Chapter 63 - Where There's A Will

   
   

Alexander strode through the monastery garden, the smell of lavender and rosemary mingling as he passed. He found Brother Ralf standing by the gate.

“That rogue has definitely gone, Brother?” inquired Alexander. “I can leave one of my men here just in case.”

“Thank you, Master Courcey, but I’ll place my faith in the Lord.”

“Up to you. I suppose you do have a cohort of young men here who can beat him off with their rakes and hoes.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Alexander turned to inspect the various youths diligently at work in the garden. His well-trained eye was instantly drawn towards a tall, broad-shouldered young man with dark brown hair. The novice monk had been watching Alexander with a kind of urgent desperation. As Alexander’s gaze rested on him, the young man turned away, but it was too late. He had clearly been watching him.

“What’s his name?”

Brother Ralf glanced over. “That, my Lord, that is Brother Hal.”

“I’d like to speak to him.”

The monk sighed. “As you wish, Master Alexander.”

The young man’s olive skin and hazel eyes were most appealing, as were the way his long dark hair fell across his forehead. And if Alexander wasn’t mistaken (and he knew he wasn’t), the novice couldn’t quite take his eyes from Alexander’s silken bulge.

Brother Hal knelt on the grass, his hands dirty with soil. Alexander towered over him: his hose-clad groin level with the novice’s handsome face.

“My Lord,” he murmured.

“Brother Hal,” replied Alexander. “Please, stand. There’s no need for you to kneel before me.”

Hal rose to his feet.

Alexander said nothing. The young man was tall - indeed they were roughly the same height. Alexander looked at him: a slight smile playing around his lips - a challenge in his eyes. Hal’s breathing became faster: his tongue appeared briefly, nervously moistening his full, pink lips. Alexander’s smile grew broader. He hadn’t been mistaken after all. Eventually he spoke.

“I’m a little thirsty, Brother Hal. Maybe we could step inside and you could provide me with some refreshment.”

“Will water suffice, my Lord? I could sweeten it with a little of Brother Ralf’s elderflower cordial if you would like…”

“Oh I think you’re quite sweet enough, my lad. Don’t you?”
A look of nervous confusion passed across Hal’s face. “My Lord?”

“Come over here. You’ve not been able to take your eyes off my crotch since I arrived. have you? Well, be my guest - have a good feel. I think we’d both enjoy that.”

Suddenly, Alexander grabbed Hal’s wrist, and before he knew what was happening, the young monk found his clammy palm pressed against Alexander’s rock hard cock.

Hal gasped as he felt the sinewy serpent twitching beneath the fine material of Alexander’s tights. 

“You’re quite a beauty, you know,” purred the older man. “Seems a shame for you to be shut away in here.”

“Pl-please, my Lord,” stammered Hal. “I’m a simple man. I want only to serve God. I don’t envy you your extravagant life at the castle.”

“Extravagant, eh? What have you heard about life under Lord Geoffrey? And more importantly, from whom did you hear it?”

Hal looked more nervous than ever.

“Don’t be scared, boy. No harm will come to you from speaking the truth, you know that surely? Now tell me. You spoke to Will, didn’t you?”

Hal nodded.

“Do you know where he is now?”
“Please, my Lord,” begged Hal in anguish.

Alexander cradled Hal’s cheeks gently in his palms. “I don’t want to hurt him,” he said softly. “I just need to find him. You see, I owe that boy my life.”

A flicker of confusion passed across Hal’s face.

“Were you his master? The one who locked him inside that cruel metal  chastity device?”

“I was indeed his master, but no, I’m not responsible for caging his pretty prick.”

“I see.”

Alexander moved even closer, and planted a wet, lingering kiss on Hal’s full lips. Then he entwined his arms around the younger man and held him in a tender embrace.

“Now, tell me where he is.”

  “Back again so soon, Alexander? I never realised you were such a devout Christian…”
Alexander looked at the chubby Abbot. There was a definite hint of irritation beneath the obsequious veneer.

“Oh but of course, your Grace. What do you take me for? In fact that’s the very reason I have not yet departed.”

“Oh?”

“I realised it would be most remiss of me to leave the monastery without spending some time in prayer with you, our holy Father.”

The Abbot nodded sagely. “Of course, of course. I’d be delighted to give you my blessing.”

“What I wish, more than anything, is to see - maybe even hold - some of the holy relics that you have here.”

“Relics?”
“Come now, there’s no need to be coy with me. I hear the shin bone of Saint Veronica is here in your reliquary…”

“Mere rumour…”

“That’s not what I hear. And surely you wouldn’t deny me the chance to gaze on such a divine relic.”

“Alexander “ -

“Now, where could it be? A-ha! Surely it must be in this beautiful cabinet…”

Alexander strode over to the corner of the room.

“No!” cried the Abbot. “There’s nothing in there. Just brooms, buckets…”

“Surely not. Such expert craftsmanship cannot house a mere store cupboard!”

Alexander tried the door handle. It was locked, as he anticipated it would be. He turned to the Abbot and held out his palm. “The key?”
“I - I don’t have it,” stammered the sweating cleric.

“Maybe you could check amongst the bunch that dangles from your belt…”

Alexander did not wait. Instead he lunged for the key ring and snatched it from the cord at the Abbot’s waist.

“How dare you!” spluttered the Abbot, but Alexander ignored him as he swiftly sorted through the keys.

Alexander turned to him with a triumphant flourish. “Now, now, Abbot you must not guard your holy treasures so jealously! Beauties such as this should be shared, don’t you think?”

And with that he unlocked the cabinet and flung open the door. Sure enough, blind-folded, gagged and tied to a three-legged stool, sat the naked Will.

Alexander shook his head slowly and let out a low whistle. “Well, well. I never expected St Veronica’s shin bone to look like this.”

Less than half an hour later, Will - dressed again in a pair of rough hessian trousers and linen shirt - found himself on the back of a stallion, ridden by one of Alexander’s guards. If Will had expected an emotional reunion with the man whose life he had saved, he was to be disappointed.  Alexander had barely said a word. He had merely bundled him out of the monastery, lingering only to speak briefly to the ashen-faced Abbot.

Will had managed a garbled goodbye to a clearly startled Brother Ralf, but although Will searched the vegetable patch for a sign of Hal, the handsome novice monk was nowhere to be seen.

So, once again, he was at the whim of this strange, powerful man. And as he risked a glance at Alexander’s Mephistophelean features, he felt bewildered by the Chief Steward’s attitude. What had happened in the many months since he’d helped Alexander escape from the dungeon? Was he still a fugitive? Was the tyrannical Prince Felix still reigning despotically? It seemed he was to be given no opportunity to ask, and the guard - around whose waist Will clung - was in no mood to chat.

As they thundered along the dirt path that led from the monastery, Will realised they were heading for the castle. What could that mean? Was he destined once again to be tormented by his merciless foe, Raymond? It was all so confusing. Still, he’d find out soon enough, and at least he was finally free from the clutches of the repulsive Abbot Cuthbert.

The drawbridge rose, and Will once again found himself in the familiar surroundings of the castle courtyard. It all felt unreal - and a long time since that sultry summer day when he was led out of the castle, tied over the back of a horse, his cock imprisoned in its steel cage, his arse stuffed with melting bars of soap, his legs encased in his fine blue tights.

Alexander trotted on ahead, and the Steward did not even glance behind him. The guard reined in his steed, dismounted and lifted Will to the ground. The guard nodded to a pretty young serving wench who had apparently been awaiting Will’s arrival.

“You’re to come with me,” said the girl, who turned on her heel and hurried into the castle.

Will didn’t recognise her, but he tried to question her as he followed in her wake.

“You’re new here?” he asked. 

“That’s right. My name is Iris.”

“Is Prince Felix - ?”

“I’m not supposed to answer your questions. Just give you your instructions.”

Will nodded mutely. He’d spent the last year and a half with little idea of what would happen to him from one moment to the next. Why should things be any different now?

Iris led him to one of the castle’s guest bedchambers. It was not as ornately decorated as those of Alexander or Lord Geoffrey, but it was certainly more comfortable than the straw pallet he had bedded down on during his time as the junior page boy. A large wooden tub filled with soapy water sat in the corner of the room.

“You’re to bathe,” said Iris. “Then get dressed in these clothes.” She gestured to the bed. “And then you are to wait.”

She bobbed a little curtsey and went to the door.

“But”- began Will.

“I’m to tell you no more.”

And then she was gone.

Will stripped, bathed, and towelled himself. Then he went to inspect the garments awaiting him on the bed’s coverlet.

In one way, he was not surprised: a leather collar, a thin, leather strap, soft leather pumps, a waistcoat and the inevitable pair of tights. Will thought back to the first day he’d spent in the castle, stripped and manhandled by the leering Master Yorick. However, apparently on this occasion he was to be trusted to dress himself. 

He reached out to stroke the silky, sensuousness of the hosiery. He lifted them to his face and breathed in their fresh, clean odour, the material caressing his cheek. Instantly, and inevitably, his cock began to stiffen. He didn’t hesitate, but wrapped the leather cock strap around his engorged penis, keeping it hard and throbbing. Then he sat down on the bed and gathered, first one, then the other leg of the tights. They were purest white, and almost seemed to shimmer in the candlelight of the chamber. They must be very expensive - and he had to be careful not to rip the fine material as he tugged it over his calves. He stood up and hoiked the hosiery as high as it would go - almost reaching his little pink nipples. Then he adjusted the seam at the back so the material disappeared into the crevice of his arse. They fitted perfectly, and Will had to resist the temptation to rub his cock through the clinging material. For he knew, if he did, he would not be able to resist climaxing, and the pristine tights would be spoiled with his cum.

Instead, he slipped his stockinged feet into the soft, white leather pumps, and then pulled on the waistcoat - white again, and this time embroidered with gold thread. He wondered at the finery, even as he attached the slave collar - that reminder of his lowly position of servitude - around his neck.

He admired himself in the mirror. He had lost a little weight in the past six months, unsurprisingly. But his leg muscles still bulged pleasingly in his hose, and he sensed he would still be considered attractive to the kind of man who enjoys sexually abusing youths. He wondered what future awaited him now, and which powerful man would be next to seek to subjugate his body.

He was not left pondering for long, as the door swang open, and once again, pretty little Iris appeared. She glanced at his new attire, her eyes lingering appreciatively on his hose-covered legs and bulging crotch.

“Come with me,” she said.

Will didn’t attempt to question her again as he was led up the familiar staircase to the Chief Steward’s chambers. He remembered his first visit to the richly decorated rooms: how nervously he had waited as Alexander had inspected every inch of his young body. He had no more of an idea of what awaited him now than he had all those months ago.

The room was much as he’d remembered it. The sole difference was that a wooden table was laid for supper. Two chairs sat at either end. He turned to speak to Iris, but she had already slipped away.

Instead, a familiar, sonorous baritone rang in his ears.

“Well, boy, it has been quite some time, hasn’t it?”
Will span around. Sure enough, there stood Alexander Courcey: as refined and handsome as ever, long burgundy robes hanging from his shoulders. Satin black tights clung to his lean thighs, with calf length leather boots on his feet.

“You must be hungry. Come, join me for supper.”
“Me, Sir?”

“Who else? We have much to catch up on, after all.”

Will marvelled at the bizarreness of being treated like an equal by the man who for so long had dominated and tormented him.

“You look nervous. I can understand that. But let me assure you, this is no trick. It’s true that I have played games with you before: teased both your mind and your body for my sexual gratification. But you can relax. You are safe now. No lecherous priests, thuggish thieves or sadistic princelings are lurking to ravish that perfect arse of yours…”

“Prince Felix?”

“His rule is over. He is safely locked away in the castle dungeons.”

“As safely as you were?” asked Will, with a cheeky grin.

“I venture I’m a more effective gaoler than Felix was.”

“And Raymond?”

“Ah, of him I know nothing. Other than that he is no longer a resident of the castle. Or indeed in England at all.”

“So you are - ?”
“Restored to my previous position.”

Alexander smiled. “Now, let us eat.”

They did so, and as they did, Alexander related his adventures: his flight from the castle, his recapture and his subsequent salvation. Will gawped as Alexander informed him of the precise details of the downfall of Raymond and the Prince. 

Then it was Will’s turn, and Alexander shook his head in disbelief as he listened to the unfortunate twists and turns that had eventually led Will to being at the mercy of the lascivious Abbot Cuthbert. 

“He is no holy man, my Lord, I can tell you that,” said Will, as he crammed another chicken drumstick in his mouth.

“Oh, I’ve long suspected him of being a monstrous hypocrite,” nodded Alexander. 

“It shouldn’t be allowed. He’s supposed to be a man of God. He should be punished.”

“In a fair and equitable world, you are undoubtedly correct. But surely you cannot be so naive to think that we live in such a world. Especially after your own personal experiences, eh, Will?”

“So he’ll get away with it?”

“Oh I wouldn’t go that far. I now have a very useful point of leverage when it comes to my future interactions with the Abbot. One I intend to exploit ruthlessly. Have no fear, he will live to regret putting his hands on you.”

With that, Alexander rose from his chair and gazed at Will intently. “Now, speaking of putting hands on you…”

Will gulped. He guessed this was coming sooner or later. Alexander’s eyes had burned with lust for him all through their meal.

“Come here, Will.”

Will rose and walked towards the older man. His mouth felt parched and his heart fluttered nervously.

Alexander picked up the ice cold bottle of champagne from the table and poured it into his goblet. He lifted the goblet to his lips and filled his mouth. Then he pulled Will’s still damp blond locks to him and planted his mouth on Will’s. Will’s lips opened willingly and as they did so, Alexander deposited his champagne into Will’s mouth. Will gulped the liquid down, and Alexander proceeded to probe the boy’s mouth with his long, experienced tongue. Will’s crotch twitched as the taller man pressed against him. Their tights-covered bulges began to grind against one another.

Eventually, Alexander withdrew his tongue, leaving Will gasping for air.

“There have been times this year when the only thought sustaining me has been the notion that I might get to fuck your perfect arse once more time. And now I am going to do something I have never done before. I am going to ask you if you want me to fuck you. If you say yes, I promise you it will be the best sexual experience you have ever had, and that I will devote myself entirely to your arousal. But for the first time in my life, I am not going to force myself on a young man whom I desire. The choice is yours. Now what do you say?”

Chapter 58 - The Queen of Spain

“When do you want to leave?”

“As soon as possible, my Lord. I now know where the boy is. And I would like to waste no more time in retrieving him.”

Lord Geoffrey de Montford sat in consultation with his oldest and most trusted servant.

“I understand how you feel, Alexander, but I’m afraid I need you by my side a little longer.”

“He saved my life. Had it not been for him, I would have starved in your Lordship’s dungeon. I owe him my gratitude at the very least - and I don’t want to see him slip through my fingers.”

“Soon, my friend. Soon. But this - demands my attention, and I would as always value your advice…”

Geoffrey flourished a letter in the air, before flinging the parchment onto the table.

“My Lord?”

“It is from Queen Katharine of Spain. I might have known she would try to interfere in our affairs.”

Alexander nodded gravely. The Queen was an English noblewoman by birth and she - and her younger sister, Isabella - had been renowned as the greatest beauties of their age. Their arrogant father had decreed that only princes were fit to take his daughters as their brides, and indeed he had successfully forged royal marriages for them both: Katharine had been duly married off to the Spanish heir to the throne; Isabella to the Crown Prince of England.

“What does she want, my Lord?”

“What she says and what she wants are two very different matters, Alexander. She says she has heard about the kidnapping and ransoming of her brother-in-law the King of England, and she gathers that I am offering her nephew, Felix, the protection of my home. She says she is overcome with anguish, and as her sister died so tragically young, she wishes to offer her love and support to her poor nephew.”

“You doubt her motives, naturally.”

“The conniving bitch has shown no interest in Felix his whole life. If she had, he might not have turned into such a monster. She already rules the roost in the Spanish court - her husband is a notorious weakling. No doubt she wants to add power in England to her sphere of influence. She’s no fool, Alexander. We must tread very carefully with her.”

“What do you think she will do?”

“She wants to visit. I can hardly refuse her. Nor can I deny her access to Felix. But if she learns how the Prince has been treated here these past weeks - we’re dead men, Alexander. All of us.”

“What if the Prince were to succumb to some tragic illness? I hear the plague is abroad again.”

“Too risky. If we are even suspected of poisoning Felix, we could end up with a full scale Spanish invasion. Furthermore, my fellow barons are skittish as it is. They’re just about able to stomach the Prince as my prisoner. Our fragile alliance would fall apart if I murdered him.”

“It’s certainly a conundrum. Leave it with me, my Lord.”

“Thank you, Alexander. I knew I could rely on you. As for the page boy…”

“I’m a patient man. I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer.”




The Spanish entourage did not waste their time. Within a week, they had arrived at the Castle. Their wily Queen had clearly not wanted to give Lord Geoffrey too much notice of her arrival. Alexander watched from the window of his chambers. He had to concur that she did indeed seem a worthy adversary. Her retinue was significant, as befitted her status as wife to the king of one great nation, and sister-in-law to the king of another. There were just enough guards and noblemen accompanying her to suggest she should not be trifled with. A larger armed presence would have alarmed the common Englishman. Spain was viewed with suspicion at best, with outright hostility at worst. She would have to play her hand carefully not to be viewed as an armed enemy.

Alexander took a deep breath. Lord Geoffrey had trusted him to solve this problem for him. He only hoped his plan would work.




On the surface, all was smiles and bonhomie. Queen Katharine was still a beauty, even if her long auburn hair now owed more to her hairdresser’s skill with dye than to nature, and if a lifetime indulging in the luxuries of the Spanish court meant that she could perhaps do with losing a pound or two, her wide-set, pale blue eyes were still entrancing, and her porcelain skin remained flawless. Mistress Olwen’s culinary skills had once again not been found wanting, and the welcome banquet had been deemed a great success.

Lord Geoffrey had - as per Alexander’s instructions - successfully stalled the Spanish Queen’s insistent requests to be reunited with her dear nephew ‘at this tragic time’. But she could not be put off forever, and the moment of reckoning had now arrived.

Alexander had chosen his own chambers for the stage where his little comedy should play out, and he bowed low as the Queen swept into his luxurious main room, Lord Geoffrey following respectfully behind her, and a small gaggle of Spanish courtiers behind him. Alexander noted that Sir Antony and Sir Dominic were also stationed nearby.

Not wanting to be overshadowed by their glamorous continental visitors, all the Englishmen were decked in their finest garments: richly brocaded doublets, tightly-fitting silken hose encasing their muscular thighs, rounded buttocks and bulging crotches. Geoffrey, Antony and Dominic had carefully strapped daggers to their belts, just to emphasise that they were ready for action, should the situation require it.

“May I introduce my Chief Steward and most loyal servant, your Majesty,” said Lord Geoffrey. “This is Master Alexander Courcey. Master Alexander, Queen Katharine of Spain.”

Alexander bowed low before his royal guest. “I am honoured, your Majesty,” he said, gazing up at the Queen. He looked at her still handsome face and instantly recognised the beauty she had shared with her sister and which had been passed on to Prince Felix. But there was a wilfulness in those steely eyes, and a cruelty too.

When she spoke, her accent betrayed no hint of the many years she had lived in Spain. “I asked Lord Geoffrey why my beloved nephew could not join us for dinner, Master Alexander. He assures me that you will provide me with an explanation.”

Alexander nodded his head mournfully. “It is indeed a tragic tale, your Majesty. One which we hoped we could conceal from the outside world. Lord Geoffrey - as the Prince’s beloved godfather and indeed the man whom the King himself entrusted with Prince Felix’s safety when he went to war - sought to shelter the wretched young man from the scorn and mockery of the world. And indeed to protect his wider family from the shame of knowing what had truly occurred.”

The Queen’s blue eyes - the same colour as the sapphires at her throat and brow - sparkled dangerously. “Get to the point, Sir.”

“My apologies, your Majesty. I merely seek to ameliorate somewhat the anguish that this revelation will surely cause you. It is many years since you have visited this country, I believe, and you have not seen the Prince since he was a child. Even so, I’m sure you recall that he was ever a sensitive and highly-strung young man. He idolised your dear brother-in-law, the King, and so the news of his father’s capture by the heathens hit him badly. Very badly. Upon learning of the King’s imprisonment and the subsequent ransom demand, he rapidly began a mental and emotional decline. Our finest physicians have treated him, but they fear it is some inherent weakness in his character that has been triggered by this severe shock.”

The Queen narrowed her beautiful eyes. “Let me guess where this is leading. You are going to tell me that the Prince is incapacitated, and that his doctors have decreed that he is not to be visited by anyone - not even his closest family. So you expect me, having made the long journey from my home, to climb back into my carriage, and leave him here in your and Lord Geoffrey’s custodianship. Am I right?” She smiled. But there was no humour in her eyes.

“No, no, your Majesty. Far from it. I knew someone of your character and courage would not shy away from seeing the condition our beloved Prince has fallen into: no matter how distressing it may be. Please, follow me, but do steel yourself - you may be shocked at his disintegration.”

Alexander opened the door that led into his bedchamber, and his party of guests, both English and Spanish, followed him into the richly tapestried room.

In the corner of the room sat a large wooden playpen. The pen had bars along its sides, and there was a large pile of cushions on the floor. Queen Katharine’s bejewelled hand moved involuntarily to her crimson lips. There could be no mistaking the fact that it was indeed her nephew sitting in the centre of the cushions but whatever else she might have expected to see, it was certainly not this.

For some inexplicable reason, the Prince was wearing the costume of a jester. A large blue and yellow jester’s hat was fastened beneath his chin, and little jingling bells tinkled tunelessly at the end of the hat’s three ‘ears’. His tunic was a patchwork of blue and yellow, and his over-sized shoes were also adorned with bells, and their toes curled comically as in traditional Fool’s garb.

The Prince’s muscular legs were encased in snug tights - one leg yellow and the other blue, but where they met at the young man’s crotch, there was no sign of the rounded mound of his genitals. Instead, wadding bulged from beneath the thin hosiery: wadding encircling the Prince’s waist, buttocks and crotch. The Queen noted with distaste that her twenty-six year old nephew was clad in a baby’s diaper.

Her eyes flicked to the young man’s face, seeking some kind of explanation for the ridiculous costume and humiliating nappy. The beauty he had inherited from her late sister was there still: the cheekbones, the cruel jaw, the eyes as blue her own, but she saw with dismay that where hers were bright and vivid, his were dull and stupid. The young man’s jaw hung open slackly, his tongue lolled onto his chin, and drool dribbled onto his particoloured tunic. Alexander stepped forward with a cloth, and tenderly wiped the Prince’s chin for him.

The Queen remained speechless, unable to drag her eyes away from the spectacle of her once proud nephew, she gazed on in horror. In that moment, had she happened to glance across to Lord Geoffrey, she would have seen him give Alexander a conspiratorial wink.

“The news of his father’s plight seems to have sent the Prince into a kind of second childhood, your Majesty,” explained Alexander. “At first he was struck dumb, but then speech gradually returned to him. However, it seems that his mind had reverted to that of a four year old. He wanted only to play with toy castles and soldiers, and to dress up in different costumes. He most wanted to dress as the Royal Jester: so this outfit was swiftly made for him. It seemed to please his Highness. We had hoped that the malady would prove temporary, but sadly, as the weeks have progressed, the Prince has only lapsed further into infancy. He can no longer speak: communicating only by gurgling, he cannot feed himself, and - if you will forgive me the indelicacy of saying so - he has also lost command of his toileting, hence the necessity of a baby’s nappy…”

In that moment, the Prince seemed to become animated. A kind of desperation appeared in his eyes and a low gurgle erupted from his throat.

“Goo-goo, gah-gah!”

He started to rock on his haunches, until finally he toppled forward onto all fours. His tights-clad legs forced apart by the thickness of the fabric wrapped around his crotch, he nevertheless started to crawl forward on his knees.

Alexander swiftly moved to the playpen, and unlatched the door.

“How sweet! I think our young Prince has recognised you, your Majesty!”

The Queen took a step backwards as her nephew crawled towards her. “Is he - is it safe?”

“Hmm,” mused the Steward. “As yet, he has been as gentle as a babe, but with sicknesses of the mind, it does pay to be cautious.”

“Keep him away from me! Put it back in its pen!”

“Please do not distress yourself, your Majesty,” said Lord Geoffrey warmly.

“It is merely time for his dinner. He wishes to be fed, that is all,” explained Alexander. “I have his bottle of milk warming right here on the fireplace.” He crouched down and fixed the Prince with a smile. “Is Baby ready for his din-dins?”




If only the Spanish Queen could have been a fly on the wall of that very bedchamber an hour or two earlier, she would have had a very different perspective on the little scene playing out before her. She would have seen Alexander supervising the construction of the wooden playpen: Mortimer applying a little paint to the wooden poles, Humphrey delivering a pile of cushions, and Sir Dominic delivering the gagged and bound Prince Felix from his dank prison cell.

“You must be lonely down there, your Highness, now that your little playmate has been sent on his excursion to more exotic climes,” taunted Alexander. “I do hope you’re not missing the little rat too much.”

The Prince protested extensively.

“You really must learn to enunciate more, your Highness. I really can’t hear a word if you mumble like that. Now, I don’t anticipate any gratitude from you but you will be relieved to hear that you’re finally going to be cleaned up and giving some new clothing. You’ve been stewing in those soiled scarlet tights ever since our last encounter, haven’t you? All that gunk has become really quite unpleasant hasn’t it? Those plump marshmallows that were melted inside your hot royal arse-chute have hardened again, although I see they’re sticking to your flesh inside your tights. How uncomfortable that must be! And the cream from those delicious profiteroles has gone quite rancid. The smell is deeply unpleasant isn’t it? And you’ve been forced to sit in all that for quite some time, no? Well, have no fear, young man. We’re going to get you cleaned up and put in some lovely fresh clothes. Isn’t that wonderful, eh?”

And with no pretence at delicacy, Alexander ripped the saliva stained gag from the Prince’s mouth.

“I’ll fucking kill you, Courcey!” screamed the Prince, practically incoherent with rage.

“Hush now,” cooed Alexander. “You had the opportunity to do that on more than one occasion and quite frankly, your Highness, you blew it. Now, as I fear you are in no mood to behave like a gentleman, I’m afraid I’m going to have to use other means to make you more docile.”

Felix opened his mouth to begin another tirade, and as he did so, quick as a flash, Alexander popped a small yellow pill onto the back of the Prince’s tongue. Before he even knew what happened, the tablet slipped smoothly down Felix’s throat. The Prince’s mouth gaped in shock.

“Before you start panicking that I’ve poisoned you, young Prince Prick-tease (which, incidentally, is becoming a rather tedious obsession of yours), the tablet you’ve just swallowed is ordered from the same associate who brews my lust potion, and who concocted the sleeping draught which I fed you last time you visited my chambers.”

“And what does this do?” stammered the Prince.

“It’s a muscle relaxant. You will remain entirely conscious but you will lose all the strength in your limbs. I will then be able to undress you, bathe you and dress you in your new clothing, without having to worry about you trying to resist. Fortunately, it also affects the tongue, so I won’t have to listen to you rant either.”

“How long will it last?” demanded the gorgeous Felix, even as he seemed to feel a kind of invisible weight descend upon him.

“For a few hours you will be totally powerless. After that, the drug begins to wear off, but its side effects are most interesting. You will gradually begin to recover the use of your muscles, but it takes several days. And during that time, you will only have the physical control of a baby a few months old. You will be able to crawl a little, and make a few basic sounds. But that will be all.”

“Wh- why?” Already the Prince was finding it difficult to speak as the drug took hold of him.

“All in good time, my young Princeling,” smiled Alexander. “All in good time…”

Chapter 56 - Raymond gains his Freedom

Just as the sophisticated Steward of de Montford Castle had been playing on Will’s mind, the former junior page boy may well have been surprised that he was likewise very much in Master Alexander’s thoughts.


He sat alone in his chambers, his brow furrowed, his elegant elbow resting on the table. The whirlwind of recent events seemed to have abated somewhat. Lord Geoffrey was ensconced with his fellow noblemen, in deep discussion over how to ensure stability in the land. It was true that the King and his beautiful son were not popular, but the last thing this impoverished, exhausted country needed was to descend into civil war.


They would have to decide what to do about Felix. He was at their mercy now of course, but whilst he lived, he was dangerous and a potential focus for rebellion. The question was: did any of them actually have the nerve to kill him? And if they did, would that inspire a rush of sympathy for the monarchy and end in uprising and rebellion? Moreover, the Prince had powerful relatives abroad - not least the Spanish royal family. Would they move to try and liberate him?


Alexander was relieved that such matters would not be decided by him; and with the luxury for once of a little time to attend to his own affairs, he had decided to devote his energies to the pretty blond slut boy who had risked his life to save him.


There was a sharp rap on the door.


“Enter!”


A guard nodded smartly to the Steward, and pushed his prisoner into the room.


“That will be all,” said Alexander. “You may leave us.”


The guard did so, closing the door firmly behind him.


“Well, young Master Raymond,” he began. “How goes your new life in the dungeon?”


Raymond raised his head, his dark curls falling into his almond-shaped eyes and looked at Alexander warily. “I’ve had more comfortable beds.”


Alexander’s eyes flickered to the door of his bedchamber, where only a month ago Raymond himself had been installed.


“I’m sure,” he smiled coldly. “And the Prince?”


He looked back at the bare-chested youth, clad only in his once pristine silver tights, now stained and torn from his time in the dungeon.


“They keep us apart now. I hear him raving and roaring sometimes. It was a particularly cruel decision to leave him in those soiled scarlet tights when you returned him to his cell.”


“Well I didn’t want him to forget his experience too quickly.”


“He may well go mad, you know. It wouldn’t surprise me.”


“That would certainly make life simpler - for all of us.”


Raymond bit his lower lip. He seemed to come to a decision. “And what of me?” he asked, plaintively. “What is to become of me?”


“All in good time, my impatient young buck. Come, take a seat, why don’t you?”


Alexander grasped Raymond’s manacled wrist and propelled him to the cushioned chair.


“Why don’t you kill me now and get it over with?” said the wretched youth. “We both know you’re going to do it eventually.”


“Kill you?” responded Alexander in mock-astonishment. “Why on earth would I do that? That firm piece of boy rump is far too good to waste by killing you! How is it by the way? Comfortable? I do hope so. That cushion was recently stained by a small mishap with some bananas, and they’re a devil to get out of the fabric. I do hope it’s not too damp against your hosed little bum.”


Raymond winced at the memory of how he had exacted his revenge on his former master. “I am at your mercy, Sir,” he said.


Alexander nodded sagely. “Indeed. If you recall, on that occasion, not so long ago, I asked you a question. You chose not to answer me. Perhaps you might reconsider now. I ask again: what did you do with Will?”


Raymond felt a sharp pang of contempt. Still the obsession with that moronic slut! He suppressed the thought and assumed his meekest expression. “If I help you find him, my Lord, will you be lenient with me?”


“Ha! You have some nerve, boy, I’ll grant you that! You’re hardly in a position to bargain with me.”


Alexander seemed to think. He appeared to have reached a decision.


“Very well. I admire your audacity and I accept your proposition. If you tell me where I can find the boy, I will let you leave the palace this very day - alive and well.”


A wild hope leaped in Raymond’s heart. “Do you really mean it, Sir?”


“I swear on both my life and the life of young Will,” came the solemn reply.


“You are the best of men, Master Alexander! The best of men!”


“Then tell me what I want to know.”


“I sent him back to his village. He’s back in the care of his family. His own brother took him in.”


Alexander could not help but laugh. “I had no idea that you would display so little imagination, Raymond! Your worst enemy was at your mercy and you simply - sent him home?”


Raymond shrank a little in the face of Alexander’s scorn. “Will you keep your promise, my Lord?” he whispered.


“I am a man of my word, young Raymond. Surely you know that by now!” Alexander’s walked to the door. He opened it with a flourish. “You will leave the castle today. I have even gone to the trouble of arranging a personal escort for you!”


Raymond turned his head to the doorway and gasped at the man framed there. The newcomer had a mouth stuffed with golden teeth and a black leather patch covering where one of his eyes used to be. The disreputable fellow shook Alexander warmly by the hand.


“My friend! It has been too, too long. You have not frequented the auction for many a month!”


“No, Gregory,” said Alexander, wrily raising his eyebrow. “I’ve had other rather more pressing matters to deal with.”


“So I’ve heard. But it is good to see you back in your rightful place at last.” He grinned expansively. “Now, I know you well enough to know that you didn’t invite me here for my conversation. I understand you want to discuss business. Are you in the market for a new slave boy to entertain his Lordship after his travails in foreign lands?”


Alexander shook his head. “Not this time. In fact, on this occasion I’m selling, not buying.”


“Are you now?” Gregory asked with interest. “And am I to assume that this unfortunate fellow here is the commodity you’re prepared to part with?”


Raymond’s face went deathly white. “No, no. You wouldn’t! You said - You promised!”


“I promised you would leave the castle today and that you would leave it alive - no more, no less. Now be quiet while Gregory and I discuss business.” Alexander turned to the slave-trader. “I want him shipped somewhere far, far away.”


Gregory tapped the side of his nose confidentially. “I have just the place in mind. The sodomites there go crazy for pale skin there – and the younger and prettier the better!”


“Superb. Do you think he will fetch a decent price?”


Gregory approached the bound young man and began to appraise him in a professional manner. He grabbed a clump of Raymond’s dark, curly locks and yanked his head back roughly. “Good head of hair on him. Pretty little nose.” He continued his monologue as he ran his swarthy hand down Raymond’s bare chest and squeezed his groin through his tights. “Nice body. Are his parts all in working order?”


“As far as I’m aware. Is that a problem?”


“Not necessarily. Some clients prefer male slaves gelded, that’s all – makes ‘em more docile. But the procedure is straightforward, and I can whip ‘em off myself at a moment’s notice. Probably better to leave ‘em where they are for now.”


Raymond emitted an anguished gurgle as his genitals were discussed in this callous fashion.


“Is he a virgin?” asked Gregory.


Alexander laughed bleakly. “No, my friend. This one’s arse has had more than its fair share of use.”


“Pity. Virgins attract a premium. Still, there are those who like their boys experienced in the ways of the flesh – indeed, in some cases, the sluttier they are, the more they’ll pay.”


“You wouldn’t dare,” hissed Raymond malevolently. “You wouldn’t dare!”
The two men pointedly ignored him.


“Any signs of syphilis?” continued the slave-trader.


“None that I’m aware of.”


“Good. If you’ll sign a certificate attesting to that fact he’ll fetch a penny or two more. Although if he doesn’t have the clap now, give him a month or two in some of the dives I travel to and there’ll be no disease under the sun he won’t have picked up!”


“You dog!” spat Raymond. “My father was a squire to King Edward!”


“Is he always this noisy?” asked Gregory, taking the opportunity to insert his fingers between the lad’s jaws and make a cursory examination of his teeth.


“Maybe you should cut his tongue off, along with his balls,” suggested Alexander nonchalantly.


“Mouth healthy. Teeth all present and correct.”


In a desperate rage, Raymond snapped at Gregory’s fingers, but the trader was too quick for him and the lad found himself biting at the empty air.


“A little too much spirit for my liking, Alexander,” said Gregory sadly. “I’ll need to muzzle him. It doesn’t look good but I can’t risk my customers losing one of their extremities.”


Alexander spread his hands sympathetically. “You must do what you must do,” he murmured.


Gregory dipped his hand into his bag of provisions and produced a rotting leather gag. Alexander curled his lip. It smelt foul, and over the years it had clearly been employed to silence and subdue countless numbers of disobedient slaves.


“Get that thing away from me!” screamed Raymond, but Gregory calmly slipped the leather ball between Raymond’s lips and fastened it firmly at the base of his skull. Alexander noted with interest that the ball was hollowed out and that he could see straight through the centre into the inside of the youth’s mouth.


“What a relief,” sighed Alexander as the obstruction muted the young man’s fevered protests, leaving him able only to make the occasional muffled grunt. “I should have done that myself long ago!”


“Now, what else is there to discuss?” pondered the one-eyed man. “Ah yes. Transportation. If I’m to understand correctly, you were interested in the most basic haulage options.”


“That’s correct.”


“Small, medium or large?”


“Hmmm…”


“Small is cheapest.”


“Then small it is!”


With a satisfied nod of his head, Gregory excused himself and went to fetch something from the corridor outside. He returned a moment later, explaining, “I anticipated you feeling that way, so I brought a sample along with me for your approval.”


In his arms he carried a wooden packing crate. Alexander raised an eyebrow. It scarcely looked large enough to contain a medium sized dog, never mind a youth of Raymond’s dimensions. “Will he fit?” he asked uncertainly.


“Allow me to demonstrate, my friend.”


Gregory opened the lid of the crate, revealing a couple of inches of sawdust lining its bottom. Turning to the tied-up young man, Gregory hefted the desperate and struggling body into the box. He lay Raymond’s back down against the sawdust, and then, grabbing each of Raymond’s hose-covered ankles, bent the lad’s legs at the knee and, pressing the thighs against the youth’s naked chest, effectively folded the boy in half. Peering into the musty packaging, Alexander watched with interest as Gregory manacled Raymond’s heels to the crate, so they remained fixed in place, pushing against his nylon-clad arse.


Raymond’s eyes were wide with terror. This position would become very uncomfortable very rapidly, and he was fairly confident there would be no opportunity to work out any attacks of cramp that he might suffer whilst he was thus restrained.


As he continued to observe, Alexander noticed a circular hole, around four inches in diameter, low down in one side of the crate, the side to which Raymond’s feet had just been shackled, and coincidentally, in near proximity to the boy’s arsehole.


“And this hole is for…?” he inquired innocently.


“As if you didn’t know, you rogue” grinned Gregory. “It’s a long sea voyage and you know what sailors are like. My lads need some outlet for their sexual frustration. I block it up if it’s a virgin I’m carrying, but if it’s not, it doesn’t do any harm if they want a quick fuck. Do you object?”


“Not at all. In fact I’m tempted to administer a farewell buggering to the tricky little bitch myself.” Alexander’s finger poked at the glory hole. “Allow me to facilitate matters for your hard-working employees.” And, locating the seam of Raymond’s tights, he tore a hole and prodded his long forefinger into the youth’s sweating, vulnerable and not so willing crevice.


Gregory lifted the lid of the crate and handed it to Alexander for further examination. “You’ll notice that a slate blackboard has been fixed to the top,” he pointed out to the Steward. “That’s so that each sailor who sticks his cock in the box can scrawl his name and give the experience a score out of ten. It’s just a bit of fun but it helps to pass the long hours at sea.”


Alexander nodded his head in approval. A thought occurred to him. “How is he fed and watered?”


“Ah,” said Gregory, proudly. “An ingenious invention of my own devising. You see that there’s another small hole bored here in the lid of the crate? This enables a wooden cylinder to be introduced and pushed directly into the slave’s mouth. If needs be, and as in this particular case, through the hole in the middle of the gag.”


“And what do you feed them?” asked Alexander.


Gregory grimaced. “You really don’t want to know.”


“Fair enough. How about fluids? How do you make sure they don’t become dehydrated during the voyage?”


“Well, as you can imagine, fresh water is a precious commodity at sea, so I tend to save that for my crew. In my experience, a few months swallowing sailor’s piss never killed anyone.”


Alexander chortled heartily, and slapped the slave trader on his back. “You think of everything my friend! What about the boy’s own excretions? He’ll need to piss and crap too of course. Do you let him out for those necessities?”


Gregory shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s what the sawdust is there for. Besides, it’s easier to clean ‘em up when we land than risk ‘em trying to jump overboard and drown ‘emselves on the journey.”


“Practical to the last!”


“And speaking of being practical,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “A little bird tells me that the dashing Prince Felix has had a sudden and rather unexpected change of fortune. Should you be in the market and looking for someone to take that particular jewel off your hands, I would be more than happy to oblige.”


“It’s tempting,” murmured Alexander. “It’s certainly tempting.”


“The body of a god, royal blood and reputedly a virgin into the bargain! Why, you and I could retire straight away on what that treasure would fetch from the rich merchants of Arabia!”


“Unfortunately, my worthy Gregory, the Prince is not for sale. Lord Geoffrey is not going to risk allowing that particular beauty out of his sight. He certainly has no intention of packing him off to another country, where there might be a danger of him raising an army against the good folks of England.”


“I understand the reservations of his Lordship,” said Gregory sorrowfully, “but I can’t help feeling it’s a damned shame.”


“Whereas this one,” said Alexander, turning his attentions to the concertina’d lad inside the crate, “well, I can guarantee you we’ll all be very happy to see him transported from these shores, never to be seen again.”


Raymond’s eyes bulged, and once again he attempted to curse them both – which merely resulted in yet another muffled moan.


“What will be his fate?” asked Alexander. “What will the rich Arabian who wins him at auction do with him?”


Gregory considered the question, drawing on his many years of experience in the trade. “Given his youth and looks, odds are he’s destined to be a sex slave. The men out East are barbarians when it comes to boys. They’ll do things to a male that they’d never dream of subjecting their wives to. I wouldn’t put money on his arsehole still being in one piece six months from now. I tell you, your eyes would pop out of your head if I told you some of the things those heathens have been known to shove up boys’ backsides. You name it, they’ll have tried to use it to fuck a lad. What’s wrong with sticking a cock up there, I ask you? Why on earth do people need to get any more exotic than that?”


“Why indeed?” concurred Alexander, concealing a sly smile.


“Anyway, they have a short shelf life out there, male whores. Once they’ve ruined his arse, well, after that, if he’s lucky, he may have a couple of years doing hard labour; if not...” Gregory slowly drew his finger across his throat. Suddenly, a look of consternation crossed his face. “All this I’m telling you, it doesn’t make a difference to you, does it? You still want to go through with the transaction?”


The one-eyed man intruded on Alexander’s train of thought. “What did you say? Do I still want to go through with it? Oh yes. Most definitely. I was just musing over how things might have turned out differently under other circumstances.” If it hadn’t been for the blond lad with the perfect bubble butt, he thought to himself.


Alexander peered into the cramped packing case and took one long, final look at the anguished face of Raymond StClare. “Now, why don’t you seal him up and be on your way?” he said abruptly. “I’ll wait to hear from you to find out how much he fetched.”






Business concluded, Gregory was left alone with the crate to pack away his tools of the trade. He nailed the lid shut, enclosing Raymond in darkness, muffled screams now reduced to wracking sobs.


He could really do with a piss, thought the one-eyed rogue, only he hadn’t thought to ask Alexander where the garderobe was located. He glanced around and shrugged. He reached into his bag and pulled out a curved wooden tube. Feeding it through the hole in the crate’s lid, he then proceeded to wiggle it into position. He slid it through the gap in the middle of the ball gag, and left it resting at the top of Raymond’s gullet. He pulled down the front of his coarse grey tights, stuck his cock into the end of the cylinder and released his urine with a long, satisfied sigh.


He heard the piss gurgling down the wooden tube and flowing into Raymond’s helpless throat. “That’s it, lad. Drink it all up. Every last drop. It’s only the first of such refreshments you’ll be tasting over the months to come.”


Gregory shook the final few droplets from his dick, and put it away. Then, whistling tunelessly to himself, he hefted the crate onto his broad shoulders and carried Raymond down to the cart waiting below.


The bumpy journey to Dunchester took an hour or so. The crate was stored there over night and then, the following day, it was on its way down to the port. Less than a week after preparing himself to become the right-hand man of the new King of England, Raymond StClare was on the ocean, destined never to return to his homeland again.

Chapter 46 - Cleaning Up

“Sir Antony, Sir Dominic, would you be so good as to tie our young Princeling to his throne?”

The strapping knights bowed to acknowledge Alexander’s request.

“You were ordered to clean me!” snapped Felix.

“Hush your incessant whining, boy!” ordered Alexander. “You will be dealt with at a time when I see fit.”

“How dare you!”

“You’d better gag him as well. It seems our young Prince takes a long, long time to learn. But he will be broken in the end. All young studs are broken – eventually.”

Antony and Dominic efficiently manhandled the Prince – sticky and shivering in his ruined hosiery – into the throne, and there they bound and gagged him.

The assembled throng of assorted party guests – drunk with exhilaration and wine – turned expectantly to Alexander.

“We have the former Chief Steward of the castle to deal with, after all,” he said, resting his hand lightly on the shoulder of Raymond’s silver doublet. “How the Wheel of Fortune turns...”

His desperate mind made up, young Raymond slipped from his chair and sank to his knees in front of Alexander. “I’ve been a fool, my Lord” he gibbered. “My ambition got the better of me. But please, Master Courcey – you would have done the same in my place, wouldn’t you? I saw the opportunity and I grabbed it. I learned at your feet, Sir. At the feet of the master.”

Alexander gazed down contemptuously at the grovelling youth.

Raymond went on: “I know that my behaviour deserves only the sternest of punishments but I’ll do anything, Master! Just let me keep my life. Please I’m begging you!”

A low muttering reverberated around the Hall. Then a lone voice cried out: “Kill the little shit! Take him to the courtyard and hang him from the gallows that are standing there!”

Raymond scrabbled on his knees to Alexander’s feet. His hosed buttocks bobbed in the air as he sank to plant a kiss on the Steward’s leather boot.

“You hold my life in the palm of your hand, Master. Show mercy, please. And spare a thought for that pretty youth who lost his virginity to you in this very castle only a few years ago...”

“You really are a pathetic creature, Raymond, you know that?”

“Yes, Sir. I know. I’ve been an idiot.”

“This is true.” Alexander withdrew his dagger from its sheath and positioned the deadly blade against Raymond’s neck. “So give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slice your traitorous throat this very instant!”

“Compassion, my Lord. Forgiveness. Christian charity. And my solemn promise that I have learned my lesson once and for all!”

Alexander paused: an enigmatic expression on his saturnine features. He raised his dagger in the air. Raymond screwed his eyes tight in anticipation of the killer blow. Then, in one swift motion, the dagger slashed open the front of Raymond’s gorgeous black doublet. “Take it off, bitch,” he instructed. “I want your smooth chest vulnerable to the penetration of my blade.”

Raymond blanched and, shivering in fear, slowly shrugged off the remnants of his fine tunic. He crouched at Alexander’s feet in only his black and white particoloured hose. He waited for what seemed like an eternity. The crowd of guests held its breath as Alexander gently tested the sharp point of his dagger against his palm.

Eventually he seemed to come to a decision. “I’m going to spare your life – for now at least,” he said. “But you do realise you must be punished, boy, don’t you?”

Raymond swallowed nervously. “Yes, Sir. I see that I’ve been a very wicked boy and that I must be punished.”

“Some public humiliation to begin with, don’t you think?”

Naturally, Raymond was expecting this. “Whatever you say, Master Alexander. I’ll obey your every command!”

“Too right you will, you snivelling little bastard!” And Alexander slapped Raymond sharply across his cheek. A small trickle of blood ran from the youth’s pink lips and a tear sprang, involuntarily, to his dark eyes.

Alexander snorted with contempt and then raised his eyes to survey the Great Hall. “My, what a mess the dirty young Prince has made in here!” he exclaimed.

Unable to speak, Prince Felix’s eyes flashed with utter loathing.

Alexander bent down and grabbed a fistful of Raymond’s dark curls. He forced the lad to look down at the floor. “I think you need to clean it up, boy. I want you to crawl on your hands and knees and lick up every lump of cake, every globule of pudding, every dollop of cream and custard that has been spilled on this hallowed, ancient floor. And you’d better do a good job of it, you vile little slut!”

Alexander released Raymond’s hair and gave the boy’s tights-clad arse a firm kick with the sole of his leather boot. The boy’s body jolted in surprise and sprawled to the floor.

Raymond did not need to be told twice. With the catcalls of the audience ringing in his ears, he scurried off to carry out his demeaning task. The thin material of his finely woven hose afforded little protection to his poor knees, and the cold, hard floor soon made them sore. Although that was the least of his worries. On all fours, like a dog, he bent down to lick at the yellow streak of custard smeared across the floor.

“That’s it, Master Steward!” jeered a voice from the crowd. “Eat up your din-dins now!”

Shrieks of laughter rang forth, as Raymond stuck out his tongue and gingerly began to lap at the congealing slime. It tasted sweet and sickly, and there was definitely bits of grit in it, he realised ruefully.

“Swallow it,” ordered Alexander. “You’ve got a lot of clearing up to do and we don’t have all night!”

On he crawled, licking and lapping at the gunge that was splattered on the floor. Fairly soon the combination of chocolate, sugar and cream started to make Raymond feel distinctly queasy, but he knew he had no choice but to continue with his disgusting task.

“No better than a mangy mongrel dog licking up the left overs!” declared an onlooker as Raymond scrabbled desperately over the flagstones.

The youth had now done a whole circuit of the Great Hall. He had made some inroads in clearing up the mess but the floor was still largely covered in gunge and gloop.

“A pitiful job you’ve made of this, young Raymond,” said Alexander, shaking his head in mock sorrow. “Crawl over here to me and let me examine you!”

His knees raw through the soft material of his tights, Raymond did as he was ordered. He gazed up miserably into Alexander’s cruel countenance.

“Look at the state of you!” the Steward cried. “Your once-fine tights now filthy and laddered. And your face smeared with cream and custard.”

He leant over, wiped some of the gunk from Raymond’s cheek and then flicked it into the lad’s eye.

Raymond winced and belched from the amount of sweet food he’d been forced to ingest. Titters rang out from the crowd as Alexander shouted:

“On your back!”

Raymond did not need to be told twice. He was prepared for whatever perverted humiliation Alexander might choose for him, provided it did not end with his body hanging from the gibbet. His naked back made contact with the cold and dirty floor.

“Lift your legs, boy! Spread ‘em!”

Raymond’s hose-clad legs – one black, one white – immediately went in the air, the soles of his feet pointing at the ceiling. Raymond looked up to see the baleful forms of Odin and Ulfgar, long-forgotten, still swinging from the chandeliers. No time to think of them now: he had his own skin to save!

“Nice tights,” remarked Alexander. “You’ve been spending Lord Geoffrey’s wealth most freely at Dunchester market, haven’t you?” His hand rested on the muscular curve of Raymond’s hosed thigh. “Only the most exquisite material to sheath your legs, I see...”

“Whilst the rest of us poor folk starve!” cried a voice from the drunken crowd.

Alexander’s boot prodded Raymond’s tights-clad arse. “Seems a shame to have to tear them, but I need access to your hole, boy.”

Raymond gulped.

“In fact, you can do it yourself. Go on, bitch. Rip me a hole in your tights so that puckered little pussy of yours can get some air to it...”

Obedient and compliant, the curly-haired youth fumbled at the gusset of his luxurious legwear.

“Hurry, slutboy. I don’t have all day, you know...”

Finally Raymond’s shaking fingers found purchase and he managed to rend a small hole in the clinging material.

“It’ll need to be bigger than that, boy,” growled Alexander, nonchalantly rubbing at his hosed cock.

Raymond dutifully expanded the slash in the fabric, so that a promising slice of pale pink flesh could be glimpsed through the black and white silk.

“Now, boy, get those legs spread as wide as they’ll go and beg me to fuck that puckered little cunt of yours...”

Raymond didn’t need to be told twice. Only this morning the prospect of grovelling for mercy and begging to be fucked publicly by his hated nemesis in front of hundreds of peasants would have mortified him. Now he longed for it more than anything else he could have wished for. For he knew that the only way to save his miserable skin would be to turn Alexander on and to get him sufficiently horny so that Raymond was more use to him alive - and fuckable - than dead. Grasping his legs and yanking them as wide as they could possibly go, he babbled his desperate mantra:

“Please, Sir, I know I’m not worthy of it. I know the last thing I deserve is to take your cock up my pathetic boychute but please, I beg of you, please, please, fuck me. I’m desperate, Sir! Desperate for your massive manmeat to plunge deep into my worthless asshole! For you to use me for your pleasure and entertainment. Rape my slit till it’s raw! Ravish my aching arse! Degrade me like the piece of meat I am! I beg of you, Sir. Please! Please!”

Raymond tried to block out the screeching, mocking laughter of the servants, the merchants and the peasants in the Hall; the amused disgust crossing the faces of the handsome knights, Antony and Dominic; the scornful sneer of Prince Felix. And he knew that when the moment came and Alexander knelt between his legs, parting his hosed buttocks and penetrating him with that long, thick cock of his, he could expect no mercy. Alexander would rape him painfully and brutally. It would hurt, he knew that. Alexander would relish every second of his revenge. But at least... at least he would be alive.

He watched fearfully as Alexander approached his asshole, his forefinger extended towards him.

“Now, should I lubricate your cunt, bitch, or shall I force you to take it dry, I wonder?” he murmured.

Raymond knew what he wanted to answer, but instead whispered, “However you want to take me, Sir.”

Alexander smirked at the boy. “This sudden compliance suits you, Raymond. Now, what should I use? My spit? Or what about this? You’ve missed some custard here. Tut tut tut. This is going inside you one way or the other. Your arsehole is as suitable as your mouth, I suppose. There’s not a great deal of difference, after all. Both are now just convenient orifices for my sexual pleasure...”

He scooped some of the yellow gunk from the floor and, just as Raymond had predicted, he squatted down between the younger man’s thights. Tearing the particoloured tights even further along Raymond’s crack, Alexander slowly inserted first one, and then another custard-coated digit into the boy’s puckered hole. Raymond gasped with shock. It had been a long time since his ass had been violated, and certainly not in this humiliating fashion.

Alexander left his two fingers inside the youth, allowing him to grow accustomed to the stretching of his sphincter muscles. Then, smiling evilly, he withdrew his fingers and wiped them across Raymond’s lips.

“Lick, boy,” he ordered, casually.

Raymond’s tongue lolled and lapped at Alexander’s manicured fingers just as he was told to, tasting the custard from his own asshole.

“That will do for now, bitch. You may lower your legs.”

Raymond hesitated. Was that it? Was he truly going to escape any further punishment? Truly, he thought, Alexander’s time spent in the dungeon and fleeing across England had soften the sadistic old bastard.

“What’s that, slut? Disappointed that you’re not going to be speared on my cock? Oh have no fears. There will be time for that later.”

Raymond slowly returned his feet to the floor. Alexander gave the lad’s tights-clad bulge a squeeze and then stood up straight.

“It’s a warm and pleasant evening, ladies and gentlemen. I think we should take the Prince’s birthday party outside...”

The inebriated onlookers began to troop out of the Hall and to make their way into the courtyard, eager to discover what entertainment they would be provided with next: confident that it would involve the two unfortunate young men: Raymond and Felix.

Mistress Olwen, still grasping Jane by the wrist, whispered in her ear: “Not you, missy. We have some cleaning up to do in here. And I think we’ll use more conventional methods.” A tin bucket and a wooden mop were plonked down for Raymond’s younger sister to use.

Meanwhile, Odin and Ulfgar attempted to draw attention to their predicament in the rafters, but their cloth gags successfully muffled their protestations. They were left in their excruciating bondage, forgotten in their pink and yellow tights as they watched the Hall slowly empty.

It was past midnight, and in spite of Alexander’s pronouncement, there was a definite chill in the air in the castle courtyard. Sir Antony and Sir Dominic prodded the bedraggled form of Prince Felix at the head of the procession. Raymond staggered out into the cold: bare-chested and acutely aware of the fact that his naked bum was hanging out the back of his split tights. Alexander hovered menacingly at his shoulder.

The stark and ominous form of the gallows loomed in the moonlight. Raymond felt sick. The last thing he needed was for Alexander to be reminded of the fate that had oh so nearly befallen him this evening. Would he even live to see another morning, Raymond wondered, or would his naked body be swinging from that rope before the cock crowed?

Alexander turned to address Raymond and the Prince: “Now, my lads. Let’s have the two of you standing against the castle wall, side by side. So we can take a good look at the pair of you!”

Alexander flung Raymond towards the stone wall and the blond Prince Felix – seething at the indignity of it all - came to stand next to his partner in crime. Laughter continued to bubble from their intoxicated audience. They were quite a sight, mused Master Courcey: two sexy young men – one blond, one dark – stripped naked to the waist: their pert bums and muscular thighs clad in body-hugging tights, hating the fact that they were being ogled and leered over by the common peasantry, sweet goo congealed and clinging to their beautiful forms.

Felix’s filthy cloth gag slipped loose from his mouth. “You were ordered to clean me!” demanded the Prince.

“Have no fear, your Highness. It’s time for your ablutions...”

Right on cue, a shaggy carthorse appeared in the courtyard, and behind it trundled a large wooden wagon. The pageboys Humphrey and Mortimer guided the horse over the cobbles.

“What new mischief is this, Courcey?” cried the Prince.

“Let me introduce your highness,” replied Alexander, “to the castle fire engine.” He walked over to the wagon and slapped the large wooden barrel. “This is full of gallons of ice cold water. I think we should hose you both down, don’t you think? Get all that nasty gunk off your lithe young bodies!”

Antony and Dominic unfurled the hose from the side of the fire engine and at a signal from Alexander, unleashed a powerful jet of water at the cringing young men.

“Aaaaaahhhhh!” cried Felix in shock as the full blast of freezing water hit his chest.

Raymond gulped in shock and his teeth chattered as he too was soaked through.

The force of the stream was painful as it pummeled their bodies. The two young men did their best to avoid the stinging water. But as they attempted to dodge the flow, they merely turned the activity into a game for the onlookers. Yet more laughter rang in their ears as the icy water chased them up and down the length of the castle wall, dousing every inch of their bodies.

Eventually, Alexander raised his hand and the water was extinguished. Both lads sank to the ground, exhausted by their exertions, their tights sopping wet and their teeth chattering.

“Now wasn’t that refreshing?” mused the Steward, an evil grin playing around his lips.