The carved gate closed behind him, and Cyril looked around the courtyard. An elegant garden with neatly trimmed trees and bushes prevented him from seeing the entire area of the courtyard. A path wound through the flowering plants, dragging Cyril with the girl's red dress.

Cyril heard a bird flutter in the garden.

The path turned and Cyril came out on a small lawn. In the center of the lawn, a meter-high fountain gushed out of the ground.

"Do you have your own source?" Cyril asked. As far as he could tell, the water was worth its weight in gold here.

"No, Madame de Mons has leased the spring along with the estate."

'How much money does this Madame have?' He wondered, but outside he remained a careless scoundrel.

"I assume that's the name of the old lady who helped me a few days ago?"

"That's right." The girl said without turning around.

She crossed the lawn, and Cyril nodded to himself as he followed her. On the other side of the lawn, the garden changed. Cyril ducked under the arch of branches that formed a shadowy tunnel above his head.

They took a few steps down the green corridor, turned again, and came out on another lawn. The girl immediately stepped to the right, and Cyril saw a wide wooden gazebo. The gazebo was a standard of free space, and under the round roof fit at least a round table and several chairs.

Madame de Mons was sitting in one of the chairs.

"Good afternoon, young man." A recent acquaintance smiled at Cyril. The smile of this no longer young woman still exuded youth. "We finally met again."

Madame de Mons nodded to the girl behind Cyril. He looked back, and the girl in red ducked into the green corridor. It was just the two of them now.

"Well, good indeed." Cyril smiled, returning his gaze to the woman.

'I feel like at fucking high school exam.' He thought, but he didn't show any emotion, just shifted his bare feet a little.

"Are you barefoot?" Madame asked, and even half rose from the table, surprised at this novelty.

"Yes, it's more convenient." Cyril said casually, and leaned against a wooden beam. "It's nice, you know, to feel the warmth of the earth, to feel a movement of the ground water."

"You're even more interesting than I thought."

The old lady broke into a happy smile, and the dog at her feet hurried to sniff at Cyril.

"I am very glad that that unpleasant bruise has disappeared from your face." Madame added, lowering her voice. "It added to your charm, but you're much more beautiful without it."

"Grazie." Cyril said, pushing the dog away with a light kick.

Madame de Mons smiled, as if also trying to find the right words for a tete-a-tete conversation.

"What an amazing speech, Cyril. You'll let me call you Cyril, won't you?"

'Wow! Go ahead!'

"Of course." Cyril answered. "Can I sit down?"

"Oh, forgive this old lady! Your beauty has made me forget my manners." Madame said, and immediately pointed to the chair opposite. "Sit down please."

At the word beauty, Cyril felt sick, but his appearance did not change.

He sat down on a wicker chair, crossed his legs, and accepted a cup of fragrant tea. The table was covered with porcelain dishes, a pot-bellied teapot, and a couple of baskets with snacks in the form of buns and a local version of candy.

He hurried to take a sip of tea, staring into the mug so as not to vomit directly at the smiling set of wrinkles on the other side of the table. The woman was watching him intently, holding her cup with her little finger slightly bent.

"I'm thirsty." Cyril muttered, pouring more from the teapot.

'Lol, fuck, help me.' He screamed to himself at the thought of having to peel off the old woman's crust so that his cock would pass through the pus of an ancient vagina like a piston through the oil of the cylinder of their love's two-stroke engine. 'What can't I do for an answer for couple of questions?'

"This tea is grown high in the mountains of the Eastern Empire. Our clan has been trading with the East for a long time and we appreciate a quality drink."

"Oh, about the clan." Cyril said, immediately perking up, having found an interesting topic. "What kind of clan, if not a secret?"

"You're a fast boy and straight to the point?" The old lady smiled with wrinkles over her porcelain cup.

Cyril grimaced. The dog had been licking his feet for several seconds, and although it was rather unpleasant, the prospect of being licked by a dog pleased Cyril more than the idea of licking an old lady's pussy for information.

"Your dog, Madame, is licking my fingers."

"Goldie!"

Madame de Mons's face instantly became serious, and a note of disgust appeared on it. She tugged on the leash, the dog ducked back under the table, and Madame spoke in a completely different tone.

"I will answer your questions, Cyril, as soon as you please my girls."

"I'd rather decli..." Cyril wanted to answer, but felt nauseous.

'Is the tea poisoned?' A thought flashed through his mind. 'But we drank...'

He was about to add 'from the same teapot' when realized that he had not seen Madame de Mons pour anything into her cup.

'Shit.'

Cyril went limp, his body sprawled across the wicker chair, threatening to fall to the floor of the wooden gazebo.

'Why the fuck isn't the body fighting now!?' He shouted to himself. 'Fuck! I don't wanna be raped!'

Through the mist in his eyes he noticed that Madame de Mons waved her hand to someone behind him. Cyril wanted to turn around, wanted to resist, but there was nothing he could do. It was getting fainter, and the fog before his eyes was getting thicker by the second.

The next moment, he felt a hand grab him. Out of the corner of his eye, Cyril saw how thin those hands were, the bright manicure hiding the sharpness of a woman's nails.

Beautiful hands lifted Cyril from the chair and put his hands behind his back, and put a piece of sweet-smelling cloth over his mouth.

Closing his eyes, Cyril inhaled the intoxicating aroma, while another thought occurred to him that at least a gag had been inserted that was worthy of separate praise.

"Don't stand on ceremony with him, girls." Madame de Mons said sternly. "I feel a lot of power in him, but he resists. My stomach started to shake when I saw him."

"If he refuses to serve us?" Cyril heard a young voice say.

'Serve!?'

"He won't refuse." The old woman said, twisting her wrinkled nose complacently. "We've been breaking even stronger lads."

"Yes, mistress."

The girls grabbed his arms and legs and dragged him down another green corridor. This corridor ran from the opposite side of the lawn and led into the depth of the courtyard.

Cyril struggled to cling to the remnants of consciousness and had time to think that although the girls here were quite fragile, they did not have a girl's strength at all.

He blinked one last time to see the thin silhouettes against the foliage, and finally closed his eyes. The last positive thought lingered in the thick fog.

'As far as I have managed to understand the work of my body, it does not see anything dangerous here. Well, fuck you, Madame de Mons. As they say, relax, Cyril, and enjoy the party.'