by Emily Tilton
“And do you not think it would be well to have each girl demonstrate upon the other what she knows of such wickedness?” he asked. “We must discover the extent of any disorder, must we not, Doctor?”
“Well,” the physician replied, “it is perhaps not the most orthodox approach, but I believe you intend to allow these young women to stimulate one another under your supervision from time to time, do you not, Sir Henry? You are, I assume, a member of that broad range of natural men who greatly enjoy watching girls engaged lewdly with one another, as improper as society might find the practice?”
Sir Henry nodded gravely, taking in the sweet looks of confusion on Leticia’s and Celia’s faces before turning back to Dr. Brown. “Indeed I am.”
“Also,” said the doctor, “I think you mean to have these girls depilated between their thighs and their buttocks, the better to display their vaginas and anuses to your eyes and to those of other natural men?”
“What?” Leticia demanded, her eyes wide with alarm. Celia’s jaw had dropped an inch.
“Quite so,” Sir Henry said. “That represents one of the measures I think very necessary, to ensure that my bride understands her place. I wish that done today, before I deflower the cunts and the bottoms.”
“Well,” Dr. Brown said, nodding, “we can teach them to shave one another, before you make them perform cunnilingus.”
“I believe that will answer very well,” Sir Henry agreed. He turned back to the lovely, naked young women, whose eyes and mouths were now open wide in identical expressions of shock. “Now do as the doctor told you. On your backs this instant, with knees high and wide.”
Mistress and maid regarded one another for a moment, then, and Sir Henry saw with mild disapproval that each girl seemed ready to forego her grievance against the other in favor of fellow feeling and perhaps even unified resistance. It would not do: to complete Leticia’s training as he intended, and to give Celia the place in that special sort of education that would suit her talents and proclivities, required that for now the girls remain at odds.
“Celia,” he said, “you mustn’t fear that because you have told the truth about Miss Leticia’s conduct your bottom will suffer for it, or that I won’t make certain your mistress learns to give you all the lewd pleasure you knew in your uncle’s farmhouse. Be a good girl for the doctor and for me, now, and I intend to place you in charge of Miss Leticia’s cunt and bottom when I must be away. You will keep watch upon her, and report back to me of her behavior. I must flog you, too, today, but only for getting into your mistress’ bed without permission. Miss Leticia will receive a much more severe whipping, for her lies.”
This speech answered Sir Henry’s purpose excellently: Leticia gave a wail, and her eyes turned accusingly upon her maid, who of course bore no blame in the news the baronet had just delivered. The haughty girl could, however, clearly not help the resentment excited in her breast by the idea that the man who meant to marry her also meant to give her maid shameful authority over Leticia’s young body.
If Celia had protested this decree, hope might have remained for the girls of solidarity, but Sir Henry had calculated his discourse carefully: the mention of Leticia’s lie, combined with the accusation in the mistress’ eyes, obviously renewed in the maid the sense of division from her employer that had begun when Leticia accused Celia of revealing the presence of the filthy journal in her drawer. The baronet could also see, to the banishment of the slight anxiety he had felt in the matter—and indeed to his positive delight—that the country girl’s naturally randy spirit, honed it would seem to a fine edge by the wanton conduct she had learned upon the farm, had received a very strong stimulus from the notion of lording it over her mistress’ private parts on her master’s behalf. Celia’s eyes shone, and the pink spots in her cheeks echoed the slightly labored quality her breathing now took on.
She looked anew at Leticia, and met the resentment in her mistress’ face with a narrowing of her blue eyes. Leticia herself did not fail to notice the change, and responded with a soft, fearful whimper to the freedom of her maid’s expression. She turned with wide eyes to Sir Henry.
“Oh, please, Sir Henry,” she said. “This girl is so wicked, I see now. You mustn’t… you mustn’t do…”
But Celia had turned and climbed onto the bed in a trice, getting upon her back and raising her knees in apparent shamelessness. The very sight of such lewdness, of Celia’s sweet, golden-haired cunny open with her little anus below, made Miss Leticia Stewart cry out and start back. Celia herself, Sir Henry saw with approval, had an almost beatific smile on her face now.
“Like this, Dr. Brown?” the maid asked coyly, in what seemed her best imitation of an urbane voice. “Does my cunt look suitable? Sir Henry, I hope you will enjoy fucking me, when you put your cock into my virgin pussy, after my punishment. I thought the man to fuck me first would be my horrid uncle, for my friend Nell said that he meant to have us both, but I feel such a fortunate girl now that I know it is to be you, even if you must also whip me.”
Chapter Nine
Oh, that beastly girl!
Leticia could scarcely believe that Celia could utter such words, let alone lie there holding herself open for the men to see her most intimate charms. How could she utter that terrible monosyllable with its hard c beginning and its harder t ending? The girl in the story had called it her… her cunny, and even that word had made Leticia feel faint. And now this other word that Celia knew from the farmhouse, that made her mistress’ heart beat faster, though it seemed a better, a gentler word…
Pussy.
Cunny.
Cunt.
The awful, shameful, wicked words seemed to run round and round Leticia’s mind as she stood aghast, trying not to look and needing to look at the same time, turning her eyes away and then, unable to stop herself, turning them back. Celia lay there with a smile on her face, inviting those men to see what she had down there.
No, not only that… inviting Sir Henry to… to…
Fuck.
Oh, no. “Please,” Leticia whispered, and she meant by the imprecation so many things. Please, don’t make me. Please, be gentle with me.
Please, make my maiden cunny, my virgin pussy, stop being so very wet. Make my untried cunt, my little vagina, stop answering Sir Henry’s voice, and Celia’s naughtiness, and the memory of the terrible story, this way. Make the trickle of shame that just made its way onto my thigh, make the heat and the ache between my legs that I want so badly to rub away just a bit… make it just…
But she didn’t really want that, and knowing that she must lie to herself, and thus compound the lie she had told Mama and Sir Henry, and the false accusation she had made against Celia, made it all even worse. Sir Henry would whip her and whip her and whip her, wouldn’t he, with the cane across her little bottom, until she screamed, until she couldn’t bear to pull up her drawers, until she couldn’t sit down for ever and ever.
Leticia didn’t want the feeling to go away. She wanted to do the terrible thing Celia’s friend had taught her to do, that Celia had said a girl could do, if she kept quiet. Oh, if only Leticia hadn’t been so wrong about how Mama discovered the magazine, and she hadn’t accused Celia. If only Celia hadn’t told Leticia she had to kiss the country girl’s cunny, and Mama hadn’t seen them being so very naughty that way. Then the two girls might have enjoyed those wicked delights in secret, together, mightn’t they?
Then Celia wouldn’t have that satisfied smile on her face as she held her knees high and wide, so very clearly thinking of the strange, awful things Sir Henry had just said—how he meant the maid to take charge of her mistress’ wayward cunny and bottom.
Leticia bit her lip as she gazed down on her maid’s fair-haired private parts—the pout of her pink inner petals showing just a little through the outer lips, the strange folds at the top where Leticia knew now so much feeling lay hidden.
“Go ahead, Leticia,” Sir Henry said in a low, gentle voice, as if he understood a
ll the turmoil of her soul. “Do just as Celia has done. Show me where I’m going to fuck you.”
She heard a tiny whimper emerge from her throat as if from a distant cousin, a parted friend, a girl from some realm of imagination.
How could he?
And yet, Leticia suddenly understood something that must, she knew, play a vital role in the strange future Sir Henry had opened to her with the unexpected news that he meant to marry her. Leticia felt, as she heard him speak in that way that brought the heat rushing to her face anew, that the baronet constituted the reason the lovely, fleeting fancy of lying abed quietly with Celia could never have come to pass.
That make-believe world where Leticia had not falsely accused the maid, and Celia had not made her mistress kiss her down there, and Mrs. Graves had not thrown back the covers to see the indecent sight… Sir Henry did not wish that world to exist. In his words, and in his tone of voice, Leticia heard that he wanted her subjected to his control in every way—above all the ways that concerned the parts of her into which it seemed he meant to thrust his hard cock. She looked down at Celia’s cunny, the place she had kissed so naughtily the previous night, and saw the same sort of wetness glistening that she felt running down her own thigh.
If she did as Sir Henry and the doctor commanded, they would see that wetness, and they would know that Leticia to her shame could not help wanting Celia’s little face between her own thighs, even if it meant that she must again kiss her maid’s cunny in return. Nor could she help wanting even… even to see, and to feel, Sir Henry’s penis, though he should flog her all the harder for her wanton yearning—though he should make those other measures more severe because Miss Leticia Stewart thought she might like to be fucked, though she did not think she could ever admit it in so many words.
Show me where I’m going to fuck you. As Leticia realized that Sir Henry’s plans to rule over her so wickedly, and even to train her in so debauched a manner for his pleasure, had found a lascivious answer between her thighs, she nearly giggled: what if she were to point to the bed and to say archly, “Why, Sir Henry, I thought you meant to fuck me upon this bed. Is not this room, then, the place where you intend to deflower my maiden cunt? Why need I show it to you, for do you not already stand within my bedchamber? Off with your trousers, then, and let your intended bride serve your cock as you deserve.”
All these imagined words, coming into Leticia’s mind in an eye-blink’s torrent, made the heat rush all over her body. Never, never could she say anything of the kind, no matter how her bridegroom excited her wayward cravings. To avoid thinking further about the meaning of such a forward fancy, she found she must obey: she climbed onto the bed next to Celia and turned upon her back.
She did not know, even then, whether she could assume the shameful posture demanded. She thought of what the doctor had said about shaving, down there… about Sir Henry wanting to see, and the necessity of training his bride to show her husband her cunt and her bottom whenever he liked, just as he liked. The idea of it… the idea of what would happen to her poor bottom, already spanked so hard, if she did not obey…
Leticia gave a little sob, and began to raise her knees, picturing the view the baronet and the physician would have, of two girls in the most shameful possible position, posed next to one another upon Leticia’s own bed.
“That’s right, Miss Stewart,” said Dr. Brown. “Now, Sir Henry, would you kindly bring me a basin of water, a towel, and some soap?”
“By all means,” the baronet answered. Leticia kept her eyes tightly closed, now, wishing that she could somehow also block the inner vision that showed two naked girls with their legs spread, ready for masculine attention: for examination, for punishment, for training.
For fucking. The heat in her face and in her loins, which had receded when the doctor asked for the basin, came rushing back.
“Girls,” the doctor said, “open your eyes, please.”
Had Celia closed her eyes, too? Leticia felt herself frown at the idea that perhaps the brazen country girl might not be quite so bold as she had seemed before. Leticia bit her lip and obeyed, to see the doctor standing over them, holding a metal device in his hand. It seemed to possess a sort of beak at the front and a complicated handle. The physician kept his hand open in order to display the thing to Celia and Leticia.
“When I have washed my hands,” he said, “I shall examine your private parts thoroughly inside and out. This speculum will go up your vaginas and then in your anuses.”
Leticia’s breathing came harshly now, as Dr. Brown showed by squeezing the strange handle how the beak opened, to… She swallowed hard as she understood: to let him see inside those shameful places.
“I will ascertain that you are healthy and ready for sexual coitus. If your hymens are intact, as I don’t doubt they are, I will be careful to leave them that way, so that Sir Henry can rupture them when he inserts his erect penis later this morning.”
Leticia felt her hips and her bottom move a little, in helpless, inexcusable need for something she did not understand. The ordeal of holding herself open seemed to increase that wicked feeling unbearably, and she could not suppress a tiny whimper at the thought of what her bottom must look like, moving so lewdly.
“That’s quite alright, Miss Stewart,” the doctor said consolingly. “I can see how aroused you have become, and that is quite normal. I will stimulate your clitorises, girls, after I finish the internal examination, to help you understand your body’s needs. I would ordinarily bring you to a sexual climax, but your future husband’s will is paramount in these matters, Miss Stewart, and he wishes to train you girls in a more exacting way, I fear. I would not have agreed to assist in his scheme, however, were I not convinced of his intention to permit you pleasure when you gratify his natural desires. You will experience orgasm soon, I assure you, if you do as you are told.”
Leticia had terribly little idea what to make of this information. Celia had said something about spending, hadn’t she? Was that the same thing as climax and orgasm? And in the story in the magazine, the girl had made something happen in her cunny that had seemed like it might make her die from pleasure. When Leticia had touched herself, too, just before Celia had come into her bedchamber, it had felt like that sort of thing—that spending—might be about to happen.
The door opened, and she had a glimpse of Sir Henry entering with the basin. He put it down upon the vanity table and then, as Dr. Brown receded in order to wash his hands, the baronet stepped closer, looming over the girls on the bed, tall and handsome. He looked down into Leticia’s eyes.
“You look lovely, darling,” he said. He turned to Celia. “And so do you, Celia. I am a fortunate man.”
Leticia saw, to her dismay, that his hands, which he had held clasped before his frock coat as he looked down, had separated, and begun to move slowly downward as he gazed into the faces of the naked young women arrayed upon the bed. He meant them to see what he did, what he would do, and Leticia felt faint at the thought of it, and then he laid his right hand upon her cunny, just as he must also have done to Celia, for she gave a little cry.
He held her, down there, very firmly, and rubbed with his fingers, his eyes now moving to the cunts he had claimed, back and forth between mistress’ brown-furred slit and maid’s golden-thatched one.
“These are mine,” he said. “I will decide how to train them, and how to enjoy them.”
To Leticia’s horror, his hand moved further down, until she felt a finger press at her tiniest hole, the little flower of her bottom.
“And these are mine,” Sir Henry said. She heard Celia whimper, heard herself whimper. “I will discipline you as you require, and fuck you here to master you completely, whenever I wish. Do you understand, girls? Say, Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” Celia whispered so submissively that Leticia couldn’t help turning her head upon the mattress to see what expression the girl’s face had upon it. Celia’s eyes were closed, and her brow furrowed. Her nostrils f
lared with her rough breathing. The sight made Leticia feel terribly wicked: suddenly she wanted to put her face back between her maid’s thighs and not stop kissing until Celia showed her what spend meant.
“Leticia?” Sir Henry asked in a warning voice. “Do you understand?” His finger pushed further into Leticia’s bottom-hole, and she moaned, turning to look up at him again and to see him smile down upon her.
How could she say why, but that smile made her want to please him despite all his beastliness. Or, perhaps, she reflected with yet another rush of heat through her body, because of the beastliness.
“Yes, sir,” she said very softly.
Chapter Ten
Sir Henry did not want to relinquish his marvelous position, but Dr. Brown stood ready now, the speculum in his right hand. Gently the baronet withdrew both the fingers he had inserted in the bottoms of his lovely girls, miss and maid. On his left, Celia made a charming little whining sound as he allowed her anus to close for the first time in some minutes. On his right his darling Leticia’s noise represented more a sob as her bottom lost the consolation—as Sir Henry thought it—of the mastering finger that told of a cock to come.
Both girls had closed their eyes, now, but they opened them again when they heard the scrape of the chair Dr. Brown brought from Leticia’s vanity table. He placed it in front of Celia’s pretty blonde cunt and pert bottom. Sir Henry compared the girls’ naked charms as he stepped back to take up a position behind the doctor. He thought he preferred Leticia’s fuller backside, but he could not help thanking providence for the good fortune he had in the variety of the two young women of whom he took possession today.
He meant to enjoy them both just as he liked in his unusual but happy home, and the differing delights to be had in fucking them would he felt sure add great seasoning to his life. He could even pose the bottoms next to one another, he reflected, and go from one to the other to see which truly gave his prick the most pleasure, as their owners cried out their submission under his pounding hips. Why, he could do that today, could he not?
