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Home / Stormy Night Publications Newsletter / Her Shameful Education by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

Her Shameful Education by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview


I opened my eyes. I saw the terrible image and a thrill of wanton arousal went through my whole body at the sight of my master’s cock entering my pussy. I moaned again. I only realized as I felt Master Hendryk thrust himself all the way into me, and watched it on the screen, that I had obeyed him without even thinking of the consequences.

Because you want to watch him fuck you.

The picture on the screen came from above. The camera drone must be hovering over Master Hendryk’s head, so the audience could see from his lordly perspective, as he looked down at my whipped bottom, his thick, hard cock connecting us obscenely. The length and girth of his manhood, jutting out lewdly from the woolen fabric of his tuxedo pants and invading my wanton, clenching vagina pressed inward slowly. My master, I could somehow tell from the way his hands gripped the belt and my hair so firmly, didn’t mean to be gentle with me: no, he wanted me to feel every massive millimeter of his first thrust inside his new concubine.

I cried out in need and discomfort, the two seeming equally mixed in my overwhelmed nervous system. Any idea of controlling my breathing flew out of my mind; I panted through open lips as I felt it and watched it, this dominant possession of my private places by the man who had purchased me only a few minutes before.

His rigid penis thrust in further. Master G had an enormous cock, like all the Institute trainers, and I had supposed that after so much fucking from him my pussy would be able to take any man’s hardness. But Master Hendryk’s was just as big, and something about the abject fear my new owner inspired in me seemed to make my vagina contract with arousal and with forced pleasure, over and over, so hard that each centimeter his iron-hard penis invaded my sheath felt like he was opening me again for the first time—like my master, through the sheer harshness of his training, had turned me back into a virgin, so that he could deflower me for a second time.

I looked at the screen and I saw my punished bottom. A sob of terror came from my throat as I thought about what Master Hendryk meant to do next, and how much it would hurt. Master G had said many times that the relaxation exercises we learned in our Feminine Pleasure class would let us avoid almost all the discomfort of anal sex, even our first time. I couldn’t remember a single one of those exercises as my owner sheathed himself completely in my vagina and my hips bucked to welcome him despite how deeply enmeshed the pain was with the pleasure.

On the screen his black-clad lap came up against my pale bottom, covering up the three double lines from the cane, except for the hint of one of the welts just showing above the place where skin and cloth met. I felt the scratchiness of the wool there, on the terribly sore marks of my master’s cruel correction, and I whimpered, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.

“That, my dear,” Master Hendryk growled, “is a nice, tight cunt. They’ve trained you well.”

I had the sudden urge to tell him that it didn’t have anything to do with my training. In Masculine Pleasure class they had taught us to clench and tighten so as to give more enjoyment to the men who used us. I hadn’t done any of that; the tightness Master Hendryk sensed came purely from my body’s reaction to his dominance.

I didn’t like it. He forced so much helpless pleasure on me, yes, that I couldn’t keep my limbs, my muscles, the surface of my skin, and above all my stiff nipples and my wet pussy from responding to him like the slut he called me. But I had thought that Master G had, with his careful teaching, dominance mingled with affection, taken me to the darkest place I needed to go.

I didn’t want to go further, and yet Master Hendryk’s hard manhood, seated so deeply and uncomfortably inside me, had me terribly close to a titanic climax I didn’t want. If I came, it would prove his power over me; I had never come for Master G so readily, so immediately.

My body shuddered as he began to withdraw his cock, the friction driving me closer to my orgasm.

“You’re going to come, aren’t you, you little slut?” he murmured. “And you’re trying not to, aren’t you?”

How did he know? How could he possibly know that? I supposed I might have expected Master G to grasp that, thanks to his own training and the Institute’s technology, but this man… he just had a lot of money, right?

No, a voice deep in my mind said, he understands you. His brutality responds to something in you just as your submission reacts to it.

The lie broke from my lips, because I couldn’t face the idea that my cruel new owner might actually have some insight into my needs.

“No, Master,” I sobbed. And then, he gripped my hair harder, pulled it sharply, and at the same time used his grip on the belt to drive his cock home again, invading me even further than the last full thrust. “No… please… sir…”

And then I came, utterly defeated by Master Hendryk’s rough skill, the sheer strength of his body dominating mine. I came harder than I ever had, even the first time Master G had fucked me in the foyer of the Institute’s mansion.

I felt like my whole body had turned into liquid gold. I felt my muscles straining against the straps, and the physical tension in them, as well as the knowledge that I couldn’t escape the massive cock that pounded into me, the tuxedo-clad lap that compressed the cruel cane welts… it made the orgasm go on and on, my vagina clenching over and over on my owner’s thrusting cock as he fucked me with all the brutality I had ever imagined a man could show to his sexual servant.

I cried out over and over, every thrust bringing another overwhelming surge of pleasure. Each time my master slammed his hips into my backside felt like another stroke of his ultimate, his most important implement of discipline. His clothed lap, his huge cock, seemed to remind me how hard and fast he had whipped me, and how easily he might whip me again.

The image on the screen changed to a close-up of my tearstained face, and that intensified my climax even more, since I looked so perfect a picture of reluctant submission, of shameful, unwanted pleasure… my brow deeply creased, my mouth in a woeful pout of penitence too late. My eyes seemed to speak of my master’s rough justice, of his rightful conquering and my rebellion righteously put down before the victor took his pleasure.

Abruptly he held himself all the way inside me, the scratchy fabric of his pants pressed firmly against my terribly sore bottom. I let out a whimper as my climax began to ebb away. The picture on the screen changed again, to show my owner in a medium shot, in full possession of me by means of his gripping hands, his stance above and behind me like a rider, a trainer… looking down at me in cruel satisfaction. His expression seemed stern, his eyes hard and resolute.

“You’re just as tight as Candy, my dear,” he finally said. “They’ve taught you how to take care of yourself, haven’t they?”

I sobbed at this degradation, though I couldn’t suppress a surge of wicked pride at my master’s praise. The comparison to his AI concubine, his sexbot, sent a wave of heat to my cheeks, and whoever sat at the controls of the video screens didn’t miss the chance: my face came back onto the screen, revealing the rosiness Master Hendryk had brought with his humiliating words.

He let go of my hair, and I hung my head again, unable to look at the screen, or at Miss Charlotte, or above all at Master G. I knew, for there couldn’t be the slightest doubt of it given Master G’s expertise, that my training master had seen my brutal new owner had just forced more pleasure on me than he ever had.

My blush got hotter at the thought of meeting the eyes of the man who had introduced me to the fulfillment, joy, and peace that only came with my sexual submission. I knew I would have no choice but to acknowledge that another man—a man who seemed so much less skillful and less caring than Master G—could take me deeper into that submission than Master G could.

Master Hendryk pulled the little globes of my caned bottom apart, very roughly, so that I cried out. My head went up, my back arching with the flash of pain, but I kept my eyes tightly closed.

I felt his fingers dip into my aching vagina, gathering the wetness there. I sobbed, and lowered my head again in abject shame as he smeared the warm, slippery essence of my own need on my virgin anus. Slowly but very firmly Master Hendryk began to push what felt like it must be two fingers into my smallest place. I let out another sob, this one deeper, racking my whole body so that I strained against the belt holding me down atop the horse.

“Get those eyes up, Renee,” he growled. “You’re going to watch this on the screen.”

A murmur of approval came from the audience; the moment had become so still that I knew for certain I had heard those indistinct whispers. Well-heeled men and women had said to one another, Yes, make her watch her master deflower her ass. Just what I would have done. I obeyed his command: I raised my head and opened my eyes, and found I was looking straight into the answering gaze of Master G.

His eyes had narrowed, and at first I felt a wave of grief because I thought I read disapproval on his face, but an instant later I realized that I must have projected that onto him. Master G’s mouth had curved upward into a smile: his expression, far from critical or disappointed, was one of happiness, even of pride.

My lips parted, my jaw slackening. A thrill of happiness burst in my chest, but then I saw my training master’s face change, his expression transforming into the disapproving one I had thought I had seen at first. My joy grew very confused, and I felt my face crease back into my repentant, sorrowful pout.

Master Hendryk pressed his fingertips—his two middle fingers, I saw on the screen as I did shift my suddenly tear-filled eyes there—harder against the wrinkly little dimple. I bit my lip and let out a soft, whining noise at the sight of it: my well-fucked vagina, glistening with need but not to be satisfied anymore, for my master had chosen a narrower, darker place for his pleasure… the fingers, on that tiny flower, glistening with my own wanton juices, pressing until I cried out… those fingers entering, invading, inside me.

All Institute concubines had their anuses trained daily. Those who had already had anal sex before coming to the mansion got that, too, from their training masters. Anal virgins like me usually wore belts, fastened by our training masters, that held butt plugs inside us to get us ready for sale to a master or mistress who, like most dominants, would seek a great deal of pleasure in our bottoms.

So to accept Master Hendryk’s fingers there shouldn’t have represented anything new. I should have had the ability to relax and to let him prepare me and enjoy me as he saw fit. Something about having to watch him probe and stretch me with his fingers, though, brought a tension that I couldn’t seem to push away. I bit my lip and moaned with the discomfort of the invasion as I felt him lubricate me with my own need.

I tried desperately to remember the proud expression on Master G’s face, telling myself that he had changed it only because of my failure to look at the screen as Master Hendryk had instructed. I refocused my eyes on the upper corner of the screen, where the image showed only black. I took a deep breath through my nose and tried to hold it, but a flash of pain from the pushing, pulling, stretching fingers made me let it out with a gasping sob.

The fingers left me, and I felt my master stand up straighter. My gaze shifted involuntarily back to the middle of the screen, to where the huge, hard cock menaced the cringing little hole, slick with the wetness my owner had applied to ease his shameful way.

I whimpered as he put the crimson head of his erection against the untried flower, the forbidden little ring of my most private place. He had his rigid manhood in his right hand while with his left on my cane-striped left cheek he continued to pull my bottom open so he could see his possession of me there. He pressed his hips forward, a grunt of pleasure escaping his chest as he began to claim me fully.

I cried out at the feeling of being opened that unnatural way, impaled on my master’s cock. My whole body shuddered atop the horse. I felt his hand move to the back of my neck, felt him grip me there. I heard a whimpering cry come from my throat, as if from another girl.

“There we go,” Master Hendryk murmured, his very voice seeming dark to me, colored by his obscene pleasure. “That’s just what an ass should feel like.”


I thought I could feel every part of Renee’s lithe, gorgeous body—her soft, pale skin… the taut muscles beneath it—respond to my degrading words.

Those assessors don’t kid around, I thought, remembering the dossier again, and they don’t get it wrong.

They had said the girl would respond to humiliation from her new owner in a way her Institute trainers couldn’t get out of her.

Renee has a fascinating quirk in her submissive orientation, the executive summary had read, in that the setting of the mansion, which has brought her need to submit into focus for her, cannot despite all our resources provide the level of domination she will require to reach full self-actualization. The mansion provides too much stability. In such cases, which occur in ca. 7% of Institute recruits—a figure that has remained stable, year to year, over the past twenty years, and thus one in which we have high confidence—rather than attempting to implement some alternative, less institutionalized training our standard practice is to offer the girls for sale with the condition that bidders qualify at seven or above on the Lourcy dominance scale, and consent to an additional monitoring protocol.

My Lourcy score, which Selecta measured these days on a continuous basis thanks to my having acquired Candy, stood at 8.2 out of 10. Dominants who fell lower on the scale, formulated fifteen years ago by an Institute researcher and maintained by Selecta’s data-mining arm, tended to say it was bullshit, but the Institute’s assessors swore by it.

The measurement parameters and the technology used in gathering the necessary data, of course, as with all such Selecta trade secrets, remained shrouded in mystery. As a Selecta executive myself I knew with absolute certainty, though, that the Lourcy scale must at least describe some set of characteristics of great importance to understanding dominant sexuality.

Selecta’s vast corporate empire depended on good data. There was no room for bullshit, because bullshit would get in the way of business—except, obviously, for the outward-facing bullshit called ‘marketing.’ As the head of the Education division, I was lucky enough to have access to the internal workings, even if I didn’t get to drill down into the analytic areas that I probably wouldn’t have understood anyway.

So I felt what seemed to me a bit of justified pride in my Lourcy rating. The more so because the one thing the dominants of the global elite knew about the scale, a rumor that I happened to know Selecta had started themselves as, yes, a marketing ploy, was that Selecta measured it based on subconscious actions. Every attempt by a billionaire to raise his Lourcy score through treating his concubines more harshly than his actual dominant orientation drove him to do in pursuit of his sexual pleasure had ended not in a rise in the score but in a warning from the Institute to knock it off.

As I sheathed myself for the first time in Renee’s luscious young ass, I wondered for a moment about those unconscious signals. Did they come in the humiliating words I had just spoken? The degradation I had bestowed by implying that shameful comparison—what an ass should feel like, a subtle but very dominant hint that I had fucked a great many beautiful girls’ virgin bottoms?

Or did Selecta measure my skin galvanics? The rigidity of my erection? I thought of how Candy cried out when I used her anus—it could even be the force with which I thrust into that tight little ring, I supposed, or the leap my cock gave at each sob from the concubine under me as I fucked.

That thought made me upbraid myself a little, for failing to concentrate on the girl into whose ass my rock-hard manhood had begun to make its dominant way. Renee’s sweet bottom clung to my shaft deliciously. The alpha blood sang in my veins at the sight of my cock engulfed between her punished cheeks, the welts from her caning so prettily adorning them with the sign of her painful lesson.

The ideas that tended to float into my mind as I used a girl couldn’t easily be controlled, I knew, so I forgave myself for the wayward thought about Candy. Moreover, Candy would in fact be a very important part of finishing Renee’s training as my bed girl, once I got her home and began to use her on a daily basis.

A placement in which Renee serves her master or mistress alongside another concubine would perhaps be the best fit for her, the assessors had declared, thanks to the additional opportunities for humiliation such a home situation provides. Compulsory same-sex intercourse, as well as voyeurism of several different configurations, should assist Renee in discovering vital parts of her mind and even her heart and integrating them into her fully realized self.

I worked my fingers up into the roots of Renee’s lovely auburn hair, under her now-disheveled ponytail. She had lowered her face again, clearly not wanting to watch the high-resolution image on the screen. It showed my own view of my rigid penis impaling her bottom, relentlessly filling her tiny flower with my authority, inching into that tight, forbidden tunnel as she sobbed in discomfort at this newest lesson in obedience.

“Keep watching, my dear,” I growled, as I felt my fabric-covered lap come up against her round little bottom, my hardness balls-deep in her no-longer-virgin anus. “I want you to see how pretty you look with a cock in your ass.”


I let out a wailing cry as I opened my eyes and saw.

Pretty. The picture on the screen didn’t look like anything I would have thought to call pretty before this moment. I saw Master Hendryk’s lap pressed against my whipped bottom. I saw just a little of the base of his cock, nested in a few curly golden hairs that had emerged from his open fly. I saw the belt that held me to the horse, and the tucked-up hem of my nightgown.

I saw him pull the rigid shaft out a little, and it seemed like the obscene, taboo image of the girl having anal sex for the first time came before I actually felt my master withdraw his thick manhood. I cried out at the sight, and the cry became a moan of discomfort and shame as the terrible sensation of fullness in my little bottom changed with the movement of the rigid penis in my narrowest place.

The massive girth of Master Hendryk’s cock held me much too open. He started to fuck my ass as I watched helplessly, my eyes fixed on the screen and my face burning. He thrust in and out slowly at first, using me, I could tell, at the rhythm that felt best on his erection. I heard the low, growling murmurs of his pleasure come from his broad chest high above me, and those sounds sent waves of heat to my cheeks and to my pussy in what felt like equal measure.

I had supposed I wouldn’t feel much if any arousal when I took the penis in my bottom for the first time. I found to my dismay, though, that the need had started to grow again inside my neglected vagina. Something about the sheer authority with which my master drove into me without any thought for my enjoyment of the unnatural act paradoxically brought arousal in the place he declined to stimulate as he used me in this humiliating way. The next time I moaned, the keening sound had in it a piteous rising note of beseeching.

Master Hendryk’s cock began to move faster, each surge into my no-longer-virgin anus stretching me further and bringing a new cry of discomfort, a new plea for his mercy in the midst of the pleasure my bottom clearly brought him. The inarticulate begging of my little noises became a single word.

“Please… please…” I whimpered. I added another word, the only one that came to my mind. “Please, Master… please…”

On the screen the image changed back to the medium view of the man fucking the ass of his newly acquired bed girl. The expression on my master’s face seemed like the direct opposite of the one on mine: I wore a mask of woe, tears of pain in my eyes and my brow deeply creased; Master Hendryk’s handsome face, framed in neatly styled but gorgeously flowing golden locks, seemed absolutely determined, fierce in an almost animalistic way—the look of a hunter in pursuit of his prey, or a judge intent on handing down a stern but fair sentence.

His hips moved vigorously, driving his hardness all the way into my backside with every thrust. The contrast of his immaculately tuxedoed form and my nearly naked one as he rode my bottom, immobilized for his use atop the horse seemed to grow even sharper. Master Hendryk would always wear the pants in his household, he seemed intent on making me understand, and as of ten minutes ago I belonged to his household—and to him.

Just like Candy, I thought, with a surge of mortification. Did Candy look pretty with a hard penis in her bottom? Of course she did—they must have designed her to look pretty in every submissive situation. Tiny, terrible fantasies of comparison drifted through my brain as Master Hendryk fucked my ass harder and harder, and the strange enchantment of submission took me to another place—subspace, Master G had taught me to call it.

Would Candy watch our master fuck my bottom? Would he make me watch him fuck Candy’s, and comment on our relative prettiness when taken anally?

Would he bring other men to fuck both our asses at once, to compare us more effectively?

I was sobbing with every breath, and I had closed my eyes and hung my head without even thinking about it—without even sensing that I’d done it, really, so deeply had my ordeal wrapped me into subspace. I felt Master Hendryk’s hands tighten on my neck and my hip. He let out a grunt, and his rhythm suddenly became jerky as his manhood pulsed in my bottom.

I whimpered as he came in my anus, his erection moving in and out with the little stabbing spasms of his pleasure.

“Thank me,” he growled, the words seeming to come from a thousand miles away. “Thank me for coming inside you, my dear.”

The mismatch between the tone in his voice and the words my dear, which Master Hendryk uttered as if he were actually saying you little whore, made my heart quail. I felt my bottom wriggle on his still-hard cock, pushing with a helpless plea to withdraw at last and let my poor anus close and rest after its brutal first fucking. My mind—the part of it that could make words, anyway—struggled to return to my head.

My master pressed in a little further, as if feeling my distress and wanting to make it count as yet another disciplinary measure.

“Thank me, Renee,” he said again, leaning over me so that he could say it in my ear.

“Oh, God,” I whimpered. “Thank you… please… thank you, Master.”

“For?” Master Hendryk asked, his voice becoming a little gentler.

“Thank you for coming inside me,” I breathed.

The hand on my neck moved further down to stroke my back… to pet me as if I were a domesticated animal, perhaps even a valuable one of the kind a man trains to make it an even more pleasing addition to his collection.

“Good girl,” Master Hendryk said, beginning to pull his cock from my anus at last.

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