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The Duke’s School for Young Ladies by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

The Duke's School For Young Ladies by Emily Tilton“When the bell rings, Anne,” said Miss Halton, “that will mean that the duke is here. You must begin to prepare yourself, then. Do you remember what I told you, about your preparation?”

Anne swallowed hard, looking at the two garments laid out on the bed next to which she and Miss Halton stood, inside the duke’s visiting rooms. The schoolmistress had led her here after Sunday dinner, and helped her remove her gown, her corset, and her petticoat, so that Anne stood now only in her cotton shift. She nodded, a little uncertainly.

“Tell me,” Miss Halton said, her voice suffused with kindness.

“I’m to…” Anne whispered. “I’m to undress, and put those… things on.”

“And then?”

“To l-lie on the bed…”


Anne dropped her voice even farther. “To t-touch myself.”

Miss Halton nodded. “You may not remove your drawers or your chemise. The duke will do that himself—”

Anne could not suppress a little gasp at this news, which Miss Halton had not before made so explicit. “—or instruct you to do it, while he watches. But you are to pleasure yourself with your hands, outside and inside the underwear.”

Anne felt herself trembling, but she said, “Yes, miss.” Then she dared say, “Why, miss?”

Miss Halton looked into her eyes for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to gratify Anne’s curiosity. “His grace will be watching you from a secret place.”

“Oh… oh, no…” Anne said. Her cunny grew warm even as her mind recoiled. “Oh, I can’t, miss.”

Miss Halton reached out and took Anne’s hands. “Anne, my dear, think of what I told you in the carriage. You can, and you know you can. The reason you say you cannot is, I think you will find if you examine your heart, that you want to do it. When you lie on the bed, think of the duke, as you saw him in church this morning. Or think of the young footman in your parents’ house. Think of one of them, or both of them, here in this room with you, watching you.”

Anne closed her eyes, realizing she had begun to breathe heavily—not with fear but with the same excitement she had felt in the carriage, and when Ursula had peed in the schoolroom and then been strapped, and when Sarah had been strapped in Mrs. Fayerweather’s room, right behind her. When she opened her eyes, she saw Miss Halton’s smile again, and her heart filled with a strange joy, but also with terrible confusion.

“I do want to do it,” she whispered. “But is it not wicked?”

Miss Halton gathered her into her arms. “It is not wicked, my dear,” she said, stroking Anne’s golden hair, gathered loosely in a white ribbon. “And it is most especially not wicked to do it when his grace is watching. He has told me many times that the sight of a lovely young woman touching herself inside her drawers is his very favorite thing in the world, one other thing excepted.”

“What is that?” Anne murmured into her schoolmistress’ warm shoulder, covered in gray worsted.

Miss Halton gave an unexpected little giggle. “Wait and see,” she said. “He will tell you.”

She freed Anne gently from her arms. “I must go. I shall see you soon, Anne, and all this apprehension will be over.”

“Yes, miss,” Anne said softly.

The door closed behind Miss Halton with a click, and then Anne heard the more resounding snap of the key being turned in the lock. She stood, very uncertain, looking at the things on the bed: drawers and a chemise very similar to the daily uniform, but made of silk and ornamented with Parisian lace. They also seemed to be of a different, tighter cut that made Anne’s heart jump all on its own.

The little bell next to the door jingled, and Anne felt herself start violently. Oh, heavens. It has begun. Had the duke himself rung that bell, from his place of concealment? Was he watching her now? She felt a hot blush overspread her face.

She moved her hands to the tie at the neck of her chemise, but her fingers would not seem to obey her will, and it took her so long to untie the simple knot there that she finally stomped her foot in frustration, as she thought of a thousand things to fear. The duke would whip her for taking too long to undress. The duke would cane her for stomping her foot. The duke would thrash her because he found the angry look upon her face unbecoming.

Anne gave a little sob as the wretched string loosed itself at last, and then she realized that she must now remove the shift, in the full knowledge that his grace the duke of Panton watched from behind the wall, somehow. That picture—the image of the nobleman observing, himself unseen, the undressing of a young woman, as Apollo must have observed Cassandra undress many times—seemed to rob her of her reason. To her amazement, as the part of her mind that always seemed to hover above her, looking down upon all she did found itself utterly powerless to interrupt her actions, her hands reached down and grasped the hem of the shift and began slowly to draw it up.

The hovering part, as Anne sometimes called it to herself, saw what she imagined the duke must see: a well-bred young woman taking off her last undergarment, a thing a girl should not do—even to bathe!—unless she were going to put on a night rail or another shift that instant, and that behind a dressing screen, away from every eye including her own, for she must not even gaze down her body, as she blushed to imagine the duke did now, this very moment. Anne did not look down, but she could not dissuade her treacherous imagination from bringing the picture of her nudity before her mind’s eye. Nor, so well trained did it seem Anne had become here at Miss Halton’s, could she silence the twin voices of Miss Halton and Mrs. Fayerweather in her mind. As the pair of her schoolmistresses gazed upon her pert little breasts with their sweet pink nipples, and upon the shameless way her maiden cleft showed itself pinkly through the loose golden curls that marked her loins’ triangle, the former murmured, “Lovely,” and the latter shouted, “Disgraceful!”

Anne hung the shift on a hook by the dresser, wondering second by second whether the duke’s eyes peered out from the wainscoting there, or there, or there. Suddenly, to her surprise, she realized that she hoped he found her naked body pleasing, the way Apollo had found Cassandra so very pleasing that he must come in at her window. The thought discomposed Anne so thoroughly that she darted toward the bed, picked up the lacy chemise, and dropped it over her head as quickly as she could, finding as she did so that the garment had indeed been cut much tighter than the muslin chemises the girls wore every day but Sunday. It clung to her breasts with a terribly distracting intimacy, and, looking down, she could see that her nipples had stiffened so far that they poked the sheer fabric out. Instinctively she moved her arm across to cover the shameful sight, feeling foolish because she knew so much worse shame lay before her, but unable to stop herself.

With a whimper of frustration, she lowered that arm and picked up the drawers. She sat upon the bed, biting her lips, wondering if she could do what she knew she must, and put them on. She could see how sheer and how tight they were, and she could see that whatever disgraceful seamstress had sewn them had fashioned them in the closed type, with no parting between the legs. The very thought made Anne blush, at the thought of how they would cling to her there. With a little sob, she put her right foot in the proper leg hole, and then her left, and began to pull them up, trembling as she did so.

If the chemise were a shameful trial, the drawers simply mortified: not only were they sheer and tight, but they were even quite elastic. The way they clung at back and front was worse than Anne had feared: they seemed to get inside her bottom and her cunny-lips. Anne had never worn closed drawers before, and she could not but think that this pair were even more shameful than the usual cut of the garment. The wicked feeling of being bound there, by the sheer silk, made her think the earth should swallow her up when she recalled yet again that the duke observed her. The feeling that she wished the sight of her beauty to please him gave way again to the wish that no one could ever know that Anne Solmes had donned these humiliating garments.

Then, to her distress, that feeling gave way in turn, to the picture of herself, upon the bed as she had been instructed to lie, doing the terrible thing Miss Halton had told her she must do: the terrible thing for which her parents had sent her away to this school, for which Miss Plympton had whipped her, for which Mrs. Fayerweather had flogged her. At the thought, beyond any will of her own as it seemed to her, Anne reached her hand down to touch the sheer silk that covered her cunny, and moaned loud, long, and wantonly at the marvelous pleasure of that simple, light caress.

Instantly she felt the wetness come into the part of her loins where a little grotto seemed to open up; where she sometimes wanted to thrust a finger, but always found herself too narrow. It flowed as it had never flowed before, and as she looked down she saw a dark spot appear on the sheer white silk of the drawers, as if she had wet herself, though lower down.

Anne gave a little gasp of humiliation, but she could not have stopped herself now, even if commanded to stop, for every governess’ cane in creation. She climbed onto the bed, turned upon her back, and, in a frenzy of voluptuous passion, she spread her knees wide and put her right hand there, over the tight drawers, and began to rub, frantically, crying out with her need for the pleasure so long forbidden.

With her left hand, she found her tingling nipples, and moved her fingers from one to the other, trying to capture as much of the pleasure as she could. Her right hand seemed to want to rub harder and harder, and to pull the fabric tighter. Instead of being ashamed of the copious wetness there and the terrible evidence it gave of Anne’s wickedness, she loved the slick feeling, and tried to spread it all up and down the slit of her cunny. Over and over she pressed on the little bud at the top, the place where all the pleasure seemed to lie.

She put her hand inside her drawers: how could she help it? She cried out at the way it changed and increased the sensation. Her fingers slid there, because of the shameless, shameful arousal she had herself caused—wicked, wanton, lewd, whorish Anne Solmes.

That thing—the thing Miss Halton had done to her in the carriage—lay just out of reach, but closer with each long stroke of her fingers down to the grotto that seemed somehow to be opening a little more, where to put her fingers now seemed such a lovely thing to do despite the bit of discomfort it caused—or perhaps even because of that discomfort. It came closer, above all with the pressure of her fingers upon the little bud, with its pink hood. Anne could not help it: she looked down at where she could actually see, through the wet silk, the colors of her wicked cunny.

There it was… one more minute and the thing that had felt like a death and a rebirth all in one would swallow her up. Anne closed her eyes, and opened her mouth to gasp out the extremity of her pleasure.

She heard a click and a creak, and a man’s voice saying, “Sweet Anne, if I told you I would cane you six times for every second you continued to wank that naughty little cunt, what would you do?”

Anne’s eyes flew open, as her hands froze in their lewd pursuits. The duke was closing a door behind him—a door cleverly set in the wall of the bedroom so as to be unnoticeable unless you were searching for it. He wore a black dressing gown.

“I—” Anne started, her face so hot that she wondered if it might actually burst into flame, but the duke said, “Do not worry, sweet Anne. I would not do such a beastly thing. Continue, if you please.”

“I—” Anne said again. She tried to move her fingers, but found that they disobeyed her mind’s command. When she had begun to touch herself, no will at all had seemed to be involved: her hands had simply done what they must, and neither her mind nor her will could have stopped them. Now, told by his grace to do the terrible thing, while he stood there in the room with her, she found those same hands still utterly lacking in obedience, but, strangely, not so as to pleasure herself, but so as to refuse, and to pretend to modesty. The arousal and the wetness seemed to have flown her body, and she lay looking at the man who… who would be Apollo, to her, wanting to do as Sarah and Miss Halton had said she should, but unable to move her hands as she ought.

She gave a little sob, feeling her mouth twist into a little girl’s frightened, sorrowful pout. “I can’t,” she wailed. “I’m sorry… I… I want to obey, your grace. I want to be a good girl for you, but… I can’t do that… with you… here.”

The duke smiled to reassure Anne, and sat upon the bed. “Hush, sweet girl,” he said. “It will be alright. I promise you that.”

Their eyes locked, across the length of Anne’s lovely body, so enticingly clad in the sheer, tight silk that Clarissa ordered from Paris, and which she had been the first girl to model for him. Anne’s hands remained just where they had been, as if she were anxious that to move them away from her breasts and her cunt would attract too much of his attention, and she had elected to leave them where they were in hope that he would forget the way he had found her, crying out in her self-pleasure as charmingly as any girl he had ever had touch herself for him.

Without haste, but also without hesitation, the duke reached his hands out across the bed and, as Anne’s eyes widened and she gave a little gasp at his touch, he took hold of her hips and pulled her down the bed toward him, guiding her knees closed and her legs off to his right side, until her feet hung off the bed and she lay looking up at him, with all her charms within his easy reach. Her hands did fly away from her loins and her bosom at that, to her face, covering her eyes but also surely bringing her intimate scent to her nostrils and perhaps even her cunt’s taste to her lips. He smiled, wondering if she had ever before smelled that lovely aroma of virgin cunt, the one she must now have in her nose.

“Take your knees in your hands,” he ordered, “and open yourself up for me.”

“Wh-what?” The startled look in her eyes seemed to the duke worth all the money he spent on Clarissa’s school.

“Miss Anne Solmes,” the duke said. “I knew of your misfortune long before your parents met Miss Halton. Even then, when I heard of the way your governess discovered you, I wanted to do what I am now going to do. I wanted to teach you that the pleasure she locked up tightly inside your lovely body is much better allowed to go free, where it can bring joy to you, and to a man in my very fortunate position.”

“Apollo,” Anne whispered.

The duke smiled. “Do you like my book of myths, sweet Anne?”

Her eyes widened again. “Oh, yes, your grace,” she murmured.

“Do you think you can understand my command, now, my lovely girl? Can you discover how to open yourself up for me, so that I may unlock that pleasure for you?”

The duke remembered then, with a pang of regret, how different his seduction of Clarissa had been, these fifteen years past. He remembered the peremptory presentation of his prick to her lips, and the way, after whipping her to teach her that she must obey, he had made the lovely raven-haired girl who had so excited his fancy in his carriage gag, over and over, on his thrusting manhood as he sought the back of her throat.

Yes, he would probably do much the same to Anne before the day wore very much older, but he would not do it without knowing that she understood why she must learn to please his cock with the worship of her mouth or without feeling sure that her submission to his pleasure came from the depths of her spirit. Clarissa had taught him that, simply by speaking to him honestly of her body’s needs, in the pleasure house, after he had violated her in every fashion a rakish young nobleman can violate a blushing, though voluptuous, girl.

“Did you like that, you little whore?” the duke had demanded of her, after he had sodomized the screaming girl for ten minutes over the divan, finally exploding into a mighty spend that left him feeling his legs might not support his weight. The usual emotions he felt after using a girl Wenham and Mrs. Fayerweather had procured for his pleasure had gripped him: shame, revulsion, even tenderness, but he shoved them all away, as he always did, in the pretense of Clarissa Halton’s whoredom, and the idea that she had asked for precisely what she got—a hard cock in her mouth, her cunt, and her arse. They never said no, after all, to any of it—so long as you whipped them thoroughly enough. Clarissa had only needed to be whipped for a few minutes before she begged to have his prick in her mouth. Nor had she protested when he laid her over the divan to take her other maidenheads.

But when he said, afterward—as he often did—”Did you like that, you little whore?” and Clarissa responded, in a quiet voice, “Yes, my lord, though I do not think I was meant to like it,” the whole world changed.

“What?” the duke asked.

“Does it not strike you as odd, your grace,” Clarissa said, her head still hanging down nearly to the floor, and her anus beginning to drip with his seed, “that nature should have fashioned you to wish to hurt me and me to wish to be hurt?”

How could the duke truly regret having taken his darling Clarissa as cruelly as he had, seeing that it had helped her to the epiphany she then unfolded before him? Seeing that that epiphany had led to the school, and to this moment, in which he would teach Anne Solmes to know the pleasure she would certainly never have felt otherwise?

He looked down into Anne’s eyes, and knew again the stirrings of the same desire to master, and to have, that he had felt that day in the pleasure house, that he had felt while he watched this sweet girl play lewdly in her lascivious underthings, through the peepholes set, at his instructions, all along the wall of the bedroom. Her sweet, innocent face, suffused with both a modest blush and a wanton pout, made his cock leap, for he saw in that expression that she had understood him.

She compressed her lips into a troubled line, and, with much hesitation, she began to lift her knees. Again she gasped when he touched her, repositioning her on the bed so that her cunt and anus would lie most conveniently for the leisurely inspection he would now make of them. Anne took her knees in her hands and raised them as he had requested.

Through the sheer fabric, now, the duke could see his favorite sights. He saw the scanty, but very sweet, golden curls, like a yellow fern. Those curls, to his delight, could not hide the even sweeter cunt lips, whose pink secrets showed themselves through the nearly transparent silk. His eyes took their fill then of the tiny coral dimple of the girl’s arsehole, in which she could never have dreamt a man would take an interest. Rather, the duke supposed, Anne could not have dreamt it before she had begun to hear the hints which he knew were always dropped in the course of lessons and inspections.

He held his right hand over the pretty cunt, much more fully revealed than it was concealed by the lovely drawers that covered it. He gazed into Anne Solmes’ eyes, and lowered his fingers ever so gently to touch her there, not looking down himself until he saw her look down, to see where his fingers began to awaken her.

“Your grace,” she whispered, finally closing her eyes and visibly giving herself over to the feeling. That, and nothing more. Then, again, “Your grace,” even more softly, as his fingertips called the moisture to the wanton grotto, which would soon ease his cock’s path into her cunt.

“Hush,” the duke said, though Anne made no sound now besides her adorable little gasps of pleasure. He chuckled, and said teasingly, “You are wetting your drawers most disgracefully, sweet Anne. You must concentrate on that.”

She gave a little murmur of protest at the injustice of the accusation, but the duke said, “Do not fear, my dear. I shall not punish you for soaking your drawers with your need for me.”

Anne sighed contentedly, as if it helped to have her yearning for a man to take his rightful place inside her named so explicitly.

“Let me tell you about yourself,” the duke said quietly, as he caressed her soothingly, up and down her silk-covered cunt-lips, rubbing her clitoris with a little circular motion every time he returned to it, so that her gasp became a little cry of pleasure. “You are a sweet, good girl, whose thoughts were troubled at night. You only wanted to see what you looked like before the mirror. You did not expect that it would feel so very good that it made you cry out to touch yourself there.”

He bent down and kissed the virgin cunt, loving the tang of her maiden wetness. She gave a loud cry and, though he had eyes only for the sweetness of her loins, he was sure she had opened her eyes and now stared in disbelief as he continued to plant little kisses on the silken drawers that barely covered her girlish secrets.

Then, suddenly, the duke reached inside the gusset of the drawers, with the fingertips of both hands, and with practiced ease ripped it down the middle.

“Your grace!” Anne cried in surprise and alarm.

“I purchased those drawers, sweet Anne,” said the duke, still very softly and gently despite the menace he knew she would hear in the words, “and I shall destroy them if I please, the better to fuck you.”

He looked up, and saw her confusion at the unfamiliar word.

“Now you shall learn about fucking, my dear, and about a great many other things,” he said softly. “But first you must do as I asked. Put your hand down, where I have taken the unpardonable liberty of ripping an easy way through your drawers, to your cunt.”

“C-cunt, your grace? They told me… they called it a cunny… the other girls, when they whispered it to me.”

“The Latin is cunnus, Anne. Girls call it a cunny, but men call it a cunt.”

“Oh!” she said. “Did they…”

The duke began to let his fingers play there, again, just enjoying the feel of her tender cunt-hair, and her even more tender lips. He looked down at Anne’s sweet cunt, too, loving to see how his hand possessed her. She gave a long, whimpering sigh, rather than continuing to speak.

“What were you saying, Anne?” the duke asked quietly.

“Ah… did they—the men—did they… oh, your grace… did they make it ‘cunt’ because it sounds so very… so very…”

The duke took his hand away, hearing in her wonderfully labored voice the nearness of her spend. Anne gave a forlorn cry.

“So very what, my dear?” he asked, looking into her sweet, wondering blue eyes again.

“Dirty,” she whispered.

He smiled. “I think perhaps they did,” he said. “Now you must touch your cunt, Anne, for me. Let go of your knees, place your right hand between your legs, and show me your terrible crime.”

She bit her lip in apprehension. He watched her hands, upon the backs of her knees, squeeze the sweet, milk-white flesh there tighter.

“You will learn to be shameless, Anne Solmes, when I ask it of you,” he said. “And you will learn that any act of voluptuous pleasure is beautiful and right, so long as we perform it for the right reason. I could punish you now, to teach you that when I tell a girl to touch her cunt, she must obey me. Once, before I met Miss Halton, I might have done that.”

“What?” Anne whispered. “Your grace, what do you mean?”

The duke smiled. “When I was twenty-five, and Miss Halton was eighteen, I had her at my mercy, the way the dukes of Panton—like many other noblemen, to be sure—have liked to have girls at their mercy, in my pleasure house. She had fallen, much as you have fallen, and I was expert, then, at enjoying fallen girls before they had fallen so far that their blushes had flown away forever.”

Anne’s face had lost its anxiety, he saw, and she listened with her sweet mouth a little open, as if in astonishment. The duke loved all his girls, but he saw in Anne Solmes something of the same curiosity and intellectual fire that burned so brightly in Clarissa Halton: when she had called him ‘Apollo’ it had thrilled him to the marrow. He was always tender when he came to visit a new girl, these past few years—or at least more tender than he had been at twenty-five, though girls like Ursula Gregory could still provoke him to teach stern lessons with cane and cock—but he felt the sudden wish to make this visit with Anne everything that first night with Clarissa, in the pleasure house, should have been.

“I delighted in having girls in my pleasure house who had provoked society’s wrath without truly learning any of the wicked things—as society names them—of the knowledge of which they were so roundly accused. I had my servants bring them here to Panton, and lock them in my pleasure house. Then I would come to them, and possess them as I will soon possess you.”

Anne gave a little gasp. “How?” Her lovely face again showed worry: desperation to know the things forbidden her.

“By fucking,” the duke said simply. He stood, and shrugged his dressing gown to the floor.

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