by Emily Tilton
Now Leticia raised her disheveled head wildly, and attempted to rise from her elbows. Sir Henry pressed upon her back, though, keeping her bent over with his left hand. His pity receded as he dropped the cane from his right to the bed and thrust that hand between his girl’s thighs. He felt the sort of compelling need that Dr. Brown’s treatise urged the natural man always to act upon—both to make certain that his young lady’s arousal in submission answered his own in domination and to encourage that arousal, in order to demonstrate his control over her pleasure. To his satisfaction, he felt the girl’s thrillingly bare cunt gush with wanton need upon his probing fingers.
Celia had risen completely, though, and stood with frightened face and balled fists just before her hips as she watched Dr. Brown go to his bag. Sir Henry kept Leticia bent over the bed for a moment longer, so that the maid could see the mistress’ arousal at the thought of the girls’ still mysterious fate. He watched the country girl’s blue eyes open wide, and her mouth make a little O. Then he stepped away from his intended bride, with a final wanking caress upon her cunt, and went smiling to the bell to pull it sharply, all the while keeping his eyes locked upon Celia’s face, though her attention remained fixed on the physician’s bag, and then upon the leather straps he had removed from it.
After a final satisfied survey of the wanton scene—two naked, whipped girls about to receive a further lesson they would never forget, before undergoing defloration at his noble hands and cock—Sir Henry dressed himself quickly and went out into the hall. Mrs. Graves was already approaching with the iron, as specified, wrapped in a towel and carried upon a tray, the towel having been soaked in boiling water and thus too hot itself to touch just at present.
“Thank you, Mrs. Graves,” Sir Henry said, taking the tray. “We shall ring again when we wish the iron prepared for the second girl.”
“Is it Celia who’s to go first?” the housekeeper inquired.
“Indeed, yes.”
Mrs. Graves nodded firmly. “Serves her right, I suppose, though she’s a sweet girl. And I fancy it will help Miss Leticia to learn her own lesson when she sees her servant being punished that way, for her sake.”
A sharp wail, which the baronet recognized as almost certainly that of Celia, wafted through the door and into the hall. Dr. Brown must be having a little trouble, though of course nothing he could not handle. Sir Henry smiled. “I imagine you heard the flogging, a few moments since?”
Mrs. Graves permitted herself a smile of her own. “Yes, sir. And I’ve told the other servants not to worry themselves even if the girls should cry out louder than that when you give them the iron.”
“Never fear, Mrs. Graves,” Sir Henry answered. “Dr. Brown means to gag them to prevent such disturbance.”
The housekeeper’s eyes went a little wide at that, but she nodded again. “Very good, sir. I will let the others know.” She turned and trod again down the hall, and Sir Henry, carrying the tray, opened the door of Leticia’s bedchamber to reveal a scene he found just as charming as the one he had left.
Celia lay upon her back, at the foot of Leticia’s bed. Her posture was not dissimilar to the one in which the men had placed the girls for their inspection, but now instead of having the maid hold her own knees open, Dr. Brown had enforced that posture by means of an ingenious arrangement of leather straps.
A broad belt about the girl’s waist had been secured, with the aid of iron rings affixed to it, to the frame of the bed on either side. Celia’s wrists, too, were bound in cuffs that the doctor had similarly hooked to the rings at her sides. Cuffs buckled around the country girl’s thighs just above the knee kept her legs well apart, since straps ran from them to the posts at the head of the bed, and another around her neck in a sort of harness that Sir Henry found made his cock once again as hard as stone. In the maid’s mouth was a bit of black India rubber, secured by a final strap buckled behind her head.
Celia herself, breathing hard and with eyes still wide, her cheeks now tear-streaked, looked up wildly at the baronet as he brought the tray in and placed it on the vanity table. Leticia had receded toward the head of the bed, cowering and covering herself, looking as if she fervently hoped to escape the notice of her intended bridegroom and his medical assistant.
“Ah, Sir Henry,” said Dr. Brown, standing just next to the charming sight of Celia’s cunt and well-whipped bottom beautifully and helplessly presented for the procedure to which Sir Henry had decided to subject her most sensitive anatomy. “I had some difficulty in securing Miss Deaver’s compliance at first, but a few further strokes of the cane across her rump persuaded her most effectively. Would you please fetch the iron here? Best to apply it right away.”
Celia began to thresh her head from side to side as she saw what Sir Henry now removed from the hot towel, the instrument’s wooden handle itself very hot. The baronet handed the iron, its half-inch broad blade heated in boiling water and now perhaps 105 degrees Fahrenheit, to the physician, who held the metal against his fingertip for a moment to test its suitability for the job at hand. He nodded as he removed the finger, shaking it gently to ease the sting caused by the heat that lingered in the blade.
Leticia had begun to weep. Celia’s cries of fright, muffled by the bit, arose quite frantically, her head shaking violently.
“I shall apply this training iron to your clitoris now, Miss Deaver,” said Dr. Brown in a level, sympathetic voice. “It is Sir Henry’s wish that you understand this to be the consequence of illicit self-pleasure and sapphism in his house.”
Chapter Seventeen
Leticia felt certain she would swoon dead away at the sight of the horrible thing descending to touch Celia’s poor little privates. Something in her mind simply refused to contemplate the notion that Sir Henry meant to use this terrifying special measure on Leticia as well. How could he? Celia was a servant, and Leticia his intended bride. Servants deserved such treatment, but a Miss Leticia Stewart of Hartvane could never undergo anything of the kind.
She knew that the idea lacked the charity she had always tried to show the servants, and Celia in particular, but the panic with which the sight of the training iron in Dr. Brown’s hand filled Leticia’s breast made her mind wild even as it made her body cower back against the wall by the head of her bed. She looked at the maid spread naked, bound in place upon the bed, the terrifying black bit in her mouth, and her whole body went hot, and then cold. The little mewing noises coming from Celia’s chest made the mistress feel faint.
“Come and see, Leticia,” said Sir Henry in a stern voice, from his station at the foot of the bed. “You are the cause of this punishment for Celia, and you will have it, too. I wish you to watch closely.”
Leticia shook her head wordlessly, tried to cover her cunny and her bosom even more with her hands.
“Come here this instant, darling,” the baronet repeated, “or I will make sure the iron is a good deal hotter when Dr. Brown places it upon your clitoris. Give me your hand, and stop trying to cover your pretty cunt.”
Leticia gave a little cry, and then she found herself darting forward to where Sir Henry had extended his right hand to her. She looked into his icy blue eyes and she took her hand away from her loins and let him draw her by it, to his side. He turned her, and she felt her cheeks burn as she took in the sight of Celia from this angle; her little bottom, bearing the marks of the flogging, moving the tiny distance permitted by her bonds, hips bucking, bare, pink cunny seeming to spasm as well, while the metal blade of the training iron made its final approach to the dainty protrusion at the top, the place Leticia knew so much feeling lay concealed.
Celia screamed through the bit as the doctor pressed the steel gently against her clitoris, the restrained motions of her body becoming so wild that Leticia could see precisely why Dr. Brown had bound the maid in place for this awful disciplinary procedure. Why he had to restrain Celia… why he would have to restrain Miss Leticia Stewart, too, when he carried out the same special measure upon the demu
re, aching bud that she felt suddenly desperate to touch, despite the maid’s screaming, despite the way Celia’s cunt-lips contracted, despite the way the well-caned little bottom-cheeks clenched…
Sir Henry caught Leticia before she could swoon all the way to the floor, held her up so that he could carry her to the head of the bed and lay her gently across it.
“There, darling,” he said. “You’re just fine.”
Leticia’s head swam. She looked up into the baronet’s handsome face, unable to remember for a long moment what had immediately preceded her lying here on her bed. Then Dr. Brown’s voice said, “Miss Deaver has borne the procedure very well. I venture to say she will not touch her clitoris, or wish anyone else to touch it, for several hours at least. When you deflower her, Sir Henry, you need have no fear the girl will feel excessive pleasure—your notion of docking your young ladies in this fashion will receive a fair test in the maid’s case at least.”
Celia’s screams had turned to quiet sobs, now. All of the terrible lessons visited upon them by Sir Henry, in recompense for Leticia’s illicit pleasure, now came back to the mistress’ mind, and she too sobbed, in fear.
The doctor said, “It is your turn, Miss Stewart. I will secure you in Miss Deaver’s place while Sir Henry has the training iron reheated for your punishment.”
“Sir Henry,” Leticia pleaded. “Please. I beg of you… do not…”
Dr. Brown unbuckled the strap that held the rubber bit in Celia’s mouth and removed it. Inarticulate whimpers came from the country girl. Leticia felt desperate to ask how Celia felt, down there, but the very idea of the question terrified her.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Leticia,” said Sir Henry. “This is a punishment recommended in a more severe form by some of the most respected doctors in the land. Dr. Brown and I have determined to try a milder version upon you and your maid in hope of teaching you a lesson I find absolutely essential: your cunts belong to me, and I will ensure that you do not play with them unless I permit it. The doctor agrees that a natural man’s household can be founded on no other principle.”
“Indeed I do,” said Dr. Brown as he freed Celia’s legs, “though this early use of the training iron distinguishes Sir Henry’s disciplinary scheme for you, Miss Stewart. Nevertheless, and although I part ways from so-called modern medical science in seeing female sexual pleasure as the right of a properly submissive young lady rather than as an aberration, I approve of the way your future husband has decided to dock your clitoral sensation before he penetrates you for the first time. Both as a consequence of masturbation and Lesbian pleasure and as a more general lesson in submission, I believe the training iron will stand Sir Henry’s natural delights in good stead.”
He had finished removing the leather straps from Celia, now, and as he spoke Sir Henry had again left Leticia’s bedchamber, carrying the training iron on the tray with the towels. Celia rose from the bed on wobbling knees, tears running down her cheeks. The golden-haired country girl held her hands in front of her bare cunny, rubbing around the top but, Leticia saw, clearly not directly upon her poor little bud, or anywhere very near it, as she gave her mistress a woeful look.
Suddenly part of Leticia returned to the sentiment of the night before, when she had accused Celia of seducing her. The girl had gotten what she deserved between her legs, hadn’t she, for making Leticia kiss her down there? And she had seduced her mistress, really, hadn’t she? Celia had said it was alright for a girl to touch herself, when Leticia had felt quite certain that it was not alright, despite her inability to keep from doing it.
At the same time, the mistress felt her face crumple into a sympathetic sob at the sight of Celia’s agony, at her maid’s penitent expression, which seemed to ask Leticia’s forgiveness and to affirm that Leticia’s clitoris would receive the terrible lesson in innocence—that, yes, the blame should lie with Celia’s lascivious actions, rather than with Leticia’s.
But they did not matter at all, those conflicting feelings—for the doctor said, “All right, Miss Stewart. Lie as Celia lay, and I will prepare you for the iron.”
Trembling even as she sprang up from the bed in terror, Leticia again tried to recede into the corner.
“Come now,” the doctor said. “Miss Deaver proved herself much braver than that, did she not?”
He spoke the truth: Celia had lain right down, though Leticia had not understood how the country girl could. Perhaps the brashness came from her agricultural origin, but looking at the maid now Leticia did not think Celia would lay herself down meekly a second time. The little hands kept rubbing around the spot where the iron had gone, and the tears still rolled down Celia’s cheeks.
As the maid looked back at the mistress, though, a new aspect appeared in Celia’s woeful expression, as if at the cowardice Leticia showed when the doctor told her to assume the same posture upon the bed, and to undergo the restraint from which Celia had just been released. The penitence became again the hard, angry look of the misused servant, and Leticia’s heart quailed, for Celia’s eyes recalled to her mistress’ mind the terrible lie she had told to incriminate her maid, and the false accusation concerning the gentlemen’s journal.
“Doctor,” Celia said in a strained, tearful voice that nevertheless had a strength of defiance in it, “shall I help you secure Miss Leticia to the bed?”
“You wouldn’t! You mustn’t!” Leticia cried, but Dr. Brown merely chuckled.
“No, Miss Deaver. I can simply call Sir Henry back if it should prove necessary, but I think Miss Stewart will see the necessity of accepting her future husband’s decision concerning her matrimonial training. Won’t you, Miss Stewart? Now be a good girl for me and for Sir Henry, and lie upon the bed with your knees nice and high. Indeed, Miss Deaver, you may assist by placing the belt around your mistress’ waist and securing her wrists to it, then buckling on the thigh cuffs, before Miss Stewart lies down.”
Leticia wept as Celia moved to obey, but she did not attempt escape. Her fear of Sir Henry making good on his threat to make the training iron hotter than it had been for Celia kept her in place as the maid put the belt on her and buckled it securely, then the wrist cuffs, which she fastened to the rings just above Leticia’s hips. When the thigh cuffs went around her legs, Leticia felt very funny: something about the way the leather framed and enclosed her cunny and her flogged bottom seemed to stir the ache down there again. Sir Henry wanted her loins thus prepared, she could not help thinking, so that he could enjoy himself most fully when he thrust his hard cock inside her maiden pussy and then her young bottom.
But that thought only brought to mind more forcefully the terrifying memory of watching the doctor apply the hot iron to Celia’s poor clitoris. Leticia began to weep anew as she lay down so that the doctor could finish restraining her, the strange harness around her neck between the thigh cuffs, then the straps that secured the belt to the bed and immobilized her at the waist, and finally the ones that ran between her thighs and the bedposts. Now she could hardly move at all, and when she heard Sir Henry return her heart jumped with fright.
“Please, Sir Henry,” she pleaded. “Please, don’t. I won’t… I won’t touch myself… ever again. I promise!”
“Hush, Miss Stewart,” said the doctor, and he emphasized his words by buckling the strap of the black bit, still moist from Celia’s mouth, around the back of Leticia’s head. “Take this between your teeth now. Bite down upon it when the pain grows great.”
“Oh,” said Sir Henry, as he placed the tray again upon the vanity table, “you will certainly touch yourself again, Leticia. But only when I require it. And you and Celia will nuzzle one another’s cunnies like frisky kittens, when I wish to see you play like naughty girls.”
Leticia turned her head wildly to Celia, standing now by the clothespress. She saw in her maid’s face no more comprehension of Sir Henry’s intentions than she found in her own mind.
“In fact,” said the baronet, “if my docking of your cunt in this fashion pr
oves successful, when I finally allow you to spend, with my prick inside you, you will feel a pleasure greater than you have ever imagined your body could feel. Now, Doctor, please apply the training iron to my bride’s sweet, rosy little clitoris.”
Leticia breathed in short pants around the bit, and she closed her eyes, feeling exposed and spread, subjugated by her future husband in a fashion she knew the world would never have approved despite all its talk of the joy to be bound in feminine submission. She felt the movement of the air as the doctor approached. She felt the heat radiating from the iron, and then she felt it laid upon her most sensitive place, and she screamed in pain, through the muffling bit.
Chapter Eighteen
Sir Henry watched with mounting arousal as his charmer writhed upon the bed within the short compass allowed her by the doctor’s restraints. He had not expected the procedure itself to make him so very hard, and the sudden resolution formed in his mind not to waste further time before making a woman of Miss Leticia Stewart.
The lovely girl strained against her bonds as Dr. Brown held the hot steel blade against her rosy clitoris. Her flogged backside bounced up and down with the effort, but the physician paid the motion little attention: Leticia could not escape the treatment her future bridegroom had decreed for her. The scream diminished to a frantic mewing as her body drew the heat from the tormenting metal and it cooled to a temperature closer to that of her body.
“There, Miss Stewart,” said Dr. Brown. “It is uncomfortable, I know, but my training iron produces no burn in the medical sense of the term. It merely renders the area insusceptible to pleasure for a few hours. As Sir Henry said, the result will be that when you do again feel all of the natural delight providence placed within your sexual anatomy, you will feel it the more strongly for having been deprived by this docking procedure. Moreover—and I believe this to be your bridegroom’s chief intent—you will feel a perfectly natural gratitude for his taking your clitoris, vagina, and anus well in hand, and granting you permission fully to enjoy his use of those regions.”