The English adventures of Delia continue. The subject is adult oriented. Read it forward only if you are 18 years old or more.
Far, far away from the Western Forest, the night proceeded quietly along her path towards the sunrise. A plump, happy baker was whistling and kneading the dough. From time to time, the rosy man stopped his work to straight up his back and observe, through a small window, the contour of his bride reading a book by the candlelight in their bedroom, on the other side of the courtyard. He had married after long years of bachelorhood, all spent focusing on working to increase his wealth and so being able to marry whatever girl he fancied the most. At the eve of his fifties, the baker had decided that it was rich enough and, on a visit to the local market town, he had come home with the lovely heighten years old innkeeper’s daughter as his bride.
On the first year of his marriage, the baker had focused a lot on kneading his curvy wife and very little on the dough, but after his passion had slowed down, together with his income, he had found his way to cope with the necessity to leave his bed in the middle of the night. Easily enough, every single night his wife would wake up with him, and wait for him to return to bed reading a book by the window he had especially opened in the wall in front of the ovens’ hall. The wife had to stay inside the house and never go to the bakery with him because he was way too jealous of his workers. He preferred to settle for a compromise and simply looking at her dark shadow by the window. Regardless his precautions, the young wife cheated on the baker all the time, mostly out of sheer boredom.
So, the baker continued whistling, while a coat, a rack and a flat hat were at his precious bedroom window, imitating the shape of a reading, innocent wife. The real one was down in the cellar with the man who had brought the flat hat inside the baker’s house: Matt O’ Sycophant. They had placed themselves on the flour’s bags and were mating so vigorously that, since to any thrust a little cloud of flour spread around, they were now entirely covered in white as two pine trees in a snow storm.
The two had met the evening before at the inn, while she was there to visit her father and buy some grounded coffee to help her husband waking up before sunrise. The coffee bag was big and heavy and Matt, so kind, had offered to help the woman upload it on the cart behind her horse and, after that, he had uploaded himself too, hidden under the tarp. Once at the isolated bread factory, Matt had been so gentle to download himself and the coffee directly in the cellar, totally unseen by the girl’s husband, and in the cellar, she had joined him, quite happily, in all the senses.
It had been in the middle of the action that Matt had sensed the call from his mistress. It was the kind of call no Sycophant could resist and it was also not a material one, but the ring of a bell directly inside the servant’s mind. No one else could experience that or could understand it. Every chosen head sycophant came into the world with a disposition to form a bond with the Lady, and year after year it grew stronger until the knot was tied for the life being. As his father before him, Matt was mentally bonded to every stress call from the Lady and, since the Lady had called on him, he had to go. He distanced himself from the woman and looked for his pants.
«What are you doing? »
«I must go! »
«I must go, my Lady calls me. »
«What Lady? I didn’t hear a thing! »
«No, you can’t hear it. Only I can and I must go. »
It wasn’t easy finding the trousers, with all the ground covered in flour, and when he did it, the baker’s wife robbed it from his hands.
«Woman, give me my trousers back! »
«First, you finish what you started! »
«I’ll end a damn nothing! My Lady calls me. »
«Damn your damn lady! »
«Shut up, silly woman. You don’t know who are you talking about. »
«Precisely! – Replied the woman, less and less horny and more and more angry. – Who’s this bitch? »
Matt stopped trying to rescue his trousers from the woman, crossed his arms and smirked.
«You are insulting The Ruler. »
«And you are joking. You aren’t the Ruler’ servant. »
«Oh yeah? Do you want to discuss this issue on a Moral Tribunal? Maybe after the ritual Public Confession? »
The woman froze. Matt grabbed his pants from her hands and wore it again.
«Oh, don’t worry! I am not going to declare you. But I need a way to reach my Lady quickly. Do you have any idea? »
The baker’s wife, still not too sympathetic, since she had been interrupted close to the climax, gave Matt her good advice climbed the stairs up to her bedroom. She managed to change herself with the coat, the rack, and the flat hat, without being noticed and hoped to find her husband in the right mood once he was finished with the damn bread. As for Matt, he avoided the main door and reached the stream nearby, he threw himself into its cold waters.
Then, he climbed out and reached for the bakery door.
«Help! Have mercy, help! Bandits! »
«Calm down! Calm down, I am coming. »
Answered a voice from the inside. Then the door opened and both Matt and the baker looked one another in awe. Matt was expecting a different husband for the vigorous, young filly he had just left and not this middle-aged, plump, rosy, little man. The bakery wasn’t expecting to see a young man soaked in water.
«You are soaked to the bones. – He looked at the sky to see if it was raining, the sky was completely clear. – But… how? »
«The bandits! – Screamed Matt trying to look more disarranged. – They stole my horse and threw me into the river. Please, let me in! The cold is killing me.
«Bandits? Are they still around? »
«They are long gone. They told me not to exit the river until they were far and I waited there as long as I could. Please, may I? »
«Poor guy, sure come! Come inside and we’ll warm you up. I should have some working clothes to lend you. »
Matt entered the factory and saw that it was rather big and well equipped. Soon the baker came back to him with a stack of clothes bent over on one arm and a bottle of some spirit in the other hand.
«So? What do you think, kid? I’m finished with the hard work and I just have to guard the ovens. You’ll keep me coming until the sun is up? »
Matt would have gladly spent the night in that warm, cosy factory, drinking with the baker in the bread flavoured air, but he was too worried about his lady.
«Sorry, mister. I left my Lady at the inn up in town, and I must reach her as soon as I can. God forbid the bandits understood a reach lady is all alone. »
The rosy, cheerful man listened to Matt with not much concern on his cheeks.
«Don’t mind, boy. I know personally the owner of that inn and I can tell you, his establishment is more than well protected. »
«You make my heart lighter, still I have to go. – Matt put on his best poker face. – I don’t know if you cherish someone, good man, maybe you’re married, maybe not. But I… »
«Don’t need to say anything more. Leave your satchel here, as a sign of good will, I will you lend you my cart. »
«You are a true Samaritan, but I don’t have a satchel, no more… »
«Oh, I see… »
Said the man evaluating Matt thoroughly.
After almost one hour, Matt reached the inn with the baker’s cart pulled by an old donkey. He was barefoot because the baker had asked for his boots as warranty. His hair was a mass of flour and mud and a drunk man had thrown at him rotten fruits because his arrival at the inn had awakened him. The place was immersed in an innocent quietness that worried Matt even more. He climbed the stairs four by four and was at his lady’s door in a flash, knocking on the door before stopping his ride.
«Milady, it’s me! »
After some minutes of unbearable silence, he heard light footsteps and then, his Lady talked to him in a sleepy and annoyed voice.
«Matt? What do you want? »
«Open the door. »
«What? Why? »
«I want to be sure you are ok. »
«Go to bed! I am perfectly well and I want to leave as soon as the sun rises. »
He heard the steps distancing from the door. He hit the door with an open hand.
«Milady, please! »
The steps came closer again and a scream of anger was whispered through the door.
«Stop the fuss and go to your bed! »
«But… you called me. I felt the call… »
«So, it worked! And you show up now? I’ve could be dead by now, if it was for you! »
Matt fell on his knees and scratched the door to the nails.
«Milady, I need to see that you are well. – He was almost crying – Please, please. »
But she did not open the door. After some minutes Matt rose and reached his room, adjacent to his lady’s. The pulling in his breast had diminished upon hearing his Lady’s voice but a new sting was there. He had failed the only job he had to do, to guard his Lady and obey her every order. He dragged his foot to his bed and looked at it without touching it. Instead, he grabbed a piece of soap from the saddlebag that had never left his room, a clean cloth and walked out to the water pump in the inn courtyard. He washed under the pale moonlight and if the soap did a good job with his hair, his skin and his long underwear, the water hardly washed the numbness which had possessed him after his Lady’s last words.