by Emily Tilton
The baronet could see that the country girl had a good deal of experience with such bare-bottom discipline—she and her friend Nell had evidently gone over their uncle’s stool many a time, and he, like the lusty farmer he was, must have similar requirements for the presentation of a girl’s backside when the time for correction arrived. Where Leticia moved sluggishly, with soft whimpers, to obey the instructions of Sir Henry’s hand and voice, Celia readily adopted the same position on her toes with her little bottom raised for the cane.
Dr. Brown cleared his throat, then, and spoke in clear reference to the baronet’s evident reluctance to leave his bride-to-be and go to her maid.
“Have you considered, Sir Henry,” he asked, “that we might save some time if I were to flog Miss Deaver while you did the same to Miss Stewart? I ask only in order to save you the necessity of carrying out both punishments. I have my own cane in my bag—as you can imagine I never leave my rooms without it.”
“That,” Sir Henry said, moving his left hand down to stroke Leticia’s sweet bottom, already marked by a cut of the cane and now to receive many more, “is a capital idea, Doctor.”
Chapter Fifteen
Celia discovered that she didn’t mind the idea of being punished by the doctor rather than by Sir Henry. Something in the doctor’s measured approach appealed to a part of her mind that the maid had never, she thought now, truly appreciated before: a faculty interested in, even fascinated by, the way people behaved under the influence of their emotions and especially their secret yearnings—above all the bodily cravings under whose power Celia could see so clearly that her mistress and the man who desired her for his bride labored now.
She watched with some trepidation as the physician got his cane—shorter than the one Sir Henry had unexpectedly produced from behind the clothespress but also, to Celia’s dismay, a little thicker—from his black bag. When he turned back to look at her with his knowing smile, though, she felt well confirmed in her impression that though she would not mind having her maidenhead taken by the baronet, she would rather be flogged by Dr. Brown.
Celia liked Sir Henry well enough, certainly, and she felt nearly reconciled already to the notions he had disclosed concerning his future household arrangements, as unusual as they might seem from the standpoint of conventional morality. The housekeeper, Mrs. Graves, had made very clear to her that girls who went into service needed to keep their ideas of matrimony well in check. Celia did not suppose that the dignified senior servant had meant that the new maid must prepare herself to have regular bottom-fucking from her mistress’ husband, but the truth of the matter presented only an extreme confirmation of the housekeeper’s advice: a girl in service must make her mind up to please her employer. It appeared that Celia Deaver would have to please Sir Henry in ways Mrs. Graves would frown upon, the lordly cock thrusting in wherever the baronet deigned to impose it upon his wife’s ladies’ maid—but the principle remained the same.
Too, life with Nell and Celia’s horrid uncle had put paid to any foolish sentimentality concerning romance well before Miss Leticia Stewart made her advent in the country girl’s life. Naughtiness after the whipping stool, kissing Nell’s cunny and learning to touch her own, combined it would seem with a naturally contemplative character, had brought out in Celia the calculation that had caused her to enforce Miss Leticia’s attendance down between her maid’s thighs. Now, her pussy bare and needy but her thoughts also dwelling with the greatest interest on how it all worked, this business of natural men and submissive young ladies, Celia thought that a scientific whipping from Dr. Brown himself might well prove instructive.
To her left, their faces almost touching, Miss Leticia waited for Sir Henry to begin whipping the proud bottom he had made her present for correction. The haughty girl breathed roughly through her nose, and little whimpers escaped her lips as the baronet stroked her bottom-cheeks to prepare her for her punishment. “Please… p-please…” she stammered. “Please do it!”
Celia could not help wondering at the fuss her mistress made about having her backside flogged. It seemed very strange to the country girl that any young woman, whether of the yeomanry or of the gentry, should have remained ignorant of how she should behave when the man responsible for her decided she required bare-bottom correction. Imagine not knowing how to present herself for a whipping!
Since turning eighteen Celia had been made to raise her backside over her uncle’s whipping stool dozens of times, and await the burning kiss of the leather strap. Mrs. Graves had caned Celia three times since her arrival in the Stewarts’ service, and though each cut of the cane hurt worse than the strap’s curling sting, it seemed that people of quality—and their servants—wielded the implement with some restraint. Celia’s uncle had thrashed her and Nell within an inch of their lives for such things as overturned milk pails, but Mrs. Graves had only given Celia three strokes, or, on one occasion, when she had spoken with the delivery boy, six.
True, Sir Henry had only a few moments since threatened the girls with the sort of whipping reformatory girls got. Celia, though, could tell he had only meant to frighten Miss Leticia: she could imagine that the baronet might someday flog his bride harshly, in the throes of some mingled erotic and irate passion, but Celia knew also that by that time Miss Leticia would have grown used to receiving the discipline she needed and in some sense longed for, just as Celia had. The maid also felt sure that she herself, having discovered all these complicated ideas concerning matters of amorous correction and the masterful fucking of natural men, would have an important role to play both in fomenting and in mitigating the sexual and educational heat the baronet applied to his still-innocent bride.
“Wait, darling,” Sir Henry said, his hand lingering upon the sweet bottom. Despite her highly involved cogitations upon the lewd scene, Celia also felt rather faint as she watched the future bridegroom fondle his intended bride, knowing fingers cherishing the tender roundness that led inward toward such delight, just at the top of Miss Leticia’s thighs. She had not minded kissing Miss Leticia there a single bit, especially after they had made her shave her mistress’ pretty cunny. The proud girl looked so modest and innocent down between her legs, now, that even the memory of flicking her tongue against the tiny bud of Miss Leticia’s upper-class clit made Celia’s own cunt ache and her own clit burn.
“It will only be a moment, Miss Stewart,” said Dr. Brown, as he took up his corresponding position next to Celia. She wondered if the doctor would caress her the way Sir Henry caressed Miss Leticia. Celia rather thought not, since she knew that doctors were supposed to approach such matters in a detached way, so when she felt his cool left hand upon her little bottom she jumped despite herself, moving forward helplessly to escape the probing fingers.
“Hold still, Miss Deaver,” the physician said severely. “I shall stimulate your vagina and your clitoris for a moment, now, to ascertain the current extent of your need for correction.”
Celia whimpered as she felt the knowing fingers press firmly inward. Miss Leticia suddenly threw her head back and gave a little cry: Sir Henry must have decided to make the same trial of the mistress that Dr. Brown now carried out upon the maid. Celia watched the other girl’s bottom bounce up and down, clench, ride the baronet’s fingers, and she could not help doing the same, as if in sympathy.
Nor could she help whispering, despite all her ideas of detachment, “Oh, sir. Oh, sir,” as the physician showed how well he knew her feminine anatomy. Both girls sighed and moaned, now, as the men who meant to punish them tormented them in quite another way.
“Is Miss Stewart very wet, Sir Henry?” Dr. Brown asked coolly. “Miss Deaver lubricates herself extremely. Your penis will enjoy a very pleasurable reception when you have her.”
Leticia swallowed hard at this disclosure: she could not keep her eyes from the stiff cock of the baronet, swaying gently as he worked his intended bride’s cunt. Her heart skipped a beat as she wondered what it would feel like, inside her.
Indeed, the men’s hands made lascivious wet noises that provided a shameful counterpoint to the helpless moans of the two bare cunnies’ owners.
“I wonder, though,” said Sir Henry, “at your method of correction. Should we not try to prevent these wanton young ladies from feeling such pleasure, upon the occasion of a bare-bottom whipping meant to teach them to refrain from masturbation and tribadism?”
Behind Celia Dr. Brown chuckled softly. His fingertips rubbed firmly at her clitoris, and she gave another helpless moan, her pussy contracting so forcefully she thought she might swoon. “Ah, but you mistake the nature of this particular lesson, I think, Sir Henry. We are teaching these girls to submit to a natural man’s complete authority over their bodies, and above all over the parts we now stimulate and will soon punish. Miss Deaver here, and I am sure Miss Stewart over there, both evince the greatest need of whipping—not for the reason a moralist would invoke, that is the forbidding of feminine pleasure, but for the true reason a natural man punishes a young lady: to train her, in order that he may enjoy himself more fully when he uses her body for the pleasure of his phallus. It’s for that reason, is it not, that you intend to dock these girls with the iron before you deflower them?”
Celia wished she knew what the doctor meant by docking, and yet she also wished she might never learn. From the sounds that emerged from Miss Leticia’s throat, she felt sure her mistress felt the same way: whatever the iron was, however Mrs. Graves had been instructed to prepare it, Celia knew that it must have to do with the training of a girl’s cunny. That knowledge made her ride the doctor’s hand so shamefully she blushed to know that Miss Leticia could see it, just as Celia could see her mistress’ hips bucking as her intended bridegroom prepared her in that diabolical way for the cane.
“Certainly,” said Sir Henry dryly—Celia could well imagine that the baronet had grown a little parched, in the act of putting Miss Leticia through her lewd paces.
“Very well,” continued the doctor, his voice still strikingly level in tone. “I believe it is time to use our canes. Strike quickly as you like, Sir Henry. The best results come from the most immediate contrast between pleasure and pain, I have found.”
Suddenly the doctor’s hand departed from Celia’s cunt, and she heard the swish as he raised his cane. Even worse, on the other side of the bed she watched the baronet draw back his left hand from Miss Leticia’s bottom and raise the rattan in his right.
“Oh, please, no,” the mistress whispered. Celia tried to recover some of the anger she had felt for the haughty girl, but she seemed distant from it now, the yawning gap between town and country, wealth and poverty, mistress and servant, closing with the equality forced on them by the natural man who meant to whip and to fuck them both, and his expert assistant Dr. Brown.
“Let us strike together on three,” the doctor said. Celia could hear the smile in his voice, and it made her heart jump. “One, two…”
The swish of two canes disturbed the air of the bedchamber. Both girls cried out in fear before the crack of the rattan sounded across their young bottoms, and then again as the pain swelled. Celia’s backside felt like a line of fire had been drawn across it. Mrs. Graves had not struck so hard, or used a cane so thick!
Miss Leticia tried to rise, to run away, but Sir Henry merely put his left arm around her hips and, no longer paying attention to the doctor’s counsel, as to cadence, began to whip his intended bride methodically with his long cane, apparently deaf to her screams as she received her first true punishment at her future husband’s hand.
“This is what happens when you touch your cunt without permission,” the baronet said, as he flogged the weeping girl. “It doesn’t feel as nice, does it?”
Meanwhile, Celia’s hands clenched into fists, and she gave sharp cries of pain, as the physician gave her a slower, calmer punishment, the cane moving with regularity from the top of her buttocks to the middle of her thighs. Celia bounced up and down up her toes, but she only once rose up in agony, putting her hands behind her and earning a sharp reprimand from Dr. Brown.
“Down on your elbows, girl,” he said in his Scottish burr. “You must learn your lesson, too, for your seduction of your mistress.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sir Henry felt a pang of guilt at how severely he caned Leticia. Though the doctor punished Celia in a more measured way, however, the maid’s caning seemed just as harsh: the difference lay in the reactions of the two girls. While Celia seemed well used to taking a strict flogging, Leticia struggled and cried out, which the baronet found made him both wish to ensure that he whipped her soundly and, finally, as his girl went limp under the grip of his left arm, have pity on her.
Miss Leticia Stewart had a good heart: Sir Henry Vexin would never have taken the interest in the girl that he had, or gone to the trouble to put the Stewart family fortune back on a sound footing, if he had not seen her essential wish to help others, the way she had helped Celia escape the farm. Neither, to be sure, would Sir Henry have managed his affairs in such a fashion as to make himself her lord and master if he had not also felt certain that a lascivious, wayward aspect to Leticia’s character made her the perfect matrimonial partner for a dominant baronet.
He had seen it in her mischievous eyes, when he had caught the girl looking at him one splendid hunting day down at Hartvane, and she had colored to the roots of her hair at the frank way Sir Henry had returned the gaze. Miss Leticia Stewart knew what it meant to have impure thoughts concerning a handsome, wealthy older man. The baronet had practically known then that he need only enlist the services of Dr. Brown and misdirect a dirty magazine: his charmer and her sweet little maid would come directly into his power.
He had no absolute compunction with regard to caning Leticia severely, he reflected: when his bride-to-be misbehaved she must expect that her future husband would correct her exactly as he saw fit, and teach her the lesson she required in order to improve her conduct as his wife. He would when necessary turn her sweet young bottom into a mess of red stripes as she wailed in agony, just as he did now. He did not truly mean ever to cane his bride like a reformatory girl, but he knew that to control her natural pride, particularly in relation to her treatment of Celia and the other servants, he would probably have to visit Leticia’s bare backside regularly with the cane. That he would do without regret.
On the other hand, for this first caning he did feel a little sorry to thrash his girl’s young bottom with such rigor, when he also meant to follow the whipping by docking her between her thighs before he fucked first her cunt and then her bottom. Leticia had after all received his hardness already in her mouth and still wore upon her face the traces of his seed: though she had sucked the prick only reluctantly, Sir Henry had still known great pleasure as he held her head and moved in and out of her cherry lips.
He reflected, though, as he watched the way Dr. Brown punished Celia, that he meant Leticia soon to feel the ultimate pleasure as she received her reward at last for the good conduct she would exhibit upon the cock as she began her sexual training. The physician had it seemed no remorse about making the maid’s little bottom and trim thighs an agony to her. When they finished caning the naughty girls, the two backsides displayed a nearly equal number of welts: a double spectacle for their owners to contemplate in penitence over the next few days, and for Sir Henry to look upon with satisfaction as he fucked.
“Good girl,” Dr. Brown said, running his hand over Celia’s pretty bottom-cheeks. “You took that very well. Much better than your mistress.”
Those words elicited a sob from Leticia. Sir Henry, feeling strangely gallant, said, “Leticia, darling, you did well for your first time.” He, too, ran his hand over the lovely whipped cheeks of the girl he had flogged, the girl he loved and wished to make so very happy—though the happiness came in a form she would never have expected before the previous d
ay.
Leticia gave another, smaller sob. Then, to the baronet’s pleased surprise, she said in a tiny, choked voice, with her head still bowed low, “Thank you, sir.”
“Shall I ring for Mrs. Graves?” asked the doctor.
Sir Henry found that he would not have minded continuing to stroke the sweet round cheeks of his charmer for a few minutes more, but Leticia’s penitent tears had begun audibly to change to whimpers of incipient pleasure. That circumstance might, had Dr. Brown not been present, actually have decided him in favor of giving his intended bride her first climax then and there, or even of thrusting his rock-hard cock into her sweet cunt and completing that portion of his conquest in a hasty, delightful instant, but the baronet had decided upon a course of action, and brought the physician to Curzon Street for the purpose of carrying it out.
“Indeed you should, Doctor,” he replied. “Or rather, why do not I do so? While you secure Celia to the bed in the manner you described to me yesterday.”
Leticia raised her head a little at this, twisting her tear-streaked face from side to side, as if questing for further information. Celia, as the girl to whom Sir Henry had just referred, evinced an even greater interest, turning her own bright, but not wet, blue eyes to the doctor over her shoulder.
“Capital,” said Dr. Brown. He patted Celia’s whipped bottom and addressed her directly. “I am going to restrain you upon Miss Stewart’s bed, Miss Deaver, for the docking procedure Sir Henry has elected for you and your mistress as a special measure to inhibit further illicit self-pleasure. It will be more humane that way, since you will not be able to interfere and thus to make the disciplinary treatment more painful than it must be.”