Chapter 59 - The Prince Takes His Lumps

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Chapter 41 - Bananas Split

“You finally found me then! Though you took your time. I thought I was never going to see the inside of the castle again!”

“Lest you forget, my sweet, I’ve had an awful lot to occupy myself with. The Prince is a very demanding master. And I didn’t know where you’d gone.”

It was the first time in many months that brother and sister had been able to speak to each other. And if they were brutally honest, more than once they’d resigned themselves to the fact that they would never see each other again. However, after weeks of inquiries, Raymond had finally found his younger sibling. He had located her, engaged for a paltry fee by a moderately wealthy merchant, forced to skivvy for the lazy wife and daughters. Raymond had extricated her from the arrangement with a minimum of fuss and a great deal of threats. Now she was back where she belonged, her peasant rags burned and a rich velvet gown hanging from her slim body. Her soft brown hair was piled atop her head, and adorned with an ivory comb.

“I’m very impressed, brother,” said Jane StClare. “I never thought you’d install yourself in the Steward’s rooms quite so quickly!”

“What happened to the rest of the servants you were flung out with?”

“Scattered to the four corners of the countryside. Some like me were lucky and got taken in. Others…” she shrugged.

“What about that foul old Sir Wilfrid?” Even now, the mere mention of the name made Raymond shudder at the remembrance of his ordeal.

“Dead,” said Jane curtly. “You’ll be devastated to learn that he fell into an an apoplectic fit as a result of being thrown out of the castle. Don’t worry, they’ll never be able to force you to suck his miserable penis ever again.”

“You have no idea how happy that news makes me, sis,” he grinned. “Now, on to day-to-day matters. We need to find you something to do. How does the post of housekeeper appeal? You’d be answerable only to myself and to the Prince.”

Jane smiled maliciously. “Won’t that put me in charge of the kitchens? I”d even be above Mistress Olwen!”

“Why I do believe you would, you know. Is that a problem?”

“Her former kitchen-maid suddenly ordering her about! She won’t like that at all…”

“Oh, I can assure you, Jane darling,” purred Raymond. “She will hate it!”

There was plenty to do. Prince Felix’s birthday was fast approaching, and Raymond was determined to celebrate it with an extravagance that Castle Montford had never before dreamed of. Night after night, he sat up late with his sister as they plotted the most luxurious banquet they could imagine. Mistress Olwen’s harrumphing protests that “it couldn’t be done” on the budget they’d allowed her and with the meagre staff she had been allocated were rebuffed, and Jane calmly and bluntly told her to get on with it and do as she had been ordered.

Meanwhile, Raymond oversaw the new carpentry project he had commissioned from the capable young Mortimer, gnawing his fingers desperately in the hope that a successful Odin would return to the castle in time for it to be put to its intended use.

One late summer morning, as he sat poring over the ledgers in his chambers, the door opened and Jane, her dark eyes flashing with excitement, burst in.

“He’s done it!” she declared. “He’s back – and he’s not on his own!”

Raymond tripped down the stairs two or three at a time as he raced from his tower-top chambers to the courtyard below, his pretty sister following at his heels.

There, astride his sweating steed, weary and dusty from long hours on the road, sat the shaven-headed form of Odin the Viking. Alongside him, strapped to a beautiful black mare, in the time-honoured position reserved for prisoners and those being transported in extreme disgrace, was Alexander Courcey.

“You’ve ridden hard, Odin,” said Raymond coldly. “May I congratulate you on a successful conclusion to your quest? You certainly took your time but, like the tortoise in the story, I suppose you made it – in the end. However, I’m afraid you can’t stay here at the castle. At least not yet. I will arrange instead for you to lodge at a nearby hostelry.”

Odin glared at the arrogant young man but held his tongue. Meanwhile, Raymond, barely able to contain his glee, crossed to where Alexander, head dangling, hands tied together with coarse ropes, his purple-hosed bum hoisted high in the air, was secured.

“Welcome, home, Master Courcey,” sneered Raymond, slapping Alexander’s arse firmly. “It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it? We have all missed you.”

Ulfgar shambled into the courtyard, and greeted Odin with a firm handshake. Raymond turned to the bearded brute. “Have Master Courcey moved to my chambers at once. You know what to do.”

“Of course, I would have had you thrown into the dungeon,” explained Raymond casually to the recaptured prisoner. “But unfortunately there’s a big hole in the door now. Besides, in the past you’ve exhibited an inconvenient talent for escaping from dungeons. So I thought there might be something rather appropriate in your spending your final days on earth in your old chambers. With me.”

Alexander regarded him with cool indifference. He may have to suffer the indignity of being manacled to the wall of his former bedroom but the last thing on earth he intended to do now was to allow this impudent little shit the satisfaction of seeing him lose his composure in any way.

“Cat got your tongue?” taunted the younger man. “You should be thanking me really. It’s only down to me that you’re still numbered among the living. The sole reason you’ve not been impaled on Odin’s broadsword already is that you’re to be my birthday gift to his Highness.”

“Look out the window,” he went on. “See that scaffold they’re building? That’s just for you. On the evening of Prince Felix’s birthday banquet, you’re going to be swinging from that coil of rope like the filthy traitor you are.”

Master Alexander was back! The gossip spread like wildfire around the castle. And they could all hazard a very well-educated guess that he wouldn’t be around for long.

Prince Felix, curiously perceptive for once to the attitude of those around him, tackled Raymond one morning on the increased level of agitation amongst the servants. They had finished their customary ride through the forest, and Raymond was pulling off his royal master’s boots. Raymond inhaled the musky, manly scent of Felix’s tights-clad feet, mingling with the smell of the leather.

“Is there something I should be aware of?” asked the Prince as Raymond’s fingers came to rest lightly on his hosed calves.

“Nothing at all, your Highness. The staff are merely excited by the prospect of your forthcoming birthday celebrations.”

“And there’s still no news of Odin?” demanded Felix petulantly.

“I fear the traitor Courcey is proving devilishly hard to hunt down,” Raymond sighed theatrically. “With luck and by the grace of God, we will have news soon.”

“That’s what you said last week.”

“It’s to be a surprise, you see,” confided Raymond to his captive. “Just imagine how thrilled the Prince will be to see you dangling from a noose on his big day!”

He’d been hanging there for a week, fed scraps from the table, forced to piss into a pot, but still Alexander maintained his silence.

“Why don’t you speak, damn you?” shrieked Raymond suddenly. “Why don’t you beg for your life? You know I could grant it if I wanted to!”

Alexander looked at him calmly, and cleared his throat to speak. “What happened to the boy?” he asked.

“What did you say?”

“The junior page boy. Will. What happened to him?”

Raymond began to laugh. “Of course! I might have known that the little slut and his pretty arse was the uppermost thought on your mind! Jesus Christ, Courcey, you really are obsessed! If you really want to know, I dumped the brat back in the middle of his stinking village with a plug up his ass. I imagine the local peasants have been making pretty free with his holes. That’s if he’s still alive…”

Alexander nodded calmly but would speak no more.

“Why do you even care?” Raymond demanded. “What did he have that the rest of us didn’t? That I didn’t? You’ve fucked thousands of boys in your time – willing and unwilling. What was so special about that simpering little shit?”

He grabbed the waistband of Alexander’s purple tights and yanked them unceremoniously down to the older man’s knees. Alexander’s exposed cock bobbed there, as full of dark and forbidding promise as Raymond recalled. He grabbed Alexander’s pendulous balls and squeezed hard. Still barely a flicker of acknowledgment from the man he had supplanted.

“Well I’m in your position now. I’m the one with the power. And I’m not going to waste it messing around with unworthy little peasant bitches. I’ve got my eyes on the very top. You might have failed to get your hands on the Prince’s arse but he’s going to be all mine soon. And I’m going to be such a bastard to him, you know. I’m going to pay him back for all those days he spent humiliating me, prick-teasing: making me crawl about in his pink tights suit alongside the other page boy scum!

“And I’ve not forgotten you either. How you abandoned me to that disgusting pervert Sir Wilfrid! You know he’s dead now, don’t you? He was flung out in the cold. Maybe the two of you will be enjoying a reconciliation soon – in the fiery pits of Hell! I imagine it’s rather warmer down there, don’t you think?”

Raymond raged furiously back and forth.

“Say something, you bastard! Don’t you dare just stand there ignoring me!”

He gave Alexander’s balls a vicious twist, but his stoic prisoner resolutely refused to speak. Raymond dashed to the finely carved table and snatched up a bunch of bananas from the fruit bowl.

“You’re rather fond of bananas if I remember correctly,” he declared triumphantly. “Let’s see how you feel about them now the shoe is on the other foot and they’re going up your ass!”

Almost beside himself with rage, Raymond grabbed the yellow fruit and tried to rip it from its skin. However the uncooperative stalk would not snap and yield its pulpy contents, and so Raymond dashed it angrily to the floor. He snatched up another and managed to peel this one successfully. He positioned it carefully between Alexander’s firm butt cheeks and, staring straight into the other’s eyes, rammed it forcefully upwards. But the banana was too ripe, and Alexander’s hole remained resolutely closed, so all Raymond’s sole achievement was ending up with the mushed up mess smeared over the sleeve of his splendid doublet.

He went over to a wooden cabinet and took a glass bottle from within. He uncorked it and tipped a liberal amount of white, creamy unguent into his right palm.

“This will lubricate you nicely, Master Alexander!” And he smeared the lotion over his prisoner’s buttocks and up and around his arse crack. Alexander flinched slightly as the youth dared to manhandle his genitals and bum.

On the third attempt, Raymond succeeded in propelling the phallic fruit up Alexander’s backside. His eyes glinted madly as he crowed over his manacled victim. “How does it feel to be on the other end of the treatment, you bastard? Feel good, does it, having your fuckhole filled with bananas? Let’s stick another one up there, shall we?”

Raymond matched his words to his actions, and with Alexander’s hole now lubricated and loosened by the invasion of the first fruit, his arse swallowed up the second banana far more easily.

“You feeling full, Sir? You feeling stuffed from those nasty bananas I pushed inside you? I bet you’re dying to beg me not to shove any more up your cunt, aren’t you? Then beg me, you bastard! Why don’t you fucking beg?!”

A third banana was inserted, this one requiring more prodding and persuasion as Alexander’s anal cavity became dangerously over-crowded, but still the disgraced Steward remained silent and stoic, not even deigning to glance in Raymond’s direction.

His hole pulsed with the effort of retaining the fruity mush inside. Some of the gunky residue that still clung outside Alexander’s hole, mingled with the lubricating lotion, and dripped into the gusset of his purple hose, stretched tight below. Raymond noticed the spillage, and with a livid sneer, yanked Alexander’s tights back up around his waist.

A fresh idea occurred to him, and the snub-nosed youth dragged Alexander’s heavy, throne-like chair over from the far side of the chamber, and pushed it between the tapestried wall and his shackled victim.

“Sit down!” he ordered him.

Alexander sighed manfully and, manifestly taking his own time, he rested his hosed backside onto the padded seat.

“Now do you see who is the master?” gloated Raymond. “Now, do you understand who is in charge? You have lost, Courcey, and I have won. And here is your ultimate proof.”

He slipped out of one leather boot and wiped his stockinged foot against Alexander’s bulging crotch.

“Now shit yourself, you bastard! Sit on your fine, golden cushion on your priceless, oaken chair and shit those bananas out. Those bananas that I pushed up your hole. I – Raymond StClare, the boy whose virginity you took in these very rooms. The boy you dared to fuck and use and humiliate all those years ago. I swore I’d have my revenge. And look at us now! Me the master, and you the slave! You naked save for your purple tights encasing your strong, manly legs! Your asshole full and desperate to unload all those huge bananas crowded inside you. Shit yourself, Courcey you disgusting pervert! Shit yourself in your tights for my pleasure and my entertainment! Do it!!”

A slow smile spread across Alexander’s dark features. “It’s not at all an unpleasant sensation,” he murmured in a husky baritone. “I have no idea what you boys were complaining about.” And with a satisfied groan, he expelled the liquefied bananas into the gusset of his tights, staining the golden thread and red velvet of the cushion.

He should have felt exultant in meting out the same humiliating treatment that he himself had suffered, but instead Raymond was curiously dissatisfied, vexed by the slightly smug expression on Alexander’s face. Finally, the former Steward spoke.

“Let me give you a word of advice, young Raymond. To dish out humiliation to another man and consequently to be a truly successful master, it takes a special, very distinctive quality. And I’ll tell you for nothing, you don’t have it. That is the difference between us, Master StClare.”

Raymond glared at Alexander with complete loathing. “I disagree, Master Courcey. The difference between us is that in two days’ time, I shall still be alive…”

Chapter 30 - The Viking Pillages

            It had been a long – albeit enjoyable – day: from the physical tussle with Prince Felix to the ritual humiliation of young Will.

So it was with some relief that, as night fell, an exhausted Raymond slumbered in his new and luxurious sheets. The familiar bed-posts to which Alexander had once secured him were now his own. The chamber seemed to reek with the ghosts of male sex; the dominant and the submissive; the multi-faceted and numerous perversions of masculine erotica. If these walls could talk, he mused, what stories they would tell. And now he was the one who was in control. On he slept, turning indulgently in the crisply laundered bedding – a sharp and welcome contrast to the coarse straw of the pallet in the dormitory.

Suddenly he awoke with a start. What was that? He could have sworn it was the noise of the ornate oak door creaking open. Impossible. He had bolted it before getting in to bed; a precaution he deemed necessary to take given the fact that he was unconvinced that all of the servants bore him the love and respect that by rights they ought to.

            He lay there for a moment, his weary legs twitching in their hose. He was still wearing them, he realised. In his readiness for bed, he must have quite forgotten to take them off. Not that he minded. The feeling, as always, of the tight material clinging to his lower body was perfectly pleasurable.

            There it was again. This time the sound was unmistakeable. A definite footfall on the stone flagstone floor.

            “Who’s there?” he demanded, peering into the gloom.

            “It’s me,” responded a familiar, gruff voice.

            Raymond took a sharp intake of breath as he saw the gigantic form of Odin the Viking outlined in the moonlight.

            “How dare you enter here!” he exclaimed.

            Odin chuckled. “I’ve spent three days in the saddle thinking of little else but your cunt, boy.”

            “Get out of here,” stammered Raymond. “I’ve been promoted. I’ll no longer be your fucktoy.”

            “Says who?”

            Ominously, Odin made that oh-so familiar gesture of unthreading his thick leather belt, and with a clanging clatter, it and the plethora of iron keys fastened to it, hit the floor.

            “I came straight here, boy. I’ve not bathed. The sweat of three hard days’ riding is clinging to my body.”

            He unhooked his heavy leather jerkin and tossed it to one side. Then he hoisted his thin linen shirt over his head, exposing his immense chest and his vast arms, veined and bulging, all of them impossibly hirsute.

            “I’m warning you.” Raymond’s voice quivered in indignation.

            “Oh, you’re warning me, are you?” taunted Odin. “Well, unluckily for you, my cock doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

            And with a growl, he unbuttoned the steel fasteners at the fly of his leather trousers and exposed the tumescent monster that lurked within. Already hard, it was more like the arm of a regular man than a cock.

            “The Prince will know of this!”

            “Will he now?”

            “I shall call for him!”

            “That would be very stupid, boy. He hates to have his sleep disturbed, you know. But you scream, by all means. You know how I like to hear you scream.”

            Odin bent to remove his heavy leather boots and let his trousers fall to the floor. He stepped out of them, revealing his vast, tree trunk-like legs, each as hairy as the rest of his massive body. All that remained were the short, coarsely woollen socks on his giant feet.

            “Good honest wool,” Odin remarked contemptuously. “Not like the flimsy silk and satin of the poofy tights you queerboys like to wear.”

            Raymond scrabbled out of his sheets, all too aware that he was still clad in his black and white particoloured hosiery.

            “Now where do you think, you’re going, girlie? I want that ass…”

            Raymond made a desperate leap for freedom, but the Viking effortlessly knocked him back onto the bed with one spade-like palm.

            The wretched youth gazed up in fear as the hulk loomed over him.

            “Has my little girl missed her Daddy’s cock inside her?”

            Without awaiting a response, the brute flipped Raymond over. He ran his callused fingers through the lad’s dark curls.

            “Bite down into that pillow, bitch. We don’t really want to disturb his Highness, do we?”

            “Get your hands off me!” squealed Raymond as Odin’s thick fingers rapidly located the exact place in his hose where his unsuspecting arsebud nestled. Odin merely grunted in response and prodded the boy’s sweating pussy with his fore and middle finger. Then, burying his face in Raymond’s hosed arse cheeks, the giant used his teeth to tear a hole in the luxurious fabric.

            Ignoring his victim’s anguished “Noooo!”, Odin pushed his stubbly cheeks even further between the curves of the lad’s bum and began teasing the pink target with his long, rough tongue: flickering, darting in and out to prepare the opening for the onslaught it was about to endure.

            Raymond writhed in a combination of dread and ecstasy: the sensation at his anus arousing him in spite of himself.

            “I see my bitch is turned on, regardless of how she protests,” Odin said grimly. He withdrew his tongue, and in an instant, threw his weight on top of the struggling young man. Raymond gasped, winded, as the sweating, hairy body collapsed on top of him, and felt his own slim wrists grabbed and pinioned by the clammy palms of his violator. Resistance was futile, he knew from experience. The sheer strength and power of the Norseman was implacable. However, Raymond’s pride would not allow him to lay there meekly. Struggle he must, even though he knew his wriggling protests served no purpose other than to provoke Odin to further heights of lust.

            The giant lay there a moment, revelling in the sensation of the boy’s quivering, nubile flesh pinned beneath him. “Open up to me, bitch,” he murmured into the white curve of Raymond’s ear, and then bit down hard on the soft white flesh of the lad’s neck.

            Raymond screamed in pain and shock, his whole body tightened and convulsed. And in that moment, Odin grabbed Raymond’s tights-clad hips and pulled them upwards, tucking the lad’s legs – one black, one white – under him and raising his arse to a prime position. Raymond gritted his teeth. He knew what was coming next, and no amount of forewarning could ever prepare him for the moment of penetration. Odin aimed his monstrous dong at the boy’s puckered fuckhole, and forcing Raymond’s head into the pillow to muffle the inevitable scream, he ploughed his meat into the lad’s unwilling orifice. Raymond’s head swam with pain as the warrior raped his piteous boy-hole.

            “Mmm feels sooo good, bitch,” rasped the ogre. “Your velvety chute clamped down on my manmeat. I’m gonna split you in two. Fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. Give you a shafting my little girl will never forget. You won’t be able to walk for weeks by the time I’m done with you…”

            The lad whimpered feebly, a hoarse mantra of “No, no, please, no” over and over. An attempt to move at least one wrist was quashed as Odin merely exerted a little extra pressure onto him. Visions of the Viking’s red and angry cockhead as it pushed in and out of him fleeted through Raymond’s mind. How could anyone enjoy experiencing this, he raged in anguish. The pain. The utter subjugation. The humiliation. The degradation of being used. Turned into some passive, submissive creature. Less than a man. A whore. A slut. A hole existing for the sole pleasure of his assailant.

            His arse throbbed with the agony of the treatment it was receiving. There was real anger in Odin’s thrusts, and God knows how long it would take him to achieve climax and spurt his creamy jism up Raymond’s pulsing rectum.

            “Ohhh that feels so good, girlie. You’re one of the sweetest fucks I’ve ever had, you know that? And by Thor, I love the way you struggle beneath me. Now, let me take you like the little doggy you are…”

            Swiftly, economically, and without even withdrawing his cock, Odin repositioned Raymond so that he was on all fours. He reached round to squeeze the lad’s bulge in his tights.

            “Ha!” Odin exclaimed. “You’re not enjoying this, are you bitch? Barely anything there. That suits me fine. I can almost believe I’m taking a real virgin lass.”

            “The slave needs its mouth stuffed too.”

            A new voice, old and dry and cracked as parchment, came from somewhere in the chamber. Raymond looked around, frantically, but his damp curls kept falling into his eyes. Surely not! It couldn’t be! Could it?

            “You’re welcome to use her other hole as you see fit, my friend!” said Odin magnanimously. “I have no use for it at present.”

            Raymond’s eyes widened in stunned terror as the desiccated form of Sir Wilfrid, Lord Geoffrey’s vile old uncle, shuffled round the side of the bed.

            The old man licked his lascivious lips and leered at his former playtoy. “It’s been some time, slave! Have you missed my prick between your lips?”

            Raymond shook his head incredulously. “No! No! NO!”

            But his wailing gave the old lecher just the chance he needed to insert his withered pecker between the boy’s parted lips, gagging and muffling any further protest. Spit-roasted. Pierced at both ends by two cocks – one ancient and loathsome – the other gargantuan and furious – Raymond sobbed at the indifference of the Universe to his plight. Could his predicament get any worse?

            Then came the answer to his plea.

            “Methinks he is not sufficiently stuffed. I have just the thing to answer to our needs.”

            The mellifluous tones of Alexander Courcey rang around the stone walls of the bedchamber.

            Raymond was incredulous. How dare he?! If it were possible, his struggles became even more desperate. He tried to cry out: “Traitor! Cur!” - anything to alert the Prince to the danger presented by the appearance of his treasonous predecessor. But his mouth was stuffed with Sir Wilfrid’s cock, and his mumbled exclamations went for nothing.

            “What do you suggest, my friend?” laughed Odin heartily, never for a moment ceasing from thrusting his hips against Raymond’s hosed buttocks.

            “Oh I have a basket of goodies just ripe for inserting into our young victim! Apples! Pears! Bananas! Plums! Only the juiciest, highest quality fruits will suffice for this young man!”

            His tormentors were merciless.

            The rhythm of Odin’s fuck barely altered; only now, when he pulled back, he withdrew his cock just long enough to allow Alexander to squeeze a purple plum into Raymond’s fundament. If Wilfrid’s semi-flaccid prick slipped from between Raymond’s lips, no matter how briefly, a tangerine was inserted, and when the old man’s cock returned, he pushed it insistently into the fruit’s firm flesh inside Raymond’s mouth.

            Attention turned back to Raymond’s arse. A freshly peeled banana unceremoniously shoved in deep, and soon Odin’s cock set to work mashing the yellow fruit to a pulp inside him.

            Raymond gagged. He tried to scream: “I’m full! No more! I beg you no more!” But the fruit and the cock inside his crammed mouth transformed his anguished pleas into an indecipherable mumble.

            The pain of the pressure against his insides was unbearable. His internal capacity was finite after all. They couldn’t keep filling him with fruit whilst also continuing to fuck him!

            But his protests were to no avail.

            “Maybe we should fetch some carrots and courgettes from the kitchen,” mused Alexander. “A boy needs meat and vegetables in his diet after all.”

            “Well he’s certainly getting plenty of meat!” cackled Sir Wilfrid, and the others joined in with hearty guffaws.

            I’m going to burst, thought Raymond. They’re going to keep on till they kill me.

            “Wait a moment!” A triumphant cry from Alexander. “I have just the thing. Young Raymond here – so ambitious – so desirous of his place in the Prince’s bedchamber. Well, if he loves royalty so much, he surely deserves the King of fruits up his behind! What do you think, eh?”

            And with a flourish, he presented to Raymond the largest pineapple the youth had ever seen.

            Raymond howled out a scream from his deepest soul, in fear and desperation. He screwed his eyes tightly shut as if hoping that eradicating the pineapple from sight might also prevent the monstrous intrusion that was about to occur. Any moment now that vicious fruit would split his hole wider than it had ever been!

            But then - nothing happened. He waited. He opened his eyes. For a moment he was disoriented. Here he was in his new bedchamber, sweat glistening all over his naked and trembling body. But he was quite alone.

            His heaving breaths resided into sobs of quiet relief.

            The door was fastened as securely as he’d thought: his fine black and white hose neatly draped over the back of an arm chair just where he had left it the evening before.

Odin, Sir Wilfrid and Alexander were gone. Indeed they had never been there at all. They were shades of his own making – sprung from his own imagination to torment him in the night.

            Never again, he thought. Never again will I be used like that. And he set his teeth in rigid determination.