Given to the Club by Emily Tilton

Chapter 5

Helena

So ominous did the professor’s words sound that I almost complied out of sheer panic. Suddenly there welled up in my chest, though, a spirit of resistance that I found nearly unaccountable. True, I had resisted my world’s administration to the point of outright treason, but I had done it with my offended mind and my wounded heart—not with my whole self.

Not with my body.

Now my back hunched instead of arching, and my knees bent instead of straightening—despite the knowledge that my guardian would keep spanking me until I obeyed him, and only then begin to give me the further punishment he had in store—I tried to crouch into as tight a posture as I could. I tried to refuse his big hand access to my posterior, and I tried to writhe away.

Professor Simmons grunted, and I heard surprise in that sound even as I felt his grip upon my back shift to my hip to keep me in place, even as I felt his other hand find my bottom with a spank. Indeed that spank hurt less than the previous ones, and a thrill of victory went through my bosom. Of course I knew, at the back of my mind, that my triumph would live only for a moment, but the idea that I could successfully defy my guardian seemed to nourish a part of my soul that I had not previously seen within myself.

Then, with a strength that simply overwhelmed my feeble attempt at resistance, the professor replaced his left hand on the small of my back while his right seized my whole backside, very roughly, his fingers deep between my thighs. As I cried out in shame and alarm, he grasped my pussy and my bottom firmly, as a man might take hold of a piece of luggage, or the handle of a basket, and raised that most embarrassing part of me into the air despite every effort of my muscles to remain in my protective crouch.

He spoke cold words, his voice barely betraying any strain from the force he had employed to put me in the humiliating position he had commanded.

“You may tell me, Helena, when you are ready to keep this posture and accept my discipline. I wish you thoroughly to understand the meaning of this arrangement of your limbs. Your impertinent bottom, your maiden cunt, and your tight little anus are uppermost for a reason. Naughty young ladies forfeit their right to be treated like young ladies, and must instead be treated the way a natural man treats a pleasure girl.”

I blinked, my limbs startled for a moment into relaxation under my guardian’s strong hands.

“A what, sir?” I couldn’t help asking, though my whole body already felt hot with embarrassment. I had never heard or even read the term, but my illicit research had informed me sufficiently of the nature of marital relations that his crude words had stirred terrible visions in my mind.

Professor Simmons pressed harder with his hand upon my back, and tightened his grasp of my private parts. I gasped into the carpet as I felt the ball of his thumb find the tiny aperture that my humiliating posture had rendered shamefully visible and accessible to his eyes and touch.

My body attempted defiance again, of its own accord, desperate to escape though I knew no escape was possible. For a moment, my heart and mind felt a corresponding thrill of hope and even of freedom at the idea that my limbs could even try to resist my guardian’s strength.

Then that hope became something else entirely. The professor pushed his thumb further into my bottom-hole, and he used the tips of his middle fingers to rub hard at the sensitive place where I had learned my husband’s governor—or, much worse, my guardian’s, if I failed to accept a suitor—would go. A wave of need washed over my entire body, and to my utter dismay a moan broke from my chest.

My hips jerked, and that rubbed my tiny nipples against the rough fibers of the carpet, and the arousal redoubled. I felt myself warm under Professor Simmons’ firmly grasping hand, and I heard an awful, wet sound as he moved his fingers over my bare pussy lips. I found my body trying again to struggle, and then I understood the true depth of my predicament.

For with each movement of my muscles in opposition to my guardian’s will I learned more thoroughly how simple a thing it was for him to keep me in place. Every bit of hopeless resistance was merely a rediscovery of how easily he could keep me prostrate, in abject humiliation with my bottom and my virgin pussy uppermost, exposed to his eyes and available to his hands—and, much worse, to something else.

My terrified, confused mind after all understood, despite my continuing ignorance of the true particulars, something about marital relations. I knew that a frightening thing lay concealed between my guardian’s own massive, masculine legs, though I had no idea what it looked like. I knew that a bridegroom used this male member upon his bride, that he sought to put it inside her. That he had the right to do so, and to do it whenever he pleased, regulating her own pleasure in the act by means of the horrid governor she wore on her clitoris.

And with every rediscovery of my guardian’s mastery of my body with his hands—the one holding me down and the other with its fondling, probing fingers between my thighs and the little globes of my backside—the worst circumstance of all grew clearer to me. The slightest act of bodily defiance on my part made the wanton ache in my womb grow greater, and my pussy grow hotter and wetter beneath his hand.

“A pleasure girl,” said Professor Simmons, still working me between my thighs so that a low, whimpering moan emerged from my lips even as he spoke, “is a young woman who serves the lusts of men. Her cunt and her anus are her principal possessions, and her bottom is where she receives just chastisement if she should fail to provide those places as readily and as pleasingly as she should to the men who use her there, and take their ease between her thighs and, if they choose, between her bottom-cheeks as well.”

The more I tried to pretend his words had nothing intelligible about them, that I simply could not understand what he meant at all, the more my treasonous body responded to the low growl of his voice. To my horror, my hips continued to move with the motion of his fingers. When, suddenly, he withdrew his right hand, my backside tried to follow the tormenting, terribly pleasurable presence that had laid bare my wickedness.

I felt his left hand shift slightly, and I knew what would happen next, for I had not only kept my bottom where my guardian wanted it, but I had even attempted to raise it higher. Part of me still wished to resist him, but another voice in my mind told me that perhaps if I showed myself as a good girl, the professor would allow me more pleasure. Immodest as that impulse seemed, my wanton loins cried out for it, and the notion that if my guardian wished to touch me that way it must be proper inflamed me even more.

Especially, I thought, if he punished me as well, and guided me on the correct path. It did not occur to me that such an idea ran thoroughly counter to my attempt to betray my world to the Vionians in order that women could be free of the shameful control their governors imposed on their private parts. The need in my own pussy seemed to block everything out.

The image in my mind’s eye of the handsome, dark-bearded, and dark-eyed Professor Simmons stooping over me with one arm holding me down and the other raised to spank my poor bare bottom as I had deserved filled me not with dismay but, to my horror, with desire. I knew my guardian as a good and just man, a wise man, despite his cold manner and the indignities his duties had imposed upon me. I had made little progress with my suitors in large part because the professor’s face had dwelt in my mind, and every time I had taken a government document from my father’s library to the dead drop I had feared not so much for the vague authorities to find me out, but for Professor Simmons to do so.

With a sob I raised my backside still higher, and then my guardian’s big hand came crashing down with a report that rang off his study’s walls. The pain made me bend my knees and lower my bottom again despite myself, as the cheeks clenched and then unclenched. My face grew hot with the knowledge of the display I made of myself before his eyes, and the blush became fiery when he spoke again.

“Get that bottom up, Helena Breverton. Show me what you need.”

I sobbed again, and complied, feeling again the awful thing that had happened when I had received my first whipping: the pain somehow became a different kind of warmth as it faded away. I lifted my backside shamefully, and my guardian spanked me again, on the other cheek, and kept spanking me.

“What… were… you… doing… on… my… dataport, you… little… minx?” he demanded, each word accompanying a terribly hard smack.

I could only wail in response, because my bottom felt like I had sat on a hearth full of hot coals. Again, unable to bear it, I tried to lower my backside, but the professor took hold of my pussy again, even more roughly this time. I felt the arousal flood back into my loins, even more strongly now, as his thumb pushed so hard at my tiny anus that it penetrated there half an inch.

I cried out, my head rearing back at the terrible humiliation. I could not help thinking of the crude things my guardian had said about pleasure girls, and I could not help wondering what it would be like to have in my poor bottom whatever the male member was, for the professor’s enjoyment and not for my own.

The thought, unaccountably, only seemed to add to the heat beneath his fingers, as he fondled me there once again. My hips began their shameless rhythm again, trying to ride my guardian’s hand, and my whimpers sounded in the same cadence into the carpet where he held my upper body so firmly down.

“What were you doing?” Professor Simmons asked in a softer voice.

“Oh, no,” I whispered. “Oh, please… sir, no.”

“You shall come for the first time, Helena, if you tell me,” he murmured. “I can tell you wish to come, my dear, like the little whore you so clearly are.”

I bit my lip, glad at least that he could not see my blushing face. I had heard the word whore, and now I suddenly understood that it must represent the same thing as pleasure girl did. The idea that I, Miss Breverton of the Grant Street Brevertons, might behave like a whore made something happen between my legs that I had not felt before, or perhaps had never felt so strongly: a contraction upon the professor’s hand that made me gasp as the pleasure thrilled through my body.

“Ah, that makes your cunny clench, does it?” the professor asked. “Do you begin to understand the power a man has over a girl like you?”

His fingers kept working me, and helplessly I kept riding them. I could sense something ahead of me on this shameful ride, some release, if my guardian would only keep forcing my pussy toward it. I cried out, and then he took his hand away.

“I told you—” he began, but then his handheld rang.

I heard him wiping his right hand against his trousers, and the blood came anew to my cheeks. Then, still holding me down with his left hand, he said, “Simmons.”

I could hear an urgent voice on the other end of the line, but the words were indistinct.

“You jest. Miss Helena Breverton? Truly?”

The voice replied. Dread crept into the pit of my stomach.

“Very well,” my guardian told whomever he spoke to. “Yes, certainly, that would be the best course of action.” To my ear, his voice sounded a little reluctant, though, to accept the course of action proposed, whatever it might be. Then he said, “I will regard her as the property of my club from henceforth. I will have a governor installed today and convey her to the clubhouse this evening. I promise we shall get to the bottom of this, Minister.”