Previously the great Lord Ragan had been caught in a terrible snowstorm whilst trying to cross wasteland known as The Badlands. He became separated from his two lieutenants, and he and his bodyguard Simmons had hopelessly continued together on foot after their horses died. Just at the moment, Ragan thought all was lost; they had spotted a tiny hamlet and were dragged in by the inhabitants.

The hamlet was owned and ruled by a minor Lord, Lord Godfrey, a rather frail, blind old man. However, Godfrey had a stunningly beautiful eighteen-year-old bride, Lady Katherine. During the night, after Lord Godfrey was asleep, Lady Katherine had visited Lord Ragan’s bed chambers. Ragan had spent all night screwing this busty teenage bride.

In fact, as the storm did not cease for almost a week, Ragan had enjoyed the delights of bedding Lady Katherine many, many times.

But eventually, the snow stopped falling, and eight days after being rescued by Lord Godfrey, Lord Ragan and his bodyguard Simmons rode out from the hamlet, heading for the Headstone Road.

Lord Godfrey had been kind to give Ragan and Simmons a horse each and provisions to last them a week. Ragan had thanked Godfrey for all his assistance and had offered him a seat on the minor lord’s council in compensation. Whether the frail old man would be willing to travel to Rhigord, Lord Ragan’s ancestral home, and the capital of these northern lands, to take up his seat remained to be seen.

Ragan and Simmons were now on horseback, trudging through the melting snow across the vast wasteland. They were now three days out from Lord Godfrey’s hamlet home. Simmons and he had slept out under the stars in small tents, with a brush-wood fuelled campfire to keep them warm.

Ragan hoped that they would find the Headstone Road later today, and then their journey would be more comfortable. Ragan and Simmons were on their way to the great port city of Shanten and had crossed the Badlands in an attempt to shorten their journey. That had been a mistake, and it seems his two lieutenants had paid for it with their lives.

Once they re-joined the Headstone Road, their horses could pick up some speed. Also, there were many taverns and accommodations along the road that Ragan and Simmons could stay at instead of having to sleep in their tents.

As Ragan’s horse continued through the snow, the great Lord’s thoughts turned back to Lady Katherine. She was a real beauty for sure, and sexy as hell. Ragan had spoken with Lady Katherine about what her plans would be if Lord Godfrey were to die. He couldn’t see her continuing to live the rest of her life as a lonely widow in such an isolated wilderness.

She seemed unsure and talked about perhaps returning to live with her father, a landowner in The Badlands. Of course, The Badlands estates were not worth much, as their ground could not be farmed.

Ragan had made Lady Katherine a counter-proposal; that if Lord Godfrey should die, Ragan would marry her. Lady Katherine seemed excited by that prospect. Perhaps this was because she would be swopping an elderly, blind, minor lord of a husband in his seventies, who could not manage any sexual activity, to a virulent and handsome great Lord in his forties, who most certainly enjoyed all manner of sexual appetites.

Ragan did have one rule that Lady Katherine would have to agree to, however. Ragan had always had a wandering eye as far as women were concerned. He had bedded village tarts, brothel whores, and other men’s wives throughout his vast fiefdom and beyond. He was not about to give that up just to marry Lady Katherine, as fond of her as he was.

Lady Katherine understood the ways of the world and did not expect a great Lord such as Ragan, in fact, the greatest lord in the Northlands, to limit himself to just one woman. She was quite happy for him to spread his seed around as much as he wanted when he was out on his travels around his great lands. In fact, the local people expected it to be as such; it had always been an accepted custom.

But when Ragan was at his ancestral home in the great city of Rhigord, Katherine would expect Ragan to be discreet so that she was not humiliated in her new home. Ragan had happily agreed to this request. But to test Lady Katherine’s reasoning, Ragan had also had sex with Mabel, the young serving girl in the employ of Lord Godfrey. He had done it with Katherine’s blessing, of course, but he had wanted to make clear to her he was a man of his word and would always enjoy other women on the side.

But Lady Katherine seemed very agreeable to the whole situation, and happily returned to Lord Ragan’s bed the next night. She had even asked about what Mabel had done in bed for Ragan, as Katherine knew Mabel was a complete slut, and wanted to know of any new positions or techniques she might pick up to please him. She still seemed excited with the idea of marrying a man like Ragan and coming to live at Rhigord.

Of course, all this was rather academic, as currently, Lady Katherine was married to Lord Godfrey, and Ragan was happy to wait until Godfrey passed away of natural causes before he made any firm plans with her. Lord Godfrey was indeed frail, elderly, and rather sickly. He might only last another winter, perhaps two. Even if it was two winters away, Lady Katherine would still only be twenty years old; still very much marriage material.

Of course, it could be that Lord Godfrey lived on for many more years. Ragan would have to monitor the situation from Rhigord.

Some lords might perhaps find a way to quicken Lord Godfrey’s passing. He had heard stories of past lords sending men who had attractive wives to the frontline during wars and skirmishes, hoping they would be killed so that they might be able to marry or perhaps just fuck their recently bereaved widow. But Ragan found this type of behaviour contemptible and would not stand for it in his own court.

Besides, Lord Godfrey had saved Ragan’s life; he owed him a debt. He would pay it back by ensuring Lord Godfrey had a peaceful, restful last few years, however many it might be.

Once he passed away, Ragan would further do Lord Godfrey honour by taking care of his young wife. Even if Godfrey could not perform his husbandly duties in bed, in fact, apparently he had never consummated his marriage, Ragan could tell Godfrey was at least very fond of Lady Katherine. Lord Ragan would marry Lady Katherine, and Lord Godfrey could rest easy in his grave knowing his young wife was happy and financially secure.

As Ragan’s horse stopped for a moment to eat some rare grasses poking through the snow, his thoughts drifted to the many nights and afternoons he had spent in bed with Lady Katherine. Her body was incredible; fantastic young firm arse, and huge big firm tits. She was insatiable too, perhaps due to the fact she had gotten no sex during her two-year marriage to Lord Godfrey. Ragan had taught her many, many new things that great Lords enjoyed doing with young women in bed.

“My lord,” Simmons called out, interrupting Ragan’s thoughts.

Ragan looked up. Simmons and his horse had moved ahead of him whilst Ragan’s jet-black horse had been enjoying some grass to eat. Simmons was pointing ahead and to the left.

Ragan’s eyes shifted out to the left, where, in the far distance, he could just make out the Headstone Road. Finally, they would be making a better pace soon. Ragan judged they would make it to the road in a couple of hours or so.

Ragan spent the time it took to ride to the road thinking more about all the dirty deeds he had done to Lord Godfrey’s young wife. It brought a smile to his face, even in the face of a chilly headwind.

Eventually, Lord Ragan and his trusted bodyguard and aide Simmons reached the Headstone Road. It was a cobbled road, around three horse lengths wide in most places. There was still snow on the cobbles, but it was melting fast. The road would be quicker as the horses did not have to take such a winding path around bushes, hedges and thickets like they had across the wasteland of The Badlands.

When dusk approached, Lord Ragan and Simmons sped up a little and soon came upon the tiny village of Hailston. It wasn’t much more than a collection of six or seven small buildings. They secured sleeping accommodation in the stables, enjoyed a cooked meal, and then retired for the evening, sleeping in the hay next to their horses. At least it was warm.

Lord Ragan wrote a letter in the morning to his second in command back in Rhigord, telling him about the storm that had delayed them and the loss of his two lieutenants. Their families should know as soon as possible of the sad news. Ragan managed to catch the passing postal rider before they left Hailston, so his letter should arrive at Rhigord within the week.

Lord Ragan and Simmons spent two more days on the Headstone Road, slowly moving closer to their destination of Shanten. They spent their nights in rooms in local taverns and inns along the road.

In one of the taverns one night, Lord Ragan heard talk of trouble brewing in the town of Leddson. Apparently, a minor lord’s son had begun warring with his brother over who would replace their father on his death. A few skirmishes had broken out. No deaths had yet occurred, but it wouldn’t be long, if the local gossip was to be believed.

Leddson was not on the Headstone Road. It was down a narrow trail, about twenty leagues to the south. It would further delay Ragan’s arrival in Shanten. But he could not ignore talk of warring lords or their sons in his lands; he must stamp this out.

Ragan wrote another letter to the nearest garrison commander, informing him of his plan to visit Leddson and investigate the matter. He also asked for one platoon of troops to be sent to Leddson as soon as possible to assist him. In the morning he gave the letter to the next postal rider but ordered him to ride directly to the garrison, just two days ride away, ignoring any other stops along the way.

Then Lord Ragan and Simmons sped quickly down the Headstone Road until they reached the turnoff for Leddson, and then followed the trail. The going was slow, however, as the trail twisted through a mountain pass and down through narrow gorges.

As the sun began to set, Ragan realised they were not going to get to Leddson tonight. They would have to sleep out under the stars again. But just as Simmons began looking along the trail for a suitable campsite, Ragan noticed some lights off in the distance. Ragan and Simmons hurried their horses toward them.

Ten minutes later they came across the small town of Kallut. It was a farming community, with a few buildings at its centre. There was a local store, a small church, and thankfully a tavern. Ragan and Simmons left their horses in the care of the local stable master and his son and headed toward the tavern.

The tavern was named The Bells, perhaps after the double bells atop the steeple of the church. It was a two-storey wooden building and had a sign outside stating they had a room for rent. Once inside Ragan made his way to the bar whilst Simmons sat at a table.

The tavern was fairly dimly lit inside, with just a few candles here and there, plus the fire in the hearth lighting the room. There were nine tables spread across the tavern and perhaps twenty or so locals enjoying a drink.

The tavern owner came over to serve Ragan at the bar. He was a fairly short, portly, balding man, perhaps in his early fifties. As soon as the tavern owner got closer to Ragan, he stopped, looking surprised, as if he recognised Lord Ragan.

“My stars! Can it be true?” he stammered.

“Excuse me?” Ragan replied. Surely this man did not know him; he had never been to this town before.

“Lord Ragan, is it not?” the tavern owner asked, “I swear if it is not.”

“You know me?” Ragan asked, slightly suspicious.

“Ah no, of course not my Lord. I meant no disrespect,” the tavern owner explained, “But I did see you speak once at my brother’s garrison, during his acceptance ceremony. At Shulwin Garrison, it must have been three years ago now.”

Shulwin was the local garrison for this area. It was where he had sent his letter to ask for a platoon to be sent to Leddson. Ragan now remembered speaking there a few years ago when they had a ceremony for a new influx of troops accepted into service. Apparently, this man had been in the crowd.

“Yes, you even looked at me as you passed by on your way out and gave me a nod,” the tavern owner continued, smiling, “I have never forgotten it.”

Of course, Lord Ragan had no memory of this incident. He must meet thousands of people every year at various ceremonies, feasts and functions. But this man did not need to know that. Ragan always found it beneficial to make anyone he met feel valued and respected.

“Of course, how are you, sir?” Lord Ragan replied.

The tavern owner beamed, perhaps under the illusion that the great Lord Ragan had recognised and remembered him.

“So, this is your place, huh?” Ragan continued, “It’s nice. Very welcoming.”

“Thank you, my Lord, I am honoured by your visit,” the tavern owner said, still beaming, “My name is Wallace. When I saw you last, I did not get the opportunity to introduce myself.”

“Well, let me shake your hand, Wallace,” Ragan replied and did so.

Wallace the tavern owner was incredulous, the great Lord Ragan here in his business and even shaking his hand.

It was a white lie, of course, to let Wallace think Ragan remembered him. But it suited Ragan’s purposes. Hopefully, it would help in securing accommodations for the night, and it made Wallace feel good too. He would now have a story to tell everyone that came into his tavern for the rest of his life.

Ragan asked about the availability of rooms for the night for himself and Simmons. Wallace nodded happily, proud that Lord Ragan would be staying in his lodgings. Wallace said he had one room available for rent on the top floor. Lord Ragan could take that room, and Wallace could arrange warm accommodations in the stable for Simmons.

Ragan agreed; Simmons was used to sleeping in stables after all, and what choice did they have anyway, in such a small village? He also asked about hot meals. Wallace again smiled, saying his wife was the cook, and he would get her roasting some chickens in no time for Lord Ragan and his man.

Wallace disappeared for a moment to the kitchen, presumably to tell his wife to get cooking. He then reappeared and served ale in tankards to Simmons at his table and Lord Ragan at the bar.

Ragan sat at the bar for some time, chatting with Wallace. He asked him about the trouble he had heard was brewing in Leddson. Wallace recounted some tales he had heard of a few unarmed fights in the street between the two brothers and their supporters, but it all seemed pretty tame stuff. It calmed Ragan’s mind; it seemed the stories he had heard before had been rather exaggerated, at least according to local talk here in Kallut.

Ragan would still visit Leddson and see what was going on. He would still have the platoon stay there for a few weeks, perhaps until everything calmed down. But it seemed to Ragan any trouble in Leddson was perhaps a pretty minor affair, and he cast in from his mind for tonight.

Wallace talked to Lord Ragan about ale and his tavern business and complained about local taxes, as all business owners inevitably did when he chatted with them. Ragan simply nodded and let him get it off his chest as he sipped his ale. Ragan looked over to see Simmons now sat at another table playing a dice game with some local farmhands.

Wallace the tavern owner went to the other end of the bar for a moment and spoke with a boy, maybe seventeen or eighteen years of age. They were in conversation for a few minutes; then the boy ran out of the tavern and into the night. Wallace returned to stand behind the bar with Ragan.

Wallace nodded, smiling at Lord Ragan.

“Don’t worry, my Lord. Wallace will find you some company for your night under my roof,” he said, nodding knowingly, “Don’t you just see if I don’t. I’m a man of my word; may they hang me if I’m not.”

Ragan smiled to himself. Wallace was speaking of the northern custom of ‘Thanking’. It was a tradition that went back longer than anyone could remember and was a tradition that Ragan was very glad of.

“Thanking’ meant that if a male high lord, prince or king stayed under another’s roof, the host was obligated to arrange for them some female company for the evening. This custom was easier to fulfil when one lord was staying at the great home of another lord.

When it was out in the middle of nowhere, however, it was a little more difficult. It’s why Lord Ragan usually did not make his status known when travelling in very out of the way places. It placed an unwanted burden on the host and meant he was sometimes presented with less than attractive young women, which he would then decline, further humiliating the host.

In the larger towns, and certainly in the cities, there was always a brothel or two from which the host could rely on procuring an attractive young woman to entertain his guest, if all else failed. In small towns and villages, the host would have to ask around for farmers daughters, serving-wenches and the like. There was no obligation on the farmers to send their daughter or on the daughter or serving-wench to agree to entertain the host’s guest.

But it was considered a great honour both for the father who sent his daughter and the young women herself to sleep with a high lord. Also, the higher the lord’s standing, the higher the honour bestowed on the young woman and her father too.

Because Lord Ragan was the highest lord in all the Northlands, it would be the greatest honour for any young farmer’s daughter to entertain him in his bed. It’s why Ragan had slept with so many, many young women up and down his vast lands.

Ragan had lost count of the number of fathers who had shaken his hand in gratitude just before allowing Lord Ragan to lead their young daughter off to his bed to defile her all night. He had lost count of the amount of lovely young women who had, in front of the great Lord, thanked their fathers for the opportunity to spend the night with Ragan. And all those young daughters had done their very best to make their fathers proud of them by pleasing Lord Ragan to the best of their ability.

The only rule was that the young woman could not already be married. Ragan often would give the young woman a couple of gold coins in the morning, but it was not expected. This ‘Thanking’ custom did not interfere with the woman’s reputation; in fact, it only enhanced it.

If perhaps the young woman was promised to be married to a local lad, that could still go ahead, without a stain on her name. If she was a virgin before her night with her Lord, she could still claim to be a virgin afterwards. It was like her night with the Lord did not really count. Also, any young lad marrying a girl who had been involved in a ‘Thanking’ custom had his reputation enhanced too, as he was with a girl who had been chosen as special by a great Lord.

However, if the host failed to arrange a young woman for his guest to bed at night, it brought great shame upon the host. Usually, Lord Ragan would not have announced his status in a place like this, as he figured it would bring difficulty on the tavern owner to produce an attractive young woman, it being such a small village.

But incredibly, Wallace the tavern owner had recognised him and then obviously realised he should attempt to fulfil his ‘Thanking’ obligation. He suspected the errand boy Wallace had been talking to had been instructed to go and speak with some local farmer or two and ask if they would allow Wallace the host to offer their daughter to Lord Ragan for the night.

Ragan was intrigued as to who Wallace would come up with. He had spent six nights on the road with Simmons, sleeping in tents and stables, with no female company. The last time he was with a woman was with Lady Katherine a week ago. He could certainly do with getting to spill his seed with some pretty young woman here tonight.

Ragan sipped at his ale and observed the locals sitting around the tavern. They were a fairly quiet lot, but it was still early. Perhaps it got livelier around here the more they drank.

Suddenly at the other end of the bar, a woman emerged holding two plates of food. This must be Wallace’s wife. She squeezed past her husband and down toward Ragan on the other side of the bar. As she approached, the light was better, and Lord Ragan could make her out.

Wallace’s wife was quite a woman. She was fairly slim but not skinny. She was very pretty, and Ragan guessed she was in her late thirties. She had long dark hair with a slight red tinge to it.

She wore a tight, dark red dress that showed off her curvy figure, but especially her huge bust. She was almost falling out of the top of her dress, Ragan thought. The dress was also short, showing off plenty of leg too, which was a style he had seen in the far south but rather uncommon here in the colder Northlands. He noticed she also had a huge beaming smile as she approached him.

“Good evening, my lord,” she said in her distinct local accent, “Here’s your meal, sire.”

She placed a plate in front of him, with a roasted chicken and some boiled potatoes and vegetables.

“Thank you, that looks delicious,” Ragan replied, looking at his food, but quickly glancing at her huge bust too, “You must be Wallace’s wife?”

“Yes, my lord. I’m Esmeralda,” she stated, smiling again.

“Very pleased to meet you, Esmeralda,” Ragan replied.

“Oh, it is our honour to have you under our roof tonight. A great, great honour,” Esmeralda said, “But please don’t let me keep you from your supper. It will get cold.”

“Ah yes, thank you,” Ragan said, still staring at her huge tits.

“Excuse me; I should give this to your bodyguard,” Esmeralda said, picking up the other plate, and began to turn away to go and serve it to Simmons on the other side of the tavern.

“Ah no, no. Why don’t you have your husband serve it to him, so you can keep me company,” Ragan replied.

“Yes, of course, my lord,” Esmeralda beamed and called to her husband.

Wallace came over and took the second plate from his wife and took it over to Simmons. Ragan tucked into his roasted chicken supper and sipped at his ale. But his main focus was the tavern owner’s wife, Esmeralda.

“So, Esmeralda, tell me about yourself. I want to know everything,” Ragan grinned.

She grinned back, adjusting her dress, and running her hand through her hair.

“Well, first of all, you may call me Esme, my lord,” she smiled.

“Esme,” Ragan nodded.

Esme went on to talk about where she was originally from, how she and Wallace had met and married, about their tavern business here, and all without taking a breath. Ragan learned she had grown up in a small town called Varnis, in the far Southlands. Perhaps this was why she wore such a short dress, as Ragan knew it was very common there but considered quite risqué here in the more traditional Northlands.

Hidden behind the bar all night, perhaps the shortness of her dress wasn’t noticed by many tavern visitors. Although they certainly couldn’t miss up top her huge cleavage on display. But that was an acceptable tradition of tavern owner’s wives, barmaids and serving wenches in both the north and the south, that went back who knows how long.

Esme continued her life’s tale. Her father had been a cattle farmer. She and Wallace had run the tavern here for the last ten years.

Through all this Ragan listened, eating his supper, and nodded, but saying little. Esme certainly liked a chat. It also allowed Ragan to further ogle her lovely big breasts.

Lord Ragan finally finished his meal and thanked Esme for the cooking of it. Esme pushed the plate away down the bar and moved closer to the bar, leaning up against it. It had the effect of her huge bust now resting on the bar top, just where Ragan’s plate had just been. To Ragan, it seemed like Esme was putting her tits on a plate for him.

“Well, that’s quite a sight, Esme. Is that my dessert?” Ragan smiled, staring at her tits.

“Oh, my lord, you are a one,” Esme giggled, briefly touching his arm.

“Your husband doesn’t mind you wearing such a revealing dress while you work?” Ragan inquired.

“Oh no, quite the opposite, he encourages it,” Esme explained, smiling, “It’s good for business, you see. I get a lot of admiring looks from the local farmhands.”

“I’m sure you do,” Ragan replied.

“I’m sure some of these young men come drinking here just to get a good eyeful of my bosom,” Esme continued, “But they can only look, of course. If there is any saucy talk from them, my husband throws them out, and they get barred from returning for a month.”

“I see,” Ragan said, “Well, I’d better be careful what I say, hadn’t I?”

Esme giggled, her huge tits jiggling on the bar top.

“Oh no, my lord, he wouldn’t dare,” Esme chuckled, “No, you can talk saucy with me as much as you want.”

“Well, if that’s the case then, I have to tell you, Esme, you’ve got an absolutely cracking pair of tits,” Ragan grinned.

Esme giggled again, placing her hand on Ragan’s arm again, but this time keeping it there.

“Oh, thank you, my lord,” Esme gushed.

“And this dress is lovely, really shows them off well,” Ragan continued.

“Thank you, sire. I roasted your chicken in my kitchen clothes and then changed for you into this just before it was ready,” Esme explained.

“You changed into this just for me?” Ragan asked.

“Yes, sire. It’s my most revealing dress; I don’t often wear it. But I didn’t want you to get bored whilst you wait for my husband to arrange a young woman for you for tonight,” Esme continued.

“Well, thank you, that’s very kind of you, Esme,” Ragan smiled, “So Wallace is arranging a girl for me?”

Ragan had suspected as much, of course, but it was nice to know for sure.

Suddenly the tavern door opened, and Wallace’s young errand boy returned and began an animated conversation with his boss at the other end of the bar. After a minute, the errand boy shot back out of the door and into the cold night again.

Wallace came toward Ragan from behind the bar. He squeezed past his wife and looked to the great Lord, rather dejectedly. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ragan interrupted him.

“Wallace, you are a very lucky man,” Ragan told him, smiling, “I’ve been all over this great land, from East to West, and from the far great North to the lowly Southlands. I’ve met so many incredible women. But Wallace, your wife must have the biggest and best tits in the entire kingdom.”

Esme giggled. Wallace looked shocked for a moment; then a grin slowly spread across his face. If any other man had said such a thing, they would have been thrown out of the tavern and probably rather roughly. But a great Lord complimenting his choice in a wife seemed to make his day.

He could now tell everyone he knew that a great Lord was jealous of him, Wallace, the lowly tavern owner. Wallace beamed again.

“Thank you, my lord. You do me an honour to say as such,” Wallace said, glancing at his wife’s tits displayed up the bar.

“Which girl did you arrange for the night for our lord?” Esme asked, “I assume you have asked Clara?”

“Well…” Wallace began, but was interrupted by his wife.

“Clara is the daughter of Farmer Brandt, who owns the third-largest farm here,” Esme explained to Lord Ragan, “She’s very pretty. I guess she’s about nineteen or twenty?”

“I see,” Ragan replied, “Well, I like forward to meeting her.”

“Ah yes, about that, sire,” Wallace stammered nervously, “It seems Clara has gone into service as a maid in Bretterton just last week. But fear not, sire, I have another in mind; her name is Cassandra. My errand boy is going to speak with her father now.”

“I see,” Ragan replied, deliberately sounding disappointed.

Wallace began to leave, squeezing past his wife behind the bar again.

“My wife will entertain you until I can arrange it with Cassandra’s father,” Wallace said.

As he passed behind her, Wallace moved the straps of his wife’s red dress off her shoulders to leave them halfway along her upper arms. He then slapped her on the bottom, and Esme gasped briefly.

“You enjoy the view, sire,” Wallace said in hushed tones, his eyes motioning to his wife’s tits, “And fear not, I shall have Cassandra here for you to bed within the hour.”

Wallace then moved off down to the other end of the bar to serve a couple of locals more ale.

Ragan smiled at Esme, and she grinned back. Now that her dress was not supported by the shoulder straps, even more of her huge cleavage was on display. Ragan could see the very tops of her areolae now peeking up just above the top of her dress.

“Well, are you enjoying the view, sire?” Esme teased, bouncing and jiggling her tits on the countertop.

“Very much, Esme, very much,” Ragan replied, “I bet your husband is sliding himself in between them every night.”

“Oh, my Lord, you are awful!” Esme giggled, continuing to bounce her tits for Ragan, “But to speak frankly, you’re right. He does love fucking my tits.”

“Any man would,” Ragan replied, grinning.

“And to be even more frank, if I may, my Lord. If I was a young girl and not married, of course, it would have been my honour to be taken to your bed for the night,” Esme whispered.

“Ah, if only I had travelled to your hometown of Varnis many years ago. Perhaps your father would have sent you to me,” Ragan chuckled.

“Oh yes, my Lord,” Esme whispered again, grinning, “And you know I would have enjoyed sharing your bed most happily.”

They both laughed as Esme refilled Ragan’s tankard of ale. She then placed a few pitchers full of ale to her right on the bar countertop and blew out a couple of the candles around them. Esme took Ragan’s hands and placed them on the countertop in front of her, and then raised her bosom and placed them onto his palms.

Lord Ragan now had his palms on Esme’s breasts, just the thin red material of her dress separating his hands from actual contact. Ragan grinned as he felt the weight of them. They really were some of the biggest breasts he had ever seen.

Esme smirked and then glanced to her right along the bar to her husband at the other end. Now Ragan realised why Esme had placed the pitchers of ale on the countertop. It blocked Wallace’s view of exactly where Lord Ragan’s hands were.

“Shhh,” Esme whispered, giggling.

Ragan ran his thumbs along her dress, locating Esme’s nipples underneath, rubbing them over and over. Esme giggled again. Ragan’s cock stirred in his undergarments. Finally, he ran his thumbs over the top of Esme’s dress and pushed them into her tit-flesh.

Ragan glanced along the bar to Wallace, who was chatting to a local farmhand at the other end of the bar. He was oblivious to the fact Ragan was happily fondling his wife’s fabulous tits.

Ragan sat at the end of the bar for the next hour or so, chatting with Esme, and from time to time, secretly rubbing his thumbs over her breasts. He did not grope or grab them, as he felt that such an action might be too obvious and be discovered, and he did not want to cause problems for Esme.

They made small talk a little, and Esme asked a little about the matters of the Court in Rhigord. She asked a lot of questions about the many women Ragan had bedded. But mostly, they spoke about the many lovers Esme had had in her youth before marrying Wallace. She had been quite a wild girl, it seemed.

But since being wed she had been a good girl. Her husband allowed the locals a good look at her cleavage when they came to drink of an evening, as it was good for business. But no man other than her husband had touched her since her wedding day. At least not until now.

“But you are a great Lord,” Esme whispered, smiling, “So I think it’s fine.”

Ragan briefly looked around the tavern. A few of the locals were looking over at him, chatting away. Ragan wasn’t worried they could see where his hands had been, as it was quite dimly lit at his end of the bar, as Esme had cleverly blown out the few candles surrounding them. Ragan suspected that Wallace had told them who Ragan was, and so they were interested in seeing the great Lord for themselves.

But they were doing so respectfully; they were not coming over and disturbing him and Esme. Ragan thought he should reward them. He stood up, moved down toward Wallace at the other end of the bar, his tankard in hand.

Wallace was again in deep conversation with his errand boy. As Ragan approached, the errand boy nodded to his employer and once again raced out through the tavern doorway.

“Wallace,” Ragan said quietly, “Let me buy everyone a round of ale.”

“Yes, my lord, of course,” Wallace replied, smiling rather nervously

The tavern owner grabbed two large pitchers of ale and went over to the first table.

“A round of ale, courtesy of the great Lord Ragan,” Wallace announced to the entire room.

A loud cheer went up. If there was anyone here unaware that they were in the presence of their great Lord, they certainly knew now. Wallace continued around the tables filling the tankards of his patrons. Nobody drank from them yet, however, waiting for the great Lord to speak.

Ragan waited until Wallace had filled everyone’s tankards, including his own. Ragan then raised his tankard high.

“Men, here’s to you, the backbone of our great land,” Ragan said.

Another loud cheer rang out from the patrons of the tavern, led by Simmons, as they all thrust their tankards high.

“And here’s to our great kingdom, our beloved Northlands,” Ragan said, a little louder.

Another loud cheer.

“And to our King in the south,” Ragan said.

This was met by a slightly more muted cheer.

“And to all the women we love and will ever love,” Ragan shouted.

A huge cheer from the men, with some laughter.

“And finally, here’s to Wallace, purveyor of fine ales. And to his wife Esmeralda,” Ragan roared, turning to Esme, “With the best tits in the kingdom!”

“The best tits in the kingdom!” came back the deafening cheer from the men and then much laughter.

Some of the men then came over to Ragan, and he shook their hands. It was important to him to always try to bring some happiness to regular folk. They didn’t have much. But they would always remember the time Lord Ragan bought them all drink, shook their hand, and shared a joke.

After shaking hands and clinking tankards with everyone assembled, he returned to Esme at the other end of the bar. The locals did not follow him but returned to their tables, leaving Ragan in peace.

“I hope that did not offend you, my dear,” Ragan smiled, sitting back at the bar in front of Esme.

“Oh, of course not, my Lord,” Esme grinned, “You honour me.”

Esme then turned away and bent right over to reach a low cupboard behind the bar. Ragan checked out her lovely arse, encased in her super tight, super short red dress. As Esme bent over further, Ragan could just make out her black knickers. Esme reached to open the cupboard door, revealing various pickled meat treats in jars.

“Do you see anything you like, sire?” Esme smiled, looking back over her shoulder at Ragan.

“Only your lovely arse, my dear,” Ragan replied, grinning.

Esme giggled and began to stand up straight again.

“Oh no, I wasn’t finished having a good look at your arse, darling,” Ragan joked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my lord,” Esme apologised and bent back down, resuming her previous position.

She grinned back at her Lord over her shoulder, wiggling her arse at him. Ragan sat at the bar sipping his beer and enjoying the view for a good minute or so. But suddenly he noticed Wallace working his way behind the bar toward them, and Ragan silently signalled to Esme. She immediately stood back up and resumed her position across the bar from her Lord.

Wallace appeared, squeezing past his wife behind the bar again.

“Thank you for your kind words, my lord,” Wallace said.

Apparently, Wallace was proud of the fact that the great Lord Ragan had made a toast to his wife’s more than ample bosom.

“Wallace, my good man,” Ragan replied, “What’s happening with this other girl you mentioned? Is she on her way?”

“Ah, my lord, I’m afraid I have learned that Cassandra left town yesterday to visit her grandparents, more than ten leagues from here,” Wallace explained, his stammer returning, “I’m sorry, my lord, but this is a small village, and few suitable young women to fulfil the Thanking custom.”

“I see,” Ragan replied, with a disapproving tone, “And yet earlier you told me not to worry, that you were a man of your word. 'May they hang me if I’m not', were your exact words.”

“Yes, yes, my lord,” Wallace replied nervously, his stammer worsening, “I have sent my errand boy riding out to another farm to seek a young woman named Hope. I pray to all the gods that this time we shall be successful.”

Wallace looked rather sheepish, knowing he had overstated the certainty in his ability to secure a young woman for the great Lord for the night. He squeezed behind his wife to pass her, pulling the shoulder straps of Esme’s dress further down her arms to her elbows. It had the effect of revealing even more of his wife’s amazing cleavage. Ragan could now clearly see the top half of her areolae, with the top hem of her dress just barely hiding her nipples.

“Please, my lord, stay here with my wife, and enjoy the view for now,” Wallace said, his eyes darting to Esme’s exposed cleavage, “Drink up, and I’m sure I will find a nice girl for you.”

Wallace then disappeared back down to the other end of the bar and began washing out empty tankards.

Ragan stared into Esme’s wonderful bosom, and a smile finally returned to his face.

“I’m sorry, my lord. I’m sure my husband will think of something,” Esme smiled, reaching for Ragan’s hands, “Here, let me cheer you up.”

Esme placed Ragan’s palms underneath her breasts again. Again, he felt the weight of them and then immediately let his thumbs run over the top of her dress and pressed them into her huge tits.

“That’s it, my lord,” Esme whispered, grinning, “You enjoy yourself.”

Ragan intended to do just that. He rubbed his thumbs across her areolae over and over again.

“Oh, lovely Esme,” Ragan sighed, “I do so want to shove my cock in between your tits and fuck them.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Esme giggled, whispering again, “I must say, if I were not married, I would very gladly go upstairs with you right now and fuck you all night long.”

Ragan smiled at the thought.

Ragan continued to sit opposite Esme at the end of the bar for the next hour or so, chatting and drinking. Once he sipped at his ale, his hands would return to cup the underneath of Esme’s bosom, his thumbs running over her breasts.

Ragan and Esme were not disturbed by any of the other patrons or Wallace either. Ragan noticed Simmons containing to play a dice game with some locals. He hoped Simmons wasn’t playing for money, as Ragan knew he was a hopeless gambler. But he couldn’t see any coin on the table, so it seemed to be a game just played for fun and bragging rights.

Ragan wondered if Wallace would come through on his promise of providing him with a young woman for the night. He certainly needed it now; Esme had gotten him all worked up. If this young woman arrived, whoever she was, Ragan would be taking her immediately up to his room to give her a proper good hard seeing to.

Ragan finally finished his tankard of ale. He was not a big drinker and had spaced out his drinking throughout the evening so that it did not affect his judgement or his libido. But he did feel the call of nature.

Ragan got up from his stool at the bar and asked Esme where he could relieve himself. She said he needed to go outside and round the back of the tavern. Ragan left through the front door and walked around the back of the premises, relieving himself into a trough fixed to the back wall of the tavern building.

He then returned inside the warm tavern, nodded to Wallace standing near the entrance, and returned to Esme at the end of the bar.

However, Esme had moved the stool he had sat on previously to the very far end of the bar. Here there was an entrance from the tavern public area for staff to access behind the bar. Esme had placed his stool here.

“I thought you might be more comfortable here, my lord,” Esme smiled.

Ragan wasn’t sure why that would be, but he nodded and sat at the stool. He noticed there was a dice game set on the bar next to his tankard.

“Are we to play a game?” Ragan asked.

“Oh no, my lord,” Esme whispered, “I know such games don’t interest you. I know what you enjoy.”

Esme then stepped closer, pushing Ragan’s thighs apart so she could shuffle forward to stand between them. Esme’s huge bust was now inches from Ragan’s face. She took his hands once again and let him cup the underneath of her bosom.

Ragan’s thumbs immediately moved to run across her tits and across her areolae once again.

“My lord, you need not be so careful now,” Esme whispered.

Ragan looked up for a moment. He noticed he was now facing directly toward Wallace at the other end of the bar. But with Esme standing in front of Ragan, and her back to her husband, Ragan was hidden from view from her husband. He also noticed Esme had placed a large boiling pot on the countertop, further obscuring the view from anyone sitting at the tables in the tavern who might look their way.

Finally, Ragan noticed it was far darker at this end of the bar than it had been before he left to relieve himself. The remaining candles at this end of the bar were all out; the only light came from the fireplace at the other end of the tavern.

Ragan’s eyes returned to Esme’s tits. He thumbed at the top of Esme’s dress, still barely hiding her nipples.

“Yes, my lord,” Esme sighed.

Ragan needed no further encouragement. Esme seemed to have arranged it so that Ragan could inspect the best tits in the kingdom in even greater detail without fear of being discovered by her husband or anyone else. He would not pass up the opportunity.

Ragan slowly pulled down the top of Esme’s dress. Her nipples immediately popped out, and finally, her full naked breasts were revealed. They were absolutely incredible. Ragan immediately pawed and groped at them.

He found even two hands were not enough to completely cover one of her breasts, let alone both. But he was determined to try. When the gods were deciding on bosoms, they had truly blessed Esme.

“Your face is cold from being outside, my lord,” Esme whispered, caressing his cheek, “Let me warm it up.”

Esme pulled Ragan’s head into her vast naked chest. Ragan felt his face enveloped in tit-flesh; his nose buried deep in Esme’s cleavage. He began kissing her huge tits over and over again.

“Ohhh, yes, my lord,” Esme sighed.

Ragan moved to suck on her nipples, first one, then the other. He massaged and groped Esme’s huge breasts, kissing and sucking them for over ten minutes, without saying a word. All this time, Esme whispered in her Lord’s ear, encouraging him.

Ragan’s cock was at its full length in his undergarments, aching and hard. His hands moved from Esme’s tits, round her sides, and down to her arse. He pulled up Esme’s short skirt and grabbed two handfuls of her knicker-covered arse, pulling her closer and burying his face back in her cleavage.

Another fifteen minutes passed by, silently from Ragan, as he continued to grope Wallace’s wife’s arse, his head buried in Wallace’s wife’s tits, while Wallace’s wife whispered encouragement and sweet nothings in his ear. And all of this just a few horse lengths from an oblivious Wallace at the other end of the bar.

“Yes, my lord, you enjoy yourself,” Esme whispered in Ragan’s ear, “Soon my husband will bring you a nice pretty young girl, and you can take her upstairs to fuck her all night.”

“Ah, fuck, yes,” Ragan mumbled in between mouthfuls of tit.

Ragan’s cock felt so hard and was pressing up against Esme. He suddenly felt her hand move down his chest and to the belt buckle on his britches.

“May I… assist you, my lord,” Esme purred.

Ragan nodded, and Esme expertly unbuckled his belt, unlaced the top opening on his britches, and slipped her hand inside. Esme soon found his cock, and pulled it out completely from his britches.

“Oh, my lord,” Esme gasped, gripping Ragan’s rigid hard cock, the bulbous head pointing right up at her tits, “It’s so big.”

Esme stared at her Lord’s big cock, marvelling at its size for a moment. Finally, she got her other hand into his britches, freeing his balls too. Esme then cupped and massaged his balls in one hand and slowly started stroking his hard thick cock with the other.

Ragan buried his face back in her huge cleavage again, enjoying the sensation of Esme’s tits on his face, her arse in his hands, and her hands on his cock and balls.

“Oh, my lord,” Esme whispered in Ragan’s ear, “You have the biggest cock I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” Ragan said, sucking on her nipples again.

“Oh, yes, my lord. ‘Tis a thing of beauty,” Esme replied.

Another few minutes passed as Esme continued to slowly stroke her Lord’s cock, and Ragan enjoyed the feel of a married woman’s tits and arse.

Ragan then just happened to look behind Esme, over her shoulder, toward the other end of the bar. Wallace was returning from the tables to the left with some empty tankards. He placed them on the bar and then looked down toward Ragan and Esme. Ragan saw Wallace’s eyes squint, presumably trying to see what was going on in the dimly lit corner at the other end of the bar.

He stood there for a moment, just squinting. Could Wallace make out where Ragan’s hands were, or where his wife’s hands were, for that matter, Ragan thought? Surely not in this light? But even though Esme’s back was turned toward her husband, the movement of her elbow moving up and down due to her stroking Ragan’s cock, seem to catch Wallace’s eye.

Wallace began slowly making his way toward them, squinting all the way.

“Wallace,” Ragan said urgently.

In a flash, Esme pulled the back of her skirt down over her arse and the front back up over her tits. She pushed Lord Ragan’s cock back into his britches, but with no time to tie up the laced top opening and buckle the belt, she threw a rag she had used to clean the bar top with over his crotch.

For his part, Ragan swiftly removed his hands from Esme’s arse and his face from her bosom. He then picked up his tankard as though he had been drinking all this time, placing his other hand over the rag on his crotch. Ragan noticed at the last second Esme pick up the dice from the bar top.

“What’s this, what’s this? What’s going on here?” Wallace demanded as he pushed past his wife in the tight space behind the bar to confront Lord Ragan.

“We’re playing dice, dear,” Esme said simply, without batting an eyelid, shaking the dice in her hand.

The motion of her hand shaking the dice exactly mimicked the motion of when she had been stroking her Lord’s thick, hard cock – at least from behind it would, Ragan realised.

“What did you think we were doing?” Esme asked, matter-of-factly.

Wallace looked flustered, slightly embarrassed.

“Ah no, please forgive me, my Lord,” Wallace stammered, giving a nervous laugh, “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. My eyes are not what they used to be. Forgive me.”

“What’s happening with our Lord’s young woman for the night, my love?” Esme asked her husband, brilliantly changing the subject and putting Wallace back on the spot.

Wallace cleared his throat.

“Well, er… no word yet,” Wallace said, rather sheepishly again, “But I have faith.”

But he didn’t seem very convinced about it, neither did Lord Ragan.

“I do hope I’m not going to have a problem here, Wallace,” Ragan interrupted, slightly menacingly, “It would be a shame if The Belles tavern’s name and that of its owner were dragged through the mud because of this… failure.”

Ragan had no intention of doing such a thing, but a slight vague threat might convince Wallace to agree to a plan forming in the great Lord’s mind. Wallace obviously had good standing in this community, as did his business. He would surely be desperate to avoid any lowering of his good name and reputation. Lord Ragan wondered exactly how far he might go to secure it.

“Ah, my lord,” Wallace mumbled, again with a nervous laugh, “Fear not, fear not. A solution will present itself. Please, I have interrupted your game long enough, please continue.”

With that, Wallace squeezed past his wife again, and scurried back behind the bar to the other end of the tavern. As he did so, Esme rolled her eyes.

“Well, that was a close call,” Ragan grinned at Esme.

“Ah not so close, my lord. I had my little plan to please you when you returned from outside,” Esme explained, shaking her dice again, “And I had my little plan if my husband should suddenly interrupt us. I do have some brains as well as great tits, you know.”

“That you do, madam,” Ragan replied admiringly, “That you do.”

Esme shook her dice again, but much more slowly, and in the motion of how she had stroked Lord Ragan’s erect cock a few moments earlier. They both laughed.

“Let me help you, my lord,” Esme said.

She took the rag she had placed over Ragan’s crotch away. Esme then took his still raging hard in one hand, cupping his balls with the other, and carefully got them safely back in his undergarments properly. She gave his cock one final squeeze, letting out a sigh, and blew a kiss toward it as if to say goodbye. Esme then slowly laced up the opening of Ragan’s britches and buckled up his belt.

“There you are, my lord,” Esme said, grinning, “All decent again.”

“Sadly,” Ragan replied. They both chuckled.

Ragan noticed some of the locals were leaving, a couple of others were paying their bill with Wallace. It was getting late, and these farmhands would presumably have to be up at the crack of dawn to work the fields tirelessly tomorrow. As they left, they all waved or nodded in the direction of their Lord at the other end of the bar as a mark of respect. Lord Ragan returned the gesture, as he too respected these men and the hard life they led.

“Almost closing time, my lord,” Esme noted.

Then a rather awkward silence between the two.

“Yes, my dear, it is,” Ragan replied finally, “Well, what now?”

Ragan assumed Esme would offer to show him and Simmons to their rooms upstairs perhaps, as it would soon time to retire to bed. Ragan wanted to speak with Wallace alone first, however. He had a wicked plan forming at the back of his mind. If Wallace didn’t come through with the young woman he had promised Ragan earlier, which didn’t look likely, he would try to bring his plan to fruition.

But Esme had other ideas.

“Would my lord excuse me for a moment?” Esme asked.

Ragan nodded, and Esme turned and made her way out of their dark corner and back behind the bar to the other end. Ragan couldn’t help notice the lovely sway of her hips as she walked away.

Wallace was collecting monies from some more locals. After they paid up, they too nodded to their Lord and made their way out. Now just eight stragglers remained in the tavern, sat across a few tables, one table still playing dice games with Simmons.

Ragan also noticed that Wallace’s young errand boy had finally returned and was sat near the tavern door. There was no sign of any young woman with him.

Esme began speaking with her husband, Wallace. They spoke in hushed tones, so Ragan could not make out what they were saying. Wallace was pointing to his errand boy as he spoke and then throwing his hands up in the air. Esme seemed to be trying to calm him down.

Wallace and Esme continued their conversation for some time, occasionally pointing down toward the other end of the bar, toward Lord Ragan. Esme also motioned toward the stragglers in the tavern.

Ragan wondered what was being said. They weren’t arguing exactly, he thought. But certainly, they were trying to work something out. Esme then spoke for some time, without interruption from her husband, whilst he just nodded.

Wallace now seemed a little defeated, Ragan thought. Esme motioned with her hand toward Ragan, and her husband nodded. Wallace seemed to collect his thoughts for a moment and then made his way back down behind the bar toward the great Lord.

“Wallace, what news?” Ragan asked as he approached.

“Ah yes, my lord,” Wallace stammered, sweating a little, “I’m afraid I have to report I have failed to arrange a young woman tonight for you. This girl Hope cannot be found; her father thinks she went to visit a friend but knows not where.”

“I see,” Ragan replied disapprovingly, folding his hands across his chest.

“But before you cast judgement, my Lord, let me just say that the fathers of Clara, Cassandra and Hope were all very honoured that their daughter might have been involved in a Thanking with the great Lord Ragan,” Wallace pleaded, “No shadow should be cast on their good character.”

“Well, seeing as their daughters weren’t in the village tonight, I agree,” Ragan replied, looking sternly at Wallace.

“As for myself, I know I did promise you something that I have failed to produce. I know that goes against all custom and reasonable law. That was my folly, my lord, and I apologise,” Wallace pleaded, “But if you would just hear me out, I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal?” Ragan asked.

Here it comes, Ragan thought.

“My Lord, I see that you have spent all evening chatting with my wife and even made a toast to her er… figure,” Wallace continued, sweating profusely, “Perhaps she might make a suitable substitution for you tonight? True, she is not a young woman, but she still has some… admirable attributes?”

Admirable attributes? She certainly had two of those, Ragan thought.

“You would have me bed your own wife instead of a young woman?” Ragan asked.

The fact was Ragan was desperate to bed Wallace’s wife, and had planned to try to convince Wallace it might be worth his while to allow it. But it seemed Esme herself had done that for him.

“My Lord, of course I know you must usually bed pretty young women all the time, but considering the circumstances, perhaps this proposal has some merit? Worth some consideration?” Wallace asked, seemingly praying to all the gods the great Lord would accept.

“And your wife agrees to this proposal? She’s not just going along with it because she fears some retribution against you because of your failure?” Ragan asked, seemingly carefully considering the arrangement, but in reality, he was ecstatic.

“Oh yes, my Lord, of course,” Wallace said, beginning to smile, hoping he was convincing his Lord, “She would consider it an honour to please you. As do I.”

“I see,” Ragan replied, stroking his chin.

“Of course, I would have to insist…” Wallace began.

“Insist?” Ragan interrupted, pretending he was offended.

“Apologies, my Lord. I mean, I would… beg. I would beg of you that this arrangement be between just you and I,” Wallace continued anxiously, “That when you and your bodyguard leave our village tomorrow, all would know I was a good host; they need not know of the details. But that my good name here, and that of my wife, would still stand in good stead, you understand?”

Ragan pretended to consider the matter a little longer, enjoying a long silence, leaving Wallace on tenterhooks, waiting for the great Lord’s decision.

“Wallace,” the great Lord said finally, “I agree to your proposal.”

TO BE CONTINUED…