The Modesty Cure

by Emily Tilton

  “Well,” she continued. “Mr. Graham calls it an arse saddle, and I must be strapped into it with my bottom up and my face covered, and then all the gentlemen Mr. Graham has invited will…” Miss Booth’s words trailed off as she cast her eyes to the floor.

  “Go on, dear,” said Sister Stone, who tended to develop a real affection for the girls she must train to the more rigorous sorts of sexual service. “You’re doing fine.”

  Miss Eaker’s eyes had only grown larger and rounder, and her own face blazed as red as a sunset.

  “They’ll take turns,” Miss Booth managed to whisper. “You know, in my bottom. They won’t be allowed to put their penises in my vagina at all, he says, because he wants to keep my vagina for himself.” Having finished this terrible narrative, she raised her eyes and Dr. Brown watched Amanda Eaker’s brow furrow to see that Miss Booth had a little smile on her mouth. “So the sisters use the training phallus on me every day for a long time, in the arse saddle, to get my bottom ready. There is to be a party, a fortnight hence, when Mr. Graham will offer my anus for the first time.”

  Miss Eaker turned desperately to Dr. Brown. “James—that is to say, Mr. Coventry… He won’t… not like that, will he?”

  Dr. Brown sighed. “Miss Eaker, I had hoped that Miss Booth’s tale would demonstrate to you that my natural men’s requirements include acts of coitus for which a girl like you must be well prepared. Soon, you will be able to express your gratitude for the way the training phallus has taught you to open as your gentleman deserves. But I am afraid that your reluctance to obey and to receive your training shows a need for discipline.”

  “Shall I fetch the cane, Doctor?” asked Sister Stone.

  Miss Eaker whirled to look at her in horror. “Please… I’ll…” She knelt on the floor and began to bend over.

  “That is not sufficient now, Miss Eaker,” said Dr. Brown. “Yes, sister, the cane if you please. Just six, I think. Miss Dixon and Miss Parker, please bring the whipping block. You two will hold Miss Eaker down while I cane her. Then she will receive her training right there, in order to relate the ideas of punishment and anal coitus in her mind and heart.”

  Amanda Eaker’s little bottom soon rose over the block, a modified version of the boys’ public school article that presented a girl’s backside more prominently as she knelt upon the step, clutching the block’s well-worn far corners. The device had straps to secure the miscreant for punishment, but when other girls were present Dr. Brown preferred to have them do the office of keeping the girl to be flogged in place until her bottom bore the signs of his justice to the extent he had decided.

  Miss Eaker wailed as Thea Dixon and Cressida Parker led her to the block and helped her bend over it. “Please, Doctor! Not the cane! I am sure that Mr. Coventry—I am sure that my master does not…”

  “Oh, he wishes it,” Dr. Brown assured the girl, thinking of the men watching from the comfortable observation lounge. “Your gentleman has brought you here because he understands your need for discipline. With six stripes across your pretty rear end, you will not hesitate again to obey, for a good long time.”

  She sobbed as he made his practice cuts through the air with the half-inch rattan the sister brought him. Then she screamed as he caned her, as if her heart would break, pleading for mercy and calling for her James to rescue her. Though Dr. Brown did not usually give many strokes of the cane, he always pulled his arm back at full length, and the welts he laid across a young lady’s posterior always lasted several days. None of the other girls had dry eyes, either, as young Miss Eaker struggled against Miss Dixon’s and Miss Parker’s restraining hands, her lovely young bottom clenching and unclenching in the agony of her just reward.

  Sister Stone stepped forward with the training phallus and the lubricating oil, then, and Miss Eaker cried out anew as the older woman began to work her anus with rigor.

  “Hush, child,” said the nurse. “Relax, and open this little ring. You can do it. You know you can. Push out, just as you know how. There. That’s it.”

  The girl gave a great sob as she felt herself held open by the nurse’s terrible implement. The other girls watched with some alarm as the black India rubber disappeared into their new schoolmate’s rump.

  “Now a few minutes of simulated coitus,” Dr. Brown said with satisfaction. Sister Stone began to move the phallus in and out of Miss Eaker’s anus, as Mr. Coventry would do that evening. Miss Eaker gave only forlorn little whimpers now, as she learned her difficult lesson.

  “Any questions, girls?” the doctor asked as the little show of the new girl’s discipline over the block continued.

  Miss Miller raised her hand. “Will Miss Eaker wear a plug in her anus, Doctor?” Beatrix Miller herself, like Thea Dixon, had frequently to wear an anal widener. Girls who wore them, Dr. Brown observed, tended to form a little sorority inside the college.

  “That will be up to Mr. Coventry, after he has enjoyed her there with his penis, Miss Miller.”

  Miss Eaker gave another little sob at that, and Miss Miller seemed satisfied.

  Miss Booth raised her hand. “What will we be doing after Miss Eaker’s bottom training, doctor?”

  “I’m glad you asked, Miss Booth,” the doctor said, smiling. “We have a visitor today, from the colonies.” He took his bell from his pocket and rang it. A large man with very dark skin stepped through the door from the observation lounge.

  “Girls, I should like to present to you Mr. Chelimo.”

  “Hello, young ladies,” said the cultured colonial, whose refined words matched neither the nudity of his person nor the enormity of the erect penis he pumped gently in his right hand.

  Sister Stone finished with Amanda Eaker’s anus, then, so she too could behold the man who strode confidently toward the naked girls.

  “Today,” said Dr. Brown, “you girls will learn to please a natural man from a foreign land, whose penis will test your erotic training very severely.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Amanda’s only role in the fucking of her new schoolmates by Mr. Chelimo was, thank heaven, to observe. Even to watch, though, herself naked and with her bottom-hole feeling so strange and itchy after the terrible training of Sister Stone’s mock penis, seemed to change her—train her in a different way.

  Dr. Brown had her stand against the wall with her hands upon her head. “Don’t think of covering your eyes, Miss Eaker, or turning away. You must take note, and learn, so that next time, if your master permits it, the training by a sizable penis of your mouth, vagina, and anus can proceed smoothly.”

  So Amanda saw the fear in the other girls’ eyes as they had to kneel in front of Mr. Chelimo, and she saw the way he held their heads tightly as he used their mouths, one after the other. The sight of the foamy stuff that must be made of the girls’ spittle and Mr. Chelimo’s sexual liquor gracing the lips of Miss Dixon and Miss Booth, Miss Reynolds and Miss Miller and Miss Parker, as the long, dark cock went ceaselessly in and out, made her feel faint.

  But the way they cried out when he fucked their bottoms nearly made her swoon dead away, so that Sister Stone led her to her own chair to keep Amanda from falling and hurting herself.

  “You just put your head down between your knees if you feel that way,” said the woman who had worked Amanda’s anus so rigorously that now, as she sat, her bottom didn’t even feel like it belonged to her any longer. “You’re white as a sheet, child—as well you may be. I’ve submitted to some men like Mr. Chelimo in my day, and enjoyed it, but I know how it scares a girl to see it.”

  In the center of the room the other young ladies of the college knelt in a line and reached back to spread their bottom-cheeks, as Mr. Chelimo went from offered rump to offered rump. The rigor with which he possessed those little flowers, filling them again and again with his enormous manhood, sent wails of discomfort to the rafters.

  Amanda looked curiously at the nursing sister. It hadn’t occurred to her that Sister Stone must have had some of the same stran
ge training the young ladies of Dr. Brown’s college received, but she supposed the truth couldn’t be otherwise. If the statuesque middle-aged woman had submitted to a natural man as her master, in her day, it seemed hard to tell now, as Sister Stone gave a reassuring smile.

  Not for the first time, Amanda wondered whether this would all seem different to her if she were married. She felt a sudden desperation to know whether the other girls’ gentlemen had promised to marry them, though she felt sure the answer must be negative in every case. James’ words, I may very well marry you, uttered themselves in her heart, and then she heard again the way he called her a good girl when she spent for him, under his naughty fingers or under his pounding cock.

  The young ladies being fucked by Mr. Chelimo’s enormous cock must be undergoing that ordeal because their gentlemen said they should—that this dark-skinned man might come and fuck the girls who belonged to those natural men. Natural men like James Coventry, it seemed, who had brought their young ladies here to Dr. Brown’s college to make their cunnies and bottoms more pleasurable.

  The warm feeling began again between Amanda’s thighs at that thought, and suddenly she wanted her bottom to please James, whether or not he promised to marry her. She wanted it because in that moment she saw in the shameful way Mr. Chelimo fucked the young ladies’ bottoms what Dr. Brown meant when he talked about natural rights. Amanda, too, had the right to be fucked that way: the right to leave behind the world of the squire of Renford-on-Tees and of Mr. Charlton. Amanda had the right to enjoy her angel’s possession of her, without worrying what society would think.

  * * *

  It seemed the doctor had appointed to dinner the very old-fashioned hour of two o’clock. The meal seemed at first a strange affair, with clothed gentlemen and naked girls, but the conversation struck Amanda as convivial, and to her surprise not an openly salacious word passed any gentleman’s lips.

  Though it seemed that fucking was not referred to at the table, discipline apparently might be. Mr. Stallings, seated to her left, asked her whether Mr. Coventry preferred to use the cane, the strap, or the birch upon her. Blushing, Amanda confessed that she didn’t know yet, for her gentleman had not yet punished her himself with anything but his hand.

  “Coventry, is that true?” Mr. Stallings called across the table to where James had engaged Miss Parker in conversation. “Have you not flogged your girl yet? Bless me! I thrashed Beatrix before I did anything else.” He turned to Amanda again. “She was a parlor maid in my cousin’s house, and I caught her looking through my things. As soon as I birched her, I knew I had to bring her to Dr. Brown’s.”

  “That’s right,” James said forthrightly, giving Amanda one of the little smiles that made her heart beat faster. “A brute of a farmer whipped her soundly, I’m afraid, before I could carry her off to safety.”

  “Quite right,” said Dr. Brown from the head of the table. “Mr. Stallings, you should take a lesson from Mr. Coventry, more advanced in this study though you may be.”

  The doctor cast his eye on Miss Miller, who had turned her rosy face down to address her potatoes. Amanda felt a surge of affection for the little flaxen-haired girl, who had seemed to have had the hardest time of all the young ladies with Mr. Chelimo’s enormous penis, crying out that she couldn’t take the whole length of it in her tender cunny, as the other girls had held her legs open for him to plunge inside her as he liked. Now at dinner, though, she seemed very bright-eyed, and Amanda thought she even saw a smile play upon her lips at having her justly birched bottom discussed.

  “Miss Eaker’s bottom,” the doctor continued, “was in such a state that further discipline was inadvisable. Granted that Miss Miller’s frequent birchings have produced good results…” Did Amanda see the smile again? “…but in my experience a bit of sparing the rod does not spoil the girl—so long as the rod be consistently and firmly applied nonetheless, as Miss Eaker found out to her sorrow this morning. I imagine her seat isn’t a very comfortable one just now. Is it, Miss Eaker?”

  He turned his gaze to Amanda, and it was her turn to blush. She had grown so interested in the table talk that she had nearly forgotten about the stinging soreness of the cane, and the way she had screamed over the block.

  “No, Doctor,” she said softly.

  “Doctor?” James said. “May I ask a question concerning modesty?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Coventry—especially as I am quite sure it will be a very good one.”

  “My Amanda has just blushed at your words respecting the flogging you were forced to give her.”

  Now, as Miss Miller had fixed her eyes on her potatoes, Amanda must do the same, her face burning still more.

  “You have said that we must do our best to drive the blushes out of our young ladies, have you not?”

  Dr. Brown smiled and nodded. “I see. Yes, that is a matter I will take up in the second edition of my essay, and you’re quite perceptive to enquire about it, Mr. Coventry. Mr. Shaw, would you care to hazard a guess as to what I plan to write on the subject?” The doctor addressed the whole of the long table, then, everyone having fallen silent at the exchange among him, Mr. Stallings, and James concerning Miss Miller and Amanda herself. “You all have seen, I think, perhaps even including our new arrivals, that Miss Reynolds, Mr. Shaw’s young lady, has nearly lost her modesty when it comes, for example, to displaying her vagina or her anus and offering them to a strange man like Mr. Chelimo. She will still blush, however, when this immodesty is referred to here at dinner, or—as Miss Eaker just has done—if Mr. Shaw should make reference to some naughtiness for which he has had to spank her over his knee.”

  Sure enough, Stella Reynolds’ face had gone quite pink.

  “I imagine,” Mr. Shaw said thoughtfully, “that you will write something in the nature of what I believe you said to me last week: that Stella’s blushes in the bedroom, or the training room, and respecting my natural rights—for example to loan her vagina and anus to Mr. Chelimo or any other natural man—differ from the blushes of the drawing room.”

  “Precisely,” said the doctor, nodding and turning to James. “I was perhaps too general in my words in the first edition. If we were to drive away all these young ladies’ blushes, you gentlemen might not take them out in a society still composed of more unnatural men and women than natural ones. Our task is to make them shameless in your arms and in the arms of the other men to whom you offer them, rather than to make them altogether shameless and thus unfit for company.”

  * * *

  After dinner, the young ladies, instead of going up to the drawing room as might happen in an ordinary house, went to their cells.

  “You must get upon your bed on your hands and knees,” Miss Dixon said softly to Amanda as the girls dispersed in the third floor corridor, “with your bottom to the door.”

  “Why?” Amanda asked, mystified.

  “It’s time for our enemas.” Then, as if she saw the startled expression on Amanda’s face, she said, “Don’t worry—if you do as the sister says, it feels nice.”

  She disappeared into her own cell, leaving Amanda to scamper into hers, for she had heard the voice of Sister Stone talking to her junior nursing sisters, and the rattle, she thought, of some kind of trolley.

  “All right, miss,” said Sister Dorcas as she entered Amanda’s cell. “It’s time to get your anus nice and clean for your gentleman. I know it’s your first time, but don’t make a fuss and it will be over in a wink. You’re a good girl to get on your bed like that, all ready for it.”

  Amanda turned her face back over her shoulder and watched the woman of thirty or so approach, holding in one hand a sort of can with a length of tubing wrapped around it. In her other hand she had a jar of some jelly that Amanda supposed must be the same as had been on the doctor’s speculum and the horrid phallus trainer.

  “Now you had the trainer up your bum this morning—is that right, miss?”

  “Y-yes,” Amanda stammered.

  “This will be
much nicer than that was,” the nurse reassured her. “I’m just going to get you ready, now, with my finger, so the nozzle goes in comfortable-like.”

  Sister Dorcas’ finger made Amanda give a little whimper as it moved gently in and out. “There, miss, that’s not so bad, is it? You’re going to have to have a big penis in there later, aren’t you? So there’s no need to fuss about my finger, is there?”

  No, there was no need. The slick finger actually made Amanda’s face get hot because it felt so nice. The warmth began anew between her thighs, in the bare cunny she knew the nurse could see so clearly, under the place where she now inserted something cool and narrow.

  “Now I’ll let the soapy water flow in,” Sister Dorcas said. “Once I’m done, you’ll sit on the pot for me, and then you’ll be all ready for your gentleman.”

  Amanda’s brow furrowed at the delicious, shameful feeling, and at the thought of sitting on the pot in front of the nurse. From down the corridor, a cry of discomfort arose that made her heart beat fast.

  “What’s that?” she asked fearfully.

  “Oh,” Sister Dorcas said. “Miss Parker has to have a punishment enema today. She answered back to Sister Stone this morning. She’ll have a whole quart up her bum, and keep it there for ten minutes. Then after she lets it out, sister will spank her.” She pulled the nozzle from Amanda’s bottom. “All right, miss. I’ll get the pot. Get up and come over like a good girl. We’ll get you nice and fresh for the penis to go in just as it should in a pretty young lady like yourself.”