Arabella feared she would not be able to cross the wide expanse of stable yard on all fours, but as she had learned earlier in the paddock, she would do anything to please Lord Thayer, even to love the feel of the riding crop, if that were his desire, and which he used on her now, to encourage her on her way. Lord Thayer's estate was almost a small kingdom unto itself and quite self-sufficient. The men and women in his employ were, like Henri, utterly loyal to his lordship. All were on friendly terms with him and several times, on their course across the yard, Lord Thayer would stop to talk about business or share idle banter with his workers. Each time Lord Thayer paused, Arabella would wait patiently at his side on her hands and knees, feeling the sun warming her backside, causing the tiny welts to itch and sting ever so slightly. She was conscious of the looks she received as they made their way to the mares' holding pen, of fingers pointed her way. An errant maid or two would giggle behind their hands as they rushed to whatever task awaited them, the men pausing in their work to admire her, complimenting Lord Thayer on his new and charming acquisition. Lord Thayer hailed their greetings and accepted their praise as if it were his due. When he paused to engage someone in conversation, Arabella was expected to halt at his feet. Occasionally she would feel his hand absently stroking her hair as he talked, or he remained oblivious to her as he listened with intent interest to whatever news his peasants had to impart to him. When it was time to move on, he would, with a negligent flip of his wrist, spur her into motion with the stinging tip of his riding crop. Thus, she made her way to the holding pen. Henri was there at the fence, idly fondling a high-breasted young mare as he talked with the other stable hands gathered about the holding pen. At his lordship's approach, the men turned toward him, and Henri smiled approvingly as he spotted Arabella, perched on all fours, at Thayer's booted feet. "The mares are ready, m'lord." Henri informed him. "Any trouble with them?" Lord Thayer asked, his gaze narrowed on the mares milling around inside the pen. "Only a couple, m'lord." Answered one of the other men. "The little witches are horny. We'll need to be mating them soon. But we've separated them from the rest." Lord Thayer nodded, stepping away from Arabella to view the mares within the holding pen. They were all standing upright. . . . . beautiful creatures, slim of waist, tall and slender, high-breasted with gorgeous brown and pink nipples adorning them. Blonde, brunette, and auburn tresses swished saucily from side to side as they caught sight of Lord Thayer and began preening unashamedly before him, hoping to attract his attention. They strutted about the small perimeter of the fence, hips swaying, their breasts thrust out impudently. "Open the gate." Lord Thayer ordered. Immediately, the gate swung open on creaking hinges. "Move Arabella into the pen." Henri stood beside his lordship at the fence, allowing the other stable hands to takeover, and herd Arabella through the gate. "Here now!" A stable hand made long strides over to Arabella. "Ye heard what his lordship said! Into the pen with ye!" and he swatted her rear with his rough-billed cap, setting the tiny welts aflame. Giving a small yelp of surprise, which caused the men to laugh out loud, Henri to grin, and even Lord Thayer to lift the corners of his mouth in amusement, Arabella hurried through the gate on all fours, stopping just inside, a feeling of trepidation, of unwitting shyness overcoming her. The group of mares stilled their preening at her entrance, slowly turning to regard her with curious, limpid gazes. Arabella felt an overwhelming urge to turn and run back the way she'd come, but someone jabbed at her buttocks with a small prod, encouraging her further inside the pen as the huge gate swung shut behind her. The men gathered around the fence to watch the little drama play itself out within the holding pen. At first, uncertain what was expected of her, Arabella began to rise to her feet, to stand upright in the pointy-toed stance as the other mares were doing, but Lord Thayer's deep voice halted her, "You will remain on all fours." The small group of mares stared at Arabella as she looked back at them, her eyes wide and wary, her heart tripping with trepidation in her breast. Then, slowly, shyly, they began to move toward her, circling her like wary kittens, unsure of this new playmate in their midst. A couple of the mares went down on all fours, approaching with caution, smiling tenderly, as the tight bun atop her head was loosened and fingers sifted through the silken fall of her hair. Their hands and eyes traveled over her face, the sleek lines of her body, stroking her soft skin. The rest of the females followed suit, dropping to their hands and knees on the straw-strewn floor of the pen, crowding in close to touch her, to explore this lovely new mare among them. Raising Arabella so that she sat on her haunches, the mares licked at her with moist tongues, tasting her, making her gasp with unexpected pleasure as her breasts were played with. One daring, young mare placed her lips upon a tempting, up-thrust nipple, and proceeded to suckle her. Encouraged, the other mares nudged one another aside, each taking turns to suckle at Arabella's small, sensitive breasts, nipping at her with their teeth. Sensing they meant no harm, Arabella's fear of them eased somewhat, and she cupped her hands beneath her breasts, lifting them, offering herself to the mares. Eagerly they accepted her offering with tiny croons of delight. She was now one of them, their sister-mare, a lover-captive of Lord John Thayer, a nubile beauty, caught and captured for his pleasure. The taste of her was now on their tongues, and Arabella reciprocated, kissing tender, pink lips, suckling engorged nipples thrust her way. At last, one by one, the mares left her to preen and prance before Lord Thayer, but his attention was concentrated on Arabella. "All fours." He gestured to her. Propping herself on her hands and knees, Arabella made a cautious move to her left. . . . .and when no one ordered her to stop, she slowly made her way around the circumference of the pen, crawling warily, dodging in between long-limbed legs to avoid being stepped on. She quickly grew tired and sought a quiet corner to herself. Sunset was close at hand. It had been a long and difficult day that was fast catching up with her. Henri had instructed her earlier on the proper position a mare should take when wanting to lie down to rest. She found a small, semi-secluded corner, where a pile of soft hay tempted her to lay her head. She braced herself on her knees, laying the upper half of her body upon the makeshift bed of straw as Henri had taught her, spreading her legs apart and thrusting her buttocks into the air. It was quite comfortable really, she thought. Her eyes grew heavy. Behind her, the mares quieted as the setting sun drifted down behind the trees. Lord Thayer and his men conversed among themselves and the sound of their voices lulled her nearly to sleep. Her eyes drifted closed of their own volition. . . . . Arabella felt herself floating on the edge of sleep. In a semi-dream, she saw herself running naked in the forest, a woodland nymph cavorting among the trees. . . . . Suddenly, she was wide awake! She felt a moist, tickling sensation between her legs, poking and prodding with delicacy at her nether lips. A mare crooned to her softly, lovingly, as she slipped the tip of her tongue into the deep cleft of Arabella's ripe venus mound, tasting the heated scent of her. Arabella was too frightened at first to move. And then she felt the pliant body of the mare mount her, a tender kiss pressed to the side of her face, long, blonde hair tangling with her own chestnut brown strands. The mare's hips began to hump Arabella with insistent urgency. Long, slim fingers slipped between her thighs, subtly caressing and arousing the hard, nub of her clitoris. Arabella screamed then, arching her back to buck the mare from her, but the horny, determined female would not be denied, laughing low in her throat at Arabella's futile attempts to rid herself of her. She nipped the side of Arabella's neck with small, hard teeth in warning and Arabella screamed again. Lord Thayer ordered the stable hands to remove the frisky mare from Arabella. Laughing good-naturedly among themselves, two of the men jumped down from their perch on the fence rail, lifting her off of Arabella, her hips still humping furiously. Arabella remained where she was, shivering and scared as the impudent mare struggled with her captors, screaming her frustration. "Isolate her for a day or two." Lord Thayer instructed. "Bind her hands so she cannot pleasure herself. Put a chastity belt on her for good measure." "Aye, m'lord!" the men replied, setting off with the enraged mare across the yard, to a low, thatched-roof building in the distance. To Henri, his lordship said, "Take Arabella back to her stall and bed her down for the night. You might massage her with lavender oil to help calm her." "Yes, m'lord." Henri answered as he entered the pen, kneeling down beside the frightened Arabella. Still on all fours, visibly trembling, tears streaked down Arabella's face. Henri felt sorry for her and reached out to stroke her hair in an attempt to still the tremors that coursed through her. "There, there." He soothed. "Why all the tears? She only got a taste of you, nothing more." He helped her to her feet, brushing her hair back over her shoulder, picking a stray piece of straw out of the dark strands. "Lord Thayer is pleased with you, lass! You did us proud today, you did! You should concentrate on that and nothing else." Henri brushed the dirt from her arms and legs, then facing her, gave her his most fetching grin. "You remembered everything I taught you this afternoon." He teasingly pinched her nipple. "His lordship did not have to reprimand you even once." "B-b-b-but I-I m-missed the first j-j-jump!" Arabella sobbed aloud, before realizing she had spoken without permission. "Bah!" Henri let her mistake slide as he rubbed away her tears with the pad of his thumb. "All the mares do! Lord Thayer likes to catch 'em off their guard once in a while. Besides, you recovered nicely! I've never seen such form and grace in the ring! You were beautiful out there! If you continue to do well, Lord Thayer may find a place for you yet in his private coterie, festival or no festival!" He glanced over his shoulder, saw that Lord Thayer was in deep discussion with one of the other stable hands, before turning back to Arabella. "Now, let's have no more tears. I'm going to feed you and bathe you and then his lordship has ordered a nice lavender massage so that you will sleep well tonight. Won't that be lovely?" Henri was cheered when she gave him a beatific smile, though her large, dark eyes were still bright with unshed tears. To his delight, she seemed to shake of her frightening experience with the mares. He swatted her rear to set her prancing ahead of him out of the holding pen, the little silver bell ringing cheerily on the still evening air. Lord Thayer turned at the sound and held up a hand to gain Henri's attention. His dark gaze flickered over Arabella as he said, "You did well today, Henri. I am very much impressed with Arabella's progress." "Thank you, m'lord." Henri bowed humbly before his lordship, nonetheless pleased with the praise. "After you've bedded her down for the night, come take your pick of the mares. Two or three, if you like. Enjoy yourself this eve." "Thank you, m'lord! I will!" Henri eagerly accepted. "You worked hard. You've earned it. Now, take Arabella back to the stables before the sun sets." However, before Henri could order Arabella to march, a soft voice in the distance drew everyone's attention. "M'lord!" came the soft, happy cry, as a flurry of white silk flew gracefully across the grass toward them. "Xaviera!" Lord Thayer breathed out her name as if it were too exquisite on his tongue to be shouted out aloud. He left them to stride across the yard toward the vision in white. Standing at her shoulder, Henri bent his head to whisper in Arabella's ear, "The mistress of Belsoie, the Lady Xaviera Thayer, his lordship's wife." Wife? Arabella looked quickly toward the pair who even now were embracing one another without a care as to who might be watching. She had assumed that with all of the lovely mares at his disposal, Lord Thayer had no need of a wife. But no one had to tell her that this was a woman who meant something to him. She watched as his lordship grasped his young wife about the waist, lifting her off her feet to twirl her around in mid-air, her soft laughter filtering back to where she stood with Henri. Lord Thayer set her on her dainty feet kissing her once more, with an all-consuming passion that Arabella found herself slightly envious of. "What are you doing away from the manor, Xaviera? And at this hour of the day?" he queried, his eyes gently caressing her petite, heart-shaped face. "I missed you." She gave a pretty pout. "You were up and out of our bedchamber before dawn this morn!" She peeked over his broad shoulder, spying Henri. "Hello, Henri! Forgive me, I did not see you there! How do you fare this eve?" "Well, mistress, thank you." Henri bobbed his head in deference to the lady of the manor. "And who is this?" She slipped her hands from her husband's shoulders, stepping around him to eye Arabella with curious amusement. "M'lord? You did not tell me you were adding a new mare to the stables!" She looked at Arabella, a hard, diamond-bright glitter in her gaze. "You've quite spoiled my surprise, my love." Lord Thayer replied with an indulgent smile. He came to stand behind his wife, his black, obsidian eyes arrogantly perusing Arabella over his lady's shoulder. "She is to be your birthday present." "My. . . . .!" She turned wide, blue eyes on her husband. "Oh, m'lord, I am surprised! You've never allowed me my own mare before!" She stepped toward Arabella. "Why she's exquisite! Where on earth did you ever find her?" "I was out on an early morning hunt with the men when we happened upon her alone in the woods." Thayer informed her. "Henri and I have been working with her all day, in fact." One corner of Xaviera's full, pouting mouth lifted as she reached out to pinch Arabella's erect nipple hard between thumb and forefinger. "Wicked girl! And what were you doing out in the woods alone? But I'm glad you were! You and I shall have such fun together!" She turned her head aside to ask her husband, "What is her name? "Arabella." She tested the name on her tongue. "Yes, I like it. The name suits her." She glanced once more at the little mare. "Oh, look at the cunning little ribbon between those exquisite thighs! Henri, this must be your work!" "Yes, mistress. I hope it pleases you." "It does, very much so! You must promise me that you will tie a different colored ribbon for each day of the week on that naughty little curl!" "I shall, Mistress Xaviera, if 'tis to your liking." She turned her back on them then to face Lord Thayer once more. "Oh, when may I have her? You're not going to make me wait until my birthday, are you, m'lord?" "Unfortunately, my heart, I must. Arabella is also the mare I chose to mate with Lord Radegund's Sajan at the festival." "How splendid!" Xaveria clapped her hands like an excited child. "Then, I shall wait with eager anticipation until I can have her all to myself!" "We shall talk more about these matters when I return to the manor." Lord Thayer decided. "For now, it grows quite late and I do not want you to catch a chill, m'lady. Henri," he addressed the stable hand, "you are dismissed for the evening. Take good care of our Arabella. Her training begins in earnest on the 'morrow." "Yes, m'lord. Good night, your lordship, mistress." He nodded to them both, then directed Arabella toward the stables, the jingle of the little silver bell fading away on the still night air. "Louis!" Lord Thayer gestured to a passing stable hand, who quickly snatched his cap from his head, bowing in deference to the lord and lady of the manor. "Yes, m'lord?" "Escort your mistress back to the manor. Be mindful that she doesn't trip and fall in the dark." "Yes, yer lordship." "And when can I expect you at the manor, sir?" Xaviera teased him, resting her slim hands on his white shirt front. "I thought we might sup together in our chamber this eve, with Daphne and Adelia to tend to us." "I shall be along shortly." He smiled down at her. "I have some unfinished business here I must see to first." "Don't be too long!" she blew him a kiss before taking Louis's proffered arm. Lord Thayer watched Xaviera take her leave, her long skirts trailing over the grass, until she disappeared from view into the stand of trees that separated the main grounds and the castle proper from the stable yard. Phillipe, in charge of his master's private bevy of mares, came to stand at his side. "Will you be wanting any of the fillies from your private stock tonight, m'lord?" "Yes." Lord Thayer replied equably. "Which one suits your fancy this eve, m'lord?" Phillipe asked. "Or do you prefer more than one tonight?" He was well-aquainted with his master's appetites. The thought of the little Arabella flashed in his mind's eye, but he promptly dismissed the idea. She was not yet ready for a first mounting and that privilege must go to the festival stallion, before he, himself, would bed her. Thayer turned to Phillipe. "My feisty little auburn-haired Maurienne will do nicely. Bring her to my private chambers after the Mistress Xaviera has retired for the night." Much later that night as Arabella laid curled on sumptuous cushions in her private stall. . . . . .as Henri lay in his loft with an arm around two nubile young mares stretched out on either side of him. . . . .as the Lady Xaviera drifted off to sleep amid her satin bed sheets. . . . .Lord Thayer stood at the casement window of his private bedchambers in a far wing of the castle, gazing out at the moonless night, waiting for Phillipe to deliver Maurienne to him. Lord John Thayer was a man arrogantly accustomed to privilege, as well as the deference and respect bestowed upon him by the peasants who inhabited his lands. He was the son of Lord Bronwyn and Lady Constance Thayer, both indulgent parents from whom he had learned that theirs. . . . .and ultimately, his . . . . . was a life of wealth, class, self-indulgence, and uncompromised desires. Lord Bronwyn was a genial man by nature, handsome to a fault, and as well-endowed in the bedchamber as his father before him and as his son would grow up to be. Bronwyn loved his wife, the beautiful Lady Constance, a distant cousin of the king, and to whom he'd been pledged to marry since their childhood. They shared an abiding affection for one another and Bronwyn was good to her, unfailingly generous, showering her with silks and laces and jewels, all the pretty trinkets dear to a woman's heart. But women, to Lord Bronwyn were like the lovely species of flora in his lavish gardens. They were to be picked and savored, to be undressed petal by petal, and like the honey bee, roaming from flower to flower, Bronwyn's natural inclination was to delve into their softness, breathe their fragrance into his very soul, and deposit his seed into as many of the young ladies as might suit his fancy. Bronwyn kept many beautiful mistresses throughout his life and he loved each and every one. . . . .until the next beauty crossed his path to whom he devoted his affections. They, in turn, kept him feeling young, virile, and passionate in the bedchamber. It was not unusual for his lordship to keep more than one mistress ensconced in the castle proper at Belsoie. The lad, John, grew up quite used to their comings and goings. It had been like growing up amid a bevy of older sisters. His father's women were generally young, energetic, fun-loving, and curious about the world. They enjoyed romping about the castle grounds with Lord Bronwyn's son when not entertaining his lordship in his bed. The Lady Constance was also used to her husband's many mistresses. She remained unbothered by their presence. After all, she had Bronwyn's love, his name, a home in which he provided her with all the accoutrements of their aristocratic station, and she had his son. There were occasions when Constance would take one of the younger girls under wing, treating her almost as the daughter she'd never had, and saw to it that the girl was properly married off once Bronwyn lost interest, which he invariably did when another pretty coquette attracted his attention. Her son, however, was the pride and joy of his mother's heart. From the moment she'd given birth to Bronwyn's heir and the babe was placed in her arms for the first time, a strong bond of affection was forged between them. The Lady Constance had refused a wet nurse, as was common among the higher nobility, preferring to nurse her son at her breast herself. Bronwyn would often join her upon their bed as she fed a nipple into the child's mouth, and lifting her neglected breast to his lips, would suckle as vigorously at the swollen nipple as the child she held to her opposite breast. Despite the passing of years and his many women, Bronwyn's ardor for Constance did not dim. For the child he had been, his mother was his first introduction to the female body, his mother's breasts his possession by right of birth, until his fourth year, when her milk suddenly left her. He was a healthy, robust child, and as he came of age, Bronwyn taught him to ride, to hunt, to perfect his skill with bow and arrow, and with the sword. Bronwyn raised his son with the certain knowledge that some day the castle, its accompanying estate and the surrounding lands would all be his, as well as the people who inhabited them. Bronwyn also taught his son his own lusty appreciation for the opposite sex. There were frequent occasions when the boy would come upon his father dallying with a young maid in a bed of straw in one of the stables, or with one of his mistresses behind a hedge in the gardens or inside a deep casement window in an isolated wing of the castle. Bronwyn would merely laugh good-naturedly, chasing the boy off before returning his attentions to the lady of the moment. When the lad reached puberty, Bronwyn handed him over to one of his younger mistresses, who proceeded to keep him in bed for the next three days. After that, his father shared his mistresses with his son until gifting him with one of his own in his twenty-first year. A long line of women followed. Thayer was as handsome as the devil and just as persuasive in talking a woman into his bed. From the pretty, shy scullery maid to the most elegant and sophisticated of princesses, none were immune to his charm. But when Lord Bronwyn died suddenly, and Lady Constance followed two years later, the new master of Belsoie wanted something more than just a string of mistresses leading to his bedchamber. During his trips abroad, he had visited the harems and brothels of the eastern countries. He studied the Kama Sutra and was allowed to observe, discreetly, behind lacy, iron-work grilles, their sexual customs and techniques. He immersed himself in erotic delights heretofore unknown to him, indulging in varied sexual play and positions, experimenting with the use of certain creams and erotic devices designed to enhance a man's sexual prowess and to release a woman's inhibitions. He learned to mix pleasure with pain, and discovered that, if used correctly, pain could be an unparalleled aphrodisiac and erotic stimulant. Among his acquaintances in those days of reckless youth and heady leisure, was a young sultan from one of the smaller provinces, a somewhat effeminate man, with long-lashed eyes and a boyish face beneath his burnoose, who referred to his male lovers as 'stallions' and who kept his 'herd' always at his disposal in a private wing of his palace for the pleasure and convenience of his guests and himself. On the few occasions when Lord Thayer was a guest there, the two men would indulge their senses by inhaling opium through intricate water pipes as they reclined on plush cushions. The young sultan would have his 'stallions' parade before them in all their naked splendor and before the end of the evening would inevitably offer Thayer the 'pick' of his herd. The men were, in varying degrees, handsome, muscular types, with a few of them as elegant and refined as their master. Each man wore a jeweled collar and thick bracelets of hammered gold encased their upper arms and ankles. Their hardened cocks protruded from between their legs, bobbing and dancing shamelessly as the guards ordered them to strike provocative poses, flagrantly exposing themselves to Lord Thayer and the jaded, young sultan. Each penis was decorated in some fashion designed to attract the eye of the beholder. Some were encased in jewel-studded cock rings with the engorged head peeking slyly out at the two on the cushions. Others had their scrotums covered in gold mesh pouches, their cocks sprinkled with gold dust or painted in gold-leaf. Still others, who had been denuded of their pubic hair, had tiny, sparkling jewels affixed where the crisp, curling hair should have been, a tiny sapphire, emerald, or diamond placed titillatingly over the tiny opening at the tip. It was all quite intoxicating to Thayer whose senses, lulled by the opium and the parade of penises before him, took over, and he mounted a couple of them, much to the delight of the sultan, who invariably joined him in the male orgy of muscled biceps, hard cocks, and shining, sweat-slick skin. As much as he'd indulged himself in the sultan's palace, Thayer's sensual and sexual interests did not lay in that direction. However, his friend, the sultan, had given him pause for thought, and when he eventually returned home to Belsoie, Thayer was already making plans to create his own "stables" and to fill them with the finest, most beautiful women in his homeland. . . . . Lord Thayer's thoughts were interrupted as Phillipe ushered Maurienne into his private quarters. He turned his back to the window as Phillipe retreated into the hall, quietly closing the door after himself, leaving Maurienne alone with him. Earlier, Thayer had dismissed his page, once the torches were lit in their sconces and the bedcovers turned down. A light repast of fruit, cheese and bread accompanied by pitchers of wine had been laid out for his consumption, but it was not food he was thinking of as he watched Maurienne prance elegantly toward him. Maurienne was part of his private stock, kept away from public view and off limits to anyone other than himself. He was generous with the other mares, as he had been with Henri tonight, but his private stock he kept solely for his own use. As she neared the center of the room, his dark, enigmatic gaze fixed on her breasts, which swayed prettily as she pranced. Thayer held up a hand. "Halt." He ordered, his deep, resonating voice commanding her obedience. He continued to study her from where he stood, the light from the torches along the walls of the room flickering over her well-oiled body. Thayer's private coterie was maintained by Phillipe and a handpicked few whom he trusted with their care. These mares were strictly for his own pleasure. They were exceptional beauties, trimmed and outfitted to suit only his whims and fancies. Lord Thayer issued all commands for the mares' training and care himself, personally seeing to it that his orders were adhered to. His mares were fed the finest fruits, vegetables, and meats his estate offered. They were exercised daily to keep their figures trim and firm. Phillipe and his staff bathed and massaged them on a daily basis. Soft cloths and crushed mint were used to cleanse their teeth and sweeten their breath. His bevy of mares were never allowed to associate with the other mares or to be mounted by any male other than himself. Even the decorations and trimmings adorning their bodies were carefully selected by Thayer. However, the one rule above all others which Lord Thayer insisted upon, was that his beauties be kept in a constant state of sexual arousal. He demanded that they be ready for him at a moment's notice, whether he requested their presence in his bedchamber or not. They were sensual creatures whose only purpose was to please and pleasure him. His mares, like the others, were prohibited from satisfying themselves by their own hand or from seducing any of the help or each other. Thayer dealt harshly with any mare committing such infractions. Now, he looked upon the lovely Maurienne standing before him, her small, firm breasts quivering slightly in her excitement to be in her master's bedchamber. It had been some time since he'd taken this particular mare and he could see how eager she was to be mounted by him. Although Phillipe worked to stimulate Maurienne and her captive sisters night after night, she had not been penetrated nor had she been allowed to achieve orgasm since he'd last lain with her. She was trimmed out this evening to please him. Her soft, auburn hair was brushed to a silken sheen that fell in a sensuous swath to her waist. Her body glistened in the soft glow of the torchlight from the oiling she'd received as Phillipe prepared her for him. A silver and diamond-encrusted collar encircled her throat. Two silver chains trailed from the collar between her breasts and hooked to a thin belly chain that sparkled at her narrow hips. Matching bracelets and anklets adorned each wrist and slim ankle. The hair had been removed at the apex of her thighs and replaced by a liberal coating of silver dust which glittered at him temptingly. Maurienne's breasts were small, but firm and high, the pointed, pink tips begging for the feel of his mouth. Her lips and the lids of her eyes were lightly brushed with silver. The tips of her eyelashes were touched with silver as well. She stood, as all mares were required to stand in his presence, with her legs braced apart, her pelvis thrust out at a slight angle to display her lovely charms to full effect. She was visibly trembling. Lord Thayer sensed that Maurienne was primed and ready for his mounting. "Come forward." Lord Thayer addressed her at last. "Prance as before. Pick up those pretty feet." And Maurienne eagerly trotted toward him, breasts out-thrust proudly, long auburn tresses bouncing behind her. "Kneel before me." Thayer spoke with quiet authority when she reached him. As expected, Maurienne knelt at his feet with no inhibition or hesitation, unlike the newly trained Arabella, who must learn, like Maurienne before her, that she was a slave to passion. . . . .his passion. Thayer frowned slightly, wondering why the thought of Arabella should suddenly intrude upon his thoughts. He focused on Maurienne, saw the eagerness, the happy anticipation in her eyes as she awaited his next command. Thayer realized he had starved her too long of himself. He watched the tip of her tongue lick hungrily at the silver-painted lips. He smiled warmly down at her, passing a hand over the top of her head, sifting the silken strands through his fingers. "I desire a tongue bath, Maurienne. Can you please your master with your tongue?" She nodded and licked again at her lips. Thayer chuckled deep in his throat, raising her chin with a forefinger, so that her emerald eyes met his dark gaze. "We shall see. Come, loosen the ties of my robe." He placed his hands on his hips, allowing her to tug the ties loose with quick, nimble fingers. The robe fell open and his cock jutted forth arrogantly between the parted material. Thayer watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Maurienne looked at him, longing filling her eyes. He knew she would not dare to place her lips upon him until he had given her leave to do so, no matter how badly she desired to taste him. "Sweet Maurienne. You will bathe me with your tongue until I order you to stop." Maurienne drew near, tentatively touching the thick tip of him with her moist, pink tongue. Lord Thayer braced his leg in a wider stance, his hands resting on his hips to give her better access to himself. She ran her tongue down the full length of his cock, then dipping under to gently lave his scrotum, massaging the large sac with softly parted lips. She licked at the sensitive underside of his penis, causing him to inhale sharply from the pleasure she was giving him, then darting and swirling her tongue around the engorged head, his cock glistening moistly from her ministrations. Maurienne sat back on her pretty haunches savoring the taste of his lordship on her tongue and on her lips. Lord Thayer's eyes darkened with passion as he gazed down at her, his voice, rough-edged with desire as he spoke. "Continue." Anxious to obey, Maurienne's tongue mated with his cock, laving him lovingly. A tiny, clear drop of moisture appeared, trembling at the small opening like a teardrop, and Maurienne gently collected it on the tip of her tongue. Lord Thayer grasped the back of her head, forcing her to look up at him. "You will suckle my cock, Maurienne. Suckle me as a young filly suckles at the breast of its mother. And you will take care to watch your teeth. I want to feel nothing but your soft mouth holding me. If I feel the tiniest nibble or scrape of teeth against me, I will use my riding crop on your lovely rear. . . . .and really," he smiled down into her piquant face, "'tis too pleasant an evening to spoil with such punishment." Carefully, she took him in her mouth, even as he pushed himself inside with a grunt of satisfaction. Maurienne struggled to keep her small, white teeth from nipping him. She closed her eyes, her long, silver-tipped lashes fanning her cheeks, her silver lips clasping his cock, taking him deeper into her mouth. Small mewling noises escaped from her as he began to stroke himself in and out of her mouth. "Suckle me, little filly. Milk me with your sweet mouth." He gasped out on a ragged breath. Lord Thayer placed his hands on either side of her head, urging her closer, encouraging her to take in all of him, which she did, opening her mouth wider to accommodate him, the thick head of his cock touching the back of her throat. He thrust deeply, but gently, liking the feel of her lips surrounding him, the soft, moist swirl of her tongue stroking him. He felt the first twinge of his orgasm. . . . .and his breathing became harsher. Sensing his climax was near, Maurienne tightened her lips upon him, holding him fast, while keeping her teeth from scraping him, even accidentally. She suckled him harder, drawing on him, until, with a deep moan of pure satisfaction and contentment, he came, spilling himself into her mouth as Maurienne drank greedily, swallowing the very essence of himself. With deliberate slowness, Thayer withdrew his cock from her mouth. Her lips were slightly swollen from the size and thickness of him. He turned away, striding to the table without bothering to close his robe. He splashed wine from a pitcher into a goblet and took a healthy swallow before turning back to her. Maurienne was still kneeling on her haunches, her up-tipped breasts thrust out prettily, the jeweled collar glittering at her throat. He watched as her large eyes widened in shock and amazement at the sight of his cock which protruded from the open folds of his robe, still hard and erect. He smiled as he sauntered toward her, wine goblet in hand, his cock flagging arrogantly. He sipped at the wine, then held the rim of the goblet to her lips. He allowed her a taste before withdrawing the goblet and tossing back the dregs in a single swallow. Thayer placed the empty goblet on a low table, then discarded his robe. Maurienne caught her breath. His physique was splendid! Tall, broad of shoulder, ropes of well-muscled sinew in his arms and legs. His hair, blue-black as a raven's wing, curled at the nape of his neck, but she was transfixed by the sight of his cock. She wanted nothing more than to have him inside her! Her body ached with the force of her need. Lord Thayer's eyes glittered darkly. He reached out, wiping a trace of moisture from her lips with the pad of his thumb. He knew what she craved. "On all fours, my sweet Maurienne. The night is long. . . . .and your master has not tired of you yet. We have hours ahead of us, my pet. And I desire to take you the way the stallion mounts his mare." And Maurienne promptly obeyed.

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