His Bride's Shameful Training

by Emily Tilton

  Mrs. Graves nodded sadly, clearly finding Sir Henry’s discourse both very noble and greatly ennobling. “I guessed as much, though I have never heard the subject spoken of with such eloquence, Sir Henry. You intend to have them just as they are, from behind? Or shall I place them in some other posture? I have heard from another housekeeper, who manages such things in the house of the Duke of Panton, that some men enjoy placing two naked girls atop one another, so that their tender furrows lie close and may be ploughed in alternation.”

  Celia gave a little cry at these words, and Leticia raised her head as if about to turn and look at Mrs. Graves, who had delivered this salacious speech as if she were reading the dinner menu.

  “I shall,” Sir Henry said, trying hard to keep his tone even, “I am sure, employ that mode of cultivation with these two very soon, but tonight you may leave them as they are.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The door closed behind Mrs. Graves, and Celia heard Sir Henry undressing behind her.

  “I never thought,” the baronet said, “that I should find so trusty an ally in that good woman. I may have to hire her away from your mama, Leticia. Would you like that? She could keep both you girls ready for fucking when I choose, and punish you when I am otherwise engaged, or wish to watch you whipped rather than myself doing the whipping…”

  Next to Celia upon the bed, Miss Leticia gave a little sob. “No, sir,” she whispered. “Please.”

  Sir Henry’s hand came down upon Celia’s right hip. She gasped at the contact, at the way his fingers curled possessively to control her, hold her in place and still any wayward motions. His other hand went between her legs to fondle her cunny and discover the wetness of which Mrs. Graves had notified him. Celia whimpered as the baronet’s fingers opened her, explored her.

  “What are you doing, Sir Henry?” Miss Leticia asked, as if half-longing and half-dreading to know.

  “Hush, darling. I am merely preparing to fuck your maid. How is this sweet clitoris feeling now, Celia Deaver? Do you need a second application of the training iron, as Mrs. Graves suggests?”

  He took the tiny bud gently between his thumb and forefinger, and a sensation of mingled pain and pleasure so great that Celia thought she would faint shot through her whole body. She cried out wordlessly, and then begged, sobbing, “No, sir. Please.”

  “A different sort of iron, then,” he said, taking his hand away and replacing it with something else: the soft tip of something. Celia couldn’t keep from giving a happy cry as he moved the head of his cock up and down between the lips that seemed so much more sensitive since the ordeal of the hot metal against her poor clitoris. It seemed very strange to her that Dr. Brown could have meant to increase the pleasure down there, but at the same time Celia understood that because that addition came from the unusual discipline bestowed by Sir Henry, she truly felt that her cunny belonged to him, and that Miss Leticia’s did, too. The feeling of his prick pushing into her maiden slit, taking her breath away as it came up against nature’s innocent barrier, prepared to open her there and make her a woman at last, seemed to send her floating above her body on a cloud composed of a sort of pleasure Celia had never imagined.

  “Wh-what is he doing?” Leticia demanded in a little voice that seemed to make Celia’s pleasure, her anticipation of the thrust she must soon receive, even greater.

  “Tell your mistress what I am doing to you, Celia,” said Sir Henry in a growl. “You know you must answer when she addresses you.”

  The words came from Celia’s chest in a soft whimper. “He has his… his… cock in… in me, miss. Just… a little ways… oh, miss… you have been fucked… you know how it feels, do you… do you not?”

  All the while Sir Henry’s hardness moved gently up and down in the maiden furrow, pushing in and pulling out just a little, never leaving Celia’s cunny alone but never pressing hard. When the maid had finished speaking, however, she felt his left hand mirror his right, and hold her waist firmly between them. She gave a little cry even before the thrust came, out of alarm, but the gasp of agony she emitted when the cock rushed into her sounded much softer in her ears. Her little bottom, still smarting from Dr. Brown’s cane, came up against the baronet’s lap.

  “What… what happened?” Miss Leticia asked.

  “He…” Celia managed, and then Sir Henry moved his cock inside, and her words became a gasp. “He… he is… he is fucking me, miss. His prick is in my cunny and he is moving it back and forth inside me… and… and…”

  “Hush, now, Celia Deaver,” the baronet said. “You, too, Leticia. I shall withdraw from Celia’s cunt in a moment and fuck yours, so that I will put my seed there.”

  Sir Henry did as he said, while Celia, held tightly in his grip, could only receive his thrusting manhood over and over, sobbing her submission to the bedclothes. She felt the pleasure build in her, but when the baronet pulled his penis from her cunny he left her forlorn, her hips still moving as if on a phantom cock, hungry for more fucking.

  Next to her Leticia gave a happy cry as her future husband’s hardness entered her. Sir Henry grunted in pleasure, and began to fuck Celia’s mistress so hard that the bed began to move a bit across the floor.

  “Celia,” the baronet grunted. “Touch yourself. This instant. I wish to see you spend as I fuck Miss Leticia next to you.”

  Celia felt her face go bright red, but her hand obeyed his command as if it had a mind of its own: it thrust down under her between her legs, and did what Nell had taught Celia to do in that Devon farmhouse, playing with her clitoris despite the lingering pain—no, because of the lingering pain, since the more she did it the more the discomfort became a pleasure that spun her floating self around. Miss Leticia cried out under the cock, and Celia remembered that same cock inside her, and she screamed into a spend as the bed moved beneath them both, Sir Henry fucking and fucking and fucking until he too shouted with his lordly climax.

  * * *

  Mrs. Graves continued to aid Sir Henry in training Celia and her mistress in the brief two weeks that then elapsed between the girls’ defloration and Miss Leticia Stewart’s marriage to Sir Henry Vexin, bart. The housekeeper decided that it would save a good deal of trouble if she simply spanked both young women naked over her knee each evening on the general principle that a girl preparing for the bridal altar, who had been caught with a gentleman’s magazine, would necessarily have been guilty at least of impure thoughts. Celia received this discipline by dint of having been an accessory to the lewd conduct of her mistress from the start.

  Sir Henry fucked both of them after their spankings, which occurred of course in his bedchamber in order to make that as convenient as possible. He would stand over each girl as the housekeeper delivered the spanking, commenting on the state of the punished bottom and talking in a way that seemed greatly to gratify Mrs. Graves of the delightful fruits he meant to harvest that night in the garden of Cupid.

  Both the baronet and the housekeeper would remind the girls frequently of the forbidden fruit that he would only pluck once Dr. Brown had assisted him in preparing their bottoms for his possession. Once both young women had spread their hind-cheeks for inspection, Sir Henry and Mrs. Graves would lay their fingertips upon the tiny flowers thus disclosed and speak of how good a thing it was firmly to root a young woman upon a lordly staff.

  As the day of the wedding approached, too, Sir Henry seemed intent on ensuring that mistress and maid did not become too familiar with one another. Indeed, on the eve itself of the marriage, while Miss Leticia had been put to bed by Mrs. Graves in her own bedchamber for the first time in a fortnight, Sir Henry had Celia with him in his own bed, and spoke to her sternly upon the matter.

  “Celia, I shall tell you now how I mean your relations with Miss Leticia to proceed.”

  The wicked aristocrat had Celia upon her back, naked, as he laid naked himself beside her with the covers thrown back. Sir Henry had propped himself upon his left elbow, and he had his right hand between the
country girl’s thighs, making her moan as he forbid the closing of her knees with the urgent preparatory caress he generally employed before fucking her or Miss Leticia.

  She looked up into his blue eyes and saw them narrow as he explored her cunny with his fingers, seeking in Celia’s face the confirmation of his ownership of her body and its pleasures. She could not help biting her lip and furrowing her brow as she saw that expression, as red as her face might be to lie so exposed, so bare under his hand on the night before he would wed Miss Leticia. The baronet’s wickedness seemed to know no bounds, but that very fact seemed to make Celia wet between her thighs whenever she thought of it, even while she performed her duties about the house, laying fires and beating carpets.

  “You are to report to me every infraction she may commit against my desires. Above all, you are to report any attempt she makes at pleasuring herself, when I am away upon business. Dr. Brown assures me that a girl of her wanton nature will often seek the solace of her fingers when her master must leave her alone, and she does not have the solace of his cock between her legs.”

  “Yes, sir,” Celia moaned, terribly aroused not only by Sir Henry’s fingers but also by the thought of Miss Leticia, alone, being naughty, as her maid observed and prepared to report the misdeed to the aristocrat who even now turned to climb atop Celia, who even now bent her knees back to her breasts to enter and to begin to fuck.

  “I want you, Celia,” Sir Henry said, his voice a little labored with the vigorous exercise of pumping his hips to drive his cock deep inside the maid’s little cunny to make her cry out with each thrust, “to understand how much I love Miss Leticia. I would not have decided to arrange my household in this manner if I did not know for certain that natures such as hers and yours require the sort of training and erotic discipline I will provide.”

  Celia arched her back, bucked her hips, could only respond with wordless noises of helpless pleasure at his possession of her and the shameful words that nevertheless seemed to the country girl to speak the truth. Had she not felt how aroused it made her, just that day, to shave Miss Leticia’s cunny for her wedding night, and had she not seen and scented her mistress’ arousal, too, as Celia—upon Mrs. Graves’ instruction—stroked her mistress gently there with lotion?

  Sir Henry looked down into Celia’s eyes as he fucked her harder and harder, his hips flashing and his hands upon her thighs holding her still to receive his pounding cock. He spoke no more, but merely gave forth those little manly grunts to which maid and mistress had both become quite used in the many nights of submission since Dr. Brown’s visit. His muscular thighs reawakened the remaining pain from Mrs. Graves’ final spanking before bed that night, and that made the pleasure of being full of the bridegroom’s penis all the more.

  At last, clearly striving to master himself, the baronet said in a husky voice, “I shall spend in your mouth, Celia Deaver. You’ll suck the cock until I give you a bedtime treat, you naughty girl.” He withdrew from Celia’s cunny and made his way up the bed, around Celia’s supine, spread body. She moaned anew, for he had replaced his prick with a soothing hand even as he presented his manhood, glistening with Celia’s own private wetness to her lips, turning her head with his other hand, his left, to command her service.

  She opened her mouth, though her cheeks flamed at the idea of cleaning her cunny’s wantonness off Sir Henry’s cock, and he thrust inside it, rubbing her between her legs all the while, so that she thought she might faint from pleasure and breathlessness together.

  “Oh, good girl,” said the baronet, contradicting himself but clearly not caring a whit. “Oh, such a good girl.” He ran a finger down between her bottom-cheeks, to touch her tiny ring. “I can hardly wait to train you and your mistress to submit to me entirely.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Immediately after the wedding breakfast, when Sir Henry had brought Leticia to the house he had taken in Mayfair for his little household, he told her to go up to their bedroom and await Celia. “She will undress you for bed, darling.”

  “Oh, but…” Leticia began. “But surely… It is only two o’clock, Sir Henry.”

  They stood in the grand foyer of the house, once the home of a duke, with the servants he had specially chosen with Dr. Brown’s help present to welcome their young mistress. Sir Henry had left Mrs. Graves behind, to his regret, to remain in Mrs. Stewart’s service. Dr. Brown however had recommend to him the estimable Mrs. Farley as a housekeeper, whose sexual services, the woman had assured him, would be rendered without a need for floral metaphor.

  The baronet now looked meaningfully at Mrs. Farley, whose steely gaze fixed itself upon Leticia, now Lady Vexin. The lovely bride stood in her pale blue gown with Celia a step behind, carrying a case that Sir Henry presumed must hold his young wife’s toiletries. He watched as Leticia followed her husband’s look to the face of the housekeeper, and then saw the alarmed recognition in her brown eyes as the girl understood that Mrs. Farley would serve in the same capacity as Mrs. Graves, in Leticia’s new home.

  “Come along, milady,” said Mrs. Farley in a tone Sir Henry associated more with the nursery than with the grand gilt appurtenances of his splendid town home’s foyer. The housekeeper turned to Celia. “You are Celia Deaver? Lady Vexin’s girl?”

  At that, Leticia tried to protest, her eyes seeking out Sir Henry’s once again. “She… she is… Deaver… now. She is a ladies’ maid. One is to call her that, now… Deaver, and not… not a girl?” The bride’s nervous glance flitted from her bridegroom’s face, to Mrs. Farley’s, to Celia’s, seeking confirmation of this rise in status for the country girl, which would indicate also a rise for her mistress.

  Sir Henry felt a pang of sympathy. Loving Leticia as he did, he wished her to feel confident in her new role as the mistress of a great house. But his love also made him urgently aware of the need only to allow her those freedoms appropriate to her character. She would earn authority in her husband’s household as she showed herself able to obey him—and to fulfill the very specific and exacting requirements he had, with the counsel of Dr. Brown, elected to place upon his bride. Just at the moment that meant that Leticia must for her own good have no say in the way Mrs. Farley managed the preparations for the long wedding night that awaited her.

  Sir Henry nodded to the housekeeper, and the woman acknowledged it with an inclination of her own head. Leticia took in the looks exchanged by her husband and the iron-haired woman, whose very aspect clearly frightened her, with a growing alarm that showed clearly in her wide eyes.

  Mrs. Farley said, “Perhaps Celia will earn the right to be considered a ladies’ maid, milady. But for now she is still your girl, as far as I am concerned.”

  Leticia gave Sir Henry one last beseeching look, but he knew he must steel his heart.

  “Leticia,” he said sternly, “you must go upstairs at once with Mrs. Farley. I do not wish to have to cane you upon our wedding night.”

  The new Lady Vexin gasped at that, and a little murmur passed between the two footmen, James and John, and the two parlor maids, Mary and Martha, though the butler, Johnson, remained impassive. Tears appeared in the corner of Leticia’s eyes. She looked back at Celia, whose face had gone from alarm to sympathy. Not for the first time Sir Henry wondered if he had done right to work as hard as he had to set the two girls at odds. Now, though, in front of the whole household, he knew he must enforce the separation.

  “Celia,” he said, “you are to ensure that your mistress obeys me, or you will feel the rod yourself.” A crease appeared in the maid’s forehead, and she bit her lip, her cheeks growing red.

  “Indeed you will,” said Mrs. Farley, nodding. “Ladies’ maid or not, my justice will find your bare backside, Celia, when Lady Vexin disobeys Sir Henry.”

  The baronet observed his bride’s face as closely as he could during this little pronouncement of Mrs. Farley’s. He saw Leticia’s plea for aid and compassion from Celia turn into mistrust, and a glance at Celia showed that the count
ry girl’s heart had responded just as Sir Henry had known it would: the blue eyes narrowed, and Celia said in a peremptory tone, “Come along, milady. It is no use pretending Sir Henry is not your husband now, and you know well already of his ways in the bedchamber.”

  Another murmur, this one almost of appreciation, passed between the footmen. Johnson turned to give them a long stare, but Sir Henry detected in it just the sort of fellow feeling he might expect from a butler recommended by Dr. Brown. In this household the footmen, being natural men, would have permission to enjoy themselves fully so long as they did not rise above their station—without due consultation at any rate, for Dr. Brown had made explicit mention in his treatise of worthy footmen winning the submissive favors of aristocrats’ daughters, and indeed Sir Henry had heard of one such case occurring quite recently here in town.

  The maids, for their part, kept their gazes down. Their cheeks had gone a very pretty shade of red. Virgins, but selected specifically for the commission of peccadilloes not dissimilar from those of Leticia and Celia, they would find themselves under the footmen very soon, if Johnson and Mrs. Farley managed matters as they, and Dr. Brown, had assured Sir Henry they could. He desired a happy household, arranged according to the ways of Britain’s elite as shaped by the tutelage of the good doctor who had rendered so many prosperous men happy in their amorous pursuits.

  He looked again, thoughtfully, at his deeply blushing bride. Yes, he loved Leticia to distraction, though it did not mean he would give up the natural ways recommended by Dr. Brown. She cast one last beseeching look at him, while her feet began to carry her toward the stairs at whose top her bridal chamber awaited the lewd nuptial rites with which her bridegroom had already acquainted her out of due season. Sir Henry kept his face stern, but in his heart he thought that perhaps he could seek out some concession—some way of yielding a bit, that might make his sweet girl happy despite the need for strict bare-bottom discipline that the baronet meant never to ignore.