MTLNOVEL Chapter 26: Chapter 26
Thomas stirred awake to a wet, delicious sensation between his legs. His cock was already throbbing, enveloped in warm suction. He lifted the blanket to find Ros's red hair bobbing between his thighs, her skilled mouth working him expertly.
"Mmmmmph," she hummed around his shaft, looking up with her good eye. The other was swollen shut, purple and black from her encounter with the unhappy noble. Her tongue swirled around his tip before she released him with a wet pop.
"Fucking hell, Ros... you should be resting," Thomas groaned, though his hips bucked involuntarily toward her mouth.
"The pain's all up here," she gestured to her face with a wicked grin. "And maybe here," touching her ribs gingerly. "But my cunt? Perfectly fine - wet and ready for a proper fucking." She crawled up his body, straddling his hips. "Been thinking about this all night..."
"You're insatiable," he chuckled, hands finding her hips.
"Mmmm, and you love it," she purred, grinding against his hardness. "Besides, nothing makes pain fade like a good hard cock."
Thomas sat up, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth. Ros gasped, arching into him. "Careful with the bites today... still tender..."
He gentled his approach, using just his tongue to tease the sensitive peak. His hands slid down to cup her ass, spreading her cheeks. "How do you want it?"
"Every way you can give it to me," she breathed, reaching between them to grasp his cock. "But first..." She lifted herself, positioning him at her entrance. "I need this..."
She sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch. Her wet heat enveloped him as she settled fully in his lap. "Gods yes... fill me up so good..."
"Fuck, you're tight this morning," Thomas groaned, fighting the urge to thrust up hard.
"Been saving it for you," she rolled her hips experimentally. "Now stop being gentle and fuck me proper."
Thomas gripped her hips harder. "Turn around. Want to watch that ass bounce."
Ros complied eagerly, spinning in his lap without letting him slip out. She braced her hands on his thighs, giving him a perfect view as she began to ride him in earnest.
"Like what you see?" she teased, looking back over her shoulder.
"You know I do," he smacked her ass lightly, making her yelp and clench around him. "Look at you, taking my cock so well..."
"Harder," she demanded, pushing back against him. "Make me feel it..."
Thomas grabbed her hips, meeting her movements with powerful thrusts. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mixed with their heavy breathing and Ros's increasingly vocal moans.
"Right there... fuck... don't stop..."
He reached around, finding her clit with practiced ease. She bucked against his hand, her movements becoming erratic.
"Gods, you're going to make me cum already..."
"That's it," he encouraged, rubbing faster circles. "Let me feel that pussy squeeze me."
Ros arched her back, grinding down harder. "Need more... need it deeper..."
"Come here then," Thomas growled, pulling her back against his chest. The new angle let him thrust up deeper while his fingers continued their work on her clit. His other hand cupped her breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.
"Yesss... like that..." she panted, head falling back on his shoulder. "Fuck... I'm so close..."
"Not yet," he withdrew suddenly, making her whimper at the loss. "On your knees, face down."
She scrambled to comply, presenting her ass high in the air. "Please... need you back inside..."
Thomas positioned himself behind her, teasing her entrance with his tip. "Such a needy little thing this morning..."
"Stop teasing and fuck me!" She tried to push back but he held her hips still.
"Ask nicely," he smirked, enjoying her frustration.
"Please... please fuck me Thomas... need your cock so bad..."
He slammed home in one thrust, making her cry out. "Like this?"
"Yes! Gods yes... harder!"
He set a punishing pace, the bed creaking beneath them. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks as he pounded into her willing body.
Ros buried her face in the pillow, muffling her increasingly loud moans. Her walls were beginning to flutter around him, signaling her approaching climax.
"That's it," he encouraged, reaching under to rub her clit again. "Cum for me... milk my cock"
"Fuck... Thomas... I'm... FUCK!" She came hard, her whole body shaking as pleasure overwhelmed her. Her inner walls clamped down on him rhythmically.
The sensation pushed Thomas over the edge. He buried himself deep with a groan, pumping his seed into her eager cunt. They collapsed together, panting heavily.
"Now that's... what I call... a proper wake-up," Ros managed between breaths.
Thomas chuckled, carefully pulling out. "Feel better?"
"Mmmuch," she purred contentedly. "Though I might need another dose of medicine later..."
"You're incorrigible," he kissed her shoulder. "But there'll be important guests today - royal inspectors. You should rest up here where it's quiet. Or if you're feeling up to it, you could help in the kitchen."
"I'll see how I feel after a nap," Ros yawned, already curling up in the warm spot he'd left. "Wake me if you need me..."
Thomas watched her drift off before heading to prepare for the day ahead. His body felt pleasantly relaxed despite the challenges awaiting him - sometimes Ros's particular brand of medicine was exactly what he needed.
Thomas made his way downstairs, finding Lyra and Marla already filling large copper tubs with steaming water in the kitchen's back area. Steam rose in the cool morning air as they added herbs and soap shavings.
"About time you joined us," Marla smirked, giving him a knowing look. "Heard quite the commotion up there."
"Ros needed some... attention," Thomas said, stripping down to his smallclothes. The women did the same, keeping their underthings on as they took turns scrubbing in the hot water.
"She doing any better?" Lyra asked, working soap through her dark hair.
"Better enough to be demanding," Thomas chuckled. "Though she needs more rest."
They bathed methodically, paying special attention to hands and under fingernails. Thomas had drilled these habits into them over months - cleanliness wasn't just for show, it was crucial to food safety.
Once clean, they dressed in their finest clothes - nothing fancy by noble standards, but clean and well-mended. Thomas wore a crisp white shirt and dark breeches, while the women donned their best dresses.
They attacked the kitchen with renewed vigor, though it was already spotless by medieval standards. Thomas checked every corner, every shelf, muttering to himself.
"The spice rack needs reorganizing... and these pots could use another scrubbing..."
Ros appeared mid-morning, moving carefully but determined to help. She wore a clean dress that covered most of her bruises.
"You should be resting," Marla chided, but pulled out her special balm - a mix of herbs and honey that helped with bruising.
"Can't sleep with all this commotion," Ros winced as Marla applied the balm. "Might as well make myself useful."
After Marla sent Ros back upstairs to rest, she left to check on her daughters, making sure they were presentably dressed for the inspection.
Thomas stood staring at his kitchen, doubt creeping in. Lyra noticed his expression and touched his arm gently.
"What's wrong?"
"What if we're not good enough?" he voiced his fears. "This isn't some common tavern anymore - this is for the bloody king..."
"You're the best cook in the city," Lyra insisted, pressing closer. "Everyone knows it. Even the king himself said-"
"The king was drunk," Thomas cut her off. "And this isn't just about taste. The royal kitchen has standards, procedures..."
Lyra's response was to drop to her knees, hands already working at his breeches laces. Her fingers made quick work of the knots.
"What are you- Lyra, the inspector could arrive any minute!"
"Then I'll be quick," she grinned up at him, freeing his rapidly hardening cock. "But you need to relax..."
She wrapped her delicate fingers around his shaft, stroking him to full hardness. Her tongue darted out to taste his tip, gathering the bead of precum that had formed. "Mmmm... always so tasty..."
"This is mad..." Thomas protested weakly as her warm mouth enveloped him. Her tongue swirled around his crown before taking him deeper, one hand working his shaft while the other cupped and massaged his balls.
"Fuuuck..." he groaned, threading fingers through her dark hair as she took more of his length. She hummed around him, sending vibrations through his cock that made his knees weak.
Lyra worked him expertly, knowing exactly how he liked it. She alternated between long, slow strokes and quick, shallow ones, her tongue pressing against the sensitive underside of his cock. Her free hand squeezed and rolled his balls gently.
"Gods, your mouth..." Thomas panted, watching his cock disappear between those perfect lips. Lyra looked up at him through her lashes, taking him deeper until he felt the back of her throat.
Lyra relaxed her throat, taking him all the way down until her nose pressed against his pelvis. She swallowed around his length, throat muscles rippling along his shaft.
"Holy fuck..." Thomas groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair. His hips twitched forward instinctively but Lyra didn't gag, just took him deeper. Strings of saliva dripped down his cock as she pulled back slowly, leaving it glistening wet.
"Like that?" she purred, pumping him with her hand while catching her breath. Her thumb rubbed circles over his sensitive tip, spreading the mix of precum and spit.
"You know I do..." he panted. "That fucking mouth of yours..."
She grinned wickedly before diving back down, bobbing her head faster now. Her hand twisted around the base of his shaft in time with her movements, the other still massaging his balls. Wet sucking sounds filled the kitchen as she worked him relentlessly.
Thomas felt the familiar tension building. "Lyra... fuck... I'm getting close..."
She just doubled her efforts, looking up at him with those big dark eyes as she deep-throated him again. The sight of his cock stretching those perfect lips, combined with the incredible sensation of her throat constricting around him, pushed him over the edge.
"Cumming..." he warned hoarsely, but Lyra didn't pull back. Instead she pressed forward, taking him to the root as he exploded down her throat. She swallowed every drop, her throat working around him as he pumped his load directly into her stomach.
When his spasms finally subsided, she slowly pulled back, giving his sensitive tip one last swirl of her tongue before releasing him with a wet pop. She made a show of licking her lips, a satisfied smirk on her face.
"Better?" she asked innocently, tucking him back in his breeches.
"You're as bad as Ros," he helped her up, pulling her close for a deep kiss. He could taste himself on her tongue, mixed with her own unique sweetness. "But thank you... I needed that."
"I know," she smiled against his lips. "Now stop worrying. You've got this."
The heavy thud of carriage wheels and horses' hooves made them jump apart. Thomas hastily retied his breeches while Lyra smoothed her skirts, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand just as thunderous pounding echoed through the tavern.
"By order of His Majesty's Kitchen!" a voice bellowed. "Open these doors!"
Thomas threw open the heavy wooden door to find Master Chef Guillaume - a mountain of a man whose fine velvet doublet strained against his impressive girth. Beads of sweat dotted his ruddy face despite the cool morning air.
"So this is the place," he wheezed, mopping his brow with a silk handkerchief. His small eyes darted around the main room suspiciously. "Where peasants claim to cook food fit for nobility."
Two younger men flanked him, carrying wooden boxes filled with implements and scrolls. Guillaume waved a ring-laden hand. "Show me where you prepare the food. And pray there are no rats."
Thomas led them through to his kitchen, heart hammering. Guillaume's nose twitched as he took in the room, moving with surprising grace for his size.
"Hmph. At least it doesn't reek of rotting garbage like most tavern kitchens," he muttered, running thick fingers along the work surfaces. He paused at the hearth, examining the arrangement of pots and spits.
"Your fire setup... not completely primitive. But where do you hang your smoking meats? How do you age your game?"
"The smokehouse is out back, sir," Thomas answered. "And we have a separate cold room dug into the hillside for aging."
Guillaume's eyebrows rose slightly. He began opening every container, jar and crock, taking deep sniffs and occasionally tasting with a silver spoon one of his assistants provided.
"These spices... genuine saffron? Grains of paradise? How does a common cook afford such luxuries?"
"We have arrangements with certain merchants," Thomas chose his words carefully. "They appreciate fine cooking."
"Hmmm." Guillaume reached the wine racks. "And these vintages? Also... arrangements?"
"All properly purchased and documented," Thomas produced his ledger. "We serve some merchants often enough to warrant keeping better stock."
The master chef spent the next hour testing everything - from the sharpness of knives to the cleanliness of the well water. His assistants took careful notes as he barked observations:
"Copper needs proper tinning... wooden boards need replacing... spice organization is chaos... but these knives... maintained better than some royal cooks..."
He turned suddenly, jabbing a thick finger into Thomas's chest. "The king claims your venison brought tears to his eyes. Says your pheasant pie rivaled his grandmother's. High praise from a man who once had a cook beheaded for serving tough mutton."
Thomas swallowed hard. "His Majesty is too kind."
"Kind? HAH!" Guillaume's laugh boomed off the walls. "The king is many things. Kind isn't one of them. But he knows food." He pulled out a scroll bearing the royal seal.
"You understand what's being offered? A position in the royal kitchens isn't just about cooking. It's about ceremony. Tradition. Hierarchy. Every dish has centuries old requirements that might even feel stupid but are important. Mistakes aren't tolerated."
"I understand, sir."
"Do you?" Guillaume's eyes narrowed. "Your first month would be just learning the proper way to present spoons to ranking nobility. Three months before you're allowed to touch a royal pot. A year before you cook anything the king might eat."
He thrust the scroll forward. "But you pass. Barely. The position is yours if you want it. The king demands you start immediately."
Thomas glanced at Lyra, then through the doorway where Marla stood wringing her hands. He took a deep breath.
"Master Guillaume, I'm deeply honored. But... would the offer hold for eight months hence? There are... obligations here I must fulfill."
Guillaume's jowls quivered as he studied Thomas. "Obligations? A common cook refusing immediate entry to the royal kitchens?" He mopped his brow again. "Explain yourself, boy."
"Marla there," Thomas nodded to the doorway, "Her husband died owing money to unsavory types. I promised to help clear the debt. And Ros upstairs is healing from..." he paused. "A noble's temper. I gave my word to protect them."
"Ahhhh," Guillaume's expression shifted. "Honor among the low-born. Rare as hen's teeth." He tucked the scroll into his doublet. "The king enjoys his hunts in these parts. I shall return in eight months to sample your cooking properly. If it pleases me then..." he let the implication hang.
As the master chef and his assistants lumbered out, Thomas sagged against a table in relief. Lyra rushed to embrace him.
"You did it!" she pressed herself against him, hands already wandering. "We should celebrate..."
"Later," he promised, though his cock twitched at her touch. "First we need to tell everyone!"
The news spread quickly. Marla's daughters squealed and danced while their mother wept with joy. Even some regular customers joined the impromptu celebration, raising toasts to their soon-to-be royal cook.
As evening fell, the tavern grew rowdier. Wine flowed freely, and Thomas found himself constantly pulled into embraces and congratulatory kisses. Ros had come down despite her injuries, serving drinks with her usual sass.
"Our Thomas," she grinned, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek. "Soon to be cooking for kings!"
"Eight months," he reminded her, settling his hands on her hips. "Plenty of time for more... cooking lessons."
"Mmmm," she ground against him subtly. "Speaking of lessons..."
But before she could finish, Lyra appeared, eyes bright with wine and desire. "Thomas... upstairs... now." She grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the steps.
Ros laughed. "Save some for me later!"