The Duke's Shameful Game (Victorian Correction Book 13) by Emily Tilton

Author:Emily Tilton [Tilton, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stormy Night Publications
Published: 2019-10-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

To have Dora’s velvet mouth around his manhood felt to Sir George like the greatest pleasure man could know. He cupped her chin in his right hand and thrust gently in, just resting his left hand upon the back of her head to teach her that her bridegroom’s pleasure would henceforth be sovereign.

Dora whimpered around the penis as her guardian moved inside her mouth, withdrawing now so that only the head remained between her lips. Mr. Eliot had slowed his rhythm between her legs to a gentler cadence, so Dora’s bottom moved at a slower but still responsive pace, her body squirming with the need the medical man had awakened so effectively but not yet satisfied.

“Look at me, my love,” the squire said quietly, and the red-faced girl turned her brown eyes up to his face. “You are a good girl, and you will make a fine wife, once you have learned what I must teach you, with the help of Miss Halton.”

With his eyes fixed on hers, Sir George drove his prick slowly but firmly into her mouth again, while Mr. Eliot chose that perfect moment to move his fingers more urgently upon her clitoris, so that Dora gave a sob of pleasure even as she felt her guardian’s hardness demand more of her service than he had done hitherto.

“You shall spend with the prick in your mouth, now, Dora,” the squire said, “if Mr. Eliot thinks it advisable.”

Now Doctor Brown’s philosophy, as practiced by his protégé, showed its quality; for since Dora had felt the ecstasy of a sexual climax for the first time just a few minutes previous, she evidently now held such desperation between her thighs for another that she responded to her guardian’s words with delightful abandon. The formerly self-styled independent girl suckled shamelessly and yet reverently at the massive tool in her mouth, as if she would do whatever Sir George demanded of her, to show her need for his training: for hard fucking wherever he chose to impose his prick, so long as she might feel the reward for which Mr. Eliot had taught her to long.

“I do indeed, Sir George,” the medical man said. “It represents an important part of her training, to associate her climaxes with the sort of duty she would previously have viewed as shameful.”

Dora gave a wild cry, then, for Mr. Eliot began immediately to work her maiden cunt with a vigorous up and down motion that produced a sound indicative of a great deal of wetness between the girl’s thighs. The lovely scent of an eighteen-year-old virgin’s need wafted to Sir George’s nose. As his ward went rigid, and then bucked against the punishment horse, he held his hardness in over her tongue and against the softness of her palate, just keeping himself there to train her to the penis the way a bride should be trained, according to Doctor Brown’s wise advice.

“Very pretty,” said the duke. “Clarissa, do you not think the girl sucks very prettily? Miss Harper is almost as good already at it as one of your pupils.

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