Chapter 55 - A Lesson in Lust

The wooden benches were hard. This should come as no surprise. A novice monk’s life is one of duty and obedience, not luxury. The space between the rows was narrow, and when your legs were long and strong like Brother Hal’s, this added even more discomfort. He had spent the morning in prayerful contemplation, but now was time for the novices’ weekly instruction from their divine Abbot. Deep down, Hal doubted whether the Abbot was as committed to his holy vows as he really should be. But he suppressed these feelings as well he could as seditious - and quite probably blasphemous.

Hal found the Abbot rather pompous and rather over-fond of his own voice. Still, he reckoned he could manage to put up with him for the one time a week he was summoned with the others to listen to the sermon. Over the past few weeks, the Abbot had taken The Seven Deadly Sins as his treatise, and this week, they had arrived at the vexed topic of -

“Lust!” The Abbot’s moist lower lip quivered as he uttered the word. “A daily battle that you young men must fight against. For be assured, Satan will tempt you with forbidden fruit, as surely as he did Eve. The Lord will be at your side, but you must be strong and find salvation in prayer, lest you fall to sin.”

Hal nodded. The struggle to keep his mind wandering from lustful thoughts was, for him, a daily one. He listened intently as the Abbot went on.

“Here in the safe confines of our monastery, you might think yourselves safe from such wickedness. But I fear I must tell you, that even in our Eden-like paradise, we may find a serpent lurking in the most unexpected of places…”

A sudden knock came at the door of the school room.

“Ah,” said the Abbot, with a knowing twinkle in his eye. “Our visitor arrives right on cue. Enter!”

The assembled novices turned to see the newcomer. Hal was puzzled to see the short, blond gardener with whom he had spoken only a day or two previously.

“Brother Ralf told me you wished to see me, your Worship,” said Will, flushing slightly in the gaze of the many quizzical faces turned to him.

“I did indeed, young man,” said the Abbot, darkly. “Come here, to the front of the classroom.”

Will did as he was told, noting the raised eyebrows and smirks on the faces of some of the more supercilious young monks. He spotted Hal’s good-looking face and risked a half-smile.

“Well, my boys,” said the Abbot. “What do we see, before us, do we think? Hmm?”

A few of the novices looked at one another but said nothing.

“The gardening lad?” offered one, nervously, as if it were a trick question.

“Indeed. Indeed,” confirmed the Abbot, nodding vigorously. “This is indeed all he seems to be: a simple, none-too-bright young yokel. Nothing remarkable at all, one might think, no?”

His pupils asserted their agreement.

“Take off your shirt, boy,” ordered the Abbot.

Will hesitated but did as he was told, tugging the linen blouse over his head to reveal his smooth, well-muscled chest.

The Abbot rested his hand on Will’s breast.

“The lad’s torso is hardened and muscled from his physical labour, wouldn’t you agree? He seems quite ordinary, yes? Well, you would be wrong…”

And, quick as a flash, the fat old man grabbed at Will’s hessian trousers and tugged them to the floor. 

Unexpected laughter erupted from the assembled students as Will’s nudity was exposed for them all to see. And a stunned Will could only stand and gawp at them. Then, the laughter started to die away, to be replaced by a kind of bewilderment. Hal leaned forward, his surprise supplanted by curiosity. What was the weird metal protrusion hanging from the lad’s crotch?!

“It is a chastity device!” declared the Abbot in answer to their unspoken question. And he delivered a swiping blow at Will’s dangling, steel-encased prick, sending it swinging from side to side like a peculiar pendulum.

“Do you see, my friends? This creature - so outwardly modest and unassuming. So ordinary and hum-drum! The truth is that he harbours such lusts and perversions within him, that his previous master had no choice but to fit him with this constricting cage. His penis can never achieve its full erection, and if it is tempted to try, it will cause severe pain to the boy. This foul nymph is truly a creature of Satan! For lust drives his every thought!”

The Abbot’s face was ruddy with passion as he ranted. Spittle flew from his sensuous mouth and landed on Will’s naked flesh. He paused to draw breath and silence descended upon the schoolroom.

Brother Nathaniel - a wiry young man whose hair was already receding - raised his hand. “Your Holiness?” he asked.

“Yes, Nathaniel?”

“If this creature is indeed a dangerous succubus, why do we harbour him here in a Holy place?”

The students leaned forward to hear the Abbot’s explanation.

“A pertinent question,” he replied, nodding gravely. “I keep him here so that the danger his lust poses can be kept from the poor peasants and farmers hereabouts. Whilst he is contained here in the monastery, the threat he poses can be mitigated. But we must be ever vigilant, my friends. He is a permanent reminder of how evil may lurk in the most mundane places…”

Night fell and in his basic little bunk, Will marvelled anew at his capacity to feel shame. Even now, after everything he had been through, the experience of being stripped naked by the slobbering Abbot for the amused gaze of the young novice monks had distressed him considerably. Truly it was nothing compared to some of the deeply personal invasions he had been subjected to in the past year: the spankings, the purges, the bondage, every orifice used and abused for the sexual gratification of others. Maybe the past few weeks of normality had lulled him into a false sense of security: that a new, simpler chapter had opened in this unusual life of his. But it seemed - thanks to the Abbot and his dubious motives - that this was not to be. Or maybe he was more upset that the tall, handsome Brother Hal had witnessed his humiliation. Had he dared to hope that Hal might turn out to be a friend to him in this friendless universe? This now seemed unlikely after the Abbot’s hysterical castigation of his morals and character.

He pondered the Abbot’s diatribe. He did not truly think he was the hellish incubus that he had been portrayed as, sent to torment the righteous monks around him. Indeed, he had long ago abandoned any thought of God coming to his rescue, and was now quite content in the notion of a godless universe. However, he could not deny that he had started to think about Brother Hal in ways that were not in any way virtuous. His fantasies both excited and distressed him - in no small part because the infernal steel cage still prevented him from wanking - and he cursed Alexander de Courcey for unearthing this dark side of his nature, and for tutoring him in its illicit delights.

He tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He had avoided all company for the rest of the day. He could not even look the friendly Brother Ralf in the eye, for fear he would have heard of his ordeal in the schoolroom and judge him accordingly.

Will’s eyes sprang open at the sound of the creaking door. His time in the castle dormitory and in the bandits’ encampment had left him alert to the slightest sound.

“Who’s there?” he hissed, fearing instantly that the villainous Ebony had returned to claim him as his prize. Tantalising seconds passed as the intruder made his way to Will’s bedside. Will curled his right hand into a fist. If Ebony intended to steal him away once more, he would not go without a fight.

“I hope you don’t mind my coming to your bedside but I was troubled and I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to see that you were all right.”

In an instant, Will unclenched his fist as he recognised the warm, rich tones of Brother Hal. A sliver of moonlight illuminated the room and bathed Hal’s handsome face in its silvery light. Will felt his heart beat quicken as the novice monk rested his hand gently on Will’s naked shoulder.

“Yes,” Will stammered. “Thank you. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

An awkward silence hung between the two young men.

“I would like to ask you something,” whispered Hal, “but if you do not wish to answer, you must say.”

“Alright. Ask.”

“That thing you wear. Is it true what the Holy Father said? Is it a punishment or do you wear it of your own free will?”

“Why should I want to wear something like that?!”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe as some kind of penance. You know, like some monks wear hair shirts under their habits.”

Will shook his head ruefully. “No, I made a powerful enemy when I served at the castle. And the chastity cage was his revenge on me.”

Hal hesitated. “May I - may I see it again?”

Will’s breathing quickened at the prospect of exposing the humiliating cock cage to the handsome young novice. “Why?”

“Call it curiosity…”

Now it was Will’s turn to hesitate, but he quickly made up his mind, and rolled the rough blanket down to his thighs.

Fascinated, Hal brought his face level with Will’s crotch.

“May I touch it?” he inquired gently.

Will mumbled his acquiescence, and then gritted his teeth as he felt the tender touch of the monk, as he delicately lifted the steel device, Will’s penis trapped within, - first this way, then that. Will felt the familiar sensation of blood rushing to his groin, and the equally familiar stab of pain from the tight constriction of the cruel cage. He gritted his teeth.

“Does it hurt?” asked Hal.

“When my dick wants to get hard, yes.”

“And does it now?” Hal breathed in the barest whisper.

Will shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

Hal let go of the steel cylinder and sat beside Will on the bed. Tentatively, he reached out and touched his cheek.

“You are very handsome, Will,” he observed with a frown.

Will averted his eyes, both frightened and excited by where this might lead. “Aren’t you worried I’ve been sent to tempt you, like the Abbot said?” he mumbled.

“The Holy Father says that you are sent by Satan.”

“I don’t think there is such a thing as Satan. There are just men. Good and bad. Or men who sometimes do good things and sometimes do bad things. And I don’t think there is a God either. Does that shock you?”

“I suppose it does. A little. And I suppose it is the sort of thing that a wicked demon might say. One that had been sent to tempt me.”

Silence descended in the dormitory. Will held his breath, wondering where on earth this discussion might lead. Eventually Hal spoke.

“Get dressed,” he said. “And follow me.”

They were bound for the forge.

As the rest of the monastery slumbered, Hal explained with hushed brevity that he was not unskilled in the trade of the blacksmith.

Will stood, barefoot and shivering in the forge as Hal worked to fashion a lock picking device that might finally free his tortured genitals from their long captivity. It was a bizarre activity, which entailed Hal having to examine Will’s crotch from every possible angle. Hal apologised frequently for this intimate familiarity but Will assured him if he could only rid him of the chastity cage, he would be forever in his debt.

“I think it will fit. At least I hope so,” said the monk after a good half hour’s work at the forge. “You will permit me to try?”
“I’ve never been so ready!”

Will held his breath, barely daring to hope that the makeshift key might work. Hal uttered a half-apology, half-exclamation as his left palm inadvertently brushed Will’s naked bollocks. He turned the pick first one way, then the other, and Will was reminded of the time Ebony had offered him the hope of freedom, only to dash it cruelly by imprisoning him once again.

A third click, and a wild hope leapt in Will’s breast as the cock cage became free and clattered to the ground. Tears sprang to his eyes.

“Oh, thank you, Hal! Thank you!” he cried, impetuously flinging his arms around the taller youth and clutching him close in a grateful embrace.

Hal chuckled gently as Will clung to him. “My sacred vows oblige me to aid all those in need. And you looked as if you were very much in need, my friend,”

Will joined in the laughter as he rested his head on Hal’s broad chest, as they sought refuge in the humour and warmth of each other.

Suddenly Will became aware of a familiar swelling at his groin. It was inevitable he supposed, that after so many months of denial, his prick would waste no time in making the most of its liberation. Soon it was straining to attention, and Will realised, with some embarrassment, that it was pushing itself firmly into Hal’s thigh. Any hope Will may have had that the folds of Hal’s robe might prevent the taller youth from noticing the pressure of his hard cock quickly dissipated as Hal looked down with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m so sorry,” mumbled Will. “It’s been so long. I don’t know how… It doesn’t mean… I should go.”

His cheeks flushed with shame, he grabbed his hessian trousers and stumbling over them, he fled from the heat of the forge. He raced back to his pallet, and, his chest heaving, he flung himself onto his bed. Had his nature truly been so altered by his experiences at the castle and at the hands of the perverted Alexander Courcey changed him forever? He tried to expel all such thoughts from his mind and tried to conjure images of the minx-like Jane with her pert breasts. But all he could see were the deep, soulful eyes of Brother Hal: the straight nose, the charming smile and square jaw. His cock began to twitch, and it was hopeless to try and deny the months of pent-up sexual frustration that were now free to vent. His fist encircled his cock-head and a mere three pumping motions, combined with the image of Hal’s long-limbed frame, caused a spasming orgasm which seemed to last forever. A veritable fountain of suppressed cum erupted from his tender boycock, and the shuddering gasp of ecstasy shook his whole body. The relief was tangible, and his balls ached with their long yearned for release. He fell asleep, the large damp patch of his cum drying guiltily beside him on his bed.

Chapter 54 - A Humiliating Evacuation

The autumn sun was warm in the monastery grounds. There, many miles away from the kinky goings-on in Alexander Courcey’s bedchamber, Will worked industriously at the cabbage patch. The kindly Brother Ralf had, to Will’s relief, decreed that whilst the thin gossamer blouse he had been made to wear might be suitable for indoors, he would need sturdier garments for working in the fields. So his broad young shoulders and muscular thighs were, temporarily at least, clad in coarse hessian and linen.

The cruel steel of the cock cage was a permanent torment to him, but he found that if he threw himself into his physical labour during the day, he would be so exhausted that sleep came quickly. Nevertheless, the torture of being unable to ejaculate for all these months weighed heavily on him. Many was the time that he felt he could have cried with frustration, and he cursed Raymond bitterly.

He made sure to keep out of the Abbot’s way as much as possible. This was a relatively straightforward task. The Abbot was frequently absent from the monastery, visiting and being entertained by the various merchants and landowners in the area. When he was there, he would usually lay in bed till late morning and then, after his gargantuan midday meal, retired to his chambers for silent contemplation. (Though the snoring emanating from the window belied his true activity.)

Will was perfectly happy with this arrangement. He well remembered the lustful glint in the Abbot’s eye the day he had stripped him, and, in spite of good Brother Ralf’s assurances on the unimpeachability of the Abbot’s character, Will remained unconvinced.

Will wiped the sweat from his brow, and, having pulled another leafy cabbage from the ground, he was suddenly aware as a shadow fell across him. Will looked up - straight into the handsome face of a tall novice monk. Will recognised him instantly - his dark hair and chiselled jaw made him look more like a knight from a romance novel, and he looked most incongruous in his religious garb. The monk smiled and his full lips parted to reveal a dazzling set of sparkling white teeth.

“I have been wanting to say hello,” he said, and his voice was rich and warm. “I am Brother Henry, but my friends call me Hal.”

He offered his hand for Will to shake. 

Will, conscious of the dirt smeared across his palm, did his best to wipe it on his smock.

“Will,” he said simply. “I am Will.”

The two young men - one tall and dark, one short and fair - regarded one another for a moment.

“I must go,” said Hal with a slight shake of his head. “I have my prayers to attend to.”

Will watched him return to the abbey, confusion in his heart - and a warm tingling in his crotch.

Back at the castle bedchamber, Alexander worked swiftly. He knew that the Prince’s ass was now crammed so full of sweeties that no amount of willpower or muscle control could keep them inside for long. The question was not if but when that gorgeous golden body rebelled and expelled all that nasty gunk into Felix’s shimmering crimson hose.

The Prince was impotent as Alexander pulled up the waistband of the scarlet tights so that once again they encased his beautiful royal bum and then released the cords that bound his wrists and ankles. Then the rope around the Prince’s bulging belly was untied. How Felix wished he could flee: escape the excruciating and humiliating torture! However, at the moment, any sudden movements would undoubtedly result in a spasm deep in his bowels, meaning his cargo of mushed up, sweet, sticky gunge would be unceremoniously deposited into his hose. Even now, he still had his pride, and the prospect of escaping through the mocking throng of courtiers and palace servants - at his beck and call mere hours ago - whilst shitting cream and chocolate into his tights was more than he could bear.

Besides, Alexander was taking no chances. The bottle of potion was forced under Felix’s nose, so that the world swam before him once more, leaving him with neither the ability nor the will to escape. The lust rose in him like sap in a tree and in spite of himself, he found his cock hardening in his spangly red tights. Then in a suddenly unexpected movement, Alexander rolled his royal victim off the bed. Woozy, confused and distressed, the Prince, tumbled to the floor. 

“Get up, my slutty princeling!” snapped Alexander. “Let me see you waddle round the room in your tights for my amusement.”

Felix - his head swimming - crawled to his feet, focused solely on the desperate urge to squeeze his asshole tight. My, but it was a hell of a task! The slightest motion set off a gurgling in his distended belly, and the waves of cramping became more frequent and more urgent.

He clenched his jaw tight in the hope that screwing up all his muscles would give him the strength he needed. Then he panted, his breathing coming quick and fast with the exertion.

“Oooh, poor baby boy,” cooed Alexander. “You’re working so hard to keep from crapping yourself, aren’t you? The effort it must be taking. The desperation! How humiliating for you. Having your arse stuffed with goodies and then needing to keep them all inside you. You must want nothing more than the blessed relief of allowing your bowels to open and evacuate all that nasty gunk. But you know the price if you do - the shameful act of soiling those lovely tights of yours. And who knows how long a cruel master like I might keep you in that degraded and dirty state, eh? Now, you heard me, my slave boy. I want to see you waddling. But be careful. Move too suddenly and you will almost certainly have an accident. And we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

Gingerly, Felix spread his legs wide, his muscles aching from being stretched in their rope bondage. The hardness of his cock, straining and prodding against the silken red fabric of his hose, clinging indecently to him, tingled with heat. 

“Sway your hips, bitch. Let me see that ass wiggle. Ooh your bum looks so tight! Like sculpted marble and so enticing with that thin veneer of red material to clothe it, albeit only barely.”

In spite of himself, the Prince found himself unable to disobey the hypnotic taunting of the older man. Nearby, Raymond licked his lips, as Felix stuck his arse out like a common whore, writhing and undulating. The strong thigh muscles, encased in the luxurious hosiery, bunching as he lifted first one foot and then the other for his new master’s delight.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” gasped the Prince suddenly as a fresh wave of cramps - the most severe yet - threatened to broach the fragile dam of his tender arsehole.

“Don’t you fucking dare shit yourself, boy!” commanded Alexander. “You squeeze that hole as if your life depended on it! Who knows? Maybe it does.”

The Prince’s face went even redder with the exertion, and tears welled in his eyes as he screwed up his proud and noble features as part of this debasing challenge.

“I can’t hold on much longer!” he wailed in anguish. “Can’t you see? I’m desperate!”

“You impudent brat!” declared Alexander. “I can see the thrashing your godfather gave you has taught you no lesson at all. It seems I must administer another spanking to that royal arse of yours!”

With lightning speed, Alexander’s arm encircled the Prince’s slender waist, and before he knew what happened, the golden young man was tipped over the Steward’s lap, his head dangling and the toes of his red-hosed feet pointing at the ceiling. This position was even more dangerous for someone in Felix’s predicament: the pressure on his swollen belly as it rested on Alexander’s hose-clad thigh served only to intensify his desperation. 

Alexander slipped his hand between the Prince’s stomach and his own leg, and prodded it with his finger. “No, please, no!” hissed Felix.

“Ah,” murmured Alexander. “Finally you have learned some manners. We progress. Slowly, but nevertheless… Clearly a well-stocked arsechute is conducive to your temperament, your highness.”

The Steward’s hand continued to roam over Felix’s vulnerable body. “And your royal cock is still fully erect in your tights. Good. I’m glad that your humiliation turns you on as much as it does I. My own purple-covered prick is pressing into your side as I speak. It is so delightful to feel your sweating, straining, muscle-bound body, writhing and wriggling across my lap…”

Alexander squeezed the Prince’s package, before moving his attention to the twin rotundity of Felix’s ass cheeks. He bent down to whisper in the Prince’s ear.

“Soon we shall have the flesh of your buttocks as red as the tights that cover them. How do you like the sound of that, my Lord?”

A couple of gentle slaps to begin with, as Alexander merely enjoyed the sensation of being able to warm his palms on the Prince’s perfect butt cheeks, before he moved on a firmer spanking.

Felix grunted and gasped, trying desperately not to allow the new sensation of the spanking distract him from his primary aim of keeping his cargo of cream, chocolate, pastry and sugar within him. He knew at some point he must lose the battle. His body was simply not designed to retain this colossal amount. Every fibre and nerve seemed to scream for him to release, and only his willpower and his poor, abused arsehole resisted the terrible urge.

“Aarrgh!” screamed the Prince as yet another wave of pain struck his guts. “Let - me - use - the - latrine, you bastard!”

But Alexander merely tutted and spanked the Prince’s tush even harder. “Such bad manners, your highness. And you were doing so well…”

The older man could feel Felix’s body tensing and convulsing beneath him. He was impressed. He really had not expected the Prince to be able to last so long. Felix prided himself on his virginity and so his arsehole was totally inexperienced and untrained. Perhaps that explained it, Alexander mused to himself, his sphincter was so tight it was able to work more efficiently than many slave sluts he had abused. Glancing grimly at Raymond, he doubted whether the page boy could have lasted so long.

However, the end to the little game must come soon. The profiteroles and marshmallows would have melted completely by now from the heat of the young man’s insides. And that chocolatey, sugary enema would be irritating in the extreme.

“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!” cried the Prince. His asshole had been squeezed so tight for so long that it had become almost numb to any sensation, so the first realisation he had that the barrier had been broached was the dampness between his legs. 

“Oh yes, my Lord,” cooed Alexander, as, fascinated, he watched the chocolatey trickle dribbling from the Prince’s pulsing hole, staining the fine scarlet gusset of his tights. “You have succumbed at last, I see. What a dirty little boy you are…”

His spirit broken, something else in Prince Felix seemed to give as well, and the small trickle went on. “Oh God, oh sweet Lord,” he gibbered in a combination of despair and relief. There was no point in holding back now, and when the next painful cramp hit his belly, Felix did not resist, and, sobbing now from the sheer humiliation of his predicament, he gave in to the momentary pleasure of forcing the hateful concoction out of his long-suffering body.

A loud, squelching fart accompanied the expulsion, and even Alexander was a little taken aback by the power and the velocity of the gunk that shot from between the Prince’s butt cheeks and filled the back of his tights. 

“Why, you filthy little bitch!” he declared. “You’ve soiled yourself and more importantly, you’ve soiled my fine palm as I spank you! Get up off my lap. I’ve no desire for you to dirty my beautiful clean tights as you have defiled your own!”

On tottering feet, Felix clambered off his master’s lap, his arse belching forth another wave of effluent as he did so. The sugary liquid began to run in meandering rivulets down his crimson legs, even as the bulk of the residue remained lodged stubbornly in the seat of his hose. The pastry shells of the profiteroles had resisted total disintegration. He wanted nothing more than to be able to pull down his scarlet tights and rid himself of the soggy burden lying there, but it remained a damp and heavy reminder of his humiliation.

The tears flowed freely now. It was all too awful for any other response. The Crown Prince of England, stripped only to his tights, wave after wave of glutinous liquid erupting from his tender arsehole, flooding and fouling his hose and himself.

“You may well sob like a baby, young Felix. For that is what you have been reduced to. A bawling infant, with no control over his bowels. Shitting himself in my presence!”
Alexander drank in the sight before him, savouring his victory over this, his long-standing nemesis. “Look at what you are reduced to. The Prince of England stripped to the waist, emptying his sugary enema into his tights! How excruciating for you this must feel!”

Quick as a flash, Alexander’s palm was clamped over the Prince’s mouth, and the evil potion was once more forced under Felix’s nose. With no option but to inhale its fumes once more, Felix soon succumbed again to its arousing effects. He swayed from side to side, desperately aware of the rapidly cooling bulk in the seat of his hose. He dared not look down to see the disgusting and degraded creature he had become. And as Alexander continued to taunt him, the potion worked its magic and he found the humiliation turning him once more.

Alexander glanced at his own palm, streaked with chocolate, and grimaced. “You filthy brat,” he murmured, and he wiped his hand across the Prince’s chiselled features and down his sculptured torso, smearing the melted gunk across his victim. He lingered at the Prince’s crotch, where that beautifully proportioned prick pressed urgently against the tight red constriction of the hosiery. Felix hated himself for it, but he could not resist pushing his erection into Alexander’s hand. He told himself it was the potion, but broken shell that he was, he could no longer tell. All he knew was that he desperately wanted Alexander to jerk his cock through the silky softness of his tights. He whimpered with a lust he didn't understand.

“So our dirty baby bitch is horny, eh? It seems that you crave the humiliation of being a tights slave after all. Having your arse filled and then emptying it into your hose. But you are a naughty, disobedient little bitch aren't you? Did I not order you not to release your load until I gave you express permission? Very well. For the entertainment you have afforded me, I am going to show you some mercy. Though Lord knows you do not deserve it for the pathetic lack of self-control you have exhibited here. But I will show you that it is good for a master to show kindness to his subservients. Go over to the corner. Right there, in front of the mirror.”

He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, his reactions blurred by the sex potion. Fearful of what would happen to him if he disobeyed, Felix stumbled over to the mirror, his arse clammy from the clagging gunge lying in his tights.

“Have a good look, my tights bitch!”

The Prince bit his lower lip as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. What a sorry specimen he looked! His handsome features were flushed from the effects of the potion, and smeared with chocolate. The stain spread down his well-proportioned pectoral muscles, down to where the top of his crimson hose clung to his waist. His pretty cock pointed to the ceiling and bulged hard inside the contour-hugging fabric of the tights. His posture accentuated the strong, shapely muscles of his thighs and calves: legs were bent, ass pushed out, to try and keep the horrible gunge as far from his skin as he could.

“Turn around and see what that gorgeous bum of yours looks like now,” taunted Alexander.

Gingerly, fearful of what he would see, Felix did as he was ordered. His gaze could not avoid being drawn to the bulging mess at the seat of his tights: a brown, blossoming stain of chocolate, marshmallows, cream and pastries. How he wished he could plunge into a warm bath and rid himself of the demeaning evidence of Alexander’s repulsive enema game.

“What a filthy little maggot you are, eh? All those sweet goodies warmed inside your ass and now clinging to you inside the kinky confines of your hosiery! How does that make you feel, your Highness?”

“It’s filthy… disgusting…” mumbled the humiliated young man. “To have my arse packed with food and then made to expel it all into my tights. How dare you…”

“Oh I dare, all right. Now - I want to see you sit down in all that gunk.”

“No, please…”

“A fine time for you to learn some manners. But it is too little, too late, slut Prince. Don’t keep me waiting, boy. Sit!”

Felix screwed up his gorgeous features in anticipation, as he lowered himself to the ground, and he gulped in fresh distaste as his ass made contact with the floorboards. The gooey mess made a squelching sound as it was pushed around the crotch and gusset of his ruined hose, forced back into the crack between his arse cheeks and up in front now to coat his balls with the chocolatey gunk.

“Is Baby Felix going to cry?” mocked Alexander. “Ah boo-hoo! First he poops himself and now he cries like the little baby bitch he truly is as he is forced to sit cross-legged in his own mess…”

Suddenly the Prince felt his golden hair grabbed by Alexander’s cruel fist, and once more, the noxious fumes of the magic potion went up his nose and into his body.

In spite of himself, a fresh wave of lust flooded through the Prince, and he heard Alexander’s words as if from far away:

“Now, wiggle that ass, boy so that you slip and slide around in all that gunge! That’s right. Now, bounce. Bounce up and down on the floor in your dirty tights. Good bitch, doing your Master’s bidding! You please me at last!”
Raymond observed in a shadowy corner, fascinated as, the Prince, his willpower seemingly neutralised by the evil potion, did as he was ordered, and, like a mere toy, bounced and squelched in his soiled hose, crying freely now like a baby. How he wished he were free to slip a surreptitious hand inside his own tights and begin to jerk his cock, but annoyingly his hands remained cuffed behind his back. He was deeply aroused to see his former master reduced to this degraded condition, he could only hope that Alexander would continue to allow him to observe the spectacle.

“All that claggy gunk must be feeling really nasty against your private parts, eh? So dirty. And yet that cock of yours still strains for release. I think that would be the ultimate humiliation now, don’t you? Sitting stewing in that sticky mess for my entertainment and wanking yourself off into your soiled tights?”

His head swimming from the erotic brew, Felix’s face was a mask of conflicting desires. He had been brought up to believe that his semen was holy, not to be spilled or wasted. He had spent his life denying his libido, waiting for the day when the most physically and mentally perfect vessel in the world - his bride to be - would receive his God-given sperm and conceive their child. And now to spill it in this debauched scene for the benefit of his hated enemy. He would not. He could not!

And yet, and yet… He found himself controlled by a deeper, darker power. His prick twitched and convulsed at the prospect of achieving orgasm and spilling his white creamy seed into the front of his tights. However he might fight it, his brain in this instant was controlled only by his sexual urges. In spite of himself, he found his hand straying to his crotch.

“That’s it, you filthy little whore. You know you want it. Yes - pull open the waistband of your sodden tights and reach inside. Aw, your pretty little pecker is quite, quite desperate, no? Mmm, yes carry on squirming, feeling all that gunk around your arse and bollocks. Slipping into your most intimate crevices. And now - you start to jerk that dirty slave cock of yours. Feels good, doesn’t it? Oh yes. See what I have reduced you to. My bitch boy. Scrabbling around on the floor in his gunge-filled tights, tugging desperately at his prick…”

The potion overwhelmed the Prince. He could not tear his eyes from his reflection: the sight of what he had become. From the gorgeously primped and coiffured royal, to this sweating, grunting pig, his tights slick with cream and melted marshmallows, only recently evacuated from his own arse. Alexander’s jeering taunts rang in his ears, and he realised just how much the very sight of him was turning on his most hated foe.

Here he was: this godlike specimen, reduced to humping into his own palm, his powerful thigh muscles bunching in the clinging fabric of his hose, his golden body naked save for the thin sheen of crimson.

Raymond was aroused. Alexander was doubly so, and as he crowed over the defeated young man, he freed his coiled serpent from the constriction of his purple tights.

“Come now, Prince Slut. Enough delay. I want to see you cum. I want to see your pretty Prince cock emptying itself into the crotch of your tights. Squirm, bitch. Bounce your pert little bottom in that dirty hose! Do it! Cum for your Master! Faster! Faster! Pound that cock in your fist! Fill your tights with your jism! Now!!”

Felix’s breathing quickened. His hand worked quicker, slicked up with cream that lubricated his cock. His balls ached desperately, and he closed his eyes in the agony of suspense. And then - it came. His eyes rolled up in his head, his body went rigid, and wave after wave after wave of hot semen shot in the air. And at that precise moment, a fresh stream of cum came from nowhere to hit him smack in the face. White ribbons draped themselves across his blue eyes and full pink lips, as Alexander anointed him with his own triumphant waves of ecstasy.

Silence hung in the air. Eventually Felix’s body ceased its juddering orgasm. He stared back at his pitiful reflection in the mirror: this sweating, cum-streaked, gunged-up, tights-clad sex slave and let out a desperate shriek of anguish: “Nooooo!!!”

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 48 - A Change of Habit

Will opened his eyes groggily. How long had he slept, he wondered. Gingerly, he raised his head and looked around him. Moonlight illuminated the sky, and the noisy snoring of the dozen bandits assailed his ears. He was still lying, discarded, in the corner of the barn. It all flooded back to him. After the episode with the beer enema, the raucous party had continued: the robbers growing even more inebriated. The alcohol had made them argumentative and aggressive and they had fallen to brawling, Lunk pummelling his cronies with his ham-like fists. Will, meanwhile, to his relief, had been forgotten about.

A sudden thought occurred to him. Could it be true? Could it be that, in their drunkenness, they had actually forgotten to tether him to the iron ring in the barn’s wall? Praise the Lord! Yes, they had!

A wild hope leaped within him. He would need to think quickly: a process hindered by the pounding headache he was experiencing. Had anyone ever had a hangover before from taking beer up their anus, he wondered vaguely.

What to do now? His first instinct was to get on his feet and to run as far and as fast as he could. Then, as his bleary head began to clear, the practicalities of the situation began to sink in. The chill of autumn had set in, and besides, he could not very well go traipsing around the countryside naked.

He tiptoed over to the haul of loot that the gang had snatched earlier that night and sent up a quick prayer of thanks that there, dumped amongst the silverware, coins and wine bottles, lay a small selection of furs. He picked up the largest and managed to wrap it around himself, tying it off with a leather studded belt. It was not ideal, but it made a kind of short tunic that at least covered his upper body and genitals, though it left his muscular legs bare and exposed. And for once, further good fortune smiled on Will as he noticed that one of the thugs had discarded his leather boots on the ground before falling asleep. They were too big for Will, but they were better than nothing and would at least mean he did not have to flee barefoot!

What else to take? He snatched up a handful of coins and a small dagger. He glanced over to the snoring throng. Once they awoke and realised he had slipped from their clutches, they’d be sure to pursue him. Would it be safer to slit their throats now as they slept? He rejected the idea almost immediately. He could not take the chance of one or more of them awaking before the job was done. He could never take them all on! Besides, in spite of the cruelty he had experienced at their hands, he did not think, even now, that he could bring himself to murder a dozen men in cold blood. No, the best thing to do would be to set off straight away and get as big a head start as possible before they woke and inevitably came after him.

Will inhaled a lungful of fresh night air and took one final look at Lunk, lying prone and unconscious on the ground. Then he stole out of the barn and started out on his way to – who knew where? For the first time in over a year he was master of his own destiny. Where that would lead him, heaven only knew!

No such luxury as freedom for young Raymond StClare and his highness Prince Felix of England. It may have been the early hours of the morning but there was to be no sleep for these two young men.

“They’ll pay for this, those fuckers,” swore the Prince through gritted teeth. “How dare they? How dare they?!!”

Raymond sighed deeply. The Prince had kept on with this theme, incandescent with rage, for the past hour – as long as the two of them had been incarcerated in the castle dungeon.

They had been taken, still naked but for their sopping wet hosiery, and with Raymond’s peachy arse hanging out of the back of his piebald tights, from the courtyard, under the watchful gaze of Alexander and his cronies. Now they were manacled and secured to opposite walls of the dungeon. Felix thrashed impotently at his chains.

“They will all die for this. Anyone who witnessed my humiliation this evening will pay. Every single one of them! I swear that as a solemn oath! Don’t they know who I am?!” His voice rose even higher and became a scream. “I am God’s chosen. The Prince of this realm!” He balled his hand into a fist and thumped the uncaring stone wall.

Raymond remained silent as the Prince continued his tirade. “And as for you – grovelling at the feet of that traitor! ‘Ravish me, Sir! Fuck my arse!’ What kind of man are you?”

“One who would stay alive,” hissed Raymond through gritted teeth.

For a moment, Felix was stunned into silence.

“Your highness,” Raymond went on, in a more conciliatory tone. “Remember when you first laid eyes on me? It was the lowest point of my life. I had been for months at the mercy of that revolting Sir Wilfrid – used day and night as his sex slave, his pisspot. I was a mere animal at the whim of a crazed and perverted old man. Did I give up hope? No. I had to believe that I would escape from that hellish bed chamber. And sure enough – you raised me up to your right hand. My point, Sire, is that the wheel of fortune has turned. It will turn again. But we must try and stay alive long enough to enjoy our return to power and the inevitable downfall of your godfather and Alexander Courcey. For now, that requires obedience and compliance.”

“And for that,” sneered the Prince. “You are prepared to prostitute yourself! To hawk your arse like some common slut on the street! Have you no pride?”

Raymond gritted his teeth. “Oh I have my pride, and believe me, I’m as angry as you are. But remember, I have not had your privileged upbringing, my Lord. My father was a squire to the king. He was a noble man, but he was poor, and when he died my sister and I inherited only his debts. However, I am a quick learner. And from the moment I arrived in this God-forsaken castle, I realised the quickest way to advance would be to wiggle my bum in Master Courcey’s direction. I did it before to become his favourite. I’m more than prepared to do it again in order to save my life.”

Felix shook his head. “I would rather die than submit to such obscene degradation.”

“Really, my Lord? You’re dead an awfully long time, you know. And if I’m not mistaken, didn’t you wiggle your arse at him not that long ago? When you tricked him into trying to seduce you?”

Raymond knew that this was a risky strategy, but the whirlwind events of the past few hours had made him reckless, and he was not particularly in the mood for the Prince’s sanctimonious cant.

“That was different,” stuttered Prince Felix. “I was trying to catch him out.”

“And you did so most successfully, your highness. But did you really gain no satisfaction whatsoever as he groped your tights and climb into bed with you...?”

Felix gulped. He well remembered how he had feigned lust and allowed Alexander to paw at his body, fondle his royal cock through his hose, even to lie atop him. But that had all been in order to trap the traitor and to ensure the Steward’s downfall. Yes, Felix conceded to himself, he had been moderately excited by the sensations – but that was purely due to the thrill of deceiving the treasonous older man and for no other reason. After all, he himself was not prone to such perversions.

The Prince recovered his dignity. “You and your fellow slut page boys might experience such stirrings of lust. I am from nobler stock,” he remarked pompously.

Raymond sniffed. “Whatever, you needn’t think Courcey will get away with this. When the King returns, I will personally take great pleasure in exacting my revenge on dear Master Alexander. I’m younger than him. I’m cuter than him. I’m cleverer than him. And I’m more ambitious as well.”

Silence fell in the cell as the two young men seethed indignantly.

Eventually the Prince spoke – and his voice was now rather meeker than before. “You’ve served Courcey for many years, Raymond. What do you think he will do to us?”

Raymond contemplated for a moment. “It’s hard to say: his sexual appetites are broad, and as you know already, encompass a range of kinks and perversions. His main turn-on – as you may have realised already – is humiliation: he loves seeing a good-looking young man completely at his mercy: ideally dressed in figure-hugging tights. He really loves to see a guy with a good body in a pair of hose that show off his legs, crotch and arse. So, with all due respect, your highness – the sight of you naturally drives him wild. He likes to humiliate boys verbally – to point out in great detail the exact predicament in which he has placed them, and how he is in complete control of their destiny. He gets off on tying lads up, gagging them, spanking their bums, forcing them to suck his cock... And he particularly enjoys playing with their arses, including rinsing them out with enemas. Sometimes with something as prosaic as mere water, but often with more imaginative enema solutions. Oh, and if there’s any food to hand, you can bet he’ll want to shove that up a cute lad’s hole as well.”

Felix’s handsome face turned as white as a sheet. “You don’t seriously think he would dare... invade me in that way!”

“You read some of that erotic literature that he keeps in his library. That gives you a broad indication of his tastes. And besides, what does he have to lose? He and Lord Geoffrey have gone this far. They both know by now that if and when you return to power, they are dead men. They will seek to degrade you in every way they can think of.”

“What can we do?”

“Very little, unfortunately, but submit. For now, they have the upper hand. But we will store up all these insults ready for our revenge.”

Raymond watched the Prince, as with growing horror, Felix realised that for the first time in his life, he was at the mercy of someone else.

“Forgive my impertinence, my Lord,” ventured Raymond. “But have you ever lain with either man or woman?”

“You are impertinent, Raymond,” snapped the Prince.

“I was merely curious, your Highness.”

“The fact is,” continued the Prince, full of steely arrogance, “I have never laid eyes on any man or woman who could be deemed worthy of my attentions.”

“Is that so?”

“I have always known that one day I would be required to provide the kingdom with a son and heir, but when that day comes, my bride must needs be the greatest beauty in the world.”

“Then you are as yet a virgin, my Lord? Is that not ... somewhat frustrating for a virile man such as you? Are you never tempted ... to relieve your undoubted sexual urges?”

“We may of necessity be cell mates, Raymond. But this conversation is straying into the realms of sacrilege.”

“My apologies, my Lord. I meant no disrespect.”

Felix turned his piercing blue eyes on him. “I’m no fool. I know you desire me. I’ve felt your manhood harden when we have wrestled. And I know you hope one day to conquer me in the bedroom. Let me inform you now, that that will never happen. I am God’s anointed and the very notion that I could ever share any kind of sexual encounter with a commoner like you is both repugnant and absurd. And if the treasonous Alexander Courcey were to attempt such a thing, well, Odin and Ulfgar may not be able to save me, but I know that God would intervene to protect me. Now, I am going to try and get some sleep. I suggest you do the same.”

And the Prince tried his best to make a bed for himself in the damp straw, his sodden tights outlining the perfect muscularity of his arse and thighs. Raymond’s expression was impenetrable, but there was far less certainty in his mind that divine intervention would prevent the Prince’s virginity being yielded up to Alexander in the not too distant future...

The sun rose, and Will slogged on. He had not dared pause all night: the one thought in his mind to put as much distance between him and the gang of robbers. He must have covered several miles of woodland and glade, and now he found himself desperately in need of a drink. He emerged from a small scrub of trees and saw that he had arrived on the outskirts of what seemed to be a moderately large estate. Various stone buildings nestled together, surrounded by walled allotments. Chickens pecked at their morning feed and a duckpond glistened in the morning sunlight.

A tall, middle aged man with a long face and grey hair, dressed in a long brown robe, was tending some vegetables in the allotment. He looked up and spotted Will by the wall. Will tensed and made to flee, acutely aware that he must look deeply suspicious: a grubby, bruised urchin dressed in only a rich fur cloak and too-big boots.

“No! Wait!” called the gardener. “I mean you no harm.”

Will hesitated. His trust in strange men had been sorely tested over the past year.

“This is a monastery,” the man continued. “We tend to the sick and the unfortunate. You need tell me no more than you wish to. But at least come inside and have a drink and something to eat.”

Will’s hunger and thirst overcame his suspicion. Nodding his head, he accepted the invitation.

The man’s name was Brother Ralf. As he led Will into the kitchen, he explained that he and his fellow monks spent their days in religious contemplation. Only a handful of them remained now, as even they had not been spared the forced conscription to fight in the King’s foreign war. Also living in the monastery were a dozen or so novice monks who were discovering whether God’s path was truly for them. These young men were under the pastoral care and tutelage of the Abbot.

Will fell gratefully onto the bread, cheese and water provided by Brother Ralf, and once he had sated himself, a silence fell and he realised that the monk was waiting for him to tell his story. Will was brief and opted to reveal the minimum amount of information. He told Brother Ralf that he had grown up on a farm, and that a year ago he had been taken to serve as a page boy at Castle Montford. He deliberately omitted any details of what had happened to him during his time in service at the castle: reliving the explicit sexual humiliation to which he had been subjected to this kindly-faced religious man would have been excruciating in the extreme! He told Brother Ralf that he had been returned to his family for a brief while, and that, subsequently, he had been kidnapped and held hostage by a gang of thieves, but that he had managed to escape and was currently on the run from them.

The monk listened in silence to his tale. For a moment, Will panicked that he had been foolish in saying anything at all: would the monk be tempted to betray him to Lunk and his cronies, out of greed or fear? But then he looked more closely at the sad look on Brother Ralf’s face and was reassured that he could indeed trust the cleric.

“You are welcome to seek sanctuary here for as long as you need it, my son,” said the monk. “You say you once worked as a farmhand, and you also have experience serving the nobility at the castle. If you are prepared to help out in our daily household chores, you will not find this an unpleasant place to live.”

Will did not need long to make up his mind. For the first time in over a year, maybe in his entire life, he was master of his own destiny. He was not interested in a life devoted to God, but, for a while at least, he would gladly accept the opportunity for a more peaceful existence. Unlike Prince Felix, Raymond, Lunk, his brother Jack or, yes, even the suave and saturnine Alexander Courcey, Brother Ralf showed no sign of wanting to bully, torment or use him sexually. And for that he was most grateful.

“Thank you, Sir,” said Will simply, his blond fringe falling in front of his deep brown eyes. “I accept your offer.”

The monk smiled and rested his hand on Will’s shoulder, his eyebrow raised as he appreciated the rich quality of the fur cloak. “I suspect this garment may have been acquired through somewhat dubious means,” he remarked, “I think we should find you more suitable, attire, don’t you?”

Will could not help but compare his welcome at the monastery to his arrival at Castle Montford. He remembered the way Master Yorick, the old rogue, had manhandled him into a bath and with soapy, slippery fingers had groped his vulnerable, naked arse. He thought back to having his cock and balls encased in the leather cock ring, and then that awe-inspiring moment when those freshly-laundered, skin-tight and oh so soft and silky blue tights were pulled over his feet and muscular legs, leaving him feeling so naughtily aroused.

His cock began to leak at the memory as he stood naked in the small chamber into which Brother Ralf had led him. Naturally, the hated cock cage prevented Will’s penis from becoming erect. The monk had left him alone, and so this time, he was not observed undressing. For this he was thankful. He did not want to have to explain the presence of the metal chastity device to him.

Will picked up the long brown monk’s habit that Brother Ralf had left draped over the chair. He pulled on the hessian robe, tied it at the waist with a knotted cord, and stepped into the leather sandals the monk had provided for him. He could almost hear Master Alexander’s voice dripping with scorn: “It’s a crime to cover up that tight little body with such a shapeless sack as that! You should be put in tights, lad, and made to expose every contour of that gorgeous, plump, peachy bum for my pleasure...”

Will shook his head at the memory, and, as he did from time to time, found himself wondering whether his former master had indeed managed to flee to safety on the Continent. One day he hoped he would find out, just for curiosity’s sake. He wondered whether Alexander ever found himself thinking of him: the young lad he had plucked from nowhere, used and abused for his pleasure, and who had risked his life to save his. Somehow Will doubted it. If Alexander were still alive, he felt sure, there would be some other sexy slutboy bound and gagged and at his mercy. He felt a pang. Of what? Envy? Regret? In an instant, he suppressed it. Alexander was in the past. And he now had to look to his future.

It was gone midday by the time Ebony the thief finally awoke. He grimaced. His mouth tasted like a stable floor and his head pounded in the autumn sunlight. On all fours, he crawled over to the water trough and plunged his head beneath the scummy surface. The cold water was a shock, but at least it took his mind off the thudding session in his brain.

Squinting, he glanced around the barn. The others were all still asleep, snoring noisily. Lunk was lying there motionless. And there was something about his particular stillness that seemed odd. Ebony dragged himself over to his gang leader. Lunk’s mouth gaped open, but, curiously, no breath escaped from it. Ebony lifted that massive, ugly head. A wound gaped at the back of Lunk’s skull, and it was covered in sticky, black, congealed blood. In a split second, Ebony realised what must have happened the night before. He had watched as Lunk, brawling with his cronies, had slipped on the beer-sodden floor. At the time, everyone had assumed he had passed out with drunkenness, but in truth, he must have struck the back of his head on this jagged rock. The blow had been fatal. Lunk, the gigantic terroriser of Dunchester, was dead.

In truth, Ebony could feel no remorse at this unexpected turn of events. Lunk had been a useful ally – and one no man in his right mind would dare cross. But with Lunk out of the way, Ebony could definitely see possibilities for himself. Almost inevitably, his mind turned to the pretty piece of ass that Lunk had protectively dubbed his “pet”.

And there of course, he was met with his second shock of the day.

“That little bastard!” he muttered to himself. “He’s got away!”