Chapter 49 - Examined by the Abbot

Will must have slept most of the rest of the day. He hadn’t realised quite how exhausted he was. Night after night, sleeping tied up in a bar had not been exactly conducive to good, wholesome rest. So the truckle bed in his tiny cell in the monastery now felt like the height of luxury.

Brother Ralf had told him that the novices and junior monks all slept in one dormitory, but that it would not be appropriate for Will to share their sleeping arrangements given that for now, he was merely a guest in their home. He still had not seen any sign of the other inhabitants, Ralf informing him that they were either studying or in private contemplation. He would meet his new living companions soon enough.

It was late afternoon when he overheard voices coming from the hallway outside his cell. Straightaway, he recognised the quietly mellifluous Brother Ralf: “It is good to have you back with us, Father. The monastery felt your absence keenly. May I take it that the Prince’s birthday celebrations were a success?”

A fruity guffaw burst forth from Brother Ralf’s companion. “You could say that. It certainly provided great entertainment for us. Although I fear the Prince may not have enjoyed himself as much as he expected to.”

“That is indeed a pity,” replied Brother Ralf sadly. “I will remember him in my prayers tonight.”

Will pushed open the door of his cell a tiny crack – just enough to enable him to peer out, hopefully unobserved. The man who had apparently attended the Prince’s party was of medium height, and looked to be around sixty years old. He had a ruddy complexion, a bulbous nose – and he was enormously fat. His clerical robes were more ornate than Brother Ralf’s and were trimmed with lace and crimson. Wiry grey hairs sprouted from his nose and ears: indeed from almost everywhere other than the top of his head.

Suddenly, his rheumy black eyes turned to look precisely where Will was lurking. “Well, well, who is this eavesdropping on our conversation?” he chuckled to himself.

Abashed, Will opened the door of the cell and stepped out into the corridor. Brother Ralf smiled serenely. “He is called Will,” he said. “And I have offered him shelter and sanctuary in his time of need.”

The fat man nodded, apparently satisfied with this explanation.

“Will,” continued Brother Ralf, “this is Our Holy Father, Abbot Cuthbert.”

Not sure of the proper etiquette, Will bowed deeply.

The Abbot smiled broadly. “Welcome, Will, to our humble abode. I trust and hope that you will find succour and peace in the arms of the Lord.”

The next few days passed quietly for young Will. Brother Ralf was compassionate and companionable, and most gratifyingly for Will, he did not ask questions about Will’s past, but accepted that if Will did feel the need to talk about something he would. Will gladly helped out weeding and harvesting vegetables from the allotment and was grateful for the honest physical exercise that doing so afforded, after his weeks of restricted movement, tethered in Lunk’s barn.

Brother Ralf introduced him briefly to the other monks and novices, but Will soon realised that they were being trained in solitude and silent contemplation, so there would be little or no chance for him to get to know any of them properly. If he were completely honest with himself, that was something of a pity. One or two of the older novices: tall, broad-backed, clear-eyed and handsome caused a definite spasm from his caged cock whenever they passed by the monastery gardens. In spite of himself, he found he was imagining them stripped of their unflattering and all-concealing brown habits, and dressed in the peacock-like finery of the castle page boys.

As Will turned the soil in the garden, he daydreamed of one particular young man, whose dark locks fell in waves to his shoulders. His upper body was lithe and well-muscled, and Will could only presume that his lower half would be equally well-proportioned. He checked himself at once. How had it happened that he no longer ever fantasised about young women like the full-breasted Jane StClare? Only of masculine young men with muscular thighs and pert bubble butts...

Then again, what else could he expect? After all, he had been surrounded almost exclusively by men for the best part of the past year! Mistress Olwen and his hated sister-in-law Lizzie had been the only females he had had any contact with. So, combined with the period of prolonged sexual chastity that he had been forced to endure, was it any wonder his libido was out of kilter? That was a reassuring thought, at least. Once he had recovered his strength, and the danger of being pursued by Lunk’s evil gang had passed, he would move on, and live a normal life...

His reverie was broken by a coarse cry from beyond the monastery wall.

“Why there you are, you little shite!”

It all happened in the blink of an eye. Before he could catch his breath, a tall, leather-clad man, swift as a shadow, had vaulted over the low wall and was sprinting towards him. Will could only gawp in astonishment. It was Ebony the thief.

Will had no intention of being captured yet again, so he picked up his hoe from the ground and made ready to use it to defend himself. However, he had no chance to strike a blow against the trespasser. From out of nowhere, Brother Ralf appeared and stepped in front of him.

“No,” said Brother Ralf, calmly but firmly. “This is God’s land. You have no right to be here.”

Ebony seemed to hesitate in the face of the implacable monk. Then he recovered himself and grinned crookedly. “I mean you no harm, Father. But this urchin belongs to me.”

Brother Ralf shook his head. “He has been granted sanctuary here, and here he will stay for as long as he chooses.”

“Is that so?” wheedled the robber. “I have a gang of a dozen strong men not two hundred yards from here. One call to them and I can take him by force, whatever you say.”

“You take him over my dead body, my son. Would you risk the blood of a clergyman tainting your everlasting soul?”

Will watched as the cocky smile faded from Ebony’s face. Clearly even an irreligious scoundrel like him had some limits. He reached his decision. “Alright, you can keep him. But this creature has stolen from me. A fur, a bag of coins, a dagger – and some boots that belong to one of our number. Am I to be robbed of those as well?”

This time it was the monk’s turn to smile, and he did so serenley. “No, my son. We have no desire to keep anything that is rightfully yours. Follow me into the monastery and I will gladly give you the material objects you so desire. But I do so on the understanding that you cease to lay any claim to this youth.”

Will observed, fascinated, as greed and lust tussled in Ebony’s mind. But ultimately, there was no question about which would triumph.

“Alright,” he conceded. “We won’t trouble you again, Father. And you have some balls, I’ll grant you that.”

Brother Ralf nodded, as dignified as ever, and keeping a watchful eye on the rogue, led Ebony inside to retrieve his hoard of treasures.

As the thief passed Will, he whispered in his ear, “Too bad, bitch boy. You should have come with me. We’d have had some fun, you know. And I might even have taken that pesky little cock cage off your dick. Looks like you’re gonna be stuck with it now...”

Will was relieved that he was not pressurised to participate in the religious rituals of the monastery. His faith had never been very strong to begin with, and his recent experiences made it very hard to believe that any kind of divine force was caring for him. That evening, as Brother Ralf made his way to the chapel for some private contemplation, he told Will that the Abbot had expressed a desire to speak to him.

“Have I done something wrong?” asked Will.

“No, my son,” smiled Brother Ralf. “Our Father takes a pastoral interest in all those under his roof.”

So it was that moments later, Will found himself standing obediently in the Abbot’s private chambers. He masked his surprise at the opulent tapestries that adorned the walls, and the rich red velvet of the Abbot’s robes: a sharp contrast to the ascetism of Brother Ralf and the novice monks.

“Come closer, lad,” smiled the Abbot indulgently. “Let me take a closer look at you.”

Will approached the Abbot’s chair, and caught a whiff of his breath: heavy with wine and red meat. The man’s lips were full and sensual, and coated with a fine sheen of spittle.

“Brother Ralf tells me you served at the castle for a while.”

“Yes, Father.”

“But that of late you have been in the company of vagabonds and thieves.”

“I’m afraid so, but through no choice of my own.”

“We must give thanks that the Lord has delivered you into ... friendlier hands.”

The Abbot rose from his chair, and crumbs of cake fell from his lap. Slowly and deliberately, he waddled towards Will and stood behind him.

“Now, young William. I take it Brother Ralf has conducted a full medical examination of you?”

Will was wrong-footed by the unexpected query.

“An examination, my Lord? No, Sir.”

The Abbot tutted to himself. “Dear me, that was most remiss of him. We must think of the health and welfare of all the monks living here. Who knows what terrible diseases you might have brought with you? Why, you could be riddled with parasites for all we know!”

The Abbot’s mouth was so close to Will’s ear, he could feel the flicker of the man’s tongue against his lobe and hot breath on his neck.

“It is fortunate that, as a novice monk, I underwent considerable medical training. I will be able to ascertain whether it is safe for you to continue to reside with us. Now, lad, remove your clothing...”

Will hesitated. He could not rid himself of the overwhelming suspicion that this supposedly holy man was in truth aroused by the prospect of having him stand naked before him. Surely it couldn’t be happening again? Just when he thought he had finally found a home where he would not be used as a sexual plaything! Moreover, the last thing he wanted to have to do was explain the presence of the chastity device hanging heavy between his legs.

“What are you waiting for? There is no need to be nervous...” The Abbot hissed sibilantly as he placed one sweaty palm on Will’s shoulder. ‘Do as you are told. Strip!”

Reluctantly, Will untied his cord belt, and stepped out of his long brown habit. The Abbot let out a small involuntary gasp at the sight of Will’s nude form. He rested a beringed hand on the back of Will’s neck, and slowly slid his palm down the smooth, pale flesh of Will’s back, until it came to rest just above his plump buttocks.

“Good. Good. You have no outward blemishes on the skin. No sign of leprosy or the plague.” The Abbot’s voice was hoarse and his breathing short.

The fat man’s hand continued its journey, and slowly carressed Will’s juicy arse cheeks. “A good, round rump! That’s what we medical men like to see! And strong, firm, thighs. Your body is deceptively muscular for such a short young man. Yes, a fine young specimen. Very fine indeed.”

Will blushed to hear his body being described in such glowing terms. And his cock, within its captivity, began to twitch, and once again show signs of the desire to harden. Instinctively, he moved his hands to try and hide his genitals, just as the Abbot made a move to examine him from the front.

“Ha! Now don’t be shy, young man,” laughed the holy man, swatting Will’s hands away from his crotch. “It’s nothing I have not seen before!”

Left with no choice, Will let his arms hang by his side.

“Now what have we here?” cooed the Abbot with interest. “A most unusual and unexpected find!” He reached out and hefted the chastity device and its contents into his sweaty palm. “Why have you been fitted with this, young William?”

Will was too ashamed to look the religious man in the eyes. “I was put in it at the castle.”

“Speak up now, young man! Nice and clear – no mumbling!”

“It was a punishment at the castle, Holy Father.”

“Hmmm... most interesting. I shan’t ask for what reason you were punished. We are all sinners after all – you can make your peace with God at confession. I can only assume that you have been locked into a chastity device due to an unwholesome attachment to the sins of the flesh. All of us here in the monastery have taken holy vows of celibacy. So it reassures me that if you have an inclination to lustful thoughts, measures have been taken to ensure you cannot act upon them. I approve, young William.”

The Abbot’s eyes twinkled with delight and he passed his tongue over his wet lips. He released the cock cage and lifted Will’s testicles into his wide palm, rubbing and rolling them between his fingers. Will’s cock – desperate to harden – started to leak precum through the hole in the end of the metal cylinder.

“Open your mouth, boy. Wider.”

And with that, the Abbot inserted two fingers into Will’s mouth and began to probe inside, pushing against his gums and tongue.

“One last place to check. Bend over, boy and touch your toes...”

Sighing deeply, Will did as he was instructed, and felt the familiar sensation of fat fingers nudging at his arsehole. The Abbot started with a couple of experimental prods, before pushing more firmly with his wet index finger.

“Oooh, there we go. Sliding in nice and smoothly. Good, good.”

The velvet robes of the Abbot brushed against Will’s naked thighs as he stood motionless, his pert bottom pointing towards the ceiling, the cleric’s finger wiggling around inside his anus.

Will felt bewildered. This was the Abbot himself: a man of God, and the holiest man he had ever met. Was he becoming arrogant and simply assuming that every man he encountered would naturally desire to fuck him? Surely this bizarre encounter was exactly as it appeared: a straightforward medical examination – didn’t it?! And yet experience of such things and the breathless panting of the obese man, who even now had his finger up his ass, certainly suggested otherwise to young Will.

At last the Abbot seemed satisfied, and withdrew his forefinger from Will’s tight hole. “You may stand upright, my son. You have no disease or infection as far as I can tell.”

Will did as he was instructed and reached for his brown robe.

“I think not,” murmured the Abbot. “Although we follow the example set by our Lord Christ, by offering our help and our forgiveness to all sinners, no matter how licentious; nevertheless, it would be unseemly for a peasant boy who has had to be chastised in the past for his lustful urges to wear the same habit as the holy monks who live here and who permanently dedicate their lives to God.” He paused to lick his lips. “Don’t you agree?”

Will, left with no other choice, nodded dumbly.

The Abbot opened a drawer and produced a white shirt, made of a thin, goassamer like material.

“You can wear this instead,” he said, handing the garment to Will. “Come along now. What are you waiting for? Put it on.”

Will pulled the chemise over his head.

“There,” said the Abbot, retying the cord belt around Will’s waist, “that is more appropriate!”

Will waited in expectation of being handed some breeches for his lower portions, but none seemed forthcoming.

“You may go, William,” came the instruction.

Will looked down forlornly at his new garments. The hem of the white shirt reached just below his crotch. A mere inch or two of material shielded the steel cock-cage from view. At the rear, the blouse barely skimmed his buttocks.

Anticipating Will's objections, the Abbot surreptitiously slipped his fat palm under the shirt and patted him lightly on the posterior.

“For autumn, it is yet mild. We don't want you getting over-heated as you work in the monastery gardens now, do we? This garb is most suitable, I'm sure you'll agree.”

Will could only nod.

“Now I shouldn't have to tell you twice, young man. You are dismissed.”

Later, in the kitchen, Will explained to Brother Ralf the Abbot's reasoning behind his new costume.

“The Holy Father is wise in all things,” was all the monk would reply.

It was a delicate question but Will could not help but ask, “Does he follow all the same vows as you – obedience... chastity...?”

“Of course. He is the wisest, the holiest, the best man I know.”

Something in Brother Ralf's tone warned Will to drop this line of questioning, but he remembered the lascivious panting of the fat old man, and he wondered just how strong the Abbot's vows of celibacy would actually prove to be…

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 32 - Milk and Molasses

            Night-time came and it was with some trepidation that Will entered the kitchen for his next appointment with Raymond. The large stone-clad room was unoccupied so it seemed: Mistress Olwen and her depleted staff having retired to their bedchambers. A fire had been laid and burned steadily in the hearth – somewhat unnecessarily, he thought, given the warmth of the early summer evening.

            “Hello?” he called out.

            From the shadows stepped the malevolent form of Raymond the Steward, his sleek silhouette – sheer grey hose clinging snugly to every contour of his legs, arse and bulge – a complete contrast to Will’s ungainly appearance: the crotch of Will’s white tights straining round his knees, and the nappy overflowing from the top of it.

            “Just the two of us,” purred Raymond. “Do you remember that night all those months ago? When I kissed you and wanked you off in your tights?”

            “I remember,” mumbled Will. “You did it to get me into trouble with Master Alexander.”

            “That’s as may be, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that you enjoyed it, does it? Come on, Will, admit it. You find me handsome, don’t you? You wouldn’t say no to me fucking you again, would you? Like that night all of us lads in the dormitory made use of your arse. You could even imagine I’m your precious Alexander Courcey if that would make you happy.”

            Will hesitated. He knew enough by now not to trust a single word that came out of Raymond’s silver-tongued mouth. He might be sweetness and smiles for now, but it was only that morning that he’d been pouring cold sludge over his head and calling him ‘goat-shit’.

            Raymond smiled enigmatically and gestured Will to the long wooden refectory table, on top of which lay several thick white towels.

            “Come along, baby boy. Let me change that nasty wet nappy for you.” Raymond patted the towels. “Lie down here for me.”

            Will did as he was bidden, flushing slightly at the infantilising language used by the other young man. He made to pull down his hose, but Raymond slapped his hand sharply.

            “No, no, baby boy. I’ll do that for you.”

            Will reclined and sank into the towels, so that his back lay flat and his knees were bent, his stockinged feet flat on the tabletop. He felt Raymond gently pulling down his under-sized hose as far down as his ankles. He heard a tinkling sound as the padlock round his waist was undone and felt the blessed relief as the layers of sodden padding around his nether regions were finally lifted away, allowing warm air to flow around his moist groin for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

            Raymond’s touch was, for once, gentle, and Will began to find the sensation almost soothing as the older youth’s smooth fingers caressed his naked buttocks and balls. Raymond dabbed at Will’s private parts with a flannel and some soapy water before running a clean dry towel around his genitals, and along the crack of his arse. He lingered there just a moment to prod his finger against Will’s puckered boyhole.

            Will’s cock desperately wanted to swell into hardness, but of course the constriction of the metal chastity cage prevented that eventuality.

            “Please, Raymond,” he moaned. “I need – I need – “

            But Raymond merely tutted and shook his head. “Oh no, baby boy. You’ve been too naughty. You don’t get to enjoy an erection. Not yet at least.”

            Fine white powder was patted into Will’s groin, and at the instruction “Lift your bottom, boy!” Will duly did as he was told and more talcum powder was applied to his firm fresh arse cheeks. The warmth in the room, the tender ministrations, it was almost enough to send the pretty blond lad into a peaceful sleep.

            He felt Raymond’s palm resting on his flat, naked stomach. “All this time,” mused Raymond softly, “and you’ve not pooped in your nappy…”

            Will bit his lower lip. He’d been determined to avoid that – the ultimate indignity.

            “You must be constipated,” came the diagnosis. “And I have just the treatment for that particular condition.”

            “Treatment?” Will repeated fearfully, his head rising to look Raymond in the eyes.

            “I ensured Mistress Olwen left all the right ingredients should this eventuality occur,” said Raymond. He lifted a heavy jug from the shelf on the wall and carried it over to the hearth, where a large iron pot hung on a chain above the fire. “Fresh, creamy milk – direct from Castle Montford’s own herd!” He tipped up the jug and the frothy milk splashed into the pot. Then he made his way purposefully to another shelf and fetched down a large earthenware jar. He removed the lid. “And here we have a rare delicacy!” He dipped a long metal serving spoon into the receptacle, and when he withdrew it, it was covered in a kind of thick syrup – jet black and gloopy. “Black treacle – known in some parts as ‘molasses’,” he whispered conspiratorially. “It’s very expensive and very hard to come by. You’re exceptionally lucky to be treated to such a luxury, baby boy!”

Will licked his lips in spite of himself. His diet as a child had been plain, and his time at the castle had introduced him to foodstuffs he barely could have dreamed of in his poverty-stricken past. He’d discovered he had quite the sweet tooth. The prospect of tasting a warm creamy bedtime drink sweetened with the black treacle was almost worth whatever torment Raymond might devise!

He watched eagerly as Raymond spooned one dollop after another of the treacle into the pot of milk, and then, when the jar was as good as empty, the older youth took the spoon and stirred the mixture firmly. “We must wait until it’s nice and warm,” Raymond said. “Though not too hot of course. We wouldn’t want to burn your delicate little … tongue.” If Will noticed the pause and the wicked smirk Raymond gave, he thought nothing of it. Indeed, the amiable attitude Raymond was displaying made him braver than he would normally have been.

“Raymond – Sir, may I ask you? Why do you hate me so?” he ventured.

“Why would you think I hated you, Will?”

“I didn’t ask for any of this, you know,” he persisted. “Everything that has been done to me since Alexander stole me away from my village. It’s all been out of my control. I never wanted to replace you in his bed. Or send you to serve under that horrible Sir Wilfrid.”

“No, you’re a total innocent. Completely naïve. A victim to whoever seeks to dominate you. You’ve no backbone. No intelligence. No initiative. You’re utterly passive. You’ve never made a conscious decision to do anything in your entire life. You dared to think you were worthy of my sister. And yet you were born in a goat-shit covered hovel. And if I had my way, that’s where you’d be right now. You’ve made it this far in your short life because you have a pretty face, a pretty body and a pretty bum. Is it any wonder you irritate the fuck out of me?”

Raymond’s diatribe was delivered in the same sweetly reasonable tones he’d used all evening. “Now,” he continued with a smile, “it’s time for your bedtime drink. I hope you’re thirsty. I think you’re going to enjoy this…”

He took the spoon out of the pot and tentatively touched the simmering liquid to his tongue. “Mmm, just right,” he purred. Will turned his head expectantly as Raymond lifted the pot from its chain but, instead of tipping some of its contents into one of the pewter tankards that hung from pegs along the wall, Raymond produced a kind of oilskin bag from a nearby drawer. Curiously, the bag had a loop of rope attached to the top of it and, rather than the bag being closed at the bottom, Will observed that a long length of flexible tubing dropped from it instead. A metal clamp was fixed to the tubing and then it passed through two curious balloon-like bulges – currently deflated – and each attached to their own individual squeezable bulb. The tubing terminated in an iron nozzle. Will began to get a familiar and distinctly uneasy feeling in his gut.

Raymond gazed at him, nodding knowingly. “Has the penny finally dropped, baby boy?” He started to tip the warm, black liquid into the oilskin bag. It gurgled as it flooded in, gushing down and filling the tube as far as the metal clamp. Will sniffed the air fearfully and smelt the distinct aroma of liquorice. “That’s right. You’re not going to drink my delicious concoction. It’s your new enema recipe.”

Will gulped hard. “What will it – what will it do?”

Raymond’s dark eyes glistened with anticipation. “Oh, it’s much harsher than mere water,” he explained. “The cream in the milk and the sugar in the molasses will combine in your gut to produce an enormous amount of gas almost immediately. It will be desperately uncomfortable and all you’ll want to do will be to expel it straight away. But of course we don’t want that. If it’s to do any good and clear up your constipation, it needs to stay inside you for as long as possible!”

Having emptied about half of the black solution into the bag, Raymond hung it from one of the pegs by the fireplace. Then he lifted the end of the tubing and brought the two deflated balloons level with Will’s face. “That’s what this little device is for!” Raymond scooped a handful of lard that had been left out to soften near the fireplace and set to work lathering it over the both the nozzle and the first of the deflated balloons.

Swiftly, he moved round the table from Will’s head to his rear end. Will lay there, semi-supine, his legs still slightly raised and his arsehole accessible and vulnerable. He gasped as he felt Raymond’s fingers, with practiced assurance, greasing his butt crack, and then swallowed hard as he felt the cold iron nozzle forcing its way between his larded cheeks. Raymond continued the pressure, and as Will felt the nozzle slide further into him, it was soon followed by the first of the strange balloons. Will felt his arselips open wider to accommodate the balloon and then clamp shut on the tubing as Raymond successfully wiggled the entire balloon inside.

Will felt his cock wanting to swell and harden as his arse was manhandled, but the inevitable constriction of the steel cage pinched his flesh and put paid to any notion in that direction. Raymond took hold of one of the bulbs and began to squeeze it – once, twice, thrice. As he did so, Will experienced the peculiar sensation of the balloon slowly expanding in his rectum, and before long the sides were pressing uncomfortably inside his anal cavity. Already he felt the desire to shit it out of him, but as his muscles attempted an experimental push, he soon realised glumly that the balloon had been inflated to a considerable diameter and that no amount of squeezing from him would force it to fit through his asshole.

“Oh no, baby bitch,” admonished Raymond in a whisper. “That’s stuck fast inside you now until I decide to let it go down.” He lifted the other bulb in his palm and repeated the action, squeezing over and over. This one, nestling against the outside of Will’s pink rosebud, was visible as it inflated, and Raymond experienced an erotic twitch in his tights to see the balloon pressing against Will’s most vulnerable and intimate orifice.

Raymond gave an experimental tug on the tubing, and having satisfied himself that all was secure, he returned to the side of the table to gaze into Will’s increasingly anxious eyes. “Are you ready for your enema?” he cooed.

“I’m frightened, Raymond. Please – please don’t fill me with that terrible mixture!”

“But it’s for your own good. You’ll feel so much better – afterwards.”

And with a snap of his fingers, Raymond released the clamp on the tubing. The height of the bag, hanging from its wooden peg, meant the vicious black fluid flowed swiftly, and Raymond was gratified to see that the physical effect on young Will was practically instantaneous.

For Will’s part, the warm liquid hit his insides like a tidal wave, squirting contemptuously and filling him rapidly. It wasn’t long before his belly started to swell and a moment later, he felt Raymond’s palm gently massaging his stomach, encouraging the solution higher and deeper, as it traversed through his bowels and into his guts.

Raymond checked the contents of the bag. “Your arse is guzzling all that milk and molasses with true alacrity!” he declared. “What a greedy little bottom you have! I can already see the last few dregs disappearing down the tube and filling your boyhole!”

Will glanced down at his body. There he lay, lying on his back, his legs spread, his white-hosed feet as wide as the tights would allow them to stretch, the fabric gathered in folds around his ankles. His gaze moved upwards along his smooth, muscular nude legs - bent at the knees, his boy cock imprisoned in its hateful cage, the enema tube snaking along the table, depositing the final drops of the tormenting solution inside him, and the external, visible balloon bulging against his buttocks.

Beads of sweat began to collect at Will’s brow. The warmth of the liquid had raised his body temperature, and the glowing fire combined to make him feel distinctly uncomfortable. But that was nothing compared to the sharp cramp that suddenly pierced his distended stomach.

“Ah, ah, ah!” he gasped as his poor insides suffered their exquisite torment.

“Ssshhh,” soothed Raymond, gently mopping Will’s fevered brow. “Breathe. Breathe nice and deeply. That will make the pain go away.’

Will panted anxiously, trying to control the waves of discomfort which were assailing him. All he could think of was trying to expel the wicked enema solution. He grunted and squeezed his bowls, desperate to try and rid his body of the noxious stuff, but the balloon catheter was stuck fast, and no amount of pressure could budge the blockage in his rectum.

“Not so fast, baby boy,” came Raymond’s mocking tones. “You’ll only be able to let that nasty stuff out of your bottom when I say you can.”

The older youth exulted in the other’s agony, rubbing his cock through the thin material of his grey tights. A bead of precum shone in the torch-light of the chamber, glistening against the shimmer of his hose.

“Pleeeease!” wailed Will as another devastating cramp coursed through him, causing his whole body to convulse in anguish. “I can’t take it! I’m going to burst!”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, tights boy. Here, let me give you something to take your mind off your predicament.”

Raymond kicked off his leather boots and nimbly hopped up onto the table. He planted his stockinged feet either side of Will’s tense shoulders and gradually began to lower his hosed buttocks over the blond lad’s face. He hovered for a moment, mere tantalising inches above him, before sinking down and pushing his bum hard into Will’s nose and mouth.

Will breathed in the scent of Raymond’s juicy arse and felt the sensation of the luxurious hosiery caressing his face as Raymond wriggled his buttocks over him. The necessity of trying to breathe through this new constriction did indeed distract him momentarily from the battle being fought between his bowels and the sadistic onslaught of the invading enema. However, just then another wave of cramps sent his tense and sweating body into new convulsions. He feared he would throw up if he did not emit the noxious substance soon. And he was certain that, one way or another, his body would have to rid itself of the enema, and that he would have no conscious control over it.

The guttural scream that escaped him would have woken the entire castle had it not been muffled by the insistent and fragrant pressure of Raymond’s hosed bum. Furthermore, the scream was not the only thing to slip from him as his bowels squeezed harder than ever in protest at the hellish liquid bubbling within them.

The pressure did the trick and, finally, his arse snapped open, wide enough even for the obstinate balloon catheter to be forced through it. Raymond continued to rub his hosed cock, watching in awe as the balloon and the tubing shot across the room, followed immediately by a powerful spray of black fluid. Jets of the liquid spurted yards across the room, pebble-dashing the walls and floors with their sweet-smelling aroma.

Will’s tortured stomach pulsed as it emptied its hateful contents into the air, and the youngest page boy panted with relief as he voided himself, fresh air rushing into his lungs as Raymond slowly lifted his bum from his face. Will squealed and cried aloud with the relief and the intensity of the experience. On went the expulsion, Raymond scarcely able to credit that the lad had managed to contain such quantities within his young body. Finally, at long last, the fountain slowed to an occasional spurt, and Raymond was satisfied that Will had purged himself of the milk and molasses, and that his bowels were empty once again.

Raymond clambered down from the table-top and took a long, hard look into Will’s flushed and sweating countenance. The blond lad’s whole body shuddered with relief.

Raymond raised an eyebrow at the devastated youth, lying spent and prostrate on the tabletop. “Somebody’s going to have to clean that up,” he murmured.

Chapter 28 - Into Chastity and Into a Nappy

“Breakfast is served, your highness!”

Raymond swept into the royal bedchamber, bowing low as he did so and as he knew his royal master would expect.

Humphrey, the fat page boy, followed him in, bearing a tray laden with fruit, ham, bread and, naturally enough, eggs. Humphrey glanced at the young man who had only two days before been his equal, but was now his master.

“Leave them on the side, piglet, and go.”

“Yes, Raym – I mean, sorry, yes, Sir.”

Raymond’s eyes narrowed and Humphrey scurried away fearfully.

“You have taken to your new position quite effortlessly, I see,” laughed Prince Felix, as he lounged indolently beneath his silken sheets.

Raymond bowed again. “I wish only to justify your highness’ faith in me.”

Felix pulled back the sheets, and Raymond gulped to see that god-like body revealed in all its nakedness: the strong, smooth pectorals, the rippling abdominals, the long, muscular thighs, and his perky cock, semi-hard, with a fuzz of blond hair at its root. The Prince showed no sign of self-consciousness. And why should he? His body was the most beautiful Raymond had ever seen.

The blond Adonis ran a hand through his flowing locks.

“I wish to bathe. Run me a bath, will you?”

Raymond nodded. “I will order hot water to be fetched at once, Sire.”

Felix crossed to his wardrobe and began admiring his nude form in the floor length mirror. He pulled open the closet door and touched one of his bejewelled tunics that hung therein. He pulled open a drawer and extracted a neatly folded pair of bright green tights. He let them unroll and held them against his naked flesh.

“May I ask your plans for today, your highness?”

“If the weather is fine again, I shall go riding.”

Raymond hesitated. “Is that prudent, Sire? After the attempt on your life” –

“Ha!” scoffed the Prince. “You think I fear that ragbag of peasants? I am protected by God, remember! He guided you to save me from that murderous fool, and he will do so again if any other evil-doer dares attempt to do harm to my royal person.”

He tossed the silken hose onto the bed and turned to regard his royal rump in the looking-glass.

“Besides, Odin and Ulfgar will have terrified them all into obedience by now.”

            You have to admire his self-confidence, mused Raymond, not to mention his arse.

            “Will you be requiring any ‘entertainment’ from the royal pages today, my Lord?”

            “Ah – are you wondering whether you will be required to don your pink tights suit once again, Steward?”

            Raymond smiled obsequiously at his teasing royal master.

            “Don’t worry. I’m bored of seeing you four grubby youths grovelling before me. And I’ve no further desire to see that young blond one driven into a sexual frenzy from wallowing in his own filth, either.”

            Raymond saw his chance. “Ah yes, Sire. About him… I thought I might personally undertake some further training of that particular brat.”

            Prince Felix raised an inquiring eyebrow.

            “His depravity,” continued Raymond, “is a direct result of the tutelage he received under the perverted Alexander Courcey. I have some ideas on how I can control some of his baser urges and make him a more suitable choice to wait on your highness.”

            The Prince shrugged. “Do with him whatever you see fit.”

            A slow smile spread across Raymond’s face. Oh, he thought to himself, I intend to do just that.

            “Feeling nervous, goat-shit? You should be. If I were you, I’d be feeling fucking terrified.”

            Will had been anticipating this moment, and, now that it had finally come, a peculiar kind of calm came over him. He was standing, head bowed, in Alexander’s old chamber, where he had been summoned by the new Chief Steward of the castle.

            Raymond was dressed in his new finery: black hose speckled with shimmering silver stars, and a black, tight-fitting leather jerkin.

            “I’ve been given the task of dealing with you and your disgusting little perversions, Will. Look at you! Even now your cock is bobbing with excitement at the prospect of a verbal dressing-down from me.”

            It was true, Will realised in anguish. His hard stub of a cock was quite clearly causing an obvious tenting in his bright blue tights.

            “I know the traitor Alexander used to get himself horny at the sight of young men’s cocks bulging in their indecently tight-fitting hose. But I think as a page in a royal household, a little more decorum is in order. Pull your tights down to your knees, boy.”

            Will reluctantly did as he was commanded, his bum in the air as he pulled his hosiery down to expose his naked flesh.

            Raymond tutted. “Still rock hard, eh? This kind of treatment just drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

            Will inwardly cursed his rebellious dick. Go down, go down, he repeated to himself. Go down, you stupid cock! But it resolutely refused to do as it was bidden.

            “Very well,” Raymond went on. “If the only way to get your prick to soften is for you to come, then that’s what you must do. Get on your hands and knees, goat-shit.”

            Will made to yank up his tights to regain a shred of modesty, but Raymond snapped at him.

            “Oh no, I didn’t tell you to pull your tights up, did I? Come over here and get on your knees!”

            With his hose halfway down his legs, Will could only waddle across the room. And when he had done so, he assumed the position on the floor, his arse sticking up and out, his head hanging low.

Raymond slipped his foot out of his leather boot and pushed it into Will’s face. Will inhaled the musky aroma of the foot, encased in its sensuous black hose.

            “Lick it!”

            Will did as he was ordered, and in that moment, he knew he was a hopeless, powerless slutboy, with no choice or say whatsoever over what happened to him next. His tongue worked over the tights-clad foot, down the side, the heel, pushing between Raymond’s toes until the clinging material was damp with his saliva.

            “That’s all you’re good for, you pussy bitch. To lick my feet!”

             Suddenly Raymond withdrew his foot, and quick as a flash, Will felt its damp touch, resting on his bare buttocks instead. Raymond wiped his hosed foot all over Will’s arse until it came to rest in the crack between Will’s impossibly peachy cheeks.

            “Your boy cunt is going to get some use, now. Never again am I going to be raped by that fucking monster. That will be your place now. To be used by Odin the Viking as his sex toy whenever he fancies a girl to fuck and has to make do with a boy.”

            He pushed his foot deeper so that Will could feel Raymond’s hosed big toe - warm and wet - forcing itself relentlessly against the puckered lips of his asshole.

            “And his cock is a monster, goat-shit. You’ve never felt anything like it. He’ll use you without mercy too. He won’t care if you scream or beg. In fact he likes that. The girlier you sound, and the more you cry and plead, the more it turns him on. He’ll love raping you.”

            “No, Raymond, please, no…”

            “Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

            And with that, the older youth jumped on Will’s back. Will felt the incredibly fine material of Raymond’s tights rubbing against him, as his enemy’s bum rocked back and forth on his lower back.

            With one hand, Raymond began spanking Will’s arse, whilst with the other he reached under and began yanking at the blond page boy’s cock: fiercely and without mercy.

            “You love this, don’t you, slut? Me spanking your bum and milking your cock. Like one of the cows in your father’s barn. I’m tugging at your pathetic little pecker. Breeding you. Milking you. Wanking your dirty little cock till you explode. Tights round your knees. Arse in the air. A fucking filthy little whore boy. And you love it…”

            His touch was rough and callous, but his monologue did the trick, and Will sobbed with relief and humiliation as his cock spurted onto the flagstones: white cum falling in droplets to the floor.

            Raymond dismounted in disgust, wiping his hand – wet with Will’s semen – across the boy’s bum to dry it off.

            “Now,” he remarked. “Perhaps, finally, I can fit you with your new device. Stand up!”

            Will – both sets of cheeks rosy from his climax – pulled himself to his feet as his cock, at long last, began to droop into flaccidity. He turned to Raymond, wondering what fresh torment might next be in store for him, only to see the other youth holding a strange metal device. It was a slightly curved cylinder of steel - a ring at one end and at the other, a narrow slit in the metal.

            “I’d like to introduce you to your chastity cage,” smirked Raymond. “You’ll be spending a lot of time in its company. Let me show you how it works.”

            First, Raymond lifted Will’s balls and pushed them through the steel ring. Then he took the newly soft penis and gently threaded it into the metal cylinder. Lastly, a small padlock was fixed to the chastity device. Will’s lip trembled as he began to appreciate the implications of it all.

            “You’ll still be able to piss through the hole at the end. But you won’t be able to touch your cock. And if you even think about getting hard, it’s going to be very painful for you. The space inside that tube is so tight. You won’t be able to get an erection even! I’m in total control of when - or if - you get to touch your boy prick ever again. I hope you enjoyed that orgasm, Will. It’s the last one you’ll be having in quite some time.”

            “Raymond, please” –

            “It’s Sir to you!” shrieked Raymond, squeezing Will’s balls as he did so. “And think yourself fucking lucky. I could have these whipped off and you’d spend the rest of your life as a eunuch. That would solve your embarrassing problem of getting hard at inappropriate moments with one simple stroke…”

            Will fell instantly silent.

            “Very well. Pull your tights up.”

            Will did so, the strange cold sensation of the metal against his prick, weighting it down, was perturbing. Instantly he found that he missed the feeling of the soft nylon of his tights caressing his genitals.

            “No, no, no,” tutted Raymond. “That will never do. The chastity device gives you a bulge in your hose that is positively indecent. And – to be frank – is more flattering than your pathetic little stub deserves.”

            Raymond peeled the waistband of Will’s blue tights down, so that once again his arse was bare and exposed. Will’s hopes rose. Would Raymond remove the cruel chastity device after all?!

            Raymond paused in mock-contemplation. “I have just the thing!” he announced. And with a flourish, he produced a small bundle of white cloth. Will was not deceived for a moment. Raymond had planned this, all down to the last detail.

            “Stand still, goat-shit.”

            Will did so as Raymond came to stand behind him. With a sinking feeling of dismay and despair, Will felt the cloth being passed between his legs and wrapped around his arse and groin. Raymond pulled the material up as snug as possible, and then pinned it with a large metal fastening. Raymond had put him in a big, padded nappy.

            “Much better!” the dark-haired lad crowed. “Now pull your tights up, bitch, and let’s see what that looks like!”

            He had no choice, and Will mournfully pulled the stretchy fabric back up, only this time it had to stretch considerably more in order to cover the large bulky diaper that he was wearing.

            “You look truly ridiculous, baby boi!”

            Will caught a glimpse of himself in the looking-glass. The sleek and sexually alluring silhouette which had so enticed Alexander was gone. Instead of the scintillating promise of his bulging cock and rounded arse cheeks, was the inelegant and humiliating bulge of the thick nappy. His groin now smooth and flat – his bum inflated and huge.

            “One final touch, I think,” mused Raymond. And he threaded a thin leather belt round Will’s waist. Like the chastity device, he locked it with a padlock. And he pocketed the key in a pouch at his side.

            “You’d better get used to wearing your nappy, goat-shit. You’ll resist as long as you can but sooner or later you’ll have to piss yourself and shit yourself in it. I might choose to let you change it occasionally. If you’re lucky.”

             

            “You look pleased with yourself, Steward. I take it you have had a productive morning?”

            The Prince, now dressed in his bright green tights and doublet, looked up as Raymond entered the royal presence once more.

            “Most productive, your highness. The junior page boy will not be embarrassing himself or you anymore.”

            “I’m glad to hear it.”

            “Did the other pages fill your bath for you, Sire?”

            “They did. It’s waiting for me in the next room.”

            Raymond hesitated. “Is there anything else you require, your highness?”

            “Yes. It’s raining, blast the weather. And I had set my heart on riding out on Thunderer.”

            “I live to serve you, my Lord. But even I cannot command the elements.”

            “I’m aware of that. But I’m in dire need of some physical exercise.”

            The Prince began to unbutton his close-fitting doublet to reveal his smooth and unblemished chest. He flung the tunic on to a nearby armchair and stood there, his upper body naked, his sole garment his impossibly snug green tights.

            “As I was growing up, I would often try my strength in trials against the sons of my father’s courtiers.”

            “Your highness?”

            “Take off that jerkin. Immediately.”

            Raymond did as he was instructed, and soon he was also naked, save for his black, star-spangled hose. His body was slimmer and less well-developed than the Prince. At five years his royal master’s junior, he had not had the same military training. Physically, he was only just recovered from his terrible sojourn in the bedroom of Sir Wilfrid. A trial of strength? What could the beautiful Prince mean?

            “Come here.”

Raymond did as he was ordered. An enigmatic smile played around Felix’s lips as he lifted up an ornate green bottle from a nearby table.

            “Oil,” he explained curtly as he poured some into his palms.

            Raymond quivered in surprise as the Prince walked up to him and began rubbing the thick liquid into his chest. Deftly, the Prince moved onto Raymond’s arms, until all of the new Steward’s torso was well-oiled and glistening.

            “Now, you oil me. It makes for a more challenging contest.”

            Raymond breathed deeply as he laid his oily palms onto the Prince’s golden body. He could not be sure, but he suspected Felix knew just what a devastating effect his beauty and his close physical proximity was having on his servant. Raymond desperately wished to linger over the Prince’s pert pink nipples as he brushed the oil across them. He was longing to pinch and tweak them as he did so, but he controlled himself, and stuck to the job in hand, although his cock was pulsing in his fine black tights.

            “The winner is he who gains submission from his opponent,” whispered the Prince conspiratorily. “Now, let us wrestle!”