Yvain watched Matteo, her husband – she supposed he still had that title, formally, until their wedding was annulled – shuffle forward, naked, on his knees, mouth held open, to approach his Master. Alfredo stood, took his belt off and undid his robe just far enough to allow Matteo to bring his face to his Master’s penis, hands still clasped behind his back, and press his open lips on the head of his Master’s cock.
Matteo took the cock in, all the way, so his lips were pressed against his Master’s groin. After nearly a minute he began, slowly, to move his head. Yvain could see the left side of his face, the cheek concave with his effort. She wondered if men’s mouths, being a little larger, were better made to take the penis, or whether Matteo’s skill and commitment was the product of discipline even harsher than she had experienced since their wedding day, when she had entered the castle. Both, she decided.
Alfredo brought his belt down, raising vertical stripes on Matteo’s buttocks while he pleasured his Master. Each stroke was delivered at the moment Matteo’s lips kissed his Master’s thick black pubic hair, and the cock was deep in his mouth and throat. The strokes came at intervals of about twenty seconds.
Alfredo breathed out, in pleasure. He looked then, at Yvain’s lap.
He no longer looked at her eyes: he recognised her seniority, at least to him. “My Mistress, I should like to whip this man, your husband, with something stronger than my belt. May I – ?”
Yvain smiled. This really was an odd circumstance. She said, “Gizela, bring Alfredo a short, heavy whip, please. One I haven’t felt myself yet.”
“Mistress.” Gizela went to the cupboard where the Seigneur kept his implements. She took one that a passing prince had given the Seigneur, and briefly held it to the Seigneur for his approval.
The Seigneur looked stern. “I’m sure your Mistress is aware that what is mine is now hers also.” Yvain gasped. She had not known that. Then she composed herself, pretending as best she could that it was not news.
Gizela tried to look sorry, though the prospect of going over Yvain’s knee was hardly a deterrent.
Yvain thought that if she really pleasured her Seigneur well, and perhaps Gizela did too, she might be allowed to use a paddle, at least, on that girl. Gizela said, with great sincerity, “I’m sorry, my Master. And I apologise, Mistress. I promise I’ll be very good while you punish me.”
The Seigneur laughed briefly and smacked Gizela’s bottom, sending her over to Alfredo. He took the whip courteously, but did not thank her – one does not thank slaves for obedience – and raised it over his shoulder.
The loud – almost deafening – clap the whip made when it lashed down over Matteo’s left buttock and biting down on his thigh was almost frightening. At least it was for Yvain, who knew she would experience something similar soon enough. Matteo stiffened under the blow, and his body seemed to collapse against his Master’s legs. But he did not pause or falter in his service to Alfredo’s cock.
The lash rang out again, and again, and again. Yvain thought Matteo muist be in absolute agony, and wondered if she could take as much. But his cock was still hard, straining in the air as if ready to burst. He certainly felt it, but not exactly as pain. She expected she would be the same.
Alfredo now put his left hand on the back of Matteo’s head and at last began to move, fucking Matteo’s throat. He continued to whip his slave, but there was no longer any regularity to the strokes. Yvain noticed that some of the lashes had cut her husband’s skin, and there were small trickles and traces of blood on his thighs and lower buttocks. But that did not deter Alfredo’s hand, or Matteo’s cock.
Yvain wondered if her Seigneur would ever make her bleed. She suspected not: he might feel it would spoil the beauty of his possession. In any case it was his decision. She heard Alfredo grunt, low, throatily and loud. Then he said, “You are not at home, gosling. You may not come.”
Alfredo grabbed Matteo’s head in both hands then, the whip draped down Matteo’s back, and began to thrust slow, hard and deep. Then he sped up, frenzied and fast, and suddenly lifted his head and howled, his voice surprisingly high-pitched. He howled twice more, at decreasing pitch as he came. Yvain noted Matteo swallowing furiously. Like her, he’d been told not to let a drop escape.
At last Alfredo relaxed, his slave still swallowing and sucking lightly, while he softened in Matteo’s mouth. Yvain felt the Seigneur’s hand on her shoulder. He was reassurring her, though she wasn’t sure what she needed reassurance for. She put her hand on his.
Alfredo smiled at them, almost apologetically, and readjusted his robes, so his penis was not seen, even when he pushed Matteo back. He looked down then and said, “To the door, gosling. Then down. Right down, as you’ve learned.”
So ‘gosling’ was Matteo’s pet name, as ‘piglet’ was Yvain’s. She wondered how he’d earned it. But while Matteo shuffled into place, his hands still clasped behind his head, Alfredo turned to the Seigneur. “I’m sorry, my Seigneur, but my slave seems to have dirtied your whip. He will clean it thoroughly, of course.”
The Seigneur squeezed Yvain’s shoulder again. “Yes, it’s a very satisfying implement, isn’t it? Of course you can borrow it. Matteo can return it, cleaned, in the morning.”
“Thank you. And with respect, my Seigneur, I have further uses planned for my little gosling here, but I do not perform certain things well with an audience. And I’m sure you would also like your privacy.”
“Of course. Thank you, Alfredo. I’m sure Yvain found that very … enlightening. And I suspect inspiring.” Yvain tightened her hand on his again. “I’ll see Matteo – or Yvain will – in the morning.”
“Then I take my leave. Gosling! I’m going to ride you. Rather thoroughly. Home!” He pulled Matteo up by his ear, and the two of them left. Gizela closed the door, but not before they heard one last clap from the whip and, for the first time, an answering gasp from Matteo.
Gizela laughed. “I think I can guess the state of Matteo’s back by the time he gets back tomorrow morning.” Then she frowned. “No, actually, I don’t think I can. He’s going to be in gosling heaven.”
The Seigneur said, “Quiet, Gizela. And I want you to bathe your Mistress now. She is about to lose her last virginity.”