Chapter 59 - The Prince Takes His Lumps

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Chapter 57 - Sin on a Stool

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


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


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


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


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






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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


The fat man smiled his oily smile.


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






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


“Come, lad, and kneel before me.”


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


Will backed away from the sweating Abbot.


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


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


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


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


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


“What’s going on?” Will asked.


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


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


“What are you doing?” Will cried.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

Chapter 36 - Brothers Separated; Brothers Reunited

 “It was Will, the blond junior page boy,” Raymond reported to his royal master. “He helped Courcey escape. But he says he has no idea where the traitor went.”

Prince Felix, his composure restored, nodded petulantly. “I shall dispatch Odin at once to track him down. After all, it’s down to his carelessness that Courcey got away in the first place. He can stay out there until he finds him again. As for the boy, I take it you will have him put to death?”

Raymond nodded smartly. “I know exactly how to deal with him, your Highness. I’ve wanted that particular brat out of my hair for a long time now. It will give me great pleasure to put an end to his time in service at the castle once and for all.”

The sun began to sink slowly in the west. Raymond had wasted no time. A sleek grey charger had been saddled from the castle’s stables and he sat atop it, a fine black riding cloak round his shoulders, long leather boots enclosing his silver-hosed thighs which in turn clasped the stallion’s flanks. The drawbridge was lowered and he trotted across it, over the moat and out of the castle grounds.

He glanced behind him. There, tight blue arse bobbing up and down in time to the rhythm of the horse, was Will: ankles and wrists tied together under the animal’s belly, fair head dangling, the cruel butt plug still lodged within him, the soapy residue of the suppositories lathering his arse crack and bubbling through the material of his tights, making them slick and moist. Every muscle in Will’s body ached from the stretching he had experienced on the rack, every jolt of the animal was painful, and his guts had never undergone such wrenching torture.

Had it really been nearly a year since he’d first entered the castle gates, Will wondered, ironically in exactly the same fashion that he was now leaving them – bound and slung over the backside of a horse? What things he had experienced and seen! And now it was all over, he knew that well enough. Raymond had won and was finally free to exact his revenge. Will could only hope that the end, when it came, would be swift, and that when Raymond did decide to slit his throat and dump him in the nearest ditch, his death would not be a lingering one.

On they rode. Raymond did not speak, merely glancing behind him occasionally to appreciate the sight of Will’s bouncing blue buttocks, the base of the plug obvious between them. Suddenly, Will experienced a jolt of recognition as they passed a familiar hedgerow. Sure enough, Raymond steered his steed down a curve in the path, and before long, they had reached a smattering of wooden huts with straw roofs. Will swallowed hard as he raised his head to look around him. For the first sixteen years of his life, this had been his entire world. He was home.

The little village seemed deserted. No children played in the late afternoon sun. There was no happy chatter among the neighbouring farm workers. This was hardly surprising. Finely dressed visitors rarely brought good tidings with them. Indeed, the most recent had been the Viking giants who had terrorised them all and chopped off the hand of Honest Eric the thatcher.

A door opened and out stepped a young man, maybe twenty-seven years old and presumably the bravest of the villagers. He had light yellow hair on his head and across his upper lip: although the attempt to grow a moustache was not altogether successful, given its fine wispiness. He was of medium height and was good-looking in an unremarkable way. His body was clearly trained with physical labour and his face tanned from the sun. He was clad in the traditional hessian smock and woollen trousers of the peasantry. Peering out from behind him, and clutching his arm, was a woman. She was in fact no older than her husband, though her sour, down-turned mouth and long, greying hair made her appear so.

“Who is it, Jack?” she hissed.

“I told you to stay inside!” came the reply.

The woman displayed no intention of obeying her husband’s command, so Jack cleared his throat and addressed the finely-dressed youth on the impressive stallion. “What can we do for you, my Lord?”

“I am called Raymond StClare and I am the Chief Steward at Castle de Montford,” announced the proud young man. “I have a question for you, peasant. Is this creature known to you?”

Raymond turned his steed so that the villager could see the spectacle of Will, bound in that most undignified fashion.

The peasant called Jack screwed up his eyes to peer at the strange sight: a blond-haired young man dressed in a beautifully embroidered blue doublet and the tightest-fitting hose he had ever seen. The hose encased the short but well-muscled legs with a shimmering blue sheen. The youth was fixed firmly in place, so his head dangled upside-down and his firm arse cheeks were pointing skyward. The blond lad raised his head and Jack gasped in recognition and surprise as he looked into those big brown eyes. “Will? Is that really you?!”

Will, desperately ashamed at being viewed in this predicament, nodded sadly. “Yes, Jack, it’s me.”

The sour-faced woman squeezed Jack’s arm. “Will?” she whispered. “Your brother?!”

Raymond raised one perfectly-curved eyebrow. “Then I am in the right place. Good. Know this, peasants. This miserable urchin was given a chance beyond his wildest hopes and dreams. He had an opportunity to rise far above his station. An opportunity he did not deserve. But his lack of moral fibre has revealed itself all too easily. He has disgraced himself and betrayed his King and his country. He merits death for what he has done. However, I have determined to grant him a fate worse than death. He has had his taste of luxury, and now he is to be flung back into the gutter. You may blame him that you are taxed so heavily and suffer so in these harsh times. His apostasy resulted in the mutilation of your neighbours. I am done with him. He is yours to punish as you see fit.”

Raymond brandished his bejewelled knife, and in two sharp, slashing motions, cut the ropes that tied Will to the stallion. With a thump, Will’s fatigued and aching body fell to the ground.

“After all this time, I am finally free of you. Goodbye and good riddance, goat-shit!”

And laughing with pure abandon, Raymond wheeled his horse around and galloped back to the castle, secure in the knowledge that he would never see Will the junior page boy ever again.

Once the coast was clear, other villagers began to emerge from their homes to view the curious spectacle. Jack stood over the prone form of his younger brother, a stern and slightly sickened expression on his face. His wife knelt down and touched the fabric of Will’s tunic. Her eyes glistened avariciously.

The neighbours jostled round, gawping silently. Jack busied himself untying the cords that bound Will’s wrists together, then did the same for his ankles. As he did so, his hand brushed against the silken lustre of Will’s tights.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he demanded through gritted teeth. “This garment would not look out of place on some high-class prostitute! Everything is on show. Your legs – your arse! It leaves nothing to the imagination. It’s positively indecent!”

“What’s that at his crotch?!” jeered one of the onlookers. “I told you those folk up at the castle were filthy perverts, didn’t I?”

Will instinctively rolled over onto his front to conceal the humiliating steel cage that even now kept his dick locked in permanent softness.

However, lying on his front served only to draw everyone’s attention to his hosed bottom instead. “And what, in God’s name, is this?” demanded Jack, prodding at the wide base of the plug lodged in Will’s sore and aching hole. “Answer me, damn you!”

“It’s – it’s a butt plug,” mumbled Will, and in that unfortunate moment, his body convulsed in a last desperate attempt to free itself of the tortuous soap suppositories nestling within him. With a desperate grunt emitting from one end of him and a squelching fart from the other, the plug was propelled from between his buttocks, rapidly followed by the gunky white residue of the bars of soap.

His elder brother grimaced in disgust as the plug, coated in a slick layer of soapy lubricant, and the gloopy white mush of what remained of the soap lay trapped and confined within the constricting bright blue fabric of Will’s tights, sitting obscenely between the crack of his buttocks; the thick, white ooze pooling there and now slowly beginning to dribble between the young man’s thighs.

Will looked away in shame, unable to meet the gaze of the very folk he had known longest in the world, realising that they would be looking at him with varying degrees of amusement, pity and revulsion.

“You’re a disgrace to our family,” muttered Jack. “Now pick yourself up and get inside!”

He rose to his feet and addressed his neighbours. “All right, everyone. The show’s over for today. Get back to your own affairs!”

Jack hurried his wife and his youngest brother inside the hovel, and with relief, slammed the wicker door shut behind the three of them.

“Well, I never thought to lay eyes on you again,” he said tersely. “We have a lot of catching up to do, it seems.”

Will nodded in dumb agreement.

“This is Lizzie. She’s the daughter of a Dunchester mercenary. We married in the Spring. She has a sharp tongue, an eye for a bargain and she rarely smiles. But then we’ve had precious little to smile about this past year.”

His wife’s expression became, if it were possible, even dourer.

“A copper piece a month we were supposed to get,” Jack continued. “That was the price Mother settled on for selling you to that nobleman! Whatever happened to that?”

“You didn’t get it?” mumbled Will.

“For a while, yes. Then it all stopped. Nothing.”

Of course, thought Will, that must have been at the time of Alexander’s disgrace and imprisonment. It was no surprise that no payments had been sent since then. “Where are Mother and Father?” he asked, looking around and taking in the familiar sights and smells of the mean little hovel.

“Dead,” replied Jack unsentimentally. “Father worked himself into the ground not long after you abandoned us. Couldn’t cope with the extra workload you left him with. Mother followed him to the grave soon after.”

Will nodded numbly. “And Daniel?”

With equal brevity, Jack informed him that their middle brother had signed up to join the King’s futile foreign adventure, and for all he knew, was very likely dead as well. “I hope to God the three of them are together and in a happier place now. They had precious little joy in this world.”

Will looked sadly at the only remaining member of his family. He and Jack had never been close: the ten year gap between them an insurmountable obstacle.

“And what news do you have, brother?” asked Jack.

Will shrugged. How could he begin to explain? To hope to make Jack understand the bizarre perversities of his time at Castle de Montford? “You don’t want to know,” he mumbled.

Jack let out a long sigh. “You’re probably right. You look as if all you’re good for nowadays is to be a rich man’s slut. Well that’s all in your past now. The question now, is what do we do with you? I suggest you start by cleaning yourself up and getting rid of that thing sitting between your arse cheeks.”

Jack was too ashamed to allow Will out of the door, so it was decided that he would assist his new sister-in-law around the home, in feminine tasks that would better fit his whorish experiences at the castle. Lizzie wordlessly acquired his fine embroidered tunic and would have done the same with his tights, had not Will objected so strenuously.

“Elizabeth, do you really want to wear them, given where they’ve been and what acts we can only imagine have been committed in them?” asked her husband.

“I can’t afford to be proud,” spat the wife. “They’ll come clean in the wash. And they’re finer than any stockings you’ve ever given me. I’ll be the envy of all the women in these parts with those to grace my pins!” She hitched her skirt up to show her pale, thin calf in what she intended to be a flirtatious manner.

“She can’t have them,” said Will implacably, outraged that the gorgeous garment could possibly be wasted on her stick-thin legs. Besides, they were his last reminder of his time at the castle. Under no circumstances was he prepared to relinquish their glossy lustre and return to the miserable, rough hessian trousers of his childhood.

“You have the tunic,” sighed Jack. “Let him wander around in his slutty hose if it makes him happy.”

Will smiled at his brother, a small victory in their new household arrangement. Meanwhile Lizzie glared at him with enmity in her dull, grey eyes.

Night fell. Odin the Viking had been on the road since mid-afternoon, dispatched with alacrity to seek out and return Alexander Courcey to face the wrath of his royal master. There had been no sightings in the immediate vicinity of the castle. Odin strongly suspected that his quarry had wisely, and with considerable caution, avoided any populated areas. A week or more had passed since Courcey’s escape, and the trail had most definitely gone cold. The one ray of hope was, that as far as he could tell, Courcey was still on foot. Odin - travelling on horseback – would have the distinct advantage.

He was just thinking about the necessity of setting up camp for the night when a sound reached his sensitive ears. There it was again. It was a voice: a hoarse cry for help. At first, he ignored it and made to turn his steed in the opposite direction. After all, he had no time for distractions now. Every second he spent away from the castle allowed that slimy little whore Raymond to worm his way ever deeper into the affections of the Prince. Nevertheless, something instinctively told him this was a curiosity he should investigate.

He rode closer to the sound and came across a small stone cottage shrouded in darkness. He tethered his horse outside, drew his sword and tentatively pushed the door open. He struck his flint and held it up high to illuminate the room. A bizarre sight met his eyes.

There, hanging from the rafters, were two well-built young men, arms tied above their heads, two pairs of muscular legs encased in the same large pair of brown tights. Presumably they had been abandoned there for some time, as the room smelt of piss, and tell-tale wet stains ran down the legs of the hosiery.

“Praise the Lord!” sobbed one of the men, his auburn curls flopping into his exhausted face. “Please, Sir – we have been swindled and misled. Will you do us the great favour of freeing us?”

Odin considered the request for a moment, and then pulled up a chair and sat down, a dark grin on his brutish face. He spread his leather-clad legs wide and rubbed casually at his codpiece. “You seem to have ended up in quite an unusual predicament,” he observed. “Whoever tricked you certainly had a wicked sense of humour.” With a gravelly chuckle, he added, “You look fucking ridiculous.”

Arthur and Stanley went as red as beetroots as the stranger continued to laugh freely at the sight of the two of them, bare-chested and joined at the butt.

“You’ve clearly been hanging here some time if you’ve both had to piss your tights. Maybe I should leave you there for a while longer to entertain me. I could make you dance for me. You think you could manage that?”

“Please, good Sir,” begged Arthur. “As you are a good Christian man, untie this rope for us. We’ll do anything.”

Odin rose from the chair. “You’re lucky I’m in a hurry. I’m tempted to ransack your home and leave you here for the amusement of your next visitor,” he remarked.

Odin’s head almost touched the ceiling in the humble little cottage, so it was no effort for the Viking to reach up and unthread the knots that Alexander had tied so assiduously to the iron hook. Both brothers sighed with immense relief as their tortured arms – stretched taut for so many hours – were finally allowed to sink to their sides.

“There,” smirked Odin. “Now you will be able to pull off that giant pair of tights that you’ve been forced into!”

However, the brothers’ faces only blushed a deeper shade of crimson.

“What is it? Why don’t you step out of those humiliatingly sissy tights of yours?” And with that, Odin yanked at the waistband of the hose and pulled it down to the brothers’ knees. Two pairs of cocks and balls were exposed, but still the brothers remained jammed together, back to back. “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked.

“Our… our…” stammered Arthur. “Our bums have been glued together. We can’t get free.”

Odin immediately erupted in guffaws of laughter. “You mean you’re stuck arse to arse!” he exclaimed. “Come along now, surely two such strapping brutes can wriggle yourselves free?”

The giant continued to laugh uproariously as the brothers attempted to do just that. Arthur reached down to pull his feet free from the brown hose, but as he did so, the weight of his brother fell against him, and he toppled onto his front. Stanley – like some bizarrely conjoined Siamese twin, landed heavily on top of his elder brother.

Eventually the two of them somehow managed to roll onto their sides, but like an upended tortoise, could not succeed in getting back on their feet. Panting and gasping, they were too ashamed to look Odin in the eyes. With a contemptuous snort, Odin drew his sword, and, the unhappy smiths cowering before him, slit their piss-moist hose along the seam, leaving the brothers prone and naked on the floor. They could move their legs freely now, but still they had to scrabble around for several minutes before they could co-ordinate their connected bodies and crawl to their feet.

Odin encircled the two naked men. “The glue will come loose eventually I suppose, but I imagine it will be painful – you’ll probably lose some skin, and your asses will be red raw for a few weeks.”

“I don’t care!” blurted out Stanley miserably. “I’ll do anything to get that ginger bulb out of my backside!”

Odin raised an inquiring eyebrow. “So he stuffed your butts too – and with ginger? What a bastard. That must be stinging your bumholes really badly, boys, I guess. All that ginger juice coating your cunts? Your visitor has certainly left you something to remember him by. I wonder why he went to so much trouble.”

Suddenly a pained expression crossed Stanley’s face. “Of course!” he exclaimed.

“What is it?” asked his brother.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? He wanted to buy Fallow, didn’t he?”

Stanley waddled over to the window, his older brother with no choice but to follow him. “Look! That thieving bastard has stolen our horse!”

“He was on foot?” asked Odin, his heartbeat quickening. “Tell me – what exactly did this visitor of yours look like?”

Chapter 35 - A Soapy Confession

          “He has been lodged in the castle all this time, your Highness?” asked Raymond incredulously.

“Oh yes,” came Prince Felix’s smug reply. “He’s been mouldering beneath our feet for the past several weeks. Immured in his very own dungeon. There’s a certain aptness to his demise, don’t you think? The impudent Alexander Courcey spends his last miserable days, shivering and alone in the darkness, as hunger and thirst gradually overcome him.”

The two young men – one blond, one dark – stood at the door to the dungeon, Odin and Ulfgar two paces behind them.

“Now, let us take a final look at his stinking corpse!”

The Prince stood to one side and indicated that Odin should unlock the heavy, studded door. The Viking stepped forward and began to fumble through the numerous keys dangling from his belt.

“What’s the matter?” demanded Felix impatiently.

“I – I can’t seem to find the key,” mumbled the shaven-headed villain.

“What did you say?” hissed the Prince. “Are you telling me you’ve lost the damned thing?!”

Odin spread his hands helplessly. “I’m sure it must be somewhere, your Highness.”

“I want to view Courcey’s corpse,” stated the Prince grimly. “Go and fetch an axe and break this door down. At once!”

It was exhausting work, and even with Odin’s considerable strength, he was grunting and sweating by the time he had hacked a hole in the door large enough for a man to step through.

“That will do,” snapped Felix, as he elbowed the Viking out of the way and lifted first one, then the other crimson-hosed leg through the splintered oak. Raymond followed his royal master, sneering in Odin’s face as he did so. After the bright sunlight of the morning, he took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He clambered down the steps into the stinking cell, eager to see for himself the pitiful sight of the final resting place of the arrogant Alexander Courcey.

But what a surprise! Save for the smattering of straw on the ground, and the sinister, looming shapes of the instruments of torture, the dungeon seemed to be bafflingly empty. Prince Felix was holding an iron manacle in his hand, but the chain attached to it had been neatly sliced through. Even in the darkness, Raymond could see the pale fury writ large on those beautiful royal features. A fearful screech issued forth from Felix’s full, pouting lips:

“What is this meaning of this?!”

Ensconced in the royal bedchamber, Raymond tried, to no avail, to calm the livid Prince. Felix paced the floor, raging and espousing one paranoid theory after another: Odin had betrayed him and decided to free Courcey in an act of defiance – after all it had been Odin’s idea to leave Courcey rather than killing him on the spot; now Ulfgar was the traitor who had been in league with the assassin in the forest; then both his bodyguards were in it together, and far from terrorising the peasants in the surrounding villages, they had been encouraging them in their murderous intentions! His father’s Arabian enemies had freed the treasonous Courcey; the jealous barons were the culprits; Courcey was a wizard in league with the devil himself and had availed himself of some diabolical magic to file through his manacle and flee to safety!

“I entreat your Highness to calm yourself!” pleaded Raymond. “Leave this to me. I will discover how Courcey affected his escape. He must have had some accomplice here in the castle. You may put your faith in me that I will find the loathsome miscreant.”

Prince Felix passed a bejewelled hand across his fevered brow.

“One thing I can assure you, Sire,” Raymond concluded, “Alexander Courcey is no wizard.”

“A wizard indeed! How could we have been so stupid!”

“Stanley! The spell!”

Aching and sore, their arms sagging with fatigue, their leg muscles cramping, and their arseholes blistering from the stinging ginger, the auburn-headed brothers fell to bickering.

“There is no spell, you fucking idiot! How long have we been dangling here now? Six? Seven hours? It must be three in the afternoon. You’ve let us be fooled by some wandering con artist!”

“You mustn’t doubt him! He said it wouldn’t work if we doubted him!”

“So how long do you suggest we hang here from our own rafters, arses glued together, ginger bulbs rammed up our butts, with our legs stuffed in the same pair of oversize tights? Besides, I’ve been desperate to pee for the past hour!”

Arthur sighed heavily, the awful truth finally sinking in, and tainting forever his pure and trusting soul. “What can we do, Stanley?”

“Try bracing yourself, and I’ll see if I can get myself off this fucking plug!”

Arthur planted his legs as firmly as he could, and Stanley tried to pull away from his brother. It was hopeless. Arthur’s stockinged feet could not grip the floorboards, and merely slid helplessly along the floor behind his brother.

“Damn it!” cursed Stanley.

“Maybe we can wriggle free? Maybe the glue will wear off?”

Stanley sighed. “Anything’s worth a try, I suppose.”

And so the two brothers set to writhing and gyrating their muscular asses, gasping with the pain of the stinging ginger root plunged deep within them. The bouncing and jiggling made them feel ridiculous, their cocks bobbing in that massive pair of over-sized tights. Eventually, after ten minutes of fruitless struggling, red-face and panting, they admitted defeat.

“It’s no good,” gasped Arthur. “Our butts are stuck fast.”

“And I need to piss more than ever now.” moaned Stanley.

“Well there’s only one thing we can do,” sighed his older brother. He inhaled a lungful of air. “Help! Help!!!”

“It is not possible to over-state the severity of this situation. We have a Judas in our midst!”

Raymond stood, proud and imperious at the top of the courtyard steps. A soft summer breeze ruffled his dark curls, and his shapely legs, encased in their shimmering silver hose, were planted wide apart; his fists balled at his hips.

He’s loving every minute of this, Will thought to himself.

Raymond continued to address the assembled inhabitants of the castle. “One of you knows something. One of you has given assistance in the schemes of the crown’s most contemptible enemy. If you come forward now, admit your wrong-doing and confess what you know, it will go easier for you. I am determined to discover the truth in this matter, and if you do not confess freely, then I swear to you all, no power on this earth will shield you from the Prince’s wrath!”

They were dismissed with the warning that the miscreant had exactly one hour to identify himself. If this did not occur, Raymond promised more direct ways of winkling out the traitor amongst them. Naturally they all congregated in the kitchen, fevered speculation breaking out in every corner of the room.

Will lingered to one side, dressed once more in his freshly laundered blue tunic and hose. Mistress Olwen, indignant and furious with Raymond due to his impertinent missive, had, in an impulsive moment, stripped Will of his treacle-stained tights and the disgustingly soiled nappy and burned them all. She could do nothing about the cruel steel cage encircling his cock, but, at least, and for the first time in many days, he was not swaddled in a humiliating diaper!

However, that fact was his sole consolation. He’d always known it would only be a matter of time before Alexander’s escape was discovered, and he realised grimly that he alone among his peers knew what on earth Raymond was referring to. Equally, he knew he could not reveal to anyone that he was the guilty party. Whatever mercy Raymond might promise in return for the truth about Alexander’s flight, he knew his words would mean nothing once Raymond learned that his most hated enemy was to blame. Will decided that he must be braver than he had ever been in his life. He resolved to keep his lips firmly shut.

The Prince, feverish and distraught, had retired to bed with a raging headache, so it had been left to Raymond to try and discover the facts behind the former Steward’s mysterious elopement.

The allotted hour passed, and Raymond was honest enough with himself to admit that, frankly, he would have been rather disappointed had the cat among the pigeons come forward and denied him the opportunity of torturing the truth out of the unfortunate servants.

The stunned expressions on the faces of Ulfgar and Odin, combined with Raymond’s certainty that those two buffoons could no more have dissembled sufficiently to conspire against the Prince than they could compose a love sonnet or embroider hosiery, led him to conclude that the Scandinavian ogres were as innocent as they claimed. So it was their brute force that he employed to arrange the castle courtyard to his satisfaction.

Once everything was in place, he summoned the first three of the servants to stand before him. It was, he assured himself, pure coincidence that they happened to be his three former fellow pages: Humphrey, Mortimer and Will.

The young men stared in awed silence as they surveyed the scene in the castle courtyard. Every terrifying instrument of torture that the castle contained had been hefted up the dungeon steps and arranged around the dusty yard. There stood the rack, the thumbscrews, the Iron Maiden, the stocks, alongside numerous other evil apparatus wrought from ironwork at whose purpose the lads could only hazard the wildest of guesses.

“You see,” declared Raymond. “Because of the vile deeds of one single miscreant, everybody suffers!”

It was Mortimer who spoke up. “Raymond, can’t you at least tell us what has been done against the Prince? Maybe then we could work out what it is you need to know?”

“You’ll address me as ‘Sir’” said Raymond, in a voice as icy as the North wind. “And the consequences of the villain’s actions must rest upon his own conscience. Now, with whom should we begin?”

Will sighed deeply. They all knew who it would be.

With a barely perceptible nod to his lackeys, Raymond indicated that Odin and Ulfgar should indeed seize the young man. They lifted him up, one hulking henchman under each armpit and carried him as if he weighed nothing at all. Will’s blue hosed legs hung impotently in the air. In spite of the afternoon sun, Will found himself shivering with fear as he was deposited alongside the rack. Odin roughly stripped Will of his blue tunic, leaving him bare-chested - his iridescent tights his sole concession to modesty. Will took some small consolation in the fact that Raymond’s new task had apparently caused him to overlook that he was no longer diapered as per the Steward’s instructions, but back wearing his customary blue uniform.

“This is your last chance, boy,” purred Raymond. “Do you still maintain you have no guilty knowledge staining your conscience?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Will lied.

“Fix him to the rack,” ordered the older youth.

Will was hefted into the air and then dumped face down on the wooden carcass of the torture device. His arms were stretched above his head and firmly secured to the wooden roller. Meanwhile, his tights-clad ankles were spread as wide as they could stretch and were similarly fastened to the cylinder at the end. The metal chastity device bit into his groin as the weight of his body pushed down on the hard wood of the rack.

Will winced in preparation of the anguish to come as Odin hovered by the wooden handle which, when turned, would initiate the agonising process of stretching his vulnerable body and ultimately yank his tortured bones until they broke.

“Wait a moment!” Raymond declared. “I think the worm needs a little extra incentive, just to concentrate his mind on anything he may wish to tell us!”

Will tried to lift his head to see what new and terrible outrage would next be perpetrated on his vulnerable young body. He watched Raymond lift one of the large wooden buckets, commonly used to scrub the castle floors. Warm water swilled inside the pail and Will looked on in fearful anticipation as Raymond plunged his hand into the receptacle and withdrew a large, slippery bar of white soap.

“These innocent lumps of soap have been marinating in warm water till they’re nice and soft and melting. Let’s see just how many of them it will take for you to tell me the truth.”

Will, pinioned to the rack and unable to struggle free, felt Odin’s thick fingers fumbling with the waistband of his blue hose until it was unceremoniously yanked down level with the tops of his thighs. Meanwhile, Raymond took the first soap suppository and began to push it firmly into Will’s much-abused asshole.

All of the penetrations and invasions he had suffered over his months at the castle, none of them prepared him for the tingling, stinging sensation at his orifice as the bar of soap forced its way into his anal passage. On Raymond pushed, until Will’s poor asslips closed around the curved end of the soapy tablet. Immediately, Will felt it worming its way deeper into his bowels as a second bar began to push his reluctant boycunt wide again.

“How many will it take to clean your filthy conscience?” mused Raymond.

Each bar of soap measured a good four or five inches long and felt almost as broad, thought Will, as the second invader lodged successfully within him. It did not take long for the suppositories to begin their heartless tormenting of his guts.

“Your arse lining will be really irritated by all that soap!” said Raymond. “Your body will be desperate to expel it. And we can’t have that happening now, can we?”

Will felt the inevitable pressure of a leather butt plug penetrating his throbbing hole, boring its unwelcome pathway into him, and forcing both bars of soap even deeper into his protesting body: a body that had all too recently been assailed by the equally aggressive milk and molasses enemas.

“Ugh, ugh, no!” he wailed as his nubile young muscles strained and tensed in their bonds, his thighs bunching in their blue hose. Then he emitted a scream of pain as the plug passed its widest point, his smarting sphincter snapped shut around its stem, and the thick flared base protruded between his cheeks for all to see. Raymond prodded the base of the plug deeper, pushing the tallowy bars up, up, inside him to further torment Will’s vulnerable arse lining.

Finally, Raymond pulled the waistband of Will’s tights back up to cover his ass. Will knew that the tight, constricting fabric would keep that hateful plug pushed deep inside him and render it well-nigh impossible for him to expel it.

He panted as once more his guts churned for Raymond’s entertainment. Then, into his line of vision, appeared Ulfgar, running a long leather whip through the palm of his vast hand with pointed deliberation. The tail of the whip began to caress Will’s naked back, delicately at first, and then with firmer strokes.

“Turn the handle,” Raymond told Odin.

The henchman obeyed, and Will started to feel an uncomfortable tugging sensation at his wrists. He was suddenly acutely aware of his body: the tightness in his limbs, the painful cramping in his stomach, the cold steel pressing against his cock, the bubbling lather beginning to seep from his stinging arse, the reassuring sheerness of his tights clinging to his thighs and calves and bum. Then, he screamed in pain as the first stroke of the whip lashed across his upper back.

“Confess, bitch,” murmured Raymond persuasively. “It was you, wasn’t it? His favourite pet. You were the one who smuggled Alexander Courcey out of the castle!”

Will gritted his teeth as Raymond indicated that a further turn on the rack was required. Sharp pain seared through his arm sockets, and the ropes at his ankles started to cut through the delicate fabric of his hose and burn his legs. The whip cracked down again, this time on the meaty flesh of his thighs. Will howled in agony.

“Tell me what happened and this will all be over,” Raymond promised him. “I’ll order the whipping and the racking to cease, I’ll pull that nasty plug out of your hole and let you evacuate those bars of soap as well. Maybe I’ll even take off your chastity cage and let you come…”

Will thought of Alexander, his master, out there somewhere and fleeing for his life, and remained firm. His reward was a further twist on the rack and another lash of the whip – this time on his round buttocks. He imagined the reddening flesh of his bubble-shaped bum through the thin covering of the hose. His arms and legs were stretched to their maximum capacity now: surely one more ratchet of the wheel would dislocate something?!

“Aaaaaagh!” he yelled as the soap suppositories shifted within him. Seemingly with a mind of their own, they were determined to escape the velvety confines of his guts. But the cruel leather dong rammed up his bum thwarted their most assiduous efforts.

“You can’t keep this up much longer,” cooed Raymond. “You stole the key to the dungeon, didn’t you? Tell me the truth, you little fucker. Tell me where the key is that proves you betrayed your prince! So help me, if you don’t, every last person in this castle will be tortured on this rack! And they’ll curse your hateful little arse that you put them through it just to save a piece of shit like Alexander Courcey!”

“Stop! Raymond, stop!”

The dark-haired young Steward did as he was bidden, incredulity written across his handsome face. He turned to where the voice had come from, only to see Humphrey, the fat page boy, cringing in the corner of the courtyard.

“Don’t be angry with me,” whimpered Humphrey, “but did you say something about a key?”

Raymond narrowed his eyes. “I may have done.”

“Well if you did, then I might have seen something you might want to know about. I may be able to help.”

“That’s an awful lot of mights and maybes,” said Raymond, a dark threat in his voice.

“It was only yesterday afternoon,” Humphrey informed him. “I thought it was a bit odd at the time.”

“Humphrey! Please! Hold your tongue!” Will pleaded desperately.

“I’m sorry, Will,” mumbled the fat boy, wringing his hands in distress. “But if it means I won’t get tortured like you, I’ll squeal and tell Raymond whatever he wants to know.”

“Clearly your wisdom is as considerable as your belly,” remarked Raymond sardonically. “Now, I’m becoming impatient. Quickly – tell me what you saw.”

“It was a large iron key. Will had it hidden in his bedding. He took it out and dropped it in there.” Humphrey gestured to the centre of the courtyard. “Right in the middle of the well!”