by Emily Tilton
Walking into town in the chill morning air, Joe passed the bunkhouse and heard some of that rowdiness coming through the simple one-story building’s thin walls as the smoke poured from the stack in the center of the still snow-covered roof beam. The blizzard in which Alice had arrived had given way to sullen, threatening clouds and temperatures that hovered below freezing during the day while plunging at night to a climate in which a man hated even to think about needing the outhouse. Mary had of course gone back to the warmth of Elder George’s house, and Joe had had great difficulty concentrating on his woodworking and his harness repairs or even feeding his draft horse and his chickens. He had imagined sweet Alice Rhodes waiting for him in his bed, warm under the covers, and he had counted the minutes until he could make the walk into town.
Joe couldn’t call himself best pleased that he had to walk by the bunkhouse. Surely Ken had gotten a look at Alice by now; the men of the bunkhouse, as Joe himself well knew from his time there, got to come visit the girls at Miss Reynolds’ school on visiting days twice a week. New girls like Alice didn’t have to serve sexually, but Miss Reynolds did make them take off their clothes for the men’s visits, as a healthy lesson in letting go of the false modesty that even the farthest fallen girl of London or San Francisco still had to some degree or she would not have attracted the attention of the elder who had invited her to Brownsville.
Yes, Ken had certainly seen Alice naked by now, and had probably had his cock sucked by another girl while Alice was made to watch, so that when her turn came she would know how to treat the phallus with the proper respect. That made Joe’s mind burn with envy and jealousy, which Dr. Brown called natural, but controllable, emotions. At least Elder Hilton had arranged with Miss Reynolds that Joe would have time alone with Alice, and that if the schoolteacher had satisfied herself that the pupil had made good progress, Alice would kneel before him and taste Joe’s phallus first, this morning. He swelled—a little painfully—in his pants at the thought even as he approached Elder Shaw’s house, the phallus in question very ready indeed to begin Miss Alice Rhodes’ training in oral coitus.
“Good morning, Joe,” said Miss Reynolds when she answered the door. “It’s so very nice to see you.”
“You too, Miss Reynolds,” Joe said, feeling a little humble as he usually did in the face of Miss Stella Reynolds’ English accent. He felt a little foolish about that, given how many times he had seen Miss Reynolds’ spanked and fucked by Elder Shaw at the weekly meeting—hell, he had fucked Miss Reynolds himself a few weeks before, and found her wonderfully tight. Miss Reynolds had learned at Dr. Brown’s school in England, it seemed, a secret movement of the inner muscles that the elders had decreed she should teach to all the girls of Brownsville.
“I know Alice is longing to see you, too. Come have breakfast with us. You’re the only man this morning.” Miss Reynolds, a beautiful brunette of about twenty-five with an air of experience that made her seem wise beyond her years, gave a much younger-looking mischievous smile. “You won’t mind that, will you, Mr. Smithers?”
Joe chuckled. “No, miss. I promise I won’t mind.”
At the long table in the dining room sat a dozen girls in their nightgowns. Joe thought it a bit of a shame that the cold weather should enforce a certain heaviness and shapelessness in night garments today; he had seen Miss Reynolds’ girls, in the summer, sitting at the breakfast table in nighties so sheer they might not even be there for all the cover they gave a girl’s charms. Still, he felt all his natural privilege to see them in so intimate a setting as their morning meal, when they had not yet donned their petticoats and their corsets.
How stirring, he thought, remembering some of Dr. Brown’s wisdom on the matter, to see Alice and the other girls before they had armored themselves in that feminine fashion. In keeping with the doctor’s theories, after all, Miss Reynolds enforced the wearing, during most of the day, of corset and petticoat, despite the main duties of a new girl in Brownsville involving the employment of the bosom, cunt, and bottom rendered nearly inaccessible by those impediments of whalebone and crinoline.
Care must be taken, Dr. Brown had written, that the young lady of a natural man not have her societal veneer taken away with her false modesty, in order that the true modesty—the modesty she owes to the man who holds the right of the phallus over her—appear in its glory. We do not seek to destroy culture, after all, but to bring it to the erotic flower it had in ancient days, before the advent of so-called morality. Proof of this principle may be found in the effect a girl’s blushes have upon a natural man: dress your young lady in the finery of the world, when she is to appear upon an ordinary occasion, and then enjoy her scarlet face when told to take that finery off for discipline or coitus before those who may benefit from the sight.
Yes, the flannel nightgowns might hide the girls’ wonderful curves even more than their dresses did, but the very idea of seeing so many lovely young ladies, including the golden-haired girl Joe could already feel himself getting sweet on, fired his blood.
To sit as the only man at the table, too, in the place Miss Reynolds had reserved for him next to Alice, seemed even to make up for Ken Sweeney’s having been able to see Alice naked. Alice looked up at him, her eyes a little wide but a smile on her face, as he pulled out the chair.
“Miss Rhodes,” Joe said in his most refined voice, remembering how elegant Miss Reynolds liked to keep things in her schoolroom and in her house, “it’s so nice to see you.”
Alice’s cheeks grew a bit pink, then, and Joe wondered if she had remembered the unexpected delights of his cabin the night she had come and the morning after—unexpected for both of them, though in very different ways.
“Mr. Smithers,” she said, glancing up the table at Miss Reynolds, past three or four chattering young ladies who clearly did their best not to notice Alice’s conversation with Joe. Joe too glanced in that direction, and saw Miss Reynolds smile and nod at Alice’s courteous greeting. “I’m very glad to see you, too.”
She put her hand up to him, and he took it warmly, loving how the strange world of Brownsville made a longshoremen and a penniless refugee from a raided wagon train into polite companions—polite companions who nevertheless knew that the submissive girl would soon kneel before the naturally dominant man and receive his hard penis in her mouth.
Joe sat and let Alice help himself to eggs and bacon, watching her again look at Miss Reynolds and again receive an approving nod.
“Told you you’d like Miss Reynolds,” he said to her.
“Oh, I do,” Alice said, “but…” Her cheeks, which had lost their color as she dealt with the breakfast food, went red again. Joe could tell she hadn’t really meant to voice the but, or perhaps had meant to introduce the thought differently, but he also thought he knew exactly what Alice meant to suggest in voicing the mild reservation.
“But it’s still embarrassing?”
Alice looked at him with a little smile of gratitude, as if for sparing her the necessity of finishing her thought. She nodded quickly, and looked down at her own eggs, the blush growing even more noticeable.
“I mean… I want to… you were so…”
Joe chuckled, and again decided to spare Alice having to say something immodest. “I know you won’t say kind, sweetheart—or at least you won’t really mean it the way most people mean kind. But I taught you about Brownsville, and about what your life here will be like, didn’t I?”
Alice didn’t look up from her plate, but she did nod, tight-lipped.
Then, because he couldn’t resist, and because Miss Reynolds encouraged this sort of talk to help girls overcome their false modesty, Joe said, “Is your little cunt wet right now, Miss Rhodes? Are you ready to go to the training room with me?”
“Oh, no,” said Miss Reynolds. “Alice will suck your penis here, Mr. Smithers. She’s been coming along very well, but she still has trouble with the very first lesson of my school. Girls, what is the first lesson of Miss Reynolds’ school?�
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The table had fallen silent when Miss Reynolds had, with her voice slightly raised, announced that Alice would perform fellatio for the first time here in the dining room. Now the girls, including Alice, though she stumbled over a word or two, and Joe saw her face get even redder, chorused back the words they had committed to memory.
“I am a submissive young lady. My body belongs to the natural man who claims me and cares for me. My mouth is for him. My cunt is for him. My bottom is for him. I am not ashamed to give him those parts of me whenever and wherever he chooses.”
“Now of course Mr. Smithers here would always choose to have the rest of you young ladies present, to inspire his lust as he enjoys the girl he saved from the blizzard. He suggested the training room to Miss Rhodes just now so as not to disrupt breakfast. Is that not it, Mr. Smithers?” Miss Reynolds looked at Joe with her right eyebrow arched very high over her bewitching dark gaze.
Joe chuckled. “Yes, indeed, Miss Reynolds.”
“Well, it so happens that I don’t find this lesson for our new girl disruptive in the slightest. Nightgowns off, girls, all of you. Alice, Mr. Smithers will want to inspect your cunt, since you’ve just been shaved yesterday.” The schoolteacher turned to Joe. “She was sweet and obedient for the shaving, I’m happy to tell you, though she got into a small disciplinary difficulty during visiting hours yesterday. You’ll see the marks from that, too, I’m afraid, when you inspect her.”
“Oh?” Joe inquired, as the rest of the girls pulled their nightgowns over their heads to reveal their lovely naked charms. Alice still stood uncertainly next to Joe, who had remained seated like Miss Reynolds. She looked nervously from her new schoolteacher to the man who had taken her in during the storm in such an unconventional way. “Alice,” he asked, “did you get a birching?”
Chapter Eleven
Oh, how could she possibly answer? How could she explain that her rebellious side had seemed to come back to her as she grew more comfortable here at Elder Shaw’s house? How could she even admit to Joe—to Mr. Smithers—that she had begun to feel comfortable at all in this strange house or in this strange town?
She hung her head, on the verge of refusal but also not sure she didn’t simply want to reach down for the hem of the white nightgown and rebel instead against Miss Thacher in far-off Boston, and against all the forces of society that the settlers of Brownsville, too, had set at defiance.
“Alice,” Joe repeated, his voice a deep growl. “Miss Reynolds tells me that she had to punish you. Is that true?”
Alice managed to lift her eyes just enough to meet Miss Reynolds’ gaze, finding in them that hypnotic blend of sympathy and authority she had already come to know, and nearly to love. She had seen Miss Reynolds’ special compassion that first day when the young woman, along with Mary, had helped her back into her shift and her dress, and then wrapped her in a heavy woolen blanket and led her from Joe’s cabin. Miss Reynolds was so much younger than Miss Thacher, but she seemed to understand so much more about Alice, even if that understanding emerged strangely in her actions.
Now she saw that of course Miss Reynolds wouldn’t let Alice deny that she had gotten a birching the previous day. Nor would she allow Alice to keep her nightgown on, when all the other girls had already taken theirs off and resumed their seats naked at the breakfast table, making the scene appear like some fabulous illustration of the Arabian nights, but without even the discretion of strange, diaphanous garments to conceal the many pink or brown nipples that stood erect in the slightly cool air of the dining room. Joe would see the marks on Alice’s bottom and thighs, just as she herself had been made by Miss Reynolds to gaze at them in the mirror, in the bathroom at bedtime, as a further lesson in respect for her rules.
“Yes,” she mumbled.
“Yes, what, Miss Rhodes?” said Miss Reynolds.
“Yes, Mr. Smithers. I was birched,” she whispered, wishing the floor would swallow her.
“And you will be birched again,” said Miss Reynolds, “if you cannot obey my simple commands. It is time for you to suck Mr. Smithers’ penis, just as you watched Mr. Sweeney’s penis sucked by Miss Fenton yesterday, without your clothes on, after I had to punish you for your defiance. You are new here, still, so you will be spared anal discipline for a few days yet, but I can assure you that if you continue to rebel your bottom will pay a very heavy penalty. Now take off your nightgown and bend over the table to show Mr. Smithers your cunt and your backside.”
But Alice bit her lip and shook her head. She couldn’t say that she wanted to obey Miss Reynolds, but that she also wanted not to, because that would embarrass her so very much in front of Mr. Smithers and the other girls—it didn’t even make any sense, really. She could act, though, couldn’t she?
She knew she would be punished. She also knew Miss Reynolds’ threat wasn’t at all an idle one: Alice had already seen another girl, Georgina Norris, bent over the punishment horse with knees spread to have a big black plug inserted in her bottom’s tiny ring as she wailed out her repentance. Georgina had had to stay that way for fifteen minutes, in the parlor with the other girls doing their needlepoint around her, and then to spend the rest of the day with the plug inside her. The raven-haired girl’s whimpers as she walked had echoed terribly in Alice’s ears.
And Georgina had only failed to memorize her French lesson, though it seemed she had committed the same fault twice before. To no one’s surprise, Miss Norris had said her lesson perfectly that evening, and Miss Reynolds had rewarded her with a climax in front of all the girls, the big black plug still firmly in place and Georgina once again riding the punishment horse, hips bucking upon Miss Reynolds’ knowing hand. The sight had made Alice feel very faint, but the schoolteacher had issued her special instructions, saying she would be punished if caught with eyes closed, or looking away.
But the knowledge that the black plug, and, she felt certain, untold further chastisements, awaited her if she failed to respect Miss Reynolds’ commands had the opposite effect upon her to the one she thought the schoolteacher intended. She wanted to show Miss Reynolds, the other girls, and—and especially, she realized with a little leap of her heart—Joe that she could assert herself; that Miss Alice Rhodes had a will of her own. Even with a birched bottom that still stung when she moved, and made her perch on the edge of her chair to eat at the table—perhaps all the more, for the soreness of her backside—Alice wanted to show that she didn’t mean to give in to the shameful ways of Brownsville so easily.
So she shook her head, looking from Miss Reynolds to Joe, not sure how she dared refuse her teacher’s command and yet disobeying all the same.
Miss Reynolds smiled a very patient smile, the compassion in it frightening Alice more than she supposed any menace might have. The woman didn’t want to have to punish her new pupil, but she understood the necessity of such educational situations, that smile seemed to say, and Alice’s bottom would pay the price it had to pay even though her teacher regretted having to adopt such stern measures.
“Mr. Smithers, would you bend her over, please, and raise her nightgown? A few spanks from your big right hand, on top of her welts from the birch, will teach her not to defy you, or me.”
Alice turned to Joe with wild eyes, the concrete idea of his hand on her bare bottom, awakening the pain of the birching so terribly, quickly making the fear at last get the better of the defiance. She held out her hands to him, beseeching.
“Please, no,” she begged. “I’ll… I’ll…” but she still couldn’t bring herself to say that she would do the thing she had seen Miss Fenton do to Mr. Sweeney. Mary Jones had kissed Joe’s penis, after she had washed it, and that didn’t seem so terrible. But to take the whole big thing in your mouth, and to let the man hold your head while he thrust inside the same way Joe had held Mary’s hips while he fucked her bottom… she couldn’t, even if the picture in her head of it seemed strangely to produce a different feeling. Even if it seemed to make her wonder whether she would feel t
he same pride Mary had felt about taking Joe in her bottom, should Alice be able to make the white seed come from Joe’s cock as Miss Fenton had with Mr. Sweeney’s, and swallow it all while Joe said good girl.
“Please go ahead, Mr. Smithers,” said Miss Reynolds. “This is why the girl was birched yesterday: for refusing to remove her clothes when I told her to. She had to be strapped to the punishment horse with her skirts pinned up and flogged until she voiced her compliance. I can tell you that Mr. Sweeney found the sight of her freshly birched rear end very inspirational. Miss Rhodes had to stand bent in front of him, watching the fellatio over her shoulder while Mr. Sweeney stroked her bottom.”
Alice had the fleeting impression, through her terror, that Miss Reynolds had some intent in her words to Joe that lay a little beyond Alice’s own understanding. The way Joe reacted seemed to confirm her in that idea, for he rose and seized her, and turned her around almost roughly, though without real violence. Alice gave a little cry as she felt herself in his power, felt him bending her, with her hands held behind atop her back, felt him raise the nightgown. She struggled, but entirely in vain. She kicked, but Joe gave her a very sharp spank upon her bare thigh, and then another, which hurt like blazes over the strokes of the birch Miss Reynolds had delivered in the same place, and said, “Stop that, Alice.”
“Spread her knees and inspect that pretty cunt and that sweet little anus while you have her there, Mr. Smithers,” she heard Miss Reynolds say. “Would you like her held down by two other pupils so you can discipline her properly, and fondle the bottom yourself?”
Alice heard herself whimper, and she knew, from somewhere outside her body, or maybe really deep down inside, that the burning and the clenching between her thighs had happened in response to the terrible way Miss Reynolds had of putting things, as if Alice should feel grateful to serve as a mere vehicle of pleasure for men to enjoy.