Chapter 34 - Ginger Magic

            “What in God’s name has happened here?!”

            Mistress Olwen’s jaw dropped open as she surveyed her devastated kitchen. Rumpled towels lay strewn across the long breakfast table, her larder had been raided and the door left to swing open, and the entire room was splattered with suspicious black stains.

            She spotted a wooden bucket containing some water and a coarse scrubbing brush. A scrap of parchment was attached to the handle. It read:

            “Mistress Olwen –

            Make sure this room is clean and presentable by breakfast time. I shall be inspecting it thoroughly. I expect you to scrub it personally.”

            It was signed “The Chief Steward.”

            Her scream of frustration echoed around the kitchen’s stone walls.

            Meanwhile, in an altogether less grandiose kitchen, a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon was being finished off.

            “That was absolutely delicious,” declared Alexander. “My compliments to the chef!”

            Arthur the smith beamed his appreciation. “Father always said I could have been a cook had I not followed the family business.”

            His taciturn brother, silent all morning, chose this moment to speak. “What exactly is your trade, Master Olivier?”

            Arthur shot him a warning glance. “Stanley” –

            “My business is somewhat – out of the ordinary,” Alexander said blandly, “but whilst you raise the subject. I would like to make you a proposition.”

            “Oh yes?” inquired Stanley with a sceptical raise of his eyebrow.

            “I took a moment this morning to examine your mare. She’s a fine specimen indeed. How much would entice you to part with her?” He jangled the bag of coins at his belt meaningfully.

            The elder brother answered him. “No matter how much you offered, we’d turn you down, Sir. Fallow has a sentimental attachment for us both.”

            “Now, let’s not be hasty,” interrupted Stanley.

            “She’s not for sale,” said Arthur firmly.

            “Then I’ll respect your resolution and not badger you any further,” conceded Alexander amiably. “And as I’m sure you both have work to do, I’ll gather my belongings and be on my way.”

            Arthur smiled genially and began to clear away the breakfast plates.

            “Only, I find myself feeling guilty,” Alexander went on. “To have intruded on your hospitality and leave nothing in the way of recompense.”

            “I told you, Sir’ –

            “Hush, now, I beg of you, and let me speak. I have evaded your inquiries as regards my business in these parts, and I feel it is only fair that I give you an honest reply to the question of who and what I am.”

            He had their attention now. Both brothers looked at him expectantly.

            “My name is Olivier the Great. And I am a wizard.”

           

            The usual motley assembly of castle staff gathered in the kitchen for their morning meal. If anyone noticed that Mistress Olwen looked more out of breath and harassed than usual, none of them commented on the fact.

            Will appeared last of all. The others gawped at the spectacle of him standing there: his colossal white loincloth stained a sticky, inky black. His too-small tights bore witness to how the dam of the nappy had burst and the overflow had spread down his muscular thighs, ruining the pure whiteness of his hose. Will cringed with each step he took, the horrible stickiness like tar, ensuring the silky nylon of his tights clung uncomfortably to his skin.

            “I have instructions,” said Mistress Olwen through gritted teeth, “to clean everything in sight. I assume that means you too…”

            “A wizard?” repeated Stanley suspiciously.

            “We’ll have no truck with black magic,” muttered Arthur. “We’re God-fearing folk.”

            “No, no, no,” cooed Alexander in his most persuasive manner. “I practice only white wizardry. My potions and spells call upon the benign denizens of Heaven.”

            Mollified somewhat, Arthur asked ‘Master Olivier’ to elaborate.

            Alexander reached into his leather satchel and produced a small glass bottle. “Take this for instance,” he said. “Come, stand and face one another. No, closer, closer, my friends. So that your bodies almost touch.”

            The two muscular brothers, their doubts not entirely allayed, shuffled nearer so that they stood chest to chest.

            “Now, breathe deeply of the potion and see what effect it has.”

            Alexander uncorked the bottle and allowed the siblings to inhale its heady aroma. In moments, it was having an effect. Alexander watched as the two men’s faces grew rosy-cheeked, their eyes dilated and their pulses slowed. Their breathing began to become deeper and their bodies to undulate as their sexual desires were triggered and enhanced.

            Arthur began to droop and sway, falling against the body of his younger brother. And, as if in response to the physical proximity of the other man, Stanley opened his wide mouth and began to kiss him. Head swimming, Arthur responded, his tongue pressing urgently between Stanley’s lips. Both hearts pounding, the brothers’ hands started to roam over each other’s bodies: groping, pinching, stroking, pulsating. One leather-clad groin ground against the other, the one over-riding obsession of sexual gratification driving all fraternal thoughts from their minds.

            The effects of the potion began to wear off. Stanley recovered himself first, and with a cry of disgust, pushed himself away from his brother’s erotic embrace. A moment later, Arthur did the same, and the two of them stared in shock at one another and then at Alexander, unable to understand or to eradicate the incestuous moment of intimacy they had just shared.

            “What?” gasped Arthur. “What did we do?”

            “Calm yourself, my friend,” said Alexander soothingly. “’Tis a love potion for infatuated girls to snare the man of their dreams. And as you can see, the effects are temporary. Mere minutes after inhaling the potion, the ardour passes and you are as you were before.”

            The red-haired smiths were red-faced and discombobulated. Good, thought Alexander. That’s just how I want them.

            “But I’m sure good-looking lads like you are inundated with amorous young wenches and have no need of trifles like love potions. I’ve been pondering to myself and I reckon I may have a spell that will prove far more valuable to the two of you.”

            Alexander hefted his satchel onto the table. “What would you say if I told you I could give you the strength and power of a hundred men? So that you’d never need fear Prince Felix’s henchmen again! In combat you would be invincible! You would be renowned as twin Hercules. All men would tremble at your physical prowess!”

            “How, how?” – mumbled Stanley, but the trusting Arthur was already well and truly hooked. “What? What do we need to do?”

            Alexander issued his instructions and, in a whirl of excited activity, the requested items materialised before him: two lengths of thick, stout rope; a hammer and some nails; a large iron horseshoe; a wooden paintbrush; a carving knife; a pot of glue. To add to this incongruous collection of items, Alexander himself produced the large bulb of ginger from his leather satchel, along with a small glass jar of what appeared to be some kind of dried herb.

            “Just one more thing,” he told the credulous pair. “Do you, by any remote chance, have in your house, a large pair of tights?”

            Stanley had wavered at first: the naturally more sceptical of the two of them but Alexander’s convincing patter had won him round. They were both convinced now, and no matter how bizarre the request, would now willingly scurry away to do their visitor’s bidding.

            “Father had a pair!” declared Arthur triumphantly. “He kept them for best, remember? And he was bigger than either of us. I’m sure they are in the attic somewhere.”

            “Then what are you waiting for, my friend? Fetch them now and I can begin my magic forthwith!”

            The red-haired hunk bounded up the stairs, and soon he had returned, bearing a neatly folded pair of light brown hose. They were not, observed Alexander, of the best quality, but they would suffice for his purpose. And they were certainly large enough. The boys’ late lamented father must have been quite a titan!

            “Now, for the magic to work,” explained Alexander with assured patience, “certain tasks must be completed by the participants. To begin with, this horseshoe must be nailed into the ceiling just here, so that it forms a loop which will support the weight of a man.”

            “I can do that,” offered Stanley.

            “And, most importantly, this humble ginger root must be carved into a very specific shape. Each of you must shape one end of the bulb. I shall sketch the design for you, and oversee your work to ensure it is fit for the purpose.”

            Arthur snatched up the knife and the ginger and turned his big innocent eyes on Alexander as he waited further instruction. In his naivety, he saw only the smile of friendship and amity flickering around his new acquaintance’s lips.

            It did not take long for everything to be prepared to Alexander’s satisfaction. The horseshoe was fixed to the ceiling, the glue stirred, and the ginger root peeled and then carved into the desired shape: two peculiarly conical bulges at either end. The blacksmith brothers awaited further instructions on their route to superhuman strength: hope and faith glowing in their broad faces.

            “What I ask of you next,” began Alexander, “may seem a little unusual. But you must place complete and utter trust in me if the spell is to work. If you question me, if your confidence in me slips for even a moment, I promise you now, the magic will fail. Do you understand me?”

            Arthur and Stanley nodded solemnly to undertake whatever Alexander asked of them and swore they would do so unquestioningly.

            “You will be reborn, my friends, as you are imbued with your new physical potency, so it follows that during the casting of the spell, you must both be naked as the day you were born. Please remove your clothing.”

            The brothers exchanged a questioning look, but they did as they were told, unfastening leather waistcoats, and pulling off their trousers. Alexander’s cock twitched in his purple hose. The lads’ bodies were as impressive as he’d hoped. Both displayed bulging biceps and pectoral muscles, rock-hard, rippling abdominals, large sinewy thighs and big, meaty buttocks. Twin fuzzes of ginger hair nestled above heavy dicks and bollocks, that swang freely in the cosy cottage. They clearly felt self-conscious standing nude before the stranger and neither brother met his eye.

            “Don’t worry, my friends,” Alexander reassured them warmly, “you really have nothing to feel shy about.” He could scarcely believe that they had acquiesced so readily thus far, but he knew he would require all his powers of persuasion in order to carry out his scheme to a successful conclusion. He leaned over to the table and held the small glass jar up to the light. The brothers had no need to know that it merely contained a mixture of herbs that Mistress Olwen used to garnish meat and fish.

            “A powerful concoction of a most ancient and secret nature,” he announced mysteriously, as he sprinkled the herbs over the pot of glue. Taking the paint brush, he dipped it in the translucent gloop and stirred. “This concoction must be applied to your naked skin for the magic to do its work.” He neglected to inform them why it specifically needed to be their plump, white bum cheeks that had to be coated with the glue, and, conscientiously obeying his command not to question him, neither Stanley nor Arthur asked. They blushed a deep crimson as they stuck their bare arses out for Alexander to paint, and Alexander diligently swirled the brush over each of the four cheeks in turn, daubing them with the cool glue.

            Once he was satisfied that each pair of bottoms was sufficiently slathered with the glistening goo, Alexander spoke to the naked smiths, his quick mind racing ahead of his glib tongue as he rapidly invented explanations for his actions. “We will be drawing on three sources to give you the power you desire. First from the ancient stones of this very cottage: your home. Therefore we must forge a link between you and this house.”

            Swiftly, Alexander looped the first length of coarse rope around Arthur’s wrists, tying them together. Then he took the second piece and bound Stanley’s equally as tightly. Stanley threw a brief and mute appeal of consternation towards his elder brother: the sudden vulnerability of their situation, naked, bound and covered in glue, sinking in. However, Arthur hushed him with a warning glance.

            With both brothers now tied and helpless, Alexander threaded the two ropes through the curve of the horse-shoe that had been nailed to the ceiling and, for the moment, let the cord hang there loosely.

            “Now, I warn you, my friends, that the next stage of the spell will involve some mild discomfort for you. However, as I’m sure you must appreciate, nothing of any value is won without some hardship. And I feel confident that two fine specimens such as yourselves will bear the aggravation manfully.”

            The brothers looked apprehensive, but remained so firmly in Alexander’s thrall that they did not utter a word. Alexander picked up the curiously carved ginger bulb from the table. “This part of the process will forge a connection between the two of you, and permit your existing strength to be multiplied and shared between you.”

            He hefted the moist yellow root in his hand, and calmly came to stand behind Arthur. “You must bend over for me, my friend,” he informed the curly-haired peasant.

“What are you going to do?” Arthur’s eyes widened.

“You will be joined with your brother via your most intimate openings,” Alexander explained.

“You don’t mean – you’re going to push that ginger bulb into my ass?!”

“Ah, remember my warning! The slightest doubt may weaken the potency of the spell!”

Arthur nodded solemnly and, after only a moment’s hesitation, he braced his strong thighs and pushed his well-lubricated butt cheeks out towards the wizard. He screwed his eyes tightly shut as he prepared for the invasion of the ginger root. He felt the pressure of the peeled bulb’s pointed end against the nub of his arse, and his mouth dropped open in an astonished oval, as his virgin hole was penetrated for the first time in the thirty years of his existence.

            “Ginger is self-lubricating, which is helpful for us,” commented Alexander matter-of-factly, as he continued to push the home-made plug into his victim’s hole. Wider and wider it grew, and Arthur’s breathing grew deeper as he tried to accustom himself to this new and frightening sensation. Eventually, the flared base of the end of the ginger plug slipped inside him, and Arthur tentatively shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he attempted to get used to this bizarre intrusion.

            “Now comes your turn, Stanley.”

            This part of the procedure was trickier to accomplish. With one end of the ginger root lodged firmly inside the arse of the brother, Raymond instead had to manoeuvre Stanley onto the other end of the plug. He held the pointed cone steady and clasping his arm around the blacksmith’s naked waist he slowly pulled the scared and quivering hunk onto the double-ended dong.

            “It – it tingles!” gasped Stanley as the yellow flesh of the root made contact with his pink man hole.

            “All the better to transfer the magic,” Alexander improvised. “Now, step backwards gradually and push your body onto the plug.”

            He was able to gaze into Stanley’s gawping face as the naked young man obeyed his command and slowly impaled himself. Stanley flushed with embarrassment as he glanced down to see his cock beginning to harden from the unexpected sensation.

            Alexander smirked. “There’s no rule to say you can’t enjoy it, my friend.”

            A strangled cry from Stanley informed Alexander that the plug was now imbedded as deeply within him as within his brother. He noted with some satisfaction that the juice of the ginger plant was beginning to take effect.

            “Master Olivier,” stuttered Arthur. “My – I mean to say, I feel a burning sensation – back there.”

            “That’s quite usual,” replied Alexander. “The sap of the ginger root is strong and spicy. You will experience a feeling of intense heat as its moisture irritates the tender flesh of your anus. But relax and try to enjoy the feeling. It is proof that the process is working!”

            Arthur nodded as he accepted the wizard’s explanation, although he could not help but wince as his ring began to burn. Indeed, both brothers began to moan with the discomfort they were feeling from the cruel invasion of the ingenious double-headed plug. Surreptitiously, Alexander gave his purple-hosed crotch a rub. The morning was proving to be a delightful diversion from his flight from the castle.

            Next, he took the slack ropes that were hanging from the ceiling, and began to pull both of them taut, raising the brothers’ bound wrists above their heads so that their bodies were stretched tight: armpits exposed and ripe for tickling - had Alexander the inclination, and the time, for such entertainment. The other effect of this new bondage position was that the brothers’ bodies were pulled inexorably closer together, and with a resounding “squelch”, their glue-smeared bums made contact with each other. Their large, meaty arses were now stuck together, and Alexander thought to himself that it would be no easy matter to separate them!

            The red-haired siblings were truly helpless now. Tied fast, arms strung up above their heads, both speared by the double-ended butt plug, and their bottoms glued together. Did they truly believe that he was a genuine magician who would shortly grant their wish? Alexander wondered if they were now clinging desperately to that hope, because the alternative was too devastating to contemplate.

            He must get on, he said to himself sternly. As tempting as it was to ponder the prospect of remaining all day in the quaint little cottage to use and abuse the gullible young men, he needed to be on his way. Just one final touch…

            “Last of all, we will draw on the power and strength of your dear departed father.” Reverentially, Alexander picked up the neatly folded hose from the table. “His life essence. His power and his strength still clings to this garment. And it will imbue you with his force and vigour.”

            It was a good job their father was a big man, thought Alexander, as he expertly rolled the right leg of the pair of tights over Arthur’s foot. Once the elder brother had been encased up to his ankle, Alexander lifted the sole of the younger and inserted it into the same leg. He moved round to the other side of the bound and helpless duo and did the same with the left leg of the garment. It was no easy task to pull the hosiery up over the mammoth thighs of the auburn-haired siblings. For once, Alexander was grateful for that most abominable of clothing offences: baggy hose! These tights must have hung off the legs of their father. Perhaps, mused Alexander, he was one of those foolish individuals who felt embarrassment at having his intimate parts framed and exposed in the deliciously tight-fitting lustre of hosiery. However, with the garment now required to stretch over and encase two pairs of legs rather than one, the material strained under its task. But it fitted – just. Alexander pulled the gusset of the hose over the groins of both men: Arthur anxiously flaccid, Stanley still erect in spite of himself; and then took a step back to admire his handiwork. What a bizarre and ridiculous sight the two of them were! Arms aloft and tied to the ceiling, their upper bodies glistening with sweat and their faces masks of discomfort as the ginger juice continued to aggravate and inflame their tender arseholes. Their glued buttocks gyrated against each other’s and their legs shuffled and writhed, encased in the constricting bondage of their beige tights. They looked like some weird, two-headed mythical creature that threatened to burst free at any moment.

            Alexander took a smattering of the dried herbs from his little glass jar, and sprinkled them over the brothers’ heads, incanting as he did so: “Alacazar, alecazizi, mangana, mangini!”

            “It is done!” he declared. “And now, my friends, I must be on my way.”

            “What?” gasped Stanley, as he tried to turn his head towards their departing guest.

            “I beg of you, do not thank me. It has been my pleasure to be able repay you for your kindness and hospitality in this small way.”

            “But how do we get free?” Stanley demanded, with no little desperation in his voice.

            “Why, do you not understand? After a matter of mere hours, the spell will fortify your bodies to the point where you will positively explode with the energy and vigour of your new powers! You will be able to wrench your arms free, you will slip apart, and the ginger within you will disintegrate at that moment, leaving you virile and potent!”

            “A few hours?” repeated Arthur in bewilderment.

            “Well, yes. Although the longer you remain in this posture, the more your strength will ultimately increase. But remember, if either one of you harbours any doubt that the process will work, even for a moment, it will surely fail, and all my efforts and hard work on your behalf will have been for nothing.”

            Both brothers, still doing their little dance of discomfort, nodded their mute understanding of the procedure.

            Alexander drew his travelling cloak around him and turned to take a final look at his handiwork. The temptation was too much for him; he took a step towards the muscle-bound brothers and squeezed Stanley’s erect dick through the tights. “There’s a good lad,” he winked conspiratorially. “Farewell, my friends!” And then, he was gone.