Theirs to Train: A Victorian Menage Romance

by Samantha Madisen

  “Taste it,” Mr. Blackstone said.

  She was wildly confused, but obeyed: a salty, bitter liquid unlike anything she had ever tasted made her take in a sharp breath of surprise.

  “This is the liquid that will issue from my organ when you pleasure me properly with your body. You must learn to enjoy the taste of it, to savor it, and to swallow it when you are so ordered. These are the first drops of a great quantity. Lick them now.”

  The same heavy, soft thing landed on her lower lip, and then tapped against it. It was flesh, she knew, but the contours of it were like no part of the body she recognized. She was so stunned and lost in her thoughts that much time passed and she did not move her tongue, indeed, she barely remembered the command that had been given to her.

  “Miss Blanchet, you are being disobedient,” he told her.

  “I... I... sir,” she said in a panicked voice. “I know not what... what to... I don’t know... what you want of me!” This final proclamation left her lips with a bit of a cry: she desperately wanted to please Mr. Blackstone and not be punished, but she could not imagine what he wanted her to do.

  “My prick is before you,” he said, his tone approaching one of gentleness. The flesh stroked her lower lip. “Lick it, as you would a pudding on a spoon.” He pulled gently on her hair, tilting her head back.

  Lina extended her tongue, and retracted it when she found the smooth round face of Mr. Blackstone’s prick, and then the sharp, salty taste of his essence spread across the blade of her tongue. In the center of the smooth part, which she pictured as a dome, her tongue encountered an indentation, which was so unexpected that it caused her to recoil.

  But Mr. Blackstone pulled her toward it. “Lick it, do not be afraid. Move your tongue all over it, for as you do you will pleasure me immensely and I shall be inclined to reward you instead of punishing you.”

  Lina moved her tongue over his manhood, exploring the strange contours of this part of his body, wondering what it looked like. She encountered a hard ridge, and when she ran her tongue along it, the whole thing pulsed and bounced, and she was certain that she heard Mr. Blackstone suck his breath in. When she moved back to the strange indentation, she found more of the salty liquid, which seemed to well from inside Mr. Blackstone’s manhood like the wetness that welled up between her own legs.

  She licked obediently, wondering about the thing she was licking, for some time. When Mr. Blackstone spoke, his voice seemed to come from lower inside his chest than usual, and waver a little. “Open your mouth, Miss Blanchet. You will take my manhood into your mouth, as much of it as you can. You must learn to take it all inside of your mouth. When... the time comes... I shall train you to do other things... for now, you will take it all into your throat and I shall use your mouth to please myself.”

  She hesitated but a moment, which barely mattered, for she felt both of his hands on her head, fingers working to the back of it, cradling her and pushed her forward, while the dome of his manhood entered her mouth. She had no choice but to open for him, as the long and hard flesh, soft and smooth, but strangely bumpy in places, stretched her mouth wider and wider.

  “Be a good girl, and open your mouth wide, there, you must take it all.”

  The thing slid in, the salty liquid smearing over her tongue and filling her mouth with the taste of his seed. Her jaw began to ache, and more of his flesh continued to fill her mouth, until it even bumped against the back of her throat. She gagged, as she might have from choking, and tried to pull away from the penetrating object, but Mr. Blackstone held her firmly in place.

  “I shall train you properly so that you do not choke on a man’s member, even when it is deep inside of your throat.”

  She breathed heavily through her nose, her eyes watering, and Mr. Blackstone continued to stuff his manhood into her further. The ache of the object in her bottom began to reassert itself, and oddly, the more he filled her throat with his pulsing muscle, even as she struggled to breathe and her jaw ached, the wetter she became between the legs.

  When he reached a place where she was certain she could take no more, he pushed her hair from her face, and then wrapped his fingers around her head again to pull her further toward him. “Take it all, like a good girl,” he breathed, and she strained to open her mouth wider as he pushed himself deeper inside of her.

  Her chin met with something soft, and she wondered what it was. Mr. Blackstone gasped. His thighs were now against her shoulders and her chest, and they grazed her nipples, sending a shiver through her. Her eye watered and her mouth was sore, and she did not know what to expect. The flesh in her mouth pulsed and tensed.

  “Very good, Miss Blanchet,” Mr. Blackstone said. “Be obedient, and open your mouth wide for me to fuck. When I spend, I will do it in your open mouth, and you will wait until I command you to swallow my liquid.”

  He began to draw his manhood in and out of her mouth, his hands holding her head firmly in place. He began slowly, and then began to thrust more rapidly, deeper, smashing against the back of her throat, as she obediently held her ankles and strained to accommodate him with her mouth.

  He groaned, and held her by the hair, pulling his member out of her mouth. She heard a sticky, quick, slapping sound, and her sore jaw slowly closed.

  “Open your mouth, Miss Blanchet,” he growled, and gave her hair a sharp pull to tilt her head back.

  A hot, sticky liquid shot into her throat, then over her tongue. Some of it fell across her face, onto her throat, and then his member was at her lips, the liquid shooting to the roof of her mouth. It was hot, and its bitter taste made her long to swallow it, but Blackstone groaned and reminded her to leave her mouth open.

  She obeyed, and at last he released his grip on her hair, instead drawing a finger to her lip and pulling gently on her jaw to open her mouth. He swiped up the liquid that had fallen on her face and throat, and slipped it between her lips. “Suck my essence from my fingers, and swallow it,” he said.

  She obeyed, and then he pulled her jaw open gently again.

  He moved on the bed, and pushed her head down, until she was forced into his lap, where his fist gripped the now semi-flaccid manhood that he had placed in her mouth. “Now you will lick it clean, Miss Blanchet. Clean it with your tongue, every side of it.”

  She let go of her ankle, for the position she was in was difficult to maintain, and Mr. Blackstone swatted her gently on the hand. She strained to pull on her ankles as she licked his member, hoping that she was doing as he wished.

  At last, he pulled on her hair and placed her back in a seated position.

  Her heart beat wildly, and the ache between her legs had returned. More than the relief he had given her earlier, she craved hearing his approval, for she had tried very hard to please him, though she did not fully understand how to do so.

  “That was very good, Miss Blanchet. Very obedient.”

  Though she could never have imagined such a scenario before being brought to this room, she was surprised to find that she felt, more than anything, a sense of contentment for having pleased her awful master. Even if she knew that he was strict and sometimes cruel, and not to be her master forever, she could not diminish the flame of pleasure in her chest for having met his expectations.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, her voice shaking.

  He had moved again to stand behind her, and with a tug of the fabric, he loosened the knot of silk and the soft fabric fell from her face, caressing her shoulders and breasts as it fell to her lap. Her arms tingled when he passed his fingers over them, from her shoulders to her wrists.

  “Very good,” he breathed against the back of her neck, and her heart swelled. He peeled her fingers from her ankles and brought her wrists together in front of her. His body touched her back and sent gooseflesh running in waves over her arms and shoulders.

  “Now,” he whispered, “I said that I would reward you, and I shall, but your reward shall also be discipline, for that is what you must have at all times, Mis
s Blanchet.”

  He lifted her arms above her, and wound a strap around them, which he somehow fastened to suspend them above her head.

  His body was against her back within moments, his warm breath against her neck. He stroked her from top to bottom, stopping at her aching nipples to squeeze them until she gasped. When he did, it felt as though a cord existed between her breasts and the nub that ached so divinely, and once plucked on either end, the other seemed to ignite with the same pleasure and pain.

  He finally turned his attention to the place between her legs where her body ached to be touched, for now that she knew that there was an excruciating, exhilarating end to the building pleasure-pain, she desired to go there again, for him to touch her, and make her spend.

  His fingers slipped into the folds of her womanhood, at the same time that he worked a knee beneath her bottom, and pushed her down onto it so that the projection from the object in her bottom moved with his thigh, as he made it go round in slow circles that pressed the ache everywhere inside of her again.

  His fingers worked slowly on her nub, rubbing at an infuriatingly slow pace, so that the fire within her only raged, until her head fell back and she was sobbing. It seemed to go on forever, and when she came close to that glorious moment of release, he stopped, making her whimper.

  “Please,” she whispered, and when she did, she knew that she had disobeyed him.

  His fingers withdrew, snaking along her navel, between her breasts, and to her lips, where he brushed her juices over them, and tapped her lightly on the mouth.

  His breath was hot on her ear, and it almost made her cry with desire. “Do you remember what I told you, Miss Blanchet? You shall not make yourself spend, or you will be severely disciplined.”

  Lina was consumed by the fire that burned inside of her, and the thought of the time that stretched before her, unknown in its duration, during which she would be required to overcome it without quenching it, so she said nothing.

  Mr. Blackstone’s hand swatted her bottom, delivering a burning wave that only made her wetter, her nipples more erect, and the fire within her more ferocious. She knew in that moment that she would be disobedient, that she would be unable to withstand the temptation to relieve herself of her craving. She also knew that, somehow, Mr. Blackstone would discover that truth.

  “I must insist that you respond to me, Miss Blanchet, so that I may know you have understood.”

  Lina breathed her answer, and it caressed her from the inside out as she said it:

  “Yes...s...sir...”

  “Yes, sir, what?”

  “I will not make myself... ss... spend,” she murmured. And then she added, because saying it sent a delight through her body almost equal to his touch: “Or I will be severely disciplined.”

  Mr. Blackstone said nothing for several moments. The straps holding her hands loosened, and she fell to her hands and knees with the unexpected release.

  “Dress. Dr. Doyle will collect you to take in your next lesson.”

  The mention of Dr. Doyle, as unexpected as nearly everything Mr. Blackstone had done, made Lina’s blood run cold for a moment, and she was paralyzed by the surprise. She turned her head sharply as soon as she regained her powers of movement, her mouth open to ask about Dr. Doyle, and she was grateful that Mr. Blackstone had already turned toward the door of his strange room, and therefore could not see her. If he heard her sharp intake of breath, he made no sign of having done so, and Lina was able to bite her lip to silence herself.

  Dr. Doyle?

  Dr. Doyle?

  She scrambled to her feet and looked for her frock on the floor where it had fallen, and found it instead hung on a hook next to the wall of curious objects. For a moment, her eyes could not be torn from them: the ache between her legs swelled and began to roar at such a volume that she could scarcely bear it.

  She did not know what the objects were for—save the straps, of which there were an astonishing variety. As she gazed at the contours of the handles, the variety of straps attached to them—some thick, some narrow, some studded with metal—her bottom seemed to turn to fire where the strap had touched her flesh. Rather than making her wince with the memory of the pain, the heat sank into her body, to where this curious something was burning between her legs.

  She removed the dress from the hook, and then cast an eye about the chamber.

  It would require so little, so very little, to send her over the edge and relieve that need between her legs. She was sure that she knew just where, and how, to touch herself, and that it could be done in a matter of seconds.

  She hesitated, shivered, and pulled the frock over her head, reaching behind herself to attempt to tie up the complicated stitching.

  Footsteps on the stone floor alerted her to the presence of Dr. Doyle, and she knew it was him and not Mr. Blackstone, because the latter moved without sound. She turned briefly to confirm her suspicion, and when she saw Dr. Doyle, her cheeks flushed and she faced the wall.

  An image of herself flashed through her head: her hair, damp with sweat, loose about her shoulders. Her dress, half-open at the back, and her composure so obviously... what was the word Mrs. Tilton would have used? Lurid. She looked, she knew, like one of the prostitutes that had worked just blocks from their apartment building in Paris.

  “Mmmm, Mister Doyle,” she said, barely above a whisper. Her hands still floundered with her dress, and she was sure that her legs were shaking, and hoped he did not notice. “I cannot...” her voice trailed off, and she was unable to even think of the words to explain her predicament.

  Dr. Doyle had moved across the room to stand behind her. “Allow me,” he said.

  His fingers traveled over her back, lacing the dress together with almost as much expertise as a woman might have, except that he did it with a rough, masculine force that nearly took her breath away.

  “Is it too tight?” Dr. Doyle asked, leaning quite close to her, his hands still upon the laces.

  “Nnnn...no,” she said.

  And then there was a long and terrible pause, during which Dr. Doyle did not speak, and Lina continued to stare at the wall, uncertain as to what she must do. At last, despairing, she turned to face him.

  Though the light was dim in the room, she could see Dr. Doyle’s face much better. He had a square jaw, shaved cleanly, and a mouth that seemed, even at rest, to be smiling somewhat, in such a way that it almost comforted her in spite of all that had happened and the looming promise of Dr. Doyle’s “training.” His gray eyes hovered over a pleasant mouth, and he was, she realized with a pang, very dashing. His presence, while less terrifying than that of the mysterious and ever-enshrouded Mr. Blackstone, was still formidable in some way, and it, too, plucked at the string in her center. She lowered her gaze, unsure of what to do.

  Dr. Doyle offered her his arm, making her step back slightly. With surprise, she took it, and Dr. Doyle guided her toward the doorway, but turned in a different direction upon reaching the landing. Through his suit she could feel the surprising strength of his arm, steely like Mr. Blackstone’s, though not quite as massive. She followed at pace behind him, her stomach coiled again with anticipation, the desire still ebbing inside of her like a tide.

  Dr. Doyle followed the dark hallway a great distance. It was lit by the same gas lamps, and they traveled for such a long time that she was able to contemplate her fate when they arrived at wherever he was taking her. Would she be trained in another room like the one before, or something very different? Would Dr. Doyle touch her as Mr. Blackstone had? The thought made her recoil intellectually, and yet her heart beat quickly with what she knew to be wicked desire. As she followed him, she was surprised to realize that she almost hoped she would be subjected to the very same training by Dr. Doyle, and was just at the point of wondering if she could get him to make her spend without breaking her promise of obedience to Mr. Blackstone, when Dr. Doyle opened the door and led her into a very sunny, well-lit room, in the center of which there was not
hing more than a piano.

  They crossed the room and entered a conservatory, where refreshments were set for two.

  At the entrance, she stopped, her mouth agape. She gave a frantic look to Dr. Doyle, who had turned to face her when her arm slid from inside of his crooked elbow, for she had stopped so abruptly at the door and he had carried on.

  He smiled warmly. “Miss Blanchet,” he said quietly, gesturing at the table. “I am responsible for a training of an entirely different kind.” He stepped toward her, and put his fingers on her bare chest, running the tips along the collar of the dress. Lina flushed but remained stone-still, unsure of what her reaction should properly be, and stunned that Dr. Doyle’s fingers ignited the same pulsing need inside of her as Mr. Blackstone did. “As long as you are not disobedient,” he said, gently. “Otherwise, I too, will be required to punish you.”

  “What... what... must I do?” she asked desperately.

  Dr. Doyle smiled, stepping back to again gesture at the table. “For now, you are to sit, Miss Blanchet, and take refreshments, with proper etiquette.”

  Lina looked at him, somewhat confused, and he gave her a look in return that seemed to have something mischievous behind it. He pulled her chair out for her, and she sat, confused for only a moment.

  Once seated, the mischief in his eyes was perhaps explained, for the tender flesh of her much-strapped bottom was roughly scratched by the material of the dress, and the knob protruding from her bottom was pushed around by her every moment, intensifying the ache inside of her. These two sensations had the effect of making the screaming need of her womanhood reawaken.

  She was unable to avoid the crimson stain that crept across her face, and the small shake of her hand as she rested it on the table. She shifted in her seat, several times, trying to find a way to settle herself so that the object did not touch some part of her that craved release. Unable to find such a position, she stiffened her back to affect good posture, and pinched her lips together to lift her head and look at Dr. Doyle bravely.