Chapter 16 - Encased in Tights

Lord Geoffrey’s birthday celebrations had been deemed a great success. The evening had degenerated into a night of drunken debauchery. And for once, the strict regime at the castle was allowed to lapse a little. Even Mistress Olwen had to admit that the feast was indeed magnificent, although only the most adventurous of the guests dared to taste some of the dish of the day – Francois’ exotic “Coq au crème”. Those who did declared that it was utterly divine.

Geoffrey asked Alexander if the slave boy had indeed been roasted and if it was his carcass that now adorned the dinner table. Alexander replied with an enigmatic smile that he would beg to be allowed to keep that particular information a birthday secret, but something told Geoffrey that all was not as it had seemed.

Eventually, everyone made their way to their beds: Raymond perched miserably on the shrivelled Sir Wilfrid’s lap, and Sir Antony and his three companions disappeared into Lord Geoffrey’s bedchamber for a kind of entertainment Will could only imagine.

Will himself, meanwhile, was not at all surprised to be summoned to the Chief Steward’s chamber for the attention that he had received all too infrequently over the past few months, whilst Alexander’s attentions had been trained on his slave-bird.

“Enter, boy!” Alexander’s masculine tones instructed as Will once again waited outside the bedchamber, dressed in his skimpy page outfit and tight-fitting hose.

As usual, Will’s heart was in his mouth as he contemplated what Alexander could possibly have in store for him this time.

However, it seemed that, mellowed by wine, Alexander was in a more conversational mood than usual.

“So, slutboy,” he drawled. “What did you think of the evening’s entertainment?”

As always, Alexander’s very presence made Will feel nervous. And this was a new development. He was not usually asked for his opinion on anything!

“Did it turn you on, eh? Get that pathetic little boycock twitching in your tights to see the humiliation of a great soldier – being reduced to a mere chicken?”

Will panicked trying to work out what he was supposed to say. Would it anger Alexander more if he told him he was turned on or that he wasn’t?

“Answer me, bitch. Or are you still more interested in that slutty little serving girl?”

“No, Sir,” Will stammered as he recalled Jane’s devastating revelation.

“Ah, so you have learned the truth about that little minx then. Don’t say you were surprised! As if a woman would have had any use for you. You’re good for one thing and one thing only. To be tied up and to have a cock stuck in one of your ends. A real man’s cock!”

As if on command, Will’s dick twitched in his tights at this verbal humiliation.

“I was right, boy, I see…”

“Now, come over here and get your waistcoat and pumps off. I want you naked apart from your tights…”

Will did as he was instructed. He wondered if he would ever get accustomed to that terrible, wonderful thrill of excitement as he was ordered to strip down to merely that most revealing and erotic item of clothing – his tight-fitting hose.

“Sit on the end of the bed…”

Will did so. And he sensed Alexander climbing onto the sheets behind him.

“Master Yorick has been hard at work for you, my boy. He’s been helping me with a little project. I’ve decided I want to see and feel my little slave bitch entirely covered in tights – from head to toe.”

Will felt an item of clothing slip over his head. He soon realised that the material was the same stretchy, clingy material as his tights. Alexander guided the page boy’s arms into the garment. It appeared to have long sleeves that ended in gloves. The older man rolled down the torso of what appeared to be some kind of leotard. Alexander lifted the boy’s bottom as he fastened the body around Will’s arsehole.

“Beautiful,” cooed Alexander. “And now the finishing touch…”

Will felt Alexander’s hands at his temples, as the Steward began to force a kind of hood onto his head. Will panicked slightly until he realised the material was again the same as that of his tights. The hose-hood slipped over his face but was light enough for him to be able to breathe through and (although his vision was restricted) he could just about make out shapes through the fabric.

“Mmm. Perfect. Stand, boy.”

Will did as he was instructed, and Alexander stepped back to appreciate his creation. That lithe body, the strong muscular thighs and that pert, perfect bum all entirely encased in tights from head to toe.

“Now you truly are my tights bitch, boy.”

Will’s cock was rock hard as ever. His senses were muffled slightly. Sounds and sights came to him differently through the clinging, blue material. And as Alexander’s manly hands began to roam over his body, the sheer sensuousness of the all-over coverage made his cock ache for release.

He felt himself being pushed back onto the bed, and once again felt the familiar sensation as his limbs were tugged into a spread-eagled position and fastened to the bedposts.

“My kinky little tights slave tied up and ready to be used…”

The heady aroma of Alexander’s potion filled the air as the bottle was forced under Will’s nostrils and he had no choice but to inhale through the tights-hood.

Then the bottle was gone and Will’s hips bucked as he felt Alexander’s face sink into his, his master’s tongue pushing against the tight material and into his mouth. Will responded. The hosiery formed an erotic barrier between the two of them, preventing their salivating tongues from meeting, as the effects of the potion drove Will crazy with desire and lust.

The material was damp as Alexander withdrew his tongue and replaced it with his impressive cock.

He sat astride Will’s chest, pounding his dick into his blue boy’s mouth.

“Take it,” he hissed. “Take my cock, slut boy.”

Will did as he was told as best he could. And then Alexander withdrew, leaving him gasping for air through his hood.

“Now I want to see you writhe. Struggle and writhe. Struggle, moan and writhe. My tied up bitch. My kidnapped hostage. My tights slave.”

Will did as he was told, straining against his bonds, thrashing and moaning and whimpering, the potion coursing through his body, knowing that the sight was only arousing his Master more and more. The material of the tights encased him completely and caused yet more exquisite arousal.

Will felt Alexander’s stockinged foot ranging over his tights-clad body, pressing against his tits, his cock, his balls, his thighs…

And then he heard the grunt of ecstatic release as Alexander came, and hot, thick cum spattered over Will’s hosed body.

Will waited as the cum started to cool and dry on his leotard and tights. Then, to his astonishment, he felt Alexander grab his cock and start to rub it through the silken material.

“Don’t get used to this, bitch. This is a special treat in honour of Lord Geoffrey’s birthday…”

Will began to moan in ecstasy as he felt his cock wanked through the gorgeous silky hose.

“Silence, bitch!” And Alexander clamped his manly palm over the boy’s nose and mouth. Will squirmed even more as the hand muffled his squeals and restricted his breathing. But the clamped hand served only to arouse him even more!

“I’m milking you, slut. Breeding my tights bitch…”

And then, try as he might to delay it, Will’s adolescent hormones betrayed him. He spurted – over and over and over – into the crotch of his hose. Alexander pumped away at his cock until he had milked it completely dry.

Will lay there, gasping post-ejaculation, astonished that Alexander had relaxed his own rules and allowed his page boy to come.

“There are going to be some changes around here, soon, boy,” Alexander warned the tights-clad figure lying prone and tied to the bed. “War is coming. And that means uncertainty for us all…”

The Chief Steward was not wrong. Mere days after the celebrations had taken place marking the occasion of Lord Geoffrey’s birthday, rumours began to circulate that the King was embarking on another foreign military campaign, and that any able-bodied men faced conscription into his army.

Sure enough, within days, Alexander had been summoned to Geoffrey’s rooms and given the news that Geoffrey, along with all his most able knights, were required to travel to Arabia to do battle with the King’s enemies there.

“It’s hopeless, of course, but the old fool is too stubborn to see it,” grumbled the Lord of the manor. “And in the mean time, good men must be sacrificed on the altar of his pride and ambition. Still, we must obey, my friend. And I fear the number of men I am required to supply means that some must come from your staff as well as those more accustomed to life on the battlefield.”

“I shall be honoured, my Lord, to fight alongside you” –

“No, no, my friend. Much as I would value it, your place is here. I need a man I can trust to protect the castle whilst I’m away. But I fear I must leave you with only a skeleton staff. All the strongest and bravest fighters must come with me.”

Will was safe. Everyone regarded him as a moronic peasant boy who would likely get himself killed within moments of arriving on a foreign shore. So there was no danger of him being conscripted. Besides, Will felt fairly sure Alexander intended to keep him very close at hand for the foreseeable future. But plenty of the other pages were required to attend some rudimentary battle training. And even Master Yorick – whose bulging muscles made him a prime target for the army – began to pack up his belongings and say his farewells.

By the end of the week, the parade of strong, handsome, virile men, with Lord Geoffrey at its head, was on its way. Tears were shed, embraces were made, and then they were gone. The castle’s chambers echoed – empty save for those deemed unworthy of military service.

Will found his day-to-day existence went on much as before. True, he had now inherited some of the duties of the other pages, but there were now far fewer residents in the castle to cater to. As for Alexander, well, he had been left in complete command. Not that Lord Geoffrey had ever seen fit to question his right-hand man before – but now the Chief Steward’s power truly was absolute.

It was a cold February morning. Will was fetching firewood to top up Mistress Olwen’s dwindling supply, when he heard an excited commotion arising from the courtyard.

“Well, boy,” snapped the old cook. “Go and see what is happening out there!”

Will hurried, all too eager to discover the cause of the disturbance. He ran outside and saw the large wooden gates of the castle swinging open. Like him, others had come to gawp at the visitors. And this is what they saw. It was a small procession, headed by a young village boy. He had been hastily recruited to carry a tall flag, with a golden crest emblazoned at its tip.

Behind the village lad rode two men that Will could only describe as giants. They were undoubtedly the tallest, broadest, biggest men that he had ever seen. Each of them must have been easily six foot six. One had masses of wiry black hair growing all over him: on his head, his face, and sprouting from his chest. The other man was equally dark, but where his companion was bearded and hairy, the second man was clean shaven, even down to his razored scalp. Both were dressed identically, wrapped up tight in long, furry, black robes that fell to their feet. They rode monstrous black horses, quite as big as the shire horses that Will’s neighbour Gyles kept back in the village farm.

The men in black each touched the hilts of their swords lightly, as if as a warning for anyone who dared approach. And they scowled evilly at the gawping servants.

As if the sight of these two ogres was not astonishing enough, the next rider in the little parade presented an even more extraordinary apparition.

It was a young man. Will guessed he was at most twenty-three or four. He was about five feet ten tall, and Will knew instantly that he was the most handsome man he had ever laid eyes on. His skin was a pure, flawless white, which contrasted with the golden waves of his shoulder length hair. His eyes were as blue as sapphires, and his nose was slim and straight. His lips red, full and slightly pouting, and his cheeks and bone structure were as fine and delicate as if they had been constructed in some heavenly forge.

His physique was easy to appreciate also, for unlike the monsters who preceded him, and in spite of the biting chill, the beautiful young man’s body was not engulfed in cloaks and furs. His shoulders were broad and his waist slim. His fine legs were clearly on display – muscular and shapely and encased in the finest, silken lavender hose. He wore leather riding boots that covered his calves, but his exquisite tights covered his thighs and then extended well beyond his flat stomach and over his chest. A silver embroidered “bolero” jacket covered the young man’s upper body and arms, but Will was all too aware that the stranger had abandoned warmth and comfort for the effect he knew his devastating attire would have on his audience. The only concession to the cold was a jaunty fur hat which perched on an angle atop his beautiful head.

The crowd fell silent as the newcomers entered the courtyard. Will could see from the young man’s proud expression that he was well used to being admired, indeed that he expected it from anyone he should meet.

The man reined in his pure white steed and called out in a clear voice: “Who is master here?”

“I have that honour – for the time being, your highness.”

Alexander had emerged from his office and stood at the top of the steps that led up to the entrance to the Great Hall.

“And who, pray, are you?”

“My name is Alexander Courcey. And I am the Chief Steward of de Montford Castle. Had we been forewarned of your arrival, we would have been able to prepare a proper welcome for you.”

“My journey here has been one of the utmost secrecy. Only my father and a few of my most trusted servants have known. My father did not dare risk my royal person by telling just – anyone.”

Alexander bowed low, but Will could see that the insult had found its mark.

“Please, then, your highness. Come this way. Our castle’s staff is rather depleted at the moment but I can assure you, we will do everything in our power to make your sojourn here a comfortable one.”

“See that you do, Courcey,” replied the young man. “My father would be most displeased if it were not.”

And with that, he swang athletically down from his steed, and followed by his hulking bodyguards, strode into the castle.

Alexander was struggling to maintain his composure.

Will suddenly realised Mistress Olwen was at his side.

“Who is it?” he hissed.

Olwen pulled a face. “That, lad, is Prince Felix: the only son and heir of our beloved King. And from what I hear of that young man, his arrival at our castle will mean only one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Trouble.”

Chapter 15 - Creamed Cock

15. Creamed Cock

“An egg?” called Lord Geoffrey. “Surely our proud cock cannot lay eggs?”

“Oh I think you’d be surprised, your Lordship, at just what might emerge from this creature’s talented hole!”

Darius quivered with shame to be described thus by his most hated foe.

“Come, chicken! You know what to do – show us how you lay your eggs…”

The Arab looked at the Steward helplessly.

“Very well, I shall aid you in your task,” and as he spoke these words, he ripped the tiny sliver of silky thong from the slave’s hips, so that it fell to the floor, exposing his considerable cock, which swung, large and flaccid from his groin. Then Alexander clutched the glossy feathers emerging from the slave’s ass. Tugging the fantasy tail, he pulled, until, with a loud plopping sound, the butt plug came free from Darius’ hole.

“Ahhhh!’ cried the exotic bird.

“No complaining, bitch! It will merely aid you in the laying of your precious cargo to have your ass muscles loosened a little… Now – squat for your masters and lay an egg like a good little chicken!”

The beautiful soldier whimpered in despair as he did as he was instructed, lowering his torso towards the ground, and pushing his arse out.

Will craned his neck to get a better view as a hush fell across the room. How, he wondered, could Alexander achieve this?

“Come, slut-bird,” taunted the Steward. “Force those arse lips apart and produce a big egg for us…”

Darius gritted his teeth, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead as he strained his muscles to produce his burden.

“The egg appears!”

And sure enough, the very tip of a large white egg began to appear as the slave bird’s hole began to stretch. Clearly, Will realised, with a slightly guilty thrill, Alexander had already inserted the egg into his slave’s butt before plugging it with the fantasy bird tail. The atmosphere in the large hall was electric. Everyone remained silent as they watched the obscene entertainment unfold.

The monstrous egg grew wider, porcelain white and coated in the sticky mucus of the Arabian’s arse. Darius the slave’s face grew redder with the shame and the exertion.

“And I’ll take a little clucking from you, as well!”

Darius the bird creature screeched in pain and shame, and as he did so, he let out a squelching fart sound as the fat egg was released from his gaping butt hole. It clattered to the floor with a heavy thud, and Will realised the egg must be of some considerable weight and must have caused the Arab much pain in attempting to retain it. Fidgeting in his tights, Will was reminded of the plug that had until recently permanently rested in his bottom. Will could only sympathise with the slave’s much abused arsehole.

A roar of appreciative laughter echoed around the Hall, and a derisive smattering of applause followed.

The slave collapsed onto his hands and knees, panting from the pain and exertion of producing his precious cargo.

Alexander crossed to the defeated and broken soldier and crouched down to whisper in his face.

“I’m proud of you, my peacock… You see how much better off you are stripped of that misplaced arrogance – and of your dignity! Do you see what you have become? A bird of fantasy. To be mocked and laughed at by your bitterest enemies. How does it feel to know all of these men are rubbing their cocks through their silken hose even now at the thought of you straining to produce a porcelain egg from your beautiful arse?…”

One final vestige of Darius’ defiance remained. Raising his dark, handsome head, he spat in Alexander’s face.

A shocked silence fell across the room.

Alexander rose to his feet and calmly wiped the spittle from his cheek.

He turned to his captive audience and smiled wickedly.

“I would now like to introduce a very special guest to you all. With all due respect to Mistress Olwen, our wonderful cook, I have invited a gentleman who is a true specialist in the art of cuisine. I give you the illustrious Monsieur Francois!”

The large doors swang open, and Will turned his head to catch a glimpse of the new arrival. The man who now entered the Hall was very short and very round: only about five foot in height – and very nearly the same size in diameter. His face was pale and doughy, with two little black beady eyes like currants. His doublet and hose were white, and he acknowledged the applause of the castle’s occupants with a self-satisfied nod as he waddled towards the platform at the end of the Hall.

Meanwhile, at the far end of the Hall, Alexander had ordered some of his servants to move a large wooden table into view. The table was covered with bowls, pots and other receptacles. And a heady aroma of herbs and spices emanated from its direction.

“Welcome, Monsieur Francois!” called the Steward. “You honour us with your presence!”

“Well, my friend” replied the fat little man, in a thick Gallic accent. “Yours was a most unusual request but I have never been able to resist a challenge! And to do so to celebrate ze birthday of Lord Geoffrey – how could I refuse?”

The greying Lord of the Castle raised his goblet in acknowledgment.

“All is as you requested, monsieur. I shall leave it all to your expertise…”

Will craned his neck to watch as the little foreigner took up a position behind the table.

“My friends!” he declared. “I am ze greatest chef in ze world! And you will have ze privilege of watching me work! Today I prepare a new recipe. It is called “Coq au Crème!”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“Now, I do require some volunteers for zis challenging dish. Four good strong men to help me in its preparation. Your Lordship, perhaps you would be so kind as to nominate your most trusted men…”

Lord Geoffrey smiled quizzically at the funny little man, and then indicated the four knights who sat closest to him. Will gulped as the four fantastic specimens of manhood rose to their feet – all of them chisel-jawed, with bulging muscles. Their colours of their tights ranged from grey to burgundy to black, but every one contained awesomely proportioned thigh muscles and engorged bulges, still excited from the sight of Darius the slave bird and his egg-laying trick.

“Now. Ze most important part of zis recipe is to find a really succulent piece of bird flesh. Would you gentlemen know where I could locate a fresh hunk of male poultry, per’aps?”

The knights shared a conspiratorial look and strode over to where the Arab slave lay, spent and exhausted on the floor. As he saw his enemies approach, a flame of resistance again seemed to leap in him, and Darius began to scramble to his feet. But there was nowhere for him to flee. Some of the black feathers became dislodged as the knights grabbed his muscular form, and they fluttered to the ground. One knight held the struggling bird of fantasy at each limb and dragged him over to the chef’s table.

“Bon. Bon. Tres bon!” purred Monsieur Francois. “A most delicious-looking specimen! And now to prepare him! First – he must be plucked!”

A raucous laugh from Master Yorick echoed around the hall.

“Non, non, monsieur! I said plucked!”

Darius’s eyes widened as the little chef produced from beneath the table a large (and very sharp) pair of shears.

“Now, gentlemen. You will ‘ave to keep him very still. I do not want to clip something off by mistake!”

Geoffrey’s handsome knights pinioned the terrified, sweating slave boy against the wall. Francois approached him slowly and slowly and sensuously ran the cold blades of the knife down his trembling body.

And then… snip… snip… snip… The chef began to strip the feathers from the young man’s succulent flesh. He was an expert and soon the soft black down lay at a pile at the Arab slut’s feet.

“And now – his hair must also be shaved!”

One of the knights reached over and removed the fantastical head dress from their captive’s head. And so soon, the glossy black mane of Darius’ hair also met its downfall. The chef took a step back so that his enraptured audience could appreciate the view.

Darius the slave stood like a bronzed statue: completely hairless from head to toe. His pectoral muscles glistened with sweat. His face was drawn with shame and humiliation.

“Excellent! Zat is more like it!” crowed Francois.

In spite of himself, Will found that his cock was rock hard in his tights. He couldn’t help himself. And blushing pink, he realised that a part of him envied the Arab soldier his predicament. How Will wished he had four gorgeous hunks, all clad in the slinkiest and silkiest of materials, all pressed against his naked body. Their muscular asses looked divine in their fine hosiery. And each of them was also turned on by having the beautiful slave at their mercy.

“Now, my friends! Bring ze chicken to ze table. We must prepare our bird for dinner.”

The delighted knights dragged the struggling slave to the large wooden table, grinning amongst themselves at the prospect of yet more humiliation for the unfortunate hunk. Between the four of them, they hefted the naked man onto his back on the table and then took up positions at each of the four corners, two at his wrists and two at his ankles, to ensure he could not escape.

“We must truss our turkey, gentlemen!”

Quick as a flash, the chef handed some sturdy pieces of rope to Lord Geoffrey’s knights. And the knights needed no further instruction.

Despite Darius’ struggles, his legs were raised and securely tied to his ankles. The captive bird’s feet pointed to the sky, and his ass lay inviting and vulnerable.

“Excellent! And naturally we begin with ze most important and tasty part – ze stuffing! We have all seen the capacious anal cavity that our bird possesses. It will take some stuffing to fill him all up, I think!”

A vast clay bowl appeared from nowhere, and Francois plunged his chubby hand into it, lifting out a pale brown, gunky substance.

“My secret recipe! A divine blend of breadcrumbs, egg yolk, butter, chopped onions, carrots, cranberries and herbs and spices give ze stuffing a gorgeous piquancy!”

Darius struggled against his bonds, but it was no use. He was stuck fast, helpless to whatever perverted treatment the Frenchman determined to mete out.

“Does everyone have a good view of ze bird’s bottom?”

A cheer from the throng assured him that this was indeed so.

“Bon. Zen here we go!”

The chef took a large handful of the gunk. “Would you be so kind as to part ze cheeks?” he asked two of the knights with excessive politeness. They did so only too eagerly; and skilfully, the chef began to push the stuffing into Darius’ swollen arsehole.

“Ahhhh!” the slave cried out, as he felt the gloop enter his backside.

“Ah,” said the chef. “Did I mention, I like my stuffing to be very spicy? I have added extra pepper, extra ginger and extra chilli to ze recipe! I fear my little bird of paradise zat zis will not be a pleasant experience for you…”

Half of the audience winced at the thought of the slave’s burning ass ring. The other half thrilled with the sadistic pleasure of what he would suffer. Will shifted uncomfortably as he realised only he was fantasising that he was the one lying there, naked and trussed up on the table in front of everyone, his bottom being abused in the obscene parody of a meal being prepared.

Darius’ hole continued to be stretched as Francois fed more and more of the slimy mixture into him. His fat little fingers pushed and prodded the stuffing deeper and deeper.

“I shall soon have you full to ze brim, my little chicken,” he cooed.

Will remembered how humiliating it felt to be filled with food. And now to see this once proud, noble warrior reduced to this demeaning position made him shake his head in wonder.

Darius was moaning as the spicy mixture was inserted into the depths of his bowels.

“My, my, what a noisy little bird, we have here! My friends, would you find something to gag zat mouth of his?”

One of the gorgeous young knights – the tall, well-built Sir Antony, rifled through the various bowls and containers sitting on the table and produced a fat yellow lemon. He rubbed the fruit casually against the crotch of his fine black tights.

“Will this do, Monsieur?” he smirked.

“Excellent!”

The lemon was pushed between Darius’ lips, into his mouth, and tied in place, effectively gagging him and ensuring that the only sounds he could make were muffled moans and sobs. Of which there were plenty…

The stuffing was just about gone. The whole bowl was wiped clean and its fiery, gunky contents were all now residing within the slave’s guts.

“Now, my little bird. We must make sure none of zat delicious stuffing leaks out, mustn’t we? Perhaps you would be so good as to pass me another of zose juicy lemons?”

The slave bird’s eyes widened as the considerable amount of stuffing, packed solidly inside his fundament was impacted even further.

“In we go…”

And the large, pimpled yellow fruit stretched the slave’s anus yet more.

“We are packed very full,” Francois smiled as the lemon met resistance at the slave’s swollen hole. But eventually, he succeeded and the bulbous citrus fruit penetrated the opening.

“Arrrgggh!!” screamed Darius.

Monsieur Francois was determined and adept. He worked away at the opening until the fruit went all the way in. The chef stepped back for everyone to appreciate his handiwork. Some of the breadcrumby gunk was smeared around the slave’s ass, and the presence of the lemon was all too visibly obvious. The slave’s asslips were parted just a little and the yellow fruit’s end protruded slightly for all to see. Darius moaned and whimpered through his lemon gag, his body clearly too stuffed for his arse to close over the intrusion completely.

A wave of amused applause came from the audience. Will could only imagine how the once proud soldier must feel to be on display, trussed up and exhibited in this fashion. His body abused for the entertainment and arousal of his enemies, who had prevented even his bumhole from closing properly.

Clearly, however, his torment was not yet over. The fat little chef was instructing his hosed assistants, and the four beefy hunks were now lifting the unfortunate slave-chicken from the table and into a large, shallow tin tub that Francois had produced.

“And now,” he chuckled wickedly. “Ze chicken must be oiled!”

A large green bottle of cooking oil appeared on the table and soon the sleeves of Sir Antony and his companions were rolled up as they eagerly got to work.

            Copious amounts of oil were poured into their willing palms, and soon they were rubbing, caressing, fondling the struggling body of the slave Darius so that every inch of that perfect form was covered in the oil – shimmering and sensuous.

            The gloopy oil ran down their captive’s long, muscular thighs, and the strong palms of the knights rubbed and massaged Darius’ massive pectoral muscles. Meanwhile, Sir Antony reached between the Arab’s still-tied legs and, with an oily fist, began to pump at their captive’s generous cock.

            “Our chicken is enjoying the attention!” he called out. “See how stiff his cock has become!”

            “Ah” – Francois interjected. “Ze most succulent piece of any chicken! We must make sure zat is given particular attention!”

            The chef made a great play of seasoning Darius’ cock with salt, pepper and herbs, rubbing them into the shaft and inserting a bay leaf into the man’s cockhole.

            Finally, Francois reached in to wrap the oily penis in a thin tin foil. Once again, the spectators in the hall burst out laughing to see the Arab’s erect cock wrapped in a humiliating shiny sheath.

            Suddenly there was a commotion in the tub as Darius began to rock back and forth in the oil, moaning painfully.

            “Ahhh,” cooed Francois. “Is it becoming painful, my little chicken, to hold on to all zat gunky stuffing? Your body must want to expel it very badly. And yet you cannot, can you? Zat naughty lemon is keeping it all tightly packed inside you! All for our amusement!”

            Will could only sympathise. He knew that full sensation only too well!

            “And now, my friends – for ze next part of ze recipe! Ze marinade!”

            The chef fetched another large crockery pot with a heavy lid.

            “We must make sure ze chicken is fully coated so zat he will be as tasty as can be!”

            Francois removed the lid and rested the pot on his considerable belly and stood at the head of the large roasting tin. Tantalisingly slowly he began to tip the pot forward.

            “Ze marinade is a thick gravy – wine, flour, onions, carrots, potatoes and chicken stock! All to be poured over our little bird here…”

            The viscous liquid began to spill over the edge of the pot and the crowd gasped with delight as some of it splashed onto Darius’ oiled chest. The marinade was cold and the slave shivered as it hit his body.

            “A little more I think is needed…”

            The gloopy brown fluid came more quickly now, and Francois ranged about the roasting tin so that it fell on the humiliated Darius’ legs and crotch. Chunks of vegetables plopped onto his writhing body and finally the chef emptied a generous amount right over the slave’s head. Darius blinked and choked as the gravy slowly slid down his face, over his eyes and down his nose.

            The little chef deposited the empty pot on the floor and then hefted the slave into a sitting position so that the whole room could see the cold, wet, miserable creature: his arse and mouth stuffed, his whole body stained with the brown marinade.

            More raucous laughter erupted, along with appreciative applause for the entertainment Francois had afforded them.

            “Bravo!” called Lord Geoffrey. “Bravo!”

            Francois bowed theatrically and then paused and frowned. In a pantomime gesture, he dipped one finger into the tin and licked the brown goo from it. He shook his head sadly.

            “I fear zat ze recipe is not quite right. It lacks one important ingredient.”

            He turned to the four knights who still stood with him.

            “Of course! How can I prepare cock au crème when I have not added any cream! My friends – would you be so kind as to oblige me and provide ze cream for zis most exquisite of dishes…”

            A moment of puzzlement, and then Sir Antony understood.

            “Why, monsieur,” he declared. “We should be delighted.”

            And with that he strode over to stand at the roasting tin. He fiddled briefly with the waistband of his tights, and soon he had freed his large, veiny cock from its slinky confines. His three compatriots did not hesitate to join him. And soon all four hunks assembled round the roasting tin, pumping away at their manmeat, their tightly muscled, hosed backsides clenching and unclenching as they worked their way to climax. And glancing around the Hall, Will could not help but notice the envious looks of the male spectators, all wishing they could be the ones wanking off over the gunged and humiliated slave bitch.

            A grunt and a cry suddenly erupted from Sir Antony and with a shudder that passed through his whole body, he ejaculated a thick stream of white cum into the air. It seemed to hang in space for a moment before splashing satisfyingly across Darius’ potato covered chest. Darius cringed as the man-cum hit his naked torso. The white slime mingled with the brown as it slowly ran down his glistening body. And soon it was joined by that of the three other knights: one gloopy strand hitting Darius right in the face, blinding him momentarily and then dripping onto his full lips, still forced permanently open by the lemon gag.

            At this, Alexander could restrain himself no longer. He leaped to his feet and joined the erotic tableau at the end of the Hall.

            “What a fucking site, slave bitch! Not so proud now, are you? Look at you! Stripped and shaved: arse stuffed with breadcrumbs, and a lemon pushed in either end of you to keep you well and truly plugged. And then coated in a savoury brown gravy, with an extra coating of real men’s cum! You must be so humiliated now. And to be exposed like this in front of all your enemies!”

            Indeed, Darius was now shivering with the cold and the humiliation of the experience. Will had never seen a man look so broken, so devastated.

            “Our thanks and gratitude to Monsieur Francois.”

            Once again the fat chef bowed to acknowledge the applause of his audience.

            “And only one thing remains. And that of course is this. Our “Coq au crème” must be cooked!”

            Francois looked a little puzzled. Clearly he had not anticipated this part of the entertainment. The chef’s bewilderment was echoed by the spectators, and a gasp of realisation escaped them, when two of Alexander’s lackeys from the dungeon rolled an iron stove on castors into the room.

            Darius’ eyes widened in terror as the implication of the stove began to sink in. Surely they did not intend to roast him alive? He tried to scream in protest but the lemon lodged between his teeth muffled the sound. With a flourish, Alexander flung the door of the oven open and Will could see glowing embers of firewood within to show it had been prepared and heated to a desired temperature.

            The crowd were hungry now – whipped into a frenzy, they wanted nothing less than to see the exquisite slave roasted in his exotic marinade.

            Will watched open-mouthed in astonishment as the four knights hauled the roasting tin, Darius thrashing impotently within, onto their shoulders and then pushed it into the stove.

            The audience were afforded a final glimpse of the desperate Arab before Alexander, with a wicked laugh, clanged the iron door shut and committed the slave to his doom.

  

Chapter 14 - The Bird of Paradise

The weeks passed and autumn’s chill turned more wintry. Will marvelled at the fact that the once daunting castle now felt almost like home. The months he had lived here eradicated his old life as if it were only a dream.

And his new life was undoubtedly more straightforward now that Raymond was no longer a part of it. He saw little of Jane, as fate conspired to keep them apart but, strangely, Will no longer seemed to mind very much. Whenever he tried to conjure up Jane’s pretty little body, the fantasy was replaced by that of the strong, masculine torso of his master, Alexander.

For his part, the Chief Steward did his best to keep his promise to tutor the young page boy personally, although his many other duties meant that he did not use the boy’s body as frequently as he would have liked: much to his frustration.

The slut was positively born to be used and abused: the combination of youthful beauty and his naturally submissive manner brought out all of Alexander’s basest instincts. And he had every intention of indulging them.

Still, there was plenty else to do. War loomed, and it remained unclear exactly what the King would require of Geoffrey to provide in terms of manpower from his domain. Alexander had fought in wars in his youth, and had taken full advantage of the many opportunities offered by an environment, where horny knights and squired lived side by side, fucking one another as if each day were their last (as well it might prove to be). But that was history, and he firmly intended to remain here in his comfortable apartments at the castle if it were at all possible.

Then there was the breaking-in of Darius, the arrogant Arabian soldier, to continue. He was making progress. The gorgeous specimen’s will was gradually being eroded. But he needed to do more if his plan to incorporate the hunk into the lavish birthday banquet he was organising for Lord Geoffrey was to come to full fruition.

All of which left precious little time to work on young Will. He managed to summon him a couple of times to his plush bedchamber, and on each occasion, he had given him some expert tuition on sucking cock (the boy showed real talent and was learning to take his manmeat deep into his slutty throat) and had finished each lesson with a good fuck. But he was a busy man, and there were only so many hours in a day after all…

Finally the day of the grand banquet dawned.

Will had been ordered to rise even earlier than usual. Alexander was pulling out all the stops to ensure that Lord Geoffrey’s birthday celebrations were more spectacular than ever – and that meant all hands on deck.

The blond lad had spent the day rushing hither and thither, making deliveries and passing on messages. More often than not, if they involved an older male member of the castle’s staff, he was bent over their laps for a sound spanking on the seat of his tights, for some flimsy pretext or other. He could barely remember a time when his arse wasn’t smarting from being belted by some horny older man.

Finally the sun set, and the entire population of the castle crowded into the Great Hall to share in the festivities. Gay garlands of flowers and bright streamers festooned the vaulted ceiling, and the room was crammed with laughter and bright-eyed excitement. As well as a sumptuous banquet, there were rumours that the entertainment that Alexander had devised would be bigger and better than anything they had seen.

As usual, Lord Geoffrey sat at the centre of the top table, surrounded by his favourite knights. Geoffrey’s powerful shoulders were cloaked in flowing golden robes, and his handsome face was already flushed from the wine he had imbibed. His companions, Will noted, were equally physically blessed, and their muscular thighs bulged impressively in their hose.

Meanwhile, thick crimson drapes had been hung at the far end of the Hall and gossipy servants speculated what they could possibly be concealing!

Suddenly a kerfuffle in the corner of the Grand Hall made Will turn. Whispered giggles emanated from the area of the disturbance, and Will saw the crowd part to allow a newcomer to enter. The new arrival was an old, old man – wrinkled and shrivelled, his head almost bald save for a few straggly white hairs. His mouth was crabbed and sour, and he squinted as he looked around. He was dressed in a long robe, which once presumably had been opulent, but now was stained and tattered.

The old man was sitting in a wheeled chair and was being pushed along. Will gulped as he saw who was attending him, and in a split second, the identity of the man fell into place. This, then, was Sir Wilfrid, Geoffrey’s lecherous old uncle, and the wan, miserable youth manoeuvring him into place at the end of the top table was none other than Raymond.

Lord Geoffrey glanced across with a look of slight distaste. “Uncle! I wasn’t sure if you would be joining us.”

“Hoped I wouldn’t, more like,” spat the repulsive old man. “You might like to keep me out of sight and out of mind, but I hear some entertainment is afoot…”

Wilfrid licked his cracked lips like a serpent. “Boy!” he snapped. “I need to piss.”

Raymond appeared at his side, his face pale and nervous.

“What are you waiting for?” demanded the old man. “You know what to do. Doesn’t make any difference to me that there are all these people here. Pull your tights down!”

Raymond cast his eyes to the floor with a look of abject humiliation. Reluctantly, he rolled down the waistband of his yellow hose, exposing his buttocks to the Hall. A chuckle ran around the room, particularly from those who remembered the youth’s pride and arrogance.

“Hurry, boy! I can’t hold on much longer!”

Will watched in bewilderment, wondering what bizarre act was about to take place. His curiosity was soon satisfied.

Miserably, Raymond parted Sir Wilfrid’s disgusting robes, revealing a flash of parched naked skin beneath, and he sat himself down on the old man’s lap. The boy wriggled uncomfortably, his one hand fiddling beneath his buttocks.

“Ahhh,” said Wilfrid. “In we go. Good job your hole is still tight, boy. Are you ready to receive?”

Raymond nodded his head, and laughter began to ripple about the room as it became clear that the old man was relieving himself into Raymond’s arse. Will watched as the youth was forced to take the piss into his butt, and was surprised to see his cock began to twitch at the notion. All around the room, other men adjusted their tights-clad bulges, also clearly aroused by the display.

“Very well,” announced Wilfrid eventually. “I’m done. Off you go and empty yourself…”

Raymond gingerly lifted himself off his master’s cock and pulled up his tights in a vain attempt to salvage some kind of dignity.

“Hurry now! You know I like to have you on my lap at all times, bitch!”

Raymond waddled away, his stomach bulging and his arse sticking out as he fought to prevent his master’s piss from flooding out of his backside and soiling his yellow hose, Lord Geoffrey’s knights laughing and mocking him as he passed by.

Suddenly Will was aware of a presence at his shoulder.

“I hope you’re happy,” a feminine voice spat in his ear.

Will turned in surprise. “Jane!” he gasped. “I hoped I’d see you today…” He faltered as he saw the twisted, spiteful look on her pretty face.

“Well I never want to see you again, you little shit.”

“But... I don’t understand… I thought… I thought…”

“You thought what? That I fancied you? Ha! As if I could ever feel anything for a disgusting little catamite like you. Your arse is only good for one thing. And it and you are of no use to a normal girl like me.”

Will bit his lip at his sweetheart’s cruelty. “But what could I do?” he stammered. “I’m only a servant. I’ve had to go along with whatever Alexander has ordered me to do. He told me if I didn’t that he’d do it to you.”

“As if he’d have any interest in laying a hand on me,” the girl scoffed.

“But what you said to me, about my being brave. And handsome.”

“I lied, you moron.”

Will stared at her in bewilderment.

“For God’s sake, how do you think Alexander found out that we’d been fumbling in the stables?”

“It was you?”

“That’s right, genius! And it was also me who went and told Yorick that you were in his workshop trying to steal some clean tights.”

“But why? Why would you do that?”

“Family loyalty. You replaced my brother and he hated you as a result. So he asked me to help out to get you into as much trouble as possible.”

“Your – your brother?”

“And now he’s been sent to wait on that disgusting old man, and been humiliated in front of everybody in the castle! I’ll never forgive you for this, pageboy!”

And with that, Jane fled from Will’s side.

The blond page boy’s head was reeling. To think he’d done everything Alexander wanted in order to save Jane the ordeal herself – and it was her fault that he was in the predicament in the first place.

He did not, however, have long to ponder the callous way he had been deceived and manipulated by Raymond and Jane. A sudden blare of trumpets caused the whole of the castle’s inhabitants to turn their heads, as Alexander made a grand entrance through the Great Hall’s large oaken doors. The Steward bowed low before his master.

“Your Lordship. May I and the rest of your servants join to wish you the happiest of birthdays!”

He strode over to where the vast crimson drapes were hanging. As he did so, Will noticed Raymond shuffling back into the Hall, seemingly having rid himself of his obnoxious load. He was doing his utmost to appear as unobtrusive as possible, as he gingerly lowered the waist band of his tights, and with desperate resignation, he returned to Sir Wilfrid’s lap, the old man cackling as he slid his soft prick into the boy’s yielding backside.

“The preparations for this evening have been many months in the making – and your birthday gift has required considerable training, but I hope that your Lordship feels that my efforts have not entirely been in vain!”

Alexander clapped his hands, and the red curtains parted a little, to allow the two guards from Alexander’s torture chamber to wheel in a large object. Will could not discern immediately what it was, as it was concealed beneath a large black cloth, but it was shaped like a giant bell jar, perhaps six foot in height.

The assembled audience whispered to each other, wondering excitedly what could be concealed beneath the black drapery.

“I have sought near and far to find a gift worthy of your Lordship, and I believe I have discovered a rare and valuable specimen for your delectation. This creature was wild at first, but now it is as tame as a puppy. From the darkest depths of Arabia, may I present – the Bird of Paradise!”

And with that, Alexander tugged at a cord so that the black drape slipped to the floor. The whole room strained their necks to see what lay beneath.

It was a giant birdcage – wrought in iron and in the shape of a bell jar. The gaps in the bars were large enough for the spectators to see through, but not enough for the captive to escape. And what a captive!

Alexander surveyed the room with satisfaction to see the effect that the animal formerly known as Darius, the proud soldier, had upon the assembled throng. He was a far cry from the noble and imperious man he had purchased in the slave market all those months before. His physique was as impressive as ever, but he was now transformed into an exotic bird.

He had been shaved from neck to toe, with only his long, luscious raven locks remaining. All other hair had been ruthlessly removed from his masculine form. Then he had been coated in honey and dipped in black goose feathers. The down clung to his body, and the hunk was naked save for a slinky black thong which just managed to cover the bulge at his crotch.

Perched atop the slave’s head was a magnificent head dress of black and blue feathers, with a large golden “beak” perched atop it. Finally, protruding from the slave’s arse was a vast plume of feathers, firmly lodged in place via a well-positioned butt plug.

The slave-bird had been placed on a wooden swing that descended from the roof of the cage, and as the ludicrous sight sank in for the assembled crowd, along with the realisation that this was formerly one of their fiercest and most feared enemies, tittering laughter spread around the Great Hall.

Darius bit his lip. His spirit may have been broken by the kinky desires of Alexander, but this new humiliation, appearing in front of all his enemies, tarred and feathered in a slinky black thong, with a large peacock tail buried deep in his burning arse hole, took him to his lowest point yet.

“The proud peacock!” taunted Alexander.

Geoffrey rose to his feet. “This is indeed a worthy gift, Alexander. You have outdone yourself!”

Alexander accepted the praise with a small smile. “There is more, your Lordship. The slave-bird has been trained for your Lordship’s entertainment.”

He took an iron key from his pocket and unlocked the door to the giant bird cage.

“Come, slave-bird!” he beckoned.

The Arabian slipped from his perch and cautiously stepped through the doorway.

“Now you’re going to behave yourself, my pretty bird, aren’t you?” whispered Alexander through clenched teeth.

Darius remained silent but bowed his head in submission.

“Now show your master how you cluck, chicken!” commanded the Steward.

Darius glared at Alexander, a final moment of defiance in his eyes, but the older man held his gaze and, eventually, the former soldier surrendered his will.

The room fell silent as this perfect specimen raised his leg, in imitation of the strut of a bird. His feathered, muscular calf came down in a first tentative step, as a stifled giggle rang out in the Hall.

Alexander smiled smugly. “Come now, bird-boy. A little more energy is required, methinks!” He prodded the Arab’s muscular arse with his booted foot.

Darius – his head swimming with shame – picked up speed, his arms flapping at his sides like wings, his arse forced to stick out obscenely due to the giant feathered tail that swished as he mood.

More laughter from the spectators, and Alexander’s voice rang above the noise. “Cluck, bird-bitch! Cluck!”

Tentatively at first, the soldier began to imitate the sound of a chicken, and as his voice grew stronger and his clucking more confident, the jeers and catcalls from his audience only increased.

“Good, slave-bird! Good!” cried Alexander. “What a sight you are! A former soldier, proud, respected, reduced to this! Shaved, tarred and feathered, with a big bird tail coming from your butt, being forced to circle the Hall like a chicken – clucking and strutting like a ridiculous bird!”

The castle’s residents burst into applause, delighted by Alexander’s speech.

“Enough!” called the Steward. “Now, your Lordship, with your permission… I think it is time that our exotic peacock here laid an egg for you!”

Chapter 13 - To the Victor, the Spoils

Will remained on all fours, his tights sodden and uncomfortable. His arse empty at long last.

“So now it is time to deal out the punishment – and the reward!” declared Alexander.

“A reward?” Raymond repeated, his eyes widening.

“Oh yes. To have undergone such a trial and beaten your fellow slave so decisively deserves a reward, don’t you think, Yorick?”

The hose-maker barely had time to reply.

 “And yet,” Alexander continued. “I have always prided myself on being a fair man, and it seems clear to me that this little slut here was forced to take far more food up his boy pussy than did the other one. I wonder if the contest was truly equal.”

“Your integrity does you credit, Master Alexander,” said Yorick, without a trace of irony.

In his exhausted and demoralised state, Will nevertheless experienced a flicker of hope. He watched Raymond’s face fall into stunned incredulity.

“Thank you, Yorick. Yes, the more I consider the matter, the more it seems to me that we should have a final round in our little contest. And I have an idea to determine which of these page boys will be declared the ultimate winner.”

Alexander glanced pointedly at both Will’s and Raymond’s bulging crotches.

“I suggest we milk them, Yorick. Thus shall we discover which of them possesses greater self-control. The one who cums first will be declared the loser  and will be duly punished.”

“Superb! Simply superb!” Yorick was practically salivating in anticipation.

“And let us continue to allow chance to decide which of us will masturbate which slave…”

Alexander produced a coin. It whirled in the air before landing at his feet. “You will take the yellow bitch. And I shall yank this filthy little bird’s pathetic boycock.”

Raymond was clearly suppressing his indignation that victory in Alexander’s kinky game might yet be snatched from him, but he knew better than to challenge his master. Will dared to nurture a small piece of hope: could it be that, secretly, Alexander wanted him to win?

“Lie on your backs!” came the instruction.

Both boys did as they were bidden. Their naked torsos rested on the rugs, their stockinged legs bent so that the soles of their feet lay flat on the floor.

Alexander and Yorick knelt beside the two of them. Raymond groaned as a stomach cramp hit him. There was no longer any reason why Raymond should not empty his bowels of the fruit salad nestling within. But Will thought he knew enough of Raymond’s character by now to know that his pride and arrogance would mean he would not want to lie there and soil himself, especially not in front of Will. Will’s spirits rose yet further. His rival would therefore have to focus on keeping his arse clenched tight and fending off orgasm. 

“Let us begin,” said Alexander, with a devilish smile playing around his lips.

He reached into Will’s sticky hose and grabbed the boy’s cock. It pulsed instantly, and Will immediately began to try and conjure the most unappealing images that he could. The fat, gap-toothed Mistress Olwen, old Dirk, the village bumpkin, cows, goats, pigs… anything that might cause his dick to soften.

But of course Alexander was having none of that, as he expertly tweaked and manipulated the lad’s thickening member.

“Does that feel good, boy?” he murmured. “You like the feeling of me rubbing that chocolate all over your sissy little prick?”

Will whimpered slightly.

“What a little slut you are, getting turned on like this. I’ve made you take a dump in your tights, and all that mess is still lying there. You filthy little bitch, humiliated in your own gunge. Do you know what a fucking disgusting state you look right now? Bits of banana clinging to your arse, your bumcheeks covered in melted chocolate. Marshmallows clogging up your hose. And your poor violated arse finally emptied. Maybe we should do something to rectify that…”

Will groaned as he felt his overused anus stretching once again, as Alexander started to pop the melting marshmallows back inside him.

“How do they taste I wonder?” he asked, as with one hand he continued to wank the boy’s rock hard dick, with the other he took a chocolatey marshmallow from the seat of his sopping tights and pushed it into Will’s mouth.

“Swallow it, bitch.”

Will gagged slightly as he did so at the thought of where the candy had so recently resided, but even that wasn’t enough to lessen the arousal at his groin. Alexander was simply too skilled at masturbation, he lamented.

“How is your bitch doing?” the Steward asked.

“He’s struggling a little but I think he’s enjoying it,” replied Yorick. “I hope he’s not enjoying it too much for his sake!”

Alexander turned his attention back to Will. “Are you getting close, boy? Remember, you need to stave off your orgasm or it will go hard for you…” He chuckled at his pun. “Maybe we need one of those big old plums to revisit its cosy former home. And let’s give you some potion first.”

Will had been dreading the potion. The damn stuff made him so horny, it would be ten times harder not to cum, he feared. And it had been a whole week since his masturbatory transgression in Yorick’s workshop. He was desperate to orgasm again. He just hoped that he could delay the moment longer than Raymond could.

The now familiar, heady aroma. The rush to his head, the slowing of his heart beat. That animal effect that just made him want to grind his crotch against something, to have his arse penetrated. He got his wish as he felt the thick roundness of the plum pushing against his hole. Not again, he thought. He couldn’t take that big fat fruit up his backside another time, surely…

“Up it goes, bitch… That plum’s going where the sun doesn’t shine. Shoved right up your horny little chute. Look at you in your mucky tights! Degraded. Humiliated. Excited. Me wanking off your chocolatey cock. And that plum deep up your boy butt…”

Will’s anus stretched, stretched, stretched - and in the plum went.

“Ugggggh!” he grunted, as the combination of the painful insertion, the effect of the potion and Alexander’s firm rubbing of his prick combined in one heady and fateful hit.

He tried to stop it but it was too late. The sensations had built and there was no going back. The only possible outcome was to release them.

“There we go, boy,” cooed Alexander as he milked his slave boy’s meat. Thick white cum spewed into the boy’s tights, mixing and mingling with the melted chocolate fondant.

“Ah – ah – ah…” the lad gasped as Alexander continued to yank expertly at his throbbing organ.

With his other hand, Alexander freed his own massive member and ejaculated silently over Will’s crotch: both man and boy’s cum mingling in a steaming pool of white liquid. Alexander let out a shuddering breath. He looked over to see Yorick successfully wanking off his charge, and Raymond filling his yellow tights with cum, as the melted mush of the banana slid out of his bum and into the seat of his hose.

Alexander wiped his hands clean on Will’s smooth and sweaty chest. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” he muttered. “If only you could have held out for a few moments’ longer. But it was not to be. I gave you a second chance, bitch, and you blew it. Now you’re going to have to suffer the consequences…”

“Such is your peasant depravity, I can see that nothing less than my personal attention will be sufficient to discipline you. We shall begin a weekly training session in the castle dungeons where I shall oversee your progress.”

Will nodded miserably, well able to imagine how Alexander’s training programme would pan out.

“As for you, young Raymond. I have a great honour to bestow to you. Clearly you have great things ahead of you, and it seems only right that you should begin a career path that, if you are hard-working and fortunate, may see you achieve the post of Chief Steward yourself one day.”

Will smarted to see Raymond’s smug sneer. He truly did look like the cat that got the cream, lapping up Alexander’s praise greedily.

“With this in mind, I am promoting you to a more senior position. As of this evening, you will serve as the personal steward of Sir Wilfrid.”

The effect on the dark-haired youth was instantaneous. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, stunned. Yet it was very clear that this was not a happy or a welcome surprise.

“Oh, Sir,” Raymond gibbered. “Please, no, please not Sir Wilfrid. I’ll do anything” –

“Hush, hush, now,” said Alexander. “I want no false modesty. You may feel that you are not personally worthy to wait on his illustrious personage, but I have every confidence that he will find you most satisfactory.”

“Please, Sir. I’ll scrub pots, I’ll clean out the stables” –

But once again Alexander interrupted him. “No more of this now. Yorick will you take young Raymond away, clean him up, and dress him in a uniform befitting his new elevated station. Particoloured hose perhaps? I believe Sir Wilfrid is very fond of purple.”

Raymond bit his lip, but nevertheless a big tear welled up in his eye and rolled down his smooth cheek.

“And you have no need to thank me, young man,” said Alexander blithely. “Your obvious strong emotion speaks volumes. Off you go, now. And good luck in your new role.”

Yorick grabbed Raymond by the arms and practically had to carry the distressed youth from the room. Will heard his fellow page’s pleas echoing and fading into the distance.

Alexander turned to regard Will, the faintest twinkle in his eye. “Are you still here, bitch? I suggest you go and get yourself and your tights cleaned up. I expect them to look as good as new when I see you serve Lord Geoffrey at dinner tomorrow…”

Will had staggered back to his bed in the dormitory via the well in the courtyard. He had encountered some sniggers and amused looks from various servants as he went, to see him dishevelled and smeared in sugary food. Then again, thought Will miserably to himself, the sight of him humiliated in some way was becoming an all too common occurrence in the castle.

He awoke exhausted the following morning strangely exhilarated. Whether by accident or design, Alexander had neglected to plug his arse again at the end of their lengthy session, so for the first time in many weeks he was able to move around without that ever-present reminder of his lowly position shifting around inside his butt. He pulled on his tights, still damp from having been washed and wrung out the previous night.

Then he looked across to the other side of the cellar, where Raymond’s bed lay – clearly Raymond’s exalted new position also came with different sleeping arrangements. He celebrated silently the fact that the vindictive older boy would no longer be watching over his every move. Still, he was intrigued as to what Raymond’s duties would be in serving the mysterious Sir Wilfrid – a name Will had not even heard mentioned in all his time in the castle – and why he was so reluctant to fulfil them.

His day passed reasonably uneventfully – which for Will was a relief these days. And at dinner, without the sullen watchfulness of Raymond ready to criticise his every move, he performed confidently and made no mistakes.

As was his habit, the sophisticated Lord Geoffrey made the most of fondling Will’s bottom through his tights as Will served the dessert tray.

“I see you have dispensed with this page boy’s plug, then, Alexander,” he observed blandly. “I think that’s rather a pity. Such a beautiful arse should be full.”

Alexander nodded. “I agree, my Lord. But it is my experience that if a boy is kept plugged permanently, the arse muscles become loose, which prevents a man taking his full pleasure. Also, the danger is the boy loses control of his sphincter. I’m sure my Lordship would not wish to see the lad soil his tights.”

He looked at Will pointedly given their adventures of the previous evening. Will blushed and looked down at the flagstone floor.

Geoffrey slipped his hand down the back of Will’s tights, and inserted a couple of fingers into his arse. Will flinched.

“I see your point, Alexander, but it seems to me this lad’s hole remains as tight as a young girl’s – in spite of the attention it has received. Still, you know best in household affairs, I suppose.”

“Thank you, my Lord. Now, what will you take for your pudding? I can recommend the plums most highly...”

That evening, Will was surprised to see that a newcomer to the dormitory was occupying Raymond’s old corner of the cellar. It was a young man, perhaps twenty. He was tall and slender, and his green waistcoat and particoloured green and brown hose hung slightly off him, as if he had lost weight since the time he had been fitted for it. Will was surprised to find himself experiencing a certain level of distaste at the fact that the tights were not figure-hugging as was usually demanded. Alexander’s regime was clearly having an effect on him!

The newcomer’s hair was sandy coloured and he had large soulful grey eyes and a pretty, almost feminine face. The most noticeable thing, however, about him was his pale pallor and the dark circles around his eyes. He stooped slightly, and looked as if he had suffered some kind of recent trauma.

Mortimer, the chirpy red-haired lad who slept in the bed next to Will noticed him observing the newcomer.

“His name’s Bernard,” he informed Will, solemnly. “He’s the page that Raymond has replaced.”

“Ah,” whispered Will. “So he used to work for Sir Wilfrid then?”

“That’s right,” nodded Mortimer, pulling off his orange hose and slipping under the blanket of his bed.

“Who on earth is Sir Wilfrid?”

“Don’t you know?”

Will shook his head.

“Well, I suppose you haven’t been here long, after all. He’s the old uncle of Lord Geoffrey. Hardly anyone’s seen him for years. He lives in the squat tower and hasn’t left it for as long as anyone can remember. He’s supposed to be about a hundred years old. He can barely walk and he’s half-senile. Only one page is assigned to wait on him and satisfy his every whim. Every couple of years or so, the page is replaced. They say that even the strongest lad can only last that long.”

“Why?” asked Will. “What happens to them? What do they have to do?”

“Who knows? They all come back here looking like Bernard over there, shadows of their former selves.”

            “So it was him who used to stand at the window of the tower and watch me when I was being given my purge.”

            “I imagine so. Probably wanted to share in castle life in some small way. Maybe he even fancies you,” Mortimer smirked. “Although given the alternative he had on offer I shouldn’t say that was very surprising.”

Will chose to ignore that remark. “Will he be alright?”

“I’ve no idea. Sometimes they recover. Sometimes they don’t. But I’ve never yet heard of a page who wanted to talk about what happened to them whilst they were working for Sir Wilfrid…”