The church bells of Pievale ring out across the hills. The villagers gather together scrubbed clean and dressed smartly for a wedding of true minds. Cripin - clean-shaven, suited, and radiant with nervous joy and the divine Lucy: a vision in ivory...

Circe stood in the middle of the stone circle in Piedale's west field, where four ancient cursus lines converged. To one side lay a barrow, guarded by two taller monoliths. The enchantress placed her hand upon them. Once, they had been knights -- pro...

Late afternoon sunlight cascaded through the high windows of Cerise's studio, catching dust motes that floated like suspended thought. The strange sculptures stood in contorted silence: men with boar's heads, wings for arms, and a vast unfinished pie...

They say the penalty for pride is rarely sweet -- but in Pievale's confectionary works, today's retribution would be syrupy, sticky, and mercilessly pink. For the fifth penance is about to be delivered by two of Crispin's quietly smouldering conques...

Interlude Coffee and Cream In the sweet aroma of Rosie's Bakery Café, five lively young women gathered over coffee and pastries, the air thick with cinnamon and scandal. Their laughter bounced off the tiled walls, unfiltered and unrepentant, drawin...

In a chamber steeped in shadow, only the flickering light of candles offered reprieve. At the heart of the room, the penitent knelt before Circe - cloaked in humility, spine bowed, and breath shallow. Behind him stood a grotesque semicircle of carve...

The sun shone high above the thatched rooftops of Pievale, bathing the yard behind The Cock Inn. The scent of ale and baked sugar lingered in the air. Jenny, buxom and bold, leaned against a barrel, her arms crossed under her ample bosom, still flus...

After a pause, Crispin speaks. My first penance, fearsome Circe, is owed to Jenny the buxom barmaid of The Cock Inn. I bedded and discarded the wench like a lord flicking wine from his sleeve. Many's the time since I've shown my brazen face and og...

In the quaint village of Pievale, new gossip spreads like warm butter on toast: a mysterious artist had taken the old mill cottage by the brook. She called herself Cerise -- flame-haired, eyes like storm-clouds, a laugh that is half promise, half war...

Roger and I shuffled to centre stage on cue, a few bars after 'tea for two' began playing on the PA system. Both of us were stark naked, save for two small balloons each of us clutched between our thumbs and forefingers, one masking our private part...

My American girlfriend Jo and I are very competitive in a friendly, sexy kind of way and exact regular messy forfeits from each other as a consequence of various wagers or bets. Jo is quite short at 5 foot 2 and is a bit conscious of her height. From...