by Emily Tilton
“Kiss, Leticia,” said the baronet. “You and your little maid must become friends again.”
“Oh, no…” Miss Leticia murmured. “Oh, no,” but now she spoke the words into Celia’s shorn pussy, and Celia felt her back arch, the spread posture of her knees and the tension in her legs seeming to make the ecstasy much greater. She cried out shamefully, and tried to lift her burning slit toward her mistress’ enforced kiss without meaning to do it at all.
“Inhale through your nose, now, Miss Stewart,” said Dr. Brown, “and use your tongue to have a taste of Miss Deaver’s vaginal lubrication. Natural men say that every young woman has her own flavor, just as girls speak of men’s semen as differing, when they are made to receive it in their mouths. Certain general characteristics, in particular a sort of oceanic taste, seem to be shared, however.”
Celia felt Leticia give a tentative lick, just against her inner lips, and she whimpered, begging for more, but Sir Henry said, “That’s enough, darling, now lather Celia up for the razor.”
She didn’t know how she endured the shameful, lovely feeling of the soap suds being rubbed all over her cunny and the place in her bottom where Sir Henry had put his finger and meant it seemed to put his cock. She moaned, and her backside moved lewdly, begging for more of Miss Leticia’s mouth’s attention, but all she got was the odd, itchy sensation of the safety razor, shaving away the prickly short hairs that remained from the scissors.
“There,” said Dr. Brown. “A very pretty sight, do you not think, Sir Henry? Miss Stewart, have another look now, while you rinse Miss Deaver with this towel, if you please. Even with a mirror a young woman never gets a really clear view of her own vulva and anus: proper training of her own sexual response is best accomplished by enforcing her regular attendance upon the pudenda of another girl. Use your fingers now, to arouse Miss Deaver further: press gently upon the clitoral hood and see if you can expose the clitoris itself. That’s it, Miss Stewart, well done.”
Celia cried out as she felt the tiny, aching, burning bud brought forth, but then, as she thought her spend might finally come upon her, denied the fulfillment for which she longed.
“Stop, Leticia,” said Sir Henry. “You girls have a long while to wait before you will be allowed to climax. Get back upon the bed now: your turn has come to have your cunt bared.”
So Celia, her body still shuddering with denied pleasure, had to get between Miss Leticia’s thighs with the scissors. Though she was supposed to be the naughtier girl, having the memory of what Nell had done to her, and taught her to do, and told her of their uncle’s country pleasures, Celia’s face burned and she felt terribly shy as she looked at her mistress’ pretty cunt. Everything that had happened in the big bed in the farmhouse had taken place in the dark, and she had never even dreamt she might actually see what another girl looked like down there.
But when Sir Henry commanded her to kiss the cunny she had bared with scissors and then with razor, Celia felt she had enough experience touching herself, and kissing Nell, that she had the lascivious skill to make her mistress feel more pleasure than Miss Leticia had known how to give. The other girl seemed to try to move away from Celia’s mouth, and she whispered, “No,” even as her cunt’s petals fluttered to show how badly she needed the tonguing her maid now gave her. That only made Celia form the resolution, however, that in their new situation Miss Leticia Stewart would yield to her ladies maid’s caresses whether she pleased or no: henceforth, maid would rule mistress through the shameful ecstasy that randy Miss Leticia could not resist.
Chapter Twelve
Sir Henry’s cock had begun to ache with the arousal of watching Leticia bared and pleasured by little Celia. He had meant not to spend until he could spurt his seed inside Leticia’s virgin anus, but it occurred to him that Dr. Brown might from a medical standpoint prefer the baronet to take his pleasure now in some intermediate way, before that planned final act of mastery.
“Dr. Brown,” he said as his girl emitted tiny noises of helpless pleasure. “I must admit to experiencing a very great degree of arousal myself—so great that it puts me in mind of the introductory section of your treatise, concerning the effect of acute sexual desire upon the mind of the natural man.”
“Ah, yes,” the physician replied. “I believe I see at what you’re driving, Sir Henry. Why don’t you remove your clothing and satisfy these young ladies’ curiosity as to the appearance of the penis, and its general character. Then you may climax in one of their mouths, or perhaps upon both their lovely faces.”
Leticia, who clearly had heard every word spoken by the gentlemen despite her own lewdly abandoned state, gave a piercing cry.
“That will be enough, Miss Deaver,” said Dr. Brown. “Remove your mouth from Miss Stewart’s vulva, if you please.”
“Oh, no,” Leticia whispered, her eyes fluttering open and her pearly upper teeth chewing on her lip in and among the inarticulate expressions she uttered as, to Sir Henry’s delight, her lovely bare cunt clenched with ecstasy denied. “Please… I don’t want… Please, Sir Henry… not… not now, please… I don’t want to see… it. Please. I’ll… when we’re married… just…”
“Nonsense, Miss Stewart,” said Dr. Brown in a tone half jocular and half severe. “The man who intends to make you his wife is quite understandably in a state of erotic need, thanks to your beauty and to observing the lascivious acts in which you and Miss Deaver have been engaged. He would be well within his natural rights simply to deflower your vaginas and anuses this instant and enjoy himself to his full content, but he has I believe resolved to take some advice I supply in my treatise.”
Leticia drew her lips into a tight line as she looked up at the physician, the crease in her brow showing her curiosity despite the anxiety his words occasioned. Kneeling on the pillow, her sweet little bottom now resting upon her heels, Celia looked up with honest interest. As Dr. Brown explained further, Sir Henry began to remove his coat.
“Authorities frequently note,” said the learned physician, “the marked effect of sexual arousal upon the godlike reason of even the most worthy of men. Providence has it seems decreed that a man’s first duty be to the propagation of the species and, even more urgently, of his own individual family line. It is in part for this reason that I came to the conclusion that lies behind all my work, that a natural man must exercise the right given him by providence in the great plan of nature, to enjoy with his penis the young women who may come into his possession—girls such as you lovely young ladies, as I can see you understand, Miss Stewart, from the blush upon your face.”
He smiled avuncularly down at naked, trembling Leticia, and gave Sir Henry, now unbuttoning his trousers, a wink before he continued.
“Because of the irrationality introduced into a man’s behavior by the need to reach climax and to ejaculate his seed, and the advisability of retaining as much of his mental faculty as possible in order to satisfy his lust as effectively and responsibly as he may, I recommend that a natural man who means to deflower a virgin take certain measures to avoid having his pleasure in an overhasty manner. In particular, I counsel him to make use of the mouth of the young lady in question, thus teaching her a first lesson in pleasing her master’s penis and relieving him for a time of the erotic madness that afflicts all men when the time for coitus approaches and they desire to penetrate a lovely young woman such as yourself, Miss Stewart. Sir Henry is going to put his penis in your mouth now, and in Miss Deaver’s, so you must prepare yourself for your first lesson in your master’s pleasure.”
By the time the Scot had finished this little discourse, Sir Henry had reached a state of complete nudity, his massive prick bobbing menacingly at his bride-to-be, whose eyes darted from the baronet near the foot of the bed to the physician who loomed over her, the razor that he had taken from Celia still in his hand.
Now the doctor moved to return the razor to his bag, saying, as he began to rummage within for something else, “Miss Stewart, pray fetch another pillow
and place it on the floor beside Miss Deaver’s, and then kneel upon it. Sir Henry will acquaint you with his penis now.”
Leticia’s breathing came in little gasps. She clutched convulsively at the backs of her thighs, giving Sir Henry a view that made his cock leap so that he had to take it in his hand to stroke it. Celia whimpered then, as if at the sight of a man casually pleasuring his fleshly scepter, the clear sign of his mastery.
“Leticia,” the baronet said in a low voice, “the time for your caning is fast approaching. If I have to carry it out before I spend, and before I feel those pretty lips close around my prick, I am afraid I will visit a terrible retribution upon your poor bottom. If you obey me now, and learn to please me like a good girl, I will flog your sweet backside much less severely.”
The girl whined through her nose, and again her lovely bare cunt clenched as she heard of this dilemma.
“Indeed,” said Dr. Brown, still looking into his bag, “that is another important effect of a man’s arousal: he will very frequently punish a young woman much more harshly when his penis is erect than he will when it is flaccid.”
Leticia’s eyes had closed, and her sweet breasts rose and fell adorably with her agitated breathing. Sir Henry, full of precisely the sort of amorous need the doctor so accurately diagnosed in natural men placed in such a stimulating situation, did not hesitate. He strode straight to the other side of the bed, and made his way to the girl’s clothespress in the opposite corner. There, behind the dark-stained oak of the imposing article of furniture that held her lovely satin gowns in the cabinet above and her less mentionable articles in the drawers below, he had a fortnight previous concealed the surprise he now revealed when he turned back toward the bed: the two-foot-long, half-inch thick rattan cane with which he had decided to flog his charmer when the time came, as he knew it must.
Leticia’s eyes had opened and she craned her neck now, turning her face this way and that to attempt to secure an upside-down view of the baronet, his hard cock pointing straight at her and the implement of her coming punishment in his right hand. She gave a startled cry when she saw what he had taken from the hiding place she had never suspected, her face going bright red as if at the realization that the terrible thing had rested so close to her place of repose for untold nights—had even in a sense witnessed the lewd conduct for which she would soon receive its painful correction. She began a scramble from the bed, letting go of her knees and letting her feet drop, turning on her side to try to get as far away from the rattan as she could, but Sir Henry spoke severely to stop the movement.
“No, Leticia. Stay just as you are, with your knees high. Celia, if you please, move back a pace so that I may give my bride a foretaste of her lesson, and make it perfectly clear to her why she should help you suck my prick and draw its venom as best she may.”
“Sir Henry! Please… no… don’t! You… you mustn’t!” Leticia cried, bending now, cowering, and trying to escape up her bed at the same ungainly moment, one arm scrabbling at the counterpane to push her body away from her future bridegroom and the other desperately attempting to cover her naked charms.
Meanwhile, Celia had readily obeyed Sir Henry’s command, her own face flushed and her blue eyes shining. Truly the baronet had never imagined that the country girl would prove such an enhancement to his pleasure, but the little maid clearly had a real lust to see her mistress punished—a wanton craving that she might, he reflected, find troubling and yet no less urgent for being unwelcome.
“Miss Stewart,” said Dr. Brown in a reasonable tone. “I advise you to do as your future husband says.” He had found in his bag the implement he had shown Sir Henry the last time they had conferred, the thing that looked very much like a screwdriver, a length of steel emerging from a wooden handle. The physician spoke next to the baronet. “Shall I ring so that I may give this to the housekeeper to be prepared?”
“What… what is that?” Leticia stammered.
“You need not worry about that just yet, Miss Stewart,” Dr. Brown said, turning back to her.
Leticia turned her eyes wildly on Sir Henry. “Sir Henry… what… please…”
The baronet narrowed his eyes and replied in a low voice, tapping the cane against his left palm as he spoke. “You will find out soon enough, darling, what that is. For now, you must make up your mind to do as you are told. I mean to teach you the importance of performing your matrimonial duties to my prick today, and you have already earned an extra stroke of the cane for your hesitation to kneel and take me in your mouth the way a bride must when her husband commands it. Now put yourself back into the posture I desire, or I shall hold you down over the bed and give you a thrashing you shall never forget.”
He kept her brown eyes on his, with his hard, unwavering gaze, for a moment, and then he turned to Dr. Brown. “By all means, Doctor, please ring. Best to step outside Miss Stewart’s bedchamber to give your instructions, I think. We don’t want Mrs. Graves scandalized by the sight of naughty girls receiving their punishment in the nude, with their cunts freshly shaved.”
The doctor chuckled. “No, indeed not, though you would I think be surprised, Sir Henry, to hear how many matrons have spoken warmly of the necessity for young ladies who display the sort of shamelessness these girls have to be deprived of the fine plumage society bestows and taught their lesson in a state of nature, their private parts bared to increase their awareness of the modesty they have forsaken. Just last month Lady Hetherington carried out the correction of a young parlor maid caught masturbating in bed, and under my supervision she stripped the girl naked and after flogging her deflowered the newly shaven vagina and anus with her famous ebonite shaft—and that worthy lady is considered a paragon of virtue, despite claiming the phallic rights of a natural man over all the young women of her household.”
Sir Henry watched Leticia’s face closely during this little tale, the sort of story Dr. Brown sometimes seemed unable to keep himself from telling out of his vast fund of experience assisting the aristocracy of England with their erotic needs. Her cheeks flushed alternately red and white, and when the doctor mentioned the ebonite shaft, Sir Henry saw his girl’s eyes go to his hard cock.
Now, as the doctor went to the bell rope, Leticia’s eyes came back to the baronet’s, and she bit her lip.
“Please, Sir Henry?” she asked in a tiny voice that nevertheless seemed to acknowledge that her bridegroom would never relent. “Please don’t cane me?”
“Darling,” he said, making his voice gentler now, “you know I must whip you. You must be trained properly, from today, to serve my cock. Whipping your bare bottom is an important part of how I will teach you to be a dutiful wife. Now do as I have asked, and you will only receive a single stroke of the cane before you suck the penis for the first time.”
Chapter Thirteen
Leticia’s whole body trembled as she forced herself to crawl down the bed again. She kept telling herself that she was simply astonished that Sir Henry could be so… so cruel—so beastly. But the parts of her to which she delivered this judgment somehow declined to heed it. Leticia did not want to confess the fact even to her own soul, but in the hidden recesses of her loins, and even of her heart, she felt she knew how the baronet could treat the girl he intended to wed in this masterly way.
The answer lay in the filthy story, in the magazine. Suddenly she wished she had read more of it, because she felt more certain, the more she considered the matter, that that lascivious tale must contain some intimation of why something inside her wanted to lie back again upon the bed. That something wanted to hold her knees up and apart, to show Sir Henry the cunny Celia had bared for him—wanted even to feel his commanding left hand now bringing the knees together, to hold them even further back, almost to her chin.
Oh, her bottom… her poor bottom… so exposed, so… ready for the lesson Sir Henry felt he must give, because Leticia hadn’t knelt before him. A bride—even, it seemed, a bride-to-be—must take her husband in her mouth, when he
commanded it, no matter the shame involved. If she did not, he would fetch the cane.
The cane… The implement of correction that it seemed Sir Henry had placed ready for Leticia’s first terrible lesson when the time arose. How had he known? Her face burned not only with his touch upon the backs of her knees, not only with the wicked swish of the cane through the air, not only with the terrible fiery line across her round bottom that made her cry out… but with the knowledge that the man who would train her for his pleasure had seen fit to prepare her bedchamber for that training before Leticia had even seen the cover of that filthy journal.
She wept and struggled, as the smart from her first whipping grew in her bottom cheeks, but Sir Henry held her fast, until the pain began to fade and Leticia realized, to her astonishment, that really it didn’t hurt so very much, that single cut. More, she also understood the wanton thing the girl in the story had felt, once her schoolmistress had finished caning her… the way the heat seemed to spread, and to glow, so that the lewd wetness came again to her cunny, now so bare and so exposed to Sir Henry’s view.
“There, darling,” he said. “You look very pretty with that stripe across your bottom. Get up and look at yourself in the mirror.”
Biting her lip and telling herself that she must obey now, because although one stroke of the cane might not hurt as awfully as she thought it would, many strokes would constitute a very different story, Leticia climbed reluctantly off the bed and stepped toward her vanity table. Dr. Brown had returned from the conversation he must have conducted with Mrs. Graves. As he watched with evident approval Leticia’s progress from bed to vanity table, he held empty hands before him: whatever the frightening implement he had taken from his bag might be, it seemed he had given it to Mrs. Graves for the preparation of which he had spoken.