Her Shameful Training

by Emily Tilton

  “You will call your master my lord, Joanna,” the man said, as the nobleman himself looked steadily back into Joanna’s eyes. “Or your bottom will pay the price of your disrespect.”

  The nobleman still held the strap in his right hand: she could feel it resting gently against the sole of her left foot. His other hand had returned to the small of Joanna’s back, where it seemed to steady her on the bed, promising more terrible pleasure or more agonizing punishment as the man should choose: that hand would hold her in place with the greatest ease, and ensure that the nobleman might do exactly as he pleased with the naked girl he had placed so thoroughly at his mercy.

  The strap moved against her foot, and for a moment Joanna thought she would feel it across her upper thighs again, teaching her more of the awful lesson in submission he had begun to give her. But the nobleman, still looking into her eyes, only tapped her bottom gently with it, so that she whimpered in fear, and said, “Must I cane you, Joanna?”

  “No, my lord,” she said, eager to show she could obey. “No... please.”

  “I am very glad to hear it,” the nobleman said, his lips curling up into a smile whose full meaning Joanna could not discern, because she could not see the upper part of his face: it might have held cruelty, or kindness, and her ignorance of the man’s mind made her heart race. “You will learn what it means to spend in a short while, have no fear. We must first speak of your training, and I must enlighten you rather farther than it seems Mrs. Mund did, as to the way of a man with a maid.”

  Joanna felt her eyes go wide. “My lord?”

  The smile changed, one side going up further, and now despite not being able to see the nobleman’s eyes Joanna thought she could determine that he felt real pleasure in her reaction to his alarming words. The idea of her abductor’s enjoyment in this process he termed ‘enlightenment’ had an odd effect upon Joanna: it frightened her even as, for reasons she shied away in abject embarrassment from contemplating, it made the warmth grow, helplessly, in the places he seemed in some awful fashion to have awakened by his touch.

  “That is from the Bible, Joanna. Solomon himself cannot fathom, it seems, the way of a man with a maid. I promise, however, that you will soon be wiser than Solomon, for you will learn precisely what a man does when he has possessed himself of a lovely virgin.”

  He turned toward the big servant in the brown coat, who Joanna saw now had receded into the corner he had occupied when she had first caught sight of him. The nobleman said, in a pleasant conversational tone, as if his words were of the sort often heard in polite society, “Remind me and Miss Middleton what Mrs. Mund said concerning her own marital relations, if you please. That will assist us in beginning miss’s education, I believe, in these mysteries.”

  “Oh, no,” Joanna whispered. She had hoped that perhaps the servant had exaggerated when he claimed to have heard everything that had passed between Mrs. Mund and herself in the widow’s study.

  “Mr. Mund,” the man in the brown coat began, “was a rum ‘un, I warrant, if his widow tells it true. She told Miss Middleton that upon her wedding night he spanked her with that very same hairbrush, because she refused to suck the prick.”

  Joanna closed her eyes as she remembered, against her will, the terrible tale her employer had told her, and saw again the shameful pictures Mrs. Mund had painted in her mind: a young bride forced over a hassock with her skirts up and punished until she begged to do the lewd thing she had refused at first. The bride’s mouth full of a masculine organ of whose existence she had never dreamed, her head held firmly in her new husband’s hands so that he might use her face as he pleased. The prick in her cunt, then in her bottom, as young Mrs. Mund cried out in shame and discomfort. The young wife fucked over the hassock, over and over that wedding night, the luxurious bridal bed left empty.

  A honeymoon when Mrs. Mund learned to beg for fucking in the coarse terms her husband taught her, or receive the hairbrush upon her bare bottom time and time again. The promise that until she learned the meaning of her vow to obey Mr. Mund, and lay quietly over the hassock when told to prepare for fucking, she would not sit comfortably.

  The way of a man with a maid, he had called it. Mrs. Mund had related the story, Joanna saw, in that fashion, too: the widow had clearly wanted her companion to understand that if Joanna should find a husband he would surely treat her in a like manner, for that was what men did with girls whose unfledged cunts had never been stretched upon the hardness of a man. He would train her as Mr. Mund had trained his young bride, to provide the pleasure he sought in her lovely body with his lustful prick. Was that, then, what this masked nobleman meant to do, but without even the modicum of protection a wedding would afford a friendless young lady?

  Chapter Six

  Lord Stephen listened again with the greatest enjoyment to the story of Mrs. Mund, as recounted by Mark. He could not say he approved of Mr. Mund’s conduct with respect to the claiming of his conjugal rights, but the outline of the widow’s year of marriage, before the unfortunate demise of Mr. Mund in India, nevertheless reflected certain principles his lordship, too, held dear.

  Moreover, those principles constituted the backbone, as it were, of the body of tenets Lord Stephen employed in the training of girls like Miss Joanna Middleton to the ways of his cock’s pleasure. To his lordship’s surprise, soon after coming of age he had found them codified in a helpful treatise a friend at Oxford had passed along, from the pen of an anonymous authority who styled himself Anti-Brown, entitled—rather thrillingly for a young man living in college—A refutation of a certain treatise late promulgated, upon the so-called necessity of men’s exercising their masculine rights in erotic matters.

  As he heard again Mark’s recollection of the widow’s tale, he wondered if Mr. Mund had read either this treatise or the one Anti-Brown purported to refute—the writing of one Doctor Reginald Brown, in which it seemed the physician asserted that the true and natural man should not hesitate to fuck those girls who stirred his prick’s fancy, whether he be a lord or a common laborer. Anti-Brown saw no reason to dispute the correctness of this proposition as it applied to the upper orders of society, and he particularly commended the strong emphasis placed by Doctor Brown upon the stern correction by means of which a man should train a young woman to submit to his pleasure.

  Like Mr. Mund, though, as it seemed from Mrs. Mund’s account as she spanked poor Joanna with the selfsame hairbrush that had visited upon her own bottom the correction of her faults in receiving her bridegroom’s prick, Anti-Brown found the physician’s assertions as to the ‘natural’ man’s duties toward the girls he fucked—particularly in respecting in the slightest degree a girl’s own unformed inclinations and feelings of modesty—absurd.

  For apart from the radical and nearly revolutionary sentiments Doctor Brown evinces concerning the possibility of a coalminer claiming the right of the phallus over a gentleman’s daughter—heaven forfend!—the physician simply does not take into account the true rights a husband has over the person of a wife and a nobleman has over the person of a girl of the lower orders, including even the daughter of a gentleman.

  Lord Stephen strongly suspected from this passage, which as himself the heir to a peerage he found most enlightening, that Anti-Brown was likewise a nobleman. This attribution of interest in the criticism of Doctor Brown’s treatise did not, however, lessen the point’s cogency for him.

  From time immemorial, and in just such a fashion, independent of law, as Doctor Brown asserts for his doctrines concerning the desires of nature and providence for men’s use of their masculine members and their bodily strength in matters of sexual enjoyment, a man of the upper orders has exercised the right to take a young woman of his choice to some decently isolated place and to use her body for his pleasure, enforcing her compliance as necessary with bare-bottom chastisement. In the same way, and out of the same right, does a husband upon his wedding night, and thereafter in the marital chamber, command his wife to assume the postur
e he wishes, then penetrate her person in any way he desires. If the bride protests, the bridegroom has to hand her hairbrush, or, if he is a man possessed of forethought, a stout cane. With this he corrects the bride, having made her remove every stitch of clothing, until she is ready to submit to the performance of her conjugal duties, her sweet young bottom showing him the evidence of his mastery—and providing to her, as she regards herself later in the glass, a stinging reminder of her defloration and of the sexual use she must thenceforth undergo whether she wishes or not. The nobleman does not take thought, any more than the husband does, of Doctor Brown’s declarations concerning the awakening of a young woman’s desire for the male member. Nature decrees that she will learn her place and her role as the receptacle of her master’s penis, provided that master be above her in station and in knowledge of the world.

  Lord Stephen had tried in vain to acquire a copy of the original treatise by Doctor Brown. As he suspected Anti-Brown of writing more in self-interest than in a true spirit of inquiry, he also felt reasonably certain that—perhaps with the exception of the horribly Whiggish notion that a coalminer might aspire to fuck a gentleman’s daughter—he might find the physician’s actual views as congenial as those of Anti-Brown in most respects. The Refutation had an addendum, in which Anti-Brown made several recommendations for the use of young women, in much coarser language than that employed in the more analytic section of the text. Lord Stephen could not deny that some of them had proven useful as he had begun his career of training woman to his prick, but others suggested rather too unfeeling an approach to sexual relations, in his lordship’s view.

  A girl’s arse is made for fucking: do not allow her to forget it.

  A prick well sucked should save a girl the strap, but you must spank her nevertheless for doing something so rude as allowing a man to have her that way.

  Nature put a girl’s pleasure in her cunt to assist you in having your way with her, not for her own delight.

  If you enjoy the cunt, give it to your friends, so that they may enjoy it, too, so long as they undertake to spend in the mouth or the arse, just as you do to spare yourself embarrassment.

  Certainly Mr. Mund, according to the widow’s words to Joanna, might just as well have been Anti-Brown himself, for the precision with which he seemed to have followed such precepts. As Mark continued his account, Lord Stephen had rubbed the strap gently against the girl’s sweet bottom, where the redness from its stern ministration had already faded to a lovely shade of pink. Every so often, as the masked servant told of a particular indignity, like Mr. Mund’s daily use of his bride’s anus, Joanna had given a tiny, ambiguous whimper.

  Now, as Mark reached the climax of the tale, Lord Stephen laid the strap down in front of Joanna’s wondering blue eyes, watching her forehead crease in need of what she hoped and feared he might do. Anti-Brown, his lordship reflected, would probably not have done it, but Lord Stephen liked to make his girls responsive to his touch out of helpless desire as well as fright. He put his right hand back upon her cunt, and found her giving down her arousal there just as he thought he would.

  “The last night before he left for India,” Mark said, “Mr. Mund gave Mrs. Mund to his friends.”

  Gently Lord Stephen moved his fingers inside the cringing virginal entrance to her womanhood, enjoying the feeling of the loose blonde hair there, especially knowing he would take it away as Joanna’s training continued. He felt the girl’s body tense, as it had tensed before when he had first stimulated her there. In the curve of her back he could already detect that her body had begun to attune itself to the pleasure he brought: she was learning, without even realizing it, to move in a manner that intensified the unfamiliar ecstasy that radiated through her body. She cried out, and struggled against the strap that bound her wrists, but Lord Stephen brought the liquor from her cunny forward to her clitoris, and gave an expert caress there, drawing a sob from the girl.

  “Mrs. Mund was bound over her husband’s sea chest, she said. They made her beg for their pricks, and Mr. Mund let them each have a turn whipping her.”

  Lord Stephen used his left hand to grip Joanna’s hip firmly, and he drew close to her, closer than he had yet been to the girl toward whom he felt a greater attraction and a greater need to train than he had felt for any of his other ‘fillies.’ The feeling of her naked body against his clothed one, the way his rock-hard prick rubbed maddeningly through his breeches over her tender skin, stirred a fire in him that glowed hotter than he had ever felt before when on the point of teaching a pretty girl to fuck.

  Something in Joanna’s helplessness, and in the way her correction at the hands of her awful employer had shaped her nature—while leaving her essentially pure despite her illegitimate birth—drew him to work her cunny tenderly now, almost as if trying to console her for Mrs. Mund’s imposition of such stark knowledge concerning the way of a man with a maid. His lordship’s practice was in general not to allow a girl to spend until he had his hard penis inside her, but he decided now, on the spur of the moment, to bring Miss Joanna Middleton off for the first time as Mark finished his story. No, Lord Stephen suddenly thought: he would allow Joanna herself to bring the tale to its conclusion, and make her climax as she did.

  “Joanna,” he said, “your turn has come. What did they do to Mrs. Mund after they whipped her?”

  “Oh, no...” the girl whispered. “Oh, please, no.”

  Lord Stephen let his fingers linger a moment more, and then he removed them once again. Joanna’s bodily response displayed all the incipient submission his lordship could have desired to see: she gave a plaintive cry of need, and arched her back to thrust her adorable pink bottom up and out, as if seeking for the hand that had deserted her cunny.

  “You shall spend, Joanna, for the first time,” Lord Stephen said softly, “if you obey me. You are in training, now, and you must learn to obey your master.”

  The girl gave a sob, turning her face to the mattress and shutting her eyes very tightly.

  “Shall I fetch the cane, my lord?” Mark asked from his corner.

  Joanna cried out, turning her face back again so that the sound began as a muffled wail and ended as a full-throated, desperate, wordless plea. She had opened her pretty blue eyes and she stared at Lord Stephen now. He held her eyes for a long moment, and then he put his hand back on the girl’s slick cunny, watching her brow crease and her mouth close so that she could bite her lip with the pleasure he forced on her.

  “What happened to Mrs. Mund?” his lordship asked again, in the same soft voice.

  “My lord...” Joanna gasped. “Oh, my lord, I did not... I do not understand it... but she said that even though they had whipped her they made her beg, as he said... and she did, because...”

  Her voice trailed away, and she closed her eyes, breathing faster through parted lips. Lord Stephen did not take it amiss, for he himself had distracted her, he knew. Anti-Brown, he reflected, would possibly have punished a girl for that, out of caprice. His lordship wondered whether Doctor Brown would have recommended something different—perhaps even what Lord Stephen did, then: his lordship slowed the rhythm of his fingertips upon the tender, sensate bud of Joanna’s clitoris, and said, “Because they made her cunt betray her? I believe that is the phrase my man told me Mrs. Mund used.”

  “Yes,” Joanna sobbed. Lord Stephen pulled his fingers back. “My lord! Yes, my lord! Oh, please...”

  With all the skill of having followed the teachings of Anti-Brown in the training of six previous girls, Lord Stephen returned his fingers to Joanna’s sweet young cunny and caressed her there in precisely the firm, almost tormenting way he knew would bring her off within seconds.

  She screamed in ecstasy, and writhed against her bondage, against his body, bucking wildly over his hand. “Oh, no... oh, no... please don’t make me... oh, my lord... my lord.” Her words of accepting refusal became a single wail of need and pleasure as she spent for the first time, gasping as much in fear that she would i
njure herself, it seemed, as in the delight of sexual release.

  Chapter Seven

  Doctor Reginald Brown read the letter from the Earl of Cuffingham with mild confusion, until he reached the enclosure: another letter, this one in a feminine hand, which made plainer the earl’s reason for writing to the medical consultant to the Society for the Correction of Natural Daughters.

  Cuffingham Castle

  5th May

  My dear Doctor Brown,

  I hope you will forgive this application from a person hitherto unknown to you, for assistance in a matter which I gather from the counsel of my acquaintance the Duke of Panton you may be uniquely qualified to address. I stand in the position of unofficial guardianship to a young woman, Miss Joanna Middleton, who is the natural daughter of an old schoolmate and fellow peer. He having departed this life only a few years after her birth, and her mother—a serving girl—also having died, I promised my friend upon his deathbed to provide for the girl as best I could endeavor.

  Miss Middleton spent her early years happily situated with a respectable family in Kent, the Pettigrews, in the company of two young ladies, the daughters of the household, who as I hear became her bosom friends. The Misses Pettigrew being soon to come out, however, with favorable prospects of marriage, a situation was found by Mrs. Pettigrew for Miss Middleton with a respectable widow by the name of Mund.

  I regret to say that Miss Middleton has, it seems, run away from Mrs. Mund. You will best judge from your own expertise whether I am in the correct track, in writing to you, when you read the enclosed letter from Mrs. Mund to me, notifying me of the girl’s flight.

  Doctor Brown glanced at the letter that had fallen out of the earl’s very briefly, then put it aside and continued to the end of the earl’s account.