Given to the Club by Emily Tilton
Chapter 16
Gerard
I had never, I thought, been so hard in my life. My rigid manhood showed the arousing evidence of my conquest of my ward’s maidenhead: a little crimson from her lost hymen and, even more provocatively, the creamy signs of her own need’s strength. Jutting from my lap, ready to complete my possession of her, my cock seemed to send its throbbing pulse directly to my brain, urging me to an indecency of speech in which I seldom indulged.
For I could not have stopped calling my lovely girl a whore for all the riches of Magisteria. Something in her face, when she tried to turn it toward me, at once beseeching me for mercy and begging me not to spare her, told me my instinct had the force of natural law: Helena Breverton needed to know her master would treat her in this filthy way, would degrade her completely. Only thus could she come through to the other side of her ordeal as the new kind of woman I understood she must be and deserved to be.
She had betrayed her world, but in her eyes as much as in the lascivious movements of her backside I could see the true reason for that misdeed. Helena’s submissive and loving nature, masked by her extreme intelligence and her remarkable, independent will, had caused her to seek out the misguided resistance.
Perhaps she should have learned earlier and much more frankly of the governor’s role in Prosperian society. Perhaps that role should even receive a reevaluation—and when she had suffered her comeuppance fully perhaps Helena Breverton could play an important part in bringing it about. That did not excuse treason, of course, but it made the girl’s prospects as a happy woman, and even a happy wife, much greater.
As my wife, with the special status of a young woman who has been given to a club and then judged marriageable nonetheless. My wife, shared when she needed sharing—when we agreed upon her being shared. With Miniver and Justice Warren today, and, later, with others Helena fancied and I approved.
All of that came into the hunger I could hear in my own voice when I called my girl a little whore, and pressed the head of my cock against the tiny ring of her bottom, so well lubricated with her own quim’s wetness. She gasped, and let out a low moan. Her peach-like cheeks surged around my cock, working to admit me.
“My little whore,” I added softly, curling my fingers around her waist to steady her, using the belt there as traction to keep my place and make the pressure steady.
* * *
Helena
“Oh… oh… heavens,” I breathed into the softness of the comforter, my eyes tightly shut.
His little whore. Gerard’s. My guardian’s.
I cried out, and I felt how something about the way Gerard had pronounced that single syllable my had changed my inner reality. My hips jerked, my back arching, and I remembered what I had learned only a few moments before: how to yield myself, how to give a man the most shameful, private part of my body as his own possession, for his enjoyment.
It pressed in, penetrated me where nature had never intended a man to have a girl. I understood, somewhere, as the floating feeling took even stronger hold of me, that I belonged to Gerard now—much more thoroughly even than I had the previous moment, when I had only yielded mouth and pussy. My guardian, my master… he owned me, and to my confusion I liked it.
“Sir,” I whispered. “Oh, sir.”
“Good girl,” I heard Gerard murmur behind and above me. “You like it, don’t you? You like it in your bottom.”
But I couldn’t say it… I couldn’t say the thing I had myself thought only the previous instant.
“No,” I whispered, though I knew he could tell I did not speak the truth, and I didn’t intend to deceive him really. My only power lay in the deception I could still perpetrate with my words and my silence.
For a moment Gerard didn’t respond; instead he gripped the belt around my waist more tightly and pushed his rigid penis deeper into my smallest place. I jerked a little under him, and cried out in discomfort and desperate need, feeling that my true punishment had begun at last.
From somewhere to the side, a soft beeping sounded from the horrible controller.
“Don’t lie to me, Helena,” my guardian said. “Your governor will tell me when you lie.”
I felt him shift his weight a little, and his right hand left the belt. The fingers traveled down between my legs, and when I understood what he meant to do I cried out even before Gerard found the new wetness in my vagina and spread it forward to my aching clitoris.
Then I screamed, so loudly that I felt sure every gentleman in Drake’s could hear, and would understand immediately what had occurred in the chamber of pleasure. A girl, a treasonous girl, had just climaxed with her master’s hardness up her bottom. Her guardian had begun to move in and out of her littlest place, had begun to use her in the most degrading way, even as he brought what seemed a never-ending, infinitely submissive orgasm to her wanton cunny.
“Oh, no… no,” I sobbed, feeling that somehow the enunciation of some fruitless refusal might excuse the wayward pleasure I felt.
“Yes, my darling,” Gerard said. “Yes. Push up your bottom. Give yourself completely.”
His fingers made me obey, the intensity of the sensation still so much greater than when he had turned my governor down. He had called me darling for the first time, my floating mind realized with a thrill of warm affection that went through my whole body. With his cock in my anus, he had called me darling.
I heard him grunt, as if my final yielding had given him a special pleasure. I screamed again, for he commenced to ride my bottom hard, and I sobbed as I felt his lap come up against my cheeks over and over, filling me completely. Then, suddenly, Gerard’s rhythm changed, and I understood that he must at last be on the verge of his own climax.
His hand underneath fondled my pussy so gently, even as he thrust so hard into my anus. I felt his cock pulse, his hips jerk. He gave a shout that seemed to burst from him like a thunderclap, and held still with his left hand firmly on my hip, covering the belt and also stroking my skin, as if he meant to remind me of how I had come into his power and the power of his club, how I would from henceforth be not a pampered bride but a bound plaything.
He withdrew his hardness slowly from my bottom. For the first time I felt how a man’s penis softens after he has taken his pleasure, and I felt gratitude to nature for it, since my guardian had used my little ring so roughly. To my surprise, Gerard became tender, now; he laid me down upon the bed and lay down beside me, and took me in his arms.
He held my cheek against his firm chest, and another first thing overwhelmed my senses: the massiveness of his muscular frame and the feeling of his naked skin against mine. His lips pressed against the top of my head in a kiss that took me by surprise, and then even more astonishingly Gerard turned my face up to his so he could move that kiss to my lips, as his hand held my bottom, the place he had trained me so strictly, as if to remind me of my terrible lesson.
I had never been kissed by a man before—even upon my cheek. My face blazed with heat as I considered how very different this sort of kiss was from the first kiss I had expected. I had betrayed my world, though, and I had learned that on Prosperia, bad girls got the discipline they earned. To my dismay, I felt my body yield to his caress despite the soreness Gerard’s hand reawakened and despite my mind’s still begging the rest of me to save a shred of my dignity at least. I whimpered into my guardian’s lips, and yielded to the ravishment of his tongue, probing where he had first placed his rigid manhood. With my hands bound between us as he embraced me I felt myself utterly possessed, a toy for Gerard’s use as he saw fit.
When he broke the kiss and spoke, he said, to my blushing astonishment, “Good girl. Your bottom was exquisite.” He kissed my mouth again, and then he turned my face back to his chest and held me tightly for a long moment. At last he spoke again.
“I know how difficult an ordeal this is for you, Helena. And the worst part is still to come, for we must make certain you have told us everything—and that you will never meditate such treason again.”
I tried to find within myself some shred of my defiance, and I kept myself from sobbing, at least, but my heart quailed at the thought of the painting on the door that led to the chamber of discipline.
“You have deserved the punishment you will receive, however,” he said, putting his hand in my hair now to turn my face up toward his again, a little roughly. I heard the same roughness come into his voice as well, as if his masculine hunger and his guardian’s justice had returned to him. “I will ensure that you will have it as fully as you need, and accept the consequences of your actions. You are my little whore, now, and you will be treated only as such until I am satisfied you have earned better.”
As I stared wide-eyed up at him, he released me from his arms and rose from the bed. He touched the intercom button and said, “Jones to the chamber of pleasure, please.” He began to don his clothing.
I scrambled, as best I could with bound hands, to my knees upon the bed. By the time the knock sounded at the door, and Jones entered a moment later, my guardian had his clothing on, but I remained kneeling naked upon the bed where he had deflowered me.
“Help Miss Breverton off the bed, please,” Gerard said to the doorkeeper. I watched him withdraw the silver controller from his breast pocket, glance at it, slide his thumb along it. Between my thighs I felt the governor exert its effect, muting the tingle of wanton arousal that the entry of the doorkeeper had to my distress brought to my newly opened pussy.
Jones advanced toward me, and I cowered back, my eyes going from him to my guardian and back. The tenderness of a few moments before seemed to have vanished completely.
“Not so proud, now, is she, Jones?” Gerard remarked, turning to see my alarm. “Once you get her off the bed, Miss Breverton may bathe. Have her pay special attention to her quim and her bottom, please. I’ve turned her governor down, of course, so you shouldn’t have much trouble with any naughtiness in the shower.”
Jones had said nothing to this point, his demeanor that of the respectful servant but his eyes roving freely over my nude form.
“The belt and cuffs back on after her shower, I suppose, sir?” he asked now.
“Indeed,” Gerard replied. “Then bring her to the chamber of discipline.” He turned to me again. “I will see you there, my dear. Please pay some attention to your appearance, as I’ll be sharing you for the first time in a little while and I wish you to please Mr. Miniver and Justice Warren as fully as possible.”
Jones conducted me to the bathroom that adjoined the chamber of pleasure, a sumptuous, pink-tiled room with a vast bathtub and a shower. He made me stand in front of the mirror as he removed the cuffs from my wrists and the belt from my waist. His hands moved steadily, as if he had bound and unbound hundreds of naked girls.
His blue eyes, however, seemed to tell a different tale. They met mine in the mirror. Then they moved boldly to look at the little breasts Gerard had fondled, the tender cleft whose innocence he had stolen, the whipped bottom where my guardian’s penis had spurted his seed. My face burned.
“Run along into the shower, miss. You heard your master. Get that cunny and bottom-hole nice and clean for the gentlemen.”