Her Shameful Training

by Emily Tilton

  “Joanna,” said Lord Stephen. “You have had six, now, and you have become acquainted with what the cane feels like. You have been a naughty girl, and so you must have six more, so that you understand the importance of submitting to me as I desire.”

  At that Joanna cried out, her body trembling in Mark’s grasp. The tears ran down her face freely and her lower lip quivered in her sore distress.

  “If you can hold yourself in place with this well up,” his lordship continued, tapping the girl’s well-disciplined bottom lightly with the rattan and making her whimper, “while you receive the remainder of your flogging, I will leave it at that, and you will be allowed to wear your chemise to bed after your fucking. If Mark must hold you in place, however, you will have six more beyond your twelve, and you will not wear clothes again for a good while yet.”

  Another glance at Doctor Brown showed John that his employer found Lord Stephen’s tactic just as well-founded as John himself did. It seemed quite clear, also, that the nobleman meant his words to Joanna as at least a partial answer to the physician’s observation as to Lord Stephen’s knowledge of the essential difference between Doctor Brown’s theories and those of Anti-Brown.

  For her part, Joanna reacted to the terrible dilemma her master set before her with a sob of wordless grief. She took her lower lip in her teeth and worried it a little as her shining blue eyes went from Lord Stephen, to Doctor Brown, and then even to John in her quest for some recourse that might spare her the awful decision.

  John felt certain that his lordship had not meditated offering this second choice to the girl, after she had refused his initial choice of furnishing her bottom to the cane of her own free will in exchange for wanton pleasure at Doctor Brown’s hand. The physician’s words to her master had brought about this new opportunity to train Miss Middleton at a moment when it had seemed to John that Lord Stephen meant to make the flogging purely a matter of asserting his right to punish her as he liked. His lordship had responded, nevertheless, in a fashion that showed a good deal of promise: by yielding her young bottom-cheeks for their chastisement and demonstrating she wished to obey, Joanna would earn a modest covering for her bosom and her cunt—but only after she had received her master’s hard penis in her virginal vagina and her thoroughly disciplined bottom.

  “Mark,” Lord Stephen said in a new, tender kind of voice, “let her go, if you please. Joanna, I will make the end of your lesson quick, if you are a good girl and push your bottom up properly for me. Turn your face to the bed and close your eyes, and your thrashing will be over before you know it.”

  Mark released the girl’s neck and waist, and stepped back from the bed. Joanna emitted a sob, and at the first sensation of freedom bent her knees, lowering her backside as if to protect it, and pulled back her arms, her body clearly meaning to cower and her mind meaning to plead fruitlessly again for an end to the punishment. Then, as if another part of her had wrested control from the fearful element of her feelings, she reversed those motions and obeyed her master: Joanna turned her face downward and moved forward upon her elbows. With a little cry of shame and need she arched her back and lifted her bottom, pushing it out with little bouncing movements that made John’s prick swell with their unconscious imitation of what a well-trained girl did when her master rode her hard, cock in cunt.

  “Please, my lord,” she begged. “Please finish caning my bottom.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lord Stephen could not help resenting Doctor Brown, if only a little, for the interference that had brought about this change in Joanna. His first emotion upon meeting the physician and philosopher for the first time, the alarm he had felt upon seeing his sanctuary at Gaithwait Castle invaded by unknown men, scarcely tempered by the information that one of those men was the doctor to whom Lord Stephen’s ideas upon the training of his fucking pieces, had quickly given way when Doctor Brown had treated him as Joanna’s master and protector.

  The proprietary air, however, with which the author of On the necessity of men’s exercising their masculine rights in erotic matters had in some part directed the actions that followed, including the flogging of Joanna, had made his lordship feel a different, conflicting set of emotions: a desire to demonstrate his skill in bringing the girl along toward being a pleasurable place for Lord Stephen and others to put their cocks, a pride in how thoroughly he would discipline her, and a curiosity—fomented by Doctor Brown himself—to know in what stead his lordship’s adherence to Anti-Brown might stand him, when confronted by the original authority.

  As he caned Joanna, he had pondered the question Doctor Brown had put to him, though the man had done it only in the apparent form of an observation upon his own mental processes—I wonder if you were able to glean from the treatise of my accuser what the principal difference is between his philosophy and mine. As the girl had cried out at each cut of the rattan, and the pretty marks of Lord Stephen’s justice multiplied upon her round young bottom-cheeks, his prick stiffening more with each wayward, bouncing motion of her hips, his lordship had thought upon the matter, and upon the words of his that he felt sure had brought on the doctor’s observation: you must learn to accept that you belong to me.

  Lord Stephen contemplated the lovely naked girl now, her bottom presented so well and so lewdly over her tightly closed thighs. The cleft of her sweet young cunny peeped out helplessly at the nobleman who would very soon take his cock’s first ride there. The six angry welts he had made thus far, to punish her for her attempt to run away, marked her bottom as his to enjoy as well when he chose to enter her there.

  He raised the cane, and brought it down. Joanna screamed and sobbed, her back bending and her hands scrabbling at the white lawn of the sheet covering the feather mattress. Another double line appeared across her bottom, inexpressibly moving to Lord Stephen. For a moment it seemed the girl would try to move away, to seek refuge in the corner, but then she grew stiller, and with a whimper she arched her back again to raise her punished cheeks.

  “Please, my lord,” she cried. “Quickly, please!”

  “Good girl,” Lord Stephen said, and gave her another stroke, and then another, conscious of the need to keep his promise that her final six would come rapidly, and soon be done. He watched Joanna do everything in her power to remain in place, her lovely bottom bouncing wildly as she tried to present it to him, and he flogged her there over and over: four, five, six.

  Joanna collapsed onto the bed, her face to the mattress, sobbing and holding her soundly thrashed backside in her hands. Lord Stephen wondered if he should forbid it, but decided against sternness now that the girl had shown herself so obedient as to be able to hold still for the cane.

  Could he honestly resent Doctor Brown’s interference, when it had produced such a result?

  He had said that the girl must accept that she was his property—that she was a filly to train, a pleasant receptacle for his hard penis. Anti-Brown often employed turns of phrase of that sort, and Lord Stephen had supposed Doctor Brown himself must also believe that a natural man made his young lady submit to treatment as a fucking piece: an object—a valuable object, to be sure, but one that her master might dispose of as he pleased, whipping it and fucking it and giving it to other men for them to do the same.

  But the doctor had wondered at that moment about Lord Stephen’s understanding of his theories, and after giving Joanna the first six cuts of the rattan his lordship had paused to offer her another chance to demonstrate... what?

  Not that she was his property, for even the best-trained filly would never hold still for a whipping—nor would a conscientious master ever give that sort of training to an animal.

  Did Doctor Brown, then, find something in the special human will of a submissive girl that rendered her not the property of the natural man who trained her and used her for his pleasure, but something else?

  Lord Stephen laid the cane upon the bed next to the weeping girl, and sat upon the edge. He spoke to Joanna softly.

&nbs
p; “Take your hands away from your bottom, darling,” he said. “Put them by your head.”

  Joanna responded with a sob, and obeyed. “Please,” she said in a choked, muffled voice, as if she were sure he meant to punish her further.

  “Hush, darling,” his lordship said, laying his right hand gently upon the bottom he had covered with the signs of his ownership.

  His ownership: surely Doctor Brown did not object to his considering Joanna as belonging to him, claimed by right of the phallus. Surely the doctor and his rival agreed upon that point.

  He pushed two fingers between Joanna’s thighs, and she cried out in shame and discomfort, nevertheless moving her bottom just a little, but unmistakably in a manner that invited, no, begged his lordship’s caress.

  “You declined my offer of a reward from the doctor,” Lord Stephen said, bending down to murmur into her ear but also speaking loudly enough for the doctor to hear, “but you took those six so well that you have earned a reward from your master, wicked girl.”

  His lordship accompanied these words with a much deeper motion of his fingers, and an opening of his hand that spread the girl’s thighs though some remaining modesty in her tried for a moment to resist that opening. His two middle fingers found Joanna’s clitoris, so that she bucked her caned backside in urgent need and moaned into the sheet, and then they moved upward and inward to find, as he had had no doubt they would, her flowing wantonness in the complicated folds of the channel that would soon feel his cock.

  Still speaking to Joanna, but now ever more obviously intending his words as much for Doctor Brown as for his lordship’s fucking piece, Lord Stephen went on over her soft whimpers and the wet sounds of her cunt’s need.

  “Doctor Brown has written a very important treatise, Joanna, concerning young ladies like yourself,” he said, drawing from her throat a questioning sound, as if she longed and feared to know how that class of girl might differ from the one to which Mrs. Mund had assigned her, if it did. Her arousal seemed to flow even more freely as his expert fingers pushed softly in, until she gasped as he pressed at the place he must open her once and for all.

  “In it,” Lord Stephen went on, “though I have never had the privilege to read the work myself, I know he makes clear that a natural man like me has the masculine right to possess you, and to train you, when you have come into my power as you have. Perhaps I followed the precepts of another philosopher, a rival of Doctor Brown, more than the doctor’s own, when Mark and I took you from the inn where you had lodged, with the help of a bottle of ether. I had, you see, followed that rival’s notion that I should, because I wished it and I knew you would receive no better from Mrs. Mund, make you my property.”

  Now his lordship glanced back over his shoulder, to see that both Doctor Brown and his valet John Eliot, who truth to tell had impressed Lord Stephen very favorably, listened with close attention as they also watched the nobleman’s fingers work between Joanna’s thighs.

  Into the girl’s ear, he said, “Make no mistake, darling. You belong to me. But until Doctor Brown himself came here—sent no doubt by those who care for your welfare—I did not understand that in my training of the girls I have fucked here in my tower room before you I made them not my property, as is the lamentable way of marriage in our so-called enlightened society, but my pupils. I am teaching you a very special lesson, now, Joanna, am I not?”

  His fingers moved to her clitoris, pressed and circled. Joanna sobbed, “Yes, my lord.”

  “Spend for me, now, darling, and then I shall give you what you need most.” Lord Stephen did not look back at Doctor Brown now, as upon the instinct of his heart and his prick he went contrary to the plan outlined by the physician for Joanna’s defloration. His new grasp of the difference between Brown and Anti-Brown, the idea of the true natural man’s training lying beyond the mere assertion of a claim of ownership, gave him utter confidence now in the naturalness of his instincts.

  As Joanna bucked under his hand and she screamed with the helpless pleasure brought about by the cane, his hand, and the knowledge that his hard cock would soon be in her maiden cunny, his lordship used his left hand to begin unbuttoning his breeches. He kept his right hand between her thighs, still soothing her there and rousing her again toward another climax, and tugged the buff fabric down until the garment dropped around his feet and he could kick it away.

  “John,” he heard Doctor Brown say behind him. “I see a bolster upon the table over there. Would you fetch it, if you please, and place it under Miss Middleton’s hips? His lordship will enjoy himself in the vagina more that way, and Miss Middleton will also have an easier time of it as she undergoes primus coitus sexualis. I shall observe closely: this case presents several difficult and fascinating elements, as I consider whether the girl should remain with Lord Stephen.”

  “Mr. Eliot,” said Lord Stephen, looking around but still not removing his hand from the sweet cunny he caressed in a steady rhythm now, while Joanna’s delicious backside moved lewdly with each pressure of his lordship’s fingers and every motion occurred with a lovely accompanying whimper, “pray give the bolster to Mark: he will place it for me, as he has done before.”

  “Very well, sir,” said John, who had indeed fetched the long, plump cushion with alacrity. Mark stepped forward again from the wall where he had positioned himself after releasing Joanna, and nodded appreciatively to his fellow servant as he received the leather-covered bolster.

  “Lift those hips, now, miss,” the valet said, in the gruff but kindly voice he always used on these occasions. “It’s time. His lordship is going to fuck you now.”

  Joanna responded with a long moan, her face red and her eyes tightly shut. Her flaxen hair remained as Mark had arranged it for the flogging, spread prettily to the right, so that Lord Stephen could see her tearstained cheek and even the crease in her brow caused by the pleasure he did not cease to give her even as she pushed up so that the valet could slide the bolster underneath.

  Now his lordship stood, holding his manhood in his left hand and pumping it gently, loving how hard Joanna’s beauty and erotic need had made him. He knelt behind her upon the bed, and for the first time since he had begun to reward her for her conduct under the final cuts of the rattan he took his right hand, slick with her wanton desire, away so that he could rub her wetness over the hard length of his cock. Joanna gave a forlorn cry, but when Lord Stephen placed the head of the penis within her virginal furrow, and rubbed it up and down a little before seating himself firmly where he must thrust in and take her maidenhead, she quieted with a tiny whimper.

  His lordship held himself above the girl with his strong arms, now, and straddled her slightly parted thighs. With a practiced motion he drove down and in, then, as a plaintive, whining cry came from Joanna’s chest at the loss of her virginity and the lingering soreness of her whipped bottom. For a long moment Lord Stephen held himself at full length inside the velvet recess of her no-longer-maiden cunt, reveling in the pleasure to be had there, of possessing, of teaching, of fucking, and then he began to move in and out firmly, riding toward his climax in the ecstasy of mastering the beautiful girl he had taken for his own.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Joanna had thought it would hurt more, and indeed she felt some surprise at how much less it hurt than the horrible cane had done. The pressure of Lord Stephen’s lap upon her bottom-cheeks as he fucked gave her more discomfort, almost immediately, than the ghostly smart inside the cunny where his manhood now went in and out, claiming her with every stroke.

  All of it together—all the bodily sensation and all the thoughts attendant upon her punishment and the arrival of Doctor Brown and his lordship’s sudden decision to take her maidenhead—made Joanna feel that Lord Stephen Gaithwait had made her his own in the most shameful possible way. Not even Mrs. Mund’s terrible husband, it seemed to Joanna, had deflowered his bride in such a humiliating manner: in front of a physician and two servants, after flogging her bare bottom with such awful s
trictness and then causing his young wife to degrade herself by means of his hand between her thighs.

  She could not deny, especially because this fucking was witnessed by three other men, that her body had cried out for the thrust of her master’s stiff penis. That fact made it all the worse, when Joanna thought of it as she could not help thinking of it, with his lordship over her as she lay over the bolster, thrusting and thrusting into her like a stallion mounting his mare. They had seen how Miss Joanna Middleton had responded to Lord Stephen’s hand, after he had caned her, and she had consented, as difficult as she had found it, to present her bottom for the rattan’s agonizing lesson. Now they watched his hard prick use her little cunny and heard her cry out much more with wanton pleasure than in pain.

  For every driving thrust of the penis made Joanna answer with a pushing back of her hips, a needy lifting of her bottom despite—no, because of—the way Lord Stephen’s mastery awakened the soreness of the welts he had made with his cane. Mrs. Mund had called her wicked, and now her noble captor had begun to give her what wicked girls get: he fucked her hard, straddling her and holding her down with his weight, driving her cunt down onto the leather bolster they had put under her hips to present her better for his enjoyment.

  Joanna heard Doctor Brown’s voice, then, commenting upon the scene in a philosophical way that made her cheeks burn.

  “Well done, my lord,” the physician said. “Notice how she moves under you, demonstrating the readiness of the vagina for penetration. You did well, certainly, to initiate coitus, and the vigorous use you make of the girl’s lovely body now is entirely appropriate. Another point in your favor, I think.”