by Emily Tilton
When Leticia and Celia had made their way up the stairs, he turned to his housekeeper. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Farley,” he said, letting his blue eyes twinkle at her a bit.
Her own eyes crinkled the tiniest degree, but her mouth remained impassive. “It is my honor, Sir Henry. As you know, I believe strongly in the program you propose for the ordering of Lady Vexin’s married life. I am sensible of the privilege you have bestowed upon me in allowing me to assist in training her, and the Deaver girl, to serve your pleasure.”
Sir Henry turned to the butler. “No callers, however urgent, please, Johnson,” he said, with a smile that he barely kept from becoming a wolfish grin.
“Of course not, milord. Are there any other instructions?” The tall, fair-haired man bent to listen to Sir Henry’s will.
So joyful in his marriage did the baronet feel that he felt the need to spread as much mirth and pleasure as he could, throughout the household. “If Mrs. Farley deems it appropriate,” he said with a glance at the housekeeper, “why not allow the footmen to enjoy the parlor maids’ mouths below stairs? And the maids may touch and kiss one another’s cunts if they like, so long as Mrs. Farley supervises them.”
James and John opened their eyes wide at this, and Mary and Martha blushed furiously.
Mrs. Farley spoke. “May the footmen touch the girls’ cunts, as well, milord? Or even take their maidenheads tonight? They are both eighteen and ready for fucking, though I had assumed you wish to deflower them yourself.”
Sir Henry chuckled as he looked at the downcast red faces, noting also the way the maids shifted upon their feet as their cunts clearly responded to the idea of being mounted by the handsome footmen so very soon after arriving in their elegant new household.
“Why not?” said the baronet. “I have my own charmer, and her ladies’-maid-in-training. James and John, would you like to fuck these girls tonight?”
Tongue-tied though very bright-eyed, the youthful natural men looked to Johnson for a cue, just—Sir Henry thought—as they should. Johnson spoke brusquely.
“Answer Sir Henry, then,” he said. “Say, Yes, milord, unless for some reason you are not the lads I thought you were.”
James and John turned in unison to the baronet.
“Yes, milord,” they said at nearly the same moment, which made Mary and Martha giggle a bit.
“Mary and Martha,” Sir Henry asked, turning to them, “would you care to be fucked tonight, in celebration of your new mistress’ fucking?”
Mrs. Farley did not wait to admonish her charges. “Say, Yes, milord,” she instructed, “for you know you would not be here, girls, if you had not shown you need the penis inside you regularly. Now the happy occasion when you shall first receive it has arrived.”
The maids could not, it seemed, lift their eyes to meet their master’s amused gaze, but each mumbled, “Yes, milord,” in turn.
“Is there a greater felicity,” Sir Henry said then, to the whole, small assembly of his well-chosen servants, “than a happy home? I shall go up, now. Johnson, I shall ring when supper is to be brought in. Lady Vexin and I will both need a good deal of restoration, I believe.”
The butler nodded gravely, his eyes perhaps showing the smallest degree of shared feeling. His words, though, spoken despite their meaning in the solemn tone of the upper servant, showed that he did indeed possess all the sympathy the best servants feel with the peculiar characters of their masters. “Very good, sir. I wish you joy of your bride’s cunt upon this occasion of its first lawful fucking.”
* * *
Sir Henry entered his bridal chamber to find, to his surprise and delight, that Celia was spanking her mistress. Leticia lay naked over the foot of the bed, and her maid stood just to the side, left hand upon the small of Lady Vexin’s back and right hand delivering a sharp slap to the bride’s round bottom. Leticia cried out pitifully as the spank echoed in the corners of the gorgeous high-ceilinged room. His young wife’s bare hind-cheeks showed in their sweet blush that the punishment had already gone on for at least a little while.
Startled, Celia turned to look at the baronet, her hand raised to give another slap but now suspended in midair. The angry look that had graced her sweet features when he entered changed to a more ambiguous one: half guilt and half pride, if Sir Henry judged correctly.
Leticia, too, turned her tearstained face to look at her husband. “Sir Henry… I… Celia…”
But her voice trailed off. Sir Henry’s cock, already rather stiff from the free talk with the servants, had grown hard as a rock at the sight of his lovely wife undergoing correction. He had no desire for lengthy explanations at present: he was the bridegroom, and the time for the lawful possession of his bride had arrived.
“Step back, Celia,” he growled. “I shall learn the meaning of this later. Perhaps it can wait until Monday, when I am to bring you to Dr. Brown for the training of your bottoms. Today, though, is not a day for talk, but for fucking.”
He had his coat and his trousers off, now, and with his shirt still on and his cock standing straight before him, he approached the sweet backside. He reached down and tugged Leticia’s thighs well apart, and then with a single thrust he entered his bride’s soaking cunt and began to fuck, one hand upon her waist and the other upon her shoulder.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Long would Lady Vexin be fucked that night, Leticia realized with a sense of alarm and arousal so mixed that she could not tell them apart. She scarcely understood, really, how she had come to receive the spanking from Celia, but it seemed to fire Sir Henry’s blood very greatly.
The spring twilight gathered in Hyde Park corner, the fading illumination visible around the edges of the heavy curtains that adorned the grand windows of the stately bedchamber where natural man had his urgent way with submissive young wife, stiff cock pounding in and out of young cunny until Leticia felt so sore between her legs that she thought she could not bear to have the penis there any longer and must beg her husband to be allowed to take his hard manhood in her mouth instead, or even in her bottom, shameful as the plea might be.
Or perhaps, Leticia reflected, his ardor had another, more fundamental cause, and the spanking had only provided the immediate impetus to the first fucking of his new wife. Blushing, as she seemed likely never to cease from doing, despite her now-well-proven waywardness and wantonness, she wondered if the thought of claiming all of his bride’s remaining innocence made him use her cunny so masterfully for his pleasure.
She felt the demureness taught by her proper education—at least until the moment she had laid eyes on the salacious magazine—would stay with her forever, and thus, dressed as a bride and then undressed as a bride, she must present a natural man like her husband with a moving prospect of ravishment. Despite the shameful training he had enforced on her well before this wedding night, he clearly burned to see his bride succumb anew to the vigorous insertion of his lordly phallus. The sight of Celia spanking her mistress had perhaps made that phallus so hard and made him ride his young wife so sternly over the foot of her bride bed because it represented a spectacle of that innocence, the bride’s bottom made to blush from merited correction to teach the face to blush more readily.
At any rate, Sir Henry’s initial climax came very quickly after he entered her cunny and his strong lap came up against the bottom her ladies’ maid had warmed so well, but he did not allow Leticia to rise after she felt the cock spurt and soften inside her. Instead he held her there, and instructed Celia to kneel behind him and caress his balls until he grew ready to fuck his bride’s cunny again. That he did, his seed spurting a second time into her young womb, and Leticia thought she would have a respite.
But Sir Henry said, “You must get upon the bed, Leticia. You will rouse my cock with your mouth, now, as I lie upon my back, and then you must ride me as you ride your favorite pony in the park.”
Already her cunt felt tender as she straddled her lord and master, after cleaning her private wetness
from his growing prick. She had never ridden the penis before, and Sir Henry made her do it for a very long time, holding her warm bottom firmly in his hands and moving her up and down upon the shaft until she thought she would faint from exertion and pleasure.
Then she did beg: “Sir… please, sir… may I have it in my mouth instead, now?”
“No, Leticia,” he responded. “I will spend in your cunt when I am ready.”
Her plaintive request seemed to spur on his climax, though, at least, for he held her bottom still and thrust up into her until she screamed in ecstasy, discomfort forgotten, from the way he mastered her. He cried out, and she felt his cock pulse, the orgasm seeming to go on forever though she felt less of his seed rush inside her, which she wondered at. Her fascination with his penis seemed to know no bounds, she blushed to realize, and that blush won her one of Sir Henry’s rare but precious expressions of affection.
“Darling Leticia, you are the most wonderful girl, and the most wonderful Lady Vexin I could ever have imagined,” he said, his voice still a little breathless. He reached up to stroke her cheek, looking up with his blue eyes a little dimmed by pleasure. “I love you very much.”
“I love you, too, Sir Henry,” Leticia said, wondering at how very true the words felt despite all the shame her new husband seemed intent on making her feel. He and Dr. Brown, it seemed, had indeed known her character.
“Now tell me, before I fuck you again, how it was that Celia came to spank you.”
Leticia looked about her and saw Celia standing by the foot of the bed, holding the bedpost in her hands as if desperately trying to keep her hands from going where they should not go.
“I…” she began, trying to remember precisely how it had begun. “I called her…”
Her eyes met Celia’s, and it came flooding back into her mind—not just the words she had said, but the feeling of antipathy behind them, and the feeling that such opposition between them should not, and need not, exist.
“Celia?” the baronet asked. “What did your mistress call you?” He held her bottom-cheeks in his hands still, and now he moved Leticia a little, so that all the soreness returned and she gave a little cry, and knew the need for the chamber pot.
“Miss Leticia—that is, Lady Vexin—called me a saucy wench,” Celia said defiantly. “I told her she must be undressed for bed in all haste, and she said I was a saucy wench and I should not command her thus. And since you said, Sir Henry, that I must report her infractions, and there seemed no time before you would want to come in and fuck her, and since she… well, Lady Vexin angered me most extremely, I confess… Well, I decided she must be punished, and I told her so, and then—and miss… I mean, milady… she did let me get her undressed, which surprised me rather… and…”
Celia stopped speaking, then, her voice trailing off into uncertainty. She could not easily have gone on, Leticia understood, because while the maid delivered her account of the incident the bridegroom had dismounted his bride from the phallic saddle and arranged her upon her right side, facing her maid, rosy and naked, well fucked and now whimpering from the left hand of her new husband, working between her thighs from behind. Celia had grown rather breathless at the sight, and had now clearly lost her train of thought entirely.
Leticia felt her husband’s cock begin to swell again, up against her bottom, and her heart quailed at the thought of having to receive it again into her cunny. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, not again so soon?”
“Hush, Leticia,” he said. “You are my wife now, and you will have the penis when I wish you to have it, and where I wish to give it to you.”
She gave a sob of pleasure so mingled with soreness, and the need to make water, that it hardly felt like pleasure at all… and yet somehow it felt like more than pleasure. She had not spent, yet, upon her wedding night, and she had somehow not missed it, though the climaxes Sir Henry had bestowed upon her as he trained her cunt and her mouth this past fortnight had come to mean so very much to her. Now, despite what in one way felt an agony, down there, she felt also the building of a spend bigger than any she had ever experienced under her bridegroom’s hands or with his prick inside her.
Leticia had looked away from Celia, for a moment, and down at the counterpane, her cheeks hot not least at still being outside the bedclothes, on the wrong side of the sheet in the shameful old phrase. Now she looked up again, desperate to see what her maid thought of the lewd spectacle Sir Henry had made of his naked young bride. She expected to find more of the anger Celia had shown at being called a saucy wench—the wrath that had made Leticia quail back in the face of the sudden, strange promise to spank her.
Promise. Not threat, really.
Leticia gave a little cry, and she felt her hips buck lewdly against Sir Henry’s hand as she saw in Celia’s eyes not anger, or even pity, but lust—colored with envy, or even jealousy. Celia wanted to be in Leticia’s place, or she wanted to be in Sir Henry’s, or both. The terrible, lascivious thought roused Leticia still more down where her husband now put the head of his hard manhood yet again, entered her yet again, so that the bride cried out, “Please! Please!” without knowing what she meant by the word.
And then, suddenly, as the mistress remembered all she had undergone and must undergo with her maid beside her, Leticia did know for what she wished to plead, and she said though she hardly believe that she could even now speak words so lewd, “Please… sir… my bottom. In my bottom.”
But Sir Henry chuckled and said, “Soon enough, darling. I can hardly wait myself,” and kept fucking her, swinging his hips behind to move the cock in and out, Leticia’s enormous climax somehow both within reach and just beyond it.
In front of her, Celia gave a whimper and continued the tale, as if the sight of her mistress’ ordeal now called words from her as before it had extinguished them.
“Her ladyship let me undress her… and then I told her to get over the foot of the bed, because… because she needed discipline, and… and her ladyship…”
I bent over the bed because I knew Celia understood, and that despite everything Sir Henry might think right for us, it would be better if we were friends. Very good friends indeed, as it seemed might be that night she came to my bed and told me that her friend on the farm had taught her how to touch herself, and I should do it too, and learn to kiss her cunny, and she would kiss mine…
“I… I… I… please…” Leticia sobbed now. “Please…”
“Please, Sir Henry,” Celia whispered. “Please, say miss may touch herself.”
“Darling,” her bridegroom said, behind her, his voice thick with his own pleasure and his own exertions, “would you like to play with yourself as I fuck you?”
“Y-yes…” Leticia whimpered. “Oh, yes… p-please.”
“What if I told you that you must have the training iron at Dr. Brown’s, and Celia must have it too, if I allow you to touch your cunts now, and make yourselves spend?”
Leticia’s cunny clenched at the words, and she cried out wordlessly. She looked into Celia’s eyes, and saw just what she had hoped desperately to find, a sympathy that made her heart melt and her loins flow.
“Yes, milady,” Celia whispered.
“Yes, my lord,” Leticia sobbed.
“Raise your skirts, Celia,” Sir Henry commanded in a growl. “You shall both masturbate now, as I fuck my bride. Leticia, put your hand down there this instant. You shall spend upon my cock many times now before I allow you to rise.”
Leticia obeyed, and with a long moan she began to move to the double rhythm of the penis inside her and her fingers in front upon her clitoris. Celia had her black servant’s gown and her petticoat and shift up in a moment. The mistress could not keep her eyes from her maid’s fingers, working lewdly between her thighs, in the slit of her drawers, in the bare pout of her young pussy. She smelled Celia’s cunny, its special country fragrance adding a note to the rich, wanton scents of Cupid’s garden here in Sir Henry’s bridal chamber.
&
nbsp; Celia closed her eyes, holding the bedpost still with her right hand as she played so naughtily with her private part, and then she opened them again as if unwilling to lose the sight of Leticia’s fucking, just as Leticia needed to see Celia’s wantonness, authorized by Sir Henry.
Authorized, but soon… soon to be… to be punished…
To Leticia’s astonishment, and even to her dismay, as she worked urgently upon the tiny bud where so much pleasure gathered, as she felt the more ambiguous thrusting of her husband’s cock inside her, the idea of the training iron, applied to her clitoris, applied to Celia’s clitoris, brought on her first climax with a scream that dour Mrs. Farley must have heard, below stairs.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sir Henry brought his new bride and her ladies’ maid to Dr. Brown’s chambers two days later. In the intervening time Mrs. Farley had assumed the role of strict disciplinarian over both girls, allowing the baronet to foster between Leticia and Celia the sort of sympathy he had at first chosen to deny them. Indeed, with the cautious approval of Mrs. Farley herself, Sir Henry had permitted the girls to share a bed the night after the long ordeal of the wedding night and before their appointment with the training iron.
Upon the housekeeper’s sage advice, he set for the girls the condition that Mrs. Farley supervise them until they fell asleep, to ensure that the consolation they provided one another be wholly chaste, and their chemises remain lowered to their knees at all times. Looking in upon them, Sir Henry thought he had never seen a sight so sweet as his charmer and her country girl lying abed with their hands firmly clasped together, murmuring about all the strange things that had happened to them since the advent of true erotic knowledge in their lives, while Mrs. Farley did her darning in a little rocking chair in the corner of the room, by the light of a lamp with its wick turned very low. He kissed both their brows, and then Leticia’s sweet lips, and went to his own bed, well satisfied.