Kept for Training Read online

  Every young woman raised in our present benighted state of culture will feel both a good, natural modesty about the use of her anus for masculine pleasure and a false, cultural—and thus unnatural—modesty about it. The former, properly encouraged, will lead her eventually to receive the phallus gratefully, once her master makes clear how greatly he treasures her surrender of her most private, most tender orifice to his manhood’s impalement. The latter will provoke her to refusal, which the natural man knows without being told must be met with firm-handed discipline. Frequent use of the strap (see Section 7, Suggested Disciplinary Implements) may be required to overcome this negative modesty.

  Joe had no shame himself in admitting that Dr. Brown’s On the necessity of men’s exercising their natural rights in erotic matters had practically taught him to read. Before being chosen by Elder Hilton on one of the elders’ periodic ‘in-gathering’ journeys to the East in search of likely men and women to settle in Brownsville, he had to be sure known how to read his primer and to count enough to follow the orders of the senior longshoremen, whose numbers he would one day have joined if he hadn’t met the strikingly handsome though roughly dressed middle-aged Englishman on the quay after a long shift unloading bolts of heavy woolen fabric from an English merchantman.

  The elders said that after their training from Dr. Brown, at his college in Westmoreland or at the clubhouse of the Society for the Correction of Natural Daughters, whose members he served as consulting physician, they could usually tell a natural man from his very gait. Joe felt sure he had had nothing to recommend him apart from his burly frame and the purposeful stride it allowed him even after a long night’s labor to keep the freight of New York City’s bustling port moving.

  “Young man,” the elder had said, “do you know where a man might find a drink of whiskey and some pleasant company?”

  Joe had frowned. The man’s bearing seemed to cut against the very present implication in the words pleasant company. Joe knew very well where to find whiskey and women of easy virtue in close proximity to one another, and he had planned to avail himself of both this very night, having recently received his wages. But did this man intend to entrap him into an unpleasant evening of listening to an account of the error of his ways in such enjoyments?

  Joe had recently taken up with a very pleasant companion among Miss Molly’s whores—Judy, a girl who liked to give a young man his way and even liked a bit of punishment now and again, which Joe had in his unschooled way always thought a good man owed a young woman whom he had taken under his wing. He had no need or desire to be told either that his young lady, as he thought of Judy, or his pint of gin would doom him to an eternity of something much less enjoyable, as he now strongly suspected this stranger planned to inform him.

  Seeing Joe’s confusion, Elder Hilton had smiled and extended his hand in greeting. “My name is Elder Hilton, my friend, and I can see from your face that you have some doubt as to the sincerity of my intentions in inviting you to share the sort of sensual evening in which natural men love best to partake, in a setting like this one.”

  Joe had had a little trouble following the man’s elegant phrasing, but the encompassing gesture Elder Hilton had made now had reassured him. The Englishman had extended his right hand with a flourish toward the docks and the other longshoremen coming off work, the sailors lingering with girls much less refined that Miss Molly’s, the tall ships full of the merchandise that in its back-and-forth across the ocean made America a force with which to be reckoned. Though Elder Hilton clearly stood very far distant from Joe Smithers in the matter of upbringing, that simple hand gesture had seemed to Joe to indicate that his new friend enjoyed precisely the same things in the way of pleasant company as Joe did and, moreover, had the ability to enjoy them much more fully than Joe did thanks to his higher position in the social order.

  “Alright,” Joe had said neutrally, still not completely certain how to handle Elder Hilton’s overture. Perhaps the man did want a whiskey and a whore, rather than to deliver a sermon, but that didn’t mean Joe should have any interest in helping him find those things, even if Joe intended to seek them out himself that very night.

  Elder Hilton’s smile had broadened. “And your name, my friend?” he had asked.

  Joe had frowned, but he hadn’t seen any harm in telling. “Joe Smithers.”

  “Mr. Smithers,” Elder Hilton had said in a very smooth voice that Joe hadn’t been able to help finding fascinating. “Joe, if I may.”

  He had paused, and Joe had felt a furrow develop in his brow.

  Elder Hilton spoke again. “May I?”

  Startled, Joe had felt his eyes widen. It had felt rather like being in a comical scene on a stage at a saloon, where you guffawed at the snooty Englishman’s pratfalls. But Elder Hilton despite the evidence he had given of his interest in earthly delights had also seemed to be in deadly earnest in the matter of enlisting Joe’s assistance in finding them.

  “Uh, yes?” Joe had finally said.

  “Thank you, Joe.” The elder’s smile had wavered a bit in the face of Joe’s confusion, but now it had returned in full force. “Thank you very much indeed.” He had sounded then as if by granting permission to use his first name, Joe had also confirmed some much deeper truth about his nature. Rather despite himself, Joe had felt his fascination growing. On any other night, he would already have his Judy on his knee, his hand making free under her skirts, but this Elder Hilton had seemed to promise to tell him some secret that would make his visits to Miss Molly’s mean something much more important.

  The elder had looked around as if to make sure he would not be overheard, and then he had leaned in a little closer to Joe. His voice dropped into a confidential tone, and his blue eyes narrowed as they gazed directly into Joe’s brown ones.

  “Joe, what would you say if I told you that science has proven that natural men like you and me should not hesitate to fuck exactly as we please? I do not speak of the sort of debauchery in which we will partake tonight, if you are willing to assist me in finding the sort of establishment I seek. I speak of our natural right to master young women placed under our care, and under our sexual authority.”

  Joe’s eyes had opened very wide at that. Again he had known he could not fully understand Elder Hilton’s meaning, but he had certainly gathered enough of it that his cock had awakened to the notion of learning more. Suddenly Joe had wanted, very urgently, to know the man’s secret: How could he speak of these shameful things so elegantly? What did he intend to tell Joe, to teach Joe, about these matters that held for him so much importance?

  When he had fucked Judy, and even more when he had spanked her from time to time, to teach her her place—something Miss Molly had encouraged in her clients, so long as they showed they could exercise the privilege in moderation—Joe had often felt that he would like Judy to belong to him in a more essential way. He had contemplated asking Miss Molly how much it would cost for Judy to be made his exclusive property, and, though it seemed by turns monstrous and inescapably alluring, how much it would cost to fuck Judy’s bottom, and make her his in that very special way.

  “I see in your eyes that you understand some of what I mean, Joe,” Elder Hilton had said. “Why don’t we make our way to your favorite establishment for these things, and discuss it further? There is a place out West, on the frontier, in which I wish to interest you in settling, and a pamphlet I wish to invite you to read.”

  It had seemed a very surprising direction for their conversation to take, at the time. Now, though, two years later, his cock deep in Mary Jones’ bottom as the unknown person outside rattled the cabin door with their desperate knocking, it all seemed to have worked out for the best.

  Chapter Three

  When the door finally opened, Alice had almost despaired of anyone actually being inside. She had just reached to try the latch, in a last faint hope of it not being barred on the other side, when the rough iron, already rimed with frost, suddenly moved. The door swu
ng outward with a groan of slightly ill-fitting boards, just six inches or so.

  A man stood there, in a red woolen shirt and dungarees, a shotgun cradled in his right arm as his left hand held the door so it wouldn’t blow open. He stood at least six feet tall, and had dark beard and brown eyes. He seemed about twenty-five, if that, and his muscles rippled under the wool that covered his shoulders. Alice had never seen anyone who looked more the picture of a pioneer, out of the magazines that sold the romance of the new frontier.

  His eyes, which he had narrowed at first, both against the wind and cold, Alice supposed, and in suspicion of what bandit might be trying to rob him, went wide when they saw Alice, and then immediately narrowed again. He peered out over her head, as if to try to figure out whether her band of thieves or Indians waited just behind her, ready to rush in as soon as he admitted Alice to the cabin.

  “P-please,” Alice begged, her teeth chattering. “Th-they… th-the Indians…”

  Her mind had grown strangely clear, after having wandered so far as she fled from the ruins of the wagon train. She supposed—very reasonably, she knew—that the accomplice of bandits might say something similar, invent some story of Indian murder, and she grew even more desperate. “P-please…” she whispered. “I’m so c-cold.”

  Something about her appearance or her voice must have convinced the man, for he opened the door a little wider, and said in a gruff voice, “You better come in, then.”

  Alice darted as quickly as she could then, on her frostbitten feet, under the strong arm that held the door, and entered the little cabin. She almost burst into tears at the feeling of the warmth that came from the little stove in the corner, painful for a moment and then so soothing that she almost collapsed just inside the door.

  She managed to keep her feet, though, and turned to her benefactor with her hands clasped. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so very much.”

  He finished barring the door and turned to her, a few flakes of snow beginning to melt in his hair and beard.

  “I’m no sir,” he said, still rather gruff. “I’m just Joe. And that’s Mary over there on the bed.”

  Alice’s eyes went wide, because she hadn’t noticed the girl, who had the bedclothes pulled all the way up to her chin and sat in the corner of the bed with her back to the cabin walls, which Alice thought must be very cold even through her nightdress. Mary must have been frightened by the prospect of the bandits or Indians presented by Alice’s knocking, and adopted that pose as her man—for Joe must be her man, surely—went to the door.

  She had decided to introduce herself, and to apologize to Mary, and to thank Joe from the bottom of her heart, and opened her mouth to say it all, when Joe said something else, to Mary, that changed Alice’s impression of the little scene quite remarkably.

  “Pull those covers down, Mary. This girl needs to understand where she’s fetched up at right away. All the way down, so she sees everything.”

  Mary’s green eyes had gone wide, and her cheeks turned pink. Alice had no idea what Joe might have meant, but she felt her own face glow more than the stove had done. Her introduction and expression of gratitude forgotten for the moment, she tried to think of a way to assure Joe that whatever he intended to have Mary show her, Alice could certainly wait to see it—or indeed not see it at all.

  Something in Joe’s manner, which had appeared to her from the first time she had laid eyes on him in his cabin doorway, and come across to her as true pioneer spirit, now began to seem to her more particular than that. He had an air about him of authority despite his having declined to be called sir. Indeed, his authority wasn’t like that of Pa Gantner, or the wagon train leader, or even the governor of Massachusetts whom Alice had once met.

  Joe carried himself like the master of this little prairie cabin: you didn’t call him sir, but you obeyed him—especially if you were a girl. Unlike those other powerful men, too, Alice could feel that if you did as Joe said he would take care of you. Then, with a little gulp, she thought something more troubling, and also more moving in a way that increased the heat in her face: Joe would do that in the way that he judged best, she suddenly realized, and not the way you did.

  It made her want to hide her eyes, despite not having any idea exactly what Joe wanted her to see when Mary pulled the covers down. It made her want at least to say No, thank you. But the words refused to emerge from her open mouth, and before Alice could try to force them out, Joe had turned to her and said, “You watch nice and careful, now, girl.”

  Now Alice couldn’t have turned away if her life had depended upon it. She looked into Mary’s eyes as the other girl, who couldn’t be more than a year older than Alice herself, lowered the covers to show her little breasts, naked, with their sweet pink nipples standing up like little sentinels, just as Alice’s own stood up now as if to salute them, tingling against the linen of her shift.

  Alice’s breathing, which had calmed down after she had come into the warm cabin, began to grow rapid and shallow again, as if Joe had never rescued her from the blizzard. Mary cast an imploring glance at her man, but Joe nodded to her, and Alice knew what it meant: Mary had to pull the covers all the way down and show Alice even more.

  “Please,” Alice managed to say then. “I’ve… I’ve seen enough, haven’t I?” Then she started to babble, the floodgates upon her tongue apparently now loosed. “I’m Alice Rhodes. I’m from Boston, back East, but my parents died and I accepted the assistance and…”

  Her voice trailed off, for she had no idea what to say. Joe looked at her sternly, but also, she thought, with compassion. “It will be alright, girl,” he said. “You’re in Brownsville, now.”

  Alice blinked and swallowed hard. She had no idea why it should be so, but something in the way Joe said Brownsville made her think that this town must have something both special and terribly, terribly shameful about it. When Joe continued, he confirmed that impression so thoroughly that Alice thought she might faint not from her physical exertions in the snow but from sheer mortification at his words.

  “Mary was having her bottom fucked when you started knocking. I’m going to finish in there now, while you watch. Tomorrow we’ll have an elder out here to make sure, but I’m sure Dr. Brown would say that a girl who comes into a man’s cabin belongs to him, so—”

  “Oh, please!” Alice cried. “Please stop!” The reasonable, even gentle way Joe spoke these awful things made them somehow even more difficult to hear without the smooth, clean dirt floor of the cabin swallowing her up.

  Did she know what that word meant, truly? She shouldn’t know what fuck meant, surely. Miss Thacher must not know.

  Alice did know, though, because when her parents had died she had had to go to an orphanage for a few weeks, before she had answered the ad from the Gantners’ pastor. In the orphanage there were girls who talked about fucking, about how you could do it for money once the orphanage cast you out into the street.

  The man on top of you, putting his thing inside you down there, between your legs, where you must never touch. He could touch you, though: the man who paid for it, or who married you, or…

  Who opened the cabin door to you in a blizzard?

  Who had a naked girl in his bed, one he had been fucking while you stood out in the cold wondering if you should try the latch?

  Mary: naked Mary, who had lowered the covers all the way now because Joe had told her to do that, because—somehow, though Alice couldn’t puzzle out how cause-and-effect worked upon the matter—this was Brownsville. Naked Mary, not just fucked, but fucked in a place that even the low girls at the orphanage hadn’t said a man could do that.

  Alice had turned away, backed toward the door despite how the warmth of the stove seemed to draw her so irresistibly toward it, so that she could just get a little more of the chill out of her bones before she plunged back out into the night in desperate search of the lights of the town beyond.

  Brownsville. He had said something about an elder coming, hadn’t he? To
do… to say… what?

  Another warmth had started, despite the cold that seemed to come through the walls: a warmth inside Alice, of the same shameful kind she had felt over Mrs. Gantner’s knee, before a spanking and then afterward. How could she feel that, here, with the terrible sight of Mary’s nudity in her eyes and the more terrible idea in her head that Mary had drawn down the covers to show her naked body because this Joe had just told her to do it.

  Mr. Gantner ordered Mrs. Gantner around. Father had ordered Mother around, a little. Husbands did that with wives; men did that with women. But… but not like this, because polite, civilized men didn’t treat polite, civilized woman that way, because it wasn’t… right.

  Except that Mary didn’t seem to mind, at least in the way Alice would have expected her to mind. She looked at Joe with her lower lip caught between her teeth, and her blush didn’t fade, but something in her face seemed to say that she understood this embarrassment as a part of being taken care of by a strong, handsome man.

  “Alice,” Joe said, his tone becoming stern now, “there’s no use thinking you can get away. Even if you decide you want to leave, and the elders decide to let you go, when they examine you—”

  “Examine?” Alice asked. “What does that mean? Do you mean ask me questions?”

  “Well,” Joe replied, “that’s part of it. Mary here can tell you more about that. But the most important thing is that they’ll have a look at your body without your clothes on and figure out whether you’re ready for fucking. Then, I hope, they’ll assign you to me, and I’ll keep you here and fuck you whenever I want. Mary over there is only on loan to me, but you’ll be my bed girl, since you came to me and I have what the elders call the right of the phallus over you.”