Chapter 33 - Black treacle and Blacksmiths

           

            “There’s still half of it left, you know…”

            Raymond was peering into the iron pot. He inhaled deeply and made a great show of relishing the aroma of its bubbling contents.

            Will, spent with exhaustion, raised his shoulders from the table. “No,” he begged. “No more, please.”

            “Surely you’re not suggesting we waste a drop of this precious delicacy?” exclaimed Raymond in mock-horror. “Besides, we do need to ensure you’re completely clean inside… don’t we?”

            His tone turned harsher. “Come here, goat-shit. Now.”

            Will sighed desperately and staggered over to the hearth, a manoeuvre not made any easier by the fact his white tights, lingering round his ankles, constricted his movement as he tried to walk. His stomach, protesting still, gurgled as he moved, and as Will reached the fireside, a wet fart bubbled out of him.

            Raymond sneered at his subordinate. “Don’t look so terrified. We won’t be using the catheter this time.” True to his word, Raymond detached the twin balloons from the tubing. Unsurprisingly, given what he knew of Raymond, this did not provide Will with any particular comfort or reassurance. “How shall we position you this time, eh? I think I’d like to see your arse high in the air, baby bitch. So bend over and grab your ankles.”

            As ever, with no choice but to comply, Will did as he was bidden. Blood rushed to his head and his bare bum was warmed by the flames. For the second time that night, Will felt the unwelcome intrusion of the iron nozzle between his buttocks, and for the second time again, Raymond mercilessly released the clamp that presaged the depositing of the hateful fluid deep into Will’s bowels.

            Vulnerable, near naked and exposed, his bare bum bobbing in the air as he was dominated and controlled by his new master, Will began to grow light-headed as the liquid surged into him once more. As if reading his mind, Raymond taunted him: “You’re mine to use as I wish, bitch boy. You don’t even have any control over your most basic bodily functions. I control what precisely goes in and out of your arsehole. And when.”

            For a second time, Will was forced to take the whole contents of the enema bag. This time there was a moment of calm, as if his body needed a moment to comprehend the fact that it was to be assailed all over again - and was rejecting the notion with disbelief.

            However, with no balloons this time to impede the flood of emission, Will knew that he had no hope in hell of retaining the enema for anywhere near as long before. It was with a certain grim satisfaction that he realised Raymond’s fine grey doublet and hose was in genuine danger of being spattered with the effluent that would surely soon erupt from his arse.

            As always seemed to be the case with Raymond, the older youth was one step ahead of him. With a pang of dismay, Will felt the familiar sensation of a nappy being swiftly and deftly wrapped around his middle. Once the wadding was secured, Raymond stepped back to admire his handiwork.

            “Very well, bitch. You can pull your tights up again now.”

            Misery etched across his face, Will tugged his pure white hosiery over his calves and his thighs, pulling them up as far as they would go, over the new clean diaper that he had been dressed in.

            “How smart you look. All fresh and clean in your new nappy and pretty white tights. I do hope nothing happens to get them dirty, young Will,” smiled Raymond solicitously. “Now, go and stand over there and let’s see you squat a little. I want to see you sticking out that big diapered baby bottom of yours like the humiliated sub slut you know you are.”

            Gingerly, Will went to stand in the corner that Raymond had indicated, acutely aware that his insides were churning once more – less tolerant than ever of the fluid that had once more flooded his guts. He tried to focus entirely on his sphincter muscle, clamping it shut so that nothing could escape him.

            “Oh, I bet you really want to let all that nasty stuff out, don’t you? I bet it hurts like hell having to squeeze your arsehole tight to stop it exploding out of you.”

            A new cramp. Will gritted his teeth. Clenched his fists. He wouldn’t – couldn’t allow Raymond the satisfaction of seeing him shit himself.

            “I’m in no hurry. We have all night long. But you will fill that diaper sooner or later. And I want to see the look on your face when you do it.”

            Idly, Raymond began to rub his tights-covered groin with his jewelled palm. He grabbed a nearby stool and stepped up onto it so his engorged cock now rested level with, and mere inches from, Will’s anguished face. Raymond slipped his rock-hard dick from the constraints of his tights and began to jerk it urgently.

            Suddenly, out of nowhere, a cramp hit that felt like Will had been punched in the stomach. There was no way that he could endure it any longer. He lost control and as he did so, a gasp escaped his lips: “Oh God, oh God, no!”

            “That’s it, slave bitch!” crowed Raymond as he neared climax. “Let all that nasty enema out into your nappy! I want to see it flood out of you!”

            Raymond got his wish as a torrent of thick, sticky, sickly sweet fluid gushed from Will’s ass. Will shivered in shock and disgust as the mixture shot into his diaper and filled it, rapidly swirling round his buttocks and genitals. But there was no way on Earth that the meagre swaddling could contain the sheer force and volume of that expulsion! As another wave of cramps hit and more of the treacly liquid surged out of him, Will realised that his nappy had reached its capacity, and was now overflowing.

            “Oh no, oh no!” he wailed, salt tears springing to his eyes as a foul, warm wetness began to run out the bottom of the nappy and down the backs of his thighs. He glanced down behind him, as if hoping mere willpower would staunch the flow. But instead, all he saw was the ominous dark gloop staining the pristine whiteness of his tights a tell-tale black: the initial trickle swelled and became a free-flowing stream which started to puddle under his white-hosed soles. The rich aroma of liquorice assailed his nostrils once more.

            “What’s happened?” demanded Raymond, fist still jerking furiously. “Tell me, bitch! Tell me what you’ve done!”

            “I’ve shat myself,” Will sobbed in humiliation. “The enema has burst out of my ass, filled my nappy and flowed down my tights-covered legs onto the floor!”

            “That’s right, bitch! How utterly humiliating for you to have to stand there flooding your nappy with all that disgusting enema! Soiling your pretty white tights with all that stuff from your ass!”

Raymond grunted and heaved, his cock spasming and squirting its creamy ejaculate directly into Will’s stricken face; the gloopy cum landed on the blond lad’s cheeks, lips and eyelashes, and mingled with his salty tears.

            Both youths gasped deep lungfuls of air as they attempted to regain control of themselves: the only sounds in the echoing chamber the steady drips of various liquids hitting the stone floor.

            Raymond climbed down from his stool and walked up to the ravaged Will. He reached out and squeezed Will’s nappied arse. As he squashed the padding, more of the sticky enema fluid gushed out of the confines of the diaper, flooding over the top and down Will’s tights. Will shuddered as the nasty liquid cooled against his flesh.

            “You dirty little slut. You filthy bitch…”

            It was getting late, but, glancing up towards the highest tower of the castle, the ever-observant Raymond noticed that candle-light yet flickered in the window of the royal bedchamber.

            He had dismissed the whimpering slutboy, forcing Will to trudge the long corridors back to the dormitory in his stained, sticky, ruined white hose. Raymond looked around him at the brownish black blemishes on the walls and floors: some of them several yards away from the scene of Will’s treatment. He smiled to himself as he pondered which of his minions he would select to scrub the offensive blandishments from the stone walls and floors. He glanced at the dying embers of the fire and peered into the iron pot.  A small quantity of sweet fluid lingered at the bottom.

            “Waste not, want not,” murmured the new Steward, and dipping a tankard in the simmering pot, he filled it three-quarters full of the creamy syrup.

            “Enter!” called the Prince languidly as Raymond identified himself from the other side of the door.

            Raymond did as he was ordered, and entered the royal chambers to find Prince Felix lying on his front atop the coverlets, bare chested and naked save for his cream riding hose. In spite of his all-too recent sexual release, Raymond’s libido gave a little tug of pleasure at the sight of Felix’s firm buttocks, lying there so invitingly in their cream enclosure.

            “What do you want?” demanded the Prince.

            “I thought you might appreciate a sweet, milky drink before bed-time, your Highness. I shall leave it here at your bedside.”

            “I’ve missed riding,” sighed Felix as he swang his legs round to take a sip of the frothing libation. “And I find I’m a little out of practice. My back aches and my shoulders are tense. Mmm, that tastes good. What’s in it?”

            “My own secret recipe, my Lord,” twinkled Raymond. “Perhaps I could try to massage away some of your tension?” he ventured.

            The Prince did not reply, but merely lay down again on the bed, stretching out his cream coloured legs, and making his smooth, golden back available for Raymond’s ministrations. Quivering with the anticipation of once again placing his hands on that perfect flesh, Raymond climbed onto the bed and straddled his master, his own bum shimmering in its sheer grey tights, perched atop the cream buttocks of the Prince.

            Slowly yet firmly, Raymond began to knead the bunched muscles in Felix’s shoulders, and was rewarded with a long sigh from the Prince which encouraged him to press harder. Raymond looked down at his own tights-clad thighs and squeezed them slightly against either side of Felix’s back. He imagined the sensation of feeling that fine mesh against one’s bare skin.

            In silence he worked, gently rolling his palms and fists against the knots in Prince Felix’s upper body. Eventually, he found the courage to ask the question that had been playing on his mind for the last few weeks.

            “Your Highness, you know my loyalty to you is without question…”

            No reply.

            “Well, I find myself curious. Will you tell me what exactly happened to my predecessor? Where is Alexander Courcey?”

            A pause, and then Prince Felix turned his golden head and stared up at Raymond with his devastating, dazzling blue eyes.

            “By all means, my most loyal servant. I believe the time has come for us to close the final chapter on Alexander Courcey. In the morning, I promise to satisfy your curiosity once and for all.”

            How astonished would Prince Felix have been to learn that, far from mouldering in the royal dungeon, the disgraced erstwhile Steward of Castle Montford was now in fact several miles away from his former home? Alexander had spent the past week travelling by night and sleeping by day in secluded corners of the forest, avoiding any fellow wayfarers lest they recognised him from.

            Only now, he mused, many days’ walk from the castle, dared he risk an encounter with another human being. And just as that very thought occurred to him, the trees parted to reveal a little stone cottage. The glow of candle-light from the windows informed him that its inhabitants were not yet in their beds.

            He lowered his hood, ran a hand through his black hair in an attempt to make himself appear a little more presentable, and rapped three times on the door. It opened just a crack and a suspicious eye peered out.

            “What do you want?” demanded an uncouth male voice.

            “I am a weary traveller and I have been on the road for many a day,” explained Alexander. “I wondered if you had a spare bed I could use for the night. I have money and can pay you handsomely for your hospitality.”

            “Who is it, Stanley?” called another man’s voice from inside the cottage.

            The door was closed firmly in Alexander’s face as the first man entered into a whispered exchange with the second. Minutes passed and Alexander waited expectantly on the doorstep. The voices within the cottage seemed to be in conflict, and the snatches of the argument that he could overhear suggested the point of contention was over whether or not to submit this stranger into their home.

            Eventually, the matter seemed to be resolved, and the door swang open wide. Alexander gazed upon the tall, broad-shouldered young man before him. He was about thirty years of age, with curly auburn hair and hazel eyes. His features were too plain for him to be considered handsome, but his wide mouth was up-turned in a good-natured and welcoming smile.

            “Forgive my brother,” he said. “These are dark times and he has a naturally suspicious nature. But I say things have come to a pretty pass if we cannot offer our help to a fellow man who reaches out in his hour of need.”

            “I am grateful to you, Sir,” said Alexander. “I am sure your kindness will be repaid ten-fold.”

            “Please, welcome to our little home,” the man continued, ushering Alexander inside. “My name is Arthur, and this is my younger brother, Stanley.”

            He gestured towards his sibling. Stanley was as tall and well-built as his brother, and his hair the exact same shade of red. However, in contrast to Arthur’s curly locks, Stanley’s fell straight against his forehead. Like his brother, he was no great beauty, but his green eyes were framed with long, dark delicate lashes which gave a queer and unusual sense of femininity, and contrasted with the strong outline of his manly jaw.

            Stanley’s lips were pressed firmly together in an expression of disapproval, and his curt nod in Alexander’s direction informed him that the visitor had been admitted to their home against his wishes and over his protests.

            “They call me Olivier,” lied Alexander smoothly. “I am travelling south on family business, and I find that there are no inns or taverns nearby in which I might spend the night.”

            “Ah, no, good Master Olivier,” confirmed Arthur. “You won’t find such hostelries for many a mile. But I am sure we can provide you with a comfortable spot for you to rest your head before you continue on your way.”

            Almost unconsciously, Alexander had performed a quick inventory of the two young men as prospective sexual conquests. Whilst neither were conventionally beautiful, they were clearly manual workers and their bodies showed promise of fine, firm muscles beneath their clothing.

            Here, however, as so often when he ventured beyond the confines of the castle and in amongst the peasantry, Alexander found himself frustrated. Instead of displaying their sturdy, muscular calves and thighs in colourful hosiery, the two brothers were clad in leather jerkins and leather trousers that concealed, rather than exhibited, their legs, bums and bulges.

            Brother Arthur invited him to take a seat at their table, plying him with bread, cheese and fruit with an eagerness that would have aroused Alexander’s suspicions, had he not been able to see for himself the lack of guile on the young man’s broadly smiling face. He expressed his gratitude. After all, his own bag was now empty of foodstuffs - save for a large bulb of fresh ginger that Will had for some reason, best known only to himself, thought would be a useful inclusion amongst the other provisions he had pinched from Mistress Olwen’s supplies.

            Arthur chatted away as Alexander fell eagerly on the simple supper. It transpired that the brothers were blacksmiths. They had inherited their trade from their long-dead father. They owned one horse: a powerful black mare named Fallow, who stabled out in back of the house. Yes, they had heard from their neighbours of the onslaught of the terrifying giants from the North who, dispatched by the evil Prince Felix, had mutilated many of their friends. It was fortunate that they themselves had been spared: for a smith without hands is no good to either man or beast!

            The good folk of the peasantry might quiver in fearful anticipation of another bloody sortie into the countryside, but it was with relief that Alexander learned that Odin and Ulfgar had now returned to the castle. Meanwhile, all this time, Stanley remained silent, glowering at Alexander from the corner of the room as his more loquacious sibling chatted away.

            Alexander tried to smother a tell-tale yawn, but the action did not go unnoticed, and at once, Arthur was all apologies for having kept the weary traveller up so late. He would have none of Alexander’s protestations, insisting that their houseguest take his own bed: “I shall be quite comfortable on some blankets down here. After all, I’ve not been sleeping in the forest for the past week!”

            Half an hour later, as Alexander found himself drifting off amongst the simple blankets of Arthur’s truckle bed, the whispered conversation between the two brothers floated up the staircase.

            “Shame on you, Stanley, seeking to deny our hospitality to the fellow.”

            “I’m just saying we don’t know who he is or what he wants, is all.”

            “Well, that’s his own business, and it’s up to him whether or not he chooses to share it with the likes of us. But you can see from the finery of his garments that he’s an important man. And you should show some respect to your betters.”

            And as the brothers bickered into the night, and as sleep gently overcame him, the devious mind of Alexander Courcey began to devise a plan.