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bald!”
    “But does she not retain that natural beauty?”
    “Ah, see how she blushes.”
    “You say she has no appreciation of her status?”
    They were intrigued enough by the lovely ornament of virginity before them, that for a time, the masters abandoned their slaves, attending to their Lord’s theatrics.
    “You say she’s shrewish, I say she deserves the cane to her plump cheeks.”
    “Perhaps more pain and less indulgence.”
    “A reaming of her ass with cleansing spirits.”
    “More abuse to her nipples—see how they swell as if they beg defilement.”
    “A greater degradation.”
    “A misery of body and soul.”
    The offers came fast from this sincere crowd of drunks.
    “Or, perhaps, by wit and chicanery she’ll be conquered,” Mountbane suggested the alternative—seeming far more sane in his speech than the others did. “Come, Tristan. Help me now.”
    “To what end, milord?” his counselor asked. Eyes lit, dark brows arching, Tristan rose, joining his sovereign before the room. Something reverberated from this man—as though the very earth at his feet rumbled from the energy of mystery embedded in his character. He stared into Charlotte’s eyes as if he were reminding the wench of the advice she’d shunned. He seemed determined now to punish her with his power to manipulate her body.
    “Tease her as you wish,” Mountbane said. Those words inspired the dark knight to darker ends.
    While the noble-born Tristan stared Charlotte down, his hands grazed the surface of her breasts and belly with such a delicate touch that she was trembling miserably in her efforts to turn away her arousal. Such delicacy was made of iron—with a will immovable, like Mountbane’s—though Tristan’s less quixotic and more enduring. She could not hold out with this abuse of her desires, but she would try. Each gesture made her body start—which seemed a hundred times taken to another level of need. Fingers probing girlish spaces, pinching lush folds of skin—tugging, rubbing, twisting bits of flesh, her reaction could not remain subdued. Perspiration burst on her brow, then in a wave moved downward so every pour emitted wet lust. With tension mounting at a fevered pace, she begged her body to end this torment and, so, closed her eyes.
    Tristan’s hand moved immediately to her chin, tugging it around so that her eyes shot open forced on his, as his clipped nails dug into her flesh. “Don’t you dare shut me out, slave!”
    “Yes, sir,” she meekly mouthed.
    “Better,” he noted her more acquiescent tone as he continued his gentle torment of her flesh.
    Mountbane was behind her now with his fingers moving along the cleft of her behind, finding the untried portal of her ass and rimming the sensitive tissue into a more obscene sort of pleasure than she’d ever known. And this before the luring eyes of the besotted throng. They shot off obscenities she tried to ignore, but she found ignoring made them stick with her more surely, like flies to honey.
    “Take ‘err ass!”
    “Fuck her, she’s your wife!”
    “How about her mouth. Bring her down, Mountbane, I’ll stuff my cock…”
    “Too much pleasure,” someone shouted above the others; though he was shouted down by another voice proclaiming, “Have her in steel claws!”
    She needed none of that. Her attending masters put her at the edge of climax twice, and backing off, then proceeded a third time making her wrench orgasmically, until nary but a single touch would propel her into ecstasy.
    A moment too soon, the bound young slave felt Mountbane withdraw. Then she watched in horror as Tristan backed away as well, saying with the polite deference one gives to the lofty, “It is not my right to allow you this, milady.” He bowed and took his seat at the table again.
    “Lena, Jontile,” Mountbane called his whores to him. “Take her to a finish with your mouths so we can all see the expression of wonder on her face as she makes a liar of