Alexander descended the stone steps that led to the castle’s dungeon. He made his way through the various corridors and ante-chambers, each of them unlocked for him by the gaoler. Eventually he reached the largest room in the network of the dungeon: the torture chamber.
As torture chambers went, Castle de Montford’s was rather handsomely furnished. Long black drapes adorned the flagstone walls, and fiery torches burned in their brackets. A variety of racks, crosses and stocks were ranged around the cellar, and one entire wall was given over to a collection of leather cuffs, cockrings, nipple clamps and an eye-watering array of plugs and phalluses of all shapes and sizes.
There, in the centre of the room, hung Darius the Arabian. His wrists remained manacled together, only now the cuffs were attached to a long chain that disappeared into the gloom of the ceiling, forcing the handsome young man’s arms above his head. As yet there was sufficient give in the chain to allow him to stand with his feet on the floor. He was still naked, and Gregory’s cruel horse tail plug still bulged from his arse.
Two of Alexander’s bodyguard stood discreetly against the wall. Suddenly Darius spotted the Steward and he began thrashing about impotently, as if trying to yank the solid chain out of the ceiling with brute force. Alexander watched appreciatively as the young man’s muscles flexed and strained, trying to dislodge the source of his bondage. Let him try, he thought. The more exhausted he becomes, the more easily he will submit. Besides, it was a novel diversion for the Steward to encounter such spirit in a slave.
“You work out all that excess energy,” he murmured patronisingly. “It will do you good. Besides, I don’t want my new prize stallion’s muscles growing flabby now, do I?”
The equine reference caused Darius to glance behind him at the novel tail that nestled in his backside. He turned and glared at Alexander, malevolent fury in his eyes.
“Yes?” purred the Steward. “You look as if you’d like to say something. Maybe I should remove this pesky gag…”
Instinctively, one of the guards stepped forward, only for Alexander to wave him away. “I can do it.”
Reaching behind his new slave’s head, Alexander unbuckled the leather strap and removed the large gag from between Darius’ parched lips.
Almost at once, the former soldier began to speak: his voice at first cracked and hoarse, but growing richer and deeper as he went on.
“This is an outrage,” he began. “I am a prisoner of war and you have no right to treat me in this fashion! I am the jewel of the Arabian army – their prize fighter! I was captured by treachery and subterfuge, and then surrendered to that squalid slave-trader. I demand to be taken to your King – at once!”
Alexander merely smiled. “Hush now, my pet. You’re not going anywhere. Maybe you were the great war hero once, but that is ancient history now. You’re mine. You’re here to please me. If you succeed, perhaps your life may grow a little easier. If you continue to behave in this uncouth and stubborn fashion, I fear your life at Castle de Montford will not be a happy one.”
“You craven coward! Loitering here at home whilst your betters fight abroad. At least they have their dignity!”
Alexander’s face darkened. “Your lack of respect distresses me, slave. I can understand now why Gregory chose to keep you muzzled.” And with those words, he grabbed the horse tail phallus from Darius’ ass and yanked it out of his hole. “I think I may well choose to do likewise.”
A muffled grunt from the Arabian as he found the long leather cock pushed between his lips. His face distorted in disgust as he tasted the juices of his own ass fresh on the surface of the phallus.
“Lick it, slave!” ordered his new master. “Tastes good, yes? It should do – it’s your own sweet ass juice!”
Darius shook his head from side to side to try and dislodge the invading dildo, but Alexander’s grip remained firm. Indeed, he started to shove the leather prong deeper and deeper, forcing Darius to gag as it went deeper and deeper into his throat.
Alexander smiled grimly. “You see, slut, you will learn obedience. How long it takes and how painful the process is entirely down to you.”
He withdrew the phallus abruptly and flung it to the floor.
Darius made to speak but a warning glance from Alexander made him hesitate.
“It’s not so difficult now, bitch, is it?” taunted the Steward. “You’re learning already! So much for the great Arabian warrior!”
His captive glared at him, a fiery hatred deep in his large almond-shaped eyes.
“Beware, slave. You’re in no position to show insolence. You are entirely at my mercy.” Alexander grabbed the Arabian’s low-hanging balls and squeezed them. “Maybe I should geld you… some of that fire might go out of you if you were a eunuch…”
His captive’s brown skin paled.
Alexander chuckled. “Oh, have no fear. I want all your parts left intact: for my entertainment and amusement.” He reached into a dark velvet pouch slung at his waist. “Now it doesn’t do to have the prime of the Arabian army standing before me as naked as an infant. Your dignity deserves more than that, I think. We should get you dressed.”
Darius snorted. “Finally you treat me with the respect my position affords, you filthy savage.”
Alexander let that pass, storing the insult away for later. Instead, he withdrew from the pouch the garment that Master Yorick had given him. Unrolling it slowly, he revealed a shimmering, iridescent item: a pair of bright scarlet tights. These tights, however, differed from those worn by all the men in the castle. Instead of the customary thick opacity, these hose were gossamer fine: the material so translucent Alexander could see his hands through it. The sensation of handling them was exquisite – he could only imagine the sensuality that these sheer tights would arouse in a man. But that was not the end of Yorick’s ingenuity. Suspecting that these clothes would not be worn for any mundane purpose, his erotic imagination had led him to remove the material where the gusset should have been: thus the legs of the hose dangled from a thin strip that would encircle the wearer’s waist but leave the genitals and backside exposed and vulnerable.
Alexander’s captive gulped as he saw the sheer stockings in the Steward’s hands. “You cannot imagine that I will wear such a licentious item. It’s the kind of thing the harem girls wear in my Sultan’s palace…” His voice trailed away.
“But you see, my slaveboy. You’re going to have to change your image of yourself. You are no longer the brave, masculine hero – feared and admired by thousands of men. You are my bitch toy – to be used and abused however I see fit. Think of yourselves as one of those whores in those great Arabian palaces of yours in the East. I have a feeling that wearing these tights will help you to adjust your self-image.”
Darius clenched his teeth. “I will never wear such a demeaning item.”
“We shall see. Guards!”
At once, the men-at-arms who had been lurking in the shadows of the dungeon sprang to attention. Alexander tossed the flimsy stockings to one of them. “Put these on him.”
The slave began to writhe and thrash to avoid being dressed in the humiliating hosiery.
“Something to pacify him is required. It would not do to tear such a delicate garment.”
Alexander again reached into his velvet pouch and this time withdrew a handkerchief, which he doused liberally with some of his herbal potion. The heady vapours filled the underground chamber. Darius’ eyes widened with suspicion as his tormentor stood behind him. “What evil is this?” he demanded.
In reply, Alexander placed the handkerchief firmly over the slave’s nose and mouth, pressing the liquid-soaked cloth in place. For a moment, his handsome victim struggled, but soon the aroma was doing its work, and Alexander felt the strong muscular body relax in spite of itself.
“Now, dress the bitch!” he ordered.
Slowly the guard rolled up one leg of the slutty stockings and placed Darius’ left foot inside it. Alexander’s cock pulsed to see his new slave being encased in such delightfully erotic clothing. First the foot, then the strong curve of his calf muscle were covered with the clinging, stretchy material. The stocking was rolled further and further up. Now Darius’ thigh shimmered scarlet. And then it was time for the other leg. With his free hand, Alexander rubbed languorously at his own crotch, excited at the sight of both of the soldier’s strong masculine legs wearing the forbidden femininity of the tights.
The sensation was affecting the slave himself. As the witch’s poison coursed through his body, he was being made ultra-aware of every touch, and the feeling of the stockings clinging to his legs caused him to undulate and buck. His cock lengthened and hardened so that it stood perpendicular to his body – gaping through the specially designed hole in the garment. The guard reached the top, and carefully adjusted the waist-band of the tights. Alexander stood back to view his handiwork, and was immensely satisfied with the vision before him.
“Oh yes,” he breathed longingly. “You were made to be dressed thus. Those kinky tights really do suit you very well, my naughty little slut. And you’re loving it, aren’t you – in spite of your protestations to the contrary!”
Darius lifted his head weakly, too intoxicated to talk. But his heart pounded and his breathing was heavy. He gazed down in obvious shame that his cock was so flagrantly betraying his arousal.
Next, Alexander fetched a thin leather strap from the shelves that lined the walls of the dungeon. Expertly, he wrapped it around the slave’s straining prick and balls and pulled tight. Each end of the cord was fixed with little metal clamps with serrated teeth. Smirking grimly, he attached the vices to the Arabian’s pert brown nipples. As the cruel teeth sank into the tender flesh, Darius emitted a gasp of pain. To emphasise the discomfort, Alexander tugged the leather cords towards him, which caused the nipple clamps to pull at the slave’s tits.
“Ahhh!” he moaned.
His master ignored him, and instead removed his embroidered silver doublet and white cotton shirt so that he stood before his slave dressed in only luxurious silver hose and long black leather boots.
“Now for the finishing touches, my little Arabian whore. This will really make you look the part.”
For a third time, his hand entered the pouch at his waist.
“These belonged to a fine lady of the court. I feel sure she would be horrified to know they were being used to decorate a tarty bitch such as you…”
Raising his slave’s chin, Alexander produced a thick black pencil, and began drawing a kohl outline around those luminous almond eyes. Next, a brush applied a generous coating of gloopy black to the long eyelashes. Once that was completed, Alexander dusted fine lilac powder above the slave’s eyes, and brushed a thick coating of rouge along the line of his razor-sharp cheekbones. Finally, the Arabian’s full lips were smeared in glutinous crimson lipstick, which Alexander applied casually and liberally so that Darius’ lips appeared bee-stung and swollen. Once the face was decorated to the Steward’s perverted satisfaction, he took the red paint and daubed “SLUT” in large capital letters across Darius’ considerable pectoral muscles. Almost as an afterthought, he took the brush, and inserting it between the slave’s arse cheeks, coated the slave’s swollen anus with the red gloop.
“Regard yourself!” he commanded, and with a flourish, the guards wheeled in a full-length looking-glass and positioned it in front of the bound young man.
Helplessly, Darius viewed his reflection. He barely recognised himself. His muscular arms still raised above his head, chained together in a position of bondage and submission. The lighter flesh of his armpits was on display. His black hair fell in curtains to frame his once-handsome face, now a grotesque parody of womanhood. Black kohl-rimmed eyes gazed out in self-pity. His lips were a raw gash of smeared red paint, the whorish rouge on his cheeks a contrast with his thick, manly jaw line.
His nipples were tweaked into swollen erection, still clamped between the vicious teeth of the torture device, and just above them the humiliating proclamation “SLUT” brazenly scrawled across his chest. The leather that encircled his engorged cock refused to allow any lessening of his arousal.
Finally, he forced himself to look at his lower-half: his strong soldier’s legs enclosed in the gauzy sheerness of his red tights. Never had he worn such devastatingly revealing clothing. A body used to strong leather trousers, armour, fighting gear was now on display in the most shockingly erotic garment he could have envisaged. The delicate flimsiness caressed his aching limbs, shifting over his bulging muscles, arousing in its forbidden pleasures. He felt more naked and vulnerable wearing the stockings than had he been completely nude.
“Oh yes, slut,” came his new master’s voice. “This is your true vocation. Your new life. A toy for my pleasure. A piece of meat. To be dressed up. Degraded. Humiliated. Dressed in the garments of a harlot. A street girl. That’s all you are now, my pretty, sweet, little bitch-boy.”
“I would rather die,” murmured the distressed slave. “Please, kill me now. I cannot bear the shame of being treated like this. Show me mercy. I will not submit to your lurid perversions.”
“Ha! As if you have a choice. You can beg all you like. And you will beg. Oh, how you will beg! But it will do you no good. Truly the depths of my ‘perversions’, as you call them, are boundless. Especially when I am presented with such a perfect example of male beauty – a hunk of meat for my delectation!”
Darius hung his head – his thick hair falling into his extensively made-up eyes.
“How do you feel, bitch? Tell me of the sensations you experience.”
“I feel – “ he hesitated, knowing that his description would serve only to arouse his hated captor all the more, but unable to stop himself conveying his suffering. “I feel degraded. I am a great soldier and yet I have been made up to look like a mere concubine – my face smeared with paint, and my body dressed in shameful scarlet stockings…”
“That’s right,” concurred Alexander, rubbing idly at his hosed crotch. “That’s exactly what you are – a shameful hussy. And we all know the sole purpose of a hussy…”
He chuckled slowly. “Guards – place him on the platform…”
The bewildered Darius span around as the two bodyguards manoeuvred a wooden block under him. Looking down he saw it in fact consisted of two wooden cubes – each two foot along each side. The blocks were fastened together by means of a metal clasp. Being raised higher meant that the chain attached to the ceiling was slackened, affording him some relief. He lowered his arms. However, the respite was to be all too brief. The first guard moved to a metal wheel attached to the wall, and began to turn the handle. Sure enough, the slack in the chain disappeared as it was pulled into the mechanism in the ceiling, once again forcing Darius’ arms high above his head.
Anxiety overcame the Arabian. What did his perverted tormentor plan for him next? The guard crossed back to him, unclipped the two wooden cubes, and separated them so that they were an inch or two apart, and so that one of Darius’ red stockinged feet stood on each of them.
“What does this mean, you crazy bastard?” demanded the slave.
“Your hole has been empty far too long, bitch,” replied Alexander. “We’re going to remedy that…”
