Chapter 54 - A Humiliating Evacuation

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

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

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

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

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

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

He offered his hand for Will to shake. 

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

“Will,” he said simply. “I am Will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have a good look, my tights bitch!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, please…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 51 - The Puppet Prince

The smell was sharp and pungent. That was the first thing he noticed: and it came as a sharp shock to his senses. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and his befuddled brain tried to make sense of where and indeed who he was. His vision was blurred, but the facts of his predicament came to him. He was lying on a bed, he was topless and his sole item of clothing was a pair of bright red tights.

He tried to move his arm, and at that moment, he felt a tugging sensation pulling first one, and then the other arm taut.

“What the Hell?!” he cried, as his vision finally swam into focus.

“Ah, our handsome Prince has awoken at last,” cooed the gloating Alexander Courcey. “And not before time. How good of your Highness to grace us with his august presence!”

Felix, fired up with sudden indignation, tried to struggle, but the ropes at his wrists, plus another wrapped around his waist and two more at his ankles, prevented any kind of movement. Suddenly, he became aware of a strange gloopy wetness adhering to his forehead and dribbling down his face.

Alexander grinned as the Prince’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Your erstwhile servant, young Raymond here, has been busy whilst you slumbered, your Highness. Mere moments ago, he was looming over you, his rock-hard cock hanging out of the front of his tights, whilst he sprayed his boy spunk over your hunky body. I imagine you can feel it drying even now on your face and chest. Cum can be rather itchy when it dries, don’t you find?”

“Raymond! How dare you?!” exploded the disgusted Prince.

“Don’t be too hard on him. He was only doing as he was ordered. Although I fancy he did not find it too much of an ordeal. But his Highness is right, Raymond. You really should clear up your mess. Come over here.”

Felix turned his head and, for the first time, he saw Raymond lurking in the corner. Like him, Raymond was also bare-chested and clad only in his silver hose. Clearly Alexander had regarded both lads’ fine doublets surplus to requirements.

“I wasn’t particularly impressed by your prowess at licking up that custard from the floor of the Great Hall the other day,” observed Alexander. “It seems to me that you require further practice. After all, I may decide that your new role in life is to clean the castle top to toe – using only your tongue.”

Raymond swallowed instinctively, suppressing the overwhelming urge to fly at Alexander and knee him in his vulnerable, tights-covered groin.

“Hop up onto the bed again, my lad. And let’s see you lick your own cum off Prince Felix’s chest.”

Reluctance and distaste were etched across the dark young man’s face, but he knew he was outmanoeuvred, and he had no choice but to bend over the Prince’s body, and prepare to taste his own salty semen. Raymond planted his palms either side of the Prince’s naked chest and lowered his face to begin his unpleasant task. As he did so, his tights-covered crotch could not help but come to linger against Felix’s own silken bulge. An erotic thrill shot through him as their genitals made contact. And in spite of only just having emptied his load, Raymond’s meat began to stiffen once more.

“Get on with it,” snapped Alexander impatiently. “We have many more games to play and I don’t have all day!”

Raymond stuck out his tongue and tentatively began to lap at the rope of cum criss-crossing Felix’s washboard abdominals.

“Oh, and one more thing, lad! You’re not to swallow any of it. I want you to hold your cum in your mouth for now, you understand?!”

Raymond could only nod his acquiescence, although it was easier said than done, to try and prevent any of the semen slipping down his gullet. He had never acquired a liking for the taste of cum, and even though it was his own, he found the flavour of the now tepid fluid distinctly unpleasant.

“That’s it boy, suck up your own emissions... You’ve missed a blob just there by his Highness’s left nipple...”

Prince Felix seethed. “I demand you wash me properly, Courcey! This is obscene!”

“You never learn do you? You will be silent unless spoken to, Prince Bitch! Or I swear I’ll have you gagged.”

For once, Felix elected to do as he was told, and Raymond began licking around the Prince’s tit. The flesh was clearly sensitive, and Raymond could not resist brushing the nipple with his sharp white teeth.

“Ow!” yelled the Prince. “You bit me, you dolt!”

Raymond – cheeks bulging – glanced up fearfully. Alexander merely smirked.

“Your mouth is pretty full, now Raymond, isn’t it? Your cum mixed with your saliva. Ha! I can see the white liquid starting to dribble from your lips. Very well, you may now rid yourself of the fluid. And you are to empty it into the Prince’s mouth...”

Felix took an intake of breath, but before he had chance to protest, Raymond had done as he was ordered and dribbled a large globule of spittle and semen in between the Prince’s pink, perfect, pouting lips.

Quick as a flash, Alexander was at the head of the bed, where he gripped the Prince’s nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Swallow it!” commanded the Steward. “Swallow your servant’s spunk!”

Felix coughed and sputtered, but he was left with no choice – and eventually the cum-laced saliva slipped down his royal throat.

“How did that taste? Rather a contrast to the venison and champagne that your palate has grown accustomed to, I imagine? Although I’ve always opined that the taste of boy cum does bear the slightest resemblance to caviar...”

Felix gagged as he ingested the concoction.

“Maybe we’ll leave the cum on your face as a moisturiser,” mused Alexander. “It’s a nicely humiliating reminder of your new lowly position.”

His tone of voice became sterner. “You can get off the bed now, Raymond. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you trying to grind your dick against the Prince’s, you little slut. Christ Almighty, I know you’ve been lusting after him for months but you’ve only just wanked over him. Are you fucking insatiable?! Go and stand in the corner until I decide what to do with you next.”

Raymond regretfully did as he was told, and Felix gritted his teeth as Alexander languidly came to sit beside him on the bed. Master Courcey stretched his long, purple legs out in front of him, and gazed down at the Prince’s beautiful, bound body. He tugged experimentally at one of the ropes attached to the Prince’s ankle, causing that beautiful, muscular, leg to jerk involuntarily. It looked as if Felix’s legs had been sprayed red, so tight were his tights – and the bound young man’s breathing was quick and shallow: betraying a mixture of fury and fear.

“You will not break me, Courcey,” vowed the Prince. “I have royal blood in me. Whatever depraved or disgusting act you might perpetrate upon me, I shall not grovel before you. I promise you that. And each new indignity ensures only that your charge sheet grows longer, and that your death, when it comes as it most surely will, will be more excruciating than you could ever begin to imagine.”

“An impressive speech, my lad. But I might take you more seriously if you were in a slightly more powerful position, and not spread-eagled in my bed chamber, tied up in an extremely revealing pair of scarlet tights, with another slaveboy’s dried cum splattered all over your face...”

Felix drew a breath but before he could speak, Alexander had placed his palm over the Prince’s mouth.

“You talk too much, Prince Pricktease. I’ve warned you once about the gag. I shan’t warn you again.”

Alexander smiled as Felix seemed to think better of issuing a retort. “You see – even the least promising of students can learn under my tutelage. Now, we were speaking of humiliating reminders, were we not? Raymond! Fetch that casket from the dressing table!”

Raymond found the velvet-covered box and brought it to Alexander. Master Courcey snapped open the clasp and withdrew from it: “A slave collar! Although as you’ll see this is a very special slave collar. Only the best for you, my Lord! The finest, supplest black leather, studded with gold and rubies. Red, red rubies. The colour of your tights – and the colour of whores! Which is most appropriate given what is in store for you, little Prince Pricktease!”

Felix, in spite of himself, remembered Alexander’s threat about the gag and stayed silent.

“Raymond, let’s see this fine jewelled collar strapped around his Highness’s throat!”

Raymond’s nimble fingers worked quickly, threading the thick collar around Felix’s muscular neck, even as the Prince glared at him.

“Feels humiliating, I bet – being collared like a dog by your former servant, no matter how pretty and glittering the adornment? And yet you’ve always enjoyed pretty adornments, haven’t you, my little Prince? I can see your muscles tense in fury – your strong pectorals, your thighs in your tights bunching at the humiliation. But you’re totally powerless – nothing you can do to stop me degrading you in any fashion I see fit. What a shame. What a damned shame.”

Raymond watched in fascination as Alexander goaded the Prince. He could tell it was taking all of Felix’s willpower not to spit directly in the Steward’s face.

“Now, my lad. I do believe you’re about to enjoy this experience a whole lot more.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember all those months ago when you lured me to your bedchamber with the offer of me using you as my slavebitch? You ground your crotch against my hand with all the practised ease of a Dunchester whore. You promised me your body that day, young Felix. And I have come to claim what I was promised.

“You see those bottles sitting on the shelf over there?” Alexander continued. “They are all powerful potions. The first I used to knock you out. The second to revive you, but the third... Ah the third is the best one. That will, with the merest sniff, drive a man with even the most humdrum and conventional of libidos, into a frenzy of lust. And by happy coincidence, this handkerchief I have here has been liberally doused in that very concoction!”

There was no time for Felix to react before the square of cloth was rammed against his face. He tried to resist, to hold his breath, anything. He knew from past experience, how powerful and overwhelming the concoction was. He tried to avoid inhaling the evil brew, oh how he tried, but pinioned in position as he was, all he could do was thrash his limbs about in protest. He fought with his naked arms and his hosed legs, but Alexander’s grip was strong, and very soon, his strength evaporated as his mind and body were flooded with lust.

Satisfied that his royal victim had inhaled a sufficient dose, Alexander removed the handkerchief. Felix gazed upwards through the fug in his mind as the Steward savoured his moment of triumph. He looked like a wolf about to devour his prey. Alexander licked his lips, and lurched forwards.

Felix’s heart pounded. His blood raced round his body as his new master sank into him. He smelt the scent of the man first: traces of cologne mixed with the heady aroma of fresh perspiration. The Steward was clearly excited at the prospect of having the Prince at his mercy. Felix tried to fight the intoxicating allure of the potion which drew him inexorably to the heat of another human being – any other human – in order to satisfy the rising tide of lust within him. But his cock seemed to have a mind of its own. And even though he knew it was due to the evil effects of the potion, he felt a desperate flush of shame as his cock began to harden. Without having to look, he felt his swelling dick rise and tent within the tight red constriction of his hose.

It took all the effort Felix could muster to try and fight the poison in his veins and turn his head away from Alexander Courcey’s lips. But the Steward was having none of that! He grabbed the Prince’s square jaw in his unrelenting grasp and, without any further hesitation, planted a long kiss on Felix’s mouth.

Felix tried to clamp his mouth shut to avoid Alexander’s long probing tongue, but the older man would not be dissuaded from his goal. Felix felt the soft black bristles of Alexander’s beard brush against his tanned, flawless skin. Even through the haze of lust, he bridled at the weirdly obscene intimacy of being taken and kissed by another man: the combination of masculinity as Alexander’s strong arms held him down. Indeed it was if Alexander himself had partaken of the potion, such was the intensity of his ardour. His moist lips worked at those of the Prince, smothering him so that Felix was left barely able to breathe, as if he would suck the very life essence out of the young man.

His tongue swirled inside the Prince’s mouth, their lips pressed ardently together. He was a good kisser, that much was true, and he seemed to know all the right buttons to push in order to work on and increase Felix’s burgeoning libido.

Then, at some strange and indeterminate moment, rather than fighting him, the Prince gave into the insistent onslaught and began to respond: the potion driving him on in a frenzy of long, deep, passionate kisses.

Raymond, forgotten about in the corner of the room, looked on longingly: how he wished he might be invited to join the masculine orgy on the bed. Instead, he had to make do with only his own hand to rub at his tights-clad groin.

On went Alexander, licking, lapping, slobbering at the defenceless beauty he had so efficiently trussed up. He could have gone on kissing that stunning, chiselled face of hours. Especially as the intoxicated Prince was now panting in response. But Alexander reminded himself that he had other plans for his newest slave victim.

He stepped back to admire the sight of the young Prince. A dastardly grin spread across his face.

“Now, your highness, I think it’s about time I made you a little less comfortable. After all we can’t have you lazing about in your tights in bed all day, can we?”

“Wha-?” mumbled the Prince, still flushed from the after effects of the potion. Alexander’s saliva lying wet across his cheek.

But Alexander’s meaning became apparent all too soon. The Steward grasped the free ends of the cluster of ropes, dangling from the pulley system on the ceiling, and, slowly but surely, he began to tug. Felix looked around him wildly as all at once, his arms and legs began to rise into the air.

Then, in a sudden and unexpected movement, Alexander let the rope go and the Prince’s legs dropped a little. Instead, the Steward selected another cord and began to jerk this - the rope fixed to Felix’s right arm.

“Like a marionette!” crowed Alexander. “My little puppet Prince. A beautiful doll for me to play with and manipulate! I can make your arms go up in the air like this! Or I can send them plummeting to the counterpane! I can pull your strings and send your legs flying into the sky – and then I can yank – yank – yank them so that they are spread as wide as they can go! Shall we try that, eh? Pulling those divinely muscled legs of yours apart so they’re stretched in delicious tights bondage?”

Felix was powerless as Alexander demonstrated the range of positions he was capable of forcing him into. And then, once he had tired of this little game, Alexander made his adjustments carefully to ensure that each of the Prince’s limbs were indeed stretched as far and as wide as they would go. He tied off the end of the ropes, and he purred with satisfaction at the sight of Felix’s muscular legs, encased in their figure-hugging scarlet tights, pulled apart, toes pointing to the ceiling, the groin and ass left vulnerably and enticingly available…

“Are you ticklish, I wonder, my puppet Prince? Raymond – come here! I can see you’re itching to get your hands on the Prince’s body once more. Here are the soles of the royal feet – only that thin layer of stretchy fabric to protect them. Show our captive here just how you can torment his stockinged feet!”

Raymond did not need to be asked twice. Alexander repositioned himself at the Prince’s head, handkerchief in hand, and administered another dose of potion to the trussed up royal.

Once more Felix fought the aroma, but once more it transported him to a heavenly Hell of sexual desire.

“You look so beautiful like this, your Highness,” remarked Alexander. “It is indeed a shame that you cannot see your own predicament. Let us remedy that!”

And with a flourish, the devilish Steward ripped the drapes from the chamber’s walls to reveal that every surface – even the ceiling – was now covered with mirrors. Felix could not avoid the sight of himself in his degrading and inescapable bondage: his arms, biceps bulging, pulled tight away from his chest and straining towards the ceiling, his scarlet legs tugged in opposite directions and spread wide like a common slut. His beautiful face, smeared with his own servant’s white cum, and red with exertion and the effects of the poison, stared back at him. And this image was reflected in every surface – over and over. There was simply no avoiding the sight of his own humiliation. And mortifyingly, the mind-altering effect of the potion changed even his response to the image.

In spite of himself, he found himself becoming aroused by the sight of his own tights-clad legs, his peachy arse bulging in his hose. His narcissism manifested itself through the mist of the poison and began to work against him. He was beautiful, and in bondage, his muscles straining, he could see what a gorgeous animal he was. And he understood how his beauty could not help but drive those around him mad with lust. Unluckily for him, he was entirely at the mercy of such a man.

He felt Raymond’s hands on his legs, roaming up and down, sliding against the soft silkiness of his tights, teasing and tickling his calves and the soles of his feet. He kicked his legs to try and avoid the torment, but there was no escape. The tickling went on and on and on, just as Alexander pushed the handkerchief harder against his face.

It seemed to last forever, and still there was no avoiding the punishment. All the while, Alexander’s mocking laughter rang in his ears.

After what seemed an eternity, the Steward appeared to decide that Raymond had had enough fun. Felix watched, hysterical and exhausted, as Alexander moved to the end of the bed, slapped Raymond’s round backside with a ‘thwack!’ and ordered him back into the corner of the room.

The Steward paused dramatically as he came to stand at the end of the bed.

“And now we come to the crux of the matter, do we not, your Highness? That most intimate, most private and taboo of spots. The place where no man has gone before – the royal arsehole.”

Felix blanched.

“Now don’t look so surprised. Why on earth do you think you were administered a powerful laxative last night? It was to purge you of any, shall we say, extraneous matter? I have no desire to wallow in your shit, not matter how royally divine you may consider it. And as you are now cleaned inside and out, our fun can begin in earnest.”

Chapter 50 - The Sleeping Beauty

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

The Prince’s voice practically screeched with incredulity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a long and uncomfortable night for them both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” asked Raymond suspiciously.

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

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

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

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

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

There was a knock on the door.

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

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

“Excellent. Bring them in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At once, Felix began to struggle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Strip his Highness of his doublet!”

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

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

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

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

“Take his boots off,” said Alexander curtly.

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

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

Raymond hesitated. Was Alexander speaking rhetorically?

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

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

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

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

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

Raymond hesitated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Splat! Splat! Splat!

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

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

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

Chapter 43 - King Felix

It was a triumph far beyond his imagining: beyond anything that Alexander Courcey had ever managed to organise. Raymond looked around the Great Hall as he processed slowly through the ranks of birthday guests. A couple of paces in front of him strode Prince Felix, dressed head to toe in his new finery. He glittered with gems all over – looking every inch the King. Raymond’s eyes couldn’t help drifting downwards to the royal ass: that perfect bubble butt, encased in sequinned white tights. Raymond’s fingers itched to stroke, to caress, and, yes, to spank those inviting globes. But that was for later. There was much to enjoy before that delicious moment could arrive.

He glanced around the Hall, at the brightly coloured banners hanging from the rafters and the equally brightly coloured musicians he had imported for the occasion. The fanfare of their trumpets rang in his ears, heralding the entrance of the Prince. All the guests rose to their feet. Admittedly, some of them did so rather reluctantly, but they all knew better than to show their dislike of their royal master too openly. Indeed, some of the merchants and squires Raymond had invited had chosen to stay away all together, so he had been forced to fill some of the lesser seats with a cartload of tourists from nearby Dunchester.

The Prince strutted proudly through the throng, waving a ringed hand casually at the gawping non-entities. No sign of Odin or Ulfgar, Raymond noted with irritation. Their noses were clearly out of joint at having been supplanted as the Prince’s chief confidant. Raymond nodded to his sister, who was on her feet, applauding, looking radiant in a golden gown. He himself had chosen his attire carefully – a new doublet of black velvet, and the particoloured hose he favoured: one leg jet black and the other creamy white. Felix was the sun and he the moon, content to bathe in the reflected radiance of the godlike Prince: in public at least. In private, he thought to himself, it would be an entirely different matter!

They arrived at the long table at the far end of the room where Lord Geoffrey stood waiting, bathed, refreshed and dressed in deep scarlet robes and hose. His handsome companions, the strapping Sir Antony among them, applauded gravely as the Prince approached. Felix swished around the table and reached the throne in the centre. He turned to his godfather on his right hand side and offered his hand. Geoffrey sank to his knee and kissed the Prince’s fingers.

“Welcome, subjects!” declared Felix. “Welcome and share in the joyous celebrations of my birthday! You may be seated.”

The Prince gestured for Raymond to sit on his other side and said to his Steward, “So, tell me, Raymond, what do you have prepared for me?”

Savoury pastries, venison, fish courses, pies and rich cream sauces all appeared from Mistress Olwen’s kitchen, served up diligently by Mortimer and Humphrey, who both wore a new silver livery in honour of the occasion. The best wine flowed, and for a while, even those who had no reason to love the Prince began to enjoy themselves. Olwen hovered expectantly, as the multitude of puddings and desserts she had prepared were carried aloft and deposited onto the tables.

However, at this moment, the Prince rose to his feet. “Loyal subjects!” he announced. “Twenty-five years ago today the Earth was blessed by my arrival. And for this it is right and proper that you celebrate. But there are further reasons for jubilation on this glorious day. Due to the indisposition of my father, I must tell you that before the week is out I will be leaving you to travel south to London. There I will take the throne as regent. You are looking upon your new monarch.”

Raymond rose to his feet to join his master. “Three cheers! Three cheers for King Felix the Beautiful!”

The assembled guests looked from one to another in confusion. What could this mean? What had happened to the old King? Could they truly celebrate the accession of this arrogant young man to the throne?

A frown of vexation crossed Felix’s handsome features.

“Three cheers for the King, you scum!” declared Raymond.

“No.”

Both Prince and Steward turned in astonishment to look at who had spoken. There, sitting as calmly and gravely as ever, was Lord Geoffrey.

Felix was almost speechless. “What – what did you say?”

“I said no, godson. You will not become king. I will not allow it.”

The Prince’s face flushed an angry shade of puce. “Explain yourself this instant. And you had better make it good!”

Lord Geoffrey rose to his feet. “I speak for the barons and nobleman of England. We have suffered under twenty years of your father’s rule. His reign has seen the exchequer stripped bare and the slaughter of England’s best and bravest men in his obsessive pursuit of war and territory. We are not prepared to sit back and watch the throne go to his spoiled brat of a son.”

“Godfather or no, you will hang for this!” sputtered Felix.

“I think not, godson. You’ll find no friends here or anywhere in this land. Your arrogant behaviour has seen to that.”

Raymond’s heart began to pound. In an instant, he saw all his hopes and dreams begin to crumble before his eyes.

The Prince looked around him urgently. “Guards! Servants! Arrest this traitor!”

Nothing happened. All the guests, the staff, the musicians sat as silently and immobile as each other.

“You will all perish for this insult!” screamed Felix. “Odin! Ulfgar! Arrest them all!”

You could have heard a pin drop.

“Your bullying thugs cannot help you, your Highness,” said Geoffrey in those same measured tones. “I anticipated that you might seek to seize the throne for yourself, so I decided to take some precautions. Still, I have no doubt your Viking friends wish to pay their respects on this special day.”

Geoffrey smiled knowingly at the strapping Sir Antony, who winked back at him and made his way to the corner of the Hall. There, he grasped the iron crank that was used to raise and lower the massive wooden chandeliers which, when filled with candles, illuminated the great room. As Antony began to turn it, the spectators in the Hall looked up to the ceiling and were greeted by an exceedingly curious sight.

The chandeliers had been removed and instead, attached to the stout ropes, now being lowered towards the ground, dangled none other than Ulfgar and Odin. A titter ran round the guests seated below. Then some of the spectators began to giggle. Finally gales of laughter erupted from the throng. The Vikings had been stripped of their sinister black leather jerkins and trousers. Each of the massive men were bare-chested, their vast, hairy torsos glistening with sweat, and both had cloth gags shoved into their mouths to prevent them from making any sound. Their hands were tied behind their backs and their ankles tied together. But the laughter was provoked by the fact that each of the two men were wearing matching pairs of pink and yellow candy-striped tights!

The stretchy hose encased their bulging thigh muscles and made their large, round buttocks look immense. The outlines of their gargantuan cocks and balls were all too apparent through the revealing hosiery. And most humiliatingly of all for the hardened warriors, was the fact that the ropes they swang from had been cunningly fastened to the waistband of their tights, in such a way that the material was stretched as taut as possible. It cut deep into their arsecracks, and gave each of them excruciating and very obvious wedgies.

Raymond looked up as the two giants were lowered from the rafters, his mouth suddenly dry. At any other time he would have joined in with the laughter erupting around him. After all, the bullying brutes deserved a reckoning, and Raymond knew just how much they would be hating being dressed in the clinging hosiery. The two terrifying ogres had been turned into clownish buffoons – their faces red with shame, their bodies on display, and their humiliation plain for all to witness. Odin and Ulfgar struggled in their tights bondage, tears in their eyes as the material splitting their arses in two caused them excruciating pain. Their eyes bulged with shock at being bundled into this terrible position. Their tree-trunk-like, hose-clad legs wriggled, which only increased the painful effect of the wedgies. Raymond’s mind was racing. What should he do? Stay loyal to the Prince or try to ally himself with Lord Geoffrey and turn against his royal master? He glanced across at Felix, whose chiselled features were deathly pale.

“Release my bodyguards, now,” the Prince commanded in a dangerous tone of voice.

But Lord Geoffrey shook his head implacably. “You’re no longer in a position to issue orders, godson.”

Felix looked around him. With the exception of a distinctly queasy-looking Raymond, he saw no friends – only hard faces lined with hatred. In a split second, he made his decision. He vaulted athletically over the long dining table and began to sprint down the hall to the oak doors at the far end. He ran for his life, like a beautiful, white, glittering stag. His lungs burst with desperation, and he had nearly reached the doorway when a booted foot stuck itself out casually, blocking his path. Felix tripped, and went flying through the air. He landed face-down on the floor. His jewelled diadem skittered across the flagstones, and his muscular white legs splayed beneath him. He barely had a moment to recover himself, for Sir Antony and Sir Dominic grabbed him under his armpits, and hauled the panting young man to his feet.

“Surely you don’t intend to leave us so soon, your Highness?” asked the handsome Sir Antony. “These are, after all, your birthday celebrations. You’re not going to desert your own party?”

“Get your filthy hands off me. I am of royal blood,” hissed the Prince.

But Sir Antony merely smirked and gripped him more tightly. “You seem to be without your usual escorts, Sire. Allow us the honour of taking their place.”

Antony and Dominic manhandled the struggling Prince back to the table. Felix tossed his golden locks and looked at his godfather defiantly. “You are making the biggest mistake of your life,” he said.

Lord Geoffrey ignored the threat. “You have been busy in my absence, godson. In little more than six months, you have dismissed and made destitute the bulk of my household, mutilated the local peasants, stolen my possessions, slandered and falsely imprisoned my Chief Steward, and caused the death of my dear uncle, Wilfrid.”

“Says who?” sneered the Prince.

But Raymond knew already the answer to that particular question, and as the drapes behind him parted, his heart sank as he heard the smooth baritone of a familiar voice.

“I have submitted a full report to Lord Geoffrey. The timing of his arrival was most fortuitous. I’m afraid that whatever entertainments we may have tonight to celebrate your birthday, Prince Felix. My demise will not be among them.”

Felix could have spat with fury. There in all his former finery, as smug and handsome as the devil, in a burgundy doublet and sleek black hose stood Alexander Courcey. The Prince made to lunge at the Steward, but between them, Sir Antony and Sir Dominic held him fast.

“You bastard, Courcey!” declared Felix. “I’ll see you in Hell!”

Lord Geoffrey, as calmly stoic as ever, tutted to himself. “Your language, godson, is most unbecoming. That’s no way to address my most loyal servant – particularly whilst you are staying under my roof – and under my protection.” He turned to Antony and Dominic. “Fetch him here!”

Geoffrey’s knights did as they were bidden, dragging the blond Adonis over to their lord and master. The guests in the Hall stared in disbelief at the scene playing out before them, and the apparent fall from grace of the all-powerful Prince.

“It seems to me, Felix, that I have a duty as your godfather to instil some manners into you. You’ve behaved like a spoiled brat since the day you arrived mewling and puking into this world. And because your Father believed the sun shone out of your beautiful arse, you were never once reprimanded or disciplined. Well, I feel responsible for this omission, and I intend to rectify it immediately.”

Geoffrey sat down in his velvet throne and spread his hose-clad legs wide. “I’m going to give you your first spanking, young man.”

Felix blanched. “You wouldn’t dare lay a hand on my body!”

Geoffrey sighed wearily. “This evening is rapidly going to become very tiresome if you keep repeating that same old mantra. Let’s just accept that I have dared. I have dared to depose you, and I am daring to teach you a long overdue lesson, boy.” For the first time, Geoffrey’s eyes flashed dangerously. In that moment, Felix saw the fierce warrior beneath the sophisticated exterior. “Let’s have that pretty little tights-clad bum of yours over your godfather’s knee and you’ll feel the force of my palm!”

Raymond had had enough. He could not see how the Prince could possibly extricate himself from this predicament. Whilst everyone in the Hall was focused on the confrontation between the lord and the prince, he began to slide surreptitiously out of his chair.

Suddenly, a hand clamped firmly down on his shoulder.

“Where are you off to, Master Raymond?” asked Alexander. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost your appetite for partying as well!”

The Steward pulled up a chair next to his usurper and placed a ringed hand high on Raymond’s hosed thigh.

“You’re going to stay and enjoy the fun, aren’t you, lad?”

“It seems I have no choice,” replied Raymond through gritted teeth.

It took the combined strength of both Sir Antony and Sir Dominic to position the struggling Prince over his godfather’s lap, and Felix continued to rage and curse as they did so. The Prince was forced into this new humiliating position, his head dangling and his beautiful bottom, vulnerable in the sparkling, white material, was arranged to Geoffrey’s satisfaction. Sir Antony slid his sword from its scabbard with an ominous scraping sound.

Geoffrey gripped the Prince’s golden hair in his fist and bent to whisper in his ear. “You will take your spanking, boy. If you do not, Antony here will be forced to pierce your smooth flesh with his weapon…”

Raymond couldn’t be entirely sure whether the threat was literal or metaphorical, but either way, he knew the Prince had no choice but to submit to his godfather’s instructions.

Felix screamed with rage but Geoffrey ignored him and instead addressed the rapt spectators. “Young Felix here has been a very naughty boy, my friends. He is to be punished. And his punishment will be prolonged, public, and very humiliating. After all, it is long overdue.” Felix flinched as Geoffrey began gently to caress the royal arse. “This hosed bottom, plump and perky as a peach, lying across my lap is going to get a paddling like you wouldn’t believe!”

The Prince began to writhe and struggle in protest. “If you dare lay one hand on me...!” he gibbered. But Lord Geoffrey merely laughed and raised his arm to administer the opening blow. “You’re never too old for a good spanking, boy!”

Felix gasped as his godfather’s palm made contact with his exquisitely muscled butt. It wasn’t particularly painful, for it was a mild slap at best. It was the utter shock that his divine body had been unceremoniously tipped over his godfather’s lap and his bum spanked like a child. It was utterly inconceivable. It couldn’t truly be happening to him, could it?

“Keep still now, boy, or I’ll spank you harder,” warned Lord Geoffrey as his hands roamed freely over the Prince’s tights-covered, muscular legs and butt. “It must come as a shock finally to be put in your place and given the treatment you’ve deserved for so long!”

Felix was excruciatingly aware of the gaze of the sniggering audience, drinking in the sight of his sacred body lying powerless as he was spanked. “No! No! No!” he cried as his bum began to feel warmed by the paddle-like slaps administered by his godfather.

“You’re no longer in a position to issue commands, Felix - as you will soon realise all too well. Yes, you go ahead – you kick your legs in your pretty white tights, you wriggle your hosed arse and press that lovely cock of yours against my leg. That bum of yours is getting nice and red and warm now, isn’t it? I can feel it heating up nicely through this fine silken hose,” Geoffrey chuckled. “And I think you need to learn some manners, young man. I think I’ll take a “thank you, Uncle Geoffrey” from you as I spank you. Are you ready? This one’s really going to hurt. One, two, three…”

“Owwwwww!!!” cried Felix as Geoffrey’s palm thwacked against the sensitive flesh of his buttocks. “Damn you! I’m a Prince of the realm and I will never plead or beg or grovel to a traitor like you!”

An ominous hush fell across the hall as Geoffrey paused in his use of his godson’s lithe body.

“You know, your Highness. I do believe you’re right. What am I thinking putting you across my knee? You are royal and you should be treated royally. You wanted to become King Felix? Then we should grant your wish. What say you, Alexander?”

Felix raised his head and gazed up at his foe – a baleful expression in his sparkling blue eyes. Alexander ignored the glaring young man and instead, bowed to his lord and master. “I quite agree, my Lord. I believe the time has come for the Prince’s coronation…”