The Shame Gambit

by Emily Tilton

  Now, she could no longer feel the memory of his whip across her bare bottom.

  Now, she put her hands behind her back, and pressed herself against the bed carved into the stone wall, the soft mattress against the tops of her thighs and the cool stone against the backs of her knees.

  She looked up into Jean’s stern face and drew her lips into a line, her brow creasing. He had deflowered her mouth and her pussy, but what he meant to do now—what he had calmly informed her, the first night of her initiation, he would do on this third night—he couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

  Yes, anal was, like, a thing. People joked about it, definitely.

  But no well brought-up girl, even an adventurous one, ever did it, according to Barbara’s mom at least. Not that Georgia Edwards had ever let the word ‘anal’ pass her lips—but her daughter knew that when Georgia said, “That kind of thing,” she meant anal sex and the other sorts of behavior girls who might have sex in their bottoms could easily get up to. Well brought-up girls didn’t do that kind of thing.

  Barbara supposed that well brought-up girls also didn’t answer ads for modeling agencies in Paris, especially when the ad made it pretty clear that the modeling agency doubled as an escort service. Somehow her mother’s admonitions seemed to have a hold on her in little things when they didn’t have such power in big ones.

  Little things. Is it a little thing?

  Her face went blazing hot.

  Yes: it’s a very little thing. It’s the littlest thing, and my master told me he’s going to put his huge, hard thing into it and use it for his pleasure.

  She could keep calling him her master in her thoughts, it seemed, and yet somehow she could also put her hands behind her back when he had told her to put them at her sides.

  Jean looked calmly down at her. The tiny smile that played on his lips made Barbara instantly begin to regret her small act of defiance, and she started to pull her hands out from behind her back, but her leo had begun to speak before she got them to her sides.

  “I’m going to get the mastix, my dear, and I’m going to whip you for this disobedience.”

  “No... sir, pl—” Barbara tried to fall to her knees, now, but Jean put his strong hand under her chin and gripped her throat loosely but with enough force and authority to keep her on her feet despite the tremor in his knees, while at the same time he cut off her protest.

  “Silence, columba,” he said. “Before I get the mastix, though, I want you to consider the resistance you just showed.”

  The hand under her chin cupped, caressed.

  “You know exactly what will happen here tonight. You know you cannot avoid it. I am going to finish civilizing you, as the Guard requires of Ostia girls, with my rigid manhood in your most private place. Once I have punished you, I will finish fastening your hands to your sides, and then I will restrain you between the posts, bottom up over the civilizing seat, and enjoy your anus. You will spread your well-whipped hindquarters yourself, for my manhood to thrust inside your young backside.”

  Jean released Barbara’s chin, then quickly turned her and bent her over the bed. Breathing hard and under the shameful spell of his degrading words, she let him pull her arms out in front of her and fasten her cuffs to the rings at the end of the bed.

  “Think about that, please, Barbara, while I get the mastix,” he said in her ear. He stood up.

  She buried her face in the silk sheets. Why had she put her hands behind her back? She had known he would whip her, and she had known she couldn’t bear to be whipped again—especially not with the horrid mastix he had shown her the first night of her initiation.

  The mental voice that came in answer did not reassure her in the slightest, though she had no shred of doubt that it told the truth.

  You need it.

  Chapter Four

  Jean took the mastix from its hook, wondering how best to approach the matter of preparing the girl for the mission it seemed she would very soon undertake. For starters, despite the largely helpless attraction he knew Barbara had quickly begun to form for him, as happened naturally with nearly all new columbae and their trainers, he would have to be very hard on her. Any assignment David might bestow would test the girl’s mettle immediately: Barbara would need at least the beginnings of the Ostia girl’s most prized skill—rationality in the midst of both agonizing pain and overwhelming sexual arousal.

  The leo didn’t have any difficulty being hard on a lovely young woman, of course, in a general way. His dominant character indeed made it nearly an imperative, especially since he could feel himself starting to form a romantic attachment to her. If he wanted to pursue a relationship, he would have to ensure she understood what it meant to belong—heart, body, and soul—to a member of the Pretorian Guard.

  A whipping with the mastix followed by a disciplinary session of anal sex would hardly be unusual, if he and Barbara ended up together in some way, down the road. Jean put a great importance on a submissive lover’s constant awareness that her bottom might be bared for punishment, inside and out, whenever he decided she required it. Were they ever to live together, young Barbara Edwards would seldom wear clothing at home, and even then rarely much more than the Ostian bed girl’s leathers she currently had on.

  Jean’s strong erotic attraction to Barbara Edwards, though, meant that he would have to make her initiation more of an ordeal than he would otherwise have liked. His romantic feelings, like her own, represented a very frequent occurrence in an Ostia initiation. Trainers fell in love less often than initiates did, but it had happened to Jean before, and resulted in an affair of more than a year.

  With that girl, Dominique, he had provided a good deal of comfort as he initiated her. Jean had not merely ensured her arousal, so that she began to grasp her needs, but as constituted accepted practice for a trainer when he chose to follow that protocol, he had also praised her for her submission and above all reassured her that she didn’t need to understand everything at once.

  In Barbara’s case, however, Jean would have to work against that affectionate tendency. He needed to deliver the trainer’s message concerning the philosophy behind an Ostia girl’s service. He needed to make certain she could keep thinking in a civilized manner, even in the midst of the overpowering thoughts and feelings Cynthia and he had only unleashed in her mind and body two days before. Barbara didn’t need to understand everything, but Jean had to give her the tools to do so in very short order, even in the midst of a mission whose purpose and details she wouldn’t even know.

  He turned with the mastix to see that she had twisted her face back over her shoulder to watch him. The act of disobedience, which he could tell came from a subconscious need to test her boundaries and his limits, would help, he thought grimly. He looked into her eyes, not moving toward the bed, until he saw her remember that he had told her in Cynthia’s office that she must always look straight forward when waiting for correction.

  Barbara gasped, whimpered, and turned her face to the wall.

  “Please, sir,” she said in a panicked voice. “I’m sorry. I... I forgot.”

  “Your conscious mind might have forgotten, columba. The most important part of you—the part that it’s my duty to civilize and tame and teach to reason—that part never forgets.” Now he moved quickly forward, three steps across the little initiation cell suffused with the soft reddish light that filtered in from the Mithraic fire on the other side of the stone arch.

  Barbara cried out in fear, and Jean immediately gave her a reason for that fear: he put his left hand on the belt that crossed her back just above her tailbone, to hold her firmly in place for punishment, and he brought the mastix down hard across her young bottom.

  She cried out, and her body writhed, her feet kicking up from the stone floor rebelliously. Jean’s hand on the belt kept her well in place, and he aimed his next two lashes at the middle of her thighs where he knew the knotted leather cords would sting even more than they did on her bottom-cheeks. Though her very first strugg
les had the wildness of terror in them, he could discern to his satisfaction that she had already gotten the fear under control a little, now that she knew what the mastix felt like. It hurt, yes, and a long punishment with the implement provided very thorough correction indeed, but the pain could be borne, and thought through.

  “Feet on the floor, slut,” he said severely, whipping her now at what Guardsmen called the double. If Jean hadn’t had to worry about getting her ready for a mission he might well have used the march—one stroke per second—throughout the flogging. Now that she had placed her fright under a bit of rational restraint, though, he had to help her go further, and learn to think even under stern correction.

  The word slut made her gasp almost as much as the lashes to her thighs: it, too, represented a part of Jean’s strategy for taming Barbara, though he might well have used it even if he needn’t have worried about a quick deployment.

  “Yes, columba,” he explained as he kept whipping her, teaching her through the experience to follow his voice and consider his meaning even under duress, “you are a slut... you are a little bitch... an animal who needs my firm hand... my hard cock... to civilize you.”

  Barbara’s lovely backside had begun to glow red, now, with a few darker streaks from the knots. Her body shuddered, her bottom-cheeks moving constantly in an unintentionally lewd dance of pain and pleading for mercy. Her sweet pussy, so enticingly bared by Cynthia for him, showed naughtily between her mobile thighs, and her wrinkly little anus, where she must now feel a man’s hardness for the first time, even peeped out in her writhing.

  “Hold still, slut,” Jean said. He slowed the mastix’ cadence to the march and held her more firmly by the belt at her waist. “Offer your bottom to me. Bend your knees and push it out. Show me where I’m going to teach you to be a good girl.”

  “Sir...” Barbara moaned. “Please... it hurts.”

  Jean stopped whipping her and put the mastix on the bed, near her face so that Barbara could see it as she felt him moving in the bottom where he had punished her so thoroughly. Then he unclipped her wrists from the wall.

  “Show me you deserve the lesson I’m going to give you, columba. Put your hands by your sides like a civilized young woman who knows to whom she belongs.”

  Barbara sobbed into the crimson silken sheets. Her arms moved convulsively, as if a battle were unfolding inside her. If he had let her obey him under the mere threat of the mastix, Jean knew, she would not have had to fight herself this way. The severe correction, though, had brought to the fore new sensations and new needs, conflicting ever more strongly with what the girl had thought she knew about herself—at any rate before she had tapped the ad on her phone and begun the new life she had always truly needed.

  “Must I keep whipping you, slut?” Jean asked coldly.

  Her arms moved, more decisively now, until the cuffs around her wrists rested against the belt that circled her waist.

  “There,” he said, letting a little more warmth into his voice, but still speaking dispassionately, to make certain she didn’t begin to rely on his comfort. That seemed to him the most difficult part of the assignment David had given: Jean’s instinct would have dictated that he stroke Barbara’s back at least, if not take her into his arms and seat her upon his lap to deliver the philosophy he now had to impart.

  Instead he had to clip her hands to her sides, and continue on with her lesson as she whimpered in anticipation of what must now befall her, in her most private place.

  “Do you understand, now, columba, that your obedience comes not from me, your master, but from your own heart and mind?” he asked as he fastened first her right and then her left wrist to her belt.

  “What?” Barbara asked in a sobbing voice, her head shaking for an instant as if she had suppressed the impulse to turn to look at Jean over her shoulder. “Sir... I mean, what, sir?”

  “You may look me in the eye, Barbara,” he said, putting another degree of warmth into his voice at her evident effort to obey.

  She turned her face, and he saw her eyes widen as she noticed the whip that that had punished her, there on the bed only inches away. Then she found his eyes with her own tear-reddened gaze. A crease of mingled puzzlement and need furrowed her brow.

  “I will whip you, columba, to ensure not that you do as I say, and furnish your body as pleases me, but so that you discover something new inside yourself—and keep discovering it.” He looked down at her prettily blushing backside, then. “I’m going to prepare you for the penis, now,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Reach back and spread your bottom-cheeks with your fingers. Show me the place where I’m going to tame you.”

  Barbara’s face crumpled into a mask of shame and woe.

  “I... Sir, I... I can’t,” she whispered. “Please. I... I’m scared. You’re so big. Can’t I... can’t I have you in my mouth... or my...” her face blushed crimson, “...my pussy?”

  Jean shook his head slowly. Again the urge to comfort her came over him, and again though with another girl he would have yielded to it he knew he must treat Barbara Edwards severely.

  “You know you’re going to have your anus claimed tonight. I showed you the mosaic, and I told you of the creed that demands your most intimate submission to complete your initiation. Must I whip you again, or can you grasp what I meant a moment ago about your obedience?”

  Barbara’s tearful, panicky eyes widened, then.

  “The thing I’m... discovering?” she asked. The frown returned to her face as she tried to figure it out. Then her cheeks, from which the blush had vanished for a few moments, blazed again. Her lips parted, but no word came out.

  Jean smiled. “Yes, my dear. The thing you’re discovering. Your new mind, and your new kind of civilization.”

  Barbara’s lips moved, but it took long seconds for her to speak, during which Jean dropped his robe to stand with his huge, hard cock in his hand, pumping it gently. The new initiate emitted a little whimper at the sight, and then she whispered, “I need it.”

  “Turn your face forward, now, and show me where I’m going to fuck you, columba. It’s time for me to take your last virginity.”

  Jean moved a little to his right so that he stood squarely behind Barbara, as she finally obeyed, with a little sob, and stretched her bound hands to do the one thing they had room to do, turning her blazing red face to the sheets again. Her whole body shuddered as she put her fingertips on her lovely, pert, well-punished bottom-cheeks. She moaned and spread her backside open, so that Jean could see the dainty, cringing flower of her virginal anus, prettily offset by her once-fucked pussy just below.

  There he prepared himself to have her most private place: he stepped forward and put the head of his cock at the sweet slit he had deflowered the previous night and thrust in like the master he was. Barbara’s bodily response to the unexpected use of her vagina thrilled him: she bucked, cried out, and came instantly at the sensation of her trainer’s lap against her whipped bottom and his hardness inside her.

  Jean held her stout belt as he fucked her, using it for traction to pound her hard, though only for a few moments as he gathered the abundant wetness of her passionate submission on his cock. Then, as she gasped, he withdrew his hardness and pressed it against the anus she had offered him.

  Of all the erotic skills a Guardsman gained in the course of his own career through the various degrees of initiation, the opening of a girl’s virgin bottom-hole represented the most fundamental technique. Jean pressed firmly enough to ensure Barbara felt her anus must receive her master’s manhood when he chose, but he also adjusted her posture with his hands at her belt and determined his own angle of thrust so that she could meet the challenge of his teaching and her own self-discovery without harm.

  She sobbed with discomfort and arousal, and her warm bottom-cheeks squirmed and surged around the cockhead that would not stop pressing.

  “Let me in, columba,” Jean instructed. “Take your master.”

  “Oh, no,” Ba
rbara moaned. “It’s so big... it hurts, sir... I can’t.”

  “You can,” Jean said, “and you will. You must learn to give me my way. Your anus knows how to open: you must place that opening under your control, and help me civilize you.”

  Her little bottom pushed out, then, and her tiny flower opened to his cock, well-lubricated by her own need. With a grunt of pleasure, Jean sheathed the head of his erection inside her.

  “There, my dear,” he said gently, allowing himself to give her this bit of comfort. “You are a nupta now.”

  Barbara gave a questioning murmur, her back and bottom mobile beneath him. She cried out louder, though, as Jean pressed in further, teaching her to take a man as deeply as he chose to thrust, and she held herself still, as if in alarm at the filling of her smallest place.

  “Good girl,” Jean said, taking firm hold of her belt and beginning to fuck. “I shall take my pleasure, now.”

  The degrading words made Barbara clutch at her bottom-cheeks, riven by her master’s rigid penis, and moan with need that Jean had no intention of satisfying. His own arousal seethed in his balls, and he would come in her anus soon, but one thing he knew he must surely do, for her own good and the good of the Guard, was leave her needing more.

  He fucked her bottom hard and deep, holding her still under him, loving the tight grip of the little ring around his shaft at each long thrust that made the girl whimper into the mattress. He growled a warning, and then his hips jerked with his climax. He held himself in at full length as his cock pumped her young bottom full of semen.

  “Sir?” Barbara whispered, then, in soft, moaning voice. “Did I please you?”

  Jean smiled, and now he rubbed her back. “Very much, nupta. You are ready to learn a great deal more.”

  Chapter Five

  Jenny Granby cried out as her husband whipped her with his belt.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, standing over her where she lay on the bed in the guest room to whose door he had pointed after Jenny had made the prudish, backbiting comment about an acquaintance at the country club, “you know I don’t like punishing you. But this lack of charity, and...”