Chapter 63 - Where There's A Will

   
   

Alexander strode through the monastery garden, the smell of lavender and rosemary mingling as he passed. He found Brother Ralf standing by the gate.

“That rogue has definitely gone, Brother?” inquired Alexander. “I can leave one of my men here just in case.”

“Thank you, Master Courcey, but I’ll place my faith in the Lord.”

“Up to you. I suppose you do have a cohort of young men here who can beat him off with their rakes and hoes.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Alexander turned to inspect the various youths diligently at work in the garden. His well-trained eye was instantly drawn towards a tall, broad-shouldered young man with dark brown hair. The novice monk had been watching Alexander with a kind of urgent desperation. As Alexander’s gaze rested on him, the young man turned away, but it was too late. He had clearly been watching him.

“What’s his name?”

Brother Ralf glanced over. “That, my Lord, that is Brother Hal.”

“I’d like to speak to him.”

The monk sighed. “As you wish, Master Alexander.”

The young man’s olive skin and hazel eyes were most appealing, as were the way his long dark hair fell across his forehead. And if Alexander wasn’t mistaken (and he knew he wasn’t), the novice couldn’t quite take his eyes from Alexander’s silken bulge.

Brother Hal knelt on the grass, his hands dirty with soil. Alexander towered over him: his hose-clad groin level with the novice’s handsome face.

“My Lord,” he murmured.

“Brother Hal,” replied Alexander. “Please, stand. There’s no need for you to kneel before me.”

Hal rose to his feet.

Alexander said nothing. The young man was tall - indeed they were roughly the same height. Alexander looked at him: a slight smile playing around his lips - a challenge in his eyes. Hal’s breathing became faster: his tongue appeared briefly, nervously moistening his full, pink lips. Alexander’s smile grew broader. He hadn’t been mistaken after all. Eventually he spoke.

“I’m a little thirsty, Brother Hal. Maybe we could step inside and you could provide me with some refreshment.”

“Will water suffice, my Lord? I could sweeten it with a little of Brother Ralf’s elderflower cordial if you would like…”

“Oh I think you’re quite sweet enough, my lad. Don’t you?”
A look of nervous confusion passed across Hal’s face. “My Lord?”

“Come over here. You’ve not been able to take your eyes off my crotch since I arrived. have you? Well, be my guest - have a good feel. I think we’d both enjoy that.”

Suddenly, Alexander grabbed Hal’s wrist, and before he knew what was happening, the young monk found his clammy palm pressed against Alexander’s rock hard cock.

Hal gasped as he felt the sinewy serpent twitching beneath the fine material of Alexander’s tights. 

“You’re quite a beauty, you know,” purred the older man. “Seems a shame for you to be shut away in here.”

“Pl-please, my Lord,” stammered Hal. “I’m a simple man. I want only to serve God. I don’t envy you your extravagant life at the castle.”

“Extravagant, eh? What have you heard about life under Lord Geoffrey? And more importantly, from whom did you hear it?”

Hal looked more nervous than ever.

“Don’t be scared, boy. No harm will come to you from speaking the truth, you know that surely? Now tell me. You spoke to Will, didn’t you?”

Hal nodded.

“Do you know where he is now?”
“Please, my Lord,” begged Hal in anguish.

Alexander cradled Hal’s cheeks gently in his palms. “I don’t want to hurt him,” he said softly. “I just need to find him. You see, I owe that boy my life.”

A flicker of confusion passed across Hal’s face.

“Were you his master? The one who locked him inside that cruel metal  chastity device?”

“I was indeed his master, but no, I’m not responsible for caging his pretty prick.”

“I see.”

Alexander moved even closer, and planted a wet, lingering kiss on Hal’s full lips. Then he entwined his arms around the younger man and held him in a tender embrace.

“Now, tell me where he is.”

  “Back again so soon, Alexander? I never realised you were such a devout Christian…”
Alexander looked at the chubby Abbot. There was a definite hint of irritation beneath the obsequious veneer.

“Oh but of course, your Grace. What do you take me for? In fact that’s the very reason I have not yet departed.”

“Oh?”

“I realised it would be most remiss of me to leave the monastery without spending some time in prayer with you, our holy Father.”

The Abbot nodded sagely. “Of course, of course. I’d be delighted to give you my blessing.”

“What I wish, more than anything, is to see - maybe even hold - some of the holy relics that you have here.”

“Relics?”
“Come now, there’s no need to be coy with me. I hear the shin bone of Saint Veronica is here in your reliquary…”

“Mere rumour…”

“That’s not what I hear. And surely you wouldn’t deny me the chance to gaze on such a divine relic.”

“Alexander “ -

“Now, where could it be? A-ha! Surely it must be in this beautiful cabinet…”

Alexander strode over to the corner of the room.

“No!” cried the Abbot. “There’s nothing in there. Just brooms, buckets…”

“Surely not. Such expert craftsmanship cannot house a mere store cupboard!”

Alexander tried the door handle. It was locked, as he anticipated it would be. He turned to the Abbot and held out his palm. “The key?”
“I - I don’t have it,” stammered the sweating cleric.

“Maybe you could check amongst the bunch that dangles from your belt…”

Alexander did not wait. Instead he lunged for the key ring and snatched it from the cord at the Abbot’s waist.

“How dare you!” spluttered the Abbot, but Alexander ignored him as he swiftly sorted through the keys.

Alexander turned to him with a triumphant flourish. “Now, now, Abbot you must not guard your holy treasures so jealously! Beauties such as this should be shared, don’t you think?”

And with that he unlocked the cabinet and flung open the door. Sure enough, blind-folded, gagged and tied to a three-legged stool, sat the naked Will.

Alexander shook his head slowly and let out a low whistle. “Well, well. I never expected St Veronica’s shin bone to look like this.”

Less than half an hour later, Will - dressed again in a pair of rough hessian trousers and linen shirt - found himself on the back of a stallion, ridden by one of Alexander’s guards. If Will had expected an emotional reunion with the man whose life he had saved, he was to be disappointed.  Alexander had barely said a word. He had merely bundled him out of the monastery, lingering only to speak briefly to the ashen-faced Abbot.

Will had managed a garbled goodbye to a clearly startled Brother Ralf, but although Will searched the vegetable patch for a sign of Hal, the handsome novice monk was nowhere to be seen.

So, once again, he was at the whim of this strange, powerful man. And as he risked a glance at Alexander’s Mephistophelean features, he felt bewildered by the Chief Steward’s attitude. What had happened in the many months since he’d helped Alexander escape from the dungeon? Was he still a fugitive? Was the tyrannical Prince Felix still reigning despotically? It seemed he was to be given no opportunity to ask, and the guard - around whose waist Will clung - was in no mood to chat.

As they thundered along the dirt path that led from the monastery, Will realised they were heading for the castle. What could that mean? Was he destined once again to be tormented by his merciless foe, Raymond? It was all so confusing. Still, he’d find out soon enough, and at least he was finally free from the clutches of the repulsive Abbot Cuthbert.

The drawbridge rose, and Will once again found himself in the familiar surroundings of the castle courtyard. It all felt unreal - and a long time since that sultry summer day when he was led out of the castle, tied over the back of a horse, his cock imprisoned in its steel cage, his arse stuffed with melting bars of soap, his legs encased in his fine blue tights.

Alexander trotted on ahead, and the Steward did not even glance behind him. The guard reined in his steed, dismounted and lifted Will to the ground. The guard nodded to a pretty young serving wench who had apparently been awaiting Will’s arrival.

“You’re to come with me,” said the girl, who turned on her heel and hurried into the castle.

Will didn’t recognise her, but he tried to question her as he followed in her wake.

“You’re new here?” he asked. 

“That’s right. My name is Iris.”

“Is Prince Felix - ?”

“I’m not supposed to answer your questions. Just give you your instructions.”

Will nodded mutely. He’d spent the last year and a half with little idea of what would happen to him from one moment to the next. Why should things be any different now?

Iris led him to one of the castle’s guest bedchambers. It was not as ornately decorated as those of Alexander or Lord Geoffrey, but it was certainly more comfortable than the straw pallet he had bedded down on during his time as the junior page boy. A large wooden tub filled with soapy water sat in the corner of the room.

“You’re to bathe,” said Iris. “Then get dressed in these clothes.” She gestured to the bed. “And then you are to wait.”

She bobbed a little curtsey and went to the door.

“But”- began Will.

“I’m to tell you no more.”

And then she was gone.

Will stripped, bathed, and towelled himself. Then he went to inspect the garments awaiting him on the bed’s coverlet.

In one way, he was not surprised: a leather collar, a thin, leather strap, soft leather pumps, a waistcoat and the inevitable pair of tights. Will thought back to the first day he’d spent in the castle, stripped and manhandled by the leering Master Yorick. However, apparently on this occasion he was to be trusted to dress himself. 

He reached out to stroke the silky, sensuousness of the hosiery. He lifted them to his face and breathed in their fresh, clean odour, the material caressing his cheek. Instantly, and inevitably, his cock began to stiffen. He didn’t hesitate, but wrapped the leather cock strap around his engorged penis, keeping it hard and throbbing. Then he sat down on the bed and gathered, first one, then the other leg of the tights. They were purest white, and almost seemed to shimmer in the candlelight of the chamber. They must be very expensive - and he had to be careful not to rip the fine material as he tugged it over his calves. He stood up and hoiked the hosiery as high as it would go - almost reaching his little pink nipples. Then he adjusted the seam at the back so the material disappeared into the crevice of his arse. They fitted perfectly, and Will had to resist the temptation to rub his cock through the clinging material. For he knew, if he did, he would not be able to resist climaxing, and the pristine tights would be spoiled with his cum.

Instead, he slipped his stockinged feet into the soft, white leather pumps, and then pulled on the waistcoat - white again, and this time embroidered with gold thread. He wondered at the finery, even as he attached the slave collar - that reminder of his lowly position of servitude - around his neck.

He admired himself in the mirror. He had lost a little weight in the past six months, unsurprisingly. But his leg muscles still bulged pleasingly in his hose, and he sensed he would still be considered attractive to the kind of man who enjoys sexually abusing youths. He wondered what future awaited him now, and which powerful man would be next to seek to subjugate his body.

He was not left pondering for long, as the door swang open, and once again, pretty little Iris appeared. She glanced at his new attire, her eyes lingering appreciatively on his hose-covered legs and bulging crotch.

“Come with me,” she said.

Will didn’t attempt to question her again as he was led up the familiar staircase to the Chief Steward’s chambers. He remembered his first visit to the richly decorated rooms: how nervously he had waited as Alexander had inspected every inch of his young body. He had no more of an idea of what awaited him now than he had all those months ago.

The room was much as he’d remembered it. The sole difference was that a wooden table was laid for supper. Two chairs sat at either end. He turned to speak to Iris, but she had already slipped away.

Instead, a familiar, sonorous baritone rang in his ears.

“Well, boy, it has been quite some time, hasn’t it?”
Will span around. Sure enough, there stood Alexander Courcey: as refined and handsome as ever, long burgundy robes hanging from his shoulders. Satin black tights clung to his lean thighs, with calf length leather boots on his feet.

“You must be hungry. Come, join me for supper.”
“Me, Sir?”

“Who else? We have much to catch up on, after all.”

Will marvelled at the bizarreness of being treated like an equal by the man who for so long had dominated and tormented him.

“You look nervous. I can understand that. But let me assure you, this is no trick. It’s true that I have played games with you before: teased both your mind and your body for my sexual gratification. But you can relax. You are safe now. No lecherous priests, thuggish thieves or sadistic princelings are lurking to ravish that perfect arse of yours…”

“Prince Felix?”

“His rule is over. He is safely locked away in the castle dungeons.”

“As safely as you were?” asked Will, with a cheeky grin.

“I venture I’m a more effective gaoler than Felix was.”

“And Raymond?”

“Ah, of him I know nothing. Other than that he is no longer a resident of the castle. Or indeed in England at all.”

“So you are - ?”
“Restored to my previous position.”

Alexander smiled. “Now, let us eat.”

They did so, and as they did, Alexander related his adventures: his flight from the castle, his recapture and his subsequent salvation. Will gawped as Alexander informed him of the precise details of the downfall of Raymond and the Prince. 

Then it was Will’s turn, and Alexander shook his head in disbelief as he listened to the unfortunate twists and turns that had eventually led Will to being at the mercy of the lascivious Abbot Cuthbert. 

“He is no holy man, my Lord, I can tell you that,” said Will, as he crammed another chicken drumstick in his mouth.

“Oh, I’ve long suspected him of being a monstrous hypocrite,” nodded Alexander. 

“It shouldn’t be allowed. He’s supposed to be a man of God. He should be punished.”

“In a fair and equitable world, you are undoubtedly correct. But surely you cannot be so naive to think that we live in such a world. Especially after your own personal experiences, eh, Will?”

“So he’ll get away with it?”

“Oh I wouldn’t go that far. I now have a very useful point of leverage when it comes to my future interactions with the Abbot. One I intend to exploit ruthlessly. Have no fear, he will live to regret putting his hands on you.”

With that, Alexander rose from his chair and gazed at Will intently. “Now, speaking of putting hands on you…”

Will gulped. He guessed this was coming sooner or later. Alexander’s eyes had burned with lust for him all through their meal.

“Come here, Will.”

Will rose and walked towards the older man. His mouth felt parched and his heart fluttered nervously.

Alexander picked up the ice cold bottle of champagne from the table and poured it into his goblet. He lifted the goblet to his lips and filled his mouth. Then he pulled Will’s still damp blond locks to him and planted his mouth on Will’s. Will’s lips opened willingly and as they did so, Alexander deposited his champagne into Will’s mouth. Will gulped the liquid down, and Alexander proceeded to probe the boy’s mouth with his long, experienced tongue. Will’s crotch twitched as the taller man pressed against him. Their tights-covered bulges began to grind against one another.

Eventually, Alexander withdrew his tongue, leaving Will gasping for air.

“There have been times this year when the only thought sustaining me has been the notion that I might get to fuck your perfect arse once more time. And now I am going to do something I have never done before. I am going to ask you if you want me to fuck you. If you say yes, I promise you it will be the best sexual experience you have ever had, and that I will devote myself entirely to your arousal. But for the first time in my life, I am not going to force myself on a young man whom I desire. The choice is yours. Now what do you say?”

Chapter 62 - Quest for Will

    Alexander surveyed the hushed and expectant crowd. There must have been forty or so peasants eagerly peering at the unique spectacle playing out before them. He took a moment to reflect. He had lost count of the number of hot men he had subjected to some form of public humiliation since his elevation to his current position. He ran through an inventory of some of the sexiest: Peter of Mickelsfield - the dumb hunk he had tricked into canary yellow tights, given a public enema and stuffed with a string of leather balls; Darius the arrogant Arabian soldier -  whom he had shaved, tarred and feathered and forced chicken-like to ‘lay’ an egg;  Arthur and Stanley - the gullible red-headed brothers whose arses he had glued together with a bulb of ginger and whom he had left dangling from a beam in their own cottage; Wench - the quivering bar-boy, dressed as a maid and a string of meaty sausages tied to his prick; Raymond - the scheming slut, who had suffered so many public indignities, not least being the pisspot of the desiccated Sir Wilfrid; the divine Prince Felix himself, who had been gunged, stuffed and reduced to a squealing infant in front of his own aunt; and last but not least, Will: the sexiest slutboy of them all, whose perfect arse haunted his dreams, and who had submitted to every degrading act Alexander had visited upon him, and yet still saved his cruel master from certain death.
    However, much as he might demean them verbally, dress them in clinging hosiery that robbed them of their pride, and in some cases, their very masculinity, wash out their holes and stuff them with food, tie them up, gag them, gunge them, spank them, plug their arses with whatever humiliating objects he could find, the actual sexual act had always remained for him something to be done in private: an intimate moment for him and the objects of his lust. But with this peasant farmer bent over so that his cream-coloured ass stuck out as lewdly as the most provocative concubine, Alexander found that for once he wanted nothing so much as to simply plough his long cock into that inviting hole as surely as the farmer ploughed his fields. And somehow he knew instinctively that for this particular victim, a simple fuck would be the most humiliating thing of all.
    Jack could not look over his shoulder with his neck clamped in the stocks,  so he flinched with the unexpected sensation as Alexander started to roll down the waist-band of his newly acquired tights. Alexander did so slowly, tantalisingly, gradually revealing the pale, naked curve of Jack’s buttocks. He let the waist-band rest just beneath the arse cheeks, framing the two plump slabs of meat most delightfully.
    “You should be grateful that I will at least lubricate your opening,” he said as he reached into the pouch that hung from his belt, and coated a couple of fingers with grease. “Are you ready?”
    Despite the cold, Jack’s crack was sweaty as Alexander began to oil it up. Jack’s breathing grew faster as his most intimate opening was fondled and probed by the cruel stranger.
    “In we go…”
    And Alexander pushed two fingers into the man’s hole.
    “Ooh, that’s very tight! Don’t tell me your scrawny wife has never pleasured you up there? Well maybe you will develop a taste for it - though I doubt she will have my expertise!”
    “No, please, please…” mumbled Jack as Alexander withdrew his fingers.
    “Beg all you like, peasant. I like to hear you beg.”
    Alexander reached into his own hose and freed his already hard cock, smearing some of the same grease around his shaft and mushroom-shaped head.
    “Don’t worry. This won’t take long. I’m a busy man - and you do not interest me sufficiently for me to linger.” This much was true: in other circumstances he would have invented a far kinkier humiliation. A mere fuck whilst his victim was locked in the stocks was positively vanilla as far as Alexander was concerned!
    Gripping Jack’s hips firmly, Alexander positioned his engorged cock against the puckered opening of the farmer’s anus.
    “Breathe deeply, now,” he murmured. “This is going to hurt.”
    Jack began to pant as he felt himself, slowly but surely, being raped by Alexander’s meaty member. The new sensation of penetration overwhelmed him, and is often the case, his own cock began to twitch of its own volition.
    “Being a fucktoy obviously runs in the family,” grinned Alexander as he squeezed the growing bulge in Jack’s tights. “In we go now, all the way.”
    And he slid his cock up the farmer’s warm, wet chute.
    Jack’s jaw gaped in horror. He screwed up his eyes to try and block out the experience, but he couldn’t block out the sniggers of his neighbours, and their mocking, pitying looks were imprinted on his mind.
    Alexander began to rock backwards and forwards, enjoying the feeling of control as he fucked his helpless victim. He luxuriated in the fluttering sensation of Jack’s ring as it squeezed down on his rock hard cock. The back and forth movement was already bringing him close to climax.
    “Ooh, do I detect a little leakage, farmer? I do believe you’re staining your fine cream tights with pre-cum. You’re enjoying this more than you expected, no?”
    The taunt pushed Jack over the edge, and he began to emit a gibbering sob: the humiliating emasculation too much. The bewildering betrayal of his body as his cock responded to the fuck in spite of him.
    “Oh I like to see a grown man cry as I rape his ass,” hissed Alexander. ”Gets me really horny. Really turned on. My cock fucking your velvety hole. Mmmm. Feels so good….”
    And with that, Alexander erupted and his hot creamy ism shot deep into Jack’s reluctant bowels.
    Jack’s whole body convulsed as Alexander possessed him, broke him. And slowly, Alexander withdrew his still hard cock from the farmer’s pulsing hole and stowed it away within his black hose. Grease and cum, mingled and leaked from the peasant’s orifice.
    He walked round to look at his victim’s face, and leered at Jack’s tear-stained cheeks.
    “Let that be a lesson to control your wife better, peasant.”
    Alexander turned to speak to the rest of the village.
    “Now, I have ten copper pieces for anyone who can supply information as to the whereabouts of the boy named Will. Who wants to claim the prize?”
    Silence.
    Then after an agonising pause, a lanky lad cleared his throat and spoke up. “I saw him, Sire,” said the teenager. “Lunk took him.”
    “Lunk? Tell me more.”
    Almost as an afterthought, Alexander turned back to where Jack hung dejectedly from the stocks: his cream tights stained with pre-cum at the crotch, his nude, meaty arse still jutting out behind him.
    “You can stay there for a while to ponder your shortcomings as both a husband and a brother. I’m a generous man though, farmer. I’ll let you keep the tights.”

    The lanky teenager’s name was Nicky. Both he and his parents looked frankly terrified at the prospect of him accompanying Alexander on his quest to track down Will. Alexander’s disparaging comment that Nicky had a body like a stick insect and a face like a pug dog, and that as a result he had absolutely no interest him in sexually, did little to reassure them.
    Nicky had only a vague idea of the location of Lunk’s lair, so their meandering journey took them several hours. The lad also seemed torn between fear of Lunk and of Alexander.  Eventually, they came across an abandoned barn in a clearing in the forest. Disused farm equipment lay rusting in the late afternoon sun. Suddenly Alexander heard a retching sound from the youth. He span round to see Nicky’s green countenance, and followed where he was pointing.
    It was the carcass of what had once been a giant: the meat stripped from its bones - presumably by wolves. Alexander had his guards perform a search of the barn and its surroundings, but the place was clearly abandoned - and judging by the condition of Lunk’s corpse, had been for some time.
    Alexander spat on the ground. “A dead-end,” he cursed ruefully.

    With the trail cold, Alexander had no choice but to return to the castle, instructing one of his bodyguards to deposit the still queasy-looking Nicky back to the bosom of his relieved family.
    Lord Geoffrey sympathised. “The lad could be anywhere: sold into slavery, most likely he is dead.”
    Alexander nodded.
    “The Christmas festivities will keep you busy. And besides, there are many more page boys who will undoubtedly entertain you.”
    
    His duties certainly occupied him, but disconcertingly, and for the first time in his life, Alexander found that his libido had deserted him. Pert arses bobbed around the castle grounds, and hose-covered bulges which he would once have found enticingly distracting, merited no more than a mere glance. And he wondered whether even that was more from habit than actual desire. He found himself contemplating the disturbing proposition that his feelings for Will extended beyond mere lust.
    
    It was a cloudy morning and he found himself in a mood even more melancholy than usual, when Humphrey, the plump pageboy, reported that a rough looking villain had presented himself at the castle gates and told the guards that he had information that the Chief Steward himself would want to hear.
    Rejecting his initial instinct to have the thief flogged and thrown into the dungeon, something made Alexander relent, and minutes later, the tall, lean, black-skinned rogue stood before him.
    “I’m a busy man,” said Alexander brusquely. “And I’m not accustomed to wasting my time with a scoundrel such as you.”
    “Don’t be so hasty, my Lord,” replied Ebony. “I hear you’re trying to find the blond lad with the arse like a peach.”
    Alexander raised an eyebrow.
    “I can tell you where to find him.”
    “Why on Earth should I believe a thief?”
    “Because I tracked him down after he escaped from Lunk’s lair. And I know where he’s hiding.”
    “And where is that precisely?”
    “Come now. Fair’s fair. You don’t expect me to give you the information for nothing do you?”
    “What’s to stop me throwing you in the dungeon and torturing it out of you? I have some very persuasive tools at my disposal.”
    “My endurance levels are high, my Lord. Who knows how long that might take? And by then the boy might have moved on elsewhere…”
    “Hmmm. But I might enjoy the torture for its own sake.” Alexander rose and placed his ringed palm against the thief’s muscular chest. He ran his hand down Ebony’s torso until it came to rest at his crotch. “Leather trousers have a certain appeal. But I think a close-fitting pair of hose would suit you very nicely, my dangerous friend.”
    Ebony rang his tongue over his white teeth. “You’d not find me as submissive as your little bitch boy. You’d meet your match in me, my Lord.”
    “Well, now, that does sound an appealing challenge. I’m tempted to have you manacled and flung into my dungeon right away. Submissiveness has its attractions in certain circumstances but I do also enjoy using a hot stud who puts up a fight.”
    For the first time, a flicker of doubt appeared in Ebony’s eyes.
    “But I’ll humour you,” grinned Alexander. “Name your price for revealing the whereabouts of the boy.”
    Ebony smirked. “I’d like the bitch for myself. He’s a hot little slut. But failing that, I’d take a hundred gold sovereigns.”
    “Ha!” The sound was harsh and scornful. “No catamite is worth that. I could buy a thousand sluts from Gregory the Slave Trader for that price.”
    “But this boy clearly means more to you. Master Alexander Courcey doesn’t go traipsing through the wet and freezing countryside for just any old whore. And he’s not even a virgin, I know that from personal experience. I flooded his bowels with ale before I forced him to suck my prick. It was a very entertaining evening.”
    “I’m intrigued,” murmured Alexander. “If you know where he is, and you want him for yourself, why not go and claim him?”
    Ebony seemed momentarily thrown. Then he regained his composure. “What can I tell you, my Lord? The sexual urge is fleeting and after it’s satisfied, it disappears. I’d rather have cold, hard coins. They stay with you after your prick’s gone soft.”
    “Ten gold coins. Five now. Five once I have the boy.”
    “I can show you where he is. Why should my price depend on whether you succeed in taking him?”
    “It’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.”
    Ebony glared at Alexander. “I’ll take it.”   

    “I’m most sorry, Master Courcey, that you have had a wasted journey, but young Will left the monastery some three weeks ago.”
    Brother Ralf spread his hands in a mollifying gesture.
    “He’s lying,” hissed Ebony through gritted teeth. “He’s trying to protect the boy.”
    Alexander turned to the thief with ill-concealed impatience. “Don’t judge all men by your own low standards.” He glanced around the monastery garden with its neat flowerbeds and rows of herbs. “Brother Ralf here could no more tell a lie than he could cut off his own hand. Besides,” and here he grinned ingratiatingly at the monk, “he knows that young Will will be safe in my care. Why, I think of the boy as my own son.”
    Brother Ralf looked at Alexander a little skeptically but said nothing.
    Alexander turned to Ebony. “Be off with you now, before I have you arrested.”
    “What about my other five gold pieces?” demanded the thief.
    “You’d have had those if the boy were actually here. Don’t push your luck.”
    Ebony’s hand strayed to the dagger at his belt.
    “No!” whispered Brother Ralf. “This is holy ground!”
    But Alexander’s bodyguards had pre-empted the move and already had their swords positioned at Ebony’s back.
    “I told you to go, ruffian,” said Alexander. “I’m not accustomed to having to repeat myself.”
    Cursing profusely, the thief knew he had been bested and beat a hasty retreat.
    “I’m truly sorry that I cannot furnish you with news that pleases you better, my Lord,” said Ralf.
    “As am I,” replied Alexander ruefully. He turned to go, but just then, a thought occurred to him. “I don’t suppose the Abbot is in residence? It would be impolite of me to visit without paying my respects…”

    “And to what do we owe this pleasure, Alexander?” beamed the fat little man in his white robe. “Did you just happen to be in the vicinity?”
    “Something like that, Father,” replied Alexander evasively.
    The Abbot smiled his blubbery smile. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you since Prince Felix’s birthday celebrations. What an evening that was! His royal highness really did get quite the surprise, didn’t he? How is he? I understand he’s remaining under Lord Geoffrey’s wardship for the time being.”
    “Yes. Sadly the toll of his father’s plight has weighed heavily on the young Prince’s mind. He’s suffered something of a breakdown. The physicians are doubtful he will ever fully recover.”
    “How sad,” murmured the Abbot. “And he showed such … promise. Well, if ever your master decides the Prince needs some spiritual intervention, I should be most glad to … get my hands on him.”
    “I’m sure you would, you filthy old lecher,” thought Alexander, although he said nothing.
    “Those muscular legs in his silken hose… Quite exquisite. He really is such a beauty. I must confess, I’ve always had something of a weakness for blonds. If you catch my meaning, Alexander.” The Abbot gave him a conspiratorial wink.
    A thought occurred to the Steward.
    “Speaking of blonds, holy Father. I happen to be searching for a young page boy. He belongs to the castle household and, rather irritatingly, earlier this year, during my… absence, he seems to have been mislaid. I gather he was offered sanctuary here at the monastery for some weeks before he went on his way. I don’t suppose you have any idea where he might have gone…”
    “I wish I could help, Alexander. Sadly my communion with our Lord and my duties tutoring the novices here leave me little time to bother with runaway page boys - blond or otherwise. Perhaps Brother Ralf could help…?”
    “Sadly he knows no more than you, Father. Ah well, it seems my search has once again reached a dead end.”
    Alexander kissed the Abbot’s chubby hand and made his way to the chamber door. He placed his hand on the handle, but just as he did so, he was startled by a muffled squeak. He turned on his heel.
    “What was that?”
    “I - I heard nothing,” stammered the Abbot.
    “It sounded like it came from the cabinet over in the corner.”
    “Ah. Yes. Mice. The monastery has been plagued with them since we lost  Mistress Tibbles.”
    Alexander raised a questioning eyebrow.
    “Our cat.”
    The Abbot returned Alexander’s gaze, as if daring him to question the veracity of his claim. The two men weighed each other up for what felt like an eternity.
    “My sympathy,” said Alexander, eventually. “The cat from the castle kitchens has recently littered. I’ll send you one of her kittens.”
    “We would be eternally grateful,” simpered the Abbot.
    “Goodbye, Father. I hope to see you at the castle for the Christmas festivities.”
    “I shall look forward to it immensely.”
    The Abbot watched as Alexander closed the door behind him. He waited a moment and then shuffled to his cabinet and unlocked the door.
    “That was close, you little devil,” he hissed. “Don’t you dare try anything like that again or you’ll be in even more trouble. Now it’s time for your daily milking.”
    And the Abbot grabbed Will’s cock in his clumsy grasp and began tugging it in his fat and sweaty palm.
    Will could have cried in frustration. First there was the shock at hearing Alexander’s voice again after all this time, followed by astonishment that the Steward had actually survived and was reinstalled in his former post at the castle. And then there was amazement that he had come looking for him, and then the awful frustration that release had been so near - and yet remained so tantalisingly far away. He recoiled as the Abbot continued to jerk his semi-erect prick: salvation so near and yet so far.