

Will’s tortured stomach pulsed as it emptied its hateful contents into the air, and the youngest page boy panted with relief as he voided himself, fresh air rushing into his lungs as Raymond slowly lifted his bum from his face. Will squealed and cried aloud with the relief and the intensity of the experience. On went the expulsion, Raymond scarcely able to credit that the lad had managed to contain such quantities within his young body. Finally, at long last, the fountain slowed to an occasional spurt, and Raymond was satisfied that Will had purged himself of the milk and molasses, and that his bowels were empty once again.

Raymond clambered down from the table-top and took a long, hard look into Will’s flushed and sweating countenance. The blond lad’s whole body shuddered with relief.

Raymond raised an eyebrow at the devastated youth, lying spent and prostrate on the tabletop. “Somebody’s going to have to clean that up,” he murmured.

Chapter 31 - Breakfast for a baby boy

            Raymond’s dream left him troubled and he passed the rest of the night fitfully despite his luxurious surroundings. He rose and dressed himself in one of Alexander’s finest doublets – a padded grey jerkin emblazoned with large pearls – and delicate grey hose, so finely woven as to be almost translucent. He strode down to the kitchens. Woe betide the serving staff if his instructions had not been carried out to the letter.

            However, upon his arrival in the great cavernous stone chamber, he found nothing at which he could complain. The other servants – until so recently his peers or indeed his superiors – bowed their heads respectfully. And if Mistress Olwen betrayed a certain truculence in his presence, that was of no great significance. He stored away the observation with a mental note to admonish her for her insolence at a later date.

            There, as he had commanded, in the centre of the room stood a newly fashioned item of furniture: a tall wooden high chair – of the kind in which infants are traditionally seated. However, this particular chair would be too large for any child. Moreover, at both arm rests and leg rests were placed wooden manacles, of the kind that could be found in any rudimentary set of stocks in any town square.

            “Is it all right?” asked Mortimer anxiously. “My father was a carpenter, you know, but I’ve not had much chance to practice of late.”

            “It will suffice,” Raymond told him. He turned to the rest of the cowering staff and asked with a smirk, “Can you guess who is going to be put into it?”

            They all knew. It was as inevitable as day following night. Mistress Olwen sniffed her disapproval but dared say no more.

            “Where is Baby Will?” sneered their new Steward. “Come along now, don’t be shy.”

            Mortimer sniggered as the servants parted and Will – damp diaper still encircling his middle – shuffled forwards.

            “You’re still in your piss-stained nappy, then, goat-shit? Why of course you are. I’m the only one who can change you out of it. Maybe we’ll do that after breakfast. Maybe I’ll leave you in it all day long. Now, hop up into your high-chair!”

            Will clambered onto the wooden chair. He’d had to piss himself again in the night, so now both the nappy and the seat of his tights were truly saturated. He pulled a miserable face as he sat down, the wetness pressing against his bum a constant reminder of his humiliation. His cheeks reddened. He didn’t want to make eye contact with any of the other castle staff.

            “Lock him in place!” Raymond gestured to Mortimer and Humphrey, and they sprang to do as they were told, one on each side, fastening first Will’s wrists and then his blue-hosed ankles to the sides of the chair. The wooden manacles secured, Will could struggle all he liked, but he had no hope of release.

            “You may all begin your meal,” commanded Raymond, and the ravenous servants flocked and settled around the long wooden table and benches to begin their repast of bread and porridge.

            Finally, Raymond turned his attentions to Will. “You are to be given a greater honour than you deserve, goat-shit. I’m going to feed you myself.”

            Will’s face fell in dismay. Far from feeling that this was a great honour, he knew it would only mean further humiliation at the hands of his nemesis.

            “Do you have Will’s special breakfast recipe specially prepared, Mistress Olwen?” Raymond enquired with excessive mock-courtesy.

            Muttering under her breath, the fat cook handed him a pewter bowl. Raymond sniffed it elaborately.

            “Hmmm… that smells completely … disgusting!”

            He tipped the bowl towards Will so that the blond lad could see its contents: a greenish-grey sludge of a fairly thick consistency. Indeterminate lumps floated in it and it looked distinctly cold and unappetising.

            “I ordered Mistress Olwen to scrape her larder for only the oldest and mouldiest ingredients. We must be careful. Common goat-herds like you are unused to the rich food of the aristocracy after all. We mustn’t upset your baby boy tummy now, must we?” He patted Will’s belly just above the waistband of the  nappy.

            The other servants had by now finished their own breakfasts and all their attentions were fastened on the forthcoming entertainment that they knew Raymond was about to provide. Their new master selected a small wooden spoon from the dining table and dipped it into the congealed goo. Humphrey licked his lips in spite of himself. His permanent state of hunger meant that he’d have been prepared to try it anyway.

            “Come along now, baby boy,” cooed Raymond as he propelled the spoon towards Will’s mouth. “Open up for brek-brek.”

            Will clamped his mouth shut, determined not to give Raymond the satisfaction of feeding him the foul-looking gunk.

            Raymond tutted. “Naughty boy Will doesn’t want to eat? That will never do.” He did not slow the approach of the utensil but rather than inserting it into Will’s mouth, he smeared its contents across Will’s cheek and closed lips.

            It smelt of old beans and peas, thought Will as it dripped slowly from his face onto his fine blue tunic.

            “There you go. You’re going to have to eat it all you know.” A second spoonful, this time wiped across Will’s other cheek and nose. Some of the puree went up his nostrils.

            “What a mess you’re making!” exclaimed Raymond. “Clearly goat-shit baby boys like you never learn proper table manners!”

            Will heard a chuckle from Mortimer, and it was plain that his humiliation was proving some welcome entertainment for his colleagues. He continued to keep his mouth firmly shut, but the blob of bean that was stuck up his nose made this harder to do. And then as the third spoonful approached his face, Raymond said sharply, “Now this one is going in your mouth, bitch!” and gripped Will’s nose with his free hand. Will gasped in pain and surprise, and as he opened his mouth, Raymond rammed the spoon inside and tipped its unpleasant contents onto Will’s tongue.

            Will spluttered as the lumpy fluid went down his gullet and the other servants laughed at his discomfort.

            “Come now, goat-shit. I know you’ve had worse in your mouth!”

            Raymond continued to feed him, sticking to his promise that the entire contents of the bowl would have to be consumed before Will would be set free. However, he became even more careless as he went on. Dollops of the green gunk ‘accidentally’ slipped from the spoon and onto the fine blue fabric of Will’s tights making him flinch as the cold goo seeped through his hose and onto his legs. Raymond made sure he leant his hand on Will’s muscular thighs to ensure the mashed up vegetables were rubbed in. A particularly large spoonful was carefully tipped onto Will’s groin, so that a green stain blossomed over his hosed crotch: not that Will could feel anything through the thick wadding of his diaper.

            “Nearly finished!” declared Raymond, “just the dregs to go now!”

            And with that, he upended the bowl over Will’s head. Will cringed as the cold gunk slowly dribbled down his blond hair, down the back of his neck and into the collar of his tunic, into his eyes, over his pert nose and pooled around his pretty pink lips.

            Raymond took a step backwards to examine the page boy anointed with the green gruel: his blue finery ruined and his tights saturated with the rotten food.

            “Why what a mess you’ve made, goat-shit. Look at you, sitting there in your big wet nappy. Not able to feed yourself properly. Your delicious breakfast has gone everywhere! All over your face, your clothes, your tights! I think maybe you’d better stay here for a while to think about what a disobedient little baby boy you’ve been and how you’re going to change your behaviour if you don’t want to make your Master angry in the future!”

            Raymond turned to the other staff and glowered at them. “Don’t you miserable lot have work to do?”

            There was the scuffing sound of benches being pushed back and, like fearful rodents, the servants scurried about their daily business.

            Raymond turned to the red-faced Mistress Olwen. “Leave goat-shit here for an hour or two. Then get him cleared up and sent about his daily chores. I’ll want to play with him again this evening.”

            Later that morning, Raymond was once more in attendance on his royal master. What would the capricious beauty desire from him today, he wondered. All became clear when it transpired that the Prince’s loyal bodyguards had returned to the castle in the early hours of that very morning.

            The travel-weary brutes were summoned into the Prince’s presence to be informed of the new state of affairs.

            “Since he displayed more aptitude for protecting my royal person than either of you lumbering freaks, I have appointed Raymond my Chief Steward and right-hand man. You will obey him in all things and regard his orders as my own.”

            Odin, in particular, widened his eyes as the implications of the change in Raymond’s station sank in. He was no fool, and clearly knew from experience the folly in questioning the Prince’s whims, so he remained silent. He gazed at the new Steward, proud and imperious in his fine pearl-laden doublet and shimmering sheer hose; a far cry from the struggling and unwilling fuck toy whose sweet tight arse he had enjoyed these past few weeks.

            Raymond met his gaze: his deep, dark eyes unfathomable. Both men knew that what had happened between them in the past would not be forgotten, and each recognised in the other an adversary of whom they would need to be wary in the future. But for now, all was smiles and good nature.

            “Of course, your highness,” grinned Odin insincerely. “I wish young Master Raymond every felicitation in his sudden and unexpected elevation.”

            Raymond did not speak but gave the Viking a curt nod instead.

            “Excellent,” said Felix.

            “How did your ‘expedition’ go, Odin?” Raymond asked politely.

            Odin bared his teeth. “His Highness can now be assured of the loyalty of the local peasants. In every village we passed, at least one of its residents is now lighter by one hand.”

            “We have a big sack of them if you want to see, my liege,” added Ulfgar conversationally.

            “That won’t be necessary,” muttered the Prince, his face blanching. “And now, for today’s entertainment. As the forest is now a safe place for me to venture, I shall go hunting today.”

            Raymond had already observed that the Prince was dressed in his riding leathers. Long black boots snaked their way up the royal legs, exposing a mere hint of cream hosiery at the top of his thighs.

            “You will ride out with me, Master Raymond?”

            “It would be a pleasure and an honour, Your Highness.

            It was midday before Will was finally released from his high-chair.

            “I’d have done it sooner,” confessed Mistress Olwen, “but just between you and me, I don’t dare give that young man cause to get any angrier with you and me than he is already. Now I know Master Alexander had his – fancies. And I can’t say that I approved of them none either, but at least he had a wise head on his shoulders. He always made sure the castle ran like clockwork, and he kept his fun and games in proportion. But there’s a kind of cruelty to young Raymond. Always has been! He used to like setting fire to beetles as a lad. And I fear for what will happen to us all now he and that young Prince Felix are in league with each other. I don’t reckon he considers any of us any more significant than those poor insects he used to fry!”

            This monologue continued as Will was stripped of his gunk-covered doublet and hose. She wiped the dried pottage from his face and made him bend over the sink so that she could rinse the lumps of food from his matted hair.

            “I wish I could do something about that,” she gestured to the yellow-stained nappy fastened around Will’s hips. “But it’s padlocked in place, and I can guess who holds they key!”

            Will blushed in shame. In spite of all the other degradation he had endured since coming to live at the castle, he wondered if he would ever become accustomed to it. Here he was, stripped naked and made to stand in a dirty nappy in front of an old woman he barely knew. He’d given up all hope of ever reclaiming his dignity and his self-respect.

            “Master Yorick’s wardrobe store is sorely depleted, young Will. Those Viking brutes pillaged it when they first came here, but I’ve managed to find you a couple of things to wear whilst your own clothing is washed. I don’t know if they’ll fit you but they’ll have to do for now.”

            She handed him a plain grey tunic, and a pair of white tights. He pulled the tights up as far as they would go, but it was obvious that they were too small for him. Even had he not been wearing a bulky nappy they would not have fitted, but as it was, the gusset loitered half way between his knee and his crotch, and the waistband only made it about part way over the diaper, exposing a large area of cloth. It highlighted even more clearly that he – a grown adult well past puberty – had been diapered. Equally, the tunic was too small. It would not fasten over his chest, and displayed most of his bare, smooth torso.

            Mistress Olwen sighed as she too recognised how inadequate Will’s new apparel was. “Ah well, it will have to do,” she shrugged.

            Will slipped his white-hosed feet into his own black pumps, and disconsolately went on his way.

            He knew that he should join Mortimer straight away, and help him to clean the clogged gutters at the battlements of the castle, but Mistress Olwen’s mention of the key that was needed to free him from his nappied cage gave him the spur he required. Raymond’s position in Prince Felix’s affections seemed assured. He hoped and prayed that the barbaric Odin would not, as Raymond had speculated, come seeking him as a replacement victim. But even if he did, being ravished and violated by the brute would not exactly give him the required opportunity to replace the damning dungeon key which he had stolen from Odin’s key ring. He had to get rid of it.

            Will hurried to the empty dormitory, and fumbled around in his straw bedding until he found the iron key. He checked furtively around him, and waddling more than ever, due to his damp nappy and too-small tights, he made his way into the centre of the courtyard. As discreetly as he dared, he checked over each shoulder, and then dropped the incriminating evidence into the well. Down it tumbled, until he heard it hit the water far below with a satisfying “splosh”.

            He breathed a sigh of relief, wiped the rusty residue of the key against the stone wall, and waddled on his way.

            He would have been more anxious had he noticed in the shadows a small pair of beady eyes observing him with keen interest.

Chapter 30 - The Viking Pillages

            It had been a long – albeit enjoyable – day: from the physical tussle with Prince Felix to the ritual humiliation of young Will.

So it was with some relief that, as night fell, an exhausted Raymond slumbered in his new and luxurious sheets. The familiar bed-posts to which Alexander had once secured him were now his own. The chamber seemed to reek with the ghosts of male sex; the dominant and the submissive; the multi-faceted and numerous perversions of masculine erotica. If these walls could talk, he mused, what stories they would tell. And now he was the one who was in control. On he slept, turning indulgently in the crisply laundered bedding – a sharp and welcome contrast to the coarse straw of the pallet in the dormitory.

Suddenly he awoke with a start. What was that? He could have sworn it was the noise of the ornate oak door creaking open. Impossible. He had bolted it before getting in to bed; a precaution he deemed necessary to take given the fact that he was unconvinced that all of the servants bore him the love and respect that by rights they ought to.

            He lay there for a moment, his weary legs twitching in their hose. He was still wearing them, he realised. In his readiness for bed, he must have quite forgotten to take them off. Not that he minded. The feeling, as always, of the tight material clinging to his lower body was perfectly pleasurable.

            There it was again. This time the sound was unmistakeable. A definite footfall on the stone flagstone floor.

            “Who’s there?” he demanded, peering into the gloom.

            “It’s me,” responded a familiar, gruff voice.

            Raymond took a sharp intake of breath as he saw the gigantic form of Odin the Viking outlined in the moonlight.

            “How dare you enter here!” he exclaimed.

            Odin chuckled. “I’ve spent three days in the saddle thinking of little else but your cunt, boy.”

            “Get out of here,” stammered Raymond. “I’ve been promoted. I’ll no longer be your fucktoy.”

            “Says who?”

            Ominously, Odin made that oh-so familiar gesture of unthreading his thick leather belt, and with a clanging clatter, it and the plethora of iron keys fastened to it, hit the floor.

            “I came straight here, boy. I’ve not bathed. The sweat of three hard days’ riding is clinging to my body.”

            He unhooked his heavy leather jerkin and tossed it to one side. Then he hoisted his thin linen shirt over his head, exposing his immense chest and his vast arms, veined and bulging, all of them impossibly hirsute.

            “I’m warning you.” Raymond’s voice quivered in indignation.

            “Oh, you’re warning me, are you?” taunted Odin. “Well, unluckily for you, my cock doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

            And with a growl, he unbuttoned the steel fasteners at the fly of his leather trousers and exposed the tumescent monster that lurked within. Already hard, it was more like the arm of a regular man than a cock.

            “The Prince will know of this!”

            “Will he now?”

            “I shall call for him!”

            “That would be very stupid, boy. He hates to have his sleep disturbed, you know. But you scream, by all means. You know how I like to hear you scream.”

            Odin bent to remove his heavy leather boots and let his trousers fall to the floor. He stepped out of them, revealing his vast, tree trunk-like legs, each as hairy as the rest of his massive body. All that remained were the short, coarsely woollen socks on his giant feet.

            “Good honest wool,” Odin remarked contemptuously. “Not like the flimsy silk and satin of the poofy tights you queerboys like to wear.”

            Raymond scrabbled out of his sheets, all too aware that he was still clad in his black and white particoloured hosiery.

            “Now where do you think, you’re going, girlie? I want that ass…”

            Raymond made a desperate leap for freedom, but the Viking effortlessly knocked him back onto the bed with one spade-like palm.

            The wretched youth gazed up in fear as the hulk loomed over him.

            “Has my little girl missed her Daddy’s cock inside her?”

            Without awaiting a response, the brute flipped Raymond over. He ran his callused fingers through the lad’s dark curls.

            “Bite down into that pillow, bitch. We don’t really want to disturb his Highness, do we?”

            “Get your hands off me!” squealed Raymond as Odin’s thick fingers rapidly located the exact place in his hose where his unsuspecting arsebud nestled. Odin merely grunted in response and prodded the boy’s sweating pussy with his fore and middle finger. Then, burying his face in Raymond’s hosed arse cheeks, the giant used his teeth to tear a hole in the luxurious fabric.

            Ignoring his victim’s anguished “Noooo!”, Odin pushed his stubbly cheeks even further between the curves of the lad’s bum and began teasing the pink target with his long, rough tongue: flickering, darting in and out to prepare the opening for the onslaught it was about to endure.

            Raymond writhed in a combination of dread and ecstasy: the sensation at his anus arousing him in spite of himself.

            “I see my bitch is turned on, regardless of how she protests,” Odin said grimly. He withdrew his tongue, and in an instant, threw his weight on top of the struggling young man. Raymond gasped, winded, as the sweating, hairy body collapsed on top of him, and felt his own slim wrists grabbed and pinioned by the clammy palms of his violator. Resistance was futile, he knew from experience. The sheer strength and power of the Norseman was implacable. However, Raymond’s pride would not allow him to lay there meekly. Struggle he must, even though he knew his wriggling protests served no purpose other than to provoke Odin to further heights of lust.

            The giant lay there a moment, revelling in the sensation of the boy’s quivering, nubile flesh pinned beneath him. “Open up to me, bitch,” he murmured into the white curve of Raymond’s ear, and then bit down hard on the soft white flesh of the lad’s neck.

            Raymond screamed in pain and shock, his whole body tightened and convulsed. And in that moment, Odin grabbed Raymond’s tights-clad hips and pulled them upwards, tucking the lad’s legs – one black, one white – under him and raising his arse to a prime position. Raymond gritted his teeth. He knew what was coming next, and no amount of forewarning could ever prepare him for the moment of penetration. Odin aimed his monstrous dong at the boy’s puckered fuckhole, and forcing Raymond’s head into the pillow to muffle the inevitable scream, he ploughed his meat into the lad’s unwilling orifice. Raymond’s head swam with pain as the warrior raped his piteous boy-hole.

            “Mmm feels sooo good, bitch,” rasped the ogre. “Your velvety chute clamped down on my manmeat. I’m gonna split you in two. Fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. Give you a shafting my little girl will never forget. You won’t be able to walk for weeks by the time I’m done with you…”

            The lad whimpered feebly, a hoarse mantra of “No, no, please, no” over and over. An attempt to move at least one wrist was quashed as Odin merely exerted a little extra pressure onto him. Visions of the Viking’s red and angry cockhead as it pushed in and out of him fleeted through Raymond’s mind. How could anyone enjoy experiencing this, he raged in anguish. The pain. The utter subjugation. The humiliation. The degradation of being used. Turned into some passive, submissive creature. Less than a man. A whore. A slut. A hole existing for the sole pleasure of his assailant.

            His arse throbbed with the agony of the treatment it was receiving. There was real anger in Odin’s thrusts, and God knows how long it would take him to achieve climax and spurt his creamy jism up Raymond’s pulsing rectum.

            “Ohhh that feels so good, girlie. You’re one of the sweetest fucks I’ve ever had, you know that? And by Thor, I love the way you struggle beneath me. Now, let me take you like the little doggy you are…”

            Swiftly, economically, and without even withdrawing his cock, Odin repositioned Raymond so that he was on all fours. He reached round to squeeze the lad’s bulge in his tights.

            “Ha!” Odin exclaimed. “You’re not enjoying this, are you bitch? Barely anything there. That suits me fine. I can almost believe I’m taking a real virgin lass.”

            “The slave needs its mouth stuffed too.”

            A new voice, old and dry and cracked as parchment, came from somewhere in the chamber. Raymond looked around, frantically, but his damp curls kept falling into his eyes. Surely not! It couldn’t be! Could it?

            “You’re welcome to use her other hole as you see fit, my friend!” said Odin magnanimously. “I have no use for it at present.”

            Raymond’s eyes widened in stunned terror as the desiccated form of Sir Wilfrid, Lord Geoffrey’s vile old uncle, shuffled round the side of the bed.

            The old man licked his lascivious lips and leered at his former playtoy. “It’s been some time, slave! Have you missed my prick between your lips?”

            Raymond shook his head incredulously. “No! No! NO!”

            But his wailing gave the old lecher just the chance he needed to insert his withered pecker between the boy’s parted lips, gagging and muffling any further protest. Spit-roasted. Pierced at both ends by two cocks – one ancient and loathsome – the other gargantuan and furious – Raymond sobbed at the indifference of the Universe to his plight. Could his predicament get any worse?

            Then came the answer to his plea.

            “Methinks he is not sufficiently stuffed. I have just the thing to answer to our needs.”

            The mellifluous tones of Alexander Courcey rang around the stone walls of the bedchamber.

            Raymond was incredulous. How dare he?! If it were possible, his struggles became even more desperate. He tried to cry out: “Traitor! Cur!” - anything to alert the Prince to the danger presented by the appearance of his treasonous predecessor. But his mouth was stuffed with Sir Wilfrid’s cock, and his mumbled exclamations went for nothing.

            “What do you suggest, my friend?” laughed Odin heartily, never for a moment ceasing from thrusting his hips against Raymond’s hosed buttocks.

            “Oh I have a basket of goodies just ripe for inserting into our young victim! Apples! Pears! Bananas! Plums! Only the juiciest, highest quality fruits will suffice for this young man!”

            His tormentors were merciless.

            The rhythm of Odin’s fuck barely altered; only now, when he pulled back, he withdrew his cock just long enough to allow Alexander to squeeze a purple plum into Raymond’s fundament. If Wilfrid’s semi-flaccid prick slipped from between Raymond’s lips, no matter how briefly, a tangerine was inserted, and when the old man’s cock returned, he pushed it insistently into the fruit’s firm flesh inside Raymond’s mouth.

            Attention turned back to Raymond’s arse. A freshly peeled banana unceremoniously shoved in deep, and soon Odin’s cock set to work mashing the yellow fruit to a pulp inside him.

            Raymond gagged. He tried to scream: “I’m full! No more! I beg you no more!” But the fruit and the cock inside his crammed mouth transformed his anguished pleas into an indecipherable mumble.

            The pain of the pressure against his insides was unbearable. His internal capacity was finite after all. They couldn’t keep filling him with fruit whilst also continuing to fuck him!

            But his protests were to no avail.

            “Maybe we should fetch some carrots and courgettes from the kitchen,” mused Alexander. “A boy needs meat and vegetables in his diet after all.”

            “Well he’s certainly getting plenty of meat!” cackled Sir Wilfrid, and the others joined in with hearty guffaws.

            I’m going to burst, thought Raymond. They’re going to keep on till they kill me.

            “Wait a moment!” A triumphant cry from Alexander. “I have just the thing. Young Raymond here – so ambitious – so desirous of his place in the Prince’s bedchamber. Well, if he loves royalty so much, he surely deserves the King of fruits up his behind! What do you think, eh?”

            And with a flourish, he presented to Raymond the largest pineapple the youth had ever seen.

            Raymond howled out a scream from his deepest soul, in fear and desperation. He screwed his eyes tightly shut as if hoping that eradicating the pineapple from sight might also prevent the monstrous intrusion that was about to occur. Any moment now that vicious fruit would split his hole wider than it had ever been!

            But then - nothing happened. He waited. He opened his eyes. For a moment he was disoriented. Here he was in his new bedchamber, sweat glistening all over his naked and trembling body. But he was quite alone.

            His heaving breaths resided into sobs of quiet relief.

            The door was fastened as securely as he’d thought: his fine black and white hose neatly draped over the back of an arm chair just where he had left it the evening before.

Odin, Sir Wilfrid and Alexander were gone. Indeed they had never been there at all. They were shades of his own making – sprung from his own imagination to torment him in the night.

            Never again, he thought. Never again will I be used like that. And he set his teeth in rigid determination.

Chapter 29 - Wet and Wild

29. Wet and Wild

            Will trudged disconsolately back to his chores. Every step he took made him acutely conscious of the rustling of the nappy he had been forced into. The bulky material between his thighs meant he had to waddle slightly, and his bum, covered in the thin sheen of his hose, felt massive. Meanwhile, he felt his cock already wanting to harden and lengthen within the nappy, but found it was hopelessly constricted by the cold, cruel steel of Raymond’s chastity device. The worst thing was the inevitable knowledge that, sooner or later, he would need the toilet, and that meant he would have no choice but to soil himself. He grimaced in disgust at the thought. Was life here under these circumstances really better than taking his chances on the road with Alexander? Maybe it wasn’t too late, he pondered. Maybe he could yet flee from the castle and try to find the fugitive Steward.

            He shook his head. It was hopeless. Even if he did track him down, Alexander would probably laugh in his face. Will had been a convenient arse for him to fuck, but the Steward had made it very clear he did not want him tagging along with him. Besides, Will was completely reliant on Raymond’s mercy if he ever wanted to be able to touch his cock again: unless he could somehow get his hands on they key that would unlock both the belt encircling his waist and the cruel chastity device.

            The thought of that key brought to mind the other: the iron key to the dungeon, which still nestled incriminatingly in Will’s bedding. Now Alexander was free, it was a dangerous thing for him to hang on to, he decided. He would need to return it to Odin’s key-ring as soon as possible. Not for the first time, he cursed the clumsy assassin whose wayward arrow had not only missed its target but caused Raymond to be promoted to the Prince’s right hand. There would be no more night-time visits to the dormitory for Odin to come and fuck the dark-haired youth. And without them, how could Will hope to get the key back unnoticed? He shuddered with fear at the prospect of replacing Raymond as the object of Odin’s lust.

            He entered the kitchen, where he saw Mortimer standing near the fireplace, turning one of the castle’s mammoth iron spits. Mortimer did a double-take.

            “What are you - ?” he paused as a wicked grin spread across his freckled face. “Have you got a nappy on under your tights?”

            “You needn’t look so pleased about it,” muttered Will.

            “Ah, poor baby Will gonna wet himself?”

            “Please, Mortimer. After all we’ve gone through for the entertainment of Prince Felix…”

            The skinny lad relented. “Did Raymond put you in it?”

            Will nodded mutely.

            “He’s risen to the top like scum, hasn’t he? You never know though – you might be in luck. Sounds like his time as the Prince’s golden boy may have come to an end.”

            “What do you mean?” asked Will, hope springing in his breast.

            “There’s a heck of a noise been coming from the royal apartments. Raymond’s in there with the Prince. It sounds like they’re having a fight!”

           

             Raymond lay, sweating and panting on the priceless rugs of the royal chamber. The Prince may have been at the peak of fitness not too long ago but his weeks of comparative indolence since his arrival at the castle had had an effect. And Raymond’s menial tasks gave him a strength that meant the contest was more equal than he might have anticipated. However, his politician’s mind was whirring: Felix may have wanted a contest but he would surely never forgive Raymond were he to lose!

            The Prince, also appreciating the chance to recover his breath, crawled over to his servant and clambered to his feet. Oily sweat glistened on Felix’s muscled torso. His luxurious green tights clung to him, damp with perspiration and patterned with the oily prints of Raymond’s palms. His perfect white teeth gleamed a wicked grin and he ran a manicured hand through his tousled yellow hair.

            “I’d say we are well-matched, Master Steward. Shall we call a truce and have some refreshment?”

            Raymond smiled back at him, with a pang of regret that he would no longer have the chance to savour that exquisite male form, hosed and panting, gyrating in ultimate proximity to his own. Only moments ago, Felix had lain atop him, breathing hard, dominant and triumphant. And then Raymond had turned the tables, gripping the Prince’s body between his own powerful thighs: the sensation of silken hose against male flesh alluring and intensely exciting.

            He held out his hand and Felix grasped it, hauling the dark youth to his feet. Then, in a sudden move that caught Raymond unawares, the Prince twisted his hosed foot behind Raymond’s ankle, unbalancing him. Before Raymond could hit the floor, the Prince scooped him up in his arms and carried him effortlessly towards the bathroom.

            “Your highness?” gasped Raymond, but the Prince only laughed as he reached the edge of the massive marble bath and held his captive hovering above the water.

            “In you go!” Felix cried, letting go and plunging Raymond into the perfumed bubbles beneath him.

            For a moment, Raymond sank beneath the surface, and then he emerged, spluttering, nose and mouth filled with lavender flavoured water. He watched the Prince clamber into the tub, cocking first one hosed leg over the side of the bath, and then the other: the water instantly causing each green leg to turn a darker shade as the material soaked up the moisture. For a moment, Felix stood there, still as a statue, and then with a triumphant roar, he splashed down on top of Raymond. Once more, Raymond revelled in the sensation of that divinely proportioned form pressing against him: chest against chest, groin pushed against groin, four muscular, tights-clad legs entwined in the warm water.

            There was an evil glint in Felix’s piercing blue eyes and that briefest of warnings gave Raymond chance to gulp some air into his lungs before his royal master pushed his dark head beneath the surface of the water. He held his breath, struggling against the other man’s body, but his efforts came to naught. Eventually, the Prince released his captive and Raymond’s face erupted to the surface, gasping as he filled his bursting lungs.

            “Do you yield?” Felix asked casually.

            Between shuddering breaths, Raymond gasped: “I yield, your Highness. I yield.”

            Prince Felix’s grin grew wider. “Good”. He rolled off Raymond’s body and stepped out of the bath, his green tights sodden and dripping water onto the stone floor. Raymond could not help but observe how the wet material of the hose clung indecently to the globes of the Prince’s buttocks – the arse crack perfectly sculpted and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Raymond’s prick pulsed with the desire to enter that forbidden cave.

            Every moment he spent gazing at the divine physical beauty of the Prince spurred on Raymond’s desire to dominate and subjugate that golden body. God could not have designed better a creature more suited to drive a man into a frenzy of lust. Maybe one day, Raymond mused. After all, had not Felix himself initiated the physical intimacy of their play fight? Stripping down to their naked torsos and clad only in their tights, the oil, the plunge into the pool…

            Raymond’s prick had certainly hardened during the encounter. Surely it was not merely wishful thinking on his part that imagined that the royal member had done the same? He contemplated whether the Prince had ever had sex at all. Surely amongst the knights and squires, the young men of the royal court, Felix would have had his pick of the handsomest and most powerful in the land? Then again, maybe it was the female form that the Prince preferred.

            Raymond smiled inwardly. No, he thought to himself. The vain young man’s arrogance was so great, somehow he knew instinctively that Felix would not regard anyone on earth – male or female – his physical equal. He was positive that the Prince was yet a virgin, unwilling to let any other human approach the secret, sacred parts of his heavenly body.

            What a challenge that would be, thought Raymond: to be the one to steal the Prince’s long-cherished virginity. Well, he had succeeded in becoming Chief Steward. Why not add the position of royal bedfellow into the bargain?

            Emboldened by his erotic thoughts, Raymond risked the merest of playful admonishments: “We had called a truce, my liege…”

            The Prince turned to face him, his cock and balls outlined in perfect detail within the sopping tights. “You think I played unfairly, eh? Then you have learned a valuable lesson today, Master Raymond. When it comes to kings and princes, there is no such thing as ‘fair’” …

            The afternoon sun was warm as Alexander Courcey, the previous incumbent of the post of Chief Steward, trudged along the dirt path. He moved swiftly and cautiously, his dark hood covering his all too recognisable features, avoiding the populated villages and anxious to put as much distance as possible between himself and his former home. Somewhere out here, those lumbering brutes, Odin and Ulfgar, roamed like a tornado, wreaking havoc amongst the peasants. His meagre provisions would not last long, he mused, patting the leather satchel the loyal young Will had purloined for him. And he was desperate to get his hands on a horse to aid his flight. Just a little further, he thought. Just a little further…

            “Drink it. Every last drop.”

            “I’m really not thirsty anymore, Raym - Sir.”

            “Do as you’re told, goat-shit. I want to see that cup drained to the bottom.”

            Raymond lounged on the divan in his chambers, dressed in yet more embroidered finery. The only evidence of his tussle with the Prince were his slightly damp black curls. Before him stood the unfortunate Will, his nappy big and bulky within the silken snugness of his blue hose: his legs forced apart by the amount of wadding wrapped around his private parts.

            It was the third goblet of water that he’d been forced to drink, and Will’s stomach was now full and bloated with the liquid, causing the waistband of his bright blue tights to expand to contain his protruding tummy.

            “You’ve held out this long but I bet you really need to piss now, don’t you, boy?”

            Raymond’s taunt was all too true. Will’s bladder was full to bursting and he desperately needed to relieve it.

            “Don’t you dare let go yet,” threatened Raymond, his eyes glinting in triumph at the predicament of the younger boy. “You hang on until I tell you can release!”

            Will hopped from one stockinged foot to the other, biting his lip in desperation at the need to urinate, knowing all too well that the moment he did, that the fluid would be going nowhere other than into the diaper wrapped around his groin.

            “Everyone’s seen you in your nappy then?” inquired the new Steward. “Everyone in the castle has had a good laugh at you being dressed like a big baby boy?”

            Will nodded, mute and miserable.

            “Answer me, bitch!”

            “Yes, Sir. They’ve all seen me wearing my nappy inside my tights.”

            “Good. Good. So they all know I’m controlling your toilet habits now and deciding exactly when and where you can go. I think we might begin your enema regime again in the morning. I take it you’ve not shat yourself yet?”

            “No, Sir.” For that at least, Will was grateful.

            “It’s only a matter of time,” sneered Raymond. He paused to fetch himself a goblet of wine. “I imagine that urge to piss is stronger than ever now, isn’t it, eh?”

            Will was physically writhing now with the effort of control his need to go, barely able to speak, every ounce of concentration focused on controlling his brimming bladder. “Please, please – oh, oh oh!!”

            And with a disconsolate wail, the battle was lost. His cock pulsed as the fluid began to flow, and Will could not help but feel a desperate kind of relief as he felt the material pressed to his genitals begin to moisten and swell as his piss soaked into it. The warm wetness spread, now to his balls, now along the crack of his arse, now over his buttocks. On he pissed. Unable to stop the flow, try as he might, wetting himself freely as he had not done since he was a toddler back in his mother’s hovel.

            The expression of relief and ecstasy on Will’s previously tortured face told Raymond all he needed to know.

            “You dirty little bitch,” he whispered. “Pissing yourself in your nappy. Filling your diaper like a baby boy. That feel good, does it? All that sodden material clinging to your body?”

            Will’s lower lip trembled as he suffered the degradation of wetting himself in front of his greatest nemesis: the helplessness and the humiliation of the situation flooding over him as surely as his own urine flooded into its cloth enclosure.

            Finally his bladder was empty. But if all that hateful piss was no longer inside him, it hadn’t gone far: the nappy now warm wet and heavier than ever. The diaper sagged within his hosiery, hanging from his hips. It would cool, he knew. Indeed it had begun to do so already. How Will longed to have the horrible, embarrassing thing ripped from him, and to be free of the soggy, bulging loincloth.

            Raymond sniffed the air disdainfully. “You stink, goat-shit, you know that? You disgust me. You’re not even able to exercise a modicum of self-control. Standing in front of your master, pissing freely into your nappy and into your hose. Abasing yourself like an animal. I bet that submissive cock of yours would be twitching into hardness if it weren’t for the chastity device you’re wearing.”

            Will gulped ruefully. Knowing his aberrant prick, it probably would.

“I suppose you’d like me to change you now? Pull your tights down, unpin that demeaning nappy, dry off your wet buttocks, pat them with talcum powder like a pampered infant, and replace it with a nice new clean one?”

Will didn’t know what he wanted anymore. And he knew by now that his wants and desires would not feature in Raymond’s plan anyway.

“Maybe I would have done just that. But you disobeyed me, bitch. I never said you were allowed to piss, and you went ahead and did it anyway. A disobedient baby boy must learn his lesson, don’t you think? And you can mull over your lesson tonight. I don’t imagine any of the other servants will want to eat their dinner anywhere near you, stinking of piss in your stained nappy. They’ll all know exactly what you’ve done, won’t they? And you can spend all night in your soiled diaper too. That’ll be really uncomfortable won’t it? Full and wet and cold material against your skin all night long. I might see fit to change you in the morning. We’ll see. For now, I’m sick of the sight of you. Fuck off and get on with your chores, goat-shit.”

Will went on his way. The giant, wet nappy, sodden with his own bodily fluids, constricted his movement more than ever, and he waddled along, one sorry tights-clad leg after another.