Chapter 58 - The Queen of Spain

“When do you want to leave?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My Lord?”

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

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

“What does she want, my Lord?”

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

“You doubt her motives, naturally.”

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

“What do you think she will do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goo-goo, gah-gah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

The Prince protested extensively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 54 - A Humiliating Evacuation

The autumn sun was warm in the monastery grounds. There, many miles away from the kinky goings-on in Alexander Courcey’s bedchamber, Will worked industriously at the cabbage patch. The kindly Brother Ralf had, to Will’s relief, decreed that whilst the thin gossamer blouse he had been made to wear might be suitable for indoors, he would need sturdier garments for working in the fields. So his broad young shoulders and muscular thighs were, temporarily at least, clad in coarse hessian and linen.

The cruel steel of the cock cage was a permanent torment to him, but he found that if he threw himself into his physical labour during the day, he would be so exhausted that sleep came quickly. Nevertheless, the torture of being unable to ejaculate for all these months weighed heavily on him. Many was the time that he felt he could have cried with frustration, and he cursed Raymond bitterly.

He made sure to keep out of the Abbot’s way as much as possible. This was a relatively straightforward task. The Abbot was frequently absent from the monastery, visiting and being entertained by the various merchants and landowners in the area. When he was there, he would usually lay in bed till late morning and then, after his gargantuan midday meal, retired to his chambers for silent contemplation. (Though the snoring emanating from the window belied his true activity.)

Will was perfectly happy with this arrangement. He well remembered the lustful glint in the Abbot’s eye the day he had stripped him, and, in spite of good Brother Ralf’s assurances on the unimpeachability of the Abbot’s character, Will remained unconvinced.

Will wiped the sweat from his brow, and, having pulled another leafy cabbage from the ground, he was suddenly aware as a shadow fell across him. Will looked up - straight into the handsome face of a tall novice monk. Will recognised him instantly - his dark hair and chiselled jaw made him look more like a knight from a romance novel, and he looked most incongruous in his religious garb. The monk smiled and his full lips parted to reveal a dazzling set of sparkling white teeth.

“I have been wanting to say hello,” he said, and his voice was rich and warm. “I am Brother Henry, but my friends call me Hal.”

He offered his hand for Will to shake. 

Will, conscious of the dirt smeared across his palm, did his best to wipe it on his smock.

“Will,” he said simply. “I am Will.”

The two young men - one tall and dark, one short and fair - regarded one another for a moment.

“I must go,” said Hal with a slight shake of his head. “I have my prayers to attend to.”

Will watched him return to the abbey, confusion in his heart - and a warm tingling in his crotch.

Back at the castle bedchamber, Alexander worked swiftly. He knew that the Prince’s ass was now crammed so full of sweeties that no amount of willpower or muscle control could keep them inside for long. The question was not if but when that gorgeous golden body rebelled and expelled all that nasty gunk into Felix’s shimmering crimson hose.

The Prince was impotent as Alexander pulled up the waistband of the scarlet tights so that once again they encased his beautiful royal bum and then released the cords that bound his wrists and ankles. Then the rope around the Prince’s bulging belly was untied. How Felix wished he could flee: escape the excruciating and humiliating torture! However, at the moment, any sudden movements would undoubtedly result in a spasm deep in his bowels, meaning his cargo of mushed up, sweet, sticky gunge would be unceremoniously deposited into his hose. Even now, he still had his pride, and the prospect of escaping through the mocking throng of courtiers and palace servants - at his beck and call mere hours ago - whilst shitting cream and chocolate into his tights was more than he could bear.

Besides, Alexander was taking no chances. The bottle of potion was forced under Felix’s nose, so that the world swam before him once more, leaving him with neither the ability nor the will to escape. The lust rose in him like sap in a tree and in spite of himself, he found his cock hardening in his spangly red tights. Then in a suddenly unexpected movement, Alexander rolled his royal victim off the bed. Woozy, confused and distressed, the Prince, tumbled to the floor. 

“Get up, my slutty princeling!” snapped Alexander. “Let me see you waddle round the room in your tights for my amusement.”

Felix - his head swimming - crawled to his feet, focused solely on the desperate urge to squeeze his asshole tight. My, but it was a hell of a task! The slightest motion set off a gurgling in his distended belly, and the waves of cramping became more frequent and more urgent.

He clenched his jaw tight in the hope that screwing up all his muscles would give him the strength he needed. Then he panted, his breathing coming quick and fast with the exertion.

“Oooh, poor baby boy,” cooed Alexander. “You’re working so hard to keep from crapping yourself, aren’t you? The effort it must be taking. The desperation! How humiliating for you. Having your arse stuffed with goodies and then needing to keep them all inside you. You must want nothing more than the blessed relief of allowing your bowels to open and evacuate all that nasty gunk. But you know the price if you do - the shameful act of soiling those lovely tights of yours. And who knows how long a cruel master like I might keep you in that degraded and dirty state, eh? Now, you heard me, my slave boy. I want to see you waddling. But be careful. Move too suddenly and you will almost certainly have an accident. And we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

Gingerly, Felix spread his legs wide, his muscles aching from being stretched in their rope bondage. The hardness of his cock, straining and prodding against the silken red fabric of his hose, clinging indecently to him, tingled with heat. 

“Sway your hips, bitch. Let me see that ass wiggle. Ooh your bum looks so tight! Like sculpted marble and so enticing with that thin veneer of red material to clothe it, albeit only barely.”

In spite of himself, the Prince found himself unable to disobey the hypnotic taunting of the older man. Nearby, Raymond licked his lips, as Felix stuck his arse out like a common whore, writhing and undulating. The strong thigh muscles, encased in the luxurious hosiery, bunching as he lifted first one foot and then the other for his new master’s delight.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” gasped the Prince suddenly as a fresh wave of cramps - the most severe yet - threatened to broach the fragile dam of his tender arsehole.

“Don’t you fucking dare shit yourself, boy!” commanded Alexander. “You squeeze that hole as if your life depended on it! Who knows? Maybe it does.”

The Prince’s face went even redder with the exertion, and tears welled in his eyes as he screwed up his proud and noble features as part of this debasing challenge.

“I can’t hold on much longer!” he wailed in anguish. “Can’t you see? I’m desperate!”

“You impudent brat!” declared Alexander. “I can see the thrashing your godfather gave you has taught you no lesson at all. It seems I must administer another spanking to that royal arse of yours!”

With lightning speed, Alexander’s arm encircled the Prince’s slender waist, and before he knew what happened, the golden young man was tipped over the Steward’s lap, his head dangling and the toes of his red-hosed feet pointing at the ceiling. This position was even more dangerous for someone in Felix’s predicament: the pressure on his swollen belly as it rested on Alexander’s hose-clad thigh served only to intensify his desperation. 

Alexander slipped his hand between the Prince’s stomach and his own leg, and prodded it with his finger. “No, please, no!” hissed Felix.

“Ah,” murmured Alexander. “Finally you have learned some manners. We progress. Slowly, but nevertheless… Clearly a well-stocked arsechute is conducive to your temperament, your highness.”

The Steward’s hand continued to roam over Felix’s vulnerable body. “And your royal cock is still fully erect in your tights. Good. I’m glad that your humiliation turns you on as much as it does I. My own purple-covered prick is pressing into your side as I speak. It is so delightful to feel your sweating, straining, muscle-bound body, writhing and wriggling across my lap…”

Alexander squeezed the Prince’s package, before moving his attention to the twin rotundity of Felix’s ass cheeks. He bent down to whisper in the Prince’s ear.

“Soon we shall have the flesh of your buttocks as red as the tights that cover them. How do you like the sound of that, my Lord?”

A couple of gentle slaps to begin with, as Alexander merely enjoyed the sensation of being able to warm his palms on the Prince’s perfect butt cheeks, before he moved on a firmer spanking.

Felix grunted and gasped, trying desperately not to allow the new sensation of the spanking distract him from his primary aim of keeping his cargo of cream, chocolate, pastry and sugar within him. He knew at some point he must lose the battle. His body was simply not designed to retain this colossal amount. Every fibre and nerve seemed to scream for him to release, and only his willpower and his poor, abused arsehole resisted the terrible urge.

“Aarrgh!” screamed the Prince as yet another wave of pain struck his guts. “Let - me - use - the - latrine, you bastard!”

But Alexander merely tutted and spanked the Prince’s tush even harder. “Such bad manners, your highness. And you were doing so well…”

The older man could feel Felix’s body tensing and convulsing beneath him. He was impressed. He really had not expected the Prince to be able to last so long. Felix prided himself on his virginity and so his arsehole was totally inexperienced and untrained. Perhaps that explained it, Alexander mused to himself, his sphincter was so tight it was able to work more efficiently than many slave sluts he had abused. Glancing grimly at Raymond, he doubted whether the page boy could have lasted so long.

However, the end to the little game must come soon. The profiteroles and marshmallows would have melted completely by now from the heat of the young man’s insides. And that chocolatey, sugary enema would be irritating in the extreme.

“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!” cried the Prince. His asshole had been squeezed so tight for so long that it had become almost numb to any sensation, so the first realisation he had that the barrier had been broached was the dampness between his legs. 

“Oh yes, my Lord,” cooed Alexander, as, fascinated, he watched the chocolatey trickle dribbling from the Prince’s pulsing hole, staining the fine scarlet gusset of his tights. “You have succumbed at last, I see. What a dirty little boy you are…”

His spirit broken, something else in Prince Felix seemed to give as well, and the small trickle went on. “Oh God, oh sweet Lord,” he gibbered in a combination of despair and relief. There was no point in holding back now, and when the next painful cramp hit his belly, Felix did not resist, and, sobbing now from the sheer humiliation of his predicament, he gave in to the momentary pleasure of forcing the hateful concoction out of his long-suffering body.

A loud, squelching fart accompanied the expulsion, and even Alexander was a little taken aback by the power and the velocity of the gunk that shot from between the Prince’s butt cheeks and filled the back of his tights. 

“Why, you filthy little bitch!” he declared. “You’ve soiled yourself and more importantly, you’ve soiled my fine palm as I spank you! Get up off my lap. I’ve no desire for you to dirty my beautiful clean tights as you have defiled your own!”

On tottering feet, Felix clambered off his master’s lap, his arse belching forth another wave of effluent as he did so. The sugary liquid began to run in meandering rivulets down his crimson legs, even as the bulk of the residue remained lodged stubbornly in the seat of his hose. The pastry shells of the profiteroles had resisted total disintegration. He wanted nothing more than to be able to pull down his scarlet tights and rid himself of the soggy burden lying there, but it remained a damp and heavy reminder of his humiliation.

The tears flowed freely now. It was all too awful for any other response. The Crown Prince of England, stripped only to his tights, wave after wave of glutinous liquid erupting from his tender arsehole, flooding and fouling his hose and himself.

“You may well sob like a baby, young Felix. For that is what you have been reduced to. A bawling infant, with no control over his bowels. Shitting himself in my presence!”
Alexander drank in the sight before him, savouring his victory over this, his long-standing nemesis. “Look at what you are reduced to. The Prince of England stripped to the waist, emptying his sugary enema into his tights! How excruciating for you this must feel!”

Quick as a flash, Alexander’s palm was clamped over the Prince’s mouth, and the evil potion was once more forced under Felix’s nose. With no option but to inhale its fumes once more, Felix soon succumbed again to its arousing effects. He swayed from side to side, desperately aware of the rapidly cooling bulk in the seat of his hose. He dared not look down to see the disgusting and degraded creature he had become. And as Alexander continued to taunt him, the potion worked its magic and he found the humiliation turning him once more.

Alexander glanced at his own palm, streaked with chocolate, and grimaced. “You filthy brat,” he murmured, and he wiped his hand across the Prince’s chiselled features and down his sculptured torso, smearing the melted gunk across his victim. He lingered at the Prince’s crotch, where that beautifully proportioned prick pressed urgently against the tight red constriction of the hosiery. Felix hated himself for it, but he could not resist pushing his erection into Alexander’s hand. He told himself it was the potion, but broken shell that he was, he could no longer tell. All he knew was that he desperately wanted Alexander to jerk his cock through the silky softness of his tights. He whimpered with a lust he didn't understand.

“So our dirty baby bitch is horny, eh? It seems that you crave the humiliation of being a tights slave after all. Having your arse filled and then emptying it into your hose. But you are a naughty, disobedient little bitch aren't you? Did I not order you not to release your load until I gave you express permission? Very well. For the entertainment you have afforded me, I am going to show you some mercy. Though Lord knows you do not deserve it for the pathetic lack of self-control you have exhibited here. But I will show you that it is good for a master to show kindness to his subservients. Go over to the corner. Right there, in front of the mirror.”

He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, his reactions blurred by the sex potion. Fearful of what would happen to him if he disobeyed, Felix stumbled over to the mirror, his arse clammy from the clagging gunge lying in his tights.

“Have a good look, my tights bitch!”

The Prince bit his lower lip as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. What a sorry specimen he looked! His handsome features were flushed from the effects of the potion, and smeared with chocolate. The stain spread down his well-proportioned pectoral muscles, down to where the top of his crimson hose clung to his waist. His pretty cock pointed to the ceiling and bulged hard inside the contour-hugging fabric of the tights. His posture accentuated the strong, shapely muscles of his thighs and calves: legs were bent, ass pushed out, to try and keep the horrible gunge as far from his skin as he could.

“Turn around and see what that gorgeous bum of yours looks like now,” taunted Alexander.

Gingerly, fearful of what he would see, Felix did as he was ordered. His gaze could not avoid being drawn to the bulging mess at the seat of his tights: a brown, blossoming stain of chocolate, marshmallows, cream and pastries. How he wished he could plunge into a warm bath and rid himself of the demeaning evidence of Alexander’s repulsive enema game.

“What a filthy little maggot you are, eh? All those sweet goodies warmed inside your ass and now clinging to you inside the kinky confines of your hosiery! How does that make you feel, your Highness?”

“It’s filthy… disgusting…” mumbled the humiliated young man. “To have my arse packed with food and then made to expel it all into my tights. How dare you…”

“Oh I dare, all right. Now - I want to see you sit down in all that gunk.”

“No, please…”

“A fine time for you to learn some manners. But it is too little, too late, slut Prince. Don’t keep me waiting, boy. Sit!”

Felix screwed up his gorgeous features in anticipation, as he lowered himself to the ground, and he gulped in fresh distaste as his ass made contact with the floorboards. The gooey mess made a squelching sound as it was pushed around the crotch and gusset of his ruined hose, forced back into the crack between his arse cheeks and up in front now to coat his balls with the chocolatey gunk.

“Is Baby Felix going to cry?” mocked Alexander. “Ah boo-hoo! First he poops himself and now he cries like the little baby bitch he truly is as he is forced to sit cross-legged in his own mess…”

Suddenly the Prince felt his golden hair grabbed by Alexander’s cruel fist, and once more, the noxious fumes of the magic potion went up his nose and into his body.

In spite of himself, a fresh wave of lust flooded through the Prince, and he heard Alexander’s words as if from far away:

“Now, wiggle that ass, boy so that you slip and slide around in all that gunge! That’s right. Now, bounce. Bounce up and down on the floor in your dirty tights. Good bitch, doing your Master’s bidding! You please me at last!”
Raymond observed in a shadowy corner, fascinated as, the Prince, his willpower seemingly neutralised by the evil potion, did as he was ordered, and, like a mere toy, bounced and squelched in his soiled hose, crying freely now like a baby. How he wished he were free to slip a surreptitious hand inside his own tights and begin to jerk his cock, but annoyingly his hands remained cuffed behind his back. He was deeply aroused to see his former master reduced to this degraded condition, he could only hope that Alexander would continue to allow him to observe the spectacle.

“All that claggy gunk must be feeling really nasty against your private parts, eh? So dirty. And yet that cock of yours still strains for release. I think that would be the ultimate humiliation now, don’t you? Sitting stewing in that sticky mess for my entertainment and wanking yourself off into your soiled tights?”

His head swimming from the erotic brew, Felix’s face was a mask of conflicting desires. He had been brought up to believe that his semen was holy, not to be spilled or wasted. He had spent his life denying his libido, waiting for the day when the most physically and mentally perfect vessel in the world - his bride to be - would receive his God-given sperm and conceive their child. And now to spill it in this debauched scene for the benefit of his hated enemy. He would not. He could not!

And yet, and yet… He found himself controlled by a deeper, darker power. His prick twitched and convulsed at the prospect of achieving orgasm and spilling his white creamy seed into the front of his tights. However he might fight it, his brain in this instant was controlled only by his sexual urges. In spite of himself, he found his hand straying to his crotch.

“That’s it, you filthy little whore. You know you want it. Yes - pull open the waistband of your sodden tights and reach inside. Aw, your pretty little pecker is quite, quite desperate, no? Mmm, yes carry on squirming, feeling all that gunk around your arse and bollocks. Slipping into your most intimate crevices. And now - you start to jerk that dirty slave cock of yours. Feels good, doesn’t it? Oh yes. See what I have reduced you to. My bitch boy. Scrabbling around on the floor in his gunge-filled tights, tugging desperately at his prick…”

The potion overwhelmed the Prince. He could not tear his eyes from his reflection: the sight of what he had become. From the gorgeously primped and coiffured royal, to this sweating, grunting pig, his tights slick with cream and melted marshmallows, only recently evacuated from his own arse. Alexander’s jeering taunts rang in his ears, and he realised just how much the very sight of him was turning on his most hated foe.

Here he was: this godlike specimen, reduced to humping into his own palm, his powerful thigh muscles bunching in the clinging fabric of his hose, his golden body naked save for the thin sheen of crimson.

Raymond was aroused. Alexander was doubly so, and as he crowed over the defeated young man, he freed his coiled serpent from the constriction of his purple tights.

“Come now, Prince Slut. Enough delay. I want to see you cum. I want to see your pretty Prince cock emptying itself into the crotch of your tights. Squirm, bitch. Bounce your pert little bottom in that dirty hose! Do it! Cum for your Master! Faster! Faster! Pound that cock in your fist! Fill your tights with your jism! Now!!”

Felix’s breathing quickened. His hand worked quicker, slicked up with cream that lubricated his cock. His balls ached desperately, and he closed his eyes in the agony of suspense. And then - it came. His eyes rolled up in his head, his body went rigid, and wave after wave after wave of hot semen shot in the air. And at that precise moment, a fresh stream of cum came from nowhere to hit him smack in the face. White ribbons draped themselves across his blue eyes and full pink lips, as Alexander anointed him with his own triumphant waves of ecstasy.

Silence hung in the air. Eventually Felix’s body ceased its juddering orgasm. He stared back at his pitiful reflection in the mirror: this sweating, cum-streaked, gunged-up, tights-clad sex slave and let out a desperate shriek of anguish: “Nooooo!!!”