by Emily Tilton
She saw in the glass above the table, first, a naked girl: so naked it took her breath away, because girls without their clothes on should be behind dressing screens, not in the middle of their bedchambers and certainly not within sight of any surface that might reflect their nudity and amplify it. Leticia stood for a moment just looking at the lovely brown-eyed girl without her gown, her corset, her petticoats, or even her chemise and drawers. Her hands hovered at her waist, for she knew her future husband would punish her if she tried to cover up the peaches of her budding breasts or the pouting slit of her shaven cunny. Or… did she, truly wish to cover them up?
The thought that perhaps, actually, she might not truly mind seeing herself that way, when Sir Henry had made it very clear that the sight of his naked bride-to-be excited him and made his big penis get so long and hard, came to her mind and made Leticia blush deeply. She turned with alacrity, then, casting her chin to the side so that she could see what he desired her to see, and she gave a little gasp at the spectacle of her bottom with the red mark of the cane across it, the sign of Sir Henry’s first disciplining of his young intended wife.
“Does your mistress not look lovely, Celia,” the baronet asked, “with a stripe across her bottom?” He stepped forward, his own nakedness and the strangeness to her of the look of his hard cock making Leticia jump a little in fear. He put his hand on Leticia’s bottom as she breathed in tiny puffs through her nose: she watched him hold her there, felt the way he took that part of her possessively in his hand.
“Lord, yes, sir,” Celia breathed.
Leticia felt the color mount again to her face. She did not wish to consider what it might mean that her maid’s admiration of her punished backside stirred her between her thighs, where the heat of the cane stroke seemed to have built into such a shameful ache. The only way, however, to avoid standing there before the glass for even longer, with Sir Henry caressing her in that lewd manner, was to do something even more shameful. Her mind still rebelled at the thought of kneeling, of opening her mouth, of letting him…
But Sir Henry did not allow her to wait longer: with his right hand upon her bottom he urged her toward the pillow that rested next to Celia’s, and with his left upon her shoulder he pressed her downward to the floor. “On your knees, darling,” he said in a gentle voice. “Celia will suck first: you will see that it is not so very difficult to please a cock.”
Leticia knelt, obscurely comforted that her maid would have to go first. Should not she be offended, instead, she wondered? On her knees upon the pillow now, she saw Celia looking up at Sir Henry, an expression of coquetry on the pretty face, almost as if the girl were willing to do the terrible thing demanded of her. The baronet smiled down upon the country girl, the frightening, massive appendage in his hand, with its veins and its strangely shaped tip that made Leticia feel so funny inside whenever she turned her eyes in that direction.
“You’re ready for it, aren’t you, Celia?” he asked.
The naked maid gave a glance over at her naked mistress, and Leticia saw, mingled with a certain anxiety, a sort of triumph that caused her blood to feel it might boil. Celia looked at the hard penis that Sir Henry held before her nose, his big hand stroking it gently in a manner that made Leticia feel faint. Here is your true ruler, that caressing hand seemed to say, I shall display Him for you, and you shall worship.
“Yes, sir,” the maid whispered.
From behind Leticia, Dr. Brown said in a very approving tone, “Observe, Miss Stewart, how frankly Miss Deaver approaches this duty. You must make up your mind also to be ready for it, as Sir Henry puts the matter. Oral coitus is the right of every natural man, and a young lady must learn to fellate her master, as the true terminology has it, as skillfully as she can, using her lips and tongue to give pleasure or, when her master wishes it, simply receiving the penis as deeply as he pleases to thrust.”
As waves of shame crashed through her body and worst of all made her cunny flow anew, she watched Sir Henry put his hand upon Celia’s cheek, stroke her jaw, making it clear to the girl that she must open her mouth now. For an instant Leticia saw uncertainty come into the country girl’s eyes, for of course, if she had spoken truly, she had never seen a prick before today any more than Leticia had. The mistress’ heart almost went out to the maid, then, but the anxious expression vanished as soon as it had come, and Celia opened her mouth with another sly look at Leticia, and put out her tongue as if to invite in the terrible intruder, Sir Henry’s huge cock—the hard penis of the man who meant to marry Leticia, thrusting now deep into the mouth of a chambermaid rather than into Leticia’s own.
She could not keep a little whimper from arising in her chest as she watched Sir Henry hold the girl’s head still and begin to move his penis in and out. The baronet for his part made satisfied noises as he used Celia’s mouth, and the sound of his pleasure, together with the way he looked down upon the motions of his prick in and out of the girl’s pretty lips, took Leticia’s breath away.
Then he turned his face to look at her, and she felt the blood rush to her face at the lust she saw in his eyes. “Touch yourself between your legs, Leticia,” he said in a strange thick voice. “Show me how you do it.”
She felt her head shaking back and forth, but she also felt her right hand moving from her hip, over in front. Leticia could not believe she had willed either motion, but both continued, head saying no and fingertips finding the place Celia had kissed, pressing, making Leticia’s face crumple, the mouth that must soon have the penis in it pout, her voice give a little cry as the pleasure Sir Henry had permitted washed through her.
“That’s it, Miss Stewart,” said Dr. Brown. “When your master permits it, your fingers can give a great deal of solace, can they not?”
Sir Henry pulled his cock from Celia’s mouth and pushed her away. The force of the gesture made Leticia’s fingers speed up, made her moan to see the maid discarded, because the baronet wanted not that country girl’s mouth but the mouth of a naked debutante.
Now she wanted to open her mouth—or something in her did, despite the shame of having such a thing in her mouth, despite the way her future husband’s rigid penis glistened from the lips of another girl. But she pursed her lips instead, still shaking her head, her fingertips nevertheless still pushing whines of pleasure through the closed petals of her mouth, the blossom Sir Henry wished to pluck.
“Open your mouth, Leticia,” he growled. She shook her head again, though her eyes tried to beam up into his how a part of her wanted to obey him despite this defiance, for which she knew she must be punished.
“Open your mouth,” he said again, his eyes narrowing, “or you may not continue to play with yourself.”
Leticia felt her head stop shaking, her eyes go wide. Her fingers rubbed convulsively at the little bud the doctor had called her clitoris. Oh, no, she thought desperately, please… please don’t make me stop.
She felt her lips part as her hips bucked shamefully against her own rubbing hand.
“Wider,” said Sir Henry. “Put your tongue out as Celia did.”
Leticia obeyed, because she must keep going, down there, no matter what.
“Good girl,” said the baronet. “Now lower your eyes and look at the cock that will fuck you.”
She gave a whimper, and one of those spasms of pleasure that took such shameful control of her body made her cunny and her bottom clench, together, as if to agree that this long, hard penis would indeed do that shameful thing… would fuck her… in her mouth, now, and in her cunt and her bottom later.
The prick came closer. Sir Henry rested it upon her tongue. Leticia gave a little cry as her fingers moved faster and faster: suddenly she understood about spending, because it was about to happen to her. But the baronet reached down and took her wrist firmly in his, pulled her hand away, even as he sheathed himself in her mouth.
“You shall not spend yet, darling. Take the cock for a little while now, and then I shall let you touch yourself again. But you must learn not
to let yourself go and climax without my permission.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sir Henry pressed deeper into the velvety depths of his charmer’s mouth. The pleasure between Leticia’s lips felt even richer than what he had known a few moments since, thrusting inside Celia. Dr. Brown’s precepts concerning the rightful delights that accrued to the natural man when he freed himself from the shackles of benighted morality and false modesty had never seemed so present to him, or so true.
He enjoyed himself quietly for a few moments, the little bedchamber falling into silence but for the struggling, wet sounds of a girl learning to please a man and the low murmurs of satisfaction he himself could not help making, as he held Leticia’s head still and moved his hips to fill her mouth with his cock, over and over. Dr. Brown spoke next, in that wonderful didactic tone of his.
“Miss Deaver, perhaps you should draw near and take Sir Henry’s scrotum gently upon your fingertips. That should precipitate a very pleasant orgasm for him, and also make it easy for him to ejaculate upon both your faces, as I think he intends.”
Leticia gave a little sob around the penis at the doctor’s frank assessment of how her future bridegroom might best be pleasured, and Celia looked up at Sir Henry with wondering eyes.
“That is a capital idea,” the baronet declared in a voice that felt slightly labored, though with his prick in Leticia’s mouth every movement of his body, from the curl of his toes to the pressure of the air in his lungs, felt afire with liquid ecstasy.
“Wh-what’s a s-scrotum, sir?” Celia asked, then, casting her glance back at Dr. Brown.
Sir Henry answered her, though. “It is the little sack beneath my prick, girl, that holds my balls. Leticia will kiss it now, before you hold it.”
He pulled his cock from his girl’s mouth, and held it up, pumping it gently in his left hand and enjoying the slickness her saliva had bestowed.
“Kiss now, darling. I know how strange it looks and feels, but my balls hold the seed that will make an heir for me inside your belly someday.”
Leticia gave a tiny sob and shook her head again, but she leaned forward at the same time and planted a tentative peck on the sensitive, wrinkled skin. The delicate sensation made Sir Henry grunt with pleasure, and he could not stop himself from keeping her face there with his right hand in her hair.
“A better kiss, if you please, Leticia, or I shall have to use the cane again.”
His charmer emitted a sharp cry, and kissed him tenderly, again and again. Sir Henry wondered what kind of fire he had lit in his intended’s loins with that single stroke of the cane: when commanded to touch herself, her lubricity had come to the fore so urgently it had made his heart race to see it.
“That’s it, my good girl,” he murmured. “Now let Celia hold them while I fuck your mouth. I will come very soon.”
Indeed, with the country girl’s tiny hand there, fondling gently, it only required a few moments before he withdrew again from Leticia’s lips.
“Close your eyes, girls,” said Dr. Brown, “and hold your faces up. This is one of the special delights of the natural man, to besmirch the supposed innocence of his young ladies with the seed which the moralists declare should only be spilled inside the vagina.”
Not for the first time Sir Henry wondered how such dry scientific talk could stimulate a man so. He felt the sinews of his thighs, his calves, his abdomen tighten, then jerk. His hips bucked with the flashing of his hand upon his mouth-wet cock, and then a spend greater than any he had known even inside a girl took hold, and his white essence spurted out, a jet onto Leticia’s forehead, one onto Celia’s cheek, another onto Leticia’s nose, as both girls’ faces frowned with a delightful mixture of alarm, arousal, and blushing shame.
“Lovely,” the doctor pronounced. “Sir Henry, that seemed a very pleasant orgasm.”
The baronet chuckled. “Indeed it was, Doctor.”
“I am glad to hear it. You will whip them now?”
Leticia’s eyes flew open, while Celia’s seemed to shut even more tightly. “Oh, please,” the debutante cried, putting her hands up in a gesture of entreaty. “Sir Henry, please… did I… did I not make you feel…”
Sir Henry put his hand to her cheek and used his thumb to smear some of his semen across it, smiling at how wonderfully debauched and degraded it made the beautiful girl look.
“You pleased me so well, Leticia, that as the doctor predicted I am minded to flog you gently, but flogged you must be, for you played with your little cunt, and you kissed Celia’s. Now get up and bend over your bed, upon your elbows with your bottom raised for the cane. Celia, you will do the same on the other side of the bed, if you please. You will do it now, or your backsides will pay the penalty no matter how much delight I found in your sweet mouths.”
Celia kept her eyes closed, and her face took on a pained, frightened aspect. Slowly, she began to rise, but Leticia turned wildly to Dr. Brown, in apparent hope of some commutation of her sentence. The physician’s voice held a sympathetic note as he weighed in with his thoughts, despite the unyielding quality of the message he delivered.
“I would suggest obedience, Miss Stewart. I always hope that maidens in your situation, who have come into the possession of a man who knows well how much discipline they require for their ultimate happiness, learn quickly that defiance only brings more tears. You will undoubtedly have your bottom bared for the cane many times over the next few months, unless you learn to obey your husband. Would you not rather sit comfortably on your honeymoon, than have to make excuses for your fidgeting at table, since you received a whipping the previous night?”
Leticia turned back to Sir Henry, but while the physician spoke he had fetched the cane from her vanity table, where he had laid it before enjoying Celia’s mouth. His cock had already begun to stir again, and he saw his girl’s eyes go wide as she noticed the way it rose to threaten her anew as he tapped the cane against his left palm. “Now, Leticia,” he said firmly.
Celia was on her feet, eyes open but downcast as she moved to the opposite side of the bed.
“See, Miss Stewart, how your maid finds it in her to be brave and to accept her punishment?” the doctor asked, his tone chiding the proud girl. “You have already had a stroke, and you know that though severe, the ordeal of a flogging is by no means insupportable. Indeed, in this I am in agreement with all the brother physicians with whom I generally part ranks—a young woman’s bare buttocks and thighs are the proper place, medically speaking, for her to receive the correction she needs, from parent, or guardian, or husband. Girls sent to the reformatory are caned much more forcefully than you will ever be as a well-disciplined wife, and the doctor at such a facility stands by to ensure that all is done according to the best standard of modern penal science.”
Now the girl looked wildly from Celia, who had bent over the bed, golden head hung low as she listened to the doctor, to Sir Henry, to the physician himself. The idea that other young women might receive whippings even more severe than her own—punishments so harsh Letitia could scarcely imagine them—had obviously taken her by surprise. The baronet decided to build upon that foundation, to keep his bride-to-be in proper awe of his authority.
“Dr. Brown,” he said casually, as if purely out of academic interest, “if I felt it necessary to acquire a reformatory cane and to give Miss Stewart the sort of flogging a criminal might receive, having despaired of correcting her conduct in any other manner, would you be willing to attend the punishment? To ensure that all is properly done?”
The Scot looked grave. “I would, though I prefer in such cases that a young woman be brought to me in my chambers at the Society for the Correction of Natural Daughters. There, enclosed in soundproof walls, I would be able to secure your wife over the punishment bench so that she does not injure herself in her attempts to escape the cane or to ward off its strokes as she learns her lesson.”
“Oh, no,” Leticia whispered. “Please. You wouldn’t.”
�
�I suppose I could have such a bench built and placed in the basement of my townhouse,” Sir Henry mused, “though I would hope not to have very much use for it.”
“Ah,” the doctor replied. “I advise every natural man with the means to dedicate such a room to the correction of his young lady. Its uses extend far beyond the sort of strict punishment you are envisioning. Just consider how charming a sight it would make, to have Miss Stewart—or Miss Deaver—bound nude over the bench and ready for coitus just as you please to penetrate her with your erect penis.”
Leticia gave a little sob. Her clasped hands moved jerkily, as if she must keep herself from putting them down to her sweet cunny at the thought of being arrayed that way for her husband’s pleasure.
“Or I could have two benches there, I suppose,” said Sir Henry, casting a glance over at Celia who raised her troubled eyes to meet his gaze.
“Oh, certainly,” the doctor confirmed. “It would certainly meet my requirements should you feel the need to correct Miss Stewart with true severity, though I would caution you that my medical advice would involve keeping her hidden from the eyes of the world for several days afterward, as her backside heals, and refraining from vaginal and anal coitus with her for at least forty-eight hours.”
Dr. Brown, too, looked at Celia now. “Though of course you would have Miss Deaver to satisfy you in that area, and…” Now he turned back to Leticia. “Miss Stewart’s mouth would also be available despite the condition of her bottom.”
“No, please… please…” Leticia said as she crawled toward the bed, rising, briefly and very shakily to her feet, just to lay herself over the side of it, the mirror image of Celia. The two naked girls’ cheeks nearly touched, golden hair mingling with brown.
Sir Henry stepped toward his charmer and laid his left hand atop her back, another thrill traveling through his balls, his prick, at the delicious contact with her soft skin. He pushed gently down. “Present your bottom, darling,” he said. “Bend those knees and arch your back. Push those cheeks out and show me you know your future husband will flog you for your own good, whenever he sees fit. You do the same, if you please, Celia. I shall whip you first, in just a moment.”
