Chapter 26 - Death to the Prince!

            They were ordered onto their hands and knees, and now all four youths, clad from tip to toe in their clinging pink bodysuits, arses raised high in the air, awaited inspection.

            The gooey yolk and albumen had started to dry in patches on his skin, and Will observed that the itchy sensation was not unlike the familiar feeling of spilled semen drying on his stomach. The gloop had run down the inside of his legs and pooled at his knees, and the eggs he had failed to smash nestled in the sagging gusset of his tights suit.

            He risked an anxious glance along the line to look at his fellows: all of them shamed by being forced into yet another obscene display in front of their royal liege. Damn it, thought Will to himself, why must I be the only one whose prick gets hard and spills his seed at being treated like this! What had happened to that innocent, naïve lad who had arrived at the castle all those months ago? And why should treatment which should in truth provoke feelings of shame and humiliation excite him in this delicious and unexpected way? Even now, posing like a dog, his back arched like a whore and his bubble butt pointing at the sky, he cursed his deviant libido, as his cock began to swell once more.

            Odin and Ulfgar moved along the line, conducting their bizarre stock take. And when they reached him, and when the thick fingers of Ulfgar the Viking began prodding at his backside through his pink tights, counting one by one the eggs he had failed to smash, the sensation of those masculine hands roaming over his gunky bum and groin aroused him even more. Will bowed his blond head as he felt a sharp smack from Ulfgar’s paddle-like hand, which smashed one of the previously unbroken shells right against the ripe and tempting target of his arsehole.

            “Ouch!” he gasped as the egg shattered with a powerful thwack.

            “You say something, boy?” grunted the Viking as his finger pushed into Will’s boy hole through the soggy material.

            All Will could do was shake his head.

            The results of the contest were delivered to the scarlet-hosed Prince Felix. Maintaining the suspense, he paused for what, to Will, seemed an eternity before addressing the cowering page boys.

            “We have our victor. Unsurprisingly, you with the fat arse have managed to destroy all but two of the eggs that were tipped into your costume.”

            Humphrey let out an involuntary blub of relief.

            “You did, however, destroy the stool in the process. Nevertheless, I shall prove to you that I am capable of leniency. Your reward will be to have the eggs scraped from the inside of your costume – and an omelette cooked from them!”

            Will noticed that Raymond grimaced with disgust in the direction of his fat neighbour.

            “Meanwhile the punishment for our loser” –

            Ulfgar placed his leather boot against Mortimer’s wet backside and with a firm kick, sent the skinny page sprawling onto his belly.

-       “will be to mop the floors of the whole castle…”

Odin appeared at the Prince’s side, two wooden mops in his fist.

“On your feet, worm!”

A disconsolate Mortimer did as he was bidden. However, the devilish Prince was not quite finished.

“You will be joined by this depraved little urchin, who has shown once again an utter lack of self-discipline.”

Will gulped under the imperious gaze of his new royal master.

            “It becomes ever clearer just what kind of licentious house was run here under Courcey the traitor. I am sure that my dear godfather will be shocked to learn the kind of degenerate beasts that have been under his roof and under his protection.”

            Will thought back to his first few weeks at the castle, recollecting the lascivious way the handsome, silver-haired Lord Geoffrey had allowed his hands to wander over Will’s blue-hosed bottom. In spite of the lip service paid to religion and the church, in truth, the Lord of the Castle had not only known of but actively encouraged the kind of wanton behaviour that Prince Felix seemed to deplore. Will recalled ruefully his shock at the way his body had been groped. He had been horrified at the time to have his private parts – his genitals and his buttocks – fondled and toyed with by another man. However, compared to his life now, those seemed to be positively halcyon days!

            Felix continued to issue his instructions:

            “The two of you can begin by cleaning up this eggy mess that you have made in here. Odin, Ulfgar – you know what to do.”

            Mortimer and Will reached out to take the mops from the brutish Vikings.

            “Not so fast, worms,” said Odin. “You’re not going to be mopping with your hands…”

            Of course it would not be so simple, thought Will, as the Prince’s bodyguards fumbled at the gussets of their garments. They tore holes in the sodden pink fabric, tiny splinters of eggshell falling to the floor. Will noticed that Raymond was not even attempting to conceal his contemptuous amusement as Will and Mortimer were instructed to “assume the position”. Mortimer and Will both as the thick wooden mop handles were inserted into their yielding bums.

            “How far in should we go?” asked Ulfgar in genuine puzzlement, slowly pushing the wooden stick further up Will’s arse.

            “As far as it will go?” suggested Odin.

            “Please, no!” cried a genuinely terrified Mortimer, anxious of suffering permanent damage to his bowels from the fearsome invasion.

            But Odin was merely jesting. The mop handles were pushed about six inches inside the boys’ bodies, and then left to protrude ridiculously from their bumholes.

            “What are you waiting for?” demanded Prince Felix. “Get cleaning!”

            Unsurprisingly, the procedure was hopelessly ineffectual. Will did his best, and experimented with a variety of positions and stances – from crouching, to squatting, to standing on tiptoe. However, as he was not permitted to use his hands to guide the mop, all he achieved was a painful prodding at his prostate from the blunt end of the pole.

            Both he and Mortimer were forced to wriggle their behinds in a ridiculous fashion in an attempt to carry out the impossible task they had been set. Will tried thrusting his pelvis back and forth to give the mop the required momentum. This singularly failed to get any cleaning done and merely ensured that he ended up fucking himself on the end of the mop.

            “You’d better be cleaning rather than pleasuring yourself, boy,” warned Odin in a dangerous tone.

            “Yes, Sir. I’m doing my best,” pleaded Will, desperately. That’s all he’d tried to do since the day he arrived in the castle, he thought to himself. And where precisely had it got him?

           

            It was after midnight. Will lay in his bed, every muscle in his body aching. His thighs, his back, his shoulders were all weary from the unusual positions he had been forced to adopt as part of Prince Felix’s unconventional cleaning regime. And though he should have been used to it by now, his arsehole burned from having been raped, hour after hour, by the roughly hewn mop handle.

            For the first time in days, he was not wearing the ridiculous pink tights suit. Prince Felix had observed that the stench of eggs would rapidly become obnoxious and offend his delicate sense of smell. So, after they had finally been permitted to cease swabbing the flagstones of the castle with their “arse mops”, Mortimer and Will had been instructed to wash the four stained and gunky bodysuits in the castle laundry. Consequently, for now, Will was clad once more in his customary blue hose.

            He lay there, listening intently to the gentle snoring of the other three exhausted page boys. He reached under his pillow to where the large dungeon key reposed, and then, noiselessly, he slipped from his pallet and embarked upon his latest clandestine mission.

            “You have returned, then, boy. I wondered whether you would.”

Alexander’s voice was hoarse and scratchy through lack of use. He drank in the sight of the cherubic young page boy, who had once again risked his life to bring food and water to the fallen Steward.

            “There isn’t much,” murmured Will, “but I brought what I could.”

            “You are back in your blue tights,” Alexander observed, as he fell upon the slim pickings Will had filched from the larder.

            Will’s face reddened. “Prince Felix made us smash eggs against our buttocks. The pink tights suits are ruined.”

            “I see. That must have been humiliating for you.”

            “It was, Sir.”

            “I wish I could have witnessed it. Did you – enjoy it?”

            Will, abashed, did not speak.

            “Well? Did you, boy?”

            “I couldn’t help myself, Sir. The feeling of all those eggs cracking against my bum, the explosion of goo and gunk inside my tights…”

            “You came, didn’t you, lad?”

            “Yes, Sir. I did. I don’t understand it! Every new humiliation. Part of me hates it, but part of me…”

            His voice trailed off.

            “Don’t fight it, boy. Embrace it. Maybe you’re learning that it’s what you’ve wanted and needed all your life. Maybe that day I came along and stole you away from your mother’s hovel was the best thing that ever happened to you!”

            Will nodded in the gloom. In spite of the tortures and mistreatment he had suffered during his time in the castle, he was starting to think Alexander was right.

            “But what’s to become of me? Of all of us?” he asked.

            “That, my boy, is in the lap of the gods. But one thing I know for certain. I must escape this place. Sooner or later, that bastard Felix will come to check on my progress. And by then, I must be gone. Will you come visit me again tomorrow night?”

            “If I can, Sir.”

            “Then steal an iron file from old Master Daniel in the blacksmith’s forge and bring it to me.”

            “Yes, Sir.”

            “Now, come here and let me kiss those pretty lips …”

            Alexander leant towards the lad and with open mouth, probed Will’s tongue with his own. Licking and lapping, the boy responded, his dick in his tights hardening as the older man plunged his tongue deeper and deeper into Will’s eager mouth.

            “Go, boy. If you come tomorrow and if you do what I ask, then I shall fuck that sweet bum of yours. That is a promise.”

             

            The next morning, the late spring sun warmed the stony buttresses of the castle in a hazy glow. Prince Felix strolled along the drawbridge and glanced down at the fish circling in the moat below. He reached the dirt track that led from the castle down into the town and yawned languidly.

            “Ulfgar – I shall go hunting this afternoon. Make sure my steed is prepared.”

            His henchman nodded. “Of course, your highness.”

            “Boy – a drink.”

            Raymond hurried to his royal master’s side, still glowing smugly from the honour of having been chosen – ahead of the other three pages – to accompany the Prince on his walk this morning. Clearly, Prince Felix knew class when he saw it. Raymond handed a goblet of ruby red claret to the Prince and bowed low.

            “The weather is improving. And I wish to spend more time outdoors.” He glanced at Raymond. “That may come as a relief to you, my little worm. A respite from your diet of humiliation?”

            “My only desire is to serve,” murmured the page boy humbly.

            “Is that so?”

            “My father was a gentleman, Sire. I understand the etiquette of court better than these village urchins who were dragged into service by” –

            He stopped himself, wary even of speaking Alexander’s name lest it enrage the Prince.

-       “By the former Steward.”

“I see. And how would you seek to serve your Prince, boy?”

“In any way I can, my liege. Truly and devotedly.”

            Ulfgar sneered at the page boy’s obsequiousness. Raymond didn’t care. He knew that the uncouth and lumbering Vikings were in thrall to the Prince and as dependent on the King’s favour and patronage as anyone in the kingdom. Raymond bowed again and withdrew to a discreet distance. He would need to continue to judge the situation carefully, but his father had been clever at judging the politics of court and in that way had won both favour and fortune. Raymond saw no reason why he should not do the same.

            The Prince continued along the pathway, his fine cape, trimmed with silver fur slung casually over his shoulder. His taut male buttocks, framed deliciously in midnight blue hose, shimmered with each stride he made. Raymond was not sentimental about sex. For him, it was a weapon to be used by the powerful against the weak. And the Lord knew, he had been used and abused by sexual predators enough in his short life to have learned that particular lesson.

            After his father’s premature death, the King, supposedly his guardian and protector, had crudely grabbed his family’s wealth, and delivered the fourteen year old Raymond into the hands of Lord Geoffrey. A pert and pretty lad like Raymond, all jet black curls and button nose, inevitably attracted the attention of the lascivious Chief Steward. And Alexander’s reputation for enjoying the domination and humiliation of handsome page boys was well-known.

            Raymond hadn’t even minded particularly. Alexander made it plain that Raymond was his favourite – his personal plaything. And the night the Steward robbed him of his virginity, his tights pooled round his knees and his pretty arse expertly plundered by his master’s impressive cock, had been a moment of revelation for him. He was not, by nature, submissive. A streak of cruelty ran deep within him. But he had the wisdom to know that teenage page boys are more likely to be on the receiving end of sexual sadism, and that he would have to bide his time, and rise through the ranks to achieve a status where one day he could be the dominant one.

            It had all been going so smoothly. His path to succeed Alexander as Chief Steward as the right hand man to the lord of manor had seemed assured. And then it all started to go wrong: all because of that stinking brat from the village.

            Unceremoniously demoted from his place at Alexander’s side, Raymond had focused all his hatred and envy on the simpering usurper. Innocent, naïve, little Will – completely unaware of how his perfect arse, wriggling inside his blue hose, drove all the men in the castle wild with lust. How he loathed him. And how excited he’d been to be given the opportunity to humiliate him and administer daily enemas to that plump, bubble butt.

            Then, Raymond had made a rare miscalculation. Of course, he should have known Alexander would never give up his sexy little fuckbitch. And so, Raymond had been the one condemned to weeks of the foulest degradation at the hands of the loathsome Sir Wilfrid. Raymond never forgot and he never forgave. And as he spent day after miserable day, scrabbling about in the old man’s fetid sheets, he had sworn revenge on both Will and Alexander de Courcey. And somehow, some day, he knew, he would have it.

            His daydreaming was interrupted by a flash of light in the nearby woods. Raymond narrowed his eyes and squinted into the distance. There it was again: the unmistakeable sight of sunlight gleaming off steel. He barely had a moment to think, but his childhood nickname ‘Raymond the Resourceful’ had not been for nothing. Instinctively, he launched himself at his royal master and with all his weight behind him, threw the blond Prince to the ground.

            Felix screamed in anger and shock. He and Raymond tumbled into the grass, and in that precise moment an arrow whistled through the air, right past the spot where only a second before the Prince had been wandering idly.

            Ulfgar gawped as the arrow arced, shy of its intended target, and planted itself harmlessly in the soft soil.

            “Death to the Prince!” rang a clarion cry from the woods. “Death to all pampered royalty who live off the fat of the land whilst we good folk starve!”

            Prince Felix, heart pounding as he lay sprawled on the ground, made to move and to respond to the insolent peasant.

            “Please, your highness,” whispered Raymond in his master’s ear. “Stay still. It is too dangerous.”

            Felix did as he was instructed, and Ulfgar, drawing his sword with a terrifying roar, charged into the woods, in hot pursuit of the Prince’s would-be assassin.

            Raymond stayed where he was, shielding the precious body of the young man who would one day be his king. Felix’s breathing was shallow and rapid, every well-developed muscle tense and straining. Raymond revelled in the sensation of lying atop this gorgeous specimen. His chest pressed down on the Prince’s beautiful back; their legs were separated only by the thin sheen of their tights, the silky material rubbing together most sensuously; and Raymond’s hosed cock – suddenly rock hard in the heat and the adrenaline of the moment – pressed against the twin mounds of Felix’s beautiful bottom.

            “Are you alright, my Lord?” breathed Raymond into the Prince’s ear.

            From the woods beyond, Ulfgar’s bass voice boomed: “Die, traitor! Die!”  

And a sudden, gurgling scream from the distance informed both page boy and Prince that the danger had passed.

            A little regretfully, Raymond rolled off Felix’s body.

            Eyes flashing furiously, the Prince, with as much dignity as he could muster, got to his feet and began to dust down his soiled doublet and hose.

            “Yes, boy, I am well. No thanks to that lumbering fool over there.”

            Raymond remained tactfully silent on that point. “A thousand apologies for placing a hand upon your royal person without your permission, your highness…”

            Felix raised a jewelled hand and mopped the sweat from his brow. “Under the circumstances, you are forgiven. It seems that your vow to serve me was not an idle one.”

Chapter 25 - A smashing time

            Alexander lay alone in the filthy dungeon, reliving every exquisite moment of his mastery of the farmhand. Even years on, and with so many similar experiences that he could call to mind, the tormenting, torturing and humiliation of Peter of Mickelsfield remained a highlight. Such a perfect physical specimen - combined with the pure, dumb innocence of the lad. At any stage, he and his friends could have resisted, even overpowered him completely. But Alexander’s confidence – his arrogance - had overwhelmed them. And he’d persuaded an entire village to do his bidding.

            Alexander recalled the salty tears pouring down the face of the broken Peter, as the younger man regarded his reflection in the looking-glass. In mere hours, Alexander had reduced the village hero to a humiliated queerboy, grovelling on his back in the dirty straw, tights-covered legs spread wide, arse stuffed with a rope of weighted, leather balls. The last of the balls stuck out obscenely and ridiculously from Peter’s pouting pink pussy lips.

            Alexander beckoned the barmaid, Griselde, to the front of the group of spectators. He saw the confusion and distaste on her face, and the realisation on Peter’s that she would never be able to look at him in the same way again.

            “Come, fellows,” he ordered Peter’s fellow farmworkers. “Your friend needs your assistance. The final part of his forfeit. You have all seen how aroused he has been by the games we have played this delightful summer evening. His manmeat is straining for release. It seems only fair that we allow him this satisfaction, after the entertainment he has provided for us all, don’t you think?”

            One of the thick-headed peasants – Martin? Rodney? – stumbled forward, and Alexander guided the callused and clumsy hand towards their friend’s veined and rigid penis.

            Peter began to sob audibly at the humiliation of being jerked off – roughly and inexpertly – by his reluctant friend. But even attention as crude as this must needs excite a horny young man, and before long, precum began to drool from the tip of Peter’s fine prick. His breathing became rapid and shallow, his fine muscular body began to tense: Alexander was experienced enough to recognise the signs of imminent climax.

            “Stop now!” he commanded, and instantly, as if scalded, the peasant withdrew his fist. The wanking ceased and Peter’s cock was left, bobbing in agony, denied its final, pleasurable reward.

            Alexander allowed the danger to subside, and then nodded for the yokel to begin his ministrations once more. A second time Peter approached orgasm, and yet again, Alexander frustrated him.

            Clicking his finger at the other farmhand – Rodney? Martin? – Alexander guided him to where the fourth anal ball still nestled provocatively, half-in, half-out of Peter’s gaping anus, and to the small metal ring at the end of the leather rope.

            More wanking, and now Peter the handsome farmhand was moaning and begging for release from his torment.

            “What was that? You want to be allowed to cum, do you? Now that I’ve reduced you to a dirty little whore, lying on your back in the straw, legs spread, arse stuffed with my wicked little balls, you think you deserve sexual satisfaction, do you?”

            “Look at you – your pathetic cock being milked by your fellow farmhand in the same way as he milks his cows! That cock that’s been rock hard ever since I dressed you in those delightfully sissy yellow tights. Showing off every muscle and bulge of your fine slaveboy physique!”

            “Do you see what you have become? Do you see what I have made you into? My hosed slut. My tights-wearing bitch boy. I’ve cleaned out your arse, transformed you into my slave, and stuffed your pussy with my degrading rope of anal balls. The whole village is gathered to see the humiliation of their ‘hero’. And all you can do now is beg me to allow you to come? Is that right? Well then, beg me, bitch. Beg me and I might just allow you to spurt your seed all over these fine yellow tights that you have soiled with your sweat and your filth!”

            Insane, desperate now, his mind filled with nothing other than the primal need to achieve climax, Peter had begged. Oh, how he had begged! Alexander had heard well-practiced slut boys, the best actors you had ever seen, beg for sexual satisfaction, but none had even approached the urgency, the desire, the desperation of that rough, gorgeous diamond of a hunk in that unprepossessing little village.

            “Please, Sir, please, Sir, I beg you. I need it so badly. Please, please let me come!”

            And as the sweat-soaked, muscular body began to tense and buck in the throes of orgasm, Alexander had given the signal, and the farmhand’s friend tugged at the little metal ring. The four leather balls were yanked from inside that beautiful body in one sharp movement. A primeval scream of agony and ecstasy rang out as the balls evacuated Peter’s swollen, quivering and well-stretched hole. And simultaneously, great, warm, wet arcs of thick, white cum sprayed into the hazy evening air, splattering over the young man’s chest and legs, staining his yellow tights. Globules of semen landed on that manly jaw, full lips, bronzed cheeks, and long eyelashes.

            Alexander had not hung around. The spell was broken, and he was all too aware that things could now turn nasty. Most of the villagers had been drinking, and, aroused by the spectacle they had witnessed, a heavily, animalistic lust seemed to hang heavily in the oppressive heat. He gathered up his bulb douche, along with the anal balls, still wet and dripping with the gloopy lubricant and the anal mucus from Peter’s arse, and he strode away to his horse.

            He glanced back once, only to realise his caution was unnecessary. The men of the village were gathered in a circle around the prone and exhausted form of their erstwhile hero, each of them now wanking enthusiastically over the humiliated and broken young man.

            Alexander slipped around the corner and freed his own rock hard prick from the constriction of his fine, grey, silken hose. A snort from his precious glass bottle, and soon his cock was also pumping its creamy jism onto the dusty ground.

            And then, his reverie broken, Alexander was forced to contemplate his current predicament. In the grim and filthy dungeon of de Montford Castle.

            Would he ever experience mastery of another man like that again, he wondered ruefully. Or was he truly now as powerless as that poor, beautiful, broken farmhand had been? Alexander did not know, but as he lay there that night, he knew hope had been rekindled by the unexpected bravery of that sexy little brat he had plucked from obscurity all those months before. He could not explain the lad’s loyalty, given the sexual humiliation he had dished out to the new page boy. Maybe it was no such thing. Perhaps it was merely Prince Felix toying with him again – raising his hopes only to dash them once more. All he could do was acknowledge that for once, he was not in control of his own destiny. And that for now, all he could do was wait.

* * * *

It had been like a dream. Now in the cold light of day, Will could scarcely believe that he’d had the nerve to carry out such a desperate scheme.

Even a moment to reflect on the madness of his plan and he would have stayed safely tucked up beneath his blanket. But the moment had presented itself and his vague feeling of outrage that Prince Felix was condemning Alexander to a particularly cruel demise had taken over. And it was done now. There was no going back.

As he went about his morning chores - the mundane fetching and carrying - he relived it all: the dash across the courtyard, all the time fumbling with the dungeon key as he removed it from its fellows on the key-ring; the relief to find that, upon returning to the dormitory, Mortimer was still fast asleep and Humphrey nowhere to be seen, whilst Odin still grunted and ground away at Raymond’s arse. The precious key was now well hidden in Will’s bedding and all he could do was hope and pray that its theft would go unnoticed.

Breakfast that morning was an ill-humoured affair. Mistress Olwen was still smarting from her confrontation with Raymond the night before. Raymond and Humphrey both sat at the breakfast table rather gingerly, each of their unfortunate bottoms still smarting from the abuse they had suffered during the night. Raymond, naturally enough, was too proud to admit to the other pages what he had been subjected to. (Although Will thought it was faintly ludicrous  to attempt to maintain one’s dignity in a pink bodysuit that made one resemble a prawn.)

Of course, Humphrey had no such compunction and spent the entire time complaining about the torture his guts were undergoing, and the fact that his arsehole was burning from the traffic it had experienced all through the night. It would almost have been enough to put Will off the egg he was eating, had he not been so ravenous. An egg for breakfast these days was a rare luxury, after all.

“Don’t you dare tell a soul!” warned Mistress Olwen. “I’m supposed to be giving you all bread and gruel. And Lord knows that’s what I should do given the respect you boys show to me. But look at this! Eighty fresh eggs ordered by his Highness from Lord Geoffrey’s estate. And not even he and his goons can eat that many, I’ll wager!”

Lingering outside the Prince’s chamber that afternoon, Humphrey was feeling especially sorry for himself.

“It’s all right for you. That’s two contests in a row that I’ve lost. Anything athletic I don’t stand a chance,” he whimpered.

Quick as a flash, Raymond grabbed the boy’s balls through the clinging pink tights.

Squeezing hard, he hissed in Humphrey’s ear. “Shut the fuck up, fatboy. I’m sick of your whinging.”

“Owww!” squealed Humphrey.  “You’ve always thought you were better than the rest of us, Raymond!”

Raymond glared at him contemptuously. “That” – he spat – “is because I possess a brain as well as a body. And I intend to use it.”

And now it was that time again. Prince Felix sat resplendent in scarlet tunic and hose, magnificent leather boots reaching all the way to mid-thigh. He looked the four pages up and down. Will and the others stood in front of him in his humiliating pink suit.

“Pull down your hoods, worms,” ordered the Prince.

Like the others, Will did as he was instructed, slipping the pink hose-hood back, to reveal his tousled blond locks. With the familiar fluttering sensation present in his stomach, he wondered what might be in store for him and his fellow slaves today.

Will shifted from one hosed foot to the other in fear, hoping against hope that the theft of the dungeon key and his desperate attempt to save Alexander’s life had not been discovered.

However, nothing in the arrogant Prince’s demeanour indicated that it was to be anything other than business as usual for the hapless page boys.

“Don’t look so terrified,” sneered the Prince.

Was the removal of the hood a pre-cursor to their pink suits being taken from them all together, Will wondered. He realised, with a little surprise and no little shame, that a part of him would be sorry if that were indeed to be the case. He had to admit that a part of him did enjoy being on display in this fashion: his muscular thighs caressed by the pink tights, his pert arse, jutting out – vulnerable and exposed in the thin layer of shiny material.

“Boys, you are to stay perfectly still and on no account are you to turn around,” continued their Adonis of a master, an amused expression on his face. “As it will soon be Easter, today’s contest takes a seasonal theme! Odin! Ulfgar! Bring in the eggs!”

            The Norse brutes appeared, dragging between them a basket heavily laden with the freshest hens’ eggs. What was this latest dastardly and kinky game devised by the haughty young prince?

            Soon all became clear.

            “It’s all very straightforward. You will each have twenty fresh eggs slipped down the back of your tights suit,” announced Odin.

            Ulfgar placed the familiar, crude wooden stool in front of Will and the other pages.

            “Your task is simple: you must each try to smash as many of the eggs as you can in one go by sitting down on this stool – as hard as you can. Each of you will have one chance. The remaining eggs will be counted and whichever of you has smashed the fewest will be dubbed the loser. Is that understood?”

            Will shuddered as, one after another, fresh brown hens’ eggs were rolled down his back inside his pink garment. One by one, they accumulated at the gusset. Glancing at Raymond, he noticed that his cunning nemesis was subtly shifting the eggs into the crack of his bum to enable more to be cracked when the moment came. Will wriggled slightly and endeavoured to do the .

            Soon all four pages’ suits had been stuffed with the eggs, and each of their arses bulged with lumps and bumps. Will found himself feeling more ridiculous than ever at the heaviness clustered around his backside.

            Odin spoke again.

            “At my signal, one by one, you will each sit down on the stool behind you. Are you ready?”

            The four unfortunate lads nodded miserably.

            “Then begin.”

            The leering Viking first pointed his callused finger at Mortimer, and the skinny lad, sighing heavily, sat down firmly on the stool. His face contorted into a grimace as the sound of smashing eggs filled the room. Will noted, with dismay, the gloopy goo of the yolk and white started to seep through the pink material of the tights.

            “Next!”

            Raymond, his face as hard and stoic as ever, thrust his egg-laden arse down on the stool. He bit his lip as the shells cracked and splintered, but otherwise registered no reaction.

            Then it was Humphrey’s turn. Will could well imagine that Humphrey’s discomfort was only exacerbated by the notion that the eggs clustered around his bum were going to be wasted, when they could have found a happier home in his hungry stomach. The pressure as the fat boy’s bottom plummeted downwards was too much for the little wooden stool, and Will winced as its flimsy legs gave way. The sound of numerous eggs cracking was joined by a resounding rattle as Humphrey’s bottom bounced on the floor. The plump page emitted a sorrowful little sob.

            Prince Felix rolled his eyes languidly, as he turned his attention to Will, the fourth and final victim.

            “And now for the horny little bitch,” he said. “How many eggs can you smash? And I did say eggs – not the furniture.”

            Will screwed his eyes shut and with all the strength he could muster, sat down firmly on the stool. Instantly, he felt the eggs’ thin membranes beginning to crack. Sharp little splinters of shell dug into his young skin, and their viscous, liquid contents exploded against his flesh. The sensation of the cold, wet fluid on his bum, round his balls and bursting against his arsehole was sudden, shocking, and terrifically arousing. And to Will’s horror, the feeling of the gunky goo staining his tights caused him, once again, to lose control. He cried out in astonishment as, quite spontaneously, untouched and unbidden, his hard boy cock bucked and pumped creamy cum into his pink bodysuit. His body shuddered and shivered with the power of the orgasm, as humiliating as it was unexpected.

            Sinuously, the feline form of Prince Felix rose from his throne and slowly stalked over to the quivering page boy. The height of the low stool ensured that Will found himself squatting directly in front of the Prince’s bulging scarlet crotch. His muscular thighs tensed in his hose, the material stretched tight over those divinely proportioned limbs.

            “You dirty little boy. Once again you have defiled yourself. You squat there in those broken eggs, the goop and goo oozing round your groin and buttocks. You are filth, bitch. And you know it…”

Chapter 20 - Pretty in Pink

Will looked around hesitantly at his fellow pages.

“What are you waiting for?” roared Odin. “You were given a command! Remove your pumps and tunics!”

Humphrey, Mortimer and Will, spurred into action, hurried to do as they were bidden. Will slipped off his soft, black leather pumps, and placed his stockinged feet on the cold grey flagstones of the Great Hall. Shuddering slightly, he reached up, tugged at his deep blue, embroidered tunic and pulled it over his head.

He glanced at the others: Mortimer already stripped to the waist like him, standing self-consciously in his bright orange tights: hands cupped instinctively over his groin. Humphrey was taking longer, reluctantly removing his tunic to reveal his pale pot belly, his posterior looking even bigger than ever – round and plump in the stretched green fabric of his hose.

This was all new to them, thought Will ruefully. Aside from the occasional swat on their arse from a horny knight, neither of them had been paid as much attention as had he in their time at the castle. The humiliating sensation of being exposed, exhibited for the pleasure and amusement of the powerful was all too familiar to Will. The coverage afforded by the thin, skin-tight material of his tights was so slight as to be almost irrelevant. As ever, the tights seemed to make him feel more rather than less exposed: more naked, as they clung indecently to every curve of his ass, legs and bulge.

As these thoughts ran through Will’s head, he felt his cock responding to the erotic situation of being viewed like this, and his wayward prick started to harden and bulge in his hose.

“Now we want to see you as naked as the day you were born, lads,” commanded Odin. “Bend down and pull off your tights. And you – on the end – can take off that sack or whatever it is you’re wearing…”

Raymond seemed almost eager to remove his makeshift tunic. Will was a little scared of the defiance in the dark haired lad’s eyes, and once again, he wondered at what his fellow page had experienced at the hands of Sir Wilfrid. Mortimer hesitated but then apologetically began to roll down his orange hose, exposing his naked arse and genitals to the chilly air in the Hall. Will did likewise, regretfully stepping out of the luxurious leggings and discarding them on the floor. As he did so, he was acutely aware of his naked arse rising up on display for the inspection of both the Prince’s bodyguards, as well as Felix himself.

Only Humphrey remained, shivering and dithering. “Please, your highness…” he stammered.

“Do it, boy!” growled Odin. “The Prince wants to see what kind of pathetic specimens he’s taken charge of. And to do that, he must examine you all as naked as babies.”

Jolted into action by the implied threat in the Viking’s voice, Humphrey fumbled to pull down his tights, nearly losing his balance in the process and almost falling flat on his face. Finally, he too stood naked before the Prince and his henchmen, his dimpled flesh wobbling and goose-pimpled.

“What a sorry display,” tutted the Prince. “Not a decent sized cock amongst you. And fatty here – I can barely even see yours dangling below your gut. You, lad,” he said, gesturing towards Will, “seem to be in a state of some arousal. Does it excite your pathetic little boy cock to be standing naked before your superiors?”

Will bit his lip. Was he supposed to speak? His dick seemed to answer for him, bobbing independently and responding to the verbal dressing-down administered by his highness.

Mortimer’s pale skin blushed a deep red at the Prince’s words, and he instinctively moved to cup his hands to cover his own flaccid cock. Instantly, Odin swatted the boy’s hands away.

“There’s to be no modesty here, lad. You’re all to understand just how fully you are owned by his royal highness.”

The four young men stood trembling with the chill in the Great Hall, exposed in their nakedness in the presence of Prince Felix himself. The Prince chuckled smoothly, revelling in the level of power and control he could exert over the pageboys. Will watched the handsome royal closely. The Prince did not seem to be obtaining any kind of sexual thrill from his absolute domination of them. Fas far as he was concerned, the boys might as well have been insects. And the realisation that that was all they were to him made Will feel even more anxious than before.

“Now,” announced the Prince. “I want you all dressed in something far more suitable for your station.” He gestured to the piles of silky pink fabric at the lads’ feet.

“You heard his highness,” smirked the evil-looking Odin. “Get dressed, boys!”

Will watched as Mortimer and Humphrey eagerly reached for the garments, desperate merely to cover their nakedness. Will bent down and did the same. Clearly the clothing was another specialist item from the skilful Master Yorick’s workshop.

It took Will a moment to work out how to put the thing on, but he quickly realised that the silky, stretchy garment was a kind of bodysuit. Fashioned in bright pink, one had to step into it via an opening in the back. Will did so, pulling the legs of the suit over his calves and thighs. With a frisson of excitement, he realised that, like everything that came from Yorick’s workshop, it was made of the finest material, designed to caress and cling to every muscle and curve of the male form.

There was no chance of his cock softening as the pink silk covered it. The suit seemed to be just a little too small for him, so inevitably the material pulled right up Will’s arse crack.

The sleeves of the suit were gloved, and Will plunged his arms inside, ruching up the remainder of the material over his shoulders. Finally, he pulled up the hood that was attached to the tights suit, and slipped it over his head. There was a hole in the hood so that his face remained uncovered, but otherwise the constriction of the tight fabric, covering every inch of his body was thrillingly erotic. It reminded him all too powerfully of the fabulous sensation when Alexander had encased him in tights.

His thoughts strayed briefly to the Chief Steward. What had become of him, he wondered. Was he alive even?

“Here, boy. Let me do you up.” The gruff voice of Odin broke in on Will’s pondering. He felt the coarse, thick fingers of the towering bodyguard fastening the gap in the back of the suit, so that the entire garment now enclosed him.

The giant traced a finger down Will’s back and rested in the crack of his cheeks. He pushed firmly against Will’s tights-clad arsehole. Ye gods, thought the page boy, his one finger feels as thick as any other man’s dick! Will shook his head at the loss of his innocence. Only six months ago, the only cocks he’d ever seen in his life were his and his brothers’. And yet now he was able to make comparisons between the various penises that had been shoved in his mouth and arse since arriving at the castle.

Will looked down the line to see that the Prince’s bodyguards were busy fastening his fellow pages into their outfits. He couldn’t begin to imagine for what purpose Master Yorick had made these unusual suits, but, sure enough, all four lads were now clad in identical and indecently figure-hugging garments.

At the far end of the line, Raymond, thinner than Felix remembered him, but still with a pert bubble butt and strong thighs, filled out the tights-suit nicely. Next to him, Mortimer fidgeted uncomfortably, unused to the total coverage. His skinnier, more boyish body was not so alluring as Raymond’s, but his obvious discomfort in being on display was clearly providing the sadistic young Prince with some amusement. And at Will’s side, Humphrey looked utterly miserable. His flesh bulged in the skin-tight costume, and he looked for all the world like one of Mistress Olwen’s sausages, fat, ready to be pricked and thrown into a hot pan. Inevitably, Humphrey’s considerable bum had never looked bigger or more exposed.

Prince Felix surveyed the pages in their new habiliments in silence for a moment. Then he exploded in mirthless laughter.

“What a ridiculous sight you all make! Look at you all – look at your fellow page boys! Look at yourselves! Dressed in tight pink bodysuits. Every muscle on display. Your cocks outlined by the silky uniform. You look utterly pathetic. Four little sissy boys dressed all in pink. I trust you feel utterly ashamed of yourselves, cringing before real men.”

Will gulped. Somehow sharing his humiliation with his fellows made it worse. The fact that all four of them knew the Prince was telling the truth about how they appeared and how they felt. A quick glance at the others told him that Mortimer was shifting awkwardly from one stockinged foot to the other. Humphrey sniffed. Raymond bit his lip.

Felix leapt to his feet and approached the suffering youths.

“Although I imagine this is something of an improvement for you, is it not?” he smirked at Raymond. “Rather than sprawling around in your own shit for the entertainment of an eighty year old pervert...”

“And you.” The Prince turned to Mortimer. “You look rather like a little pink shrimp. I can’t imagine anything looking less masculine, can you, Odin?”

The Viking chuckled throatily. “No, your highness.”

“Then there’s this fat one. Looking rather like an overstuffed pasty in his tights suit.”

“And finally – well, we’ve already established that this one at the end clearly gets his sexual thrills by being dressed in a sissy pink bodysuit and leered at by real men…”

Will blushed.

“You’ll notice that Ulfgar and Odin do not wear hose as is the fashion in England. Vikings traditionally wear leather trousers – they believe tights are unmanly, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, your highness.”

The fact that Prince Felix delighted in flaunting his perfect physique in a seemingly never ending supply of tights was clearly going to pass unmentioned, thought Will. He imagined when it came to dealing with the arrogant young Prince, it was wise to agree with him whatever he said, no matter how contradictory it might be.

“These suits are to be your permanent uniform from now on,” Felix declared. “You will continue to perform your daily duties around the castle – and you will need to work harder than ever with the smaller number of staff. You will live, work and sleep in your tights suits.”

“The suits have an ingenious opening,” added Odin. “So you will be able to relieve yourselves of your bodily functions without removing them.”

“In addition,” continued the Prince, “the four of you will report to my chambers at three o’clock in the afternoon every day for … my amusement. Inspired by the literature we have discovered right here in the castle, you are going to partake in a series of challenges. At the end of each day, the loser of the challenge will be punished in some fashion. Depending on my whim.

“So now we’ll give you a little taster of what is to come. Ulfgar, Odin – you know what to do!”

Quick as a flash, Will’s knees buckled and he collapsed onto his front, as the burly Ulfgar pushed him to the floor. Rapidly and expertly, the Viking bound Will’s ankles together with stout rope, and then tied his wrists together in the small of his back. Will watched as the giant did the same to the trembling Humphrey, just as Odin was trussing up both Raymond and Mortimer.

“This is your true place, slaves,” continued the handsome Prince. “Lying on your bellies. Like worms. Little pink worms. Humiliated and degraded before your master. And now to entertain us, we’re going to see you race. I want to see my four little worms crawling to the door of the Great Hall and then back here to my throne. And remember – there will be a punishment for the loser.”

Will shifted his body a little, trying to ascertain the best way to move in this new and uncomfortable position. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Raymond edging forward slightly, determined to gain as much advantage as he could from the start. Trust him to be cheating already, Will thought ruefully.

“Are you ready, little worms? Then crawl!!”

All four pages began to move. Will started a writhing, undulating movement which propelled him forward. It seemed to work, as his strong leg muscles meant that he was already half a body length ahead of the struggling Humphrey, crawling alongside him. Raymond, meanwhile, had rolled onto his side and was already streaking into the lead in the bizarre and degrading race. However, in a moment, Odin had put a stop to that, kicking Raymond’s shoulder so that he fell back onto his hose-covered stomach.

“Stay on your belly, worm!” the giant hissed, and as further punishment, he kept his booted foot pressed down on Raymond, allowing the three other youths to pass him and take the lead.

Raymond rocked from side to side, gnashing his teeth in frustration as he was restrained. Eventually, Odin released his hold on the lad, but by now, the others were practically at the great oaken door and ready to turn for the return leg of the journey.

The Vikings began to clap and to holler as they watched the four pink-clad youths wriggling and writhing on their humiliating journey. Their jeers and laughter rang in the page boys’ ears.

By now, Will had made it to the far end of the room practically neck and neck with the wiry Mortimer. The only thing he had not reckoned on was the effect of all this action on his cock. The friction of his dick rubbing against the divine sheen of his tights suit meant that each time he made an undulating movement nearer to his goal, he was effectively masturbating. For a young man kept in a state of permanent sexual frustration, it was growing all too much to cope with.

Every time his tights-covered bulge rubbed against the cold flagstones of the Hall, he was brought closer to climaxing. No, he thought to himself. Control yourself! The pink material would expose all – and Prince Felix would be only too aware if Will did actually cum inside his tights suit. Concentrate, he thought. Just concentrate and win the race!

He was edging ahead of Mortimer now, and the green-hosed calves of his royal master were mere feet away.

“Come, worm!” called the Prince. “Come kiss my royal boot!”

Humiliated, degraded, Will made a final surge, and as he did so, the pressure of the floor against his rock hard cock overwhelmed him. Just as he collapsed at the Prince’s boot, kissing the soft black leather, his hips bucked over and over, as creamy white cum spurted into the crotch of his pink tights.

The Prince gazed down at the page boy’s two round ass cheeks, humping the floor in the throes of sexual abandonment, and he smiled evilly. The book had promised that a certain type of submissive might become aroused by this treatment. The blond page boy appeared to fall into that category.

Will lay there, totally spent: too ashamed and too nervous to move and expose the wet, damp patch in his tights. His cock was softening rapidly. He was aware that Mortimer had crossed the imaginary finish line just behind him. And risking a turn of his head, he saw that by a supreme effort of willpower, Raymond had somehow managed to overcome his disadvantage and at the last moment, was wriggling his way past a huffing and exhausted Humphrey to claim third place.

Prince Felix surveyed with satisfaction the panting lads grovelling at his feet, all four of them in their sweat-stained tights suits.

“Well, well, well. It seems we have a winner – and a loser.”

Then came the order Will was dreading.

“On your feet, worms. And receive your rewards…”

It was no mean task for the youths to clamber upright. Much scrabbling ensued, and at least once, Humphrey fell on his bottom with a resounding thwack. The Prince and his bodyguards of course did nothing to assist the struggling youths. They merely looked on in amusement.

When all four were finally standing, the Prince approached Humphrey. “So you were the loser, my plump little worm.”

Humphrey, already traumatised from the unaccustomed physical exertion, was trembling in terror.

“But you will find me a lenient master. And as this was your first such contest, your punishment will not be so terrible. Mistress Olwen is shortly to be in need of a new kitchen-maid. You will present yourself as her new maid, complete with bonnet and apron, and you will assist her in all the culinary tasks she sets you.”

Humphrey sighed with relief. He had imagined far worse a punishment.

“Oh – one thing more. You are to tell her that you are to go without food for the next twenty-four hours.”

Even Will winced. He knew just how painful that would be for Humphrey.

“But have no fear, my worms. Future punishments will be far less … mundane than this one.”

“Now you have your instructions. Odin and Ulfgar will untie you now and you may return to your regular duties. You will report to me in my chambers at precisely three o’clock tomorrow afternoon for our next bout of amusement.”

Will’s heart leaped. He was going to get away with it! He dared a look down at the treacherous patch of sodden material at his crotch – that traitorous dark pink stain. Once he was free of his bonds, he bowed low and practically skipped from the Hall. He was almost at the door when the Prince’s clarion voice rang out:

“Wait! The blond worm! Come here!”

With a desperate sinking feeling, Will turned on his heel and walked back to the throne. As he passed him, Raymond glanced at his bulge and sneered at him with a look that said, you deserve everything you get.

The door slammed shut behind his colleagues, leaving Will alone and vulnerable with the Prince and his monstrous bodyguards.

“Well, well, well,” drawled Felix. “It seems that you, little worm, were very turned on by being made to crawl along the floor in your revealing little costume – is that so?”

Will hesitated to reply.

“Answer me!”

“Yes – yes, your highness.”

“And you’ve made it very clear what a dirty little bitch you are by cumming in your beautifully clean pink tights. You really are a perverted little slut, aren’t you?”

Again a hesitation.

“Aren’t you?!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’m not sure if a filthy little animal like you is fit to serve in a royal household. You’re clearly subhuman. More like a dog than a man. So maybe that’s how you should be treated for a little while.”

The Prince clicked his fingers, and Odin appeared with a long leather leash and a leather collar.

The giant snapped the collar around Will’s neck and attached the leash to a buckle at it.

“Back on your knees, boy. For the next twenty-four hours, you’re going to be my dog. You’ll eat like a dog, drink like a dog, sleep like a dog, and piss like a dog – cocking your leg against a tree. And that will hopefully teach you your true lesson in life. I’ll warn you – I don’t treat my dogs kindly. They are beaten and whipped and they learn to cower from their master, do you understand?”

Will gulped in fear. “Yes, your highness.”

The Prince withdrew a thin leather riding crop from the top of his boot and, without warning, brought it down sharply on Will’s pink hosed bottom.

“Owwww!” cried the lad.

Prince Felix tutted in mock annoyance. “Now that’s not the sound dogs make, is it, bitch? Let’s hear you ‘woof’”!

Will whimpered in humiliation. Here he was on all fours, collared and leashed, naked save for a pink bodysuit which clung to him, wet and cool at his crotch and exposing more than it concealed, being made to bark like a dog.

“Woof,” he said feebly. “Woof. Woof.”