by Emily Tilton
Above all, as Mrs. Farley readily agreed, Leticia’s cunt needed time to recover: examining it in the morning while Celia held her mistress’ knees apart, the woman had declared the bride off limits to penetration by the bridegroom’s penis, in that region at any rate. Sir Henry had hit upon the idea of allowing the girls this chaste night together, rather than bringing them to his bed to use Leticia’s lovely mouth and Celia’s cunt to enjoy himself, when he saw the looks that passed between mistress and maid on the wedding night, when they had both freely accepted a second treatment with the training iron.
Dr. Brown himself confirmed the wisdom of Sir Henry’s decision in the brief consultation in an anteroom that preceded the ushering up to his chambers of Lady Vexin and Celia Deaver.
“I saw the value,” said the Scottish physician upon hearing of the spanking Celia had administered, and of the relaxation of the baronet’s severity with regard to the girls’ relations, “of placing Miss Deaver in authority over Lady Vexin in matters of sexual deportment, but I think with the estimable Mrs. Farley to take charge you will not have a disciplinary problem in your household. Nor, truly, do I think you need forego allowing the maid to punish the mistress from time to time, which provides a very piquant sauce, so to speak, to domestic life in a house run along the lines upon which you have fixed your intentions.”
Sir Henry’s eyebrows rose at that. “Indeed? I had supposed I must either allow them to become friends or require that Celia rule over Leticia with a rod of iron.”
Dr. Brown chuckled. “Oh, no. Far from it. In this Mrs. Farley will be a tower of strength for you, since she will be able to impress upon the girls the nearness of bare-bottom punishment for the slightest deviation—the whipping to be applied to both girls’ backsides for the fault of one.”
Sir Henry nodded, a smile breaking out upon his face as he began to understand the doctor’s meaning. “I see. So even though Leticia and Celia are friends…”
“What friends—female friends, moreover, and members of a sex so known for frequent recriminations and just as frequent tender reconciliation—do not from time to time blame one another for misconduct?”
The baronet’s smile became a wolfish grin. “And when that misconduct carries the promise of Mrs. Farley’s punishment strap across both their sweet bottoms, the result may well be that Celia must spank Leticia, as she did upon our wedding night.”
“Speak of this to Mrs. Farley,” the doctor said, nodding, “though I am sure she has gathered all this, with her instinctive grasp of the needs of so-called wayward young women like Lady Vexin and Miss Deaver. Your new housekeeper will have ideas as to how to manage the discipline between the friends for their edification and your pleasure. Nor, I should add, would you do well to forbid her ladyship to punish her maid on occasion. With Lady Vexin in the normal course of things being the more lubricious of the pair, and the one less accustomed to the power of her animal spirits, I believe Miss Deaver will do most of the spanking—but in such situations, I believe, it is always best to allow the turning of the tables from time to time.”
“You are,” Sir Henry said, shaking his head in wonder, “a veritable oracle, Dr. Brown.”
The Scot laughed. “I am told so, though I am conscious only of having seen the folly of society’s ways. Now I believe we have two young anuses to train? And you say that they are to receive the training iron as well?”
Sir Henry nodded. “If that is convenient, Doctor.”
“Of course. I shall have two irons boiled and brought up to us. I think it a highly therapeutic circumstance, in fact, that your girls should have their clitoral discipline associated with their anal training. It will greatly enhance the yearning they will feel for the regular penetration of their young bottoms by your penis.”
* * *
When Sir Henry, having returned to the waiting room where Leticia and Celia sat in nervous expectation, and then having ushered them upstairs to the doctor’s chambers, knocked upon the heavy oaken door, Dr. Brown opened it to reveal a rather spacious room adorned with several pieces of furniture that naturally gave the girls pause. In particular, two special chairs that hardly looked like chairs stood in the center of the chamber. Sir Henry, who had seen Dr. Brown conduct disciplinary examinations in his chambers before, watched Leticia’s face as she took in the straps affixed to the raised extensions of the chairs meant to receive a girl’s spread legs, and the belt that would secure her waist to the device’s back. A crease appeared on his girl’s brow, and she looked with mournful eyes at Celia, who had come into the room just behind her mistress and now herself stood looking open-mouthed at the chairs.
“You may undress one another, girls,” said Dr. Brown brusquely, “and then sit upon these chairs of mine. You will receive the training iron that way, and then…” He gestured to the other side of the room, where two benches had gone unremarked because of their more ordinary appearance. “You will lie over my benches to have your bottoms first plugged, and then penetrated by Sir Henry’s erect penis. He will ejaculate in whichever anus he elects, when the time for his climax arrives.”
The physician had been looking through his notes upon the case as he spoke, delivering this summary of the treatment in a rather distracted way, but now he looked directly at the girls, who had quailed back toward the door. There Sir Henry stood firm, Celia’s back now nearly up against him and Leticia’s only a few feet away.
“Go on, then,” said Dr. Brown. “We have a good deal of business to conduct here, and I cannot delay your procedures for any false modesty you girls have about getting undressed. You are both grown women now, having been both disciplined and deflowered by Sir Henry, and you know your erotic duties. Get undressed, or I shall have to summon the matrons to enforce your nudity.”
Sir Henry, who had seen the matrons at work, felt a slight pang of disappointment that his girls gave each other another look, in which he thought he could see their memories of Mrs. Graves and Mrs. Farley pass between them, and then moved to obey. Leticia took Celia’s hand and led her to the opposite corner of the room, where Dr. Brown had a dressing screen. Sir Henry wondered at that for a moment, but then reflected that some indication at least of where in the room a girl should go to undress to the requisite state of nature served the purpose very well: though the naked girl might undergo the most severe sexual discipline when she came from behind the screen, her cunt and her bottom made to serve a natural man’s darkest whim or severely punished for their lovely owner’s recalcitrance, the simple convention of the dressing screen ensured that the baring of those sweet charms happened in good order, even when the matrons must appear in order to conduct the young lady behind it and supervise the removal of her petticoats and corset, her chemise and drawers.
These restrictive garments now did indeed depart Leticia’s limbs, Sir Henry could see from the things Celia draped over the back of the screen, and then Celia’s simpler dress, too, joined them. The girls stood for a moment, face to face, behind the screen, quite close together the baronet could tell from his view of their lovely foreheads, which almost met, so near to one another did they stand. They spoke in a low murmur, but he could not make out the words.
“Come out, now, darling,” he called, “and get into this chair. You played with yourself upon our wedding night, as you were fucked, and you freely decided to receive the training iron as punishment. You, too, Deaver. Come out at once.”
Celia led Leticia, now, when they emerged from behind the screen. Sir Henry’s breath caught in his throat, for the girls looked for all the world like an Italian Renaissance painting of a Grecian myth: Venus and a Grace, or two of the Muses, or Helen led to Paris by some attendant girl whose name was lost to history. He felt such love for Leticia, and such affection for Celia, that he concluded on the instant that Celia’s station must be raised, and he must find her a natural man who would take her as his own. This household arrangement of his with both his girls as his fucking pieces was splendid, but he could not be so sel
fish as to deny Celia the advancement she would surely find in the circles into which Dr. Brown’s special reputation could bring her.
Maid and mistress paused when they saw the expression upon their natural man’s face, for Sir Henry must, he understood, have looked rather stricken from the sight of their beauty. But the doctor said a little gruffly, “To the chairs, then, girls.”
At that moment a knock came at the door, and Leticia and Celia both gave a little cry, moving instinctively to cover their charms as a matron came through the door with a tray upon which lay two training irons, wrapped in linen cloths to keep them hot. Seeing the young ladies about to undergo treatment in a state of apparent rebellion, the iron-haired woman spoke to the doctor.
“Shall I fetch Mildred, Doctor? Do they need urging?”
The doctor turned to the girls. “Do you, Lady Vexin? Miss Deaver? Shall the matrons have to bind you, and to flog you into the bargain?”
Leticia gave a little cry and stepped forward toward the chair nearest Sir Henry, and Celia did the same toward the one closer to the doctor. Both girls looked uncertainly at the strange configuration of padded seat, reclined back, and spread legs, but with a fearful look at the matron, who had put the tray down upon a counter and looked solemnly back at her, Leticia climbed awkwardly into the chair.
Another glare from the matron caused Celia to do the same, and then the doctor secured the young bride by the stout leather straps that went around waist and knees, while the matron did the same for her maid.
“Sir Henry,” said Dr. Brown when he had satisfied himself that the shaven cunts and bottoms of both girls lay immobilized ready for treatment, “why do not you apply the iron to Lady Vexin’s clitoris, while I perform the procedure upon Miss Deaver?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Leticia looked wildly at Sir Henry, wondering what it might mean for her husband to wield the horrible thing that sat now, menacing her, upon the counter a few feet to her left. Such fear surged through her body that she found herself trying to rise from the strange chair in which the doctor had bound her, with a little cry of protest. Somehow to have Sir Henry, her stern handsome bridegroom as the one to inflict the awful punishment to which she had in the throes of passion consented, made it more frightening—though even in Leticia’s irrational alarm she could see that truly it should have the opposite effect.
“Must I bind your neck and arms, Lady Vexin?” Dr. Brown asked with a frown. “I’m told you agreed, like an obedient wife, to this correctional treatment.”
Leticia looked at Celia whose eyes had gone wide at her mistress’ sudden frenzy: the ladies’ maid with whom Leticia now felt such fellow feeling, above all since their lovely, achingly chaste night abed together, clearly did not know why the young bride should feel such terror. The training iron hurt horribly, both girls knew now, but only for a little while, and then—as they had whispered to one another in bed, and then again behind the dressing screen—something very different happened, something they had blushingly agreed they rather liked. The idea of having their bottoms trained made their cheeks still hotter, of course, but Leticia and Celia had even confessed to one another that they both felt a certain burning curiosity as to what it would be like to submit to their lord and master that way.
Celia’s apparent distress to see Leticia’s inexplicably wayward reaction to the news that her husband rather than the doctor would press the hot metal to her most tender part froze the young bride in place, and she turned to see that Sir Henry stood now upon her other side, holding the awful thing in his right hand.
“Lay yourself back, darling,” he said. “You played with yourself, and you must learn your lesson.”
Leticia felt a sob rise in her chest, and she did as her husband commanded, gripping the arms of the chair and watching Sir Henry turn his eyes downward to the shaven cunny he had fucked so very hard upon their wedding night, spread open to receive his justice. She could not see it as he could, because of the way nature had made her body, and that seemed to her suddenly very proper: her bridegroom could see her naughty cunt and her cringing much more easily than she could, because they belonged to him, and not to her.
In the moment just before the hot metal touched her clitoris, when Celia, to her right, had already begun to scream at the pain that repaid the illicit pleasure she had chosen as she watched her mistress fucked, Leticia suddenly understood her initial reaction, her body’s sudden impulse to flee when she had learned that Sir Henry would do this, today and surely in the future, when Lady Vexin earned another session with the training iron because she could not keep from touching her aching, needy cunny when her husband was away.
As the scream ripped from her own throat to echo Celia’s, and Sir Henry’s eyes rose again to meet hers, the love and the hunger so palpable in them that she felt her cunt clench even as the agony from the iron against her clitoris tore through her, Leticia understood.
At first she had supposed that she must feel such terror because to have Dr. Brown authorize Sir Henry to use the training iron himself would mean that Leticia would be punished that way all the time. How could it not be thus, when even last night, when Celia had drifted off into her dreams, and Leticia had feigned sleep, and Mrs. Farley had crept away, Lady Vexin had raised the hem of her shift to masturbate, sure that the dour housekeeper, or Sir Henry himself would return, and decree that she must have the training iron twice?
Now, though, with her hips squirming the little bit allowed by the straps around her knees and waist, Leticia realized the truth: the idea, and now the reality, of the baronet punishing his bride this way at home, for every time her fingers found their way inside her drawers to play in the bare furrow where he loved to thrust his hard cock, had brought the young wife hard against another reality. She wanted her husband to treat her with such severity. She wanted him to press the iron against her clitoris as she shrieked and struggled and wept.
She wanted him to unbind her, then, as he now did, and lead her on trembling legs, the pain in her cunny still a hot flame, to the bench, and to make her lie over it, as Dr. Brown did with Celia. Leticia wanted the belt around her waist again, the straps just above her knees.
She even wanted what somehow seemed worse: the way Sir Henry made her reach back to hold her hind-cheeks open, to show him the little flower he anointed with the oil that Dr. Brown told the girls would make the training of their bottoms more supportable for them.
“Don’t be alarmed, girls,” the physician said as Leticia heard Celia make the same sort of whimpers she herself now made, at the fingers that penetrated her narrowest place, coated in the oil. “This sensation is new, to be sure, but I think you will find the lubrication of your anuses more pleasurable than painful, especially with the piquant contrast to the discomfort in your clitorises from the iron. Even your first plugging will almost certainly bring great pleasure, though your first anal coitus is likely to leave you sore.”
“You are being so brave, Leticia,” said Sir Henry then, his voice unexpectedly tender and his words of a character utterly new to him, in Leticia’s experience. “You are such a good girl, now.”
But, Leticia wept inwardly to think, I am not! I played with myself—with the cunny that belongs to you—last night!
She felt the hard India rubber of the plug press up against her bottom-hole, the tulip-shaped head the doctor had shown the girls before putting them over the benches, pushing in firmly, relentlessly. Dr. Brown said, “You know how to open this part of you, girls. You do it every day.”
Celia gave a little cry. Leticia let out a loud moan. Sir Henry said in a murmur, “That’s it, my good girl. My naughty, good girl. Take the plug just as you will take my prick in a little while.”
I am a naughty, good girl. I need what my husband wishes to give me… everything he wishes to give me… even if I never truly understand why. She felt a smile break out on her face, and then she gasped and emitted a sharp wail, because the thought had let her open herself down there, and
Sir Henry had inserted the plug at full length into her bottom.
She remembered the girl from the story in the gentleman’s magazine. She wondered if that girl’s husband put a plug in her bottom, as the adventure continued. She wondered if he put a training iron to her shy little bud of pleasure, as Mrs. Graves called it, when that girl proved incorrigible, where touching her young cunny was concerned.
Surely, even if such shameful things befell the girl in the story, Leticia reflected, it could not feel this way, for no story could ever capture the strength of the pleasure that blossomed now inside her neglected vagina every time Sir Henry moved the plug inside her bottom even the tiniest bit. No story could ever name the wanton need inside her anus, for the replacement of the rubber plug with the penis the baronet now boldly exposed to his two girls, mistress and maid, city and country, and made them kiss, made them take into their mouths.
“Show me you want your first bottom-fucking, darling,” he growled as he moved in and out, renewing his bride’s lessons in pleasing her master that way, opening as wide as she could because she knew, now, how much pleasure it gave him to be able to thrust deep over her tongue and even into her throat.
“Observe how visibly needy the training iron has made both young ladies,” Dr. Brown said. “You can detect their lubricity in the moisture that emerges from their labia and even in the way their mouths respond to the motions of the penis. Watch what happens when I press upon both plugs at once. Notice the way both bottoms move, clearly demonstrating their readiness for penetration in the fundamental act of natural submission.”
Leticia thought she might swoon, though her position over the bench reassured her at least that she would remain in place for Sir Henry’s pleasure, and that wicked thought made her cunny clench again. Sir Henry had moved his cock to Celia’s mouth, and out of the corner of her eye could see just what Dr. Brown had meant about the neediness of the maid’s mouth, the same seeking, yielding motions of lips and tongue she had felt herself making as her husband enjoyed her in that masterful way.