Her Shameful Training

by Emily Tilton

  Each thrust pressed her aching clitoris against the firm cushion beneath, while the head of his penis seemed to touch something inside that sent ecstasy coursing through Joanna’s whole body. She tried to concentrate on the painful part, so that she could clutch at the remnants of her defiance for the way Lord Stephen and his servant, and now the doctor and his servant had concluded that yes, Miss Joanna Middleton needed this shameful training as a fucking piece. If she could hold in her mind, as her master possessed her with his cock, the idea that he had taken her virginity against her will, just as he had abducted her from the inn and whipped her and caned her against her will, Joanna could remain the wicked girl Mrs. Mund had spanked with the hairbrush—that is, really, the innocent girl who did not understand why a young lady should ever desire to have a man’s penis inside her, and had to go over her mistress’ knee with her bottom bare for reasons known only to the widow.

  She centered her thoughts upon the soreness of her bottom under Lord Stephen’s driving hips, and tried to recall the terrible agony of the twelve cuts he had given her with his cane, for her attempt at escape. She tried to see herself through the respectable eyes of the Misses Pettigrew, tried to feel their horror at the scene in Gaithwait Castle’s tower room, the proper if natural-born young lady Miss Joanna Middleton fucked over the bolster while three men watched the shameful proceedings—the big nobleman holding her down with his thrusting hips, his strong arms to either side of hers, his muscular legs straddling her slim thighs, his hard penis surging in and out of her wet cunny.

  But instead of seeing herself thus, through maiden eyes, as an offended innocent, Joanna seemed to see through the eyes of John Eliot, the doctor’s servant. She had caught sight of the big valet with such hope, when he had called out to her from across the bit of lawn between the tower and the wood. He had seemed, then, so honest and upright, so obviously military, that he might as well have been a Miss Pettigrew: surely he would stop the terrible drama of Lord Stephen’s capture and training of a defenseless girl for his wicked pleasure.

  John Eliot, however, had proven a different sort of man, though: he had helped Mark Shepard seize her. He had made it entirely clear in the very expression upon his face that though he regarded Lord Stephen as suspect in his motives and in his method, the idea of taking a young lady for erotic training did not offend him. Now he watched, Joanna felt she could see through her closed eyes, the first fucking of Miss Joanna Middleton with great satisfaction. For he knew, Joanna thought despite her best effort not to follow the chain of logic any further, that he would get to fuck her young cunny himself before long and, like Lord Stephen and Mark Shepard, John Eliot liked fucking very much.

  Miss Joanna Middleton, she thought John Eliot might say to Mark Shepard confidentially in a servants’ hall, only got what she deserved and needed, when men drove their pricks into her cunt—or her mouth or even her little bottom. Miss Joanna Middleton was a bastard—not only a bastard but a hussy... a slut... a whore. Miss Joanna Middleton got spanked and whipped and even caned, naked, upon her impudent backside, and still her cunny ached for the penis of the nobleman who owned her. He was a good, if stern, master for her, too—he liked to share his naked young lady with other men, so John and Mark would soon have their turns in the cunny his lordship had opened.

  As if he could read her thoughts, Lord Stephen spoke to Doctor Brown, then, in terms that made Joanna’s insides seem to leap and twist.

  “She’s a good fuck, Doctor. That’s for certain. Shall you take a turn when I share her? I could not learn from your rival whether you partake of a natural man’s pleasures upon such occasions.”

  His lordship’s voice had a depth and a growl in it that made Joanna arch her back and cry out in mingled shame, pleasure, and discomfort. A wave of ecstasy swept through all her limbs that made her feel faint, and almost grateful for the way Lord Stephen held her down, thrusting into her over and over.

  “Not upon such occasions,” said Doctor Brown, “but by your leave I should like to have Mr. Eliot use the girl either before we depart or elsewhere, should I determine the case requires removal to another venue.”

  Joanna cried out, and suddenly a spend burst in her belly and spread to her punished bottom-cheeks, so strong that she could not help writhing, almost as if she meant to throw Lord Stephen from the saddle, as the pleasure seemed to go on and on. His lordship chuckled, and drove harder into her cunny as if fixing his young lady in place, so that she spent again, and then again, and though she could hardly understand the import of what the men said their words made the shame of the scene surge in upon her again, bringing a fierce, wicked joy that Joanna no longer felt any reason to deny or resist.

  “Of course,” his lordship said. “Mr. Shepard shall go first, though, if you don’t mind, Mr. Eliot.”

  “Certainly not, my lord,” said John Eliot in a precise, soldierly voice. “I shall enjoy fucking her when you grant me that honor.”

  His lordship’s thrusts grew swifter, harder, and the growl in his throat became a grunt of pleasure. “Oh, good girl,” he said softly. “Such a nice cunt. So soft and wet... I shall spend... I am coming...”

  His final words, with their tone of helpless ecstasy, as if it were truly Joanna who had mastered him, with the attraction of her pretty cunny, sent a thrill of wanton need through her. She bucked under him, longing to feel—just as she did feel—that she could not move more than a half-inch because of the powerful, noble body above her, the man fucking her until he finished, and spurted inside her cunt.

  Lord Stephen gave a cry, and jerked his hips a final time, thrusting so deep that Joanna’s heart jumped in fear even as the sensation made her cry out with terrible pleasure, her limbs struggling into yet another climax. Inside her she felt his hard prick seem to leap, too, and knew from the times she had received his seed upon her tongue that his lordship had given that essence deep into her womb.

  Had not Mrs. Mund said that her awful husband had never put his seed in her cunt for fear of getting a child before he had grown tired of fucking his pretty bride? Had Lord Stephen just made a baby inside her? What would become of her, should she conceive from his lordship’s masterful use of her cunny?

  Breathing hard, still deep inside, he said, “Joanna, upon my honor I pledge to take care of you, whether you bear me a child or not.” Then he lowered himself to kiss her shoulder, and Joanna turned her face and found that his lordship was kissing her mouth as well. She knew that Mrs. Mund and the Misses Pettigrew would certainly agree that promises from the wicked nobleman who had abducted her should bear little weight of trust, but that kiss nevertheless made her heart feel light. She did not think she could soon admit to the desire she felt for her captor, or the affection his promise had made rise within her breast, or especially the need for more fucking that, to her embarrassment, she suddenly experienced in her no-longer-virgin cunny. Though Joanna felt she might never have the wanton courage to give those emotions voice, however, she had so little doubt of Lord Stephen’s honor—as strange as the word honor might seem to respectable society, used in this circumstance—that she felt tears of joy spring to the eyes that so recently had known tears of shame and agony.

  “Spoken like a true natural man,” said Doctor Brown behind her. “Would Anti-Brown have said those words, do you believe, my lord?”

  Suddenly Joanna longed to know everything about Doctor Brown, and this Anti-Brown Lord Stephen and the doctor and even John Eliot seemed to speak of with such a mixture of interest and opprobrium. It made the heat come to her face anew, to think a girl who had considered herself modest until so recently—who had indeed supposed that the spankings she got from her mistress were intended to keep her innocence intact—would wish to embark on the masculine ground of intellectual study, and in such a lascivious field of natural philosophy, but she burned both in her mind and in her loins for the learning that might explain the otherwise inexplicable need inside her for this shameful training.

  “I believe
not,” Lord Stephen admitted. As his lordship answered the doctor, Joanna felt him withdraw, his prick softer now, the same way it had softened in her mouth after she had made the seed come. She could not help giving a forlorn little cry that brought a chuckle from his lordship, and she heard to her mortification, from the servants as well.

  “Yes, darling,” said the nobleman, patting Joanna’s bottom. “You need it, don’t you?”

  She felt her brow pucker and closed her eyes very tightly.

  “Answer his lordship,” said Mark Shepard sharply. “You know you’ll be whipped if you do not, girl.”

  Joanna twisted so that she could look at Lord Stephen’s handsome face, desperate to know his reaction to his valet’s words. She saw him looming over her with a smile on his lips. He had his hand upon her punished bottom-cheeks still, and he caressed them gently, but he also said, “You must answer, darling, or I shall indeed have Mark whip you again.”

  She gave a little cry, the sensations and emotions seeming to tangle themselves all together inside her. “Yes, my lord,” she whispered then, casting her eyes down to the big penis that hung between his thighs semi-erect and bloodstained from her maidenhood.

  “Look at me. Do you need my prick, Joanna, and the pricks of the other men to whom I shall give you?”

  She lifted her eyes, bit her lip, and then, thinking of the whip and how she couldn’t bear to have it across her bottom now, she murmured, “Yes, my lord. I... I need it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Good girl,” Lord Stephen said softly, patting the sweet little bottom again. “It’s time for your examination by the doctor.”

  Mark looked over at John Eliot, whose easy manner despite an air of regimental authority had now thoroughly impressed his lordship’s slightly older valet. Mark thought John Eliot in all probability no older than twenty-three, and while his own twenty-seven years ought perhaps to have given him more assurance than Doctor Brown’s servant, no one need say that John Eliot had worn a red coat—or, Mark could see quite clearly, that the younger man had disciplined several young women in the style approved by the learned physician.

  Now John Eliot went, at a mere nod from his employer, to fetch something—Mark assumed the valet would return with a black medical bag, and John Eliot did not disappoint in that particular either, returning with the precise article two minutes later and scarcely breathing hard though the bag must have lain in the foyer on the other side of the great house. In the interim, Lord Stephen and Doctor Brown had bent their heads together and discussed, Mark guessed from the few words he could catch, the current state of young Miss Joanna Middleton’s affairs.

  “...the bottom, after...” he heard Doctor Brown say.

  In his reply, his lordship seemed to express a little surprise at the news the philosopher had imparted, but not of any displeased sort. “...with you? In the bag Mr. Eliot...” Mark heard him say, and then the doctor nodded in confirmation of the hypothesis thus advanced.

  If events had occurred in Joanna’s case according to the scheme Mark and Lord Stephen had employed in training his other girls, Joanna would now be given to understand that her anus would have his lordship’s prick in it before night fell upon their love passages. A girl might have Lord Stephen’s hardness in her most secret passage eagerly or with reluctance, but sodomized she must be, and she must needs accustom herself to the lewd notion.

  Mark had a way with a girl’s bottom that he had acquired before coming into his lordship’s service, and had then developed to what he considered true expertise in the course of assisting his master—and, later to be sure, himself—to the greatest possible pleasure in fucking the tightly wrinkled flowers of young ladies’ anuses. He considered bottom-sex the pinnacle of dominant masculine pleasure, and he cherished above all the occasions on which he had humbled the pride of the more refined among Lord Stephen’s fillies by making them beg for hard, shameful riding back there by his lordship’s valet, while their noble master enjoyed their mouths.

  Even those girls who professed initial reluctance had learned quickly as Mark trained their backsides to accept the penis where they had never suspected they might have to take it. The conversation he overheard now between Doctor Brown and Lord Stephen made him wonder, without any real unease, whether he would see the physician and John Eliot display equal skill as the examination of Miss Joanna Middleton proceeded.

  Mark could tell that the subject held some philosophical interest for the nobleman and the doctor—and he remembered that his fellow servant had grown warm upon hearing that Lord Stephen put some stock in the theories of that Anti-Brown fellow. Mark supposed that befit the valet of a philosopher, when his employer’s ideas had to undergo the buffets of other men’s unjust insults, but he also felt some gratitude that his own master had never attempted to expound upon amorous philosophy in his presence: Lord Stephen Gaithwait and his valet Mark Shepard merely went about the pleasurable business of acquiring young women and training them to the prick, an office at which they both excelled and which they greatly enjoyed performing together as master and man.

  “Ah, there you are, John,” said Doctor Brown, turning to greet his valet as the young man entered the tower room. “Thank you.”

  The physician took the black bag from John Eliot and opened it, holding it out to show some of its contents, as it appeared, to Lord Stephen. His lordship bent his head a little to gaze down upon what it seemed the doctor wished him to see, and a smile crept over his visage.

  Mark glanced toward Joanna, then, and saw that the girl, who had been permitted to rise and cleanse herself after her first fucking, by means of the basin at the washstand in the corner, sat now upon the edge of the bed, eyes wide at what passed between her master and Doctor Brown. “Wh-what is in the bag, my lord?” she asked timidly, her brow creasing deeply.

  Lord Stephen turned to regard her, then reached his hand out to touch her chin and raise it a little, the smile arising from the bag’s contents still playing upon his lips.

  “It’s better that you not see, darling. They would frighten you unnecessarily.”

  “They?” Joanna asked, her little breasts rising and falling with her quick, alarmed breath.

  His lordship turned to Mark, then, and winked. “Come and see, Mark,” he said in the voice that his valet knew so well: something truly delightful, from a dominant point of view, must be in the doctor’s bag.

  Mark stepped forward, looking over at John Eliot, who seemed intent on suppressing a smile that threatened to break out upon his countenance, as he obviously knew what his master had displayed to his lordship’s appreciative eyes and found them, whatever they might be, just as compelling a sight as Lord Stephen did.

  Very curious now, Mark turned his eyes at last upon the interior of the doctor’s bag, and saw, in addition to what appeared an array of more standard medical instruments, a leather case about the size of a box of cigars, well worn from much travel and use. The doctor had unclasped and opened the lid to reveal three elongated devices of black India rubber, each nestled in its own compartment and each growing in size until the third one was at first glance as long as Mark’s hand and, at its broadest spot, twice as thick as his prick when hard. Each plug—for Mark instantly understood the ingenious implements’ purpose—had a flared base to prevent a girl from absorbing it entirely.

  “We’ve wondered, have we not, Mark,” his lordship said in a confiding tone, “whether anyone had bespoken such useful articles from the workers of India rubber or of stiffened leather?”

  “Indeed, my lord,” Mark said, looking over at where Joanna bit her lip, her cheeks very red as she tried to imagine the sight in which her master took such anticipatory enjoyment. Mark could see the girl knew very well how shameful a thing it must be, to have it hidden from her—and of course the valet knew that Doctor Brown and Lord Stephen kept the bottom plugs hidden designedly, to increase the special arousal that only such fear could bring.

  “My rival does not endorse such
devices, I am given to understand by those who have read his treatise,” the doctor said.

  “No,” replied Lord Stephen. “He is of the opinion that the stiff penis is the best trainer of a girl’s backside.”

  Joanna gave a little cry as she heard these words, and shifted upon her perch at the edge of the bed, as if she had become newly aware of the smallness and tightness of her secret flower.

  “And have you found it so, my lord?” the doctor asked.

  His lordship turned to Mark. “What say you, Mark?” he asked. “We have rendered many a young bottom a pleasant place for our cocks, have we not?”

  Mark nodded, then said thoughtfully, “We have indeed, my lord. Here’s what it is, though: I have often thought that arse-training might go more smoothly if we had something for a girl to wear, so to speak, in her little ring, if you catch my meaning.”

  He glanced over at Doctor Brown, and took some pride in the satisfied manner with which the physician himself nodded at this idea. Mark realized then that despite knowing nothing of the theory, as the gentlemen might call it, of the diverting matter of training girls’ mouths, cunts, and bottoms to the penis, he had thought a good deal upon the subject. Encouraged, he pursued his train of thought, turning his eyes upon Joanna, whose face had gone very red and whose little fists lay clenched next to her sweet hips as if she fought against the impulse to cover herself.

  “Which Miss Joanna here,” Mark said, “will demonstrate tolerably well, I believe, being as how she’s already been made to think on it by that widow—how a girl who’s in a gentleman’s possession must open her young bottom for the prick and have a fucking there when the gentleman wishes to have a tight ride and no worry as to making a baby inside her—and, you know, wants to make her tolerable certain that she feels she belongs to him, because that part of her she thinks is most private has to have his hardness in it. So when she has something there that has to stay in her young arse for as long as your lordship decides, it’ll not only make her anus easier to get into but it’ll make her more thoughtful altogether about what it means when your lordship fucks her there, or I do.”