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.