The Seigneur looked down at Yvain, who had her maidservant Gizela over her knee, bottom the colour of tomato. He said, “I’d wondered what that noise was. I mean, it’s a familiar enough sound, but I was surprised to find you making it.”

“My Seigneur, have I done wrong?”

“Of course not. I told you it’s part of your job to keep your servant in order. Though you’re more her slavegirl than her servant really, aren’t you, Gizela?”

Gizela’s face was suddenly nearly as red as her bottom.

“Yes, Master.”

“Good girls, both of you. Now, Gizela, get up now.”

“Yes, Master.” Gizela kissed Yvain’s thigh, murmured, “Mistress,” and stood, facing the Seigneur.

He smiled, again. “Gizela, you’re a provoking girl, aren’t you?”

“I try to be, Master.”

“Hah! Well, we’ll both finish your discipline later. Your mistress may not be allowed to use implements, but you’ll find that I am.”

“Yes, Master.” Gizela’s eyes still sparkled. This was a promise, not a threat.”

“Go and stand in the corner there, Gizela, hands on head, and don’t move or make a sound until you’re told.”

“Master.” Gizela removed herself to the side of the room, knowing she was making that corner far more interesting with her presence. Yvain glanced at her once, then looked up at her Seigneur. “My Seigneur. May I make your guests welcome?”

“Please.” The Seigneur stood aside. “Beldam, you first.”

The Beldam entered, looking sternly down at Yvain, who she had flogged, or ordered flogged, several times in the past. She did not smile.

The Seigneur said, “Beldam, you have lost the right to discipline either of these two girls. Discipline of the girl in the corner is shared between Yvain and me, while discipline of Yvain is solely a matter for me.”

“Yes, my Seigneur. I understand.” If the Beldam had any feelings about what was, effectively, a demotion, she did not show it.

“And you will from now on address Yvain as, ‘Mistress’. And Yvain, you now have the same limited right to punish the Beldam when necessary as you have with Gizela.”

The Beldam said, “My Seigneur.” She bowed her head to Yvain, and said, “Mistress.”

Yvain thought for a second. She had fear to overcome. Then she said, “You will address me as ‘My Mistress’, Beldam, or I see you join Gizela, in the same place and posture, and clothing, waiting for my hand.”

The Beldam stared at her. That was quite unexpected. Then she said, “Yes, my Mistress. I’m sorry, of course.”

The Seigneur smiled. “It is the wheel of fortune, Beldam. And have no fear. Even as things change, you will still have an honoured place.”

The Beldam nodded. She had already accepted the change. “My Seigneur.”

The Seigneur waved her back to the wall, and she took her place, out of the way, watching what happened.

The Seigneur stepped away from the door. “Come in, Alfredo.”

Two men entered, one in red and gold vest, doubloon and tights, in the fashion of the island of Angleterre. The other man followed his master, wearing only a small iron collar round his neck, attached to a chain in Alfredo’s hands. His buttocks and the backs of his thighs blushed as brightly as Gizela’s. He was embarrassed by, but unable to hide or suppress, his erection.

He stared, pleading, at Yvain. It was the man who, just two days ago, had married her: Matteo.

Yvain lay on her stomach, her Seigneur’s cock slowly shrinking but still present in her anal passage. His head was beside hers and she tried to smile at him, perhaps kiss him. But his eyes were closed and his breathing deep and slow. He had, as she’d heard village women say men sometimes would, fallen asleep. 

She made kissy lips at him, but she wouldn’t disturb him by moving for a real kiss. Fortunately the bed was soft and deep, so although he weighed more than her, and it took most of his weight. She closed her eyes too.

When she woke up he had gone. She said, “Wha’? Where?”

Gizela appeared. “He went out. He said he had something he had to show you. I’m sorry, but I don’t know where he’s gone.” 

Gisela was supposed to address her as ‘mistress’. For the first time in her life, Yvain felt a certain kind of urge. The Seigneur, of course, must feel it always. She said, “Why did you not address me as mistress?”

“I’m sorry, Mistress.” 

“Gizela, I didn’t ask for an apology. I asked for an explanation. Why did you address me without proper respect?” 

Gizela smiled. “I didn’t disrespect you, Mistress.”

Yvain knew her duty, then. And she knew what Gizela had been pushing for. “Still no explanation, Gizela! And then you dare to argue with me?” She saw the cane lying on the bed beside her pillow. She indicated it without touching it. “Fortunately for you, my Seigneur has forbidden me the use of implements on you. Or the whole castle would hear your pleadings. But you, little slavegirl, get over my knee. Now!”

Yvain sat up then, to allow Gizela to place herself over her lap. Yvain rested her hand on the small of Gizela’s back, and saved down at Gizela’s offered, vulnerable bottom and thighs. Gizela was still red, the stripes still visible, from the last flogging she’d had at Karl’s hands.

Yvain felt no pity. She knew the comfort of that feeling from the warmth in her own bottom, where the Seigneur had caned her late last night, before taking her anally. She said, knowing what the answer would be, “Are you sorry, little slavegirl? Gizela?”

“I never disrespected you! So how can I be sorry?” 

Yvain smiled. She would never play that game with her Seigneur, but she recognised it. She said, “See that hourglass, on the drawers beside the bed?”

“Yes.” Still no ‘mistress’! Yvain recognised now how provoking these games of defiance could be. She felt certainty in herself that the punishment she was about to administer was just. And she would enjoy giving it. That Gizela would enjoy it as well was a mere detail. “Turn the hourglass over.”

Gizela said, “Yes,” in the most sullen voice she could produce, and obeyed. The sand began to run. Yvain, for the first time in her life, brought down her hand on another girl’s buttocks, intending to give hurt and, though they would not openly acknowledge it, pleasure.

Gizela said “Ow!”, not with complete sincerity, while the clap of that first spank still rang in the room. Yvain pressed harder on the small of Gizela’s back, and continued the spanking, her hand targeting Gizela’s bottom and thighs, sometimes moving, sometimes aiming a series of hard spanks, most unfairly, onto the same spot. Gizela wriggled and kicked and squealed, though she made sure she didn’t fall off her mistress’s thighs. 

Yvain said, “Who do you belong to?” Then she resumed the spanking, harder than before.

“The Seigneur!” 

“And who else?” 

“I used to belong to Karl!”

“Heavens, girl, I wish I was allowed to cane you!” Gizela was suddenly still. Yvain stroked her fingers along the slavegirl’s cunt. She was, of course, gloriously wet.

“I will beg the Seigneur to give you permission, mistress.”

Yvain smiled. She knew that she and her slavegirl had embarked on sex together, and that if the Seigneur was out for much longer she would find a better use for Gizela’s tongue. She resumed the spanking, now using all of her strength, holding nothing back. Gizela’s moan, for the first time, felt real.

The punishment had finally begun. Yvain said, “Do you think you can come, just from my punishing you?”

“If you let me press my cunt hard against your thigh, mistress. I didn’t dare.”

Yvain shrugged impatiently. “You may.”

It was like a soft wet flower was kissing her right thigh. She resumed the spanking, still as hard as she could. Gizela’s buttocks and thighs were now a bright crimson, against which Karl’s marks were still visible as darker lines.

The hourglass was running down. Yvain removed her hand from Gizela’s back, still spanking with all her might, and slipped two fingers of that hand inside Gizela’s cunt. The slavegirl screamed, laughed and sobbed, suddenly bucking hard against Yvain’s thigh, toes tight clenched. 

Then there was peace. Mistress and maid, softly breathing together. At last Gizela said, “Turn that hourglass again, Gizela.”

But she had barely resumed the spanking, setting Gizela crying and wailing again, when the door opened. It was the Seigneur. He gazed down on her, surprised and it seemed pleased. She felt rather than saw that there were people behind him.

Yvain said, “My Seigneur. I’m dealing with disrespect.” She smacked Gizela again, while he watched.d.

Yvain lay across the bed, feet wide apart on the floor, her bottom slightly raised, for her Seigneur’s attentions. Her maid, Gizela, leaned over the other side of the bed, to hold Yvain’s hands and murmur encouragement while her Seigneur caned her.

Yvain looked in Gizela’s huge, dark eyes throughout her punishment. It was the hardest discipline she had endured to that moment, but when she thanked him breathlessly for each stroke she meant it. 

The Seigneur said, “You’ve been a good girl, and brave. Last stroke, Yvain.” She heard the cane swish through the air, not touching her, and she knew he made the sound to tease her, and try  her courage.

Gizela whispered, “The last one is always the hardest. Just hold my hands tight, and stay in place.”

The Seigneur was silent and apparently motionless behind her. He wanted her to experience the waiting, the conflict in her between the pain and her use of that pain to intensify her desire.

The pain seemed somehow both sexual and … right. It ruled her as she wanted to be ruled. She feared it and wanted it, at once.

At last with no warning the cane lashed her, with a sharp loud, rattan across soft flesh, snd its brand of fire across her bottom, reaching over to bite into her hip. Yvain yowled, since she hadn’t been told she was to be silent, but fought the urge to squirm and kick. Her eyes, now tear-filled stared into Gizela’s, as if taking strength from them. The pain burned and slowly became tolerable, fire becoming warmth. She was both relieved and somehow faintly disappointed that her discipline was over. “Twelve, thank you, my Seigneur.”

She felt his hands then, cupping her bottom, then his fingertips gently stroked, pressed and explored her twelve raised stripes. “You’re such a good girl.” 

Yvain smiled, though her tears still flowed. She liked being good, and loved his admiration for her when she was. Then his hands clasped her hips. She recognised that: it was the way he’d held Gizela when he’d buggered her. She reached back to take his cock in her right hand.

He was hard, like wood in soft silk. He gasped at the contact with her fingers, and Yvain again knew how much of the power she had, in this room. 

She placed his cock to the entrance of her little hole, and tried to relax, as much as she could to allow him entrance. He pressed forward, and she found herself yielding in one sudden moment, and his cock was inside her. Just the head, and at that penetration, that invasion she raised her head, and breathed, “Aaah.”

She felt him trembling with the effort of self-control, though he’d been less gentle with her than he’d been with Gizela. She knew he wanted to take her slowly, and at the same time to plunge deep and hard into her. She said, “Please. Please, hard, my Seigneur.”

She heard him take an exasperated breath. It wasn’t her place to make such requests. Then his grip tightened on her hips and he lunged forward, filling her in one thrust. Yvain raised her head again: “Yaaarrh!”

The Seigneur let go of her hips then, and ran his hands along her belly, and then held her breasts, his cock firmly in place. Yvain thought she could feel his pulse, in the large vein along the top of that cock. They were joined more completely than they’d ever been. The cock in her stretched her, and it was a sensation unlike anything she’d ever felt before. As with the discipline, but more unambiguously pleasurably, it felt like his conquest and her very willing surrender. She was his, and she’d never felt that so much before.

At last, her Seigneur withdrew till just the head of his cock was still inside. Then he thrust forward, and she remembered to relax to give him easy access, and squeezed her muscles on him the next time he withdrew. She knew it maximised his pleasure, but it was also a signal that he was welcome, and that she didn’t want him to leave. She was serving him and being served.

She felt him reach back to spank the side of her bottom and smiled. They moved together, fucking slowly and strong, Yvain missing his cock when it withdrew and feeling somehow warm when it returned to fill her and their bodies pressed together. She said, “Oh my Seigneur.”

He spanked her again. “My good little piglet. My Yvain.” He sped up then. Yvain struggled to continue her routine, squeezing on the withdrawal, and relaxing for the thrusts, but as he began to fuck her harder it got harder to time her reactions. She suspected he no longer cared, but she did her best, though they were moving together faster, and then faster.

His right hand spanked her again, and his left reached under her to stroke her cunt. She gasped with shock and pleasure, and kept still for a time, frozen while he fucked her hard and stroked her. At last she felt a sensation build in her, a wall or wave of pleasure, that needed to burst. Remembering what Gisela had said, she breathed, “Permission?”

“Hmm?”

“Permission? May I come, my Seigneur?”

His hands returned to her hips and he fucked her hard now, using her for his pleasure. At last he said, “No. Not yet. Hold on, Yvain. Stay on the edge.”

His hand returned to her cunt, his cock driving her hard, pushing her further onto the bed, putting more of his weight on her. thighs and back. Yvain wailed.

At last, though it may have been only seconds later, he said, “Now! Now come, girl.”

The wall or wave collapsed, and Yvain felt herself carried over some obstacle into a world where everything moved, and she was in bliss and she was helpless. She wailed again, this time in lost pleasure. A few seconds later she felt her Seigneur pause for a second and then thrust somehow deeper than he had before. She felt him come, the throbbing of his cock and the little, anticlimactic but important splash of his fluids inside her.

He lay full on her, his thighs between hers, his hands on the backs of her hands. He said, “Good girl, good girl, good girl. Yvain.”

Yvain sighed. She’d feared that being buggered would hurt and give her no pleasure: how could it? But she was in a new world now. Like she’d climbed a wall into some hidden garden. She said, “O my Seigneur. My good Seigneur.”  

Yvain watched as Gizela reached back to take her Seigneur’s cock and hold it positioned against her little hole. Yvain thought it seemed impossible for her Seigneur’s cock to enter so small and tight a place. Gizela looked over at her mistress. “You hold his cock and guide it in. It’s more comfortable that way. And no matter how much you relax, there’s always some resistance, until the head of his cock’s inside. And with all the lube, you can have it going skating off, which you don’t want.” Then she looked down at her pillow. “Ready, master,” she announced. 

Yvain watched as the Seigneur pushed forward. He seemed to be trying to be gentle. After a brief pause while Gizela held him and held her breath, he suddenly moved forward and Gizela was impaled, the glans of her master’s cock in her bottom. The shaft was still outside, connecting their bodies. Gizela squealed and let go of the Seigneur’s cock, since her hand was no longer needed.

She nowused her hands to hold her buttocks spread for him. She said to Gizela, her voice muffled by pillow, “Even the first time, it won’t hurt nearly as much as you fear. Some girls learn to like it, over time, but I don’t think that’ll be you. I think you’ll be like me, and experience it as deeply hot, right from the start.”

Yvain said to her servant, “It does look very … intimate.”

Gizela turned her head and smiled, while the Seigneur pushed slowly forward, taking her deeper, and, Yvain was sure, feeling every inch or fraction of an inch that he gained. Gizela’s was high-pitched now, and sounded out of breath. “It’s – UH! – very personal and very sexy. But mistress, you have to remember that you’re there to serve his pleasure, so you keep yourself open and relaxed until he’s all the way in.”

The Seigneur smacked Gizela’s flanks, fondly, and pushed until their bodies were pressed tight together. Gizela said, “Once you start to fuck, the master likes you to squeeze his cock with your muscles, holding him tight when he withdraws a little, and then relaxing so there’s no resistance when he presses forward. So you have to stay focussed on his movements. Understand, mistress?”

Yvain, with some sense of being daring, put her hand on her Seigneur’s buttocks, feeling his muscles stretch when he withdrew, and tighten when he pushed forward. He murmured, “Good girl,” as he continued to fuck Gizela. Yvain wondered which of them he meant. Prtobably both of them, she decided.

Minutes passed, and Yvain watched her Seigneur fucking her maid. His face was almost a mask, intent on actions and sensations. At last Gizela whispered, “Permission to come, Master? May I come, please?”

The Seigneur smacked Gizela’s flank harder. He slowed down. “No, Gizela. Of course you can’t, and you know it. Who comes first?”

“You do, master, unless you wish it otherwqise.”

“Well yes. But out of the two of you, who gets to come first?”

“Mistress!”

“I think I’ll ask your mistress to remind you of that, in a while. We’ll see how hard her hand is. Now.” He withdrew from Gizela entirely, causing her to moan, briefly, with frustration. His face seemed to soften when he looked at Yvain. “So. I hope you paid attention to your maid’s lessons. And you’re ready to apply them.”

“I will do my best, my Seigneur. My utmost.”

He smiled. “Of course you will. Now, Yvain, tell your maid to get up and get back to work. She needs to bring us a warm, soapy cloth.”

Yvain passed on those instructions, and Gizela disappeared obediently into the antechamber that held washing water and the jakes. Yvain said, “Shall I put myself in position, my Seigneur?”

“Not quite yet.” Gizela emerged with the cloth. The Seigneur said, “Yvain, what order do you give your maid now?”

“Gizela, wash your master’s cock. And then re-apply the lube.And do it properly if you don’t want to feel my hand.”

The Seigneur laughed, and applauded, with perhaps a trace of irony. “Excellent! You’re always a clever girl, Yvain! Now, what should you do next?”

Yvain looked at her Seigneur. She remembered what Gizela had told her, that she would be taken this way after she’d been punished, when that was necessary. And, she knew, she had twelve strokes of the cane coming. She said, “Gizela!”

“Yes, mistress?”

“Fetch the cane and give it to your master!” Then she looked down at the Seigneur’s feet, she hoped looking suitably demure and submissive. She said, “My Seigneur, and then I bend over the bed. For whatever you choose to do with me?”

The Seigneur stepped forward, and took her in his arms. He kissed her, his hands holding her slim buttocks, his cock pushing, hard and slippery against her belly.

Yvain bent over the bed and tried to relax her rectal muscles as her new servant, Gizela, had advised.She knew how to clench, but she wasn’t sure she knew how to relax those muscles. She’d never thought of trying before. 

She decided to not clench and send a wave of thoughts about relaxation to that part of her body. She had no idea whether it worked or not. But Gizela said, “Good, mistress!,” so perhaps it had. Her servant put her forefinger inside her hole. Yvain managed to stop herself from tightening to repel that invasion.

She felt the woman’s finger enter her, easily, past the second knuckle and then all the way in. Gizela’s finger felt strange, but not, she had to admit, unpleasant. She could feel in herself the familiar quickening in her pulse, that strange sensation of yearning, a kind of emptiness, in her cunt and she knew she was blushing, not just her face but lower, her collarbones and the upper slopes of her breasts.

Gizela withdrew that finger at last, and Yvain took a sharp breath. That finger had made itself welcome, and now she missed it. “If you were anyone else, mistress, I would smack your bottom now. Just out of fondness, and because you look so adorable. Doesn’t she, Master?”

The Seigneur had been watching the two of them, and his cock made it clear what he thought, or at least felt. He smiled at Yvain. “I’m just a bit thicker than Gizela’s finger, but the principle is the same. Gizela, little slave, I think it’s time you assumed the position. Yvain, you’re to watch carefully.”

Gizela said, “Of course, Master,” and and bent over the bed, feet wide apart on the floor, knees bent, her hands holding her buttocks  slightly parted. 

Yvain smiled. Gizela was so charming, and she liked her role so much.

She knew she had a lot to learn from Gizela about that too, as well as about practical things like taking her Seigneur’s cock in her bottom. Then the thought of her own bottom reminded her suddenly of the cane, not far out of reach, and she remembered to say, “Yes, my Seigneur.”

She supposed her body would remind her, from now on, when she was forgetting a courtesy to her Seigneur, or considering disobedience. That twinge from the flesh of her bottom, reminding her of the the strap and the cane and her Seigneur’s hard hand, would come and warn her of inevitable consequences. She wondered if this was what being trained meant. Anyway, she was learning not just with her mind but with her body.

It occurred to her to wonder what she was being trained to be. Would she be a slave like Gizela? Or something else? Somehow she had faith that her Seigneur would make sure she liked the answer.

The Seigneur, meanwhile, had arisen from the bed. He stood with his feet between Gizela’s, looking down at the girl, posed, poised and open for him. He smiled at Yvain. “This will be you, very soon. Exactly this position, little one. Will you be able to do that for me?”

“Of course, my Seigneur!” Yvain smiled at the absurdity of the question. There was nothing difficult about the position. And while she might once have thought it humiliating, somehow she had forgotten that. Shyness was gone.

The Seigneur smiled down at her. “Of course you can.” Then he turned his attention to Gizela, drawing a sharp gasp from her by stroking her sensitive lips. Then he put his hands on her hips, bent his knees a little so the head of his cock was poised in the air, almost touching Gizela’s little hole.

He said, “You have a duty to take care of your servants, as I do, Yvain. You will make it easier for little Gizela if you take that bottle and coat my cock now.”

“Yes, my Seigneur. But she is lubed for you, is she not?”

He laughed. “Of course. But you use as much lube as you think you’ll need. And then you add more so that you’re certain it’s too much. And then you add more. Understand? And were you given an order?”

Yvain felt her cheeks suddenly chill. “Yes, my Seigneur.” She reached for the jar and took a large dollop in her fingers and then stroked her Seigneur’s cock. It leaped under her touch, like a trout, she thought. She added more. He was so powerful, and yet so sensitive just then and so much in her control. 

“Good girl. Now watch, Yvain.” The Seigneur reached down and placed his cock so the head was touching Gizela’s little hole. He paused, two women holding their breaths.

Today I finished the third draft of my third non-erotic novel, that’ll come out under another name, and sent it to beta-readers. 

I’m going to start my new novel, also non-erotic, and VERY FUCKING LITERARY, the day after Boxing Day. It’s going to be: 

1.  Very angry, though funny as well so it’s not too depressing to read, about the way poor people get fucked over by the rich and powerful;
2. Full of stuff I usually avoid, like digressions, bits of learned show-offy but hopefully interesting stuff, direct address from the author to the reader, all that stuff;
3. A show-case for what a fucking genius I am. 

Usually I’ll say I’m quite a good second-rate writer, but there’s a fire burning in me to make something important that might outlive me. This next thing is my claim, the serious theme approached in an entertaining game-playing way, to being a writer you have to pay attention to.

Anyway, I’m writing this drunk on post-victory champagne, so in vino equus cacas. 

Larvatus prodeo. (I advance masked.) Terribly wanky thing to say, but I live and move forward, when I can, masked.

2021 has been one of the most productive years of my life. It’s also been one of the least happy. The truth is that I’ve been sleeping alone for most of this year, and that is not at all my natural condition. But the pandemic makes it hard to have casual sex, let alone to find a live-in lover. 

So I’ve spent a lot of this year lonely. I have a lot of control over my emotions, so I don’t feel how miserable I know that, objectively, I must be. I’m not letting that in. 

I’ve been neglecting Jaime Mortimer, the person and persona a bit lately, because the Other Guy is busy being a Great Artist. I’ll fix that in 2022, though The Other Guy is still going to get the lion’s share of my energy. 

I’m enjoying writing the Droit de Seigneur series, and I expect it’ll make a very hot book one day soon. It’s some of my sexiest writing. There are other stories that, if you search back in my blog, I stopped before they’d got to a, as it were, climax, and I’ll go back to them and finish them too.

But I need to love and be loved. I need to be a strict, loving Dom. That’s who I am, and it’s been absent in my life for too long now. It’d hurt like fuck, I know, if I let that knowledge, that awareness of absence, come into me emotionally. 

Anyway, tomorrow I drive an ex-girlfriend 100 miles so she can pick up her mother and bring her up the mountains for Christmas. I’ll spend xmas day with them, because I sympathise with the ex-gf, who has mum issues, and now her mum is losing her once-brilliant mind to Alzheimers, so they’ll never get it sorted.

But I’ll look after that mum so the ex-gf can cook and stuff. Until her boyfriend arrives. I get on with him, so I’ll stay and we’ll talk. 

The day after Boxing Day I start the new literary book. I should give Jaime Mortimer time to do another book, but the fire burning in me at the moment is literary. I’m burning sexually, but in the sense that I want someone in my bed, preferably enjoying doing as she’s told and being made happy.

That helps literary creativity, but that’s not the important thing. The love between Dom and sub is important, and I’m missing that. 

So here I am. Creative peak and life trough. I’m going to enjoy Christmas, even if it takes a certain amount of denial. Whether you are enduring or loving life, I hope you have a good, loving Christmas and a better 2022!

Yvain watched Gizela, her body pale except for the stark reddish-purple of her spanked bottom and thighs, fumble in a drawer in the chest in the corner.

The woman bent over more than she needed to to reach in the drawer, stealing a glance back to check if Yvain and the Seigneur were watching.

She returned, carrying a small glass bottle of some clear fluid, or gel. She gave the bottle to  Yvain. “Mistress, you open this, and I suggest you dip a finger in, to feel its consistency.” To the Seigneur she said, “Master, you’re going to begin in me, while I teach my mistress, and then you’ll finish in her?”

“You are right, little slave.”

“Oh! I hadn’t expected that status!” Gizela seemed proud, genuinely pleased and honoured. Yvain guessed the word must have a different meaning, inside the castle. “My master’s cock is about to take two girls, one of them a virgin. I suspect it feels very lucky.” And, Yvain noticed, that cock was getting fatter and longer, even as Gizela spoke of it. “May I kiss your lucky cock, Master?”

The Seigneur frowned, though he was not displeased. “Just a kiss, little minx. If you try to suck me I’ll cane you.”

Gizela bent forward over the bed, again with more than a trace of theatre, and kissed her master’s cock, with every sign of fondness. It stiffened under her mouth, and the Seigneur could not hold back a brief grunt of pleasure when Gizela applied her tongue. Vain averted her eyes then, and dipped her finger in the lubricant. It was an odd consistency, not liquid nor solid either,

When she moved that finger against the next, unlubricated finger, the two layers of skin slid together with incredible ease. Gisela withdrew from the Seigneur’s cock and crawled backwards to Yvain, wiping her mouth with her knuckles. Yvain glanced at her Seigneur’s cock, now fully erect, and for some reason she found herself blushing.

Gisela took the bottle from her. “All right, my lovely mistress, first I’m going to lubricate my own arse. You’ll be expected to do that in future, whenever you suspect your Seigneur will want to take you that way. It’s always his choice after he’s punished you, for example, so when you present yourself to be whipped, you should be ready to take his cock the second he puts down the whip. Or the cane or the crop or strap or paddle or birch. Mistress?”

“Yes, I understand. I will be in position for him, and he will want to fuck me in a way that emphasises that I’m serving his pleasure, and that my pleasure is unimportant?” 

The Seigneur heard the uncertainty in those last words, and said, “Always my clever girl! Yes, that’s the way we claim it is. In reality I think you’ll find a lot of pleasure in having your arse filled and fucked, once I’ve warmed you up.” 

Yvain smiled. “It is my duty to believe everything you tell me. But also, I believe you.”

The Seigneur smiled at her, but looked at the cane. “Borderline insolence, Yvain. Don’t forget you have twelve strokes coming to you. You just made them a little harder.” 

“I’m sorry, my Seigneur. But I do believe you. I will enjoy,” – she said the next words clearly, because she had never spoken this way before, and she wanted to remember it – “having your beautiful cock in my arsehole, fucking me as hard as you want, after you’ve flogged me. I know I will.” 

The Seigneur leaned forward and kissed her mouth, his arms round her. She opened her mouth to take and return his kiss, stroking his back, feeling his spine under her fingertips. She sighed. This man had been cruel to her, had used her, and had promised to do worse. And she was in love with him. She smiled under his kiss. He broke off to look in her face. Yes, she realised, he loved her too, or he was coming to. She said, “My cruel Seigneur. I will love whatever you do.” 

“And I you, little Yvain. We have things to talk about. But that’s about the future. Right now I want you to pay attention to Gizela’s instruction.”

Gizela bent herself over the bed, legs wide apart so Yvain could watch. She dipped her finger in the lubricant, turning the bottle to ensure she got a good coating, and then slid that finger into her little hole.

“You must do this first. Your finger is nowhere near as thick as his cock, so you have to work the lubricant well inside. Make sure you coat the outer two inches of your hole.” She reached for the bottle, and took more. “You can’t use too much. I mean, the more the better. Use more lubricant than you think you’ll need, then more still, and then more, and then you’ll be about right. It’s your duty to make sure you’re well lubed. He likes to hurt you with his hand, or whatever’s in his hand. Not with his cock.”

Yvain watched Gisela apply about six coats of the lube into her hole, her forefinger going in to the second knuckle, and turning once it was inside. At last she said, “I think you can fuck me in perfect comfort, master.” Her tone was impudent. Clearly, spankings did not hold her back for long.

Then she turned to Yvain. “Usually you’ll be expected to do this for yourself. Though you can order me to do it for you, when there’s enough time. But this time I’ll do you. I’d like to be sure you’ll enjoy your first time without problems. Now bend over, mistress, and relax your rectal muscles. Well, relax all your muscles.” 

Yvain, commanded to watch Gizela’s spanking carefully, sat up, still holding Gizela’s ankles, looking up between her opened legs as she lay across her Seigneur’s lap. The Seigneur smiled at Yvain, then let one finger slide into the deep crease between the woman’s buttocks and thighs and slide along her pretty, pouting lips. Gizela whimpered and her body shook. The Seigneur put his hand on her bottom, to hold her still.

He said, “Yvain, Gizela is going to show you how to please me while I fuck your beautiful bottom. But first she needs this so she can settle down and be the good girl she secretly wants to be. In that you’re a lot alike.”

Yvain thought she’d never be as brave or as teasing as Gizela. She endured punishment and found she enjoyed it.

But she’d never invited it, and she suspected she never would. It wasn’t her place. “We are alike, my Seigneur. But her bottom is more beautiful than mine.” 

He stared at her, disconcerted. “I hope you’re only saying that. You are more beautiful than Gizela. What she is, is cute. Immensely cute. Men like that, and so do I, but it’s a lower coin than beauty.” 

Gizela heard that and wiggled her bottom, partly in protest and partly in invitation, Yvain guessed. The Seigneur smacked her for the first time, and then, while that slap still rang in their ears, smacked her again, on her other side. He slipped his hand down to console Gizela’s cunt again. “You know, little Gizela, exactly why men watch you and want you. You are very pretty, and you are too cute to resist, and you exude sex like a rose exudes scent.” Gizela made a happy noise, as least as much from what the Seigneur was doing with his hand as from his words. 

“Actualy,” the Seigneur continued, “I shall take this girl off Karl. He will be allowed to choose his next project for himself, and I’m sure he’ll be happy. But Gizela I give to you. She shall live with us, dress you, do your hair, obey you in any order you give her, and teach you the things that are expected of you in a court. Gizela, what do you say?”

There was a short pause, and the Seigneur gave her two harder smacks. Her bottom was taking on a redder tinge, though the lines left by Karl’s most recent application of the strap and the cane still stood out. Gizela took those smacks without distress, and said, “Then I am yours, Mistress Yvain.”

Yvain said, “You will teach me. I believe we will do well together. And my Seigneur will keep you disciplined.”

The Seigneur smiled at Yvain, then watched Gizela’s flesh spread and rebound under the impact of his hand, as he gave her a further twelve hard spanks. He said, while Gizela grumbled happily, “Yvain, you will spank your servant with your hand, if she does not behave. Then you send her to me so I can check you’ve done a proper job. If you have not ” – he glanced at the cane, lying almost forgotten on his bed – “you’ll both regret it.”

Yvain frowned. “She is a teasing girl, all of us know. What if she needs harder discipline than my hand? Do I cane her?”

“No. You will never be allowed to touch an implement. You spank only with your hand. When she crosses the line you can deal with, you send her to me.”

Yvain nodded. “Yes, my Seigneur.” She was relieved. She could not imagine herself as someone who gave out discipline, especially not harsh punishment. But giving a spanking for a girl who would thoroughly enjoy herself throughout: that she thought she could manage.

“Good,” the Seigneur said. “We’ll break the news to Karl and the Mayor, later. Karl will pick the next girl the Mayor will marry, and that girl will again be shared by two men. All three will be happy. Gizela, these are your new rooms.”

“Yes, my Seigneur. May I still call you Master?”

“Of course. Gizela, sometimes you will sleep with us, but I will have the Beldam bring a cot for you to sleep in at the foot of our bed, when you are not required. Now, Yvain, hold your servant’s ankles tight, because she is wont to kick when a spanking gets severe, and she’s not allowed to do that. You know the consequence for both of you if you fail to control that.”

This time it was Yvain who glanced at that slim, innocent-looking cane. “Yes, my Seigneur.”

The Seigneur smiled at her. “Then for your own sake, and hers, keep your servant under control now. Gizela will teach you about your next fuck, soon, but for now, she has a lesson to learn.”

Yvain wondered what that lesson could be: misbehave and you will be given pleasure? So it seemed.

But the Seigneur set about spanking the squirming girl on his lap, and Yvain realised that she had never been punished as severely as her Seigneur could achieve with his hand alone. Gizela’s bottom and upper thighs took on a deep purple-red colour as the Seigneur’s hand cracked down again and again, and Gizela’s cries of pain evolved from play-acting to real.    

Yvain, watching, fascinated, felt no pity for Gizela, but it was not because she disliked the woman. She liked her a lot, she’d realised. But Yvain realised that at this moment she envied her. The spanking finally stopped, though Gizela’s wailing cries continued for nearly a minute afterwards.

At last she turned a tearful face to look at the Seigneur. “Thank you, master.”

“I think you’ll be a good girl now, Gizela, at least until that warmth wears off your arse. So while you’re still behaving, instruct my consort on how she is to take my cock.”

“Yes, master.” Gizela scooted backwards onto her knees, then turned awkwardly to sit on the bed, wincing, before she stood up. She kissed Yvain’s hand. “My mistress, I hope you can spank me at least half as hard when I need it.” Yvain didn’t reply. She had no idea if she could do that. Gizela smiled at her, as if she’d read her thoughts, and said, “I’m sure you’ll do well. Now, my mistress, I have to teach you about lubrication.” 

She stood up, and walked, rather stiffly, to the chest of drawers in the corner of the room.

Yvain looked over at Gizela. She had paused, just inside the room, waiting for an instruction from the Seigneur. She was naked, like Yvain, and Yvain realised for the first time that the mayor’s wife was smaller than her. In the village Gisela dressed in clothes that emphasised her power and wealth, by village standards.

But naked she was what Yvain had heard men call a pocket Venus, barely five feet tall, but with adorable and impressive breasts, and wide hips, tapering down to slightly plump thighs. Yvain was sure men would love to be held between those thighs. She wondered for a second if she would.

When moments had passed and the Seigneur had given no instruction, she smiled and put her hands on her head, and shuffled her feet apart. The stance made her seem a cross between a military man standing at ease and a naughty child about to be punished.

The Seigneur said, “About time, little slut. How have you been told to stand when you enter my presence?”

“Like this, my Seigneur.” It was only his title, but Yvain felt faintly jealous of Gizela for using it. The Seigneur was hers. 

“Then you were not obedient, Gizela, when you entered. Why do you think you are here?” 

“I believe you want me to teach your serf girl how to be buggered with only bearable hurt. And how best to give her master pleasure while his cock is in her.”

“Do you like being fucked in your arse, little serf? Direct your answer to Yvain here. And call her Mistress Yvain.”

Gizela swallowed. Those last words carried a very strong message. It was not, Yvain felt, entirely welcome information. Gizelas looked at her, hands still on her head. “Mistress Yvain, it was hard the first time. The Seigneur took that virginity, and he had to leather me to help me to keep still for him. But I like being leathered as much as you do, I believe.”

Yvain forgot her moment of jealousy, and smiled at her, nodding. That was, perhaps their mutual secret. “But the being fucked, having his cock riding me in that place. It felt painful that first time, but also so intimate. I felt very surrendered, very possessed, and very known. Once you get used to it, it’s intensely, um, good. I surprised our master by how quickly I came. The very first time. Now, Mistress Yvain, it’s one of my very favourite things. Though sometimes I make sure I have to be leathered a little, first.”

The Seigneur laughed. “And was that why you failed to stand as instructed, when you crossed my door?” 

“I wasn’t thinking, master. I would never dare to try to manipulate you.” That, Yvain was certain, was a lie, and all three in that room knew it. “But I was forgetful, master, and I do deserve the strap. Shall I fetch it?”

“Come here, little tease. I think you’ll find my hand quite hard enough.”

Gizela smiled, and almost skipped to the bed.

The Seigneur pushed himself up the bed.to sit with his back resting against the wall, his legs straight out in front of him. Gisela said, “Please excuse me, my Mistress Yvain.” And she crawled past Yvain, and placed herself across the Seigneur’s knees. 

Yvain put her hand on Gizela’s ankles. She hoped Gizela would understand the touch was supportive. The Seigneur looked over Gizela’s body to catch Yvain’s eye. “Pay attention, little piglet.”

The Seigneur looked at Yvain. She’d just asked what would happen to her, if it turned out that were not married to Matteo. He grinned. “Of course, that depends, at least to some extent, on what you want to happen to you.”

“How so, my Seigneur?”

“Well, you know you’re due twelve strokes of the cane, for whimpering during the last dose when you were told to remain silent.”

“Yes. I haven’t forgotten.”

“I’m sure they’ve been on your mind. Mine too. Do you want twelve more strokes of the cane?”

“I don’t know. I only know that it shouldn’t be my choice.”

He nodded. “That’s it. You want not to have the choice. You’ve spent your life, till now, untouched. I think you prefer being touched, don’t you? Knowing someone is there, interested by you, desiring you.”

“I want that touch to be hard. I think I have a kind of hunger to feel things. Yes, my Seigneur.”

“What did you just say yes to?”

Yvain smiled. She realised she didn’t know. “I think I just said yes to everything. Whatever you want.”

“Good little piglet.” He hugged her, smiling. “Therefore you are not going back to the village, or to Matteo, You will stay and serve me. That is not something you have a choice over. But purely out of curiosity, and you should know it will have no effect on my decision, would you like to stay?”

Yvain felt that he cared for her answer more than he admitted, and that she should probably keep him in suspense. But she said, “If I stay you’ll fuck me.” It was the first time she’d ever spoken the word. “At least, fuck me where you, er, haven’t already. So yes, I would like to stay, my Seigneur.”

The Seigneur reached for her. In a few minutes she was screaming, not from pain but because he had his head between her thighs, and he was really very skilled. When she’d come he pulled her over his knee and spanked her, as if she were a naughty child. She knew it was not punishment. It was a caress, and she wished he would stroke her cunt.

Then, her skin blazing and her cunt letting her know she was very ready to be fucked, he allowed her to take his cock in her mouth, and show him that she could stay with him when he got excited and began to ram against her lips, fucking her mouth and throat without holding back. 

At what she thought would be the moment he erupted into her, there was a knock on the door. The Seigneur reached down to press Yvain’s head down, so his cock was deep in her. He shouted, “Come in!” 

The door opened, and the visitor watched as Yvain, reddened rump waggling in the air, gagged and gurgled and swallowed her Seigneur’s come, then stayed on him to take and swallow any drops she had missed or were still being released. 

The woman said, “My Seigneur. You ordered me to report to you.” 

It was Gizela, the wife of the Mayor.