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The Duke’s Shameful Game by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

Dora did not wish to understand the purpose of the long, thick black thing the butler had brought. Miss Halton had in her mind, from the indications her guardian had given of the headmistress’ character, taken on an air of mystery and of magic: the thrashing in Sir George’s study had made plain to Dora that she could not hold any longer to the same notions of independence that had made her let Lord Hodge in at her window, but might not she find in this Miss Halton another version of liberty?

When Dora had laid eyes upon the vivacious young woman, the only girl not dressed in the humiliating, revealing ‘uniform’ of the duke’s school, she had thought her impression confirmed. Miss Clarissa Halton had found a way to remain independent despite her attachment to the wicked duke. Despite her own mortifying position, with her punished bottom on display, Dora had thought the headmistress—who indeed had tied open Dora’s drawers with her own delicate hands—thrillingly rebellious when Miss Halton had told his grace she would not undress.

Then, however, had come the duke’s peremptory command, and now came the things for which he had called: the enormous black shaft clearly carved intricately to impersonate the male member, on a much larger scale. Jupiter. Meant to go up Miss Halton’s bottom.

A chemise just as sheer, though a little more frilly, than the one Dora wore, and… and a pair of drawers with lace edges that made Dora’s heart beat faster as she thought of what they would look like upon a girl’s bare thighs.

“You may turn around, Dora,” said Sir George, “so that you may see what happens to a naughty girl, even when she is a schoolmistress.”

Dora felt her face crumple as she obeyed, as much because she could not bear to lose the sight of what would happen next to lovely Miss Halton as because every word from her guardian’s mouth, spoken in his deep, calm, commanding voice, made her think of the two rods she had been made to kiss: the cane and Sir George’s hard penis. The whipping in his study had attuned her entire body to his voice, somehow, and now as she turned, instinctively putting her hands behind her as if to ward off Jupiter from her own backside, the sight of the handsome duke, graying at the temples but vigorous of body, presenting Miss Halton with a lewd uniform like those worn by the other girls in the room, made Dora think of herself and the submission tall, virile Sir George had demanded of her.

Miss Halton looked up at her noble master—how could Dora think of the duke in any other capacity, based on the way he stood over the headmistress of his school and handed her the shameful attire while he retained in his right hand the enormous phallus? The look in her eyes made Dora’s forehead crease and sent a trembling through her loins that nearly forced a shameful cry from her mouth. Miss Halton knew she must obey. Miss Halton did not wish to obey, but, also… just like Dora… she did.

“Sir George,” said Mr. Eliot from Dora’s left, “with your permission I’ll have Miss Harper over the block now, next to Miss Norton.”

Dora turned in alarm at the young doctor’s words, her eyes traveling again to Miss Halton, to whom she had looked but a moment before to moderate the shameful instructions of the doctor. Even if the headmistress were to place a girl atop one of those terrible discipline horses, she would, it had seemed to Dora, do it differently to the way Sir George, or this Mr. Eliot, would. Miss Halton looked back at her with a sorrowful, almost apologetic, expression, but it was the duke who responded to the inquiring look Sir George had given him at Mr. Eliot’s words.

“Yes, indeed,” said his grace. “Mrs. Stalby will help Miss Halton disrobe, and we shall have a look at young Miss Harper, and hear Mr. Eliot’s ideas concerning our game.”

The game. Dora bit her lip and felt herself crimson down to the base of her neck. Something about the way the duke said the simple word seemed to have in it the entire history of the masculine portion of the human race making sport of the feminine portion. Yes, even of Lord Hodge climbing in at Miss Theodora Harper’s window with the intention of… Dora might as well confess it to herself, now, fucking a maiden of loose virtue, with addled notions of liberty and independence.

Mr. Eliot had taken her by her elbow, now, and begun to guide her, not forcibly but with an authority that made Dora’s knees tremble, toward the second block, next to the other whipped girl.

“Kneel here, if you please, Miss Harper,” the doctor said, “and then lay yourself over the horse. Place your hands in the cuffs. That’s it.”

Dora whimpered a little through closed lips. The girl next to her—Miss Norton, had they called her?—had golden hair, it appeared now, and her face, out of the corner of Dora’s eye, was just as red as the newcomer’s.

“Hello,” said Miss Norton softly.

Dora’s eyes went wide, but she, too, said, “Hello,” as she obeyed Mr. Eliot’s command and bent to place her wrists inside the stout leather restraints affixed to the horse’s sides. She turned her face a little to see that Miss Norton had also turned. A thrill of fear went through Dora’s body, which to her dismay seemed to center in the area exposed by the tying open of her drawers. Would they be whipped for speaking with one another, for looking at one another? But no one had forbidden it, had they.

“I’m… I’m Dora,” she whispered.

“Geraldine,” said the other girl, a tiny smile upon her lips.

All this while Mr. Eliot had been fastening the buckles upon the straps that would bind Dora to the discipline horse. Now, finally, he pulled the belt tight about her waist, and Dora felt how helpless it rendered her: she could not even move a little, the way she had done in Sir George’s study, to try to make the terrible beating her guardian had given her a little less severe.

Should Sir George, or Mr. Eliot, or the duke, or the vicar, decide Dora needed to have her backside touched up by the cane to make certain she understood the gravity of her offense against the hypocritical strictures of society, they might simply whip her as they pleased. Even worse, she thought with a hard swallow, should they choose instead to inspect her and examine her, in those private places that the horrid muslin drawers left bare, they could do that, too, and surely discover the awful secret of Dora’s body’s helpless, lewd response to her guardian’s shameful training.

“Have you stimulated Miss Harper’s clitoris recently, Sir George?” the doctor inquired. “It appears rather engorged.”

Dora had never heard the word before, but she could tell simply from Mr. Eliot’s voice that it must have to do with the parts of her between her waist and her knees which her guardian had elected to take in hand. She shuddered as she felt two masculine hands descend upon her sore bottom, firmly pulling the whipped cheeks apart.

“Have a look there. Though the girl still has her pubic hair—and I recommend that that covering be removed as soon as possible, by the way—you can clearly see the clitoris emerging from its hood. Perhaps you fondled her in the carriage, to prepare her vagina for defloration?”

“Indeed I did not,” Sir George replied in a voice that Dora expected to betray indignation at the suggestion, but which instead only seemed to hold interest and bemusement. “And I have watched her quite closely. Miss Harper certainly hasn’t had the chance to stimulate herself. At Miss Halton’s suggestion I even watched her upon the commode.”

The heat in Dora’s face blazed up into a bonfire that felt as visible as that of any country village on Guy Fawkes’ Day. Her guardian’s calm command to make her water while he watched had mortified her sufficiently, but the disclosure of the fact with so many persons present rendered Dora faint with embarrassment—not to mention the suggestion that without Sir George present she might have touched herself down there, as truth to tell she had felt she might wish to do, if only to soothe the strange, needy feeling that her terrible flogging had seemed to awaken.

“Very interesting,” Mr. Eliot said. “I venture to say that Miss Harper is very responsive, erotically speaking—an even more ideal candidate for the duke’s experiment than I believe he and Miss Halton had hoped. My conjecture is that the motion of the carriage, combined with the memory of the stern correction you administered, and her own thoughts in connection with her new attire, caused this evident arousal. We shall have to investigate the matter a little further. Would you be so kind as to take my place here, and hold Miss Harper’s buttocks and thighs open for me?”

Behind her Dora could hear the undressing of Miss Halton from her stays proceeding in silence. She wished they might finish with that soon, in order that she might not represent the center of attention any longer, because despite the straps that held her to the horse, every touch of the doctor’s or Sir George’s hands seemed to make her squirm against the wood in the most disgraceful manner.

Now Mr. Eliot addressed her, his words making matters even worse, just as her guardian drew a tiny cry from her throat with the firm way he grasped her punished backside, spreading her for the doctor to see and to touch.

“Miss Harper,” said Mr. Eliot, “your clitoris is the principal organ of your sexual pleasure. You probably have felt recently that you would like to touch it, or to have it touched, even though I am certain you have also been taught that you must not do so—and you may even have been instructed that your husband will take charge of that part of you, the parts we call the vulva and the anus.”

“Yes, sir,” Dora whispered, her cheeks burning as she thought of Geraldine hearing this mortifying speech.

“She certainly did not think of such an admonition when she allowed Lord Hodge to raise her shift,” Sir George said sternly.

Dora felt her brow furrow. Truly, she had thought of just such a warning, given her by her chaperone; she had been under the impression that perhaps Lord Hodge might wish to take charge of her, though she wished to realize the freedom of a modern woman, and display the place to him herself.

“Am I correct in my impression,” the doctor continued, “that you have decided to deflower Miss Harper today, Sir George, and to begin her training as a bride?”

“Indeed, yes,” Dora’s guardian said from above her. “If you think it advisable.”

Dora bit her lip, so many emotions and sensations coursing through her mind and body that she could, she thought, not even name half of them were someone to demand it of her. As a bride. As his bride? Dora’s heart leaped, for she had thought of it long before she had let Lord Hodge in at the window and long before she had discovered that Sir George had such shameful ideas about a girl’s proper obedience.

“Very advisable,” said the doctor. “Observe what happens when I stimulate the clitoris further with my finger.”

Then Dora cried out, and her whole body bucked in the leather straps. The feeling in the carriage, her whipped bottom jounced against the hard seat and the warmth irresistibly growing with the glow of soreness, had been only the slightest foretaste of the doctor’s knowing touch. Her bottom clenched in Sir George’s grasp and she felt the virgin passage, the opening so dreadfully exposed by this examination, contract as well.

“No, please…” she begged as she felt the shameful response of her treasonous body.

“Hush, Miss Harper,” said the duke from behind her. “Are you embarrassed to show your healthy need for the prick in front of these other girls? Miss Norton, next to you, had her own cunny well fondled in Miss Halton’s study earlier today. You and she will both have your first fuckings very soon, side by side here in my drawing room. There is no point in pretended modesty.”

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