Theirs to Train: A Victorian Menage Romance

by Samantha Madisen

  “You aren’t shifting about like that to make yourself spend, Miss Blanchet, I hope,” he said. “One part of my training is to ensure that you do not.”

  She was so taken aback by this statement that she said nothing, and her mouth went slack for a moment before she even realized it. She could feel the color creeping across her cheeks.

  “The other,” Dr. Doyle said, drawing his fingers over her cheek, “is to cure you of the modesty that has been so imparted upon you, for while it might be considered appealing in proper society, the Moulay requires a girl who does not blush at his every whim.”

  “Sir,” Lina said sharply, before thinking. The admonishment escaped her without her thinking of it first, for it was the sort of thing she was supposed to say if conversation should turn unsuitable for the presence of ladies, and while she was uncertain of much, there was a deeply embedded fiber of morality inside of her that made such a reaction second nature.

  Dr. Doyle poured her some tea, smiling. He then poured some for himself. “Naturally, Miss Blanchet, you have been instructed by your guardians in the proper behavior of a lady in society—that is, the society to which your guardians pertain, and the society to which a great number of men and women pertain outwardly. But there is behavior for when one is seen in such society, and behavior when one is behind closed doors. Surely, after your escapade with Mr. Carrington, you are aware that the two are distinct.”

  Lina momentarily forgot the absurdity of the situation, the ache between her legs, the fact that she was seated upon a plug inserted into her bottom by a man who had strapped her and made her crave him doing so again—and the vestiges of her modesty and stubbornness rose to the forefront of her mind.

  “I did nothing improper with Mr. Carrington, Dr. Doyle,” she hissed. For good measure, she jutted her chin, which made her whole body move and subsequently brought the object inside of her back to the forefront of her mind, making her lip tremble slightly.

  Dr. Doyle regarded her seriously for a moment, head tipped to the side. He seemed to be thinking of something, and then seemed to clear it from his head with a swift shake that sent some of his dark blond locks tumbling.

  “Mr. Blackstone reports to me that you have been most cooperative with his training thus far. Most... able.”

  Lina blushed, struck dumb yet again.

  “My training, I’m afraid, will be much more difficult, Miss Blanchet,” he went on to explain. “For I am going to assess your level of arousal, and train you to bring it about upon command, but I have been instructed by Mr. Blackstone to leave you unsatisfied throughout the day, so that we may assess your obedience.”

  Lina sucked in her breath, her mouth agape again, her lower lip trembling like her thighs. The hot rush of pleasurable pain between her legs was almost unbearable, and she knew it was also humiliating, for she could feel the bright red as it crept across her cheeks. The back of her neck grew hot.

  “Remember, Miss Blanchet: you have no choice in the matter. You will submit to your desires and your nature, which is to submit to your masters. When you do this, freely and without shame except for the shame your master wishes you to feel, you will become quite content.”

  Blood pounded in her ears, and rushed outward to every ending of her nerves and her skin.

  “For now, Miss Blanchet, you will take refreshment,” Dr. Doyle told her, serving a scone to her from the heaped tray.

  * * *

  They walked through the gardens following refreshment, Lina on Dr. Doyle’s arm. As she walked, the object in her bottom moved and stimulated her in those deep, foreign, naughty places, and sometimes the pleasure of the obscene torture was so great that she felt like crying out. Her face went quite red, she was sure, with the effort of maintaining her composure, while Dr. Doyle walked her around and around in circles, saying nothing at first.

  At last, he paused by a bench, and turned to her, studying her face with his keen eyes. “You look quite unwell, Miss Blanchet, how are you feeling?”

  She shook her head, and diverted her eyes to the pond. “I am quite... well, Dr. Doyle. Thank you.”

  She thought she could see a smile form on his lips, but she kept her eyes on the pond.

  “You do not wish to rest, Miss Blanchet? Perhaps the device Mr. Blackstone has placed in your bottom is making you uncomfortable?”

  She could feel the rush of blood to her face. Her lips barely moved as she shook her head quickly. “It is not,” she said, barely a whisper.

  “Do you wish to continue walking, then, Miss Blanchet? Or shall we continue in my private surgery?”

  Lina thought on the question a moment, and she had many, many questions about what might take place in his surgery that would not take place out here in the open. She was uncertain which fate might be better, or worse, and for a moment she despaired.

  “As you wish, Dr. Doyle, sir,” she said, in a sudden flash of inspiration.

  Doyle placed a hand over hers and patted it gently. He leaned quite close to her ear, so that she could feel his breath, and smell the scent of tobacco and his masculinity, making another wave of goose-flesh travel over her neck, though it was quite different than the one delivered by Mr. Blackstone’s arousing menace. “That is a very good answer, Miss Blanchet. Very obedient. All you must do to make it perfect, is to address me as master.”

  Lina’s brow furrowed in slight confusion. “Are you my master, Dr. Doyle? I...I... th...thought...?”

  “I am.”

  His voice was quite firm, even if it seemed warmer than Mr. Blackstone’s.

  “Say it again, and as you do, Miss Blanchet, enjoy the sensation of submission that it gives you. Even to speak of your submission to the will of your master will arouse you, once I have trained you. Try it now.”

  A flutter of mixed emotions scrambled in Lina’s chest. Dr. Doyle could not know that this arousal he spoke of had already been attained, that Lina could not believe her body and the way it betrayed her. But—she steeled herself—she would not let that betrayal come from her mind. She would not allow herself to be aroused by the words of submission. That was too far, too... too what?

  She would not do it. She would retain her will, and escape.

  Her lips trembled and she said nothing, as Dr. Doyle watched her with interest.

  “You know that you will be disciplined if you are disobedient, Miss Blanchet?” he asked her at last.

  Another cool finger of arousal wriggled inside of her lower abdomen, and she bit her lip. Her bottom burned again with the ghost of Mr. Blackstone’s hand, the tendrils of the leather strap he had used on her. Her breath had quickened, and she knew she could not hide it from Dr. Doyle.

  Disciplined.

  She was at a loss: in some ways, she craved Dr. Doyle’s discipline. In others, she longed to feel the sinking, stabbing, cold-burning “thing” that wormed inside of her, that she knew she would feel if she said the words he wanted to hear. Beneath all of these feelings simmered the fearsome prospect of Dr. Doyle’s unknown methods: how would he discipline her? Or would he turn her over to Mr. Blackstone for that?

  She chewed her lip for a moment. Dr. Doyle waited; there seemed no way of escaping the choice. Her silence would be submission to discipline, her words submission to his will. Either one, she knew, was something she craved, as much as she did not want to.

  “Discipline it is, then, Miss Blanchet,” he said, almost tenderly. He drew his finger over her cheek. “I am not certain you have chosen as wisely as you might believe.”

  * * *

  Dr. Doyle’s surgery was much different than the room Mr. Blackstone had taken her to, though he led her to it through a maze of corridors and passages much like those taken to exit Mr. Blackstone’s room. Lina despaired as he led through the twists and turns of the immense estate. While her body might be betraying her, she was determined in some part of her mind to keep her plans for escape alive, as an option. She was at moments quite uncertain of the idea, and then, at others, it would rise
up inside of her.

  The room had a stunning white marble floor, better suited to a grand entranceway of some of the museums and government buildings Ms. Tilton had pointed out to the girls when they were in London. Light entered through a glass window of expensive appearance, made of interlocking stained and frosted glass pieces that formed a garden scene, most of it light gray and white to allow the sunlight into the room while maintaining the atmosphere of privacy.

  Inside the room there was another bed, this one smaller and without posters, and Lina recognized it, though she could not say why, as a sort of medical examination table.

  Dr. Doyle shut the door behind him after guiding Lina into the room, but unlike Mr. Blackstone, he did not order her about gruffly.

  He also did not avoid the light in the same way as his friend and confidant. A wild curiosity about the two men itched inside of her, but she guarded her words for the time being. Dr. Doyle did seem more likely to answer her questions, and she feared him less—somehow his demeanor was more warm. When he sent a chill through Lina, it was not as deep or frightening as Mr. Blackstone’s.

  Dr. Doyle opened a large cupboard on the far side of the room as Lina waited, hands clasped, heart stirring with anticipation and nervousness.

  “I had so hoped to attend to your training, Miss Blanchet, but you leave me no choice but to discipline you instead.” The cupboard was open, and a variety of mostly metal implements, organized neatly, stared ominously at Lina from the inside. The precise nature of these objects was naturally a mystery to her, but like the implements in Mr. Blackstone’s room, she sensed the general purpose of them, and her lower abdomen again turned to molten liquid, the snake of arousal slithering through her body.

  Dr. Doyle selected a curious object, a round ball about the size of a crabapple, made of metal, attached to a very long metal arm which looked a bit like a shoehorn. Lina’s eyes went wide, for she could not imagine a use for such an item, except perhaps to beat someone about the head. She did not imagine that Dr. Doyle would do such a thing, or even Mr. Blackstone, for while the two men were certainly doing depraved things to her, she sensed somehow that they would not actually harm her.

  “Do you know what this is, Miss Blanchet?”

  She shook her head quickly. “I do not, sir.”

  “Master,” he corrected, though a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth indicating that he not only knew she would not relent to him, but furthermore that he did not really want her to. Dr. Doyle, she could see, was desirous to discipline her, and she could not suppress the part of her, clawing at her chest, that very much wanted him to as well.

  Doyle stroked the ball sensually. “You shall,” he said.

  A shiver traveled along Lina’s spine. “Disrobe,” he said to her.

  Lina’s eyes fell to the floor again, and a different kind of flush traveled over her cheeks.

  She reached behind her to loosen the laces of the dress, though she knew she could not do it. “I cannot...” she said helplessly.

  Doyle walked around her, the curious implement at his side like a riding crop. He tugged at the laces and the dress loosened around her, but unlike Mr. Blackstone he did not slip it from her shoulders. She stared at the cool marble floor as she pulled the dress down herself.

  Doyle had come around her again and was facing her. She felt as though she could feel the touch of his sight upon her body, and her arms moved instinctively to cover herself.

  Before she got the chance, however, Dr. Doyle commanded her to turn around.

  Shaking, she obeyed, hands in front of her chest. It was chilly in the room and gooseflesh washed over her arms, though she was not entirely sure it was only from the cold.

  “Bend over,” Doyle commanded her.

  Her eyes moving from side to side as if the answer to all of her burning questions could be found in the air, hesitantly, Lina put her hands in front of her and leaned forward. The object in her bottom pushed against a new part of her body, and she exhaled at the overwhelming sensation.

  “You have been quite the naughty girl,” Dr. Doyle commented. His hand was upon the skin of her rump as he made this declaration, reheating her skin, making the memory of the sting of Mr. Blackstone’s discipline rise to the surface of her skin, where it throbbed sharply. She could almost hear the crack of his cane in her ears, and a shudder gripped her.

  Doyle’s fingers, like Mr. Blackstone’s, traveled to places she knew were forbidden, places she was not even supposed to touch. But they flitted over those parts and aroused her again, sliding into her slippery folds, and fluttering over the button at the center of it all that made her whole body jerk uncontrollably.

  “The implement I hold in my hand is for discipline,” Doyle said quietly.

  This alarmed Lina, and she looked back at him, taking in a sharp breath. “You are not... you will not cane me with it?” Lina said, panicked. She pressed herself up from the bent-over position she was in, but Doyle placed a hand on the small of her back and immobilized her.

  “No real harm shall ever come to you when you are disciplined, Miss Blanchet. A true master must use discipline to correct, to punish, but not to harm. No, this is not an object for striking you. You may even grow to enjoy this discipline.”

  She felt a wave of her juices well up and warmly rush between her legs. Her skin was hot with humiliation again. This wetness seemed to come whenever the two men disciplined her, or even spoke of discipline, and it was accompanied by a most pleasurable feeling inside of her. She wondered if they knew that the two were connected, and therefore, that they could also read her mind in a way.

  The object in her bottom cut her train of thought short, for it was sliding from inside of her, roughly massaging her inner flesh as it was tugged along, leaving her empty as it did. She was surprised to be slightly distressed when it was at last gone, her insides throbbing in what seemed like a plea to have it returned. Her mouth was open again; she was strangely close to requesting that Dr. Doyle place it back inside of her.

  But before she could even turn her head, before she could begin to beg, she felt something quite cold at the sore entrance to her bottom. She struggled to imagine what it was for a moment: it was so cold, and so smooth, and so much larger than—

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, as it was suddenly pushing inward, but because it was ever-so-slightly thicker at its circumference than the object that had already penetrated her, she felt the searing stretch again, and it made her gasp. Her eyes watered, and the pain was just reaching a level that would make her cry out, when it peaked, and then, the object was simply inside of her. It twisted, and then the cool metal of the handle she had seen was laid against her back along her spine.

  For a moment, Lina’s mouth was open in a curious “o,” for she could not fathom what the object might be for if it was some kind of discipline. Now that it was inside of her, she was almost relieved, for some of the fullness that had been taken from her had returned.

  She heard the rattle of a piece of furniture as it slid across the floor and turned toward the sound to see Dr. Doyle scooting a footstool, covered in a fine blue fabric, toward her. He positioned it in front of her legs. “Kneel on this,” he told her, and so she obeyed.

  The ball in her bottom rolled against her insides in new ways as she moved, but she would hardly call it a punishment.

  “Rise up straight upon your knees, Miss Blanchet. Legs together, please.”

  She obeyed, her stomach fluttering, wondering what he had in store for her.

  He was doing something with the long rod that lay against her back. When he tugged on it, the ball moved and made her eyes flutter closed for a second. And then, suddenly, she felt herself being tugged upward, ever so gently, the ball pushing downward as the rod was pulled upward, so that she had to straighten her posture and rise up on her legs even higher to rid herself of the ache that the ball was imposing on her bottom-hole.

  Doyle secured the rope he had used to pull upward on her to something abov
e her. She waited, unsure of what to do next, or what would happen next, when Doyle slid something around her neck, a thick belt that felt like a collar. For a moment, a great fear seized her, for she was terrified that he might be hanging her, but he said, in a soothing voice, when she jumped in alarm, “Relax, Miss Blanchet, this is only to secure your hands.”

  He lifted one arm and then the other to attach them, and not tightly, to the collar around her neck, so that her hands were immobilized next to her face, almost uncomfortably, and this is when the deviousness of the punishment began to reveal itself to her. For if she sank even a little from the kneeling position of the most strenuously erect posture, the metal ball was somehow pushed outward against her bottom-hole, causing a delightful but unbearable soreness and arousal.

  “This device is called an anal hook, Miss Blanchet. When you slouch, even the tiniest bit, and you will want to after some time, to relieve your knees, or because your arms will become tired and you will allow them to hang rather than hold them up—the hook will do what I suspect it has just done, and deliver the sensation you felt against your bottom hole. It’s a very simple design really. I will leave you in it until you call me master, and beg me to forgive you for your naughtiness. Naturally, however, you shall be required to spend at least some time in this position so that you will learn your lesson. As such, I will be taking my leave and returning after an amount of time I hope will be sufficient to bring you to your senses.”

  Lina could not move her head without causing the hook to abuse her bottom hole, and she could not think of anything to say, so she simply listened as Dr. Doyle exited the room.

  This was not a terrible thought. In fact, she might even have smiled, for the worst that could happen was that the ball at the end of the anal hook would give her the dull, aching thrill that it did while she rested, and then she would simply rise up again, having had a nice little break and a thrill to boot.

  * * *

  Lina soon learned that this was not so simple. Her knees and arms grew very sore, much more quickly than she had thought, and any effort to relieve the weight from one leg or the other made the ball press against her. It did not so much cause her pain, as a soreness that was too pleasurable to endure, and worse yet, which stimulated the craving between her legs that she could not satisfy.