I left the Great Hall with a massive smile on my face. I had just saved a peasant family from starvation, told the King's taxes to go to hell, and secured a brand new, thick-thighed maid for my personal collection. For a guy who died choking on a pizza, I was doing great.
I walked up the spiral stone stairs toward my bedroom. The stairs were uneven and covered in a thin layer of slippery green moss. This place is a death trap, I thought, holding onto the damp wall. One wrong step and I'll break my neck before I even get to see Bess in her new uniform. When I reached my room, the heavy wooden door was already open.
I stopped in the doorway and just watched. Bess was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the stone floor with a hard brush. She was still wearing her heavy, rough peasant dress. It was a crime against fashion, but right now, the view was spectacular.
Every time she pushed the brush forward, her hips swayed. The thick wool pulled tight across her backside. She was working hard. Really hard. The room was cold, but her face was bright red, and heavy drops of sweat were rolling down the side of her neck.
I took a quiet step inside and took a deep breath.
God, that's the good stuff. The smell hit me right in the chest. It was the heavy, salty scent of a girl who had worked in the dirt all morning and was now scrubbing floors all afternoon. There was no fake perfume. No chemical soap. Just raw, warm, human sweat. It was a solid S-tier smell.
"You missed a spot," I said, leaning against the doorframe.
Bess jumped. She dropped the brush with a loud clatter and spun around. She was panting, her chest heaving up and down. The top of her dress was dark with sweat, clinging right to her massive cleavage.
"M-My Lord!" she gasped. She quickly scrambled backward, trying to stand up, but her heavy skirt tangled around her knees.
"Relax, Bess," I said, walking slowly into the room. I kept my eyes locked on hers, but I was definitely looking lower. "I told you I have very strict standards for hygiene. I am just here to supervise."
"Yes, My Lord," she whispered. She looked down at her dirty hands. She was terrified of me. The rumors about the "mad Lord" were definitely scaring her, but I also saw a tiny bit of relief in her eyes. Scrubbing my floor was hard work, but it was better than eating rocks in the village.
"This brush is terrible," I said, looking at the sad piece of wood and pig hair she dropped. "And this bucket is leaking."
I pointed to the wooden bucket next to her. A small puddle of dirty water was spreading across the stone floor.
"I am sorry, My Lord," Bess said quickly, her voice shaking. "It is the only bucket Marta could spare. I will clean it up right away."
"No, no. A Lord must provide good tools for his workers," I said, puffing out my chest. I wanted to impress her. I wanted to show her I was a hands-on kind of boss. "Let me show you how to fix a leaky medieval bucket."
I walked over and grabbed the thick rope handle of the heavy wooden bucket. I yanked it up, planning to show her how to tighten the wood panels.
I forgot two things. First, I had the upper body strength of a modern gamer, not a medieval blacksmith. Second, the bucket was rotten.
The moment I pulled the bucket up to my chest level, the bottom completely gave out.
CRACK.
"Oh, shit—"
Three gallons of freezing, dirty, soapy water dropped straight down. It hit the stone floor like a bomb and splashed everywhere.
A massive wave of dirty water hit Bess right in the front of her dress. She let out a high-pitched squeak as the freezing water soaked through her heavy wool skirt and bodice.
I stood there, holding an empty wooden ring and a broken rope, completely frozen. My boots were soaked.
"My Lord!" Bess gasped, wrapping her arms around herself. She was shivering instantly.
"Well," I said, dropping the broken wood. "That didn't work. But look on the bright side. The floor is very wet now."
Bess looked down at herself. The heavy wool of her dress was completely soaked. And because it was wet, it was heavy. The fabric clung to every single curve of her body like a second skin. The rough fabric turned slightly see-through over her chest, showing the dark shapes of her nipples hardening from the cold water.
My mouth went dry.
Accidental wet t-shirt contest. Thank you, gravity. "You are soaked, Bess," I said, my voice dropping an octave. I stepped closer to her. My boots squished on the wet stone.
"It is freezing, My Lord," she chattered, her teeth clicking together.
"You can't work in wet clothes. You'll catch a fever," I said smoothly. I stopped right in front of her. She was barely an inch shorter than me. The cold water had mixed with her heavy sweat. The smell of wet wool, cheap soap, and her natural musk was blowing my mind.
I reached out and lightly pinched the wet fabric on her shoulder.
"This dress is ruined," I whispered, leaning my face a little closer to her neck. I could feel the heat radiating off her skin, fighting against the cold water. "You need to take this off. Right now. I have to inspect the... fabric damage."
Bess's eyes went wide. Her breath hitched. She knew exactly what I wanted. She looked at the open door, then back at me. Her hands slowly moved to the laces at the front of her wet dress.
"Yes... My Lord," she breathed.
Bess's eyes went wide. Her breath hitched. She knew exactly what I wanted. She looked at the open door, then back at me. Her hands slowly moved to the laces at the front of her wet dress.
"Yes… My Lord," she breathed.
She pulled the first lace loose with trembling fingers. The soaked wool parted inch by inch, revealing the deep valley between her heavy breasts. Dark sweat stains bloomed across the fabric, making it cling to her skin like a second layer. I stepped closer, eyes locked on every movement.
"Slow," I ordered, voice low and rough. "Make me wait for it."
Bess bit her lip and obeyed. She tugged the next lace deliberately, letting the wet dress peel open one slow centimeter at a time. The heavy fabric stuck to her skin, peeling away with a soft, wet sound. When the dress finally slipped off her shoulders and pooled at her waist, the full smell hit me like a hammer — thick, warm, honest farm-girl sweat mixed with the earthy tang of a girl who had been working in the fields all morning.
SNIIIIIIIIIIFFFFF
I buried my face straight into the damp fabric still bunched between her tits and inhaled so deep my eyes rolled back. Salty. Heavy. Real. The kind of musk that only comes from honest labor under the sun. I groaned against her skin and dragged my nose slowly upward, sniffing every inch of her cleavage.
"Fuck, Bess… you smell like a proper peasant whore after a long day. That thick, warm tit sweat is perfect. Keep going. Show me the rest."
She whimpered but kept stripping, pushing the wet dress down over her wide hips until it dropped to the floor. She stood there in nothing but a thin, sweat-soaked shift that was practically transparent. Dark patches soaked the fabric under her arms, between her thighs, and right over her pussy. The outline of her hard nipples and the soft swell of her cunt lips were clearly visible.
I didn't wait. I grabbed the hem of the shift and slowly peeled it upward, letting my fingers drag across her skin. The fabric was warm and heavy with her sweat. I lifted it to my face and buried my nose in the soaked underarm section.
SNIIIIIIIIIIFFFFF
"Jesus Christ… that armpit smell. Thick. Salty. Like you've been working those tits all day just for me." I sucked the wet fabric into my mouth, tasting her raw sweat while my other hand slid down and cupped her bare pussy. She was dripping. My fingers came away shiny and coated.
I brought those fingers to my nose next.
SNIIIIIIIIIIFFFFF
"Fuck… your cunt smell is even better. Sweet and thick and desperate. Smells like a girl who's been thinking about her lord's cock while she was out in the fields."
Bess was shaking now, breathing hard. I pushed two fingers into her mouth so she could taste her own juices while I pressed my face between her heavy tits again, sniffing and licking the sweat that had pooled there.
"Tell me how wet you are, Bess," I growled against her skin, voice filthy. "Tell your lord how much your peasant pussy is leaking just from me sniffing your dirty clothes."
"I-I'm soaked, my lord," she moaned around my fingers. "My cunt is dripping down my thighs… I can feel it every time I move…"
"Good girl."
I dropped to my knees, yanked the soaked shift completely off her, and shoved my face straight into her pussy. I licked her slow and deep, tasting every drop of her thick grool while my nose ground against her clit. Then I moved lower, spread her ass cheeks, and dragged my tongue across her sweaty asshole.
SNIIIIIIIIIIFFFFF
"Even your asshole smells perfect after a day in the fields. Musky. Earthy. I could eat this ass for hours."
Bess cried out, legs trembling. I kept licking her asshole while two fingers pumped into her dripping cunt, curling hard against her G-spot. The wet squelching sounds filled the room. Her juices ran down my chin and coated my hand.
I pulled back just enough to look up at her flushed face.
"From now on, every time you finish working in the fields, you bring me these wet clothes and you let me sniff and lick every inch of you. Understand?"
"Yes, my lord…" she whimpered, voice breaking. "I'll bring you my sweaty dress… my dirty panties… my asshole… anything you want…"
I grinned, face shiny with her juices, and shoved my tongue back into her ass while I fingered her harder.
"That's my good little peasant slut."
"Ahem."
The dry, cranky cough came from the doorway.
I groaned and pulled my face away from Bess's neck. I turned around, ready to yell at whoever was interrupting my S-tier wet wool inspection.
It was Willem. Of course it was Willem. He was standing in the doorway, holding his ledger. But he wasn't alone.
Hiding slightly behind Willem's thin body was a girl. She looked about nineteen years old. She was tiny, with wide, terrified brown eyes and messy brown hair. She was holding a stack of folded, clean linen sheets like a shield to protect her chest.
"Willem," I growled, crossing my arms. "I am in the middle of a very important hygiene inspection. The bucket exploded. It was a structural failure."
"Clearly, My Lord," Willem said, looking at the puddle of dirty water, then at Bess's half-unlaced dress, and finally at my completely unashamed face. "I apologize for the intrusion. But Marta asked me to bring the new girl to you."
"New girl?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Willem stepped aside and gently pulled the tiny girl forward. She looked like she wanted the stone floor to open up and swallow her.
"This is Lila, My Lord," Willem said, sighing heavily. "She is the newest maid. Marta said if you are going to force Bess into the Keep's service, Lila must show her where the servant quarters are. Before you... 'inspect' her to death."
I looked at Lila. She was young, shy, and totally innocent. She looked at Bess's wet, exposed chest, then looked at me, her face turning bright red.
Lila, my brain purred. The shy one. Oh, this is going to be fun.
"Welcome to Ravenhold, Lila," I smiled, flashing her my most unhinged, perverted grin. "Grab a mop. We have a lot of wet spots to clean up."