The Modesty Cure

by Emily Tilton

  Mr. Shaw had slowed his thrusting in Miss Reynolds’ anus, but as an advanced student he knew that when Dr. Brown made his rounds he liked to have his students continue whatever sexual activity he found them engaged in, while he made his daily observations. He therefore continued to pump his penis in and out of his girl’s fundament, as Brown began to ask his few brief questions.

  “That’s very fine anal coitus, Mr. Shaw. Very fine. I see Miss Reynolds has been birched. Why was that?”

  “Miss Reynolds was reluctant to present her bottom, Doctor.”

  Mr. Shaw spoke in a voice that betrayed only a little strain. His hands continued to grip Miss Reynolds’ hips firmly, as Dr. Brown always recommended. Miss Reynolds, for her part, had closed her eyes as if to lessen her shame at having the physician witness what she still considered the ordeal of her sexual use by her protector. Dr. Brown made a note, though, that her brow had creased in obvious arousal, and that she bit her lip to keep from voicing the lascivious feelings Mr. Shaw’s hard penis awoke in her.

  Dr. Brown clucked with his tongue. “We’ve discussed this, have we not, Miss Reynolds?”

  The sweet dark-haired girl’s brown eyes flew open and she looked at Dr. Brown with a dazed expression. Mr. Shaw drove his cock into her narrow rear passage again, and she gave a little whimper.

  “How you are to be ready to present any part of your body, with no false modesty, to the natural man who cares for you and who has taken responsibility for you?”

  “Yes, Doctor,” she moaned, as Mr. Shaw slowly made his outward stroke.

  Dr. Brown turned back to the cocksman. “Next time, Mr. Shaw, I might try the lap technique we discussed, rather than the birch or the strap. Most accomplished natural men find it’s best to ensure some variety, if you take my meaning?”

  Mr. Shaw nodded. The lap technique involved sitting a clothed girl on the cocksman’s lap and fondling her under her petticoats until she begged to present her charms for his enjoyment, as Dr. Brown named the essential gestures he taught young women like Miss Reynolds to make, one for each of the three natural paths of masculine pleasure: mouth, vulva, and anus.

  “Yes, Doctor,” said Mr. Shaw.

  “Carry on, then,” Dr. Brown said, closing his book with a smile. As he made his way back into the corridor and closed the door behind him, the increasingly rapid rhythm of the bedsprings made him smile.

  Miss Booth and Miss Dixon were having a modesty lesson with Sister Stone, in the tiled training room that boasted a drain in its center toward which the floor sloped. Dr. Brown entered just as the two young ladies, both of good family but just now both completely naked and red-faced, were peeing on themselves, at Sister Stone’s command. Forbidden even to squat, let alone use the pot, they watched their golden urine trickle, then rush down their thighs, both whimpering a little at the feeling.

  “There, girls,” said the wise, middle-aged Sister Stone, dressed in the severe frock of a nurse. “That feels better, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, sister,” said little blond Deborah Booth, whose inner labia peeped saucily out from the tidily depilated cleft between her now liberally bedewed thighs.

  “Yes, sister,” said willowy, auburn-haired Thea Dixon, whose vulva presented much more modestly.

  “How are these young ladies today, sister?” Dr. Brown asked.

  Sister Stone said in her broad Yorkshire tones, “Miss Dixon has been a good girl, but you must ask Miss Booth whether she intends to change her bashful ways.”

  He turned to the adorable blond girl. “What happened, Miss Booth?” he asked.

  Miss Booth looked down at her urine-soaked feet and the trickle of both girls’ pee making its way across the white tiles to the drain.

  “I had to take her over my knee for a spanking, is what happened, Doctor,” said the sister. “She wouldn’t play with herself when I told her to.”

  Dr. Brown looked intently at Miss Booth. “Look at me, Deborah,” he said, and she turned her blue eyes to his and widened them. “You must do as sister says, do you understand?”

  “But I did it, after she spanked me!” The pert little nose twitched, but not, he thought, in defiance; rather in hope that she could somehow have exceptions made for her. Girls frequently took a long while to understand that such exceptions would render their training almost meaningless: training a girl for a natural man’s pleasure involved awakening in her the need for complete, shameless sexual obedience.

  “You must learn to masturbate without being spanked, Deborah,” he said patiently. “Now, when your master Mr. Graham had coitus with you for the first time, I believe that he spanked you first. Is that right?”

  “Yes, Doctor,” said Miss Booth, frowning a little as if trying to follow his train of thought.

  “And so, though perhaps you did not even know it yourself, you needed to be spanked before you would touch your vulva. You must learn to do that, and whatever else he commands, when Mr. Graham requires it of you, whether or not he punishes you first.”

  He turned from Miss Booth’s still-puzzled face to Sister Stone. “Sister, after they’ve cleaned each other up, please work them on the double masturbation saddle for fifteen minutes, facing one another. Watching Miss Dixon climax while she does the same may help Miss Booth let go of her reliance on punishment.”

  He went finally to the door of the grand bedroom, as he had named the large salon-like space that held three large beds as well as several divans and punishment horses. He looked in at the peephole designed for his observation, and saw as he expected that Mr. Stallings and Mr. Hudson had exchanged girls for an exercise in side-by-side coitus: on the central bed Mr. Stallings had coitus with Miss Miller on the left and Mr. Hudson with Miss Parker on the right.

  The couples both copulated in the side-lying position, but Mr. Stallings had laid Miss Miller on her left side, while Mr. Hudson had put Miss Parker on her right, so that the girls must face one another and each must watch her own master enjoy another girl, while of course feeling her own vagina enjoyed by another cocksman. Dr. Brown did not go in, but merely observed the expressions upon the girls’ faces: side-by-side coitus first with a natural man’s own girl and then later with another man’s, loaned for the occasion, constituted a very important part of the curriculum at the College for Advanced Study, one so intense that Dr. Brown never interrupted it.

  On the faces of Beatrix Miller and Cressida Parker, he saw the submission for which he looked: their understanding of how much pleasure they gave Mr. Hudson and Mr. Stallings by simply letting their natural men watch them as they themselves watched the shameful spectacle of hard penises in tight vaginas—the penis that belonged in each girl’s own vagina thrusting into the other girl’s instead. With it he saw the arousal this submission gave, layered atop the animal arousal of the coitus itself. The girls cried out as their masters swung their hips to drive their erections so deep inside that the girls’ young buttocks came up against the sinewy laps of the men.

  Miss Amanda Eaker would cry out the same way in a few weeks’ time, Dr. Brown thought with a smile, whether in subjection to the hard penis of her protector and master, Mr. Coventry, or to another cocksman’s. Side-by-side coitus would become as much a part of her life as it had become for Miss Miller and Miss Parker—and for every young woman of Dr. Brown’s college.

  Chapter Six

  At midnight, when all was quiet, James had the carriage wait five hundred yards down the road from the Eaker farm so that the noise of the horses would not wake Miss Eaker’s parents or their one servant, a maid-of-all-work. From behind the barn, Miss Eaker came to him, walking very stiffly. Her eyes, in the dim light of a waning moon, looked red and puffy.

  James took her hands and gazed into her face, anger at Charlton rising in his breast, but knowing they must hurry and not wanting to bring back to Miss Eaker’s mind what he felt sure she had undergone at the monster’s hands.

  “He…” she started. “He…”

  “Hush now, darling,” James said
, the endearment seeming to come so naturally to him that he scarcely noticed himself uttering it. “We can talk in the carriage.”

  He put his arm around her waist, and to his elation she clung to him as they walked to where the coachman waited impassively. When they had nearly reached the door that the man held open, he doffed his cap with his other hand and said, “Is that you, Miss Eaker?”

  She drew back a little, but then she spoke in a choked voice. “Yes, Mr. Podgins. I… I… am going away.”

  The coachman gave her a gentle smile that James could just make out in the moonlight. “That’s all right, miss,” he said. “I won’t tell a soul as it was I who helped you elope with your fine gentleman. I don’t doubt as you’re right to do it, with what they’re saying in the village.”

  James had a momentary pang of guilt that the elopement in question would not be of the sort Podgins probably imagined, but he still had no doubt that he had lit upon the only solution available to Amanda Eaker’s difficulty.

  “Thank you, Mr. Podgins,” she said. “Perhaps… perhaps you might tell my parents?”

  Podgins nodded. “I shall, if you wish it, Miss Eaker.” He looked at James.

  “That’s all right,” James said shortly. “Quite all right.” He handed the coachman a shilling. Podgins replaced his hat on his head to take it.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said. “Thank you very kindly.”

  “There’s a half-crown at the other end if we reach the house in Westmoreland by daybreak. You’re not to tell Miss Eaker’s people our destination, mind. You may say that she will write when she is settled.”

  “Westmoreland?” Amanda asked, in some confusion. “I had thought… that is to say… are you not from Dorset, Mr. Coventry? Shall we take the railroad, then?”

  Podgins gave James a look that seemed to say that the coachman would have no mental difficulty in bringing James and Amanda to the gates of Hades, if she went thither to escape Mr. George Charlton, and a half-crown awaited him from the man who had hired him. Young ladies who eloped even in 1875 could not expect to have any more say in where their lovers took them than their counterparts of the libertine eighteenth century had enjoyed: if James wished to take the girl straight to a London brothel, there to keep her as a whore, Podgins would have sighed a bit over it, perhaps, but gladly spent the fee he got from it. Westmoreland probably seemed to him a highly respectable place by comparison.

  “Please get into the carriage, Miss Eaker,” James said. “I shall explain once we are on our way.”

  He urged her forward, and though her steps to the coach door were slower and more reluctant than they had been from the barn, she went, and they were soon ensconced upon the seat, side by side, and Podgins had closed the door, stepped up onto the box, and quietly got the horses walking.

  “Why do we go so slowly?” Amanda asked.

  “We must pass through the village as quietly as we can,” James explained patiently. “With any luck, no one will know that you have gone until we are at the college.”

  “The college?” A frown appeared on her face. “Are you a… a teacher, then?”

  “No, darling,” James replied. He took her hands in his. “Try to listen carefully to what I will tell you now.”

  Amanda’s eyes widened, as if she had heard something in his voice that frightened her. It did not surprise James, since from Dr. Brown’s essay that he must now set his hand to the plow of training her. No soft words would do, now: in the eyes of the world—which meant, at the moment, Amanda Eaker’s eyes as well—his plans for her defloration and sexual training at the College of Advanced Study would appear monstrous. If he did not own that seeming monstrosity, he had learned from the physician’s writing, he could not in time demonstrate how natural Amanda’s sexual service to him would soon be.

  The first suggestion to a young woman that a man’s natural erotic rights supervene the false and pernicious modesty and shame thrust upon her by her so-called education in conventional morality will always be greeted with indignation, Brown wrote. One important test of a man’s ability to foster in himself his own manly nature, difficult as it is in this benighted day and age, will be seen in whether he can resolve to teach the young woman he chooses to train for his sexual pleasure the first important lesson: that nature has fashioned her to obey him, and him to enjoy her obedience. Not one man in ten, in my judgment, has it in him today to make himself a truly natural man. Not one in ten can look a blushing young woman in the eye and tell her that from henceforth she will learn to yield up to him the secret places of her body and her most intimate charms, in order that he may use them for his pleasure. Today’s natural man must become his true self not as men did in ages past, when a young man grew up in the knowledge that he might enjoy himself erotically with the girl of his choice, provided she did not belong to another man of his class, but, as I see it, lifting himself up as it were by his own bootstraps.

  “I have saved you from Mr. Charlton,” James began.

  A little smile broke out on Amanda’s face at that, and her sweet, pale lips parted as if to express her thanks, but James continued, making clear to her that when he spoke, she must listen and wait her turn.

  “But I must now tell you that your salvation will be very different from what you expect.”

  Amanda’s eyes went wide again at that—much wider than they had when he had a moment ago instructed her to listen to him.

  “Do you mean to say that you will not… not m-marry me?”

  Of course that would be her conventional, worldly concern, would it not. A tear appeared in the corner of her eye. For a moment—no longer than the blink of an eye—James wondered if he did have it in him to make himself a natural man lifting himself up by his own bootstraps.

  Then, however, he knew that he could, and the words and arguments—sound reasoning though he knew Amanda would take some while to see it thus—came to him as if by inspiration.

  “I may well marry you, Miss Eaker,” James said, making his voice gentle now. She frowned, as if confused by the hypothetical way in which he had spoken. “But a connection of marriage is not why I have brought you away from your home, and rescued you from that odious man who would never have allowed you a day’s joy in your life after you had married him.”

  A tear appeared in Amanda’s eye, rolled down her cheek. James put out his fingertip to touch it, and Amanda shivered. Suddenly he held her face in both his hands and kissed her as he had longed to kiss for so long. Amanda yielded up her mouth to his and her body to his embracing arms, and a sighing whimper of pleasure she could perhaps not even have described came from her chest as he kissed and kissed again.

  When James broke the fifth or sixth kiss, he held her in silence for a while, as she panted, nearly breathless, within the circle of his arms.

  “Tell me what he did to you,” he said softly. Then, again, the inspiration—the power to lift himself by his bootstraps—came to him from within, and he spoke further. He said, in an even, low voice intended to convince Amanda both of how seriously he took the matter and of how well he understood why she had whimpered when he kissed her, even if she did not. “Whatever it was, though, it is of the utmost importance that you understand that everything he did, or made you do, is undoubtedly something that I will also require of you.”

  Amanda shuddered in his arms, and the shudder seemed for a moment almost to become a struggle to free herself from James’ embrace.

  From the box, suddenly, Podgins called, “Ha!” and the reins jingled. The horses hastened to a trot, and then a very fast canter. The carriage began to sway, and the wind to whistle by the slightly open windows.

  Again Amanda moved, tried to twist, but again James held her fast, not roughly but very firmly. “Tell me,” he commanded.

  She gave a little sob into the shoulder of his coat. “He whipped me,” she said. “He whipped me so hard.”

  If Amanda had felt nothing ambiguous about Charlton’s misbegotten attempt at premarital discipline
, James knew her voice would have sounded very different. He knew instinctually that the vicissitudes of her situation—the knowledge of what had happened to her friend Jane at the mercy of Mr. Penny, the idea that she would undergo similar dreadful trials, and perhaps above all her expectation of being carried away from it all by James himself—had made the experience of the whipping a morbidly erotic one. Her self-proclaimed bridegroom’s punishment strap, falling again and again upon her bare bottom in order to teach Amanda obedience to his erotic whims, had to her great confusion awakened in her just the feelings that a natural man must enlist to make her happy—and him along with her.

  So James took the way his cock had hardened at her words as the sign of his incipient mastery, and he said, “And then?”

  She gave another sob. “Then… I-I h-had to kneel in front of him…” Her voice trailed off.

  “He made you suck his cock,” James said, knowing that to help her thus would move her submission further along.

  She nodded against his shoulder. “H-he called it his… his prick, but…”

  “Yes,” James said. “That part of a man has a great many names. Did he spend in your mouth? Did he make you swallow his seed?”

  Amanda nodded again. “It was…” Again James heard in her voice the ambiguity that showed that new feelings had begun to unfold in her breast—and, he felt sure, new sensations had started to take hold between her thighs. He imagined, too, that her whipped bottom must be aiding in those sensations’ stirring. “I didn’t like it.”

  “Darling, if I told you that you must suck my cock, and swallow my seed, do you think that you would like it better?”

  “Oh,” Amanda said very softly. Her body stiffened for a moment, though without a renewal of the delicious squirming, and then seemed to give up its tension and to relax in his arms, a feeling even more delightful than the squirming had been. James moved his hands to hold the back of her head, gently, and to twine his fingers in her soft hair. He turned her face to his and kissed her, much more softly than he had at first, his tongue less demanding now but still seeking to teach his girl that she must receive what it pleased him to give.