Her Shameful Training

by Emily Tilton

  Then she heard Doctor Brown’s voice, muffled by the curtain in front of her, upon the other side of which he must be standing. The doctor spoke in the tone of a lecturer: a philosopher presenting the results of an interesting experiment.

  “My lords and gentlemen,” he said, “in a moment we shall draw the curtain back to reveal Miss Joanna Middleton, a lovely young woman, no longer virgin thanks to the exercise of natural masculine rights by Lord Stephen Gaithwait, who abducted her a few days ago, following her flight from the employ of a certain Mrs. Mund. I myself observed the girl as she underwent first coitus in her vagina and then, not much later, in her anus. She had previously received his lordship’s penis in her mouth on more than one occasion.”

  Joanna tried to pretend at first that Doctor Brown spoke of another girl, or perhaps of no real person whatsoever. She found, though, that the doctor’s clinical mode of speech made her shame at how she had been fucked by a nobleman in his tower room, fucked in her mouth and her cunny and her bottom-hole, all the greater. Her knees trembled, and then to her dismay she felt the warmth between her thighs begin to answer the heat in her face.

  “Miss Middleton’s behavior under sexual use has necessitated some discipline. You will see that the buttocks bear the evidence of a severe caning Lord Stephen was forced to administer after an attempt at escape. This does not in itself present a difficulty in awarding the girl to him as a personal concubine, for enjoyment of her body at his discretion. I found his method of discipline sound and the naturalness of his regard for Miss Middleton’s welfare exemplary. The young lady’s history, however, with the widow Mund to whom I previously adverted, who spanked Miss Middleton regularly and provided an unusual variety of sexual education of which you shall hear more in a few moments, has led me to bring the girl here for a trial of her needs.”

  Joanna felt her brow crease as she considered this phrase. What needs, she wondered, were to be tried? The blush in her cheeks, and the heat down below, flared again. She knew in a wanton moment that Doctor Brown meant her need for flogging and for fucking, and he meant that because of her shameful history stricter measures must be taken. Miss Joanna Middleton might well possess those lascivious needs to so great, so wicked, a degree that some sterner method even than lewd, abject sexual service to the libertine Lord Stephen must be imposed upon her.

  “If the curtain could be drawn, now,” the doctor said. Joanna heard the creaking of pulleys, then felt the warmth of footlights and the greater movement of air. The Society for the Correction of Natural Daughters maintained a fine system of central heat, at least, it seemed to Joanna from the comfortable temperature. She imagined that given the society’s activities Doctor Brown must have insisted upon it. Joanna tried desperately to concentrate on these thoughts concerning practical matters so that she could keep from her mind’s eye the picture of a lovely eighteen-year-old girl, blonde tresses free down her back, naked and blushing in front of an audience of men who had come to see her fucked.

  “You see, gentlemen, the young lady’s beauty. Mrs. Mund, whose own brief marital experience seems to have left her deeply conflicted about her husband’s exercise of the right of the phallus, saw fit to make Miss Middleton expose these charms on the occasion of the final spanking the widow administered. Miss Middleton, I should like you to describe in your own words what Mrs. Mund told you.”

  Joanna’s lips parted, of their own accord, as if her body felt so bound to obey now that her mouth assumed her mind would have a flow of words at its disposal, when Doctor Brown bid her speak, about even the most humiliating subjects. That obedience extended so far, indeed, that Joanna even uttered a single syllable.

  “I...” she said.

  “Pray speak up, Miss Middleton,” the doctor said. “I know it is an unusual circumstance to stand here before gentlemen in this fashion, but I assure you we are here for the sake of your happiness.”

  “I...” Joanna said again, and then to her surprise her mind did supply words. “That is to say, she—Mrs. Mund—told me that her husband...” Joanna’s face got even hotter, but she forged on, feeling that Doctor Brown must be right concerning her needs, for only a girl with such needs could say the things she said before a company of men. She heard her voice becoming louder—brazen, even. “That he fucked her in a wicked way. He... he made her suck his penis, he bent her over for fucking, he fucked her bottom, and he gave her to his friends for fucking with their big, stiff pricks.”

  She heard murmurs of admiration from masculine voices in the theater, and a few appreciative chuckles, as if her boldness surprised and delighted them. How many men were there? Twenty? Thirty? They wouldn’t all fuck her, though, would they? Her whole body went hot at the notion.

  Doctor Brown spoke again. “You see, I suspect, the uniqueness of the situation. Mrs. Mund spanked the girl with an ivory hairbrush through the entirety of this narration, it seems. Later, when she had come into Lord Stephen’s possession—I was present for the event myself, gentlemen—Miss Middleton requested his lordship to spank her with that same hairbrush.”

  Joanna felt her eyes go wide under the blindfold as she remembered. She could hardly believe she had said that, that she had wanted that—but now, here on stage, she felt she wanted it again: wanted his lordship to come onto the boards and spank her with the hairbrush to punish her for the shameful things she had just said, and show these men that she belonged to him.

  “And now you see the effect the recollection has upon the girl,” said the doctor. “Miss Middleton, please stimulate your clitoris for the audience, now, with your right hand.” He addressed the audience again, then. “I wish Miss Middleton to cause her vagina to lubricate, so that Lord Stephen’s valet, Mr. Mark Shepard, may use her there, as his lordship promised. Please observe her conduct closely, as she masturbates, and as she undergoes coitus with Mr. Shepard and then with my own man, Mr. John Eliot. Go ahead, Miss Middleton. If you do not do as you are told, Lord Stephen will have to spank you.”

  Joanna lifted her hand from the top of the bench, her mind reeling with the thoughts Doctor Brown had awakened, the memories of Mrs. Mund and Lord Stephen’s tower room. Her cunny ached, and the idea of touching herself there, where she needed it the most, brought the fingers closer, made them flutter as if they could already press and rub the way Lord Stephen loved to do. But then the hand clenched, and she felt her face crumple.

  “I...” she said, the brazenness departed from her voice.

  The doctor spoke. “My lord, if you please.”

  Joanna gave a little cry as she heard and felt heavy footsteps upon the stage. “No, please,” she said, turning toward them, her left hand joining her right in front of her to beseech him.

  “Hush, darling,” she heard her master’s voice say. “You know you need this.”

  She heard Doctor Brown’s voice again, speaking to the audience, “Observe Miss Middleton’s dilemma. Her vagina longs for vigorous use, but the singular lesson given by her benighted former employer makes it impossible for her to masturbate in public. Instead, she invites the return of the hairbrush to her young bottom, as painful as it will be.”

  “I shall bind her, my lord,” said the unknown voice that had first brought her onto the stage.

  Joanna cried out, sobbed, as rough hands bent her over and secured her waist, her wrists, her knees in stout leather straps. The bench had a place to kneel, and a downward tilt, so that Joanna’s torso sloped toward the stage, her thighs apart so that she knew anyone could see her smooth cunny. With a flare of heat above and below, she realized, too, that anyone could fuck her there, as well, or possess her bottom with his prick—or, indeed, could come to the other side and impose his hardness upon her mouth and thrust in and out until he made her swallow his seed.

  The picture of herself, blindfolded and bound to this article of furniture, came to fill the blackness behind her eyelids so vividly that Joanna moaned, her back arching, wanting despite every stricture of conventional morality to show the terr
ible need they had all awakened in her: Mrs. Mund, Lord Stephen, and Doctor Brown.

  “Yes, darling,” Lord Stephen said. “Show us.”

  Then he brought the hairbrush down, and the straps that bound Joanna to the bench made it so much easier to give herself to the lesson her master taught that she almost cried in triumph instead of in agony. For it did hurt, terribly, the cane welts still feeling sore and their sting together with the dull pain of the ivory making her whole bottom blaze with pain.

  But she could writhe within her bonds, because that was what they were for, and she could whimper and sob and yet she had no choice: she had to accept the consequences of not touching herself, when those who owned her had commanded that shameful act.

  His lordship spanked her hard, but slowly, twelve times, until she hung her head and sobbed.

  “Unbind her right hand,” she heard him say. “She must play with her cunt as the doctor desires.”

  Someone did loose that hand, and Joanna instantly thrust it under her hips, her fingertips rubbing frantically exactly where she needed it most, to make the smart of the punishment become the terrible pleasure she felt now she knew all too well. She cried out, and spent, and spent again.

  “Hello, miss,” a voice said in front of her, above her. Mark Shepard stood there, and picturing him, smelling now his manly smell, like Lord Stephen’s but earthier, perhaps, feeling his prick’s head brush her lips, she spent again, and opened her mouth.

  “There, miss,” she heard the valet say in a thick voice that she knew meant her mouth upon the silky skin that covered his hardness made him feel very good. “Keep on touching yourself. You’re a good girl, aren’t you, no matter what the widow says? Now suck sweetly while his lordship fucks your cunt and your arse to get you ready for me.”

  It all began to blend together, then. Lord Stephen in her cunny; Lord Stephen in her bottom. Mark Shepard enjoying the same places, with the bench creaking under his greater weight as he pounded her bottom. John Eliot’s longer, thinner prick in her mouth as Mark finished in her anus. The sudden knowledge that they had trained her bottom very well, among them, for when John had her there, he praised his ride greatly.

  The unknown man in her mouth, her cunt, her bottom, as Lord Stephen murmured in her ear during the fucking, “Good girl,” and the deep voice said, “Yes, she is good.”

  Doctor Brown saying, “The man inside you now, Miss Middleton, is the arbiter appointed by the society. Arbiter, shall she be awarded to Lord Stephen Gaithwait?”

  The thrusting in her bottom, hard, so that Joanna cried out as she heard the voice say, just before she felt his prick spurt, “She shall indeed.”

  Then Lord Stephen saying, “I wish her to spend upon three pricks. I shall have the bottom, seated in the chair. Mr. Eliot, Mark, clean yourselves if you please, so that you may have the cunt and the mouth.”

  The words made so little sense to Joanna that when they released her from the bench and lifted her up, she had not the slightest idea of what awaited her. They turned her, bent her, and carried her in a seated position a few yards, and then she heard her master say, “There, Joanna. Put her right on my prick. Darling, reach down and open your arse for me.”

  Then she cried out, for having obeyed and opened her well-spanked bottom-cheeks, those carrying her lowered her so that the head of Lord Stephen’s cock came right up against the little flower, so experienced now but still narrow and a little sore. She pulled her backside farther apart, and then the penis had come inside her, and his lordship’s hands were under her bottom, making her go up and down in little movements that filled her more with each downward jerk, and made her whimper over and over.

  She heard a creak next to her, on her right side, as if there were a tall piece of wooden furniture, and a heavy man had climbed it, and then she had Mark Shepard’s cock at her lips and she had to take it in, and suck the way she already knew he liked, tenderly and respectfully.

  Then she shouted around that big penis, for one of Lord Stephen’s hands had come around to her front, and opened her poor little cunny so that someone else... John Eliot... with his long prick, could slide into her, so that she spent, and spent again, just at the feeling of all the cocks inside her.

  “There, Joanna,” his lordship said. “Now you have learned, I hope, how natural a girl you are.”

  The End

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