Given to the Club by Emily Tilton
Chapter 11
Helena
I could just glimpse the wrinkly hood that covered the tiny bud atop my pussy, thanks to the way the chair held my knees up and apart. I watched with a mixture of horror and fascination, trying to concentrate all my attention upon my guardian’s fingertip and the tiny blue device, so as not to think of the keen interest of the gentlemen in my naked body, shamefully spread before them as an offering to their lust.
A little whimper emerged from my throat when I felt the pressure of the professor’s touch, and a tremor traveled through my lower body. That lightest reminder of the climax the same hand had just forced upon me set my private part tingling again.
To my dismay, the idea of the governor, which had horrified me so deeply that I had undertaken to betray my world, now seemed to make the aftershocks of what the doctor had called an orgasm much worse. I still loathed and feared it, and yet it affected me another way, too. Somehow the knowledge of its operation, and of the subservient status it would inflict upon me, warmed me down there, despite my rational mind’s pleading with my body to resist.
Delicately my guardian moved his forefinger. The governor dropped onto the folded hood of my clitoris, where I could barely feel it, so insubstantial a thing was it despite all the minuscule circuitry inside.
I gasped as at the same time I saw it move, of its own accord, and I felt the motion, too. My hands twisted at my sides, instinctively trying to move to brush the tiny thing away. As I encountered the restraint of the cuffs that kept my wrists in place, the whispery feeling of the governor’s movement made me bite my lip hard. I let out a whine through my nose, my forehead creasing hard at the teasing sensation.
The governor darted out of sight, then; there was no other way to describe its rapid motion. In what seemed the same instant it disappeared within the complicated, sensitive folds of skin atop the cleft of my outer lips and I felt it find its place upon the tender nub so alive with wanton arousal. I cried out, my hips bucking: for the briefest moment, as the wires made their way into my skin, I felt a pleasure more intense even than what my guardian had done to me while Mr. Miniver had held my face against his trousers.
Then, just as suddenly, that pleasure disappeared completely. My eyes went wide with shock at the change it had brought to my whole body. I closed my eyes and lay back in the exam chair. Tears again leaked from my eyes. They had done it, the horrible thing I had dreaded.
Now, at least, I thought to myself, I shall find it in me to resist them. They had freed me from the shameful immodesty brought upon me by the wayward need between my thighs. When I opened my eyes I would be able to look at the gentlemen of Drake’s club with contempt—even though I would do it through my bare, spread knees. They had strapped me into this awful chair; it was they who should feel shame for what they had done to me.
But to my horror when I did raise my eyelids, expecting to regard them all with the fiery vision of an avenging angel, and I saw my guardian looking down sternly into my face, the cry I emitted came not in rage but in abject frustration. The absence of the stimulus between my legs seemed not to dull but rather to sharpen the mental hold that darkly bearded face had over me. My first instinct told me not to scream at him of injustice, but to beg him to touch me down there again, to restore the sensation the club’s governor had taken away.
In desperation, I turned my eyes away from Professor Simmons. I sought out Mr. Miniver, whom I could see watching me with an air of amused interest, his blue eyes moving between my face and the exposed places between my open knees. Surely the thought of what I had been made to do, the shameful kisses they had forced me to bestow upon the hardness underneath his woolen trouser front, would bring a disgust that I could hurl into his face.
Instead, my face puckered into a pathetic expression of beseeching, for the sight of his handsomeness made me long for more—made me long to be put in front of him again, and forced to do even more shameful things. The wanton thought awakened no feeling between my spread thighs, but that merely made the idea all the more insistent inside me.
“She’s set to zero, Doctor Elias?” I heard my guardian ask.
The doctor chuckled, and I looked wildly at him, trying to discover the meaning of what they had done to me. “Yes, zero. You can see it clearly in the confusion she’s experiencing.”
I noticed then that he had a little silver thing in his hand, about as long as his forefinger and two fingers wide. I thought I could see figures glowing on its surface. As I watched, the doctor moved his thumb against the lower part of the device.
My bottom squirmed at the sudden return of immodest sensation between my waist and my knees. My nipples tingled. I realized that those parts hadn’t actually become numb when the governor exerted its full effect, the way the Anti-Governor Resistance League always seemed to imply it would, but they had instead simply lost the excess of feeling that seemed to lead to warmth and wetness in my pussy.
On the silver surface of the thing in Doctor Elias’ hand, I saw a red light appear, and something like a line move a little way up its length. A soft buzzing came from somewhere inside it.
“She’s becoming aroused, now,” he said, holding up the device. “Miss Breverton, this is the controller for your governor.” He displayed it to me, and I watched the red line go up and down, noticing that as I fixed my attention upon it the line descended in a clear relation to what I felt between my thighs: my focus on the controller took my mind off my mortifying exposure to the audience, and the red line nearly vanished.
Then, however, I understood that whoever held the controller would know what happened in my private part. I felt the heat rush to my face in response to the humiliating realization, and at the same time the little bit of sensation allowed me by my governor returned, down below my belly. The red line flashed, and shot upward nearly half the length of the controller.
“That’s level one, Miss Breverton,” the doctor said. He held up the controller so that my guardian, and then the audience could see the extent of what had just happened. A wave of chuckles went through the room: the members of the club clearly understood precisely what that horrid red line meant. “Gentlemen, I would advise keeping her at one or two most of the time, frankly, given how very lubricious she is. Professor, would you rub her bottom for me, please, as a demonstration?”
“No,” I whispered, “please.” I could already tell how insidiously the governor really affected the woman who wore it. The tiny sensation that had come simply from the movement of my backside and the transmission of the soreness of my whipped cheeks forward to my pussy told me how much worse level one would prove for me even than level zero had done.
I met my guardian’s eyes as he complied with the doctor’s request despite my plea. Again I felt the strange mixture of emotions that had affected me on my first humiliating visit to his study: dismay at how thoroughly I had come into his power, embarrassment at the intimate and terribly revealing nature of his duties with regard to my body, and strangest of all, helpless gratitude for the steady and yet sympathetic way he dealt with me despite my waywardness.
I saw in that dark glance that Professor Gerard Simmons—for now for the first time did I think of him by that stately first name—did have my own good in mind, even when he must punish me. I knew it somehow above all because I could discern a hungry desire in his bearded face, but also the self-mastery that kept that passion in check.
His little smile told me that he wanted me—and that he would have me. It said also, though, that he meant to have me, and to share me, only in such a way as to promote my welfare, because he understood all the shameful parts of my character, all the degrading needs I tried to deny.
His eyes made my body respond even before his fingers did. Out of the corner of my eye, just before I felt Gerard’s fingers’ pressure upon the cheeks of the bottom he had whipped, I saw the red line on the controller flash and rise. When he touched me, our gazes still locked, I let out a sobbing moan at the muted pleasure in my pussy, my hips bucking in a desperate search for more sensation. The controller in Doctor Elias’ hand buzzed and let out a beep.
“Raise her quim to level two, Doctor, please,” my guardian said. “I want her to understand the difference.”
My eyes darted over to the doctor, and I watched him slide his thumb along the controller, while Gerard rubbed my bottom-cheeks very gently, moving his fingers closer and closer to my virgin pussy with each circle of his fingertips.
I cried out softly at the increase of the sensation, and the way it made the need even greater. Again the red line flashed.
“As you can undoubtedly feel,” the doctor said, “you are unable to experience orgasm now. The man in charge of you will thus be able to ensure your modesty and obedience without resorting to the cane.”
“Though,” my guardian said in a soft voice that didn’t match his menacing words, “you will also be whipped when you need whipping, Helena Breverton.”
To my horror, that promise sent a tremor through my lower body, and it made the controller flash and buzz. My mind fled, simply turned and ran away, from any contemplation of the meaning of that response to Gerard’s awful words: the burning place between my thighs, exposed to the gentlemen of Drake’s club clenched so desperately that I could think only of the ache there, of the need inside me for something I had never seen.
That sensation lasted only an instant, though; I heard the controller beep again, and then I felt the governor’s effect, robbing my body of the pleasure but leaving the need. A low whimper escaped my throat and I took my lower lip between my teeth, trying somehow to become used to the muted feeling.
My eyes turned from Gerard’s to Mr. Miniver’s, still gazing intently at me from the front row. Younger than Gerard, Jacob—for I began then to think of my erstwhile suitor, too, by his first name—seemed to have a similar purpose and, despite my treason, a similar regard for me. It made my cheeks burn all the hotter, especially when I saw the leering look upon Mr. Bradley’s face, and turned my eyes involuntarily to seek out Justice Warren’s piercing, censorious gaze.
Perhaps a year older than my guardian, the magistrate had a fuller beard, more flecked with gray. He leaned forward with his hands atop the head of a rosewood walking stick. I couldn’t keep back a little cry of fear at the way he looked at me—as if he meant to use that length of rosewood upon me, to enforce the law.
“Doctor,” Gerard asked, “are you satisfied?”
“Indeed yes,” the physician answered. “The girl is quite ready for discipline and service.”
As my guardian addressed the audience, I had to close my eyes, for I couldn’t bear to see them any longer.
“The first order of business,” he declared, “is to get from the girl the whole truth concerning her treason. I should like the assistance of Mr. Miniver and Justice Warren, if those gentlemen would kindly join me in the chamber of discipline, after I have finished with her in the chamber of pleasure.”