Given to the Club by Emily Tilton

Chapter 20

Helena

The threat had a greater effect on me than the promise of a reward, despite how desperate I felt for any pleasure Gerard might allow. Of its own accord my bottom surged in that humiliating way my guardian had taught me. I let out a wrenching sob and Mr. Miniver’s cock entered the little hole.

My whole body shuddered with the exquisite mixture of discomfort and fullness and distant pleasure. I opened my eyes, because I felt a terrible need to see the bonds around my wrists, their attachment to the awful post in front of me. I clenched my fists and tugged hard at the posts, to confirm to my mind and body at once that I had no choice, that they had bound me here before they began to use me. That desperate need for submissive pleasure that thrilled through every nerve… I had not sought it out, nor begged… nor even asked for it.

“Good little whore,” Mr. Miniver growled from deep in his throat, his tone so arrogant and mocking that the sound itself made my hips buck, as if to demonstrate that, yes, I had become his little whore just as I was Gerard’s. He pressed his hardness deeper, his hands upon the belt to give the necessary leverage, keeping me in place so that the rigid shaft, slick from my pussy, drove another inch inside me. At the fullness, the stretching, I threw my head back and cried out, my eyes watering with discomfort. “Professor, you can turn her cunt up now.”

I felt it instantly, and it sent a thrilling suspicion into the recesses of my mind, where rational thought seemed to have traveled for refuge—that Gerard’s thumb had hovered over the surface of the controller, waiting impatiently for the confirmation from the man using me that I had complied with his shameful requirements. That my guardian cared more for my pleasure than he had let on.

That, more degradingly and yet also somehow much more affectingly, he took his own pleasure in supervising every aspect of his sharing his naughty ward with other men. That he wished me to learn not only absolute obedience to the dictates of his lust but also obedience to my body’s wicked desires—the mortifying skill of listening to my body cries for forbidden pleasure.

My clitoris tingled. My pussy ached. But the penis in my bottom-hole at the same time denied me any satisfaction in those neediest places and seemed to stimulate me there, giving me just enough that I wanted so much more. The raising of the governor’s threshold made it so much better and so much worse, for now Mr. Miniver’s cock felt more bearable, the pain itself somehow changing into a strange sort of pleasure—but the need in my pussy had grown as well.

To my horror, without any of the men speaking a word about it, I had a sudden urge to tell them about the man with the scar on his cheek. If I told them, surely they would turn the governor all the way up, and spare me the punishment? My mind knew the thought as utterly false, but my body, shafted on the manhood that moved steadily in and out, deeper with each thrust of Mr. Miniver’s still-clothed lap, seemed to have gained a voice. Inside my head it assured me that of course these gentlemen would reward me for my honesty.

“Oh, that’s a good little arsehole,” Mr. Miniver said. “I would have used you there every night of our honeymoon, Helena Breverton, so perhaps you can thank heaven I don’t marry treasonous whores like you.”

I gave a low whimper with each thrust of the cock, biting my lip to keep from begging him to touch me between my thighs. I felt his grip upon the belt tighten, the movement inside me becoming swifter and more urgent.

“I’m going to come now,” Mr. Miniver told me, his voice thick with his pleasure. “I wish you to have my seed where nature did not intend it, as a lesson in humility.”

The formal, almost ritualistic words made my brow furrow in abject shame. With a final driving thrust, Mr. Miniver impaled my bottom fully on his hardness, the woolen fabric of his trousers pressing against my punished bottom-cheeks. I let out a sob as I felt him pulse inside me, his hips jerking with his climax. He remained utterly silent and allowed his rigid penis, filling my backside much too full, to finish teaching his terrible lesson.

“I shall not even use the girl’s quim,” said Justice Warren even before Mr. Miniver had withdrawn his cock from my bottom. “A traitoress such as she does not deserve that. I should like her mouth lowered, though, if that’s convenient for you, Professor, so that she can prepare me for her arse.”

“Oh, certainly,” I heard Gerard say. At the same moment he replied to the magistrate, Mr. Miniver did pull his softening penis out of me, so that I couldn’t be entirely sure I had heard in my guardian’s voice what I had thought I had heard, but it sounded in my ears as if Gerard’s Oh, certainly did not truly have the supercilious conviction he meant to convey. The idea that he did not want to share my mouth—that he wished to keep that part of me for himself—sent a thrill to my clit that my mind, an instant later, angrily condemned.

I heard a click behind me, as of a wall’s control panel being manipulated, and suddenly the post to which they had bound me began to sink downward to the floor, bringing my wrists and my upper body along with it. I let out a little cry of alarm, but then I felt what must be Justice Warren’s hand at my waist, upon the belt, keeping my bottom high and steadying my stance, teaching me how to adopt the humiliating pose he desired.

I felt his other hand upon the back of my head, turning my face to the left, where his clothed legs came into my view.

“Here you go, naughty girl,” said his voice from above me, even as I saw his rigid penis come into my view, jutting from his night black trousers. I could see his face, too, looming over the lowered whipping post, foreshortened by my perspective and seeming even more severe because of the angle from which I viewed him. I felt a sob rise in my throat as I thought of how he, a few years older than Gerard but with only a hint of gray at his brown-haired temples, had seemed to dote on me at my family dinner table—how my mother had said, after that dinner party, “I believe you made a conquest of Justice Warren this evening, darling.”

His right hand moved down from the belt, over my bottom. He took the right cheek into his hand and squeezed it so that I cried out. Something about the casual way he did it, and then moved to the left side and did the same, made my hips jerk with wanton need; the magistrate had a terrible, almost indefinable air of authority that made his handling of my punished backside seem like a shameful judgment on my character and my value.

“Open your mouth, Helena,” he said in a voice whose patient, jaded quality matched the way he gripped my bottom.

I bit my lip and shook my head, all the reasons for resistance becoming jumbled in my head: I must not speak of the man with the scar, I must not demonstrate to these men how their degradation aroused me.

Justice Warren’s hand let go of my bottom, but then it returned with a sharp spank that made me yelp in surprise and pain.

“Open that little mouth,” he said again. “You must prepare me properly for your arse, girl.”

Another spank, and then another, rang out. I heard a little cry emerge from my mouth with each one, though they seemed almost to come from some other girl, who had earned such an awful fate with her misdeeds.

“Harder, Warren,” Gerard’s voice said from farther off. “She needs to learn the consequences of disobedience.”

I sobbed at my guardian’s words, for their coldness and the way I could hear behind the coldness something else—the same strange, masked affection I had thought might lie behind Gerard’s voice earlier. He meant to share me so as to enjoy me all the more fully, but that enjoyment could only come from my understanding of what I needed, no matter how shameful.

That abstract thought vanished from my mind almost the instant it arrived, though, for Justice Warren complied with Gerard’s request. His hand came down hard on the cheeks Jones had whipped, and it kept coming down, over and over. Each spank wasn’t a truly severe blow, but the repetition made me sob and beg.

“Please… I’ll do it!” I opened my mouth and put out my tongue, so that my cries became whimpering noises with each crack of the magistrate’s palm against my bottom.

Suddenly his hand plunged between my thighs, and I cried out in a terribly different way as two of Justice Warren’s fingers pushed into my pussy while at the same time he moved my head and leaned forward so that his cock entered my mouth. With a muffled cry, as the controller in Gerard’s hand beeped and the governor made me long for forbidden pleasure, I tried to please the hardness that now surged in and out with the movement of the clothed lap in front of me.

My efforts made very little difference, I could tell, because Justice Warren interested himself only in fucking my face; he held my head still and thrust in and out, seeking the back of my throat. In that terribly awkward position, I came near to gagging with every movement of the huge, hard cock between my lips, against my tongue, using me for its owner’s pleasure without any regard for my comfort.

Between my thighs his fingers moved in and out of my vagina brutally, his thumb against my bottom-hole. He pressed inside me there, where Mr. Miniver had taken me so roughly, and I sobbed around the penis as it plunged into my mouth.

“Is it nice and wet, girl?” Justice Warren asked. “I hope so, for the sake of this little arsehole.”

Abruptly he pulled his cock away, and moved behind me. With the whipping post still lowered I felt my bottom even more exposed, more fully offered, than it had been before. When the magistrate removed his hand and pressed the head of his manhood against the tiny hole, I cried out in shame at how terribly the posture degraded me, but I could also feel, I thought, that it helped me open to the penis more readily.

I needed that momentary relief desperately, because Justice Warren clearly meant to discipline me with his hardness. I could feel that my saliva had helped ease his passage, but he took the belt in his hands and began to fuck my anus hard and deep from the beginning. I screamed with the fullness, and sobbed as I was made to have it that way, the most humiliating use the gentlemen of the club had made of me yet.

Through the terrible ride the magistrate had in my backside, I felt the governor ease its control over my pleasure. Startled, I cried out at the way it transformed the stretching and the discomfort, the way it changed the balance so that to my mingled dismay and delight, suddenly the humiliating discipline of Justice Warren’s cock seemed like the proper reward for a wanton girl.

“That’s it, Helena Breverton,” the magistrate growled. “Take it now.”

I realized distantly that Gerard had let me have more pleasure without telling the other gentlemen, and with each thrust of Justice Warren’s rigid penis I felt my guardian’s paradoxical concern for me. My body, immobilized by the cuffs and by the hands of the man who used my anus for his rough delight, shuddered as if in a memory of the climax the governor still denied.

With a final grunt the magistrate held himself in deep, and came inside me, where nature had not intended. I whimpered at the pulsing of his erection in my bottom, at the feeling of his trousers against my sore, naked bottom.

“Have you anything to tell us, girl?” he asked, holding me there, impaled on his cock.

Desperately clinging to my defiance, I sobbed, “No, sir.”