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.”