"I feel lucky, I imagine a lot of powerful men would love to have you - the hot, good looking, young Prince wearing a little dog collar for them. At least I got to see if before we both go to prison.”

The Blackmail of Prince Harry - Part One.

Harry tapped his foot nervously as he sat on the chair in the hallway.

It had been an awfully long time since anyone had kept him waiting. His tailored, very expensive, designer shirt was hiding the fact that he sweating nervously. He hadn’t this much sweated since he’d left Afghanistan about six months ago. He checked his watch and ran his hands through his trademark rugged reddish hair.

Why was he being kept waiting? Were they trying to prolong the agony?

He glanced at the small table sitting next to him. Adorning the table top was the kind of magazines you’d expect to find in any London hotel. Glossy spreads of celebrity couples getting married, a few white and cool design magazines promoting feng-shui and other fads and, underneath the others, probably left by a guest and not thrown away was a copy of Heat Magazine. He picked it up and decided to flick through it.

Anyone passing would have done a complete double take and thought themselves mad. Surely it can’t be. Why would Prince Harry be sitting, totally unaccompanied, waiting in a corridor in central London hotel reading a slightly out of date copy of Heat Magazine.

However, they’d be wrong.

It was Prince Harry and he was in a lot of trouble. Harry’s worried expression turned to a smirk as he unexpectedly found a mention of himself inside the magazine. Under an article headed: Britain’s Most Eligible Bachelors there he was. As Number One. “The decision was unanimous between the judges - our readers are really starting to love Prince Harry and see him as a highly eligible bachelor - he's posh and polite, yet rugged, fun and down-to-earth at the same time."

The door across the hall clicked open and, from inside Room 66, a face emerged from the darkness. It took a moment for Harry to notice that he was being watched. The eyes from the darkess scanned him up and down. Harry’s shoes were perfectly polished and he wore a pair of tailored trousers, a bespoke shirt – a royal blue, ironically, with white pins stripes and collar uncuffed. It was strange seeing a member of Royalty in the flesh.

Mark Hardcliffe had spent his life surrounded by minor celebrities but to have the boy who was third in line to the throne in his power was a whole new buzz.

Harry looked up started. “H – Hello?” Harry said in his plumy accent, his eyes trying to adjust to the dark across the hotel corridor and into the room. “Mr. Hardcliffe? Is that you?”

“Yes. It’s me, Harry. So good of you join me here today.”

“Y-you said I had to come. I’m – “

“Yes, Harry. That’s what I meant. Thank you for coming and sparing me having to spend all weekend on the phone to various tabloids and newspapers. You know they’d pay anything to get even a glimpse at what I’ve got on you. Now, have you come alone.”

“Y-yes. I’m here alone. Well there are aids and the police downstairs but I - ”. He was interrupted again.

“Excellent. Poor little boy. A Prince of England all alone and helpless with his minders downstairs, with no idea of the danger he's in... Well, you’d better come in so we can talk, hadn’t you?”

Harry slowly lifted himself up off the chair and awkwardly crossed the corridor, making one last glance to see that nobody was there to witness him entering the room as the hotel room door clicked closed behind him. Inside, the room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn – which was an ominous sign – and a few of the table lamps illuminated.

“Harry, sit in that chair. Sit upright and look straight into the camera.” Harry was startled to notice that one of the more uncomfortable looking wooden chairs had been moved into the centre of the room and a small video camera was focused onto it. Not used to following orders, especially from complete strangers, Harry hesitated for a moment before deciding to sit down.

“Why are you recording this? I’ve just come here to talk. I don’t want there to be any record that –“ Harry was cut off, for the sixth or seventh time, immediately but the tall, athletic man in his 30s. Now Harry’s eyes had adjusted, he could see Mark much more clearly. He was in very good shape, squared jaw, slightly unshaven but in a stylish way. He was obviously educated but was far from academic.

“You don’t WANT there to be any record of you being here? The key word there is 'want', isn’t it Harry? You’ve done a very bad thing. An unforgivable thing. A very descructive thing. A thing I've got on tape. You see, I was in the forces for a while, Harry, just like you were and I did things that were – in hindsight – worse that what you’ve done here. The big difference is though that I’m not a young Prince with a whole Country to disappoint and nobody caught me doing it on film.”

Harry’s face faltered. When he first received the text message on his mobile phone he thought it was a joke from one of his regiment but as the texts continued he hadn’t known what to do. He thought, due to the media blackout, that no one would be aware of the finer details of his deployment in Afghanistan.

Plus, he’d been a good boy. He was a Prince he knew he had to be on his very best behaviour but then, once afternoon he’d had an argument with his then girlfriend on his mobile, had quite a lot to drink, cut his hand and the heady combination of pain, both emotional and physical, plus the sun beating down on his red hair like a scorching heart beat he snapped. He’d overreacted to some every day protest from locals at him carrying out his duty and he’d shot what he thought was friendly fire.

But he’d killed an innocent young girl and now, months later, his man was blackmailing him and somehow he had the incident on film.

He never thought this could happen – but it was happening. He hadn’t dared tell anyone. They wouldn’t understand anyway. He thought he could deal with this one alone. The more people that knew about it, the worst it would get. He knew he was a criminal and hopeful a few thousand pounds – or, more realistically, a few hundred thousand pounds – and he’d have the tape and be able to resume his life.

“Speechless, are we Harry? I thought you’d be more at home in front of the camera.” Mark said in his remarkable calm voice. “You’ll have to get used to it a lot with me."

“Look, I don’t want to be rude,” Harry began. “But I don’t want to stretch this out. I’m not suppose to be here and – “

“Two things, Harry”

“I’m not used to being interrupted” Harry spat back almost nervously and, looking into the view finder screen of the video camera, Mark could see he was getting nervous.

“You won’t be used to a lot of the things that are going to be happening to you over the next few months, Harry, or should I call you Your Highness?” Smirking at the lack of response, Mark continued “But that isn’t going to stop them happening. And, as for ‘stretching this out’, I’ve got some bad news. Over the next six months, unless you want that tape getting out and your reputation to be in complete tatters, you’re going to do everything I say. Everything. And I’m going to milk you of every drop of dignity as I humiliate you. Don’t worry though, it’ll all be done in very secure, air tight circles. As long as you’re a good boy.”

Harry shot up from his chair. “Do you seriously think I’d agree to this? Forget it. I’m leaving. You’re going to prison mate for trying to blackmail me. No one has ever blackmailed a Royal and got away with it. You’re finished.”

Mark looked at Harry and smiled a deep and evil grin. While Harry was suddenly more animated he wasn’t heading towards the door. He was frozen, visibly thinking of what the hell to do next.

“Fine. If I’m finished then you’re going down with me.” Mark walked calmly over to a table by the window and picked up his Blackberry phone. Lifting it to his ear, Harry could hear the sound of dialling and ringing filling the room. “I’m not playing games Harry. The only way to stop this call now is to go into the bathroom, there’ll you’ll find some clothes. I want you sitting back in that chair wear what you find – and ONLY what you find or else I’ll follow this call through to it’s natural earth shattering life changing conclusion. If you’re not worried, then just leave.” Harry stared at him for a moment until a voice could be heard down the phone.

“I’m going.” Said Harry defiantly.

“Hello, yes? Could I speak to the Editor please? Yes, It’s Mark Hardcliffe calling? Yes, he’ll know who I am.” Mark watched Harry who was transfixed. He was caught. He knew it. “Hello! James? Hi, it’s Mark. How are you? Yes. I’m great. I’ve got the story of the year for you James. It’s about Harry. Prince Harry. You won’t believe what I’ve got him doing on film. It's a month of front pages.”

Harry didn’t know what to do. He mouthed ‘stop’ at Mark who was continuing regardless. He had no choice.

“I’ll do it. Stop, I’ll do it”. Harry blurted out urgently at Mark. But he continued as his eyes darted to the bathroom door. Harry knew what he had to do. He made his way towards the bathroom door and closed it behind him. Mark waited for a reaction as he continued to half listen to the other side of his phone call.

“You have to be fucking joking me!” Harry’s voice shouted out. Mark upped the volume of his call to let Harry know that he was deadly serious. There was a scuffling sound as Harry prepared himself.

“Yes. It’s from Afghanistan, James. While Harry was out there. Yes. Well it turns out he wasn’t white as snow. I think this story could spell not only the end for him but also the end for the Royals in general. Yes – Ah, James, I’m going to have to ring you back.” The bathroom door had opened and Harry had stepped out, looking slightly defeated, wearing only a pair of tight boxer briefs. Mark hung up his mobile and took in the sight. A sight he never thought he’d see in person.

Harry’s toned, almost hairless body, was a sight to behold. His slight tan was really brought to the fore by the boxer-briefs that Mark had had made especially for this occasion: the tight white briefs were clearly designed with Prince Harry’s official Royal Seal which was bulging as Harry’s crown jewels pushed against the fabric of the boxers.

“You’ve got to be joking? This is sick. Where did you get these?”

“Sick? I don’t think so. So far, I think it’s rather pleasant. And, if you must know, Harry, I got them from one of your tailors.”

“You got them to make these? How the hell did you – “

“He did it for free. On one condition. That I send him a photo of you wearing them.” Harry ran towards Mark, angry and enraged. Mark didn’t flinch, he just simply raised up his Blackberry and waved it at Harry. Harry, now face to face, with Mark grabbed his wrist.

“Look. I’m no queer. I don’t want to do this. I’m leaving.” Mark went to respond but someone caught his eye that made him grin.

“Oh Harry, you found the collar too.” Mark moved his hand and flicked the tag that now was strapped around Harry’s neck. The tag which read “HRH Harry Wales. Boyslut” shone in the lamp light from the hotel room. “I didn’t think you’d put it on with out more coercing. It looks so good on you too. I feel lucky, I imagine a lot of powerful men would love to have you - the hot, good looking, young Prince wearing a little dog collar for them. At least I got to see if before we both go to prison.”

Harry backed off. He knew he was trapped and there was very little he could do.

“Now, Harry, we both know this is going to happen. You killed an innocent girl and now you’re going to pay the price. First though, lets get those photos for your tailor. I think I’ll send him too. Back up and bit and put your arms behind your head…yes…that’s it. And move your legs apart a bit, I want to see the inside of those thighs.”

Harry followed his orders with gritted teeth. He’d never been so humiliated. A big part of his brain was screaming that the photos that were being taken were blackmail material in themselves but he knew resistance was futile. There he was – alone, trapped – and posing in the tightest underwear he’d ever worn. Every moment he made he was painfully aware of how much it was showing off the buldges of his cock straining against the fabric, and it wasn’t even hard, and his arse almost bursting out.

“And now for the second one, Your Highness,” the perverted relish in his voice was almost too much for Harry but he knew there was, now, no alternative. “Turn around and touch your toes.”

“What?! No way. I’m – “

“Turn around and touch your toes” Mark repeated with added weight to his voice. And Harry did as he was told. He slowly turned and trying not to think about what he was doing as he leant down and touched his toes. He’d never felt so vulnerable before. He could feel his already tight arse cheeks straining against the white tight material of the boxers and Mark’s eyes running up and down the back of his thighs as the camera clicked several times.

“Harry, push your legs apart a bit. Now, Harry. Ah yes, that’s it. Now that’s the money shot! We can see the back of your Royal bulge. Excellent. You can stand up again now and go and sit back in the chair.”

Harry, who was red either because he’d been upside down or because he was humiliated returned to the chair.

“I still don’t know what you want.” Harry said with a thread of fear running through his posh voice.

“I’m going to get roughly 40 million pounds, Harry. That’s what I want and it’s what I’m going to get” Mark said confidently, returning to behind the video camera.

“40 million?! I don’t have 40 million. None of us do. I may be a Prince but –“

“Harry, I don’t want 40 million from you. I know you don’t have that sort of money to hand – especially not for blackmailers. I can get 40 million using you.”

“U…using me?”

“Harry, I’ve kept you in the dark far too long. I’m a pimp. A celebrity pimp. I find out things about famous boys like you, get dirt on them and then use it against them. Right now, at this very moment, I own three young male television presenters, four boy band members and six West End stage actors and they make me a pretty penny. You see while they might not be worth much – their assets are worth quite a lot to my clients.”

“Their…assets?”

“Yes, Harry. I know brains don’t run in the family but don’t play stupid with me. Most of your very very valuable assets are currently contained within those tight little white boxers you’re wearing. I thought your Royal Seal was an extra nice touch. They’ll enjoy that.”

“Who? Who will enjoy that?” Harry was looking increasingly nervous and began squirming more in his chair like a fish out of water.

“The men who are going to buy you. For the next six months you are mine. My own personal little Royal rent boy. Do you know how much I’ll make off you. I’ve got clients from all over the World. I’ve already got interests from a few Saudi Business men who are banned from entering the UK. They always find a way in though. They love power play. Imagine the fun they’ll have with you…A helpless little Prince.”

“You can’t do this. I won’t let you do this.”

“Shut the fuck up." Mark for the first time lost his composure, Harry shocked sat back in his chair, as Mark's voice became soaked with a violent rage. "You’ve got no choice. And from now on, it’s Sir. Got that?”

“You can’t…you…you…Yes, Sir. Sorry Sir”. Harry visible shrunk in his seat as Mark lifted up the Blackberry for one final time. There was a shift in Harry’s piercing blue eyes. Mark knew he had him where he wanted him.

“Of course there won’t just be shady business men willing to pay millions for a chance to peel off your Royal boxers…I’ve already offered a few freebies out. The name Fredrick Hurst, ring a bell?” “Fredrick Hurst…? But he’s…he works for me. He’s one of my household.”

“Yes he is. Gave me your mobile number and some of your timetable arrangements. I said, in exchange, he could have a go on you. Imagine that, being ridden by your own servants Think they’ll go easy on you? I doubt it. You’re a fucktoy now, Harry. And you’re going to get a right Royal fucking…Now look into the camera. I’m going to use this to sell you to clients. Open your legs, I want to get your bulge in this too. Now look into the camera, Say your name, occupation and what you are. Say it now, boy.”

Harry hesitated for a moment. He had flash backs to that hot day in the desert he’d shot the poor girl and knew he had no choice. He looked directly into the camera lens, sweating, wearing only tight white boxer-briefs and feeling more helpless than he ever had before.

“Hello. My name is Prince Harry. Or Harry Wales. I’m the Prince of England and Third in line to the Throne. And… I’m… a fucktoy for sale…”

“Now then, Harry, I think it’s time for you to stand up and take your pants off…”

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