Chapter 61 - In the Stock(ing)s

 

    “You’re sure you will not stay longer, your Majesty?” inquired Lord Geoffrey.
    “I have been absent from my home for long enough, and the North of England in November holds little appeal compared to my palace in Madrid,” came the Queen’s sardonic reply.
    “Such a long journey for so brief a sojourn.”
    “To be frank, the condition of my nephew has caused me some distress.”
    Geoffrey chuckled inwardly. I bet it has, he thought to himself.
    “If he shows any signs of improvement, you will let me know?”
    “Of course, your Majesty. Though his physicians seem doubtful on the matter. May I at least offer your party an escort south? As you know, there has been a traditional enmity between our nations, and I will gladly provide you with the security of showing that you are under my protection.”
    The Queen bit her lip. “That would be - most kind.”

    By the time evening came around, the Spaniards had departed.
    “She’ll be cursing all the way to Dover!” Lord Geoffrey declared. “She must have reckoned she could march out of here with Felix, selling the peasants a sob story that she had liberated him from the cruel and ruthless barons!”
    Alexander chuckled. “And it’s tricky to have a figurehead who dribbles like a baby and craps himself in a nappy…”
    “Quite. As ever, my friend, I find myself in your debt.”
    Alexander accepted the compliment with a gracious nod of his head.
    “And now, I must release you on your own quest. You are no doubt anxious to be on the road and find that tantalising young page boy of yours. But be quick. I need you back to help me organise this year’s Christmas fair. I want it to be the most splendid Castle Montford has ever seen. We are in power now - and we must celebrate accordingly!”
    “Thank you, Sir. I shall leave in the morning.”

    Alexander wasted no time. He had no desire to be on the road for any longer than necessary - particularly at this time of year. Hopefully he could retrieve the little slutbitch with the peachy arse and the legs made in heaven and be back home that very evening.
    He saddled Fallow - the horse he had stolen from the naive blacksmith brothers, - packed a saddlebag with provisions, and, taking two guards with him just to be on the safe side, he was on his way.
    Within the hour he arrived at the pokey little village where he had first set eyes upon Will the peasant boy fifteen months ago. How much had happened in just over a year to both their fortunes, he mused. From some distance away, he spotted the wooden hut and looked around for a sign either of the blond lad or his grovelling mother. A grin spread across his face as he saw from behind, a short young man, bending over in some menial task. The figure wore sturdy leather leggings which concealed, most frustratingly, the contours of his legs and arse. Never mind, mused Alexander, he’d soon be back in some tight-fitting hose when he was back at the castle.
    Fallow trotted closer to the hut and Alexander could restrain himself no longer.
    “Boy!” he called out.
    The man span round in surprise, and instantly Alexander realised he was mistaken. Although of similar proportions and with the same fair colouring, this individual was more muscular, a few inches taller and a good ten years older than Will. Obviously a relation of some kind, mused the Steward. That was good news at least: the family were still here.
    The blond man wore an expression of some confusion. He showed no sign of recognising the stranger, but the fine black doublet and silken hose told him all he needed to know regarding Alexander’s status.
    “It’s many years since I’ve been called ‘boy’, Sire,” smiled the peasant ruefully. “What brings a fine gentleman such as you to such humble surroundings?”
    “Who’s there, Jack?” came a whining voice from within the hut, and a thin woman, her straggly grey hair tied in the nape of her neck, appeared in the doorway. Alexander’s interest, however, was piqued instantly by the fact that the woman’s bodice was of a far finer material than her dull brown skirt, and though a little faded and frayed, it had clearly once been a vivid blue. Alexander recognised it at once as one of the waist-long doublets worn by the pages of Castle Montford.
    “I do not wish to disturb you honest folk,” he informed the couple. “My name is Alexander Courcey and I am the Chief Steward at the castle. I understand that one of my servants - a page boy by the name of Will - was erroneously returned to this village in the summer. From the resemblance between you, peasant, I can only assume that you are a relation of his. Kindly hand over the lad and I shall be on my way.”
    Husband and wife fell momentarily silent. Clearly this was an unexpected development.
    Eventually the woman spoke. “He’s not here,” she said blandly.
    “Hush, Lizzie,” admonished her husband. “Leave this to me.”
    Alexander smiled through clenched teeth “What do you mean, he’s not here?”
    “My youngest brother left the village some months ago, Sir,” explained Jack. “I’m sorry but we have no idea of where he is now.”
    Alexander’s eyes narrowed. He might have known it wouldn’t be all that easy. Why were matters never straightforward when that sexy little minx was involved!
    “You must know something of his whereabouts, surely? He is still young to be making his way in the world all on his own.”
    “I think his time at the castle amongst great men such as yourself meant that he could not settle back into his former, simple life. He was restless here. We all agreed he would be happier if he moved on.”
    Alexander was unconvinced. Will’s brother was clearly unused to lying, and he did it very poorly. In one athletic leap, the Steward swang his black-hosed legs from the saddle. Drawing his dagger from his belt, he bore down on the suddenly cringing farmer. He grabbed the shorter man by the collar and brought the blade to his neck.
    “You’re lying to me. Furthermore, your slut of a wife is wearing the boy’s clothing. Tell me what you know or I will slit your throat as easily as you do your livestock!”
    Jack’s pale face blanched even further, but before he had chance to open his mouth, an ear-piercing shriek emitted from his wife’s cracked lips.
    “Slut?! How dare you? I’ll tell you who the real slut is: that perverted little creature! Whoring his plump little arse to any man who wanted to own him! Tarting his bum around in those blue stockings of his - and then having the nerve to think he was better than us!”
    “Lizzie, be silent!” hissed Jack urgently.
    “I will do no such thing, husband. Jack’s right: he didn’t fit in here any longer. Page boy? Bum boy more like it. It was obvious when you snatched him from his poor mother’s arms, it wasn’t his skills for serving at table that you were interested in! You were paying for the skills of a whore! And you even went back on that. One copper piece a month you promised us. And where’s that been these past months I ask of you? Well good luck to you if you can find the little bitch. You’re welcome to him. All he’s good for now is to be your bum boy. You might be rich and dressed all fancy but the Lord sees you mincing around in those obscene tights of yours and so do I! You’re all sinners and sodomites and we’re not afraid of you!”
    Lizzie came to the end of her diatribe and her final accusation hung in the cold air. Any of the villagers who had not noticed the arrival of the finely attired gentleman had now been alerted by their neighbour’s shrieking, and an awed group of spectators peered from the surrounding hovels.
    Eventually Alexander spoke, and his words were all the more dangerous for the calm tone in which he uttered them. “You express yourself forcefully, wench. It seems to me that your husband might have been better occupied training that wayward tongue of yours. There is a saying: you cannot teach an old dog new tricks. I myself have never subscribed to that opinion, however.” He turned nonchalantly to his bodyguards. “Gag and bind the bitch.”
    They obeyed without question. Soon Lizzie, struggling and kicking her legs in protest, was tied to her own gatepost, her mouth stuffed with a dirty rag.
    Keeping his dagger at Jack’s nervously bobbing Adam’s apple, Alexander whispered in his ear: “As for you, my friend. I think both you and your wife need to be taught a little lesson in respect.”
    “Please, Sir,” said Jack, hoarsely. “She speaks before she thinks. It has ever been her downfall! Have mercy on us both.”
    “Be quiet! Or I shall have you gagged too.”
    Alexander stepped back, although he kept the dagger pointed meaningfully at Jack’s chest. “Now, take off your tunic.”
    Jack was too frightened to do anything but comply.
    “And your shirt.”
    He could hear Lizzie’s muffled protests but he did not dare even glance in her direction as he tugged his cotton shirt over his head. He tossed it to the ground, shivering as the cold November air hit his bare chest.
    Alexander nodded approvingly. Jack’s shoulders were broad and strong from manual labour, the pectorals defined and his biceps bulged nicely. Alexander licked his lips: hopefully the lower half would be just as promising.
    “Kick off your boots, peasant.”
    Reluctantly Jack complied, and as he stood barefoot on the straw-covered ground, his brown eyes looked pleadingly at Alexander. He knows what’s coming next, thought the Steward to himself. And that glance, desperately submissive, reminded him more than ever of the sexy little Will.
    A ripple of anticipation passed round Jack’s assembled neighbours. Would the proud intruder strip him completely?
    Alexander cocked his head to one side. “And finally, take off those grubby trousers of yours. Strip!”
    “Please, Sir…”
    “I am not accustomed to being defied, peasant. I told you to strip. I want to see you naked as the day you were born.”
    Jack let out a rasping sigh in the cold morning air as he fumbled at the cord that tied his baggy trousers. He held on to the waistband for a moment, as if hoping Alexander might retract the command. No such thing happened, and raising his eyes heavenwards, he let his trousers drop to the ground.
    As Alexander had anticipated, the legs muscles were meaty and well-rounded, as is often the case in shorter, stockier men: particularly those who are engaged in manual labour. Jack instinctively covered his crotch with cupped palms, but Alexander swatted them away.
    “Hands by your side,” he instructed curtly.
    The miserable farmer did as he was ordered. His cock was not large, but Alexander was charitable and attributed this to the biting autumn chill, combined with the humiliation of exposure before his friends and neighbours.
    “Turn around. Let me see your peasant arse.”
    Jack shuffled on the spot, and once again Alexander was pleased by the sight. The buttocks were pleasingly plump, with little dimples in each cheek. The muscularity was defined as the farmer squeezed them tight - either through embarrassment or because of the cold.
    “Not bad. Not bad at all, peasant. Now, your shrewish wife has been most disparaging on the subject of the hosiery that is the fashion up at the castle.” Alexander unstrapped his saddle bag. “She seems to find it unseemly for a man to display his assets in body-hugging leggings. What was the word she used? Obscene!” He rummaged inside the satchel. “Let us see whether she feels the same way once we have dressed her husband in some.”
    Alexander returned to stand in front of the shivering farmer and unrolled a pair of cream coloured tights. He let the silken garment dangle for a moment in front of Jack’s miserable face. “They won’t give you much protection against the cold, but I have a feeling you’ll look very attractive in them.”
    Jack reached out his hand hesitantly and took the garment, the impossibly soft fabric caressing his callused palms. His mind whirled. How ordinary the day had seemed at its outset - and now, here he was, shamed in front of his whole village, naked and forced to dress in the clinging hosiery of the degenerate noble class.
    Reluctantly he bent over, the sniggers of his less sympathetic neighbours ringing in his reddening ears. He had never worn such a delicate item before, and he was unsure how best to put it on: ruche the fabric together before stepping in, or just stick his foot inside one of the silken tubes, and pull?
    “You’d better not tear them, you clumsy oaf!” warned Alexander. “And get on with it. I can’t wait around here all day!”
    In truth, Alexander was eager to be on his way and track Will down, but the truculent farmer and his obnoxious wife needed to be taught a lesson, and Will’s elder brother - whilst not as appealing to Alexander’s taste - did possess a certain allure.
    Gingerly, Jack placed his naked foot inside the cream-coloured hosiery and slowly began to tug them all the way up. Alexander watched, fascinated, as Jack’s hairy calves and thighs were encased by the sensuous fabric, until the waistband of the tights snapped into place against the farmer’s flat stomach, his package bulging beautifully inside. Jack’s pale skin blushed an even darker shade as he stood, bare-chested in the footed tights. Meanwhile, the onlookers pointed and giggled to see his figure so daringly exposed. He cowered a little as Alexander walked around him and flinched as the taller man grabbed the waistband.
    “Let’s have them pulled up properly!” said Alexander, hoiking up the fabric as far as it would go, splitting the globes of Jack’s muscular arse in two. He gave the buttocks a gentle pat.
    “Mmm very nice. I see a generously proportioned bum runs in your family…”
    “Please, Sir,” mumbled Jack. “May I get dressed again?”
    “Oh but you are dressed - at least well enough for my purposes. Look at how your wife gazes upon you. She’s practically frantic with desire to see your assets so enhanced!”
    In truth, Lizzie’s eyes bulged apoplectically, and she was rubbing her wrists raw with the attempt to free herself from the post.
    Alexander continued to circle around the stocky farmer. He reached out to squeeze Jack’s balls through the clinging fabric, and Jack instinctively drew away, standing on tiptoe to try and avoid the molestation.
    “Oh, no, young man. Don’t be so coy. If you’re to shy away like a frightened filly, then we must needs find a means of keeping you still.” He glanced around the meagre village square. “And I think the village stocks will prove most apposite for the purpose!”
    The wooden stocks were crude and rarely put to use, but they were certainly sufficient for what Alexander had in mind. With the dagger reapplied to Jack’s tender neck, the miserable farmer stumbled over to where the stocks stood. At a sign from Alexander, the bodyguards lifted the upper plank of wood, and Jack’s head was forced downwards, his neck and wrists positioned in the gaps. Then the top plank was lowered and secured in place, leaving Jack’s torso parallel to the ground, his body bent at a right angle, and his hosed feet sinking into the cold mud.
    “Very nice,” murmured Alexander as he stroked Jack’s naked back, feeling the muscles bunch and tense beneath the pale skin. “You have goosebumps, my lad. I wonder if that is from the cold or merely … anticipation!”
    “Let’s have those legs spread a little wider,” he continued, as his hand slapped between Jack’s meaty thighs, encouraging them further apart. “And how is your cock doing?”
    He reached through, delighting in the delicious sensation of hard, muscular man flesh beneath the thin sheen of hosiery. “Still soft. How disappointing. In my extensive experience, Most men find the sensation of tights against their crotch supremely arousing! Still others discover a masochistic streak in public humiliation such as this - stripped and degraded before everybody they know - and it would have that little pecker of yours springing to attention almost at once. But perhaps you are not one of those men. What a pity. In that case I fear you will find what is to happen to you next even more unpleasant.”
    Alexander gave Jack’s crotch a consolatory squeeze and allowed his forefinger to follow the crevice of his arse, the clinging tights bisecting the two slabs of Jack’s rump, until his palm rested, once again, on the hose’s waistband. Jack’s bare chest was heaving deeply by now, and, despite the cold, sweat had formed on his brow.
    “Please, Sir,” he said. “I am not one of those who desire other men. I beg of you, however else you wish to punish me, do not use me in that way.”
    “Your wife has insulted me, peasant, and in the crudest way possible. I will be revenged. And if I can take some pleasure from your punishment, then so much the better. I will see to it that should your pathetic union with this woman persist, and if ever the two of you fuck again, the image of me possessing your meaty arse will be forever imprinted on both your brains!”

Chapter 60 - The Pear Pops

 

    “Is baby ready for his din-dins?”
    Alexander smiled down at the Prince. What a truly ridiculous sight he was! Crawling on his hands and knees in his jester’s costume, diaper bulging through his blue and yellow tights. He knew that, inside, Felix would be howling with impotent fury. How he must long to hurl himself at his implacable foe, but all he could do was gaze up at Alexander’s log, shapely legs in their deep purple hose, and drool.
    At that moment, another agonising stomach cramp hit the Prince. He had been suffering for an hour or more already: his bulging belly must feel like it was stuffed with a concrete football, his arse crammed with that big, unyielding pear. Although he could not articulate speech, nevertheless Felix could not hold back an undignified howl of pain. And Alexander knew that no matter how hard he squeezed his bowels, there was no way that he could rid himself of the contents of his distended belly.
    “What’s the matter with him?” asked Queen Katharine, her lip curling in distaste.
    “He is hungry, your Majesty,” replied Alexander. “Perhaps you would care to feed him? I have his bottle of milk right here…”
    “Do you take me for a nursemaid, Master Courcey? I did not feed my own children when they were babes. I’m certainly not going to do it for my grown nephew.”
    “I will give our poor young Prince his dinner,” interjected Lord Geoffrey. “I am his godfather after all.”
    Geoffrey settled himself into a high-backed chair, spreading his firm thighs in their red hose, as Alexander scooped Felix into his arms and placed the Prince into Geoffrey’s lap.
    “There, there, little baby boy,” cooed Lord Geoffrey into the Prince’s flushed face. “Let’s get you comfortable.” And he shifted the young man’s muscular form so that his nappy-covered bum rested in Geoffrey’s lap, and his fabulous legs - one blue, one yellow - dangled inches above the floor.
    Alexander solemnly handed his master the over-sized baby’s bottle, fill to the brim with warm, frothy milk. “Now we should see some action,” he whispered in Lord Geoffrey’s ear. Then he took a step backwards into the shadows. Only he knew that the milk was not as innocuous a mixture as first appeared. In fact he had added a considerable dose of a powerful laxative, that when ingested would finally force Felix to expel the gallon of porridge that was tormenting his guts.
    “Here we go, young man, drink it all up now!” smiled Lord Geoffrey as he pushed the bottle between the Prince’s pouting pink lips, and started to pour the milk down the young man’s throat.
    Alexander knew the last thing Felix wanted would be to have his stomach filled any more, but he was powerless to resist: all the Prince could do was kick his tights-covered legs feebly, gurgling weakly as a milky residue dribbled out of the side of his mouth. Queen Katharine watched with barely disguised horror as her mind raced to assimilate this new development.
    Soon the bottle was empty. Lord Geoffrey removed it from his godson’s mouth and, as he did so, the Prince let out a big burp.
    “What a windy little baby you are!” declared Geoffrey, as he began to rub his godson’s bloated belly.
    The Prince grimaced with discomfort.
    “Ah goo-gah-gah!” he said plaintively. But Alexander knew that the tormented young man would not have to wait long for release.
    Almost immediately, there was a rumbling in Felix’s tummy. The Prince began to squirm, but Lord Geoffrey held the struggling body tight on his lap. The battle in the Prince’s guts grew stronger, and he began to kick his legs, so that his pointed jester slippers fell from his feet.
    “Ooh - aah!” he cried, and Alexander knew that the purgative had started its devastating work. He imagined he could almost see the tempest brewing in the young man’s belly, as the laxative began loosening the Prince’s clogged up guts. The pressure grew, and in that moment, an overwhelming spasm from Felix’s tortured bowels caused the blond youth to squeal in pain.
    “Aaaaaargh!” he yelled, and Alexander knew the pressure against the pear blocking Felix’s arsehole would be building now. The battle between that stubborn piece of fruit blocking the exit of all that nasty, lumpy porridge was being fought inside Felix’s very body. It was a delightful irony that the Prince’s tight, barely used arsehole was preventing the relief his body so desperately craved, but it was inevitable that, sooner or later, the hole would have to give way.
    Felix was sweating and panting now, in animal desperation: all inhibitions shed. Little could he care that he was dressed like a big baby, in a jester’s costume, big padded diaper and particoloured tights, wriggling like an infant on his godfather’s lap, whilst the Queen of Spain and the dignitaries of the Spanish court looked on in bewildered distaste. All he wanted was to experience the blessed joy of emptying his stuffed bowels, even if it meant that in the process his puckered anus would have to stretch wide enough to accommodate the expulsion of that juicy pear.
    He stared up into Alexander’s gleeful face, imagining the commentary that was running through the Steward’s perverted mind:
    “Yes, little baby bitch. You know you want to get rid of that horrible porridge, don’t you? That gunk that I forced up your reluctant hole an hour or so ago and that’s been torturing you ever since! Well you know there’s only one way that’s going to happen, don’t you? You’re going to have to push that fat pear out through your boycunt, aren’t you? It’s going to hurt of course - it’ll stretch your ring wide as wide can be, but there’s no other way of getting that oatmeal enema out of your body! Push, bitch! Shit that pear out of your boy pussy and fill your diaper. Once you’ve done that it will be easy. Imagine all that gunky porridge finally flooding from your hole! You know you want to! Imagine how good that will feel! Do it, bitch! Push that pear out!”
    Felix knew it would hurt. The blunt end of the pear nestled against the inside of his sphincter: there would be no gradual expansion: the bulb of the pear was far too wide. Would it tear him, he wondered. It had gone into his body, so surely it must be capable of coming out again?!
    In the end, the whole debate was wrested from his control. The impatient laxative delivered what felt like someone kicking him in the guts. The spasm was too powerful for anyone to resist. The pear - seemingly with a mind of its own - began stretching his boy pussy.
    “Ah! Ah! Ah!” he gasped.
    The pressure was relentless - and then his arse had stretched beyond the widest point of the bulb, and the pear was propelled - like an arrow from a bow - into the soft wadding of his nappy.
    The Prince screamed with the intensity of the sensation, as, as sure as night follows day, the oozing crud followed the pear out of his hole.
    “Ooh - ooh - ooh!” Tears sprang to the corners of his eyes: the utter humiliation of him, a grown man, the Crown Prince of England, helplessly shitting warm porridge into his diaper, even as the intense relief of finally being able to let all that lumpy slime out of his poor body.
    There was a lot to come and the laxative accelerated the process considerably. Felix felt the lumpy gook smearing itself down between his buttocks and accumulating at the bottom of the diaper. It felt warm and wet against his skin as it continued to shoot out of his hole. Soon his balls were coated, as the effluent went on erupting out of his chute. He felt it spreading in both directions within the nappy - warm wetness against his butt cheeks, and against his cock. Shit, he thought to himself. I’m hard! Why the fuck am I hard?!
    The farting noises emitting from Felix’s backside could leave the spectators in no doubt that the Prince was suffering the indignity of filling his diaper in front of a very distinguished audience. Again, Queen Katharine grimaced at the base level to which her nephew had descended.
    “You needed that, my boy, didn’t you?” smiled Lord Geoffrey, as he patted the Prince’s belly, wiping the tears from his godson’s flushed features. Geoffrey kept his palm resting on Felix’s swollen stomach and began to move it in a circular manner. “Any more to come?” he enquired innocently.
    Right on cue, a further torrent of porridge that had gathered higher up in the Prince’s body, gleefully flooded into the diaper. The sticky wetness engulfed Felix’s entire crotch, and the paralysed Prince began to panic that the diaper would not be large enough to contain the congealing ooze.
    “Let me see now,” said Lord Geoffrey, “How full is this nappy?” And he reached around to pat the seat of the bulging diaper through the stretched material of the silken hose.
    “Oh dear me,” he exclaimed. “You have given us a big deposit, your Highness! That’s one full diaper if ever I saw one.”
    The Prince winced inside at the humiliation of having his nappy-clad arse prodded and patted by his silver fox of a godfather. However, as he was still robbed of either the power of speech or any meaningful physical control of his limbs due to Alexander’s dastardly potion, all he could do was fume internally.
    He became aware of a low, murmuring, and soon he realised that his aunt was in whispered conference with one of her Spanish attendants. Felix recognised him as Conde Esteban, a close advisor to the Queen and a man rumoured to be her paramour. They were speaking in Spanish, presuming that neither Geoffrey nor Alexander were fluent in that language.
    “Don’t be a fool,” his aunt was saying. “What use is he to us now?”
    “The people might still flock to your banner,” replied the Conde. “He is the rightful heir - surely they will not submit to these power-hungry nobodies?”
    “Yes! Yes!” screamed the Prince. “The people will rise. Rescue me! Liberate me from these perverted traitors!”
    Unfortunately for him, his outraged cries could only echo uselessly inside his own head.
    “The people are fickle,” muttered the Queen. “They resent my brother-in-law’s foolish foreign skirmishes, and there is no great love in this land for my pampered nephew.”
    “Then why are we here? If the scheme is so hopeless…”
    “I had hoped to tutor my spoiled nephew in diplomacy. With his good looks and with wiser heads whispering in his ear, we could maybe have won round the waverers. Now I’m not so sure.”
    “Ack! Ack!” cried Felix: the only words of protest he could manage as he saw his hopes of liberation slipping away. For a moment his frustrations overpowered the distasteful sensation around his private parts as the warm porridge cooled into a grey sludge.
    “What’s the matter with him?” snapped the Queen, returning to her native tongue.
    “May I?” interpolated Alexander smoothly. “You will recall, your Majesty, the Prince did ever have a sweet tooth. Although he has regressed to infancy, the urge for sugary confections has not deserted him. He always insists on a sweetie after his din-dins!”
    Quick as a flash, Alexander produced a small red sweet from his doublet and pushed it between Felix’s unsuspecting lips. Before he knew it, the Prince had swallowed it. Unbeknownst to the Queen, Alexander’s education had included a smattering of more than rudimentary Spanish, and he had decided to add a final twist of the knife to the Prince’s predicament.
    Within mere seconds of swallowing the pill, a strange sensation began to overwhelm Felix. It started in the pit of his sore and abused stomach and slowly began to blossom outwards across his entire body. It was not unfamiliar to him, and just before it possessed his entire consciousness, he realised with dismay, that it felt very similar to the strange potion that Alexander had offered him to inhale all those months before when he had tricked him into his bedroom.    
    The Steward himself exulted silently: for as it happened, the pill he had fed the Prince contained the distilled essence of that very brew: and would, he felt sure, have an identical effect. He watched, entranced, as the Prince’s pulse slowed and his breathing grew deeper. Slowly, Felix began to writhe in his godfather’s paternal embrace, and helplessly, hopelessly, his crotch, buried deep between the soiled diaper and the particoloured tights, began to rise and fall with unfulfilled desire.
    “Hngh, hngh,” murmured the royal baby, and he scrabbled to try and roll over onto his front. Alexander knew exactly what was occurring: the primal urge to rub his engorged prick against something - anything - had sent all other thoughts out of the Prince’s intoxicated brain.
    Geoffrey raised a surprised eyebrow in his Steward’s direction as Felix eventually manouevred himself so that his belly lay on his uncle’s right thigh, and his thick, nappied groin rested on the trunk-like mass of the left one. There could be little doubt as to what the Prince was trying to achieve, as, hypnotised by the drug, his body began to undulate, rubbing his groin rhythmically against his uncle’s hosed leg.
    The Prince’s mind was overpowered by the single aim of climaxing: his cock rock hard, but it was buried deep in the gunk of the cold porridge, the soggy layers of the diaper, and the silky hosiery of his jester’s suit. All this ensured that there was nowhere near the friction necessary to achieve orgasm. Felix tried harder - like an animal, a mere bitch on heat, his hips rising and falling as he tried desperately to cum. But all was hopeless: his cock squelched into the gunk but it was like trying to fuck water: the hard muscle of his godfather’s hosed thigh remained tantalisingly out of reach.
    “Noooo!” he moaned as the need to cum grew ever more urgent: his big fat, diapered ass bouncing up and down in the air as he tried to gain purchase against Geoffrey’s leg.
    Once again, he imagined Alexander’s mocking monologue racing through his sex-obsessed brain: “Look at you, Prince Pussy Boy! Desperate to cum in your dirty diaper and your ridiculous tights. Forced to lie across your godfather’s lap and hump his legs just to achieve some kind of satisfaction! And you can’t even manage that. Little baby boys with little baby pricks don’t get to cum if they’re all wrapped up in their full nappies, do they? But how a horny little bitch like you must need it, eh? How humiliating for you!”
    Suddenly a brilliant idea penetrated the fog of sexual frustration: surely the hard wooden boards of the apartment’s floor would provide the necessary friction. Barely in control of his own limbs, Felix wriggled himself from Lord Geoffrey’s lap, and began crawling across the floor. With a great sigh, he sank gratefully onto his belly and again began to thrust his desperate crotch against this new surface.
    The monologue in his mind continued: “Yes! There you go, bitch boy! That’s all you’re good for! Humping your pathetic, rock-hard penis against the floor. Dressed like a fucking ridiculous fool, your blue and yellow tights pulled up high containing that big saggy, soggy nappy: all full of congealing porridge, coating your bum and your cock and balls. That big nasty pear that blocked your boy hole for so long, still sitting there too, pressing itself against your arse, wanting to go back inside you. And you want it back up there too! That hole of yours must feel mighty empty now that your big fruity plug has pushed its way out and all that porridge has flooded out of it. Maybe I should shove it back up there - pull your tights down to your ankles, reach into the waistband of your nappy, feel through all that wet mulch, find it, and force it back up your sore and aching boycunt. I bet a bitch like you would love that, eh?
    “Look at you now! Slamming that horned-up dick of yours against the floor like a fucking animal. That’s all you are. My slut bitch - to be filled up when I feel like it with whatever I have to hand - porridge, fruit: it’s all the same to me. And then I’ll feed you pills, get you horny and make you hump the ground just for my amusement. Fuck me, look at those legs of yours in your tights. Fucking ridiculous slut bitch, humiliating yourself just for my pleasure. Come on now, boy. I’ve waited long enough. I want to see you cum! Cum in your tights for me! Cum in your messed up diaper! Do it bitch! Do it! Now!”
    How was the fucker in his head like this, wondered Felix, tears springing from his eyes yet again at the sheer frustration of being unable to cum. Maybe that was another part of the fiendish pill he’d been fed? It made you horny but unable to actually climax.
    “Cum, you little cunt! Do it! Cum in your dirty nappy, tights slut! Do it!”
    His cock-head almost numb from being plunged against the floor, Felix finally began to feel the slow build in the very bottom of his balls that presaged an orgasm. Oh thank fuck, he thought. Finally!
    And yet, just as he was about to fill his diaper with his royal seed, his arm was grabbed and he found himself being rolled over onto his back. He screamed with frustration, as his arse once again squelched into cold porridge.
    “That’s enough of that, young man,” admonished Lord Geoffrey. “Your aunt is present. Have some decency.”
    The Queen’s expression was as icy as her blue eyes. “I think we have seen enough,” she said, as she swept out of the chamber, hastily followed by her grovelling retinue.
    “I must attend to Her Majesty,” said Geoffrey gravely. “I trust, Alexander, that I can rely on you to attend to the Prince.”
    Alexander bowed his head to his master. “Of course, Sir.”
    Soon he was left alone with his royal charge. Felix lay breathless, red-faced and frustrated on the floor.
    The Steward tutted with mock solemnity. “Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”
    The Prince’s hips continued to buck uncontrollably: the desperate urge to cum still unfulfilled.
    “Oh very well. I’ll take pity on you,” sighed Alexander, theatrically. He slipped his foot out of his leather boot and placed it on the royal bulge. “Hmm, I can feel that cock of yours rock-hard through your nappy, young man. I will rub it with my foot for precisely sixty seconds. If you don’t cum in that time, you will go back to the dungeon frustrated.”
    He began to press his hosed foot against the Prince’s straining cock.
    “I can feel all that porridge in your diaper, swirling around your private parts. And that pear must be resting in the seat of your tights too. Maybe that would give you a further thrill eh? Let’s have it back up inside you!”
    Quick as a flash, Alexander bent over and reached beneath the Prince’s writhing body. It took him no time at all to locate the hard lump of fruit nestling beneath the Prince’s buttocks, and he grabbed the firm bulb.
    “Back up we go!” And with all the force he could muster, he shoved the pear back inside the Prince’s ravaged hole.
    “Aaaaaargh!!!” screamed Felix as the hated object invaded him once again, stretching his hole as wide as it would go.
    “Come along, my royal bitch slave,” purred Alexander, as his frottage of the boy’s crotch became more vigorous. “Cum for me now. Cum in your dirty diaper. In those tights! Do it!”
    “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ahhhhh!” The manipulation of Alexander’s skilled footwork did its kinky work and Felix’s entire body convulsed as the orgasm overcame him. His poor cock pumped wave after wave of royal cream into his already sodden diaper. Oh the relief! That was all he could think of as he gazed into Alexander’s cruel smile.
    “Better?” inquired the Steward. “Now I wonder what your aunt made of that little spectacle, hmmm?”   

Chapter 59 - The Prince Takes His Lumps

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Chapter 58 - The Queen of Spain

“When do you want to leave?”

“As soon as possible, my Lord. I now know where the boy is. And I would like to waste no more time in retrieving him.”

Lord Geoffrey de Montford sat in consultation with his oldest and most trusted servant.

“I understand how you feel, Alexander, but I’m afraid I need you by my side a little longer.”

“He saved my life. Had it not been for him, I would have starved in your Lordship’s dungeon. I owe him my gratitude at the very least - and I don’t want to see him slip through my fingers.”

“Soon, my friend. Soon. But this - demands my attention, and I would as always value your advice…”

Geoffrey flourished a letter in the air, before flinging the parchment onto the table.

“My Lord?”

“It is from Queen Katharine of Spain. I might have known she would try to interfere in our affairs.”

Alexander nodded gravely. The Queen was an English noblewoman by birth and she - and her younger sister, Isabella - had been renowned as the greatest beauties of their age. Their arrogant father had decreed that only princes were fit to take his daughters as their brides, and indeed he had successfully forged royal marriages for them both: Katharine had been duly married off to the Spanish heir to the throne; Isabella to the Crown Prince of England.

“What does she want, my Lord?”

“What she says and what she wants are two very different matters, Alexander. She says she has heard about the kidnapping and ransoming of her brother-in-law the King of England, and she gathers that I am offering her nephew, Felix, the protection of my home. She says she is overcome with anguish, and as her sister died so tragically young, she wishes to offer her love and support to her poor nephew.”

“You doubt her motives, naturally.”

“The conniving bitch has shown no interest in Felix his whole life. If she had, he might not have turned into such a monster. She already rules the roost in the Spanish court - her husband is a notorious weakling. No doubt she wants to add power in England to her sphere of influence. She’s no fool, Alexander. We must tread very carefully with her.”

“What do you think she will do?”

“She wants to visit. I can hardly refuse her. Nor can I deny her access to Felix. But if she learns how the Prince has been treated here these past weeks - we’re dead men, Alexander. All of us.”

“What if the Prince were to succumb to some tragic illness? I hear the plague is abroad again.”

“Too risky. If we are even suspected of poisoning Felix, we could end up with a full scale Spanish invasion. Furthermore, my fellow barons are skittish as it is. They’re just about able to stomach the Prince as my prisoner. Our fragile alliance would fall apart if I murdered him.”

“It’s certainly a conundrum. Leave it with me, my Lord.”

“Thank you, Alexander. I knew I could rely on you. As for the page boy…”

“I’m a patient man. I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer.”




The Spanish entourage did not waste their time. Within a week, they had arrived at the Castle. Their wily Queen had clearly not wanted to give Lord Geoffrey too much notice of her arrival. Alexander watched from the window of his chambers. He had to concur that she did indeed seem a worthy adversary. Her retinue was significant, as befitted her status as wife to the king of one great nation, and sister-in-law to the king of another. There were just enough guards and noblemen accompanying her to suggest she should not be trifled with. A larger armed presence would have alarmed the common Englishman. Spain was viewed with suspicion at best, with outright hostility at worst. She would have to play her hand carefully not to be viewed as an armed enemy.

Alexander took a deep breath. Lord Geoffrey had trusted him to solve this problem for him. He only hoped his plan would work.




On the surface, all was smiles and bonhomie. Queen Katharine was still a beauty, even if her long auburn hair now owed more to her hairdresser’s skill with dye than to nature, and if a lifetime indulging in the luxuries of the Spanish court meant that she could perhaps do with losing a pound or two, her wide-set, pale blue eyes were still entrancing, and her porcelain skin remained flawless. Mistress Olwen’s culinary skills had once again not been found wanting, and the welcome banquet had been deemed a great success.

Lord Geoffrey had - as per Alexander’s instructions - successfully stalled the Spanish Queen’s insistent requests to be reunited with her dear nephew ‘at this tragic time’. But she could not be put off forever, and the moment of reckoning had now arrived.

Alexander had chosen his own chambers for the stage where his little comedy should play out, and he bowed low as the Queen swept into his luxurious main room, Lord Geoffrey following respectfully behind her, and a small gaggle of Spanish courtiers behind him. Alexander noted that Sir Antony and Sir Dominic were also stationed nearby.

Not wanting to be overshadowed by their glamorous continental visitors, all the Englishmen were decked in their finest garments: richly brocaded doublets, tightly-fitting silken hose encasing their muscular thighs, rounded buttocks and bulging crotches. Geoffrey, Antony and Dominic had carefully strapped daggers to their belts, just to emphasise that they were ready for action, should the situation require it.

“May I introduce my Chief Steward and most loyal servant, your Majesty,” said Lord Geoffrey. “This is Master Alexander Courcey. Master Alexander, Queen Katharine of Spain.”

Alexander bowed low before his royal guest. “I am honoured, your Majesty,” he said, gazing up at the Queen. He looked at her still handsome face and instantly recognised the beauty she had shared with her sister and which had been passed on to Prince Felix. But there was a wilfulness in those steely eyes, and a cruelty too.

When she spoke, her accent betrayed no hint of the many years she had lived in Spain. “I asked Lord Geoffrey why my beloved nephew could not join us for dinner, Master Alexander. He assures me that you will provide me with an explanation.”

Alexander nodded his head mournfully. “It is indeed a tragic tale, your Majesty. One which we hoped we could conceal from the outside world. Lord Geoffrey - as the Prince’s beloved godfather and indeed the man whom the King himself entrusted with Prince Felix’s safety when he went to war - sought to shelter the wretched young man from the scorn and mockery of the world. And indeed to protect his wider family from the shame of knowing what had truly occurred.”

The Queen’s blue eyes - the same colour as the sapphires at her throat and brow - sparkled dangerously. “Get to the point, Sir.”

“My apologies, your Majesty. I merely seek to ameliorate somewhat the anguish that this revelation will surely cause you. It is many years since you have visited this country, I believe, and you have not seen the Prince since he was a child. Even so, I’m sure you recall that he was ever a sensitive and highly-strung young man. He idolised your dear brother-in-law, the King, and so the news of his father’s capture by the heathens hit him badly. Very badly. Upon learning of the King’s imprisonment and the subsequent ransom demand, he rapidly began a mental and emotional decline. Our finest physicians have treated him, but they fear it is some inherent weakness in his character that has been triggered by this severe shock.”

The Queen narrowed her beautiful eyes. “Let me guess where this is leading. You are going to tell me that the Prince is incapacitated, and that his doctors have decreed that he is not to be visited by anyone - not even his closest family. So you expect me, having made the long journey from my home, to climb back into my carriage, and leave him here in your and Lord Geoffrey’s custodianship. Am I right?” She smiled. But there was no humour in her eyes.

“No, no, your Majesty. Far from it. I knew someone of your character and courage would not shy away from seeing the condition our beloved Prince has fallen into: no matter how distressing it may be. Please, follow me, but do steel yourself - you may be shocked at his disintegration.”

Alexander opened the door that led into his bedchamber, and his party of guests, both English and Spanish, followed him into the richly tapestried room.

In the corner of the room sat a large wooden playpen. The pen had bars along its sides, and there was a large pile of cushions on the floor. Queen Katharine’s bejewelled hand moved involuntarily to her crimson lips. There could be no mistaking the fact that it was indeed her nephew sitting in the centre of the cushions but whatever else she might have expected to see, it was certainly not this.

For some inexplicable reason, the Prince was wearing the costume of a jester. A large blue and yellow jester’s hat was fastened beneath his chin, and little jingling bells tinkled tunelessly at the end of the hat’s three ‘ears’. His tunic was a patchwork of blue and yellow, and his over-sized shoes were also adorned with bells, and their toes curled comically as in traditional Fool’s garb.

The Prince’s muscular legs were encased in snug tights - one leg yellow and the other blue, but where they met at the young man’s crotch, there was no sign of the rounded mound of his genitals. Instead, wadding bulged from beneath the thin hosiery: wadding encircling the Prince’s waist, buttocks and crotch. The Queen noted with distaste that her twenty-six year old nephew was clad in a baby’s diaper.

Her eyes flicked to the young man’s face, seeking some kind of explanation for the ridiculous costume and humiliating nappy. The beauty he had inherited from her late sister was there still: the cheekbones, the cruel jaw, the eyes as blue her own, but she saw with dismay that where hers were bright and vivid, his were dull and stupid. The young man’s jaw hung open slackly, his tongue lolled onto his chin, and drool dribbled onto his particoloured tunic. Alexander stepped forward with a cloth, and tenderly wiped the Prince’s chin for him.

The Queen remained speechless, unable to drag her eyes away from the spectacle of her once proud nephew, she gazed on in horror. In that moment, had she happened to glance across to Lord Geoffrey, she would have seen him give Alexander a conspiratorial wink.

“The news of his father’s plight seems to have sent the Prince into a kind of second childhood, your Majesty,” explained Alexander. “At first he was struck dumb, but then speech gradually returned to him. However, it seems that his mind had reverted to that of a four year old. He wanted only to play with toy castles and soldiers, and to dress up in different costumes. He most wanted to dress as the Royal Jester: so this outfit was swiftly made for him. It seemed to please his Highness. We had hoped that the malady would prove temporary, but sadly, as the weeks have progressed, the Prince has only lapsed further into infancy. He can no longer speak: communicating only by gurgling, he cannot feed himself, and - if you will forgive me the indelicacy of saying so - he has also lost command of his toileting, hence the necessity of a baby’s nappy…”

In that moment, the Prince seemed to become animated. A kind of desperation appeared in his eyes and a low gurgle erupted from his throat.

“Goo-goo, gah-gah!”

He started to rock on his haunches, until finally he toppled forward onto all fours. His tights-clad legs forced apart by the thickness of the fabric wrapped around his crotch, he nevertheless started to crawl forward on his knees.

Alexander swiftly moved to the playpen, and unlatched the door.

“How sweet! I think our young Prince has recognised you, your Majesty!”

The Queen took a step backwards as her nephew crawled towards her. “Is he - is it safe?”

“Hmm,” mused the Steward. “As yet, he has been as gentle as a babe, but with sicknesses of the mind, it does pay to be cautious.”

“Keep him away from me! Put it back in its pen!”

“Please do not distress yourself, your Majesty,” said Lord Geoffrey warmly.

“It is merely time for his dinner. He wishes to be fed, that is all,” explained Alexander. “I have his bottle of milk warming right here on the fireplace.” He crouched down and fixed the Prince with a smile. “Is Baby ready for his din-dins?”




If only the Spanish Queen could have been a fly on the wall of that very bedchamber an hour or two earlier, she would have had a very different perspective on the little scene playing out before her. She would have seen Alexander supervising the construction of the wooden playpen: Mortimer applying a little paint to the wooden poles, Humphrey delivering a pile of cushions, and Sir Dominic delivering the gagged and bound Prince Felix from his dank prison cell.

“You must be lonely down there, your Highness, now that your little playmate has been sent on his excursion to more exotic climes,” taunted Alexander. “I do hope you’re not missing the little rat too much.”

The Prince protested extensively.

“You really must learn to enunciate more, your Highness. I really can’t hear a word if you mumble like that. Now, I don’t anticipate any gratitude from you but you will be relieved to hear that you’re finally going to be cleaned up and giving some new clothing. You’ve been stewing in those soiled scarlet tights ever since our last encounter, haven’t you? All that gunk has become really quite unpleasant hasn’t it? Those plump marshmallows that were melted inside your hot royal arse-chute have hardened again, although I see they’re sticking to your flesh inside your tights. How uncomfortable that must be! And the cream from those delicious profiteroles has gone quite rancid. The smell is deeply unpleasant isn’t it? And you’ve been forced to sit in all that for quite some time, no? Well, have no fear, young man. We’re going to get you cleaned up and put in some lovely fresh clothes. Isn’t that wonderful, eh?”

And with no pretence at delicacy, Alexander ripped the saliva stained gag from the Prince’s mouth.

“I’ll fucking kill you, Courcey!” screamed the Prince, practically incoherent with rage.

“Hush now,” cooed Alexander. “You had the opportunity to do that on more than one occasion and quite frankly, your Highness, you blew it. Now, as I fear you are in no mood to behave like a gentleman, I’m afraid I’m going to have to use other means to make you more docile.”

Felix opened his mouth to begin another tirade, and as he did so, quick as a flash, Alexander popped a small yellow pill onto the back of the Prince’s tongue. Before he even knew what happened, the tablet slipped smoothly down Felix’s throat. The Prince’s mouth gaped in shock.

“Before you start panicking that I’ve poisoned you, young Prince Prick-tease (which, incidentally, is becoming a rather tedious obsession of yours), the tablet you’ve just swallowed is ordered from the same associate who brews my lust potion, and who concocted the sleeping draught which I fed you last time you visited my chambers.”

“And what does this do?” stammered the Prince.

“It’s a muscle relaxant. You will remain entirely conscious but you will lose all the strength in your limbs. I will then be able to undress you, bathe you and dress you in your new clothing, without having to worry about you trying to resist. Fortunately, it also affects the tongue, so I won’t have to listen to you rant either.”

“How long will it last?” demanded the gorgeous Felix, even as he seemed to feel a kind of invisible weight descend upon him.

“For a few hours you will be totally powerless. After that, the drug begins to wear off, but its side effects are most interesting. You will gradually begin to recover the use of your muscles, but it takes several days. And during that time, you will only have the physical control of a baby a few months old. You will be able to crawl a little, and make a few basic sounds. But that will be all.”

“Wh- why?” Already the Prince was finding it difficult to speak as the drug took hold of him.

“All in good time, my young Princeling,” smiled Alexander. “All in good time…”

Chapter 57 - Sin on a Stool

“You seem quiet this morning, young Will,” smiled Brother Ralf. “Something on your mind?”


There was indeed. And it was principally the handsome face and muscled body of Hal the novice monk. He’d cum four times in the night thinking of him. And no good would come of falling in love with a man destined for the monastery. “You’ve been very kind to me, Brother Ralf but I can’t stay here forever. I think it is time I went on my way.”


“Is that safe?” enquired the monk. “That villainous robber may yet be lurking.”


“I can’t hide forever,” shrugged Will. “And it is time I took charge of my own life.” He did not tell Ralf that at the moment, he felt more nervous about being under the same roof as the sweaty and lascivious Abbot than whether Ebony and his gang of ruffians were nearby.


“Well we’ll miss you, that’s for sure. You’re a good lad. And a hard worker. If ever you need us, we’ll be here for you.”






Will had no belongings of course. The kindly Brother Ralf had packed him some provisions, but other than the hessian trousers and linen shirt on his back, he would be travelling light. He intended to slip away quietly from the monastery, too ashamed to look at any of the young novices after the humiliating lesson he had been exhibited in. And as much as he yearned for a final glimpse of Hal, he decided it would be wiser to do without.


However, as so often before in Will’s young life, fate was to intervene.


Just as his hand came to rest on the handle of the monastery door, he felt another’s hand on his shoulder.


“Surely you’re not leaving us so soon?” hissed the sibilant voice of the Abbot.


Will shrank away but the fat cleric was stronger than he looked. “I thought you’d be pleased,” Will stammered. “After what you said about me. You said I was possessed by the devil. Why would you want me under the same roof as holy men?”


“Ah, my poor boy! The Lord moves in most mysterious ways! Why, I wish to purge you of the demons that torment you, my son, can’t you see?”


“That’s very kind of you, I’m sure, but”-


“It seems you are determined to go,” sighed the Abbot. “At least permit me to give you a blessing before you set off.”


The fat man smiled his oily smile.


Now it was Will’s turn to sigh. “Very well,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”






They were in the Abbot’s private chambers once more. The same place where Will had submitted to the peculiarly invasive physical examination that the fat cleric had insisted upon. The Abbot smiled again his sickly smile.


“Come, lad, and kneel before me.”


Will did so a little hesitantly - bemused by the absence of religious ranting compared to the Abbot’s classroom lecture.


“Now, lift your arms above your head, boy.”


Again Will did as he was told, and he was not entirely surprised as the Abbot lifted the his thin blouse over his head to expose his smooth, bare chest.


An involuntary gasp escaped the Abbot’s saliva-coated lips as he turned to fetch a phial of holy water from the cabinet behind him. As he began to pour the fluid onto Will’s scalp, he murmured an incomprehensible Latin prayer, making the sign of the cross above Will’s head.


“And now, boy, you are free to leave.”


Will wiped his wet forehead, unsure of the exact etiquette of dealing with holy water. He nodded to the Abbot, rose to his feet and headed to the door.


“Just one thing more!” cooed the holy man. “I should really inspect that chastity device at your groin before you go. It would be most unfortunate if it became infected in any way…”


Will might have known his departure would not be quite so simple. And what was he to do now? How would he explain that his cock had finally been freed from its cruel cage? And worse, would the Abbot want to touch his dick now that it was free?


“Why so coy, lad? It’s not the first time I’ve inspected you after all…”


“It’s alright, your Worship. I’m fine. Thank you for your blessing.”


Will backed away from the sweating Abbot.


“Oh no, boy. That won’t do at all! In fact, I insist!”


And in one rapid movement, the Abbot tugged at Will’s rough trousers and pulled them down to his ankles. Will gasped in surprise - and his cock, so recently free from its months of imprisonment, bobbed automatically into semi-hardness.


The Abbot was triumphant. “So it is indeed true!” he crowed. “Your wicked lustfulness has infected this holiest of places! And you have even led astray one of my dear sons, you sinful succubus!”


The fat man waddled over to the confessional box in the corner of his chamber, and opened the wooden door. “Come out, young novice. And face the creature that has tempted you so…”


Will’s stomach gave a little leap as Hal stepped reluctantly from the cubicle.


“What’s going on?” Will asked.


“Allow me to explain, you young minx! Novice Henry here came to me for confession this morning and admitted to having lustful thoughts. I had hoped my boys here would draw on the Lord’s strength and resist the temptation that you have brought into our home. But it seems I need to take more direct action.”


The Abbot moved more swiftly than Will anticipated, and before he really knew what was happening, the Abbot had looped a string of rosary beads around Will’s wrists and tied his arms behind his back. A second string was tied around his neck.


“What are you doing?” Will cried.


“I do not have to explain myself to you, you spawn of Satan!” declared the Abbot, as he shoved Will in the small of his back. Will stumbled forwards, his feet becoming free of his trousers as he did so. He was now naked, and his damned cock - neglected for so long - stiffened even further in spite of himself.


“See this animal!” spat the Abbot, quivering fervently. “He is consumed by sexual appetites!”


Will gazed into the anguished face of the handsome Hal. The demons he was battling seemed to be internal ones.


The Abbot waddled over to a cabinet and fumbled with a key. As he unlocked the door, Will thought he could glimpse an array of items and implements that would look more at home in the castle dungeon than in the private belongings of a man of God. The Abbot snatched a small wooden stool from his closet and placed it in the centre of the room. Both Hal and Will gawped in surprise. In the middle of the seat, a smooth wooden pole, some seven or eight inches in length pointed to the ceiling. Will did not have time to question exactly why the Abbot should posses such an item, but he had a horrible feeling that he was about to become rather intimately acquainted with it.


Sure enough, the Abbot grabbed the rosary beads encircling Will’s neck, and dragged him over to the stool. Will struggled, but the fat man had weight on his side and was stronger than he looked. “We will subdue you, demon!” he muttered manically.


“You’re mad!” cried Will. “Let me go!”


He struggled to free himself from the Abbot’s sweaty embrace and recoiled from the fat man’s greasy palms.


“You cannot escape from me, devil! I have the Lord on my side. Now - knee before the altar!”


Will found himself forced to his knees in front of the draped table, and the possessed Abbot pushed down his head so that his forehead rested on the floor. The fat man held Will in position, Will’s naked arse pointing vulnerably towards the ceiling. Suddenly Will felt the Abbot’s sausage like fingers fumbling at his arsehole, depositing an oily gunk around his puckered orifice. The Abbot was working himself up into a frenzy, and began pushing his fingers into Will’s backside.


Will began to breathe deeply. How long had it had been since his arse had been probed like that? Of course at the castle it had been a daily occurrence. Indeed, most of the time it had been stuffed with a large leather dong, and the moments of respite when his hole had been empty had been few and far between. Since his expulsion from the castle’s walls, his anus had been brutalised on more than one occasion by the monstrous Lunk and his cronies, and his beer enema at the hands of the sadistic robber, Ebony, rated as a particularly memorable experience. However, his weeks in residence at the abbey had given his poor bottom some much needed relief. Nevertheless, as the Abbot pushed and pried at that most private part of his anatomy, a weird sensation began to rise in him. Had his arse actually missed all that attention? Was it indeed possible that he secretly yearned for his hole to be plugged once more?


He was afforded little time to wonder. Soon the sweating cleric had hefted him onto his feet and positioned him over the stool, Will’s lubricated asshole hovering above the wooden pole.


“You will be restrained, devil!” frothed the Abbot. “Your wickedness is no match for me!”


“No! Stop! Please! Let me go!” begged Will. But his protests were in vain. The religious mania gripping the Abbot seemed to give him an almost superhuman strength.


“Down you go!” he insisted, pressing on Will’s shoulders. “I have coated this pole with holy oils. That should subdue the devil inside you!”


Will tried to resist by bracing his legs, but the Abbot had spilled oil onto the floor, and Will’s heels gave way on the slippery surface. The fat monk took advantage of Will’s lack of balance by plunging him downwards, impaling him on the wooden dildo.


“Ah! Ah! Ah!’ Will gasped as the entire length of the pole entered him and pressed bluntly against the nub of his prostate.


The Abbot wasted no time in tying a cord around Will’s slim waist, which he then knotted underneath the wooden seat. Will tried to raise his naked torso from the invasive wooden phallus but it was stuck fast. He glanced over to see Hal standing miserably against the wall. Will tried to process the surprising news that Hal had been entertaining lustful thoughts about him, and then realised with shame, that the young novice could not help but see that Will’s pretty little cock was throbbing at his groin. Will’s body had betrayed him. It seemed he did yearn for his arse to be probed after all. Nor had this escaped the Abbot.


“Now we see why you had to be kept in that chastity device!” the Abbot shrieked, his eyes bulging. “Your perversions are truly foul to behold!”


Will blushed a deep shade of red at being humiliated so comprehensively in front of his new-found friend. How had it happened that in this last year and a half, he had turned into a slut boy whose cock sprang into action the moment his arse was plugged?


“Brother Henry!” declared the Abbot. “You must confront your base desires. I order you to approach this whorish demon!”


Hal shook his head from side to side, his glossy black hair swishing as he did so. But he dared not ignore a direct command from his superior. Tentatively he walked towards Will.


“Remove your robes!” the Abbot continued. “You must be naked to receive true absolution.”


It crossed Will’s mind that the Abbot had an unorthodox approach to sinfulness - and one which appeared to involve young men stripping off their clothing as regularly as possible. But Hal seemed not to question the command, loosening the leather belt at his waist, and allowing his plain brown robe to fall to the floor. He stepped out of his sandals and took another step to where Will sat impaled on the three-legged stool.


Will gulped as he saw Hal’s naked body for the first time: the familiar square jaw and dimpled chin, his long, honey-coloured neck, the Adam’s apple bobbing nervously; broad shoulders; firm slabs of pectoral muscles and strong, bulging biceps; smoothly chiselled abdominal muscles leading down to a little dark fuzz at his crotch where a long, veiny cock with a large mushroom-shaped head that pulsed, erect and proud. Hal’s legs were long and his quad muscles were like slabs of ham, his calves equally shapely. Even in his current predicament, Will could not help but conjure how those amazing legs would look encased in some of Master Yorick’s finest hosiery, caressing the masculine contours, and disappearing deep into the crack of that ass.


He was afforded no further time for such contemplation however, as Hal had reached him. Indeed, his straining man-meat was mere inches from Will’s flushed face. The two young men were breathing deeply: lustful sweat beaded on their torsos and in their armpits.


When the Abbot spoke, his voice sounded strangulated with unfulfilled lust: “Do it, Brother Henry. It is the only way to rid yourself of these devils which afflict you. Touch this diabolical imp! Do to him all that you desire!”


Hal did not need to be told twice. He knelt on the hard wooden floorboards, and gently cupped Will’s face between his hands. He gazed deep into Will’s big, brown eyes and lightly brushed his lips against the younger boy’s. It was a simple action, but Will’s cock pulsed at the tenderness of the touch. Almost immediately, Hal kissed him again - this time more firmly, holding Will’s mouth in place, and tentatively pushing the tip of his tongue between Will’s generous lips. For his part, Will could not help respond.


“Yes! Yes!” crowed the Abbot. “Kiss those devilish lips. Push your tongue into that diabolical mouth! Own and possess the little slut, Brother Henry!”


Hal needed little encouragement. However long he had been denying his own sexual urges Will could not know, but now he was being encouraged, nay commanded, to give them free rein, the explosion of sexual urgency was undeniable. Hal’s long, probing tongue pushed deep into Will’s mouth, and Will could only respond in kind. Their tongues swirled around each other in an erotic dance, their naked chests heaving, both of them emitting muffled grunts of ecstasy.


Even now, Hal seemed reluctant to touch any other part of Will’s tight little body, but in that moment, Hal felt his hands being guided onto Will’s pink nipples.


“Touch his tits,” intoned the Abbot in Hal’s ear. “Do it! Squeeze them, pinch them, lick and bite them till the little slut moans!”


The helpless Hal did as he was bidden, bending his dark head forward to suck desperately at Will’s nubs. Will shifted ecstatically, the prodding wooden dildo finding new pressure points deep within him, and he threw his head back as Hal’s mouth worked over his sensitive nipples.


“Now the ultimate in perversion!” the Abbot shrieked. “Take the slut’s erection into your mouth! Do it, Brother Henry! Do it and abase yourself before the Lord!!”


Will’s cock was already leaking precum freely, and, as much as he prepared himself for the sensation of Hal’s soft lips on the sensitive head of his dick, he could not anticipate that glorious touch. Novice monk he may be, but Hal displayed no signs of inexperience when it came to sucking cock. He fell to it as if he had spent his life working the alleys of Dunchester, fellating the sexually frustrated labourers before they returned to the dull drudgery of their marriage beds.


He took Will’s pulsing prick deep into his throat, massaging the engorged flesh with his strong tongue. He buried his face deep in Will’s groin, slobbering, sucking and licking at Will’s recently liberated tool.


“You disgusting perverts! See how you befoul this holy place!” screamed the Abbot, as the two young men gasped and groaned: more animal than human.


Will felt the steady building of an oncoming climax stirring in his balls. “No, not yet. Not yet,” he pleaded.


Hal understood and withdrew his mouth from Will’s straining cock, returning to kiss him again, deeply and desperately.


“Begone, demons!” howled the Abbot, and as he did so, Will felt a splash of oily liquid hit him in the face. He opened his eyes to see the Abbot dancing around the two youths, spattering them with fluid from a large clay jug.


“With this holy oil, I abjure thee!” raved the obese holy man.


Ropes of the fragrant unguent spattered over the naked flesh of the young men, oiling their muscles and lubricating the frenzied contact between them. Will was desperate to touch Hal’s body: to feel those straining muscles and sweating flesh for himself. He struggled against the cord tying his hands behind his back, and somehow managed to free his wrists. Once he had done so, his hands were all over Hal’s athletic chest, groping, massaging, stroking, desperately wanting to reciprocate the welter of sexual gratification that Hal had aroused in him.


And then the ultimate prize: Will touched Hal’s rock-hard cock. How he wished this beautiful prick was deep inside his arse right now, instead of the cruelly indifferent wooden phallus. The oil continued to rain down on the two of them, making everything slippery and wet. Will’s fist clenched around the long shaft of Hal’s dick and began to move up and down, causing Hal to groan in sheer ecstasy.


Will reached forward as far as his position on the stool would allow, and cupped Hal’s balls - bunched tight against his body - with one hand. He gave them a little squeeze and then ventured on, between the smooth and rounded globes of Hal’s buttocks, to find the puckered opening nestling between them.


His hand fully lubricated with the oil, Will pressed gently against Hal’s arsehole, teasing, teasing - and then, with a little more force, he pointed his index finger and entered the taller youth’s most intimate of orifices.


Hal shuddered with the delight of having his arse penetrated for the first time in his life, and instantly returned to sucking Will’s cock.


“Filth! Depravity! You will be scourged!” rasped the Abbot, almost hoarse now. And Will flinched with shock as a stinging blow struck him on the shoulder. He opened his eyes to see the deranged Abbot swaying: a whip in his right hand. The fat man wasted no time, and began to rain down blow after blow on Hal and Will’s vulnerable nude flesh.


Such was the Abbot’s mania, several blows missed their mark, but occasionally the whip found its target, and the two young men flinched as their bodies were abused by the cruel implement.


Hal sucked at Will’s cock with increased fervour, and this time Will knew there was no postponing the moment of orgasm.


“Oh, fuck! Oh fuck! Oh Jesus! Oh fuck!” he began to incant.


“Hear how the devilish bitch blasphemes in its hot passion!” cried the Abbot. “This is your punishment, Brother Henry! Drink his foul seed! Drink I tell you! Drink!”


Hal needed no further instructions. As sharp stinging blows from the Abbot’s whip rained on his broad and muscled back, he gobbled desperately at Will’s pulsing cock. Meanwhile, Will continued to manipulate Hal’s rock hard dick, all the while his finger fucked Hal’s hole, as surely as the wooden dildo was fucking his.


The tension built and built, Will’s muscles bunched, and then the dam was broached and wave after wave of ecstasy swept over him as his cock spewed thick white jism into Hal’s beautiful mouth. Hal did all he could to swallow, but in spite of himself, some of the cream escaped from the corners of his lips. And then it was his turn: a thick white arc shot from his cock-head, leaping into the air and landing with a spatter on Will’s shoulder. A second emission shot up and hit Will right across the cheek, before sliding into Will’s gaping mouth, and onto his panting tongue.


Finally, breathing heavily, and orgasms over, Hal rested his exhausted head against Will’s oiled chest. Eyes closed, they nevertheless heard the grunting sounds of the Abbot fumbling in his crimson robes, and spilling his own sinful seed onto the wooden floor.