Chapter 41 - Bananas Split

“You finally found me then! Though you took your time. I thought I was never going to see the inside of the castle again!”

“Lest you forget, my sweet, I’ve had an awful lot to occupy myself with. The Prince is a very demanding master. And I didn’t know where you’d gone.”

It was the first time in many months that brother and sister had been able to speak to each other. And if they were brutally honest, more than once they’d resigned themselves to the fact that they would never see each other again. However, after weeks of inquiries, Raymond had finally found his younger sibling. He had located her, engaged for a paltry fee by a moderately wealthy merchant, forced to skivvy for the lazy wife and daughters. Raymond had extricated her from the arrangement with a minimum of fuss and a great deal of threats. Now she was back where she belonged, her peasant rags burned and a rich velvet gown hanging from her slim body. Her soft brown hair was piled atop her head, and adorned with an ivory comb.

“I’m very impressed, brother,” said Jane StClare. “I never thought you’d install yourself in the Steward’s rooms quite so quickly!”

“What happened to the rest of the servants you were flung out with?”

“Scattered to the four corners of the countryside. Some like me were lucky and got taken in. Others…” she shrugged.

“What about that foul old Sir Wilfrid?” Even now, the mere mention of the name made Raymond shudder at the remembrance of his ordeal.

“Dead,” said Jane curtly. “You’ll be devastated to learn that he fell into an an apoplectic fit as a result of being thrown out of the castle. Don’t worry, they’ll never be able to force you to suck his miserable penis ever again.”

“You have no idea how happy that news makes me, sis,” he grinned. “Now, on to day-to-day matters. We need to find you something to do. How does the post of housekeeper appeal? You’d be answerable only to myself and to the Prince.”

Jane smiled maliciously. “Won’t that put me in charge of the kitchens? I”d even be above Mistress Olwen!”

“Why I do believe you would, you know. Is that a problem?”

“Her former kitchen-maid suddenly ordering her about! She won’t like that at all…”

“Oh, I can assure you, Jane darling,” purred Raymond. “She will hate it!”

There was plenty to do. Prince Felix’s birthday was fast approaching, and Raymond was determined to celebrate it with an extravagance that Castle Montford had never before dreamed of. Night after night, he sat up late with his sister as they plotted the most luxurious banquet they could imagine. Mistress Olwen’s harrumphing protests that “it couldn’t be done” on the budget they’d allowed her and with the meagre staff she had been allocated were rebuffed, and Jane calmly and bluntly told her to get on with it and do as she had been ordered.

Meanwhile, Raymond oversaw the new carpentry project he had commissioned from the capable young Mortimer, gnawing his fingers desperately in the hope that a successful Odin would return to the castle in time for it to be put to its intended use.

One late summer morning, as he sat poring over the ledgers in his chambers, the door opened and Jane, her dark eyes flashing with excitement, burst in.

“He’s done it!” she declared. “He’s back – and he’s not on his own!”

Raymond tripped down the stairs two or three at a time as he raced from his tower-top chambers to the courtyard below, his pretty sister following at his heels.

There, astride his sweating steed, weary and dusty from long hours on the road, sat the shaven-headed form of Odin the Viking. Alongside him, strapped to a beautiful black mare, in the time-honoured position reserved for prisoners and those being transported in extreme disgrace, was Alexander Courcey.

“You’ve ridden hard, Odin,” said Raymond coldly. “May I congratulate you on a successful conclusion to your quest? You certainly took your time but, like the tortoise in the story, I suppose you made it – in the end. However, I’m afraid you can’t stay here at the castle. At least not yet. I will arrange instead for you to lodge at a nearby hostelry.”

Odin glared at the arrogant young man but held his tongue. Meanwhile, Raymond, barely able to contain his glee, crossed to where Alexander, head dangling, hands tied together with coarse ropes, his purple-hosed bum hoisted high in the air, was secured.

“Welcome, home, Master Courcey,” sneered Raymond, slapping Alexander’s arse firmly. “It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it? We have all missed you.”

Ulfgar shambled into the courtyard, and greeted Odin with a firm handshake. Raymond turned to the bearded brute. “Have Master Courcey moved to my chambers at once. You know what to do.”

“Of course, I would have had you thrown into the dungeon,” explained Raymond casually to the recaptured prisoner. “But unfortunately there’s a big hole in the door now. Besides, in the past you’ve exhibited an inconvenient talent for escaping from dungeons. So I thought there might be something rather appropriate in your spending your final days on earth in your old chambers. With me.”

Alexander regarded him with cool indifference. He may have to suffer the indignity of being manacled to the wall of his former bedroom but the last thing on earth he intended to do now was to allow this impudent little shit the satisfaction of seeing him lose his composure in any way.

“Cat got your tongue?” taunted the younger man. “You should be thanking me really. It’s only down to me that you’re still numbered among the living. The sole reason you’ve not been impaled on Odin’s broadsword already is that you’re to be my birthday gift to his Highness.”

“Look out the window,” he went on. “See that scaffold they’re building? That’s just for you. On the evening of Prince Felix’s birthday banquet, you’re going to be swinging from that coil of rope like the filthy traitor you are.”

Master Alexander was back! The gossip spread like wildfire around the castle. And they could all hazard a very well-educated guess that he wouldn’t be around for long.

Prince Felix, curiously perceptive for once to the attitude of those around him, tackled Raymond one morning on the increased level of agitation amongst the servants. They had finished their customary ride through the forest, and Raymond was pulling off his royal master’s boots. Raymond inhaled the musky, manly scent of Felix’s tights-clad feet, mingling with the smell of the leather.

“Is there something I should be aware of?” asked the Prince as Raymond’s fingers came to rest lightly on his hosed calves.

“Nothing at all, your Highness. The staff are merely excited by the prospect of your forthcoming birthday celebrations.”

“And there’s still no news of Odin?” demanded Felix petulantly.

“I fear the traitor Courcey is proving devilishly hard to hunt down,” Raymond sighed theatrically. “With luck and by the grace of God, we will have news soon.”

“That’s what you said last week.”

“It’s to be a surprise, you see,” confided Raymond to his captive. “Just imagine how thrilled the Prince will be to see you dangling from a noose on his big day!”

He’d been hanging there for a week, fed scraps from the table, forced to piss into a pot, but still Alexander maintained his silence.

“Why don’t you speak, damn you?” shrieked Raymond suddenly. “Why don’t you beg for your life? You know I could grant it if I wanted to!”

Alexander looked at him calmly, and cleared his throat to speak. “What happened to the boy?” he asked.

“What did you say?”

“The junior page boy. Will. What happened to him?”

Raymond began to laugh. “Of course! I might have known that the little slut and his pretty arse was the uppermost thought on your mind! Jesus Christ, Courcey, you really are obsessed! If you really want to know, I dumped the brat back in the middle of his stinking village with a plug up his ass. I imagine the local peasants have been making pretty free with his holes. That’s if he’s still alive…”

Alexander nodded calmly but would speak no more.

“Why do you even care?” Raymond demanded. “What did he have that the rest of us didn’t? That I didn’t? You’ve fucked thousands of boys in your time – willing and unwilling. What was so special about that simpering little shit?”

He grabbed the waistband of Alexander’s purple tights and yanked them unceremoniously down to the older man’s knees. Alexander’s exposed cock bobbed there, as full of dark and forbidding promise as Raymond recalled. He grabbed Alexander’s pendulous balls and squeezed hard. Still barely a flicker of acknowledgment from the man he had supplanted.

“Well I’m in your position now. I’m the one with the power. And I’m not going to waste it messing around with unworthy little peasant bitches. I’ve got my eyes on the very top. You might have failed to get your hands on the Prince’s arse but he’s going to be all mine soon. And I’m going to be such a bastard to him, you know. I’m going to pay him back for all those days he spent humiliating me, prick-teasing: making me crawl about in his pink tights suit alongside the other page boy scum!

“And I’ve not forgotten you either. How you abandoned me to that disgusting pervert Sir Wilfrid! You know he’s dead now, don’t you? He was flung out in the cold. Maybe the two of you will be enjoying a reconciliation soon – in the fiery pits of Hell! I imagine it’s rather warmer down there, don’t you think?”

Raymond raged furiously back and forth.

“Say something, you bastard! Don’t you dare just stand there ignoring me!”

He gave Alexander’s balls a vicious twist, but his stoic prisoner resolutely refused to speak. Raymond dashed to the finely carved table and snatched up a bunch of bananas from the fruit bowl.

“You’re rather fond of bananas if I remember correctly,” he declared triumphantly. “Let’s see how you feel about them now the shoe is on the other foot and they’re going up your ass!”

Almost beside himself with rage, Raymond grabbed the yellow fruit and tried to rip it from its skin. However the uncooperative stalk would not snap and yield its pulpy contents, and so Raymond dashed it angrily to the floor. He snatched up another and managed to peel this one successfully. He positioned it carefully between Alexander’s firm butt cheeks and, staring straight into the other’s eyes, rammed it forcefully upwards. But the banana was too ripe, and Alexander’s hole remained resolutely closed, so all Raymond’s sole achievement was ending up with the mushed up mess smeared over the sleeve of his splendid doublet.

He went over to a wooden cabinet and took a glass bottle from within. He uncorked it and tipped a liberal amount of white, creamy unguent into his right palm.

“This will lubricate you nicely, Master Alexander!” And he smeared the lotion over his prisoner’s buttocks and up and around his arse crack. Alexander flinched slightly as the youth dared to manhandle his genitals and bum.

On the third attempt, Raymond succeeded in propelling the phallic fruit up Alexander’s backside. His eyes glinted madly as he crowed over his manacled victim. “How does it feel to be on the other end of the treatment, you bastard? Feel good, does it, having your fuckhole filled with bananas? Let’s stick another one up there, shall we?”

Raymond matched his words to his actions, and with Alexander’s hole now lubricated and loosened by the invasion of the first fruit, his arse swallowed up the second banana far more easily.

“You feeling full, Sir? You feeling stuffed from those nasty bananas I pushed inside you? I bet you’re dying to beg me not to shove any more up your cunt, aren’t you? Then beg me, you bastard! Why don’t you fucking beg?!”

A third banana was inserted, this one requiring more prodding and persuasion as Alexander’s anal cavity became dangerously over-crowded, but still the disgraced Steward remained silent and stoic, not even deigning to glance in Raymond’s direction.

His hole pulsed with the effort of retaining the fruity mush inside. Some of the gunky residue that still clung outside Alexander’s hole, mingled with the lubricating lotion, and dripped into the gusset of his purple hose, stretched tight below. Raymond noticed the spillage, and with a livid sneer, yanked Alexander’s tights back up around his waist.

A fresh idea occurred to him, and the snub-nosed youth dragged Alexander’s heavy, throne-like chair over from the far side of the chamber, and pushed it between the tapestried wall and his shackled victim.

“Sit down!” he ordered him.

Alexander sighed manfully and, manifestly taking his own time, he rested his hosed backside onto the padded seat.

“Now do you see who is the master?” gloated Raymond. “Now, do you understand who is in charge? You have lost, Courcey, and I have won. And here is your ultimate proof.”

He slipped out of one leather boot and wiped his stockinged foot against Alexander’s bulging crotch.

“Now shit yourself, you bastard! Sit on your fine, golden cushion on your priceless, oaken chair and shit those bananas out. Those bananas that I pushed up your hole. I – Raymond StClare, the boy whose virginity you took in these very rooms. The boy you dared to fuck and use and humiliate all those years ago. I swore I’d have my revenge. And look at us now! Me the master, and you the slave! You naked save for your purple tights encasing your strong, manly legs! Your asshole full and desperate to unload all those huge bananas crowded inside you. Shit yourself, Courcey you disgusting pervert! Shit yourself in your tights for my pleasure and my entertainment! Do it!!”

A slow smile spread across Alexander’s dark features. “It’s not at all an unpleasant sensation,” he murmured in a husky baritone. “I have no idea what you boys were complaining about.” And with a satisfied groan, he expelled the liquefied bananas into the gusset of his tights, staining the golden thread and red velvet of the cushion.

He should have felt exultant in meting out the same humiliating treatment that he himself had suffered, but instead Raymond was curiously dissatisfied, vexed by the slightly smug expression on Alexander’s face. Finally, the former Steward spoke.

“Let me give you a word of advice, young Raymond. To dish out humiliation to another man and consequently to be a truly successful master, it takes a special, very distinctive quality. And I’ll tell you for nothing, you don’t have it. That is the difference between us, Master StClare.”

Raymond glared at Alexander with complete loathing. “I disagree, Master Courcey. The difference between us is that in two days’ time, I shall still be alive…”