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...”