Chapter 50 - The Sleeping Beauty

“They’ve forgotten about us, haven’t they?! Those treasonous swine have locked us up and forgotten about us!”

The Prince’s voice practically screeched with incredulity.

“Given that if they remember us, they might choose to slit our throats,” remarked Raymond drily, “I’m actually rather glad to be forgotten.”

The past three days had seemed like an eternity for the curly-haired youth. Prince Felix was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the ideal cellmate. The two young men remained shackled to the dungeon walls in their dirty tights. They had been fed and watered, forced to use the latrine in the corner of the cell, and, unceremoniously, ignored.

The sound of the key in the lock heralded the arrival of their evening meal. The rugged Sir Antony ushered in skinny young Mortimer who carried a tray of greasy stew. Lumps of fatty mutton bobbed in the congealing liquid.

Prince Felix turned up his nose. “I’m not eating that,” he pronounced with a sniff.

“You are a prisoner of his Lordship,” Sir Antony informed him blandly, “and you will eat what you are given. If you want me to hold your nose and tip it down your throat, then so be it.”

Mortimer carried the tray over to the Prince, who begrudgingly took the moderately more appealing of the two bowls.

“No, Prince Felix,” said Sir Antony. “The Chief Steward informs me that you are to partake of the other one.”

Felix turned pale. “Ah, so it has come to this, has it? I am to be poisoned like some plague-infested rat?”

“Alexander has not taken me into his confidence, but I understand that Lord Geoffrey wants you to remain alive for the time being.”

The Prince looked at Sir Antony with defiance. “Give me the bowl. I would rather meet my maker than be subjected to the perverted whims of Alexander Courcey!”

Gagging as he did so, the Prince forced himself to eat the stew. His rumbling belly protested, and Antony smiled knowingly as the final dregs of the meal disappeared.

“Well done, your highness,” he said. “Now, we shall bid you a good night and the most pleasant of dreams...”

And with that, he and Mortimer left the prisoners alone.

It was a long and uncomfortable night for them both.

It seemed that Sir Antony’s assurances were true. Felix’s supper was not poisoned. Instead it had been laced with a powerful laxative, which meant the unfortunate Prince spent the whole night running back and forth to the latrine in the corner of the cell.

Raymond sighed as the Prince cursed the vile and traitorous Alexander. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, Felix’s bowels seemed to calm a little, and Raymond fell into a fitful slumber.

It must have been late morning. Raymond’s ears pricked up as he heard the key being turned in the door of the dungeon. Sir Antony and Sir Dominic strode into the cell: knowing smirks illuminating their square jaws.

“Master Courcey has summoned the two of you to his chambers,” Sir Antony informed them.

Prince Felix groaned from the corner of the cell. “Tell him he’ll have to wait. I’m spent. I’ve not slept all night thanks to that foul stew he fed me.”

“It’s a summons, not a request, your Highness,” said Sir Dominic sardonically.

“He does want you cleaned up first though,” added Sir Antony.

“Really?” asked Raymond suspiciously.

“Indeed. Master Alexander is a sensitive man. Your current state would offend his delicate sense of smell...”

Reinstalled in his own luxurious chambers, Alexander was thoroughly at home once more. God, it felt good to be back where he truly belonged. The months of uncertainty, incarceration and fugitive flight were finally at an end, and he was in charge again. The past few days had been spent assisting Lord Geoffrey in re-establishing some kind of order after the chaos of the Prince’s rule. And now – finally – he could allow himself some leisure time.

He looked at the three corked bottles that sat before him on his oak dressing table. On this occasion, he had instructed the old witch to brew up a variety of potions, and to differentiate the three of them, affixed to each vial was a scrap of parchment indicating what would occur to whoever inhaled from each brew. The first read “To induce unconsciousness”; the second “To revivify”; and the last simply read “Lust”.

Of course, this final brew was one he had ordered from the old crone many times over the years. He toyed briefly with the idea of taking a draught of it now, and his cock, coiled and nestling expectantly in his purple hose, began to stiffen at the thought. His balls hung swollen and heavy with cum, and his tights bulged.

It had been nearly a week since he’d had any sexual release. He’d been working so hard that there had not even been time for a quick wank to relieve himself. How tempting to inhale the potion now and manipulate his prick through the sensous satin of his hosiery and leak his white man juice into the gusset of his tights... But instead he restrained himself. Ultimately, it would be sweeter to prolong his frustration. He had dreamed of this opportunity for a long time. And now it was nearly upon him, he was absolutely determined to make the most of it.

There was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” he called, as he casually moved his beringed hand from his crotch.

“I have the prisoners, Master Alexander,” came Sir Antony’s voice.

“Excellent. Bring them in.”

The door swang open and Alexander turned to survey the newcomers. The strapping Sir Antony, broadsword in hand, entered: no attempt to conceal the grin upon his sunburnt features.

Behind him came Raymond. As per Alexander’s instructions, he had been cleaned up and was now a positive paradigm of perfumed spotlessness. His dark curls were glossy and sleek, his cheeks had been freshly shaved and he was now dressed in a fine grey doublet, slashed down the chest and sleeves to reveal rich black satin beneath. Naturally, the doublet rested above the waist, and from his hips to his feet he wore luxurious silver hose, his package a modest bulge. On his feet were black buckled pumps.

The chastened youth caught Alexander’s eye and tried to convey a mixture of subjugation and camaraderie, as if in that instant he hoped to undo the mischief he had caused and that the older man would both forgive and forget. Alexander returned the lad’s gaze, but he said nothing and his expression gave nothing away.

Behind Raymond, and as surely as the sun follows the moon, came his royal highness, the recently deposed Prince Felix of England. It was an apposite comparison, for the blond youth’s face blushed red with fury just as Raymond’s was pale. Like Raymond, Felix’s hair – falling as ever to his shoulders in golden waves – was freshly washed. His broad and well-muscled torso was adorned with a rich crimson doublet, heavy with gold brocade. And his bulging thighs and calves were encased in a bright red pair of tights. The hosiery had been ingeniously interwoven with golden thread so that the Prince’s impressive legs seemed to shimmer. The eye was inevitably drawn to the spot where lay the royal prick: for now an anonymous swelling in the stretchy fabric. Alexander itched to tell the Prince to turn round so he could drink in the sight of those perfectly peachy buttocks within the scarlet hose. He denied himself that particular joy for the time being.

The Prince padded in, soft suede boots on his feet, followed by Sir Dominic, who also carried his naked sword in his hand.

“Did they comply with your instructions?” asked Alexander.

“Pretty much,” replied Sir Antony. “His Highness whinged a little as he is wont to do. But they appreciated the opportunity to wash and clothe themselves.”

“Although,” added Sir Dominic with a grin, “I think the Prince slightly misunderstood and thought it meant he was being restored to his old position.”

Alexander gave an amused grunt as he watched the Prince seethe.

“You have served me admirably, my friends,” he said. “And you have my eternal gratitude. That will be all I require of you for now.”

The two knights looked a little crestfallen. “Will you be safe alone with the two of them?” asked Sir Antony.

“Have no fear. I can cope with two young pups like these. You may send a guard to wait outside my chamber door if you are truly concerned.”

The knights withdrew, their reluctance, Alexander felt quite sure, principally due to their expectation that they would at least witness, and perhaps even participate, in whatever debauched activity he had in mind for the Prince and his companion.

Felix flicked a glance to Raymond as the door slammed shut behind Antony and Dominic. Was this their opportunity to escape? Raymond responded with a barely perceptible shake of his head. The castle was crawling with Lord Geoffrey’s guards, and the two of them were hardly inconspicuous. How far did he think they would get?

“So, gentlemen,” purred Alexander, “after all this time, I finally have the two of you all to myself. How shall we pass the afternoon, I wonder? A game of backgammon perhaps? Or shall we take our horses and hunt in the forest? Would that amuse you, your highness?”

“I have nothing to say to you, you cur,” spat the Prince. “You will have your punishment both on earth and in heaven for the way you have treated me. And each outrage you commit against my royal person merely adds to the tally sheet.”

Alexander did not reply, but instead took a plain white handkerchief from the pouch on his belt and unstoppered the first of the witch’s potions. He doused the fabric liberally with the liquid and, quick as a flash, he was behind the Prince. He clasped the Prince’s body with one arm, and, with his free hand, he pressed the soaked handkerchief to the young man’s nose.

At once, Felix began to struggle.

“What evil is this?!” came his muffled cry.

“Mmm,” said Alexander. “I like to feel you struggle like that. Yes, you carry on. I’m grinding my hosed cock against the juicy, ample mounds of your bum. And every protesting move you make, tights against tights, serves only to turn me on and make my prick even harder!”

Raymond watched impotently as Felix, eyes bulging, writhed in the taller man’s crushing embrace. He could not help but be aroused at the sight of the beautiful Prince’s legs – looking as if they were painted scarlet so tight were his hose – thrashed and kicked. By rights, it should have been a more even struggle. Whilst Alexander was taller and leaner, Felix was more muscular and he was also a good fifteen years younger than Master Courcey.

“Breathe deeply, my pretty Prince Prick-tease!” whispered Alexander in Felix’s ear. “For soon you will sink into a dreamless slumber!”

The Prince’s eyes widened over the top of the handkerchief as, too late, he realised that he had no hope of escape whilst he inhaled its noxious fumes. He made one last-ditch effort to free himself from Alexander’s grip, a desperate wrenching lunge, and as he did so took a gulp of air. With that, the aroma finally overpowered him, and he slumped into Alexander’s arms.

“That’s it, boy, you have a nice sleep,” cooed the Steward as he cradled the Prince’s limp form against him. Smartly and efficiently, Alexander lifted the young man in his arms, his jewelled palm brushing against Felix’s shapely tights-clad thigh: and the feeling of hard muscle through the sensous, clinging fabric sent a thrill of lust through Alexander’s body.

He carried the unconscious Prince through into the bedchamber, pausing briefly to instruct Raymond: “Come with me.”

Nervous, but intrigued, Raymond did as he was told and stood obediently as Alexander carelessly let the comatose Adonis slip from his grasp and bounce onto the bed. The Steward took a moment to contemplate that Sleeping Beauty – scarlet legs akimbo – lying there entirely at his mercy.

For his part, Raymond could not help but be assailed by memories of this bedchamber. It was here, as a naive sixteen year old, that he, manacled and gagged, his tights pulled down to his ankles, had lost his virginity to Alexander. That occurrence had been repeated in every imaginable submissive permutation and humiliating position over the next few years, whilst the ambitious Raymond had consoled himself with the certainty that he might be the powerful man’s pet but at least he was his favourite pet.

This was the room where he had been put in charge of that conniving little upstart, Will, but also the place he had been cheated of his victory in the kinky ass-stuffing contest between him and the blond page boy, which had seen him banished to the vile Sir Wilfrid’s rooms. And of course – up until only a few days ago – these plushly furnished chambers had belonged to him. The chair in the corner still had its red velvet cushion, slightly smeared with the bananas Raymond had forced up Alexander’s ass. How far away that particular power play seemed now.

As if sensing Raymond’s thoughts, Alexander clicked his fingers at him.

“Strip his Highness of his doublet!”

Raymond knew better than to question an order, especially one issued in that tone of voice. He scurried to the bed and bent over the prone form of his former master, even as his new overlord planted a smart Slap! on his grey hosed buttocks.

“Get on with it, bitch. I don’t have much patience with you, you’ll be surprised to learn...”

Raymond’s mind raced as he fumbled at the finicky buttons on the Prince’s velvet doublet. How long did Alexander plan to keep Felix unconscious, and what precisely did he intend to do to him whilst he was in this condition? It was curious. Raymond had always thought that a big part of the turn on for his kinky master had been to provoke conflicting emotions in his submissive victims: the delicate contrast between sexual arousal and extreme humiliation. Would he achieve the same satisfaction if his sex slave were completely unaware of what was being done to him? He supposed all would be revealed soon enough.

Doublet removed, the Prince lay there on his back in peaceful oblivion, his smooth, muscled chest now naked and exposed.

“Take his boots off,” said Alexander curtly.

Raymond mumbled a “yes, Sir,” and hurried to the other end of the bed. A couple of tugs, and the suede boots were flung on the floor, leaving the Prince with his figure-hugging, glittering red tights as his sole remaining item of clothing.

Alexander looked at the dark haired youth. “There he lies, Raymond. Insensible and ignorant of what might happen to him. What shall we do with him, I wonder?”

Raymond hesitated. Was Alexander speaking rhetorically?

But Alexander clearly was not as unprepared as he had suggested. Reaching under the bed, he fetched various lengths of rope, and, moving swiftly, he tossed one rope across the Prince’s waist and fastened it securely beneath the bed. Then he attached two pieces of similar length to Felix’s wrists, and a further two were tied around his hosed ankles.

Alexander checked that the ropes were knotted well, and then he passed the end of each through the convenient metal rings that he had long ago screwed into the ceiling of his bedchamber. Then he stretched them along an ingenious pulley system, which left the free ends of each rope dangling in the air. For now, however, Alexander left the ropes hang slack.

He looked at Raymond and raised an eyebrow sardonically. “So, young Master StClare. Here we are. A fine situation, eh? And one I feel quite sure we have both been dreaming of for some time. That gorgeous peacock, Prince Felix, lies quite at our mercy. What are we to do with him?”

Raymond looked at the older man with incredulity. Was Alexander actually making him complicit and giving him permission to take advantage of the slumbering Prince? His heart skipped a beat.

“Oh, don’t get too excited, my lad,” chuckled Alexander. “It’s not like I’m going to let you fuck him or anything. You’ve really done nothing to earn that kind of reward. Far from it. But if you promise to do as you’re told, I might let you wank over him.”

Raymond hesitated.

“No it’s not a trick,” the Steward went on. “Slip off those leather pumps and climb onto the bed.”

Raymond did as he had been instructed, and, in his stockinged feet, clambered up onto the counterpane.

“Let’s see whether you can cum to order,” said Alexander, “and how good your aim is. Stand there, upright, one foot either side of our insensible young royal’s hosed hips. You have two minutes to orgasm. And I want to see your hot white jism spattering all over that broad chest and beautiful, chiselled face. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal clear, Sir,” said Raymond determinedly. His cock was already rock hard at the sight of the beautiful Prince lying knocked out at his feet.

Alexander made himself comfortable in a leather armchair. He picked up a small hourglass from the table next to him, and inverted it. “You may begin!”

With no time to lose, Raymond slipped his hand inside the waistband of his grey tights and began to pump away at his penis.

“Good lad,” purred Alexander, as he. “I bet that makes you feel really horny, doesn’t it? Standing proud and masterful in your tights, towering over that prime piece of royal meat. You could do anything to him now and he’d be completely clueless. He’s like a doll: a lifeless object for your pleasure. Wank fodder for you to use and abuse. Go on, unbutton that fine doublet of yours and play with your tits. I want you to get me excited too...”

Raymond did not need to be told twice. How long had he fantasised about dominating Prince Felix and wiping that arrogant smirk off his handsome face? He squeezed his pert nipple, sending a little thrill of pleasure and pain across his chest. He withdrew his hand from his hose briefly to spit into his palm, and then returned to his crotch, lubricating the cockhead and making it even more sensitive to his touch.

“Stick your bum out, boy!” commanded Alexander. “I need to see that hosed arse pushed out nice and far as you play with yourself, you dirty little slut.” Naturally, he too was fondling himself: his own cock thick and tumescent within the tight constriction of his purple leggings.

Raymond did as he was told, his breathing heavy and his face tense as he gave himself up entirely to lustful thoughts of dominating the Prince. He looked down at that perfect body, and imagined the ropes at Felix’s wrists and ankles stretched taut – the muscles straining under the stress, and the pain and agony etched onto the golden young man’s face.

“Half of your time gone already, boy,” observed Alexander. “I hope you’re coming close. There’ll be trouble if you don’t climax in time...”

However, there seemed little fear of that, as Raymond grunted and sweated with sexual ardour. Up and down the shaft of his cock went his fist, and precum began to leak into the grey fabric of his hose.

“Better get that cock out of your tights, slut. I want your cum spattered all over the Prince’s body.”

“Yes, Sir,” panted Raymond, pulling his tights down to below his balls.

Alexander watched eagerly. As the final grains of sand slipped into the lower bulb of the hourglass, Raymond’s legs tensed, his face screwed up. A pulsing stream of hot white semen sprayed from his cock.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

The Prince was unceremoniously anointed with his former servant’s jism. A big globule landed on Felix’s bare chest and began to slide towards his pink nipples. Another couple of blobs fell on his stomach, and then, as a second wave of Raymond’s cum erupted from his dick, a perfectly aimed emission descended onto the Prince’s face, dropping in a thick trail from his forehead, across his closed eye, full pouting lips, and dripped off his chin.

Alexander rose from his chair and nodded approvingly at the post-orgasmed Raymond, panting and red faced, cock softening in his palm. He looked down on the blissfully unaware Prince, now covered in hot wet cum, rapidly drying on that divine body.

“I think it is time for our Sleeping Beauty to awaken...”

Chapter 27 - Midnight Flight

“It was easier than I thought,” whispered Will, as he unwrapped the iron file from a hessian cloth. “Everything’s chaos because someone tried to kill Prince Felix today.”

Alexander raised his eyebrows. “Did they now? So the people are revolting at last. Much as it would grieve me to see the end of that pretty arse, I can’t help wishing the spoiled little shit had met his maker today.”

“He’s been locked in his chamber with Raymond ever since. Raymond saved his life apparently.”

Alexander sighed. “I always knew that boy was trouble. What about those two Viking idiots?”

“The Prince is furious with Ulfgar for not spotting the danger. He’s sent both of them out to terrorise all the nearby villages. He told them to stay out until they’d visited every place within fifteen miles of the castle. It’s all quiet as can be out there in the castle.”

“Well that’s good news for us at least. It means we’re not likely to be disturbed. Now let me get this damned manacle off my wrist – and then I believe my cock has a long overdue appointment with your bum, my lad…”

Alexander’s lust drove him on, and in his eagerness, it was not long before he had filed through the iron shackle. It fell with a clank to the dungeon floor.

“I brought you some new tights, Sir,” whispered Will meekly.

Alexander clasped the lad’s shoulder in gratitude, and began to roll his old pair down his strong legs. Will watched in fascination. He had never seen Alexander strip in front of him before and it seemed to him that this was to be a rare moment of intimacy for the two of them.

As if reading his mind, Alexander looked at Will with a wry expression.

“This is - original, isn’t it? My standing naked in front of you?”

Will had to admit he was impressed by what he saw. In spite of the days he had spent imprisoned in the dank dungeon on the most meagre of food rations, Alexander remained a damned handsome man. His chest had a light smattering of dark hair which ran down his washboard stomach and covered his tanned and lithe legs. His beard was now a little unkempt and he smelt strongly of masculinity, but if anything, Will wondered if he did not prefer this rawer version of the Steward.

“Let me see those tights, boy. I want to feel them against my skin as I fuck you.”

Will did as he was ordered and handed the cleanly laundered hosiery to his former master.

“Royal purple, eh?” mused Alexander. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say that was an attempt at irony.”

Will’s face creased in a frown of bewilderment which made Alexander chuckle to himself.

He lifted the beautiful garment to his face and breathed in deeply the intoxicating aroma of fresh hose.

“Dress me in them, boy. Dress your master in his tights.”

Alexander stood with his naked back against the wall of the dungeon and lifted one foot. Will immediately knelt before him and, leaving the other to dangle, ruched up one leg of the tights. He held the hosiery open and the older man slowly and purposefully inserted his foot. As ever, the feel of the material against his skin made Alexander’s cock stiffen. He lowered his stockinged foot to the floor and lifted the other. Will repeated the motion, making tiny adjustments to the material so that it encased his master’s feet to perfection. Alexander wiggled his toes in the tight-fitting garment.

“Nicely done, boy. Now pull them up.”

Will did so, as slowly and delicately as he could in order not to tear the fine fabric of the hose. Over Alexander’s shapely calves, past his knees and up, up – encasing his strong thighs in the shimmering purple material. And then, finally, he found his face level with Alexander’s heavy, bobbing penis.

“Kiss it, boy. You know you want to. Kiss your master’s proud cock.”

He did so, taking the long and beautiful prick between his pink lips, and swirling his tongue round the head in the way only a truly passive slutboy can.

Alexander let out a deep, shuddering sigh as the boy’s ministrations had their effect on his swollen meat. He grasped Will’s blond locks and forced his dick deeper and deeper into Will’s gullet. A few more moments like this and he would come, he knew.

“Not like this,” he hissed. “I don’t know whether I will get another chance to use you, lad. If this is to be our final time together, I want my cock up your sweet boy hole.”

He pulled his prick from the boy’s wet lips, and lay down in the straw of the dungeon.

“The surroundings are not as fine as the first time I fucked you, boy, but they’ll have to do.”

Alexander spat on his hands and rubbed the saliva on his throbbing cock.

“Come, bitch. Come and sit on my meat. I want it all the way up you.”

Will lowered the waistband of his tights to just below his buttocks. He knew from experience that Alexander would want to be able to stroke his legs through their hosiery as he used him. Squatting over his master’s jutting prick, Will teasingly began to lower himself onto the skewer.

Alexander reached up, and with a wet finger, began to push and poke at Will’s puckered rosebud.

“You’re ready for it, slut, aren’t you? Ready to take my cock all the way to the hilt.”

“Yes, Sir. Fuck me. Please, Sir. I beg of you.”

Alexander marvelled at the change in the lad since he had first taken his cherry all those months ago. The protestations, the struggle, the determination that he was only undergoing these deeply personal humiliations for the sake of saving the pretty little kitchen-maid with whom he had been briefly infatuated.

And look at him now! Gasping like a well-practiced whore, as Alexander’s rigid cock slipped inside his arse. Sinking down gratefully onto it, shuddering as his master’s considerable dick made contact with the nub of his prostate.

“Bounce, boy,” Alexander said firmly. “Let me see you bouncing on my prick. Show me just how much you are enjoying it!”

Will did as he was instructed, although it made his poor thigh muscles ache even more. He felt Alexander’s hands all over him, stroking his tights-clad legs, and panting with the pleasure of the tightness of Will’s anus.

All the way up he went, so that the helmet of Alexander’s cock nearly popped out of Will’s bum, and then plunging down again, again all the way, so that Alexander’s pubic hair tickled his smooth buttocks. Will’s own prick was rock hard, and he experienced another jolt of pleasure as Alexander reached round to start wanking it.

Now it was Will’s turn to marvel at how the situation differed from their first time together. Back then he had been issued with strict instructions that he was not to touch his prick or indeed derive any sexual satisfaction from their encounter. And now? Their relationship seemed to be more than mere master and servant. He realised that if this was the final time he would feel Alexander’s experienced cock inside him, he would feel truly sorrowful.

“I’m close, boy. Very close now,” warned Alexander as he continued to tug at Will’s own erect prick.

“Me too, Sir. Me too.”

Suddenly, Alexander sat up, revelling in the sensation of the lad sitting on his lap, impaled on his thrusting prick. He reached round, and as he continued to jerk Will’s cock with one hand, he clasped his other palm over Will’s mouth and nose to prevent him breathing.

The sensation was enough to send Will into spasms of ecstasy. His master’s manly palm pressed against his face, the divine tights fuck and the sudden spurting of Alexander’s seed deep into his insides all combined to provoke the page boy’s own climax. Will squealed blissfully as cum went shooting in the air and landed on the flagstones and straw of the dungeon with a satisfying splat.

“I should make you lick that up, boy…”

A little later, Will scurried across the castle courtyard to return to the dormitory. He gripped the key firmly in his hand, while his mind lingered on Alexander, now safely locked up once more in his dank cell. He glanced from the grim dungeon in the very bowels of the castle up to the luxurious royal apartments where Prince Felix lay in bed. A candle flickered in the window.

He took a deep breath as he pushed the door to the dormitory open, wincing as it creaked.

“Who’s that?” came an accusatory whisper from the shadows.

“It’s only me. Will.”

“Where have you been?” asked Mortimer.

“I couldn’t sleep. My body aches too much from all that mopping.”

“Me too. Can’t get comfortable however I lie.”

Will glanced over to the empty pallet in the corner of the room.

“Where is Raymond?” he asked.

“He’s still with the Prince. I think he’s going to be even more difficult to deal with now, you know.”

“Yes, you’re probably right. Anyway, good night.”

And with that, Will crawled into bed. But he didn’t sleep. Alexander had issued him with a new list of instructions: items he needed to fetch during the day. In less than twenty-four hours’ time, the Steward planned to make his escape from the castle.

Will was still preoccupied with Alexander’s plan the following morning, as he, Mortimer, Humphrey and the few elderly men and women who made up the depleted castle staff consumed their meagre breakfast.

The atmosphere was subdued as the gathered servants contemplated silently what the implications of the attempt on Prince Felix’s life would be for them all.

Ulfgar and Odin had been dispatched the previous afternoon with instructions from his highness to ride through every village in the county proclaiming that anyone harbouring treasonous intents against his highness could expect no mercy. And in a nasty little extra twist, they had been ordered to chop off the right hand of at least one man in every village they passed through in order to emphasise the point. The servants shuddered at the news, knowing that this would do nothing to improve Prince Felix’s reputation in the area.

“I can’t keep this porridge warm forever,” grumbled Mistress Olwen. “Lord knows where he’s got to, but our proud young Master Raymond will have to do without his breakfast today.”

“Hold your tongue, woman, and show some respect to your betters!”

Will, shocked at the abruptness of the command, span round to look at the doorway. There, more arrogant than Will had ever seen him, stood Raymond himself.

“Well, I never heard such insolence!” spluttered the cook. “You apologise to me this instant!”

Raymond narrowed his eyes before he addressed her, coldly and deliberately.

“Take a look at me, woman. Don’t you see how I am dressed? Don’t you see that my status has risen?”

The dark-haired youth’s apparel was indeed a far cry from his recent wardrobe, be that either the clinging pink bodysuit or his tattered and stained nappy. His shiny black curls were clean and brushed, and he wore a fine embroidered doublet of black and white satin. Ribbons and bows ran down the front and a stiff lace collar framed his face. The piece de resistance was, naturally enough, the hose: one of his legs jet black, the other pristine white, the two meeting in the cup of his groin and disappearing into the crack of his shapely arse.

“There are to be some changes around here,” he announced. “You are looking at your new Chief Steward.”

A deep, communal sigh seemed to emanate from the assembled throng. Mistress Olwen looked flabbergasted, and was, for once, utterly speechless. Will couldn’t believe his ill fortune. It was one thing to have the callous young Prince as his tormentor, but now, once again, his oldest nemesis had been elevated to a position of power over him!

Raymond walked purposefully around the table, giving all of the other servants the opportunity to drink in his new finery. When he reached Will, he halted and bent to whisper in his ear:

“I have the complete trust of his royal Highness, boy.”

Raymond ran a jewelled finger along the length of Will’s hosed thigh and gently cupped his balls through his tights. Will’s throat was dry with anxiety.

“My dominion over you is limitless, goat-shit. And oh am I going to enjoy making you suffer…”

They saw little of their new Steward for the rest of the day. He remained ensconced in the Prince’s royal chambers, and with Ulfgar and Odin still absent on their bloodthirsty mission, Will found it relatively easy to slip away from his chores and into Alexander’s former suite.

He stood in the centre of the bedchamber. The walls were bare: the plush tapestries having been appropriated by the greedy Prince. The four-poster bed remained and Will recalled the sensation of being totally encased in hose and tied spread-eagle to its posts. His cock throbbed at the memory of being man-handled and used, all the time at Alexander’s mercy.

No time for that now, though. For all he knew, Raymond might appear at any moment to take ownership of Alexander’s old rooms. Following the disgraced former Steward’s instructions, Will shifted a cabinet and found a small trap door in the floor. He opened it carefully and emptied its contents into a leather bag.

Hours later, as the bed tolled midnight, Will stood in the dungeon and handed the bag to his former master.

“It was all there, Sir. Just as you said it would be.”

“Good lad. You’ve done well. And food?”

“That was harder. Mistress Olwen has been fussing around the kitchen all day. But I took what I could. There is enough for a couple of days at least.”

Alexander nodded his head grimly and fastened the long black cloak that Will had brought him around his shoulders.

“Then it is time for me to go.”

He hefted the leather satchel onto his shoulder and started towards the steps that would lead from the dungeon and to freedom.

“Sir,” stammered Will. “Will you – take me with you?”

“What’s this?”

“The Prince has made Raymond Chief Steward now. He hates me, Sir. I’m frightened of what he might do to me.”

Alexander’s brow furrowed at the news that he had been usurped by the arrogant young upstart.

“Is that the only reason you wish to come with me?”

Will shook his head slowly.

“Go on, boy…”

“When you took me from the village, Sir. I was totally ignorant of the ways of men. I was horrified. I hated what you made me do. But now…”

“You’ve learned to appreciate it, haven’t you?”

Alexander strode over to the trembling blond lad, and gently reached round to place a hand on his hosed bum. Breathing softly in Will’s ear, he began to stroke and caress those heavenly buttocks.

“You want to be used like the little slut you are. You need it, don’t you, bitch?”

“Yes, Sir,” gasped Will as his master’s tongue flickered in and out of his ear. “Please, please, Sir…”

Alexander paused in contemplation. Then he appeared to come to a decision.

“It’s tempting, boy. It’s very tempting: the prospect of your tights-covered arse being available to me whenever I want it. And don’t think I don’t appreciate your loyalty – or the risk you’ve taken in helping me to escape. But believe me, it’s for your own good that you stay here. I’m going to be an outlaw. If Felix or either of his goons find me, I’m a dead man for sure. I’m going to have to run and hide. And it will be easier for me to do that alone.”

A solitary tear welled in the corner of Will’s eye.

Alexander bent down and planted a full kiss on Will’s pouting lips.

“Good luck, tights boy. I hope we meet again. I pray that it will be in this world – but if not, I shall see you in the next.”

The night air was cold and sharp, but it was fresh after the stale stink of the dungeon. Alexander inhaled deeply the beautiful scent of freedom. He took a final look around him at the place he had called home for all these years, and stepped out into the unknown.

Chapter 26 - Death to the Prince!

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

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

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

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

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

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

            All Will could do was shake his head.

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

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

            Humphrey let out an involuntary blub of relief.

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

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

            “Meanwhile the punishment for our loser” –

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

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

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

“On your feet, worm!”

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

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

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

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

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

            Felix continued to issue his instructions:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

           

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            “It was, Sir.”

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

            Will, abashed, did not speak.

            “Well? Did you, boy?”

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

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

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

            His voice trailed off.

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

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

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

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

            “If I can, Sir.”

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

            “Yes, Sir.”

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

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

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

             

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

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

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

            “Boy – a drink.”

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

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

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

            “Is that so?”

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

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

-       “By the former Steward.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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