An hour later Yvain and her Seigneur kelt facing each other on the bed, a tray of food and two cups of wine between them. 

The Seigneur held up a small, hard sweet roll, and Yvain reached to take it.

“No,” he said. “Not with your hand. Eat from my fingers.” Yvain smiled at him, and bit off a chunk, drawing it into her mouth without using her fingers. Then she leaned forward for another bite, but this time made sure to kiss and suck his fingers. Not an hour ago she ha swallowed his come and cleaned his cock without losing a drop. She was proud of herself and knew he was pleased with her.

Eventually she finished the roll and sank back, still kneeling upright on his bed. The Seigneur smiled at her.

“Good and clever girl. And one third less virginal than you were at the beginning of this day. Which would you prefer to lose next?”

Yvain smiled wider. She knew what she was about to say was the right thing for a serf to say to a lord, but it was also the truth. She liked knowing that she’d please him.

“I do not know, my Seigneur. I have no experience with a cock in my, ah, womanhood, or up my arse. But in any case I know that the decision is not, and should not be, mine. You will decide, my Seigneur.”

He pressed his thumb against her mouth, fondly. “Still good and clever. Of course the decision is mine, and I’ve already decided. You need have no fear that any preference expressed by you will affect what I do with you. I asked for information only.”

Yvain bowed her head. “Then this virgin does not know. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Yes. About these virginities of yours. Matteo is not your husband, you know.”

“But, my Seigneur, I have married him!”

“And that marriage is not yet consummated. So for now it is in Limbo. It is no marriage.”

Yvain thought, then nodded. That was the law. She said nothing.

“I have questions, Yvain. Why did you choose to marry Metteo?”

“He – he respected me, my Seigneur.”

The Seigneur stared at her for a long time. Eventually she blushed and turned away. He said, “Look at me, girl. I’m not in a mood for punishing you at this moment, but I will if I have to. His “respect”, I take it, took the form of not attempting any kind of sex?”

“Yes, my Seigneur.”

He nodded. “You begin, I think, to know that you are beautiful. And to realise that your are passionate, that you have wild and strong desires.”

Yvain nodded. What he’d said was true, but she was still too shy to say as much. Fortunately he nodded too, showing he understood her.  

“So in keeping pleasure from you, by withholding the light and warmth of desire, do you think that was respecting you?”

“I now know that it wasn’t, my Seigneur. I wonder now why he wooed me.”

“He misunderstood himself, and he failed to even perceive you, let alone understand you. You hid your desires because you were sure they were wrong. Even sinful or perverse. But he was fooled: he thought you had no desires. He didn’t want you: he wanted to be married to you. Without sex.”

“I don’t understand!”

“There are men who prefer men to women. Outside of this castle they are rejected, often hated, for no fault of their own. But in the castle there are men who are couples, like man and wife except they are man and man.”

Yvain was silent. She had not thought of this before. But a lot of things Matteo had said and done made sense in that context, where they had in no other.

“There are men like Karl, who train women into obedience and service. But only where that woman knows that is what she wants. Do you think Gizela goes to Karl unwillingly?”

Yvain shook her head. She had seen Gisela serve both Karl and her Seigneur. She had not seemed unhappy: far from it. She would have to talk with Gisela, later.

Her Seigneur said, “There are other men, who do the same for men who want to bow their neck and give service. There is a man called Peter, whose lover recently left him to study in the capital. He will not return. Do you think I should give Matteo to Peter?”

“My Seigneur! Perhaps Matteo is not the husband for me, and I’m grateful to you for showing me what I do want. And for giving me that which I desire. But I wish Matteo no harm!”

“No harm will come to him. He is to report to the castle tomorrow. Clad, as you were, in nothing at all. Peter will take him in. Matteo will not meet you, because your marriage is not even over: it never existed. But you will see him in a week, and after that meeting, if you wish him released from Peter’s custody, then it will be so.”

“My Seigneur!” But Yvain could think of no comment. She had less power, less freedom, than she’d had before, but she was starting to realise that she had more self-knowledge, and with that came more power and freedom to act as herself than she’d ever had.

She lowered her head till her nose touched the sheets. She choose to give him and show him her deference.

At last she said, “You are leaving me to judge. Very well, my Seigneur, I will observe him and speak with him, and I will make that decision.”

“Good little piglet! I think you may be more intelligent than me. And I am very clever.” 

She smiled at that. Then a thought struck her. “Then, my Seigneur, if I decide I am single again, then what happens? What about me?” 

Yvain looked at her Seigneur’s eyes, since he seemed anything but forbidding at that moment. Then she looked at his cock, which had recently been in her mouth. Till he’d found fault with her and ordered her to visit the Beldam to ask to be punished.

The Beldam stood behind her, cane in her hand. She said to the Seigneur, “Twelve strokes delivered, well laid on, as you ordered, my Seigneur.”

“Did she take them in silence, as I ordered?”

“On the tenth stroke she snuffled and squealed like a little piglet.” Yvain felt indignant for a second. She had gasped, which was wrong, but the Beldam was exaggerating her fault. “I gave her that stroke again, but I understand you said that if she made a sound, she get the complete set of twelve again. I am happy to deliver them, Sire, but I thought you might want to teach that lesson for yourself.”

The Seigneur smiled briefly. “Bad girl, Yvain. I’m sorry to hear that you disobeyed me. Beldam, I will not trouble you to carry out that particular task. You may leave the cane behind when you leave.”

“Thank you, my Seigneur.” Yvain heard the crumple of material that told her that, behind her, the Beldam had curtsied and was about to leave.

The Seigneur held up his hand. “I have not dismissed you, Beldam. You’re to take your stand a little beside and behind our squealing little piglet, and apply the cane when I direct.”

“Yes, my Seigneur.”

“Yvain, I want you to stand in front of me, and spread your legs. Good girl. See, you can obey orders! I hope you’ll un-learn how to disobey them, girl. You know your hide suffers when you don’t learn fast.”

“Yes, my Seigneur.” Yvain knew she was blushing, standing naked before her Seigneur, fascinated by the movements of his cock as he spoke: certain words seemed to excite him. She wondered why she was not on her knees, showing him how much she wanted to please him, no matter what the cost.

A moment later she knew. “Now bend at the waist, Yvain. I want your mouth on my cock. You may hold on to my thighs to help you balance.”

Yvain bent as instructed, and opened her mouth. The Seigneur held her hair then, stopping her from taking his cock into her. She was disappointed, then alarmed: she realised she hadn’t acknowledged his order! She said, “Yes, my Seigneur. I’m so sorry, my Seigneur!”

He must have nodded at the Beldam, because the cane bit hard and loud, across the fullest, softest part of her bottom. The Seigneur said, “Again.” Yvain fought her need to cry out. The Seigneur pressed more gently on the back of her head, lowering her into place. Yvain felt his cock, the skin soft and warm, the shaft it covered immensely, impossibly hard, press forward into her mouth, and on into her throat.

The practice she’d already had in breathing around a mouthful of lordly penis stood her in good stead: she remembered to relax and not choke.

Instead she closed her eyes, so she could focus on the feel and smell and taste of his beautiful cock – she found it beautiful, though she’d heard village girls laughing about cocks – and she licked under his shaft, knowing that would feel good to him. She began to suck him, greedily.

The grip in her hair tightened again, and she found herself forced to take him deeper. The cock withdrew a little, and them rammed forward, Then he withdrew and rammed forward again, while she forced herself to stay with him, sucking him hard. He said, “If you let my cock slip out, Yvain, do you want to know what will happen to you?” 

He rammed her again, then stayed fully inside her. Yvain said, “‘o, I don wan’ ‘o fi’ ou’, my ‘eigneur.”

He sounded amused, gentle again, though his words were terrible. “Then you know roughly what will happen. The detail is that you would be publicly whipped, with the village required to attend. But that, like all punishments, is avoidable if you take care, Yvain.”

The cock began to press forward in her again, hard, forceful movements. He was fucking her mouth and throat, where before he had let her take the lead in pleasuring him. As that mouthfuck continued he seemed, impossibly, to have grown slightly bigger, or at least the head of his cock had. He continued, his movements hard and implacable. Helplessly held and fucked, Yvain gurgled when she snatched in breaths, and she drooled constantly. She’d made a wet patch on the floor between them. Somehow she knew that he not only didn’t mind that, he liked those signs of her acceptance. 

At least he grunted, and said, “Swallow every drop, girl,” and his movements were faster, almost frenzied, and it was all she could do to keep her mouth on him. Then he thrust deep and made a sound that sounded like distress, though she knew it was not. Her mouth was filled with a thick liquid, tasting of salt, maleness, and, oddly, cinnamon. There were three strong spurts, and she caught and swallowed the liquid as fast as she could.  She knew without being told that to spill his come would not please him, and she would pay dearly. 

While she was still sucking and cleaning him, and he said, “Oh, sweet girl, beautiful girl, good girl. My lovely little piglet. Yvain.” His had let go of her hair and caressed the back of her head. Yvain was confused. Those were loving words. Did he mean them? A little later, still hard in her mouth, but perhaps not as hard or as urgent, he said, “That was satisfactory, girl.”

He lifted her by the hair, so they could look at each other, eye to eye. Still looking at Yvain, he said, “Beldam, place the cane on my bed. And when you leave, send for food and drink to be brought here.”

“Yes, my Seigneur.” Yvain heard the Beldam curtsey again, and then the door closed behind her.

The Seigneur smiled at Yvain, and her heart lifted. He said, “Wipe your mouth, grubby little piglet. That seems to be the name you’ve earned yourself.” She complied, smiling at the name ‘piglet’. She thought it sounded sweet when it wasn’t an insult. She’d be his piglet. The Seigneur kissed her. Greatly daring, she put her arms round his, and pressed against his chest. 

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.]

Yvain rode on her Seigneur’s back as he carried her through the tower corridors and stairs. They were both naked. Her arms were round his shoulders, her legs wrapped around his waist so her cunt pressed hot and wet against the small of his back. 

Occasionally they passed servants, male or female, who stepped to the wall when they saw the Seigneur approaching. With her bottom and thighs red from the strap and the Seigneur’s riding crop, and her thighs as widely spread as they could be, she knew she presented an indecent spectacle, and she could feel their eyes following her when they passed. 

Ahead she could hear a rhythmic smack, a sound she recognised as leather meeting flesh. She guessed the leather was in the Seigneur’s servant Karl’s hand, and the skin it was heating was Gisela’s, the wife of the mayor. Yvain was surprised not to hear a sound from Gisela. She had been in full voice an hour earlier, when the Seigneur’s door opened for a moment. She wondered if this was a new whipping or the same one, still going. 

At last the Seigneur reached the room from which the sound came. He opened the door without knocking. A Seigneur does not knock. Karl’s room was simpler than his master’s, and it was simply furnished: a bed, a table and two chairs, and a whipping bench. But none of this furniture was in use. Gisela stood naked, her feet well apart, bending over with her hands on her ankles so her buttocks and thighs were presented for Karl’s attentions.

She was silent because there was a gag in her mouth, and a delicate silver chain hung from the clips that held and compressed her nipples.

Yvain had seen her many times at village functions, a grand and haughty woman. Now she saw Gisela humbled, her long hair flying each time the lash landed and her body jerked. Her body, naked, was fuller than Yvain’s, but firm. She was perhaps ten years older than Yvain, and still very beautiful.

No wonder, Yvain thought, Karl has such a massive erection under that robe. Karl delivered two more strokes, then stopped and bowed at the Seigneur. “I’m sorry, my Seigneur. But I promised her six dozen, and I wanted to finish the fourth set. She has two dozen to go. Would you like to witness them? Or have you brought that slut” – he looked at Yvain – “here to receive discipline?”

The seigneur, still carrying Yvain, said, “No, I’ll attend to her discipline from now. Has Gisela had her fill of cock tonight?”

Karl smiled. “Once she’s had her first spanking and dropped her airs, she’s insatiable. For the cock and the lash, and she’s had plenty of both. The hope of a night like this: that’s the reason she’s been acting up lately.”

“Well, I may vary her diet a little. Ungag her, Karl.”

Karl smiled, and pressed his left hand, holding the strap, between Gisela’s buttocks to stroke her cunt. With his right hand he undid the buckle at the back of her head, and removed the gag.

Gisela looked at the Seigneur. She sank to her knees. “Seigneur? May I serve you?”

The Seigneur reached behind him and smacked Yvain’s bottom. “Down girl,” he said. “On your feet.”

Yvain, standing, looked down at Gisela. She wondered if that would be her one day. Used to discipline, practiced in serving a man and taking pleasure from that service. And from the discipline itself. Gisela met her eyes. One day, perhaps, Yvain thought, she had been in my position. Yvain hoped her Seigneur might keep her, and not pass her to a servant. She would have to learn and serve well to earn that fate.

The Seigneur said, “I want both of your noses close to my cock. Gisela, crawl forward and kneel in from of me. Yvain, you’re to be at our side, so you can watch what Gisela does. Watch closely and learn. Karl will punish you for any lapse in your attention.”

Gisela crawled forward on hands and knees, then knelt upright at the Seigneur’s feet. She said, “May I serve your pleasure, my Seigneur?” She kept her mouth open after asking her question.

The seigneur said to Yvain, “Get closer, girl. I want your face close to hers, so you can see exactly what she does.” He looked at Karl, who had taken a seat, watching. “She’s a skilled little fellatrix, isn’t she, Karl?”

Karl said, “Practice makes nearly perfect, Seigneur. And a little encouragement from the strap.” To Gisela he said, “You’re to suck a Seigneur’s cock now, Gisela. Think of it as a promotion.”

The Seigneur said, “I suppose it is. Good.” He placed his hand on the back of Gisela’s head. “You know what to do, Gisela.”

Yvain watched her Seigneur’s cock disappear, slowly, into Gisela’s mouth. Gisela pressed forward, taking him deeper, until her lips pressed against his groin.

Her checks dimpled as she started to suck, moving her head very slightly back and forth, but keeping all of him in her mouth.

Yvain wondered if she’d ever learn to take so much. She was surprised to feel no jealousy, watching another woman pleasure her Seigneur. She was here to learn.

Yvain had asked her Seigneur if he wanted her to pleasure him. With her mouth, as he had just made her come with his. She expected that she would be thrashed many times while she learned this skill. She not only never had a man’s cock in her mouth, in her life so far; she had never even thought of such a thing. 

She lay on her back, thighs fallen apart, her cunt wet, exposed, happy but not sated. She thought about her Seigneur on his back, his hard cock upright, and kneeling over him to take that cock in her mouth. That combination, subservience, the certainty of punishment to help her learn to please him, and the knowledge that even though she was a novice she would please him: those things excited her. Yearned for.

The Seigneur read something of that in her face. He smacked her cunt, firmly but not painfully with his hand. She moaned a little at that contact. Anything and everything felt wonderful.

The Seigneur said, “I think it’s time you had a spanking. Count and thank me for each smack.” Then he brought his hand down, again, on that most sensitive flesh. Yvain gasped, and, though it was the second smack, she called, “One, thank you, my Seigneur.”

He kissed her thigh. “I’m glad you learn fast, little slut.” He raised his hand so she could see he intended to spank her hard. The delicious impact came, and she called, “Two, thank you, my Seigneur.”

He smiled. She knew he was very pleased with her. She watched him take up the crop again, and parted her thighs wider, arching her cunt up for him. The smacks from the crop were not hard, but they came fast.

She had to struggle to keep up with the count, while thanking him. She meant those thanks, she knew. She might have said them even if he hadn’t ordered her to.

She wondered, as the leather and his hand struck her over and over, each time bringing a wave of sensation in which any pain had long since been swamped by pleasure, if this was part of what being fucked would feel like. At last she reached, “Sixty, thank you, my Seigneur,” and he leaned forward and kissed her cunt again.

He looked up at last into her face, his mouth and beard wet with her. “Whose cunt is that?” 

“It is yours, my Seigneur. But even if I had ever owned it, I would give it to you.” 

“Of course you would. If it had ever not been mine.”

Yvain, greatly daring, reached down to caress the hair at the back of his head. “If I had ever not been yours.” The image of her husband, Matteo, who had never touched her, flashed into her mind. She was surprised to find that she felt no guilt, no sense of betrayal. Though this could not last, and she would be returned to him.

“You’ve never pleased a man with that mouth of yours.”

“No, my Seigneur.” 

“Would you like to learn how?”

“With all my heart, my Seigneur.” 

“Good. Not that what you want matters. Now, I’ve taken my robe off. I’ll wear you instead.” He rolled out of bed and stood beside it. “You, girl, get up!” 

Yvain, wondering, obeyed. He looked sideways at her. “Put your hands on my shoulders. Now jump up, and wrap your legs round my waist.”

Yvain was surprised. Her father had given her piggybacks. She hadn’t expected that here. But she jumped as commanded, riding her Seigneur, thighs holding him tight, her cunt pressed at the small of his back, breasts against his shoulders, her arms lovingly round his neck.

“Such a good coat,” he said. “You need lessons in sucking cock, Yvain. We’re going to pay a visit.”

He walked her to the door and opened it. 

Yvain lay on her back on the Seigneur’s bed. Her legs splayed as far as she could open them, to make it clear to the Seigneur that his attention to her cunt was welcome. More than welcome: it was the sweetest sensation she had ever experienced, even when she’d used her own fingers to bring herself off.

She murmured, “Oh, my Seigneur. Wonderment. Wonderful. Wonder. One, One.”

She felt him bite her, very gently, even tenderly. She knew that if she could see his face she would see him smile. Then he resumed tonguing her, lapping and licking, quite rapidly. He seemed tireless.

She pressed her thighs to his ears, to show him fondness. He had beaten her, and he had had her beaten, and now, somehow, she was half in love.

In love with what he was doing, and possibly even with him. She pressed her thighs tighter, and felt the welts on her inner thighs, from his riding crop.

She could feel the pain in those stripes renew, and that felt good too. She felt pressure on her little bud. It must be his thumb, she thought. I hope he doesn’t … And ten it was done. She felt herself penetrated for the very first time. It was uncomfortable in that first second, but it was already becoming more than comfortable: comforting. She felt herself tense, her stomach muscles clench, and she knew she was likely to come very soon. 

A little later something entered her, just below his busily lapping tongue. His knuckle was in her and – 

Yvain screamed. 

She writhed when the wave of pleasure overtook her. She pressed her thighs on his cheeks, hard, savouring her painful stripes. The pain he had given her. Then, suddenly afraid of hurting him – not of being punished, but of hurting him, her … lover? – she let her thighs fall open and apart.

“Oh, my Seigneur.” She reached a hand down and stroked his hair, the back of his head.

At last he looked up, wolfishly triumphant, and their eyes met. He said, surprised, “Do you always come so quickly?”

“No, my Seigneur.”

“Do you think it was your whippings, first?”

“They aroused me, certainly. But, with your permission, my Seigneur – ”

He nodded. “Of course. You may speak your mind. I will tell you when you begin to bore me.”

Yvain smiled. She was sure that was true, but it was also a joke. “I think I came so quickly because it was you.”

His smile widened. “Then if the opinion of a peasant slut mattered, I would, of course, be flattered.”

Yvain decided the smile cancelled the sting in those words. “My Seigneur?”

“Yes, peasant slut?”

Yvain took a deep breath. She knew she might well be whipped for this. “I would like to address you as something fonder than ‘my Seigneur’. Like, ‘my jo’, or ‘my lordly lamb’? ‘My darling’? May I, please, my Seigneur?”

“No.” But he was still amused. “I think you need to do something else with your mouth, little Yvain.” 

She knew that had to be coming. She was surprised how much she now wanted to do something she had only recently dreaded. “You mean, pleasure you? My Seigneur?”

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