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Home / Stormy Night Publications Newsletter / In Need of Training: A Victorian Romance by Samantha Madisen – Extended Preview

In Need of Training: A Victorian Romance by Samantha Madisen – Extended Preview

It felt strange returning to the parlor with Emma in such a state. And she was in a state. Something about their conversation had put her there, Rupert knew that. What it might be was a great source of interest for him in that moment.

“Where shall you have me?” She flushed with color as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Her hand rose, she tried pressing a finger to her lips, then had a second thought about it. It fell slowly to her side again. “What I meant was, how would you like… what sort of…”

Something tickled him about watching her flounder. Not in a cruel way. There was something exciting about dominating her in all ways. Showing her that he was her natural master and always would be. “Strip your clothes off and climb onto the stool,” he said gruffly. Not because he wanted to but because it felt like she needed it. The reassurance that there was still this safe space between them. Where he was the doctor, she the patient and student, and the lines between them were clearly drawn.

“Of course,” she said and gave a quick nod. She began undoing her coat.

Rupert realized then that he would not be administering her spanking that morning. Something had rattled her out in the garden. She wasn’t in the space for it. She needed something more… clinical. He watched her disrobe. His cock engorged when she was down to her underthings. It swelled more when she slipped out of them and stood with her hands at her sides, naked and blushing slightly, though not nearly as much as she had in the garden. “Tell me what of a woman’s duties to her husband?” He kept his voice stern and his stare even.

Her face changed to a deeper shade of red at the question. This time, however, she did not demur. She held his gaze as squarely as he was leveling it at her. “Of what duties do you speak, Doctor?” she asked, some of the ennui she’d spoken with when he first met her returning to her voice.

“How does a woman service a man when his need arises?”

She glared at him.

He wasn’t sure if she was furious for being made to answer such questions while nude or some other reason. But it was the reaction he’d hoped for. Her spirit was back. The fight was back in her. He could feel it. “Any thoughts?” he asked.

The corner of her lip curled into the tiniest snarl. “She opens her legs and takes him into her cunt. As we’ve discussed.”

He suppressed the urge to smile. “That’ll be another two for using the word ‘cunt’ and two more for forgetting how to address me again.”

Her nostrils flared. Seemingly at the threat of more punishment. But by now he knew better. That wasn’t fear twisting her features. It was excitement.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, voice hard as steel. “She opens her legs and takes him into her cunny. Doctor.” She nearly spat the last word.

Again he entertained the thought of bending her over his spanking contraption and showing her what a man with a need felt like inside her. He brushed the thought away. “That is correct but insufficient for our purposes,” he explained.

“Oh?” she asked. “Then please, Doctor, enlighten me.”

“Of course I will,” he replied. He took two steps toward her. From there he could smell the excitement seeping from between her soft thighs. It riled him. “A man often has more need of a woman than just her cunny. The mouth is an excellent vessel for spent seed. As is the anus.” He delighted in the way she drew in a sharp breath at his explanation.

“Have you had a man’s cock in your mouth, Emma?”

Her chest heated. The color rushed up to her cheeks. “I have not,” she said tersely.

She was squirming inside, he could tell. Cornered again with nowhere to run but didn’t want to show it. He drove further with another question. “Have you had a man in your anus?”

“I have not!” she shot back.

“Two more. One for each failure to address me as ‘Doctor.’”

Her lips went tight.

He walked over to the small table with his things. “Position yourself on the stool, Emma. Arse up.” He heard her bare feet padding over to the contraption. As she climbed and adjusted herself he undid the syringe he’d been cleaning. Filled it with the solution he’d prepared after breakfast. It had been his intention to perform her cleanse later in the day. But things between them were too confusing now to indulge in any games of dominance that might be felt more deeply than he intended. Emma needed a little humiliation first. When he turned it was to find her in the position he’d described. He walked over and set the syringe on the stool where she could see it. Then he walked back and picked a crop out of his bag.

Her eyes widened when she saw it.

He saw her fingers tighten their grip on the leather armrests.

“I am going to train your arse and your mouth to take a man’s cock,” he explained.

She gasped.

“Before I do I’m going to clean out your bottom. Before that you’ll take four of your smacks.”

Her lips were pressed tightly together. She gave a few quick nods.

Rupert’s eyes fell to her cunny. It was already drenched with her wet. He put a hand on the small of her back and raised his crop. His own thoughts were swamped by the arousal pulsing through him. “Good,” he said. “Now ask for it nicely.”

Fury flashed on her expression. Her jaw clenched.

For a moment he thought she would deny him.

Then she let out the breath she’d been holding. “Please, Doctor. May I have my correction?”

His cock throbbed. “You may,” he growled. He brought the crop down across both cheeks of her ass. Waited for the line of red to blossom before raising it and cracking it against her soft flesh again.

She emitted a shuddering whimper.

The sound drove straight into his britches. He raised the crop and let it fall again. She shook beneath his hand. The final time he let it fall on the round of her ass. When he was finally finished, Emma was trembling on the device.

He set the crop down and picked up the syringe. Walked in front of her and displayed it, turning it in his hands. “This nozzle will fit in your bottom. I will release a solution and you will hold it. On my command you will release it from yourself.” He didn’t wait for her to reply. Walked around to her bottom, placed a hand on one cheek, and pried it open until he could clearly see the tight ring of muscle that led to her backside.

He ran his middle finger along the line of her slit, gathering up the sticky moisture, then applied it to the nozzle and pressed the tip of it against her bottom. “You have a very tight back entrance, Emma Thorncliffe,” he mused.

A breath shook from her at the observation.

She’d never been so humiliated in all her life. Her bottom upturned, the doctor unashamedly poking and prodding it with his fingers and that thing he meant to put inside her. And having her insides cleansed? It was all incredibly embarrassing. But it wasn’t just that.

From deep inside her core she felt a warm arousal throbbing. At being touched in such intimate places. At the doctor’s steady hands easing the device into her. And, of course, at the harsh punishment she’d received for her disobedience.

She winced as he twisted the syringe. It was well lubricated with her own slick. And while the pointy end had slipped in easily, she could feel it stretching her as it widened. She braced herself against the spanking stool and clenched her teeth until she could stand no more. “Oh! Oh, Doctor!” she cried out.

His hand settled reassuringly on the small of her back. “Don’t twist and turn, Emma. You’ll only make it worse. You’ll have felt far thicker things stretching you before we’re through.”

Her eyes widened and the ring of muscle he’d mentioned tightened instinctively.

He met this with a light slap on her bottom. “Relax, Emma. Nearly there,” he said.

She did her best. Closing her eyes, she tried to pretend that she wasn’t lying naked on a spanking stool with the doctor pressing a syringe into her bottom. It proved impossible. But soon she felt a flange settle against her bottom. She sighed, relieved that the procedure would surely soon be over. A knock at the door caused her to tense anew.

“Come!” he shouted.

The door squeaked as it swung open.

“Oh, goodness!” Hedgepot’s startled tone sounded like she’d seen a ghost. “My apologies, Doctor,” she muttered. “I didn’t know that…”

“No need to apologize, Mrs. Hedgepot. Your timing is impeccable. Would you be so kind as to step over to that table and bring me the basin sitting on it?”

A momentary pause. “Why, of course,” Hedgepot mumbled.

Emma heard her shuffling across the floor then over to where she was positioned. Her cheeks burned a bright red. To think that Hedgepot was seeing her like this. Restrained, bared to anyone who happened to walk in and utterly at the doctor’s mercy. She fixated on this, furious and embarrassed at the same time and vowing she would give the doctor a piece of her mind.

A soft hiss and the distinct sensation of fluid filling her posterior ripped her from her ruminations and focused her entire attention on her backside. She rose up off of her stomach, her bottom rounding as it tried to accommodate what the doctor was delivering into it.

While she had imagined, in the night, when she touched herself, what she believed it would feel like when a man put his member inside her cunny, it had never occurred to her—for no one had ever mentioned anything like this, even in the most gossipy and wicked of private conversations—that her bottom would be penetrated in the same way.

The sharp bite she had felt when he slid the syringe through the tight ring of her anus, like the crack of the whip against her backside, was fading in waves. But instead of the slow-burning warmth that spread over her bare skin, the sensation that replaced it was a throb, an ache, one that almost felt unsatisfied. A deep, foreign longing welled up inside of her, and though he was not even touching her cunny, it spread throughout her entire lower body, and she felt her cunny overflow with excitement.

Just as the soreness began to cry out—for what, she had no idea. What would satisfy this hunger inside of her?—something changed, and the warm solution inside the doctor’s contraption began to fill her.

“Oh,” she said softly, her eyes darting back in forth in front of her. Her bottom began to fill, and the filling slowly ate away at her craving, ballooning inside of her, warm and, for lack of any other word, fulfilling.

Would it go on forever? she wondered. The more full she became, the more the sweet soreness in her bottom drove her to desire his touch upon her cunny. She was senseless to nearly everything but the tight, full feeling in her bottom, and she had forgotten Mrs. Hedgepot’s presence entirely. Her lips were parted, and she had ceased to breathe.

The doctor’s hand was warm when he patted her bottom, an affectionate flutter that caressed her skin. “You are doing very well, Ms. Thorncliffe,” he said, his voice low and seemingly constrained. She wondered at the tone, but could not move herself to respond or look back at him, for the sensation in her bottom consumed her. It was only when he spoke again that a wave of humiliation crashed over her, flashing hot at the surface of her skin but burning cold through her chest. “Mrs. Hedgepot, if you would?”

Emma felt tears of humiliation form in her eyes. She could picture the pleasure of the mean old Mrs. Hedgepot, watching her be utterly humiliated and spanked. Emma blinked and clenched her jaw to steel herself against her tears, for she would not let Mrs. Hedgepot see her cry. She willed her cheeks to lose their red color as well, but they continued to burn, and she hoped the housekeeper would not notice.

Emma could feel her stern gaze burning against her own backside.

“You’ve been busy today, I see,” Mrs. Hedgepot mused. “I wish I had had the pleasure of seeing her bottom that red many years ago. Mr. Fenwick didn’t have the…”

“Mrs. Hedgepot, please,” Dr. Dobson said. “We are in the middle of a procedure.”

“Of course, of course,” Hedgepot muttered, cowed by his admonishment. “I’m very pleased to see that you are giving her a cleanse, however. In my opinion it should be mandatory for every young woman once she comes of age.”

Emma’s lips, which she had squeezed tightly, fell open in shock, and a fresh wave of humiliation traveled over her, making a bead of sweat form at her brow.

Dr. Dobson did not respond to Mrs. Hedgepot’s comments. “Now, Ms. Thorncliffe,” he said sternly, and Emma’s heart felt like it soared and crashed to the floor several times during the deliberate pause the doctor took. Now what? she thought frantically. “You must squeeze your bottom as I remove the syringe, and hold the liquid inside until I request that you release it.”

Competing feelings churned inside of Emma, making her feel as sailors described, seasick. She squeezed her muscles, not knowing if she was doing what he asked, and tears threatened to spill over from her damp eyes as she pictured Mrs. Hedgepot watching her, enjoying her comeuppance.

She felt the hard nozzle of the syringe slide out of her body, the void filling with the warm liquid, her bottom and cunny throbbing wildly. She squeezed her eyes and pressed her lips together, and her skin burned even hotter.

“The basin, Mrs. Hedgepot.”

Another cold dagger of humiliation plunged through Emma’s chest. A single tear spilled from the corner of her right eye, but she did not dare wipe it away. It was difficult to know what had caused it, for she did not feel pain, only utter humiliation—and secretly, in her darkest heart of hearts, there was a thrill about it. When she let herself think of that perverse thrill, the flame of her humiliation flared.

“Now release,” the doctor said quietly.

The ache in her bottom had, in the interim, deepened and intensified, and she wanted desperately to do as he said, but also desired to remain there, letting the throbbing build, if only to see where it took her.

“Ms. Thorncliffe,” the doctor said, his voice stern and cold. “You have been given an instruction and you are to obey, or you shall be punished.”

Another tear threatened to spill, and she found herself without a voice. She realized that her hands were balled tightly into fists, and they, too, were beginning to ache. She could not speak to explain to the doctor that she wished to be punished, that she wished to see where this feeling of fullness would take her, that she wanted to know and understand how she could feel at once fulfilled and hopelessly unsatisfied.

“Ms. Thorncliffe,” the doctor repeated.

She heard Mrs. Hedgepot make a sound she was familiar with, of exasperation. “This is precisely the problem with this young lady, at every turn she insists upon—”

“My dear Mrs. Hedgepot, while your presence is quite helpful to my methods, I assure you I do not require your verbal narration, however apt it may be.”

Mrs. Hedgepot fell silent, and Emma felt a small flutter of relief. She closed her eyes, and resolved to obey.

The soft swish of the solution falling into the basin filled the room. Emma thought she might actually die of embarrassment.

“Well done,” the doctor praised. “If you would kindly dispose of that for me, Mrs. Hedgepot?”

“Of course, Doctor. Of course,” she said, a slight distaste in her voice. Behind her, Emma heard Mrs. Hedgepot crossing the room. “Ah, yes, I nearly forgot. Lunch will be ready shortly in the dining room.”

“Fine,” the doctor said. “Er, actually, would you mind preparing us a picnic? Nothing fancy, just a few things. I’d rather like Emma to get some more sunlight.”

Emma could tell by the silence that Hedgepot was taken aback. A picnic? In the middle of the week? It went against every puritanical grain in her body. It nearly made Emma laugh out loud, imagining what her face must look like.

“Uh… I suppose that I can find some way to…”

“Excellent,” the doctor said before she had a chance to finish. “We will come to the kitchen in a short time. I have one last thing to do this morning.”

There was a long pause, and Emma could not discern, and did not dare to turn to see, what was happening. “Mrs. Hedgepot,” the doctor prompted, after a few moments.

“Yes, of course, Doctor,” she said hurriedly.

Emma’s face burned again. No doubt Mrs. Hedgepot would scurry to the kitchen and tell all of the help what she had seen. The door closed behind her.

Emma heard the doctor walking around the stool.

He rounded it and fell slowly to one knee in front of her until his face was at the same level as hers. He wore a friendly expression and seemed pleased with himself.

Normally that would have infuriated Emma, especially after having been subjected to such a humiliation as her public cleansing had been. But seeing him almost smiling at her, his face just inches from hers twisted something around her heart and in her insides.

“You have done very well, Emma,” he said, patting her arm. “I was certain that when I called Mrs. Hedgepot in you were going to lose your temper.”

Emma’s temper did flare at that moment. “In case you hadn’t noticed I had my ass full in that moment,” she shot back, then immediately bit her lip.

She thought she saw a smile flutter at his lips. “Oh, Emma,” he said, his voice a mixture of tenderness and admonishment. Her heart beat wildly and seemed to fly to the heavens at the sound of her first name upon his lips.

He stood up, picking up his crop, and walked slowly behind her. He smacked the crop gently against her ass, and her hot, tender flesh flared again. “It’s not ass or arse to you, Ms. Thorncliffe,” he said. “It’s ‘bottom’ or ‘backside,’ and for the time being it belongs to me.” Behind her, the doctor paused, after a sharp inhale. “You shall, as such,” he continued, his voice somewhat constricted, “use the words I have instructed you to use. Do you understand?” He brought the crop down on her skin, this time smartly, and the leather bit into her and ignited the now-fading soreness.

Once again, the doctor’s punishment had the opposite of its intended effect. Her sex clenched as the pain sent tendrils of arousal through her. “Yes, Doctor,” she whispered. Saying the words twisted something inside of her; the act of submitting to the doctor did not make her angry, as it would have with anyone else. Instead, her words echoed in her head, and in her body, traveling to her cunny as though they were in her blood. The center of her cunny throbbed with desire.

“Get up and put on your things, Ms. Thorncliffe,” he instructed. “We will take our lunch outside. We have a busy afternoon ahead of us and you must be adequately sustained.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she repeated before climbing off the stool and getting dressed.

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