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.”
“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.”
“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.”
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.”