Yvain held her position, and her ankles, as Karl’s strap landed. The contact between that hard leather and her soft bottom was as small an instant of time as there can be, she thought. But the pain and the burn afterwards: that lasted and built. It was still deepening and spreading when the second lash came.

She kept her teeth clenched. She’d been told to take the twelve strokes in silence, and she knew she’d get extra strokes if she so much as breathed audibly. The third stroke landed. Karl was paying no attention to niceties, like letting her wait between strokes. He was simply delivering her allocated strokes with precision and efficiency.

Yvan, feeling her shame and the bright blush on her face, tightened her grip on her ankles. The fifth and sixth strokes delivered their payload of heat and pain.

Still, in her mind Yvain was relieved. She was halfway through.

But the beldam, who had been watching her flogging with – Yvain, greatly daring, had once raised her eyes to see – an ironical smile on her face, suddenly raised her hand. “Just a moment, Karl. Well, little one. I think I’ve allowed you to be too graceless while you’re being rightly punished.”

Yvain kept her position, looking down at her hands on her ankles, her feet well parted. said nothing. She knew she hadn’t been allowed to speak, and anything she said, even “Yes ma’am”, would only lead to extra strokes.

The beldam walked forward, and Yvain felt her hand on her bottom. “Nice and warm already. And beautifully coloured too. I think I can guess what position he’s going to have you in, first.” Yvain felt her blush deepen, but she said nothing.

The beldam smacked her suddenly, hard across her left cheek.

“You’re too self-composed, little one. We won’t have that. From now on,” she smacked Yvain’s right cheek, so hard the room rang with the impact of it. Then her fingers explored the soft flesh between her buttocks, and then deeper still, touching the folds of her delicate cunt.

Yvain knew she would find proof of her body’s treacherous reaction, when she had the whip. And the shame was delicious: worse, and better, than anything she’d experienced before. She felt the beldam’s fingers enter her. So easily, so well prepared for her. Yvain had to stop herself from moaning or making any other sound from that wonderful contact.

Yvain knew that Karl had watched, and now knew her reaction to his punishment. The beldam said, “A perverted girl. You will inform the Seigneur that punishment makes you wet.” She smiled again, and pushed her fingers into Yvain’s mouth.“Clean me, little slut.” She sounded almost fond.

While she still had her fingers in Yvain’s mouth, with her tongue and lips removing all trace of her own arousal, the beldam said, “You’ll count the strokes aloud, and thank Karl for each one. Then you will address me, apologise for speaking out of turn and beg my forgiveness.”

Yvain nodded, as submissively as she could. She knew she didn’t have a right to speak except exactly as she’d been ordered. The beldam stepped in front of her. She raised her hand again. “Resume, Karl.”

The leather cracked across her bottom again. The lull made it even harder to bear,.

Yvain’s voice was shrill. “Seven, thank you, Karl! And, ma’am, I’m sorry I spoke out of turn, and I beg you to forgive me.”

The beldam smiled. “No, stupid little peasant girl. Counts start at one, you should have been taught that. Wel, I’m sure you’ll remember now. You’ll call the next stroke correctly, as stroke one.”

Yvain’s heart sank. She felt a moment’s anger against the beldam, and shocked herself with that. She knew anger was dangerous, and she should be grateful for being taught what was expected from her, in this castle. The leather whipped across her bottom again, and she called out, “One! Thank you Karl!” Then she kept her head down but rolled her eyes up so she had eye contact with the beldam when she apologised and begged her forgiveness.