Chapter 61 - In the Stock(ing)s

 

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

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

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

Chapter 49 - Examined by the Abbot

Will must have slept most of the rest of the day. He hadn’t realised quite how exhausted he was. Night after night, sleeping tied up in a bar had not been exactly conducive to good, wholesome rest. So the truckle bed in his tiny cell in the monastery now felt like the height of luxury.

Brother Ralf had told him that the novices and junior monks all slept in one dormitory, but that it would not be appropriate for Will to share their sleeping arrangements given that for now, he was merely a guest in their home. He still had not seen any sign of the other inhabitants, Ralf informing him that they were either studying or in private contemplation. He would meet his new living companions soon enough.

It was late afternoon when he overheard voices coming from the hallway outside his cell. Straightaway, he recognised the quietly mellifluous Brother Ralf: “It is good to have you back with us, Father. The monastery felt your absence keenly. May I take it that the Prince’s birthday celebrations were a success?”

A fruity guffaw burst forth from Brother Ralf’s companion. “You could say that. It certainly provided great entertainment for us. Although I fear the Prince may not have enjoyed himself as much as he expected to.”

“That is indeed a pity,” replied Brother Ralf sadly. “I will remember him in my prayers tonight.”

Will pushed open the door of his cell a tiny crack – just enough to enable him to peer out, hopefully unobserved. The man who had apparently attended the Prince’s party was of medium height, and looked to be around sixty years old. He had a ruddy complexion, a bulbous nose – and he was enormously fat. His clerical robes were more ornate than Brother Ralf’s and were trimmed with lace and crimson. Wiry grey hairs sprouted from his nose and ears: indeed from almost everywhere other than the top of his head.

Suddenly, his rheumy black eyes turned to look precisely where Will was lurking. “Well, well, who is this eavesdropping on our conversation?” he chuckled to himself.

Abashed, Will opened the door of the cell and stepped out into the corridor. Brother Ralf smiled serenely. “He is called Will,” he said. “And I have offered him shelter and sanctuary in his time of need.”

The fat man nodded, apparently satisfied with this explanation.

“Will,” continued Brother Ralf, “this is Our Holy Father, Abbot Cuthbert.”

Not sure of the proper etiquette, Will bowed deeply.

The Abbot smiled broadly. “Welcome, Will, to our humble abode. I trust and hope that you will find succour and peace in the arms of the Lord.”

The next few days passed quietly for young Will. Brother Ralf was compassionate and companionable, and most gratifyingly for Will, he did not ask questions about Will’s past, but accepted that if Will did feel the need to talk about something he would. Will gladly helped out weeding and harvesting vegetables from the allotment and was grateful for the honest physical exercise that doing so afforded, after his weeks of restricted movement, tethered in Lunk’s barn.

Brother Ralf introduced him briefly to the other monks and novices, but Will soon realised that they were being trained in solitude and silent contemplation, so there would be little or no chance for him to get to know any of them properly. If he were completely honest with himself, that was something of a pity. One or two of the older novices: tall, broad-backed, clear-eyed and handsome caused a definite spasm from his caged cock whenever they passed by the monastery gardens. In spite of himself, he found he was imagining them stripped of their unflattering and all-concealing brown habits, and dressed in the peacock-like finery of the castle page boys.

As Will turned the soil in the garden, he daydreamed of one particular young man, whose dark locks fell in waves to his shoulders. His upper body was lithe and well-muscled, and Will could only presume that his lower half would be equally well-proportioned. He checked himself at once. How had it happened that he no longer ever fantasised about young women like the full-breasted Jane StClare? Only of masculine young men with muscular thighs and pert bubble butts...

Then again, what else could he expect? After all, he had been surrounded almost exclusively by men for the best part of the past year! Mistress Olwen and his hated sister-in-law Lizzie had been the only females he had had any contact with. So, combined with the period of prolonged sexual chastity that he had been forced to endure, was it any wonder his libido was out of kilter? That was a reassuring thought, at least. Once he had recovered his strength, and the danger of being pursued by Lunk’s evil gang had passed, he would move on, and live a normal life...

His reverie was broken by a coarse cry from beyond the monastery wall.

“Why there you are, you little shite!”

It all happened in the blink of an eye. Before he could catch his breath, a tall, leather-clad man, swift as a shadow, had vaulted over the low wall and was sprinting towards him. Will could only gawp in astonishment. It was Ebony the thief.

Will had no intention of being captured yet again, so he picked up his hoe from the ground and made ready to use it to defend himself. However, he had no chance to strike a blow against the trespasser. From out of nowhere, Brother Ralf appeared and stepped in front of him.

“No,” said Brother Ralf, calmly but firmly. “This is God’s land. You have no right to be here.”

Ebony seemed to hesitate in the face of the implacable monk. Then he recovered himself and grinned crookedly. “I mean you no harm, Father. But this urchin belongs to me.”

Brother Ralf shook his head. “He has been granted sanctuary here, and here he will stay for as long as he chooses.”

“Is that so?” wheedled the robber. “I have a gang of a dozen strong men not two hundred yards from here. One call to them and I can take him by force, whatever you say.”

“You take him over my dead body, my son. Would you risk the blood of a clergyman tainting your everlasting soul?”

Will watched as the cocky smile faded from Ebony’s face. Clearly even an irreligious scoundrel like him had some limits. He reached his decision. “Alright, you can keep him. But this creature has stolen from me. A fur, a bag of coins, a dagger – and some boots that belong to one of our number. Am I to be robbed of those as well?”

This time it was the monk’s turn to smile, and he did so serenley. “No, my son. We have no desire to keep anything that is rightfully yours. Follow me into the monastery and I will gladly give you the material objects you so desire. But I do so on the understanding that you cease to lay any claim to this youth.”

Will observed, fascinated, as greed and lust tussled in Ebony’s mind. But ultimately, there was no question about which would triumph.

“Alright,” he conceded. “We won’t trouble you again, Father. And you have some balls, I’ll grant you that.”

Brother Ralf nodded, as dignified as ever, and keeping a watchful eye on the rogue, led Ebony inside to retrieve his hoard of treasures.

As the thief passed Will, he whispered in his ear, “Too bad, bitch boy. You should have come with me. We’d have had some fun, you know. And I might even have taken that pesky little cock cage off your dick. Looks like you’re gonna be stuck with it now...”

Will was relieved that he was not pressurised to participate in the religious rituals of the monastery. His faith had never been very strong to begin with, and his recent experiences made it very hard to believe that any kind of divine force was caring for him. That evening, as Brother Ralf made his way to the chapel for some private contemplation, he told Will that the Abbot had expressed a desire to speak to him.

“Have I done something wrong?” asked Will.

“No, my son,” smiled Brother Ralf. “Our Father takes a pastoral interest in all those under his roof.”

So it was that moments later, Will found himself standing obediently in the Abbot’s private chambers. He masked his surprise at the opulent tapestries that adorned the walls, and the rich red velvet of the Abbot’s robes: a sharp contrast to the ascetism of Brother Ralf and the novice monks.

“Come closer, lad,” smiled the Abbot indulgently. “Let me take a closer look at you.”

Will approached the Abbot’s chair, and caught a whiff of his breath: heavy with wine and red meat. The man’s lips were full and sensual, and coated with a fine sheen of spittle.

“Brother Ralf tells me you served at the castle for a while.”

“Yes, Father.”

“But that of late you have been in the company of vagabonds and thieves.”

“I’m afraid so, but through no choice of my own.”

“We must give thanks that the Lord has delivered you into ... friendlier hands.”

The Abbot rose from his chair, and crumbs of cake fell from his lap. Slowly and deliberately, he waddled towards Will and stood behind him.

“Now, young William. I take it Brother Ralf has conducted a full medical examination of you?”

Will was wrong-footed by the unexpected query.

“An examination, my Lord? No, Sir.”

The Abbot tutted to himself. “Dear me, that was most remiss of him. We must think of the health and welfare of all the monks living here. Who knows what terrible diseases you might have brought with you? Why, you could be riddled with parasites for all we know!”

The Abbot’s mouth was so close to Will’s ear, he could feel the flicker of the man’s tongue against his lobe and hot breath on his neck.

“It is fortunate that, as a novice monk, I underwent considerable medical training. I will be able to ascertain whether it is safe for you to continue to reside with us. Now, lad, remove your clothing...”

Will hesitated. He could not rid himself of the overwhelming suspicion that this supposedly holy man was in truth aroused by the prospect of having him stand naked before him. Surely it couldn’t be happening again? Just when he thought he had finally found a home where he would not be used as a sexual plaything! Moreover, the last thing he wanted to have to do was explain the presence of the chastity device hanging heavy between his legs.

“What are you waiting for? There is no need to be nervous...” The Abbot hissed sibilantly as he placed one sweaty palm on Will’s shoulder. ‘Do as you are told. Strip!”

Reluctantly, Will untied his cord belt, and stepped out of his long brown habit. The Abbot let out a small involuntary gasp at the sight of Will’s nude form. He rested a beringed hand on the back of Will’s neck, and slowly slid his palm down the smooth, pale flesh of Will’s back, until it came to rest just above his plump buttocks.

“Good. Good. You have no outward blemishes on the skin. No sign of leprosy or the plague.” The Abbot’s voice was hoarse and his breathing short.

The fat man’s hand continued its journey, and slowly carressed Will’s juicy arse cheeks. “A good, round rump! That’s what we medical men like to see! And strong, firm, thighs. Your body is deceptively muscular for such a short young man. Yes, a fine young specimen. Very fine indeed.”

Will blushed to hear his body being described in such glowing terms. And his cock, within its captivity, began to twitch, and once again show signs of the desire to harden. Instinctively, he moved his hands to try and hide his genitals, just as the Abbot made a move to examine him from the front.

“Ha! Now don’t be shy, young man,” laughed the holy man, swatting Will’s hands away from his crotch. “It’s nothing I have not seen before!”

Left with no choice, Will let his arms hang by his side.

“Now what have we here?” cooed the Abbot with interest. “A most unusual and unexpected find!” He reached out and hefted the chastity device and its contents into his sweaty palm. “Why have you been fitted with this, young William?”

Will was too ashamed to look the religious man in the eyes. “I was put in it at the castle.”

“Speak up now, young man! Nice and clear – no mumbling!”

“It was a punishment at the castle, Holy Father.”

“Hmmm... most interesting. I shan’t ask for what reason you were punished. We are all sinners after all – you can make your peace with God at confession. I can only assume that you have been locked into a chastity device due to an unwholesome attachment to the sins of the flesh. All of us here in the monastery have taken holy vows of celibacy. So it reassures me that if you have an inclination to lustful thoughts, measures have been taken to ensure you cannot act upon them. I approve, young William.”

The Abbot’s eyes twinkled with delight and he passed his tongue over his wet lips. He released the cock cage and lifted Will’s testicles into his wide palm, rubbing and rolling them between his fingers. Will’s cock – desperate to harden – started to leak precum through the hole in the end of the metal cylinder.

“Open your mouth, boy. Wider.”

And with that, the Abbot inserted two fingers into Will’s mouth and began to probe inside, pushing against his gums and tongue.

“One last place to check. Bend over, boy and touch your toes...”

Sighing deeply, Will did as he was instructed, and felt the familiar sensation of fat fingers nudging at his arsehole. The Abbot started with a couple of experimental prods, before pushing more firmly with his wet index finger.

“Oooh, there we go. Sliding in nice and smoothly. Good, good.”

The velvet robes of the Abbot brushed against Will’s naked thighs as he stood motionless, his pert bottom pointing towards the ceiling, the cleric’s finger wiggling around inside his anus.

Will felt bewildered. This was the Abbot himself: a man of God, and the holiest man he had ever met. Was he becoming arrogant and simply assuming that every man he encountered would naturally desire to fuck him? Surely this bizarre encounter was exactly as it appeared: a straightforward medical examination – didn’t it?! And yet experience of such things and the breathless panting of the obese man, who even now had his finger up his ass, certainly suggested otherwise to young Will.

At last the Abbot seemed satisfied, and withdrew his forefinger from Will’s tight hole. “You may stand upright, my son. You have no disease or infection as far as I can tell.”

Will did as he was instructed and reached for his brown robe.

“I think not,” murmured the Abbot. “Although we follow the example set by our Lord Christ, by offering our help and our forgiveness to all sinners, no matter how licentious; nevertheless, it would be unseemly for a peasant boy who has had to be chastised in the past for his lustful urges to wear the same habit as the holy monks who live here and who permanently dedicate their lives to God.” He paused to lick his lips. “Don’t you agree?”

Will, left with no other choice, nodded dumbly.

The Abbot opened a drawer and produced a white shirt, made of a thin, goassamer like material.

“You can wear this instead,” he said, handing the garment to Will. “Come along now. What are you waiting for? Put it on.”

Will pulled the chemise over his head.

“There,” said the Abbot, retying the cord belt around Will’s waist, “that is more appropriate!”

Will waited in expectation of being handed some breeches for his lower portions, but none seemed forthcoming.

“You may go, William,” came the instruction.

Will looked down forlornly at his new garments. The hem of the white shirt reached just below his crotch. A mere inch or two of material shielded the steel cock-cage from view. At the rear, the blouse barely skimmed his buttocks.

Anticipating Will's objections, the Abbot surreptitiously slipped his fat palm under the shirt and patted him lightly on the posterior.

“For autumn, it is yet mild. We don't want you getting over-heated as you work in the monastery gardens now, do we? This garb is most suitable, I'm sure you'll agree.”

Will could only nod.

“Now I shouldn't have to tell you twice, young man. You are dismissed.”

Later, in the kitchen, Will explained to Brother Ralf the Abbot's reasoning behind his new costume.

“The Holy Father is wise in all things,” was all the monk would reply.

It was a delicate question but Will could not help but ask, “Does he follow all the same vows as you – obedience... chastity...?”

“Of course. He is the wisest, the holiest, the best man I know.”

Something in Brother Ralf's tone warned Will to drop this line of questioning, but he remembered the lascivious panting of the fat old man, and he wondered just how strong the Abbot's vows of celibacy would actually prove to be…

Chapter 48 - A Change of Habit

Will opened his eyes groggily. How long had he slept, he wondered. Gingerly, he raised his head and looked around him. Moonlight illuminated the sky, and the noisy snoring of the dozen bandits assailed his ears. He was still lying, discarded, in the corner of the barn. It all flooded back to him. After the episode with the beer enema, the raucous party had continued: the robbers growing even more inebriated. The alcohol had made them argumentative and aggressive and they had fallen to brawling, Lunk pummelling his cronies with his ham-like fists. Will, meanwhile, to his relief, had been forgotten about.

A sudden thought occurred to him. Could it be true? Could it be that, in their drunkenness, they had actually forgotten to tether him to the iron ring in the barn’s wall? Praise the Lord! Yes, they had!

A wild hope leaped within him. He would need to think quickly: a process hindered by the pounding headache he was experiencing. Had anyone ever had a hangover before from taking beer up their anus, he wondered vaguely.

What to do now? His first instinct was to get on his feet and to run as far and as fast as he could. Then, as his bleary head began to clear, the practicalities of the situation began to sink in. The chill of autumn had set in, and besides, he could not very well go traipsing around the countryside naked.

He tiptoed over to the haul of loot that the gang had snatched earlier that night and sent up a quick prayer of thanks that there, dumped amongst the silverware, coins and wine bottles, lay a small selection of furs. He picked up the largest and managed to wrap it around himself, tying it off with a leather studded belt. It was not ideal, but it made a kind of short tunic that at least covered his upper body and genitals, though it left his muscular legs bare and exposed. And for once, further good fortune smiled on Will as he noticed that one of the thugs had discarded his leather boots on the ground before falling asleep. They were too big for Will, but they were better than nothing and would at least mean he did not have to flee barefoot!

What else to take? He snatched up a handful of coins and a small dagger. He glanced over to the snoring throng. Once they awoke and realised he had slipped from their clutches, they’d be sure to pursue him. Would it be safer to slit their throats now as they slept? He rejected the idea almost immediately. He could not take the chance of one or more of them awaking before the job was done. He could never take them all on! Besides, in spite of the cruelty he had experienced at their hands, he did not think, even now, that he could bring himself to murder a dozen men in cold blood. No, the best thing to do would be to set off straight away and get as big a head start as possible before they woke and inevitably came after him.

Will inhaled a lungful of fresh night air and took one final look at Lunk, lying prone and unconscious on the ground. Then he stole out of the barn and started out on his way to – who knew where? For the first time in over a year he was master of his own destiny. Where that would lead him, heaven only knew!

No such luxury as freedom for young Raymond StClare and his highness Prince Felix of England. It may have been the early hours of the morning but there was to be no sleep for these two young men.

“They’ll pay for this, those fuckers,” swore the Prince through gritted teeth. “How dare they? How dare they?!!”

Raymond sighed deeply. The Prince had kept on with this theme, incandescent with rage, for the past hour – as long as the two of them had been incarcerated in the castle dungeon.

They had been taken, still naked but for their sopping wet hosiery, and with Raymond’s peachy arse hanging out of the back of his piebald tights, from the courtyard, under the watchful gaze of Alexander and his cronies. Now they were manacled and secured to opposite walls of the dungeon. Felix thrashed impotently at his chains.

“They will all die for this. Anyone who witnessed my humiliation this evening will pay. Every single one of them! I swear that as a solemn oath! Don’t they know who I am?!” His voice rose even higher and became a scream. “I am God’s chosen. The Prince of this realm!” He balled his hand into a fist and thumped the uncaring stone wall.

Raymond remained silent as the Prince continued his tirade. “And as for you – grovelling at the feet of that traitor! ‘Ravish me, Sir! Fuck my arse!’ What kind of man are you?”

“One who would stay alive,” hissed Raymond through gritted teeth.

For a moment, Felix was stunned into silence.

“Your highness,” Raymond went on, in a more conciliatory tone. “Remember when you first laid eyes on me? It was the lowest point of my life. I had been for months at the mercy of that revolting Sir Wilfrid – used day and night as his sex slave, his pisspot. I was a mere animal at the whim of a crazed and perverted old man. Did I give up hope? No. I had to believe that I would escape from that hellish bed chamber. And sure enough – you raised me up to your right hand. My point, Sire, is that the wheel of fortune has turned. It will turn again. But we must try and stay alive long enough to enjoy our return to power and the inevitable downfall of your godfather and Alexander Courcey. For now, that requires obedience and compliance.”

“And for that,” sneered the Prince. “You are prepared to prostitute yourself! To hawk your arse like some common slut on the street! Have you no pride?”

Raymond gritted his teeth. “Oh I have my pride, and believe me, I’m as angry as you are. But remember, I have not had your privileged upbringing, my Lord. My father was a squire to the king. He was a noble man, but he was poor, and when he died my sister and I inherited only his debts. However, I am a quick learner. And from the moment I arrived in this God-forsaken castle, I realised the quickest way to advance would be to wiggle my bum in Master Courcey’s direction. I did it before to become his favourite. I’m more than prepared to do it again in order to save my life.”

Felix shook his head. “I would rather die than submit to such obscene degradation.”

“Really, my Lord? You’re dead an awfully long time, you know. And if I’m not mistaken, didn’t you wiggle your arse at him not that long ago? When you tricked him into trying to seduce you?”

Raymond knew that this was a risky strategy, but the whirlwind events of the past few hours had made him reckless, and he was not particularly in the mood for the Prince’s sanctimonious cant.

“That was different,” stuttered Prince Felix. “I was trying to catch him out.”

“And you did so most successfully, your highness. But did you really gain no satisfaction whatsoever as he groped your tights and climb into bed with you...?”

Felix gulped. He well remembered how he had feigned lust and allowed Alexander to paw at his body, fondle his royal cock through his hose, even to lie atop him. But that had all been in order to trap the traitor and to ensure the Steward’s downfall. Yes, Felix conceded to himself, he had been moderately excited by the sensations – but that was purely due to the thrill of deceiving the treasonous older man and for no other reason. After all, he himself was not prone to such perversions.

The Prince recovered his dignity. “You and your fellow slut page boys might experience such stirrings of lust. I am from nobler stock,” he remarked pompously.

Raymond sniffed. “Whatever, you needn’t think Courcey will get away with this. When the King returns, I will personally take great pleasure in exacting my revenge on dear Master Alexander. I’m younger than him. I’m cuter than him. I’m cleverer than him. And I’m more ambitious as well.”

Silence fell in the cell as the two young men seethed indignantly.

Eventually the Prince spoke – and his voice was now rather meeker than before. “You’ve served Courcey for many years, Raymond. What do you think he will do to us?”

Raymond contemplated for a moment. “It’s hard to say: his sexual appetites are broad, and as you know already, encompass a range of kinks and perversions. His main turn-on – as you may have realised already – is humiliation: he loves seeing a good-looking young man completely at his mercy: ideally dressed in figure-hugging tights. He really loves to see a guy with a good body in a pair of hose that show off his legs, crotch and arse. So, with all due respect, your highness – the sight of you naturally drives him wild. He likes to humiliate boys verbally – to point out in great detail the exact predicament in which he has placed them, and how he is in complete control of their destiny. He gets off on tying lads up, gagging them, spanking their bums, forcing them to suck his cock... And he particularly enjoys playing with their arses, including rinsing them out with enemas. Sometimes with something as prosaic as mere water, but often with more imaginative enema solutions. Oh, and if there’s any food to hand, you can bet he’ll want to shove that up a cute lad’s hole as well.”

Felix’s handsome face turned as white as a sheet. “You don’t seriously think he would dare... invade me in that way!”

“You read some of that erotic literature that he keeps in his library. That gives you a broad indication of his tastes. And besides, what does he have to lose? He and Lord Geoffrey have gone this far. They both know by now that if and when you return to power, they are dead men. They will seek to degrade you in every way they can think of.”

“What can we do?”

“Very little, unfortunately, but submit. For now, they have the upper hand. But we will store up all these insults ready for our revenge.”

Raymond watched the Prince, as with growing horror, Felix realised that for the first time in his life, he was at the mercy of someone else.

“Forgive my impertinence, my Lord,” ventured Raymond. “But have you ever lain with either man or woman?”

“You are impertinent, Raymond,” snapped the Prince.

“I was merely curious, your Highness.”

“The fact is,” continued the Prince, full of steely arrogance, “I have never laid eyes on any man or woman who could be deemed worthy of my attentions.”

“Is that so?”

“I have always known that one day I would be required to provide the kingdom with a son and heir, but when that day comes, my bride must needs be the greatest beauty in the world.”

“Then you are as yet a virgin, my Lord? Is that not ... somewhat frustrating for a virile man such as you? Are you never tempted ... to relieve your undoubted sexual urges?”

“We may of necessity be cell mates, Raymond. But this conversation is straying into the realms of sacrilege.”

“My apologies, my Lord. I meant no disrespect.”

Felix turned his piercing blue eyes on him. “I’m no fool. I know you desire me. I’ve felt your manhood harden when we have wrestled. And I know you hope one day to conquer me in the bedroom. Let me inform you now, that that will never happen. I am God’s anointed and the very notion that I could ever share any kind of sexual encounter with a commoner like you is both repugnant and absurd. And if the treasonous Alexander Courcey were to attempt such a thing, well, Odin and Ulfgar may not be able to save me, but I know that God would intervene to protect me. Now, I am going to try and get some sleep. I suggest you do the same.”

And the Prince tried his best to make a bed for himself in the damp straw, his sodden tights outlining the perfect muscularity of his arse and thighs. Raymond’s expression was impenetrable, but there was far less certainty in his mind that divine intervention would prevent the Prince’s virginity being yielded up to Alexander in the not too distant future...

The sun rose, and Will slogged on. He had not dared pause all night: the one thought in his mind to put as much distance between him and the gang of robbers. He must have covered several miles of woodland and glade, and now he found himself desperately in need of a drink. He emerged from a small scrub of trees and saw that he had arrived on the outskirts of what seemed to be a moderately large estate. Various stone buildings nestled together, surrounded by walled allotments. Chickens pecked at their morning feed and a duckpond glistened in the morning sunlight.

A tall, middle aged man with a long face and grey hair, dressed in a long brown robe, was tending some vegetables in the allotment. He looked up and spotted Will by the wall. Will tensed and made to flee, acutely aware that he must look deeply suspicious: a grubby, bruised urchin dressed in only a rich fur cloak and too-big boots.

“No! Wait!” called the gardener. “I mean you no harm.”

Will hesitated. His trust in strange men had been sorely tested over the past year.

“This is a monastery,” the man continued. “We tend to the sick and the unfortunate. You need tell me no more than you wish to. But at least come inside and have a drink and something to eat.”

Will’s hunger and thirst overcame his suspicion. Nodding his head, he accepted the invitation.

The man’s name was Brother Ralf. As he led Will into the kitchen, he explained that he and his fellow monks spent their days in religious contemplation. Only a handful of them remained now, as even they had not been spared the forced conscription to fight in the King’s foreign war. Also living in the monastery were a dozen or so novice monks who were discovering whether God’s path was truly for them. These young men were under the pastoral care and tutelage of the Abbot.

Will fell gratefully onto the bread, cheese and water provided by Brother Ralf, and once he had sated himself, a silence fell and he realised that the monk was waiting for him to tell his story. Will was brief and opted to reveal the minimum amount of information. He told Brother Ralf that he had grown up on a farm, and that a year ago he had been taken to serve as a page boy at Castle Montford. He deliberately omitted any details of what had happened to him during his time in service at the castle: reliving the explicit sexual humiliation to which he had been subjected to this kindly-faced religious man would have been excruciating in the extreme! He told Brother Ralf that he had been returned to his family for a brief while, and that, subsequently, he had been kidnapped and held hostage by a gang of thieves, but that he had managed to escape and was currently on the run from them.

The monk listened in silence to his tale. For a moment, Will panicked that he had been foolish in saying anything at all: would the monk be tempted to betray him to Lunk and his cronies, out of greed or fear? But then he looked more closely at the sad look on Brother Ralf’s face and was reassured that he could indeed trust the cleric.

“You are welcome to seek sanctuary here for as long as you need it, my son,” said the monk. “You say you once worked as a farmhand, and you also have experience serving the nobility at the castle. If you are prepared to help out in our daily household chores, you will not find this an unpleasant place to live.”

Will did not need long to make up his mind. For the first time in over a year, maybe in his entire life, he was master of his own destiny. He was not interested in a life devoted to God, but, for a while at least, he would gladly accept the opportunity for a more peaceful existence. Unlike Prince Felix, Raymond, Lunk, his brother Jack or, yes, even the suave and saturnine Alexander Courcey, Brother Ralf showed no sign of wanting to bully, torment or use him sexually. And for that he was most grateful.

“Thank you, Sir,” said Will simply, his blond fringe falling in front of his deep brown eyes. “I accept your offer.”

The monk smiled and rested his hand on Will’s shoulder, his eyebrow raised as he appreciated the rich quality of the fur cloak. “I suspect this garment may have been acquired through somewhat dubious means,” he remarked, “I think we should find you more suitable, attire, don’t you?”

Will could not help but compare his welcome at the monastery to his arrival at Castle Montford. He remembered the way Master Yorick, the old rogue, had manhandled him into a bath and with soapy, slippery fingers had groped his vulnerable, naked arse. He thought back to having his cock and balls encased in the leather cock ring, and then that awe-inspiring moment when those freshly-laundered, skin-tight and oh so soft and silky blue tights were pulled over his feet and muscular legs, leaving him feeling so naughtily aroused.

His cock began to leak at the memory as he stood naked in the small chamber into which Brother Ralf had led him. Naturally, the hated cock cage prevented Will’s penis from becoming erect. The monk had left him alone, and so this time, he was not observed undressing. For this he was thankful. He did not want to have to explain the presence of the metal chastity device to him.

Will picked up the long brown monk’s habit that Brother Ralf had left draped over the chair. He pulled on the hessian robe, tied it at the waist with a knotted cord, and stepped into the leather sandals the monk had provided for him. He could almost hear Master Alexander’s voice dripping with scorn: “It’s a crime to cover up that tight little body with such a shapeless sack as that! You should be put in tights, lad, and made to expose every contour of that gorgeous, plump, peachy bum for my pleasure...”

Will shook his head at the memory, and, as he did from time to time, found himself wondering whether his former master had indeed managed to flee to safety on the Continent. One day he hoped he would find out, just for curiosity’s sake. He wondered whether Alexander ever found himself thinking of him: the young lad he had plucked from nowhere, used and abused for his pleasure, and who had risked his life to save his. Somehow Will doubted it. If Alexander were still alive, he felt sure, there would be some other sexy slutboy bound and gagged and at his mercy. He felt a pang. Of what? Envy? Regret? In an instant, he suppressed it. Alexander was in the past. And he now had to look to his future.

It was gone midday by the time Ebony the thief finally awoke. He grimaced. His mouth tasted like a stable floor and his head pounded in the autumn sunlight. On all fours, he crawled over to the water trough and plunged his head beneath the scummy surface. The cold water was a shock, but at least it took his mind off the thudding session in his brain.

Squinting, he glanced around the barn. The others were all still asleep, snoring noisily. Lunk was lying there motionless. And there was something about his particular stillness that seemed odd. Ebony dragged himself over to his gang leader. Lunk’s mouth gaped open, but, curiously, no breath escaped from it. Ebony lifted that massive, ugly head. A wound gaped at the back of Lunk’s skull, and it was covered in sticky, black, congealed blood. In a split second, Ebony realised what must have happened the night before. He had watched as Lunk, brawling with his cronies, had slipped on the beer-sodden floor. At the time, everyone had assumed he had passed out with drunkenness, but in truth, he must have struck the back of his head on this jagged rock. The blow had been fatal. Lunk, the gigantic terroriser of Dunchester, was dead.

In truth, Ebony could feel no remorse at this unexpected turn of events. Lunk had been a useful ally – and one no man in his right mind would dare cross. But with Lunk out of the way, Ebony could definitely see possibilities for himself. Almost inevitably, his mind turned to the pretty piece of ass that Lunk had protectively dubbed his “pet”.

And there of course, he was met with his second shock of the day.

“That little bastard!” he muttered to himself. “He’s got away!”

Chapter 40 - Jasper's Treat

Breakfast done, Alexander slipped back into a contented mid-morning doze. He must be more tired than he realised, he thought when he awoke again in the stifling little room. He flung the casement window wide open, and ventured downstairs. Then he took up the same place in the corner of the tavern that he had selected the previous evening. Although it was earlier in the day, already the place was busier than the night before. Apparently Wench’s new uniform had excited some comment in the local area, and the landlord’s friends and neighbours were crowding in to catch a glimpse of the unfortunate young man.

The boy’s parents nodded to Alexander uncertainly, as if fearing that he might demand that they be similarly attired. Alexander merely glanced at them contemptuously and waited for Wench to reappear from behind the bar.

When the teenager did shuffle out to serve the throng of clients, he was met by a chorus of responses: from sniggering whispers, through to throaty guffaws. Truth be told, thought Alexander, he did present a truly ridiculous sight: the delicately feminine cap balanced on his lank, pale fringe, his skinny chest naked save for the occasional greasy fleck of wax, and the pretty lace apron barely concealing his naked genitals as it wafted daintily above his bright pink, stockinged legs.

Wench’s father rolled his eyes in exasperation, hoping that a show of bravado would exclude him from sharing in his son’s humiliation, as his friends and neighbours openly mocked the miserable youth. The landlord walloped his son’s naked backside with a twisted tea-towel and, laughing tentatively, commanded: “Get on with your work, girl”, even as his eyes darted from one customer to another, desperately seeking their camaraderie and their approval.

Taking their cue from the physical familiarity of the boy’s father, and invited by the shameful soubriquet “SLUT” branded in wax along Wench’s back, others became bold enough to manhandle him as he made his way among them. The lad tried to dodge their degrading assaults, but there were too many of them, and he resigned himself to having his pale, naked arse slapped, groped and pinched by the inn’s patrons, men and women both.

The plastered-on smile of the frizzy-haired landlady faltered briefly as comments, some whispered, some uttered rather less discreetly, reached her ears. “Spread-legged whore!”; “Mewling little bitch-boy!”; “Arse hanging out for all to see!”; “I’d die of shame rather than see my brat parading himself in public!” “Fancy pimping out your own son like that!” She consoled herself with the knowledge that their takings that day already easily outstripped the amount of cash that had crossed the bar over the past two weeks.

“I should be charging you commission, woman,” muttered Alexander darkly in her ear. He reached down to tickle the head of the sleeping mongrel at her feet, who woke briefly and then rolled onto his back to encourage further attention.

Alexander watched the tavern fill up even more and he lingered a while longer to enjoy Wench’s ever-increasing distress. Then he informed his hostess that he would be taking his leave of them in an hour or two, but that he had certain requirements prior to his departure. He issued his instructions to the bewildered woman and then retired to his room to wait.

Fifteen minutes later came a timid tap on his door, and Wench appeared, still dressed as before and looking more mournful than ever, a loaded tray balanced on his one arm.

“Come in, lad,” said Alexander. “Put the tray down on that table.”

The serving-boy did so, and then asked, “Did Ma get that right? Is that really how you want them?”

“Your ‘good’ mother has done exactly as I ordered.”

Alexander paused, the confirmation serving only to increase Wench’s confusion. Finally, he broke the silence.

“How goes it, boy?”

Wench’s bottom lip quivered. “I don’t think they’ll ever let me forget it, Sir. I’ll be known as a bare-bummed slutboy for as long as I live…”

Alexander nodded sagely. “You’re probably right. By the way, do you still have that coin I gave you tucked safely up your butt?”

“I haven’t had chance to take it out and hide it yet. Ma and Pa have been watching me the whole time.”

“Would you like to earn another, Wench?”

“Do I have a choice?” the boy whimpered.

“You see, you’re not as stupid as you look! Come over here and lie on the bed. No, on your back. That’s right.”

Wench glanced nervously around him with his large grey eyes, as Alexander swiftly fastened his bare wrists and stockinged ankles to the four corners of the bed. Once Alexander was satisfied that his spread-eagled victim was safely secured, he turned to the tray he had requested, and the plate which rested upon it.

There they lay: fat, pale and pink. The grasping landlady had supplied Alexander with the string of thick pork sausages he required, and, furthermore, she had not dared to question his adamant insistence that they be raw. Next to the plate stood a pottery jug of spicy, tomato relish. Alexander dipped his finger in and tasted the condiment. Not bad, he mused, not bad at all.

He picked up the string of sausages and weighed them in his hands. There must be about four pounds worth, he thought to himself. Next, he fetched a thin piece of twine from his capacious leather satchel and tied it securely to the last sausage dangling at the end of the string. Carrying the porky bundle over to the bed, he climbed on top of the mattress and knelt between Wench’s wide spread thighs.

“What are you going to do?” asked the bewildered boy, fearing that having been subjected to anal invasion by a candle, ice cubes and Alexander’s monstrous cock, the raw sausages might well be the next humiliating thing pushed up his butthole.

“Didn’t I tell you only to speak when spoken to?”

“Yes, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir.”

Alexander proceeded to loop the spare length of the twine around Wench’s flaccid penis, tying the cord tight around the boy’s cockhead, and knotting it there. The lad’s pathetic prick looked feeble and wan next to the healthy plumpness of the sausages, and it was half the length and half the girth into the bargain. Alexander continued his strange task, carefully arranging the rest of the sausages, now safely secured at one end to Wench’s helmet, in a neat line that ran down between the boy’s legs and dangled over the end of the bedspread.

Alexander returned to the tray and this time selected the jug of relish. Starting at the final sausage in the row, he began to pour the thick sauce over the raw meat. Dollop after dollop of dark, red liquid sploshed onto the phallic tube. Once the first sausage had been coated to Alexander’s satisfaction, he moved onto the second, and then the third, until eventually, the entire string of them was covered in the stuff. An occasional lump of tomato or some other unidentifiable, but presumably edible, chunk splashed out of the jug, marring both the blanket and Wench’s stockinged legs with greasy stains.

He paused and looked knowingly into Wench’s frightened eyes. “You know what comes next, boy, don’t you?” he smirked, and he triumphantly upended the jug’s dregs over Wench’s crotch.

Wench gasped as the cold gunk hit his prick and balls and oozed down into the crack of his arse. Alexander worked a little of the spicy sauce into Wench’s cock slit. “It stings!” cried the lad as it seared the sensitive flesh.

“Ah yes, chilli seems to be one of the ingredients. That’ll burn a little but my, it’s tasty!” said Alexander, smacking his lips greedily. “In fact, now I think of it, I know someone who will really enjoy a little treat like this!”

Wench raised his head with a panicky premonition as Alexander left the room. The boy had no choice but to lie and wait for whatever humiliation he would be forced to endure next. He tugged at the bonds at his wrists, but it was hopeless. The domineering stranger was clearly too experienced in this kind of thing to give him the slightest chance of freeing himself. He wiggled his toes in their pink stockings, but they wouldn’t budge either. He looked down at the sticky mess covering his genitals, and the humiliating way his prick had been treated: just another sausage in a row, coated in the same jammy gunk.

Alexander left the lad there for half an hour or so to contemplate his predicament, and to allow the sausages to marinade properly in the tomato sauce. He ordered a tankard of ale and took his time over it, watching in barely concealed amusement as the desperate husband and wife tried to staunch the steady flow of customers leaving the inn, all the while issuing confident assurances that their shamed son would be back soon to provide them with further entertainment.

At long last, he decided to put Wench out of his misery. Alexander once again climbed up the winding staircase to the garret room. However, on this occasion, he did not go alone.

Wench heard the panting at the door first, and when it opened to readmit his saturnine tormentor, he was puzzled as to why Alexander had brought the family’s pet pooch with him. The eager mutt was straining at the leash, but the mongrel soon paused as his sensitive nostrils were assailed by the heady aroma of fresh, raw meat.

“What’s his name?” asked Alexander curtly.

“We call him Jasper. Jasper, Sir,” Wench replied.

“The poor creature looks half-starved.”

“Pa says he can eat well if and when we do, Sir.”

“I think we should do something to remedy that, don’t you, Wench?”

“What – what do you mean, Sir?”

“I reckon he deserves a reward for having to dwell with grasping misers like your parents. I think some juicy sausages would go down a treat, don’t you?”

The dawning horror of realisation spread across Wench’s face as Alexander’s intention sank in. He began to thrash weakly in his bondage, wailing “No! No, please, Sir! Not that!”

“Now don’t you be so selfish, boy,” he admonished. “Go, on, Jasper, there’s a good doggie!”

Alexander loosened his grip on the leash, and the excited animal leaped enthusiastically onto the first, tomato-coated sausage dangling over the end of the bed. Within moments it was gone, and Jasper’s sharp teeth began chomping down at the second meaty morsel.

“Please, Sir!” gibbered Wench in terror. “Please no! Please don’t let him bite my cock off!”

“And why on earth not?” asked Alexander innocently. “What possible purpose could a little serving-wench like you have for it? Far better for it to be put to good use!”

Two down, the slathering mongrel crawled his way further up the bed and set to work consuming the third sausage. Wench threw himself into a desperate frenzy, limbs flailing, as he tried to get free from the bondage into which Alexander had put him - but it was hopeless.

“Do you honestly think any man or woman on this sweet Earth will want to have that pathetic excuse for a prick shoved inside them?” Alexander pulled his own considerably larger cock from the waistband of his purple hose and began to stroke it firmly. “Pull your trousers down to show that embarrassment to anyone and they’ll laugh right in your face! Believe me, you’re better off without it!”

Jasper, tomato relish smeared over his face and whiskers, swallowed the final bites of the third sausage and, eyes rolling in delicious ecstasy, launched himself onto the fourth. The horrified lad looked down at his pet, to see the dog joyfully working his way with carefree abandon towards the vulnerable pale flesh of his cock.

With no hope of mercy from the insane traveller, the youth began to squeal commands at the animal instead. “Stop, Jasper! That’s enough! No more. Bad dog! Greedy dog!” But the mistreated animal, more used to kicks and blows from humans than love and affection, showed no intention of abandoning his feast. There was no evidence in his eyes that he understood for a moment Wench’s frantic orders, and if he did secretly understand them, there was no chance on earth of his obeying them.

Alexander gazed down, laughing openly at the hilarious sight, rubbing his cock as he watched the anguished writhing of the serving-lad. “Soon your dear Ma and Pa will have the little girl they always dreamed of,” he exclaimed as Jasper moved on to take a hungry bite out of the fifth sausage. “Just one more now, Wench! One more pork sausage remaining before your little doggie sinks his teeth into and gobbles up your very own precious meaty package!”

Wench was now sobbing in terror, incoherent with the horrific anticipation of emasculation at the jaws of the family pet. He knew it wasn’t much of a cock, but it was the only one he had!

He risked a final look. Jasper was onto the final pork sausage and now mere inches away from Wench’s own marinated wiener. The famished creature’s pace had not slowed once, and Wench screwed his eyes tightly shut as he prepared for his manhood to be cruelly snatched from him, and then suffer the indignity of disappearing down that mangy creature’s throat. He waited as he felt the first, slobbering licks of the animal’s tongue, the suggestions of sharp teeth pressing against his penis. Tensing every muscle of his body tight, he waited for the moment that Jasper would clamp down and puncture his tender skin, leaving him mutilated and deformed for the rest of his life. But, tantalisingly, still the strike refused to come. Instead, Jasper’s tongue seemed to be swirling round his defenceless prick, sucking on it, teasing it, squeezing it into semi-hardness. In utter astonishment at the dog’s behaviour, Wench risked opening one of his eyes and, in an instant, his sobs of anguish became ones of relief.

The mouth sucking his dick and the head hovering over his crotch belonged not to his dog, but to the tall, dark stranger. Jasper, meanwhile, was contentedly belching in the corner of the room, licking traces of tomato relish from his whiskers.

Alexander left off sucking Wench’s penis and looked into the lad’s red and tear-stained countenance.

“After those fine, plump, meaty sausages, do you really think a connoisseur like Jasper is remotely interested in a pathetic little winkle like yours?”

He really should have been on his way there and then, but the cringing lad was amusing, his own cock was hard again, and he wanted to unload another deposit of cum into Wench’s unwilling cavity. So, with the promise to the landlord of a second gold sovereign to match the first, Alexander stayed another night at the insalubrious tavern.

He decided he would head off in the morning, be at the coast by mid-afternoon, and then set sail for France and the safety and security of his family there, far away from the merciless clutches of Prince Felix.

Next morning dawned bright and clear. A newcomer pulled up outside the tavern and tethered his steed alongside the black mare grazing there already. A grim smile crossed the man’s face. He turned the door handle and, ducking to avoid banging his head on the lintel, made his way inside the hostelry. He shared a brief conversation with the publican, who directed him to a narrow back staircase.

The traveller climbed the stairs, his vast shoulders brushing the sides of the walls. At the very top, he gently turned the door handle and cautiously pushed against the door. He stepped into the room and exhaled with deep satisfaction. Finally, his quest was at an end. There, sleeping soundly in the morning sunshine, lay the traitor Alexander Courcey. A pale, skinny youth slept alongside him, his head resting on Courcey’s chest and his hand entangled in the older man’s black hair.

Advancing on the slumbering duo, the intruder drew his sword and gently placed it under Courcey’s chin. Alexander’s eyes flickered open with a start.

“Rise and shine, Master Courcey,” growled Odin. “It seems I’ve tracked you down at last. And not for the first time have I interrupted you molesting a boy in your bed. Although you seem to have lowered your ambitions somewhat since you attempted to ravish the Prince.”

Alexander lay completely still, and when he spoke, did so calmly and steadily. “Will you let the boy go? He’s done nothing wrong.”

In spite of himself, Odin was impressed by Alexander’s composure, but he merely said, “The Prince has no quarrel with whores. Wake him if you wish.”

Wench squealed in abject terror as he opened his eyes to see the evil-looking ogre towering above him, and did not have to be told twice to scram.

“Are you to stab me in my bed?” asked Alexander.

“That would be my personal preference, but I have instructions to return you to the North so that his Highness may administer a more lingering demise.”

“I recall that you yourself once suggested that for me rather than a short, sharp death.”

“You’ve given me plenty of time to regret making that suggestion over these past few weeks,” Odin snarled. “You’ve led me on a right royal goose chase. Now, you have thirty seconds to gather your belongings. Move!”

The publican and his wife clung together as their mysterious guest was marched at swordpoint out of the inn by the leather-clad giant. Wench stood trembling and naked, save for his pink stockings.

The landlady, glaring at her cowardly husband with contempt, followed Odin and Alexander out of the door. “Wait! Wait!” she screeched. “He owes us for an extra night! We’re due a gold sovereign!”

Odin, without pausing or even turning, pulled a coin from his pocket and tossed it on the ground. She pounced on it with alacrity. Another thought occurred her.

“And those sausages didn’t come cheap either!”

But she’d pushed her luck far enough. Odin bound Alexander’s wrists together, sat him on Fallow, and holding the reins of both his own and his captive’s horses, disappeared in a cloud of dust.

The landlady stamped her foot in frustration and, as her husband and her son arrived to join her on the pathway, she welcomed them with a fierce glare. Suddenly, there was a hissing, farting sound followed by a metallic tinkle as a small brass coin slipped from Wench’s arse and hit the ground.

With as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances, the mistress of the house bent down to retrieve the slimy penny. “That’ll pay for the sausages,” she said as she wiped it clean on her pinafore and placed it decisively in her pocket. Jasper the mongrel gambolled up to the three of them, joyfully oblivious to the events occurring around him, and started lapping contentedly at the remnants of tomato relish still clinging to Wench’s naked arse.