Raymond’s
dream left him troubled and he passed the rest of the night fitfully despite
his luxurious surroundings. He rose and dressed himself in one of Alexander’s
finest doublets – a padded grey jerkin emblazoned with large pearls – and
delicate grey hose, so finely woven as to be almost translucent. He strode down
to the kitchens. Woe betide the serving staff if his instructions had not been
carried out to the letter.
However,
upon his arrival in the great cavernous stone chamber, he found nothing at
which he could complain. The other servants – until so recently his peers or
indeed his superiors – bowed their heads respectfully. And if Mistress Olwen
betrayed a certain truculence in his presence, that was of no great
significance. He stored away the observation with a mental note to admonish her
for her insolence at a later date.
There,
as he had commanded, in the centre of the room stood a newly fashioned item of
furniture: a tall wooden high chair – of the kind in which infants are
traditionally seated. However, this particular chair would be too large for any
child. Moreover, at both arm rests and leg rests were placed wooden manacles,
of the kind that could be found in any rudimentary set of stocks in any town
square.
“Is
it all right?” asked Mortimer anxiously. “My father was a carpenter, you know,
but I’ve not had much chance to practice of late.”
“It
will suffice,” Raymond told him. He turned to the rest of the cowering staff
and asked with a smirk, “Can you guess who is going to be put into it?”
They
all knew. It was as inevitable as day following night. Mistress Olwen sniffed
her disapproval but dared say no more.
“Where
is Baby Will?” sneered their new Steward. “Come along now, don’t be shy.”
Mortimer
sniggered as the servants parted and Will – damp diaper still encircling his
middle – shuffled forwards.
“You’re
still in your piss-stained nappy, then, goat-shit? Why of course you are. I’m the only one who can change you out of it. Maybe
we’ll do that after breakfast.
Maybe I’ll leave you in it all day long. Now, hop up into your high-chair!”
Will
clambered onto the wooden chair. He’d had to piss himself again in the night,
so now both the nappy and the seat of his tights were truly saturated. He
pulled a miserable face as he sat down, the wetness pressing against his bum a
constant reminder of his humiliation. His cheeks reddened. He didn’t want to
make eye contact with any of the other castle staff.
“Lock
him in place!” Raymond gestured to Mortimer and Humphrey, and they sprang to do
as they were told, one on each side, fastening first Will’s wrists and then his
blue-hosed ankles to the sides of the chair. The wooden manacles secured, Will
could struggle all he liked, but he had no hope of release.
“You
may all begin your meal,” commanded Raymond, and the ravenous servants flocked
and settled around the long wooden table and benches to begin their repast of
bread and porridge.
Finally,
Raymond turned his attentions to Will. “You are to be given a greater honour
than you deserve, goat-shit. I’m going to feed you myself.”
Will’s
face fell in dismay. Far from feeling that this was a great honour, he knew it
would only mean further humiliation at the hands of his nemesis.
“Do
you have Will’s special breakfast recipe specially prepared, Mistress Olwen?”
Raymond enquired with excessive mock-courtesy.
Muttering
under her breath, the fat cook handed him a pewter bowl. Raymond sniffed it
elaborately.
“Hmmm…
that smells completely … disgusting!”
He
tipped the bowl towards Will so that the blond lad could see its contents: a
greenish-grey sludge of a fairly thick consistency. Indeterminate lumps floated
in it and it looked distinctly cold and unappetising.
“I
ordered Mistress Olwen to scrape her larder for only the oldest and mouldiest
ingredients. We must be careful. Common goat-herds like you are unused to the
rich food of the aristocracy after all. We mustn’t upset your baby boy tummy
now, must we?” He patted Will’s belly just above the waistband of the nappy.
The
other servants had by now finished their own breakfasts and all their
attentions were fastened on the forthcoming entertainment that they knew
Raymond was about to provide. Their new master selected a small wooden spoon
from the dining table and dipped it into the congealed goo. Humphrey licked his
lips in spite of himself. His permanent state of hunger meant that he’d have
been prepared to try it anyway.
“Come
along now, baby boy,” cooed Raymond as he propelled the spoon towards Will’s
mouth. “Open up for brek-brek.”
Will
clamped his mouth shut, determined not to give Raymond the satisfaction of
feeding him the foul-looking gunk.
Raymond
tutted. “Naughty boy Will doesn’t want to eat? That will never do.” He did not
slow the approach of the utensil but rather than inserting it into Will’s
mouth, he smeared its contents across Will’s cheek and closed lips.
It
smelt of old beans and peas, thought Will as it dripped slowly from his face
onto his fine blue tunic.
“There
you go. You’re going to have to eat it all
you know.” A second spoonful, this time wiped across Will’s other cheek and
nose. Some of the puree went up his nostrils.
“What
a mess you’re making!” exclaimed Raymond. “Clearly goat-shit baby boys like you
never learn proper table manners!”
Will
heard a chuckle from Mortimer, and it was plain that his humiliation was
proving some welcome entertainment for his colleagues. He continued to keep his
mouth firmly shut, but the blob of bean that was stuck up his nose made this
harder to do. And then as the third spoonful approached his face, Raymond said
sharply, “Now this one is going in your mouth, bitch!” and gripped Will’s nose
with his free hand. Will gasped in pain and surprise, and as he opened his
mouth, Raymond rammed the spoon inside and tipped its unpleasant contents onto
Will’s tongue.
Will
spluttered as the lumpy fluid went down his gullet and the other servants
laughed at his discomfort.
“Come
now, goat-shit. I know you’ve had worse in your mouth!”
Raymond
continued to feed him, sticking to his promise that the entire contents of the
bowl would have to be consumed before Will would be set free. However, he
became even more careless as he went on. Dollops of the green gunk
‘accidentally’ slipped from the spoon and onto the fine blue fabric of Will’s
tights making him flinch as the cold goo seeped through his hose and onto his
legs. Raymond made sure he leant his hand on Will’s muscular thighs to ensure
the mashed up vegetables were rubbed in. A particularly large spoonful was
carefully tipped onto Will’s groin, so that a green stain blossomed over his
hosed crotch: not that Will could feel anything through the thick wadding of
his diaper.
“Nearly
finished!” declared Raymond, “just the dregs to go now!”
And
with that, he upended the bowl over Will’s head. Will cringed as the cold gunk
slowly dribbled down his blond hair, down the back of his neck and into the
collar of his tunic, into his eyes, over his pert nose and pooled around his
pretty pink lips.
Raymond
took a step backwards to examine the page boy anointed with the green gruel:
his blue finery ruined and his tights saturated with the rotten food.
“Why
what a mess you’ve made, goat-shit. Look at you, sitting there in your big wet
nappy. Not able to feed yourself properly. Your delicious breakfast has gone everywhere! All over your face, your clothes, your tights! I
think maybe you’d better stay here for a while to think about what a
disobedient little baby boy you’ve been and how you’re going to change your
behaviour if you don’t want to make your Master angry in the future!”
Raymond
turned to the other staff and glowered at them. “Don’t you miserable lot have
work to do?”
There
was the scuffing sound of benches being pushed back and, like fearful rodents,
the servants scurried about their daily business.
Raymond
turned to the red-faced Mistress Olwen. “Leave goat-shit here for an hour or
two. Then get him cleared up and sent about his daily chores. I’ll want to play
with him again this evening.”
Later
that morning, Raymond was once more in attendance on his royal master. What
would the capricious beauty desire from him today, he wondered. All became
clear when it transpired that the Prince’s loyal bodyguards had returned to the
castle in the early hours of that very morning.
The
travel-weary brutes were summoned into the Prince’s presence to be informed of
the new state of affairs.
“Since
he displayed more aptitude for protecting my royal person than either of you
lumbering freaks, I have appointed Raymond my Chief Steward and right-hand man.
You will obey him in all things and regard his orders as my own.”
Odin,
in particular, widened his eyes as the implications of the change in Raymond’s
station sank in. He was no fool, and clearly knew from experience the folly in
questioning the Prince’s whims, so he remained silent. He gazed at the new
Steward, proud and imperious in his fine pearl-laden doublet and shimmering
sheer hose; a far cry from the struggling and unwilling fuck toy whose sweet
tight arse he had enjoyed these past few weeks.
Raymond
met his gaze: his deep, dark eyes unfathomable. Both men knew that what had happened
between them in the past would not be forgotten, and each recognised in the
other an adversary of whom they would need to be wary in the future. But for
now, all was smiles and good nature.
“Of
course, your highness,” grinned Odin insincerely. “I wish young Master Raymond
every felicitation in his sudden and unexpected elevation.”
Raymond
did not speak but gave the Viking a curt nod instead.
“Excellent,”
said Felix.
“How
did your ‘expedition’ go, Odin?” Raymond asked politely.
Odin
bared his teeth. “His Highness can now be assured of the loyalty of the local
peasants. In every village we passed, at least one of its residents is now
lighter by one hand.”
“We
have a big sack of them if you want to see, my liege,” added Ulfgar
conversationally.
“That
won’t be necessary,” muttered the Prince, his face blanching. “And now, for
today’s entertainment. As the forest is now a safe place for me to venture, I
shall go hunting today.”
Raymond
had already observed that the Prince was dressed in his riding leathers. Long
black boots snaked their way up the royal legs, exposing a mere hint of cream
hosiery at the top of his thighs.
“You
will ride out with me, Master Raymond?”
“It
would be a pleasure and an honour, Your Highness.
It
was midday before Will was finally released from his high-chair.
“I’d
have done it sooner,” confessed Mistress Olwen, “but just between you and me, I
don’t dare give that young man cause to get any angrier with you and me than he
is already. Now I know Master Alexander had his – fancies. And I can’t say that
I approved of them none either, but at least he had a wise head on his
shoulders. He always made sure the castle ran like clockwork, and he kept his
fun and games in proportion. But there’s a kind of cruelty to young Raymond.
Always has been! He used to like setting fire to beetles as a lad. And I fear
for what will happen to us all now he and that young Prince Felix are in league
with each other. I don’t reckon he considers any of us any more significant
than those poor insects he used to fry!”
This
monologue continued as Will was stripped of his gunk-covered doublet and hose.
She wiped the dried pottage from his face and made him bend over the sink so
that she could rinse the lumps of food from his matted hair.
“I
wish I could do something about that,”
she gestured to the yellow-stained nappy fastened around Will’s hips. “But it’s
padlocked in place, and I can guess who holds they key!”
Will
blushed in shame. In spite of all the other degradation he had endured since
coming to live at the castle, he wondered if he would ever become accustomed to
it. Here he was, stripped naked and made to stand in a dirty nappy in front of
an old woman he barely knew. He’d given up all hope of ever reclaiming his
dignity and his self-respect.
“Master
Yorick’s wardrobe store is sorely depleted, young Will. Those Viking brutes
pillaged it when they first came here, but I’ve managed to find you a couple of
things to wear whilst your own clothing is washed. I don’t know if they’ll fit
you but they’ll have to do for now.”
She
handed him a plain grey tunic, and a pair of white tights. He pulled the tights
up as far as they would go, but it was obvious that they were too small for
him. Even had he not been wearing a bulky nappy they would not have fitted, but
as it was, the gusset loitered half way between his knee and his crotch, and
the waistband only made it about part way over the diaper, exposing a large
area of cloth. It highlighted even more clearly that he – a grown adult well
past puberty – had been diapered. Equally, the tunic was too small. It would
not fasten over his chest, and displayed most of his bare, smooth torso.
Mistress
Olwen sighed as she too recognised how inadequate Will’s new apparel was. “Ah
well, it will have to do,” she shrugged.
Will
slipped his white-hosed feet into his own black pumps, and disconsolately went
on his way.
He
knew that he should join Mortimer straight away, and help him to clean the
clogged gutters at the battlements of the castle, but Mistress Olwen’s mention
of the key that was needed to free him from his nappied cage gave him the spur
he required. Raymond’s position in Prince Felix’s affections seemed assured. He
hoped and prayed that the barbaric Odin would not, as Raymond had speculated,
come seeking him as a replacement victim. But even if he did, being ravished
and violated by the brute would not exactly give him the required opportunity
to replace the damning dungeon key which he had stolen from Odin’s key ring. He
had to get rid of it.
Will
hurried to the empty dormitory, and fumbled around in his straw bedding until
he found the iron key. He checked furtively around him, and waddling more than
ever, due to his damp nappy and too-small tights, he made his way into the
centre of the courtyard. As discreetly as he dared, he checked over each
shoulder, and then dropped the incriminating evidence into the well. Down it
tumbled, until he heard it hit the water far below with a satisfying “splosh”.
He
breathed a sigh of relief, wiped the rusty residue of the key against the stone
wall, and waddled on his way.
He
would have been more anxious had he noticed in the shadows a small pair of
beady eyes observing him with keen interest.
