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.]