His son, Carl

"Fetch me his boy. I'm going to have some fun. Unsheath," you say.

The bandits nod, rushing off. You smile down at the now petrified Lord kneeling in front of you as you reach around, gently stroking your cock in anticipation.

"Tell me, is your son a virgin? Married?"

"Engaged," Lord Whitley manages to **** out.

"Delightful," you smile.

The bandits open the door again, this time dragging in the boy from the painting. He's even skinnier and weaker than expected, perhaps the least masculine creature you've ever seen. He looks at you with sheer terror, and you wonder if he's pissed himself yet.

"Hello there, little Carl. God, you're even more pathetic in real life than the painting."

You lean forward, grabbing him by his hair and lifting him to his feet.

"God, you're pathetic. Strip him down, boys."

The bandits move forward, beginning to tear and cut the clothes off the boy as he stands there, whimpering.

"Please, stop this," the lord begs.

"Oh, shut up," you say, grabbing the boy's vest and fashioning a gag with it to keep the lord quiet. "After you see this, you'll know to never even think of betraying me. Because I'm quite amused right now, and this is what I'll do. You'd hate to see what I'll do when I'm angry."

You turn around, staring at the now naked boy. He's skinny, with almost no muscles even on him. His tiny cock and balls droop there, shriveled and meek looking. With his long blonde hair, his physique and everything else he has, he's closer to an ugly girl than a real man. Hell, he's almost hairless. You lean in, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him in close to you.

"I wonder, will I fuck you like a little bitch of a boy, or will I go all the way, make you a little whore like your mummy and big sis?"