Chapter 61 - In the Stock(ing)s

 

    “You’re sure you will not stay longer, your Majesty?” inquired Lord Geoffrey.
    “I have been absent from my home for long enough, and the North of England in November holds little appeal compared to my palace in Madrid,” came the Queen’s sardonic reply.
    “Such a long journey for so brief a sojourn.”
    “To be frank, the condition of my nephew has caused me some distress.”
    Geoffrey chuckled inwardly. I bet it has, he thought to himself.
    “If he shows any signs of improvement, you will let me know?”
    “Of course, your Majesty. Though his physicians seem doubtful on the matter. May I at least offer your party an escort south? As you know, there has been a traditional enmity between our nations, and I will gladly provide you with the security of showing that you are under my protection.”
    The Queen bit her lip. “That would be - most kind.”

    By the time evening came around, the Spaniards had departed.
    “She’ll be cursing all the way to Dover!” Lord Geoffrey declared. “She must have reckoned she could march out of here with Felix, selling the peasants a sob story that she had liberated him from the cruel and ruthless barons!”
    Alexander chuckled. “And it’s tricky to have a figurehead who dribbles like a baby and craps himself in a nappy…”
    “Quite. As ever, my friend, I find myself in your debt.”
    Alexander accepted the compliment with a gracious nod of his head.
    “And now, I must release you on your own quest. You are no doubt anxious to be on the road and find that tantalising young page boy of yours. But be quick. I need you back to help me organise this year’s Christmas fair. I want it to be the most splendid Castle Montford has ever seen. We are in power now - and we must celebrate accordingly!”
    “Thank you, Sir. I shall leave in the morning.”

    Alexander wasted no time. He had no desire to be on the road for any longer than necessary - particularly at this time of year. Hopefully he could retrieve the little slutbitch with the peachy arse and the legs made in heaven and be back home that very evening.
    He saddled Fallow - the horse he had stolen from the naive blacksmith brothers, - packed a saddlebag with provisions, and, taking two guards with him just to be on the safe side, he was on his way.
    Within the hour he arrived at the pokey little village where he had first set eyes upon Will the peasant boy fifteen months ago. How much had happened in just over a year to both their fortunes, he mused. From some distance away, he spotted the wooden hut and looked around for a sign either of the blond lad or his grovelling mother. A grin spread across his face as he saw from behind, a short young man, bending over in some menial task. The figure wore sturdy leather leggings which concealed, most frustratingly, the contours of his legs and arse. Never mind, mused Alexander, he’d soon be back in some tight-fitting hose when he was back at the castle.
    Fallow trotted closer to the hut and Alexander could restrain himself no longer.
    “Boy!” he called out.
    The man span round in surprise, and instantly Alexander realised he was mistaken. Although of similar proportions and with the same fair colouring, this individual was more muscular, a few inches taller and a good ten years older than Will. Obviously a relation of some kind, mused the Steward. That was good news at least: the family were still here.
    The blond man wore an expression of some confusion. He showed no sign of recognising the stranger, but the fine black doublet and silken hose told him all he needed to know regarding Alexander’s status.
    “It’s many years since I’ve been called ‘boy’, Sire,” smiled the peasant ruefully. “What brings a fine gentleman such as you to such humble surroundings?”
    “Who’s there, Jack?” came a whining voice from within the hut, and a thin woman, her straggly grey hair tied in the nape of her neck, appeared in the doorway. Alexander’s interest, however, was piqued instantly by the fact that the woman’s bodice was of a far finer material than her dull brown skirt, and though a little faded and frayed, it had clearly once been a vivid blue. Alexander recognised it at once as one of the waist-long doublets worn by the pages of Castle Montford.
    “I do not wish to disturb you honest folk,” he informed the couple. “My name is Alexander Courcey and I am the Chief Steward at the castle. I understand that one of my servants - a page boy by the name of Will - was erroneously returned to this village in the summer. From the resemblance between you, peasant, I can only assume that you are a relation of his. Kindly hand over the lad and I shall be on my way.”
    Husband and wife fell momentarily silent. Clearly this was an unexpected development.
    Eventually the woman spoke. “He’s not here,” she said blandly.
    “Hush, Lizzie,” admonished her husband. “Leave this to me.”
    Alexander smiled through clenched teeth “What do you mean, he’s not here?”
    “My youngest brother left the village some months ago, Sir,” explained Jack. “I’m sorry but we have no idea of where he is now.”
    Alexander’s eyes narrowed. He might have known it wouldn’t be all that easy. Why were matters never straightforward when that sexy little minx was involved!
    “You must know something of his whereabouts, surely? He is still young to be making his way in the world all on his own.”
    “I think his time at the castle amongst great men such as yourself meant that he could not settle back into his former, simple life. He was restless here. We all agreed he would be happier if he moved on.”
    Alexander was unconvinced. Will’s brother was clearly unused to lying, and he did it very poorly. In one athletic leap, the Steward swang his black-hosed legs from the saddle. Drawing his dagger from his belt, he bore down on the suddenly cringing farmer. He grabbed the shorter man by the collar and brought the blade to his neck.
    “You’re lying to me. Furthermore, your slut of a wife is wearing the boy’s clothing. Tell me what you know or I will slit your throat as easily as you do your livestock!”
    Jack’s pale face blanched even further, but before he had chance to open his mouth, an ear-piercing shriek emitted from his wife’s cracked lips.
    “Slut?! How dare you? I’ll tell you who the real slut is: that perverted little creature! Whoring his plump little arse to any man who wanted to own him! Tarting his bum around in those blue stockings of his - and then having the nerve to think he was better than us!”
    “Lizzie, be silent!” hissed Jack urgently.
    “I will do no such thing, husband. Jack’s right: he didn’t fit in here any longer. Page boy? Bum boy more like it. It was obvious when you snatched him from his poor mother’s arms, it wasn’t his skills for serving at table that you were interested in! You were paying for the skills of a whore! And you even went back on that. One copper piece a month you promised us. And where’s that been these past months I ask of you? Well good luck to you if you can find the little bitch. You’re welcome to him. All he’s good for now is to be your bum boy. You might be rich and dressed all fancy but the Lord sees you mincing around in those obscene tights of yours and so do I! You’re all sinners and sodomites and we’re not afraid of you!”
    Lizzie came to the end of her diatribe and her final accusation hung in the cold air. Any of the villagers who had not noticed the arrival of the finely attired gentleman had now been alerted by their neighbour’s shrieking, and an awed group of spectators peered from the surrounding hovels.
    Eventually Alexander spoke, and his words were all the more dangerous for the calm tone in which he uttered them. “You express yourself forcefully, wench. It seems to me that your husband might have been better occupied training that wayward tongue of yours. There is a saying: you cannot teach an old dog new tricks. I myself have never subscribed to that opinion, however.” He turned nonchalantly to his bodyguards. “Gag and bind the bitch.”
    They obeyed without question. Soon Lizzie, struggling and kicking her legs in protest, was tied to her own gatepost, her mouth stuffed with a dirty rag.
    Keeping his dagger at Jack’s nervously bobbing Adam’s apple, Alexander whispered in his ear: “As for you, my friend. I think both you and your wife need to be taught a little lesson in respect.”
    “Please, Sir,” said Jack, hoarsely. “She speaks before she thinks. It has ever been her downfall! Have mercy on us both.”
    “Be quiet! Or I shall have you gagged too.”
    Alexander stepped back, although he kept the dagger pointed meaningfully at Jack’s chest. “Now, take off your tunic.”
    Jack was too frightened to do anything but comply.
    “And your shirt.”
    He could hear Lizzie’s muffled protests but he did not dare even glance in her direction as he tugged his cotton shirt over his head. He tossed it to the ground, shivering as the cold November air hit his bare chest.
    Alexander nodded approvingly. Jack’s shoulders were broad and strong from manual labour, the pectorals defined and his biceps bulged nicely. Alexander licked his lips: hopefully the lower half would be just as promising.
    “Kick off your boots, peasant.”
    Reluctantly Jack complied, and as he stood barefoot on the straw-covered ground, his brown eyes looked pleadingly at Alexander. He knows what’s coming next, thought the Steward to himself. And that glance, desperately submissive, reminded him more than ever of the sexy little Will.
    A ripple of anticipation passed round Jack’s assembled neighbours. Would the proud intruder strip him completely?
    Alexander cocked his head to one side. “And finally, take off those grubby trousers of yours. Strip!”
    “Please, Sir…”
    “I am not accustomed to being defied, peasant. I told you to strip. I want to see you naked as the day you were born.”
    Jack let out a rasping sigh in the cold morning air as he fumbled at the cord that tied his baggy trousers. He held on to the waistband for a moment, as if hoping Alexander might retract the command. No such thing happened, and raising his eyes heavenwards, he let his trousers drop to the ground.
    As Alexander had anticipated, the legs muscles were meaty and well-rounded, as is often the case in shorter, stockier men: particularly those who are engaged in manual labour. Jack instinctively covered his crotch with cupped palms, but Alexander swatted them away.
    “Hands by your side,” he instructed curtly.
    The miserable farmer did as he was ordered. His cock was not large, but Alexander was charitable and attributed this to the biting autumn chill, combined with the humiliation of exposure before his friends and neighbours.
    “Turn around. Let me see your peasant arse.”
    Jack shuffled on the spot, and once again Alexander was pleased by the sight. The buttocks were pleasingly plump, with little dimples in each cheek. The muscularity was defined as the farmer squeezed them tight - either through embarrassment or because of the cold.
    “Not bad. Not bad at all, peasant. Now, your shrewish wife has been most disparaging on the subject of the hosiery that is the fashion up at the castle.” Alexander unstrapped his saddle bag. “She seems to find it unseemly for a man to display his assets in body-hugging leggings. What was the word she used? Obscene!” He rummaged inside the satchel. “Let us see whether she feels the same way once we have dressed her husband in some.”
    Alexander returned to stand in front of the shivering farmer and unrolled a pair of cream coloured tights. He let the silken garment dangle for a moment in front of Jack’s miserable face. “They won’t give you much protection against the cold, but I have a feeling you’ll look very attractive in them.”
    Jack reached out his hand hesitantly and took the garment, the impossibly soft fabric caressing his callused palms. His mind whirled. How ordinary the day had seemed at its outset - and now, here he was, shamed in front of his whole village, naked and forced to dress in the clinging hosiery of the degenerate noble class.
    Reluctantly he bent over, the sniggers of his less sympathetic neighbours ringing in his reddening ears. He had never worn such a delicate item before, and he was unsure how best to put it on: ruche the fabric together before stepping in, or just stick his foot inside one of the silken tubes, and pull?
    “You’d better not tear them, you clumsy oaf!” warned Alexander. “And get on with it. I can’t wait around here all day!”
    In truth, Alexander was eager to be on his way and track Will down, but the truculent farmer and his obnoxious wife needed to be taught a lesson, and Will’s elder brother - whilst not as appealing to Alexander’s taste - did possess a certain allure.
    Gingerly, Jack placed his naked foot inside the cream-coloured hosiery and slowly began to tug them all the way up. Alexander watched, fascinated, as Jack’s hairy calves and thighs were encased by the sensuous fabric, until the waistband of the tights snapped into place against the farmer’s flat stomach, his package bulging beautifully inside. Jack’s pale skin blushed an even darker shade as he stood, bare-chested in the footed tights. Meanwhile, the onlookers pointed and giggled to see his figure so daringly exposed. He cowered a little as Alexander walked around him and flinched as the taller man grabbed the waistband.
    “Let’s have them pulled up properly!” said Alexander, hoiking up the fabric as far as it would go, splitting the globes of Jack’s muscular arse in two. He gave the buttocks a gentle pat.
    “Mmm very nice. I see a generously proportioned bum runs in your family…”
    “Please, Sir,” mumbled Jack. “May I get dressed again?”
    “Oh but you are dressed - at least well enough for my purposes. Look at how your wife gazes upon you. She’s practically frantic with desire to see your assets so enhanced!”
    In truth, Lizzie’s eyes bulged apoplectically, and she was rubbing her wrists raw with the attempt to free herself from the post.
    Alexander continued to circle around the stocky farmer. He reached out to squeeze Jack’s balls through the clinging fabric, and Jack instinctively drew away, standing on tiptoe to try and avoid the molestation.
    “Oh, no, young man. Don’t be so coy. If you’re to shy away like a frightened filly, then we must needs find a means of keeping you still.” He glanced around the meagre village square. “And I think the village stocks will prove most apposite for the purpose!”
    The wooden stocks were crude and rarely put to use, but they were certainly sufficient for what Alexander had in mind. With the dagger reapplied to Jack’s tender neck, the miserable farmer stumbled over to where the stocks stood. At a sign from Alexander, the bodyguards lifted the upper plank of wood, and Jack’s head was forced downwards, his neck and wrists positioned in the gaps. Then the top plank was lowered and secured in place, leaving Jack’s torso parallel to the ground, his body bent at a right angle, and his hosed feet sinking into the cold mud.
    “Very nice,” murmured Alexander as he stroked Jack’s naked back, feeling the muscles bunch and tense beneath the pale skin. “You have goosebumps, my lad. I wonder if that is from the cold or merely … anticipation!”
    “Let’s have those legs spread a little wider,” he continued, as his hand slapped between Jack’s meaty thighs, encouraging them further apart. “And how is your cock doing?”
    He reached through, delighting in the delicious sensation of hard, muscular man flesh beneath the thin sheen of hosiery. “Still soft. How disappointing. In my extensive experience, Most men find the sensation of tights against their crotch supremely arousing! Still others discover a masochistic streak in public humiliation such as this - stripped and degraded before everybody they know - and it would have that little pecker of yours springing to attention almost at once. But perhaps you are not one of those men. What a pity. In that case I fear you will find what is to happen to you next even more unpleasant.”
    Alexander gave Jack’s crotch a consolatory squeeze and allowed his forefinger to follow the crevice of his arse, the clinging tights bisecting the two slabs of Jack’s rump, until his palm rested, once again, on the hose’s waistband. Jack’s bare chest was heaving deeply by now, and, despite the cold, sweat had formed on his brow.
    “Please, Sir,” he said. “I am not one of those who desire other men. I beg of you, however else you wish to punish me, do not use me in that way.”
    “Your wife has insulted me, peasant, and in the crudest way possible. I will be revenged. And if I can take some pleasure from your punishment, then so much the better. I will see to it that should your pathetic union with this woman persist, and if ever the two of you fuck again, the image of me possessing your meaty arse will be forever imprinted on both your brains!”

Chapter 44 - A Cushion of Cake

The world had turned upside down, thought Raymond desperately to himself. How could it all have gone so desperately wrong? In less than a day, his prospects had plummeted alarmingly: far from becoming a major power and influence over the throne, he now found himself in a distinctly precarious position.

He sat miserably in his chair at the end of the Great Hall: Alexander de Courcey’s hateful hand still gripping his shoulder and reminding him that there was no possible chance of escape. He looked up at the high vaulted ceiling where the bound and gagged Ulfgar and Odin dangled in their humiliating hosiery: the seams stretched to breaking point as they cut deep into the Viking’s ass cracks.

However, the gawping guests had all but forgotten about the savage giants, as the centre of attention was now undoubtedly the beautiful but despised Prince Felix. The proud young Adonis, desperately seeking to retain his dignity in spite of his very public spanking, had been released from being bent over his godfather’s lap, and now stood, panting heavily with rage and frustration. He faced Lord Geoffrey.

“There may still be a chance you can keep your head,” hissed the Prince, “if you kneel before me and beg forgiveness for the treatment I have endured at your hands.”

The silver-haired lord nodded solemnly as he appeared to consider Felix’s offer. The Hall held its breath. Would Geoffrey yield in the face of his royal godson? Eventually he spoke. “Perhaps I was a little hasty. It is, after all, a momentous thing to overthrow a monarch. You want to become king, your Highness? Well, a king must have a coronation, must he not?”

“You have finally regained your senses, godfather,” snapped Felix.

Geoffrey gestured to the raised dais where his ornate throne stood in the centre of the Hall. “It’s not quite as grand as Westminster Abbey, but it will suffice. We shall hold this most sacred of ceremonies here. You will indeed be King Felix, God’s own anointed.”

Felix looked around him suspiciously, noting the sinister smiles of Lord Geoffrey and his knights. The older man stepped close to him, and placed his hand on Felix’s chest. The Prince flinched and scowled.

“Hmm… it occurs to me that his Highness is somewhat overdressed for the occasion. Alexander… would you be so good as to divest him of his tunic?”

Alexander stepped forward, a mocking smile playing about his lips. “It is good to see you again, your Highness,” he said. “Although our positions are somewhat reversed since our last meeting, wouldn’t you say?”

“How dare you? To even consider laying a finger on me!”

“Oh I think that beautiful body of yours is going to experience more than just a fingering.”

Crude laughter erupted in the Hall.

Alexander slowly circled the outraged Prince. With the lightest of touches, he reached out to stroke the royal butt cheeks, those forbidden, yet divine globes of muscle, glistening and shimmering in their bejewelled hosiery. Felix gritted his teeth as the older man fondled his bum, still smarting from its spanking, but the threat of Sir Antony’s sword kept him still for now.

“I seem to recall that the last time I touched you, your Highness, you had me flung in prison under false pretences. You flaunted your arse at me, and then, like some prick-teasing whore, you whipped it away. Well you know what they say, young man: everything comes to he who waits…”

Alexander stood so close to the Prince that their tights-covered bulges practically touched. The Steward, a couple of inches taller than Felix, breathed softly into the younger man’s livid face and began to unbutton the Prince’s satin doublet. Soon the jacket was unfastened and Alexander smirked openly as he pulled at the sleeves and revealed the broad, smooth pectoral muscles of Felix’s chest.

“Such a handsome young fellow, your Lordship,” remarked Alexander. “You are wise to expose his body for all to see.”

Felix fumed in impotent silence. There he stood before his inferiors and his subjects, stripped of his bolero jacket and naked save for his bejewelled tights and satin shoes.

“Take off your shoes, boy,” ordered Lord Geoffrey. “I want to see you in your stockinged feet – standing before me in only your hose.”

Raymond rose instinctively. “Allow me, your highness.”

Geoffrey shot him a warning glance. “You stay where you are, boy. My godson needs to learn some humility. He can bend over and take his own shoes off now.”

“Might I make a suggestion?” asked Alexander. “The Prince should turn his back on his guests as he removes his footwear. That way they get the best possible view of his bum as he bends down.”

“Excellent,” replied Geoffrey. “Well, Felix – you heard Master Courcey. What are you waiting for?”

The Prince glared at his godfather, but Sir Antony was weighing his broadsword particularly ominously and ultimately the Prince had no choice but to bend over, his tights-clad bubble butt presenting itself for the delectation of the gathered throng.

“You see how straightforward life will be if you continue to learn your new status, my son,” said Lord Geoffrey amiably. “Now I wonder – for the sacred rite of coronation, should the Prince be entirely naked?”

Felix blanched in horror at the prospect. But he need not have worried as Alexander quickly intervened. He had no desire to see the Prince divested of his gorgeous and extremely tight-fitting hose. “Plenty of time for that later, my Lord! But perhaps a tiny adjustment or two would be in order.”

Raymond recalled how particular Alexander had always been about the proper way for a man to wear tights, and he was not surprised to see the Steward reach around the Prince’s torso to grasp the waistband of his hose.

“We’d better make sure these are pulled up as far as they can go, hadn’t we? Our friends Odin and Ulfgar up there provide an excellent example of how one should wear one’s tights, don’t you think?”

Felix squirmed as the clinging material was yanked firmly up between the delicious curves of his arse, neatly bisecting his plump butt cheeks.

“Much better,” said Alexander with satisfaction, and he allowed his palm to linger against the Prince’s buttock. “Ah – still warm from your spanking, your Highness. Is your little bot-bot sore?”

“You’ll pay for your impertinence, Courcey,” spat the Prince. “If it’s the last thing I do.”

“Come, come, Felix,” said Lord Geoffrey. “There should be no rancour on a joyous day like today. Now, it’s time for you to come and take your rightful place – on the throne.” He gestured to the ornate chair. “You must process through the Hall so that all your loyal subjects can pay their respects – and then you may finally rest your aching buttocks on that fine, velvet cushion.”

The Prince hesitated, unwilling to take the demeaning walk through the snickering throng.

“Good Sir Antony - escort the Prince, will you? He seems reluctant to go alone.”

Sure enough, the threatening form of the fair-haired knight loomed at Felix’s shoulder, and the Prince felt the sharp point of Antony’s sword prod the naked flesh between his shoulder blades. Attempting to muster all the dignity he could, the King’s son placed one white stockinged foot in front of the other and made his way slowly, in his ultra-snug tights, to the throne. The Hall rang with mocking laughter as he was paraded in front of them, stripped to the waist - his indecent hose offering no kind of protection to the lower half of his body: his glittering crotch was on full display for the audience’s inspection and amusement. He reached the throne and began to lower himself onto the seat in preparation for what he knew would be a travesty of the sacred coronation ceremony.

“Wait a moment, godson!” called Lord Geoffrey from the top table. “Alexander, would you be so good as to plump up the cushion so that it’s as comfortable as possible for the Prince?”

“My Lord, it would be an honour,” smiled the Steward, and clicking his fingers, Humphrey the fat page boy appeared in the doorway from the kitchen. The lad was carrying aloft a gigantic cake. Mistress Olwen had clearly gone to town here: the fat sponge base was decorated with lashings of white chocolate mousse and thickly whipped cream. Humphrey, practically drooling at the delicacy in his arms, transported the cake to the centre of the Hall. Then, he placed it carefully, as he had clearly been instructed to do, on the seat of the throne. Felix watched with the dawning realisation of what was going to happen next.

“Come along, your Highness,” beckoned Alexander obsequiously. “Come take the weight off your stockinged feet and rest your smarting bottom.”

“You’re mad,” declared the Prince, “if you honestly think I’m going to sit down in the middle of a giant cream cake!”

Alexander shook his head sadly and glanced towards Lord Geoffrey, whose face became suddenly stern. The Lord bellowed at his godson: “Do as you’re told, boy!”

The party guests began to clap slowly, excitement gathering at the prospect of the handsome Prince being forced to deposit his arse in the midst of the gooey cake. Felix seethed, but the prodding point of Sir Antony’s sword was eloquent, and the Prince had no choice but to position his muscular, hosed bum over the cake.

The clapping continued and was now joined by an excited chant: “Sit! Sit! Sit!” Gingerly, his face grimacing in anticipation, Felix began to lower his buttocks towards the waiting confectionary. The mocking laughter of the crowd rang in his ears as his arse made contact with the cake, and he gulped back a stifled sob as he felt the cold whipped cream touch the pristine whiteness of his tights.

“Get on with it, boy!” snapped Lord Geoffrey, and with an evil grin, Sir Antony slapped Felix's naked shoulder with his palm. The sudden force plunged the Prince's bum to into the very centre of the cake.

Splat! Thick cream spurted out of either side of the throne and an anguished “Aargh!” slipped from Felix's lips as he was overwhelmed by the humiliating sensation of his tights-clad buttocks sinking into the cold, gooey wetness of the velvety gateau. His breathing quickened as he heard the hooting, mocking laughter of everyone in the Hall, and as the gunk seeped into his tights. He wanted to leap up and flee: but he was going nowhere. Sir Antony's strong hands kept him firmly in place. He began to squirm in agony, desperate to be free from his predicament, but his writhing served only to rub even more of the gungey cake into his arse.

“Dear me,” tutted Lord Geoffrey. “Have his Highness's nice clean tights got all dirty? Stand up, young man. Let's have a look at them!”

Felix gritted his teeth in fury. Sir Antony finally released his grip on his naked shoulder, and slowly, he rose from his chair: dollops of gloop falling from his backside as he did so. “You bastard...”

“Hush, boy. That's distinctly unroyal language, don't you think?” Geoffrey smiled indulgently. “Now, turn around and show everyone your filthy little arse.”

A snarling grimace marred the Prince's beautiful features as he slowly shuffled to display his bottom to the assembled throng. Alexander chuckled to himself. Sure enough those peachy globes were now spattered with globs of moist chocolate cake and streaked with gooey cream. The hooting laughter of his subjects rang triumphantly in Felix's ears.

“You naughty boy – squashing that delicious cake,” murmured Lord Geoffrey. “It's quite ruined – as are your tights. How are they feeling by the way? Bet they must be rather sticky against your boy bum”.

“When my father finds out what you’ve done” –

“Ah, but that’s not terribly likely, is it, Felix? You were quite prepared to leave him to rot in his prison. And on this rare occasion, I’m inclined to agree with you. Now, my loyal Alexander, what do you suggest next?”

Alexander winked at Lord Geoffrey, “Well, your Lordship. The seat of his Highness’ tights have been sufficiently messed up. In the interests of symmetry, it seems only apt that the front of them should be too.”

“Excellent! What do you suggest, Master Steward?”

Alexander’s eyes twinkled with malice as he produced a large silver platter from behind his back. “I was thinking – Mistress Olwen’s delicious raspberry blancmange?”

Felix, snarling with fury, spat at the Steward, “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t I now? Do you really think I wouldn’t dare tip this whole blancmange down the front of your tights and rub that ice cold, fruity pudding into your princely crotch? After all we’ve done to you so far, you learn perilously slowly, your Highness. We know we’ve crossed a line now, and we have nothing more to lose, isn’t that right, your Lordship?”

“Precisely, Alexander. We’ve all gone this far. There’s point no stopping now. I have a feeling your ritual humiliation is only just beginning, Felix. It would be far simpler if you were to accept your fate.”

“Never!” declared the proud young Prince. However, Lord Geoffrey merely shrugged.

“It makes no difference,” he said. “You’re going to be gunged and messed up regardless. You can waste your energy scowling and cursing if you wish. In fact, it’s rather amusing to see.” He turned to Alexander. “In your own time, my friend.”

Master Courcey came face to face with the defiant Felix and fixed him with a devilish smile. The Prince flinched as, with his left hand, Alexander grabbed the waistband of Felix’s diamond-encrusted hose and pulled it towards him. He glanced down and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, look at that pretty royal cock lying there, all clean and perfumed and unsuspecting.”

Felix clenched his fists in frustration.

“Are you ready, my Prince?” he cooed. “Then down we go!”

And with that, he gently tipped the platter towards the Prince’s smooth stomach, and the gelatinous blancmange began to slide its wobbly way down the tray and towards Felix’s naked flesh. The Prince held his breath as the dessert slithered ever closer. Alexander paused, levelling the tray teasingly and temporarily slowing the blancmange’s descent. Then, just as abruptly, he tipped the tray vertically. The pudding plummeted downwards, and, with a resounding “squelch!”, landed squarely in the gusset of the Prince’s tights!

A deep, ragged breath escaped from Felix as the chilly gunk made contact with his cock: he gasped as his prickhead sank into the goo and the cool blancmange slowly fell in glutinous blobs around his bollocks.

Alexander let go of the waistband of the tights, allowing it to snap back into position against the Prince’s torso, and then his hand moved south. He hesitated for only a moment, before slowly, but surely, beginning to massage the bright pink gloop into the Prince’s crotch.

“I knew that, one day, I would get my hands on your royal meat,” purred Alexander in the Prince’s shell-like ear. “How does that feel? You like the sensation, don’t you? Me rubbing that gunge into your cock and balls. All cold and wet. Lubing you up. You can grimace all you like, your highness. But I know what I’m doing. And I know just how to manipulate a submissive boy cock. I can make you feel sooo good. Breed you. Milk you. Or I could keep you permanently and tantalisingly on the edge of orgasm. Forever if I so desire.”

He continued to knead the milky pudding into the young man’s groin. “Ah, there we are. You’re starting to get hard, aren’t you? In spite of yourself, you’re enjoying this. I knew you would, Felix. Shall we show everyone, eh? Shall we reveal to all these people just how your throbbing dick is straining against your soiled tights?”

He removed his hand away and stepped to one side so that his eagerly expectant audience could enjoy the view. Sure enough, crotch of the agonised young Prince’s white tights was damp and stained with a blossoming bloom of lurid pink. The outline of his cock was standing rock hard as it pressed urgently against the constriction of that oh so tight, silken garment.

“What a messy boy!” catcalled a lout from the crowd.

“Yes!” responded Alexander. “Filthy young man – bright pink blancmange tipped down the front of his tights. How humiliating for him, eh?”

Prince Felix blushed the same dark pink as the pudding as the hall rocked with raucous laughter at his shameful predicament.

Raymond couldn’t help but look. The Prince’s body, which he had lusted after all this time was there, exposed for everyone’s enjoyment. And crushingly, it was further from his reach than it had ever been. How he wished he was in Alexander’s place, the one fortunate enough to be meting out the humiliation to the arrogant Felix, getting the chance to tip food over his god-like body and embarrass him in front of all these yobs. Raymond cursed the gods for his ill-luck, and, then, remembering for the first time his pretty young sister, looked over towards the kitchen. Jane had clearly anticipated which way the wind had turned and, whilst everyone’s attention was fixed firmly upon the spectacle of the humiliated Prince, she began to creep towards the door. Raymond allowed himself a sad little smile for what might have been. At least she might make her escape, he though to himself. But at that very moment...

“Where do you think you’re going, missy? Surely you’re not thinking of leaving us so soon?”

The buxom form of Mistress Olwen the cook interpolated itself between Jane and the exit. Gripping the girl’s wrist firmly, the older woman propelled Jane back into the Hall.

“There’s a reckoning to be had, madam,” she continued, her eyes flaring triumphantly. “And neither you nor your brother are going to avoid it.”

Jane struggled, but Olwen was stronger and the girl’s efforts were in vain. The cook threw a gloating look in Raymond’s direction and his heart sank even further.

“Don’t I know it!” he murmured to himself.

Chapter 38 - Wax and Ice

Earlier that same night, many miles away, in the far east of England, Alexander Courcey sat astride his stolen horse. He was taking a moment to wonder at what might have become of the blond page boy. He still hoped one day for another chance to kiss those full pink lips and fuck that pretty arse. Little could he know that Will had barely begun his long night spent being relentlessly fucked in a filthy puddle.

Swinging his legs out of the saddle, Alexander dismounted from Fallow and tethered the mare at the post of the ‘King’s Arms’ inn. She had served him well thus far, and many’s the time he’d offered up a private prayer to whichever god lurked up there in the heavens, to thank him most sincerely for the credulity of blacksmiths.

He’d ridden hard, seeking to put as many miles as possible between himself and the lackeys of the vengeful Prince Felix. Only now, after weeks of caution, planting false trails, doubling back on himself and employing a series of pseudonyms, did he feel he could start to relax. He’d even been particularly firm with himself and kept to a strict diet of celibacy, in spite of the occasional temptations laid in his path by cute farmhands and virginal village boys.

Alexander opened the inn door and took a look around. A mangy-looking mongrel raised its head from its basket, yapped half-heartedly a couple of times, and then settled back to dozing. The inn was sparsely furnished and even more meagrely frequented by customers. This may not bode well for the standard of the hospitality and the ale, he thought, but it suited his purposes perfectly: the fewer folk who could provide an accurate description of him to the local sheriff, the better.

A skinny woman of middle years, with a shock of frizzy brown hair, whom Alexander took to be the landlady of the establishment, beckoned him inside. “Come in, Sir, take a seat,” she cooed in a yokelish burr. “Someone will be with you forthwith!”

The couple of other drinkers, having raised their heads briefly to glance at the newcomer, returned to the solitary contemplation of their tankards. Alexander chose a small table in the corner of the tavern and waited. It did not take long for a door behind the bar to swing open, and for a young man in his late teens to emerge. The youth was slim, with hair so fair as to be almost white. His skin was equally pale and his grey eyes darted around him nervously. He wore an apron round his middle that had most probably been white at some point in the past, and his woollen britches ended just below his knees, displaying skinny calves encased in wrinkled pink stockings. He wasn’t the prettiest lad Alexander had ever seen, he mused to himself. Nevetheless, he might prove useful to while away a couple of hours with.

The young man approached the tavern’s newest customer. Fiddling with his grease-spotted apron and looking anywhere but at Alexander, he mumbled, “Ma sent me to ask what you want to eat and drink.”

Alexander leaned forward and gripped the lad’s cheeks between his thumb and forefinger.

“Ow!” squealed the pale youth. “You’re hurting me!”

Alexander ignored him. “Tell your mother I want a flagon of ale, a plate of beef and a bed for the night. And tell her that if she throws you into the bargain for my exclusive use for the duration of my stay, I’ll make it worth her while.”

He released the lad’s face and looking utterly stunned, the landlady’s son staggered back behind the bar to repeat the stranger’s offer. Sure enough, it was only a matter of seconds before a weaselly looking man, with a bald head and a long, quivering nose, emerged to make his way over to Alexander’s table.

“Good evening, Sir,” said the landlord in a wheedling tone of voice. “My son tells me you’re seeking a room here at our humble establishment.”

“Is that all your son told you?”

“You’re a forthright fellow, Sir. I admire that in a gentleman. He also said that you wish to…” The landlord coughed delicately. “How can I put this? To make use of him for the night.”

Alexander looked over at the boy, who had now reappeared and was standing on one foot, looking more anxious than ever. His mother hovered behind him, her eyes narrowing greedily as she kept her eyes fixed upon her husband.

“In return for your compliance and discretion, I’m prepared to pay you a gold sovereign, all in. Don’t bother wasting either of our time trying to haggle. That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.”

The landlord moistened his thin lips with his tongue. He hesitated only briefly before breaking out in a wide, ingratiating grin. He nodded to the scrawled menu hanging on the wall: “We have a prime piece of rump, Sir, that I’m sure you’ll find just to your taste.”

Alexander was shown up to his room. It occupied the attic floor of the tavern. It was small, dingy and none too clean, but he’d slept in worse in his time. The grubby surroundings seemed appropriate from a couple who had agreed so readily to whore out their own son. Alexander ate his supper there, and then, leaning back in the armchair, he kicked off his leather boots, stretched out his long, tights-clad legs and drained the dregs from the tankard of warm ale.

A respectful knock at the door, and the frizzy-haired mistress of the house entered to clear his tray. “Was all to your liking, Sir?” she asked.

“Adequate,” he replied.

“And now?”

“You can send up the boy.”

She smiled obsequiously and without warmth. “I believe you agreed with my husband that payment would be in advance.”

Alexander reached into the leather satchel by his side and placed a gold coin on the tray in front of him.

“Now send him up.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

The lad stood in the doorway, wringing his hands.

“Come in and shut the door behind you,” said Alexander tersely.

The boy did so, and then turned slowly to regard the sophisticated stranger, with his jet black beard, lithe purple thighs and cruel face, reclining in the corner of the room.

“My name is” –

“I have no interest in your name,” interrupted Alexander. “I didn’t pay for your conversation. You’re clearly a snivelling little serving wench. So I shall address you as such. And you will show me proper respect and address me as ‘Sir’ at all times. Is that clear, Wench?”

The boy gulped and nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Now come over here and let me see what my money has bought me.”

Alexander raised a flickering candle in the air, and Wench stepped into the light. His grimy apron had been removed, his mother had given his thin hair a quick brush, and wiped his face and hands clean, but all things considered, up close, he remained a fairly unprepossessing specimen.

“You’re a pathetic little creature, aren’t you, Wench? All scrawny and pale. Still, you’re the only slut on offer so I suppose you’ll have to do. Take your shirt off.”

“Sir?”

“I don’t expect to have to repeat myself, Wench. Do as I tell you or you’ll suffer the consequences.”

The youth raised his arms and removed his cotton shirt. His arms were skinny and smooth, and his ribs were visible through his limpid skin.

“Step out of your shoes.”

He did so, then stood waiting on the wooden floorboards in his stockinged feet.

“Good. Now – drop your trousers.”

Wench let out a long, quivering sigh as he unfastened his cord belt and let his britches sink to the floor. His flaccid pecker was as thin as the rest of him, and his crotch as smooth and hairless. He stood naked, save for the two wrinkled pink stockings on his slender legs. One was pulled up just above the knee, the other sagged around his calf. Alexander looked on in amusement as the lad’s breathing became shallow and rapid with fear.

“Turn around. Let me see your arse.”

Hesitatingly, Wench did as he was ordered, and displayed his little bottom, compact, dimpled and white, for Alexander’s approval.

“I’ve seen better,” said the older man dismissively, “but it will suffice for what I have in mind.” He rose and placed his hands on the lad’s slender hips. Wench flinched at his touch.

“Your first time, eh? The first time another man has placed his hands on your naked flesh?”

Wench nodded his mumbled affirmation of the fact.

“Try to relax. It will go easier for you if you do.”

Alexander’s prick began to swell inside his purple tights. Truly, the boy was no beauty, but there was something undeniably appealing about his tremulous reluctance. That, combined with that familiar, enticing power of forcing another man to strip and do his bidding; the manifestation of utter and ultimate domination over another human being; and the fact that he’d had no sexual relief since that final, illicit fuck with Will in the dungeon all those weeks ago: was it any wonder that Alexander’s groin was pulsating with anticipation?

“Pull your stockings up,” he commanded.

Wench did so, and as he bent over, his pale arse bobbed in the flickering candlelight. He caught the tops of the stockings, and smoothing out the wrinkles, pulled each tube of material up tight, so that they rested just beneath the smooth curves of his buttocks.

“Stay right where you are, bent over like that.”

Wench froze in that position, the blood rushing to his head as he felt Alexander’s smooth fingertips straying from his hips to caress the exposed whiteness of his buttocks.

“Now, get down on your hands and knees. I want to see you on the floor, like the mongrel dog you are.”

Wench obeyed tentatively, splaying his palms against the wooden floorboards, shifting his knees into position and displaying the soles of his pink stockinged feet to the peremptory stranger.

“Arse up,” commanded Alexander. “Higher. Higher! I want you to arch your back so that your lily white bum points to the ceiling!”

The boy tensed every muscle to try and achieve the position required of him, hating the submissive way it made him feel, and only too well aware the effect the posture was having on the arrogant stranger.

“Good, slut. You’ll be assuming this doggy-style position an awful lot during our brief acquaintance.”

Alexander knelt down between Wench’s stocking-clad calves and with his free hand, parted the boy’s upturned ass cheeks to reveal the smooth, puckered opening nestling between them. With practiced ease, he slicked up his finger and prodded at Wench’s asshole. Wench gasped in shock at the invasion.

“I said to point your arse to the ceiling! I want this candle pointing up nice and straight – we wouldn’t want to spill any wax onto your poor skin, would we?”

Sure enough, Wench realised with horror that Alexander had started to push the candle into his yielding butt. Desperately, he tensed his body and curved his back so that the lit candle would not slip and burn him.

“How humiliating for you, to have a lit candle pushed into your backside,” cooed Alexander. “You do look utterly ridiculous.”

He smiled as he took a step back to admire his handiwork. Sure enough, there crouched the frightened boy, the wax candle sticking obscenely out of his bum, the flame flickering in the breeze.

“Perhaps we should invite your parents to come and take a look at their son: Wench the candle holder!”

Alexander left the boy there for a couple of minutes and then slowly pulled the dripping candle out of Wench’s hole. He lifted it up high and held it there as he gazed down at the boy’s virtually naked body. He looked at the skinny kid’s stockinged legs, quivering with nerves, and very slowly, almost imperceptibly, he tipped the candle to one side, holding it at an angle, so that a dribble of hot red wax spilled onto Wench’s curved back.

“Oww!” yelled Wench as the molten wax splashed onto his naked flesh.

“Be quiet!” snapped Alexander, as he continued to trace a pattern across the lad’s vulnerable skin. Wench clamped his jaw shut to try and control himself, but each fresh burning droplet made him flinch. Alexander, for his part, watched with interest as the wax hit and then cooled against the serving-boy’s flesh. To amuse himself, he spelled the word “SLUT” out in large capital letters down the boy’s spine.

“Are you ready for this?” he said, as he dribbled a large dollop of burning wax directly onto the tempting target of Wench’s winking hole.

An agonised scream emitted from Wench’s lips as his body convulsed with the pain. Straightaway, Alexander clapped a manly palm over the boy’s mouth to muffle the cry.

“I’ve paid to use you however I see fit, Wench boy,” he hissed. “If you like, I can go and get my money back.”

Wench shook his head hurriedly, his terror of his parents’ wrath outstripping his fear of what Alexander planned to do to him.

“Did that burn your asshole, bitch?” purred Alexander in his ear.

“Yes,” stuttered the boy.

“Yes – what?” demanded the urbane traveller in a dangerous tone.

“Yes, Sir, yes, Sir!”

“That’s more like it. Well, shall we cool you down, boy?”

Alexander got to his feet and strode to the door. He peered out – only to glimpse the landlord loitering at the top of the staircase.

“Is everything all right, Sir?” asked the unctuous publican. “I thought I heard a cry. I trust my boy is providing satisfaction.”

“Everything’s fine,” Alexander replied curtly. “Now make yourself useful and fetch me a bucket of ice.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and returned to the garret room.

Wench crouched there, gazing up at him with mute submission in his eyes. He followed the contours of Alexander’s strong thigh muscles in their purple tights, all the way up to the throbbing bulge at the groin, which informed him, in no uncertain terms, that the dominant wayfarer had become aroused by treating him in this humiliating fashion.

A tentative rap on the door was answered by Alexander’s brusque “Enter!” and Wench cringed as his father bowed and scraped his way into the tiny guest room. The landlord could not disguise his sneer of contempt at the sight of his only son cowering on the floor, naked, save for his whorish pink stockings, dried streams of red wax criss-crossing the lad’s back, and spelling out the damning indictment “SLUT”. Wench recognised the scorn in his father’s eyes, and flushed a deep crimson: shame at being forced into this degrading situation, and anger that it was his father’s own greed that had put him here, at the mercy of the perverted visitor.

“Leave the bucket here,” commanded Alexander. The landlord did as he was told, and then withdrew in a similarly obsequious manner.

Alexander reached into the wooden pail and picked out a solitary ice cube. Wench watched fearfully as the older man padded round to stand in front of him. “This will cool and soothe you,” he whispered as he traced the melting cube across the boy’s furrowed brow, down his nose and across his thin, pale lips. “Open up, boy.”

Wench let his lower jaw drop open, and Alexander delicately popped the ice cube inside. Then he closed the lad’s mouth with his forefinger. “Keep that on your tongue and let it melt. I don’t want you to swallow it. Is that clear?”

What should he do? He couldn’t say “Yes, Sir” without opening his mouth and allowing the ice cube to fall from his lips, so Wench settled for nodding anxiously and hoped for the best. A mischievous smile played around Alexander’s mouth. He rose to his full height and returned to the wooden bucket.

The next sensation Wench felt was the heavy pressure of the older man once again kneeling between his stockinged legs. This time, Alexander was forcing his nylon-covered bulge against the boy’s waxy bum cheeks. Suddenly, he felt an icy tingling on his small pink nipples. Alexander, holding one freezing cube in each hand, gently swirled the lumps of ice around Wench’s sensitive tits, and they rapidly became pert and erect from the attention of Alexander’s teasing ministrations. Wench gasped in shock and as a consequence, inadvertently dropped the captive ice cube from his mouth onto the floorboards beneath him. Alexander tutted, wordlessly reached behind him into the bucket, and then leant forward to stuff two more cubes into the lad’s mouth to replace the one that had just escaped.

“We must see to it that you are cooled both inside and out,” Alexander murmured enigmatically. “Let me take a look at that sore little bumhole of yours.”

He shifted his weight and slid his smooth finger down the sweating crack of Wench’s arse. He used his fingernail to pick at the flecks of dried wax adhering to the boy’s aperture. “Mmmph!” whimpered Wench, as half a dozen hairs were plucked from his arse in the process. He at least managed to keep his mouth shut this time, although the melting ice was filling it with cold water. Soon he would need either to swallow or dribble onto the floor. And he wasn’t convinced he was allowed to do either!

“Let us see how many ice cubes we can stuff up that skinny little bum of yours,” Alexander proposed.

Wench’s body stiffened instantly in fear at the prospect, but he knew the beating he would receive at his father’s hands would be a fearsome one were he to displease the stranger, so he kept silent. Alexander tugged his cock appreciatively at the lad’s reaction to his kinky suggestion. Wench’s sphincter had clamped down automatically, so Alexander reached into his pack for a finger’s length of grease and quickly applied it to the opening.

“You make sure you keep this inside you nice and tight,” he said. “It will go ill for you if you cannot.” And with that, he began to push the frozen cube against Wench’s freshly lubricated slit.

The boy’s body quivered in response to the bitterly cold invasion but it could not fight against the relentless pressure of Alexander’s digits as first one, then two, then three cubes were slid into his unwilling anus. The icy chill at his arse was overwhelming, and it was at that moment that melting water began to dribble from his other end, as his mouth spilt some of its contents with a tell-tale splot onto the bare oak floor.

“You’d better have more control over your butt than you do over your mouth,” warned Alexander ominously. “We’re going to fill your chute with ice cubes, and if you leak at all – if even a drop of water escapes from you – you will make me so angry, I shall reward you with a punishment you will never forget.”

It was a hopeless task and he knew it, thought Alexander smugly. The ice he had applied to the boy’s anal muscles would numb them so comprehensively that they would be beyond Wench’s control. Once the solid cubes nestling inside him began to melt as a result of his body heat, he would be powerless to prevent any leakage.

A fourth cube, a fifth, and then a sixth followed the others in quick succession by disappearing into Wench’s rectum. The boy’s body was writhing, his toes flexing and unflexing in their pink stockings as the shock of the freezing insertions hit him in waves. It would be painful, Alexander knew, and the pain would be an unwelcome distraction from the urgent task of having to keep the melting ice trapped inside him.

A couple more cubes, and Alexander followed them with his own probing finger. He relished the sensation of those once solid blocks jostling inside the lad’s crowded back passage, and he prodded and swirled them around to encourage them to melt more speedily.

He withdrew his finger and gave Wench a smart slap across his pale buttocks. “That’ll do for now. Now you squeeze that arse as tight as you can. No leaks, remember, bitch. I want that water retained inside you until I tell you you can let go!”

And he settled back on his haunches to enjoy the view.

Chapter 28 - Into Chastity and Into a Nappy

“Breakfast is served, your highness!”

Raymond swept into the royal bedchamber, bowing low as he did so and as he knew his royal master would expect.

Humphrey, the fat page boy, followed him in, bearing a tray laden with fruit, ham, bread and, naturally enough, eggs. Humphrey glanced at the young man who had only two days before been his equal, but was now his master.

“Leave them on the side, piglet, and go.”

“Yes, Raym – I mean, sorry, yes, Sir.”

Raymond’s eyes narrowed and Humphrey scurried away fearfully.

“You have taken to your new position quite effortlessly, I see,” laughed Prince Felix, as he lounged indolently beneath his silken sheets.

Raymond bowed again. “I wish only to justify your highness’ faith in me.”

Felix pulled back the sheets, and Raymond gulped to see that god-like body revealed in all its nakedness: the strong, smooth pectorals, the rippling abdominals, the long, muscular thighs, and his perky cock, semi-hard, with a fuzz of blond hair at its root. The Prince showed no sign of self-consciousness. And why should he? His body was the most beautiful Raymond had ever seen.

The blond Adonis ran a hand through his flowing locks.

“I wish to bathe. Run me a bath, will you?”

Raymond nodded. “I will order hot water to be fetched at once, Sire.”

Felix crossed to his wardrobe and began admiring his nude form in the floor length mirror. He pulled open the closet door and touched one of his bejewelled tunics that hung therein. He pulled open a drawer and extracted a neatly folded pair of bright green tights. He let them unroll and held them against his naked flesh.

“May I ask your plans for today, your highness?”

“If the weather is fine again, I shall go riding.”

Raymond hesitated. “Is that prudent, Sire? After the attempt on your life” –

“Ha!” scoffed the Prince. “You think I fear that ragbag of peasants? I am protected by God, remember! He guided you to save me from that murderous fool, and he will do so again if any other evil-doer dares attempt to do harm to my royal person.”

He tossed the silken hose onto the bed and turned to regard his royal rump in the looking-glass.

“Besides, Odin and Ulfgar will have terrified them all into obedience by now.”

            You have to admire his self-confidence, mused Raymond, not to mention his arse.

            “Will you be requiring any ‘entertainment’ from the royal pages today, my Lord?”

            “Ah – are you wondering whether you will be required to don your pink tights suit once again, Steward?”

            Raymond smiled obsequiously at his teasing royal master.

            “Don’t worry. I’m bored of seeing you four grubby youths grovelling before me. And I’ve no further desire to see that young blond one driven into a sexual frenzy from wallowing in his own filth, either.”

            Raymond saw his chance. “Ah yes, Sire. About him… I thought I might personally undertake some further training of that particular brat.”

            Prince Felix raised an inquiring eyebrow.

            “His depravity,” continued Raymond, “is a direct result of the tutelage he received under the perverted Alexander Courcey. I have some ideas on how I can control some of his baser urges and make him a more suitable choice to wait on your highness.”

            The Prince shrugged. “Do with him whatever you see fit.”

            A slow smile spread across Raymond’s face. Oh, he thought to himself, I intend to do just that.

            “Feeling nervous, goat-shit? You should be. If I were you, I’d be feeling fucking terrified.”

            Will had been anticipating this moment, and, now that it had finally come, a peculiar kind of calm came over him. He was standing, head bowed, in Alexander’s old chamber, where he had been summoned by the new Chief Steward of the castle.

            Raymond was dressed in his new finery: black hose speckled with shimmering silver stars, and a black, tight-fitting leather jerkin.

            “I’ve been given the task of dealing with you and your disgusting little perversions, Will. Look at you! Even now your cock is bobbing with excitement at the prospect of a verbal dressing-down from me.”

            It was true, Will realised in anguish. His hard stub of a cock was quite clearly causing an obvious tenting in his bright blue tights.

            “I know the traitor Alexander used to get himself horny at the sight of young men’s cocks bulging in their indecently tight-fitting hose. But I think as a page in a royal household, a little more decorum is in order. Pull your tights down to your knees, boy.”

            Will reluctantly did as he was commanded, his bum in the air as he pulled his hosiery down to expose his naked flesh.

            Raymond tutted. “Still rock hard, eh? This kind of treatment just drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

            Will inwardly cursed his rebellious dick. Go down, go down, he repeated to himself. Go down, you stupid cock! But it resolutely refused to do as it was bidden.

            “Very well,” Raymond went on. “If the only way to get your prick to soften is for you to come, then that’s what you must do. Get on your hands and knees, goat-shit.”

            Will made to yank up his tights to regain a shred of modesty, but Raymond snapped at him.

            “Oh no, I didn’t tell you to pull your tights up, did I? Come over here and get on your knees!”

            With his hose halfway down his legs, Will could only waddle across the room. And when he had done so, he assumed the position on the floor, his arse sticking up and out, his head hanging low.

Raymond slipped his foot out of his leather boot and pushed it into Will’s face. Will inhaled the musky aroma of the foot, encased in its sensuous black hose.

            “Lick it!”

            Will did as he was ordered, and in that moment, he knew he was a hopeless, powerless slutboy, with no choice or say whatsoever over what happened to him next. His tongue worked over the tights-clad foot, down the side, the heel, pushing between Raymond’s toes until the clinging material was damp with his saliva.

            “That’s all you’re good for, you pussy bitch. To lick my feet!”

             Suddenly Raymond withdrew his foot, and quick as a flash, Will felt its damp touch, resting on his bare buttocks instead. Raymond wiped his hosed foot all over Will’s arse until it came to rest in the crack between Will’s impossibly peachy cheeks.

            “Your boy cunt is going to get some use, now. Never again am I going to be raped by that fucking monster. That will be your place now. To be used by Odin the Viking as his sex toy whenever he fancies a girl to fuck and has to make do with a boy.”

            He pushed his foot deeper so that Will could feel Raymond’s hosed big toe - warm and wet - forcing itself relentlessly against the puckered lips of his asshole.

            “And his cock is a monster, goat-shit. You’ve never felt anything like it. He’ll use you without mercy too. He won’t care if you scream or beg. In fact he likes that. The girlier you sound, and the more you cry and plead, the more it turns him on. He’ll love raping you.”

            “No, Raymond, please, no…”

            “Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

            And with that, the older youth jumped on Will’s back. Will felt the incredibly fine material of Raymond’s tights rubbing against him, as his enemy’s bum rocked back and forth on his lower back.

            With one hand, Raymond began spanking Will’s arse, whilst with the other he reached under and began yanking at the blond page boy’s cock: fiercely and without mercy.

            “You love this, don’t you, slut? Me spanking your bum and milking your cock. Like one of the cows in your father’s barn. I’m tugging at your pathetic little pecker. Breeding you. Milking you. Wanking your dirty little cock till you explode. Tights round your knees. Arse in the air. A fucking filthy little whore boy. And you love it…”

            His touch was rough and callous, but his monologue did the trick, and Will sobbed with relief and humiliation as his cock spurted onto the flagstones: white cum falling in droplets to the floor.

            Raymond dismounted in disgust, wiping his hand – wet with Will’s semen – across the boy’s bum to dry it off.

            “Now,” he remarked. “Perhaps, finally, I can fit you with your new device. Stand up!”

            Will – both sets of cheeks rosy from his climax – pulled himself to his feet as his cock, at long last, began to droop into flaccidity. He turned to Raymond, wondering what fresh torment might next be in store for him, only to see the other youth holding a strange metal device. It was a slightly curved cylinder of steel - a ring at one end and at the other, a narrow slit in the metal.

            “I’d like to introduce you to your chastity cage,” smirked Raymond. “You’ll be spending a lot of time in its company. Let me show you how it works.”

            First, Raymond lifted Will’s balls and pushed them through the steel ring. Then he took the newly soft penis and gently threaded it into the metal cylinder. Lastly, a small padlock was fixed to the chastity device. Will’s lip trembled as he began to appreciate the implications of it all.

            “You’ll still be able to piss through the hole at the end. But you won’t be able to touch your cock. And if you even think about getting hard, it’s going to be very painful for you. The space inside that tube is so tight. You won’t be able to get an erection even! I’m in total control of when - or if - you get to touch your boy prick ever again. I hope you enjoyed that orgasm, Will. It’s the last one you’ll be having in quite some time.”

            “Raymond, please” –

            “It’s Sir to you!” shrieked Raymond, squeezing Will’s balls as he did so. “And think yourself fucking lucky. I could have these whipped off and you’d spend the rest of your life as a eunuch. That would solve your embarrassing problem of getting hard at inappropriate moments with one simple stroke…”

            Will fell instantly silent.

            “Very well. Pull your tights up.”

            Will did so, the strange cold sensation of the metal against his prick, weighting it down, was perturbing. Instantly he found that he missed the feeling of the soft nylon of his tights caressing his genitals.

            “No, no, no,” tutted Raymond. “That will never do. The chastity device gives you a bulge in your hose that is positively indecent. And – to be frank – is more flattering than your pathetic little stub deserves.”

            Raymond peeled the waistband of Will’s blue tights down, so that once again his arse was bare and exposed. Will’s hopes rose. Would Raymond remove the cruel chastity device after all?!

            Raymond paused in mock-contemplation. “I have just the thing!” he announced. And with a flourish, he produced a small bundle of white cloth. Will was not deceived for a moment. Raymond had planned this, all down to the last detail.

            “Stand still, goat-shit.”

            Will did so as Raymond came to stand behind him. With a sinking feeling of dismay and despair, Will felt the cloth being passed between his legs and wrapped around his arse and groin. Raymond pulled the material up as snug as possible, and then pinned it with a large metal fastening. Raymond had put him in a big, padded nappy.

            “Much better!” the dark-haired lad crowed. “Now pull your tights up, bitch, and let’s see what that looks like!”

            He had no choice, and Will mournfully pulled the stretchy fabric back up, only this time it had to stretch considerably more in order to cover the large bulky diaper that he was wearing.

            “You look truly ridiculous, baby boi!”

            Will caught a glimpse of himself in the looking-glass. The sleek and sexually alluring silhouette which had so enticed Alexander was gone. Instead of the scintillating promise of his bulging cock and rounded arse cheeks, was the inelegant and humiliating bulge of the thick nappy. His groin now smooth and flat – his bum inflated and huge.

            “One final touch, I think,” mused Raymond. And he threaded a thin leather belt round Will’s waist. Like the chastity device, he locked it with a padlock. And he pocketed the key in a pouch at his side.

            “You’d better get used to wearing your nappy, goat-shit. You’ll resist as long as you can but sooner or later you’ll have to piss yourself and shit yourself in it. I might choose to let you change it occasionally. If you’re lucky.”

             

            “You look pleased with yourself, Steward. I take it you have had a productive morning?”

            The Prince, now dressed in his bright green tights and doublet, looked up as Raymond entered the royal presence once more.

            “Most productive, your highness. The junior page boy will not be embarrassing himself or you anymore.”

            “I’m glad to hear it.”

            “Did the other pages fill your bath for you, Sire?”

            “They did. It’s waiting for me in the next room.”

            Raymond hesitated. “Is there anything else you require, your highness?”

            “Yes. It’s raining, blast the weather. And I had set my heart on riding out on Thunderer.”

            “I live to serve you, my Lord. But even I cannot command the elements.”

            “I’m aware of that. But I’m in dire need of some physical exercise.”

            The Prince began to unbutton his close-fitting doublet to reveal his smooth and unblemished chest. He flung the tunic on to a nearby armchair and stood there, his upper body naked, his sole garment his impossibly snug green tights.

            “As I was growing up, I would often try my strength in trials against the sons of my father’s courtiers.”

            “Your highness?”

            “Take off that jerkin. Immediately.”

            Raymond did as he was instructed, and soon he was also naked, save for his black, star-spangled hose. His body was slimmer and less well-developed than the Prince. At five years his royal master’s junior, he had not had the same military training. Physically, he was only just recovered from his terrible sojourn in the bedroom of Sir Wilfrid. A trial of strength? What could the beautiful Prince mean?

            “Come here.”

Raymond did as he was ordered. An enigmatic smile played around Felix’s lips as he lifted up an ornate green bottle from a nearby table.

            “Oil,” he explained curtly as he poured some into his palms.

            Raymond quivered in surprise as the Prince walked up to him and began rubbing the thick liquid into his chest. Deftly, the Prince moved onto Raymond’s arms, until all of the new Steward’s torso was well-oiled and glistening.

            “Now, you oil me. It makes for a more challenging contest.”

            Raymond breathed deeply as he laid his oily palms onto the Prince’s golden body. He could not be sure, but he suspected Felix knew just what a devastating effect his beauty and his close physical proximity was having on his servant. Raymond desperately wished to linger over the Prince’s pert pink nipples as he brushed the oil across them. He was longing to pinch and tweak them as he did so, but he controlled himself, and stuck to the job in hand, although his cock was pulsing in his fine black tights.

            “The winner is he who gains submission from his opponent,” whispered the Prince conspiratorily. “Now, let us wrestle!”