(Thanks to everyone who upvoted and updateme’d part 1! Love it hear from anyone who has feedback or just wants to say they liked it!)

Genevieve took one deep, steadying breath. Before she could speak, Thomas said “My Lady, forgive me, but what happened to Tylor?”

The baroness’s face went blank, and she turned away from them. She picked up the pitcher of wine and began to fill a cup. The bride and groom watched the muscles in her broad dusky back move as she poured.

“I ate him.” She said casually. When she turned around, Thomas and Genevieve had gone very still. She held out the cup of wine to the bride, but Geniveve did not take it. The baroness broke into a wicked smile. “Gods you two, I’m not a monster. He serves me here at the manor. He took the wagon to Silverport to get some things for me.”

Blushing, Genevieve took the cup of wine. “I know everything that happens on my lands. Everything. “The baroness said. “And let me say that you two have been my favorite thing to know.” She poured another cup and handed it to Thomas. “Do you know how boring your average peasant couple is? Sweaty, grunting, grappling- neither art nor science. Quick and brutal. But you two-” She poured a cup for herself and raised it for a toast. “You two have been a delight. Attentive, joyful, skillful.” The three touched glasses and drank. It was the best thing Thomas had ever tasted, bright and clean.

“I have been looking forward to this night for a long time.” The baroness said and took a step towards them. “Please, please choose the easy way.”

“Yes.” Thomas and Genevieve said at the same time, breathless and eager.

“Lovely. Fiona, if you are done, help our strapping smith remove his clothes.” Fiona reemerged from behind the screen, and they were somehow not surprised to see she was naked. She came to Thomas and gently helped him pull his shirt over his head, unsheathing a chest of rippling muscle fashioned over a thousand hours of hard work at the forge. Fiona folded his wedding shirt neatly and set on the windowsill, then kneeled to unstring his trousers. The baroness was undoing Genevieve’s white wedding corset with practiced hands, and with each string pulled Thomas saw his wife’s pale, perfect breasts spill forth a little bit more. When the corset was loose the countess pulled the whole dress down to the floor in one smooth motion. Genevieve stepped out if it, naked and glorious. Thomas was naked as well now, and his manhood, already hard as steel, went even harder at the sight of his wife in the firelight.

The baroness stepped closer to Genevieve so that tips of their breasts were touching, and put her hands gently on the other woman’s hips. They kissed, softly at first, then faster, fiercer. Thomas stepped forward, but stopped when the baroness held up a hand without opening her eyes or breaking the wet, sumptuous kiss. She continued for a moment, then turned and looked at him, glancing at his stiff eight- inch cock with approval. “Stay thy hammer for a moment, young smith.” She said, and waved her free hand in the air. Thomas felt something snap up behind him and grab both his wrists, then pull him backward, restraining him against the warm stone wall.

“Let me get to know your wife for awhile.” The baroness said, pushing Genevieve backwards toward the bed. “Sorry, darling.” His wife said, her voice breathless and exhausted. “I’m sure you’ll get-“She stopped speaking and yelped as she fell backward onto the pile of furs. The baroness climbed on top of her, pressing her tits onto Genevieve’s and kissing her deeply. It was so beautiful that Thomas could taste it from six feet away. He did not try to struggle against his bonds, knowing that whatever they were, that whatever power now held him was unbreakable. His cock was so hard it was painful.

The baroness leaned back and pulled Genevieve up by one of her blonde braids. She then reached for her cup of wine on the side table, and poured it over the new bride’s breasts. Genevieve gasped at the cool shock of it, then again when the baroness began to lick the wine off of her, kissing her neck, her smooth stomach, and her dark nipples in succession. Genevieve’s gasps turned into yelps, then into soft, high moans. The baroness reached down between her legs, feeling the wetness there and playing over it lightly. Genevieve leaned back on her palms and arched her back, her wine drenched tits protruding and heaving as the baroness played with her sex. After a bare few moments of this, Genevieve’s cries rose higher and higher, then burst into a low and primal moan as ecstasy ripped through her like wildfire. She lay back on the furs, legs spread, panting and squirming. The baroness stood up on her knees, looking over a task well done.

Thomas thought he might be released then, but he was mistaken. “Fiona.” The baroness said. “Bring me the device.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Fiona said, and Thomas saw her slim naked form move towards a chest at the foot of the bed. When she bent to open it, Thomas saw the pale scars that crossed her back. She emerged from the chest with a large- gods, was that a cock?

It was nearly a foot long, as thick as one of Fiona’s skinny forearms, and made of some dark polished stone. An array of several leather belts hung off of it, attached at the stem end. Fiona knelt and offered it up to the baroness, like a squire offering a knight his sword. The baroness took it and affixed it to herself. She tightened one large strap across her hips, then two smaller ones down and across each thigh.

“Oh my gods.” Genevieve said, looking up at the stone cock as the baroness turned back to her. It was covered in strange golden runes of some kind, and as the baroness advanced towards the bride they began to glow gently. The baroness was chanting something, low and husky. Genevieve reached out and grabbed the thing hungrily, then sat up and began to kiss it, feeling it’s smooth hardness on her lips. As the countess continued to chant the thing began to move and vibrate. Genevieve looked up at her with stunned, eager eyes, and then lay back on the bed, offering herself.

“Please, please, oh please my lady.” Genevieve said, touching herself. Her lady obliged, pressing the cock into her slowly. She judged by the pitch of the sounds Genevieve made how far was far enough. Barely halfway, it turned out. The baroness began to pull in and out slowly, then gradually faster. With each thrust, Genevieve bounced upward on the bed and moaned, her tits jiggling back and forth, back and forth…

Thomas, coursing with a thunderstorm of wanting, began to strain against the magical bonds that held him. He felt a touch on his manhood, gentle and almost cold. He straightened up, shocked, and looked down. A delicate hand was tracing it’s way up and down on his manhood, so gentle as to be on the edge of imperceptible. Fiona standing next to him, her eyes fixed on Genevieve and the baroness, her mouth hanging slightly agape. With her other hand, Thomas saw she was playing with her own womanhood, sliding two fingers slowly up and down her lower lips.

“Be still, Thomas.” She said quietly. “Your turn will come. Lean back and enjoy.”

“It’s-“I don’t know, it’s not right-“His voice was breathless, confused.

“It is.” Fiona affirmed, and kissed him wetly on his cheek as her hand slid further down and gripped his cock firmly. “Be happy for your wife.”

She was certainly happy for herself. After a series of slow, gentle thrusts, the baroness tried one experimental harder plunge. Genevieve screamed in pleasure. They must have heard her in the village. Gods, there wouldn’t be rumors of prima nocta after tonight. For anyone who heard his wife’s wailing, it would be an established fact.

The baroness smiled a demonic smile and increased her pace. Little by little, a fraction of inch with each thrust, she went a little deeper. Geniveve’s tits were clapping up and down with each thrust of the baroness’s hips. With each increasing piece of the black, glowing stone cock her moans grew louder and more primal, hitting notes that Thomas had never heard before.

Finally, she arched her back and grabbed the countess by the arms, and wailed. Thomas could see the white marks where his bride’s nails dug into the baroness’s arms. The crescendo reached its peak, and at the same moment a bolt of lighting shot across the sky. The storm outside was reviving even as the storm between the two women receded.

The baroness leaned over Geniveve, kissing her softly on her lips, cheeks, and breasts as the blonde woman caught her breath. When her lady leaned back and began to pull the stone cock, Genevieve squealed in protest.

“No, no, no, my lady, please no-ahhhhh…” she moaned, as the bulbous tip of the thing emerged from inside of her, wet and glistening. The runes on it were pulsing now, with a slow dying rhythm.

“Come now, lovely, your dashing groom must have his turn.” The baroness said, as she backed of the bed and stood up. She walked over to where Thomas was restrained against the wall, removing the straps of the stone cock as she walked. She handed the apparatus to Fiona, who stopped her toying with Tom’s cock to take it.

The baroness leaned into him, and her brown tits pressed into his muscular chest. She came closer, until her lips were almost touching his. Her breath smelled of flowers and wine. “I have claimed your wife. Do you wish to reclaim her?”

“Yes, my lady.” He said, trying to control his voice.

“Do you think you can make her scream like I made her scream?” She asked. Her voice was playful, girlish and curious rather than mocking. She kissed himlightly on the lips, then slid downward and bent her knees until her heavy tits were brushing against his cock. It stood out like a mast from his restrained form. She pressed it between her breasts, slowly and gently for a few moments.

“Do you love your wife?” She asked, looking up at him .

“I do, my lady.”

“Do you love your baroness?”

“I do, my lady.” He yelled it, almost. He was breaking, nearly bursting, if she did not stop-

She stood up quickly, letting his cock bounce against her belly and thighs, and took a step backwards. She reached out and took him by the chin.

“If I let you free” She said “You must swear to fuck your wife so hard while she licks my cunt that I can feel her scream. Do you swear?”

“I swear.” He said.

“Good.” She said and turned away, walking a few steps away before she snapped her fingers. Thomas felt the bonds holding him melt away instantly. He followed her to the bed.

His beautiful bride was spread out on the furs, writhing with aftershocks of pleasure. Her hair was splayed out angelically behind her. The baroness circled around her, grabbed her arms, and firmly but gently flipped her over. Thomas approached the foot of the bed, where is wife’s round ass awaited him she got up on her knees and spread her legs. Her cunt was soaking, practically dripping, and quivering as it awaited him. The baroness sat on the bed in front of her and spread her own big coppery brown thighs, then pressed Genevieve’s face into the tangle of dark black hair at the center of her.

Thomas did not wait, did not hesitate, did not tease. They were passed all that. He slid into her, all the way down, as smoothly and easily as throwing a stone into water. Gods help him, she was wet. He grabbed her wide hips and pushed as deep as he could. He felt, rather than heard, her moan, as her mouth was completely engulfed in the baroness now. His lady looked at him and smiled a wicked and encouraging smile.

He fucked her harder than he had ever fucked her before, drawing all the reserves of strength he had from his hard-forged body, putting his entire will, his entire soul into each thrust, desperate to show her that no stone cock could compete with his flesh-and-blood one.

“Yes, yes, yessss-“The countess moaned as Genevieve’s tongue worked on her mound, and Thomas thrust the two women into each other. She looked at Thomas, encouraging him with her eyes, which had begun to glow with a strange gold light.

They came in a wave, from Tom forward. He exploded deep into his bride, and roared like an animal. As promised, this made Genevieve scream into the baroness’s womanhood as trembled with the ecstasy rippling through her. The baroness screamed in turn, reaching down and pressing the bride’s face into her until the wave subsided. Fiona, who was laying on the floor and fucking herself with the stone cock, came at the same time, like a glass resonating with the sound of distant thunder.

Thomas, his bride, and his Lady collapsed into a pile on the furs, gasping and sighing, and soon fell fast asleep. Fiona cleaned off and put away the stone cock, then bustled about the room, dowsing the censers. She finished off one of the wine glasses and set it on a silver tray. She then took one of the furs, a deep amber bearskin, and pulled it over the sleeping pile of limbs and breasts.

The next morning dawned bright and clear, and the fierce spring sun burned off the previous days damp, pulling it up and out of the valley in swirling mists. Thomas and Genevieve awoke in the four-poster bed with no baroness between them. There was no sign of her, except for the deep feeling of contentment in both of the young couples chests. That, and a lingering scent of hyacinth.

There was a simple but sumptuous breakfast laid out on a dark wooden table by the bed- fresh, flaky bread, pots of honey and cream, and a bowl full of fresh, ripe raspberries.They ate in companionable silence, looking up occasionally to share a deep and only slightly embarrassed smile.

They almost forgot to put their clothes back on before they left and when they did, their wedding finery felt scratchy and oppressive. Last night it had felt like they would never need clothes again.

They walked back to the village, hand in hand.


In the city of Silverport, the only building that rivaled the great lighthouse was the Abbey of Our Lady of Mercy, home to the Sisters of Mercy. It was an old and intricate building, all layered gray slate and smooth red sandstone. On that night, while Thomas and Genevieve bound themselves to the baroness, light flickered in only one of the Abbey’s windows. A passerby on the street, who stopped and listened for a moment, might hear the sound of cracking leather and high, breathy cries coming from that window, high up in the dark spring sky.


Said the inquisitor, as he brought the belt down one more time. It took no effort, merely a flick of his wrist. He need not even engage any of the thick, ropy muscles of his arms to make the young acolyte squeal. Nor was that squeal made only of pain, as his experienced ear knew well.

He paced slowly around the tower room, and looked at the form of the acolyte. She was a pretty thing, nineteen or twenty maybe- they were always such pretty things- evidence of the great creator’s divine skill and grace. She had a lithe, athletic body- tense and stretched under the bonds that held her, face down and spread eagled on the bed. Indeed, The only excess flesh was in her round and shapely ass, where her pale flesh was now criss-crossed with fresh red welts.

He strode in front of her now, and stopped. She lifted her head to look at him, her amber hair tangled and matted in her eyes. The inquisitor had rolled up his sleeves, showing her his forearms where his dark skin was crisscrossed with scars- to show her that he too, that indeed every one of god’s creatures, must suffer sometimes for their sins. It was the only way to surmount them.

“Who were your companions in this folly?” He asked. His voice was deep but soft, as warm and firm as worn leather. It was the tone he used when he was asking a question for the second time.

“Please, your magnificence, I’m sorry, I can’t-“She said, breathless and desperate. He shook his head to show her his disappointment, and then continued his slow circuit of the bed. When he stood behind her again, he stopped and was still for a moment, then brought the belt down again.


She arched her back this time, to the extent the restraints would allow. When she lifted her sex off of the bed, the inquisitor could see the glistening wetness there and , the little spot she had left on the sheets she had left in her wanton passion.

Oh, the sinfulness. He thought, staring at it, glowing in the candlelight. The poor decadent young sinner.

When his circuit brought him to her face again, he reached out and took her delicate, pointed chin in one strong hand. He pulled it up gently, so that they locked eyes. He towered over her, six and a half feet of muscle and authority “My Dear.” He said. “If you do not wish to be here, you need only say so. Just say the word, I will loose these bonds, and you will be free to go, your last two lashes forgotten.”

“No, Please!” She cried out. “Please give them to me, Magnificence! I don’t want to leave the abbey, I don’t. I love it here!”

“Then tell me who else snuck out with you, Acolyte, and engaged in these egregious acts of sin and folly.” The steel was creeping in to his voice now, more with every word.

“It was- It was-“She stopped, drew a deep breath. “It is not for one sinner to confess for another nor judge another-“She spat out quickly.

He let go of her face, took one step, and reached over her. This movement put his manhood, thick, long and straining to break his breeches, right against her face, almost touching it. “Nine.” He said.

She quivered this time, and the inquisitor watched her ass jiggle for moment before resuming his circuit. “Do not quote scripture to me, acolyte. It is my sacred duty to take on the sins of all. You know this. Now, I will ask you once more. Who else?”

“Forgive me.” She said quietly, into the crumpled sheets. Whether she was asking forgiveness of god or her sisters, he did not know. She certainly did not mean him, though. “Sister Jeyne, Sister Alla, and Sister Ren, your magnificence. Sister Ren it was stole the wine.”

“Ten.” Again, the crack of the belt, again the squeal- but now it had a weight of release, of freedom in it. He took of the restraints on her legs with skillful, practiced hands then came around to the front and released her wrists. She remained face down on the bed, breathing deeply.

“Do you see, My dear? How much better it feels to pass along the weight of those transgressions. You may go now, and resume your work with a free and easy heart.”

“Wait.” She said, and shot out a hand. It grabbed onto the dark leather belt as he was passing it back through his trousers, then traveled to alight gently on his throbbing, hard cock. “Magnificence, please, I have angered god, I have angered you, I must atone. I must bring you peace.” He looked down at her, and smiled benevolently. The poor, poor sinner. He must take this sin from her. It was his duty.

When he opened the door, His secretary, Sister Rose, was waiting for him. She smirked and peered over her spectacles at the sight of the young acolyte getting dressed behind him. He shut the door gently and finished buttoning his shirt.

“That went well, I take it, Magnificence?” She asked. She was a middle-aged woman, but still beautiful. What she lacked in youthful glow she made up for in presence, and her coppery red hair was still as bright as it had been the day she had come to the abbey.

“Quite well.” He said. “I will need Sisters Alla, Jeyne, and Ren brought to my chambers tonight.”

“Would you prefer separately, or all at once Magnificence?” Rose asked him, her notebook and quill poised to take his answer. A vision came to his mind- such a wicked, wicked vision, his next confession would be an hour long- of all three of the young sisters bent over the punishment bed in a row. “Together.” He said. “We have established their guilt, there is no need to question them. Only punishment remains.”

“Very good, sir.” She said, writing down the names. “A visitor came for you while you were engaged.”

“Oh? What sort of visitor?” The inquisitor said, curious.

“A country lad. From up in the high valley, I would guess. He said he brings word of a great sin, but he will speak only to you.”

The country lad was waiting in his office. He was a large young man, typical mountain stock- strong and simple as clean stone. He was almost as tall as the inquisitor, and looked awkward folded into the small oaken chair in which he sat. He knocked it over backwards when the inquisitor came in, as he rose in a quick, awkward lurch.

“Sit, lad, sit.” The inquisitor said. “Sister Rose tells me you have some information for me.”

“Yes my lord, my mag- sorry, your magnificence-“He stammered, looking behind him towards Sister Rose, who had probably given him an overly stern lecture on how to address the inquisitor. “I was told- I heard- that you were the one to come to, if you had word of blasphemy or witchcraft or anything like that, and that you paid good silver for information.”

“I may have some small sums at my disposal.” The inquisitor said, sliding into the chair behind his desk. “For silver, it would have to be quite a great sin, and I would need solid proof.”

“It’s a great sin indeed, my-your magnificence. Sorcery, witchcraft, and blasphemy I make no doubt. All sorts of unnaturalness. Blood magic, and sins of the flesh most of all.”

The inquisitor raised one dark eyebrow. “And where I might I find this cornucopia of iniquity?”

It took the lad almost an hour to tell it all, in a breathless, stuttering lurch.
“She can’t know it was me, Magnificence. Me that told you, I mean. If she found out she’d- I don’t know what, but she’s got powers. She could turn me into a slug for all I know.”

“Don’t worry, lad.” The inquisitor stood up from his desk and cracked his knuckles. His cock, bulging out against his breeches once again, was plain to everyone in the room. “I will see to her myself.”