Chapter 52 - A Right Royal Rimming

Alexander rested one finger, with the lightest of touches, on the very spot between the crimson hose-clad cheeks where nestled the Prince’s rosebud hole.

“Ah, there we have it, all virginal and unaware, snug and safe within your tights.”

Felix flinched as Alexander gently prodded at his puckered opening.

“No – no man has ever dared to invade me in that obscene way!” he declared.

“Well quite frankly, your Highness, it’s about time they did! You’ve been Pretty Prince Prick-tease for far too long!”

Felix squirmed desperately in his attempt to evade Alexander’s probing finger, but he was tied up so securely, every one of his efforts was in vain. The knowledge that his arsehole, protected only by that thin layer of silken fabric, was entirely at the Steward’s mercy was utterly mortifying. And soon, as predictable as sunrise, even that thin veneer of modesty would be ripped from him.

“Raise your hips a little, young man, so I can more easily roll your hose down. We wouldn’t want to tear these fine tights of yours now, would we?” Alexander made no attempt to disguise his glee. “I said to raise your hips! Raymond – I think his Highness requires another blast of the potion. That will loosen him up and make him more amenable to my intentions. Do it, slave boy! Use the handkerchief!”

Raymond scuttled over to the head of the bed, and plucked up the potion laced napkin.

“Noo!” cried the Prince in sudden desperation, but his plea was muffled by Raymond’s hand covering his mouth.

Felix tried to kick his legs in protest, as once again that familiar odour overwhelmed him. He felt the clinging material of his tights being seductively rolled past his hips and the awful humiliation of his rock-hard penis being revealed as the hosiery was slipped down.

“Mmmm,” murmured Alexander, “what a pretty pecker you have. It’s not massive by any means – but, as with all your physical parts, it’s very beautifully proportioned. How does it feel to have it exposed like this for the first time?”

He reached out a hand and cupped the Prince’s bollocks. Felix flinched instinctively at the touch.

“Don’t worry, slave Prince. I’m not going to squeeze them – yet. Just wanted to have a feel of these naked, golden balls. Very nice. And your cock is standing to attention like a well-drilled soldier. Let’s make sure it stays that way, shall we? It gives me great satisfaction, you know, that you are turned on by this humiliation.”

Felix was too woozy to reply – the potion sapping all the energy from him.

“Let me decorate your cock in the same way I have adorned your neck,” Alexander continued, as he produced another strip of leather, also glittering with red rubies – identical in every way to the slave collar save for its size. He wrapped the cockring around the Prince’s genitals with practiced ease, and pulled tight on the strap so that the engorged penis remained rock hard and bulging.

“How pretty you look, boy. But then you can see that for yourself. Raymond, take a step back, and allow his Highness to admire himself in the looking-glass!”

Through dazed and blood-shot eyes, the Prince stared up at the ceiling – to see his cock sprouting proud and vibrant from his groin, with the new glittering jewellery at its base. Once again, he was struck by what an erotic sight he made – tied, spread eagled, his legs raised in the air, with the waistband of his tights lowered now to exposed his cock and balls.

“Now for the true prize!” whispered Alexander, and, as he had done to so many unwilling male victims in the past, he pulled the waistband of the Prince’s tights down over his buttocks, to reveal that smooth crack, within which lay the most secret and private of crevices: the Prince’s asshole.

Thanks to the cunningly angled mirrors, Felix could not avoid watching. It was something akin to an out of body experience, but one which Felix was only too aware was happening to himself. The degradation was even more piquant as Alexander nonchalantly began gently to push at the Prince’s now naked hole with the tip of his finger. It was not an unpleasant sensation. Indeed, Felix’s cock jerked energetically as Alexander continued to press against that oh so sensitive flesh. He went on, applying more and more pressure, and Felix winced, knowing it would only be a matter of time before his defences were broached, and the tender muscle of his sphincter would yield to the unyielding penetration of the older man’s finger. His brain told him over and over how much he hated it, but his damn cock, aided and abetted by the infernal potion, strained – rock-hard – with lust.

“That feel good, my young Princeling?” cooed Alexander. “Your hot body is writhing about – looks very sexy you know, your tights pulled down just far enough for me to get access – but still making your legs look so damned perfect. That beautiful cock all nude and bobbing in the air, and your arse – peachy and inviting – just waiting. But I think you may be surprised by what will be the first thing I decide to push inside it.”

Felix felt Alexander’s hands running up and down his legs, stroking his thighs and calves through the lustrous satin tights, and clearly enjoying the sensation of hard muscle encased in the tightest of garments. The Prince tried to raise his head as Alexander disappeared from view, and then – his head still spinning with lust – he emitted an involuntary gasp as he felt the strangest of sensations at his arsehole: a darting, flickering, slimy protrusion. With a shudder of revulsion, he realised it was Alexander’s tongue licking and lapping at his asshole. So Master Courcey had determined to possess him by eating his arse, had he?

“Mmmm, you taste good, my Prince. I’ll go slowly with you as it’s your first time. Can you feel that? Oh I can see from your face that you can. And you’re enjoying it aren’t you? My tongue slipping into your hole!”

The Prince was not sufficiently in charge of his senses to speak, but the deepest darkest truth was he could not deny it to himself. As humiliating as it felt to be used and possessed by Alexander in this way, the sensation of having his arse licked and teased was quite incredible and possibly the most erotic thing he had ever experienced.

“It’s about to get a whole lot better!” promised the Steward, as he reached into a glass bowl at his side, and carefully placed a small peppermint on the end of his tongue. Then he came to kneel between the Prince’s spread eagled legs and positioned his tongue at the royal crevice. Finally, with the most gentle yet insistent amount of pressure he began to push his tongue, the mint balancing gently at the top, into Felix’s exposed anus.

“Oh – oh – oh,” gasped the Prince, as he felt the small pebble-like sweet enter him, followed immediately by Alexander’s adept and probing tongue.

Slowly but surely he felt the sweet travel deeper inside his anus, and then the tongue began to withdraw, depositing the mint inside him. Felix shuddered as Alexander lapped at his arsehole, sliding his tongue over the fleshy opening, darting in and out, and opening him wider.

“I could spend all day eating out your sweet arse, boy,” murmured the Steward as he went back to slobbering at the Prince’s hole. Felix squirmed – caught in the devastating humiliation of his enemy having the power to excite and arouse him in this most intimate of ways.

Alexander clutched the Prince’s naked butt cheeks, and with a deep sigh of satisfaction pulled them apart as far as he could, allowing even greater opportunity to penetrate that peachy bum. He pointed his tongue and dove in, pushing insistently as far as it would go up the royal chute: Felix gasping with longing and desire as he was teased and tormented by that talented, pulsing flap of muscle.

Alexander’s voice rang out, mocking him anew: “You’re enjoying it in spite of yourself, aren’t you, lad? How you wish you weren’t! But you can’t deny you are in a frenzy of lust from being fucked by my tongue. Well, never you fear. This tight little hole of yours is going to see a great deal of action before today is over…”

He might have gone on, but at that moment, an unexpected knock came at the door to Alexander’s chambers. Raymond looked at the Steward: would he be irritated by the interruption? Far from it, in fact, as it appeared Alexander had been expecting the visitor.

“Aha! Right on cue!” he declared. “Raymond – go and answer the door, will you?”

The curly-haired lad’s eyes strayed to his discarded doublet.

“No need for that. Just do as you’re told.”

As he left the bedchamber and crossed through the main apartment, Raymond pondered what would be Alexander’s next scheme to use and abuse Prince Felix, and whether he might once again be permitted to take a role in the debauchery.

He opened the oak door. Sir Dominic – standing guard outside – smirked at the sight of Raymond, bare-chested and clad only in his fine silver tights.

“The Chief Steward’s order has arrived,” said the knight, and, stepping to one side, he revealed, dressed in his bright pageboy livery, fat little Humphrey.

Humphrey was holding a massive tray, upon which sat two silver bowls. Each of the bowls was covered with a lid, so Raymond was not able to see what they contained.

“What do you want, Humphrey?” snapped Raymond.

“You’re not to talk to me like that, Raymond. You’re a prisoner of Lord Geoffrey now. You can stop lording it over me.”

“Why you cheeky little bastard!”

“Mistress Olwen says you’re going to get your comeuppance, Raymond. She says Master Alexander is going to punish you good and proper!”

Raymond raised his hand to strike the tubby little bitch, but Sir Dominic intervened. “I imagine the Steward is impatient for his delivery, Humphrey. We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting now, would we?”

Raymond directed Humphrey into the bedchamber, and the fat page’s jaw dropped at the sight within. There – lying on his back on the bed – was his Serene Highness Prince Felix of England, bare-chested, muscular arms tied, bejeweled slave collar at his throat, his red tights rolled down to below his buttocks, his legs and splayed in the air, a sparkling cock ring at the base of his erect and nude penis, and his arsehole on display.

Alexander was amused by the shock on Humphrey’s face. “Well, well, your Highness. Perhaps we should invite the entire staff of the castle in here so they can all gawp at your humiliating predicament! I’m sure they would all find it most entertaining!”

Alexander swatted at Humphrey’s ample bottom, bulging in its mustard-coloured hose. “Put the tray down, fatty, and be off with you. You’ve seen quite enough for now. Unless you want to participate in the entertainment, that is…”

Raymond had never seen the tubby little pageboy move so fast. The oak door clanged shut behind him.

There had been time for the Prince to recover his wits somewhat. “What foul perversion do you have for me now?” he demanded. “Or has even your depraved mind reached the end of its imagination?”

A wicked grin played around Alexander’s lips as he stepped forward, licked his forefinger and slowly slid it into the Prince’s glistening arse slit. The Prince gasped at the new invasion. “Never, your Highness. I can assure you that my imagination is a positively bottomless pit of kinky fantasies: a well that I’m proud to say has never yet run dry…”

He wiggled his long finger inside Felix’s back passage. “Oh, my little slave slut’s hole is all empty. That seems to me a great pity. And something we should remedy without delay, don’t you agree, young Raymond?”

The Prince struggled in sheer frustration, but naturally it all came to naught. He was quite securely bound, arms and legs dangling impotently in the air, and no amount of wrestling against his ties would change that. He tried to withdraw up the bed, anything to get away from Alexander’s impudent, poking finger, but he was immobile and his efforts served only to fuck himself on the Steward’s digit.

Suddenly, Alexander withdrew his finger, and, with a flourish, lifted the silver lid from the first of the large bowls. Raymond looked over with intense curiosity to see what it contained. It was a pile of fat and juicy marshmallows – pristine, white, dusted with icing sugar and bigger than any marshmallow Raymond had ever seen. Each one was nearly three inches in diameter. Meanwhile, the Prince, tied to the bed, strained his neck to try and see.

“What?!” he demanded. “What is it?”

“Oh you’ll find out soon enough,” chuckled Alexander. “And what else, I wonder, has dear Mistress Olwen provided in our other tureen?”

The second lid was duly lifted.

“Profiteroles! How delicious! Each choux pastry ball filled with fresh cream and dipped in dark molten chocolate!”

The Steward turned to address Felix,” Feeling hungry, are we?”

It took only a couple of seconds for Alexander’s meaning to sink in.

“No!” cried the Prince. “No! No! No! You wouldn’t dare!”

“Dare what, slaveboy?” enquired Alexander, all innocence.

But it was as if Felix were finally struck dumb with indignant amazement.

“Pack your royal arse with these decadent sweetmeats? Take these plump marshmallows and profiteroles and push them slowly into your hole with my long, probing fingers?” He grinned wickedly. “I have indeed played such games before. Indeed Raymond has been the victim of such entertainment in the past. But the truth is I am easily bored. Why should I wish to repeat a game I have enjoyed already? So no, I shan’t be stuffing your bum with food, young man.”

Prince Felix allowed himself to relax a little, visibly relieved.

“I shall instead make Raymond do it…”

Both young men exclaimed “What?!” in unison.

“You may well look surprised, Raymond,” smiled Alexander. “What have you done to deserve such an erotic honour, you may wonder?”

The curly-haired youth bowed his head in his meekest manner. “I hope my Master has accepted my honest and heart-felt apology.”

Prince Felix made a scoffing sound of disgust at his servant’s volte-face.

“I will however, be guiding you as you stuff the royal ass,” Alexander informed them, as he nonchalantly wandered over to one of his closets. He opened the door and reached inside. “Using this…”

Raymond gulped as Alexander brandished a long wooden pole in his direction. It was varnished and smooth but there was no doubt in Raymond’s mind that Alexander would be putting it up his bum.

“Come here, young man,” whispered Alexander. “Pull down those fine silver tights and stick out your arse for me…”

Raymond gritted his teeth, but he knew he had no choice but to do as he was ordered. He slid his hose over his pale, rounded butt cheeks, and pushed them out just as he had been instructed to. He winced as he felt Alexander’s finger nudging at his hole. The Steward had greased his finger liberally, and Raymond breathed deeply as he realised he was being generously lubed up.

“Mmm, that cunt of yours is still tight, Raymond. Quite an achievement, really, after all your experience. Are you ready? This might hurt a little.”

Raymond couldn’t help tensing his sphincter in anticipation, and then felt the blunt, bulbous end of the wooden dildo pressing against his hole.

“Ready, boy? Now – in we go…”

“Ah-ah-ah!” gasped Raymond as the first couple of inches penetrated him.

Alexander placed a ringed palm on the lad’s shoulder, as if calming a skittish colt.

“Just breathe, lad, and enjoy that big wooden truncheon pushing inside you. It’s only just inside. Plenty more where that came from. Now, you can still walk with your tights pulled down, can’t you? You may have to squat a little as you move, but try it. Yes – yes that’s right. Not too fast though! We wouldn’t want the dildo slipping out of you, would we? How else am I to guide you along if not with this big wooden handle to steer you?”

“What – what do you want me to do?” stammered Raymond.

“We’re going to see how many marshmallows and profiteroles we can insert into Prince Felix’s peachy arsehole until he’s filled right up to the brim!”

Alexander pushed his wooden truncheon a little further into Raymond’s backside and directed him towards the sideboard where rested the silver bowls rested.

“I think we’ll start with a marshmallow,” he mused.

The lad reached out with a tentative hand to select the squishy sweet.

“Oh, no, no, no,” tutted Alexander. “A big marshmallow like that will never slip inside the royal arsehole dry. It needs to be wetted and moist to squeeze into the Prince’s passage. You’ll need to slick it up with your saliva. In fact, I see no reason why you should use your hands at all for this little task. You can do it all with your mouth…”

Chapter 51 - The Puppet Prince

The smell was sharp and pungent. That was the first thing he noticed: and it came as a sharp shock to his senses. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and his befuddled brain tried to make sense of where and indeed who he was. His vision was blurred, but the facts of his predicament came to him. He was lying on a bed, he was topless and his sole item of clothing was a pair of bright red tights.

He tried to move his arm, and at that moment, he felt a tugging sensation pulling first one, and then the other arm taut.

“What the Hell?!” he cried, as his vision finally swam into focus.

“Ah, our handsome Prince has awoken at last,” cooed the gloating Alexander Courcey. “And not before time. How good of your Highness to grace us with his august presence!”

Felix, fired up with sudden indignation, tried to struggle, but the ropes at his wrists, plus another wrapped around his waist and two more at his ankles, prevented any kind of movement. Suddenly, he became aware of a strange gloopy wetness adhering to his forehead and dribbling down his face.

Alexander grinned as the Prince’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Your erstwhile servant, young Raymond here, has been busy whilst you slumbered, your Highness. Mere moments ago, he was looming over you, his rock-hard cock hanging out of the front of his tights, whilst he sprayed his boy spunk over your hunky body. I imagine you can feel it drying even now on your face and chest. Cum can be rather itchy when it dries, don’t you find?”

“Raymond! How dare you?!” exploded the disgusted Prince.

“Don’t be too hard on him. He was only doing as he was ordered. Although I fancy he did not find it too much of an ordeal. But his Highness is right, Raymond. You really should clear up your mess. Come over here.”

Felix turned his head and, for the first time, he saw Raymond lurking in the corner. Like him, Raymond was also bare-chested and clad only in his silver hose. Clearly Alexander had regarded both lads’ fine doublets surplus to requirements.

“I wasn’t particularly impressed by your prowess at licking up that custard from the floor of the Great Hall the other day,” observed Alexander. “It seems to me that you require further practice. After all, I may decide that your new role in life is to clean the castle top to toe – using only your tongue.”

Raymond swallowed instinctively, suppressing the overwhelming urge to fly at Alexander and knee him in his vulnerable, tights-covered groin.

“Hop up onto the bed again, my lad. And let’s see you lick your own cum off Prince Felix’s chest.”

Reluctance and distaste were etched across the dark young man’s face, but he knew he was outmanoeuvred, and he had no choice but to bend over the Prince’s body, and prepare to taste his own salty semen. Raymond planted his palms either side of the Prince’s naked chest and lowered his face to begin his unpleasant task. As he did so, his tights-covered crotch could not help but come to linger against Felix’s own silken bulge. An erotic thrill shot through him as their genitals made contact. And in spite of only just having emptied his load, Raymond’s meat began to stiffen once more.

“Get on with it,” snapped Alexander impatiently. “We have many more games to play and I don’t have all day!”

Raymond stuck out his tongue and tentatively began to lap at the rope of cum criss-crossing Felix’s washboard abdominals.

“Oh, and one more thing, lad! You’re not to swallow any of it. I want you to hold your cum in your mouth for now, you understand?!”

Raymond could only nod his acquiescence, although it was easier said than done, to try and prevent any of the semen slipping down his gullet. He had never acquired a liking for the taste of cum, and even though it was his own, he found the flavour of the now tepid fluid distinctly unpleasant.

“That’s it boy, suck up your own emissions... You’ve missed a blob just there by his Highness’s left nipple...”

Prince Felix seethed. “I demand you wash me properly, Courcey! This is obscene!”

“You never learn do you? You will be silent unless spoken to, Prince Bitch! Or I swear I’ll have you gagged.”

For once, Felix elected to do as he was told, and Raymond began licking around the Prince’s tit. The flesh was clearly sensitive, and Raymond could not resist brushing the nipple with his sharp white teeth.

“Ow!” yelled the Prince. “You bit me, you dolt!”

Raymond – cheeks bulging – glanced up fearfully. Alexander merely smirked.

“Your mouth is pretty full, now Raymond, isn’t it? Your cum mixed with your saliva. Ha! I can see the white liquid starting to dribble from your lips. Very well, you may now rid yourself of the fluid. And you are to empty it into the Prince’s mouth...”

Felix took an intake of breath, but before he had chance to protest, Raymond had done as he was ordered and dribbled a large globule of spittle and semen in between the Prince’s pink, perfect, pouting lips.

Quick as a flash, Alexander was at the head of the bed, where he gripped the Prince’s nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Swallow it!” commanded the Steward. “Swallow your servant’s spunk!”

Felix coughed and sputtered, but he was left with no choice – and eventually the cum-laced saliva slipped down his royal throat.

“How did that taste? Rather a contrast to the venison and champagne that your palate has grown accustomed to, I imagine? Although I’ve always opined that the taste of boy cum does bear the slightest resemblance to caviar...”

Felix gagged as he ingested the concoction.

“Maybe we’ll leave the cum on your face as a moisturiser,” mused Alexander. “It’s a nicely humiliating reminder of your new lowly position.”

His tone of voice became sterner. “You can get off the bed now, Raymond. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you trying to grind your dick against the Prince’s, you little slut. Christ Almighty, I know you’ve been lusting after him for months but you’ve only just wanked over him. Are you fucking insatiable?! Go and stand in the corner until I decide what to do with you next.”

Raymond regretfully did as he was told, and Felix gritted his teeth as Alexander languidly came to sit beside him on the bed. Master Courcey stretched his long, purple legs out in front of him, and gazed down at the Prince’s beautiful, bound body. He tugged experimentally at one of the ropes attached to the Prince’s ankle, causing that beautiful, muscular, leg to jerk involuntarily. It looked as if Felix’s legs had been sprayed red, so tight were his tights – and the bound young man’s breathing was quick and shallow: betraying a mixture of fury and fear.

“You will not break me, Courcey,” vowed the Prince. “I have royal blood in me. Whatever depraved or disgusting act you might perpetrate upon me, I shall not grovel before you. I promise you that. And each new indignity ensures only that your charge sheet grows longer, and that your death, when it comes as it most surely will, will be more excruciating than you could ever begin to imagine.”

“An impressive speech, my lad. But I might take you more seriously if you were in a slightly more powerful position, and not spread-eagled in my bed chamber, tied up in an extremely revealing pair of scarlet tights, with another slaveboy’s dried cum splattered all over your face...”

Felix drew a breath but before he could speak, Alexander had placed his palm over the Prince’s mouth.

“You talk too much, Prince Pricktease. I’ve warned you once about the gag. I shan’t warn you again.”

Alexander smiled as Felix seemed to think better of issuing a retort. “You see – even the least promising of students can learn under my tutelage. Now, we were speaking of humiliating reminders, were we not? Raymond! Fetch that casket from the dressing table!”

Raymond found the velvet-covered box and brought it to Alexander. Master Courcey snapped open the clasp and withdrew from it: “A slave collar! Although as you’ll see this is a very special slave collar. Only the best for you, my Lord! The finest, supplest black leather, studded with gold and rubies. Red, red rubies. The colour of your tights – and the colour of whores! Which is most appropriate given what is in store for you, little Prince Pricktease!”

Felix, in spite of himself, remembered Alexander’s threat about the gag and stayed silent.

“Raymond, let’s see this fine jewelled collar strapped around his Highness’s throat!”

Raymond’s nimble fingers worked quickly, threading the thick collar around Felix’s muscular neck, even as the Prince glared at him.

“Feels humiliating, I bet – being collared like a dog by your former servant, no matter how pretty and glittering the adornment? And yet you’ve always enjoyed pretty adornments, haven’t you, my little Prince? I can see your muscles tense in fury – your strong pectorals, your thighs in your tights bunching at the humiliation. But you’re totally powerless – nothing you can do to stop me degrading you in any fashion I see fit. What a shame. What a damned shame.”

Raymond watched in fascination as Alexander goaded the Prince. He could tell it was taking all of Felix’s willpower not to spit directly in the Steward’s face.

“Now, my lad. I do believe you’re about to enjoy this experience a whole lot more.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember all those months ago when you lured me to your bedchamber with the offer of me using you as my slavebitch? You ground your crotch against my hand with all the practised ease of a Dunchester whore. You promised me your body that day, young Felix. And I have come to claim what I was promised.

“You see those bottles sitting on the shelf over there?” Alexander continued. “They are all powerful potions. The first I used to knock you out. The second to revive you, but the third... Ah the third is the best one. That will, with the merest sniff, drive a man with even the most humdrum and conventional of libidos, into a frenzy of lust. And by happy coincidence, this handkerchief I have here has been liberally doused in that very concoction!”

There was no time for Felix to react before the square of cloth was rammed against his face. He tried to resist, to hold his breath, anything. He knew from past experience, how powerful and overwhelming the concoction was. He tried to avoid inhaling the evil brew, oh how he tried, but pinioned in position as he was, all he could do was thrash his limbs about in protest. He fought with his naked arms and his hosed legs, but Alexander’s grip was strong, and very soon, his strength evaporated as his mind and body were flooded with lust.

Satisfied that his royal victim had inhaled a sufficient dose, Alexander removed the handkerchief. Felix gazed upwards through the fug in his mind as the Steward savoured his moment of triumph. He looked like a wolf about to devour his prey. Alexander licked his lips, and lurched forwards.

Felix’s heart pounded. His blood raced round his body as his new master sank into him. He smelt the scent of the man first: traces of cologne mixed with the heady aroma of fresh perspiration. The Steward was clearly excited at the prospect of having the Prince at his mercy. Felix tried to fight the intoxicating allure of the potion which drew him inexorably to the heat of another human being – any other human – in order to satisfy the rising tide of lust within him. But his cock seemed to have a mind of its own. And even though he knew it was due to the evil effects of the potion, he felt a desperate flush of shame as his cock began to harden. Without having to look, he felt his swelling dick rise and tent within the tight red constriction of his hose.

It took all the effort Felix could muster to try and fight the poison in his veins and turn his head away from Alexander Courcey’s lips. But the Steward was having none of that! He grabbed the Prince’s square jaw in his unrelenting grasp and, without any further hesitation, planted a long kiss on Felix’s mouth.

Felix tried to clamp his mouth shut to avoid Alexander’s long probing tongue, but the older man would not be dissuaded from his goal. Felix felt the soft black bristles of Alexander’s beard brush against his tanned, flawless skin. Even through the haze of lust, he bridled at the weirdly obscene intimacy of being taken and kissed by another man: the combination of masculinity as Alexander’s strong arms held him down. Indeed it was if Alexander himself had partaken of the potion, such was the intensity of his ardour. His moist lips worked at those of the Prince, smothering him so that Felix was left barely able to breathe, as if he would suck the very life essence out of the young man.

His tongue swirled inside the Prince’s mouth, their lips pressed ardently together. He was a good kisser, that much was true, and he seemed to know all the right buttons to push in order to work on and increase Felix’s burgeoning libido.

Then, at some strange and indeterminate moment, rather than fighting him, the Prince gave into the insistent onslaught and began to respond: the potion driving him on in a frenzy of long, deep, passionate kisses.

Raymond, forgotten about in the corner of the room, looked on longingly: how he wished he might be invited to join the masculine orgy on the bed. Instead, he had to make do with only his own hand to rub at his tights-clad groin.

On went Alexander, licking, lapping, slobbering at the defenceless beauty he had so efficiently trussed up. He could have gone on kissing that stunning, chiselled face of hours. Especially as the intoxicated Prince was now panting in response. But Alexander reminded himself that he had other plans for his newest slave victim.

He stepped back to admire the sight of the young Prince. A dastardly grin spread across his face.

“Now, your highness, I think it’s about time I made you a little less comfortable. After all we can’t have you lazing about in your tights in bed all day, can we?”

“Wha-?” mumbled the Prince, still flushed from the after effects of the potion. Alexander’s saliva lying wet across his cheek.

But Alexander’s meaning became apparent all too soon. The Steward grasped the free ends of the cluster of ropes, dangling from the pulley system on the ceiling, and, slowly but surely, he began to tug. Felix looked around him wildly as all at once, his arms and legs began to rise into the air.

Then, in a sudden and unexpected movement, Alexander let the rope go and the Prince’s legs dropped a little. Instead, the Steward selected another cord and began to jerk this - the rope fixed to Felix’s right arm.

“Like a marionette!” crowed Alexander. “My little puppet Prince. A beautiful doll for me to play with and manipulate! I can make your arms go up in the air like this! Or I can send them plummeting to the counterpane! I can pull your strings and send your legs flying into the sky – and then I can yank – yank – yank them so that they are spread as wide as they can go! Shall we try that, eh? Pulling those divinely muscled legs of yours apart so they’re stretched in delicious tights bondage?”

Felix was powerless as Alexander demonstrated the range of positions he was capable of forcing him into. And then, once he had tired of this little game, Alexander made his adjustments carefully to ensure that each of the Prince’s limbs were indeed stretched as far and as wide as they would go. He tied off the end of the ropes, and he purred with satisfaction at the sight of Felix’s muscular legs, encased in their figure-hugging scarlet tights, pulled apart, toes pointing to the ceiling, the groin and ass left vulnerably and enticingly available…

“Are you ticklish, I wonder, my puppet Prince? Raymond – come here! I can see you’re itching to get your hands on the Prince’s body once more. Here are the soles of the royal feet – only that thin layer of stretchy fabric to protect them. Show our captive here just how you can torment his stockinged feet!”

Raymond did not need to be asked twice. Alexander repositioned himself at the Prince’s head, handkerchief in hand, and administered another dose of potion to the trussed up royal.

Once more Felix fought the aroma, but once more it transported him to a heavenly Hell of sexual desire.

“You look so beautiful like this, your Highness,” remarked Alexander. “It is indeed a shame that you cannot see your own predicament. Let us remedy that!”

And with a flourish, the devilish Steward ripped the drapes from the chamber’s walls to reveal that every surface – even the ceiling – was now covered with mirrors. Felix could not avoid the sight of himself in his degrading and inescapable bondage: his arms, biceps bulging, pulled tight away from his chest and straining towards the ceiling, his scarlet legs tugged in opposite directions and spread wide like a common slut. His beautiful face, smeared with his own servant’s white cum, and red with exertion and the effects of the poison, stared back at him. And this image was reflected in every surface – over and over. There was simply no avoiding the sight of his own humiliation. And mortifyingly, the mind-altering effect of the potion changed even his response to the image.

In spite of himself, he found himself becoming aroused by the sight of his own tights-clad legs, his peachy arse bulging in his hose. His narcissism manifested itself through the mist of the poison and began to work against him. He was beautiful, and in bondage, his muscles straining, he could see what a gorgeous animal he was. And he understood how his beauty could not help but drive those around him mad with lust. Unluckily for him, he was entirely at the mercy of such a man.

He felt Raymond’s hands on his legs, roaming up and down, sliding against the soft silkiness of his tights, teasing and tickling his calves and the soles of his feet. He kicked his legs to try and avoid the torment, but there was no escape. The tickling went on and on and on, just as Alexander pushed the handkerchief harder against his face.

It seemed to last forever, and still there was no avoiding the punishment. All the while, Alexander’s mocking laughter rang in his ears.

After what seemed an eternity, the Steward appeared to decide that Raymond had had enough fun. Felix watched, hysterical and exhausted, as Alexander moved to the end of the bed, slapped Raymond’s round backside with a ‘thwack!’ and ordered him back into the corner of the room.

The Steward paused dramatically as he came to stand at the end of the bed.

“And now we come to the crux of the matter, do we not, your Highness? That most intimate, most private and taboo of spots. The place where no man has gone before – the royal arsehole.”

Felix blanched.

“Now don’t look so surprised. Why on earth do you think you were administered a powerful laxative last night? It was to purge you of any, shall we say, extraneous matter? I have no desire to wallow in your shit, not matter how royally divine you may consider it. And as you are now cleaned inside and out, our fun can begin in earnest.”

Chapter 50 - The Sleeping Beauty

“They’ve forgotten about us, haven’t they?! Those treasonous swine have locked us up and forgotten about us!”

The Prince’s voice practically screeched with incredulity.

“Given that if they remember us, they might choose to slit our throats,” remarked Raymond drily, “I’m actually rather glad to be forgotten.”

The past three days had seemed like an eternity for the curly-haired youth. Prince Felix was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the ideal cellmate. The two young men remained shackled to the dungeon walls in their dirty tights. They had been fed and watered, forced to use the latrine in the corner of the cell, and, unceremoniously, ignored.

The sound of the key in the lock heralded the arrival of their evening meal. The rugged Sir Antony ushered in skinny young Mortimer who carried a tray of greasy stew. Lumps of fatty mutton bobbed in the congealing liquid.

Prince Felix turned up his nose. “I’m not eating that,” he pronounced with a sniff.

“You are a prisoner of his Lordship,” Sir Antony informed him blandly, “and you will eat what you are given. If you want me to hold your nose and tip it down your throat, then so be it.”

Mortimer carried the tray over to the Prince, who begrudgingly took the moderately more appealing of the two bowls.

“No, Prince Felix,” said Sir Antony. “The Chief Steward informs me that you are to partake of the other one.”

Felix turned pale. “Ah, so it has come to this, has it? I am to be poisoned like some plague-infested rat?”

“Alexander has not taken me into his confidence, but I understand that Lord Geoffrey wants you to remain alive for the time being.”

The Prince looked at Sir Antony with defiance. “Give me the bowl. I would rather meet my maker than be subjected to the perverted whims of Alexander Courcey!”

Gagging as he did so, the Prince forced himself to eat the stew. His rumbling belly protested, and Antony smiled knowingly as the final dregs of the meal disappeared.

“Well done, your highness,” he said. “Now, we shall bid you a good night and the most pleasant of dreams...”

And with that, he and Mortimer left the prisoners alone.

It was a long and uncomfortable night for them both.

It seemed that Sir Antony’s assurances were true. Felix’s supper was not poisoned. Instead it had been laced with a powerful laxative, which meant the unfortunate Prince spent the whole night running back and forth to the latrine in the corner of the cell.

Raymond sighed as the Prince cursed the vile and traitorous Alexander. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, Felix’s bowels seemed to calm a little, and Raymond fell into a fitful slumber.

It must have been late morning. Raymond’s ears pricked up as he heard the key being turned in the door of the dungeon. Sir Antony and Sir Dominic strode into the cell: knowing smirks illuminating their square jaws.

“Master Courcey has summoned the two of you to his chambers,” Sir Antony informed them.

Prince Felix groaned from the corner of the cell. “Tell him he’ll have to wait. I’m spent. I’ve not slept all night thanks to that foul stew he fed me.”

“It’s a summons, not a request, your Highness,” said Sir Dominic sardonically.

“He does want you cleaned up first though,” added Sir Antony.

“Really?” asked Raymond suspiciously.

“Indeed. Master Alexander is a sensitive man. Your current state would offend his delicate sense of smell...”

Reinstalled in his own luxurious chambers, Alexander was thoroughly at home once more. God, it felt good to be back where he truly belonged. The months of uncertainty, incarceration and fugitive flight were finally at an end, and he was in charge again. The past few days had been spent assisting Lord Geoffrey in re-establishing some kind of order after the chaos of the Prince’s rule. And now – finally – he could allow himself some leisure time.

He looked at the three corked bottles that sat before him on his oak dressing table. On this occasion, he had instructed the old witch to brew up a variety of potions, and to differentiate the three of them, affixed to each vial was a scrap of parchment indicating what would occur to whoever inhaled from each brew. The first read “To induce unconsciousness”; the second “To revivify”; and the last simply read “Lust”.

Of course, this final brew was one he had ordered from the old crone many times over the years. He toyed briefly with the idea of taking a draught of it now, and his cock, coiled and nestling expectantly in his purple hose, began to stiffen at the thought. His balls hung swollen and heavy with cum, and his tights bulged.

It had been nearly a week since he’d had any sexual release. He’d been working so hard that there had not even been time for a quick wank to relieve himself. How tempting to inhale the potion now and manipulate his prick through the sensous satin of his hosiery and leak his white man juice into the gusset of his tights... But instead he restrained himself. Ultimately, it would be sweeter to prolong his frustration. He had dreamed of this opportunity for a long time. And now it was nearly upon him, he was absolutely determined to make the most of it.

There was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” he called, as he casually moved his beringed hand from his crotch.

“I have the prisoners, Master Alexander,” came Sir Antony’s voice.

“Excellent. Bring them in.”

The door swang open and Alexander turned to survey the newcomers. The strapping Sir Antony, broadsword in hand, entered: no attempt to conceal the grin upon his sunburnt features.

Behind him came Raymond. As per Alexander’s instructions, he had been cleaned up and was now a positive paradigm of perfumed spotlessness. His dark curls were glossy and sleek, his cheeks had been freshly shaved and he was now dressed in a fine grey doublet, slashed down the chest and sleeves to reveal rich black satin beneath. Naturally, the doublet rested above the waist, and from his hips to his feet he wore luxurious silver hose, his package a modest bulge. On his feet were black buckled pumps.

The chastened youth caught Alexander’s eye and tried to convey a mixture of subjugation and camaraderie, as if in that instant he hoped to undo the mischief he had caused and that the older man would both forgive and forget. Alexander returned the lad’s gaze, but he said nothing and his expression gave nothing away.

Behind Raymond, and as surely as the sun follows the moon, came his royal highness, the recently deposed Prince Felix of England. It was an apposite comparison, for the blond youth’s face blushed red with fury just as Raymond’s was pale. Like Raymond, Felix’s hair – falling as ever to his shoulders in golden waves – was freshly washed. His broad and well-muscled torso was adorned with a rich crimson doublet, heavy with gold brocade. And his bulging thighs and calves were encased in a bright red pair of tights. The hosiery had been ingeniously interwoven with golden thread so that the Prince’s impressive legs seemed to shimmer. The eye was inevitably drawn to the spot where lay the royal prick: for now an anonymous swelling in the stretchy fabric. Alexander itched to tell the Prince to turn round so he could drink in the sight of those perfectly peachy buttocks within the scarlet hose. He denied himself that particular joy for the time being.

The Prince padded in, soft suede boots on his feet, followed by Sir Dominic, who also carried his naked sword in his hand.

“Did they comply with your instructions?” asked Alexander.

“Pretty much,” replied Sir Antony. “His Highness whinged a little as he is wont to do. But they appreciated the opportunity to wash and clothe themselves.”

“Although,” added Sir Dominic with a grin, “I think the Prince slightly misunderstood and thought it meant he was being restored to his old position.”

Alexander gave an amused grunt as he watched the Prince seethe.

“You have served me admirably, my friends,” he said. “And you have my eternal gratitude. That will be all I require of you for now.”

The two knights looked a little crestfallen. “Will you be safe alone with the two of them?” asked Sir Antony.

“Have no fear. I can cope with two young pups like these. You may send a guard to wait outside my chamber door if you are truly concerned.”

The knights withdrew, their reluctance, Alexander felt quite sure, principally due to their expectation that they would at least witness, and perhaps even participate, in whatever debauched activity he had in mind for the Prince and his companion.

Felix flicked a glance to Raymond as the door slammed shut behind Antony and Dominic. Was this their opportunity to escape? Raymond responded with a barely perceptible shake of his head. The castle was crawling with Lord Geoffrey’s guards, and the two of them were hardly inconspicuous. How far did he think they would get?

“So, gentlemen,” purred Alexander, “after all this time, I finally have the two of you all to myself. How shall we pass the afternoon, I wonder? A game of backgammon perhaps? Or shall we take our horses and hunt in the forest? Would that amuse you, your highness?”

“I have nothing to say to you, you cur,” spat the Prince. “You will have your punishment both on earth and in heaven for the way you have treated me. And each outrage you commit against my royal person merely adds to the tally sheet.”

Alexander did not reply, but instead took a plain white handkerchief from the pouch on his belt and unstoppered the first of the witch’s potions. He doused the fabric liberally with the liquid and, quick as a flash, he was behind the Prince. He clasped the Prince’s body with one arm, and, with his free hand, he pressed the soaked handkerchief to the young man’s nose.

At once, Felix began to struggle.

“What evil is this?!” came his muffled cry.

“Mmm,” said Alexander. “I like to feel you struggle like that. Yes, you carry on. I’m grinding my hosed cock against the juicy, ample mounds of your bum. And every protesting move you make, tights against tights, serves only to turn me on and make my prick even harder!”

Raymond watched impotently as Felix, eyes bulging, writhed in the taller man’s crushing embrace. He could not help but be aroused at the sight of the beautiful Prince’s legs – looking as if they were painted scarlet so tight were his hose – thrashed and kicked. By rights, it should have been a more even struggle. Whilst Alexander was taller and leaner, Felix was more muscular and he was also a good fifteen years younger than Master Courcey.

“Breathe deeply, my pretty Prince Prick-tease!” whispered Alexander in Felix’s ear. “For soon you will sink into a dreamless slumber!”

The Prince’s eyes widened over the top of the handkerchief as, too late, he realised that he had no hope of escape whilst he inhaled its noxious fumes. He made one last-ditch effort to free himself from Alexander’s grip, a desperate wrenching lunge, and as he did so took a gulp of air. With that, the aroma finally overpowered him, and he slumped into Alexander’s arms.

“That’s it, boy, you have a nice sleep,” cooed the Steward as he cradled the Prince’s limp form against him. Smartly and efficiently, Alexander lifted the young man in his arms, his jewelled palm brushing against Felix’s shapely tights-clad thigh: and the feeling of hard muscle through the sensous, clinging fabric sent a thrill of lust through Alexander’s body.

He carried the unconscious Prince through into the bedchamber, pausing briefly to instruct Raymond: “Come with me.”

Nervous, but intrigued, Raymond did as he was told and stood obediently as Alexander carelessly let the comatose Adonis slip from his grasp and bounce onto the bed. The Steward took a moment to contemplate that Sleeping Beauty – scarlet legs akimbo – lying there entirely at his mercy.

For his part, Raymond could not help but be assailed by memories of this bedchamber. It was here, as a naive sixteen year old, that he, manacled and gagged, his tights pulled down to his ankles, had lost his virginity to Alexander. That occurrence had been repeated in every imaginable submissive permutation and humiliating position over the next few years, whilst the ambitious Raymond had consoled himself with the certainty that he might be the powerful man’s pet but at least he was his favourite pet.

This was the room where he had been put in charge of that conniving little upstart, Will, but also the place he had been cheated of his victory in the kinky ass-stuffing contest between him and the blond page boy, which had seen him banished to the vile Sir Wilfrid’s rooms. And of course – up until only a few days ago – these plushly furnished chambers had belonged to him. The chair in the corner still had its red velvet cushion, slightly smeared with the bananas Raymond had forced up Alexander’s ass. How far away that particular power play seemed now.

As if sensing Raymond’s thoughts, Alexander clicked his fingers at him.

“Strip his Highness of his doublet!”

Raymond knew better than to question an order, especially one issued in that tone of voice. He scurried to the bed and bent over the prone form of his former master, even as his new overlord planted a smart Slap! on his grey hosed buttocks.

“Get on with it, bitch. I don’t have much patience with you, you’ll be surprised to learn...”

Raymond’s mind raced as he fumbled at the finicky buttons on the Prince’s velvet doublet. How long did Alexander plan to keep Felix unconscious, and what precisely did he intend to do to him whilst he was in this condition? It was curious. Raymond had always thought that a big part of the turn on for his kinky master had been to provoke conflicting emotions in his submissive victims: the delicate contrast between sexual arousal and extreme humiliation. Would he achieve the same satisfaction if his sex slave were completely unaware of what was being done to him? He supposed all would be revealed soon enough.

Doublet removed, the Prince lay there on his back in peaceful oblivion, his smooth, muscled chest now naked and exposed.

“Take his boots off,” said Alexander curtly.

Raymond mumbled a “yes, Sir,” and hurried to the other end of the bed. A couple of tugs, and the suede boots were flung on the floor, leaving the Prince with his figure-hugging, glittering red tights as his sole remaining item of clothing.

Alexander looked at the dark haired youth. “There he lies, Raymond. Insensible and ignorant of what might happen to him. What shall we do with him, I wonder?”

Raymond hesitated. Was Alexander speaking rhetorically?

But Alexander clearly was not as unprepared as he had suggested. Reaching under the bed, he fetched various lengths of rope, and, moving swiftly, he tossed one rope across the Prince’s waist and fastened it securely beneath the bed. Then he attached two pieces of similar length to Felix’s wrists, and a further two were tied around his hosed ankles.

Alexander checked that the ropes were knotted well, and then he passed the end of each through the convenient metal rings that he had long ago screwed into the ceiling of his bedchamber. Then he stretched them along an ingenious pulley system, which left the free ends of each rope dangling in the air. For now, however, Alexander left the ropes hang slack.

He looked at Raymond and raised an eyebrow sardonically. “So, young Master StClare. Here we are. A fine situation, eh? And one I feel quite sure we have both been dreaming of for some time. That gorgeous peacock, Prince Felix, lies quite at our mercy. What are we to do with him?”

Raymond looked at the older man with incredulity. Was Alexander actually making him complicit and giving him permission to take advantage of the slumbering Prince? His heart skipped a beat.

“Oh, don’t get too excited, my lad,” chuckled Alexander. “It’s not like I’m going to let you fuck him or anything. You’ve really done nothing to earn that kind of reward. Far from it. But if you promise to do as you’re told, I might let you wank over him.”

Raymond hesitated.

“No it’s not a trick,” the Steward went on. “Slip off those leather pumps and climb onto the bed.”

Raymond did as he had been instructed, and, in his stockinged feet, clambered up onto the counterpane.

“Let’s see whether you can cum to order,” said Alexander, “and how good your aim is. Stand there, upright, one foot either side of our insensible young royal’s hosed hips. You have two minutes to orgasm. And I want to see your hot white jism spattering all over that broad chest and beautiful, chiselled face. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal clear, Sir,” said Raymond determinedly. His cock was already rock hard at the sight of the beautiful Prince lying knocked out at his feet.

Alexander made himself comfortable in a leather armchair. He picked up a small hourglass from the table next to him, and inverted it. “You may begin!”

With no time to lose, Raymond slipped his hand inside the waistband of his grey tights and began to pump away at his penis.

“Good lad,” purred Alexander, as he. “I bet that makes you feel really horny, doesn’t it? Standing proud and masterful in your tights, towering over that prime piece of royal meat. You could do anything to him now and he’d be completely clueless. He’s like a doll: a lifeless object for your pleasure. Wank fodder for you to use and abuse. Go on, unbutton that fine doublet of yours and play with your tits. I want you to get me excited too...”

Raymond did not need to be told twice. How long had he fantasised about dominating Prince Felix and wiping that arrogant smirk off his handsome face? He squeezed his pert nipple, sending a little thrill of pleasure and pain across his chest. He withdrew his hand from his hose briefly to spit into his palm, and then returned to his crotch, lubricating the cockhead and making it even more sensitive to his touch.

“Stick your bum out, boy!” commanded Alexander. “I need to see that hosed arse pushed out nice and far as you play with yourself, you dirty little slut.” Naturally, he too was fondling himself: his own cock thick and tumescent within the tight constriction of his purple leggings.

Raymond did as he was told, his breathing heavy and his face tense as he gave himself up entirely to lustful thoughts of dominating the Prince. He looked down at that perfect body, and imagined the ropes at Felix’s wrists and ankles stretched taut – the muscles straining under the stress, and the pain and agony etched onto the golden young man’s face.

“Half of your time gone already, boy,” observed Alexander. “I hope you’re coming close. There’ll be trouble if you don’t climax in time...”

However, there seemed little fear of that, as Raymond grunted and sweated with sexual ardour. Up and down the shaft of his cock went his fist, and precum began to leak into the grey fabric of his hose.

“Better get that cock out of your tights, slut. I want your cum spattered all over the Prince’s body.”

“Yes, Sir,” panted Raymond, pulling his tights down to below his balls.

Alexander watched eagerly. As the final grains of sand slipped into the lower bulb of the hourglass, Raymond’s legs tensed, his face screwed up. A pulsing stream of hot white semen sprayed from his cock.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

The Prince was unceremoniously anointed with his former servant’s jism. A big globule landed on Felix’s bare chest and began to slide towards his pink nipples. Another couple of blobs fell on his stomach, and then, as a second wave of Raymond’s cum erupted from his dick, a perfectly aimed emission descended onto the Prince’s face, dropping in a thick trail from his forehead, across his closed eye, full pouting lips, and dripped off his chin.

Alexander rose from his chair and nodded approvingly at the post-orgasmed Raymond, panting and red faced, cock softening in his palm. He looked down on the blissfully unaware Prince, now covered in hot wet cum, rapidly drying on that divine body.

“I think it is time for our Sleeping Beauty to awaken...”

Chapter 49 - Examined by the Abbot

Will must have slept most of the rest of the day. He hadn’t realised quite how exhausted he was. Night after night, sleeping tied up in a bar had not been exactly conducive to good, wholesome rest. So the truckle bed in his tiny cell in the monastery now felt like the height of luxury.

Brother Ralf had told him that the novices and junior monks all slept in one dormitory, but that it would not be appropriate for Will to share their sleeping arrangements given that for now, he was merely a guest in their home. He still had not seen any sign of the other inhabitants, Ralf informing him that they were either studying or in private contemplation. He would meet his new living companions soon enough.

It was late afternoon when he overheard voices coming from the hallway outside his cell. Straightaway, he recognised the quietly mellifluous Brother Ralf: “It is good to have you back with us, Father. The monastery felt your absence keenly. May I take it that the Prince’s birthday celebrations were a success?”

A fruity guffaw burst forth from Brother Ralf’s companion. “You could say that. It certainly provided great entertainment for us. Although I fear the Prince may not have enjoyed himself as much as he expected to.”

“That is indeed a pity,” replied Brother Ralf sadly. “I will remember him in my prayers tonight.”

Will pushed open the door of his cell a tiny crack – just enough to enable him to peer out, hopefully unobserved. The man who had apparently attended the Prince’s party was of medium height, and looked to be around sixty years old. He had a ruddy complexion, a bulbous nose – and he was enormously fat. His clerical robes were more ornate than Brother Ralf’s and were trimmed with lace and crimson. Wiry grey hairs sprouted from his nose and ears: indeed from almost everywhere other than the top of his head.

Suddenly, his rheumy black eyes turned to look precisely where Will was lurking. “Well, well, who is this eavesdropping on our conversation?” he chuckled to himself.

Abashed, Will opened the door of the cell and stepped out into the corridor. Brother Ralf smiled serenely. “He is called Will,” he said. “And I have offered him shelter and sanctuary in his time of need.”

The fat man nodded, apparently satisfied with this explanation.

“Will,” continued Brother Ralf, “this is Our Holy Father, Abbot Cuthbert.”

Not sure of the proper etiquette, Will bowed deeply.

The Abbot smiled broadly. “Welcome, Will, to our humble abode. I trust and hope that you will find succour and peace in the arms of the Lord.”

The next few days passed quietly for young Will. Brother Ralf was compassionate and companionable, and most gratifyingly for Will, he did not ask questions about Will’s past, but accepted that if Will did feel the need to talk about something he would. Will gladly helped out weeding and harvesting vegetables from the allotment and was grateful for the honest physical exercise that doing so afforded, after his weeks of restricted movement, tethered in Lunk’s barn.

Brother Ralf introduced him briefly to the other monks and novices, but Will soon realised that they were being trained in solitude and silent contemplation, so there would be little or no chance for him to get to know any of them properly. If he were completely honest with himself, that was something of a pity. One or two of the older novices: tall, broad-backed, clear-eyed and handsome caused a definite spasm from his caged cock whenever they passed by the monastery gardens. In spite of himself, he found he was imagining them stripped of their unflattering and all-concealing brown habits, and dressed in the peacock-like finery of the castle page boys.

As Will turned the soil in the garden, he daydreamed of one particular young man, whose dark locks fell in waves to his shoulders. His upper body was lithe and well-muscled, and Will could only presume that his lower half would be equally well-proportioned. He checked himself at once. How had it happened that he no longer ever fantasised about young women like the full-breasted Jane StClare? Only of masculine young men with muscular thighs and pert bubble butts...

Then again, what else could he expect? After all, he had been surrounded almost exclusively by men for the best part of the past year! Mistress Olwen and his hated sister-in-law Lizzie had been the only females he had had any contact with. So, combined with the period of prolonged sexual chastity that he had been forced to endure, was it any wonder his libido was out of kilter? That was a reassuring thought, at least. Once he had recovered his strength, and the danger of being pursued by Lunk’s evil gang had passed, he would move on, and live a normal life...

His reverie was broken by a coarse cry from beyond the monastery wall.

“Why there you are, you little shite!”

It all happened in the blink of an eye. Before he could catch his breath, a tall, leather-clad man, swift as a shadow, had vaulted over the low wall and was sprinting towards him. Will could only gawp in astonishment. It was Ebony the thief.

Will had no intention of being captured yet again, so he picked up his hoe from the ground and made ready to use it to defend himself. However, he had no chance to strike a blow against the trespasser. From out of nowhere, Brother Ralf appeared and stepped in front of him.

“No,” said Brother Ralf, calmly but firmly. “This is God’s land. You have no right to be here.”

Ebony seemed to hesitate in the face of the implacable monk. Then he recovered himself and grinned crookedly. “I mean you no harm, Father. But this urchin belongs to me.”

Brother Ralf shook his head. “He has been granted sanctuary here, and here he will stay for as long as he chooses.”

“Is that so?” wheedled the robber. “I have a gang of a dozen strong men not two hundred yards from here. One call to them and I can take him by force, whatever you say.”

“You take him over my dead body, my son. Would you risk the blood of a clergyman tainting your everlasting soul?”

Will watched as the cocky smile faded from Ebony’s face. Clearly even an irreligious scoundrel like him had some limits. He reached his decision. “Alright, you can keep him. But this creature has stolen from me. A fur, a bag of coins, a dagger – and some boots that belong to one of our number. Am I to be robbed of those as well?”

This time it was the monk’s turn to smile, and he did so serenley. “No, my son. We have no desire to keep anything that is rightfully yours. Follow me into the monastery and I will gladly give you the material objects you so desire. But I do so on the understanding that you cease to lay any claim to this youth.”

Will observed, fascinated, as greed and lust tussled in Ebony’s mind. But ultimately, there was no question about which would triumph.

“Alright,” he conceded. “We won’t trouble you again, Father. And you have some balls, I’ll grant you that.”

Brother Ralf nodded, as dignified as ever, and keeping a watchful eye on the rogue, led Ebony inside to retrieve his hoard of treasures.

As the thief passed Will, he whispered in his ear, “Too bad, bitch boy. You should have come with me. We’d have had some fun, you know. And I might even have taken that pesky little cock cage off your dick. Looks like you’re gonna be stuck with it now...”

Will was relieved that he was not pressurised to participate in the religious rituals of the monastery. His faith had never been very strong to begin with, and his recent experiences made it very hard to believe that any kind of divine force was caring for him. That evening, as Brother Ralf made his way to the chapel for some private contemplation, he told Will that the Abbot had expressed a desire to speak to him.

“Have I done something wrong?” asked Will.

“No, my son,” smiled Brother Ralf. “Our Father takes a pastoral interest in all those under his roof.”

So it was that moments later, Will found himself standing obediently in the Abbot’s private chambers. He masked his surprise at the opulent tapestries that adorned the walls, and the rich red velvet of the Abbot’s robes: a sharp contrast to the ascetism of Brother Ralf and the novice monks.

“Come closer, lad,” smiled the Abbot indulgently. “Let me take a closer look at you.”

Will approached the Abbot’s chair, and caught a whiff of his breath: heavy with wine and red meat. The man’s lips were full and sensual, and coated with a fine sheen of spittle.

“Brother Ralf tells me you served at the castle for a while.”

“Yes, Father.”

“But that of late you have been in the company of vagabonds and thieves.”

“I’m afraid so, but through no choice of my own.”

“We must give thanks that the Lord has delivered you into ... friendlier hands.”

The Abbot rose from his chair, and crumbs of cake fell from his lap. Slowly and deliberately, he waddled towards Will and stood behind him.

“Now, young William. I take it Brother Ralf has conducted a full medical examination of you?”

Will was wrong-footed by the unexpected query.

“An examination, my Lord? No, Sir.”

The Abbot tutted to himself. “Dear me, that was most remiss of him. We must think of the health and welfare of all the monks living here. Who knows what terrible diseases you might have brought with you? Why, you could be riddled with parasites for all we know!”

The Abbot’s mouth was so close to Will’s ear, he could feel the flicker of the man’s tongue against his lobe and hot breath on his neck.

“It is fortunate that, as a novice monk, I underwent considerable medical training. I will be able to ascertain whether it is safe for you to continue to reside with us. Now, lad, remove your clothing...”

Will hesitated. He could not rid himself of the overwhelming suspicion that this supposedly holy man was in truth aroused by the prospect of having him stand naked before him. Surely it couldn’t be happening again? Just when he thought he had finally found a home where he would not be used as a sexual plaything! Moreover, the last thing he wanted to have to do was explain the presence of the chastity device hanging heavy between his legs.

“What are you waiting for? There is no need to be nervous...” The Abbot hissed sibilantly as he placed one sweaty palm on Will’s shoulder. ‘Do as you are told. Strip!”

Reluctantly, Will untied his cord belt, and stepped out of his long brown habit. The Abbot let out a small involuntary gasp at the sight of Will’s nude form. He rested a beringed hand on the back of Will’s neck, and slowly slid his palm down the smooth, pale flesh of Will’s back, until it came to rest just above his plump buttocks.

“Good. Good. You have no outward blemishes on the skin. No sign of leprosy or the plague.” The Abbot’s voice was hoarse and his breathing short.

The fat man’s hand continued its journey, and slowly carressed Will’s juicy arse cheeks. “A good, round rump! That’s what we medical men like to see! And strong, firm, thighs. Your body is deceptively muscular for such a short young man. Yes, a fine young specimen. Very fine indeed.”

Will blushed to hear his body being described in such glowing terms. And his cock, within its captivity, began to twitch, and once again show signs of the desire to harden. Instinctively, he moved his hands to try and hide his genitals, just as the Abbot made a move to examine him from the front.

“Ha! Now don’t be shy, young man,” laughed the holy man, swatting Will’s hands away from his crotch. “It’s nothing I have not seen before!”

Left with no choice, Will let his arms hang by his side.

“Now what have we here?” cooed the Abbot with interest. “A most unusual and unexpected find!” He reached out and hefted the chastity device and its contents into his sweaty palm. “Why have you been fitted with this, young William?”

Will was too ashamed to look the religious man in the eyes. “I was put in it at the castle.”

“Speak up now, young man! Nice and clear – no mumbling!”

“It was a punishment at the castle, Holy Father.”

“Hmmm... most interesting. I shan’t ask for what reason you were punished. We are all sinners after all – you can make your peace with God at confession. I can only assume that you have been locked into a chastity device due to an unwholesome attachment to the sins of the flesh. All of us here in the monastery have taken holy vows of celibacy. So it reassures me that if you have an inclination to lustful thoughts, measures have been taken to ensure you cannot act upon them. I approve, young William.”

The Abbot’s eyes twinkled with delight and he passed his tongue over his wet lips. He released the cock cage and lifted Will’s testicles into his wide palm, rubbing and rolling them between his fingers. Will’s cock – desperate to harden – started to leak precum through the hole in the end of the metal cylinder.

“Open your mouth, boy. Wider.”

And with that, the Abbot inserted two fingers into Will’s mouth and began to probe inside, pushing against his gums and tongue.

“One last place to check. Bend over, boy and touch your toes...”

Sighing deeply, Will did as he was instructed, and felt the familiar sensation of fat fingers nudging at his arsehole. The Abbot started with a couple of experimental prods, before pushing more firmly with his wet index finger.

“Oooh, there we go. Sliding in nice and smoothly. Good, good.”

The velvet robes of the Abbot brushed against Will’s naked thighs as he stood motionless, his pert bottom pointing towards the ceiling, the cleric’s finger wiggling around inside his anus.

Will felt bewildered. This was the Abbot himself: a man of God, and the holiest man he had ever met. Was he becoming arrogant and simply assuming that every man he encountered would naturally desire to fuck him? Surely this bizarre encounter was exactly as it appeared: a straightforward medical examination – didn’t it?! And yet experience of such things and the breathless panting of the obese man, who even now had his finger up his ass, certainly suggested otherwise to young Will.

At last the Abbot seemed satisfied, and withdrew his forefinger from Will’s tight hole. “You may stand upright, my son. You have no disease or infection as far as I can tell.”

Will did as he was instructed and reached for his brown robe.

“I think not,” murmured the Abbot. “Although we follow the example set by our Lord Christ, by offering our help and our forgiveness to all sinners, no matter how licentious; nevertheless, it would be unseemly for a peasant boy who has had to be chastised in the past for his lustful urges to wear the same habit as the holy monks who live here and who permanently dedicate their lives to God.” He paused to lick his lips. “Don’t you agree?”

Will, left with no other choice, nodded dumbly.

The Abbot opened a drawer and produced a white shirt, made of a thin, goassamer like material.

“You can wear this instead,” he said, handing the garment to Will. “Come along now. What are you waiting for? Put it on.”

Will pulled the chemise over his head.

“There,” said the Abbot, retying the cord belt around Will’s waist, “that is more appropriate!”

Will waited in expectation of being handed some breeches for his lower portions, but none seemed forthcoming.

“You may go, William,” came the instruction.

Will looked down forlornly at his new garments. The hem of the white shirt reached just below his crotch. A mere inch or two of material shielded the steel cock-cage from view. At the rear, the blouse barely skimmed his buttocks.

Anticipating Will's objections, the Abbot surreptitiously slipped his fat palm under the shirt and patted him lightly on the posterior.

“For autumn, it is yet mild. We don't want you getting over-heated as you work in the monastery gardens now, do we? This garb is most suitable, I'm sure you'll agree.”

Will could only nod.

“Now I shouldn't have to tell you twice, young man. You are dismissed.”

Later, in the kitchen, Will explained to Brother Ralf the Abbot's reasoning behind his new costume.

“The Holy Father is wise in all things,” was all the monk would reply.

It was a delicate question but Will could not help but ask, “Does he follow all the same vows as you – obedience... chastity...?”

“Of course. He is the wisest, the holiest, the best man I know.”

Something in Brother Ralf's tone warned Will to drop this line of questioning, but he remembered the lascivious panting of the fat old man, and he wondered just how strong the Abbot's vows of celibacy would actually prove to be…