It was an awful nightmare, Prince
Felix assured himself. It had to be. It was the only explanation for
the madness around him. His subjects turned traitors; his own
godfather committing treason and placing him into the hands of his
worst enemy: the foul Alexander Courcey who had perpetrated the most
obscene and disgusting treatment on his royal body.
As if reading his mind, Alexander
leaned in and whispered to the Prince: “On no, your highness. This
is no dream. Although I’m sure you wish it were...”
He was right. Felix could not fathom
how, but he truly was here, in the middle of the Great Hall of the
castle, stripped to the waist, wearing only his jewel-covered white
hose. His royal rump was soiled with cream and chocolate cake, his
crotch wet and pink, the dollop of blancmange, partially melted,
still lingered awkwardly in the gusset of his beautiful, ruined
tights. He willed his cock to go down, desperate to retain even the
barest shred of dignity in the midst of the sniggering peasants. But
it was to no avail. Alexander’s expert manipulation of his prick
had left it standing to attention in his silken hose.
“What next for our naughty young
Prince?” asked Lord Geoffrey.
“Well, as it is his birthday,”
said Alexander. “As a special treat, I think he should be allowed
to sample all of these delicious puddings. He’s already had the
white chocolate cake and the blancmange. Hmmm... how about this
rather decadent-looking dark chocolate mousse?”
“An excellent suggestion! Where
could that go, I wonder?”
The Steward did not take long to
decide. “Perhaps down the back this time?” And with those words,
he stepped behind the cringing Prince and pulled open the back of his
white tights. Felix gulped as, without warning, the entire bowl of
mousse was tipped in.
The confection felt cold and wet and
claggy as it hit his bum, and he shuddered as Alexander let the
waistband of his hose ping back into place. Reluctantly, the Prince
glanced behind him to see that huge dollop of chocolatey mess bulging
inside the constricting material of his tights.
“Oh dear,” cooed Alexander. “It
seems his Highness has had a little accident. All that mousse does
make your arse look massive now in your hose. And that dark brown
stain spreading through the whitness – it rather looks as if Prince
Felix has messed himself.”
Lord Geoffrey tutted as the crowd
hooted with delighted glee. “What a disgraceful sight he looks!
Turn around, boy, so everyone can see your humiliation. And I think
you should stick your arse out as you do it so that everyone can see
you properly...”
But the arrogant young Prince could
contain his fury no longer. His hands clenched into fists at his
side, he screamed to the Hall: “You can go fuck yourselves! This
has gone far enough!”
In an instant, the lightning reflexes
of Sir Antony responded, and the Prince found the sharp point of
Antony’s sword beneath his chin.
“I think,” murmured the knight,
“that his Lordship will decide precisely when this has gone
far enough. And I also think that you should obey his Lordship’s
instructions....” He traced the point of his sword slowly down the
Prince’s naked chest. “Or I may accidentally slice off something
you consider to be of value...”
Raymond watched in dismay as the
Prince’s beautiful face screwed itself into a mask of impotent
fury. A single tear of frustration ran down Felix’s golden cheek as
he began to shuffle around on the spot to display his bum in his
soiled tights to the gawping audience.
“His Lordship told you to stick your
arse out, bitch,” Alexander reminded him smugly.
With no choice but to obey, Felix bent
his knees and did as he was told.
“That’s better, boy,” the
Steward went on. “I’ll wager your bum feels really cold and wet
with all that chocolate mousse melting inside your tights! And that
position makes you feel nice and slutty, I bet! All whorish –
exposing your lovely asset for everyone’s entertainment!”
And although he would have died rather
than admit it, that was precisely how Felix did feel: forced to stick
his filthy, chocolatey bum out as far as it could go, the crowd
mocking him with their laughter and their jeers. He completed his
circle and then stood, miserably anticipating the next humiliation.
Once again, Alexander’s baritone
rang out in the Hall. “Is that chilled chocolate mousse melting
against your hot boyflesh, Prince Felix? I bet it is. In fact, I can
see it - starting to drip and dribble down the backs of your legs.
Little brown rivulets running down your muscly thighs inside those
delicious clinging tights. Let’s help that along shall we...”
And the older man placed both of his
palms on Felix’s buttocks and began to squeeze the chocolate
pudding against the Prince’s plump arse cheeks, through the thin
sheen of hosiery. Felix had to bite his lip to avoid screaming
obscenities at the sheer audacity of the devil – daring to grope
and fondle his most private and intimate parts. His arse was still
sticking out, vulnerable and available, and his stance merely
assisted Alexander as the older man pushed and prodded, swirling the
chocolate gloop over that divine bubble butt. The mousse warmed and
became more liquid, and Felix tensed his muscles as he sensed
Alexander’s probing fingers approach the deep crevice of his arse
through the thin fabric of his tights.
“No,” hissed the Prince at the
horrific prospect of his hated enemy penetrating his hole in any way.
But Alexander pressed on, sliding a finger, made slippery with melted
chocolate, slowly all the way down the Prince’s silk-covered
asscrack. He lingered briefly at the spot where nestled Felix’s
virgin anus, and pushed experimentally against it through the fabric
of the tights. Felix gasped but Alexander moved on. “Maybe later,”
he remarked casually.
“I could go on groping your
chocolatey arse all day, boy,” he told him. “But we have so much
more entertainment in store for you.”
In a sudden movement, he grabbed the
waistband of the Prince’s tights, and, as he had done so before to
so many unsuspecting young lads, Alexander hoiked the hose up as far
as they could go. Felix cried out as the wet material bisected his
butt and the sensitive flesh of his perineum.
“Mmm... that really does look
delightful. The liquid chocolate oozing out of the tights, and the
sculped globes of your ass picked out perfectly in the stained brown
material. It almost looks as if your naked arse has been painted
brown by some expert artist. And – oh dear, my own hands have been
dirtied by all that chocolate. I shall need to clean them off...”
And Alexander purposefully wiped one
palm and then the other across the Prince’s glistening chest,
leaving streaks of brown across that perfectly tanned torso.
“You look as if you need a good
wash, your Highness,” he added. “And your poor white tights all
mucked up. Still, at least your upper half is relatively clean. And
your gorgeous face is without blemish. Maybe we should do something
to rectify that. Your Lordship, what do you think?”
Lord Geoffrey beckoned the Prince over
to where he sat at the large oaken table. “Come here, young man,
and let your godfather inspect you.”
Begrudgingly, and leaving a slippery
trail of warm, wet chocolate in his wake, Prince Felix gingerly
walked on stockinged feet over to where he had been summoned. On the
table in front of him, atop an ornately decorated glass pedestal,
perched a gigantic cheesecake.
“That’s right, my boy. Stand right
there. Now Sir Antony, Sir Dominic – you know what to do.”
It all happened in a flash. Suddenly
the two muscular knights were either side of the Prince. One of them
grabbed his wrists behind his back, whilst the other started to force
his head down towards the table. Felix struggled, but they were too
powerful for him.
“Get your hands off me!” he
wailed, as his head inevitably descended towards the creamy surface
of the cheesecake. He took a sharp intake of breath just as his head
plunged into the gooey mixture. He struggled, spluttering into the
fluffy texture of the cake as he was held down. He began to panic.
The creamy topping went up his nose and filled his mouth. Did they
truly intend to suffocate him in a pudding?! Surely he would not
suffer such a humiliating demise! But just as that possibility
occurred to him, he felt the ruffians grabbing a clump of his golden
hair, and his face was yanked out of the cheesecake.
At first he was blinded by the creamy
filling but he could certainly hear the waves of laughter
reverberating around the Great Hall. Someone wiped the gunk out of
Felix’s eyes, and a mirror was shoved in front of him. He gazed
back at the ridiculous sight – his whole face smeared with thick
lashings of creamy cheesecake, plastered across his handsome features
like a mask.
“Maybe later we’ll let everyone
have a go at shoving your head into a custard pie!” suggested Lord
Geoffrey, as a blob of goo dripped from the Prince’s face and
landed on his bare chest. “But for now, I think you should return
to good Master Alexander for the most sacred sacrament of the
coronation ceremony.”
Felix hesitated, still recovering from
being forced head first into the cake.
“You heard his Lordship!” bellowed
Sir Antony. “Scram!”
And he shoved the Prince in the small
of the back. Felix, his hosed feet now wet and slimy from the
accumulated blancmange and chocolate mousse that had run down his
legs, slipped and skidded on the smooth flagstone floor, and with a
painful crash, he flew into the air and then crashed down again onto
his sore and filthy bottom. Yet another roar of laughter greeted him
as he struggled to his feet and, his dignity in shreds, he headed
back towards the throne and, he had no doubt, to yet further
humiliation.
“Hush now!” commanded Alexander to
the near-hysterical crowd. “We now reach the most sacred part of
the coronation. The anointing of the royal head - the placing of the
crown on your Highness’ brow. Come and take your rightful position
on the throne, my Lord!”
The dishevelled and disgruntled young
Prince hobbled over to his tormentor, concentrating fiercely on
maintaining his balance in his sodden and dirty hose.
“That’s a clever boy,” cooed
Alexander in his most patronising tone. “Come and sit your pretty
little bottom down on your throne.”
The remnants of the cream cake still
clung to the rich velvet upholstery, and it was with a sigh of
resignation, that Prince Felix again sat down on the damp cushion.
Once again his tights-clad bum squished into the soft cake. “What
revolting and degrading treatment are you going out to dish out to me
now, you traitor?”
“Degrading? Surely not. You will be
anointed with only the best there is – the finest vanilla custard
direct from Mistress Olwen’s kitchen...”
Alexander swung a large earthenware
jug into the air and Felix cringed as it was positioned deliberately
over his head. For a tantalising moment, nothing happened, and then
Felix felt the first droplet fall onto his golden hair. Then another,
and another, and then Alexander let loose a steady stream of thick,
cold custard. At first it pooled on the very top of the Prince’s
head, before reaching a critical mass, at which point it started to
run down Felix’s cream-covered face and splashed onto his
shoulders. On poured Alexander: a deluge of viscous yellow liquid
gunging the royal Prince, who had no choice but to sit there and
submit to the sensation. Soon his hair was soaked in the opaque,
milky fluid. The custard gushed incessantly down his shoulders, down
his back and torso, pooling in his lap and under his arse, and
finally dripping off the seat and plopping onto the floor. His entire
body was now coated with the slimy yellow gunge.
“The holy anointing of King Felix!”
announced Alexander solemnly, as he crouched in front of the soaked
Prince. Felix began to shiver. The cool custard, his near nakedness
and the draughtiness of the Great Hall were a distinctly
uncomfortable combination. Once again, he found the Steward’s hands
upon his body, this time ensuring that every last scrap of his fine
white tights was now coated and sodden with yellow custard.
“Ah what a pity,” said Alexander.
“His highness’s state of arousal seems to have faded. Let’s see
what we can do about that.”
And he reached into Felix’s custardy
crotch and began to tug at the royal prick, manipulating it in his
palm with expertise, rubbing the thick yellow fluid into the
cockhead, and using it as a kinky lubricant.
Felix cursed his prick’s lack of
self-control. Much as he loathed every minute of this obscene
spectacle with every fibre of his being, nevertheless, there stood
his cock, outlined in the custard soaked tights: as hard and perky as
ever.
“That’s better,” decided
Alexander. “And now, time for the pièce de resistance! Your royal
Highness is to have his wish granted. You will be crowned – with
this glorious trifle!”
He couldn’t get any filthier, Felix
though to himself. However, the idea of having the huge fruit trifle
dumped on top of his royal brow was the last straw.
“No! No! No!” he screamed. “I
will not submit to you!”
He leaped to his feet, but the
gathered throng were neither cowed nor impressed. He was, after all,
a truly ridiculous sight: his beautiful form painted from head to
hosed toe in thick yellow gloop.
“Hold him down,” ordered Lord
Geoffrey with supreme calmness.
Felix struggled and writhed as he
found each custard-coated bicep gripped by his godfather’s loyal
knights, but it was to no avail. He was forced back into the throne,
and held there by the two men.
Hefting the massive bowl of trifle
into the air, Alexander intoned solemnly, “I pronounce you Felix of
England – Prince of Prickteases, Sovereign of Sluts, Baron of
Bitches, and Lord of Lustfulness. You thought you were God’s chosen
one. But now – well now, as all can see, you’re just a gunged up
whore – naked apart from your clinging white tights which show off
your assets quite deliciously. You’ve been coated in custard,
covered with cream, and slathered with chocolate. All of this now
befits your new station. You are no longer the Prince of this realm.
What are you, slut? You are degraded. Humiliated. Reduced to a messed
up, fucked up bitchboy in your hose – your pathetic cock all hard
and straining and begging for release. And you’d better get used to
this treatment, boy, because this is only the beginning. You have no
idea of the abuse and the humiliation you’re going to suffer under
this new more ‘enlightened’ regime. You have an awful lot of
wicked deeds to your credit that you need to pay for, young Prince
Felix...”
And with Alexander’s scornful speech
ringing in his ears, Prince Felix tensed his beautiful body. The bowl
of trifle was upended and, with a noisy squelch, layer upon layer of
pudding cascaded onto his vulnerable head.
First he tasted the cold white cream,
then the tangy fruit jelly, then custard – more custard! – chunks
of pineapple, raspberries and apricots, a layer of blancmange, and
finally alcohol-infused spongecake dumped directly onto his royal
head. The heavy dessert sat there for a moment and then began to
tumble over every inch of his body, covering him with chunks of
fruit, cake, dollops of cream and jelly. It was all true. Everything
that Alexander had crowed about. From the Prince of the realm, he had
been brought low and reduced to the position of a messed up,
humiliated slutboy. Then the final indignity: the upside down bowl
was placed on the Prince’s head in a mocking parody of a crown.
Still dangling from the ceiling,
almost forgotten, Odin and Ulfgar watched the spectacle impotently –
the cruel ropes and tight tights cutting into their ample flesh. The
centre of the Hall was a mess of cream, chocolate and custard: food
was splattered over the floor and the walls. But the baying crowd
seemed not to notice, so intent were they on the humiliation of the
hated Prince Felix. In spite of their discomfort, the Vikings found
themselves grateful that they were not on the receiving end of the
mob’s attention.
Lord Geoffrey rose from the top table
and cleared his throat. “Now, godson, I think you should allow your
loyal subjects to pay homage to their new King of Gunk. Let’s see
you processing before them so they can fully appreciate their monarch
in all his glory.”
The smirking Sir Antony and Sir
Dominic released their grip on his arms, and then, dithering with
cold and with fury, Prince Felix rose to his feet, a congealed
mixture of fruit, sponge and custard dropping to the floor, from
where it had collected in his lap. The glass bowl wobbled on his
slimy head, and lest he needed any further reminding, the insistent
prodding of Sir Antony’s swordpoint against the small of his back
prompted him to begin the royal parade.
With a furious frown on his face, the
Prince began his ludicrous tour of the Hall, his sopping and filthy
white tights made almost translucent by the slop that had been poured
over them, making him feel and look as good as naked in front of the
slathering hoard of peasants.
“See how the mighty have fallen!”
exclaimed Alexander as the tittering guests were afforded a close-up
view of the degraded Adonis. “Reach out and touch the soiled
princeling. Not so arrogant now is he? Forced to parade up and down
in front of his subjects in his gunged up tights...”
The commoners did as they were invited
to, and soon Felix found himself assailed by a multitude of clawing,
grabbing hands, poking at his muscular body, groping his private
parts, and rubbing the creamy, claggy mess into his smooth flesh and
up and down his hosed thighs. And he flinched every time one of them
dared to make contact with his sullied royal skin. The bedraggled
Prince, containing his wrath until it wrapped his stomach in knots,
completed his circle of the room.
It was left to Lord Geoffrey to put an
end to the obscene ceremony.
“I think that’s enough for one
birthday party. I need my rest and I shall call it a night. There
will be more entertainment to come. In fact, young Felix, I should be
very much surprised if good Alexander did not dedicate an entire week
of festivities to celebrate your change in fortune. And as for you,
the night is yet young. But alas, for me, it is time I was in my
bed.”
“What of me?” demanded Felix. “Am
I not to be cleaned or will you leave me stinking and befouled?”
“Your point is taken, godson. See to
it, will you, Alexander? I will leave the Prince in your more than
capable care. I’m sure you will know exactly what to do with
him...”
Lord Geoffrey swept out of the Hall,
and Alexander turned to the page boys, Mortimer and Humphrey.
“You heard his Lordship,” he said.
“Fetch some water to clean the Prince. And make sure it’s nice
and cold. Ice cold I think.”
The two pages scurried away to do
Alexander’s bidding.
“You’ll regret this, you bastard,”
threatened the Prince.
“Oh no, your Highness. I think not.
I feel sure that this day and the memory of your humiliation will
count as one of the highlights of my life. And remember, this is only
the beginning. We have all the time in the world...”
