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.
