Chapter 62 - Quest for Will

    Alexander surveyed the hushed and expectant crowd. There must have been forty or so peasants eagerly peering at the unique spectacle playing out before them. He took a moment to reflect. He had lost count of the number of hot men he had subjected to some form of public humiliation since his elevation to his current position. He ran through an inventory of some of the sexiest: Peter of Mickelsfield - the dumb hunk he had tricked into canary yellow tights, given a public enema and stuffed with a string of leather balls; Darius the arrogant Arabian soldier -  whom he had shaved, tarred and feathered and forced chicken-like to ‘lay’ an egg;  Arthur and Stanley - the gullible red-headed brothers whose arses he had glued together with a bulb of ginger and whom he had left dangling from a beam in their own cottage; Wench - the quivering bar-boy, dressed as a maid and a string of meaty sausages tied to his prick; Raymond - the scheming slut, who had suffered so many public indignities, not least being the pisspot of the desiccated Sir Wilfrid; the divine Prince Felix himself, who had been gunged, stuffed and reduced to a squealing infant in front of his own aunt; and last but not least, Will: the sexiest slutboy of them all, whose perfect arse haunted his dreams, and who had submitted to every degrading act Alexander had visited upon him, and yet still saved his cruel master from certain death.
    However, much as he might demean them verbally, dress them in clinging hosiery that robbed them of their pride, and in some cases, their very masculinity, wash out their holes and stuff them with food, tie them up, gag them, gunge them, spank them, plug their arses with whatever humiliating objects he could find, the actual sexual act had always remained for him something to be done in private: an intimate moment for him and the objects of his lust. But with this peasant farmer bent over so that his cream-coloured ass stuck out as lewdly as the most provocative concubine, Alexander found that for once he wanted nothing so much as to simply plough his long cock into that inviting hole as surely as the farmer ploughed his fields. And somehow he knew instinctively that for this particular victim, a simple fuck would be the most humiliating thing of all.
    Jack could not look over his shoulder with his neck clamped in the stocks,  so he flinched with the unexpected sensation as Alexander started to roll down the waist-band of his newly acquired tights. Alexander did so slowly, tantalisingly, gradually revealing the pale, naked curve of Jack’s buttocks. He let the waist-band rest just beneath the arse cheeks, framing the two plump slabs of meat most delightfully.
    “You should be grateful that I will at least lubricate your opening,” he said as he reached into the pouch that hung from his belt, and coated a couple of fingers with grease. “Are you ready?”
    Despite the cold, Jack’s crack was sweaty as Alexander began to oil it up. Jack’s breathing grew faster as his most intimate opening was fondled and probed by the cruel stranger.
    “In we go…”
    And Alexander pushed two fingers into the man’s hole.
    “Ooh, that’s very tight! Don’t tell me your scrawny wife has never pleasured you up there? Well maybe you will develop a taste for it - though I doubt she will have my expertise!”
    “No, please, please…” mumbled Jack as Alexander withdrew his fingers.
    “Beg all you like, peasant. I like to hear you beg.”
    Alexander reached into his own hose and freed his already hard cock, smearing some of the same grease around his shaft and mushroom-shaped head.
    “Don’t worry. This won’t take long. I’m a busy man - and you do not interest me sufficiently for me to linger.” This much was true: in other circumstances he would have invented a far kinkier humiliation. A mere fuck whilst his victim was locked in the stocks was positively vanilla as far as Alexander was concerned!
    Gripping Jack’s hips firmly, Alexander positioned his engorged cock against the puckered opening of the farmer’s anus.
    “Breathe deeply, now,” he murmured. “This is going to hurt.”
    Jack began to pant as he felt himself, slowly but surely, being raped by Alexander’s meaty member. The new sensation of penetration overwhelmed him, and is often the case, his own cock began to twitch of its own volition.
    “Being a fucktoy obviously runs in the family,” grinned Alexander as he squeezed the growing bulge in Jack’s tights. “In we go now, all the way.”
    And he slid his cock up the farmer’s warm, wet chute.
    Jack’s jaw gaped in horror. He screwed up his eyes to try and block out the experience, but he couldn’t block out the sniggers of his neighbours, and their mocking, pitying looks were imprinted on his mind.
    Alexander began to rock backwards and forwards, enjoying the feeling of control as he fucked his helpless victim. He luxuriated in the fluttering sensation of Jack’s ring as it squeezed down on his rock hard cock. The back and forth movement was already bringing him close to climax.
    “Ooh, do I detect a little leakage, farmer? I do believe you’re staining your fine cream tights with pre-cum. You’re enjoying this more than you expected, no?”
    The taunt pushed Jack over the edge, and he began to emit a gibbering sob: the humiliating emasculation too much. The bewildering betrayal of his body as his cock responded to the fuck in spite of him.
    “Oh I like to see a grown man cry as I rape his ass,” hissed Alexander. ”Gets me really horny. Really turned on. My cock fucking your velvety hole. Mmmm. Feels so good….”
    And with that, Alexander erupted and his hot creamy ism shot deep into Jack’s reluctant bowels.
    Jack’s whole body convulsed as Alexander possessed him, broke him. And slowly, Alexander withdrew his still hard cock from the farmer’s pulsing hole and stowed it away within his black hose. Grease and cum, mingled and leaked from the peasant’s orifice.
    He walked round to look at his victim’s face, and leered at Jack’s tear-stained cheeks.
    “Let that be a lesson to control your wife better, peasant.”
    Alexander turned to speak to the rest of the village.
    “Now, I have ten copper pieces for anyone who can supply information as to the whereabouts of the boy named Will. Who wants to claim the prize?”
    Silence.
    Then after an agonising pause, a lanky lad cleared his throat and spoke up. “I saw him, Sire,” said the teenager. “Lunk took him.”
    “Lunk? Tell me more.”
    Almost as an afterthought, Alexander turned back to where Jack hung dejectedly from the stocks: his cream tights stained with pre-cum at the crotch, his nude, meaty arse still jutting out behind him.
    “You can stay there for a while to ponder your shortcomings as both a husband and a brother. I’m a generous man though, farmer. I’ll let you keep the tights.”

    The lanky teenager’s name was Nicky. Both he and his parents looked frankly terrified at the prospect of him accompanying Alexander on his quest to track down Will. Alexander’s disparaging comment that Nicky had a body like a stick insect and a face like a pug dog, and that as a result he had absolutely no interest him in sexually, did little to reassure them.
    Nicky had only a vague idea of the location of Lunk’s lair, so their meandering journey took them several hours. The lad also seemed torn between fear of Lunk and of Alexander.  Eventually, they came across an abandoned barn in a clearing in the forest. Disused farm equipment lay rusting in the late afternoon sun. Suddenly Alexander heard a retching sound from the youth. He span round to see Nicky’s green countenance, and followed where he was pointing.
    It was the carcass of what had once been a giant: the meat stripped from its bones - presumably by wolves. Alexander had his guards perform a search of the barn and its surroundings, but the place was clearly abandoned - and judging by the condition of Lunk’s corpse, had been for some time.
    Alexander spat on the ground. “A dead-end,” he cursed ruefully.

    With the trail cold, Alexander had no choice but to return to the castle, instructing one of his bodyguards to deposit the still queasy-looking Nicky back to the bosom of his relieved family.
    Lord Geoffrey sympathised. “The lad could be anywhere: sold into slavery, most likely he is dead.”
    Alexander nodded.
    “The Christmas festivities will keep you busy. And besides, there are many more page boys who will undoubtedly entertain you.”
    
    His duties certainly occupied him, but disconcertingly, and for the first time in his life, Alexander found that his libido had deserted him. Pert arses bobbed around the castle grounds, and hose-covered bulges which he would once have found enticingly distracting, merited no more than a mere glance. And he wondered whether even that was more from habit than actual desire. He found himself contemplating the disturbing proposition that his feelings for Will extended beyond mere lust.
    
    It was a cloudy morning and he found himself in a mood even more melancholy than usual, when Humphrey, the plump pageboy, reported that a rough looking villain had presented himself at the castle gates and told the guards that he had information that the Chief Steward himself would want to hear.
    Rejecting his initial instinct to have the thief flogged and thrown into the dungeon, something made Alexander relent, and minutes later, the tall, lean, black-skinned rogue stood before him.
    “I’m a busy man,” said Alexander brusquely. “And I’m not accustomed to wasting my time with a scoundrel such as you.”
    “Don’t be so hasty, my Lord,” replied Ebony. “I hear you’re trying to find the blond lad with the arse like a peach.”
    Alexander raised an eyebrow.
    “I can tell you where to find him.”
    “Why on Earth should I believe a thief?”
    “Because I tracked him down after he escaped from Lunk’s lair. And I know where he’s hiding.”
    “And where is that precisely?”
    “Come now. Fair’s fair. You don’t expect me to give you the information for nothing do you?”
    “What’s to stop me throwing you in the dungeon and torturing it out of you? I have some very persuasive tools at my disposal.”
    “My endurance levels are high, my Lord. Who knows how long that might take? And by then the boy might have moved on elsewhere…”
    “Hmmm. But I might enjoy the torture for its own sake.” Alexander rose and placed his ringed palm against the thief’s muscular chest. He ran his hand down Ebony’s torso until it came to rest at his crotch. “Leather trousers have a certain appeal. But I think a close-fitting pair of hose would suit you very nicely, my dangerous friend.”
    Ebony rang his tongue over his white teeth. “You’d not find me as submissive as your little bitch boy. You’d meet your match in me, my Lord.”
    “Well, now, that does sound an appealing challenge. I’m tempted to have you manacled and flung into my dungeon right away. Submissiveness has its attractions in certain circumstances but I do also enjoy using a hot stud who puts up a fight.”
    For the first time, a flicker of doubt appeared in Ebony’s eyes.
    “But I’ll humour you,” grinned Alexander. “Name your price for revealing the whereabouts of the boy.”
    Ebony smirked. “I’d like the bitch for myself. He’s a hot little slut. But failing that, I’d take a hundred gold sovereigns.”
    “Ha!” The sound was harsh and scornful. “No catamite is worth that. I could buy a thousand sluts from Gregory the Slave Trader for that price.”
    “But this boy clearly means more to you. Master Alexander Courcey doesn’t go traipsing through the wet and freezing countryside for just any old whore. And he’s not even a virgin, I know that from personal experience. I flooded his bowels with ale before I forced him to suck my prick. It was a very entertaining evening.”
    “I’m intrigued,” murmured Alexander. “If you know where he is, and you want him for yourself, why not go and claim him?”
    Ebony seemed momentarily thrown. Then he regained his composure. “What can I tell you, my Lord? The sexual urge is fleeting and after it’s satisfied, it disappears. I’d rather have cold, hard coins. They stay with you after your prick’s gone soft.”
    “Ten gold coins. Five now. Five once I have the boy.”
    “I can show you where he is. Why should my price depend on whether you succeed in taking him?”
    “It’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.”
    Ebony glared at Alexander. “I’ll take it.”   

    “I’m most sorry, Master Courcey, that you have had a wasted journey, but young Will left the monastery some three weeks ago.”
    Brother Ralf spread his hands in a mollifying gesture.
    “He’s lying,” hissed Ebony through gritted teeth. “He’s trying to protect the boy.”
    Alexander turned to the thief with ill-concealed impatience. “Don’t judge all men by your own low standards.” He glanced around the monastery garden with its neat flowerbeds and rows of herbs. “Brother Ralf here could no more tell a lie than he could cut off his own hand. Besides,” and here he grinned ingratiatingly at the monk, “he knows that young Will will be safe in my care. Why, I think of the boy as my own son.”
    Brother Ralf looked at Alexander a little skeptically but said nothing.
    Alexander turned to Ebony. “Be off with you now, before I have you arrested.”
    “What about my other five gold pieces?” demanded the thief.
    “You’d have had those if the boy were actually here. Don’t push your luck.”
    Ebony’s hand strayed to the dagger at his belt.
    “No!” whispered Brother Ralf. “This is holy ground!”
    But Alexander’s bodyguards had pre-empted the move and already had their swords positioned at Ebony’s back.
    “I told you to go, ruffian,” said Alexander. “I’m not accustomed to having to repeat myself.”
    Cursing profusely, the thief knew he had been bested and beat a hasty retreat.
    “I’m truly sorry that I cannot furnish you with news that pleases you better, my Lord,” said Ralf.
    “As am I,” replied Alexander ruefully. He turned to go, but just then, a thought occurred to him. “I don’t suppose the Abbot is in residence? It would be impolite of me to visit without paying my respects…”

    “And to what do we owe this pleasure, Alexander?” beamed the fat little man in his white robe. “Did you just happen to be in the vicinity?”
    “Something like that, Father,” replied Alexander evasively.
    The Abbot smiled his blubbery smile. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you since Prince Felix’s birthday celebrations. What an evening that was! His royal highness really did get quite the surprise, didn’t he? How is he? I understand he’s remaining under Lord Geoffrey’s wardship for the time being.”
    “Yes. Sadly the toll of his father’s plight has weighed heavily on the young Prince’s mind. He’s suffered something of a breakdown. The physicians are doubtful he will ever fully recover.”
    “How sad,” murmured the Abbot. “And he showed such … promise. Well, if ever your master decides the Prince needs some spiritual intervention, I should be most glad to … get my hands on him.”
    “I’m sure you would, you filthy old lecher,” thought Alexander, although he said nothing.
    “Those muscular legs in his silken hose… Quite exquisite. He really is such a beauty. I must confess, I’ve always had something of a weakness for blonds. If you catch my meaning, Alexander.” The Abbot gave him a conspiratorial wink.
    A thought occurred to the Steward.
    “Speaking of blonds, holy Father. I happen to be searching for a young page boy. He belongs to the castle household and, rather irritatingly, earlier this year, during my… absence, he seems to have been mislaid. I gather he was offered sanctuary here at the monastery for some weeks before he went on his way. I don’t suppose you have any idea where he might have gone…”
    “I wish I could help, Alexander. Sadly my communion with our Lord and my duties tutoring the novices here leave me little time to bother with runaway page boys - blond or otherwise. Perhaps Brother Ralf could help…?”
    “Sadly he knows no more than you, Father. Ah well, it seems my search has once again reached a dead end.”
    Alexander kissed the Abbot’s chubby hand and made his way to the chamber door. He placed his hand on the handle, but just as he did so, he was startled by a muffled squeak. He turned on his heel.
    “What was that?”
    “I - I heard nothing,” stammered the Abbot.
    “It sounded like it came from the cabinet over in the corner.”
    “Ah. Yes. Mice. The monastery has been plagued with them since we lost  Mistress Tibbles.”
    Alexander raised a questioning eyebrow.
    “Our cat.”
    The Abbot returned Alexander’s gaze, as if daring him to question the veracity of his claim. The two men weighed each other up for what felt like an eternity.
    “My sympathy,” said Alexander, eventually. “The cat from the castle kitchens has recently littered. I’ll send you one of her kittens.”
    “We would be eternally grateful,” simpered the Abbot.
    “Goodbye, Father. I hope to see you at the castle for the Christmas festivities.”
    “I shall look forward to it immensely.”
    The Abbot watched as Alexander closed the door behind him. He waited a moment and then shuffled to his cabinet and unlocked the door.
    “That was close, you little devil,” he hissed. “Don’t you dare try anything like that again or you’ll be in even more trouble. Now it’s time for your daily milking.”
    And the Abbot grabbed Will’s cock in his clumsy grasp and began tugging it in his fat and sweaty palm.
    Will could have cried in frustration. First there was the shock at hearing Alexander’s voice again after all this time, followed by astonishment that the Steward had actually survived and was reinstalled in his former post at the castle. And then there was amazement that he had come looking for him, and then the awful frustration that release had been so near - and yet remained so tantalisingly far away. He recoiled as the Abbot continued to jerk his semi-erect prick: salvation so near and yet so far.

Chapter 30 - The Viking Pillages

            It had been a long – albeit enjoyable – day: from the physical tussle with Prince Felix to the ritual humiliation of young Will.

So it was with some relief that, as night fell, an exhausted Raymond slumbered in his new and luxurious sheets. The familiar bed-posts to which Alexander had once secured him were now his own. The chamber seemed to reek with the ghosts of male sex; the dominant and the submissive; the multi-faceted and numerous perversions of masculine erotica. If these walls could talk, he mused, what stories they would tell. And now he was the one who was in control. On he slept, turning indulgently in the crisply laundered bedding – a sharp and welcome contrast to the coarse straw of the pallet in the dormitory.

Suddenly he awoke with a start. What was that? He could have sworn it was the noise of the ornate oak door creaking open. Impossible. He had bolted it before getting in to bed; a precaution he deemed necessary to take given the fact that he was unconvinced that all of the servants bore him the love and respect that by rights they ought to.

            He lay there for a moment, his weary legs twitching in their hose. He was still wearing them, he realised. In his readiness for bed, he must have quite forgotten to take them off. Not that he minded. The feeling, as always, of the tight material clinging to his lower body was perfectly pleasurable.

            There it was again. This time the sound was unmistakeable. A definite footfall on the stone flagstone floor.

            “Who’s there?” he demanded, peering into the gloom.

            “It’s me,” responded a familiar, gruff voice.

            Raymond took a sharp intake of breath as he saw the gigantic form of Odin the Viking outlined in the moonlight.

            “How dare you enter here!” he exclaimed.

            Odin chuckled. “I’ve spent three days in the saddle thinking of little else but your cunt, boy.”

            “Get out of here,” stammered Raymond. “I’ve been promoted. I’ll no longer be your fucktoy.”

            “Says who?”

            Ominously, Odin made that oh-so familiar gesture of unthreading his thick leather belt, and with a clanging clatter, it and the plethora of iron keys fastened to it, hit the floor.

            “I came straight here, boy. I’ve not bathed. The sweat of three hard days’ riding is clinging to my body.”

            He unhooked his heavy leather jerkin and tossed it to one side. Then he hoisted his thin linen shirt over his head, exposing his immense chest and his vast arms, veined and bulging, all of them impossibly hirsute.

            “I’m warning you.” Raymond’s voice quivered in indignation.

            “Oh, you’re warning me, are you?” taunted Odin. “Well, unluckily for you, my cock doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

            And with a growl, he unbuttoned the steel fasteners at the fly of his leather trousers and exposed the tumescent monster that lurked within. Already hard, it was more like the arm of a regular man than a cock.

            “The Prince will know of this!”

            “Will he now?”

            “I shall call for him!”

            “That would be very stupid, boy. He hates to have his sleep disturbed, you know. But you scream, by all means. You know how I like to hear you scream.”

            Odin bent to remove his heavy leather boots and let his trousers fall to the floor. He stepped out of them, revealing his vast, tree trunk-like legs, each as hairy as the rest of his massive body. All that remained were the short, coarsely woollen socks on his giant feet.

            “Good honest wool,” Odin remarked contemptuously. “Not like the flimsy silk and satin of the poofy tights you queerboys like to wear.”

            Raymond scrabbled out of his sheets, all too aware that he was still clad in his black and white particoloured hosiery.

            “Now where do you think, you’re going, girlie? I want that ass…”

            Raymond made a desperate leap for freedom, but the Viking effortlessly knocked him back onto the bed with one spade-like palm.

            The wretched youth gazed up in fear as the hulk loomed over him.

            “Has my little girl missed her Daddy’s cock inside her?”

            Without awaiting a response, the brute flipped Raymond over. He ran his callused fingers through the lad’s dark curls.

            “Bite down into that pillow, bitch. We don’t really want to disturb his Highness, do we?”

            “Get your hands off me!” squealed Raymond as Odin’s thick fingers rapidly located the exact place in his hose where his unsuspecting arsebud nestled. Odin merely grunted in response and prodded the boy’s sweating pussy with his fore and middle finger. Then, burying his face in Raymond’s hosed arse cheeks, the giant used his teeth to tear a hole in the luxurious fabric.

            Ignoring his victim’s anguished “Noooo!”, Odin pushed his stubbly cheeks even further between the curves of the lad’s bum and began teasing the pink target with his long, rough tongue: flickering, darting in and out to prepare the opening for the onslaught it was about to endure.

            Raymond writhed in a combination of dread and ecstasy: the sensation at his anus arousing him in spite of himself.

            “I see my bitch is turned on, regardless of how she protests,” Odin said grimly. He withdrew his tongue, and in an instant, threw his weight on top of the struggling young man. Raymond gasped, winded, as the sweating, hairy body collapsed on top of him, and felt his own slim wrists grabbed and pinioned by the clammy palms of his violator. Resistance was futile, he knew from experience. The sheer strength and power of the Norseman was implacable. However, Raymond’s pride would not allow him to lay there meekly. Struggle he must, even though he knew his wriggling protests served no purpose other than to provoke Odin to further heights of lust.

            The giant lay there a moment, revelling in the sensation of the boy’s quivering, nubile flesh pinned beneath him. “Open up to me, bitch,” he murmured into the white curve of Raymond’s ear, and then bit down hard on the soft white flesh of the lad’s neck.

            Raymond screamed in pain and shock, his whole body tightened and convulsed. And in that moment, Odin grabbed Raymond’s tights-clad hips and pulled them upwards, tucking the lad’s legs – one black, one white – under him and raising his arse to a prime position. Raymond gritted his teeth. He knew what was coming next, and no amount of forewarning could ever prepare him for the moment of penetration. Odin aimed his monstrous dong at the boy’s puckered fuckhole, and forcing Raymond’s head into the pillow to muffle the inevitable scream, he ploughed his meat into the lad’s unwilling orifice. Raymond’s head swam with pain as the warrior raped his piteous boy-hole.

            “Mmm feels sooo good, bitch,” rasped the ogre. “Your velvety chute clamped down on my manmeat. I’m gonna split you in two. Fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. Give you a shafting my little girl will never forget. You won’t be able to walk for weeks by the time I’m done with you…”

            The lad whimpered feebly, a hoarse mantra of “No, no, please, no” over and over. An attempt to move at least one wrist was quashed as Odin merely exerted a little extra pressure onto him. Visions of the Viking’s red and angry cockhead as it pushed in and out of him fleeted through Raymond’s mind. How could anyone enjoy experiencing this, he raged in anguish. The pain. The utter subjugation. The humiliation. The degradation of being used. Turned into some passive, submissive creature. Less than a man. A whore. A slut. A hole existing for the sole pleasure of his assailant.

            His arse throbbed with the agony of the treatment it was receiving. There was real anger in Odin’s thrusts, and God knows how long it would take him to achieve climax and spurt his creamy jism up Raymond’s pulsing rectum.

            “Ohhh that feels so good, girlie. You’re one of the sweetest fucks I’ve ever had, you know that? And by Thor, I love the way you struggle beneath me. Now, let me take you like the little doggy you are…”

            Swiftly, economically, and without even withdrawing his cock, Odin repositioned Raymond so that he was on all fours. He reached round to squeeze the lad’s bulge in his tights.

            “Ha!” Odin exclaimed. “You’re not enjoying this, are you bitch? Barely anything there. That suits me fine. I can almost believe I’m taking a real virgin lass.”

            “The slave needs its mouth stuffed too.”

            A new voice, old and dry and cracked as parchment, came from somewhere in the chamber. Raymond looked around, frantically, but his damp curls kept falling into his eyes. Surely not! It couldn’t be! Could it?

            “You’re welcome to use her other hole as you see fit, my friend!” said Odin magnanimously. “I have no use for it at present.”

            Raymond’s eyes widened in stunned terror as the desiccated form of Sir Wilfrid, Lord Geoffrey’s vile old uncle, shuffled round the side of the bed.

            The old man licked his lascivious lips and leered at his former playtoy. “It’s been some time, slave! Have you missed my prick between your lips?”

            Raymond shook his head incredulously. “No! No! NO!”

            But his wailing gave the old lecher just the chance he needed to insert his withered pecker between the boy’s parted lips, gagging and muffling any further protest. Spit-roasted. Pierced at both ends by two cocks – one ancient and loathsome – the other gargantuan and furious – Raymond sobbed at the indifference of the Universe to his plight. Could his predicament get any worse?

            Then came the answer to his plea.

            “Methinks he is not sufficiently stuffed. I have just the thing to answer to our needs.”

            The mellifluous tones of Alexander Courcey rang around the stone walls of the bedchamber.

            Raymond was incredulous. How dare he?! If it were possible, his struggles became even more desperate. He tried to cry out: “Traitor! Cur!” - anything to alert the Prince to the danger presented by the appearance of his treasonous predecessor. But his mouth was stuffed with Sir Wilfrid’s cock, and his mumbled exclamations went for nothing.

            “What do you suggest, my friend?” laughed Odin heartily, never for a moment ceasing from thrusting his hips against Raymond’s hosed buttocks.

            “Oh I have a basket of goodies just ripe for inserting into our young victim! Apples! Pears! Bananas! Plums! Only the juiciest, highest quality fruits will suffice for this young man!”

            His tormentors were merciless.

            The rhythm of Odin’s fuck barely altered; only now, when he pulled back, he withdrew his cock just long enough to allow Alexander to squeeze a purple plum into Raymond’s fundament. If Wilfrid’s semi-flaccid prick slipped from between Raymond’s lips, no matter how briefly, a tangerine was inserted, and when the old man’s cock returned, he pushed it insistently into the fruit’s firm flesh inside Raymond’s mouth.

            Attention turned back to Raymond’s arse. A freshly peeled banana unceremoniously shoved in deep, and soon Odin’s cock set to work mashing the yellow fruit to a pulp inside him.

            Raymond gagged. He tried to scream: “I’m full! No more! I beg you no more!” But the fruit and the cock inside his crammed mouth transformed his anguished pleas into an indecipherable mumble.

            The pain of the pressure against his insides was unbearable. His internal capacity was finite after all. They couldn’t keep filling him with fruit whilst also continuing to fuck him!

            But his protests were to no avail.

            “Maybe we should fetch some carrots and courgettes from the kitchen,” mused Alexander. “A boy needs meat and vegetables in his diet after all.”

            “Well he’s certainly getting plenty of meat!” cackled Sir Wilfrid, and the others joined in with hearty guffaws.

            I’m going to burst, thought Raymond. They’re going to keep on till they kill me.

            “Wait a moment!” A triumphant cry from Alexander. “I have just the thing. Young Raymond here – so ambitious – so desirous of his place in the Prince’s bedchamber. Well, if he loves royalty so much, he surely deserves the King of fruits up his behind! What do you think, eh?”

            And with a flourish, he presented to Raymond the largest pineapple the youth had ever seen.

            Raymond howled out a scream from his deepest soul, in fear and desperation. He screwed his eyes tightly shut as if hoping that eradicating the pineapple from sight might also prevent the monstrous intrusion that was about to occur. Any moment now that vicious fruit would split his hole wider than it had ever been!

            But then - nothing happened. He waited. He opened his eyes. For a moment he was disoriented. Here he was in his new bedchamber, sweat glistening all over his naked and trembling body. But he was quite alone.

            His heaving breaths resided into sobs of quiet relief.

            The door was fastened as securely as he’d thought: his fine black and white hose neatly draped over the back of an arm chair just where he had left it the evening before.

Odin, Sir Wilfrid and Alexander were gone. Indeed they had never been there at all. They were shades of his own making – sprung from his own imagination to torment him in the night.

            Never again, he thought. Never again will I be used like that. And he set his teeth in rigid determination.

Chapter 22 - Jingle Bells

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Humphrey breathed an audible sigh of relief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That repulsive creature is certainly not my better.”

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

An awkward silence descended on the gathering at the table.

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

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

“You’re a callous boy, Raymond.”

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

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

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

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

“Indeed,” came his terse reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is a lie, page boy.”

“I know, Sir. But what can I do?”

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

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

Will said nothing. “I understand, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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