So Stephanie waited, bending over the apex of the slide, naked now, her shorts dropped on the ground below. Her face pressed down against the cold metal of the chute, her ass prettily presented for me. I slipped my fingers between wet, petalled folds, and began to stroke her again. 

Stephanie said, “Oh, I don’t think I got anything more.” But I smacked her bottom again, because I wanted to make it clear that all sorts of things weren’t really up to her. Not for the time being, and that a second orgasm was one of those things. She laughed, for reasons of her own, and then sighed when I resumed working my fingers against sweet soft wetness. 

I put my thumb against her asshole and pressed a little, and got another sigh. She tightened her muscles on my thumb: I took that as clasping me, not trying to force me out. She sighed again, and I decided I was right about that. 

I kept that pressure, and kept the rhythm of my fingers in her absolutely steady, neither fast now slow, not speeding up or slowing down. Her buttocks had clenched, and she rolled her hips to keep pressed against my hand. Her vocal noises were still sighs, but higher pitched, enthusiastic sighs.

I said, “I have. More, I mean. I’m going to fuck you so hard, little Stephanie, when we get back.”

Her foot twitched. She was no longer standing on the steps, letting her tummy take all of her weight. She made a nasal sound, and carolled, “fuuuuuuck!”, partly in answer to what I’d said, and partly for other good reasons. 

The sound she made when she came, that second time, was like the greatest expression of fear and grief you could imagine, except that it was clearly loudly and absolutely joyous. Her feet and thighs lifted clear of the steps, so that I had to grab her and hold her while she came, or else she’d have slid remorselessly down. 

Eventually she breathed a kind of laugh. “I didn’t see that coming. Jesus!” 

I said, “It’s an unpredictable world, Stephanie.” And, because I had her legs in my hands, and she had no more orgasm for now, I pushed her, like a double javelin, down the slide.

Stephanie said, “Yiiiii!” And she whooped with indignation and disbelieving laughter, while she hurtled facedown and naked, down that polished metal chute. 

I didn’t follow her down, though I wanted to. I climbed back down the steps and picked up her discarded shorts and panties. It seemed the responsible thing to do.

Stephanie, now getting up from the level bit at the slide’s end, called out to me, “You utter, utter, utter, utter bastard!” It seemed utter bastards were a good thing.

And then a light went on, from the house nearest the playground. People were stirring. We’d stirred them. 

Stephanie reached her right hand back when she felt her shorts halfway down her ass, and the cold air breathing on new skin. I took her wrist in mine and pulled her arm a little to the left, so that she could feel helpless. Then I kissed her hand.

Stephanie said, “Ah-huh.”

“Put your hands back on the slide. Below your head. Low as you can reach.”

“And you’ll spank me if I let go?” She wasn’t asking for information. She knew that. She just wanted to say it aloud. I wanted to kiss her. But I couldn’t reach. So I tugged the shorts, and her knickers down till they were bunched at the top of her thighs.

“Lift up for a second.”

She did. I pushed the little bundle of shorts and panties down to her knees, then used my foot, on the gusset, to drop them to her feet. I did what any gentleman would and pressed myself her, cock hard, yearning, desperate to be in her, between the tops of her thighs, that sweet gap known to all as the inter-gracile, sub-pudendal fossa. We both sighed at the same moment. That felt good, and we wanted more of that, please.

There was just one problem. My condoms were in my wallet, and my wallet was in my jeans, and my jeans were, at Stephanie’s demand, stuffed into the post-box back at my place. So the thing we both wanted most was temporarily not on.

We were both more than likely to be STD-free (small provincial university, general condom use, and the fucking Stephanie and I did involved a relatively small social circle), and under some circumstances lust would have led to us taking the risk. We were horny humans after midnight, not role models. But aside from the STD issue, I knew that while I could pull out before I actually came, at that moment there was no way I could guarantee not to leak seminal fluid into her.

Stephanie said, “Are you going to fuck me?” In the tone that meant: what in hell is keeping you? 

So I pulled back, and put my hand where my cock had been. And pressed up against soft, wet, girl-folds. I stroked her, fingertips just inside. Stephanie sighed, and turned her head, so her cheek rested on the slide. She was smiling.

I slipped two fingers along, not quite inside her, fingertips touching her clitoris, thumb pressing her asshole. I stroked, and Stephanie started to move against my hand. There were goosebumps on her buttocks and inner thighs. 

She moved her feet further apart, giving me better access. Her shorts fell to the ground; she was a naked girl on a slide, and nothing to be done about it if anyone happened along. I pressed against her as close as I could with my hand working on her cunt. Stephanie blew a lungful of breath out, and breathed in more quietly; breathing was something she’d forgotten about. She murmured, “Yeah…”

I stroked, my world or my awareness of it shrinking to my hand and her cunt, moving not quite in unison, sliding together, skin to wet, yearning skin. And speeding up.

After a time Stephanie pressed down on my hand, hard, and said, “Oh.” I pressed a my thumb little harder on her asshole, and she opened. I moved my fingers in her, as hard and fast as I could as I could. Her feet left the slide, so she was supported only by her tummy balanced on the top of the slide. She shook her head, and grunted, deep and low. Her thighs clasped my waist.

I kept my hand in her, and with my other hand smacked her bottom. Hard. Four times. Stephanie lay still, relaxed. It seemed that I had the right to spank her. Provided I used sound judgement. And kept her warm. I said, “Warmth.”

And I set about stroking her, slowly again. I wondered how long it would take for her to come for a second time. We’d find out.

Stephanie had been sitting in my lap for most of my party. That was complicated, in some ways. We’d been friends while I was with my last girlfriend, and we’d flirted but always safely, because I was committed. But I wasn’t committed any more, and the flirtation wasn’t safe, and we both knew it. We kissed, and the kisses weren’t the friendly kind; they had promise and exploration.

I had my hand under her shirt on her warm belly, kind of indecisively wandering sometimes closer to her cunt and sometimes towards her breasts. I hadn’t made contact or a choice yet, but she knew that I was teasing her, and I was getting smiles for that.

Our position was also complicated because I had a new girlfriend, Maires, and she was at my party too. But Maires also fancied Stephanie (she called her “Stiffener”, knowing the effect she had on me), and because Stephanie was very straight, Maires figured that her best chance was for me to fuck Stephanie first, and then for us bring Maires into bed later.

With negotiation, by Stephanie’s invitation, or it wouldn’t happen. So I had Maires’s blessing for my campaign to get Stephanie’s clothes off and her body into my bed, if I could manage it. She, Maires, could amuse herself with the other party guests in the meantime.

But Stephanie’s and my kisses were getting more intense. She’d twisted her body so she was facing me. Her nipples pressed against my shirt, and she arched her back to press tighter. We paused, eyes closed, and rocked together. I looked at her, and she opened her eyes too. “I really want to fuck you.”

She said, “Can we talk?”

“Of course. My room?”

“Hah. There are people in your room. I’m not ready to throw them out yet, just so you can have your-“

“Wicked way?”

“I hope it’s wicked.”

That was all I needed. I took her hand and helped her up. “We’re going for a walk. Now. It’s a lovely night outside. Moon. Shadows. Kid’s playground across the road.”

“All right.”

So we walked off, Stephanie leading the way, so I could admire her walk in little shorts, cut slightly above the crease of her ass and thighs. Maires was dancing with a guy who’d painted his face red and blue, but she caught my eye, and made an “ok” hand gesture.

It was warm out. I kissed Stephanie, but we’d already been doing that. There was a danger of awkward silence. So I put my hands on her ass, and we pressed together properly. I’d had an erection from about the moment she’d dropped her ass into my lap and we’d had our first kiss. But we’d ignored it. Now it pushed against her lower belly, and I held her tight against me, and it. She sighed. A good sigh. I’d declared myself in every way. Now we had privacy there was no way to not acknowledge our sexual intentions and desires.

So we talked about the things we had to talk about. I had Maires’s permission for my current disgraceful behaviour. Stephanie knew that Maires wanted her as well. And she’d never been with a girl, but she liked Maires. She also wanted to know: was I going to fall in love with her, Stephanie, if she came to bed? I said I probably wouldn’t; at least we should start with friendship and fucks.

She wanted me to wait until the party had emptied a bit before she came to bed. Even by the standards of this provincial university town in a cold climate, where students sometimes fucked simply to save on heating costs, Maires and I were pushing the envelope a little. There’d be gossip, and Stephanie wanted deniability.

I nodded. “Ok. It’s after midnight. Give it another half an hour. Then we’ll come back, I’ll put on early Yoko Ono and everyone will say, oh that’s really cool! And then they’ll leave, fast as they can. I don’t think she broke up the Beatles, but she sure can break up a party. Then we can fuck in bed and comfort. And if Maires hasn’t scored with the red and blue guy, she’ll come in later.”

“How will that be?”

“Wonderful! Oh, I see. It’ll be cuddly. It’ll be kissy. It’ll be all warm bodies rolling round. Me wishing I could have my cock in both of you at once. And what you do then is up to you. I know she’d like – Well, she’s good at cunnilingus. And she likes it a lot. I mean, giving.”

“Oh yeah. Do you know how many boys have told me that about their girlfriends?”

“God. Is that a thing, is it?”

“No. The answer is: none at all. Ever. No one has ever said that to me. I’ve never met a guy who’d think he had information to go on, to judge that.”

“Um.” Maires and I had actually met in a threesome.

Stephanie had her eyebrows up. “Or would talk about it if they could. It’s the gossip thing. You two could be forgetting how weird you are.”

“Good weird.”

“I’ll believe it for now. So what do we do for half an hour?”

“We play a game. Simon says.”

“Hmm. Dangerous. But it figures. Ok.”

“Good. I’m Simon. Lift your hands up. And keep still.”

“Hmm.” But she did as she was told.

She wore a white blouse of rough cotton. It was cold out, but it was beautiful and we were turned on. Magic was the warmth. She watched me, gravely, while I undid her buttons and took the shirt off, over her arms.

“Ok. Can I be Simon now?”

“No. There’s only one Simon. But you can tell me what you want.”

“Then, take your jeans off. We’re going to the playground. I’m going to be topless. You can keep your underpants on.”

“Um.” It’s always interesting, when you think you’re leading, and you get leapfrogged.

So I dropped my jeans, and stuffed them into the mailbox. It was cold, and it didn’t matter at all. I dropped Stephanie’s shirt in there too, trying to keep it relatively uncreased. And I got her bra off before we passed the gate, so it went in there too.

We raced across the road, looking frankly stupid, with my cock waggling about, not entirely contained in underpants. But we felt sure that no-one else was going to be watching the neighbourhood at that hour and climate.

Gizela, formerly the wife of the village Mayor, was used to rich clothes, by village standards, and used to respectful, deferential treatment, her place always at the head of the queue. Even when she came back from her times in the castle, and it was clear that Karl, the seigneur’s servant, had whipped her thoroughly and made unreserved use of her, her status was unaffected.

Now, walking naked from the Seigneur’s suite, naked, her buttocks and thighs blazing red from her Mistress’s hairbrush and her mouth still glazed with her Master’s come, she felt cheerful and, within certain well-defined limits, regal. Her marks and her sign that she had pleased her Master, who was everyone’s Master, did nothing to reduce her status. They enhanced it. 

So when she arrived at the kitchen and ordered a good breakfast for the Seigneur and his current woman, they hastened to assemble their best.

In the Seigneur’s tower, Yvain lay half on the Seigneur, her thigh over his, and half on his bed. “Four days ago I was going to be Matteo’s wife, once you’d taken my first night.”

The Seigneur smiled, and put his hand, as owner, on Yvain’s cunt. “Taken you.”

“Yes, you did. I was puzzled by Matteo’s lack of desire for me, and I thought it must be some fault in me. But you desired me. So I was wrong to think I must be unattractive.”

“If you doubt your beauty, my piglet, you should always confess it. I will punish you thoroughly.”

“I’d like that. And you know it. You wouldn’t stop till I’d come my brains out and I could hardly walk. I hope.”

“I think I can promise you that, piglet.”

“But when I was going to marry Matteo, I knew what my life was going to be. Not as exciting as my life now, but … there are security. I might have been bored, and frustrated, but I wouldn’t be afraid.”

“Do you mean you fear me?”

“Should I not, my Seigneur? Of course I do, but that’s a good fear. Like riding a wild horse.”

“You think you might tame me?”

“No, my Seigneur. I know I couldn’t, and I’d never try because there would be nothing I want less. You command me, you whip me, you fuck me: you own me. That’s the ride you give me, my wild Master, and I’d never want to get off.”

“But you’re troubled.”

“I might wake up and find that it is over. You will be intrigued by the next village bride they send you. And then, I know you will find me an honourable place. But it will be like being thrown down from heaven.”

Th Seigneur rolled over then, fully awake and a little alarmed. “You will not be cast out of heaven. Or even from my bed, squealing little piglet.” He lifted his hand from her cunt and smacked her lightly. When she moaned, he did it again, harder. “You want to know your dreadful fate?”

“My Seigneur? Please?” She was pale.

“You get the chance to say yes or no. This will be the only time you have that chance with me. If you agree, then you will remain my slave, my piglet.”

“Please!”

“Not yet!” he looked in her eyes, suddenly serious. “I would like you as my consort, own by me and ruled by me, but setting beside me and helping to rule beside me, as Mistress of this place. My heart and my brain – not to mention other parts – are in agreement about this. If you say the word, you are my consort. We are one. What say you?”

Yvain sat up. She could feel herself close to tears. She tried to control them, then decided it would be more honest to let them fall. And she wanted to be honest. “My love, my Seigneur, my master! Is the word ‘yes’ enough?”

As if through a rainy window she saw him nod, his mouth turned down but his eyes smiling. “It is a good word.”

“Yes!”

He smacked her cunt even harder, making her cry out, then brought his hand down to grip her. Comforting ownership. “Then we have things to do.” 

Yvain brought the hairbrush down on Gizela’s Gizela’s perfectly rounded, scarlet bottom. She got a satisfactory BAP! sound when the back of the brush met womanly flesh, and an appealingly pretty jerk of Gizela’s bottom and thighs when the brush landed. Her Seigneur had his cock thrust firmly into Gizela’s mouth, and his hands on her head, controlling her movements.

At that moment it seemed that Gizela had her mouth completely full: she glubbed rather than squealed. Her Seigneur looked at Yvain, smiled and nodded.

She was to resume Gizela’s punishment. Yvain spanked Gizela again, not quite as hard. She was terrified that the girl might bite their master, and of the consequences for both of them if he felt Gizela’s teeth. Gizela jerked under the blow, but she was there to serve their master and she knew it.

Her head bobbed, and she began to suck diligently but very slowly. The Seigneur sighed, pleased. “Good girls, both of you. Gizela, you know that if I feel your teeth, you will both feel the cane.”

Gizela could not answer. But it didn’t matter: she knew, and all three of them knew she knew.

Yvain continued Gizela’s spanking, the girl lying across Yvain’s lap, her head between the Seigneur’s thighs, holding his feet while she sucked his cock. Yvain had thought she was only submissive, but she loved Gizela’s weight across her lap, her obedience, and the pleasure she knew she was giving the woman with the brush. She didn’t beat Gizela as hard as she could. With her first four spanks she’d shown Gizela, and their Seigneur, that she could deliver real pain. But now she wanted things to build more slowly.

She brought down the brush over and over, making the room resound and Gizela’s bottom and thighs wriggle and bob and twist under the impacts of that hard wooden surface. Yvain knew from her own experience that she didn’t need to spank hard for this to hurt. Gizela was already sensitive, and the spanks had a cumulative effect, building up heat and sensation with every measured smack.

The Seigneur rested one hand on the back of Gizela’s head now, keeping her mouth firmly and deeply on his cock, and stroked her shoulders with the other.

“You’re doing well, little slave.” he told her. Or he might have been speaking to Yvain, whose eyes he watched while Gizela pleasured him.

Yvain smiled at him. She said, “She’s very wet, my Seigneur. I’m sure she likes your cock in your mouth, but she’ld explode if you were to fuck her.”

Gizela seemed to nod enthusiastically, though she might simply have been serving. The Seigneur made a pleasured sound, deep in his throat. It might have been a chuckle, or a tribute to Gizela’s skill and enthusiasm. “We might test that, in a while. Yvain, my piglet, beat your slave a little harder, now.” 

Gizela moaned. It didn’t seem to be a protest. The girl was pressing her cunt, hard, against Yvain’s thigh. Yvain made the spanks harder now, and slowed the tempo. Gizela parted her thighs as far as she could. Yvain knew she was trying to tempt her mistress into touching her cunt. Yvain knew that if she did, Gizela would come before her Master. That was not to happen.

Yvain watched her lover, her master, being sucked by their mutual slave. His breathing was harsher now, slow and deep, with a hint of growl. He had both hands on Gizela’s head now, and he simply held the girl down, while he thrust into her. He gasped, then growled louder, like an angry bear. His eyes lost focus as he pumped into Gizela’s mouth.

The moment had come, and so had her Seigneur. Yvain spanked Gizela’s cunt once, hard, with the back of the brush, then inserted the smooth, rounded handle. Gizela’s body arched, and Yvain saw every muscle in her back tauten, and the woman would have screamed if her mouth was not full of her master’s cock and his fluid. She gurgled, her body utterly tight, and then slowly relaxed. 

The Seigneur was looking, again, into Yvain’s eyes. He caressed Gizela’s back while her head bobbed, slower now, licking him clean and swallowing.

At last he said, “That was well done, both of you. And Yvain, yes: you have my permission to use the hairbrush on this girl whenever you feel she deserves it. If you take a mind to beat her purely for your pleasure, you have my permission for that as well.”

“Thank you, my Seigneur. I’m sure I speak for both of us.” Gizela was still licking her master and could not speak, though she seemed to nod.

The Seigneur slapped her face lightly, then. Gizela made an interrogative noise. “Go to the kitchen and fetch us food, Gizela. Do not dress or wipe your mouth. Your mistress and I have things to discuss.”

Gizela, naked, her master’s handprints glowing on her bottom, and the imprint of her mistress’s palm a faint pink on her face, returned from the cupboard carrying the hairbrush in her open hands, palms up. In this place that was the way a hairbrush was carried by a woman or man who knew it was to be used, in a few moments, on their own buttocks and thighs.

She held her hands just under her breasts, drawing attention to their firm weight, and knowing that she looked perfectly desirable. She made some effort to look sad and repentant, but she was not convincing anyone in that room that she was that, certainly not herself. She said, “The hairbrush, my Mistress. I’m sorry I displeased you. Please don’t stop until you feel I’ve learned my lesson.”

Was that mockery? Yvain wondered. She decided it wasn’t, exactly. Gizela was merely begging for her spanking to be laid on long and hard. Yvain held out her arm imperiously, and Gizela put the brush into her hand. It was wooden, finely polished, and the back, which Yvain was sure was used more often than the bristly side, was hard. The brush would cover about half of one of Gizela’s buttocks.

Yvain knew she could make the entire surface of Gizela’s deep-clefted bottom a brighter red with just four spanks. Would that be a good start? Yes, she decided, it would.

Gizela stepped back, straightened her back, her legs a little apart, and put her hands behind her neck. Yvain smiled at her. She enjoyed the provoking woman’s play-acting, and her sheer courage.

If the Seigneur held the hairbrush in his hand and looked at her, Yvain was certain she’d try to show him she was sorry,

She’d want reduce the severity of her punishment. That would never occur to Gizela. 

She said, “Gizela, girl, you will not again … ” She glanced at the Seigneur. She didn’t want to tell him that Gizela had pulled out a hair from beside her anus. She was his, but somehow that seemed a little too personal.”You will not touch me disrespectfully again.” 

“I’m sorry, Mistress. And I swear I will not. Please pun -“

“Silence!” Yvain pointed at the chair against the room’s stone wall. “Bring that chair to about, oh, two feet from the bed. Place it sideways, so that you, over my lap, will have your face to the bed.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Gizela obeyed.

Yvain turned to her Seigneur. “With your permission, my Seigneur, I would like you to enjoy Gizela’s punishment as much as I will enjoy teaching her better manners.”

The Seigneur was still smiling, and now the smile reached his eyes. “And how will you achieve that, my little piglet?”

“If you sit on the edge of the bed, with your knees well apart, I think Gizela can be persuaded to give you pleasure, even as I give her pain.”

The Seigneur leaned over and kissed her. He murmurred, “Clever little piglet,” and placed himself as she suggested, his cock high.

Yvain rose then, hair brush in her hand, and took her place on the chair. She glanced up at Gizela. “Over my knee, slut.”

Gizela scrambled to obey. Yvain enjoyed the weight of the woman’s soft body on hers, and the view of her slender back, her red and chubby bottom and her soft and sweet thighs. She sighed with pleasure, and then delivered four hard spanks, with all her strength, covering the entire surface of Gizela’s bottom.

By the third stroke Gizela had cried out, surprised to feel real pain. Yvain said, “Good. Now we know where we are, you and I, Gizela.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Gizela sounded breathless. “I certainly do.”

“What do you see, Gizela?”

“I see Master’s beautiful cock, Mistress.” 

“Where is your mouth to be while I beat you, little slut?” 

“Oh.” Gizela raised her body a little, and pressed her head between the Seigneur’s thighs.

He took a handful of her hair then, and placed her mouth onto his cock. He breathed once in pleasure, then held Gizela’s head firmly in place. He looked at Yvain, and nodded.

Yvain raised the brush.

Yvain lay face-down on the Seigneur’s bed, his weight half on her back. They’d just fucked for the third time that day, and this time he’d taken her from behind. They’d started  in doggy fashion but subsided to prone as Yvain slowly sank under his battering weight. 

She could feel his cock softening inside her, slowly contracting but not yet withdrawn. His breathing was soft and slow. He would fall asleep soon. Yvain decided to tae Gizela’s advice. She said, “I love you, my Seigneur.” 

“Wha – ? Oh.” he was startled into wakefulness. He said, “I love you too, little piglet. My slave.” 

“Do you love Gizela too?”

Now he sounded wary. “Of course I do. But in a very different way from the love I have for you. She is a sweet girl.” 

Gizela, sitting naked on the bed beside them, said, “Thank you, Master. I do believe I love you both.”

The Master rolled his body off Yvain’s back and smacked her bottom, hard. “But you are my partner, little Yvain. That is a very different thing. But,” he frowned, “you are up to something. Why did you ask if I loved Gizela?” He leaned over and kissed Gizela’s left breast. Gizela looked hard into Yvain’s eyes.

“Because, my Master and my love, you’ve put me in charge of Gizela, and that includes keeping her disciplined. She has already been insolent with me in a way that I feel I cannot deal with just with my hand. I would cane her for it, if I had your permission.”

She saw him frown, and she spoke quickly. “No, my Master, I am not asking for permission to use the cane. That must be exclusively left for you, to deal with either of us, or both of us.”

“That is wise. You would not get that permission. But if you had asked for that, you would feel the cane yourself.”

“I know, my love, and I would know you were right, now matter how hard and how long you applied it. Not that my opinion has any bearing.”

Now he smiled. “Good save.”

“But, my love, I don’t want to have to send her to you every time she needs more than a hand spanking. I am seeking your consent, my Master, my Seigneur and my love, to use a hairbrush on her bottom, when she deserves more serious discipline. From me.” 

“Hmm. I suppose you think she deserves the hairbrush right now?”

“Yes, mt Seigneur. She was … insolent when she was preparing me for you. I would like to deal with that.” 

The Seigneur nodded. “And you, Gizela, I don’t have to ask you if you’d like that?” 

Gizela leaned down to kiss her Master’s penis. Then, because it was coated in the fluids of her Mistress’s cunt, she licked it. The Seigneur allowed Gizela to tongue-bathe him, watching Yvain watch them both. Then Gizela sat up again. “You know I would, Master.” 

The Seigneur was still watching Yvain. She waited for his word, wondering why she felt a little frightened. 

At last he said, “Very well. You will show me that you can use a hairbrush to good effect. If you do, then I may allow you to continue to resort to the hairbrush when you feel it’s called for. If you do not satisfy me that you can use the implement well, then I will call the Beldam in to flog you both severely.” He smiled. “For plotting behind my back, among other things.” 

“Thank you, my Seigneur.” Yvain also leaned forward and down to kiss her Seigneur’s cock, When she licked him he was still soft but she felt, as if it came from a long way away,  some sign of renewed life. When she rose, smiling, she looked at Gizela.

She astonished the woman by slapping her, though lightly, across the face. Gizela’s mouth dropped open, her eyes wide. “Gizela, little slut, fetch me the hairbrush.”

The Seigneur held himself still, though his body shook, above Yvain, held in her arms and between her thighs, his cock just touching the soft, wet lips of her cunt. He said, “There’s a thing, a hymen, a little piece of skin that protects your entrance, little one, until I take you. When I push through it it may sting for a moment, but it never lasts long.”

Yvain smiled. “Oh that. You don’t have to worry. The bishop took that long ago.”

She wanted to laugh at his disconcerted expression, solemn and important though this moment was. He said, “Oh? You said you were a virgin?”

“A chess bishop, my master. My father had a large, wooden chess set. I, ah, used the bishop a few times, till I found better toys.”

“Girl.” But he smiled. “I should just whip you continuously, shouldn’t I?”

“That may be wise.”

“Hah. Anyway, my love, hold me tight, and you can’t go wrong.”

Yvain complied, and felt his cock press just a little harder against her cunt. She stared up at him, watching his eyes. He seemed intent on what his body was doing, barely seeing her. She felt his cock move forward, enter and part her lips, until the head of his cock was inside her. She felt it as an intense sweetness, a vein of golden, sugared, pleasure. She said, “Oh! Oh, my Master. That’s so …”

But she had no words. Nor had he. She focussed on the sensations from her cunt, hard engorged cock moving easily but slowly, held in her slippery, longing cunt. Every millimetres of progress was a revelation. She’d enjoyed serving him with her mouth, and being fucked anally, but she knew now why he had left this till last.

She made a loving, pleasured moan, and he gasped in answer. Neither spoke in words, as he s=took her, with excruciating slowness.

At last their pubic bones pressed together, his covered in tight-curled hair and her bare and sensitive, and she felt herself utterly, completely filled. She was more aware of his cock, pulsing and alive inside her, than she’d ever been aware of anything in her life. She felt her eyes tearing up, and smiled up at him. He lowered his head and and kissed her. She put her hand on the back of his neck and kissed him back, opening her mouth, wanting to be explored.

At last, after a long, long moment, she felt him move, still very slowly, withdrawing, skin sliding back along sensitive skin. That skin contact and movement was so wonderful, but she hoped he wouldn’t withdraw far, or for long. At last he paused with only part of the head of his cock still in her, and he smiled, watching the tears and the need that must show on her face. He smiled, and held still. He was still in his power, and cruel with it. He could read her face, her need, and he grinned.

At last Yvain couldn’t help herself. “My Seigneur. Master. Please …”

But he held himself still, tormenting her. Then at last he pressed forward again, a little faster than the first time, until their pubic bones were tight together again, and Yvain felt little but her own cunt and its occupier. There was a bed, and a room, but these things were not important. Yvain sighed. “Ahhh…”

He stayed, letting her savour the fulness and thickness of him, the sensation of being filled. But this time he stayed for a shorter time, and then withdrew slowly but not quite so slow. When he was only just inside her he paused again, and smiled down at her. “I hope this feels better than the bishop.”

She had no answer for that except to hold him tight, her thighs raised and clasped round his waist. She rested her feet on his bottom and he made a growling noise, and began to move, still slowly but without stopping. This is the thing, Yvain thought: we are fucking.

She felt him speeding up. They moved together, her body answering and meeting his. Something seemed to be forming in her stomach and at the base of her spine. Something huge and sweet. She opened her eyes wide, and hoping to please him she said, “Master, may I – “

But then those forces inside her combined and took her over, like the huge waves she’d swum in when her father taken taken her to see the ocean. She lost the power of speech and roared, like a lioness, surprised by how guttural and ungirlish she sounded.

He said only, “Good girl.” He reached under her to hold her buttocks and let her take his full weight while he began thrusting into her, hard and fast. She was still glowing from that first climax when she felt the same forces build in her again, and she cried out a second time, this time in a high squeal, like a tortured cat.

He ignored that and continued to thrust hard and fast in her, merciless and intent, so she felt like he was plundering her. Then, suddenly his breathing stopped and his back arched, and then he pushed into her, his body pressed tight, and he released that breath in a series of bear-like grunts and growls.

She felt his seed splash inside her. That was not a sexual feeling, exactly, but it moved her. She felt herself crying like a child, her face screwed yup, her eyes streaming. He watched her cry, his face slowly changing from the pleasured mask of his orgasm to show concern. “Are you all right, little piglet? I haven’t hurt you?”

Yvain reached up and stroked his face. “I don’t know why I’m crying. But it’s nothing bad. I love you.” Then she smiled. “If a slave may be so bold.”

He said nothing, but kissed her mouth again. A moment later, surprising her because she’d forgotten the girl existed, Gizela kissed her forehead.