A Major of Marnie (Miss Robin's Academy Book 3)

by Eva Nightingale

  "The uniform was designed by Miss Robin, herself," Mrs. Jones said. "Be warned; it can be unfastened to reveal any particular part that requires attention or punishment."

  She unhooked a button at Marnie's shoulder to demonstrate her point, releasing the fine layers of gown and chemise which were the only thing covering her right breast. Marnie gasped and went to cover herself, but Mrs. Jones swatted her hand away.

  "Just something to bear in mind, Miss Stowe," Mrs. Jones said.

  Marnie followed her down the stairs, painfully conscious that her nipples, stiffening in the cold air, were dark enough to be visible through the thin fabric of her gown.

  What was this dreadful place she'd been sent to?

  Marnie was in such deep reverie in the corner of the parlour that she didn't hear her chaperone approach. She was rather startled to feel her drawers being pulled up and her skirt dropped back down into place.

  "Really, Marnie," Mrs. Jones said, "I don't know how it's possible that a girl can still be so mulish after she has received as many punishments as you have. Now come along to bed."

  Soon, Marnie was in bed, her wrists cuffed to the bedhead. Privettes, by demonstrating good behaviour over a long period of time, could earn the privilege of having the cuffs removed. But Marnie had never maintained good behaviour for long enough.

  Mrs. Jones fell asleep almost instantly. Marnie could hear her deep, rhythmic breathing across the room.

  But for Marnie, sleep did not come so easily. She had not been a good sleeper since arriving at Miss Robin's. The best way for her to fall asleep with ease was to exhaust her rangy, restless body. After a day running and riding, climbing and tumbling, she was asleep in an instant and didn't wake until morning, when she dashed out of bed to pull the curtains apart, check the weather, and plan her escape from the house.

  But after such slow, sedentary days, her body didn't want sleep. It still craved action. And the only place for this to occur was in her thoughts, which became a jumbled crisscrossing mess of whatever was annoying, scaring or worrying her.

  And tonight, it was reflecting on the amount of time she had spent at Miss Robin's, which was not only shameful, but worrying.

  The truth was that after the initial shock of her arrival, she had hatched a plan to show her parents just how well she could do without them. She decided that she wouldn't just marry any man. She would marry the wealthiest, highest-ranking officer who had ever passed through Miss Robin's doors!

  She had almost succeeded, too. There was the charming captain, at first—she might not have been the prettiest girl at the academy, but she thought she had snared him good and proper by imitating her sisters' simpering mannerisms, giggling behind her hand and making dopey expressions while she listened intently to his stories and opinions.

  But the captain had been set aside with very little ceremony when Major Stanley came along. Certainly, he was only a major, but they said he was a relative of a family with only one son who had died suddenly some years prior. He stood to inherit a frankly staggering home and parcel of land. Marnie did her research, using her recreation time to ask the other girls what they knew and write letters to an aunt who lived at her club in London permanently and knew all there was to know about every landowning family in the country.

  Major Stanley. Marnie could barely think of him without the bile rising in her throat. He was old. And not just old in the way everyone over thirty-five seemed old to her at the time. He was older than her father, about the same age as her London aunt, which appeared to Marnie to be as old as it was possible to be. He had a downturned mouth and almost no lips to speak of. He smelled of the strong menthol liniment he used to work into his worn-down joints. Though he was thin, his face was jowly, and his breath was always stale.

  But she had been absolutely determined. Nothing gave her a sense of determination in the way anger did, and she had never been so furious at anyone as she was at her parents for dumping her at Miss Robin's! She had sought the major out, courted him, laughed at his awful jokes, allowed him to kiss her hand—she had been so set on her decision that she had even refrained from wiping away the wet mess he left behind when he did so.

  In the end—in a turn of events so unspeakably humiliating that Marnie shrunk from the memory even months later—in the end, it was the major who had disappointed her, abandoning his suit to pursue another girl. Someone not in the academy. Someone softer, more feminine, more petite, more stupid—the type men always seemed to want.

  She had tried to put on a brave face. She had put the word around that it was her decision, that he had decided to cease using Miss Robin's services because she had broken his heart, that she had set her sights on another much nicer officer and was simply biding her time before revealing who it was.

  It was a thin ruse and Marnie knew it. She had been at the academy for what seemed like an age. She had watched girl after girl find her match—the sash on her dress changing from white, which unmarried girls wore, to the pale blue given to engaged Privettes. Girl after girl married while she waited, cooped up and miserable, constantly bickering with other girls and finding herself on the receiving end of any number of painful punishments.

  She worried about what would happen to her. What kind of future would she have if Miss Robin threw her out and her father refused to relent and allow her to return home? Her options would be paltry and miserable—governess, shop-girl, perhaps a paid companion to some pampered lady of leisure.

  Marnie fell asleep fitfully, her dreams a jumble of horses and houses, blue skies and cloistered rooms. And—strangely—in it was the man she had seen, the man who had climbed the tree to pluck her out of it. Another major. Only this one was handsome, strong, daring. And in the dream, he stood at the bottom of the tree, his arms open to catch her. He didn't move; he just stood there, patient, waiting.

  Marnie woke up with her nightgown sweated through. Mrs. Jones laid a palm across her forehead and frowned.

  "Looks like a trip to the doctor for you, Marnie," she said.

  Chapter 3

  Marnie's heart sank when she remembered that handsome Doctor Hendricks was gone and she would have to contend with a new doctor. She hadn't spoken to this man, but she had seen him at the reception breakfast. Georgiana had pointed him out. All she remembered was a broad back and a head of dark hair shot through with silver.

  She was summoned to see him directly after breakfast. Mrs. Jones knocked and a gruff "Enter!" was the reply.

  Mrs. Jones obeyed, and Marnie followed, her arms crossed over her chest. She detested doctors. She had detested her first visit, when Doctor Hendricks had mercilessly probed her most intimate places.

  She remembered the doctor's office well. The walls were papered in cream with a subtle fleur-de-lis pattern. The carpet was a rich blue. There was a desk in one corner and a tall cabinet in another. In the centre of the room was the dreaded examining table. It was padded leather and divided into adjustable segments. The mere sight of it filled Marnie with dread.

  Mrs. Jones led Marnie behind the screen in the office and helped her to undress, until she was wearing only her thin chemise. She hated the way her dark, almost berry-red nipples poked through the thin fabric and was embarrassed to think of how round and generous her bottom looked in proportion to the rest of her body. Red-faced, she followed Mrs. Jones out from behind the screen.

  Doctor Rawson invited Mrs. Jones to sit.

  "On the table, Miss Stowe," he said to Marnie.

  Marnie hated the examination table. It was a piece of furniture with adjustable segments and hidden leather cuffs which could restrain the less cooperative girls. Reluctantly, she sat on its edge. She folded her arms across her chest.

  "Nervous, are we?" the man said. "Unfold your arms, please."

  Marnie, wanting to avoid being cuffed to the table, obeyed.

  The authority in the doctor's voice sent an icy shiver up Marnie's spine. She could hardly bring herself to look into his handsome face. He was not as y
oung as Dr. Hendricks—he must have been close to Miss Robin's age—but he had a square, strong face, penetrating dark eyes and a slight downturn to his mouth, which made Marnie instantly, feel that she had done something to displease him. His tan hands were broad and clean. He wore the uniform of a traditional physician—a black frock coat and trousers and a white starched shirt. He had, however, made one concession to his outfit to show he was in Miss Robin's employ. His cravat, rather than being black, was deep crimson.

  "She has the most terrible fever, Doctor," said Mrs. Jones. "Her nightgown was soaked through; her sheets were soaked through—I'm amazed she was steady enough on her feet to walk here."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Jones, for your concern. We shall soon discover the cause of your trouble, Miss Stowe," said Doctor Rawson, looking at Marnie directly. Marnie felt a flutter of nerves.

  He retrieved a jotter and pen from the trolley, which was set up near the examination table.

  "Tell me," Doctor Rawson said. "Do you have any dizziness? Do you feel faint?"

  "I'm not unwell," Marnie said.

  "I think I'll be the judge of that. Headaches? Coughing?"

  Marnie huffed, her temper flaring. "For God's sake! No!"

  "Watch yourself," said Mrs. Jones. "Unless you'd like to be cuffed to that table?"

  "I hope that won't be necessary," said Doctor Rawson, an edge entering his voice. "Miss Robin warned me that some of the more stubborn girls would require restraints, but it would be a shame to have to use them on my very first patient."

  Marnie knew how unpleasant it was to be restrained to the table while a doctor spread and probed her. She took a deep breath and tried to control herself.

  "So," said Doctor Rawson, examining his notes. "No headaches, coughing, faintness or dizziness. Do you have any aches and pains?"

  "The reason I have aches is that I am not allowed to move," Marnie said. "I am kept indoors all day, sitting at a desk or a table or on a sofa, or I am secured to a bed. I have only the occasional opportunity to go walking at a snail's pace around the garden. Of course, I ache," she said.

  Doctor Rawson thought for a moment, tapping his pencil against his jotter.

  "An excess of heat, an excess of energy, irritability, insomnia, coupled with consistent foul moods—or so I surmise—and aches in the limbs. I think it's clear what we have here, Mrs. Jones. An obvious case of nervous tension. Possibly even hysteria."

  Marnie's composure faltered. "Hysteria? Well, that is simply—preposterous!"

  "And why is that?" said Doctor Rawson, raising his eyebrow.

  "Because I'm not feeble-minded," Marnie said. "Or weak. Or having fainting fits."

  "Hysteria comes in many forms," the doctor said. "In yours, I believe a certain frustration of energy is causing your symptoms. Fortunately, the treatment I recommend is rather a straightforward one. Please lie back on the table."

  Marnie hesitated, but then complied, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of feeling his hypothesis was further confirmed.

  But when the doctor placed his hands on her knees and went to part them, Marnie sat bolt upright and moved her legs away. "Whatever do you think you're doing?" she cried.

  "Miss Stowe, you've been warned. Lie back at once," Doctor Rawson said.

  Marnie's lip trembled as she tried to bite back her temper. But she couldn't. His demands were simply too outrageous.

  "No! Absolutely not! I will not be subjected to your quack treatments!"

  "Marnie, I would advise you to comply with the doctor's request. You don't want another punishment so soon after yesterday's nonsense," Mrs. Jones said sternly.

  "I don't need treatment!" Marnie burst out. "I need to be allowed to do as I please without all these rules and restrictions!"

  She tried to leap from the table, but Doctor Rawson caught her arm. His grip was strong. Marnie tried to twist away from it but could not.

  "I didn't want to have to do this, Marnie, but it seems you've forced my hand," the doctor said. "Mrs. Jones, would you mind assisting?"

  "With pleasure, Doctor," Mrs. Jones said.

  Mrs. Jones seized Marnie's other arm, and between the two of them, Mrs. Jones and Doctor Rawson soon had Marnie's wrists above her head and shackled to the table.

  "No!" Marnie cried. "Let me go! You cannot; you cannot—"

  "We can, and we will," said Mrs. Jones. "Stop complaining, Marnie. You've already earned a punishment for your conduct. I don't know why you should seek to make it worse."

  Marnie pulled against her restraints, but it was useless. The doctor had soon unfolded the stirrups from beneath the end of the table. He seized one ankle, then another, and secured them in padded cuffs. Marnie cried out and tried to kick against him, but he was too strong. She arched her back and tried to move, but the restraints held her still.

  "To provide temporary relief from your symptoms, it will be necessary to release some of the nervous energy that has built up inside you," the doctor said.

  Marnie's legs, held in the stirrups, were bent at the knee and spread wide open. She could feel the cool air in the room caress the lips of her sex, kept bare by Mrs. Jones' ministrations. Her most private parts were completely exposed to the doctor, who gazed at her dispassionately.

  She closed her eyes and heard the sound of a stool being wheeled over to the table and the doctor picking something up from his trolley. He took a seat on the stool, then—Marnie heard, rather than saw—opened a jar of ointment.

  Marnie started at the feel of his hand on her inner thigh. It was warm despite the cool air in the room.

  "I think the treatment shall have to be internal as well as external, Mrs. Jones, but there's no cause for concern—her maidenhead will not be disturbed."

  "I trust you know what you're doing, Doctor," said Mrs. Jones.

  The next thing Marnie felt was the lips of her sex being parted by the doctor's expert hand.

  "I see I needn't have been so concerned about lubrication," he mused, looking at the hidden pink folds and the pearl at their centre growing firm and flush with anticipation. "You have plenty of your own, Miss Stowe."

  Marnie squeezed her eyes even more tightly closed, her cheeks burning with humiliation. Then there was a sudden pressure at her virgin opening. She went to tilt her knees together but couldn't. A sharp cry escaped her lips.

  "Hush now. Nothing to worry about," Doctor Rawson said soothingly as he slid one finger inside her tight warmth, moving it gently in and out in a way that caused a ripple of confusing sensations to wash over Marnie's body.

  She cried out again when he added a second finger; at first, the sensation was one of an unpleasant stretching. But soon, her body accommodated the intrusion, and she felt a queer building of pressure in the lower part of her belly.

  The next thing Marnie felt was the doctor's other hand pressing down on the mound at the top of her sex. The pad of his thumb found her pearl, and when it first made contact, Marnie's eyes flew open as a jolt of intense and unexpected pleasure shot through her. Doctor Hendricks had touched her in the same spot, of course, and Mrs. Jones had stroked her lightly during training activities or punishments. But never had it been attended to in such a concentrated manner. She both wanted more of the strange, delicious building feeling and to twist away from the intensity of it. She pulled hard against her restraints but was held securely in place.

  Her confused emotions were expressed by a low mewl and then a longer, louder moan. Marnie had been at Miss Robin's long enough to understand the concept of 'release'—but she had never experienced it for herself.

  The fullness and stretching she felt began to feel wonderful, instead of uncomfortable. Her quim clenched around the doctor's firm, relentless, thrusting fingers while the shameful warm pleasure she felt continued to build inside her.

  The circular strokes of the his thumb grew faster and faster, the fingers inside Marnie's cunny moving with more and more force and she felt her body begin to seize up.

  "Don't resist," the doc
tor said. "That's right. Be a good girl and let it happen."

  Marnie couldn't have resisted the flood of sensations cresting inside her body if she had wanted to. Her whole body tensed up—her back arched, her toes curled—and then wave after wave of pleasure bolted through her. When the initial peak had passed, further waves washed over her body. She shuddered and trembled over and over again.

  The doctor did not stop until the very last shudder had passed through her.

  Afterwards, he allowed her to dress, and when they left, he was calmly making notes to add to her file.

  "See if that doesn't improve your outlook somewhat, Miss Stowe," he called.

  Marnie's face burned with shame as she quietly left the doctor's office behind Mrs. Jones. But there was no denying it; she did feel better.

  By the following Friday, when there would be a general visitation in the afternoon, Marnie was no longer feeling so sanguine.

  She hated visitation. Every Friday and Saturday afternoon, the girls of Miss Robin's Academy would be visited by military officers searching for suitable brides. Girls who were already engaged to be married often had private visits in the upstairs visitation rooms. Everyone else was forced to sit in the parlour making small talk with a variety of gentlemen, all of whom Marnie found tedious in the extreme.

  When she had been intent on avenging herself on her parents by making the most advantageous match possible, she had found a certain competitive fun in the visitation hours. She had played up her assets to great advantage, allowing Mrs. Jones to brush and elaborately dress her strawberry blonde hair and pinching her cheeks until they flushed a pretty blossom pink.

  She also made a point of staying seated at such events, as far as that was possible, so that no one would know how tall she was or catch a glimpse of her rear and notice its breadth.