“Brenn, that’s his name,” one of the grooms said. “Yes, he’s all the rage of the Court.”

“I heard they can’t get enough of that Cupid’s milk from between his legs!” said another. “Have you ever seen a slave like that, with so much hair, and such powerful arms and legs and such a lovely face?”

Ah, so my beloved Brenn is the King’s puppy, Sybil thought. She was laughing with delight silently behind the bit. Good for Brenn! She remembered him straining on the cross in the garden as the Prince had drained that “Cupid’s milk” from his cock, as the King had called it. I know what that tastes like, she thought, chuckling to herself. I’ve had plenty of it! It was so amusing! And how many times had Brenn imagined this world, as she had, when they were in one another’s arms. Was he feeling now what she felt—helplessness and wonder that he’d been delivered up to his fantasies and carried beyond them? Terror that he could not escape this overpowering world at will?

Deft fingers pulled the bit out of Sybil’s mouth. She realized she’d been dozing. A grape covered with syrup was put on her tongue—such a sweet taste!

“Sleep, little filly,” said the groom. “They’ll be visiting in the great house for hours. Keep those legs apart.”

Yes, yes, keep those legs apart. But he didn’t wait for her to obey. He kicked her boots this way and that and a block was put there, a heavy beam on the ground perhaps, so that she couldn’t close her legs. Her sex thrummed and throbbed with wave after wave of desire. But the groom only spanked her casually with his open hand. “That’s it,” he said. “Now you can wriggle this pretty little rump all you like, little girl. But sleep.”

And this is all you have to do now, Sybil, she thought, feel this, feel this desire. This is what’s required of you—not hiding it behind closed doors, seeking out desperate embraces with Brenn—no. You are to feel it, you are naked and all decisions are now gone from you, all burdens, all choice—and this is your sublime lot.

i

The arrival of the royal coach was a sensation. Never since my return had I seen female ponies so exquisite. I’d come down to the manor house with a village team hired for the little journey, who would be back to pick me up at the eleventh hour. And frankly, I hadn’t paid too much attention to ponies since I’d arrived. I’d been far too busy, directing and refining the Place of Public Punishment.

When I got the message from Eva to come to Tristan’s house this evening, I had been glad of a respite.

Earlier, upon my arrival, Eva had brought me into a private chamber with her heartfelt thanks. I saw a comely slave kneeling there with a finely painted mask over his eyes and most of his nose. As masks always do, this made his mouth look especially succulent and beautiful. He had fine brown hair, full of blond streaks, to his shoulders, and he knelt with his hands clasped behind his back. He was crying and trying to keep quiet.

“What do you see?” Eva asked.

“Well, he’s beautiful. Glorious hair, good-sized cock and balls, and nipples that look tender, almost virginal.”

“Stand up, little boy, and show yourself to Prince Dmitri,” she said. Her voice was almost angry and this was not Eva’s way. Eva almost always spoke gently to slaves. We’d discussed this matter any number of times since I’d returned. Eva believed in courtesy to slaves even as she demanded the utmost from them. She could whip a slave raw while carrying on a very pleasant conversation with him.

My style had developed quite differently. I had become a disdainful scolding master, a perfectionist, following an instinct to do what gave me the highest pleasure and do what produced the finest effects in the slaves. Of course I wasn’t relentlessly scolding with my pets, Kiera, Bertram, and Barbara. Far from it. But my abrupt demanding voice wrought unfailing submission from them.

My style of fierce expectations and ruthless punishment was known throughout the village and set the tone for the Place of Public Punishment. Slaves trembled at my approach. And so did grooms, squires, handlers, and whipping masters.

The slave was on his feet but wobbling badly. Tall. That was good. Well-formed legs, excellent. A fine and slender build, suggestive of the Court not the farm or the village. As he drew closer I could see that his cock was nice and long and thick. Not exceptional, no, but a goodly size and hard, hard and red.

But his chest was quivering and shaking with his moans and sobs, and he was trembling visibly. His small nipples were erect. And his tight flat belly was quivering.

I drew close. The room was already quite dark though the sunset was not finished, and I lifted my candle the better to see what I could of his face. Blue eyes shining through the mask. No point in telling him to lower them.

Only now did I see he was an older man. His body was fine, pampered, strong. But I could see tiny lines on his upper lip now, very faint, but clear, and I could see other tiny indications of age. A bit of wrinkled flesh at his underarms, and something altogether that told me he was no boy, but a man who would always be a boy in many respects, with a boy’s needs and a man’s shame.

This excited me powerfully and I felt my own cock harden between my legs. There were many older slaves in the village, but I had not had my chance with many. It was a seductive thought to have this man perhaps at my mercy.

I felt of his shimmering brown hair. Silk. Just silk. Remarkably fine. I was shocked by a little memory of the only time I’d ever felt Queen Eleanor’s hair.

I’d been whipped and paddled for days by her, failing in everything, and she’d ordered me to brush her hair—to do it gently with the brush in my hand, not my teeth, as I had no skill for holding anything let alone a hairbrush with my teeth, and I’d stood behind her chair, brushing her hair, terrified lest I pull it, shivering at the thought of her inevitable rage.

I’d felt how silky it was, her hair, and of course it was lustrous as pampered hair so often is.

Well, he had hair like that, this slave, rich and curling and something to be enhanced whenever he was groomed.

“Turn around at once, young man,” said Eva. The same harsh voice.

He obeyed. He’d been well spanked, I could see that, and I suspected it was the strap that had been used for his legs. His backside had a fine curve to it, though it was more muscular than soft, and it quivered now as though he couldn’t control it. The longer he stood there, the more he trembled.

Eva put her hand on his shoulders.

“Be still,” she said, but he was quite incapable of responding to this in any way. Finally she said:

“You’re dismissed. Now go into your closet and remain there, until I send for you. And if I or the grooms catch you rubbing that hungry cock against anything, you know what will happen.”

He nodded. “Yes, madam,” he said. His head was bowed and I saw the nape of his neck where his hair parted, and I liked the look of it, the tender nape of his neck. How nice it would be to force him down, take him, and bite gently at the back of his neck.

Eva led me out of the room. We heard noises from the hall below. The King and the Queen were approaching.

“Do you think you can make something out of him?” she asked. “Does he appeal to you, a likely applicant for your special attentions?”

“Eva, I’ll discipline anyone you send to me,” I said. “That’s the purpose of the Place of Public Punishment. Today I had a powerful male field slave of forty years whipped raw three times on the turntable, and after that my delicate castle beauty named Becca strapped through the streets of the village behind a pair of running ponies before her second trip up the ladder for the inevitable paddling. I cherish them all, ponder them all, and work them all. You know this.”

She nodded.

We went down the wooden staircase together. I saw the table laid for a huge supper and the fire going as usual, and I could smell the mulled wine.

The doors were open to the drive before the hall.

“But does he appeal to you, specially?” she asked. We stopped on the landing.

“Yes, he does. I feel sorry for him. He wants to obey, but he’s lost. I’d love a chance to send him back to you perfected. He’s older, isn’t he? I like that. I’ve come to love working with older slaves.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” I shrugged. “I find them as interesting in their own way as the young ones. They have a different rhythm. How old is this slave?”

“Your age, and he’s spoiled and proud,” she said. “Come, we must greet the King and Queen.”

It was then that I saw the equipage—the huge silver coach with its fixed lanterns and the nine gorgeous female ponies turned out in spectacular harness and plumes. What a display. And now I understood why female ponies had taken the Court by storm. Of course the King’s teams were a triumph. And male pony race days were never missed by anyone. Even I came up from the village for race days. But the females arrayed in all their glory were bewitching. They seemed as exotic as peacocks. Indeed, I wondered how they might look if decorated with peacock feathers.

I made a mental note: send bushels of peacock feathers to Court as a present for the King and Queen. When Lexius arrived, well, Lexius would know how to obtain peacock feathers in abundance.