Chapter 56 - Raymond gains his Freedom

Just as the sophisticated Steward of de Montford Castle had been playing on Will’s mind, the former junior page boy may well have been surprised that he was likewise very much in Master Alexander’s thoughts.


He sat alone in his chambers, his brow furrowed, his elegant elbow resting on the table. The whirlwind of recent events seemed to have abated somewhat. Lord Geoffrey was ensconced with his fellow noblemen, in deep discussion over how to ensure stability in the land. It was true that the King and his beautiful son were not popular, but the last thing this impoverished, exhausted country needed was to descend into civil war.


They would have to decide what to do about Felix. He was at their mercy now of course, but whilst he lived, he was dangerous and a potential focus for rebellion. The question was: did any of them actually have the nerve to kill him? And if they did, would that inspire a rush of sympathy for the monarchy and end in uprising and rebellion? Moreover, the Prince had powerful relatives abroad - not least the Spanish royal family. Would they move to try and liberate him?


Alexander was relieved that such matters would not be decided by him; and with the luxury for once of a little time to attend to his own affairs, he had decided to devote his energies to the pretty blond slut boy who had risked his life to save him.


There was a sharp rap on the door.


“Enter!”


A guard nodded smartly to the Steward, and pushed his prisoner into the room.


“That will be all,” said Alexander. “You may leave us.”


The guard did so, closing the door firmly behind him.


“Well, young Master Raymond,” he began. “How goes your new life in the dungeon?”


Raymond raised his head, his dark curls falling into his almond-shaped eyes and looked at Alexander warily. “I’ve had more comfortable beds.”


Alexander’s eyes flickered to the door of his bedchamber, where only a month ago Raymond himself had been installed.


“I’m sure,” he smiled coldly. “And the Prince?”


He looked back at the bare-chested youth, clad only in his once pristine silver tights, now stained and torn from his time in the dungeon.


“They keep us apart now. I hear him raving and roaring sometimes. It was a particularly cruel decision to leave him in those soiled scarlet tights when you returned him to his cell.”


“Well I didn’t want him to forget his experience too quickly.”


“He may well go mad, you know. It wouldn’t surprise me.”


“That would certainly make life simpler - for all of us.”


Raymond bit his lower lip. He seemed to come to a decision. “And what of me?” he asked, plaintively. “What is to become of me?”


“All in good time, my impatient young buck. Come, take a seat, why don’t you?”


Alexander grasped Raymond’s manacled wrist and propelled him to the cushioned chair.


“Why don’t you kill me now and get it over with?” said the wretched youth. “We both know you’re going to do it eventually.”


“Kill you?” responded Alexander in mock-astonishment. “Why on earth would I do that? That firm piece of boy rump is far too good to waste by killing you! How is it by the way? Comfortable? I do hope so. That cushion was recently stained by a small mishap with some bananas, and they’re a devil to get out of the fabric. I do hope it’s not too damp against your hosed little bum.”


Raymond winced at the memory of how he had exacted his revenge on his former master. “I am at your mercy, Sir,” he said.


Alexander nodded sagely. “Indeed. If you recall, on that occasion, not so long ago, I asked you a question. You chose not to answer me. Perhaps you might reconsider now. I ask again: what did you do with Will?”


Raymond felt a sharp pang of contempt. Still the obsession with that moronic slut! He suppressed the thought and assumed his meekest expression. “If I help you find him, my Lord, will you be lenient with me?”


“Ha! You have some nerve, boy, I’ll grant you that! You’re hardly in a position to bargain with me.”


Alexander seemed to think. He appeared to have reached a decision.


“Very well. I admire your audacity and I accept your proposition. If you tell me where I can find the boy, I will let you leave the palace this very day - alive and well.”


A wild hope leaped in Raymond’s heart. “Do you really mean it, Sir?”


“I swear on both my life and the life of young Will,” came the solemn reply.


“You are the best of men, Master Alexander! The best of men!”


“Then tell me what I want to know.”


“I sent him back to his village. He’s back in the care of his family. His own brother took him in.”


Alexander could not help but laugh. “I had no idea that you would display so little imagination, Raymond! Your worst enemy was at your mercy and you simply - sent him home?”


Raymond shrank a little in the face of Alexander’s scorn. “Will you keep your promise, my Lord?” he whispered.


“I am a man of my word, young Raymond. Surely you know that by now!” Alexander’s walked to the door. He opened it with a flourish. “You will leave the castle today. I have even gone to the trouble of arranging a personal escort for you!”


Raymond turned his head to the doorway and gasped at the man framed there. The newcomer had a mouth stuffed with golden teeth and a black leather patch covering where one of his eyes used to be. The disreputable fellow shook Alexander warmly by the hand.


“My friend! It has been too, too long. You have not frequented the auction for many a month!”


“No, Gregory,” said Alexander, wrily raising his eyebrow. “I’ve had other rather more pressing matters to deal with.”


“So I’ve heard. But it is good to see you back in your rightful place at last.” He grinned expansively. “Now, I know you well enough to know that you didn’t invite me here for my conversation. I understand you want to discuss business. Are you in the market for a new slave boy to entertain his Lordship after his travails in foreign lands?”


Alexander shook his head. “Not this time. In fact, on this occasion I’m selling, not buying.”


“Are you now?” Gregory asked with interest. “And am I to assume that this unfortunate fellow here is the commodity you’re prepared to part with?”


Raymond’s face went deathly white. “No, no. You wouldn’t! You said - You promised!”


“I promised you would leave the castle today and that you would leave it alive - no more, no less. Now be quiet while Gregory and I discuss business.” Alexander turned to the slave-trader. “I want him shipped somewhere far, far away.”


Gregory tapped the side of his nose confidentially. “I have just the place in mind. The sodomites there go crazy for pale skin there – and the younger and prettier the better!”


“Superb. Do you think he will fetch a decent price?”


Gregory approached the bound young man and began to appraise him in a professional manner. He grabbed a clump of Raymond’s dark, curly locks and yanked his head back roughly. “Good head of hair on him. Pretty little nose.” He continued his monologue as he ran his swarthy hand down Raymond’s bare chest and squeezed his groin through his tights. “Nice body. Are his parts all in working order?”


“As far as I’m aware. Is that a problem?”


“Not necessarily. Some clients prefer male slaves gelded, that’s all – makes ‘em more docile. But the procedure is straightforward, and I can whip ‘em off myself at a moment’s notice. Probably better to leave ‘em where they are for now.”


Raymond emitted an anguished gurgle as his genitals were discussed in this callous fashion.


“Is he a virgin?” asked Gregory.


Alexander laughed bleakly. “No, my friend. This one’s arse has had more than its fair share of use.”


“Pity. Virgins attract a premium. Still, there are those who like their boys experienced in the ways of the flesh – indeed, in some cases, the sluttier they are, the more they’ll pay.”


“You wouldn’t dare,” hissed Raymond malevolently. “You wouldn’t dare!”
The two men pointedly ignored him.


“Any signs of syphilis?” continued the slave-trader.


“None that I’m aware of.”


“Good. If you’ll sign a certificate attesting to that fact he’ll fetch a penny or two more. Although if he doesn’t have the clap now, give him a month or two in some of the dives I travel to and there’ll be no disease under the sun he won’t have picked up!”


“You dog!” spat Raymond. “My father was a squire to King Edward!”


“Is he always this noisy?” asked Gregory, taking the opportunity to insert his fingers between the lad’s jaws and make a cursory examination of his teeth.


“Maybe you should cut his tongue off, along with his balls,” suggested Alexander nonchalantly.


“Mouth healthy. Teeth all present and correct.”


In a desperate rage, Raymond snapped at Gregory’s fingers, but the trader was too quick for him and the lad found himself biting at the empty air.


“A little too much spirit for my liking, Alexander,” said Gregory sadly. “I’ll need to muzzle him. It doesn’t look good but I can’t risk my customers losing one of their extremities.”


Alexander spread his hands sympathetically. “You must do what you must do,” he murmured.


Gregory dipped his hand into his bag of provisions and produced a rotting leather gag. Alexander curled his lip. It smelt foul, and over the years it had clearly been employed to silence and subdue countless numbers of disobedient slaves.


“Get that thing away from me!” screamed Raymond, but Gregory calmly slipped the leather ball between Raymond’s lips and fastened it firmly at the base of his skull. Alexander noted with interest that the ball was hollowed out and that he could see straight through the centre into the inside of the youth’s mouth.


“What a relief,” sighed Alexander as the obstruction muted the young man’s fevered protests, leaving him able only to make the occasional muffled grunt. “I should have done that myself long ago!”


“Now, what else is there to discuss?” pondered the one-eyed man. “Ah yes. Transportation. If I’m to understand correctly, you were interested in the most basic haulage options.”


“That’s correct.”


“Small, medium or large?”


“Hmmm…”


“Small is cheapest.”


“Then small it is!”


With a satisfied nod of his head, Gregory excused himself and went to fetch something from the corridor outside. He returned a moment later, explaining, “I anticipated you feeling that way, so I brought a sample along with me for your approval.”


In his arms he carried a wooden packing crate. Alexander raised an eyebrow. It scarcely looked large enough to contain a medium sized dog, never mind a youth of Raymond’s dimensions. “Will he fit?” he asked uncertainly.


“Allow me to demonstrate, my friend.”


Gregory opened the lid of the crate, revealing a couple of inches of sawdust lining its bottom. Turning to the tied-up young man, Gregory hefted the desperate and struggling body into the box. He lay Raymond’s back down against the sawdust, and then, grabbing each of Raymond’s hose-covered ankles, bent the lad’s legs at the knee and, pressing the thighs against the youth’s naked chest, effectively folded the boy in half. Peering into the musty packaging, Alexander watched with interest as Gregory manacled Raymond’s heels to the crate, so they remained fixed in place, pushing against his nylon-clad arse.


Raymond’s eyes were wide with terror. This position would become very uncomfortable very rapidly, and he was fairly confident there would be no opportunity to work out any attacks of cramp that he might suffer whilst he was thus restrained.


As he continued to observe, Alexander noticed a circular hole, around four inches in diameter, low down in one side of the crate, the side to which Raymond’s feet had just been shackled, and coincidentally, in near proximity to the boy’s arsehole.


“And this hole is for…?” he inquired innocently.


“As if you didn’t know, you rogue” grinned Gregory. “It’s a long sea voyage and you know what sailors are like. My lads need some outlet for their sexual frustration. I block it up if it’s a virgin I’m carrying, but if it’s not, it doesn’t do any harm if they want a quick fuck. Do you object?”


“Not at all. In fact I’m tempted to administer a farewell buggering to the tricky little bitch myself.” Alexander’s finger poked at the glory hole. “Allow me to facilitate matters for your hard-working employees.” And, locating the seam of Raymond’s tights, he tore a hole and prodded his long forefinger into the youth’s sweating, vulnerable and not so willing crevice.


Gregory lifted the lid of the crate and handed it to Alexander for further examination. “You’ll notice that a slate blackboard has been fixed to the top,” he pointed out to the Steward. “That’s so that each sailor who sticks his cock in the box can scrawl his name and give the experience a score out of ten. It’s just a bit of fun but it helps to pass the long hours at sea.”


Alexander nodded his head in approval. A thought occurred to him. “How is he fed and watered?”


“Ah,” said Gregory, proudly. “An ingenious invention of my own devising. You see that there’s another small hole bored here in the lid of the crate? This enables a wooden cylinder to be introduced and pushed directly into the slave’s mouth. If needs be, and as in this particular case, through the hole in the middle of the gag.”


“And what do you feed them?” asked Alexander.


Gregory grimaced. “You really don’t want to know.”


“Fair enough. How about fluids? How do you make sure they don’t become dehydrated during the voyage?”


“Well, as you can imagine, fresh water is a precious commodity at sea, so I tend to save that for my crew. In my experience, a few months swallowing sailor’s piss never killed anyone.”


Alexander chortled heartily, and slapped the slave trader on his back. “You think of everything my friend! What about the boy’s own excretions? He’ll need to piss and crap too of course. Do you let him out for those necessities?”


Gregory shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s what the sawdust is there for. Besides, it’s easier to clean ‘em up when we land than risk ‘em trying to jump overboard and drown ‘emselves on the journey.”


“Practical to the last!”


“And speaking of being practical,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “A little bird tells me that the dashing Prince Felix has had a sudden and rather unexpected change of fortune. Should you be in the market and looking for someone to take that particular jewel off your hands, I would be more than happy to oblige.”


“It’s tempting,” murmured Alexander. “It’s certainly tempting.”


“The body of a god, royal blood and reputedly a virgin into the bargain! Why, you and I could retire straight away on what that treasure would fetch from the rich merchants of Arabia!”


“Unfortunately, my worthy Gregory, the Prince is not for sale. Lord Geoffrey is not going to risk allowing that particular beauty out of his sight. He certainly has no intention of packing him off to another country, where there might be a danger of him raising an army against the good folks of England.”


“I understand the reservations of his Lordship,” said Gregory sorrowfully, “but I can’t help feeling it’s a damned shame.”


“Whereas this one,” said Alexander, turning his attentions to the concertina’d lad inside the crate, “well, I can guarantee you we’ll all be very happy to see him transported from these shores, never to be seen again.”


Raymond’s eyes bulged, and once again he attempted to curse them both – which merely resulted in yet another muffled moan.


“What will be his fate?” asked Alexander. “What will the rich Arabian who wins him at auction do with him?”


Gregory considered the question, drawing on his many years of experience in the trade. “Given his youth and looks, odds are he’s destined to be a sex slave. The men out East are barbarians when it comes to boys. They’ll do things to a male that they’d never dream of subjecting their wives to. I wouldn’t put money on his arsehole still being in one piece six months from now. I tell you, your eyes would pop out of your head if I told you some of the things those heathens have been known to shove up boys’ backsides. You name it, they’ll have tried to use it to fuck a lad. What’s wrong with sticking a cock up there, I ask you? Why on earth do people need to get any more exotic than that?”


“Why indeed?” concurred Alexander, concealing a sly smile.


“Anyway, they have a short shelf life out there, male whores. Once they’ve ruined his arse, well, after that, if he’s lucky, he may have a couple of years doing hard labour; if not...” Gregory slowly drew his finger across his throat. Suddenly, a look of consternation crossed his face. “All this I’m telling you, it doesn’t make a difference to you, does it? You still want to go through with the transaction?”


The one-eyed man intruded on Alexander’s train of thought. “What did you say? Do I still want to go through with it? Oh yes. Most definitely. I was just musing over how things might have turned out differently under other circumstances.” If it hadn’t been for the blond lad with the perfect bubble butt, he thought to himself.


Alexander peered into the cramped packing case and took one long, final look at the anguished face of Raymond StClare. “Now, why don’t you seal him up and be on your way?” he said abruptly. “I’ll wait to hear from you to find out how much he fetched.”






Business concluded, Gregory was left alone with the crate to pack away his tools of the trade. He nailed the lid shut, enclosing Raymond in darkness, muffled screams now reduced to wracking sobs.


He could really do with a piss, thought the one-eyed rogue, only he hadn’t thought to ask Alexander where the garderobe was located. He glanced around and shrugged. He reached into his bag and pulled out a curved wooden tube. Feeding it through the hole in the crate’s lid, he then proceeded to wiggle it into position. He slid it through the gap in the middle of the ball gag, and left it resting at the top of Raymond’s gullet. He pulled down the front of his coarse grey tights, stuck his cock into the end of the cylinder and released his urine with a long, satisfied sigh.


He heard the piss gurgling down the wooden tube and flowing into Raymond’s helpless throat. “That’s it, lad. Drink it all up. Every last drop. It’s only the first of such refreshments you’ll be tasting over the months to come.”


Gregory shook the final few droplets from his dick, and put it away. Then, whistling tunelessly to himself, he hefted the crate onto his broad shoulders and carried Raymond down to the cart waiting below.


The bumpy journey to Dunchester took an hour or so. The crate was stored there over night and then, the following day, it was on its way down to the port. Less than a week after preparing himself to become the right-hand man of the new King of England, Raymond StClare was on the ocean, destined never to return to his homeland again.

Chapter 55 - A Lesson in Lust

The wooden benches were hard. This should come as no surprise. A novice monk’s life is one of duty and obedience, not luxury. The space between the rows was narrow, and when your legs were long and strong like Brother Hal’s, this added even more discomfort. He had spent the morning in prayerful contemplation, but now was time for the novices’ weekly instruction from their divine Abbot. Deep down, Hal doubted whether the Abbot was as committed to his holy vows as he really should be. But he suppressed these feelings as well he could as seditious - and quite probably blasphemous.

Hal found the Abbot rather pompous and rather over-fond of his own voice. Still, he reckoned he could manage to put up with him for the one time a week he was summoned with the others to listen to the sermon. Over the past few weeks, the Abbot had taken The Seven Deadly Sins as his treatise, and this week, they had arrived at the vexed topic of -

“Lust!” The Abbot’s moist lower lip quivered as he uttered the word. “A daily battle that you young men must fight against. For be assured, Satan will tempt you with forbidden fruit, as surely as he did Eve. The Lord will be at your side, but you must be strong and find salvation in prayer, lest you fall to sin.”

Hal nodded. The struggle to keep his mind wandering from lustful thoughts was, for him, a daily one. He listened intently as the Abbot went on.

“Here in the safe confines of our monastery, you might think yourselves safe from such wickedness. But I fear I must tell you, that even in our Eden-like paradise, we may find a serpent lurking in the most unexpected of places…”

A sudden knock came at the door of the school room.

“Ah,” said the Abbot, with a knowing twinkle in his eye. “Our visitor arrives right on cue. Enter!”

The assembled novices turned to see the newcomer. Hal was puzzled to see the short, blond gardener with whom he had spoken only a day or two previously.

“Brother Ralf told me you wished to see me, your Worship,” said Will, flushing slightly in the gaze of the many quizzical faces turned to him.

“I did indeed, young man,” said the Abbot, darkly. “Come here, to the front of the classroom.”

Will did as he was told, noting the raised eyebrows and smirks on the faces of some of the more supercilious young monks. He spotted Hal’s good-looking face and risked a half-smile.

“Well, my boys,” said the Abbot. “What do we see, before us, do we think? Hmm?”

A few of the novices looked at one another but said nothing.

“The gardening lad?” offered one, nervously, as if it were a trick question.

“Indeed. Indeed,” confirmed the Abbot, nodding vigorously. “This is indeed all he seems to be: a simple, none-too-bright young yokel. Nothing remarkable at all, one might think, no?”

His pupils asserted their agreement.

“Take off your shirt, boy,” ordered the Abbot.

Will hesitated but did as he was told, tugging the linen blouse over his head to reveal his smooth, well-muscled chest.

The Abbot rested his hand on Will’s breast.

“The lad’s torso is hardened and muscled from his physical labour, wouldn’t you agree? He seems quite ordinary, yes? Well, you would be wrong…”

And, quick as a flash, the fat old man grabbed at Will’s hessian trousers and tugged them to the floor. 

Unexpected laughter erupted from the assembled students as Will’s nudity was exposed for them all to see. And a stunned Will could only stand and gawp at them. Then, the laughter started to die away, to be replaced by a kind of bewilderment. Hal leaned forward, his surprise supplanted by curiosity. What was the weird metal protrusion hanging from the lad’s crotch?!

“It is a chastity device!” declared the Abbot in answer to their unspoken question. And he delivered a swiping blow at Will’s dangling, steel-encased prick, sending it swinging from side to side like a peculiar pendulum.

“Do you see, my friends? This creature - so outwardly modest and unassuming. So ordinary and hum-drum! The truth is that he harbours such lusts and perversions within him, that his previous master had no choice but to fit him with this constricting cage. His penis can never achieve its full erection, and if it is tempted to try, it will cause severe pain to the boy. This foul nymph is truly a creature of Satan! For lust drives his every thought!”

The Abbot’s face was ruddy with passion as he ranted. Spittle flew from his sensuous mouth and landed on Will’s naked flesh. He paused to draw breath and silence descended upon the schoolroom.

Brother Nathaniel - a wiry young man whose hair was already receding - raised his hand. “Your Holiness?” he asked.

“Yes, Nathaniel?”

“If this creature is indeed a dangerous succubus, why do we harbour him here in a Holy place?”

The students leaned forward to hear the Abbot’s explanation.

“A pertinent question,” he replied, nodding gravely. “I keep him here so that the danger his lust poses can be kept from the poor peasants and farmers hereabouts. Whilst he is contained here in the monastery, the threat he poses can be mitigated. But we must be ever vigilant, my friends. He is a permanent reminder of how evil may lurk in the most mundane places…”

Night fell and in his basic little bunk, Will marvelled anew at his capacity to feel shame. Even now, after everything he had been through, the experience of being stripped naked by the slobbering Abbot for the amused gaze of the young novice monks had distressed him considerably. Truly it was nothing compared to some of the deeply personal invasions he had been subjected to in the past year: the spankings, the purges, the bondage, every orifice used and abused for the sexual gratification of others. Maybe the past few weeks of normality had lulled him into a false sense of security: that a new, simpler chapter had opened in this unusual life of his. But it seemed - thanks to the Abbot and his dubious motives - that this was not to be. Or maybe he was more upset that the tall, handsome Brother Hal had witnessed his humiliation. Had he dared to hope that Hal might turn out to be a friend to him in this friendless universe? This now seemed unlikely after the Abbot’s hysterical castigation of his morals and character.

He pondered the Abbot’s diatribe. He did not truly think he was the hellish incubus that he had been portrayed as, sent to torment the righteous monks around him. Indeed, he had long ago abandoned any thought of God coming to his rescue, and was now quite content in the notion of a godless universe. However, he could not deny that he had started to think about Brother Hal in ways that were not in any way virtuous. His fantasies both excited and distressed him - in no small part because the infernal steel cage still prevented him from wanking - and he cursed Alexander de Courcey for unearthing this dark side of his nature, and for tutoring him in its illicit delights.

He tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He had avoided all company for the rest of the day. He could not even look the friendly Brother Ralf in the eye, for fear he would have heard of his ordeal in the schoolroom and judge him accordingly.

Will’s eyes sprang open at the sound of the creaking door. His time in the castle dormitory and in the bandits’ encampment had left him alert to the slightest sound.

“Who’s there?” he hissed, fearing instantly that the villainous Ebony had returned to claim him as his prize. Tantalising seconds passed as the intruder made his way to Will’s bedside. Will curled his right hand into a fist. If Ebony intended to steal him away once more, he would not go without a fight.

“I hope you don’t mind my coming to your bedside but I was troubled and I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to see that you were all right.”

In an instant, Will unclenched his fist as he recognised the warm, rich tones of Brother Hal. A sliver of moonlight illuminated the room and bathed Hal’s handsome face in its silvery light. Will felt his heart beat quicken as the novice monk rested his hand gently on Will’s naked shoulder.

“Yes,” Will stammered. “Thank you. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

An awkward silence hung between the two young men.

“I would like to ask you something,” whispered Hal, “but if you do not wish to answer, you must say.”

“Alright. Ask.”

“That thing you wear. Is it true what the Holy Father said? Is it a punishment or do you wear it of your own free will?”

“Why should I want to wear something like that?!”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe as some kind of penance. You know, like some monks wear hair shirts under their habits.”

Will shook his head ruefully. “No, I made a powerful enemy when I served at the castle. And the chastity cage was his revenge on me.”

Hal hesitated. “May I - may I see it again?”

Will’s breathing quickened at the prospect of exposing the humiliating cock cage to the handsome young novice. “Why?”

“Call it curiosity…”

Now it was Will’s turn to hesitate, but he quickly made up his mind, and rolled the rough blanket down to his thighs.

Fascinated, Hal brought his face level with Will’s crotch.

“May I touch it?” he inquired gently.

Will mumbled his acquiescence, and then gritted his teeth as he felt the tender touch of the monk, as he delicately lifted the steel device, Will’s penis trapped within, - first this way, then that. Will felt the familiar sensation of blood rushing to his groin, and the equally familiar stab of pain from the tight constriction of the cruel cage. He gritted his teeth.

“Does it hurt?” asked Hal.

“When my dick wants to get hard, yes.”

“And does it now?” Hal breathed in the barest whisper.

Will shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

Hal let go of the steel cylinder and sat beside Will on the bed. Tentatively, he reached out and touched his cheek.

“You are very handsome, Will,” he observed with a frown.

Will averted his eyes, both frightened and excited by where this might lead. “Aren’t you worried I’ve been sent to tempt you, like the Abbot said?” he mumbled.

“The Holy Father says that you are sent by Satan.”

“I don’t think there is such a thing as Satan. There are just men. Good and bad. Or men who sometimes do good things and sometimes do bad things. And I don’t think there is a God either. Does that shock you?”

“I suppose it does. A little. And I suppose it is the sort of thing that a wicked demon might say. One that had been sent to tempt me.”

Silence descended in the dormitory. Will held his breath, wondering where on earth this discussion might lead. Eventually Hal spoke.

“Get dressed,” he said. “And follow me.”

They were bound for the forge.

As the rest of the monastery slumbered, Hal explained with hushed brevity that he was not unskilled in the trade of the blacksmith.

Will stood, barefoot and shivering in the forge as Hal worked to fashion a lock picking device that might finally free his tortured genitals from their long captivity. It was a bizarre activity, which entailed Hal having to examine Will’s crotch from every possible angle. Hal apologised frequently for this intimate familiarity but Will assured him if he could only rid him of the chastity cage, he would be forever in his debt.

“I think it will fit. At least I hope so,” said the monk after a good half hour’s work at the forge. “You will permit me to try?”
“I’ve never been so ready!”

Will held his breath, barely daring to hope that the makeshift key might work. Hal uttered a half-apology, half-exclamation as his left palm inadvertently brushed Will’s naked bollocks. He turned the pick first one way, then the other, and Will was reminded of the time Ebony had offered him the hope of freedom, only to dash it cruelly by imprisoning him once again.

A third click, and a wild hope leapt in Will’s breast as the cock cage became free and clattered to the ground. Tears sprang to his eyes.

“Oh, thank you, Hal! Thank you!” he cried, impetuously flinging his arms around the taller youth and clutching him close in a grateful embrace.

Hal chuckled gently as Will clung to him. “My sacred vows oblige me to aid all those in need. And you looked as if you were very much in need, my friend,”

Will joined in the laughter as he rested his head on Hal’s broad chest, as they sought refuge in the humour and warmth of each other.

Suddenly Will became aware of a familiar swelling at his groin. It was inevitable he supposed, that after so many months of denial, his prick would waste no time in making the most of its liberation. Soon it was straining to attention, and Will realised, with some embarrassment, that it was pushing itself firmly into Hal’s thigh. Any hope Will may have had that the folds of Hal’s robe might prevent the taller youth from noticing the pressure of his hard cock quickly dissipated as Hal looked down with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m so sorry,” mumbled Will. “It’s been so long. I don’t know how… It doesn’t mean… I should go.”

His cheeks flushed with shame, he grabbed his hessian trousers and stumbling over them, he fled from the heat of the forge. He raced back to his pallet, and, his chest heaving, he flung himself onto his bed. Had his nature truly been so altered by his experiences at the castle and at the hands of the perverted Alexander Courcey changed him forever? He tried to expel all such thoughts from his mind and tried to conjure images of the minx-like Jane with her pert breasts. But all he could see were the deep, soulful eyes of Brother Hal: the straight nose, the charming smile and square jaw. His cock began to twitch, and it was hopeless to try and deny the months of pent-up sexual frustration that were now free to vent. His fist encircled his cock-head and a mere three pumping motions, combined with the image of Hal’s long-limbed frame, caused a spasming orgasm which seemed to last forever. A veritable fountain of suppressed cum erupted from his tender boycock, and the shuddering gasp of ecstasy shook his whole body. The relief was tangible, and his balls ached with their long yearned for release. He fell asleep, the large damp patch of his cum drying guiltily beside him on his bed.

Chapter 54 - A Humiliating Evacuation

The autumn sun was warm in the monastery grounds. There, many miles away from the kinky goings-on in Alexander Courcey’s bedchamber, Will worked industriously at the cabbage patch. The kindly Brother Ralf had, to Will’s relief, decreed that whilst the thin gossamer blouse he had been made to wear might be suitable for indoors, he would need sturdier garments for working in the fields. So his broad young shoulders and muscular thighs were, temporarily at least, clad in coarse hessian and linen.

The cruel steel of the cock cage was a permanent torment to him, but he found that if he threw himself into his physical labour during the day, he would be so exhausted that sleep came quickly. Nevertheless, the torture of being unable to ejaculate for all these months weighed heavily on him. Many was the time that he felt he could have cried with frustration, and he cursed Raymond bitterly.

He made sure to keep out of the Abbot’s way as much as possible. This was a relatively straightforward task. The Abbot was frequently absent from the monastery, visiting and being entertained by the various merchants and landowners in the area. When he was there, he would usually lay in bed till late morning and then, after his gargantuan midday meal, retired to his chambers for silent contemplation. (Though the snoring emanating from the window belied his true activity.)

Will was perfectly happy with this arrangement. He well remembered the lustful glint in the Abbot’s eye the day he had stripped him, and, in spite of good Brother Ralf’s assurances on the unimpeachability of the Abbot’s character, Will remained unconvinced.

Will wiped the sweat from his brow, and, having pulled another leafy cabbage from the ground, he was suddenly aware as a shadow fell across him. Will looked up - straight into the handsome face of a tall novice monk. Will recognised him instantly - his dark hair and chiselled jaw made him look more like a knight from a romance novel, and he looked most incongruous in his religious garb. The monk smiled and his full lips parted to reveal a dazzling set of sparkling white teeth.

“I have been wanting to say hello,” he said, and his voice was rich and warm. “I am Brother Henry, but my friends call me Hal.”

He offered his hand for Will to shake. 

Will, conscious of the dirt smeared across his palm, did his best to wipe it on his smock.

“Will,” he said simply. “I am Will.”

The two young men - one tall and dark, one short and fair - regarded one another for a moment.

“I must go,” said Hal with a slight shake of his head. “I have my prayers to attend to.”

Will watched him return to the abbey, confusion in his heart - and a warm tingling in his crotch.

Back at the castle bedchamber, Alexander worked swiftly. He knew that the Prince’s ass was now crammed so full of sweeties that no amount of willpower or muscle control could keep them inside for long. The question was not if but when that gorgeous golden body rebelled and expelled all that nasty gunk into Felix’s shimmering crimson hose.

The Prince was impotent as Alexander pulled up the waistband of the scarlet tights so that once again they encased his beautiful royal bum and then released the cords that bound his wrists and ankles. Then the rope around the Prince’s bulging belly was untied. How Felix wished he could flee: escape the excruciating and humiliating torture! However, at the moment, any sudden movements would undoubtedly result in a spasm deep in his bowels, meaning his cargo of mushed up, sweet, sticky gunge would be unceremoniously deposited into his hose. Even now, he still had his pride, and the prospect of escaping through the mocking throng of courtiers and palace servants - at his beck and call mere hours ago - whilst shitting cream and chocolate into his tights was more than he could bear.

Besides, Alexander was taking no chances. The bottle of potion was forced under Felix’s nose, so that the world swam before him once more, leaving him with neither the ability nor the will to escape. The lust rose in him like sap in a tree and in spite of himself, he found his cock hardening in his spangly red tights. Then in a suddenly unexpected movement, Alexander rolled his royal victim off the bed. Woozy, confused and distressed, the Prince, tumbled to the floor. 

“Get up, my slutty princeling!” snapped Alexander. “Let me see you waddle round the room in your tights for my amusement.”

Felix - his head swimming - crawled to his feet, focused solely on the desperate urge to squeeze his asshole tight. My, but it was a hell of a task! The slightest motion set off a gurgling in his distended belly, and the waves of cramping became more frequent and more urgent.

He clenched his jaw tight in the hope that screwing up all his muscles would give him the strength he needed. Then he panted, his breathing coming quick and fast with the exertion.

“Oooh, poor baby boy,” cooed Alexander. “You’re working so hard to keep from crapping yourself, aren’t you? The effort it must be taking. The desperation! How humiliating for you. Having your arse stuffed with goodies and then needing to keep them all inside you. You must want nothing more than the blessed relief of allowing your bowels to open and evacuate all that nasty gunk. But you know the price if you do - the shameful act of soiling those lovely tights of yours. And who knows how long a cruel master like I might keep you in that degraded and dirty state, eh? Now, you heard me, my slave boy. I want to see you waddling. But be careful. Move too suddenly and you will almost certainly have an accident. And we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

Gingerly, Felix spread his legs wide, his muscles aching from being stretched in their rope bondage. The hardness of his cock, straining and prodding against the silken red fabric of his hose, clinging indecently to him, tingled with heat. 

“Sway your hips, bitch. Let me see that ass wiggle. Ooh your bum looks so tight! Like sculpted marble and so enticing with that thin veneer of red material to clothe it, albeit only barely.”

In spite of himself, the Prince found himself unable to disobey the hypnotic taunting of the older man. Nearby, Raymond licked his lips, as Felix stuck his arse out like a common whore, writhing and undulating. The strong thigh muscles, encased in the luxurious hosiery, bunching as he lifted first one foot and then the other for his new master’s delight.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” gasped the Prince suddenly as a fresh wave of cramps - the most severe yet - threatened to broach the fragile dam of his tender arsehole.

“Don’t you fucking dare shit yourself, boy!” commanded Alexander. “You squeeze that hole as if your life depended on it! Who knows? Maybe it does.”

The Prince’s face went even redder with the exertion, and tears welled in his eyes as he screwed up his proud and noble features as part of this debasing challenge.

“I can’t hold on much longer!” he wailed in anguish. “Can’t you see? I’m desperate!”

“You impudent brat!” declared Alexander. “I can see the thrashing your godfather gave you has taught you no lesson at all. It seems I must administer another spanking to that royal arse of yours!”

With lightning speed, Alexander’s arm encircled the Prince’s slender waist, and before he knew what happened, the golden young man was tipped over the Steward’s lap, his head dangling and the toes of his red-hosed feet pointing at the ceiling. This position was even more dangerous for someone in Felix’s predicament: the pressure on his swollen belly as it rested on Alexander’s hose-clad thigh served only to intensify his desperation. 

Alexander slipped his hand between the Prince’s stomach and his own leg, and prodded it with his finger. “No, please, no!” hissed Felix.

“Ah,” murmured Alexander. “Finally you have learned some manners. We progress. Slowly, but nevertheless… Clearly a well-stocked arsechute is conducive to your temperament, your highness.”

The Steward’s hand continued to roam over Felix’s vulnerable body. “And your royal cock is still fully erect in your tights. Good. I’m glad that your humiliation turns you on as much as it does I. My own purple-covered prick is pressing into your side as I speak. It is so delightful to feel your sweating, straining, muscle-bound body, writhing and wriggling across my lap…”

Alexander squeezed the Prince’s package, before moving his attention to the twin rotundity of Felix’s ass cheeks. He bent down to whisper in the Prince’s ear.

“Soon we shall have the flesh of your buttocks as red as the tights that cover them. How do you like the sound of that, my Lord?”

A couple of gentle slaps to begin with, as Alexander merely enjoyed the sensation of being able to warm his palms on the Prince’s perfect butt cheeks, before he moved on a firmer spanking.

Felix grunted and gasped, trying desperately not to allow the new sensation of the spanking distract him from his primary aim of keeping his cargo of cream, chocolate, pastry and sugar within him. He knew at some point he must lose the battle. His body was simply not designed to retain this colossal amount. Every fibre and nerve seemed to scream for him to release, and only his willpower and his poor, abused arsehole resisted the terrible urge.

“Aarrgh!” screamed the Prince as yet another wave of pain struck his guts. “Let - me - use - the - latrine, you bastard!”

But Alexander merely tutted and spanked the Prince’s tush even harder. “Such bad manners, your highness. And you were doing so well…”

The older man could feel Felix’s body tensing and convulsing beneath him. He was impressed. He really had not expected the Prince to be able to last so long. Felix prided himself on his virginity and so his arsehole was totally inexperienced and untrained. Perhaps that explained it, Alexander mused to himself, his sphincter was so tight it was able to work more efficiently than many slave sluts he had abused. Glancing grimly at Raymond, he doubted whether the page boy could have lasted so long.

However, the end to the little game must come soon. The profiteroles and marshmallows would have melted completely by now from the heat of the young man’s insides. And that chocolatey, sugary enema would be irritating in the extreme.

“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!” cried the Prince. His asshole had been squeezed so tight for so long that it had become almost numb to any sensation, so the first realisation he had that the barrier had been broached was the dampness between his legs. 

“Oh yes, my Lord,” cooed Alexander, as, fascinated, he watched the chocolatey trickle dribbling from the Prince’s pulsing hole, staining the fine scarlet gusset of his tights. “You have succumbed at last, I see. What a dirty little boy you are…”

His spirit broken, something else in Prince Felix seemed to give as well, and the small trickle went on. “Oh God, oh sweet Lord,” he gibbered in a combination of despair and relief. There was no point in holding back now, and when the next painful cramp hit his belly, Felix did not resist, and, sobbing now from the sheer humiliation of his predicament, he gave in to the momentary pleasure of forcing the hateful concoction out of his long-suffering body.

A loud, squelching fart accompanied the expulsion, and even Alexander was a little taken aback by the power and the velocity of the gunk that shot from between the Prince’s butt cheeks and filled the back of his tights. 

“Why, you filthy little bitch!” he declared. “You’ve soiled yourself and more importantly, you’ve soiled my fine palm as I spank you! Get up off my lap. I’ve no desire for you to dirty my beautiful clean tights as you have defiled your own!”

On tottering feet, Felix clambered off his master’s lap, his arse belching forth another wave of effluent as he did so. The sugary liquid began to run in meandering rivulets down his crimson legs, even as the bulk of the residue remained lodged stubbornly in the seat of his hose. The pastry shells of the profiteroles had resisted total disintegration. He wanted nothing more than to be able to pull down his scarlet tights and rid himself of the soggy burden lying there, but it remained a damp and heavy reminder of his humiliation.

The tears flowed freely now. It was all too awful for any other response. The Crown Prince of England, stripped only to his tights, wave after wave of glutinous liquid erupting from his tender arsehole, flooding and fouling his hose and himself.

“You may well sob like a baby, young Felix. For that is what you have been reduced to. A bawling infant, with no control over his bowels. Shitting himself in my presence!”
Alexander drank in the sight before him, savouring his victory over this, his long-standing nemesis. “Look at what you are reduced to. The Prince of England stripped to the waist, emptying his sugary enema into his tights! How excruciating for you this must feel!”

Quick as a flash, Alexander’s palm was clamped over the Prince’s mouth, and the evil potion was once more forced under Felix’s nose. With no option but to inhale its fumes once more, Felix soon succumbed again to its arousing effects. He swayed from side to side, desperately aware of the rapidly cooling bulk in the seat of his hose. He dared not look down to see the disgusting and degraded creature he had become. And as Alexander continued to taunt him, the potion worked its magic and he found the humiliation turning him once more.

Alexander glanced at his own palm, streaked with chocolate, and grimaced. “You filthy brat,” he murmured, and he wiped his hand across the Prince’s chiselled features and down his sculptured torso, smearing the melted gunk across his victim. He lingered at the Prince’s crotch, where that beautifully proportioned prick pressed urgently against the tight red constriction of the hosiery. Felix hated himself for it, but he could not resist pushing his erection into Alexander’s hand. He told himself it was the potion, but broken shell that he was, he could no longer tell. All he knew was that he desperately wanted Alexander to jerk his cock through the silky softness of his tights. He whimpered with a lust he didn't understand.

“So our dirty baby bitch is horny, eh? It seems that you crave the humiliation of being a tights slave after all. Having your arse filled and then emptying it into your hose. But you are a naughty, disobedient little bitch aren't you? Did I not order you not to release your load until I gave you express permission? Very well. For the entertainment you have afforded me, I am going to show you some mercy. Though Lord knows you do not deserve it for the pathetic lack of self-control you have exhibited here. But I will show you that it is good for a master to show kindness to his subservients. Go over to the corner. Right there, in front of the mirror.”

He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, his reactions blurred by the sex potion. Fearful of what would happen to him if he disobeyed, Felix stumbled over to the mirror, his arse clammy from the clagging gunge lying in his tights.

“Have a good look, my tights bitch!”

The Prince bit his lower lip as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. What a sorry specimen he looked! His handsome features were flushed from the effects of the potion, and smeared with chocolate. The stain spread down his well-proportioned pectoral muscles, down to where the top of his crimson hose clung to his waist. His pretty cock pointed to the ceiling and bulged hard inside the contour-hugging fabric of the tights. His posture accentuated the strong, shapely muscles of his thighs and calves: legs were bent, ass pushed out, to try and keep the horrible gunge as far from his skin as he could.

“Turn around and see what that gorgeous bum of yours looks like now,” taunted Alexander.

Gingerly, fearful of what he would see, Felix did as he was ordered. His gaze could not avoid being drawn to the bulging mess at the seat of his tights: a brown, blossoming stain of chocolate, marshmallows, cream and pastries. How he wished he could plunge into a warm bath and rid himself of the demeaning evidence of Alexander’s repulsive enema game.

“What a filthy little maggot you are, eh? All those sweet goodies warmed inside your ass and now clinging to you inside the kinky confines of your hosiery! How does that make you feel, your Highness?”

“It’s filthy… disgusting…” mumbled the humiliated young man. “To have my arse packed with food and then made to expel it all into my tights. How dare you…”

“Oh I dare, all right. Now - I want to see you sit down in all that gunk.”

“No, please…”

“A fine time for you to learn some manners. But it is too little, too late, slut Prince. Don’t keep me waiting, boy. Sit!”

Felix screwed up his gorgeous features in anticipation, as he lowered himself to the ground, and he gulped in fresh distaste as his ass made contact with the floorboards. The gooey mess made a squelching sound as it was pushed around the crotch and gusset of his ruined hose, forced back into the crack between his arse cheeks and up in front now to coat his balls with the chocolatey gunk.

“Is Baby Felix going to cry?” mocked Alexander. “Ah boo-hoo! First he poops himself and now he cries like the little baby bitch he truly is as he is forced to sit cross-legged in his own mess…”

Suddenly the Prince felt his golden hair grabbed by Alexander’s cruel fist, and once more, the noxious fumes of the magic potion went up his nose and into his body.

In spite of himself, a fresh wave of lust flooded through the Prince, and he heard Alexander’s words as if from far away:

“Now, wiggle that ass, boy so that you slip and slide around in all that gunge! That’s right. Now, bounce. Bounce up and down on the floor in your dirty tights. Good bitch, doing your Master’s bidding! You please me at last!”
Raymond observed in a shadowy corner, fascinated as, the Prince, his willpower seemingly neutralised by the evil potion, did as he was ordered, and, like a mere toy, bounced and squelched in his soiled hose, crying freely now like a baby. How he wished he were free to slip a surreptitious hand inside his own tights and begin to jerk his cock, but annoyingly his hands remained cuffed behind his back. He was deeply aroused to see his former master reduced to this degraded condition, he could only hope that Alexander would continue to allow him to observe the spectacle.

“All that claggy gunk must be feeling really nasty against your private parts, eh? So dirty. And yet that cock of yours still strains for release. I think that would be the ultimate humiliation now, don’t you? Sitting stewing in that sticky mess for my entertainment and wanking yourself off into your soiled tights?”

His head swimming from the erotic brew, Felix’s face was a mask of conflicting desires. He had been brought up to believe that his semen was holy, not to be spilled or wasted. He had spent his life denying his libido, waiting for the day when the most physically and mentally perfect vessel in the world - his bride to be - would receive his God-given sperm and conceive their child. And now to spill it in this debauched scene for the benefit of his hated enemy. He would not. He could not!

And yet, and yet… He found himself controlled by a deeper, darker power. His prick twitched and convulsed at the prospect of achieving orgasm and spilling his white creamy seed into the front of his tights. However he might fight it, his brain in this instant was controlled only by his sexual urges. In spite of himself, he found his hand straying to his crotch.

“That’s it, you filthy little whore. You know you want it. Yes - pull open the waistband of your sodden tights and reach inside. Aw, your pretty little pecker is quite, quite desperate, no? Mmm, yes carry on squirming, feeling all that gunk around your arse and bollocks. Slipping into your most intimate crevices. And now - you start to jerk that dirty slave cock of yours. Feels good, doesn’t it? Oh yes. See what I have reduced you to. My bitch boy. Scrabbling around on the floor in his gunge-filled tights, tugging desperately at his prick…”

The potion overwhelmed the Prince. He could not tear his eyes from his reflection: the sight of what he had become. From the gorgeously primped and coiffured royal, to this sweating, grunting pig, his tights slick with cream and melted marshmallows, only recently evacuated from his own arse. Alexander’s jeering taunts rang in his ears, and he realised just how much the very sight of him was turning on his most hated foe.

Here he was: this godlike specimen, reduced to humping into his own palm, his powerful thigh muscles bunching in the clinging fabric of his hose, his golden body naked save for the thin sheen of crimson.

Raymond was aroused. Alexander was doubly so, and as he crowed over the defeated young man, he freed his coiled serpent from the constriction of his purple tights.

“Come now, Prince Slut. Enough delay. I want to see you cum. I want to see your pretty Prince cock emptying itself into the crotch of your tights. Squirm, bitch. Bounce your pert little bottom in that dirty hose! Do it! Cum for your Master! Faster! Faster! Pound that cock in your fist! Fill your tights with your jism! Now!!”

Felix’s breathing quickened. His hand worked quicker, slicked up with cream that lubricated his cock. His balls ached desperately, and he closed his eyes in the agony of suspense. And then - it came. His eyes rolled up in his head, his body went rigid, and wave after wave after wave of hot semen shot in the air. And at that precise moment, a fresh stream of cum came from nowhere to hit him smack in the face. White ribbons draped themselves across his blue eyes and full pink lips, as Alexander anointed him with his own triumphant waves of ecstasy.

Silence hung in the air. Eventually Felix’s body ceased its juddering orgasm. He stared back at his pitiful reflection in the mirror: this sweating, cum-streaked, gunged-up, tights-clad sex slave and let out a desperate shriek of anguish: “Nooooo!!!”