Paying no attention to the couple on the bed next to them, and still less to the observers behind him, James took his prick from Clara’s mouth, and saw a look of bereavement upon her face, her mouth still open as if to tell him that he might fuck her between her lips any time he wished,
“It is time, Clara,” he said softly, and he moved to the end of the bed. Quickly he took hold of her waist and drew her all the way down to him, changing his grip to her knees and raising them high, pressing them back so that her cunt and her cringing anus lay open to his view. He stripped off his shirt over his head and dropped it to the leafy ground so that he stood naked before his darling girl, whose mouth still hung a little open as her eyes, fixed upon James’ erect penis, went wide.
He put his right hand upon her warm, wet cunt, and he parted the petals that hid her young vagina—the sheath made for his sword, when he should thrust it into her and bring her maiden blood, proof of her virginal submission.
“You will look into my eyes, Clara,” he said, “as I deflower you.”
“Ah,” said a voice behind him that James recognized as that of Mr. Vance. “Now here is a conundrum. If the valet says the same as the gentleman, how very unoriginal it shall now seem.” Then, as if in explanation of his presence, Mr. Vance said, “We three let our own servants take our girls’ maidenheads, your grace, so that we could come and see this remarkable sight. You can hear them now, on the other side of the curtains.”
Indeed, the sounds of dominant fucking had begun to arise from unseen bowers nearby. The torchlight made shadows play in the corners of James’ eyes: perhaps a maiden bent over against a tree with a manservant in her from behind, crying out her need as she received the penis for the first time; perhaps another riding a prick and panting with the shameful exertion of having to lower herself upon it time and again.
“Clara,” James said, for his maiden’s eyes had started to wander and an expression of fear to come upon her face. “Look at me, my darling.”
Mr. Freshet’s voice called Clara back from the strange, frightening world into which Mr. Vance’s words had cast her. She turned her eyes up to his, then followed his glance downward again, to where he laid the head of his hard prick just atop the place where it seemed her need centered itself, though that spot lay distant, too, from the other place—the hidden grotto where Clara knew she must have his hardness inside her, so very soon.
Must. For the duke declared it, and Laura next to her said, “Yes, sir,” again to something Mr. Eliot had told her.
“Yes, sir,” Clara said to Mr. Freshet, for she wished him to know that she belonged to him, just as Laura belonged to the doctor’s manservant—for tonight, at least. Natural men, it seemed to Clara then, understood how to make a girl feel she had fallen into careful hands, no matter how roughly those hands might also sometimes treat her.
Must. Because Mr. Ainsworth had inspected her cunny, and he had called her very wanton. Clara felt that wantonness grow and grow, as she watched Mr. Freshet rub the soft, and yet so very firm, tip of his penis against the place where her aching bud of pleasure lay hidden. From an unseen bower, behind her, a maiden cried out in rhythmic response to a cocks-man’s hard thrusts.
The music of the consort, accompanying the sounds of the fucking, seemed to take hold of her. Clara’s hips bucked, and she tried to raise and part her knees even further, tried to offer her cunny to the prick poised to claim her maidenhead.
Her mouth felt strange after having Mr. Freshet’s manhood in it for so long, as he had prepared her for fucking with his hand between her legs. Clara moved her tongue upon her lips, and remembered the feeling of his motions inside her, the way he had sought his pleasure even as he had given her cunny the delight of his knowing fingers. As she watched, now, he moved the head of his rigid penis downward, grazing the tender lips and taking it from her sight, down where Clara could no longer see the long, hard shaft.
She gave a little cry as much in sorrow that she could no longer see the prick as in surprise as she felt it at last where it must go, pressing inside the cavern of her cunny, lodging itself just within her. Next to her she heard Laura give a happy cry of her own, and knew the other girl must also have a penis nearly inside her. Clara thought for a moment that Mr. Freshet would thrust in, now, and she even raised her hips again, to help him take her maidenhead, but though she felt a shudder in his own hips—as if he had almost given in to his natural need to begin fucking her immediately—his prick remained still.
His hands, upon the backs of her knees now, spreading her open for his use, gripped her tightly, and that sensation reminded her of his command: she must look into his eyes. She felt the heat come into her face, then, to match the blazing warmth of her cunny, and she could barely endure to do as Mr. Freshet had instructed her, but the need down there, where she had the head of his manhood ready to initiate her into the ways of fucking, would not let her disobey.
Clara looked up into the clergyman’s eyes, and saw him gazing down into his face in pleasure and need and joy, and then he drove with his hips so that his hardness rushed inside her. She cried out at the flash of pain that tore through her body, and her back arched as her first fucking began, the attempt to writhe away from the thrusting cock all in vain, for Mr. Freshet held her firmly by her legs so that he could enjoy being deep inside her cunt.
Next to her, Laura had given a similar cry at nearly the same time. Clara turned her head to the left, to see that Mr. Eliot had thrust just as deep as Mr. Freshet had. Both girls now had hard penises inside them, and were maidens no longer. Laura looked at Clara, too, and reached her hand out, and Clara took it. At the same moment, the pain of her defloration seemed to fade, and the strange sensation of having a man inside her, so far up her belly that it took her breath away, made Clara move herself, in time with the sound of the silvery music that seemed to flow all around her. She pushed a little against Mr. Freshet, giving a sort of silent invitation that it would have made her blush furiously to say out in words.
She turned from Laura’s face, to look up again at her handsome, naked clergyman. The feeling of naughtiness, of wantonness, of need came upon her whole body so greatly that she couldn’t help arching her back again, and repeating the lewd invitation. When Mr. Freshet saw her eyes turned again upon him, he began to move his own hips, and then Clara understood why the girls in the other bowers were crying out, for each thrust reawakened the need and drove her further into it.
Laura, too, began to make those noises, as Mr. Eliot moved urgently over her, on the bed beside Clara’s. The cocks-men fucked in a similar pounding rhythm, now, and the girls, no longer maiden, kept hold of one another’s hands. The pleasure grew and grew in Clara’s cunny, inflating inside her so quickly and so urgently that she began to fear she would experience the excess the duke forbade unmarried women in his duchy.
Looking up at Mr. Freshet, she pictured the terrible lash the duke had brandished in the assembly hall—the one designed to whip a girl’s cunny, if she let herself spend. To her dismay, the image and the idea made her cry out louder, seemed to make the feeling of Mr. Freshet’s thrusting prick more pleasurable and more needful, rather than less.
“Your grace,” she heard Doctor Brown’s voice say. “I think you are about to see the response of a truly natural man—two of them, indeed—to your understanding of your ancestral motto.”
Nothing in excess, Clara thought, and for a moment she tried to restrain her body, to keep from the edge of the yawning abyss of pleasure over which she seemed to hover. She and Laura let go of one another’s hands, and Clara put hers on Mr. Freshet’s strong forearms as he spread her open further and further for fucking, his cock flashing in and out of her wet cunny now.
Around them, behind the curtains, the other maidens had grown quiet. Clara wondered if they sucked pricks, now, or if they lay upon their bellies to have men’s hardness thrust into their tiny bottom-holes. She knew Mr. Freshet meant to spend in her own bottom, just as he had done in Louisa’s. The thought of it, of the shameful way it would feel, of the utter claiming it would mean, of the rosette upon the back waist of the lacy pants a consort girl had to wear, pushed Clara over the edge, and she knew she could not stop herself, and would not stop herself, for anything at all—not even the terrible whip upon her poor young cunny, newly deflowered.
As Clara gave herself over to her first spend, her body bucking against Mr. Freshet’s as he kept fucking her, she grew dimly conscious that Laura, too, had reached her climax beneath Mr. Eliot’s pounding hips, and writhed upon her bower bed just as Clara did.
Then she heard the duke’s voice, very stern, say, “Fetch another cunt whip, if you please. And, gentlemen, withdraw from those cunts. You must whip them now. Doctor, I do not know if you meant this lamentable display to unfold thus as a mockery to my house, but you shall see how a Norley girl learns her duty.”
She had closed her eyes as the pleasure had racked her body, but now Clara opened them again to see Mr. Freshet still gazing down upon her. Her brow furrowed, and she bit her lip in fear, but he had a peaceful, reassuring expression upon his face. Suddenly Clara felt she would not mind having her cunny whipped by the man with whom she felt herself to be falling in love.
Mr. Vance spoke next, his voice strangely full of triumph.
“Have Anti-Brown’s notions more claim upon you, then, your grace? It is a shame your vicar is no true gentleman, but he is a clergyman, after all, and they cannot be expected to understand matters of honor, can they?”
Clara heard a snort then, and then a voice she thought must belong to the earl. “Are you Anti-Brown, then, Mr. Vance?”
“He is,” said Mr. Grenville haughtily. “And I am here to help him win the victory over this pretended doctor, in the name of all natural and true gentlemen.”
Clara struggled a little then. She wished to tell the man that if a natural and true gentleman fucked girls in such a way as to keep them from feeling what she had just felt, exploding through her body, than the devil could take all true gentlemen. But Mr. Freshet held her in place, and he bent to kiss her, and she kissed him back, eagerly and lovingly.
“Your grace,” said a maid’s voice, “here is the cunt whip, if you please.”
A shiver went down Clara’s spine at the terrible name.
“Did any other maiden spend tonight? Or any of the older girls?”
“No, your grace,” the maid answered timidly. “All the girls have had their fucking, and none of them broke the law, if you please.”
“Thank you, Martha,” said the duke. “You will stay and watch these girls receive the lash upon their young cunnies, as a reminder to you of your own ball, two summers ago.”
Clara’s heart quailed within her, but then she heard Doctor Brown’s voice.
“I should like to hear,” he said, “what the young ladies think of what will now befall them.”
Mr. Vance laughed. “Young ladies! Why should his grace have any interest in their opinion?”
“Doctor Brown?” the duke’s voice asked.
“Indulge me for a moment, your grace?” the doctor said. “I think you will find the answer most interesting.”
Clara pictured the duke frowning. She looked up into Mr. Freshet’s handsome face, and found him smiling.
“Very well,” said his grace. “Miss Mansfield there. You are now to have your wicked young cunt whipped. What do you think of that?”
Clara took a deep breath and bit her lip.
“Mr. Freshet,” the duke said, then, “if you please, arise from that fucking piece so I may look her in the eye.”
The clergyman gave Clara one more kiss and then obeyed. As he departed, and Clara gave a forlorn little cry at the absence of him from her womb, he gently lowered her legs to the ground. Clara saw that the duke held the terrible whip from his own coat out for Mr. Freshet to take, and she saw her cocks-man take it with a grave look upon his face. It made her heart quail, but still she looked the duke in his face, and despite the heat in her face at her nakedness, she said what she knew she must—what she felt the doctor meant her to say, and Mr. Freshet meant her to say, for it was no less nor more than the truth.
“If Mr. Freshet must whip my cunny, in exchange for the joy he gave me there, I will be happy it is he to do it, and happy that he enjoys fucking me, and whipping me, and teaching me to be a good girl.”
Mr. Eliot had also gotten off Laura, and the duke addressed her now, a look of surprise and wonder breaking out upon his face. “Do you feel the same way, Miss…”
“Miss Smith, your grace,” Laura said shyly. She looked up at her cocks-man, standing with his huge prick still erect. “Yes, and… I know it will be so big, but if Mr. Eliot would like to have my bottom, too… well, I think I would even like that. I even like it when Mr. Eliot spanks me.”
Clara looked at Mr. Freshet, a blush warming her face, and saw him looking back at her. The desire to have her own anus filled with a prick at the same time Laura received one there came upon her, and she saw the answering hunger in her cocks-man’s eyes.
The duke looked at Doctor Brown. “What am I to do,” he asked the physician, “when girls want to have their cunts whipped and their bottoms spanked? If they speak truly, your natural men have made a mockery of Norley’s ancient laws.”
“Pah!” said Mr. Grenville. “They are lying.”
“Your grace may easily determine whether the girls speak the truth,” said Doctor Brown. “Is it not your custom usually to restrain girls when they receive discipline upon their vulvas?”
“Of course,” the duke replied. “One could never punish them properly otherwise.”
“Then let these girls receive their whippings holding their own knees apart for the lash. If they do so, accept me as your adviser, and I promise your duchy and your consort will keep your laws, in a way better and truer to nature.”
Mr. Vance stepped forward, his face cruel and menacing. “Your grace, I will accept this trial on one condition: that it be made in your palace, once Miss Mansfield has joined your consort, one week hence, and made of her alone.”
Clara’s heart jumped in her chest, and her blood seemed to freeze everywhere but in her face, where her cheeks blazed hot as the sun. She felt Mr. Freshet’s arm about her shoulders, and the warmth of his body kept her from swooning, but Mr. Vance’s eyes, glittering in the torchlight and surveying her naked, newly deflowered charms made her long to cover herself.
“Doctor Brown?” asked the duke. “What say you? I suppose you understand Mr. Vance’s motives, though I do not?”
“I do, you grace,” the physician replied, looking at Clara with a kindly air that calmed her fear a little. “Miss Mansfield is in some degree under my protection, by reason of her father’s connections…”
Clara felt her eyes grow wide, but Mr. Freshet’s arm around her kept her from crying out.
“…and Mr. Vance knows it. He is certain Miss Mansfield will fail in the trial, once she has become a member of your consort and has been separated a while from Mr. Freshet, her natural master. Should that occur, and the word of it get about, as no doubt it would thanks to the pen of Anti-Brown, I would be finished.”
“But you believe Miss Mansfield will hold her own thighs open for a full cunt whipping of twelve lashes?”
“I do,” affirmed the physician, “provided she be promised Mr. Freshet’s erect penis—and his manly protection—as a reward.”
Clara gave a little whimper, and hid her face in Mr. Freshet’s chest, then, for she could not bear to look at the men standing over her and assessing her.
“Very well,” the duke said, after a pause that seemed eternal. “Tomorrow night, at the first rehearsal of the new consort, Miss Mansfield shall receive her punishment, whether or not she must be restrained. Mr. Freshet shall have her arse’s virginity then, as well, if he wishes, as her reward or as her further punishment. Let Miss Smith be disciplined now, though, and her arse fucked, while Miss Mansfield watches. I should like to see how Mr. Eliot fulfills the sentence. Vicar, pray give Mr. Eliot my own cunt whip.”
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