Chapter 45 - Just Desserts

It was an awful nightmare, Prince Felix assured himself. It had to be. It was the only explanation for the madness around him. His subjects turned traitors; his own godfather committing treason and placing him into the hands of his worst enemy: the foul Alexander Courcey who had perpetrated the most obscene and disgusting treatment on his royal body.

As if reading his mind, Alexander leaned in and whispered to the Prince: “On no, your highness. This is no dream. Although I’m sure you wish it were...”

He was right. Felix could not fathom how, but he truly was here, in the middle of the Great Hall of the castle, stripped to the waist, wearing only his jewel-covered white hose. His royal rump was soiled with cream and chocolate cake, his crotch wet and pink, the dollop of blancmange, partially melted, still lingered awkwardly in the gusset of his beautiful, ruined tights. He willed his cock to go down, desperate to retain even the barest shred of dignity in the midst of the sniggering peasants. But it was to no avail. Alexander’s expert manipulation of his prick had left it standing to attention in his silken hose.

“What next for our naughty young Prince?” asked Lord Geoffrey.

“Well, as it is his birthday,” said Alexander. “As a special treat, I think he should be allowed to sample all of these delicious puddings. He’s already had the white chocolate cake and the blancmange. Hmmm... how about this rather decadent-looking dark chocolate mousse?”

“An excellent suggestion! Where could that go, I wonder?”

The Steward did not take long to decide. “Perhaps down the back this time?” And with those words, he stepped behind the cringing Prince and pulled open the back of his white tights. Felix gulped as, without warning, the entire bowl of mousse was tipped in.

The confection felt cold and wet and claggy as it hit his bum, and he shuddered as Alexander let the waistband of his hose ping back into place. Reluctantly, the Prince glanced behind him to see that huge dollop of chocolatey mess bulging inside the constricting material of his tights.

“Oh dear,” cooed Alexander. “It seems his Highness has had a little accident. All that mousse does make your arse look massive now in your hose. And that dark brown stain spreading through the whitness – it rather looks as if Prince Felix has messed himself.”

Lord Geoffrey tutted as the crowd hooted with delighted glee. “What a disgraceful sight he looks! Turn around, boy, so everyone can see your humiliation. And I think you should stick your arse out as you do it so that everyone can see you properly...”

But the arrogant young Prince could contain his fury no longer. His hands clenched into fists at his side, he screamed to the Hall: “You can go fuck yourselves! This has gone far enough!”

In an instant, the lightning reflexes of Sir Antony responded, and the Prince found the sharp point of Antony’s sword beneath his chin.

“I think,” murmured the knight, “that his Lordship will decide precisely when this has gone far enough. And I also think that you should obey his Lordship’s instructions....” He traced the point of his sword slowly down the Prince’s naked chest. “Or I may accidentally slice off something you consider to be of value...”

Raymond watched in dismay as the Prince’s beautiful face screwed itself into a mask of impotent fury. A single tear of frustration ran down Felix’s golden cheek as he began to shuffle around on the spot to display his bum in his soiled tights to the gawping audience.

“His Lordship told you to stick your arse out, bitch,” Alexander reminded him smugly.

With no choice but to obey, Felix bent his knees and did as he was told.

“That’s better, boy,” the Steward went on. “I’ll wager your bum feels really cold and wet with all that chocolate mousse melting inside your tights! And that position makes you feel nice and slutty, I bet! All whorish – exposing your lovely asset for everyone’s entertainment!”

And although he would have died rather than admit it, that was precisely how Felix did feel: forced to stick his filthy, chocolatey bum out as far as it could go, the crowd mocking him with their laughter and their jeers. He completed his circle and then stood, miserably anticipating the next humiliation.

Once again, Alexander’s baritone rang out in the Hall. “Is that chilled chocolate mousse melting against your hot boyflesh, Prince Felix? I bet it is. In fact, I can see it - starting to drip and dribble down the backs of your legs. Little brown rivulets running down your muscly thighs inside those delicious clinging tights. Let’s help that along shall we...”

And the older man placed both of his palms on Felix’s buttocks and began to squeeze the chocolate pudding against the Prince’s plump arse cheeks, through the thin sheen of hosiery. Felix had to bite his lip to avoid screaming obscenities at the sheer audacity of the devil – daring to grope and fondle his most private and intimate parts. His arse was still sticking out, vulnerable and available, and his stance merely assisted Alexander as the older man pushed and prodded, swirling the chocolate gloop over that divine bubble butt. The mousse warmed and became more liquid, and Felix tensed his muscles as he sensed Alexander’s probing fingers approach the deep crevice of his arse through the thin fabric of his tights.

“No,” hissed the Prince at the horrific prospect of his hated enemy penetrating his hole in any way. But Alexander pressed on, sliding a finger, made slippery with melted chocolate, slowly all the way down the Prince’s silk-covered asscrack. He lingered briefly at the spot where nestled Felix’s virgin anus, and pushed experimentally against it through the fabric of the tights. Felix gasped but Alexander moved on. “Maybe later,” he remarked casually.

“I could go on groping your chocolatey arse all day, boy,” he told him. “But we have so much more entertainment in store for you.”

In a sudden movement, he grabbed the waistband of the Prince’s tights, and, as he had done so before to so many unsuspecting young lads, Alexander hoiked the hose up as far as they could go. Felix cried out as the wet material bisected his butt and the sensitive flesh of his perineum.

“Mmm... that really does look delightful. The liquid chocolate oozing out of the tights, and the sculped globes of your ass picked out perfectly in the stained brown material. It almost looks as if your naked arse has been painted brown by some expert artist. And – oh dear, my own hands have been dirtied by all that chocolate. I shall need to clean them off...”

And Alexander purposefully wiped one palm and then the other across the Prince’s glistening chest, leaving streaks of brown across that perfectly tanned torso.

“You look as if you need a good wash, your Highness,” he added. “And your poor white tights all mucked up. Still, at least your upper half is relatively clean. And your gorgeous face is without blemish. Maybe we should do something to rectify that. Your Lordship, what do you think?”

Lord Geoffrey beckoned the Prince over to where he sat at the large oaken table. “Come here, young man, and let your godfather inspect you.”

Begrudgingly, and leaving a slippery trail of warm, wet chocolate in his wake, Prince Felix gingerly walked on stockinged feet over to where he had been summoned. On the table in front of him, atop an ornately decorated glass pedestal, perched a gigantic cheesecake.

“That’s right, my boy. Stand right there. Now Sir Antony, Sir Dominic – you know what to do.”

It all happened in a flash. Suddenly the two muscular knights were either side of the Prince. One of them grabbed his wrists behind his back, whilst the other started to force his head down towards the table. Felix struggled, but they were too powerful for him.

“Get your hands off me!” he wailed, as his head inevitably descended towards the creamy surface of the cheesecake. He took a sharp intake of breath just as his head plunged into the gooey mixture. He struggled, spluttering into the fluffy texture of the cake as he was held down. He began to panic. The creamy topping went up his nose and filled his mouth. Did they truly intend to suffocate him in a pudding?! Surely he would not suffer such a humiliating demise! But just as that possibility occurred to him, he felt the ruffians grabbing a clump of his golden hair, and his face was yanked out of the cheesecake.

At first he was blinded by the creamy filling but he could certainly hear the waves of laughter reverberating around the Great Hall. Someone wiped the gunk out of Felix’s eyes, and a mirror was shoved in front of him. He gazed back at the ridiculous sight – his whole face smeared with thick lashings of creamy cheesecake, plastered across his handsome features like a mask.

“Maybe later we’ll let everyone have a go at shoving your head into a custard pie!” suggested Lord Geoffrey, as a blob of goo dripped from the Prince’s face and landed on his bare chest. “But for now, I think you should return to good Master Alexander for the most sacred sacrament of the coronation ceremony.”

Felix hesitated, still recovering from being forced head first into the cake.

“You heard his Lordship!” bellowed Sir Antony. “Scram!”

And he shoved the Prince in the small of the back. Felix, his hosed feet now wet and slimy from the accumulated blancmange and chocolate mousse that had run down his legs, slipped and skidded on the smooth flagstone floor, and with a painful crash, he flew into the air and then crashed down again onto his sore and filthy bottom. Yet another roar of laughter greeted him as he struggled to his feet and, his dignity in shreds, he headed back towards the throne and, he had no doubt, to yet further humiliation.

“Hush now!” commanded Alexander to the near-hysterical crowd. “We now reach the most sacred part of the coronation. The anointing of the royal head - the placing of the crown on your Highness’ brow. Come and take your rightful position on the throne, my Lord!”

The dishevelled and disgruntled young Prince hobbled over to his tormentor, concentrating fiercely on maintaining his balance in his sodden and dirty hose.

“That’s a clever boy,” cooed Alexander in his most patronising tone. “Come and sit your pretty little bottom down on your throne.”

The remnants of the cream cake still clung to the rich velvet upholstery, and it was with a sigh of resignation, that Prince Felix again sat down on the damp cushion. Once again his tights-clad bum squished into the soft cake. “What revolting and degrading treatment are you going out to dish out to me now, you traitor?”

“Degrading? Surely not. You will be anointed with only the best there is – the finest vanilla custard direct from Mistress Olwen’s kitchen...”

Alexander swung a large earthenware jug into the air and Felix cringed as it was positioned deliberately over his head. For a tantalising moment, nothing happened, and then Felix felt the first droplet fall onto his golden hair. Then another, and another, and then Alexander let loose a steady stream of thick, cold custard. At first it pooled on the very top of the Prince’s head, before reaching a critical mass, at which point it started to run down Felix’s cream-covered face and splashed onto his shoulders. On poured Alexander: a deluge of viscous yellow liquid gunging the royal Prince, who had no choice but to sit there and submit to the sensation. Soon his hair was soaked in the opaque, milky fluid. The custard gushed incessantly down his shoulders, down his back and torso, pooling in his lap and under his arse, and finally dripping off the seat and plopping onto the floor. His entire body was now coated with the slimy yellow gunge.

“The holy anointing of King Felix!” announced Alexander solemnly, as he crouched in front of the soaked Prince. Felix began to shiver. The cool custard, his near nakedness and the draughtiness of the Great Hall were a distinctly uncomfortable combination. Once again, he found the Steward’s hands upon his body, this time ensuring that every last scrap of his fine white tights was now coated and sodden with yellow custard.

“Ah what a pity,” said Alexander. “His highness’s state of arousal seems to have faded. Let’s see what we can do about that.”

And he reached into Felix’s custardy crotch and began to tug at the royal prick, manipulating it in his palm with expertise, rubbing the thick yellow fluid into the cockhead, and using it as a kinky lubricant.

Felix cursed his prick’s lack of self-control. Much as he loathed every minute of this obscene spectacle with every fibre of his being, nevertheless, there stood his cock, outlined in the custard soaked tights: as hard and perky as ever.

“That’s better,” decided Alexander. “And now, time for the pièce de resistance! Your royal Highness is to have his wish granted. You will be crowned – with this glorious trifle!”

He couldn’t get any filthier, Felix though to himself. However, the idea of having the huge fruit trifle dumped on top of his royal brow was the last straw.

“No! No! No!” he screamed. “I will not submit to you!”

He leaped to his feet, but the gathered throng were neither cowed nor impressed. He was, after all, a truly ridiculous sight: his beautiful form painted from head to hosed toe in thick yellow gloop.

“Hold him down,” ordered Lord Geoffrey with supreme calmness.

Felix struggled and writhed as he found each custard-coated bicep gripped by his godfather’s loyal knights, but it was to no avail. He was forced back into the throne, and held there by the two men.

Hefting the massive bowl of trifle into the air, Alexander intoned solemnly, “I pronounce you Felix of England – Prince of Prickteases, Sovereign of Sluts, Baron of Bitches, and Lord of Lustfulness. You thought you were God’s chosen one. But now – well now, as all can see, you’re just a gunged up whore – naked apart from your clinging white tights which show off your assets quite deliciously. You’ve been coated in custard, covered with cream, and slathered with chocolate. All of this now befits your new station. You are no longer the Prince of this realm. What are you, slut? You are degraded. Humiliated. Reduced to a messed up, fucked up bitchboy in your hose – your pathetic cock all hard and straining and begging for release. And you’d better get used to this treatment, boy, because this is only the beginning. You have no idea of the abuse and the humiliation you’re going to suffer under this new more ‘enlightened’ regime. You have an awful lot of wicked deeds to your credit that you need to pay for, young Prince Felix...”

And with Alexander’s scornful speech ringing in his ears, Prince Felix tensed his beautiful body. The bowl of trifle was upended and, with a noisy squelch, layer upon layer of pudding cascaded onto his vulnerable head.

First he tasted the cold white cream, then the tangy fruit jelly, then custard – more custard! – chunks of pineapple, raspberries and apricots, a layer of blancmange, and finally alcohol-infused spongecake dumped directly onto his royal head. The heavy dessert sat there for a moment and then began to tumble over every inch of his body, covering him with chunks of fruit, cake, dollops of cream and jelly. It was all true. Everything that Alexander had crowed about. From the Prince of the realm, he had been brought low and reduced to the position of a messed up, humiliated slutboy. Then the final indignity: the upside down bowl was placed on the Prince’s head in a mocking parody of a crown.

Still dangling from the ceiling, almost forgotten, Odin and Ulfgar watched the spectacle impotently – the cruel ropes and tight tights cutting into their ample flesh. The centre of the Hall was a mess of cream, chocolate and custard: food was splattered over the floor and the walls. But the baying crowd seemed not to notice, so intent were they on the humiliation of the hated Prince Felix. In spite of their discomfort, the Vikings found themselves grateful that they were not on the receiving end of the mob’s attention.

Lord Geoffrey rose from the top table and cleared his throat. “Now, godson, I think you should allow your loyal subjects to pay homage to their new King of Gunk. Let’s see you processing before them so they can fully appreciate their monarch in all his glory.”

The smirking Sir Antony and Sir Dominic released their grip on his arms, and then, dithering with cold and with fury, Prince Felix rose to his feet, a congealed mixture of fruit, sponge and custard dropping to the floor, from where it had collected in his lap. The glass bowl wobbled on his slimy head, and lest he needed any further reminding, the insistent prodding of Sir Antony’s swordpoint against the small of his back prompted him to begin the royal parade.

With a furious frown on his face, the Prince began his ludicrous tour of the Hall, his sopping and filthy white tights made almost translucent by the slop that had been poured over them, making him feel and look as good as naked in front of the slathering hoard of peasants.

“See how the mighty have fallen!” exclaimed Alexander as the tittering guests were afforded a close-up view of the degraded Adonis. “Reach out and touch the soiled princeling. Not so arrogant now is he? Forced to parade up and down in front of his subjects in his gunged up tights...”

The commoners did as they were invited to, and soon Felix found himself assailed by a multitude of clawing, grabbing hands, poking at his muscular body, groping his private parts, and rubbing the creamy, claggy mess into his smooth flesh and up and down his hosed thighs. And he flinched every time one of them dared to make contact with his sullied royal skin. The bedraggled Prince, containing his wrath until it wrapped his stomach in knots, completed his circle of the room.

It was left to Lord Geoffrey to put an end to the obscene ceremony.

“I think that’s enough for one birthday party. I need my rest and I shall call it a night. There will be more entertainment to come. In fact, young Felix, I should be very much surprised if good Alexander did not dedicate an entire week of festivities to celebrate your change in fortune. And as for you, the night is yet young. But alas, for me, it is time I was in my bed.”

“What of me?” demanded Felix. “Am I not to be cleaned or will you leave me stinking and befouled?”

“Your point is taken, godson. See to it, will you, Alexander? I will leave the Prince in your more than capable care. I’m sure you will know exactly what to do with him...”

Lord Geoffrey swept out of the Hall, and Alexander turned to the page boys, Mortimer and Humphrey.

“You heard his Lordship,” he said. “Fetch some water to clean the Prince. And make sure it’s nice and cold. Ice cold I think.”

The two pages scurried away to do Alexander’s bidding.

“You’ll regret this, you bastard,” threatened the Prince.

“Oh no, your Highness. I think not. I feel sure that this day and the memory of your humiliation will count as one of the highlights of my life. And remember, this is only the beginning. We have all the time in the world...”

Chapter 37 - Dunked by Lunk

Weeks passed, and July bled into August, the lazy summer sun bringing sultry, hot days to the countryside. It had now been so long since Will had ejaculated, his balls ached terribly, and at night he found himself dreaming desperately of being wanked off by Alexander, so that he awoke scrabbling around in his narrow pallet, sobbing with frustration at the horrid metal device that perpetually denied his cock from becoming hard.

Very occasionally he ventured outside on some errand, and whenever he did, he heard the sniggers and whispers of the villagers, his former friends and neighbours. The boys he had grown up with, now toughened farm hands, hissed and whistled at him, and he had to hurry to avoid their callused hands, reaching out to grope his hosed legs.

The atmosphere inside the little hovel became more unbearable as the temperature increased. Will may have had no choice but to endure barbed insults about being a “tights-wearing sissy boy” and a “slutty little fuck whore” when he was working in the castle, but he saw no reason to have to put up with them from his acerbic new sister-in-law. One evening, over a plain supper of bean stew, the tension finally broke.

“A travelling preacher passed through the village today,” Lizzie ventured conversationally. “I paused to listen to him for a while. He said that there’s a special circle of Hell reserved for sexual perverts - where the devil torments them all day and all night long by poking his trident into their arseholes.”

“Lizzie, not while I’m eating,” grumbled her husband.

“What do you think of that, Will?” she ploughed on, regardless. “How do you feel, knowing that one day virtuous folk like Jack and me will be residing On High with your dear Mother and Father, while you’re scrabbling in your own filth in the cesspits of Hell?”

Will stared into his bowl and resolutely carried on eating.

“Although,” she giggled mischievously, “knowing you, you probably can’t imagine anything sweeter than Satan’s prong skewering your flabby cunt!”

“I bet it’s not as flabby as yours!” Will shouted, and, without pausing for breath, he flung his wooden bowl in his sister-in-law’s face. Lizzie shrieked as the tepid stew ran in greasy rivulets down her greying hair and pallid features. She was on her feet in an instant, hands reaching out in front of her to claw at Will’s face.

“I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!” she screamed.

But her husband was too swift for her. Bellowing furiously, Jack grabbed his younger brother round the waist and dragged him to the wooden armchair in the corner of the hut. Planting his backside firmly in what was once their Father’s chair, Jack pulled his struggling younger brother across his lap.

“You’ve been asking for this ever since we took you in!” he said, his voice quivering with fury. “And ye Gods, you’re going to get it now!”

Will was transported in an instant back to the beatings he used to get in this very chair: principally from his stern and forbidding father, but occasionally, if they felt like it, from Jack or Daniel as well. His tights-covered legs wriggled against his elder brother’s strong thighs, and his head hung upside down, his blond fringe falling in his eyes.

Thwack! The first blow from his brother’s heavy palm landed on the tempting target of Will’s hose-clad arse. Thwack! A second thundered down on his upper thighs. Thwack! Smack number three on his bum again. Already Will could feel the blood begin to rise to the surface of his skin and his tender bottom cheeks reddening from the spanking.

He kicked his heels in the air in futile frustration, looking and feeling just as he did when he was five or six, suffering a vicious smacking session from his stern father. Unlike the delicate eroticism of a spanking at the hands of Alexander, this experience was hard, brutal and without mercy. Soon the tears were flowing, and Will was bawling like an infant, kicking and screaming as Jack used one hand to hold him firmly in place, even as the other belted his younger brother’s buttocks over and over.

At long last, both of them were spent. Jack pushed Will roughly off his lap and rose to his feet. He caught his sobbing younger brother by the scruff of the neck and hauled him to the doorway. He opened the door of the little hut and whispered in Will’s ear.

“Get out and stay out. I never want to see or hear from you again. You’re as dead to me as the rest of our sorry family!”

Will got a sharp kick up his tender backside and was sent sprawling into the dust. He heard the door slam behind him, and coughing, and spluttering, he raised his face from the dirt.

The first thing he saw in front of him were two large feet, clad in heavy-soled, mismatched leather boots. His gaze continued upwards, taking in two solid calves, bare-legged and covered with coarse hair. Above them hung a home-made, hessian tunic – in actuality only a sack with holes cut into it for the wearer to push his arms and head through. Bare arms appeared, as thick and hirsute as the legs, and floating above them all, over six foot in the air, one of the ugliest faces Will had ever seen on either man or beast. A wide, flat nose, broken in at least two places; thick lips grinning inanely to expose yellow and chipped teeth; large, cauliflower-like ears that stuck out like jugs from either side of the face; and two eyes - one hazel, one brown - that looked in completely different directions.

The gargoyle bent down, lifted Will onto his feet, peered into his puppy-like brown eyes and asked with some degree of fascination: “What have we here, then?”

Without pausing for a response, he scooped Will up in his arms and carried him, as if he were as light as a feather, down the dirt track that led out of the village. At one point, Will found his position being shifted onto his abductor’s broad shoulder, and there he balanced, his head drooping down the big man’s back, his rosy bum, still smarting from the spanking, bouncing along. The kidnapper’s flat palm rested across his hosed buttocks to keep him in place.

On he strode, and after they had gone a mile or so, they reached a ramshackle old barn. They entered the building and Will raised his head to look around. It appeared to be abandoned. In the corner lay some stacked up bales of hay and a rough blanket, which Will assumed was where the thug slept at night. Suddenly, and with no warning, Will was pitched down from his precarious position on the man’s shoulder and he tumbled into the straw.

He lay there, momentarily stunned as a dirty fingernailed hand reached out to stroke his hosed legs. “Mmmm,” he said. “Feels nice. Feels very nice.”

The filthy hand began to grope Will’s vulnerable balls through his bright blue tights.

“Who are you?” stammered Will, and he tried to scrabble away as he felt his nylon-covered testicles squeezed and released, squeezed and released. The ape-like young man ignored the question and fixed him with one of his squinting eyes.

“You gonna be my pet, boy. Lunk gonna play with you good.”

So this was Lunk, reflected Will trepidatiously. He’d heard of him, of course. Everyone in his village had. When he’d been born, so the story went, his mother was so horrified by the sight of the twisted little goblin she had introduced to the world that she fainted dead away and could not be revived for two days. As the child grew, it transpired that its mind and behaviour was as deformed as its body. By the time he was ten years old, the boy was taller than his father and utterly ungovernable. At eleven, he was cast out to make his own evil way in the world.

The barn was his den, and Lunk survived on whatever scraps of food he could pilfer, steal or bully out of whichever unfortunate folk happened to cross his path. He was the unofficial leader of a pack of half a dozen degenerates who had joined forces to share their spoils and more effectively terrorise the weak and vulnerable. For now, however, it was just the two of them: Will was alone in Lunk’s clutches.

Lunk gave a cursory inspection to the thin cotton shirt that Will was wearing – the replacement for his embroidered tunic, but Lunk seemed unimpressed with the plain garment and, grabbing it in his clumsy fist, he ripped it from Will’s body in one sharp movement. He tossed the torn shirt to the ground, leaving Will’s smooth chest naked and exposed.

However, the monster seemed far more fascinated with the iridescent fabric sheathing Will’s muscular thighs and arse. He turned Will this way and that, grotesque palms luxuriating in the feel of the bright blue tights. He squeezed the twin globes of Will’s bum, and then rubbed his stubbly cheek against them, licking and lapping at the tender flesh and moistening the silken garment.

Will shifted uncomfortably at Lunk’s silent ministrations. What would he do next? What were his ultimate intentions, and the meaning behind the ominous pronouncement that he intended to “play with him good”? Will knew he had no hope of over-powering or out running the frightening bandit. For now, all he could do was, as so often seemed to be the case in his turbulent young life, submit to the whims of a man stronger than he.

Lunk started to examine Will’s crotch more carefully, and a slow, wicked grin spread across his imbecilic features at the sight of the artfully constructed cock cage. “What this?” he asked.

Will swallowed hard. “It’s a chastity device,” he explained. “It stops me from getting hard.”

“Ha!” grunted Lunk. “Bad luck!” He plunged his meaty fist under the skirt of his hessian sack and began to tug at his own prick. “Nice to get hard.”

Lunk appeared to consider something for a moment, and then he delved into the waistband of Will’s hose and started to yank at the steel cock cage.

“No! No!” gasped Will as he struggled to free himself from Lunk’s grip. “It’s locked in place! You need the key! You can’t just pull it off!”

Thankfully, Lunk seemed to understand, and somewhat sorrowfully, withdrew his hand. Will let out a sigh of relief that his long-frustrated cock had survived being torn from him altogether.

Lunk sat on the bale of hay, apparently urging the slow-moving cogs of his brain into a new plan of action. Then he lumbered to his feet and made his way over to the jumbled mess of items that lay in the far corner of the barn. He returned with a thin coil of rope. Taking one end, he made a loop and knotted it. Then he slipped the loop over Will’s head and pulled it tight. Grasping the other end of the leash, he tugged Will over to where an iron ring had been fixed to the barn wall. With a sinking feeling of inevitability, Will found himself tethered to the ring.

“Lunk go out. You wait here. We play – later.”

That evening the weather broke, and a thunder storm brought some relief to the late summer humidity. Will crouched in the straw, listening to the relentless thudding of the rain on the barn roof, and offering up thanks that his patch of straw did not lie directly underneath one of the many rotting holes that peppered the dilapidated wooden structure.

He crouched on the dirty floor, arms folded around his naked torso, stray pieces of straw sharply pricking his bum and feet through the thin fabric of his tights.

Two or three hours after Lunk had left him, Will heard a noise from outside the barn. There it was again: the sound of men’s voices, raised in jovial banter. The barn door crashed open and Lunk’s unmistakeable silhouette was framed in the doorway. He held a large glass bottle in his clenched fist and was swaying slightly.

“Come!” he bellowed. “Come see Lunk’s toy!”

Lunk lurched into the dusty barn, and hot on his heels followed a ragbag of tattily dressed scoundrels. Lunk barrelled over to where Will sat and quickly untied his leash from the iron ring.

“What is he?” called out a voice.

“Where’s he from?” queried another.

“Must be from up at the castle, by the looks of him!” answered a third. “No honest man parades himself in tights like those!”

“Honest men like us, you mean?!” cried the first speaker, setting the drunken rogues a-hooting with raucous laughter.

Will suddenly found himself gripped in a vice-like head lock, and the neck of a glass bottle was forced between his lips. Will’s nostrils were assailed by the strong fumes of what smelt like pure alcohol.

“Take a drink, boy! You may as well. I’ve a feeling that with what Lunk has planned for you, you’re gonna need it!”

The bottle was tipped up and its contents flooded over Will’s face. He gulped as some of the fluid slipped down his gullet and then set to coughing as the boozy drink seared his lungs.

Will’s spluttering reaction provoked yet more laughter from the gang of roughs, but he was given no time to recover himself as a booted foot planted itself against his plump arse and propelled him out of the barn and into the moist night air. The rain had stopped but the ground was wet and his stockinged feet were quickly soaked from the puddles he stumbled through.

He found himself pinched and prodded from all sides. Crafty hands reached out to slap his tempting bottom or tickle his naked chest, and all the while he was plied with more and more of the liquor that made his eyes water and his head start to swim. However he twisted or turned, there was no escape.

“What a peach!” shouted one of his tormentors.

“I had a girl as pretty as that when I was in my youth!” lamented another.

“I don’t usually fuck boys, but Jesus, I’m gonna make an exception in this one’s case!”

“Does he know what a temptation that cheeky arse of his is, I wonder?”

“’Course he knows. You can tell from that look in his eyes that the innocence is all an act. He’ll have been well and truly rogered by those perverts up at the castle! I shouldn’t wonder if he’s not more well-versed in how to fuck than any of the street whores in Dunchester or Catchford!”

“I bet that’s why they stuck him in that cock cage. Stop him enjoying it too much. I don’t like it either when they enjoy it too much. Spoils the fun if they’re not squealing and begging you to stop!”

“Well I don’t care about that, the way he sticks his butt out in those blue tights makes me want to rape his sweet cherry right here and now! My prick is calling for it and my prick don’t take no from anyone – not least from slutty little bitches like this!”

Round and round, Will span, manhandled by the loutish crowd and passed back and forth between them. Thick, drunken fingers began to tug at the waistband to his tights, and he clenched his buttocks tight at the prospect of the gang bang that he was surely about to experience.

But then a sudden interruption forestalled the lustful frenzy.

“NO!! Lunk’s toy. Lunk want play. Bring Lunk’s toy here!”

Grumbling under their breath at the opportunity denied them, Lunk’s cohorts dragged Will’s drunken, faltering body over to their leader. Barely aware of what was going on around him, Will nevertheless felt a thick leather belt being fastened around his waist. It locked into place and the disoriented lad glanced behind him to see that fixed to the belt was a large metal hook. Lunk smiled maliciously and yanked Will’s body backwards, attaching the hook as he did so to something just out of Will’s line of vision.

There was a sound, a protesting creak of wood against wood, not dissimilar to that made by the turn of the rack handle. And with a sudden jolt, Will felt his feet disappear from under him, and he fell onto his knees. Another creak, and he fell onto his face, and then he gulped as his whole body was lifted about a foot into the air.

Hoots of jeering laughter rang out in the darkness, and Will, frightened and disoriented, tried to maintain his balance. Yet another creak and his body rose further, horizontal and parallel with the ground beneath him. He looked around him urgently and only then was he able to see what was happening to him.

The hook was attached to a rope, which was in turn threaded through a tall, wooden apparatus. Will guessed it was some old piece of farm equipment used to transport bales of hay from the ground to the rafters of the barn and back again. A handle attached to a winch enabled the operator to lift his load into the sky with relatively little effort or exertion. Now Lunk stood, happily turning the handle, and Will was his human burden.

Will’s head for heights was not wonderful at the best of times, and with the strong liquor coursing through his veins, there was every likelihood of him being violently sick. He could not imagine the raucous gang beneath him would appreciate being vomited on from on high, so he desperately fought to keep his head clear and steady, even as his body was lifted higher and higher into the air.

Precariously Will dangled there, naked save for his blue hose, his legs wriggling impotently for the entertainment of the criminals assembled on the ground below. Lunk gave a final turn of the winch, and Will was now as high as he could go, the hook in the small of his back pulled up taut against the wooden arm of the winching device.

However, the apparatus was in fact more ingenious than Will had so far appreciated. Lunk released a brake mechanism, and was then able to roll the wheeled machinery around at will. “Now we have some fun!” Lunk declared gleefully as he pushed the entire device, with Will dangling from it, to another quarter of the long-deserted farmyard.

Will looked beneath him to see he was now positioned above a wide, deep trough of dirty water.

“Dunk the slut!” called out one of the vagabonds, and this set off a merry chant of increasing volume amongst the drunken louts: “Dunk him! Dunk him! Dunk him!”

“No! Please! Please don’t!” Will cried out. He was not at all confident that Lunk and his associates would not leave him there to drown. But his desperate pleas were all in vain. To the steady rhythm of their chant “Dunk him! Dunk him!”, Lunk slowly and teasingly lowered the wriggling Will towards the surface of the water.

Closer and closer he plummeted towards the murky tank, as Lunk slowly unwinched the rope. Suddenly, mere inches above the scummy liquid, Will’s defenceless body came to a shuddering halt.

Will breathed a deep sigh of relief in the realisation that it had all been a game to tease and to test him. And then, with a sudden cry of “Lunk’s toy get wet!”, his brawny new owner gave a sharp and vicious twist of the crank, and Will’s entire body was plunged into the trough.

He was only beneath the surface for a moment, but Will was spluttering with cold and shock as his dripping body was hauled once more into the sky. The crowd of onlookers shrieked with mirth as the drenched youth rose once more into the air, his blond hair matted with the fetid water, and his fine silken hose soaked and clinging even more closely to his arse and legs.

Higher and he went, so his next ducking occurred at a faster speed and caused a tidal wave of water to splash over the sides of the trough and soak the onlookers. This seemed to serve only to amuse them further, and some of them reached into the tank to splash their companions with the stagnant water.

Up and down, in and out, Will’s nose and ears filled with the foul water when he was lowered, and then, when he was lifted up, his skin shivered with goose pimples as the chilly temperature of the liquid cooled on his naked body in the night air: the decorative sheen of his hose, so appealing to look at, offering no warmth against the evening breeze.

His limbs began to sag and the leather belt to press painfully into his flat stomach. Surely his tormentors must grow tired of their game soon?

Eventually, Will’s wishes seemed to be answered, and to a great, regretful “Awww!” from the drunken spectators, Will swayed in his harness as he felt Lunk pushing the farm machinery away from the water trough.

“Now, do we get to fuck him?!” yelled a desperate voice.

“Dirty!” came Lunk’s enigmatic reply.

“What’s that you say, Lunk?”

But that was all the thief would repeat: “Dirty! Dirty! Dirty!!”

Will’s heart leaped. Could it be, after all, that Lunk intended only to play games of a more innocent, child-like nature with him? Sure, the dunking in the trough was unpleasant, uncomfortable and initially frightening, but Will would happily accept that humiliating experience over the prospect of being ravished all night by a gang of intoxicated thugs. Would Lunk actually end up protecting him against the sexual advances of his companions, dismissing talk of his being used by them sexually as “dirty”?

Just like the infernal winching machine, as quickly as they had soared, Will’s hopes plummeted once more. He realised that the apparatus, and him with it, had merely been wheeled over to a new patch of ground, which was seething with thick, black mud.

The new chant took hold. “Dirty! Dirty! Dirty! Dirty!” and even faster than before, Will felt his exhausted young body descending towards the bog. With a splattering thud, he hit the mud and sank into its oozing wetness.

He lifted his face, smeared and soiled, to breathe, even as he felt the clammy filth seeping over his body and tights-clad legs. Pairs of booted feet splashed towards him through the gunk, and he felt the iron hook being ripped from the leather belt around his middle.

He was rolled onto his back, so that every part of him, from head to hosed toe, was now coated in the gloopy mulch. Strange hands roamed over his body, rubbing oily mud into every orifice, filthying his once fine tights, and using it as a lubricant.

“Filthy bitch!”

“Let’s really get him covered in mud!”

“Dirty up his tights and his pretty face!”

Then that oh so familiar sensation: his legs were raised, his hole speared, and the frenzied night-time orgy began in earnest.