Yvain looked again at the man who’d proposed to marry her, and who, in her innocence and ignorance, she’d accepted. Matteo was not a bad man, but he’d been afraid of his sexual self. In the village it was shameful to desire men, and he had approached Yvain for his own safety.

It would have made a miserable life for both of them, but fortunately the castle had taken them both in new directions. Though they were both submissive and they both desired men, their ways would begin to part more and more, she suspected, from this moment.

But they stood nose, toes and palms to the wall, bodies arched out to emphasise their availability to their respective masters. He glanced at her, and she smiled at them. They had a form of submissive solidarity, but she knew  they would get to meet only rarely from this day on.

Matteo’s cock was hard, waiting for his Master. Yvain stared at it. It was more slender, but longer than her Seigneur’s.

Her Seigneur was codfish, and her former husband was ling, she thought, and then laughed. That was silly.

There were steps outside, in the corridor, a small crowd coming nearer. Then the door opened. She heard Gizela say, “Now that is utterly sweet!” Then she heard a loud ringing slap, the sound of her her Seigneur’s hand on Gizela’s bottom for speaking out of turn. 

Gizela had to take a breath, then another, before she said, “Thank you, Master.”

The Seigneur said, “Yvain, little piglet. I take it this tableau vivant is your creation?” 

“My Seigneur, it seemed appropriate.” 

His voice was amused. She did not dare turn, let alone change her position. “You felt you might demand flogging and fucking, I think?” 

“I would not dare make any demand, my Seigneur. But I thought if you were in that mood, then we should be in readiness.”

He laughed again. “Gizela is the minx, here. You, my girl, are expected to be a queen. So I suppose I have to flog you, to remind you of your place. And then … “

“You would then wish to fuck me, my Seigneur?” Yvain tried to keep her voice innocent. 

“Yes, Yvain, all, or possibly most, roads seem to have the same destination. Come here, little piglet. Gizela, take her place.” 

Yvain left the wall and skipped joyously to her Seigneur’s arms. He smacked her and squeezed and held her, and she could feel, as she pressed herself against him, that he was hard for her. He pulled her down onto the bed, himself seated with his naked girl over his knee, and began to spank her.

He used his hand at first, and then his folded belt, setting her squealing, and breathing fast and hard. The leather lashed against her bottom and thighs, never hard, but the lashes coming inexorably so the heat built up and so did her sensitivity, though she knew he was merely playing with her.

After a while she closed her eyes and let herself float over her Seigneur’s knee, slipping into a sexual trance in which she floated, never far from the earliest pull of her orgasm. She imagined she was swimming, her body enveloped in a warm, slightly viscous lake, with a waterfall at one end.

She swam, or floated, near the point at which the water would take her and pull her irresistibly over the falls. But for the moment she floated where she could feel that pull, but but not be seized by it.

Without stopping Yvain’s gentle flogging, her Seigneur suddenly spoke. “I’m sorry Alfredo; I’ve been a poor host. You have your duty to do by Matteo, I believe.”

“Yes, my Seigneur.”

“Perhaps Yvain could witness him being whipped, for using her as a prop to disguise his true desires?”

Alfredo coughed. “With respect, my lord, I would prefer not. I have punished him well for that. The custom, as you know, is that once an offence has been dealt with, it is over. However, I will of course punish him again if you give me that order.”

“No, Alfredo. I was unaware it was dealt with. You’re right, of course. I meant that you don’t need to wait on my pleasure before you take yours.”

“Thank you, my Seigneur. Matteo?”

“Yes, Master?” Matteo stayed in position, now with Gizela beside him in the same exposed position.

“I feel like beating you for my pleasure. You’ve done nothing wrong, but you will find my mood rather … harsh. But come here on your knees. You can pleasure me first, before we begin.”

“Master!” Matteo turned and dropped to his knees, his mouth wide open as no doubt he’d been taught, and his cock bobbing as he scrambled forward.

Yvain stared at the man she had married, before she was brought to the castle for the Seigneur to take her virginities. She supposed Matteo was no longer her husband, since they had never consummated their wedding, She realised that, with what Matteo had revealed about his preferences in lust and love, that they never would.

She wondered, briefly, what their married life would have been like. Two submissives, both with strong needs that the otgher could never satisfy, and a husband who did not desire her and who, out in the village, would have to conceal what class of people he did desire. 

Matteo’s owner, master and lover Alfredo stepped behind her husband, who seemed to have been struck dumb at the sight of her. Alfedo flicked a thin leather strap across his buttocks, the kind of stroke that Yvain recognised: not a punishment yet, but a rteminder that it was time for the submissive to do as he or she had been told. 

Matteo dropped to his knees instantly, and put his forehead and the palms of his hands to the floor, in front of her. He said, “My mistress, I have come to beg your forgiveness.”

Yvain caught the Seigneur’s eye, then, and knew what he expected from her. She said, “Matteo. You may rise, though I expect you to stay on your knees.” 

Matteo knelt upright, facing her. His cock was slowly softening. He looked once, briefly and in appeal, at her eyes, then remembered his place and lowered his gaze.

The Seigneur said, “Yvain, you wanted to know if Matteo is happy with his new place. Alfredo and I will leave the two of you to talk, in private. Gizela!”

Gizela, who had been standing with her nose in the corner, hands on head, showing off her own well-disciplined buttocks and thighs, turned instantly and joined the Seigneur. “Master,” she said. He smacked her scarlet bottom affectionately and she rubbed against him and kissed his chest. He put his arm round her waist as he led Alfredo from the room.

Then Matteo and Yvain were alone. They stayed in position for some time, regarding each other, Yvain robed and seated, Matteo naked and kneeling.

Yvain said, “You see the woman you took for a wife, and your cock goes down. You would have condemned us both to a long, dreary and loveless life.”

“Mistress – ”

“You may call me Yvain, Matteo. For this conversation. And I want only the truth from you, even if you think it might hurt me. Or hurt you.”

“Yvain, I beg your forgiveness. But I was afraid. The villagers are not kind to people like me.”

Yvain nodded. Men had been whipped, or killed, for suspicion of loving other men. Most villagers feared the castle and its occupants, but there were those – herself, and for different reasons Matteo – who were safer and happier there than they would ever be outside.

“I understand that. But you used my innocence to keep yourself safe, at the expense of my chances of happiness.”

“Alfredo pointed out as much, Yvain. I have been well whipped for it.”

Yvain grinned suddenly. “Yes, I’m sure you were whipped well. And I’m sure your cock was harder than these stone walls while Alfredo educated you. I’ve had many similar lessons from my Seigneur and his staff, and I know what it’s like to be punished and at the same time experience a kind of bliss I never knew existed.”

Matteo nodded. His cock was rising again as he remembered his whipping. “Exactly! Alfredo took me afterwards. It was the first time I’d ever been fucked. It was … moving. I fell in love with him, as he buggered me. It was, perhaps, confusing.”

Yvain smiled. “I’ve had a remarkably similar experience, Matteo.” He smiled back at her. There was a moment’s complicity and mutual recognition. “Matteo, I still want you to tell me the truth, without thinking of my feelings at all. Can you do that?” 

“I’d hate to hurt you more, Yvain. And I am sorry. But I promise I will only tell you the truth from now on.” 

“Then, Matteo: your new life. Are you happy in it?”

“Yvain, I am deeply submissive, as I now know you are too. Neither of us would have found that out, not from each other. But now my need to submit, and give myself, is open, and it is fully met. We have a lor in common, it turns out. Like you, I only really like men.”

Yvain thought for a moment of Gizela, and her desire to squeeze her thighs around that girl’s head as she busily served her mistress. But she didn’t argue the point. It was the Seigneur who mattered to her. She stood. “I’m glad you were whipped for deceiving me, Matteo. You deserved it. But now I know how little choice presented itself to you, I forgive you. And I’m glad you’re happy, Matteo. I feel no ill will towards you. I was, after all, ready to marry you.”

Matteo nodded. “I was very fond of you too. I still am. I’m glad you’re happy, far beyond the best I could have brought you.” 

Yvain dropped her robe, and turned her back. She was amused to hear Matteo gasp, not at her beauty but at the impressive colours and lines left by Karl and the Beldam’s strap, and the Seigneur’s hand and cane.

He said, “Yvain, I see you are being .. well cared for. Like me.” 

Yvain grinned. She wanted to be flogged and fucked again. So, she was sure, did he. She said, “Address me as Mistress from now on, Matteo.”

“Yes, Mistress.” 

“Now, keep that cock up and hard, for your Master’s return.”

“Yers, Mistress.”

“And go and face the wall, feet apart, hands outstrtetched. Hands and toes touching the wall, but your bottom angled out a bit.”

Matteo nodded. He knew this position, and what it was for. He faced the wall, adjusting his posrure as instructed. When he was ready he said, “As you commanded, Mistress.” 

“Good. Stay there.” Yvain came to stand beside him, placing herself in exactly the same posture. She turned to look at Matteo, who had his nose to the cold stone. “Submissives, even slaves like me, and you, have certain powers. I do not think our masters will be able to resist this sight, when they return. Not for a second. Now we wait.” 

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.”