Reforming Rebecca

by Emily Tilton

  His brief discussion with Dr. Brown concerning the physician’s unusual treatise, before they had followed her ladyship into the drawing room had enlightened James in ways he thought he could never have anticipated. Above all, the insight the doctor had given him concerning Miss Adams’ behavior seemed to have expanded James’ mental capacity so greatly, with regard to the realm of the voluptuous desires of men and women, that he could scarcely recall to mind the imperfect way in which he had thought of these matters before.

  “I shall give you a copy of the treatise later,” Dr. Brown had said, having pulled James toward the mantelpiece in Mr. Rand’s study, “before I return to town. But there are certain precepts which I can convey quiet briefly and which will aid you greatly, I believe, in doing your duty with respect to this punishment of Miss Adams.”

  James’ eyes had gone very wide, at the combined impression of the honor of this private conversation with a learned man who it seemed gave his fealty to the Duke of Panton and of the idea that such a physician should have devoted much study to matters touching on Miss Adams’ peccadilloes and their correction.

  “I must confess—” James had begun, meaning to express his mystification, but Dr. Brown had cut him off.

  “We have only a few moments, Mr. Oakes. Let me begin by telling you the title of my treatise, which will at once provide to you a great deal of the guidance you will require here at the commencement of your career as what I term a natural man.”

  James had felt his brows knit together at that, though something in him—something that seemed to have its place very low down both in his body and in his soul—had seemed to awaken at the odd phrase, to stir and to rise.

  “It is called On the necessity of men’s exercising their natural rights in erotic matters,” Dr. Brown had said, voicing each word in a low but very clear tone, as if to ensure that the title impressed itself deeply into James’ mind.

  He had felt the crease upon his forehead deepen, but he had kept his silence, for the doctor had immediately proceeded to his further instruction.

  “In brief, I maintain that there exists still upon this earth, and in this realm, a class of men whom I call natural men. Providence has ensured that these men have the beneficial instinct to impose their will on women as the very constitution of the human body decrees to be normal and healthy. At the same time, the truly natural man knows within himself how to guide and to care for a girl in his power, to train her for his pleasure and also for her own, so that they can be happy together all the days of their lives.”

  James had felt his astonishment show itself starkly upon his face, in wide eyes and lips parted as if to object. That surprise, however, had been accompanied in the most urgent way by the stirring down below, which he had recognized then in a flash of insight must be the very natural instinct to which Dr. Brown had just referred.

  The physician must have seen something of that dawning awareness in James’ eyes, or else he knew his subject so very thoroughly that he had no doubt of what he had roused inside the younger man, for he had nodded.

  “Yes, you feel it, Mr. Oakes. I have rarely seen a young man so obviously natural as you. I believe that even if you had not proven yourself to be so by taking the extraordinary step of attempting to correct Miss Adams in her chamber, I would have known it when I heard of your efforts to suppress the rumor of her flirtatious, voluptuous conduct with the other footman.”

  The doctor had glanced toward the door, where Mr. Rand was now speaking to Mrs. Rand. James’ had overheard the MP say, “I do not see how we can get out of it. You must go and fetch her. Somehow she must see reason, or the government will positively fall. The coalition cannot hold if the duke and Lady Ambers are at odds.”

  Dr. Brown had said, “We must go. Follow your natural urge. Cane Miss Adams severely, as she has deserved, but in your instructions to her, and moreover in the way you lay your hands upon her as you bind her to the block and bare her bottom, and, should it prove possible, handle her bottom-cheeks to display the lesson you have taught, make her understand that you purpose her amendment and her happiness.”

  James had felt his breathing grow a little labored, as he followed Dr. Brown out of the study at that point. By the time they reached the drawing room, and he had the opportunity to stare down William Daren with all the contempt at his disposal, James had put himself and his natural urges back under control. Even when Lady Ambers had instructed her coachman to supply James with the long rattan cane of an inch’s thickness, he had kept himself quite calm.

  “We employ this cane upon the maids at Ambers Hall,” her ladyship had said. “They do not misbehave again very soon after Neil has whipped them in front of me, in my morning room.”

  “Indeed, usually they can hardly walk when he undoes the straps,” Lady Ambers’ lady’s maid had said in a censorious tone that indicated she shared her mistress’ belief in the stern bare-bottom correction of young women.

  The thought had stirred James’ natural urges, but as he had taken an experimental cut with the rattan, to demonstrate to her ladyship that he would deliver the sort of message required, his pulse remained steady. The arrival of Miss Adams, however, clad only in her chemise, had changed that.

  The last time he had seen her had of course been in her chamber. With her skirts raised by his own hand, James had discovered the absence of her drawers. He had spanked her pretty bottom, had rubbed it. He had been on the point of undoing his breeches despite everything, utterly seduced by the mingling of her defiant nature and the essential sweetness he had known lay hidden behind it. As she had turned her eyes upon him, her golden locks wreathing the pinkness of her lovely face, her blue eyes brimming with tears of shame, of anger, of fear, his heart had leapt along with the urgent, natural sensation in his loins. He had seen with complete clarity just what Dr. Brown had tried to tell him, and he had no need of a treatise to instruct him how his own body yearned for Miss Rebecca Adams’ body, how he burned to have her under him, teaching her how much pleasure his cock could give, between her thighs, deep in her pretty young cunny. Nor did he need to read in detail of how he wanted to guide her and to take her in hand, to teach her of the ways of the world not just in the bedroom but outside of it, too, in the new England the liberals meant to build.

  James saw in Miss Adams’ eyes a noble resistance to Lady Ambers’ tyranny, and he admired it. He honored her defiance. If he had allowed the thought into his mind, he would have said that he loved it. And yet he knew that just as Dr. Brown had told him, he must punish Miss Adams thoroughly. It would not do to have her antagonize Lady Ambers as it seemed she had done. Miss Adams must be brought to apologize, or she must be caned until Lady Ambers had her fill of the sight of the girl’s well-punished backside, and the victory over Miss Adams’ waywardness that those disciplined cheeks would proclaim.

  Miss Adams stood now in front of Lady Ambers, as her ladyship had commanded.

  “Dr. Brown tells me,” the noblewoman said in a languid voice, “that he had to whip you earlier today. Turn around and lift your chemise so that I may see the evidence.” Miss Adams did not move. “Come now, or I shall have Neil turn you for me—or your Mr. Oakes.”

  That made Miss Adams turn quickly, with a little sob, and James wondered why, precisely. Could it be that she did not want to show the power his own hands had over her?

  Mrs. Rand had a stricken look upon her face, and Mr. Rand an uncomfortable one. Their servants, and even Lady Ambers’ servants, displayed expressions matching the Rands; even William seemed abashed. Dr. Brown alone retained his calm appearance.

  James looked into Miss Adams’ face as she turned, wishing she would raise her eyes to his so that he might reassure her that if he were the one requesting this terrible viewing of her already punished bottom, he would do it very differently indeed—not attempting vengeance but rather trying to help her understand the need to conduct herself differently.

  Miss Adams compressed her lips into a tight line as she reached ba
ck to draw up the silken chemise, gathering it into her fingers, until Lady Ambers and the servants standing behind her could see what Dr. Brown’s strap had done.

  “Quite commendable,” said Lady Ambers in a very dry, haughty voice. “I am astonished that you would earn for yourself, Miss Adams, a caning so soon after receiving those stripes upon your impudent backside. Neil, what do you think of the doctor’s handiwork?”

  “Very pretty, milady,” said the coachman. Miss Adams, a deep crease in her forehead now, gave a little whimper.

  Another, louder whimper succeeded it, for Lady Ambers had placed her right hand upon Miss Adams’ bottom. Fury blazed up in James at the indignity, despite his knowledge that he himself had done the same just the previous day—and would again, on the doctor’s advice, very soon, if it seemed it would help Miss Adams learn her lesson. But to see the vindictive noblewoman do it gave James another sort of appreciation of this part of him that Dr. Brown had called his natural urges: the person to touch Miss Adams’ pretty bottom was James Oakes, and only James Oakes.

  “I am given to understand, Miss Adams, that you are a sensualist,” her ladyship said in a low, menacing voice, “who likes to lift your skirts upon the slightest occasion. Perhaps we will cure you of that today. A severe thrashing has been known to restore a girl’s modesty with some little efficiency, making her ashamed of the parts that cause voluptuousness by punishing her in such close proximity to them. You will receive twenty-four cuts of the cane, now, my girl, right here on these pert young buttocks. Will you like that?”

  “No!” Miss Adams cried. “Oh, please!” The number, James discerned, had surprised and dismayed her.

  For an instant then, she did raise her eyes, and looked again straight into James’ own, a heartrending plea in her cornflower-blue gaze. Couldn’t he stop this? those beautiful eyes asked, desperately. James held the cane, after all.

  Even more than upon her entry, though, James’ newfound stature as a natural man stirred in response to that look. Lady Ambers had done Miss Adams an injustice in demanding this public punishment, but that did not mean that Miss Adams had the less guilt in the matter, and not only her future prospects but the complexion of her character now stood in the hazard. James might well love the girl, he admitted to himself in spite of his better judgment, but he knew that to spare her this punishment would be to fail in whatever duty he might have to teach her how she must act in the world, now that it seemed she had such an important part to play there as her father’s daughter, though the relation be a natural one.

  He looked back into her eyes steadily, trying to make her understand that his admiration would not cease even as he corrected her. Did she grasp his meaning? He could not tell, but she clearly understood that James would not put a stop to these proceedings: she dropped her gaze and gave a little sob.

  “Will you apologize now, and receive only six cuts for your insolence, girl?” her ladyship said in a remorseless tone. “Or will you force me to watch you thrashed until you writhe over the block in your agony, as Mr. Oakes continues to do his duty?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rebecca’s heart beat like a drum. Twenty-four. Her mind seemed unable to think of anything but that terrible number. Three lashes from the doctor’s strap had seemed almost unbearable. Lady Ambers’ cool fingertips ran along the welts left by Dr. Brown, fondling Rebecca’s bottom in a way that seemed degrading, unseemly, and almost possessive—as if her ladyship, offended, wished to make it clear to Rebecca that her young backside had become Lady Ambers’ property, to see punished exactly as the noblewoman chose.

  Twenty-four. Oh, no. Please.

  “No,” she sobbed, because something in her could do nothing but resist. And… Mr. Oakes. James. The way he had looked at her. Some part of Rebecca knew that if James Oakes held the cane, she must learn her lesson.

  “No, you will not apologize, you young hussy?” Lady Ambers demanded.

  Oh, do not make me speak to you anymore! Rebecca raised her eyes again, and again saw James looking back at her with the same steady gaze. This time she did not break the mutual contact of their glances, but instead found that she could gather strength from his firmness—even borrow James’ strength, somehow.

  She spoke with more confidence, never taking her eyes from James’. “I will not apologize, your ladyship. You insulted my friend Thomasina. Will you apologize for that?”

  “I will not! Miss Perkins disgraced herself, and so, I am sure, will you, Miss Adams, if you have not already done so. Do not suppose that I am unaware why girls receive visits from Dr. Brown, even if the story finally told concerns a misadventure in a pond. If you were my maid, I would bend you over and discover just how naughty a girl you are, before your caning.”

  A cool fingertip pushed against the place where Rebecca’s bottom-cheeks came together with her upper thighs, pressed inward to make it clear to her precisely what her ladyship meant. Rebecca could not suppress a whimper. The scanty covering of her chemise in front of the place where William had had his way—her vagina, her cunt, and the knowledge that if Rebecca lifted her chemise any further all the servants would see her golden private curls and even the pink lips peeping out from them, made her feel faint.

  “Are you a naughty girl, Miss Rebecca Adams?” said Lady Ambers in a lower, more insinuating voice. “Have you been wicked, like your friend Miss Perkins? Does my finger between your young thighs make you feel amorous? Voluptuous?”

  James looked back at her still, steady and benevolent despite the cane in his hand, but Rebecca could no longer hold his gaze, and she shut her eyes against it, and against the sight of the drawing room full of gentlefolk and servants, all watching her ladyship work her terrible revenge on a wayward young lady.

  “No,” she sobbed, but the worst part lay in her knowledge that she told a falsehood—that the finger did make her think of the man who would strap her over the block and thrash her. She felt terribly warm down there, and something about even the thought of the cane itself made the problem more severe. Rebecca felt the silken fabric of her chemise, hanging now only an inch or two below her private furrow and its golden thatch, in front, stir sensually in her trembling hands.

  “I do not believe you, girl,” said her ladyship coldly. “You are wet to the touch.”

  “Lady Ambers!” said Mrs. Rand.

  The finger left her at last. “Go,” said the noblewoman. “Lay yourself down for your whipping. I shall enjoy seeing you broken.”

  Feeling a bit of gratitude to Mrs. Rand, now, for putting a stop to the terrible ordeal of Lady Ambers’ finger, Rebecca stumbled away from her ladyship’s chair toward where James waited. She managed to look him in his eyes one final time, and found him so sympathetic that it made her difficulty even worse—Rebecca had to cast her gaze down again, though now of course all she could see was the strange, awful article of furniture with its place to kneel upon a thin cushion, its bench-like surface for the penitent to place herself over, and its horrid leather straps.

  “Kneel down, now, Miss Adams,” James said. “Then bend and hold the front corners, so I can fasten you. The straps will make sure you cannot injure yourself.”

  “Or,” Lady Ambers said, “move that insolent bottom aside to avoid your punishment. I am very glad the schoolmaster could provide such an excellent block, Georgina. It is just the sort we use at Ambers Hall. The straps are essential for allowing the girl’s rump to receive everything she has earned. Without them it is much too easy for her to squirm and turn and even to kick, or put her hands behind her to rub away some of the smart.”

  That drew a little sob from Rebecca as she obeyed James, feeling the sturdy wood under the inadequate leather-covered cushion on the kneeler. She sobbed again as she bent, finally, remembering the way James had bent her over her own bed. How could it be only a day ago that that had happened? And the day before that Rebecca had still been a girl whom the world knew only as a duke’s natural daughter with glowing prospects. Even Rebecca had k
nown herself only as a young lady who had decided to play the coquette, and to enjoy herself.

  How could so much have changed in so short a time?

  Her defloration in the little woods, and the enchanting, lewd feeling of seeing her first penis, of having it inside her, of knowing she had done the thing the world called wicked but she had decided to find interesting and useful, and enjoyable when a ploughboy or a footman were available to fuck her.

  Another footman, a better footman, in the hallway, telling her to go back to her room. Looming over her, teaching her, turning her, bending her, spanking her.

  Dr. Brown’s examination, and his lessons in her body’s needs, and how they would soon be met in the person of a future husband. Had the insult to Lady Ambers somehow arisen in that knowledge, in the need for guidance, as misapplied as the impulse might have been?

  Now it seemed she would have that guidance, much more painfully than she would ever have wished for it. A strap went around her waist, and then James lifted the hem of her chemise to tuck it up under the leather he had buckled tightly, so that Rebecca could hardly move her hips or her posterior at all.

  “Tuck it well up, Mr. Oakes,” said Lady Ambers haughtily. “The bottom must be visible at all times.”

  James said nothing, thank goodness, but secured her wrists to the corners of the block. Rebecca’s face grew very hot as she felt the air move against her naked bottom and pictured all the servants looking at her.

  The strap at the base of the block went around her lower thighs, now, and tightened.

  “Keep those knees together, girl,” her ladyship instructed. “We see as much as we want to see already, and perhaps to be bound that way will teach you an important lesson.”