Both girls made little whimpering noises as they obeyed, but soon enough they had knelt and presented their beautiful naked backsides, the sweet young cunts peeping out between their thighs and even a hint of little pink bottom-holes visible in this diverting position.
“I say, Summersby,” said the captain, “shall we simply keep them like this after we whip them, and get into their cunnies thus, and then their bottoms, and spend there? It seems rather monstrous, I suppose, but do you not simply long to deflower Rose from behind and to fuck her tight little anus, too? I know I long for it with Isabelle.”
One of the girls—Summersby could hardly say which one, though he thought it was probably Rose—gave a little cry at Geoffrey’s coarse words. Captain Merton approached the terribly arousing, marvelously diverting spectacle of the two nymphic, nubile posteriors beautifully posed at the edge of the pond, given up to masculine privilege. Summersby couldn’t stop himself from doing the same, or from snapping the strap against his palm once, twice, thrice.
The little cry that arose then certainly came from Rose—Summersby had drawn close enough to distinguish.
“Do my manly words distress you, dearest?” the captain asked, not without tenderness.
“Yes, sir,” Isabelle said, addressing the ground. “For I don’t know what they mean.”
“Please, Julius,” Rose said, venturing to turn her face a bit to look awkwardly over her shoulder. “Won’t you… that is, won’t you just tell us what it… what those words mean?”
“You will know all of them soon enough, darling,” Summersby promised, “but I shall tell you at least that cunt and cunny are a man’s words for your little private part.” He simply couldn’t resist, then: he put his left hand down to stroke the sweet furred treasure between his beloved’s thighs while with his right he still held the strap with which he would soon punish her.
Rose gave a startled cry, then a whimper, and finally a long moan, and suddenly Julius thought that perhaps he must chastise her not only for her previous reluctance but for how shameless she now seemed to become under his delicate, knowing caress. He remembered a passage from Dr. Brown’s treatise:
It is a strange but undeniable fact that the natural man will often feel an urge to discipline a young woman under his protection and power for precisely the sort of erotic yielding that endears her to him. I will not go so far as frankly to call this urge disordered, because the maintenance of proper standing in society will occasionally require that a girl receive bare-bottom punishment for a lack of modesty, but I do advise my reader to welcome his young woman’s helpless response to his touch with grace and favor, as a compliment to his skill and a sign of her affection, rather than with the threat of correction. I should mention also, however, on the other hand, that young women under the protection of a natural man will frequently grow highly aroused at the idea of receiving such correction: the occasional soft promise to spank your young woman for her immodesty may, strangely enough, make her more contented with her natural response to your mastery.
“Must I spank you over my knee, Rose, for these little noises?” Julius said softly, bending down to speak nearly into her ear as he continued to rouse her and ready her for the strap.
Rose’s only response was another little whimpery moan, but Isabelle said in a frightened voice, “Rose, what is it? What is he doing to you?”
“Only this, dearest,” said Captain Merton, and bent to do the same to his sweet girl.
“Oh… oh, Geoffrey… oh, sir, please… please… what… oh, heavens, I am… Rose… we are lost, are we not? Ah…”
It did not greatly surprise Summersby, having recently read the good doctor’s treatise, that Isabelle should respond even more lubriciously to her swain’s touch than Rose did—and certainly, judging from the rhythmic, moist sounds emanating from the elder girl’s cunt, Captain Merton had decided to manualize her very vigorously.
“Shall you spend for me now, Isabelle?” Geoffrey murmured. “You were such a good girl to accept your punishment and get undressed at last. Shall I reward you?”
“Oh, sir… oh, Geoffrey, what do you mean? What does it… oh, heavens, no… no, please…”
Rose cried out then, in confusion—and, Julius thought, perhaps in a little envy, “What is happening? Isabelle, what is he doing?”
“Let’s make them spend together, old man,” the captain said in a confidential voice.
Summersby chuckled. “Alright, Merton. Fancy a bet?” He began to wank Rose in earnest. “Five pounds?”
“It’s a wager,” said Geoffrey, over Rose’s rising cries.
“Oh, Julius… sir, what are you… oh, please.”
Now the friends, their knuckles white where their hands gripped the turf, cried out together, and both lovely naked bottoms began to bounce as the girls, helpless to keep themselves from seeking more pleasure, shamelessly rubbed their cunnies on their suitors’ fondling fingers.
With a shriek, Rose spent first, her cunt as wet, it seemed to Julius, as the pond itself, and he won the wager. Isabelle reached the pinnacle only a moment later, though, and the two suitors patted their future mounts down as if they were the finest thoroughbreds at Epsom.
Then, after a stillness had fallen into which the larks could sing their shrill tune, though the girls still gave little sobs of shame and pleasure to the grass, apparently too embarrassed by the display they had been made to give even to turn to one another, Julius said, “It is time for your whipping, now, Rose.”
Rose felt her face crumple in shame and woe at this news. The smell of the grass in her nostrils seemed to enhance the strange, partly terrible and partly delightful, feeling that for Julius now she was a sort of animal—a treasured pet, or even a steed—to be trained as he liked. He had made her undress, and he had made her kneel and bend. Then he had touched her down there, and called forth such pleasure that she felt she would do anything to experience it again. Now he would use the strap upon her, to teach her to be a better wife for him.
What did the words mean? Fuck. And now, spend. What had happened to her and to Rose, under their suitors’ fingers, as they cried out there in Sacred Grove, faces bent to the sward and shamefully bare bottoms raised high so that Julius and Geoffrey could touch them in their most private places? The pleasure that made her… her cunny… clench—even to think the word made her blush! It had grown and grown until she had thought she must beg Julius for something she could not name, only she couldn’t because her voice had dedicated itself solely to making the embarrassing little whimpers, moans, and finally cries that had at last…
What? What had happened? A glow, down there: growing and growing and growing, and magnified ever so much by knowing that beside her Captain Merton must be doing the very same shameful thing to Rose’s friend, for Isabelle’s cries had matched Rose’s own. Two girls, outdoors, naked, with their suitors’ hands in a place where Mrs. Tuchet had made clear only a wedded husband might touch in the privacy of the marriage chamber.
Then, when the glow seemed like it must invade every part of Rose’s body and make her swoon away—make her die even—the… the spending. Her whole body clenching along with her cunny. A pleasure filling her, much too great to be proper for a young lady to feel.
Julius had said… he had said he would spank her over his knee for making the noises she couldn’t help making, when he touched her in that wicked way. Why did Rose feel that it was only right that she be spanked for what he had done, for this strange liberty he had taken? Why did she long now to go over Julius’ knee with her bottom bare, and feel his firm hand teaching her that modest young ladies didn’t make such sounds, or feel such pleasures?
“You were very slow to obey me, Rose,” Julius said now, “when I told you to get undressed so that I may have my way, and fuck you as your guardian has given me permission to do. I shall whip you now, and perhaps next time you will remember what happens to girls who don’t do as their husbands tell them.”
A whipping in the Sacred Grove, with Isabelle and Geoffrey nearby, didn’t have the same warm allure in Rose’s mind that the picture of herself over Julius’ knee for a spanking did, but she felt that the logic had a hold on her nevertheless. “Yes, sir,” she whispered to the grass.
“Arch your back and present your bottom, darling,” Julius said. “Whenever I whip you, from this moment on, you will always show me thus that you know your need for correction.”
Rose knew how to present her backside, because Mrs. Tuchet had the very same requirement. It made her face blaze much hotter, though, to have to present her little cheeks to a man that way. And what had Captain Merton said, about getting into their cunnies, and spending in their anuses? And fucking their tight little bottoms?! She felt that if she could just ponder the things she had already seen today, she might be able to figure out what it all meant, and what husbands did to wives, but her mind shrank away from the thought with a hot inward blush, and Mr. Summersby clearly had no desire to allow her to ponder anything now but his authority.
He put his left hand on her waist, and she felt the leather of the strap tap against her bottom. She couldn’t suppress a little cry of alarm.
“Push this further out, Rose. Offer it to me as you should.”
Beside her, Isabelle gave a sympathetic whimper. “Please, Mr. Summersby,” she said.
“Hush, Isabelle,” Captain Merton responded. “Rose is getting what she deserves, just as you will, very soon.”
With a tiny sob, Rose tried to obey, feeling that she put on a more shameful display now than Mrs. Tuchet had ever required of her or her friend. She knew that pushing her bottom out let Julius and Geoffrey see not only her cunny but her little bottom-hole, too, and again she wondered about the getting in on which the gentlemen seemed to have resolved, for after the whipping. And… Rose remembered another word, now: deflower. Her cheeks grew hot at the thought, though she still could not have said why.
The strap left her bottom, and then, almost immediately, she heard it whistle softly through the air and then crack into her tender globes. She gave a loud cry as the pain built and built, but her suitor did not relent in the slightest and, like Mrs. Tuchet, whipped her hard and fast, holding her down with his left hand though she struggled and tried to rise, thinking wildly that she might beg him to wait a while before he punished her more.
“There you go, darling. There you go,” he said so softly that she nearly couldn’t make out the words through her sobs and yelps. “That’s what naughty girls get.”
Rose, her face pressed against the ground and the grass tickling her nose, bit her lip as she was punished and blinked back the tears. Her bottom felt like she had sat on a hornet’s nest, and still Mr. Summersby went on teaching her the terrible lesson, holding her still so the strap could land exactly where he wanted to give a fresh lash. She wondered if Mrs. Tuchet would inspect the girls, as she usually did, when they returned, and what she would say about the welts on Rose’s bottom, and the thought drew a sob from her, and an answering one from tenderhearted Isabelle.
“I say, Summersby,” said Geoffrey with a chuckle. “Give another fellow a chance, will you? That bottom looks quite suitable for your prick already, I must say.”
Julius laughed. “Alright, Merton. There you are.” The whipping had stopped, but for a moment Rose didn’t even realize it because the captain’s words had added to the mystery of what would happen next.
Isabelle understood, though, for her hand found Rose’s across the grass. Rose turned and saw through her tears that her friend was looking back at her. Though her bottom hurt terribly, Rose managed a little smile, and Isabelle smiled back, very bravely. Again Rose had the sense that Isabelle knew somewhere inside herself that she needed discipline just as Rose did, even if she had much more difficulty admitting that need.
“Look at that,” said Geoffrey. “They’re holding hands. That’s so sweet, girls.” Then, without the same kind of ceremony Julius had used, he began to whip Isabelle. Rose was very happy to find that Captain Merton kept his promise: he whipped the elder girl much less severely than Mrs. Tuchet had the previous night, let alone the terrible punishment Julius had just given Rose.
Nor did it last very long; Geoffrey had given only twenty lashes or so when he said, “That’s enough for today, dearest.”
Isabelle had turned her face to the grass again as if not wanting Rose to see her shame. “Yes, sir,” she said very meekly.
“Are you ready,” the officer said, “to learn about fucking, girls?”
To Rose’s surprise, it was Isabelle who said, “Yes, sir,” first.
“Rose?” Julius asked, then. “Are you ready, too?”
The authority in his voice sent a thrill through Rose down there that suddenly seemed to turn much of the smart of the strap into a very different kind of warmth. Her voice came out in a sob. “Yes, sir.”
She heard a sort of rustling behind her, as if the gentlemen were rummaging in their pockets. Only when she sensed Julius looming behind her and over her, his booted feet on either side of her calves, did she picture what the rustling must have indicated. Her face went hot: their suitors had uncovered those… things—their cocks—again, and…
Then she felt the tip of Mr. Julius Summersby’s cock moving against her virgin cunny, and everything became terribly clear. She gave a little cry.
“Do you understand now what fucking is, Rose?” Julius asked. The hunger and sternness in his tone frightened her, but again the shameful thrill traveled all around that place that Mrs. Tuchet had taught the girls to think so wicked. Next to her, she heard Isabelle give her own startled cry.
Julius held her hips still, and pushed the head of his hard penis just inside Rose’s cunny. She whimpered, because although what he did must be very naughty, it felt good—almost better in its own way than when he had rubbed the place at the top and made her spend before Isabelle could.
Her friend said, “Oh, please… I don’t…”
“Hush, Isabelle,” Geoffrey said. “Have you not been taught that you must gratify those the squire favors?”
Isabelle’s response was a little whimpery moan.
“Must I whip you again?”
“Oh, no… please, no.” Now the elder girl’s voice sounded almost dreamy.
Inside Rose’s cunny Julius’ cock moved gently up and down, in and out, and she felt that if she were to speak she too might sound as if she lay under an enchantment.
“Then tell me how much you wish me to fuck you, dearest.”
Isabelle made a sort of puppy noise. “Oh, must I?” she whispered.
“You must, Isabelle,” Geoffrey said. “Tell me you wish to be fucked.”
“I… I wish it, sir.”
“What do you wish, dearest?”
A sob from Isabelle’s chest rent the air, and that, too, sent a thrill and a little clench through Rose’s pussy, around the cock that was inside her. Were they already fucking? It almost felt as if something more would soon happen, as if the penis could go further…
“I want to be fucked,” Isabelle whispered. Then, a moment later, Rose heard her cry out in a mixture of pain and something else.
“There,” Geoffrey said. “It will only hurt for a few moments, dearest. I promise. Oh, your cunny is so tight. What a sweet ride you are, Isabelle.” The sounds that accompanied these words, though, were so different from the expectant stillness that had reigned in the Sacred Grove a few moments before that alarm mingled thoroughly in Rose’s heart and mind along with the irrepressible idea that she must have what Isabelle was now having or die. Isabelle gave little cries, still of pain though the something else, which must be pleasure, grew and grew, and Geoffrey’s voice had a panting quality, as if he had begun to exert himself. Rose thought that his exertions must involve his penis inside Isabelle’s private part, for another sound, never before heard by Rose’s ears, filled the air: a vigorous, wet sound, a kind of chucking and a soft slapping.
“They are fucking now, Rose,” Julius said softly. “Are you ready for fucking?”
“Oh, yes,” Rose breathed. Somehow she didn’t mind at all if it hurt. She felt jealous of Isabelle, suddenly.
“Good girl,” Julius said, and he pushed further into Rose’s cunny, so that Rose felt she could hardly breathe, and the idea that by doing this she gave herself to Mr. Summersby completely came into her mind: it felt as if he were going to put his hard cock so deeply inside her that she would never be the same. Deflower her: yes, after today she would not have that maiden flower anymore, for he would have fucked it away.
Then he thrust hard, and Rose gave a scream like Isabelle’s as she felt the penis rush up and into her cunny. She gripped the turf in her fingers and pressed her lips into a tight line, resolving not to scream again, but it hurt very much to have a cock inside her. Julius held himself in deep, and he held her hips very firmly. Though Rose squirmed, instinctively trying to escape from the manhood that impaled her, it was to no avail at all.
“There,” Julius said in a thick voice that made a sudden blush come into Rose’s cheeks because she could tell the thickening resulted from the pleasure he felt in fucking her. “Is the pain starting to go away?”
Beside them, Rose could hear Geoffrey grunting slightly, and Isabelle’s sobs seemed more pleasurable. Julius didn’t wait for an answer, but he too began to fuck, moving in and out, and Rose realized that indeed the pain had lessened, and the flames that seemed to engulf the whole region of her body between waist and knees, from the whipping, from the defloration, from the fucking, turned into an ache that made her long for the same sort of release he had allowed her before, using his skillful hand upon her cunny.
“Yes, sir,” she sobbed.
The gentlemen pulled out of the girls’ cunnies after a few minutes. Rose remembered with a shock of shame what Captain Merton had proposed earlier. The suitors had gotten into the first place he had suggested now; had the time come for the second?
Isabelle gave a cry of alarm.
“Hush,” Geoffrey said. “I shall fuck your bottom now, dearest. You must learn to have my cock there, too. For a man who doesn’t wish a large family, bottom-fucking is a necessity.”
Julius didn’t speak, but now Rose, too, felt the head of a cock at her smallest, most secret place. She gave a frightened whimper that matched her friend’s.
“Relax, girls,” the captain said. “Open these bottoms.”
Rose’s face glowed hotter than the sun, but it seemed she learned the trick of opening to the penis first, for Julius’ cock pushed in, and a different sort of discomfort, less sharp but burning and itchy befell her in a spot she had thought suited only for one shameful purpose.
Then Isabelle gave a different sort of cry, and Rose knew that her best friend, too, had a penis in her bottom. That thought made the shame grow high, and the arousal in her cunny rise. As Julius fucked her in front, she had thought she might spend again, if he went on for long enough, but the pleasure of having him in her anus was much more submissive. If he would only touch her as he had before, upon the little bud at the top of her private part, she might gain another release, but she felt that such a reward must be his choice, and she must not seek it herself.
“Oh, this is heavenly, is it not, old man?” Captain Merton asked. “Two virgin bottoms with nice thick pricks opening them? I shall spend very soon.”
Julius seemed more thoughtful, and his voice again betrayed the extremity of the pleasure he got from Rose. She didn’t understand how she could feel such a mixture of shame and pride, but the thought that her suitor’s cock felt good inside her naughtiest place mingled a satisfied sense of accomplishment with the maidenly blush that suffused her cheeks, to be fucked that way next to her friend and in the natural splendor of the Sacred Grove.
“Yes, I…” said Julius, and then his hands gripped her flanks more spasmodically, and she felt the cock do something it hadn’t, before: it seemed to jerk, she felt something wet inside, and she realized that Julius must have spent, in his own masculine way, in her anus.
“Good girl,” said Julius. “You belong to me, now.”
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