It
had been a long – albeit enjoyable – day: from the physical tussle with Prince
Felix to the ritual humiliation of young Will.
So it was with some
relief that, as night fell, an exhausted Raymond slumbered in his new and
luxurious sheets. The familiar bed-posts to which Alexander had once secured
him were now his own. The chamber seemed to reek with the ghosts of male sex;
the dominant and the submissive; the multi-faceted and numerous perversions of
masculine erotica. If these walls could talk, he mused, what stories they would
tell. And now he was the one who was in control. On he slept, turning
indulgently in the crisply laundered bedding – a sharp and welcome contrast to
the coarse straw of the pallet in the dormitory.
Suddenly he awoke with a
start. What was that? He could have sworn it was the noise of the ornate oak
door creaking open. Impossible. He had bolted it before getting in to bed; a
precaution he deemed necessary to take given the fact that he was unconvinced
that all of the servants bore him the love and respect that by rights they
ought to.
He
lay there for a moment, his weary legs twitching in their hose. He was still
wearing them, he realised. In his readiness for bed, he must have quite
forgotten to take them off. Not that he minded. The feeling, as always, of the
tight material clinging to his lower body was perfectly pleasurable.
There
it was again. This time the sound was unmistakeable. A definite footfall on the
stone flagstone floor.
“Who’s
there?” he demanded, peering into the gloom.
“It’s
me,” responded a familiar, gruff voice.
Raymond
took a sharp intake of breath as he saw the gigantic form of Odin the Viking
outlined in the moonlight.
“How
dare you enter here!” he exclaimed.
Odin
chuckled. “I’ve spent three days in the saddle thinking of little else but your
cunt, boy.”
“Get
out of here,” stammered Raymond. “I’ve been promoted. I’ll no longer be your
fucktoy.”
“Says
who?”
Ominously,
Odin made that oh-so familiar gesture of unthreading his thick leather belt,
and with a clanging clatter, it and the plethora of iron keys fastened to it,
hit the floor.
“I
came straight here, boy. I’ve not bathed. The sweat of three hard days’ riding
is clinging to my body.”
He
unhooked his heavy leather jerkin and tossed it to one side. Then he hoisted
his thin linen shirt over his head, exposing his immense chest and his vast
arms, veined and bulging, all of them impossibly hirsute.
“I’m
warning you.” Raymond’s voice quivered in indignation.
“Oh,
you’re warning me, are you?” taunted
Odin. “Well, unluckily for you, my cock doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”
And
with a growl, he unbuttoned the steel fasteners at the fly of his leather
trousers and exposed the tumescent monster that lurked within. Already hard, it
was more like the arm of a regular man than a cock.
“The
Prince will know of this!”
“Will
he now?”
“I
shall call for him!”
“That
would be very stupid, boy. He hates to have his sleep disturbed, you know. But
you scream, by all means. You know how I like to hear you scream.”
Odin
bent to remove his heavy leather boots and let his trousers fall to the floor.
He stepped out of them, revealing his vast, tree trunk-like legs, each as hairy
as the rest of his massive body. All that remained were the short, coarsely
woollen socks on his giant feet.
“Good
honest wool,” Odin remarked contemptuously. “Not like the flimsy silk and satin
of the poofy tights you queerboys like to wear.”
Raymond
scrabbled out of his sheets, all too aware that he was still clad in his black
and white particoloured hosiery.
“Now
where do you think, you’re going, girlie? I want that ass…”
Raymond
made a desperate leap for freedom, but the Viking effortlessly knocked him back
onto the bed with one spade-like palm.
The
wretched youth gazed up in fear as the hulk loomed over him.
“Has
my little girl missed her Daddy’s cock inside her?”
Without
awaiting a response, the brute flipped Raymond over. He ran his callused
fingers through the lad’s dark curls.
“Bite
down into that pillow, bitch. We don’t really want to disturb his Highness, do
we?”
“Get
your hands off me!” squealed Raymond as Odin’s thick fingers rapidly located
the exact place in his hose where his unsuspecting arsebud nestled. Odin merely
grunted in response and prodded the boy’s sweating pussy with his fore and
middle finger. Then, burying his face in Raymond’s hosed arse cheeks, the giant
used his teeth to tear a hole in the luxurious fabric.
Ignoring
his victim’s anguished “Noooo!”, Odin pushed his stubbly cheeks even further
between the curves of the lad’s bum and began teasing the pink target with his
long, rough tongue: flickering, darting in and out to prepare the opening for
the onslaught it was about to endure.
Raymond
writhed in a combination of dread and ecstasy: the sensation at his anus
arousing him in spite of himself.
“I
see my bitch is turned on, regardless of how she protests,” Odin said grimly.
He withdrew his tongue, and in an instant, threw his weight on top of the
struggling young man. Raymond gasped, winded, as the sweating, hairy body
collapsed on top of him, and felt his own slim wrists grabbed and pinioned by
the clammy palms of his violator. Resistance was futile, he knew from
experience. The sheer strength and power of the Norseman was implacable.
However, Raymond’s pride would not allow him to lay there meekly. Struggle he
must, even though he knew his wriggling protests served no purpose other than
to provoke Odin to further heights of lust.
The
giant lay there a moment, revelling in the sensation of the boy’s quivering,
nubile flesh pinned beneath him. “Open up to me, bitch,” he murmured into the
white curve of Raymond’s ear, and then bit down hard on the soft white flesh of
the lad’s neck.
Raymond
screamed in pain and shock, his whole body tightened and convulsed. And in that
moment, Odin grabbed Raymond’s tights-clad hips and pulled them upwards,
tucking the lad’s legs – one black, one white – under him and raising his arse
to a prime position. Raymond gritted his teeth. He knew what was coming next,
and no amount of forewarning could ever prepare him for the moment of
penetration. Odin aimed his monstrous dong at the boy’s puckered fuckhole, and
forcing Raymond’s head into the pillow to muffle the inevitable scream, he
ploughed his meat into the lad’s unwilling orifice. Raymond’s head swam with
pain as the warrior raped his piteous boy-hole.
“Mmm
feels sooo good, bitch,” rasped the ogre. “Your velvety chute clamped down on
my manmeat. I’m gonna split you in two. Fuck you like you’ve never been fucked
before. Give you a shafting my little girl will never forget. You won’t be able
to walk for weeks by the time I’m done with you…”
The
lad whimpered feebly, a hoarse mantra of “No, no, please, no” over and over. An
attempt to move at least one wrist was quashed as Odin merely exerted a little
extra pressure onto him. Visions of the Viking’s red and angry cockhead as it
pushed in and out of him fleeted through Raymond’s mind. How could anyone enjoy
experiencing this, he raged in anguish. The pain. The utter subjugation. The
humiliation. The degradation of being used. Turned into some passive,
submissive creature. Less than a man. A whore. A slut. A hole existing for the
sole pleasure of his assailant.
His
arse throbbed with the agony of the treatment it was receiving. There was real
anger in Odin’s thrusts, and God knows how long it would take him to achieve
climax and spurt his creamy jism up Raymond’s pulsing rectum.
“Ohhh
that feels so good, girlie. You’re one of the sweetest fucks I’ve ever had, you
know that? And by Thor, I love the way you struggle beneath me. Now, let me
take you like the little doggy you are…”
Swiftly,
economically, and without even withdrawing his cock, Odin repositioned Raymond
so that he was on all fours. He reached round to squeeze the lad’s bulge in his
tights.
“Ha!”
Odin exclaimed. “You’re not enjoying this, are you bitch? Barely anything
there. That suits me fine. I can almost believe I’m taking a real virgin lass.”
“The
slave needs its mouth stuffed too.”
A
new voice, old and dry and cracked as parchment, came from somewhere in the
chamber. Raymond looked around, frantically, but his damp curls kept falling
into his eyes. Surely not! It couldn’t be! Could it?
“You’re
welcome to use her other hole as you see fit, my friend!” said Odin
magnanimously. “I have no use for it at present.”
Raymond’s
eyes widened in stunned terror as the desiccated form of Sir Wilfrid, Lord
Geoffrey’s vile old uncle, shuffled round the side of the bed.
The
old man licked his lascivious lips and leered at his former playtoy. “It’s been
some time, slave! Have you missed my prick between your lips?”
Raymond
shook his head incredulously. “No! No! NO!”
But
his wailing gave the old lecher just the chance he needed to insert his
withered pecker between the boy’s parted lips, gagging and muffling any further
protest. Spit-roasted. Pierced at both ends by two cocks – one ancient and
loathsome – the other gargantuan and furious – Raymond sobbed at the
indifference of the Universe to his plight. Could his predicament get any
worse?
Then
came the answer to his plea.
“Methinks
he is not sufficiently stuffed. I have just the thing to answer to our needs.”
The
mellifluous tones of Alexander Courcey rang around the stone walls of the
bedchamber.
Raymond
was incredulous. How dare he?! If it were possible, his struggles became even
more desperate. He tried to cry out: “Traitor! Cur!” - anything to alert the
Prince to the danger presented by the appearance of his treasonous predecessor.
But his mouth was stuffed with Sir Wilfrid’s cock, and his mumbled exclamations
went for nothing.
“What
do you suggest, my friend?” laughed Odin heartily, never for a moment ceasing
from thrusting his hips against Raymond’s hosed buttocks.
“Oh
I have a basket of goodies just ripe for inserting into our young victim!
Apples! Pears! Bananas! Plums! Only the juiciest, highest quality fruits will
suffice for this young man!”
His
tormentors were merciless.
The
rhythm of Odin’s fuck barely altered; only now, when he pulled back, he
withdrew his cock just long enough to allow Alexander to squeeze a purple plum
into Raymond’s fundament. If Wilfrid’s semi-flaccid prick slipped from between
Raymond’s lips, no matter how briefly, a tangerine was inserted, and when the
old man’s cock returned, he pushed it insistently into the fruit’s firm flesh
inside Raymond’s mouth.
Attention
turned back to Raymond’s arse. A freshly peeled banana unceremoniously shoved
in deep, and soon Odin’s cock set to work mashing the yellow fruit to a pulp
inside him.
Raymond
gagged. He tried to scream: “I’m full! No more! I beg you no more!” But the
fruit and the cock inside his crammed mouth transformed his anguished pleas
into an indecipherable mumble.
The
pain of the pressure against his insides was unbearable. His internal capacity
was finite after all. They couldn’t keep filling him with fruit whilst also
continuing to fuck him!
But
his protests were to no avail.
“Maybe
we should fetch some carrots and courgettes from the kitchen,” mused Alexander.
“A boy needs meat and vegetables in his
diet after all.”
“Well
he’s certainly getting plenty of meat!” cackled Sir Wilfrid, and the others
joined in with hearty guffaws.
I’m
going to burst, thought Raymond. They’re going to keep on till they kill me.
“Wait
a moment!” A triumphant cry from Alexander. “I have just the thing. Young
Raymond here – so ambitious – so desirous of his place in the Prince’s
bedchamber. Well, if he loves royalty so much, he surely deserves the King of
fruits up his behind! What do you think, eh?”
And
with a flourish, he presented to Raymond the largest pineapple the youth had
ever seen.
Raymond
howled out a scream from his deepest soul, in fear and desperation. He screwed
his eyes tightly shut as if hoping that eradicating the pineapple from sight
might also prevent the monstrous intrusion that was about to occur. Any moment
now that vicious fruit would split his hole wider than it had ever been!
But
then - nothing happened. He waited. He opened his eyes. For a moment he was
disoriented. Here he was in his new bedchamber, sweat glistening all over his
naked and trembling body. But he was quite alone.
His
heaving breaths resided into sobs of quiet relief.
The
door was fastened as securely as he’d thought: his fine black and white hose
neatly draped over the back of an arm chair just where he had left it the
evening before.
Odin, Sir Wilfrid and
Alexander were gone. Indeed they had never been there at all. They were shades
of his own making – sprung from his own imagination to torment him in the
night.
Never
again, he thought. Never again will I be used like that. And he set his teeth
in rigid determination.
