"Well then," the noble youth breathed at last, "let us get both of the lazy peasant sows out here and we shall see how well they turn the wheel with my whip dancing across their idle backs!"

Vulkan nodded curtly to his sergeant-at-arms; a barrel-chested giant of a man, who immediately disappeared into the nearby cottage to emerge a few moments later dragging the two terrified woman behind him, his huge fists buried in their tangled hair.

"On your knees before Prince Vulkan you mangy sluts," growled the lackey, pitching both females face down into the dirt as he spoke.

The prince slapped his quirt under the wife's quivering chin and jerked her face up to the sky. The woman may have once been enough, but after twenty odd years of over-taxed poverty and unending toil, her face was lined and tired looking and the sagging bundle of her bosom seemed almost to reach down to her waist. Allowing the mother's head to fall, Vulkan next tapped the plaited haft of his quirt under the daughter's chin and was pleasantly surprised to find a fresh and decidedly pretty face suddenly looking up at him, fear and uncertainty writ clearly in the cast of the large, moist brown eyes.

"Stand up trollop," the prince commanded, his voice softening subconsciously as all thoughts of putting the young girl to the mill wheel faded. His erstwhile peevish mood suddenly began to mellow. The girl climbed hesitantly to her feet to stand fidgeting – gnawing fretfully at the fulsome redness of her lips. She averted her doe-like eyes as the prince lifted her homespun calico dress to expose her shapely teenage thighs; the smooth, pale flesh leading his lascivious gaze inevitably up to the downy pubic mound with its delicate, tightly sealed lips nestling below the gently curving dome of her belly.

"Very well, sirrah," the prince said at last, his rage finally subsiding, "I will grant you more time to pay. But that time and my father's inconvenience must be paid for by an afternoon's use of your charming daughter here."