The castle appeared long before he was close, towering over the surrounding village and forest. The hunting party had been out for almost a week, and Sir Tristan was tired and aching. He couldn't wait to get in front of a warm fire and enjoy the feast that would be waiting, and then later on visit his wife's chamber. He had married Lady Nimue only last month, and had been called away constantly since then on official business and hunting trips. Although they had consummated their union, Tristan had not been able to see her as much as he'd like.
The men arrived at the castle and gave their horses over to the stablehands. They carried the winnings of the hunt to the servants, who would prepare the meat. He didn't even have to ask for a bath to be drawn—Tristan's closest servant had already made the arrangements. He spoke to Tristan as they made their way upstairs.
"We have heard nothing from the Duke over the past week," his servant, Gareth, said. "The villagers have been settled. Nothing of note has occurred."
"And how is Lady Nimue?" Tristan asked. He had been concerned about leaving her alone so early into their marriage, but he had faith in his servants.
"She is very well," Gareth said, with a strained tone to his voice that Tristan didn't catch.
As soon as Tristan had settled into the bath, scented with herbs and flower petals, Gareth left him alone and Tristan allowed his mind to wander to Lady Nimue. She was from a noble family many miles away, and their marriage had been arranged for some time. Tristan was pleasantly surprised when he saw her, however. In fact, he was more than pleasantly surprised. Lady Nimue had a pale, oval face and long, dark hair. She was thin and gave an almost ethereal aura. Dressed in her finery, she looked like a fairy queen, delicately floating through the stone halls of the castle.
As he thought about their wedding night, Tristan rested his head against the bath and allowed his hand to drop down to his not insignificant manhood. Images from that night flashed before his eyes—firm, small breasts, soft skin, wet lips, and a dark warm place that first enveloped his fingers and then his cock. He felt himself becoming harder and pleasured himself as he thought about that beautiful, lithe body. He pumped his hand up and down with increasing speed until finally a rush of semen floated into the bath water.
"My Lord, the feast is ready," a voice called from the doorway. Tristan hoped that Gareth hadn't heard too much, but gave it no more thought. He dressed in warm furs, suddenly feeling ravenous. His recent emission had made him feel calm, almost sleepy, but the thought of seeing Lady Nimue in the flesh piqued his interest. He made his way to the great hall, where a large crowd of his men and the ladies of the court were already gathered. The hall was rowdy, the stone walls amplifying the sound of the feast, the hanging tapestries doing little to dampen the echo. Tristan took his place at the head of the table, prompting everyone to sit down. As soon as he took the first bite of food the hall would follow—but the empty chair next to him was not only perplexing, it meant that he could not begin. He could not start the feast without Nimue.
"Where is she?" He whispered to Gareth.
"She is...slightly indisposed, My Lord," Gareth whispered back. "She will be arriving shortly." Tristan felt the first prickles of irritation. This was highly irregular and reflected poorly on him.
As if on cue, Lady Nimue came nimbly running down the back passageway into the Great Hall.
"Apologies, My Lord, for my tardiness," she said to Tristan with a curtsey.
Tristan looked into her face and saw her cheeks were flushed and she appeared slightly out of breath. His irritation evaporated as he gazed into her beautiful dark eyes.
"Not at all," he smiled at her. She was so young, so naive. She had much to learn about the ways of this castle, and about her new duties and responsibilities as a wife and the Lady of the castle. Tristan and Nimue sat together at the table and began to eat, signalling the beginning of the feast. The entire castle was celebrating a good hunt, and safe return of Tristan and his men. There would be plenty of meat to last them through the coming winter, as well as furs to make into blankets and floor coverings.
The great hall filled with conversation and smells of meat, bread, and ale. Tristan ate until he could barely move and began to feel sleepy again. He turned to Nimue, only to find her chair empty again.
"Gareth!" He hissed. "Where is Lady Nimue?"
"She...had business to attend to, My Lord," Gareth stuttered.
"What business can that possibly be? Her business is to remain here as my wife!"
"Yes—yes, My Lord," Gareth said. "I will make sure she returns immediately." Gareth scurried off into the depths of the castle. Tristan shook his head. This was impossible—could customs really have been so different in Nimue's home? It was the only explanation Tristan could find to explain his wife's mysterious behaviour.
The feast dragged on, and Gareth did not return. Tristan wanted to find Nimue and Gareth himself, but he couldn't leave until everyone had finished eating. He knew his responsibilities as Lord had to include the wellbeing of his subjects, but he could barely sit still as he became more and more anxious. Finally the dancing began, and Tristan found that he could sneak away, just like Nimue had.
The castle was quiet and cold as he set off in search of his wife and his most important servant. The sound of feet scurrying down the passageway got closer until a lady-in-waiting appeared, illuminated by torchlight.
"Stop! Where is my wife?" Tristan demanded, but the lady simply curtsied and shook her head, and continued scurrying away. Why was everyone acting so strangely tonight? It didn't make any sense.
Tristan stood at the door to Nimue's bedchamber. He heard muffled voices coming from inside. As her husband, it was his right to enter at any time, yet something held him back. A feeling of apprehension crept through his chest. He took a deep breath and opened the door.
Nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared him for the sight in front of him. Nimue was on her hands and knees, naked, being fucked from behind and sucking another guy's cock at the same time. Tristan couldn't find the words. He gasped, and finally managed to sputter out her name in a choking voice.
Nimue looked up at him with her dark eyes, her mouth full of another man's cock and her body shaking with each pump as the man behind her fucked her with abandon. She didn't stop. She didn't seem to even react. It was as though she thought this was completely normal behaviour. Or worse—that she wanted him to find her this way.
Tristan knew he should be angry, outraged even. His wife was fucking two other men at the same time. She was acting like a common whore, not like a Lady. She was making him a cuckold. She was humiliating him. But he didn't feel these things. Watching Nimue's firm breasts swing back and forth with each thrust was making him feel something entirely different. This seemed calculated. It seemed as though Nimue wanted this, planned this, and was now inviting him to watch. She looked him in the eyes and moaned loudly as the cock in her mouth erupted with semen. He watched as she tried to swallow it all, but it dripped out of her mouth in long elastic strings. Tristan walked over to her. "Nimue—what is this?"
"I need to be fucked by real men," Nimue said. "I need more than one cock, Tristan. You're not enough for me."
