The thought of other girls claimed by other men’s cocks did not remain long in my mind, though. The here and now presence of Gerard’s hardness, pressing gently into the sheath he had prepared for his pleasure, took control of my mind and my body at once. At the same time, he pressed upon my back, holding me down into the very posture in which he had whipped me, only a few hours before.
Just this morning. This morning I had been a free young lady, trying to cover the tracks of my treason, sure that even if I should be caught I would suffer no real consequence except perhaps embarrassment. My indulgent parents would marry me off, and since I would have a say in the choice of suitor, I would choose the man who seemed most sympathetic to my cause.
I cried out at the feeling of double restraint: my wrists in the cuffs that I could see now before my face as I looked up the bed, my body bent by my guardian’s hands.
“Beg me, Helena,” Gerard growled, the gentle back and forth motion of his hardness between the lips of my pussy seeming to me like the opposite of the way his hand held me down in the humiliating pose, my bottom high and my knees apart, kneeling as he stood behind me to claim me as his ward once and for all. “Beg me to fuck this pretty little quim.”
I bit my lip as a choked sob rose from my chest. I wished it was a sob of protest, rather than of aching need, but at least my bitten lip kept me from obeying him immediately. Again my face blazed into heat at the sudden, irrepressible wish that my guardian would turn my governor up, so that the sensation of his cock in my untried vagina wouldn’t inspire such a desperate, wanton desire for more of it, more of him.
“Shh, my dear,” he said. “Let yourself feel it. Unless you are a very good girl, you won’t be allowed much pleasure as intense as your cunny is feeling it right now. After I break you in, I’m going to turn your governor down.”
“Oh, heavens,” I whimpered. I almost begged him to do it now—to turn the governor down, so I could somehow resist the sensation. But my body didn’t want that, and my mind, truly, didn’t either, for the understanding of how my world truly worked had at last begun to come to me. Prosperian law and culture had limited my choices; indeed, at this moment, I had no choice at all but to accept the ecstasy my guardian, the good, handsome man who truly cared for my well-being, had chosen to bestow on me with his hard manhood. “Please. Please, sir.”
“Please what, Helena? I wish you to say it. The word is a man’s word, but when he commands his fucking piece to say it, she must do as she is told.”
I closed my eyes so that I wouldn’t see the headboard that must have watched the fuckings of so many young women, or the leather bonds that held my hands so distant from any hope of warding off Gerard’s possession of my most intimate secrets.
“Please fuck me, sir,” I whispered, every sense suddenly thrilling with the shame of saying the terrible word. “Please fuck my little cunt.”
“Such a good little whore,” my guardian murmured, still moving the head of his cock in and out, but pushing in deeper now with each thrust, so that I took sobbing breaths with each inward motion. “Such a sweet quim. Time for its first real lesson from its master.”
I cried out as Gerard accompanied his degrading words with a stronger thrust, his hand going to my hip to grasp me firmly there. With the traction he gained, he held me in place and drove into my vagina hard with his rigid cock. I knew with a moment’s panic that he had decided to delay no longer, that he would enjoy me, and have me, now.
I felt a flash of pain that made me cry out again and buck under his thrusting hips as my guardian began to fuck me. His hands kept me positioned for his cock, though, and his hardness burst through the barrier of my virginity and rushed so deep inside my pussy that it took my breath away.
I heard him let out a low, contented noise of pleasure as his muscular naked lap came up against my raised bottom, making me think again, with a hot new blush, of how he had whipped me. He held himself deep inside me that way, and he stroked my flank with his hand as a man might praise a filly for her submission to his riding her hard.
“Good girl,” he said. “Your quim feels nice and tight on my cock.”
I let out a sob, for the discomfort and newness of the sensation still seemed to me greater than the pleasure. Though I felt a strange, willful pride even then in having become a woman at last, I also felt deep humiliation in having experienced my defloration this way, in a gentlemen’s club’s chamber of pleasure, with my hands bound before me and my guardian’s manhood inside my private part—my innocence taken as a punishment for my misdeeds.
Then Gerard began to fuck me, to ride me, in earnest, and the pain seemed to recede so far, the pleasure to increase so greatly, that my body became utterly lost in the sensation.
“Oh, heavens,” I whispered, and then I could not help saying it aloud, “Oh, heavens.”
He held me still in place, though now my muscles struggled against his hands not in resistance but in the effort to match the rhythm of his hard thrusts. Greedily I tried to push my bottom back against him, wanting more of the hard thing that turned pain to joy.
“Such a little whore,” my guardian said. “I knew it the first time I caned you.”
I remembered, and despite the lingering pain in my pussy from the thrust that had deflowered me—or perhaps even because of it—I felt another orgasm wash over me. I closed my eyes, shutting out the sight of the dark headboard and my bound wrists, and I saw Gerard’s study, the desk over which he had bound me to give me my first experience of his discipline. I felt the thrusts of his lap against my bottom as a reminder of the strokes of his cane, teaching me to obey my guardian… teaching me to submit to his will for my body, and to my own wanton needs, when the man in charge of me allowed it.
The curious floating feeling that I had experienced above all during the humiliating ceremony in the morning room came upon me, as the climax stretched on and on. Gerard’s hardness drove in and out relentlessly, his hands gripped me firmly. I felt, to my confusion, both degraded and completely safe in his hands.
That idea somehow caused my mind to rise out of my body, or so I felt. My guardian knew how to use me, and he knew how to train me; all I needed to do was allow his shameful demands to be law for me, and truly I had no choice in the matter. Even my pleasure, this limb-loosening ecstasy that Gerard forced upon me, represented only a means to the end of his own pleasure and my full obedience to him.
Very distantly I felt him withdraw his manhood from my vagina, and I cried out in shameless dismay, for I knew that another orgasm lay only a few thrusts away. I tried to rise upon my elbows and to turn to him, forming my features into a mask of piteous pleading for more. His hands held me down, though, so that I could not look at him. With a rush of heat that seemed to flow to every part of my body I remembered that I was not a bride in her marriage bed but a traitor being punished with my master’s cock.
“Until we judge you on the road to reform,” Gerard growled, “no man who uses you will climax in your cunny, Helena. A different pathway to a worldly gentleman’s pleasure will receive our seed.”
“What?” I whispered to the comforter, unable to think in any rational fashion. My mind could not grasp enough of his words even to know what I meant by what? His seed? A different pathway? A worldly gentleman? None of it would have made sense to my cognition had I been fully in possession of my wits; as matters stood, I could not seem to grasp the slightest thread of his meaning.
Then I cried out as I believe I had not cried out even under my guardian’s strap, as I imagined I might cry out under the horrid thing in the painting, the thing Gerard had called a cunt paddle. For he had pulled apart my bottom-cheeks, and he had used his fingertip to indicate to me precisely which pathway he intended to employ for his pleasure.
“Oh, no,” I whispered, again trying to rise up, to struggle against his strong grip. But my guardian used his left hand upon my neck to keep my face to the mattress and my bottom high as his right moved back between my thighs. “No… please. Sir, please… please.”
His skillful fingers had begun to work me, though, rousing again the boundless need he seemed to have awakened in my pussy. I felt myself covering those probing digits with the evidence of my wantonness, and I knew that the word please deserved all the different interpretations my master might place upon it. I felt wicked to be so open there, so ready for a man’s enjoyment, and though I wished to find that wickedness abhorrent, I could not: I wanted more, in the warm, wet place where Gerard had two fingers, now.
Even the terrible idea of the other place, the other pathway he meant to use, inflamed me further. When he took his fingers from my vagina again, I lifted my bottom, arched my back despite myself, desperate for more in the sheath Gerard had opened for himself, for his rigid penis to come and go as he chose. His hand moved, but not back to the place I wanted it—rather the fingers went to the place my guardian meant to have me.
I felt him rub my own pussy’s slick essence onto the tiny ring of my bottom-hole. One finger entered, and I gave a little whining moan.
“Shh, little whore,” Gerard murmured. “You must learn to open here.”
I tightened instead, and the strange, filthy pleasure of it, of having a man’s finger in my bottom, washed over me, from my spine to my needy clitoris, where the governor did not mute any of it. I sensed again the terrible power of the device, and how it could not only deny me the wayward pleasure of my pussy but also make me even needier, even greedier when my master decided to allow it.
The finger moved in and out, teaching me the most degrading lesson imaginable. With my cheek held against the comforter and my hands bound before me, my guardian seemed to have great patience in the training of my private ring. He had it seemed all the time in the galaxy to prepare that most shameful path for his enjoyment, and he wished to make his pleasure exquisite when at last he took it.
“Two fingers, now,” he said, and I cried out as he worked the second digit inside. My bottom learned; it seemed I could not help it. So desperate for forbidden delights that even Gerard’s most humiliating use of my body seemed to make it catch fire, I pushed down there, my cheeks blazing at the shame of it.
“That’s it,” Gerard said softly. “There you go.”
My blush grew hotter as my guardian praised me for something so wanton.
Then my cheeks blazed inferno-like at his next words.
“Time for my cock, Helena. Prepare yourself, you little whore.”
I had never, I thought, been so hard in my life. My rigid manhood showed the arousing evidence of my conquest of my ward’s maidenhead: a little crimson from her lost hymen and, even more provocatively, the creamy signs of her own need’s strength. Jutting from my lap, ready to complete my possession of her, my cock seemed to send its throbbing pulse directly to my brain, urging me to an indecency of speech in which I seldom indulged.
For I could not have stopped calling my lovely girl a whore for all the riches of Magisteria. Something in her face, when she tried to turn it toward me, at once beseeching me for mercy and begging me not to spare her, told me my instinct had the force of natural law: Helena Breverton needed to know her master would treat her in this filthy way, would degrade her completely. Only thus could she come through to the other side of her ordeal as the new kind of woman I understood she must be and deserved to be.
She had betrayed her world, but in her eyes as much as in the lascivious movements of her backside I could see the true reason for that misdeed. Helena’s submissive and loving nature, masked by her extreme intelligence and her remarkable, independent will, had caused her to seek out the misguided resistance.
Perhaps she should have learned earlier and much more frankly of the governor’s role in Prosperian society. Perhaps that role should even receive a reevaluation—and when she had suffered her comeuppance fully perhaps Helena Breverton could play an important part in bringing it about. That did not excuse treason, of course, but it made the girl’s prospects as a happy woman, and even a happy wife, much greater.
As my wife, with the special status of a young woman who has been given to a club and then judged marriageable nonetheless. My wife, shared when she needed sharing—when we agreed upon her being shared. With Miniver and Justice Warren today, and, later, with others Helena fancied and I approved.
All of that came into the hunger I could hear in my own voice when I called my girl a little whore, and pressed the head of my cock against the tiny ring of her bottom, so well lubricated with her own quim’s wetness. She gasped, and let out a low moan. Her peach-like cheeks surged around my cock, working to admit me.
“My little whore,” I added softly, curling my fingers around her waist to steady her, using the belt there as traction to keep my place and make the pressure steady.
“Oh… oh… heavens,” I breathed into the softness of the comforter, my eyes tightly shut.
His little whore. Gerard’s. My guardian’s.
I cried out, and I felt how something about the way Gerard had pronounced that single syllable my had changed my inner reality. My hips jerked, my back arching, and I remembered what I had learned only a few moments before: how to yield myself, how to give a man the most shameful, private part of my body as his own possession, for his enjoyment.
It pressed in, penetrated me where nature had never intended a man to have a girl. I understood, somewhere, as the floating feeling took even stronger hold of me, that I belonged to Gerard now—much more thoroughly even than I had the previous moment, when I had only yielded mouth and pussy. My guardian, my master… he owned me, and to my confusion I liked it.
“Sir,” I whispered. “Oh, sir.”
“Good girl,” I heard Gerard murmur behind and above me. “You like it, don’t you? You like it in your bottom.”
But I couldn’t say it… I couldn’t say the thing I had myself thought only the previous instant.
“No,” I whispered, though I knew he could tell I did not speak the truth, and I didn’t intend to deceive him really. My only power lay in the deception I could still perpetrate with my words and my silence.
For a moment Gerard didn’t respond; instead he gripped the belt around my waist more tightly and pushed his rigid penis deeper into my smallest place. I jerked a little under him, and cried out in discomfort and desperate need, feeling that my true punishment had begun at last.
From somewhere to the side, a soft beeping sounded from the horrible controller.
“Don’t lie to me, Helena,” my guardian said. “Your governor will tell me when you lie.”
I felt him shift his weight a little, and his right hand left the belt. The fingers traveled down between my legs, and when I understood what he meant to do I cried out even before Gerard found the new wetness in my vagina and spread it forward to my aching clitoris.
Then I screamed, so loudly that I felt sure every gentleman in Drake’s could hear, and would understand immediately what had occurred in the chamber of pleasure. A girl, a treasonous girl, had just climaxed with her master’s hardness up her bottom. Her guardian had begun to move in and out of her littlest place, had begun to use her in the most degrading way, even as he brought what seemed a never-ending, infinitely submissive orgasm to her wanton cunny.
“Oh, no… no,” I sobbed, feeling that somehow the enunciation of some fruitless refusal might excuse the wayward pleasure I felt.
“Yes, my darling,” Gerard said. “Yes. Push up your bottom. Give yourself completely.”
His fingers made me obey, the intensity of the sensation still so much greater than when he had turned my governor down. He had called me darling for the first time, my floating mind realized with a thrill of warm affection that went through my whole body. With his cock in my anus, he had called me darling.
I heard him grunt, as if my final yielding had given him a special pleasure. I screamed again, for he commenced to ride my bottom hard, and I sobbed as I felt his lap come up against my cheeks over and over, filling me completely. Then, suddenly, Gerard’s rhythm changed, and I understood that he must at last be on the verge of his own climax.
His hand underneath fondled my pussy so gently, even as he thrust so hard into my anus. I felt his cock pulse, his hips jerk. He gave a shout that seemed to burst from him like a thunderclap, and held still with his left hand firmly on my hip, covering the belt and also stroking my skin, as if he meant to remind me of how I had come into his power and the power of his club, how I would from henceforth be not a pampered bride but a bound plaything.
He withdrew his hardness slowly from my bottom. For the first time I felt how a man’s penis softens after he has taken his pleasure, and I felt gratitude to nature for it, since my guardian had used my little ring so roughly. To my surprise, Gerard became tender, now; he laid me down upon the bed and lay down beside me, and took me in his arms.
He held my cheek against his firm chest, and another first thing overwhelmed my senses: the massiveness of his muscular frame and the feeling of his naked skin against mine. His lips pressed against the top of my head in a kiss that took me by surprise, and then even more astonishingly Gerard turned my face up to his so he could move that kiss to my lips, as his hand held my bottom, the place he had trained me so strictly, as if to remind me of my terrible lesson.
I had never been kissed by a man before—even upon my cheek. My face blazed with heat as I considered how very different this sort of kiss was from the first kiss I had expected. I had betrayed my world, though, and I had learned that on Prosperia, bad girls got the discipline they earned. To my dismay, I felt my body yield to his caress despite the soreness Gerard’s hand reawakened and despite my mind’s still begging the rest of me to save a shred of my dignity at least. I whimpered into my guardian’s lips, and yielded to the ravishment of his tongue, probing where he had first placed his rigid manhood. With my hands bound between us as he embraced me I felt myself utterly possessed, a toy for Gerard’s use as he saw fit.
When he broke the kiss and spoke, he said, to my blushing astonishment, “Good girl. Your bottom was exquisite.” He kissed my mouth again, and then he turned my face back to his chest and held me tightly for a long moment. At last he spoke again.
“I know how difficult an ordeal this is for you, Helena. And the worst part is still to come, for we must make certain you have told us everything—and that you will never meditate such treason again.”
I tried to find within myself some shred of my defiance, and I kept myself from sobbing, at least, but my heart quailed at the thought of the painting on the door that led to the chamber of discipline.
“You have deserved the punishment you will receive, however,” he said, putting his hand in my hair now to turn my face up toward his again, a little roughly. I heard the same roughness come into his voice as well, as if his masculine hunger and his guardian’s justice had returned to him. “I will ensure that you will have it as fully as you need, and accept the consequences of your actions. You are my little whore, now, and you will be treated only as such until I am satisfied you have earned better.”
As I stared wide-eyed up at him, he released me from his arms and rose from the bed. He touched the intercom button and said, “Jones to the chamber of pleasure, please.” He began to don his clothing.
I scrambled, as best I could with bound hands, to my knees upon the bed. By the time the knock sounded at the door, and Jones entered a moment later, my guardian had his clothing on, but I remained kneeling naked upon the bed where he had deflowered me.
“Help Miss Breverton off the bed, please,” Gerard said to the doorkeeper. I watched him withdraw the silver controller from his breast pocket, glance at it, slide his thumb along it. Between my thighs I felt the governor exert its effect, muting the tingle of wanton arousal that the entry of the doorkeeper had to my distress brought to my newly opened pussy.
Jones advanced toward me, and I cowered back, my eyes going from him to my guardian and back. The tenderness of a few moments before seemed to have vanished completely.
“Not so proud, now, is she, Jones?” Gerard remarked, turning to see my alarm. “Once you get her off the bed, Miss Breverton may bathe. Have her pay special attention to her quim and her bottom, please. I’ve turned her governor down, of course, so you shouldn’t have much trouble with any naughtiness in the shower.”
Jones had said nothing to this point, his demeanor that of the respectful servant but his eyes roving freely over my nude form.
“The belt and cuffs back on after her shower, I suppose, sir?” he asked now.
“Indeed,” Gerard replied. “Then bring her to the chamber of discipline.” He turned to me again. “I will see you there, my dear. Please pay some attention to your appearance, as I’ll be sharing you for the first time in a little while and I wish you to please Mr. Miniver and Justice Warren as fully as possible.”
Jones conducted me to the bathroom that adjoined the chamber of pleasure, a sumptuous, pink-tiled room with a vast bathtub and a shower. He made me stand in front of the mirror as he removed the cuffs from my wrists and the belt from my waist. His hands moved steadily, as if he had bound and unbound hundreds of naked girls.
His blue eyes, however, seemed to tell a different tale. They met mine in the mirror. Then they moved boldly to look at the little breasts Gerard had fondled, the tender cleft whose innocence he had stolen, the whipped bottom where my guardian’s penis had spurted his seed. My face burned.
“Run along into the shower, miss. You heard your master. Get that cunny and bottom-hole nice and clean for the gentlemen.”
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