Earlier that same night, many miles
away, in the far east of England, Alexander Courcey sat astride his
stolen horse. He was taking a moment to wonder at what might have
become of the blond page boy. He still hoped one day for another
chance to kiss those full pink lips and fuck that pretty arse. Little
could he know that Will had barely begun his long night spent being
relentlessly fucked in a filthy puddle.
Swinging his legs out of the saddle,
Alexander dismounted from Fallow and tethered the mare at the post of
the ‘King’s Arms’ inn. She had served him well thus far, and
many’s the time he’d offered up a private prayer to whichever god
lurked up there in the heavens, to thank him most sincerely for the
credulity of blacksmiths.
He’d ridden hard, seeking to put as
many miles as possible between himself and the lackeys of the
vengeful Prince Felix. Only now, after weeks of caution, planting
false trails, doubling back on himself and employing a series of
pseudonyms, did he feel he could start to relax. He’d even been
particularly firm with himself and kept to a strict diet of celibacy,
in spite of the occasional temptations laid in his path by cute
farmhands and virginal village boys.
Alexander opened the inn door and took
a look around. A mangy-looking mongrel raised its head from its
basket, yapped half-heartedly a couple of times, and then settled
back to dozing. The inn was sparsely furnished and even more meagrely
frequented by customers. This may not bode well for the standard of
the hospitality and the ale, he thought, but it suited his purposes
perfectly: the fewer folk who could provide an accurate description
of him to the local sheriff, the better.
A skinny woman of middle years, with a
shock of frizzy brown hair, whom Alexander took to be the landlady of
the establishment, beckoned him inside. “Come in, Sir, take a
seat,” she cooed in a yokelish burr. “Someone will be with you
forthwith!”
The couple of other drinkers, having
raised their heads briefly to glance at the newcomer, returned to the
solitary contemplation of their tankards. Alexander chose a small
table in the corner of the tavern and waited. It did not take long
for a door behind the bar to swing open, and for a young man in his
late teens to emerge. The youth was slim, with hair so fair as to be
almost white. His skin was equally pale and his grey eyes darted
around him nervously. He wore an apron round his middle that had most
probably been white at some point in the past, and his woollen
britches ended just below his knees, displaying skinny calves encased
in wrinkled pink stockings. He wasn’t the prettiest lad Alexander
had ever seen, he mused to himself. Nevetheless, he might prove
useful to while away a couple of hours with.
The young man approached the tavern’s
newest customer. Fiddling with his grease-spotted apron and looking
anywhere but at Alexander, he mumbled, “Ma sent me to ask what you
want to eat and drink.”
Alexander leaned forward and gripped
the lad’s cheeks between his thumb and forefinger.
“Ow!” squealed the pale youth.
“You’re hurting me!”
Alexander ignored him. “Tell your
mother I want a flagon of ale, a plate of beef and a bed for the
night. And tell her that if she throws you into the bargain for my
exclusive use for the duration of my stay, I’ll make it worth her
while.”
He released the lad’s face and
looking utterly stunned, the landlady’s son staggered back behind
the bar to repeat the stranger’s offer. Sure enough, it was only a
matter of seconds before a weaselly looking man, with a bald head and
a long, quivering nose, emerged to make his way over to Alexander’s
table.
“Good evening, Sir,” said the
landlord in a wheedling tone of voice. “My son tells me you’re
seeking a room here at our humble establishment.”
“Is that all your son told you?”
“You’re a forthright fellow, Sir.
I admire that in a gentleman. He also said that you wish to…” The
landlord coughed delicately. “How can I put this? To make use
of him for the night.”
Alexander looked over at the boy, who
had now reappeared and was standing on one foot, looking more anxious
than ever. His mother hovered behind him, her eyes narrowing greedily
as she kept her eyes fixed upon her husband.
“In return for your compliance and
discretion, I’m prepared to pay you a gold sovereign, all in. Don’t
bother wasting either of our time trying to haggle. That’s my final
offer. Take it or leave it.”
The landlord moistened his thin lips
with his tongue. He hesitated only briefly before breaking out in a
wide, ingratiating grin. He nodded to the scrawled menu hanging on
the wall: “We have a prime piece of rump, Sir, that I’m sure
you’ll find just to your taste.”
Alexander was shown up to his room. It
occupied the attic floor of the tavern. It was small, dingy and none
too clean, but he’d slept in worse in his time. The grubby
surroundings seemed appropriate from a couple who had agreed so
readily to whore out their own son. Alexander ate his supper there,
and then, leaning back in the armchair, he kicked off his leather
boots, stretched out his long, tights-clad legs and drained the dregs
from the tankard of warm ale.
A respectful knock at the door, and
the frizzy-haired mistress of the house entered to clear his tray.
“Was all to your liking, Sir?” she asked.
“Adequate,” he replied.
“And now?”
“You can send up the boy.”
She smiled obsequiously and without
warmth. “I believe you agreed with my husband that payment would be
in advance.”
Alexander reached into the leather
satchel by his side and placed a gold coin on the tray in front of
him.
“Now send him up.”
“As you wish, Sir.”
The lad stood in the doorway, wringing
his hands.
“Come in and shut the door behind
you,” said Alexander tersely.
The boy did so, and then turned slowly
to regard the sophisticated stranger, with his jet black beard, lithe
purple thighs and cruel face, reclining in the corner of the room.
“My name is” –
“I have no interest in your name,”
interrupted Alexander. “I didn’t pay for your conversation.
You’re clearly a snivelling little serving wench. So I shall
address you as such. And you will show me proper respect and address
me as ‘Sir’ at all times. Is that clear, Wench?”
The boy gulped and nodded. “Yes,
Sir.”
“Good. Now come over here and let me
see what my money has bought me.”
Alexander raised a flickering candle
in the air, and Wench stepped into the light. His grimy apron had
been removed, his mother had given his thin hair a quick brush, and
wiped his face and hands clean, but all things considered, up close,
he remained a fairly unprepossessing specimen.
“You’re a pathetic little
creature, aren’t you, Wench? All scrawny and pale. Still, you’re
the only slut on offer so I suppose you’ll have to do. Take your
shirt off.”
“Sir?”
“I don’t expect to have to repeat
myself, Wench. Do as I tell you or you’ll suffer the consequences.”
The youth raised his arms and removed
his cotton shirt. His arms were skinny and smooth, and his ribs were
visible through his limpid skin.
“Step out of your shoes.”
He did so, then stood waiting on the
wooden floorboards in his stockinged feet.
“Good. Now – drop your trousers.”
Wench let out a long, quivering sigh
as he unfastened his cord belt and let his britches sink to the
floor. His flaccid pecker was as thin as the rest of him, and his
crotch as smooth and hairless. He stood naked, save for the two
wrinkled pink stockings on his slender legs. One was pulled up just
above the knee, the other sagged around his calf. Alexander looked on
in amusement as the lad’s breathing became shallow and rapid with
fear.
“Turn around. Let me see your arse.”
Hesitatingly, Wench did as he was
ordered, and displayed his little bottom, compact, dimpled and white,
for Alexander’s approval.
“I’ve seen better,” said the
older man dismissively, “but it will suffice for what I have in
mind.” He rose and placed his hands on the lad’s slender hips.
Wench flinched at his touch.
“Your first time, eh? The first time
another man has placed his hands on your naked flesh?”
Wench nodded his mumbled affirmation
of the fact.
“Try to relax. It will go easier for
you if you do.”
Alexander’s prick began to swell
inside his purple tights. Truly, the boy was no beauty, but there was
something undeniably appealing about his tremulous reluctance. That,
combined with that familiar, enticing power of forcing another man to
strip and do his bidding; the manifestation of utter and ultimate
domination over another human being; and the fact that he’d had no
sexual relief since that final, illicit fuck with Will in the dungeon
all those weeks ago: was it any wonder that Alexander’s groin was
pulsating with anticipation?
“Pull your stockings up,” he
commanded.
Wench did so, and as he bent over, his
pale arse bobbed in the flickering candlelight. He caught the tops of
the stockings, and smoothing out the wrinkles, pulled each tube of
material up tight, so that they rested just beneath the smooth curves
of his buttocks.
“Stay right where you are, bent over
like that.”
Wench froze in that position, the
blood rushing to his head as he felt Alexander’s smooth fingertips
straying from his hips to caress the exposed whiteness of his
buttocks.
“Now, get down on your hands and
knees. I want to see you on the floor, like the mongrel dog you are.”
Wench obeyed tentatively, splaying his
palms against the wooden floorboards, shifting his knees into
position and displaying the soles of his pink stockinged feet to the
peremptory stranger.
“Arse up,” commanded Alexander.
“Higher. Higher! I want you to arch your back so that your lily
white bum points to the ceiling!”
The boy tensed every muscle to try and
achieve the position required of him, hating the submissive way it
made him feel, and only too well aware the effect the posture was
having on the arrogant stranger.
“Good, slut. You’ll be assuming
this doggy-style position an awful lot during our brief
acquaintance.”
Alexander knelt down between Wench’s
stocking-clad calves and with his free hand, parted the boy’s
upturned ass cheeks to reveal the smooth, puckered opening nestling
between them. With practiced ease, he slicked up his finger and
prodded at Wench’s asshole. Wench gasped in shock at the invasion.
“I said to point your arse to the
ceiling! I want this candle pointing up nice and straight – we
wouldn’t want to spill any wax onto your poor skin, would we?”
Sure enough, Wench realised with
horror that Alexander had started to push the candle into his
yielding butt. Desperately, he tensed his body and curved his back so
that the lit candle would not slip and burn him.
“How humiliating for you, to have a
lit candle pushed into your backside,” cooed Alexander. “You do
look utterly ridiculous.”
He smiled as he took a step back to
admire his handiwork. Sure enough, there crouched the frightened boy,
the wax candle sticking obscenely out of his bum, the flame
flickering in the breeze.
“Perhaps we should invite your
parents to come and take a look at their son: Wench the candle
holder!”
Alexander left the boy there for a
couple of minutes and then slowly pulled the dripping candle out of
Wench’s hole. He lifted it up high and held it there as he gazed
down at the boy’s virtually naked body. He looked at the skinny
kid’s stockinged legs, quivering with nerves, and very slowly,
almost imperceptibly, he tipped the candle to one side, holding it at
an angle, so that a dribble of hot red wax spilled onto Wench’s
curved back.
“Oww!” yelled Wench as the molten
wax splashed onto his naked flesh.
“Be quiet!” snapped Alexander, as
he continued to trace a pattern across the lad’s vulnerable skin.
Wench clamped his jaw shut to try and control himself, but each fresh
burning droplet made him flinch. Alexander, for his part, watched
with interest as the wax hit and then cooled against the
serving-boy’s flesh. To amuse himself, he spelled the word “SLUT”
out in large capital letters down the boy’s spine.
“Are you ready for this?” he
said, as he dribbled a large dollop of burning wax directly onto the
tempting target of Wench’s winking hole.
An agonised scream emitted from
Wench’s lips as his body convulsed with the pain. Straightaway,
Alexander clapped a manly palm over the boy’s mouth to muffle the
cry.
“I’ve paid to use you however I
see fit, Wench boy,” he hissed. “If you like, I can go and get my
money back.”
Wench shook his head hurriedly, his
terror of his parents’ wrath outstripping his fear of what
Alexander planned to do to him.
“Did that burn your asshole, bitch?”
purred Alexander in his ear.
“Yes,” stuttered the boy.
“Yes – what?” demanded the
urbane traveller in a dangerous tone.
“Yes, Sir, yes, Sir!”
“That’s more like it. Well, shall
we cool you down, boy?”
Alexander got to his feet and strode
to the door. He peered out – only to glimpse the landlord loitering
at the top of the staircase.
“Is everything all right, Sir?”
asked the unctuous publican. “I thought I heard a cry. I trust my
boy is providing satisfaction.”
“Everything’s fine,” Alexander
replied curtly. “Now make yourself useful and fetch me a bucket of
ice.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned
on his heel and returned to the garret room.
Wench crouched there, gazing up at him
with mute submission in his eyes. He followed the contours of
Alexander’s strong thigh muscles in their purple tights, all the
way up to the throbbing bulge at the groin, which informed him, in no
uncertain terms, that the dominant wayfarer had become aroused by
treating him in this humiliating fashion.
A tentative rap on the door was
answered by Alexander’s brusque “Enter!” and Wench cringed as
his father bowed and scraped his way into the tiny guest room. The
landlord could not disguise his sneer of contempt at the sight of his
only son cowering on the floor, naked, save for his whorish pink
stockings, dried streams of red wax criss-crossing the lad’s back,
and spelling out the damning indictment “SLUT”. Wench recognised
the scorn in his father’s eyes, and flushed a deep crimson: shame
at being forced into this degrading situation, and anger that it was
his father’s own greed that had put him here, at the mercy of the
perverted visitor.
“Leave the bucket here,” commanded
Alexander. The landlord did as he was told, and then withdrew in a
similarly obsequious manner.
Alexander reached into the wooden pail
and picked out a solitary ice cube. Wench watched fearfully as the
older man padded round to stand in front of him. “This will cool
and soothe you,” he whispered as he traced the melting cube across
the boy’s furrowed brow, down his nose and across his thin, pale
lips. “Open up, boy.”
Wench let his lower jaw drop open, and
Alexander delicately popped the ice cube inside. Then he closed the
lad’s mouth with his forefinger. “Keep that on your tongue and
let it melt. I don’t want you to swallow it. Is that clear?”
What should he do? He couldn’t say
“Yes, Sir” without opening his mouth and allowing the ice cube to
fall from his lips, so Wench settled for nodding anxiously and hoped
for the best. A mischievous smile played around Alexander’s mouth.
He rose to his full height and returned to the wooden bucket.
The next sensation Wench felt was the
heavy pressure of the older man once again kneeling between his
stockinged legs. This time, Alexander was forcing his nylon-covered
bulge against the boy’s waxy bum cheeks. Suddenly, he felt an icy
tingling on his small pink nipples. Alexander, holding one freezing
cube in each hand, gently swirled the lumps of ice around Wench’s
sensitive tits, and they rapidly became pert and erect from the
attention of Alexander’s teasing ministrations. Wench gasped in
shock and as a consequence, inadvertently dropped the captive ice
cube from his mouth onto the floorboards beneath him. Alexander
tutted, wordlessly reached behind him into the bucket, and then leant
forward to stuff two more cubes into the lad’s mouth to replace the
one that had just escaped.
“We must see to it that you are
cooled both inside and out,” Alexander murmured enigmatically. “Let
me take a look at that sore little bumhole of yours.”
He shifted his weight and slid his
smooth finger down the sweating crack of Wench’s arse. He used his
fingernail to pick at the flecks of dried wax adhering to the boy’s
aperture. “Mmmph!” whimpered Wench, as half a dozen hairs were
plucked from his arse in the process. He at least managed to keep his
mouth shut this time, although the melting ice was filling it with
cold water. Soon he would need either to swallow or dribble onto the
floor. And he wasn’t convinced he was allowed to do either!
“Let us see how many ice cubes we
can stuff up that skinny little bum of yours,” Alexander proposed.
Wench’s body stiffened instantly in
fear at the prospect, but he knew the beating he would receive at his
father’s hands would be a fearsome one were he to displease the
stranger, so he kept silent. Alexander tugged his cock appreciatively
at the lad’s reaction to his kinky suggestion. Wench’s sphincter
had clamped down automatically, so Alexander reached into his pack
for a finger’s length of grease and quickly applied it to the
opening.
“You make sure you keep this inside
you nice and tight,” he said. “It will go ill for you if you
cannot.” And with that, he began to push the frozen cube against
Wench’s freshly lubricated slit.
The boy’s body quivered in response
to the bitterly cold invasion but it could not fight against the
relentless pressure of Alexander’s digits as first one, then two,
then three cubes were slid into his unwilling anus. The icy chill at
his arse was overwhelming, and it was at that moment that melting
water began to dribble from his other end, as his mouth spilt
some of its contents with a tell-tale splot onto the bare oak
floor.
“You’d better have more control
over your butt than you do over your mouth,” warned Alexander
ominously. “We’re going to fill your chute with ice cubes, and if
you leak at all – if even a drop of water escapes from you – you
will make me so angry, I shall reward you with a punishment you will
never forget.”
It was a hopeless task and he knew it,
thought Alexander smugly. The ice he had applied to the boy’s anal
muscles would numb them so comprehensively that they would be beyond
Wench’s control. Once the solid cubes nestling inside him began to
melt as a result of his body heat, he would be powerless to prevent
any leakage.
A fourth cube, a fifth, and then a
sixth followed the others in quick succession by disappearing into
Wench’s rectum. The boy’s body was writhing, his toes flexing and
unflexing in their pink stockings as the shock of the freezing
insertions hit him in waves. It would be painful, Alexander knew, and
the pain would be an unwelcome distraction from the urgent task of
having to keep the melting ice trapped inside him.
A couple more cubes, and Alexander
followed them with his own probing finger. He relished the sensation
of those once solid blocks jostling inside the lad’s crowded back
passage, and he prodded and swirled them around to encourage them to
melt more speedily.
He withdrew his finger and gave Wench
a smart slap across his pale buttocks. “That’ll do for now. Now
you squeeze that arse as tight as you can. No leaks, remember, bitch.
I want that water retained inside you until I tell you you can let
go!”
And he settled back on his haunches to
enjoy the view.
