by Emily Tilton
Now, in bed with her mistress, whose sounds of wicked self-pleasure had set her cunt aflame, Celia knew how urgent Nell’s need had been that night. She could hardly believe it of herself, but she knew she must make haughty Miss Leticia kiss her maid’s country cunny.
Chapter Four
Sir Henry had grown so hard that he had a devilish time not unbuttoning and easing his prick’s torment as he stood watching and listening to the girls in Leticia’s bed. Could Celia truly be such a randy little thing? Someday the baronet would have to learn the whole truth of the matter, and hear the story of the girl learning to frig her cunt from her evidently experienced friend.
And what an experienced friend indeed! Surely this Nell must have received regular fucking on that Devon farm, to feel such needs. Sir Henry’s mind filled for a few moments with fanciful, debauched ideas of a farmer disciplining and enjoying the dairy maids just as he liked. Had Celia herself been fucked, then? Had she cried out as upon her eighteenth birthday her maidenhead was taken over a bale of hay? As she learned, just as her friend Nell must have learned what it meant to give a country farmer his natural rights?
Into so deep an erotic reverie did Sir Henry fall, watching Celia press upon Leticia’s reluctant shoulders to move her mistress where Leticia’s mouth could give the wanton pleasure for which the chambermaid yearned, that he nearly forgot the threat this unexpected naughtiness posed to his plan. If he wished to try his theories as to the docking of female pleasure, his charmer must not grow over-acquainted with her maid’s cunt, as delightful as he found the idea of Leticia’s face held between Celia’s trim thighs until the country girl screamed out her climax.
No, there would be time for such things—and Sir Henry would ensure that his view of them would be much clearer. Light would fill the room when he allowed Leticia to bring Celia to orgasm, and made Celia do the same while Leticia sucked the baronet’s cock, or had her bottom soundly fucked. Miss Leticia Stewart would learn that her blushes carried no weight when Sir Henry turned the gaslights up, to watch her mouth at work on another girl’s cunt and his manhood surging in and out of her tiny anus.
To make certain of his bride’s compliance, though, he must according to his ideas of her training act now to prevent the lovely little scene from proceeding too far. Sir Henry closed the little flap of wallpaper that covered his peephole and put upon his face a practiced look of concern. Then, rapidly, he left his chamber and strode to the door of Mrs. Stewart’s. He knocked urgently but also quietly, and then again.
The baronet knew that the ignorant woman, whose prudery extended to the point of positive cruelty, would be awake. He did not doubt but that she had lain abed for the past hour thinking about the filthy magazine, unable to name the untoward desires that had suddenly taken hold of her in the wake of glancing at the first page of the first story. He knocked a third time, and she opened the door, eyes wide and wild, hair in curling papers.
“Sir Henry! What is it?”
As soon as she had seen it was he at her door she assumed that doe-eyed look she always got. He had never given the woman the slightest encouragement, had always made it clear that his interest lay with Leticia, but Mrs. Ermintrude Stewart clearly had persisted in some strange, certainly chaste fantasy of matrimony with him. Sir Henry had consulted with Dr. Brown upon this matter, too, and received the doctor’s opinion that the matron’s attitude toward erotic matters meant that the baronet did right to attempt the sexual salvation of Leticia, even if he must keep her mother very much in the dark. The dark after all, represented the precise place in which Mrs. Stewart wished to remain with regard to the natural rights of a man like Sir Henry.
“I fear something is wrong in Leticia’s chamber, Mrs. Stewart. I pray you, ring for Mrs. Graves and ask her to go and see.”
Her doe eyes became alarmed. “What is it?” Mrs. Stewart demanded.
“Truly I do not know, but it sounds as if your daughter may be in some distress.”
He could see in the woman’s eyes, then, that she suspected precisely what he meant her to suspect. She rushed to the bell rope and rang. Quietly Sir Henry returned to his room.
When he looked again through the peephole, Mrs. Graves stood over Leticia’s bed. She had thrown back the bedcovers and revealed two lovely girls, their nightclothes raised to their breasts, one with her face in the other’s private parts.
“Girls,” Mrs. Graves said, the depth of her outrage apparent in her tone, “whatever are you doing?”
Leticia and Celia could do no more than look up at her, their mouths open and their eyes wide. In the light from the streetlamps, Sir Henry could see that Leticia’s lips and cheeks glistened with Celia’s private wetness.
Mrs. Graves drew herself up to her full and considerable height, then, and the fury that filled her face seemed terrible even to Sir Henry despite his immense enjoyment of the scene.
“What is the meaning of this?” she hissed. “Miss Leticia, how could you… how you could you seduce this innocent girl so indecently—and Celia already so given to wickedness? Did you learn such things from that filthy magazine? Miss Leticia, did you touch yourself, you wicked thing?” Mrs. Graves seemed entirely oblivious to the irony of accusing her mistress’ daughter of masturbation when she had just caught her in the midst of performing cunnilingus. For the housekeeper, it seemed, self-pleasure went beyond even conduct that the benighted English judicial system labelled criminal.
“I…” Leticia began, looking at Celia and seeing the maid just as bewildered as she. Sir Henry realized that this moment might determine a good deal about the unfolding of his plan: he felt the keenest possible interest, in his stiff cock as well as in his rational mind, in how Leticia would try to excuse what Mrs. Graves had just found—and how Celia would respond to whatever excuse her mistress gave.
“Well?” Mrs. Graves demanded.
“Celia did it!” Leticia blurted out. “It’s Celia’s fault! She… she said it was… alright…” Now the girl’s voice trailed off as she clearly realized how complicated a matter the progression of her amour with her maid might seem, if fully revealed.
But Celia, clearly panicking at the accusation, responded hotly, and in a way that sent everything veering off in a most unexpected direction.
“It’s not true, Mrs. Graves!” she exclaimed. “She… Miss Leticia… she was touching herself, and then she made me get into bed with her and she said that if I didn’t let her do that wicked thing she would send me back to the farm and she said terrible things about what men do with girls and how I would have to do them and how—”
Leticia’s mouth had fallen open: she obviously had no idea how to keep from being ensnared in the web of lies she herself had just caused poor Celia to utter. Mrs. Graves cut Celia off, then, and Sir Henry could hear in the housekeeper’s voice that all her fears and preconceptions about her young mistress, in the wake of the filthy journal, had found their confirmation in the maid’s words.
“I do not doubt it, girl,” Mrs. Graves said severely. “But you did wrong to allow yourself to be seduced so wickedly, especially after I have had to flog you for touching yourself. You should have come straight to my room.”
Now both girls stared at the housekeeper: Celia in obvious disbelief that her lie had found such easy acceptance, Leticia in evident horror at the same development.
“Miss Leticia,” Mrs. Graves said, her voice recovering some of its dignity, seemingly in the wake of feeling she understood the situation and had verified just how terribly wanton a young lady she had on her hands. “Your mama will hardly bear to look at you, or even to think of you, right now. I trust that the thought of how terrible a punishment you will doubtless receive, on this physician friend of Sir Henry’s recommendation, will keep you from renewing your lewdness before morning. Celia, I am afraid that you will have to be examined, as well, since this wicked girl has subjected you to her immoral conduct. You may go.”
Leticia finally found her voice, then. “What? The…
doctor… and Sir Henry…”
“Indeed,” the housekeeper replied. “Since your mama and I cannot, it seems, govern your waywardness sufficiently well to keep you from these ruinous ways, she must turn you over to men who will certainly know how to curb your immodesty. I can only hope, and I am sorry to say I have some expertise in the matter from performing my duty in flogging the maids, that your backside is rendered an agony to you so terrible that it drives away this immorality forever. Your maiden charms were given to you by providence in order that you render them up intact and pure to your husband upon your wedding night. Think on that, and pray that when the man who will marry you hears of your wantonness he will not also take it upon himself to correct you before he makes a woman of you.”
As first Celia and then Mrs. Graves left Leticia’s bedchamber, Sir Henry could only shake his head in wonder at how perfectly the woman had furthered his aims. Without the slightest notion of what the man determined to be Leticia’s husband truly meant to do upon the girl’s wedding night, she had almost certainly ensured that all night long the girl would think of what awaited her virginal cunt when she left the altar on her new master’s arm. She would not touch herself again, the baronet felt sure, out of fear, but the mystery of what a natural man would ask of her, when her drawers came down in the bridal chamber, would haunt her dreams.
* * *
The next morning Dr. Reginald Brown arrived in Curzon Street promptly at nine o’clock, his black leather doctor’s bag in hand.
“Dr. Brown, thank you so much for coming,” Mrs. Stewart said as she stood in the front parlor to welcome him. Her eyes glittering with a certainty so bright that Sir Henry found he had to cough to cover an incipient chuckle.
“It is my pleasure, Mrs. Stewart.” The physician shifted his bag from his right hand to his left, and turned to shake the baronet’s hand warmly. “Sir Henry, a pleasure to see you.”
Mrs. Stewart spoke firmly, then, though her tone grew a little fainter as the topic quickly became a vexatious one for her. “Miss Stewart and her maid are upstairs in the girl’s bedchamber. I have locked them in. I fear that matters grew a good deal worse last night than when Sir Henry sent for you, but I will let him inform you. I wish to have nothing more to do with… with these… matters, now that I can place them… her… that is, Miss Stewart and her virtue… in learned masculine hands.”
Dr. Brown nodded, glancing at Sir Henry with an expression that seemed to say that the Scot had expected a prude, but not a woman quite so violently opposed to the satisfaction of a girl’s bodily needs as Mrs. Stewart clearly was.
“I understand, Mrs. Stewart. Sir Henry, you will take me up?”
“Indeed,” the baronet replied, smiling. “Follow me, Dr. Brown.”
On the landing, once they had moved out of earshot of the parlor where Mrs. Stewart had settled back down in great state to await, Sir Henry felt sure, the cries of pain she expected would emerge from Leticia’s chamber, the physician spoke quietly.
“I would rather the woman were so circumstanced as to understand why your intentions for Miss Stewart’s sexual training are so likely to bring the girl happiness. But I see why you have requested Mrs. Stewart be left to wallow in her ignorance. Now, tell me: what happened last night?”
It required several minutes to inform Dr. Brown of what he had witnessed, but Sir Henry knew he should be detailed about the truth of the matter since the conflicting versions of the two girls now to be examined could well present some difficulty.
“I see,” the physician said thoughtfully once the baronet had concluded his account. “Very interesting. If I did not know how set you are on attempting this plan of docking the girl—and I take it you now intended that the maid should also be docked—I might suggest that permitting Miss Stewart an orgasm now might bring about the successful beginning of her training as your submissive young lady. It would certainly be more efficient, do you not think?”
Sir Henry chuckled. “I suppose so, Doctor. But I cannot forego the pleasure of watching Leticia brought to beg, sometime hence, for that release at my hand.”
Dr. Brown answered with a knowing laugh of his own. “I see, I see. The right of the phallus over these girls clearly belongs to you, and I maintain that as a natural man the choice of how to train them must lie with you. So be it, then. Let us begin.”
Then, with a quick knock at the door of Miss Leticia Stewart’s bedchamber, the doctor turned the key and entered.
Chapter Five
“Miss Stewart,” the sandy-haired man with the funny leather bag said, as Sir Henry came into Leticia’s chamber behind him, “I am Dr. Brown.” He turned to Celia, who had at the sound of the key in the lock hastily risen from the seat she had so presumptuously taken on Leticia’s bed. “And you are the maid?”
“Celia, sir,” the horrid girl replied, with a little curtsy. “Celia Deaver.”
Leticia had herself risen from the armchair by the window into which she had thrown herself half an hour previous. She had assumed that position, still in her night rail and dressing gown, when Mama had informed her and Celia upon the maid’s coming to take away Leticia’s uneaten breakfast that the two of them would remain there to await Dr. Brown’s arrival. Mama, as if to emphasize the extremity of the situation, had summoned Mrs. Graves herself to carry off the breakfast tray. Then, refusing even to look at Leticia, Mrs. Stewart had departed, closing her daughter’s door and then, to Leticia’s horror, turning the key in the lock.
She had wanted to scream that she had no intention of remaining in the room with the girl who had done those terrible things last night in bed, who had lied about them. She had wanted to plead that Mama need not lock them in, that Leticia would be good, if only she could have another chance and not… and not have her… her bottom whipped. That thought, the thought that brought it all back, everything in the filthy magazine and in bed, of what Mama had promised would befall Leticia’s bare bottom, had driven her into the armchair, face turned toward the window.
Celia had begged her, once, to forgive the lie. “Miss, please,” the girl had wailed. “You said it was me and I didn’t know what to do! Your mama would have me sent back to the farm, and you don’t know what that’s like!”
But Leticia had looked fixedly out into the street, not seeing the trees of the park or the people passing in the street because her heart jumped so violently every time she thought of the crime and its coming punishment. How could she have touched her cunny? How could she have kissed Celia down there, no matter how the maid had threatened her? It had seemed terribly naughty even at the time, but also—and this seemed to Leticia to make the racing of her heart, the flip-flopping in her belly, even worse—simply irresistible, as if the feelings it all engendered could not be stopped.
Between her legs her maiden part had burned and flowed. Her thighs and bottom-cheeks had tensed and relaxed of their own accord. Her chest had made those little whimpering noises while she licked at her maid’s fragrant cunt and frigged her own with equal urgency. Leticia did not know how it could have happened, but in none of those lewd things she had done, that Celia had made her do, had it seemed like she had a choice.
Celia, unable to obtain a response to her plea for forgiveness, had sat upon Leticia’s bed, an unpardonable liberty in Leticia’s eyes since the bed had given rise to the terrible events now to have their recompense. She had almost turned to Celia in fury then and ordered her to stand until the doctor arrived, but she could not even bear to look at the maid since the feelings roused by the very thought of Celia stirred Leticia’s bosom in such a troubling, complex way.
Dr. Brown had extended his hand to Leticia, and now she took it, her own trembling. She regarded the hand she held, and felt her heart quail. Would the doctor hold the cane and give the whipping, or would Sir Henry? Surely they would not both flog the girls’ bare bottoms, would they?
“I am honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Stewart,” the physician said gravely.
Letici
a mumbled back automatically, “I am very pleased to meet you.”
Sir Henry spoke next, to Leticia’s surprise. “You girls sit upon the bed, now, side by side, if you please.”
Leticia looked at him with wide eyes, taking in the handsome face framed in curling dark hair, its intelligent blue eyes looking straight back at her. Leticia had always assumed the baronet’s interest lay with her mama, but Sir Henry seemed suddenly younger than he had before—younger than Mama by several years at least, and not more than ten years older than Leticia herself. Something about the instruction to sit upon her bed next to Celia, as well as the way he now looked at her, made heat rush unexpectedly to Leticia’s cheeks.
“Yes,” Dr. Brown agreed. “That’s for the best. We must have a little talk before we proceed to the examination and then the measures Sir Henry and I agree upon once we have assessed the needs of your young bodies.” He put his doctor’s bag down upon Leticia’s vanity table as if he had no compunction about making himself and his embarrassing trade at home in her bedchamber.
“Measures?” Leticia asked in a quavering voice, sure that she did not want to know the full meaning of the word for her but compelled to ask nonetheless, just in case some hope might remain to her of avoiding the dreadful correction Mama had promised, the baring of her bottom and the never-before-experienced agony of the cane across it.
“You will both of you have to be flogged, certainly,” said Sir Henry in a matter-of-fact tone. “We will whip you right here upon the bed, very soon, to teach you the wages of sin. Depending on what Dr. Brown finds when he examines you, though, we may also have to take further measures to curb your wayward impulses.”