Wicked Wednesday: Droit de Seigneur 19

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.”


Sinful Sunday: Table of Contentments

For the usual reasons, I can’t show Arethusa’s face. So you have to miss out on her smile. She’s not smiling at me, though she knows I’ve come round to take this photo. It’s an inward smile. It’s that she’s contented.

Sure, she’s tied across a table, getting her ass strapped and caned. Her arse is certainly red and striped, and she passes the legendary Masters’ hand-temperature gauge: yes, in fact that ass is hot!

But a hot sore arse can be a beautiful feeling to the person who experiences it, in the sense that all those yummy nerve endings down there are connected to others that tingle in her cunt and ultimately reach her brain. Wouldn’t work for everybody, but it does for Arethusa.  

But still, it’s punishment. And being tied down is a warning that it’s going to be severe. Rhetorically, that is. Really she’s tied down because she told me it’s hotter when she can’t move.

But even though we’re both enjoying ourselves, and we both know it, this also really does work as the expiation of a fault.

In a slave’s life of course misconduct has to have consequences. But once the consequences have been delivered, she knows it’s her duty to move on and not feel guilty for that failing ever again. It’s paid for and done. So there’s peace there. And therefore beatific smiles. 

And she knows she’s turning me on, and I know I’m turning her on. Genitals engorge; we’re ready for each other, once I’ve finished my duty.

A table. Of contentment.

Wicked Wednesday: Droit de Seigneur 18

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.



Sinful Sunday: Modigliani and me

Modigliani has always been one of my favourite artists. I don’t think I could claim he was great on a par with Botticelli or Turner or Ernst,* but he might be the painter whose work I like most. Mostly because of his nudes, but not entirely. 

Anyway, here are two reclining nudes. The nude of flesh, not paint, has painted herself, to some extent, but I couldn’t help adding some colour of my own. 

Modigliani said, “You are not alive unless you know you are living.” That sounds like a Deepity, one of those Inspirational Quotes that don’t mean anything in particular, but it’s about reflecting on yourself and on your dreams and desires, as you live them. You must be alert, self-reflective and conscious to fully experience beauty and pleasure. 

He also said, “With one eye you are looking at the world, while with the other you are looking within yourself.” That’s what human and especially woman’s beauty does for us, or maybe I just mean me. It makes us want to be aware, and to work to achieve that awareness.  * Wot? No Impressionists, no Cubists, no-one whose stuff might get in one of the Guggenheims? Yeah, nah.  What a wank most 20th century art was, especially the stuff curators and critics dribbled over.

Wicked Wednesday: Droit de Seigneur 17

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?” 





Wicked Wednesday: Droit de Seigneur 16

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. 


Sinful Sunday: Wiggled lines

When I bent Arethusa over a bed, my belt keeping her warm and red, she couldn’t always keep still. A wiggling girl, presenting a moving target. But keeping herself presented, just the same.

Time gets blurred, red and hot too, when Arethusa was over a bed.







Jaime and the Night Visitor

I don’t know when it was, but I’d been asleep, and then suddenly my eyes were open in pitch darkness and someone’s hand was over my mouth. So I swung my arm out of the covers, fist clenched, the start of a fight reflex, except that I hit female skin. Just under a pleasantly plump breast.

It was Lisa, not wearing red jeans. Or a t-shirt. I didn’t think I’d been especially charming that evening, but I asked no questions. We’d rolled into the bed and under the blankets, and she grappled me while I reached for the bedside table and shook out a condom from my wallet.

When that was sorted, we kissed, trying different angles, until I pushed her down onto her back. She’d opened her legs when she felt my cock touch her, and made a small, encouraging noise in my ear.

Other than that we’d fucked in silence, the cold air pricking our flesh whenever some limb, or buttock, emerged from the blankets.

She’d shuddered several times, silently but powerfully, so I felt I’d done well by her.

Eventually I came in her, holding back my usual uncouth racket, and lay on my side with my arms around the daughter of the house, her ass conveniently placed if I happened to awake more or less recovered. I was fond of Lisa by then. I fell asleep.

Some time in the coldest and darkest time of morning, I was woken by the door’s careful closing. I was alone.

Wicked Wednesday: Droit de Seigneur 15

Yvain knocked again on the Beldam’s door. At last, and suddenly, the door opened. The Beldam stared at her, letting her know she had interrupted something and that she was not going to know what it is. 

“Oh. It’s you. The Seigneur wants me in attendance with an instrument, to ensure you are obedient, and you learn quickly. What does he want me to bring?”

Yvain swallowed. This was hard and humiliating, and of course her Seigneur had made it so deliberately. She said, “The cane, Beldam. But he asks that first you give me twelve of the best for insolence.”

The Beldam smiled, not in a way that reassured Yvain. “Insolent, were you? Well. That was a very foolish thing to be. Still, I have the remedy. Come in, child.”

Yvain entered the beldam’s room. Like Karl’s, it had a rack with many instruments handing, canes, crops, paddles and straps, as well as things clearly intended to enter her while she was punished. There was a narrow bench, on one support bolted to the floor.

The Beldam looked at Yvain, with no sympathy but some impatience. “Well, girl, go to that bench there, and bend over. I’m not going to fix you down. This is a test of you obedience too, you know that.” 

Yvain hurried to the bench over which she was to be caned. She said, still standing, “The Seigneur said that I must be silent, no matter how hard you cane me, or how much you hurt me.” 

“Did he say what was to happen if you whine or sniffle, little slut?”

“No, Beldam. He did not.”

The Beldam smiled again. “You will of course get the stroke over, and a penalty stroke at the end of the twelve. That is as merciful as I dare to be. But I will report your failure to the Seigneur, and I’m sure he will know what to do.”

Yvain nodded. It took a great deal of effort, of self-discipline, to say, “Yes, Beldam. Thank you, Beldam.”

Then she bent over, her feet well apart, her hair hanging down, touching the Beldam’s carpet. She could only see the rug below her. It showed a hunting scene, dogs tearing at a deer. She could hear the Beldam rattling the implements, then her satisfied grunt. She dared not look, but she heard the sound – one she had already learned to recognise – of a cane whistling through the air, twice, and the Beldam’s satisfied grunt.

Suddenly she saw a long carved thing, leather tight on wood, that reminded her of the Seigneur’s cock. The Beldam held it to her mouth, and Yvain reflexively opened. The Beldam chuckled, and put her hand under Yvain’s jaw, closing her mouth.

“When I beat you in the future, you will have this in your arsehole or your little cunt, Yvain. To remind you of your Master. But this time I think I shouldn’t. The Seigneur would think it right that his cock is the first to enter those places. Well.” 

The Beldam took a step back. Yvain somehow felt rather than saw the cane rise in the air, above the Beldam’s shoulder. She closed her eyes, to focus on string quiet. 

The first stroke cut like a firebrand across the lower slopes of her bottom. She fought to keep still and stay silent. The Beldam muttered, “Good.” 

At the tenth stroke her bottom and upper thighs seemed to be on fire. Still Yvain fought to be still and silent. The Beldam was out of breath when she again said, “Good girl.” She seemed surprised. 

But the twelfth stroke was the hardest of the series, and finally Yvain let a small protesting sound of pain emerge, though suppressed, through her nose.

The Beldam sounded triumphant, though she said, “It’s a pity you didn’t make it.” Yvain endured the re-application of that twelfth stroke, and the penalty, in silence. She thought her body felt boneless, buttocks and thighs blazing, and her legs and torso utterly relaxed over that narrow bench. She hung on the bench like a wet shirt on a branch.

The Beldam smacked her left thigh. “Up, slut.” Yvain struggled to re-enter normal time and move herself. When she was back on her feet the beldam said, “You know I’ll report your failure to stay silent.”

“Yes, Beldam. It’s your duty.” Yvain surprised herself in acknowledging that. The Beldam might enjoy her cruelty, but she, like Yvain, had no choices. 

“You’re learning. And you know you thought what just happened to you was your lover’s cares. He wanted you hurt, and you want to be hurt for him. I’ll say no more. You have to know these things with your body, not your mind, Yvain.” 

Yvain was surprised. It wasn’t just that the Beldam was right, it was that she thought she was looking after Yvain. Yvain knew that the Beldam was right in that. She was. Together the two woman returned to the Seigneur’s room. 

The Seigneur was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room. He wore nothing. His cock poled upwards, and turned in Yvain’s direction when she stepped inside.