Ignoring "Kitchen" for the moment, the Count of Montenegro hurried down the steps, his hands twitching in anticipation. At the foot of the stairs, he saw his brother, Antonius, and clapped him on the shoudler heavily.

"Is it true? You found the box?" he shouted eagerly, then suddenly cast an eye over his brother's shoulder at the new slave pausing in her sweeps with the broom. "You! Get on with it!" to roared at her. More quietly he turned his gaze back to Antonius. "Where is it hidden?" he hissed. "I want it now."

"Easy, brother," Antonius cautioned. "Tommorow night, I will bring it. Have no fear. The old monks guarding it don't even know what it is. It shall be yours. But I must return there now before they notice the 'new one' is missing." He clasped the Count's hand firmly and strode away.

The Count watched his brother leave with a sly grin. He was a foolish young boy, but he served his purpose and if he could truly bring the box, well...

A movement caught the Count's eyes and he shifted to watch as the blacksmith's daughter's hips swayed back and forth as she swept the floor. It seemed to the Count that his gaze penetrated through her skirts, settling on the firm young flesh of her buttocks. He stroked thumb and forefinger down the ends of his moustache and imagined the snap of his riding quirt making the woman's ass bounce and flinch from its blows. Was she one who would groan and whimper? He closed his eyes and pretended to hear her voice crying out in agony and heat. "Please, Master, more! More! I swoon..." The Count's cock grew stiff and throbbed as his reverie played on. His mind re-played the ever-sharper image of the manseed spurting from him across her reddened quivering ass cheeks as the leather tip of the quirt smeared the splashes with every blow. He opened his eyes again and walked quickly toward the woman still working her broom to and fro,

Behind her, the Count tried to stifle his gasping breath, pushing hard at her back to send her tumbling to the floor on her hands and knees. The Count knelt behind her. He grabbed the hem of her skirts and flipped them over her back in an instant and gazed hungrily down at her pale, slim buttocks. Before he even thought, his hand slapped at the skin and felt -- gratifyingly -- the yielding flesh compress and spring back. The girl looked over her shoulder at him, astonished and yet -- did he really see it or just imagine -- her eyelids were half-open and was that a smile curling the ends of her lips? He slapped her ass again, harder and watched...was that a wiggle or a flinch. He could not be sure, but as she held his gaze, he slapped once more, even harder and felt himself erupt in his trousers, his manseed spilling hotly. He reared backwards and -- still holding the woman's gaze -- was sure now that she smiled at him, her glance darting down to the obvious stain spreading over his crotch. "Slave!" he snarled at her, pushing himself to his feet and pointing at the broom still held in her hand. "Back to your work!"

The Count backed away and then turned. His hand moved down and he felt his own wetness with a soft groan. He grunted at himself and then thought of the final new "trophy" still chained to the wall in the dungeon. He nodded. "Yes," he thought, "Bed remains to be taught what it means to be my captive..."