by Emily Tilton
Surely in seeking further information concerning Miss Ginevra Farley—if the nobleman had even spoken true concerning the girl—she had simply picked the one of his many seductions that had resulted in an honorable connection? But he had certainly seemed ready and resolute in his answer, and something in the manner in which he had delivered it seemed to tell Joanna that if she had inquired about another young woman trained by his lordship and his lordship’s man she would have received a similar reply.
She saw the valet’s right hand come down toward her face. For a terrified moment Joanna supposed he meant to strike her, but instead he put the hand firmly but not violently behind her neck and urged her face forward. There his lordship stood, now stark naked but for the black mask, brandishing the hard length of his manhood in his left hand and rubbing it gently as if polishing it, as he presented the fluted head and the veined shaft to her eyes.
Joanna felt her forehead crumple as for the first time she studied it, unable to help herself since the servant held her head so close and the nobleman held the prick so inexorably before her eyes. She couldn’t suppress a shudder at the sight of the tiny slit at the end, though she felt that the shudder came not from disgust and reluctance as much as the way the degradation of having her body trussed and her head pressed closer to a man’s prick realized anew the strange, thrilling effect of the shame to which Mrs. Mund had so forcefully introduced her.
“Open your mouth, Joanna,” said the nobleman. “You may suck of your own free will, or you may do it with six lashes across your pretty bottom, but you will take me between your lovely lips now, and learn what it is for a man to spend.”
Joanna felt her eyes widen, and her glance rose, much against her will, to the dark eyes behind the mask. “Wh-what do you mean?” It had not occurred to her that the thing he had done, with his hand between her legs, could have some masculine counterpart. It had seemed so entirely enmeshed with the strange feelings and thoughts she had had, since Mrs. Mund’s discourse upon conjugal affairs, concerning her cunny and its wickedness. Did men’s hips jerk, too? Did their cocks tremble and shake?
“Once you please me sufficiently,” the nobleman said in a gentle voice, reaching with his right hand to stroke her cheek with the hairy backs of his knuckles, “my seed will spurt from me, and you will swallow it.”
“I-I...” Joanna’s mind whirled. Mrs. Mund had said nothing about this seed, though suddenly many things seemed more understandable to Joanna than they had previously. “I couldn’t... please, my lord...”
“Hush, Joanna,” said his lordship. “Open your mouth, or I shall tell my man to fetch the strap.”
The thought of the shameful moment, this aspect of a maiden’s receiving the prick of which it seemed even Mrs. Mund had blushed to tell Joanna, when a girl must take upon her tongue something nature had meant, it seemed, for her womb, sent a shock of the terrible heat shooting between her thighs. But that very circumstance—that his lordship, whoever he might be, could apparently propose any degrading thing and watch the girl whom he had abducted for his pleasure, whom he had bound naked upon a bed to possess her as he chose... that he could inform her of his most humiliating intentions for her body and then watch her pant with desire for them to be visited upon her young charms... it brought back to Joanna’s mind the defiance she had felt in the few moments before her captor had astonished her with the information concerning Mrs. Yount’s marital bliss in Chicago, that fabled American city, rising they said in the very heart of their vast country.
He had interrupted Joanna’s declaration that she meant to cling to her honor despite his apparent disregard for it by calmly disabusing her of the notion that a girl who learned to take the fucking he intended to bestow upon her would find her destiny in the stews of the metropolis. Mrs. Yount, it seemed, had received into her mouth the hard prick that loomed now above Joanna, and when his lordship told her she must, Mrs. Yount had swallowed the seed that the cock had spurted there.
Now Mrs. Yount lived with Mr. Yount in America, and Mr. Yount, Joanna felt certain, used her mouth whenever he liked. Perhaps Mr. Yount summoned red Indians from the prairie to behold the shameful act. Perhaps Mrs. Yount had to take their dusty cocks into her mouth as they all smoked the pipe of peace, remarking on the English girl’s pretty cunny and asking Mr. Yount whether they might fuck his young wife. Perhaps, upon a buffalo robe, they laid Mrs. Yount down upon her face and fucked her from behind, one after the other, exclaiming all the while over the pleasure to be had in her young bottom.
But these fancies themselves, as they flitted terrible and inescapable, through her mind, told Joanna that the true objection to her noble captor’s amorous degradation lay not in the question of the end to which she would come but in the acts by which she would arrive thither. She pursed her lips and shook her head: they must whip her, though her brow creased in fear of the agony the renewal of the strap’s attention would bring to her poor backside.
His lordship narrowed his eyes, and for an instant Joanna thought she could see very plainly that neither Miss Ginevra Farley nor any other of the girls he had taken, bound, and trained for fucking had required a whipping before they had opened their lips to receive his hardness. Even behind the mask she could discern surprise, along with the nobleman’s displeasure—and along with something else that might, Joanna thought, even be admiration.
“Very well,” he said. “Whip her, Mark.”
Only a slight hesitation in the servant in the corner told Joanna that the nobleman had let slip his valet’s Christian name at an unexpected moment. Nor even then did she feel certain her captor had not meant to do so—that truly he did not care whether she knew that the man in the brown coat went by ‘Mark’ in society, whether polite or common. As Mark moved to retrieve the strap, however, the tiny break in his alacrity to follow his master’s instructions made Joanna think that she had learned something they had not meant to teach her. Even more important, she had it seemed cause the nobleman to say something he had not intended to say. To know Mark’s name did not, she thought, change her position in any material way. The idea, however, that she had caused her captor to reveal that name, told her that as much as the strap would hurt, perhaps she had done the right thing to resist even this tiny bit.
Then, in a flash, the valet’s left hand was on her hip and his right was bringing the strap down on her little bottom, as she lay upon her side, and Joanna was screaming in pain at the lesson in obedience for which she had asked. She writhed in agony as he lashed her over and over, holding her down, while his lordship stroked his cock, calmly watching his servant administer terrible punishment for her failure to give pleasure.
She tried as hard as she could, eyes closed, to withstand the compulsion of the flogging, but after just three lashes, Joanna began to beg that she might be allowed to open her mouth and receive the penis there.
“Please! I’ll suck it!” she sobbed. “I’ll suck it!” She opened her mouth, trying to show her compliance, and she moved her head forward, sobbing for the chance to take the prick inside her lips.
It seemed, though, to her dismay, that she would not be allowed to show her willingness to follow her captor’s instructions until she had experienced a full measure of the consequences of her refusal.
“Six more,” said the nobleman in a hard voice. “Miss Joanna Middleton has a lesson to learn.”
She shrieked as the servant whipped her, her mouth still open in hope that his lordship might remit some of her sentence and put the hard penis in her mouth. His valet slowed the pace of the flogging, and the nobleman did bend his knees, and for a moment Joanna thought she would indeed be spared, but then her captor spoke again.
“Keep whipping the arse while I use the mouth. She’ll have the full measure, and more if it takes me longer to spend than it should.”
Chapter Eleven
John Eliot, valet to Doctor Reginald Brown and late of the 5th Sussex regiment of the Royal Fusiliers, often found himself considering his s
ituation with the Scottish physician in terms of sheer wonder. In the months since coming to attend Doctor Brown in his lavish chambers at the Society for the Correction of Natural Daughters, as elegantly established as any of the best gentleman’s clubs in London, he had disciplined and fucked more naughty young women than he could count. In every case he had observed the strange justice of the physician’s views concerning the best measures for procuring the girls’ happiness, those views’ antipathy to the opinion of polite society notwithstanding.
John had believed in the efficacy of stern bare-bottom punishment for forward young ladies from at least his eighteenth year, to be sure. Else he would not have received his grace the Duke of Panton’s recommendation to the doctor’s notice, or Doctor Brown’s acceptance of John’s services after an initial display of skepticism and some close questioning of the young man with respect to his qualifications. When asked about his experience in the doctor’s interesting field of practice and inquiry, John had been able to tell the learned physician of several relevant incidents.
John had first of all gotten himself a reputation in the town near which the regiment was barracked, for the thrashing he had administered to Philippa Burns, an arrogant young woman of eighteen. John had caught that pretty brown-haired shopkeeper’s daughter sneaking around the barracks late at night after an assignation with one of his comrades, and returned her to her parents’ home. There Mr. Burns had requested John’s assistance in curbing his daughter’s waywardness, and the fusilier had caned young Philippa’s bare bottom in the girl’s bedroom until the weeping girl confessed that she had given up her maidenhead that night, and promised repentance and amendment under John’s firm hand.
Then, since his comrade—a man John knew for a dishonorable rake—had fucked the girl without a thought for her pleasure, John had fucked her too, to comfort her after her flogging and to satisfy his own rampant need. Observing the immediate improvement in his daughter’s behavior and not scrupling to employ this unusual method since John had succeeded where conventional methods had failed, Mr. Burns had invited John back upon regular occasions to teach Philippa the lessons she required. John had taken the girl over his knee on each occasion to spank her young bottom for her faults, but had not needed to employ the cane again. He had taught her to suck his cock, and he had used her bottom’s tiny flower as a place in which to spend after a vigorous disciplinary fuck there.
When Mr. Burns had betrothed Philippa to the son of a London merchant, a full disclosure being made as to the girl’s history and the young man being allowed to sample the girl’s charms under John’s supervision, Private Eliot had proclaimed himself well-satisfied despite the loss of a lovely young fucking piece. He had not, to his joy, had to go very long without the same sort of enjoyment falling in his way again, for after John had saved the life of his grace the Duke of Panton’s cousin, the colonel of the regiment, his grace had invited the soldier to take two week’s leave at the duke’s special school on the grounds of his estate at Panton.
At that remarkable educational institution, dedicated to the thorough rehabilitation of wayward girls, John had been permitted to select any he wished for what the headmistress Miss Halton called special lessons in military matters. As the fusilier had informed Doctor Brown at their first meeting in London, these lessons had at Miss Halton’s insistence all included a caning. John had expressed reluctance at first, for each young lady he had brought to the little cottage his grace had provided for the soldier’s residence had seemed very well behaved.
Miss Halton, however, had wished her pupils to understand that a natural man—John had heard the phrase for the first time then, at the duke’s school—has the masculine right to flog a young woman solely because he believes her to be from her character in need of regular, thorough discipline. John, Miss Halton had said to the fusilier on his first night at the school, when she had knelt before him to suck his prick with such skill he had needed to clutch hard at the credence table behind him, did not yet know her pupils, to be sure. As their headmistress, however, Miss Halton had been able to assure him that they would all benefit greatly from a soldier’s stern correction before he enjoyed their mouths, cunts, and bottoms.
“Indeed,” Doctor Brown had said when John had told him the story, “Clarissa Halton is a truly sagacious woman, in my estimation. She found in you a natural man after my own specifications. She and his grace the duke came late to my fold, if I may so term the men and women who find in my notions something corresponding to their own inborn inclinations in erotic matters. The school they founded, however, has proven a fruitful ground for the education both of submissive young women and of natural men to claim them and enjoy them—and Miss Halton is good enough to make reference to my theories now and again.”
The doctor had paused, then, regarding John with narrowed eyes for a few moments as they sat in overstuffed chairs in the society’s library.
“I met you, young man, at his grace’s behest—as a favor to my noble patron, you understand. Though I trust his grace’s judgment, and I did not suppose that he erred in declaring you a natural man, I had some doubt as to whether your experience would qualify you to assist me. Your account, however—especially of your conduct with Miss Burns, a situation in which it seems you took the path of the true natural man entirely upon the motivation of your own instinct—has convinced me that I must at least make a trial of your services. I have more work in the field than I can readily handle on my own, and your presence by my side will at least remove one perpetual annoyance—that is, the frequent necessity of locating a natural man at a moment’s notice to take charge of a girl who stands in immediate need of erotic discipline.”
“Begging your pardon,” John had said, encouraged by the physician’s confidence to make a frank inquiry upon a matter that had puzzled him, “but why do you not fuck the girls yourself, when they need it, sir?”
Doctor Brown had smiled broadly at the question. “The true spirit of philosophical inquiry, as I understand that art, decrees that though I frequently administer bodily correction to my patients—both upon the buttocks and between them, as you will no doubt observe very soon—I do not engage in coitus with them. I am what I term a natural man of reason, a genus that separates me from most of my fellow natural men, and it is essential to my mission, as I find it bestowed upon me by providence, to maintain my calm and rational demeanor. I venture to say that you, John, have observed in yourself the effect upon your reason of fomenting your natural erotic instincts?”
John’s face had gone a little hot, then, since, having never discussed the subject with anyone at all, let alone a man of Doctor Brown’s distinction and erudition, the soldier had not known how to think of that undeniable diminishment in his clarity of thought, when his prick swelled and hardened, ready to fuck.
“Have no fear—and above all no shame, my friend,” Doctor Brown had said, extending his hand across the space between their chairs to touch John’s arm in the red serge of the regimental coat he had soon after given up, in favor of a servant’s black poplin. “I of all philosophers am the man not so much to forgive such lapses in rationality as to find in them the truly meritorious operation of the natural man’s sexual drive. You, for example, when confronted by the delightfully squirming, well-punished backside of Miss Burns, cannot but have found yourself directed as much by your phallus as by your mind, and that direction produced in the girl a world of good, after thorough sexual use by you. I suspect, however, that if I had called upon you at the time—or indeed afterward when your blood had cooled—to render a complete, detailed account of your coitus, you would not have been able to comply.”
The doctor had looked at John with a knowing smile that had put the fusilier at his ease despite the tenor of the conversation, upon matters that might in another context have been termed delicate. John had smiled back, and shook his head.
“No, indeed, sir. I only know that I gave Miss Burns what she needed, and she confessed herself grateful bot
h for the flogging and for the fucking.”
“Precisely,” Doctor Brown had responded, nodding. “And if I am to continue my researches as I find myself called by providence to do, I must be able to render a more minute account than that one, of a natural man’s exercise of his masculine rights over a girl who has come into his keeping.”
That had concluded the matter between them, and brought John into the doctor’s employ, though the soldier had continued to wonder how the good doctor satisfied his own sexual needs for several days after that. He had resolved the question to his satisfaction upon meeting the society’s housekeeper, a lovely Scottish woman of thirty or so named Miss MacDiarmid. Even John, in spite of his nearly continuous access to the physician’s presence, had not yet detected the doctor in an embrace with this engaging red-haired woman, but he had observed Miss MacDiarmid walking of a morning in smaller-than-wonted steps and wincing as she went, but smiling gently to herself nevertheless as she attended to her business. Together with the housekeeper’s radiant smile at the mention of Doctor Brown’s name, and her very presence here so far away from her native highlands, John considered the mystery of the good doctor’s own claim by right of the phallus solved.
Now, as they journeyed by railway up to London from their meeting with Mrs. Mund in Sussex, with the intention of leaving the metropolis again in very short order to fare down to Wiltshire in search of Miss Joanna Middleton, supposed to be in the possession of Lord Stephen Gaithwait, John reflected on his master’s questioning of the singular widow. The valet had already felt considerable pride in his master’s confidence in the naturalness he had displayed with regard to Miss Burns and the young ladies of the duke’s school, but the manner in which Doctor Brown had discovered the precise character of the discipline Miss Middleton had received at Mrs. Mund’s hand filled him with wonder as he considered it now.