Chapter 3, where it all starts getting nasty. This chapter contains stripping and whipping, but I've tried to focus on the evilness and the creep factor and to steer it as far away from getting sexualised, because it is pretty uncomfortable and I don't want this fic to only be accessible to people who are as perverted as I am.

But I'm thinking, for the sake of those who are so perverted, when I've finished this version, I might post it on Blue Boosh with a few X-rated scenes added in.

I really hope this doesn't offend anyone because I want to keep it T-rated, so if anyone's got a problem let me know and I'll edit it.

Warnings aside, this chapter also contains, in my strange little head at least, a very brief cameo from Richard O'brien as Vince's father, because that would be my dream. And while in my serious Boosh fanon Vince's dad is a dead aristocrat a la Secret History, in my multifandom crack thoughts his dad is the Reckless Rick persona from The Crystal Maze. I mean, think about it- he's a relatively small, skinny and unusual-looking but ever-so-sexy man, 31 years older than Noel Fielding, who can wear gorgeously tight trousers and leopard print and make it look absolutely stunning. So a sensible casting idea, I'd say.

But enough of me dreaming, here's the fic.

When Dixon Bainbridge arrived, Vince thought it was quite understated. He didn't have much of an entourage, just a few people he said he couldn't spare, and one he said he couldn't get rid of. One of them had very suspicious eyes that latched on to one thing and stared at it for ages before moving onto something else. Another wandered around looking fixated with the interior design. Vince had him down as a thief, but decided not to mention it. And then there was another who looked like a bit of a retard that the others were trying to keep hidden.

Despite the lack of ceremony, there was something about Bainbridge that suggested snobbery in the extremes. Perhaps it was the expression on his face, or the way his eyes flitted briefly but unmistakably critically around the room as he entered, or maybe it was just the way he held himself; a straight posture to elongate his body, a steadfast stance to make him seem strong and indomitable. But whatever it was, it unnerved Vince. This man presented himself as an enemy, not a marriage partner.

But if his parents shared any of his misgivings, they certainly didn't show it.

The former King greeted Bainbridge with a smile, while his wife looked at him like he was the saviour of the world. For her, Vince supposed, he probably was. And so Vince knew he couldn't let any of his fears show, and he greeted Bainbridge with a silent bow. It was an odd gesture, he'd been told, because he couldn't help but shift his weight onto one foot and take the other behind him, making it look like some odd hybrid between a curtsey and a bow. His mother had often told him that if he didn't want to be mistaken for a girl, then he'd have to sort that out. But Vince had never bothered. It was a reflex; why fight it?

Bainbridge clasped his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, keeping his eyes unwaveringly on Vince's as he did so. "Charmed," he said, keeping Vince's hand in his own, and slipping the other lingeringly around his waist. From anyone else, Vince would have found the whole thing rather alluring, but coming from Bainbridge it was quite frightening.

The four of them went for a private dinner, something separate having been arranged for Bainbridge's servants. Throughout it, Vince could feel Bainbridge's eyes all over him, and had his mother not warned him not too, he would have tried to be as unelegant as possible to stop him staring.

Vince couldn't make himself concentrate on the conversation. He became aware several times of uncomfortable silences where he'd been expected to answer and had to ask someone to repeat themselves, earning him dirty looks from his mother from across the table. Eventually, the talk turned to the dower. Vince knew his mother didn't really need one, because they were still rich and he knew she just wanted rid of him, but being the woman she was, he knew she'd try and get as much as she could out of Bainbridge.

"I'm quite happy to pay you anything," Bainbridge was saying. "I'm adamant that I want this marriage to happen as much as you do."

"Oh, really?" the Queen asked, evidently quite surprised.

"Nothing could make me change my mind."

"Even if I were to confirm that the Princess is actually a boy?"

"A boy?" Bainbridge asked, surprise covering his features. He looked over again at Vince, and Vince shuddered under his leering eyes. Bainbridge smiled. "Of course not. I'm rather fond of the presence of a boy in my bed."

"And that he can be a little highly strung at times?"

Indignant, Vince had opened his mouth to object to this statement, but the look in his mother's eyes scared him back into silence.

"No, that's not a problem," Bainbridge was replying to her. "I've always found the feisty ones are so much fun to tame."

Vince felt so nauseous he had to stop eating.

"Well, if you'd like to discuss the dower later-"

"Yeah, just one problem with that," Vince interrupted. "I'm not marrying him."

His parents were both staring at him, their expressions identical, torn between fury and mortification.

"Vince-" his mother began.

"Don't worry about it," Bainbridge said, stunning her into silence. "I'm sure I'll be able to talk him into it. In fact, why don't we discuss the dower first?"

"Well, of course," replied the Queen. She rang a bell to call for a servant. "Escort the Princess to his room," she instructed when one arrived. "And make sure he stays there until his husband is ready for him."

Bainbridge and his parents left the room, the negotiations already begun, while Vince was chaperoned away.

It seemed like hours as he waited for someone to arrive, the servant's eyes constantly on him, leaving him with nothing to do but sit awkwardly in silence. He knew that this particular servant didn't like him very much either, so he couldn't buy his freedom with secreted kisses, or even with the promise of a blow job. So he sat, glaring at his nemesis, as his nemesis gloated over him.

But it still sent a shot of fear through his body when he heard Dixon Bainbridge approach. Bainbridge entered without knocking, and curtly dismissed the servant before he even glanced in Vince's direction.

"The fuck d'you want?" Vince asked sullenly, not getting up for him.

"Well," sneered Bainbridge. "You are a spirited little thing."

Vince just looked up at him and gave him a hollow, sarcastic smile. Bainbridge set the case he was carrying on Vince's bed and opened it. He took out a clear glass bottle with a small amount of brown liquid in it and poured some into a glass he found on Vince's bedside table.

"Here," he said, passing it to Vince. "I think you might like this."

"No thanks," replied Vince coldly.

"And might I ask why not?"

"I think you've spiked it."

Bainbridge gave an amused little laugh. "There's more inside that pretty head of yours than they gave you credit for," he said. "I was given the impression that you'd be a dense, passive little sex toy once I'd carried you off." He put the glass down and sat next to Vince, causing Vince to lean away from him. "But I'm so glad you're not."

Vince stood, not wanting to respond, and tried to walk away, but he was stopped by Bainbridge's firm grip around his arm. Bainbridge had stood to catch him, and he roughly pulled Vince closer until Vince's back was pressed into Bainbridge's front. He felt Bainbridge's arm touch his body, stroking his flat stomach and his chest.

"Not bad," Bainbridge commented, pressing his hands closer to Vince's body. Abruptly, he spun Vince round so he almost fell. "Take it off," he ordered. "Let me look at you."

"Get fucked," was Vince's response.

Bainbridge just laughed. "I prefer it the other way round," he sneered. "Now are you going to take that top off or am I going to have to make you."

"Neither," Vince answered. "It's staying right on me where it is."

Bainbridge gave him the most evil smile Vince had ever seen. Then, without a movement of any other part of his body, he raised his hand and slapped Vince hard across the face. Vince stumbled backwards, his eyes going momentarily out of focus, and, once he had recovered his balance, he pressed a hand to his scorching cheek. He opened his mouth to speak, but his mind couldn't find the words to come out.

"Take it off," Bainbridge repeated.

Nervously, almost shaking, Vince complied and slowly peeled his figure-hugging tunic from his body and stood there shirtless before Bainbridge.

Bainbridge looked him up and down, leering. "Not bad," he assessed. "A little skinnier than my usual tastes, but not a bad little specimen at all."

Vince stood still, masking his embarrassment behind a set face, though he could feel that his unslapped cheek was almost as red as the one that had been struck.

He noticed that Bainbridge's eyes had strayed downwards.

"Those too," Bainbridge instructed.

"No," Vince objected.

Bainbridge stepped forward to him, and thinking he was about to be slapped again, Vince raised his arms to defend himself. But it came as a surprise when the blow fell a lot lower than expected, and Vince received a shove in the ribs that sent him sprawling back onto his bed. In a flash, Bainbridge was on him with his hands forcing themselves into the waistband of Vince's tight trousers, which, practically painted on though they might be, were no match for Bainbridge's adamant grip, and they were on the floor in under a second. As he felt Bainbridge's hands return to pull at the waistband of his underpants, Vince cried out and did his best to aim a kick at Bainbridge's face, but because of his position was unable to do any better than an awkward blow to Bainbridge's side, which Bainbridge barely reacted to. It seemed only microseconds before Vince found himself able to move again, and was lying back, naked, with Bainbridge standing back over him, leering obscenely.

"And that's not bad either," Bainbridge smirked. He took another step back. "Get up," he ordered.

Vince obeyed, but only because he knew he would be less vulnerable on his feet.

Bainbridge's reaction was another terse command. "Turn around."

Vince hesitated, but on seeing a trace of wild anger pass across Bainbridge's face, he tried to obey as much as he could without making himself overly vulnerable. So he turned himself slightly to the side, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Bainbridge over his shoulder.

This seemed to be good enough for Bainbridge, who walked right up to the back of him. Vince tensed in shock as he felt a pair of intrusive, squeezing hands grasp at his buttocks. "And this is gorgeous," Bainbridge whispered.

Outraged, Vince shoved back with an elbow, hitting Bainbridge hard in the belly, which caused the heftier man to double forward, and from the sounds of it had probably knocked the wind out of him.

"You little bastard," Bainbridge seethed.

Vince was shoved forward again, this time hitting his head against the bedpost. His hands were forced forward, and he felt the rough chafe of the cord for the bedcurtain being tied tightly around his wrists.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he shrieked.

A curt "shh" was all the response Bainbridge offered.

Fear flooded through Vince as his mind slipped onto unpleasant images of what might be coming to him next. It surged through him again as he heard the sound of a belt being unfastened.

Crack!

He screamed.

"Shut your mouth," Bainbridge snapped.

Vince leaned, shocked, against the bedpost, burning and breathing heavily. It passed through his mind that at least this wasn't quite as bad as he had feared, but it fucking stung like hell.

He shrieked again as the next blow fell, but Bainbridge carried on unperturbed. Crack followed crack followed crack followed crack, as Vince began to struggle and try to break free. He was knocked about the head, sending it smacking into the bedpost again, before his torturous whipping continued. Eventually, the loud crack was all he registered, the pain being too much now to differentiate between the moment the belt struck and the moment it was pulled away. It was only the silence that let him know Bainbridge had stopped.

Vince had tears streaked down his face, and his breathing came in sharp uneven bursts. When Bainbridge stepped up to his side Vince wanted to swear, and to curse, and to spew insults at him, but he couldn't release the words into the tense air.

Bainbridge's tone was as casual as if they had just met. "I've told your mother we'll be married before I leave, and I'll be taking you home with me. I think leaving you here for a while should help you come round to that idea."

With the gentle click of the door, he was gone. Vince wept.

It felt like days he stood there, humiliated, his back aching from leaning over, face sore with tears, and backside burning, before Bainbridge returned to set him free. He found himself hanging onto the bedpost for support before Bainbridge pushed him, firmly but surprisingly gently, down onto the bed. The last thing he was aware of before he passed out was Bainbridge leaning over him and speaking in a voice that was so soft and calm that it made his words all the more horrifying.

"If anyone hears what I've done to you, you don't want to think about what I'm going to do to you when I get you home."

When his mother came in later to see how he was, he told her that everything was fine, and he had just been tired that evening. She kissed him on the forehead and told him she was proud of him for finally accepting a proposal, and then left softly for a sleep that would be far more restful than his.

He was worried, but he wasn't afraid. He had his own plan, and he had faith enough to hope it would work.