by Emily Tilton
“That’s right—very right indeed, darling. The Duke of Panton has come up trumps for me—for us, now. Apparently when he heard that you and I had come here to Dr. Brown’s, he decided that I deserve his full confidence. I’m to assume management of his entire estate, and we shall go to live there, in Sussex—when we are not in town, that is.”
Miss Eaker’s eyes went very wide. “The Duke of Panton! But is he not very wicked?”
Dr. Brown chuckled. “Well, Miss Eaker, I must confess that I fear you, and Mr. Coventry, and I—and everyone here—are very wicked by the standards of the world that judges the good duke so. The duke, of the great line of Lourcy Earls of Mercester and Dukes of Panton, is the heir to a noble tradition of men exercising their natural rights. His school for young ladies, on the grounds of Panton Castle, is a sort of model of the benefits to be had by frankness in these matters—he and his mistress Miss Clarissa Halton have reshaped many a fallen girl’s life for her ultimate salvation. If there were ever a place for you to lose your blushes, it would be Panton Castle.” He turned to Mr. Coventry. “And Miss Eaker is to be married from there? With the aid of the duke’s schoolmistress?”
The young man nodded, his face still sunny with his extraordinary good fortune. “Precisely. And, darling…” His eyes returned to Miss Eaker’s. “We shall be able to bring your parents there, if they would like. And the duke even says that he has plans to bring Lord Rider down, and have that monstrous marriage of Mr. Penny’s annulled. I laid out the whole matter to him, and he has taken a great interest—as indeed I thought he might, since he interests himself in whatever Dr. Brown does.”
Bright tears of happiness appeared in Miss Eaker’s eyes. “Truly? And may Jane… that is to say, Mrs. Penny—she is my best friend…”
“She may come to Panton too, if she likes,” Mr. Coventry said with a smile. “She shall be a bridesmaid.”
That made Miss Eaker blush, of course.
“Come now,” said Dr. Brown, “a natural maid is a girl without false modesty, who knows how to grant her gentleman, whether master, or husband, or a man to whom her master gives her, the exercise of his erotic rights.”
“But Jane… and I, I suppose…” the girl managed to say, her lovely blue eyes darting up to the doctor’s for a moment, then over to Mr. Coventry’s face, then back to her lap, where she held her right hand curled in an embarrassed little fist—her left being still held firmly in her gentleman’s right. “We are not pure any longer. Mr. Penny—the things he did, with his conjugal rights… I know they are the same as what James has done with me, but…”
The doctor came to her aid. “But because your friend Jane has been married to such a man—and allow me to say clearly that I do not think this Mr. Penny, or the man who forced his pleasure upon you under the guise of a suitor, is a true, natural man such as Mr. Coventry, or the Duke of Panton—the voices in your mind, of your mother and your schoolmistress, tell you that she should not be a bridesmaid.”
Miss Eaker nodded, the shining happiness in her face having given way to confusion and renewed shame.
“I am pleased to tell you, though,” Dr. Brown continued, “that in the world into which you—and it appears Jane, if she wishes—are to enter, to be a maid of any kind is a matter of what one might call…” He paused to see if she would look up, and when she did he gave her a warm smile, and held her eyes, feeling sure that she could discern in his the twinkle he meant her to see there. “…preference. Jane shall be your bridesmaid, and I feel quite sure you will play the blushing bride to perfection.”
To the doctor’s delight, a radiant smile broke out on Miss Eaker’s face at this news. She looked at Mr. Coventry and said softly, “Shall you like having your conjugal rights, James?”
He chuckled and kissed her hand. “I certainly shall, darling.”
“To that end,” said Dr. Brown, “I should like to recommend to Mr. Coventry a session for you, Miss Eaker, with Mr. Stallings and Miss Miller, in the grand bedroom.”
Miss Eaker’s blush returned, then, and her smile grew a little more uncertain, but did not fade entirely.
“I think you will find, Mr. Coventry, that introducing Miss Eaker to your rights with respect to the sharing of young ladies among friends will serve to make her ready to enter fully into the connubial bliss you have in store for her. When a true man’s natural rights intersect so fully with the conjugal rights he has over his bride’s young body, a girl must learn to submit to be shared, and to be observed, without the false modesty with which Miss Eaker herself knows she must part.”
The young lady’s smile had changed to a look of helpless arousal. “What must I do?” she whispered.
“First,” said the doctor, “if Mr. Coventry accepts my recommendation, you will ride with Miss Miller upon a training saddle that features two phalluses, which you will take into your vaginas. Miss Miller will watch you as you reach climax, and you will watch her. Your gentlemen, of course, will observe the entire process, providing such encouragement as seems best to them. Then you will have coitus with Mr. Coventry, while Mr. Stallings has coitus with Miss Miller, the four of you upon the same bed. Then Mr. Coventry will share your vagina with Mr. Stallings, while Mr. Stallings shares Miss Miller’s vagina with him. Finally, you will watch as Mr. Coventry and Mr. Stallings enjoy Miss Miller, and after that she will observe as the two gentlemen enjoy you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Amanda felt very faint as James led her to the grand bedroom. Her mind seemed split into two parts. One part wouldn’t stop thinking about the Duke of Panton and the future that it seemed awaited her in Sussex as a wife—perhaps not a respectable wife, as the world judged, but one under the protection of one of the greatest peers of the realm. The other part wouldn’t stop thinking about the price it appeared she must now pay for this wedded bliss, made to share James and to be shared by him.
The room, in which they found Mr. Stallings and Miss Miller waiting for them, must have once been a drawing room in the days before Dr. Brown had come to turn the stately home into his lascivious college. The rich crimson velvet on the walls, and the pier glasses and gilt ornaments in the French style spoke of elegant conversation upon soft sofas and beautiful chairs.
Those articles of furniture had, however, been replaced in such a way as to make Amanda draw back against James as he ushered her into the big room. To see the three large beds, each of them big enough for two couples to fuck side-by-side, made her feel strange enough, but the article placed upon the central bed next to which Mr. Stallings and Miss Miller stood made her heart quail.
Upon a long wooden frame, placed crosswise on the bed, two saddles had been fixed, facing one another. The frame itself stood perhaps eighteen inches off the bed, so that Amanda could tell immediately that a girl might comfortably mount it, and then ride upon it in a jockey’s crouch. In the middle of the frame rose a post, and from that post on either side emerged what must be handlebars: one set for each girl to hold while riding her saddle.
The very idea of mounting thus, opposite another naked girl, their faces only a few inches apart as they must ride like men, shamefully astride and with the saddles between their thighs, made the heat come into her face. What rose from the saddles, however, heated Amanda’s cheeks to fever pitch.
Out of each saddle one of the horrid black training phalluses stood a proud six inches, tilted slightly backwards from the central post so that the imitation penis might go straight into the cunny of a crouching girl.
“A marvelous device, what?” said Henry Stallings, dressed like James in one of the cocksmen’s black dressing gowns. He was a tall man—even taller than James, and of a dark, almost Mediterranean complexion. “Bad luck that we can’t have Miss Eaker’s arse today, though. Shaw and I liked to put our girls on it and fuck them soundly up their sweet bums while they rode. Going to miss that fellow—shame you didn’t get to know him.” To Amanda’s horror, he looked at her. “But your backside’s going to feel my cock soon, I ex
pect, Miss Eaker—never fear, though you’ll only have me in your mouth and cunt today.”
Beatrix Miller, with a kind of innocent wonder in her blue eyes that made Amanda remember what Dr. Brown had said about maidenhood being a matter of preference, looked at James. “Will you have my bottom, Mr. Coventry? Miss Eaker’s cries last night made me think I might want Henry to share it with you, and now Henry says the doctor has recommended that you fuck me while he fucks Miss Eaker, but he says it’s up to you whether you want to enjoy my bottom or only my cunny.”
“Show Mr. Coventry your anus, my love,” said Mr. Stallings. Amanda’s knees felt weak as she watched Miss Miller turn around and bend over the bed, letting her long flaxen hair fall over her left shoulder as she lowered her head submissively. She put her hands back and spread her bottom-cheeks to show a little pink flower that didn’t seem any less tight than Amanda imagined her own must look. Instinctively she put her hand behind her, down there, to cover her poor bottom-hole, still so sore from James’ rigorous use the previous night.
The whole room seemed to whirl, as the Panton part of her mind and the terrible price part of her mind seemed to chase each other around a carousel of ideas and imagined scenes. Why did it all have to go so fast?
“You’re welcome to fuck her there, of course, Coventry, even if I have to wait for my own turn in Miss Eaker’s bum. Go ahead and feel those cheeks and put a finger inside. She’s well trained, now, just like Miss Eaker will be.”
As Amanda watched James advance two paces toward Miss Miller’s proffered backside, pink anus over pink cunny, between buttocks the girl herself must hold open, she felt her fingers of their own accord find their way inside the valley of her own bottom, touch her own bottom-hole. She remembered the way James had put the head of his cock there, and then suddenly stopped, come around the bed, and asked her to marry him.
For a moment it seemed he had eyes only for Miss Miller’s bottom, and the idea of the terrible price came upon her: she would be a wife, but her husband wouldn’t really belong to her, would he? He would look at the cunnies and bottoms of other young ladies, and fuck them as he liked.
Then, to her surprise, he turned and looked at her. Amanda realized that her blush had gone, and she must be pale as a sheet at the prospect of James fondling Miss Miller’s bottom.
“Come here, Amanda,” he said. “Let’s show Mr. Stallings your backside, too. You won’t be fucked there today, but a finger won’t harm you. You can bend over right next to Miss Miller.”
He did belong to her, didn’t he? He hadn’t simply left her there, to go touch Miss Miller’s pretty bottom—and he wouldn’t ever, would he? He had asked her to marry him, when he had no need at all to do so. Amanda’s heart rejoiced, suddenly, despite the extremity of this strange scene. It seemed much less terrible a price to pay, now that James had summoned her to display her own anus alongside Miss Miller’s.
She felt the heat in her face return as she hurried over.
Mr. Stallings chuckled. “She’s blushing, Coventry. Don’t worry, Miss Eaker; that’s what these side-by-sides are for. You won’t see Beatrix blush today, I wager.”
Amanda, who had been about to bend over obediently next to Miss Miller, stopped suddenly, looking from Mr. Stallings’ smiling face to James’ graver one. She still had her right hand behind her, on her bottom, and she realized that she must look to James like she had decided to disobey him.
“Go ahead, darling, and show Mr. Stallings your cunt and your anus,” he said sternly. “He’s waiting.”
Why had she stopped? Because Mr. Stallings had called attention to her blush. Because he had pointed out that Beatrix Miller hadn’t blushed, but instead had obediently assumed the humiliating pose of a girl displaying her most intimate charms to a man not her husband or even her protector. Beatrix had to offer her private places to James, Amanda’s fiancé, and she hadn’t even blushed.
“No,” Amanda said softly. To bend that way, and then to mount the terrible thing on the bed, facing Miss Miller, and then to be fucked and watch the fucking—all the fucking recommended by Dr. Brown. She couldn’t, because if she did, she wouldn’t blush anymore. How could she ever blush again, if she had to grant James such conjugal rights as these?
“Oho,” said Mr. Stallings genially. “Does someone need a whipping? Let’s whip them on the saddle! Beatrix has it coming, too, since she answered back when I told her she had to leave off reading her novel to train with Miss Eaker.”
“I did not!” Miss Miller said, straightening up suddenly. Mr. Stallings, without any further warning, stepped forward and seized her around the waist, bent her down again over the bed, and began to spank her very hard. Amanda gasped.
“Girls who are showing their arseholes,” he growled, all his geniality gone for the moment, “do not speak, do they?”
“Ow! Please, Henry!”
But Mr. Stallings kept spanking. Amanda felt terribly faint. What had happened?
“Do they, dearest?”
“No! No, sir! Please, no more!”
Miss Miller’s gentleman had turned her backside a bright shade of pink in only a few moments. Now he fondled the cheeks he punished. “Nice and warm. Let’s get you up on your saddle, my love.” He looked apologetically at James. “You can have a feel once she’s going, but it’s important that Beatrix be made to masturbate directly after punishment, Dr. Brown says, and disciplined during that self-pleasure as well. I’m sure the same would do your girl good.”
“That’s quite all right,” James said. He turned to Amanda. “Get upon the bed, darling. I shall whip you while you ride, as Mr. Stallings suggests.”
What had happened? She had seen the look in Miss Miller’s eyes as she, the obedient young lady who seemed to have submitted herself entirely to the natural rights of her protector, suddenly objected to being whipped. But the expression upon Miss Miller’s face had not been defiance—or, rather, the defiance had looked out from her eyes alongside something else: something exultant?
Why would Dr. Brown recommend that Miss Miller have to masturbate after she was punished? It must have something to do with that expression, must it not?
She moved toward the bed, started to climb upon it, as a way of gaining a few moments to think, before she refused to mount the horrid thing, as she felt certain she would. On the bed, Miss Miller had thrown her left leg astride the saddle, and begun to lower herself so that the India-rubber tip of the phallus touched the pale pink inner lips of her cunny. The sight made Amanda feel faint once again.
Miss Miller gave an ambiguous little sob of pleasure and discomfort as she flexed her knees. Amanda couldn’t suppress her own whimper of shame, and… oh, no… of, yes, arousal as she watched the little cunny receive the black thing deep inside it.
Then Mr. Stallings spoke, quite conversationally, and everything fell abruptly into place. Everything: indeed, it felt to Amanda somehow more than everything that assumed its proper position, as if the way it made her feel to submit to James lay further out, encompassed her more completely, than every or all or entire could describe.
“What Dr. Brown says, and I admit I couldn’t understand it at first, is that Beatrix needs to know that I want her to feel pleasure, but that the only way for her to know that is if I punish her for it. Isn’t that right, my love?”
Beatrix had begun to post tentatively up and down upon the phallus, which Amanda could see—though it made her cheeks burn anew—glistened with Miss Miller’s cunny-wet. Little whining noises came from her throat, and when she answered Mr. Stallings her voice had the same quality as her whimpers. “Yes, sir. Oh, sir, please don’t whip me.”
“Nonsense, Beatrix. You know you must be whipped while you ride. You are a naughty girl who needs a firm hand.”
Amanda’s breath came in little pants as she watched Mr. Stallings fetch a strap that hung from the bedpost. Her eyes darted to the opposite post and saw that a second, identical strap hung there as well. She looked at James, and followed h
is eyes to the same place. Then she gazed into his face imploringly, knowing however, and loving to know, that she would find him implacable. Amanda, too, must be whipped as she rode.
Miss Amanda Eaker was a naughty girl, just like Miss Beatrix Miller, opposite whom Amanda now placed herself, the tip of her own rubber phallus just there, where James had fucked her so many times that first night. Miss Miller looked into Amanda’s eyes with a wild, nervous happiness. Perspiration shone on her brow, and she cried out at the first crack of Mr. Stallings’ strap.
Amanda had said no, when told to display herself: she was a naughty girl, and she would have to be whipped while she rode the masturbation saddle.
“Get that cunt on the phallus, Amanda,” James said, putting his hand on her bottom to urge her downward. Miss Miller cried out again at the second lash from the strap, and Amanda couldn’t help watching the other girl’s cunny as it went up and down, up and down. The frame creaked at the motion, and now Amanda herself had gone all the way down, full of the rubber cock. She held the handlebars and pushed up, and then she cried out, too, for James had fetched the strap and begun to whip her, too.
She looked into Miss Miller’s face and saw that her companion on the saddle had fixed her eyes upon Amanda’s cunny. The girl’s glance traveled upwards, and then her eyes met Amanda’s, and to her surprise Amanda saw a little pink appear on Miss Miller’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Beatrix whispered. “I can’t help it.” Then she cried out, because Mr. Stallings had whipped her again, and Amanda cried out, too, at the sting of the strap.
The saddle, just at the base of the phallus, seemed to have a protuberance Amanda hadn’t noticed when looking at it. Every time she took its whole length inside her cunny, her clitoris met this knob, and she quickly understood that if she ground herself shamelessly against it, and bounced herself up and down, she felt a pleasure she didn’t think she had ever yet felt.