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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are right, little slave.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gizela smiled, and almost skipped to the bed.

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

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

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

“How so, my Seigneur?”

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

“Yes. I haven’t forgotten.”

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

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

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

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

“What did you just say yes to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Gizela, the wife of the Mayor.

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.