"I used to do this for my father when I was a little girl," she giggled as her nimble fingers dealt easily with the various puzzles.

"What about your husband?" asked Vulkan mischievously.

She met his eyes with equal mischief, "oh! the severe and upstanding seneschal, Count Maximilian of Baxendale, only allows his specially trained squires to touch his precious armour," she intoned, struggling to affect a deep, masculine baritone.

Finally, she pulled off the last piece of plate, the long, ornately tooled cuisse girding his right thigh. Her lovely face froze in disbelief for an instant, the heavy metal slipping from her fingers to clatter on to the floor as she stared at the unmistakable, snake-like bulge of his huge shaft stretching the suede of his breeches. The bulbous head was clearly outlined just above the knee where the constant weeping of his pre-cum had soaked through the soft hide.

"My God!" she breathed, trailing the tip of her index finger along his hardness, "are all the men of Janudor so handsomely endowed?"

Vulcan laughed derisively, "I hardly think so madam."

"Then I can count myself to have been doubly lucky today," the countess smiled somewhat tremulously. Nonetheless, her fingers went unhesitatingly to the fastenings of his padded under doublet.

"I must see you," her voice sounded trapped in her throat as she spoke, "all of you."

When she finally had him naked she sank down between his knees and assumed a position akin to worship in front of the throbbing cock-staff. Her finely chiselled nostrils flared as she breathed in his heavy, cloying redolence. After a full minute of the most intense inspection, the countess looked up into the satyr's slitted eyes, her expression one of complete, all consuming greed.

"My Lord, hear me," she whispered hoarsely, "all of my life I have been addicted to the flesh of strong men.