Chapter 60 - The Pear Pops

 

    “Is baby ready for his din-dins?”
    Alexander smiled down at the Prince. What a truly ridiculous sight he was! Crawling on his hands and knees in his jester’s costume, diaper bulging through his blue and yellow tights. He knew that, inside, Felix would be howling with impotent fury. How he must long to hurl himself at his implacable foe, but all he could do was gaze up at Alexander’s log, shapely legs in their deep purple hose, and drool.
    At that moment, another agonising stomach cramp hit the Prince. He had been suffering for an hour or more already: his bulging belly must feel like it was stuffed with a concrete football, his arse crammed with that big, unyielding pear. Although he could not articulate speech, nevertheless Felix could not hold back an undignified howl of pain. And Alexander knew that no matter how hard he squeezed his bowels, there was no way that he could rid himself of the contents of his distended belly.
    “What’s the matter with him?” asked Queen Katharine, her lip curling in distaste.
    “He is hungry, your Majesty,” replied Alexander. “Perhaps you would care to feed him? I have his bottle of milk right here…”
    “Do you take me for a nursemaid, Master Courcey? I did not feed my own children when they were babes. I’m certainly not going to do it for my grown nephew.”
    “I will give our poor young Prince his dinner,” interjected Lord Geoffrey. “I am his godfather after all.”
    Geoffrey settled himself into a high-backed chair, spreading his firm thighs in their red hose, as Alexander scooped Felix into his arms and placed the Prince into Geoffrey’s lap.
    “There, there, little baby boy,” cooed Lord Geoffrey into the Prince’s flushed face. “Let’s get you comfortable.” And he shifted the young man’s muscular form so that his nappy-covered bum rested in Geoffrey’s lap, and his fabulous legs - one blue, one yellow - dangled inches above the floor.
    Alexander solemnly handed his master the over-sized baby’s bottle, fill to the brim with warm, frothy milk. “Now we should see some action,” he whispered in Lord Geoffrey’s ear. Then he took a step backwards into the shadows. Only he knew that the milk was not as innocuous a mixture as first appeared. In fact he had added a considerable dose of a powerful laxative, that when ingested would finally force Felix to expel the gallon of porridge that was tormenting his guts.
    “Here we go, young man, drink it all up now!” smiled Lord Geoffrey as he pushed the bottle between the Prince’s pouting pink lips, and started to pour the milk down the young man’s throat.
    Alexander knew the last thing Felix wanted would be to have his stomach filled any more, but he was powerless to resist: all the Prince could do was kick his tights-covered legs feebly, gurgling weakly as a milky residue dribbled out of the side of his mouth. Queen Katharine watched with barely disguised horror as her mind raced to assimilate this new development.
    Soon the bottle was empty. Lord Geoffrey removed it from his godson’s mouth and, as he did so, the Prince let out a big burp.
    “What a windy little baby you are!” declared Geoffrey, as he began to rub his godson’s bloated belly.
    The Prince grimaced with discomfort.
    “Ah goo-gah-gah!” he said plaintively. But Alexander knew that the tormented young man would not have to wait long for release.
    Almost immediately, there was a rumbling in Felix’s tummy. The Prince began to squirm, but Lord Geoffrey held the struggling body tight on his lap. The battle in the Prince’s guts grew stronger, and he began to kick his legs, so that his pointed jester slippers fell from his feet.
    “Ooh - aah!” he cried, and Alexander knew that the purgative had started its devastating work. He imagined he could almost see the tempest brewing in the young man’s belly, as the laxative began loosening the Prince’s clogged up guts. The pressure grew, and in that moment, an overwhelming spasm from Felix’s tortured bowels caused the blond youth to squeal in pain.
    “Aaaaaargh!” he yelled, and Alexander knew the pressure against the pear blocking Felix’s arsehole would be building now. The battle between that stubborn piece of fruit blocking the exit of all that nasty, lumpy porridge was being fought inside Felix’s very body. It was a delightful irony that the Prince’s tight, barely used arsehole was preventing the relief his body so desperately craved, but it was inevitable that, sooner or later, the hole would have to give way.
    Felix was sweating and panting now, in animal desperation: all inhibitions shed. Little could he care that he was dressed like a big baby, in a jester’s costume, big padded diaper and particoloured tights, wriggling like an infant on his godfather’s lap, whilst the Queen of Spain and the dignitaries of the Spanish court looked on in bewildered distaste. All he wanted was to experience the blessed joy of emptying his stuffed bowels, even if it meant that in the process his puckered anus would have to stretch wide enough to accommodate the expulsion of that juicy pear.
    He stared up into Alexander’s gleeful face, imagining the commentary that was running through the Steward’s perverted mind:
    “Yes, little baby bitch. You know you want to get rid of that horrible porridge, don’t you? That gunk that I forced up your reluctant hole an hour or so ago and that’s been torturing you ever since! Well you know there’s only one way that’s going to happen, don’t you? You’re going to have to push that fat pear out through your boycunt, aren’t you? It’s going to hurt of course - it’ll stretch your ring wide as wide can be, but there’s no other way of getting that oatmeal enema out of your body! Push, bitch! Shit that pear out of your boy pussy and fill your diaper. Once you’ve done that it will be easy. Imagine all that gunky porridge finally flooding from your hole! You know you want to! Imagine how good that will feel! Do it, bitch! Push that pear out!”
    Felix knew it would hurt. The blunt end of the pear nestled against the inside of his sphincter: there would be no gradual expansion: the bulb of the pear was far too wide. Would it tear him, he wondered. It had gone into his body, so surely it must be capable of coming out again?!
    In the end, the whole debate was wrested from his control. The impatient laxative delivered what felt like someone kicking him in the guts. The spasm was too powerful for anyone to resist. The pear - seemingly with a mind of its own - began stretching his boy pussy.
    “Ah! Ah! Ah!” he gasped.
    The pressure was relentless - and then his arse had stretched beyond the widest point of the bulb, and the pear was propelled - like an arrow from a bow - into the soft wadding of his nappy.
    The Prince screamed with the intensity of the sensation, as, as sure as night follows day, the oozing crud followed the pear out of his hole.
    “Ooh - ooh - ooh!” Tears sprang to the corners of his eyes: the utter humiliation of him, a grown man, the Crown Prince of England, helplessly shitting warm porridge into his diaper, even as the intense relief of finally being able to let all that lumpy slime out of his poor body.
    There was a lot to come and the laxative accelerated the process considerably. Felix felt the lumpy gook smearing itself down between his buttocks and accumulating at the bottom of the diaper. It felt warm and wet against his skin as it continued to shoot out of his hole. Soon his balls were coated, as the effluent went on erupting out of his chute. He felt it spreading in both directions within the nappy - warm wetness against his butt cheeks, and against his cock. Shit, he thought to himself. I’m hard! Why the fuck am I hard?!
    The farting noises emitting from Felix’s backside could leave the spectators in no doubt that the Prince was suffering the indignity of filling his diaper in front of a very distinguished audience. Again, Queen Katharine grimaced at the base level to which her nephew had descended.
    “You needed that, my boy, didn’t you?” smiled Lord Geoffrey, as he patted the Prince’s belly, wiping the tears from his godson’s flushed features. Geoffrey kept his palm resting on Felix’s swollen stomach and began to move it in a circular manner. “Any more to come?” he enquired innocently.
    Right on cue, a further torrent of porridge that had gathered higher up in the Prince’s body, gleefully flooded into the diaper. The sticky wetness engulfed Felix’s entire crotch, and the paralysed Prince began to panic that the diaper would not be large enough to contain the congealing ooze.
    “Let me see now,” said Lord Geoffrey, “How full is this nappy?” And he reached around to pat the seat of the bulging diaper through the stretched material of the silken hose.
    “Oh dear me,” he exclaimed. “You have given us a big deposit, your Highness! That’s one full diaper if ever I saw one.”
    The Prince winced inside at the humiliation of having his nappy-clad arse prodded and patted by his silver fox of a godfather. However, as he was still robbed of either the power of speech or any meaningful physical control of his limbs due to Alexander’s dastardly potion, all he could do was fume internally.
    He became aware of a low, murmuring, and soon he realised that his aunt was in whispered conference with one of her Spanish attendants. Felix recognised him as Conde Esteban, a close advisor to the Queen and a man rumoured to be her paramour. They were speaking in Spanish, presuming that neither Geoffrey nor Alexander were fluent in that language.
    “Don’t be a fool,” his aunt was saying. “What use is he to us now?”
    “The people might still flock to your banner,” replied the Conde. “He is the rightful heir - surely they will not submit to these power-hungry nobodies?”
    “Yes! Yes!” screamed the Prince. “The people will rise. Rescue me! Liberate me from these perverted traitors!”
    Unfortunately for him, his outraged cries could only echo uselessly inside his own head.
    “The people are fickle,” muttered the Queen. “They resent my brother-in-law’s foolish foreign skirmishes, and there is no great love in this land for my pampered nephew.”
    “Then why are we here? If the scheme is so hopeless…”
    “I had hoped to tutor my spoiled nephew in diplomacy. With his good looks and with wiser heads whispering in his ear, we could maybe have won round the waverers. Now I’m not so sure.”
    “Ack! Ack!” cried Felix: the only words of protest he could manage as he saw his hopes of liberation slipping away. For a moment his frustrations overpowered the distasteful sensation around his private parts as the warm porridge cooled into a grey sludge.
    “What’s the matter with him?” snapped the Queen, returning to her native tongue.
    “May I?” interpolated Alexander smoothly. “You will recall, your Majesty, the Prince did ever have a sweet tooth. Although he has regressed to infancy, the urge for sugary confections has not deserted him. He always insists on a sweetie after his din-dins!”
    Quick as a flash, Alexander produced a small red sweet from his doublet and pushed it between Felix’s unsuspecting lips. Before he knew it, the Prince had swallowed it. Unbeknownst to the Queen, Alexander’s education had included a smattering of more than rudimentary Spanish, and he had decided to add a final twist of the knife to the Prince’s predicament.
    Within mere seconds of swallowing the pill, a strange sensation began to overwhelm Felix. It started in the pit of his sore and abused stomach and slowly began to blossom outwards across his entire body. It was not unfamiliar to him, and just before it possessed his entire consciousness, he realised with dismay, that it felt very similar to the strange potion that Alexander had offered him to inhale all those months before when he had tricked him into his bedroom.    
    The Steward himself exulted silently: for as it happened, the pill he had fed the Prince contained the distilled essence of that very brew: and would, he felt sure, have an identical effect. He watched, entranced, as the Prince’s pulse slowed and his breathing grew deeper. Slowly, Felix began to writhe in his godfather’s paternal embrace, and helplessly, hopelessly, his crotch, buried deep between the soiled diaper and the particoloured tights, began to rise and fall with unfulfilled desire.
    “Hngh, hngh,” murmured the royal baby, and he scrabbled to try and roll over onto his front. Alexander knew exactly what was occurring: the primal urge to rub his engorged prick against something - anything - had sent all other thoughts out of the Prince’s intoxicated brain.
    Geoffrey raised a surprised eyebrow in his Steward’s direction as Felix eventually manouevred himself so that his belly lay on his uncle’s right thigh, and his thick, nappied groin rested on the trunk-like mass of the left one. There could be little doubt as to what the Prince was trying to achieve, as, hypnotised by the drug, his body began to undulate, rubbing his groin rhythmically against his uncle’s hosed leg.
    The Prince’s mind was overpowered by the single aim of climaxing: his cock rock hard, but it was buried deep in the gunk of the cold porridge, the soggy layers of the diaper, and the silky hosiery of his jester’s suit. All this ensured that there was nowhere near the friction necessary to achieve orgasm. Felix tried harder - like an animal, a mere bitch on heat, his hips rising and falling as he tried desperately to cum. But all was hopeless: his cock squelched into the gunk but it was like trying to fuck water: the hard muscle of his godfather’s hosed thigh remained tantalisingly out of reach.
    “Noooo!” he moaned as the need to cum grew ever more urgent: his big fat, diapered ass bouncing up and down in the air as he tried to gain purchase against Geoffrey’s leg.
    Once again, he imagined Alexander’s mocking monologue racing through his sex-obsessed brain: “Look at you, Prince Pussy Boy! Desperate to cum in your dirty diaper and your ridiculous tights. Forced to lie across your godfather’s lap and hump his legs just to achieve some kind of satisfaction! And you can’t even manage that. Little baby boys with little baby pricks don’t get to cum if they’re all wrapped up in their full nappies, do they? But how a horny little bitch like you must need it, eh? How humiliating for you!”
    Suddenly a brilliant idea penetrated the fog of sexual frustration: surely the hard wooden boards of the apartment’s floor would provide the necessary friction. Barely in control of his own limbs, Felix wriggled himself from Lord Geoffrey’s lap, and began crawling across the floor. With a great sigh, he sank gratefully onto his belly and again began to thrust his desperate crotch against this new surface.
    The monologue in his mind continued: “Yes! There you go, bitch boy! That’s all you’re good for! Humping your pathetic, rock-hard penis against the floor. Dressed like a fucking ridiculous fool, your blue and yellow tights pulled up high containing that big saggy, soggy nappy: all full of congealing porridge, coating your bum and your cock and balls. That big nasty pear that blocked your boy hole for so long, still sitting there too, pressing itself against your arse, wanting to go back inside you. And you want it back up there too! That hole of yours must feel mighty empty now that your big fruity plug has pushed its way out and all that porridge has flooded out of it. Maybe I should shove it back up there - pull your tights down to your ankles, reach into the waistband of your nappy, feel through all that wet mulch, find it, and force it back up your sore and aching boycunt. I bet a bitch like you would love that, eh?
    “Look at you now! Slamming that horned-up dick of yours against the floor like a fucking animal. That’s all you are. My slut bitch - to be filled up when I feel like it with whatever I have to hand - porridge, fruit: it’s all the same to me. And then I’ll feed you pills, get you horny and make you hump the ground just for my amusement. Fuck me, look at those legs of yours in your tights. Fucking ridiculous slut bitch, humiliating yourself just for my pleasure. Come on now, boy. I’ve waited long enough. I want to see you cum! Cum in your tights for me! Cum in your messed up diaper! Do it bitch! Do it! Now!”
    How was the fucker in his head like this, wondered Felix, tears springing from his eyes yet again at the sheer frustration of being unable to cum. Maybe that was another part of the fiendish pill he’d been fed? It made you horny but unable to actually climax.
    “Cum, you little cunt! Do it! Cum in your dirty nappy, tights slut! Do it!”
    His cock-head almost numb from being plunged against the floor, Felix finally began to feel the slow build in the very bottom of his balls that presaged an orgasm. Oh thank fuck, he thought. Finally!
    And yet, just as he was about to fill his diaper with his royal seed, his arm was grabbed and he found himself being rolled over onto his back. He screamed with frustration, as his arse once again squelched into cold porridge.
    “That’s enough of that, young man,” admonished Lord Geoffrey. “Your aunt is present. Have some decency.”
    The Queen’s expression was as icy as her blue eyes. “I think we have seen enough,” she said, as she swept out of the chamber, hastily followed by her grovelling retinue.
    “I must attend to Her Majesty,” said Geoffrey gravely. “I trust, Alexander, that I can rely on you to attend to the Prince.”
    Alexander bowed his head to his master. “Of course, Sir.”
    Soon he was left alone with his royal charge. Felix lay breathless, red-faced and frustrated on the floor.
    The Steward tutted with mock solemnity. “Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”
    The Prince’s hips continued to buck uncontrollably: the desperate urge to cum still unfulfilled.
    “Oh very well. I’ll take pity on you,” sighed Alexander, theatrically. He slipped his foot out of his leather boot and placed it on the royal bulge. “Hmm, I can feel that cock of yours rock-hard through your nappy, young man. I will rub it with my foot for precisely sixty seconds. If you don’t cum in that time, you will go back to the dungeon frustrated.”
    He began to press his hosed foot against the Prince’s straining cock.
    “I can feel all that porridge in your diaper, swirling around your private parts. And that pear must be resting in the seat of your tights too. Maybe that would give you a further thrill eh? Let’s have it back up inside you!”
    Quick as a flash, Alexander bent over and reached beneath the Prince’s writhing body. It took him no time at all to locate the hard lump of fruit nestling beneath the Prince’s buttocks, and he grabbed the firm bulb.
    “Back up we go!” And with all the force he could muster, he shoved the pear back inside the Prince’s ravaged hole.
    “Aaaaaargh!!!” screamed Felix as the hated object invaded him once again, stretching his hole as wide as it would go.
    “Come along, my royal bitch slave,” purred Alexander, as his frottage of the boy’s crotch became more vigorous. “Cum for me now. Cum in your dirty diaper. In those tights! Do it!”
    “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ahhhhh!” The manipulation of Alexander’s skilled footwork did its kinky work and Felix’s entire body convulsed as the orgasm overcame him. His poor cock pumped wave after wave of royal cream into his already sodden diaper. Oh the relief! That was all he could think of as he gazed into Alexander’s cruel smile.
    “Better?” inquired the Steward. “Now I wonder what your aunt made of that little spectacle, hmmm?”   

Chapter 50 - The Sleeping Beauty

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

The Prince’s voice practically screeched with incredulity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a long and uncomfortable night for them both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” asked Raymond suspiciously.

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

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

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

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

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

There was a knock on the door.

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

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

“Excellent. Bring them in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At once, Felix began to struggle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Strip his Highness of his doublet!”

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

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

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

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

“Take his boots off,” said Alexander curtly.

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

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

Raymond hesitated. Was Alexander speaking rhetorically?

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

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

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

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

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

Raymond hesitated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Splat! Splat! Splat!

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

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

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

Chapter 22 - Jingle Bells

After his night in the kennel, Will was determined that he would not be the loser in the latest perverted challenge Prince Felix had invented for him and his fellows.

He had seen the way the Prince and his lackeys had treated the Steward. If they dared to do that to Lord Geoffrey’s right hand man, who knows what they would do to a peasant boy like him? If nothing else, Will had learned from Alexander what a man wants to see from a cute boy in tights, and so now he wasn’t slow to display his knowledge.

From the corner of the room, Ulfgar began a steady drum beat that made Will’s heart thud. As the drum pounded out its hypnotic beat, Will slowly started to push his ass out towards his eager audience. He imagined Alexander’s evil potion was coursing through his veins, encouraging him to be the tights-wearing slut he knew the Vikings wanted him to be.

He bent his knees so his ass stuck out even further, his hands resting on his hosed thighs and his head bowed, in a position of lustful submission.

“Stay on your stools, bitches!” ordered the Prince. “Any of you who fall will be penalised!”

This was easier said than done, thought Will. The stools were not particularly stable and the chamber’s floor was uneven. As he sashayed his butt from side to side, he risked a look at the other three young men. Mortimer was distinctly uncomfortable, making a half-hearted attempt to sway from side to side in a manner that was more ridiculous than erotic. Raymond meanwhile seemed to have switched into a different mode altogether and was contorting himself into a variety of erotic poses, tweaking his nipples, licking his lips and moaning suggestively. He teasingly ran his gloved hands up and down his pink, hosed thighs, and stroked his ass cheeks invitingly. Clearly this was where Will’s competition lay in this particular contest!

Suddenly, a clattering sound from behind him made them all turn – only for them to see that Humphrey had fallen from his stool and was sitting on the floor on his ample bottom, his lower lip trembling.

“Carry on, sluts!” called out the Prince. “Work those nubile young bodies for some real men!”

Will watched as Humphrey clambered gracelessly back on to the wobbling stool. Then Odin strode over to the undulating Raymond, and attached one brass bell to each of the page boy’s nipples. The pounding of Ulfgar’s drum joined with the tinkling of the bell, and the sound made Will double his efforts, determined not to lose to Raymond yet again.

  Taking his lead from his rival, Will knelt down on his stool, pushing his hosed bottom out, and reaching behind to spread his cheeks. Then he took one hand and smartly began to spank his tights-covered backside with his own hand. This seemed to be appreciated by the crude barbarian. Before long, he found his tits being fondled through the pink silk of his bodystocking as Odin clipped bells to each of them. The tiny jaws of the clip sank into Will’s boy nipples. He gasped at the stinging sensation, which made the Viking grin.

Will got on to his feet, the bells tinkling at his breast, placed his hands on his hips and began to thrust his groin back and forth. He pulled at the bells attached to him, causing him to gasp again at the painful sensation of his titties being stretched. He was rewarded with more bells: two attached to his balls, and a third clipped onto the head of his cock – inevitably rock hard through the satiny leotard.

The feeling of having tinkling bells attached to the most intimate and sensitive parts of his body served only to accentuate Will’s humiliation. He wriggled his hosed bum and the awareness of the bells made him feel sluttier and more objectified than ever.

What would his parents and his older brother think, he wondered, if they could see him now? Dressed head to toe in a clinging pink bodystocking, with just a gap for his face to peer through! Dancing for the sexual pleasure and arousal of two brutish bodyguards, with no thought for his own dignity or self- respect. His face flushed a deep red with the shame of what his time at the castle had brought him to.

“Enough!” called out Prince Felix. The drum-beat stopped in an instant, and Will froze in the obscenely sexual position he was currently adopting.

“Step down from your podia, worms, and we shall see who has been awarded the most bells – and who has the least.” He paused dramatically. “Well, it seems that our dark-haired worm has been the most alluring.”

Will looked over to see Raymond looking deeply smug: if indeed it is possible to look smug whilst wearing an all-in-one pink tights suit, with bells dangling from one’s ears, nipples, cock and balls. Meanwhile, Mortimer had somehow managed to secure one solitary bell, which dangled pitifully from his cockhead. Humphrey had none.

The fat boy’s devastated face said it all. Clearly the only thing on his mind was the prospect of going another day without food.

The Prince realised the same thing. “Don’t worry, my plump little worm. We would hardly be so unimaginative as to give you the same punishment two days running now, would we?”

Humphrey breathed an audible sigh of relief.

“No, Mistress Olwen shall have instructions to feed you as normal. Indeed, you will have a little supplement to your usual meal.”

Odin stepped forward with a long brown glass bottle, half full of some kind of cordial.

“This contains a powerful laxative,” growled the Viking. “I will administer it to you after you have eaten your evening meal. And I will make sure you drink every last drop.” He laughed at the boy’s desperate expression. “You’re going to have an explosive evening – and I don’t imagine you’re going to be getting much sleep either!”

Ulfgar joined in the laughter. And although Prince Felix’s lip curled, his delicacy offended by the thought of the page boy’s basest bodily functions, he clearly could not help but gain some sadistic pleasure from Humphrey’s obvious distress.

The day’s entertainment over, the four page boys were dismissed, although Will, Mortimer and Raymond were instructed to leave their decorative bells attached to whichever parts of their stockinged bodies they had been secured. The young men, jingling as they walked, hurried away from their torture chamber.

Odin looked towards his master, with lust and hunger in his eyes.

“What is it?” snapped the Prince. “Oh I see. You’re all fired up, now, are you? Imagining what you’d like to do with those slutty little bitches. Well we’ll see. Perhaps you will get some satisfaction.” He added airily, “If I decide you’ve deserved it.”

Odin gritted his teeth in a wide grin and bowed low before the Prince. “Your merest whim, is, as ever our command, your highness.”

“Quite,” sniffed the Prince. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

The pages had all the regular chores to perform around the castle: more so than ever, following the exodus of cleaners, maids and old faithful retainers. Those few who did remain gawped openly at the four lads in their unitards; bells jingling from cocks, balls and tits.

They arrived in the kitchen that evening to receive their meagre rations and Mistress Olwen rolled her eyes at their appearance.

“Downright indecent it is,” she muttered. “All my girls sent out into the world too. And whatever you might think of him – Lord Geoffrey’s own uncle – a man in his eighties and a cripple – turned out into the street. It’s not right. Mark my words, there will be a reckoning.”

Raymond looked up at her from his bowl of gruel. “That bastard deserves everything he gets,” he hissed.

Mistress Olwen clamped her hand to her mouth in shock. “I’m surprised at you, young Raymond! Talking about your betters like that.”

“That repulsive creature is certainly not my better.”

The cook tutted to herself. “Well I’m not making excuses for the state you or any of the other boys end up in after serving on Sir Wilfrid, but even so…”

An awkward silence descended on the gathering at the table.

“And anyway,” Olwen said finally. “It’s not just him, is it? Your poor, sweet sister has been abandoned to the cruel world out there, as well, hasn’t she?”

“Jane will manage,” said Raymond, tersely. “She’s not as fragile as she looks.”

“You’re a callous boy, Raymond.”

“And you are a foolish old woman who needs to learn that the tide has turned and that your loyalties, indeed your very life, depend on the favour of Prince Felix. And if you allow your tongue to grow as flabby as your backside with all your gossip and complaining, then you are even more stupid than I took you for. And I predict your life will last no longer than that of the traitor Alexander Courcey!”

Mistress Olwen’s face turned purple. She spluttered, incoherent with outrage. She was saved from having to reply to the impudent page boy by the sudden appearance of Odin the Viking at the kitchen door.

“What a quaint little scene,” boomed the ogre. “Mother hen and her four wriggly worms!”

The buxom cook recovered herself and dropped into a curtsey. “You are here for his Highness’ supper, Master Odin?” she simpered.

“Indeed,” came his terse reply.

“You should let one of the page boys carry it up to the Prince.”

“Out of the question. Prince Felix’s meals must be tested. We would not trust such as these to carry his highness’ food to him.”

“Tested?!” squawked the cook. “I have fed kings and dukes and I have never” -

She stopped short. Raymond’s warning suddenly seeming all too apposite.

Odin raised his eyebrow, and Mistress Olwen bustled off to fetch the tray of delicacies she had prepared for Prince Felix’s repast.

Then came the moment Humphrey had been dreading. “Time for your medicine, fat boy,” Odin whispered menacingly.

Moving remarkably swiftly for a man of his size, in an instant, Odin had one arm around Humphrey’s plump neck as he produced the bottle of cordial and unstoppered it. Humphrey began to struggle, but it was no use against this giant of a man. Odin gripped the boy’s turned up nose between his massive thumb and forefinger, causing Humphrey to take an involuntary gulp of air. And in that moment, Odin poured the entire contents of the bottle down the page boy’s throat.

The liquid clearly tasted vile, and Humphrey coughed and spluttered as he swallowed the thick brown gunk. Drool seeped from the the corner of his mouth, and tears from his eyes.

Mistress Olwen reappeared with a tray replete with fish, chicken, vegetables and sweets. All this, just for the Prince, thought Will to himself. “Here you are, Master Odin,” whispered the Cook in sufficiently humble tones.

Odin took the tray without a word to her. He glanced contemptuously at the whimpering Humphrey. “Have a pleasant evening, fat boy.”

His gaze came to rest on Raymond. “Hmm, perhaps,” he mused. “After all, if you have an itch…”

And with that cryptic remark, the brutish Norselander left the draughty kitchen behind.

Will watched him go and then turned to look at Mistress Olwen.

“And I wager he’ll not eat most of it as well,” she muttered to herself.

The castle felt so empty now at night time, thought Will, as he drew his blanket over himself: back in his own bed at last. Where once twenty or thirty young men slept, reeking of testosterone and dreaming of bedding young kitchen maids, now lay four neutered page boys: all dressed in the sissiest and most revealing of costumes. Living only to serve and amuse the dashing yet pitiless Prince Felix.

Well, strictly speaking, actually only three page boys lay in the dormitory. Humphrey had run to the stinking garderobe about an hour ago, his stomach gurgling worse than ever, clutching his butt cheeks in their pink stretched fabric, and in desperate danger of soiling his pink body stocking. They all knew the fat page boy had a very unpleasant and uncomfortable night ahead of him.

Will lay there in his tights suit, listening to Mortimer snoring gently in the bed nearby. Raymond had taken a pallet as far as possible from the other page boys. Will was fairly certain the dark haired lad was still awake, no doubt plotting his revenge against someone or other: probably Will himself.

The door to the large dormitory creaked open. Will had the distinctly unsympathetic thought that Humphrey should just stay in the garderobe all night, rather than disturbing the rest of them by creeping back to his bed, only to have to make a mad dash to the toilet again moments later. But as he looked up from his bedcover, he saw a very different form to the podgy Humphrey, silhouetted in the moonlight.

Odin caught Will’s eye and looked at him contemptuously. “Go back to sleep, bitch boy. It’s not you I’ve come for – this time…”

The hulking henchman carefully removed his thick leather jerkin, and pulled his belt from around his leather trousers. Discarding them silently on one of the nearby beds, he spat into his massive hands and rubbed them together eagerly. Will was taken aback by the size of the man’s pectoral muscles and his bulging biceps, all scattered with the same black fuzz.

Stealthily, Odin made his way further down the dormitory. Will waited and listened. Sure enough, a startled cry from Raymond confirmed that Odin had come to claim the prize that had aroused him so much that very afternoon.

Will’s mind was racing, and he had no time to spend contemplating his rival’s predicament. He risked a look at Mortimer. No, the red-haired youth was sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware and undisturbed by the intruder.

Will slipped out of his bed. His pink stockinged feet rested gently on the cold flagstones. Cursing the tinkling of the bells that still clung to his nipples and genitals, he hoped only that Odin would be too preoccupied to notice any sounds from the far end of the dormitory.

Will hurried over to where the giant had discarded his jerkin and belt. In a second, he had found what he had been looking for: the massive iron key ring that Odin kept attached to his leather belt. Grabbing it, he moved as quickly as he dared, slipping through the door that the Viking had left ajar.

Who knew how long he had to carry out his desperate scheme? He hurried out into the castle courtyard, his flimsy pink tights suit affording little protection against the chill of night time. He snatched up the wooden bowl that lay discarded outside the kennel he’d slept in only the night before and dipped it into the well, filling it half-full of cold water.

Then, nipples tingling and jingling, he hurried over to the door that led down to the dungeon. Which key? Which key? He thought in his panic. There were so many of them! It could take an age to go through them all, by which time Odin would have finished his rape of the page boy and discover the theft.

Keep calm, he thought to himself. And try to match the key to the lock. He selected a long iron key which looked right, but was too thick for the hole. Will might have found that coincidence ironic had his gloved hands not been trembling with fear. The next one wasn’t right either, nor the next. But then – hallelujah! –  his fourth choice eased in and with a click, the door was unlocked.

Will hadn’t counted on the pitch blackness as he slipped inside the dungeon. The clammy dark consumed him in an instant and he paused at the top of the staircase lest he fall. At the foot of the stairs, the cell’s inhabitant, alerted by the creak of the opening door, called out.

“Changed your mind, have you? Have you come to murder me in the night after all?”

“Please be quiet, Sir! It’s me, Sir, Will the junior page boy.”

            Alexander gazed in amazement through the gloom as, sure enough, the blond lad, accompanied by a weird tinkling sound, began to tiptoe down the stairs.

The page boy offered his old master the water in its wooden bowl, and Alexander slurped at it greedily.

“But how, boy?” demanded the Steward between gulps.

“I stole the key from Odin. It was spur of the moment. I’ve not thought of what to do next but I know I don’t have long.”

“I see. And what is happening out there?”

“The Prince has sent almost everyone out of the castle. He says that you are a traitor who used Lord Geoffrey’s incomes to enrich yourself.”

“That is a lie, page boy.”

“I know, Sir. But what can I do?”

“The risks are great. But there is a chance you may help me. You must go now and lock the door behind you. Remove the dungeon key and then return the key ring to where that brutish barbarian left it. If you manage to hide the key in among your bed sheets, you may yet be able to visit me and bring a little food and water. We can only hope that having locked me away to die, they do not think to come here again, or indeed notice that the key is missing.”

Alexander took a deep breath. “I need hardly tell you of what the consequences will be for you if you are discovered aiding me in this way.”

Will said nothing. “I understand, Sir.”

“Then you must go at once. Visit me again when you can. Perhaps then you can give me the explanation for your latest costume.” He gave a wry grin. “I have to say, it does suit you. Although perhaps the bells are rather impractical for escapades of this nature.”

“Yes, Sir,” mumbled Will, his mind spinning at the audacity of his actions and the danger in which he had placed himself. He turned to leave.

“Wait!” whispered Alexander. “One thing more. Tell me – why? Why are you risking your own life for me?”

Will hesitated. “I don’t know, Sir. I only know you don’t deserve to starve to death like this.”

On an impulse, Alexander grabbed the page boy’s head, encased in its pink hood and pulled it towards his own. Parting the youth’s full pink lips, he allowed his tongue to explore deep into the sweet mouth of the lad. God, he tasted good. And how he wanted those pouting lips on his hardening cock right now. However, the Steward’s common sense was victorious in the tussle with his libido.

“Go,” he said. “Go now. And good luck.”