Given to the Club by Emily Tilton

Chapter 13

Gerard

I regarded the lovely painting—the work of Drake’s most talented artist, Victor Delft—alongside Helena for a moment, enjoying the rosy blush upon her cheeks so greatly that I didn’t wish to end the moment too soon. Through her eyes I experienced all the delicious wantonness of the scene anew, with the benefit also of the cock-stiffening sight of her nudity.

Perhaps I should have felt a bit more compassion for her mortification, but I reflected that for the girl’s own good, as well as that of Prosperia itself, exemplary discipline needed carrying out. My basic affection for her remained. Helena, however, had a great deal more humiliation coming, in order that she would truly learn the lesson she needed.

The chamber of pleasure would teach her a great deal of that humility, of course, and I had never looked forward to fucking a girl as much as I anticipated deflowering my lovely ward. In the chamber of discipline, whose door we now contemplated, the girl’s true comeuppance would occur. Delft’s marvelous illustration conveyed that message so clearly to Helena’s eyes and mind, I could see, that I felt her governor’s controller buzz in my breast pocket.

“She looks rather like you, does she not?” I asked quietly. “The girl in the paintings?”

Helena turned to me with a deeply creased brow and apprehensive eyes. Enjoying the suspense, I turned to Jones and nodded. The loyal old doorkeeper returned the gesture with a smile and a wink, and glided away down the corridor, leaving me with my lovely, bound, naked ward.

When I turned back to her, I saw that she had lowered her eyes to the carpet in embarrassment. It would not do.

“No, my dear,” I remonstrated. “Look at the painting, if you please. I would like you in particular to consider the implements of discipline in the gentlemen’s hands.”

From the way the girl bit her lip as she turned with evident reluctance to face the picture again, I could tell she hadn’t yet actually noticed that each of the three men in the painted scene had in his hand a different tool suitable for the punishment of disobedient young women. One man, a redhead, held a cane. A second, fair-haired, had a strap. These implements of course had already become well known to Helena, to her distress—and to the detriment of her backside, upon which I now boldly placed my hand in order to remind her of my duty and the way I had fulfilled it to this point.

Helena started and gave a little whimpering cry, her bound hands moving at her sides as if she wished to use them to ward off my unwelcome caress. I held her bottom tenderly in my hand, though, soothing the bruises I had made and standing close enough to follow her eyeline to the precise spot in the painting on the door that had drawn her attention: the bearded gentleman who had enjoyed the naughty young lady on the opposite door, but who in this illustration held the tool of discipline Helena had not yet experienced, nor, doubtless, ever seen.

He stood over the golden-haired girl, whom the men had bound over a discipline bench with her woebegone face downward so as to echo her posture in the image on the door of the chamber of pleasure. Her knees opened a little wider than they had for her first fucking, bound as they were in stout leather cuffs, so that her pretty pink quim, nestled between thighs that bore several well-laid stripes from the cane, was most evident to the viewer’s eye, well presented to the special implement her guardian held. I could not help thinking of him thus, of course, for truthfully the man in the painting did resemble me, just as the young lady resembled Helena.

“What is it?” she whispered now, clearly fascinated despite herself. I suppressed the urge to take the controller from my pocket to see just how much arousal her governor was currently suppressing.

The device’s most important purpose was to train Prosperian women away from immodesty and toward obedience through controlling the sensitivity of their cunts to stimulation. That function had the benefit of also allowing a girl’s master—the legal term on Prosperia for a guardian or a husband—to get a very good idea of just how great a problem her wanton quim posed to her peace of mind and happiness.

On Helena’s face, now, and in the restless movements of her hands at her sides as she contemplated the unusual paddle in the hand of the guardian in the painting, I could see the beginnings of the governor’s effects. I could feel the same restlessness in my palm and my fingers as I worked them further between the silky tops of her thighs to find out the intimate secrets of her quim’s private pout.

She let out another little sound of need and frustration as she clearly felt how little remained of the pleasure she had felt when kissing the front of Miniver’s trousers, when I had given her the first climax of her life. Instinctively, now, she understood that as her master, I had the power to grant that pleasure again, and her body had begun to respond to me in the pleading way characteristic of a well-governed young lady, despite her evident attempt to retain her composure.

“Do you see how broad the blade of his paddle is?” I asked gently. “Have you noticed how much thinner the leather is that composes that blade? Do you see how he holds it rather under hand than over?”

To each of these questions Helena gave a little nod.

“It is a cunt paddle, my dear. He is about to whip the naughty girl right upon her quim.”

* * *

Helena

I shuddered violently. I managed to avoid crying out, although my guardian’s fingers between my thighs had emphasized his terrible words with a pressure that sent a thrill of muted arousal through my senses. I heard something buzz near my left ear, and I realized with a hot blush that Gerard had put the controller in the breast pocket of his jacket.

“Spread your knees, and bend them, girl,” he said in my ear. “I wish you to examine this lovely scene closely, and to consider whether you wish to obey me as you ought.”

“Oh, heavens,” I whispered. Sensation, thought, and feeling mingled in my mind and body. Gerard’s humiliating command stirred defiance in me, but the fear inspired by the vision before my eyes of the horrible thing in the hand of the bearded man in the painting seemed to seize my limbs. I obeyed, desperately trying to persuade myself that I would gain nothing by refusal save further torment.

I bent my knees a little, and I shuffled my feet awkwardly apart. My guardian’s hand moved further, and he took my whole pussy into his grasp. I managed to keep myself from making any sound at all. For a moment, as I felt the governor lessen the sensation Gerard’s probing fingers evoked in the virginal slit he had just so abominably threatened, I felt a thrill of hope and even of triumph. The governor’s muting of the wicked, immodest feeling down there seemed to make it easier to keep my composure, easier to deny that my guardian had correctly called me wanton.

Then I found myself focusing on the thing in the painting, though—the thin, broad blade of the paddle, so obviously destined now to come down hard upon the golden-haired girl’s most tender place. Shaved like mine, her poor pussy appeared very rosy to me as I contemplated it more closely, as if she had already endured several strokes of the horrid implement in her guardian’s hand.

To my dismay, I felt my own pussy contract, and I felt the warmth rush there and then stop as the governor fulfilled its cruel function. The controller beeped in Gerard’s jacket, and I let out a piteous sob as I felt his hand work me gently, fingers sliding between my private lips, pushing in where I now understood all too well he meant to possess me in the room behind the other door.

My hands, bound at my sides, made little fists. I could not help myself now; I rode Gerard’s knowing hand again just as I had in front of all the assembled gentlemen in the morning room. I could not feel the same pleasure, but to my horror that fact seemed to make me even more desperate, even more wanton.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please… not with that… please don’t whip me with that…”

“We shall see, my dear,” Gerard said. “You may certainly prove to me that you have a firm purpose of amending your conduct, in the next half hour or so.”

I didn’t want to understand him, or at least I wanted not to show that I did, but it seemed he did not care whether I took his meaning or not. He laid his left hand on my elbow, and he turned me around with his right hand still between my legs, still fondling me in the lewdest possible manner. When I faced again the door whose painting lay beneath the word Pleasure,he reached out and opened it, then propelled me through and into the room beyond, still controlling me by means of that degrading grip. With a sob, I entered, and saw within a well-appointed space dominated by an enormous bed.

To this bed, covered with a red comforter, my guardian conducted me immediately. He bent me over, placing his hand upon my back to enforce his will. Then he unclipped the cuffs that bound my wrists from the belt at my waist. Surprised, I thought for a moment he meant to free me, but instead he clipped the cuffs together in front of me.

“Hands flat on the bed,” he said. “I’m going to demonstrate to you exactly how you will be taught to obey me and those with whom I share you.”

Confused, I complied, frightened of what he might do if I resisted though determined not to part with my maidenhood without a fight.

“I’m turning your governor up to five, now, so you can feel just how effective a device it is at controlling female behavior.”

My heart jumped in fear. I hadn’t expected this; I had supposed a woman’s governor was always left at level two, or perhaps three at most. Gerard’s hands had left me, so I felt nothing at first, and wondered whether he had done what he had said, or if perhaps the governor had malfunctioned.

Then he laid his hand again on my private part, much more lightly and gently than he had done only a few moments before.

I cried out at the need and the pleasure that instantly awoke there. My hips bucked and my bottom squirmed shamefully against his hand, seeking out more pressure.

“Oh, no,” I sobbed. “No.”

“Now I shall turn it up to ten, my dear. That is the tradition, so that a virgin may enjoy her first fucking as much as she can. It will hurt at first, of course, when I break through your sweet little hymen, but that will soon pass.”

“I… I…” I said through gritted teeth, as Gerard’s fingers continued their teasing caress. “I will not…”

I felt certain he meant to have me by force. When I felt the governor’s control disappear entirely, I supposed he would do the terrible thing he called fucking, and end my virginity on the instant. I intended to receive this atrocious ravishment like a stoic heroine, since I knew I could not avoid it. I knew I would not consent in my heart.

But Gerard had different intentions, more shameful ones as it seemed to me the moment he worked his two middle fingers gently inside me, deeper than they had gone when he had brought on my first climax.

“You’re going to beg for my cock, Helena,” he said softly. “Right in here, where you need it so very badly.”