Yvain knocked again on the Beldam’s door. At last, and suddenly, the door opened. The Beldam stared at her, letting her know she had interrupted something and that she was not going to know what it is. 

“Oh. It’s you. The Seigneur wants me in attendance with an instrument, to ensure you are obedient, and you learn quickly. What does he want me to bring?”

Yvain swallowed. This was hard and humiliating, and of course her Seigneur had made it so deliberately. She said, “The cane, Beldam. But he asks that first you give me twelve of the best for insolence.”

The Beldam smiled, not in a way that reassured Yvain. “Insolent, were you? Well. That was a very foolish thing to be. Still, I have the remedy. Come in, child.”

Yvain entered the beldam’s room. Like Karl’s, it had a rack with many instruments handing, canes, crops, paddles and straps, as well as things clearly intended to enter her while she was punished. There was a narrow bench, on one support bolted to the floor.

The Beldam looked at Yvain, with no sympathy but some impatience. “Well, girl, go to that bench there, and bend over. I’m not going to fix you down. This is a test of you obedience too, you know that.” 

Yvain hurried to the bench over which she was to be caned. She said, still standing, “The Seigneur said that I must be silent, no matter how hard you cane me, or how much you hurt me.” 

“Did he say what was to happen if you whine or sniffle, little slut?”

“No, Beldam. He did not.”

The Beldam smiled again. “You will of course get the stroke over, and a penalty stroke at the end of the twelve. That is as merciful as I dare to be. But I will report your failure to the Seigneur, and I’m sure he will know what to do.”

Yvain nodded. It took a great deal of effort, of self-discipline, to say, “Yes, Beldam. Thank you, Beldam.”

Then she bent over, her feet well apart, her hair hanging down, touching the Beldam’s carpet. She could only see the rug below her. It showed a hunting scene, dogs tearing at a deer. She could hear the Beldam rattling the implements, then her satisfied grunt. She dared not look, but she heard the sound – one she had already learned to recognise – of a cane whistling through the air, twice, and the Beldam’s satisfied grunt.

Suddenly she saw a long carved thing, leather tight on wood, that reminded her of the Seigneur’s cock. The Beldam held it to her mouth, and Yvain reflexively opened. The Beldam chuckled, and put her hand under Yvain’s jaw, closing her mouth.

“When I beat you in the future, you will have this in your arsehole or your little cunt, Yvain. To remind you of your Master. But this time I think I shouldn’t. The Seigneur would think it right that his cock is the first to enter those places. Well.” 

The Beldam took a step back. Yvain somehow felt rather than saw the cane rise in the air, above the Beldam’s shoulder. She closed her eyes, to focus on string quiet. 

The first stroke cut like a firebrand across the lower slopes of her bottom. She fought to keep still and stay silent. The Beldam muttered, “Good.” 

At the tenth stroke her bottom and upper thighs seemed to be on fire. Still Yvain fought to be still and silent. The Beldam was out of breath when she again said, “Good girl.” She seemed surprised. 

But the twelfth stroke was the hardest of the series, and finally Yvain let a small protesting sound of pain emerge, though suppressed, through her nose.

The Beldam sounded triumphant, though she said, “It’s a pity you didn’t make it.” Yvain endured the re-application of that twelfth stroke, and the penalty, in silence. She thought her body felt boneless, buttocks and thighs blazing, and her legs and torso utterly relaxed over that narrow bench. She hung on the bench like a wet shirt on a branch.

The Beldam smacked her left thigh. “Up, slut.” Yvain struggled to re-enter normal time and move herself. When she was back on her feet the beldam said, “You know I’ll report your failure to stay silent.”

“Yes, Beldam. It’s your duty.” Yvain surprised herself in acknowledging that. The Beldam might enjoy her cruelty, but she, like Yvain, had no choices. 

“You’re learning. And you know you thought what just happened to you was your lover’s cares. He wanted you hurt, and you want to be hurt for him. I’ll say no more. You have to know these things with your body, not your mind, Yvain.” 

Yvain was surprised. It wasn’t just that the Beldam was right, it was that she thought she was looking after Yvain. Yvain knew that the Beldam was right in that. She was. Together the two woman returned to the Seigneur’s room. 

The Seigneur was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room. He wore nothing. His cock poled upwards, and turned in Yvain’s direction when she stepped inside. 

Yvain, not sure she wasn’t a mouse, met the Seigneur’s eyes. He stood above her where she knelt. He was smiling, but what caught her attention was not his eyes. His cock – she knew what it was called, at least – jutted towards her, pointing at where her breasts would be if she were standing. 

She’d never seen one in that state before, not even Matteo, her groom. Her husband, she thought. Her adventures were making him seem further from her, smaller in her life. The Seigneur stood a step towards her, so that cock was almost touching the bridge of her nose. She found herself going cross-eyed. It was a large shaft, corrugated with veins, with a bulbous head. 

She saw and felt the Seigneur put his hand on the back of her head. He did not hold or guide her. It was more like a caress, but she knew if she resisted that hand would be firmer in its grip and more insistent on controlling her movements. She heard him say, “You remember what Gisela showed you? What you are to do?”

Yvain nodded, flustered, a little nervous. “Yes, my Seigneur. I watched carefully.” 

“Then – when I say Now; not before – take me in your mouth slowly. We’re in no hurry. You pause once you’ve taken the head in your mouth, then slide yourself forward so it’s completely in you. You relax, so you don’t gag. If you gag, or I feel your teeth, Yvain, or you let me slip out of your mouth, or I’m not satisfied that that sucking hard enough, I shall cane you. Severely.” The hand on her head caressed her hir and scalp lightly when he threatened to cane her, and the cock somehow seemed to expend slightly, though she’d not have thought that was possible. She opened her mouth, and closed her eyes. Hew said, at last, “Now, girl.”

Yvain leaned forward and caught that bobbing head between her lips. She kissed it softly, as she might a friend’s new born baby, wanting to show him some of the tenderness she felt. The head of his cock in her mouth: she wanted to remember that moment. It was less dramatic than she’d expected, and yet there was one of her virginities flown. The head of his cock was an odd mix of hard and soft: rock hard in a way, but the skin seemed soft like a peach’s.

She smiled and pressed forward, feeling his hand caress the back of her head, fondly and without force. She pressed forward, taking more of the shaft. She raised herself a little on her knees, so she could take more letting it enter her throat. She closed her eyes and thought a running water, which always calmed her, and managed to relax despite this invasion.

She moved forward again, so the cock was entirely in her mouth and throat, and her nose was in his black pubic hair. He was washed – which Matteo would not have been – and she smelled only salt, a trace of neroli oil, and something she recognised as pleasantly masculine. It was the first time she had been close to an aroused man. Now she could hardly be closer. She kissed the based of his shaft, and then drew in her cheeks, sucking hard, and slowly moved her head back. She heard his gasp and knew that sound was tribute. She was doing right and well. 

Her Seigneur breathed the words, “Good girl, Yvain,” and moved his feet further apart, so he was braced. Still moving slowly, Yvain inched her head forward, taking her lord into her once more. 

Yvain had endured the walk back to t he Seigneur’s quarters with less humiliation and more calm than she’d expected. She was naked, her bottom and flanks well marked by him and his servants, and the cane she held in her mouth that told that her experience of discipline was far from over.

She realised that she even felt a certain pride: those things were signs. They meant he possessed her, and that in turn meant it pleased him to own her, and that she was chosen. 

And if he’d chosen to make her his then so, in a way, he had given a little of himself to her.

She smiled at that thought as she walked back through the door into the the Seigneur’s room. She walked to the middle of the room and, hoping it would please him, turned to face him without waiting for a command, and sank to her knees. “May I please you, my Seigneur?” 

He laughed. “You’re getting brave, little Yvain.” He stood looking down at her. She felt a moment’s fear, cold in her belly. He said, “Don’t be afraid. I want you obedient and respectful. I don’t want a mouse.  

[Sorry. I’ve run out of time. To be continued next week.]