Sir Lancelot du Lac did nothing wrong.

"That's it...Gawen...grind my meat..."

Gawen relished that sound. A cool night breeze rustled the curtains, but the fair maiden refused the sheets that lay abandoned at the end of the bed. His lady savored the taste of his salami on her lips, humming with content. Her delicate fingers fondled his tenderloin tips, the chill leaking in through the castle walls. Medium-well. What a delicacy. Her mouth moved upwards to his double bacon burger breasts, milking the lewd noises from her beefy boy.

His hands gripped the binds tightly, the rope digging red tracks into his lean flesh. Gawain loved the feeling of being trussed, vulnerable to her basting and tenderizing. His closed eyelids flickered ceaselessly with each new moist sensation. A shameless whimper escaped his lips when his meat was discarded, but not for long, for he was flipped on the mattress, his rump roast exposed to the night air. Gawen knew the important of making sure each side was *thoroughly* seasoned before it could be enjoyed fully.

"Mm, boneless, my favorite..." Gawen crooned, digging her nails into his bottom sirloin. A string of unintelligible cries and whines trickled out of the constrained knight, as he pressed his throbbing sausage into the mattress. She caressed and tenderized the meat before flipping him over once more, crawling slowly up his trembling and flushed form. The panting blonde fought against the restrains once more, his hips thrusting upwards wanting to sheath his frankfurter in her whole wheat bun. With an amused laugh, Gawen removed herself from his writhing form, stroking a finger down his cheek and lower still.

"Now, now. It's important to let the meat rest after cooking..."