Her Shameful Training

by Emily Tilton

  For a few moments, as she rushed down the stairs and into the park, as she had seen the trees and thought she might reach them, Joanna had even seemed to forget that she had no clothes to cover her young form. It had not mattered, for those brief seconds, for she could conceal herself in a thicket, and then a kind passerby would avert her eyes as she gave to the naked girl a chemise to restore the modesty Lord Stephen had reft from her.

  Then, when she had turned to find that not only the servant Mark but also the doctor’s valet and then the doctor and then Lord Stephen all could see her bottom, and they had made her walk back toward them, and commanded her to take her hands away from her breasts and her bare cunny, a new, even stronger sense of her humiliation and her helplessness in the power now it seemed of not two but four men had rushed in upon her. As the heat in her face had grown as blazing as a summer’s day, the even more distracting warmth between her thighs seemed to mock her pretense of defiance just as roundly as the doctor’s degrading words about what would befall her now in the tower room.

  Joanna tried to distract herself, as she reached the landing and crossed it to the door that gave onto the room in which she had spent a days and a night already, learning to please Lord Stephen’s penis. She made herself wonder about the Anti-Brown to whom his lordship had made reference. A treatise? Her cheeks felt warm again at the idea that a treatise could exist upon the subject of...

  Her mind recoiled, and her mental voice refused to say it, until faced with the necessity—as she confronted the bed where Lord Stephen had instructed her to lie, for the doctor’s examination, for punishment in recompense of attempting escape, for the promised, shameful defloration of her cunt and bottom—of considering either the theoretical question of the treatise or the much-too-practical one of his lordship fucking her for the first time. Her mind fled to the theoretical again, while her body, deprived of any choice, woodenly clambered onto the bed and heard as if at a great distance his lordship saying, “Good girl. Shall she be caned first, Doctor?”

  Joanna clutched at the loose, dangling thread in her mind: how could a treatise exist, upon the subject of... of fucking girls... of training girls to fuck... of whipping naked girls... caning them... making them suck the cock as Joanna had already to her shame learned to do, because Lord Stephen had it seemed read such a treatise, and had known how to whip Joanna, and how to touch Joanna’s cunny, so that she felt she could not defy him—did not want to defy him, but wanted instead to do the shameful things in which he delighted.

  She felt her nose prickle with the beginnings of sorrow, and the water come to her eyes as she knelt with her back to the four men who stood behind her, whose looming presence she could feel even though she contemplated only the bed and the opposite stone wall. The tower room was spacious, but four masculine bodies—three of them of a height greater, at a guess, than six feet, while the doctor though of slighter frame must stand at least five feet, nine inches—seemed to fill it up, to dominate it in a way that perforce also dominated Joanna herself.

  She heard the doctor say, “Yes, I think that would be best. I should like to see you do it yourself, my lord, if you would do me that honor.”

  Joanna thought, a treatise. There is a treatise.

  Lord Stephen said, “The honor would be mine, sir, as I have longed to meet you. I have been a disciple of Anti-Brown, I confess, but I have believed for some time that if I had been able to secure a copy of your own treatise, I should have become at least a skeptic as to your rival’s claims.”

  Not one treatise, but two, Joanna thought, her eyes going wide both with amazed alarm and with the effort to keep back the tears. And one of them written by this strange Scotsman.

  “I am sensible indeed of the compliment,” the doctor said behind her. “Pray go ahead with the girl’s chastisement. I think we shall have ample time to discuss more abstruse matters once I have had the opportunity of observing your manner of meting out condign justice to a naked maiden.”

  Meting out, Joanna thought. Abstruse matters. A sob rose to her throat, and the tears sprang from her eyes. She tried to prevent herself, but she could not keep her face from turning over her shoulder in a mask of woe, to see them all standing there, Lord Stephen and Doctor Brown nearer to her, their heads close together as if conferring upon some weighty matter, and the two big, handsome servants against the wall behind them, ready to abet their designs upon Joanna’s shame.

  “Please,” she sobbed. “Please... not the cane, my lord. I only... it is so... so new to me...”

  “Observe,” said the doctor, “how the girl finds in this moment of fear for her young buttocks the truth of the matter. Miss Middleton, you did not fly because you do not wish to submit, and have your vagina used for his lordship’s pleasure, but only because you find his exercise of his right of the phallus different to how you expected your relations with a man to proceed. As he flogs you, please to think upon how you may conduct yourself in proper submission, with his penis in your vagina when you experience first coitus. Please to consider that your need for his masculine hardness is discovered, and if the society I represent decides to award you to his lordship you shall undergo sexual congress whenever and however he chooses—that is why you are being trained here. If you meditate upon these things, you may well avoid another session with the cane in the near future.”

  The doctor’s words somehow sent ice water down Joanna’s spine while at the same moment lighting between her thighs a fire so hot that she could not suppress a cry of need, as her wanton hips moved, her backside pushing out almost as if she did know every shameful thing to which Doctor Brown had just made reference. She wanted to cry that she did not know those things, that she could not meditate upon what he had bid her ponder, because she had no idea what the physician might mean when he said her need for... for that... had been discovered.

  To think about those things, as Lord Stephen... as he brought the horrid thing that his valet now took from a press in the corner of the room, the long, thin, horrid thing his lordship whisked through the air to make its terrifying swishing sound... as he drew it back, behind her and above her, and as he swung it not through the air but toward Joanna’s little bottom-cheeks, her poor bottom where she had had to learn so many painful lessons before... to think about his lordship’s penis, so big and hard, pushing into her tender cunny...

  How could she?

  But... how could she help it?

  “Joanna,” said Lord Stephen in a stern voice, “get upon your elbows and knees, at the foot of the bed. I shall thrash you now.”

  Even the words made her sob, made her face crumple into a mask of woe. She looked into his dark eyes, at the noble cheekbones she had noticed the very first moment she had seen him in Mrs. Mund’s drawing room and now could finally look upon again. With her face she pled wordlessly for mercy, for his hand or the strap instead of the terrifying length of rattan he held in his right hand. She could not bear it, she simply could not: it would hurt so much upon her young backside, flogging her again and again as she knew she must have it because she had tried to run away.

  “I would advise you to obey me, or I shall have to request Mark’s and Mr. Eliot’s assistance to put you in place and to hold you there.”

  The conflict in Joanna’s mind and heart and loins became too great for her. She turned and tried to scrabble across the bed, in some faint hope of cowering in the corner of the stone wall, and warding them off, of screaming until someone else came to rescue her from the terrible punishment that another part of her knew must come.

  She got almost to the opposite edge of the bedstead before she felt the hands of the two servants upon her naked thighs and hips, two huge hands on each side, neither of the valets it seemed needing any further order but rather having stood in their places against the wall with this precise circumstance in mind, that they should have to dart forward and lay hold of the nude girl.

  “No!” Joanna wailed, still trying to cross the bed though the rational part o
f her thoughts told her that there could be no real safety even in that. “No, please! Please don’t cane me!” She tried to turn in their strong grasp, put her hands in front of her to join them in a beseeching attitude. “My lord, please... I will... I will do anything... everything... you may—you may—you may... I will let you... I will let you do it! I will let you... fuck my cunny!”

  Even in that duress, the sound of the terrible words coming from her lips made the blood rush to her cheeks anew.

  “Of course you will allow his lordship to possess you with his masculinity, both in your vagina and in your anus,” said Doctor Brown in a matter-of-fact voice. “But you must be flogged before that, so that you understand the full extent of his right to your body. It is for the best, Miss Middleton. You will submit more enjoyably once you have learned exactly how compulsory is your master’s enjoyment of your most private charms.” The doctor turned to the servants who held Joanna. “Place the girl in the position prescribed by his lordship: it is a most suitable posture for the giving of this lesson. Mr. Shepard—” Doctor Brown turned to Lord Stephen as if to ask whether he had correctly ascertained the name of his lordship’s valet, and received a nod in reply. “Mr. Shepard, if you would stand by and hold Miss Middleton in place, that would perhaps allow me the most accurate observation. John, if you please, stand off against the wall, but pray be as ready as I know you always are in such matters, to assist Mr. Shepard if the girl should grow wild and pose a danger to herself as she receives her thrashing.”

  As the servants together picked Joanna up bodily from the bed and carried her to its foot, she attempted one final time to beg for mercy from Lord Stephen with her brimming eyes. Surely he could not find the physician’s words congenial? Had she not seen affection in the eyes behind the mask, as he freed her hands and taught her to use them for his pleasure? Had he not rewarded her with pleasure of her own, though it had been almost unwelcome to her then?

  “Joanna, darling,” his lordship said. “I shall give you the chance to show you can obey me. Mark shall not hold you as I begin to flog you. If you can stay in place to receive your punishment, I shall ask Doctor Brown to make you climax while he examines you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  John thought he knew why Doctor Brown had decided to treat Lord Stephen as a natural man despite the nobleman’s apparent adherence to the doctrines of Anti-Brown—whoever that effete, unnatural rascal might be. The way that Joanna looked at his lordship told John, as the valet felt sure it also told Doctor Brown, that Lord Stephen had seen past Anti-Brown’s errors to the essential philosophical truth of the doctor’s own theories upon the subject of training young women for fucking.

  The girl, placed on her knees and elbows with her sweet little bottom the most elevated part of her, looked at his lordship in that same way, now, as Lord Stephen delivered himself of the promise that she would spend under Doctor Brown’s hand if she should submit to her thrashing like the obedient fucking piece she must become. The blue eyes, though full of tears, looked upon her aristocratic master with a deep knowledge of her need for strict discipline and, once he had opened her, for the sort of hard riding John himself believed in providing to wayward girls, both in their pretty cunts and in their young bottoms.

  John approved very highly of the nobleman’s tactic, especially because he had seen the doctor’s expertise at work before, and knew that the reward his lordship promised would aid very greatly in Joanna’s sexual training, should she accept it. Joanna, however, bit her lip and looked at the doctor, as if in hope that the physician would deny his lordship’s implied request for such a shameful service. John could see clearly in the girl’s face that she could not yet accept her amorous needs: Miss Joanna Middleton would have to be held for the cane after all. Still, Lord Stephen’s ultimatum to her had two clear beneficial effects: it confronted Joanna with the urges down between her trim thighs that she could not now mistake within herself—even if she denied them in her words—and it showed Doctor Brown the naturalness of his lordship’s conduct toward her.

  Doctor Brown smiled back at the girl patiently, and said to Lord Stephen, “It is an offer worthy of a natural man, my lord, and it tells in your favor, but I do not think Miss Middleton will accept it. I advise proceeding with the flogging with Mr. Shepard holding her in place.”

  “No! Please!” Joanna cried, but she also struggled in Mark Shepard’s grasp as she made her final plea.

  Lord Stephen advanced with the cane, raising it as he took his final steps to the foot of the bed and then bringing it down immediately with a swish and a very satisfying crack across the center of the girl’s creamy bottom. John found nothing to fault in the nobleman’s conduct now, either: he had clearly caned girls before, and knew his business.

  Joanna screamed, and writhed even more against Mark’s restraint. The valet had his right hand upon the back of the girl’s neck now and his left atop her waist to steady her despite her body’s motions. Lord Stephen lifted the rattan again and delivered another cut, just above the lovely double line of livid red that had appeared beneath the first one.

  “Oh, no...” Joanna sobbed, her head threshing from side to side and her golden hair flying. “Please, my lord. Please... it hurts...”

  John knew from extensive experience that the cane, when used as his lordship had used it for those first cuts, hurt a girl’s backside more than the hairbrush or the strap it seemed they had used upon the girl previously, though perhaps not by a tremendous amount. He also knew—having confirmed it with Doctor Brown soon after coming into the physician’s employ—that the fear attached to the object made the impression of pain much greater.

  “Of course it hurts, Joanna,” his lordship replied, lowering the cane for a moment. “You tried to run away. You are being punished, so that you do not do that again, but rather learn to accept that you are my property, and must be trained to please me.”

  He raised the cane and brought it down again, aslant the first two welts. Joanna shrieked and moved her hips and bottom in a desperate attempt to soothe away some of the pain with the motion: her bottom-cheeks clenched and unclenched, providing the onlookers with an enticing view of her pouting cunt, which John saw now had been very ably bereft of its curls.

  The vivid marks left by the cane, he reflected, added significantly to the implement’s usefulness as a disciplinary tool. The girl would feel, as her master punished her, that the rattan left signs for his lordship, Doctor Brown, and the two servants to look upon—visible indications, clearly across her disobedient backside, of the condign chastisement the nobleman now administered. Over the next few days, too, Miss Joanna Middleton would be made to gaze at her bottom in the looking glass, if she had not, as most young ladies usually had, already stolen rearward glances, and to see there the marks of her master’s justice. In bed, she would cherish those weals upon her fingers and whimper as she remembered her crime and the discipline it had brought upon her young bottom.

  Still, his lordship’s last words, concerning the girl’s acceptance of her status as Lord Stephen’s property, struck John as having in them the ring of Anti-Brown’s empty philosophy, rather than of Doctor Brown’s own ideas. John glanced over at his employer to see how the physician had reacted, and saw him gazing back into the valet’s eyes, the ginger eyebrows a little raised as if to ask, “Did you also notice Lord Stephen’s turn of phrase?”

  “My lord,” the girl wailed, “I will... I said I would...”

  “Silence, Joanna,” his lordship said sternly, and raised the cane again, bringing it down with great severity upon the crease between buttocks and thighs. The girl’s back arched, and she threw her head back with a cry of agony, her whole body trembling in Mark Shepard’s grasp.

  “My lord,” said Doctor Brown mildly. “I wonder if you were able to glean from the treatise of my accuser—as I am pleased to call the man who denominates himself Anti-Brown—what the principal difference is between his philosophy and mine. Certainly he makes no great ef
fort at clarity in the matter.”

  Lord Stephen lowered the cane again and looked at the doctor, his aristocratic chin tilted to one side and his brows knit.

  “Please, my lord,” Joanna sobbed. “Please, no more.”

  His lordship’s eyes went to the naked girl on the bed, who now had four pretty red double lines across her little backside. Her bottom-cheeks clenched in pain. The nobleman glanced back at Doctor Brown, as if requesting the physician’s counsel on how to proceed.

  “By all means give your young lady another stroke,” the doctor said. “I fully agree that she should have a thorough thrashing, to ensure her future obedience and thus her future happiness.”

  “Oh, no,” Joanna said, trying to turn her red face to look at the doctor. “No, please.” Mark held the back of her neck firmly, though, and kept her face to the mattress.

  Lord Stephen lifted the rattan again, and brought it down upon the upturned bottom. The girl screamed, then screamed again as her master gave her another cut, across the tops of her thighs.

  “Mark,” said the nobleman, “arrange Miss Joanna’s hair so I can see her face, if you please, and let her turn it to me.”

  John looked over at the doctor, to see him nod twice, in interest and perhaps even somewhat in approval, though the valet found his employer difficult to read in such situations, where the erotic philosopher found value in hiding his judgments until he saw fit to render them. When John glanced back at the naked Miss Middleton, her body now racked with sobs and her hips moving in a sinuous, lewd rhythm to the music of the pain in her bottom, he saw that Mark had obeyed his lordship’s instruction, smoothing the girl’s long golden hair over her right shoulder. Now the valet firmly turned her head, by means of pressure applied to the back of her neck, to look at her master.