Yselle Side Story: The Education
Yselle pulled back, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. She dragged the back of her soot-stained hand across her mouth, wiping away the slick sheen of Mina’s juices. She looked down at the shivering, completely spent young woman and let out a loud, genuine laugh that bounced off the wooden walls.
"Gods, you are sweet," Yselle grinned, her pale eyes shining with delight. "You taste like honey and shattered pride. If those gray-bearded spell-weavers at the academy knew what was hiding under your wool skirts, they would burn their libraries to the ground just to get a taste of it."
Mina lay melted against the furs, her wire-rimmed glasses skewed again, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow pants. The lingering shame that had haunted her entire academic career was gone, washed away by the physical claiming of the working lanes.
But Yselle was not finished. The oral climax was merely the beginning of the night's curriculum.
As the tavern noise below them swelled and eventually faded into the late hours, the room above the hearth transformed into a classroom. Yselle systematically stripped away the last remaining boundaries of Mina's inexperience. She wanted her niece fully awakened, armed with a physical confidence that the repressed, staring men at the academy could never touch or diminish again.
The hours bled together into a sweaty, relentless marathon of carnal instruction.
Yselle taught her how to kneel. She forced Mina to the center of the mattress, making her hold her posture while Yselle straddled her face, teaching her exactly how to use her mouth and tongue to service another woman. When Mina’s jaw ached and her throat burned, Yselle carefully pulled the wire-rimmed glasses off the student's face, setting them safely on the small wooden table. Then she flipped Mina over, pinning her wrists to the furs and driving carved wooden toys deep into her core, teaching her how to breathe through the stretch and ride out the grinding friction without losing her mind.
They moved to the floorboards. Yselle stood Mina up against the wall, lifting her by her wide hips and showing her how to wrap her legs and lock her ankles. She forced Mina to build the stamina required to take a heavy pounding in any position. Yselle drilled her like a vanguard recruit, pushing her past exhaustion, making her squeal and squirt until the fluid soaked into the wolf furs and stained the wooden planks.
"When you go back to the province," Yselle whispered fiercely into Mina's ear, holding her hips down as she drove her fingers to the hilt. "They will look at your shape and think you are just soft, shameful flesh. But you will know exactly how much force you can take, and exactly what you are capable of doing to them."
By the time the pale, gray light of morning crept through the single window, Mina had nothing left to give. She fell asleep tangled in the heavy blankets, her body bruised, thoroughly emptied, and entirely at peace.
The smell of Lysa’s fresh yeast dough and rendering bacon eventually woke them.
Mina stirred, groaning softly as a chorus of deep, unfamiliar aches flared to life across her thighs, her lower back, and her sore core. She sat up, pushing her tangled dark ponytails out of her face. Her shredded uniform was a lost cause, so she pulled on one of Yselle’s oversized linen tunics. The rough fabric draped loosely over her breasts, falling to mid-thigh and leaving her wide, marked legs entirely bare.
Yselle was already awake, pulling her heavy boots onto her feet. The forge master looked tired but immensely satisfied, the tension of the forge drained from her shoulders.
"Come along, Mina," Yselle said, standing up and grabbing the wire-rimmed glasses from the side table. She tossed them onto the mattress. "Let's get some food in you before you collapse."
They walked out into the corridor and slowly descended the narrow stairs. Mina’s legs wobbled with every step, her inner thighs chafing against each other.
The main taproom was empty, smelling faintly of stale ale and woodsmoke from the night before, but the kitchen at the back was already bustling. The iron stove was roaring. Lysa stood at the counter, her hands covered in white flour as she kneaded a massive mound of dough. Mara sat at the head of the oak table, a cup of dark tea resting near her elbow as she methodically tallied the previous night's ledger with a quill.
Mara did not look up immediately when the two women walked in, but her pen stopped scratching across the parchment.
"Good morning, Yselle," Mara stated, her voice carrying its usual dry, immovable authority. She finally raised her dark eyes, looking past the forge master to observe the flushed, limping student wearing an oversized shirt.
"Morning, Mara," Yselle grinned, pulling out a wooden chair and collapsing into it. Mina carefully lowered herself into the seat beside her aunt, wincing as her bruised backside met the hard wood.
Mara set her quill down and folded her hands over the ledger. A faint, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"I had three separate complaints this morning from the patrons staying on the second floor," Mara noted, her tone perfectly flat, though her eyes gleamed with amusement. "They demanded partial refunds for their rooms."
Mina froze, a sudden flush of embarrassment rushing to her cheeks.
"Oh?" Yselle asked, leaning back and crossing her arms. "And what was the grievance?"
"Noise," Mara replied dryly. She took a sip of her tea, her gaze locking directly onto Mina’s magnified brown eyes. "They swore someone snuck a cheap, squealing streetwalker into the upper corridor. Said the young woman was wailing so loudly, and the floorboards were taking such a beating, that it kept the entire wing awake until an hour past midnight."
Lysa choked on a laugh, turning her face toward the brick oven to hide her bright red cheeks. She pulled a heavy iron skillet from the stove, carrying a massive portion of rendered bacon and eggs to the oak table. She set it down in front of Yselle and Mina, wiping her flour-dusted hands on a clean apron.
Yselle threw her head back and let out a booming, unapologetic laugh. She reached over and slapped a heavy hand on Mina’s shoulder, shaking her.
"I told you I make no promises about the noise, Mara," Yselle boasted proudly. "The streetwalker they heard is sitting right here. And she is going to need a very large plate of bacon."
Mina hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. She was mortified, but beneath the embarrassment, a warm, undeniable pride blossomed in her chest. The working lanes had stripped away her shame and replaced it with a deep, aching confidence. She was the broken, squealing foundation of the hearth, and everyone knew it.
Lysa sighed, leaning her hip against the edge of the oak table. "My husband asked me again this morning why I am leaving the house before the sun even thinks about rising. I cannot keep telling him I am just organizing the bakery's pantry. He is starting to wonder why I am at the tavern so much lately."
Mara reached into the leather pouch tied to her belt. She pulled out three silver coins and slid them across the scarred wood toward the baker.
"Tell him you secured an exclusive contract," Mara instructed smoothly, taking another sip of her tea. "Tell him I am paying you well to bake all of The Stag & Ember's daily bread."
Lysa smiled, sweeping the silver into her apron pocket. It was a perfectly believable lie, though entirely unnecessary for the tavern's actual operation. Mara simply enjoyed the arrangement. The tavern owner liked having a soft, eager woman in her kitchen every morning, filling the room with excellent food and keeping her bed warm whenever she demanded it.