by Emily Tilton
“Of course, Doctor,” the man said, as Dr. Brown knew he would.
Miss Eaker gave a sob of gratitude, for she clearly now could feel that a crisis for her body approached: the cliff of her orgasm, which she must either soar over or be turned away in tears.
But the doctor ceased the immediate stimulus of the clitoris, and spread the girl’s vagina open for his and her cocksman’s inspection. She gasped at the strange feeling.
“Do you see the hymen, Mr. Coventry? When you insert your erect penis for the first time, and thrust it inside fully, as nature will command you to do, you will rupture this membrane, which Hippocrates named after the Greek divinity of marriage, Hymen.”
He looked up at Miss Eaker, who had opened her eyes again, her face flushed. “I am afraid, Miss Eaker, that nature made you so that you might not easily behold your own vagina. Although in general I accept the decree of nature, in this case I think it is important that you see how you are made. Soon, too, you will see the vaginas of other girls as well.” He reached over to his little desk and took up the hand mirror. He gave it to Mr. Coventry.
“Hold this so that Miss Eaker, too, can look inside her vagina, and also see her anus while I discuss her erotic duties with her.”
The younger man accepted the mirror with slightly knitted brows, as if a little surprised that his young lady should be allowed to see a sight so very immodest.
“That’s it, Mr. Coventry. Just about there. Do you see, Miss Eaker?”
The girl had started to pant a little, as Dr. Brown accompanied the ceremony of the mirror with a bit of renewed attention to her clitoris. “Yes, Doctor,” she whispered.
“Do you see the white membrane inside? That is what most people call the maidenhead—that is, the hymen that we are discussing now.”
“That is my maidenhead?” she said in a small voice, as if she had never supposed that a maidenhead was anything but a vague metaphor. “And I-I sh-shall lose it? Today?”
The doctor smiled. The idea of a girl losing her maidenhead held a great significance, both positive and negative, in the minds of the vast majorities of young women educated in England.
“Yes, Miss Eaker. When Mr. Coventry penetrates your vagina with his penis, he will tear though it—rupture is the technical term. There will be a bit of discomfort for you, as you are deflowered—again, according to the common way of speaking—and some blood. Even so, however, you will start to feel some of the pleasure to which I have already aroused you, and which—since Mr. Coventry has permitted it—I will as you might say perfect in a few moments.”
The young lady swallowed hard. “When… will he…?”
“After tea,” the doctor said, “you will be brought back to your cell to think about your new life as Mr. Coventry’s young lady, and your service to his sexual needs. He will come to you there, have first coitus with you, and then probably have coitus several more times in the night, waking you as he chooses to enjoy your vagina again. He will not have anal intercourse with you tonight, but tomorrow night you must expect that he will do so, as is right, and Sister Stone will give you a lesson in the afternoon, on how to present your buttocks and anus for his penis.”
A deep crease had appeared on Miss Eaker’s brow as she heard this information, and now she bit her lip. The doctor had continued to stimulate her gently as he spoke, placing a delicate finger on her anus when he mentioned anal intercourse and working it inside a bit so that the girl understood that a natural man had the right to introduce into her rectum what he chose.
Now he reached over again to his desk and fetched the speculum. He showed it to Miss Eaker. “This is a gynecological speculum. At your next examination, I shall use it inside your vagina, but until Mr. Coventry has had first coitus with you and ruptured your hymen, the danger of depriving him of that pleasure is too great. Some men have said that girls’ hymens should simply be ruptured in their physicians’ offices, but as you have seen I hold as much as possible with the dictates of nature. Nature decreed that you, Miss Eaker, should have your maidenhead taken by the man who has won you.”
The girl chewed upon her inner cheek now, instead of biting her lip, but the frown of mingled shame and arousal remained.
“On the other hand, I will put my speculum in your rectum and examine you there, both to ascertain your health and to give you a preliminary lesson in relaxing your anal musculature, as you must do when it is time for Mr. Coventry to put his erect penis there. Mr. Coventry, if you move a bit, you will be able to show Miss Eaker what I am doing, which should prove instructive to both of you.”
Dr. Brown took a little jelly from the jar on his desk on his fingers and smeared it over the beak of the speculum. Then, as Miss Eaker gave a little cry at the feeling, the sight in the mirror, or both, he inserted the speculum in her rectum and began to open it.
“Oh, Doctor, please…” she moaned.
“Try to relax, Miss Eaker,” he replied. “I am opening your sphincter muscle, as it is called, a little wider than Mr. Coventry’s penis will open it. His vigorous motions, however, will prove something of an ordeal at first, during anal coitus. Mr. Coventry, she looks just fine in here, and you may have frequent anal intercourse with her. Sister Stone will keep her clean for you; the girls get frequent enemas both to keep them docile and to make sure they’re ready when a cocksman wants to enjoy an anus.”
“Oh, no…” Amanda whispered, undoubtedly conversant with the idea of an enema from her life upon her father’s farm.
As he withdrew the speculum from her backside, Dr. Brown said, “Don’t worry, Miss Eaker, all the girls come to enjoy their enemas greatly. Sister Stone will occasionally administer a disciplinary enema, of course, but if you’re a good girl you won’t have one of those.”
He spoke without looking up from her vagina, where he now began again to rub her adorable little clitoris.
“Observe, Mr. Coventry, how the mention of the enema seems to have increased Miss Eaker’s arousal. Also watch the way her muscles are spasming, and above all the bucking of her hips. Miss Eaker, try to restrain yourself a bit, or we shall have to strap you to the table for your own safety.”
These words—as the doctor had suspected they might—sent Miss Amanda Eaker soaring over the orgasmic cliff. She looked at Mr. Coventry and reached her hand out for his, which he took, his own eyes darting between the arousing sight of the doctor masturbating his young lady and the lovelier, more ambiguous sight of her entreating eyes. Those beautiful orbs closed now, and the girl moved her buttocks shamelessly upon the table, seeking as much of the pleasure of her first climax as she could have, until she gave a single, piercing cry and lay back, exhausted.
Dr. Brown leaned over to Mr. Coventry and said in his ear, “Praise her.”
The young man nodded once, and said with the words clearly ready to his tongue, “Such a good girl, Amanda. Such a good girl, darling, to spend for me that way.”
Chapter Twelve
As Sister Stone put Amanda to bed in her cell, the nurse said, “You must prepare yourself well, now, girl. Your gentleman will be with you soon, to have his natural rights.”
Amanda felt she should know the answer to the question she asked, then, because she felt that Dr. Brown had given her the key to the mystery of his college’s purpose in his examination room. But that time with the doctor and with James had confused her very greatly—not just in the way the doctor kept saying so many wise and complicated things that Amanda knew she wouldn’t be able to remember them all, but in the way he and James accompanied those things with overwhelming sensations Amanda had never before experienced.
She spoke timidly to the sister, as the woman removed the covers from the bed. “Are natural rights like conjugal rights?”
“Yes and no, my dear, yes and no,” the nurse replied, her voice sounding a little warmer than it yet had when addressing Amanda, as if Amanda’s respectful question had won some favor with the sister who it appeared now held responsibility over her. “But hush
, now, lie down on the bed, and prepare yourself. Think about your gentleman, about his penis, and how hard it will get before he puts it inside you. Make up your mind to be a good girl for him, from the very start. The doctor and your gentleman will tell you much more about natural rights as your training continues.”
So Amanda got upon the wide bed—almost as wide as a bed in which two might lie—expecting that Sister Stone would put the covers over her and tuck her into them. The nurse must have seen her looking at the top sheet and counterpane she now held in her slightly gnarled hands.
“Oh, no, dear,” she said. “No bedclothes now that might get in the way of your gentleman. You lie there and think about what I told you.” She folded the broad fabric she held quickly and efficiently, and put those covers that now covered nothing into the little wardrobe that stood in the corner next to the door.
Sister Stone turned to Amanda one final time. “When I see you again, my dear, you will be a woman. You have a fine gentleman to keep you—very fine indeed. Don’t fuss, or be missish about his pleasure and how he likes to have you. You must give him his way, and have his penis inside you as often as he wants to have you tonight. If he likes your vagina so much that he makes you very sore down there, it’s a sign that your beauty has captivated him.”
Amanda, naked atop the bed, could only stare at the nurse wide-eyed in response to this speech, which went along in perfect harmony with what the doctor had said but seemed somehow even more embarrassing coming from a middle-aged woman.
After Sister Stone had closed the door behind her, Amanda turned upon her side, instinctively covering herself with her hands. She gazed up to where the last of the day’s light filtered in through the high window.
Natural rights must be like conjugal rights, mustn’t they? They decreed that a man could put his cock inside a girl, it appeared, just as he chose. Amanda didn’t feel she could be sure exactly how she knew that in the world of Mrs. Bates, village schoolmistress, a husband’s cock only went into his wife’s cunny—whether from a softly spoken lesson Amanda had pushed down under the surface of her waking memory, or simply from the consistent, righteous shape of every lesson she had had either from Mrs. Bates or from her own mother—but she felt sure that the idea that the husband instead could make his wife serve his cock in any way he pleased would strike Mrs. Bates as monstrous.
And yet Jane had to have Mr. Penny’s cock in her bottom, and so would Amanda, with Mr. Coventry, because of men’s right to do that, whether conjugal or natural.
But… conjugal meant marital, didn’t it? It struck Amanda that there must be an important difference. What did the vicar say at weddings, “for the getting of children”? One thing a farm girl knew is that children came from the womb, out what Dr. Brown had so recently taught Amanda to call the vagina. The cunny. The cunt.
For a husband to say, as Mr. Penny said to Jane and Mr. Charlton had promised to Amanda, that he would make regular use, for his pleasure, of mouth and bottom, fucking her in those places just as he did in her cunt, for the getting of children… that couldn’t be conjugal, could it?
She thought, suddenly and irresistibly, of James’ cock. Of how it had tasted so manly when she had to suck it, kneeling before him. Of how she had been able to make him feel so lovely that the seed had spurted out, which she must swallow even though it didn’t taste good. Of how he would put it, long and hard, into her tender little maiden cunny. Of how the sister had shaved Amanda’s cunny, because James wanted to see it that way.
Natural. Was natural the opposite of conjugal, then? Did Mr. Penny and Mr. Charlton mean ‘natural’ when they said ‘conjugal’?
James wanted to put his cock in her bottom. Dr. Brown said he might do it frequently. James had a big, hard cock that Amanda’s body had to receive, wherever he wanted to put it. Amanda’s poor cunny. Amanda’s poor bottom. She must prepare herself.
She touched herself with her right hand, from behind, between her thighs and between her bottom-cheeks where the welts of Mr. Charlton’s strap still felt a little sore. She moved the fingertips gently in and out, up and down, pretending that someone else—James—did it. If someone else did it, it must not be forbidden.
But the little bud at the top… she must not touch herself there, no matter how much she wanted to. When Sister Stone had said that touching herself was forbidden, she must have meant that place, where the doctor had touched to make her have that spending thing James had praised her for, that felt so lovely and so shameful at once.
But her cunny was so wet, now. Amanda could slide her fingertips all the way along, move the liquor up, and even put some on the tiny flower of her bottom-hole, which itched a little from the examination, and needed her finger’s soothing touch.
She bit her lip, and at first made no sound except the puffs of breath through her nostrils as she grew more excited. Then, though she had no intention of making the little noises, tiny whimpers began to rise from her chest and emerge softly into the air, like the mewling of a kitten. Somehow, to hear those naughty sounds made her feel naughty, and though she had resolved she must not touch the little bud, the clitoris, that resolution vanished in a moment. Amanda licked her lips, felt the deep furrow in her brow, and delicately rubbed the most sensitive spot of all.
The kitten whimper grew loud and long, and her hips bucked involuntarily against her hand. She knew how bad a girl she was being, no matter whether she touched herself in front or behind, and so she used her left hand to play with her breasts, and the whimper became a little cry, and she was so close, shockingly close to that wonderful bursting of the ever-expanding bubble inside her tummy, down so low. Just a few more strokes of her fingertips… just a few more.
The door opened. Amanda’s hands flew, almost of their own accord, to the sides, and balled into little fists of surprise and confusion.
“Amanda,” James said, stepping into the room in a dressing gown of black damask silk that made him look like a king, or a sorcerer, in a fairytale, “what are you doing?”
Her heart pounded in her chest, and her mouth opened to reply, but no sound came out.
“You may as well know that I have been watching you masturbate, darling, through the peephole in the door,” he said, with a sternness in his voice that made her cower a little, curling up on her side and putting her right hand back where it had been, but now to cover herself so that he might not see her cunny.
“Masturbate?” she asked in a whisper.
“Touch your cunt to make yourself feel good.”
Amanda swallowed hard.
James parted the dressing gown, then, and took his already hard cock in his hand. “Or, for a man, to do this,” he said, demonstrating the same motion he had employed in the doctor’s examination room. “Men may masturbate. Girls may not, without special permission.”
Something about that made Amanda want to cry, though she couldn’t stop watching James’ hand go up and down on the shaft of his manhood. Perhaps she knew how lovely he could make himself feel, and the injustice of his interrupting her just as she was feeling the same sort of loveliness seemed almost tragic.
“I think Sister Stone told you not to touch yourself that way—that is, not to masturbate. Is that right?”
Amanda nodded.
“It’s my right to punish you for that,” James said, and something about the way he said it as he himself masturbated, the head of his cock emerging proudly from his fist with each downward stroke, told Amanda that he wanted to punish her—that for some reason it would please him to whip her, just as for some reason, though it seemed lunatic, she wanted her angel to whip her. “Or to have the sister do it, or another cocksman, or even to make another of the girls here do it. Discipline is very important here at Dr. Brown’s college, and you will be thrashed when you need it.”
She had no need to be told to keep her eyes on his penis, now; she saw the little drop of liquor appear, as it had before she kissed the cock for the first time, and suddenly she wanted to kiss again
. As he spoke of Amanda’s future punishments, his hand seemed to move quicker on his manhood.
How could it make her want to kiss her angel’s cock, to hear that she would receive frequent whippings in the house to which he had brought her?
But she said softly, “Yes, sir.”
“I must punish you, now, but then I shall give you permission to masturbate in front of me, while you suck my cock. Spread your legs.”
So James advanced, and Amanda did as he commanded, spreading her legs so that he could see everything laid out for him, hoping perhaps that to have her that way would appease his wrath. But then, to her dismay, he said, “I shall spank your cunt, darling, because that is where you have committed this offense. Hold your knees open for me.”
“Oh, no… sir, please!” Fear rose in her, but at the same time the thought of being punished right there, where the naughtiness had started, seemed to stir her so thoroughly that she could not disobey, and she did it, holding herself open though her whole body shook. She watched his hand come up and go down, and she screamed at the terrible agony though the other feeling grew so hot as well. With a rush of heat to her cheeks, she wondered if his hand would come away wet from the cunny he spanked.
She screamed her contrition as he spanked her five times between her legs, and then he said very gently, as if he were sorry to have had to punish her that way, “Now make yourself feel better, darling.”
Then he watched her rub the cunny he had spanked, telling her to put a finger, then two fingers also in her bottom-hole as he steadily moved the cock in her mouth. He stood at the side of the bed and held her head firmly so he could thrust in and out, talking to her of his pleasures all the while.
“The first time I fuck you, in a few moments,” he said, “we will fuck face to face, in what is called the matrimonial position. Rub your clitoris now, darling. Very firmly. That’s right.”
It felt to Amanda much more like James, somehow, touched her through her own fingertips, than that she played with herself, masturbated. To touch your cunny with the permission of your angel made that touching, really, not your own—above all when his hard penis thrust in and out of your mouth, at his whim, while you did it.
