Chapter 64 - A Champagne Celebration

         Will didn’t quite understand it himself, but he knew in the deepest, darkest parts of his soul, he wanted it to happen. He licked his lips, gazed into Alexander’s dark, cat-like eyes and nodded.

Alexander grinned triumphantly. “You won’t regret this, boy.”

Will was divested of his waistcoat and pumps, leaving him wearing only his slave collar and sheer, white tights. Alexander led him in to the bedroom.

“And it seems you’ve finally accepted your true nature,” he hissed in Will’s ear. “You struggled at first, I know. But now you know you need to be used and abused. You’re just my tights-wearing bitch boy.”

Alexander took Will’s wrist and led him to the bed. He took a silk scarf and tied Will’s left arm to one bed-post, and then his right arm to another. He drank in the sight of the sexy, bare-chested youth, clad only in his clinging white tights. He was aware of the all too apparent danger that might come from merely gazing at the boy. All these months of fantasising …He hadn’t dared dream that he would ever be able to use the page-boy again. And now he could.

Will looked up at his master anxiously. There was no turning back now. He had willingly submitted to whatever Alexander had in store for him. He tugged slightly, testing the bonds at his wrists, but they were secured as surely as night follows day. He writhed a little, enjoying the sensation of the silken sheets against his hosiery, knowing the sight of him wriggling his legs would excite Alexander. 

The next thing he knew, that familiar bottle of potion was thrust under his nose.

“Breathe deep, bitch,” murmured Alexander. And Will did so.

The potion coursed through his veins, making every fibre of his being feel charged with eroticism. 

“Open wide, slut.”

Will did as he was told, and was rewarded with another mouthful of champagne as Alexander kissed him: long and hard and deep.

Then Alexander’s warm, manly hands were all over his body: stroking, groping, pinching. His nipples were taken between Alexander’s lips and nibbled till they became hard and erect. Will groaned in ecstasy as Alexander rubbed his hard cock through the sheer fabric of his white tights.

Then he felt Alexander’s face buried between his arse cheeks: his master breathing in the scent of Will’s rosebud hole. Alexander’s tongue pressed through the hosiery, pushing and probing at that darkest and most intimate of places. Will moaned again. 

“Yes, Sir, please, Sir,” he incanted.

“What, boy? Tell me what you want.”
“I want … I need you in me, Sir. I need my tights master in my boy hole.”

“Oh how your master loves to hear you beg…”

Will gasped as he felt Alexander’s fingers tearing the delicate material. And then it came - the glorious sensation of Alexander’s wet tongue slobbering at his hole, at first merely licking and teasing at the edges, before pushing deep, deep inside of him.

Pre-cum leaked from Will’s excited cock, staining the front of his tights. Alexander had not lied when he told Will he would devote himself exclusively to the younger man’s pleasure. Will’s hole was licked and sucked with the expertise of a Dunchester whore, and Will gasped in ecstasy as his sensitive opening was pleasured by Alexander’s tongue.

Eventually, just as Will began to think he might climax from the sheer sensation of being rimmed, Alexander knelt up.

“As this is a celebration, my lad, I think it calls for more champagne, don’t you?”

Alexander slipped into the other room and fetched a couple of bottles from the ice bucket. “I’m going to give that hole of yours a real treat, boy.”

Will gazed up woozily and watched Alexander uncork the bottle.

“Let’s get it nice and fizzy, eh?”

Alexander placed his hand over the aperture and proceeded to shake the bottle vigorously.

“Here we go…”

Then, removing his palm at the very last moment, he pushed the neck of the bottle into Will’s well-lubricated arsehole.

Will cried out in shock as he felt the ice cold liquid shoot inside him. It wasn’t the first time his guts had been flooded with alcohol: that had been at the hands of the devious Ebony, back in the filth and squalor of Lunk’s hideout. But that had been mere cheap grog, not this luxurious libation, directly from Sir Geoffrey’s wine cellar.

“What an extravagant treat, for you, young pageboy! A champagne enema!” Alexander cried.

The acid liquid stung his sphincter, and Will’s body convulsed with shock as the gassy fluid flooded deep into his bowels: “Ah! Ah! Ah!”

Alexander lifted Will’s ankles over his head so his arse was pointing up in the air, ensuring the bottle was vertical so its contents could more easily glug into the boy’s anal cavity. Then he started to fuck Will with the bottle itself - in and out, in and out - depositing even more of the champagne into the lad’s helpless body as he did so.

Eventually, Alexander withdrew the bottle and its still fizzing contents began to spray around the room. 

“Open wide, boy! Take a good swig!”

Alexander tipped the liquid into Will’s mouth, the younger lad gulping eagerly to try and swallow its contents.

“Drinking champagne at both ends of your body,” murmured Alexander. “How delightful decadent! Oops-a-daisy - it looks like I’m being a little careless.”

And with that, he began to pour the liquid all over Will’s body, letting it fall in spurts, first soaking the boy’s hair and face, before proceeding to drench his white tights. Will quickly began to feel light-headed as the alcohol infused his bloodstream. His cock remained hard as ever as Alexander baptised him with the champagne: an obscene parody of the religious rite. Alexander himself took a swig from the bottle. 

“Excellent vintage!” he declared. “Only the best for you, my sweet little slut!”

Then he was back kneeling between the boy’s thighs. Alexander massaged Will’s pulsing arsehole with his fingers, and then, without warning, he plunged the bottle back into the orifice, depositing the rest of the champagne inside the boy’s bum. Only once he was sure the bottle was empty, did Alexander remove it, tossing it casually into the corner of the room.

“It’s no use,” he admitted. “I cannot wait any longer.”

And with that, he lowered Will’s tights-clad legs and rested them on his own shoulders. 

“I don’t think I’ve fucked a boy with an arse full of champagne before…”
Will held his breath in preparation for the onslaught. He did not have to wait long. It had been several months since he had been penetrated by a real cock: not since the thieves and ruffians of Lunk’s gang had subjected him to their relentless onslaught. The Abbot, after all, had stopped short of putting his own stubby dick inside him - a fact for which Will was eternally grateful - and had instead used only his fingers and the wooden dildo on Will’s puckered opening. It had been even longer since he had been fucked by Alexander’s sinuous man-meat. But once experienced, the Chief Steward’s prick was not easily forgotten. Will gritted his teeth as he felt the mushroom head nudging at his sphincter. And as Alexander forced it inside him, a cry of agony and ecstasy escaped from his throat, just as a spurt of champagne escaped from his arse. The acidic fluid made Will’s hole tingle on its exit just as it had on its way in, but it was not at all an unpleasant sensation. Alexander paused for a moment to allow Will to become accustomed to the presence of that monstrous cock inside him. And then he began his onslaught: slowly at first, and then with growing urgency, rocking back and forth. As Alexander’s cock churned up the gassy liquid, Will could not help but emit a loud belch.

Alexander merely laughed. “Oh your sweet, satiny chute is as delightful as ever! That’s it boy, clamp down on my cock. Remember how good it feels to have your tights-master fucking you…”

Will did remember. And there was no resistance now: no guilt or anxiety.  There was no point fighting it any longer. He finally accepted his vocation. He was a tights slut. He existed merely to provide pleasure to his master. And finally he admitted to himself that he wanted it, needed it, indeed craved it, just as much as Alexander did.

Alexander’s cock continued to plunge into the lagoon of champagne inside Will’s arse. The last time he had fucked Will was on the dirty dungeon floor, in the straw and the piss; a stolen, frightened, desperate fuck, certain it would be the last chance he’d ever get to possess this beautiful boy. And now, he thought, look at the squirming little slut! Will’s white tights were rendered transparent from the soaking with the champagne, the potion coursed through the lad’s body, his hole clenching against Alexander’s cock as he ploughed in and out of that sexy little body.

It was no use. He could hold back no longer. With a triumphant cry of ecstasy, Alexander came, shooting his load into Will’s body, as another spurt of champagne leaked from the page-boy’s arse. Will’s body bucked as Alexander filled him with his jism, lacing the champagne with his cum.

Alexander’s orgasm went on and on: all the pent-up months of desire for the peasant boy finally fulfilled. After what felt like an eternity, he withdrew his cock, champagne and semen dripping from its end and, squatting beside Will’s face, slapped him across the cheek with it.

“Lick it, bitch,” he commanded, and Will did so: his tongue lapping up the droplets as eagerly as a mongrel laps up water from the street.

“Now, do you want to cum, too?” he teased. “Or shall I just leave you here, tied up until pretty little Iris comes to change the bed linen?’

“Oh, please, Sir,” gasped Will. “Please let me cum!”

His cock strained against the enclosure of his clinging white hose. 

“Hmm… We shall see. Let’s top you up first.”

Alexander strode into the other room and fetched another bottle of champagne. 

“You’re to keep the rest of that champagne inside you. I want you to release it when you cum.

Alexander shook the new bottle vigorously, a leering grin spreading evilly across his face. Then, quick as a flash, the bottle was uncorked, and losing as little of the fizzy drink as possible, he rammed the opening up Will’s pulsing hole.

Will almost came in that instant as once again the cold shock of the champagne shot deep inside his body. His stomach gurgled and cramped as Alexander filled him up.

“Breathe, boy, enjoy those cramps as they torture your poor guts! They’re your reward, after all!”

The discomfort of his cramping belly only turned Will on even more: Alexander’s hands seemed to be everywhere, forcing more of the potion under his nose, groping him through his sodden tights, tweaking, pinching, slapping, rubbing, and finally wanking Will’s rock-hard dick through the sheer hosiery.

The bottle was withdrawn, and now Will’s task was to keep the fluid inside him, as his bowels gurgled and churned. He clenched his sphincter tight, every sinew straining to obey his Tights-master’s order. 

Alexander wanked Will’s cock urgently, frantically. And just as Will felt the sensation building, and just as he was about to come, Alexander abruptly stopped.

“Oh I could spend all night long edging you closer and closer, boy. Imagine it! To be brought so close only to be perpetually denied the ecstasy of release.”

Will could hardly imagine anything more devastating - and tantalising.

Soon Alexander was rubbing Will’s cock again, just as another cramp hit the boy’s belly. Alexander prodded and rubbed Will’s bulging abdomen.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” cried Will. “Oh I’m close, Sir! I’m so close!”

“Then come for me, Tights-bitch, and spray that champagne enema out of your slutty hole!!”

Will did not need to be told twice. As the next wave of cramps hit him, he squeezed his bowels, and the flood of liquid spurted out of his anus, just as his thick cock streamed wave after wave of wet hot jism into his sodden tights. He screamed in ecstasy as Alexander laughed joyfully to see the effect his erotic ministrations had had on the boy.

The orgasm seemed to go on and on and on. But eventually the waves subsided, and the panting boy lay gasping for breath, soaked, but happy. The scarves at his wrists were loosened and he was released from his bondage.

And then Alexander held him, in a warm and affectionate embrace. The older man gazed down thoughtfully at the peasant boy.

“And did we enjoy that, my little tights-slut?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, Sir,” gasped Will. “Oh yes, I did.”

“Your quest was successful then, my friend.”

Sir Geoffrey smiled benignly at his Steward.

“It was indeed, my Lord. The page boy seems remarkably resilient. In spite of his travails at the hands of Prince Felix, and his adventures on the road, the boy has survived.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Alexander. What will become of him now? Is he to return to his duties at the castle?”

“I think not, my Lord. I am still mulling over his future. With your permission, I think I shall keep him lodged in my chambers. At least for now.”

“Given your loyal service, I think making a gift to you of this particularly enchanting young man is the least I can do.”

“My Lord.” Alexander bowed deeply.

“Now, to other matters. Christmas will soon be upon us, and after the terrors and traumas that we have all suffered over the past year and a half, I think we should throw a Winter festival here at the castle and invite all the villagers and townsfolk from miles around. What say you, my friend?”

“A wonderful idea. And perhaps - I can arrange some entertainment?”

‘Alexander, you know, I think that would be a wonderful idea.”

Chapter 63 - Where There's A Will

   
   

Alexander strode through the monastery garden, the smell of lavender and rosemary mingling as he passed. He found Brother Ralf standing by the gate.

“That rogue has definitely gone, Brother?” inquired Alexander. “I can leave one of my men here just in case.”

“Thank you, Master Courcey, but I’ll place my faith in the Lord.”

“Up to you. I suppose you do have a cohort of young men here who can beat him off with their rakes and hoes.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Alexander turned to inspect the various youths diligently at work in the garden. His well-trained eye was instantly drawn towards a tall, broad-shouldered young man with dark brown hair. The novice monk had been watching Alexander with a kind of urgent desperation. As Alexander’s gaze rested on him, the young man turned away, but it was too late. He had clearly been watching him.

“What’s his name?”

Brother Ralf glanced over. “That, my Lord, that is Brother Hal.”

“I’d like to speak to him.”

The monk sighed. “As you wish, Master Alexander.”

The young man’s olive skin and hazel eyes were most appealing, as were the way his long dark hair fell across his forehead. And if Alexander wasn’t mistaken (and he knew he wasn’t), the novice couldn’t quite take his eyes from Alexander’s silken bulge.

Brother Hal knelt on the grass, his hands dirty with soil. Alexander towered over him: his hose-clad groin level with the novice’s handsome face.

“My Lord,” he murmured.

“Brother Hal,” replied Alexander. “Please, stand. There’s no need for you to kneel before me.”

Hal rose to his feet.

Alexander said nothing. The young man was tall - indeed they were roughly the same height. Alexander looked at him: a slight smile playing around his lips - a challenge in his eyes. Hal’s breathing became faster: his tongue appeared briefly, nervously moistening his full, pink lips. Alexander’s smile grew broader. He hadn’t been mistaken after all. Eventually he spoke.

“I’m a little thirsty, Brother Hal. Maybe we could step inside and you could provide me with some refreshment.”

“Will water suffice, my Lord? I could sweeten it with a little of Brother Ralf’s elderflower cordial if you would like…”

“Oh I think you’re quite sweet enough, my lad. Don’t you?”
A look of nervous confusion passed across Hal’s face. “My Lord?”

“Come over here. You’ve not been able to take your eyes off my crotch since I arrived. have you? Well, be my guest - have a good feel. I think we’d both enjoy that.”

Suddenly, Alexander grabbed Hal’s wrist, and before he knew what was happening, the young monk found his clammy palm pressed against Alexander’s rock hard cock.

Hal gasped as he felt the sinewy serpent twitching beneath the fine material of Alexander’s tights. 

“You’re quite a beauty, you know,” purred the older man. “Seems a shame for you to be shut away in here.”

“Pl-please, my Lord,” stammered Hal. “I’m a simple man. I want only to serve God. I don’t envy you your extravagant life at the castle.”

“Extravagant, eh? What have you heard about life under Lord Geoffrey? And more importantly, from whom did you hear it?”

Hal looked more nervous than ever.

“Don’t be scared, boy. No harm will come to you from speaking the truth, you know that surely? Now tell me. You spoke to Will, didn’t you?”

Hal nodded.

“Do you know where he is now?”
“Please, my Lord,” begged Hal in anguish.

Alexander cradled Hal’s cheeks gently in his palms. “I don’t want to hurt him,” he said softly. “I just need to find him. You see, I owe that boy my life.”

A flicker of confusion passed across Hal’s face.

“Were you his master? The one who locked him inside that cruel metal  chastity device?”

“I was indeed his master, but no, I’m not responsible for caging his pretty prick.”

“I see.”

Alexander moved even closer, and planted a wet, lingering kiss on Hal’s full lips. Then he entwined his arms around the younger man and held him in a tender embrace.

“Now, tell me where he is.”

  “Back again so soon, Alexander? I never realised you were such a devout Christian…”
Alexander looked at the chubby Abbot. There was a definite hint of irritation beneath the obsequious veneer.

“Oh but of course, your Grace. What do you take me for? In fact that’s the very reason I have not yet departed.”

“Oh?”

“I realised it would be most remiss of me to leave the monastery without spending some time in prayer with you, our holy Father.”

The Abbot nodded sagely. “Of course, of course. I’d be delighted to give you my blessing.”

“What I wish, more than anything, is to see - maybe even hold - some of the holy relics that you have here.”

“Relics?”
“Come now, there’s no need to be coy with me. I hear the shin bone of Saint Veronica is here in your reliquary…”

“Mere rumour…”

“That’s not what I hear. And surely you wouldn’t deny me the chance to gaze on such a divine relic.”

“Alexander “ -

“Now, where could it be? A-ha! Surely it must be in this beautiful cabinet…”

Alexander strode over to the corner of the room.

“No!” cried the Abbot. “There’s nothing in there. Just brooms, buckets…”

“Surely not. Such expert craftsmanship cannot house a mere store cupboard!”

Alexander tried the door handle. It was locked, as he anticipated it would be. He turned to the Abbot and held out his palm. “The key?”
“I - I don’t have it,” stammered the sweating cleric.

“Maybe you could check amongst the bunch that dangles from your belt…”

Alexander did not wait. Instead he lunged for the key ring and snatched it from the cord at the Abbot’s waist.

“How dare you!” spluttered the Abbot, but Alexander ignored him as he swiftly sorted through the keys.

Alexander turned to him with a triumphant flourish. “Now, now, Abbot you must not guard your holy treasures so jealously! Beauties such as this should be shared, don’t you think?”

And with that he unlocked the cabinet and flung open the door. Sure enough, blind-folded, gagged and tied to a three-legged stool, sat the naked Will.

Alexander shook his head slowly and let out a low whistle. “Well, well. I never expected St Veronica’s shin bone to look like this.”

Less than half an hour later, Will - dressed again in a pair of rough hessian trousers and linen shirt - found himself on the back of a stallion, ridden by one of Alexander’s guards. If Will had expected an emotional reunion with the man whose life he had saved, he was to be disappointed.  Alexander had barely said a word. He had merely bundled him out of the monastery, lingering only to speak briefly to the ashen-faced Abbot.

Will had managed a garbled goodbye to a clearly startled Brother Ralf, but although Will searched the vegetable patch for a sign of Hal, the handsome novice monk was nowhere to be seen.

So, once again, he was at the whim of this strange, powerful man. And as he risked a glance at Alexander’s Mephistophelean features, he felt bewildered by the Chief Steward’s attitude. What had happened in the many months since he’d helped Alexander escape from the dungeon? Was he still a fugitive? Was the tyrannical Prince Felix still reigning despotically? It seemed he was to be given no opportunity to ask, and the guard - around whose waist Will clung - was in no mood to chat.

As they thundered along the dirt path that led from the monastery, Will realised they were heading for the castle. What could that mean? Was he destined once again to be tormented by his merciless foe, Raymond? It was all so confusing. Still, he’d find out soon enough, and at least he was finally free from the clutches of the repulsive Abbot Cuthbert.

The drawbridge rose, and Will once again found himself in the familiar surroundings of the castle courtyard. It all felt unreal - and a long time since that sultry summer day when he was led out of the castle, tied over the back of a horse, his cock imprisoned in its steel cage, his arse stuffed with melting bars of soap, his legs encased in his fine blue tights.

Alexander trotted on ahead, and the Steward did not even glance behind him. The guard reined in his steed, dismounted and lifted Will to the ground. The guard nodded to a pretty young serving wench who had apparently been awaiting Will’s arrival.

“You’re to come with me,” said the girl, who turned on her heel and hurried into the castle.

Will didn’t recognise her, but he tried to question her as he followed in her wake.

“You’re new here?” he asked. 

“That’s right. My name is Iris.”

“Is Prince Felix - ?”

“I’m not supposed to answer your questions. Just give you your instructions.”

Will nodded mutely. He’d spent the last year and a half with little idea of what would happen to him from one moment to the next. Why should things be any different now?

Iris led him to one of the castle’s guest bedchambers. It was not as ornately decorated as those of Alexander or Lord Geoffrey, but it was certainly more comfortable than the straw pallet he had bedded down on during his time as the junior page boy. A large wooden tub filled with soapy water sat in the corner of the room.

“You’re to bathe,” said Iris. “Then get dressed in these clothes.” She gestured to the bed. “And then you are to wait.”

She bobbed a little curtsey and went to the door.

“But”- began Will.

“I’m to tell you no more.”

And then she was gone.

Will stripped, bathed, and towelled himself. Then he went to inspect the garments awaiting him on the bed’s coverlet.

In one way, he was not surprised: a leather collar, a thin, leather strap, soft leather pumps, a waistcoat and the inevitable pair of tights. Will thought back to the first day he’d spent in the castle, stripped and manhandled by the leering Master Yorick. However, apparently on this occasion he was to be trusted to dress himself. 

He reached out to stroke the silky, sensuousness of the hosiery. He lifted them to his face and breathed in their fresh, clean odour, the material caressing his cheek. Instantly, and inevitably, his cock began to stiffen. He didn’t hesitate, but wrapped the leather cock strap around his engorged penis, keeping it hard and throbbing. Then he sat down on the bed and gathered, first one, then the other leg of the tights. They were purest white, and almost seemed to shimmer in the candlelight of the chamber. They must be very expensive - and he had to be careful not to rip the fine material as he tugged it over his calves. He stood up and hoiked the hosiery as high as it would go - almost reaching his little pink nipples. Then he adjusted the seam at the back so the material disappeared into the crevice of his arse. They fitted perfectly, and Will had to resist the temptation to rub his cock through the clinging material. For he knew, if he did, he would not be able to resist climaxing, and the pristine tights would be spoiled with his cum.

Instead, he slipped his stockinged feet into the soft, white leather pumps, and then pulled on the waistcoat - white again, and this time embroidered with gold thread. He wondered at the finery, even as he attached the slave collar - that reminder of his lowly position of servitude - around his neck.

He admired himself in the mirror. He had lost a little weight in the past six months, unsurprisingly. But his leg muscles still bulged pleasingly in his hose, and he sensed he would still be considered attractive to the kind of man who enjoys sexually abusing youths. He wondered what future awaited him now, and which powerful man would be next to seek to subjugate his body.

He was not left pondering for long, as the door swang open, and once again, pretty little Iris appeared. She glanced at his new attire, her eyes lingering appreciatively on his hose-covered legs and bulging crotch.

“Come with me,” she said.

Will didn’t attempt to question her again as he was led up the familiar staircase to the Chief Steward’s chambers. He remembered his first visit to the richly decorated rooms: how nervously he had waited as Alexander had inspected every inch of his young body. He had no more of an idea of what awaited him now than he had all those months ago.

The room was much as he’d remembered it. The sole difference was that a wooden table was laid for supper. Two chairs sat at either end. He turned to speak to Iris, but she had already slipped away.

Instead, a familiar, sonorous baritone rang in his ears.

“Well, boy, it has been quite some time, hasn’t it?”
Will span around. Sure enough, there stood Alexander Courcey: as refined and handsome as ever, long burgundy robes hanging from his shoulders. Satin black tights clung to his lean thighs, with calf length leather boots on his feet.

“You must be hungry. Come, join me for supper.”
“Me, Sir?”

“Who else? We have much to catch up on, after all.”

Will marvelled at the bizarreness of being treated like an equal by the man who for so long had dominated and tormented him.

“You look nervous. I can understand that. But let me assure you, this is no trick. It’s true that I have played games with you before: teased both your mind and your body for my sexual gratification. But you can relax. You are safe now. No lecherous priests, thuggish thieves or sadistic princelings are lurking to ravish that perfect arse of yours…”

“Prince Felix?”

“His rule is over. He is safely locked away in the castle dungeons.”

“As safely as you were?” asked Will, with a cheeky grin.

“I venture I’m a more effective gaoler than Felix was.”

“And Raymond?”

“Ah, of him I know nothing. Other than that he is no longer a resident of the castle. Or indeed in England at all.”

“So you are - ?”
“Restored to my previous position.”

Alexander smiled. “Now, let us eat.”

They did so, and as they did, Alexander related his adventures: his flight from the castle, his recapture and his subsequent salvation. Will gawped as Alexander informed him of the precise details of the downfall of Raymond and the Prince. 

Then it was Will’s turn, and Alexander shook his head in disbelief as he listened to the unfortunate twists and turns that had eventually led Will to being at the mercy of the lascivious Abbot Cuthbert. 

“He is no holy man, my Lord, I can tell you that,” said Will, as he crammed another chicken drumstick in his mouth.

“Oh, I’ve long suspected him of being a monstrous hypocrite,” nodded Alexander. 

“It shouldn’t be allowed. He’s supposed to be a man of God. He should be punished.”

“In a fair and equitable world, you are undoubtedly correct. But surely you cannot be so naive to think that we live in such a world. Especially after your own personal experiences, eh, Will?”

“So he’ll get away with it?”

“Oh I wouldn’t go that far. I now have a very useful point of leverage when it comes to my future interactions with the Abbot. One I intend to exploit ruthlessly. Have no fear, he will live to regret putting his hands on you.”

With that, Alexander rose from his chair and gazed at Will intently. “Now, speaking of putting hands on you…”

Will gulped. He guessed this was coming sooner or later. Alexander’s eyes had burned with lust for him all through their meal.

“Come here, Will.”

Will rose and walked towards the older man. His mouth felt parched and his heart fluttered nervously.

Alexander picked up the ice cold bottle of champagne from the table and poured it into his goblet. He lifted the goblet to his lips and filled his mouth. Then he pulled Will’s still damp blond locks to him and planted his mouth on Will’s. Will’s lips opened willingly and as they did so, Alexander deposited his champagne into Will’s mouth. Will gulped the liquid down, and Alexander proceeded to probe the boy’s mouth with his long, experienced tongue. Will’s crotch twitched as the taller man pressed against him. Their tights-covered bulges began to grind against one another.

Eventually, Alexander withdrew his tongue, leaving Will gasping for air.

“There have been times this year when the only thought sustaining me has been the notion that I might get to fuck your perfect arse once more time. And now I am going to do something I have never done before. I am going to ask you if you want me to fuck you. If you say yes, I promise you it will be the best sexual experience you have ever had, and that I will devote myself entirely to your arousal. But for the first time in my life, I am not going to force myself on a young man whom I desire. The choice is yours. Now what do you say?”

Chapter 61 - In the Stock(ing)s

 

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

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

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

Chapter 58 - The Queen of Spain

“When do you want to leave?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My Lord?”

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

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

“What does she want, my Lord?”

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

“You doubt her motives, naturally.”

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

“What do you think she will do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goo-goo, gah-gah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

The Prince protested extensively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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