Samuel Croft, the eminent but sadistic doctor, paused to gaze up at the front of Birbeck House, a sanatorium for children in London’s Gilspur Street.

As he drew nearer, he was able to admire its architecture. It stood three stories high and over eighty feet long, and had windows that were heavily draped. The dark roof gleamed from the recent downpour and the windows reflected the sunlight, moving from pane to pane as he approached.

The building stood well back from the street and had a doorman always in attendance for added security. Built for up to fifty patients, who were accommodated in their own private soundproofed rooms situated on the second and third floors, it could also accommodate twenty staff in pleasant if not functional rooms in the basement.

Doctor Croft’s own quarters are situated on both the ground and first floor where he and his family are able to relax and entertain without being disturbed.

Birbeck House, under the guidance of the eminent Doctor Croft, had gained a reputation as being the leading private establishment for the treatment of children’s so called ‘nervous disorders’.

Parents and Guardians, delighted with the change in their children’s behaviour and curious about the methods Doctor Croft and his staff used, often paid for the privilege of being present during the many treatments and to help administer them.

This was an arrangement that Doctor Croft and the trustees encouraged that also helped pay for the buildings upkeep. However, it hasn’t always been this way. Until Doctor Samuel Croft had been appointed as Director, it had been just another sanatorium for sick children.

******

Samuel Croft arrived at Birbeck House after receiving an invitation to attend an interview, a surprise after the letter he had written, outlining his credentials.

Enough of creeping about and hiding his true ideas, he had said, and set out to write his true thoughts down to those who’d advertised for the post of Director. He approached the front door, the lintel above proudly proclaiming the year of its building; 1887. The Duke of Clarence agreed to open it at the end of that month, the trustees itching to line up in their finery, hopefully with a newly appointed Director and staff and at least a few patients admitted by their wealthy parents and guardians.

The marble floor gleamed and the doctor heard the clatter of their shoes along the passage as a guide led him into a large office to be confronted by the committee; five of them, three men and two women, all glaring at him as he thanked his guide and took the seat facing them.

“Our thanks for coming so far for this interview Doctor Croft,” the ex colonel said, his moustache stiff with wax and stained from the snuff he used. He saw a man in his late forties who was both lean and tall. A long head, shaped like an anvil he thought, while blue eyes pierced those he looked at, even from beneath his prominent brows.

“My pleasure Colonel,” Samuel told him, his bottom still feeling numb after the ride in the carriage. The others eyed him with a mixture of frowns and knowing smiles. Both women glared at him with pinched features and eyes that wished to dismiss him straight away.

Samuel smiled and relaxed. Nothing ventured, nothing gained he said to myself. He had come this far, so might as well enjoy the rest of the game.

“I was taken by your letter and the views you put forward. Perhaps you could explain a little further for us,” the colonel suggested, liver-spotted hands shuffling the papers before him.

“Certainly Sir,” the doctor nodded.

“I have been a general practitioner for a number of years, and have noticed a growing weakness in young children, caused predominately, I believe, by their parents and guardians inability to deal with their increasing freedom.”

“Ah yes, ‘freedom’. An interesting choice of words Doctor,” Reverend Green murmured behind steepled fingers. The clergyman sat to the left of the colonel, seemingly at ease under his dog collar. The sun was gleaming off of his receding hairline, while he smiled from below an exceedingly long nose.

“To be more blunt Reverend, too many children are growing weak and lethargic. Their diet has far too much sugar and many lack sufficient exercise to develop their young bodies. Furthermore, and I know this for a fact, masturbation is rife, which my parent’s generation would never have allowed.” Samuel vowed.

“Modern thinking would question whether children should be so sternly regimented,” Miss Haigh told him sharply. Sitting at the end of the table, she was a thin and pale woman, a total contrast to the large buxom woman who sat beside her, looking at him from over her jowls.

“I have only to compare some of my latest patients, with those who have been receiving my special treatments for a few weeks to prove my point.

The change in them is quite startling. Many return to full vitality after only days of my regimen.” Samuel explained proudly. “Ah! Yes! Your regimen. Why don’t you enlighten us further Doctor Croft.” The fourth member of the board said, interrupting.

A florid man, Samuel knew little about him, other than he was a local and prosperous businessman. The man’s dark eyes scrutinised him and the research papers that Doctor Croft now laid out on the table for the committee to read.

“Certainly Sir,” he told him, quelling his annoyance at having been interrupted.

“A child’s digestion, like the child itself, is still growing and developing. It cannot suffer the full range of foods many parents permit their offspring. Rich, sugary foods remain in the stomach and bowels seeping vileness into their bodies and weakening them.

There is only one remedy; and that is to purge them of these residual foods, flushing them away regularly through vigorous enemas,” he told them. There the doctor then stopped in order to regain his breath and composure, quite taken; now he had an opportunity to freely voice his opinions.

“And what of a child’s, other tendencies,” asked Mrs Weldon, the large woman. Her eyes had lowered to the papers on the table before her, yet Samuel could see the spots of colour on her cheek as her position made it necessary to speak of these delicate matters.

“I understand the delicacy of the subject Mrs Weldon,” he told her politely, “and yet a child’s eagerness to learn about their sexual development often leads to excesses,” Doctor Croft told her.

“I am not one of these who believe such practices lead to blindness and idiocy, but do firmly believe in limiting their ‘creativity’ shall we call it,” he explained.

“And to what degree should a child be limited?” the Reverend asked.

“Through my limited research,” he told them, and felt his own cheeks burn as he recalled the early days when their wilful daughter still fought to escape her calling, “I have determined that girls should be masturbated at least three times a day, and the boys twice a day, but that their release should be made as forceful as possible, so that they are less inclined to practice on their own.”

“On their own? You mean this practice is not carried out in their own private quarters?” the Colonel asked, his eyes widening.

“Proper, healthy, practices must be instilled in children Colonel, especially those who have abused themselves for so long. Therefore the procedure should always be conducted under the supervision of a suitably trained adult.”

“And who would that be?” asked the florid faced businessman.

“Well, initially it will be myself and my staff. But ultimately, it will be the children’s parents and guardians of course,” Samuel replied.

“And what if the child doesn’t want to, Doctor Croft? What if the child is too shy for example?” Miss Haigh asked.

Doctor Croft looked at her and wondered at her own upbringing, that she should have to ask such mundane questions.

“Refusal to do as requested by someone in authority has always been punished severely. I see no reason to waver such practice, especially when it has proven so successful in the past,” he told her, waiting for her eyes to drop from his before looking towards the Colonel.

He nodded very slightly.

******

It was some days later and Samuel Croft was in his study writing up his medical journal when Lily, his wife, came rushing in, quite excited and overawed.

“Samuel Dear, it’s the Colonel, at the door!” she gasped.

“That’s quite all right dear. Stay calm,” Samuel told her, hiding his own surprise and swallowing while his heart beat wildly in his chest.

“Well, I hope you’ve shown him into the day room and offered him some refreshments,” he told her.

She nodded, her fingers playing nervously together while she waited for Samuel to close and lock away his journal, then stand and follow her to their unannounced guest. The Colonel had risen from the couch to gaze out of the window at the view.

“It will be gone soon,” Samuel, told him, joining him at his side.

“They plan to build houses all along there,” he explained, sweeping his hand over the countryside he so admired.

“A pity, such a nice view,” the colonel remarked, then turned to look at the doctor.

“You shook ’em up, back at the interview,” he told him.

“It needed saying,” Doctor Croft said.

“I see too many children crippling themselves,” he added.

It had taken a while to understand the scale of what was happening but after years of research, the signs were now as clear as day, surrounding him wherever he went.

‘Growing Pains’ other doctors labelled it; painful or aching wrists, frequent and sometimes lengthy visits to the bathroom, pale faces and often also socially withdrawn as well as often being tired. Rising late and going to bed early were also the signs that parents missed.

“Well, we have a hung jury,” the Colonel smiled. “So I thought I’d come down and see you again, give you another opportunity to prove your case,” he told the startled doctor.

“What a surprise!” Samuel gasped. He had swayed two of the panel to vote in his favour, and that would mean having had to get either the Reverend’s vote, or that of one of the ladies.

“Your treatment,” the Colonel enquired. “Is it something you have used within your own family?”

“Certainly Sir. It was my daughter’s sudden change in demure when she was thirteen that first gave rise to my concern. Allow me to invite her in here so you may see the change in her.”

Doctor Croft called for Jasmine his daughter who was now eighteen and smiled comfortingly to Lily who waited nervously in the hall.

“Jasmine has spent two years studying nursing at Bartholomew’s,” he explained to the colonel as they heard the light and quickly moving footsteps on the stairs. “She now acts as my nurse when I have need of one.”

A moment later the girl had entered, a girl as small as her mother with a slender waist that her broad belt emphasised. A plain blouse curved around her breasts and did up tightly around her neck, emphasising its length.

“Dear, the Colonel is here to learn more about the treatment I give to youngsters suffering from over indulgence,” Samuel explained to his daughter. “I want you to answer him truthfully and frankly so he gains a good and complete understanding,” he urged her, his eyes conveying to her what would happen if she failed him in this.

Swallowing, she nodded and looked towards the dark skinned colonel, waiting with just slightly glowing cheeks as he admired her carriage.

“Would you mind telling me how you ‘over indulged’?” the Colonel asked, taking his seat again and crossing his legs in comfort.

Jasmine’s cheeks flared and she glanced at her father once more, licking her lips as he nodded towards her, urging her to be frank with the man.

“Well Sir, another girl encouraged me to ignore my mother’s guidance never to touch myself. She said there was great pleasure in doing otherwise, and that no harm had ever come to her for doing so, despite her own mother’s warnings to the contrary.”

“Your privates?” the colonel enquired.

“Yes Sir,” Jasmine swallowed, her cheeks glowing brightly. “The many pleasures I felt as a result caused me to wish it to occur as often as possible, and so I found myself finding all sorts of excuses to be on my own, so I could reach under my skirts unobserved and touch myself there.”

“What method of touching was this?” he asked.

Jasmine chewed her lip and glanced again towards her father, her eyes begging him for mercy, but receiving none.

“At first, my friend had urged a circular motion around the apex of my vulva, what I now know to be the home of the clitoris,” she murmured, the discussion making her heart beat wildly leaving her short of breath.

“And you extended this?” the colonel asked.

Jasmine nodded, a dizziness coming over her as she recalled sitting on her bed with her thighs spread, leaning forward in an effort to watch her fingers as she pulled the flesh apart and touched her inner flesh, exploring, stroking and finding, then laying back to enjoy the delights.

“I touched everywhere,” she told them, hoping she would not need to go into detail.

“So, what did your father do to stop this ‘indulgence’?”

Jasmine licked her dry lips again.

“It was much more than just my daughter’s new preoccupation,” Samuel explained. “Her attitude towards her mother and myself, her school work, her eating habits. I took all these into consideration,” he explained.

“He whipped you,” the Colonel offered.

Jasmine looked up briefly and nodded.

“How was it done?” he asked.

“Down here, in front of my mother and brother. I had to remove all my clothes and offer them for examination,” she explained.

“All the while standing naked to one side?” the Colonel asked, clearing wanting to visualise it as best he could.

Jasmine nodded, her cheeks burning. “Fidgeting and squirming earned me more punishment,” she explained. “Any evidence of touching myself with dirty fingers also earned me extra,” she told him.

It had only happened once, and Jasmine still remembered the slow precision of strokes across her bottom that brought howls of agony from her. It had taken weeks for the welts to close and diminish.

Even now, although her bottom looked and felt completely smooth, she could feel the extra tenderness of her skin where the rod had landed, the memories frightening her while the sensation aroused her.

“Then what?” the colonel asked eagerly.

“Two chairs were put together for me to bend across,” she murmured softly.

“Two?” The Colonel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“They are placed back to back, like so,” Samuel explained, showing him by taking the two and placing them as he had described, back against back.

“So how does she bend?” The Colonel asked.

Licking her lips, Jasmine went forward to show him and found her skirt wouldn’t allow her to part her thighs sufficiently apart to straddle one of the chairs.

“Never mind. Take it off,” Her father urged.

“Off? My skirt?” Jasmine squeaked, her throat tight with nervous tension.

“Come to think on it, take off all you clothes so the Colonel can have a perfect understanding of what I propose.”

“But father!” Jasmine wailed.

Samuel turned his cold eyes on his daughter, quelling her rebellion and leaving her shaking with the thought of the alternative. “You do want to keep this as an example only, don’t you Jasmine?” he asked very softly.

Jasmine nodded. “Yes father,” she murmured dutifully.

Without looking towards the seated gentleman, Jasmine reached for her blouse and tried to ignore the thought that she was being watched, the act giving them sexual satisfaction. Leaving her shoulders, it revealed the simple corset she wore.

Through her blushes she undid her skirt and stepped from it, gnawing her lip as she felt their eyes admire the cotton draws she’d chosen, pretty lace around the leg and a pink ribbon tied to he waist.

She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should suggest she could straddle and bend just as easily in what remained of her clothes, but one look at her father stopped the words from forming and, instead, she was pulling the ties to each garment and burning as, with a toss of her hips, she helped both to fall away and leave her naked.

Her thighs worked together in an effort to hide herself without the use of her hands, and yet, in moments, she would need to straddle the chair, and then little would be hidden from the seated gentleman.

“Come on then child,” Samuel urged. “She’s not been called upon for a whipping for some years now,” he explained.

The Colonel said nothing, his eyes fixed upon her ample bottom as the young woman eased her thighs wide apart and gingerly sat astride one of the chairs.

“And over Jasmine,” Samuel needlessly reminded her.

Her heart was in her throat as she obeyed, her eyes closed against the humiliation she felt as, bending her upper body over the dual set of chairs, her lower body pivoted, her cunt drawn back and her pert bottom stretched apart.

“What a lovely view,” the colonel murmured, and Jasmine burnt all the more, with twinges of sexual excitement making her bite her lip in the hope it didn’t show.

“Such bright and gleaming flesh,” he added.

Jasmine groaned and wished she were dead. Her father stepped around for a closer look and nodded.

“A sometime occurrence with a large proportion of my patients. They begin to associate their whippings with the sexual release we will later provide. See how her vagina pouts?” he asked.

“How remarkable,” the Colonel added, peering forward for a better look at the delicately parted labia and the pink meat that gleamed from within.

“Her clitoris is quite demure, but I have recently devised means in which to increase their growth so that more intense orgasms can be easily be obtained.”

“How interesting. You don’t cut back the hood then, as in some eastern cultures?” he asked.

“No. I find it unsightly, and infection can too easily occur. No, I use a suction flask to draw more blood into it, increasing its size and tenderness.”

“Amazing. And this is the position adopted by all your patients?”

“It is the most common. I have designed various pieces of apparatus that will restrain patients, not only for their whippings, but also to purge them, and provide their release” Samuel added.

“So, after punishment, you’d control their hedonistic tendencies through your own manipulation?” the Colonel asked.

“I’ve devised a number of special tools that will assist in this process, until the patients no longer use their own resources, but rely entirely upon those of their parents or guardians for their relief.” explained Doctor Croft.

“Perhaps you could give me an example, something that would persuade me that you are the only man for the job?” he suggested.

Samuel didn’t hesitate. “Yes, of course,” he gushed. “Jasmine, go and fetch the thigh strap,” he urged, pulling his daughter from astride the chairs in an effort to hurry her. She didn’t complain, yet her face grew a brilliant red as she hurried out to obey him.

There were several versions, but he would want the most recent, the one where, not only did the short length of belt designed to go round his thigh have a long and slender protrusion sticking from it, but also had a number of smaller ones, each aimed at exciting her vulva each time it descended to press upon them.

That it excited her beyond anything had ever excited her before was beyond question, it also left her horribly embarrassed by her show of wanton behaviour, as well as totally exhausted.

Dreading what was to come, yet feeling the wetness from her cunt begin sliding down her inner thighs, Jasmine returned to her father and the Colonel, avoiding their knowing smiles as she offered the thigh strap to her father.

“No,” he told her, and smiled into the dawning look of shock on her pretty face. “Go on,” he urged. “Its that, or it’s over the chairs for a whipping,” he offered.

Jasmine blushed hotly as she turned to the seated Colonel. The look on his face made her dizzy and caused a fresh flood of warn wetness to flow down her thighs. She knelt and took a deep breath, steadying herself before looking along his legs to the unmistakable bulge in his trousers. “Father prefers to have this put on his bare leg, so I don’t mark his trousers,” she muttered, burning with the thought of what he might think of her.

“A splendid idea!” he cried, his face becoming florid as he quickly stood and undid the buttons to his trousers. In moments they were down around his calves and, her excitement soaring once more, Jasmine reached forward with the strap and fastened it tightly around the Colonel’s thigh, a few inches up from his knee.

The Rubber protrusions now stood from his thigh, one five inches long and slender as a finger, the others reducing, from roughly an inch to just a little mound, each one thin enough to give when her weight landed on it.

Swallowing, Jasmine mounted the colonel’s thigh and held the longest rubber pole, holding it still while she stretched her knees apart and brought he crotch down upon it. The Colonel’s eyes and nose flared as he saw her state.

“My word!” he cried, a moment before Jasmine sank smoothly upon the pole, sobbing with delight as it slid into her sex, then biting her lower lip in a surge of pleasure as the smaller poles pressed against her.

“What a delight!” the Colonel gasped, his expression saying it all as the panting girl reached for his shoulders and began to rise and fall upon him thigh, each downward thrust bringing another breathless sob from her.

“You can control her level of excitement by gripping her waist and dictating the speed with which she moves,” Samuel told him.

Jasmine would often whimper then, needing to quicken her pace, and it was often an opportunity to gain promises from her too, to things she’d not normally do, let alone with her father.

The Colonel tried it, a look of delight on his face as he felt the firm smooth skin of the young girl, and then tested his power to slow her quick march towards her orgasm.

Jasmine sobbed and whimpered, her eyes closed against seeing the terrible thing she was being made to do. All that mattered was her pleasure now, and she didn’t want to think of how she was obtaining it.

The strong hands about her middle forced her downwards and she eagerly dropped, gasping as the many prongs met her open vulva and sent shooting sensations deep into her. She was lifted before she could swivel her hips bringing a whimper from deep in her throat, lifted until just the tip of the rubber touched the small hanging lips of her inner labia and her pussy mouth clutched at air.

To then be forcibly lowered again, driven downwards. Her cunt hit the small pencil like spikes and the engulfing sensation triggered her orgasm.

Head flung back, he hands tightly gripping the Colonel’s shoulders, she screamed her delight, tears of pleasure escaping her tightly closed eyes as it reverberated through her, renewed by the continued pressure of all the little spikes against her tender cunt. “What a splendid delight,” the colonel breathed, his attention on the eighteen year old as she timidly recovered herself, then her clothes.

“You’ll back my application to become the Director of Birbeck House?” Samuel asked the Colonel eagerly.

“Most definitely, consider yourself employed dear Sir. And I will want weekly updates on the installation of your equipment.”

“Perhaps there could be discrete viewing rooms built, where medical students and other interested persons could view the proceedings without embarrassing the patients or their parents?” the doctor suggested.

“An admirable idea. But in order for you to test out your new ideas, we will have to get you some children from the poorhouse, somewhere where no one will care what happens to them,” the Colonel suggested.

“Perhaps, may I suggest, camera facilities, so that techniques can be photographed for later practitioners?”

“Oh, most definitely,” the Colonel agreed. “I suggest you move your family to Birbeck House as quickly as possible, and ensure that all is being done as we’ve outlined.”

******

Within days of moving in to Birbeck House, Doctor Samuel Croft and his daughter Jasmine found themselves engaged with their first paying customer; a father and his troublesome young daughter.

Miss Marsha Allsop was just thirteen, still wearing short skirts, and looked mouth-wateringly pretty. Her dress allowed for the development of her small breasts, and while her skirt hid her bottom, it allowed her calves and ankles to be admired, both decently covered by thick dark woollen stockings.

Her mother was not able to attend, being confined to her bed. Her father was there though, John Allsop being unusually nice to his young daughter as he guided her in and brought her, as previously arranged, into Doctor Croft’s office.

“So, this is Marsha,” Doctor Croft said, smiling at the child while he extended his hand. She took it like a proper little lady; her eyes big and round as she looked about her. Her father, in contrast, was looking a little nervous, perhaps afraid of being found out.

“Now, let me remind you, that everything that is said and done here is in the strictest confidence. Now Marsha, I understand you are not well,” Samuel began.

The girl looked confused and looked up at her father.

“She has regular nightmares that have her calling out in the middle of the night,” John Allsop told him.

His daughter blushed hotly.

“Father, they were nothing, just small things!” she said, obviously embarrassed by having them mentioned.

“Then there are her moods. She has become moody of late, spending a lot of time in her room, her door bolted from within,” he explained, his mouth dry as he recalled listening at the door and hearing her loud panting breath quicken, followed by sharp cries that abruptly stopped, then finished with a long sigh, as if of contentment.

“You were mistaken!” Marsha gasped. “Else I was struggling with my clothes. I keep telling you I need new ones!” she stormed.

Jasmine appeared, looking particularly pretty and smart in her new nurse’s uniform. She smiled sisterly towards the young girl as she pouted and burnt. Samuel smiled at the three of them as he calmly instructed Jasmine to take the child into the next room and prepare her for a brief, but thorough, examination.

They left, and the father rounded on the doctor. “You said I’d be able to watch her. You said I’d get to touch her!” he complained.

Doctor Croft held up his hand and went across to a screen. Moving it aside, he revealed an area almost as large as a door that peered into the other room.

Jasmine and Marsha were standing practically right in front of it, staring into what was a mirror on their side. Jasmine was undoing the hooks and eyes down the back of Marsha’s dress and calming the girl’s fears at the same time.

“Of course it doesn’t hurt!” she said, a calming smile emphasising her words as she then drew her dress down, her eyes darting to the mirror so, she too, could admire the view.

Only just thirteen, Marsha wore a lose vest and baggy underpants tied about her waist with a cord. With a comforting smile, Jasmine drew the vest over her head and drew the girl back to facing the mirror, holding the child’s wrists down at her side, so that her budding little breasts could be better admired.

“What pretty little breasts!” Jasmine exclaimed, following the role her father had taught her. As all good girls should, she had voiced concern at duping the young girl. Yet, secretly, she had remembered her own first taking, the pain and the pleasure, the swelling delight that had ultimately claimed her as its own.

Marsha blushed, coyly looking at her own chest, her heart quickening as the nurse knelt behind her and smoothly undid and then rolled her panties down. She tingled down there, made worse by the way the nurse looked at her and smiled. She jumped as fingers touched her belly and slid downwards, warmth blossoming inside her as the fingers drew nearer and nearer her sensitive cunt.

Samuel glanced towards John Allsop and saw the man staring enthralled at his daughter’s nakedness. The bulge in his trousers proclaimed his excitement, even before Jasmine began stroking Marsha’s smooth skin, complementing her on how pretty she was while easing her thighs apart so both men would have a better view of the girl’s vulva and pubis.

“The doctor will want a sample of your urine,” Jasmine told Marsha, reaching behind her for the glass vase. Hospitals would use bedpans and sample jugs to collect urine, but both were deemed too discrete for the sanatorium. In their place, Samuel had ordered glass jars and vases, and now one was put on the tiled floor in front of the child. Jasmine steered the young girl astride it, then urged her to bend her knees outward, lowering her pretty little cunt towards the mouth of the vase and, at the same time, helping the nubile labia to unfurl and reveal herself totally to the watching men on the other side of the mirror.

Biting her lip, Marsha began to pee, her face bright as Jasmine complemented her. “How naughty you look!” the nurse giggled. “What would your father say, if he saw you like this!” she grinned.

“I must have her!” John panted, grasping his aching cock through his trousers.

“In good time,” Samuel agreed.

“Her constant masturbation, together with her poor diet, has caused her to become weak. As I explained, we must treat the cause as much as provide an alternative solution.”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you decide is best,” John panted, his eyes still fastened on Marsha as Jasmine helped her put on a plain cotton gown. Although covering her to her knees, the fabric was so thin the colour of her skin showed through where it touched her. This meant the child’s budding breasts were pressed to it and plainly visible through the fabric.

Jasmine pulled the child away from the mirror towards the examination chair; a padded chair that was raised quite high off the ground and angled backwards. Marsha found her head comfortably held by a curved and padded brace while her hands fitted quite snugly into mitten-like sleeves at the end of each arm rest and her little feet into loose, shoe-like leather cups.

Jasmine then lifted the tabs that stopped the girl from drawing her elbows back, thus capturing her arms on the rest, then calmly wound the seat apart so it parted in the middle, opening at the front in a widening V that took the girl’s knees with them. As the seat broke into two parts, a panel rose from its inner edge, forcing the knees to remain on each of the parted seat-pads.

“It’s perfectly all right,” Jasmine assured the suddenly alarmed girl as she found her thighs parting along with the seat. The child tried moving her hands and found they too were locked in place. Her eyes widened even further while, Jasmine, watching her, felt a glow of oncoming pleasure slide through her.

The door opened and Doctor Croft stepped in, closely followed by Marsha’s anxious looking father. Marsha caught her breath and felt her tummy flutter, then tried again to fight her restraints and at least close her thighs.

While the girl looked on with feelings of embarrassment and dread, the Doctor picked up the vase holding her pee and held it up to the light, swilling it around the glass to judge its thickness as well as its colour.

“What can you tell?” John asked in interest.

“She doesn’t drink enough,” Samuel told him. He smelt the urine and considered more thoughtfully, before raising the vase to drink the fluid, Marsha and her father each gasping. “Yes, completely the wrong diet,” Samuel, said to himself, savouring the particular taste of the child. Putting the vase aside he turned to where the girl was fastened.

“Ready?” Harold asked his daughter.

Jasmine smiled and leant forward slightly to draw Marsha’s gown up, baring the delicious contours of the young girl’s upper thighs and, right at the end, her delicious little cunt. Curved lips bordered the smooth pink shaft of her hooded clitoris while slender young hairs, freshly darkening, grew around the smoothly curved rim.

“No!” Marsha screamed, her eyes staring at her father in horror as she felt their eyes flow across her privates. “No, no, let me go!” she cried, squirming in her captivity while, seemingly oblivious to her plight, both men drew nearer, the doctor to draw a stool forward on which he could sit and peer along her open thighs, her father to stand behind him, licking his lips and gazing with a look of awe at her.

Marsha began to cry, her head tossing until Jasmine gently began to stroke her cheek, offering murmured condolences while her father operated the handle, further parting the sweet young thighs of the girl.

“Ah yes,” Samuel murmured, his fingers parting sticky labia to allow him a full examination of the child’s sexual parts. A feather touch drew her hood back, almost immediately uncovering a thick pink shaft of clitoral flesh. “Very prominent,” he murmured while, behind him, the father leant forward for a better look.

“What are you going to do?” he asked breathlessly.

The doctor considered, fingers parting the base of her bottom until the bright little mouth of her vagina was in sight, mucus gleaming in the entrance before his attention went down to the little pink ring of her anus.

“I suspect her pleasure has been gained primary around here,” he told the father, his fingers circling the area of Marsha’s clitoris, the touch making her jerk her slender young hips. Marsha softly continued to weep, but now her eyes looked between the two men, wondering what they intended for her.

“I intend to increase the tenderness of the clitoris by increasing its size still further. We will then begin educating her in multiple digital stimulation to bring on more intense orgasms.”

“Won’t that mean she’ll abuse herself still further?” John asked.

“No, not with the special underwear I plan for her,” Samuel grinned.

His attention returned to the pretty cunt in front of him and, using the skill gleaned from masturbating dozens of young girls, he began a gentle massage of her pubis that pulled gently on the hood, moving it against the tender morsel it protected.

Marsha’s crying slowly ebbed as the new feelings in her loins grew along with her clitoris. She hid her face in Jasmine’s bosom, hiding her blushes from the men as they concentrated their attention on her vagina. “See how it swells,” Harold murmured. John nodded, entranced at how lovely his daughter’s vagina looked, the once pale lips now blushing as brightly as her face, her slit open of its own volition to expose the little nubile mouth to her cunt.

Harold pulled the child’s pubis more forcefully upwards and Marsha gasped and quivered as the flesh was drawn back from her tender clitoris, leaving it to be caressed by the warm air moving around in the room.

“A touch there and she will spend, I’m sure,” Samuel vowed.

He’d seen enough girls driven to masturbate in front of him by their forced abstinence to know. Instead though, he moistened a finger in his mouth and placed the pad upon the small exit of her urethra and pressed gently upon it.

Marsha jerked as if stung, then whimpered, grinding her crotch around as the finger pressed against her pee hole to bring a new sensation spiralling inwards from her crotch. It grew and grew; forcing her to push her crotch downward on the finger while breathlessly parting her legs in the hope her clitoris would be touched.

“Not yet my sweet,” Doctor Croft chuckled, lessening the force and dropping his finger tip until it felt the warm oil seeping from the mouth to her little cunt. He massaged her there very lightly and her breath broke with her mounting pleasure.

“Would I fit, do you think?” John asked breathlessly. Her little cunt looked so small.

“With adequate preparation,” Samuel nodded. The virginal mouth was totally muscular and its capacity only limited by training and the physical proportions of her pelvis.

With that thought, he adjusted the chair to tilt the panting child backwards and used flat pads of stainless steel to draw her exposed bottom cheeks apart and reveal her quivering little anus to his view.

He drew a finger through her slit, teasing her vaginal mouth again before sliding his moistened finger over her urethra to just below her little erect clitoris, repeating the move back and forth before placing a saliva coated index finger at her little anal ring and pushing. Eyes wide but unseeing, Marsha gasped and quivered.

Her whole body was on edge, waiting for the touch that would send her off on her pleasure. She would have long since delivered it had it been her doing the touching. She whimpered, her chest hurting with the effort to catch her breath. The doctor touched her in places she’d never dared, forcing her body to react, to jump and quiver with the strong incredible sensations he caused her.

A third finger slid round to begin pressing downward on the very apex of Marsha’s smooth little slit and the girl keened. A finger pressed her anus inwards, another flicked over her pee hole and pussy mouth, and now a third did something to her clitoris making it throb and bulge still further. Erupting, the young girl arched and tensed, a spurt of fluid escaping her as she lost control of herself.

******

Jasmine wheeled Marsha into the cleansing room and positioned her so she could view Doctor Croft preparing the enema for her.

“Have you ever had an enema before?” she asked the young girl.

Marsha licked her lips and nodded her head, remembering the odd occasion when her stomach had become upset and a woman would be called in to cleanse her bowels.

“Oh, father makes special ones,” Jasmine, giggled.

The hospital where she’d been trained used a solution of water and soap, not at all like the oiled solutions her father prepared over a stove, carefully adding spices.

“But I don’t feel unwell,” Marsha whimpered, her eyes fastened to what the doctor was doing while her wrists turned in her bindings, hoping beyond hope that she might be able to escape.

Samuel heard her and grinned in her direction. “Oh, but you are,” he told her. “You’ve been eating far too many rich foods for someone of your age, and the poisons have built up inside of you.”

While he spoke, he stirred the warm oil in the pan while the large clyster, used for horses, waited in pieces to one side.

Marsha stared at it in terror. “Please don’t,” she begged, beginning to cry all over again.

Samuel chuckled and beamed at the girl. He then let her watch him prepare the clyster; a large brass cylinder that held two pints of liquid and had a nozzle at one end that was an inch across at its fullest, tapering to just a quarter of that at its tip.

None the less, with the large piston that screwed into the other end, it could deliver all two pints in less than thirty seconds, shooting it deep into the child’s colon and loosening all the terrible poisons her poor diet had accumulated.

“What position would you prefer?” Jasmine asked her father politely, her face flushed by the thought of what she’d soon be watching.

“On her side I think please, one leg raised,” he told Jasmine, then turned to the father while Marsha was being prepared.

“The side position will provide some support for her extended belly,” he explained. “But, perhaps of more interest to you, however, is the improved view it will offer you of her privates.”

They walked over to see what Doctor Croft meant and John straight away blushed and nodded, his eyes again fastened to his weeping daughter’s pretty little cunt and totally exposed anus.

Laid on her side in a spoon position, one leg had been raised upon a stirrup leaving her privates in plain view and adequately parting the base of her bottom for complete access to her little clenched anus.

“It will take us some while to train Marsha into becoming relaxed for her cleansings,” Samuel remarked, peering in at the tightly clenched little ring.

“I suspect a whipping or two with the birch might do it,” he grinned.

“I’ve always wanted to try that,” John murmured, watching with bated breath as the doctor anointed his finger with a cream and smeared it onto Marsha’s little anus, his touch making her wail in anguish.

“I’m glad. Parents should always take full responsibility for their children, regardless of how onerous the task,” Samuel told him.

He picked up the large brass syringe and nodded to his daughter.

Jasmine took a firm grip of Marsha’s bottom and pulled the cheeks further apart, flattening the little ring of knotted amber muscle that lay gleaming with the slick preparation. Her breath held and Mr Allsop watching from close by; she watched her father edge the tip of the syringe into the child, and then push it smoothly inwards.

Marsha wailed loudly, then sobbed with renewed vigour as the dreaded pain of having her little bottom opened spread inwards from her defiled rectum.

Doctor Croft smiled at the spellbound father who was staring at the embedded nozzle and his daughter’s anus, pushed out around its flared base. He took a hold of the piston’s handle and, with a fresh breath, pushed it firmly inwards.

Marsha squealed long and hard as she felt the burning liquid shoot into her bowels. Her breath ended before the surge of liquid that went on and on, pushing her tummy outwards and giving her a terrible feeling of fullness.

“The plug,” Samuel breathed, the plunger handle meeting the brass cylinder. Jasmine passed him the brass anal plug, the tapered end already greased and ready for insertion.

Samuel Croft took a fresh breath and, with the ease of someone well practiced in the art of enema giving, slid the syringe nozzle from the sobbing girl and smoothly replaced it with the flared anal plug.

Marsha wailed again as it was pushed home, then quietly sobbed as her anus closed over it, holding it in place and keeping her full of the burning enema fluid.

“There,” Doctor Croft grinned.

“We’ll allow a full twenty minutes for the solution to work its magic, before removing the plug.”

******

John Allsop earned the respect of the doctor and his daughter when he helped to support his naked daughter over the large basin that Samuel had prepared.

Marsha, sobbing uncontrollably from the terrible feeling she had in her belly, could do little but allow herself to be dragged from the bench on which the enema had been given and drawn to where the basin waited, in full view of all of them. Her stomach cried to be released but the painful plug stopped her, refusing to be released, no matter how hard she tried.

Jasmine took Marsha’s head and drew it down, pushing her over until her thighs were able to hold her head still. The back of her thighs were pushed against the curved surface of the basin, so her bottom was lifted and poised above the basin, her cheeks pulled wide apart so the full length of her anal crease, together with the horrid plug that had been placed there, were on display.

Then, with great interest, John watched Doctor Croft grip the plug and, with a twist of his wrist, ease it from Marsha’s anus.

Marsha squealed as her anus was once again stretched to the verge of being torn. Then the pain had fled and she could only gasp as her body rid itself of the hot enema fluid, the relief so welcoming that she sighed and whimpered thankfully, no longer caring that she was the centre of attention.

The warm feeling of relief soon fled and Marsha began to weep again, begging her father to take her home, while a warm towel was passed over her bottom, cleaning her before drawing her back towards the bench.

“No, please, no more!” she wept, but the nurse was firm and stronger than she, so once again she found herself lying on her side with her bottom pushed out, her thigh lifted until she was again, indecently on show to all of them.

Wild and wet eyed, she watched the doctor pour a steaming hot oil into the huge clyster, then screw down the end with the long plunger handle. Her eyes went to the nozzle and her crying grew worse as she saw how thick it was.

“No more, please,” she sobbed, even as the nurse took a firmer grip on her, holding her still for the forthcoming insertion.

It was John’s turn to try and he held the large horse syringe with a cautious grip while watching the nurse and doctor help each other to stretch apart the flesh of his daughter’s bottom, leaving her little anus stretched flat and just a little open.

Swallowing his excitement and nervousness, he knelt and positioned the tip of the brass nozzle into her little knotted star, licking his lips as he looked down at how it tried to clench around the tip.

Mesmerised, he pushed the nozzle inwards, his daughter’s anguished wail ignored for the delight of seeing the little anal ring being pushed inwards and slowly stretched apart. He even slid the nozzle outwards for a time, just to see the little stretched ring regain it’s star like quality, then pushed the brass back in, right up to its end.

Marsha was weeping, her hands clenching the wrists of the nurse who was trying to comfort her. She knew what was to follow, yet the memory failed to compare to the reality of having her father thrust the plunger home, driving the hot oil into her fundaments, making it surge into her back passage, once more filling her belly with that all pervasive glow from within.

“Good man!” Samuel said, praising the father as he removed the nozzle from her clenched little anus and smoothly forced the plug into her again. “We can wait once more, or, we can have Marsha move about to expedite matters. A few exercises might be in order,” he suggested. The child continued to cry as she was told to stand and her crying grew as she was forced to skip. Afraid to straighten her legs, let alone jump up and down, Marsha wept tears of shame and embarrassment as she shook her head at the impossibility of what she was being asked to do.

Doctor Croft frowned, upset by the girl’s attitude, and asked Jasmine to go fetch the Hazel switch. It was a length of four Hazel branches, bound together part of the way along their three-foot length, leaving the tips to splay out when struck against another surface.

Marsha didn’t appear to be aware that Jasmine had returned with the switch, nor of her handing it excitedly to her father, the young woman’s eyes shining brightly at the thought of watching another receive a whipping.

Samuel Croft took the switch and stroked the fine tips of each hazel branch, smiling as he recalled its making. Nearby and watching him with wide eyes, the father swallowed and gazed between the switch and his groaning, weeping daughter.

“You’ve been told to skip,” Doctor croft reminded the girl, stepping forward and drawing his arm back. The bound branches swept through the air and scoured the girl’s bottom, straight away scraping flesh to leave wicked red lines across her soft skinned cheeks.

With a shriek, Marsha straightened and clasped her bottom, dancing on the same spot with her feet pressed tightly together.

Samuel ignored her as she clutched at her sore bottom, bringing the Hazel switch down, across the back of her hands and forcing another wail from the young girl.

“Hold her!” he cried, inhaling deeply through his nose as he watched the girl wring her hands and struggle, trying to turn and evade any further whipping.

John was on his daughter first, Jasmine a close second and, together, they pulled the shrieking child over to the bench where they could force her over it and present her bottom to Doctor Croft.

He smiled at the pretty cheeks, the plug gleaming outward from the short anal crease, and brought the switch down once again, once more scouring her skin with the unforgiving branches.

Marsha wailed, her head flung back as the hot pain lanced deep into her. Only the unforgiving plug saved her from total embarrassment, holding back the weight of oil she could no longer tension herself against.

“Will you skip? Will you? Will you?” Doctor croft shouted over the noise of her ingratitude. He used the switch carelessly, fanning it across her bottom and thighs. “Yes!” Marsha finally wailed, her pretty bottom, lined and torn, squirming prettily in front of them all.

She was released, all of them stepping away to give her space to straighten and stand, all watching and waiting as the weeping girl tenderly reached back to comfort her torn bottom. Weeping she turned to face them, her pretty little face made ugly by her crying.

“Well?” Samuel asked sternly, the switch held ready to whip her bottom again.

With a fresh wail, Marsha began to skip from foot to foot, a hand pressed to her distended belly as the movement caused the oil to move about within her.

Samuel smiled and John licked his lips and admired his pretty young daughter, thinking of her private display for him, so soon to become a reality.

She skipped hesitantly, sobbing and holding her stomach and bottom, the plug sticking out from between her cheeks as a constant reminder of her liquid filled entrails.

“Is she ready yet?” he asked hopefully.

“I think so,” Samuel agreed. With a nod, he had Jasmine draw the weeping girl to the basin, dragging her over when they got there so she was bent double, her outthrust bottom hanging over the sculptured edge of the large bowl.

“Twist one side out first,” Doctor Croft instructed as John took a cautious hold of the protruding knob.

The father did just that, his breath held and his eyes wide as he followed the instructions. Almost immediately the wide flange of the plug escaped the stretched pink flange of Marsha’s anus, and the rest followed.

Sobbing her relief, Marsha wept with embarrassment as she voided the hot oil, broad hands holding her cheeks as far apart as possible to afford them the best view. Once more, she was aware of a damp cloth being drawn over her bottom and thighs, and then she was allowed up.

“You will find her perfectly clean now. Additionally, this method coats a fine oil along her colon, providing for an easier examination of her rectum,” Samuel was saying. He was drawing a tray of small implements over and John was staring at them and feeling his cock rising at the thought of their use.

“I will now show you the basic examination you will need to carry out on a regular basis,” Doctor croft told him, nodding to his daughter to prepare Marsha for him.

“Will the nurse be there to help me?” John asked, as he watched his daughter being led to the examination table and made to bend forward, over its end, offering up her sore bottom with fresh sobs of anguish.

“No assistance should be necessary. If she refuses, whip her as she deserves!” Samuel told him, picking up the bound twigs once more.

“Do you need another whipping?” he asked the bent girl.

“No Sir,” Marsha wept.

“Then reach back and part your bottom cheeks as wide as you can for me girl. I want to see your anus plainly in sight,” he told her.

Marsha’s sobbing grew. “Please don’t make me,” she begged.

The switch was raised and came down without hesitation, scoring her pert bottom and bringing fresh screams from the young victim.

“Do as you’re told,” Doctor croft told her firmly, his arm sliding back in readiness for another swift swipe of the cruel branches.

Crying hysterically, Marsha reached back and clawed her bottom apart, weeping uncontrollably as she held herself indecently apart, waiting for whatever the doctor had planned.

Samuel showed John the first of the tools. A small cylinder, it began with a pointed end and swiftly broadened to an inch in diameter. Only two inches long, it ended in a ring of metal with a broad flange.

“What’s it for?” John asked, seeing it standing upright on its broad flange base.

Samuel smiled and, picking it up, applied the pointed tip to Marsha’s anal ring, deftly pushing it inwards while the girl wailed.

It was quickly inserted, the flange pressed up against her flattened anal ring. There, Samuel pulled up an embedded brass ring from the middle and quite smoothly drew the cylinder out leaving just the base ring and flange to hold the girl’s anal ring out.

“There!” Doctor Croft announced, a light reflector on his forehead lighting up the colon of the weeping girl to reveal a pink passage gleaming with a light coating of oil the enemas had left.

John stared, his face lowered close to the side of the doctor’s, and watched as a long probe was sent inwards, touching Marsha’s rectum walls to determine her sensitivity, all in view thanks to the holding ring. It was even broad enough to allow a finger to enter her, as the good doctor showed, inserting his index finger and turning it within her as proof.

“And I must do this regularly?” John enquired breathlessly. “You must verify her cleanliness as often as possible. Any doubt at all, and you must give her both enemas!” the doctor informed him.

******

Marsha wept well into the night before finally falling asleep, only to be troubled by dreams of men with overly large brass cylinders chasing her down. Captured, she relived the strange sensations of having hot oil shooting into her belly; her bottom was still aching from being distended for so long and by such a huge amount.

She had wanted to reach back and touch herself, to determine for herself how badly her poor little anal ring had been violated, but they had placed special undergarments on her.

As large as her draws, these new ones were of thick and unforgiving leather that had been moulded roughly to her shape, and then strapped at either side as if they were boots around an ankle. As a final precaution against removal, they had sealed each strap with sealing wax.

She was lightly dozing, jumping awake from one bad dream to the next, when the door to her small room opened and Jasmine came in, followed by her father and the doctor. “Had a good sleep?” the doctor asked while Jasmine hurriedly pulled back the bed covers, to draw Marsha’s nightdress upwards, uncovering the young girl’s lower body.

“There are various means by which you can stop your daughter from touching herself,” Samuel told the father as he sat down and smiled at the young girl. Timid and nervous, the child whimpered and tried scampering away, stopped by Jasmine who took the girl’s ankles and drew her back down the bed.

“We have used these stiff undergarments on this occasion, but could have easily bound her hands and forced her to lie on her back.” While he spoke, he cracked the wax off of the harness and began undoing them down one flank, his daughter attending to the other side.

“On her back?” John asked naively.

“Yes. If allowed to turn on her front, she might press her pubis into the mattress and gain relief in that manner.” The doctor explained, undoing the last of the straps and waiting for Jasmine to catch up.

“Wouldn’t she?” he asked his daughter.

Jasmine blushed and nodded. It had been her one source of relief, until her father had found out. On the one hand, he had beaten her quite severely for maintaining her illicit pleasures. On the other hand, it had led him to the creation of the Relief Post; a wooden post that was a short length of three-inch broad dowel that stood at an angle from a stout base and was wrapped in part of a rug.

Kneeling astride it, she could slide her crotch along it, pleasuring herself quickly, irrespective to how many people her father brought to watch her.

Her fingers finished undoing the last of the protective undergarments and drew them away. She took the girl’s knees and propelled them away from each other, ignoring the child’s wails while her father framed her little cunt with his hands.

“It’s been four hours and you can readily see how her flesh has returned to normal,” Samuel said, instructing the closely observing father. He lifted one leg, angling it up so the girl’s bottom could be viewed too.

“Amazing,” John murmured. “However,” Doctor croft said, as his fingers pulled Marsha’s cherubic little bottom apart to tap upon her gleaming little anal rosette. “Notice how much more responsive her anus is,” he said, drawing the father’s attention to how the little amber ring reacted to his touch.

Marsha wailed and hid her face in her hands, sobbing fitfully as her father and the doctor continued to look on her nakedness.

“It is also more elastic, and will become more and more so the more it is manipulated,” Samuel told him.

John swallowed, watching the doctor’s finger slip inwards. His cock jerked with the thought of violating Marsha’s rear, of having her turning obediently over and then lifting her bottom for him, then waiting obediently for him to use her.

“Will it take very long?” he asked.

He desperately wanted to take her before she grew into womanhood.

“If we continue with a regular regime of cleanliness, she should be ready within a matter of months,” Doctor Croft confided.

Jasmine blushed brightly on the other end of the bed, recalling her own training, the cold and unforgiving nozzles that often left her weeping, and then the slide of his manhood, hot and springy, burning in her bottom, pulsing and throbbing with her father’s excitement.

She could not have believed the difference it had brought on her, one her father had quickly determined when his hand had cupped her crotch and found her wet with desire.

“Now, let us give Marsha what she needs,” Samuel told his audience, pushing her leg down again and moving his attention to the proud bulb of her pubis and vulva. “A feather please Jasmine.”

Jasmine had one ready for him; brought with the other tools he’d asked her to set aside for him.

“Now, you take her arms and let John take her legs,” he instructed, examining the long length of gull feather he’d been given. It had a good edge to it, nice and long, while the tip was slender but firm, just right for an adolescent like Marsha.

The others were ready, Jasmine comforting the sobbing child while also keeping her hands from interfering while Marsha’s father leant over the foot of the bed, the weight of his upper body holding his daughter’s knees down and apart, his head hovering over her young crotch so as to closely observe what the doctor was about to do.

Freed from all other matters, Doctor Croft could concentrate on the weeping girl’s young vulva. Quite an expert, he sent the firm edge of the gull feather sliding over her firm vulva, watching her loins jerk with the sudden sensation it caused. Smiling, he repeated the move, and then used the very tip to caress her inner thighs where they bordered the rise of her cunt.

“See?” he murmured to the father.

Marsha still wept, and yet her vulva had begun to swell and, in doing so, to move apart. Her pale skin had grown flushed, most notably at the apex of her labia and, in parting; the long sheaf of her clitoris had crept out.

The doctor used the tip of the feather at the root of the hood, where it appeared from within her smooth edged slit, and a sobbing gasp escaped her lips while her hips rose wantonly.

“Left to her own devises, she would rapidly bring on her crisis, then probably repeat the process two or three times during the night, and leave herself tired during the following day,” Samuel explained.

“We however,” he said, using the feather once more to bring another jerk of her hips and a fresh gasp from her lips, “will stimulate her more affectively, prolonging the period of arousal to intensify the end result. She will then sleep even more soundly,” he explained.

John watched the tip of the feather being artfully applied to the length of his young daughter’s cunt, his breath labouring as Marsha sobbed with wantonness and lifted her crotch for more.

She struggled, but John doubted it was to escape them any longer.

Her little cunt had opened like a flower and her fragrance immerged to draw the male bee. The succulent little opening at the base of her vulva gleamed with nectar, a pleasant tasting juice as much as a lubricant to his wanton cock.

Samuel slid the feather through Marsha’s spread sex and wriggled the tip at the very entrance to her body, forcing the girl to whimper with her sexual need and lift her crotch towards her father’s face.

She was fully aroused now, her vulva brilliantly infused with blood, labia agape, her clitoris straining for attention.

Jasmine looked down into the panting girl’s face and smiled at her wide and unfocused eyes.” Feel it?” she asked teasingly. She had been through such torture herself and knew the agony that the girl was experiencing.

She even felt her own body respond, warming, tingling, swelling and growing tender. She gripped the child’s wrists more tightly, holding the gasping girl as her young loins bucked with the fresh touch of the feather.

Doctor Croft stopped teasing Marsha and put the feather to one side, then reached to his daughter’s lap where her large pocket contained the other tools he’d asked her to bring. He felt her thighs through the material and glanced at her burning face as he felt them work against each other, seeking her own pleasure.

“You will prepare yourself for me as soon as we’re finished here,” he told her sharply, then rummaged for the tool he wanted, finding it in the depths of her pocket.

John saw the doctor’s hand reappear, holding a short length of rope whose braid had unfurled leaving the individual strands standing out like a brush from one end.

“What’s that for?” he asked, his imagination running riot.

Samuel smiled and then flicked the unfurled strands of rope across Marsha’s pubis, the harsh strands making her gasp and squirm into the unforgiving mattress.

Back and forth he flicked the end of the rope, constantly irritating the soft skin of her proud cunt, and quickly tenderising the poor flesh until it gleamed, a ruddy red.

Marsha had begun to cry again, weeping fitfully as she tried freeing her wrists while at the same time moving her hips as much as her father’s imprisoning hands would allow.

Her squirming continued for a moment after the doctor had stopped flicking her pubis with the rope, and when she stopped, his wrist began flicking the tip against her again, this time against her vulva, against her inner thighs and her still gleaming young cunt.

Marsha began to squeal as the harsh rope stung her soft inner thighs and scored the tender flesh of her vulva. She bucked as she tried escaping the relentless, tossing and thrashing, trying unsuccessfully to evade the rope.

It was a view her father delighted in. Eyes wide and breathing deeply, his heart hammered as he watched her toss and squirm, his full weight used to hold her little cunt exposed.

Stopping once more, Samuel Croft reached once more into Jasmine’s pocket, this time extracting a child’s teething peg. With a handle of filigreed silver, the teething rod was a finger length of bright pink coral, as thick as his little finger and shaped with a gentle and snakelike curve along its length.

Held down as she was, Marsha couldn’t see what was next to be used upon her, and she was too busy recovering from the scouring of the frayed rope. Now it had stopped, her skin burnt and itched, taking her breath and refusing to let her lie still. Despite her father’s hands on her knees, she still squirmed, tossing her pelvis back and forth, up and down, in an effort to rid herself of the sensations swarming over her.

Samuel pressed a hand on her belly, forcing her pelvis down onto the mattress, and then applied the tip of the teething peg to her little inflamed cunt.

Her reaction was immediate, a loud gasp escaping her while her eyes opened wide and stared sightlessly towards the ceiling. Doctor Croft wriggled the tip into her moist little vaginal mouth, and then began gently sliding it back and forth, slipping it deeper each time.

Marsha couldn’t control herself. Even with the hand holding her down, she managed to swivel her pelvis upwards, whimpering in her need to have the coral slip deeper into her.

Looking down on her, her father licked his lips as he watched the baby’s tool slip into his daughter, her clitoris hood standing over it, swollen and fit to burst. He watched the gleaming coral slide into view, then sink into her again, lifting her pelvis and causing her to gasp and shake.

“Is she ready?” he asked the doctor. “Almost. I must make a note that a larger device can be used on her vagina,” Doctor Croft murmured, turning the coral finger within her and nodding as it caused the girl to cry out and jerk upwards.

“I’ve never seen her like this. She’s like a little tart!” John gasped, once again thinking of all the things he could do to his pretty daughter, now he knew her true temperament.

“Oh, quite,” Samuel nodded.

He pulled the teething peg from Marsha’s dripping cunt and smiled at her astonished gasp and the beseeching look she cast him down her restrained body. “Don’t worry,” he told her.

A finger replaced the coral wand, turning to coat itself in her liquid oil. It travelled downward, easing between her bottom cheeks before coming up against her clean and dry anal ring. Marsha’s eyes widened and her breath quickened. Her body shook, on the edge of an unknown cliff.

Samuel unfurled a second finger and pressed it to her vagina. Both fingers straightened, he then plunged them inwards, wriggling them as he pushed, feeling them through the slender wall that separated them while the girl erupted into her final release.

It was like nothing Marsha had ever experienced before, dwarfing the pleasure she had given to herself, like a fire would dwarf a candle flame. It rent her apart; it ignited her, right down to her toes, right up to her hair.

She was lost to intense pleasure, jerking like a puppet, extended and extended by his fingers working inside her.

She screamed, flaying with its intensity, collapsing when the fingers slid away from her, when the fiery explosion rescinded to a glow and all the tightness of her body left her.

“Loosely restrain her wrists, so she can’t reach below her navel and to stop her turning onto her front, then leave her to sleep. We will then return in the morning when her father can give it a try,” Samuel grinned.

John swallowed and looked down at Marsha, already falling asleep, her thighs were still parted enough to admire her wet and gleaming cunt.

“I will not be able to sleep now,” he complained good-naturedly.

“Oh, I’m sure we have one or two children from the local poorhouse that’d gladly lay with you for a penny,” he told him. “Show him to there quarters Jasmine, and then return to our quarters for another of your special lessons,” he told his daughter.

******

Jasmine led Mr Allsop down the flight of stairs and into the basement of Birbeck House. Her hands working together as she thought of the forthcoming meeting with her father and her breath was kept short by her imaginings of what he might want of her.

Sometimes, the tasks he set her were secretly pleasurable, and at other times painful. She’d not been whipped badly for some years, but her father was in a strange mood, now that he’d gained the position of Director at Birbeck House.

Jasmine used her key to enter the first of the two rooms that housed the children from the poorhouse whom the trustees had made available to Doctor Croft for his experiments.

The girls slept and played here, a half dozen of them aged between seven and fourteen. The boys slept separately for obvious reasons, but already Jasmine detected signs of tribadism creeping in. There, on one bed, sat an older girl having her hair combed by a younger one. On another, a young girl sat on the knee of an older girl, a picture book open in front of them, but not quite enough to hide the hand that was rested under the younger girl’s nightdress.

All activity stopped as John entered. He smiled at the little girls and licked his lips as he saw the older children’s figures through their thin nightdresses. “I can show you the boys if you’d prefer,” Jasmine offered, her cheeks burning as she imagined the man putting his cock into one of their little rounded bottoms, easing it between up his anus. She would love to see the boy’s cock rising as he was taken.

“No, one of these girls will do nicely,” the father replied, smiling at the pretty children.

“They’re all clean,” Jasmine told him, wordlessly meaning their privates, as well as their bottoms.

“Any of them innocent?” he asked.

“No,” Jasmine admitted. Girls often lose their innocence within the first few days of arriving at the poorhouse, the boys sometimes a day longer, but not often. Only the very fat or ugly children kept their innocence for any length of time, and any fatness tended to disappear quickly in the poorhouse due to their poor diet.

“I’m amazed. Some of them seem so young,” John marvelled. “Surely her,” he said, pointing to what seemed the youngest, a small girl with cropped hair and large dark eyes, her slender thighs peeking out from under her nightdress.

“Abby, come here!” Jasmine called.

The little girl came forward, glancing towards the strange man with open curiosity. Jasmine knelt down and began gathering the girl’s nightdress. “Have you been with a man Abby?” she asked the girl.

The child nodded and held her arms out so Jasmine could more readily lift her nightdress up past her thighs.

“How many?” Jasmine asked her, uncovering the girl’s slender lipped little cunt, smoothly fleshed and devoid of any hair. Abby shrugged, unable to count.

“A few I suppose,” she answered.

Jasmine lifted the nightdress higher, the front up under the girl’s chin so John could admire how small and cute the young girl was.

“Did they stick their naughty cocks into you?” Jasmine asked. Abby nodded as she let herself be turned to present John with a clearer view of her lovely little bottom.

Jasmine patted the lean cheeks and smiled at John. “She probably prefers it up her bottom. It would hurt her less, specially if the man is big,” she confided.

She had learnt all about that at the children’s hospital; how a man’s cock could easily rupture a young girl’s vagina, damaging her half-formed cervix. Anal sex might tear the sphincter, but was still the lesser of the two evils.

There was a soundproofed room adjacent to the dormitories for just such visits, a room with a broad and comfortable bed, mirrors on the walls and ointments on the bedside table. There were little devices that could be used to stimulate in the top draw of the bedside table, and under the bed was a large box with restraints and a good selection of punishment instruments.

Jasmine explained all this to John while the girl chewed her lower lip and waited patiently for the man to begin using her. Jasmine then left, her own appointment weighing heavily on her mind.

John closed the door and smiled excitedly down at the little girl, his heart pounding.

“Such a little girl!” he marvelled, kneeling and reaching out for her. She let herself be drawn in front of him, then felt his hands slide over her cotton covered skin, sliding over her tummy and chest and back at first, but then lower, his breath catching as he began to trace her compact little bottom and cunt through her nightdress.

“Shall I take it off?” she asked him.

He seemed all right, not too rough or anything. He looked clean too, and his hands were soft, not at all like many of the men who’d come to the poorhouse for a quick fuck.

John’s breath caught, then he nodded and watched, his excitement throbbing hotly in his trousers as he saw the little girl slip out of her only clothing to then stand in front of him, totally naked.

It confirmed she was still a child, a five foot nothing little girl with a rounded belly and a flat chest, a puffy pubis that split into two thin lips, squashed together between thin young legs.

“Are you going to take your clothes off too?” she asked eagerly.

John nodded and straightened, his eyes never leaving her as he began removing his clothes. Thoughts he’d been having all day about Marsha now disappeared as Abby stared with interest at his wiry frame, his pale skin and dark hair.

When he straightened, revealing his large dark cock standing out of him, hairy balls suspended below it, Abby grinned and stepped forward.

With open curiosity and no nervousness, the young girl reached out for it, stroking it and smiling as it jumped, then holding it more firmly so she could feel the rush of blood through it, now pumping powerfully and swelling the tip to a bulbous and glowing bulb.

With an elfin grin that she reserved for her richest clients, she looked up at the man and licked the bulbous head, savouring the clean taste before returning for more.

“Mm, it tastes nice,” she told him after taking her slurping mouth off of it. She squeezed it again and wiped the pre-come from the tip with her tongue, giggling as she swallowed. John was breathless and pushed the little girl back towards the bed, thoughts of pushing his cock into her little body filling his head.

He didn’t want her bottom either, well, he did, but he’d have her cunt first, pushing his cock into her, stretching her apart before then seeking her bottom for the warm slide that would complete his passion. She fell back, and John was on his knees before her, pulling her slender thighs apart and gazing avidly at her pink little slit.

“Oh god,” he groaned, beside himself with passion.

His hands shook as he framed the little cunt, his thumbs peeling her sticky folds apart, baring the bright pink interior where the little spindle of her clitoris peeked from its hood, just as her eyes gazed down at him, avidly wondering what he was going to do.

For the very first time, John felt the warmth of young girls aroused flesh and traced the smooth curve back to the hollow, where the mouth to her little cunt gleamed.

“Mister?” Abby whimpered, knowing they liked to hear her whimper.

“Shut up! Hold your thighs. Come on, under your knees,” John panted, still stroking her as her loins swivelled up, her young knees rising to her chest. With a groan John eagerly gazed at her dark anus, the scared rosette seemingly winking at him.

How many had taken her there he wondered. How old had she been, the first time she’d been turned over and her clothes lifted. His fingers slid down her little girlish slit and fondled the moist entrance to her cunny, gazing at the pink entrance hungrily.

Then his moistened finger slid onwards, going between little parted bottom to press up against her anus.

“Clean?” he asked breathlessly. She nodded, her eyes wide and her face glowing.

The finger slid inwards, moving smoothly passed her anal ring, making her eyes widen as it continued upwards, up and up her rear channel until his knuckles pressed up against unforgiving bottom cheeks.

“Been well used, haven’t you?” he asked, swivelling his finger, even bending it inside her.

She whimpered again, but not very convincingly, her eyes searching his face anxiously. She’d met madmen before, men who didn’t care how much they hurt her, as long as they got their pleasure.

“Please Mister. Don’t hurt me,” she whined.

John rose and pressed his bulbous cock head to the small and bright pink opening to her cunt, pushing and grunting, his hand stopping his cock from bending as it pushed up against her tiny vagina.

“Yes!” he cried, a further push getting him within her.

She gasped and stared up at him, willing him to go easy on her while all he could do was kneel there and pant, the head of his aching cock encased inside her burning and tight little cunt. “Please,” she whimpered, knowing what was coming as his hands took over from hers, bending her thighs even further back, and presenting her delicious cunt even further to his attack.

His loins pushed forward and his cock dragged her flesh inwards, pushing up into her little body while she squealed and fought to escape. The pressure eased as John leaned back, panting hotly from the view as much as from his efforts to enter her.

The sight of his cock gripped by her little cunt gave him the strength to fight on and, filling his lungs, he pushed once again, crying out over her own wail as he felt himself lodge deeper inside her.

“It hurts!” she whimpered, bright tears trailing down her cheeks.

Inflamed, John thrust again, crying out as he felt his cock embed itself fully in her hot little body, feeling her cunt cling to every inch of his throbbing manhood, quivering and rippling in an effort to accommodate him. The view downwards could not be described; the sight of his dark, heavily veined cock all but buried in her little pink cunt, her baby like slit gaping around his massive joint of meat.

Breathless with passion, John began to pull and push against the tight clasp of her undeveloped love-sheaf, an inch of movement back and forth that tugged at her flesh and excited his own.

Abby’s little whimpering, brought on each time he thrust or pulled to far, made him groan with delight. He turned his head to one side and looked at his reflection in the mirror, a pale and stout man half covering the small little form of a girl child, his cock moving in and out of her cunt while she wept and whimpered, begging him to be careful with her.

He would have continued, but the thought of impaling her anus was too exciting to ignore. He stopped his thrust and eased slowly from her tight cunt, pulling from its grip while Abby cried with relief and reached down to hold herself.

Panting with excitement, John eased his cock downwards, licking his lips as he felt the sticky wetness that now coated it. He pressed it to her anus, then eased into her, pushing and grunting, gasping as the tight ring closed over him and rippled.

“There!” he announced, for the very first time in a girl’s bottom, its owner grunting as she made to accommodate him. With a groan of delight he thrust deeper, his eyes staring down at the child as she winced and licked her lips.

“Yes, you like it in your bottom, don’t you?” he grinned, his hips beginning to work his cock back and forth deep within her tight little anus.

Abby’s tears still gleaming across her face, she nodded, staring up at him as he worked his cock with ever-longer strokes. The tingles were beginning to sweep into her now, the dull ache of her vagina forgotten as the pleasure began to grow and grow.

John turned to look at his reflection in the mirror again, and she did too, groaning as she watched herself rock with the lengthening strokes of his cock. She whimpered, feeling it slide deep into her colon, and sobbed as it seemed to quicken and harden his thrusts.

His loins thrust against her bottom, smacking it in his efforts to get deeper. Her anus farted as his speed forced the air out of her hole around the edge of his piston.

“Yes!” John cried, burying himself inside her and staring down at her as he spurted, gazing avidly at her little body beneath his own as her bottom gripped his cock, milking him of his life giving seed.

******

Jasmine hurried to her parent’s quarters, her heart hammering.

“Please God, don’t let him be too angry with me,” she recited, her quick steps taking her nearer and nearer to him.

Nervousness and fright battled with excitement as she neared the plain door. She stopped and swallowed, trying with a deep breath to collect herself, and yet her feelings continued to rage through her, thoughts of the whip being used on her being tempered by the even more incredible sensation of having a warmed brass clyster steadily drawn back and forth in her bottom.

She stopped outside the door and took another deep breath; her face glowing as she quietly knocked, then entered the room. Her mother looked up and smiled from where she sat doing some embroidery.

“Hello darling. Your father tells me you’ve been a naughty girl,” she said with an understanding smile.

“Yes mother,” Jasmine murmured, her face downcast as she turned to her father, standing before the large fireplace slowly smoking his pipe.

“And prey, tell your mother what you were doing,” he told her.

Jasmine turned to her mother. “I was exciting myself by rubbing my thighs together under my skirts,” she admitted.

“Oh dear,” her mother sighed. “And there we were thinking that we had you well trained against such selfish acts!”

“I’m sorry Mummy,” Jasmine murmured. She saw her father turn his pipe over to empty it and knew the moment of her punishment was drawing near.

“It won’t happen again, I promise,” she hastily added.

“Oh, but I’m sure it will,” her mother told her, and Jasmine felt her face go a burning red under her mother’s knowing look.

“Come on. Let’s see what harm you’ve done yourself,” her father told her. She began lifting her skirts and stopped when her mother shook her head. “I think this deserves a full examination,” she told her daughter.

“Yes mother,” Jasmine sighed.

Jasmine began undoing the hooks and eyes at the back of her bodice, trying not to look at her parents as the two of them, seated quite close together, watched her take off her nurses uniform, then wriggle and slide from her underwear until she was nude before them both, her hands clenched tightly together behind her.

“Come closer,” her mother told her as she put aside her embroidery.

Jasmine stepped up to her parents, her breath shortening as she felt their attention on her nakedness. She was not a tall girl, only as tall as her mother, who was not very tall at all, but she was slender and fit, her breasts standing high on her chest while a pretty little crop of curls adorned her slender lipped cunt.

Her parents admired the firm breasts, nodding to themselves as their eyes alone awoke the pink little nipples, extending the soft flesh to firm points. Then their eyes slid down her flat stomach to admire her pubis and the small thatch of curls that adorned the smoothly fleshed mound and the slender but well-defined labia.

“Your thighs further apart,” her father remarked. Jasmine felt her face burn as she shuffled her feet apart. She could feel herself opening and, in doing so, flooding with hot wetness. Her clitoris grew, swelling upwards for all to note its prominence, and hung between her thighs, heavy with lust.

“What an aggressive clitoris she has now!” he mother chuckled.

“Yes, the new suction technique is a definite improvement over the old circumcision of the hood method,” Samuel agreed.

He eyed it and nodded. “Go and sit on the edge of the table,” he told her. Jasmine did as she was told, her heart in her mouth. There was so much he could do to her, and had done before, while seated like that. Almost automatically now, she parted her thighs once she’d jumped up onto the stout table and squirmed to the edge, until her cunt overhung the edge.

“Wide apart now,” Samuel warned her, carrying the stems of a dozen dried flowers that, until recently, had been the centre point of a floral display.

“Father, please. I’ll be good, I promise,” Jasmine whimpered, as she struggled to obey her father, spreading her thighs until her cunt gaped, until she was totally open and defenceless against the sharp stems he was going to use to whip her with.

“Of course you are. Sit on your hands girl,” he ordered.

“Please father. Anything else but this,” she begged. She lifted her thighs to push her hands under herself, imprisoning them under her body weight so she would not be tempted to protect herself.

Samuel pulled a stool forward and sat upon it; his eyes now level with her exposed cunt. “Look at you, gleaming like tart!” he told her.

“Thighs!” he barked.

Jasmine opened them wide, her vulva gaping, her wantonness seeping down into the tight cleft of her bottom. Her father readied the bunch of flower storks he held, but she closed her eyes and bit her lip, not wanting to watch. They struck, a bunch of a dozen sharp stems forced down along her womanhood.

Jasmine tensed, her head flung back as the burning sensation lanced through her crotch, igniting it with a flame far hotter than any pleasure. She shook, her thighs quivering as she fought against the urge to slam them closed and rub them fiercely together. Down between her open thighs her father was watching her, analysing her quivering, groans and the vivid marks of the strikes from the rough edges of the dried stems.

“I will teach you not to masturbate so selfishly!” he told her, his fingers pulling at her labia the better to examine the score marks.

“Yes father,” Jasmine sniffed.

With a quickness that defied her ability to prepare herself, Samuel raised his arm and brought it down again in a swift strike, bringing the broken ends of the flower storks against his daughter’s cunt, the stems scratching deep and long across her vulva, across her clitoris hood and across her inner flesh too.

Having long learnt not to howl in front of her parents, Jasmine shook with the effort of keeping her scream to allowable limits. Her tears cascaded from her chin as the pain of her scoring sunk in, deepening and spreading with each thud of her pulse.

Sitting to one side watching the proceedings, Lily kept her legs a little apart under her full skirt, lest her husband should think she was also pleasuring herself. The urge was in her though, as it had increasingly become on watching their daughter being punished.

The dried flower stems struck once again upon Jasmine’s unprotected sex invoking another scream from the child, and Lily felt the sound suffuse her with heat and longing.

She’d been concerned and a little fretful when her husband had begun his re-education of their young daughter. The physical nature of the punishment had shock her at first.

She had learnt very quickly that she was not above receiving the same educational techniques as their daughter, although at least that was administered in private.

She had also learnt of the relief that was granted by such methods and now, watching her daughter quiver with the further striking of her plump young cunt, she too quivered, and hoped Samuel would have some energy to remove her own physical desires from her.

Samuel, sitting comfortably on the stool and facing his daughter’s pretty cunt, reached out to touch the scored labia, stroking and petting, comforting his weeping daughter.

“You should not have been so selfish,” he told her yet again, once more lifting the bunch of dried stems.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jasmine wept.

The stems struck her again, scraping her flesh from the apex of her cunt all the way down to the base of her bottom, harshly scouring her tender flesh, tenderising it to the point where a touch alone would make her wince in pain.

“Yes, you will be!” he told her, pulling a one thigh further to one side in order to strike at the outer edge of his daughter’s labia where a small area of skin remained unblemished and unmarked.

His aim was true and the wicked little stems scraped her flesh, quickly bringing the blood to the surface. He pulled at his crying daughter’s other thigh, satisfying himself that she was adequately scored, then pulled labia from labia to inspect her internally.

Jasmine looked heavenward, tears continuing to run down her face as the fiery agony of her scraped sex flowed up her body. Her father’s gentle touches, pulling and spreading her vulva, caused her to wince and jerk as the light touch caused her fresh agony. Surely she had suffered enough, she thought.

Doctor Croft, looking at the gleaming interior of his daughter’s sex thought otherwise and lifted the remains of the flower stems. With careful precision he struck at the gleaming floor of her vulva, the screech and mad kicking of her thighs telling him his aim had been true.

“There!” He told her proudly as he straightened.

“That should be sore enough to stop you touching yourself for a day or two,” he told her. “And then we’ll repeat this exercise and extend the period for a couple days more,” he smiled.

“Oh please father. No more,” Jasmine begged, unable to stop her crying as her cunt continued to burn.

“You’ve been extremely wicked!” he explained.

“A week of enforced and complete chastity will do you good!” he told her.

“Now, open those thighs again so I can verify that the flesh has been tenderised enough,” he ordered.

While Jasmine wept and spread her slender long legs again, her father undid the buttons of his breaches and extracted his aching cock. He stepped forward with his cock painfully erect and, taking her thighs under her knees, lifted them to either side of himself before sliding his cock smoothly into his daughter’s sore cunt.

“Daddy!” Jasmine screamed, his inward stroke sliding across flesh made sore by the whipping.

“Hurt, does it?” Samuel asked, pushing to her depths and feeling her cervix nip on his cock head.

She gasped as she felt it lurch within her and nodded breathlessly, pain mingling with pleasure to arrive at a whole new sensation, one she found she wished to explore. Yet pain returned in new heights as her father drew away, pulling on flesh tenderised by his whipping.

“Good. You may go to bed now.” He told her.

Still softly weeping, Jasmine gathered her clothes and stepped from the room, stopping just outside to lean on the door and listen.

“You were very hard on her dear,” Lily murmured, her cheeks beginning to burn as her husband turned to her, his handsome cock still out of his trousers, the long stem gleaming with their daughter’s wetness.

“Did I ask for your advice?” he asked sharply. Lily blushed and hurriedly got down onto her knees, accepting her husband’s cock in her mouth without complain, a sudden explosion of pleasure sweeping through her as she tasted and then swallowed her daughter’s juice.

“My ideas have finally found acceptance!” he gasped.

He drew half out to let Lily use her tongue under his glands, and then had the pleasure of pulling her head against him and feeling her work her mouth and gullet to accommodate him.

He held her to him for several moments, knowing she couldn’t breathe and growing harder as she flayed her arms for attention, then let her draw back to suck in great breaths of air.

“From now on, more and more people will listen to me,” he announced.

He pushed her away and took off his waistcoat, a signal for her to rise and lift her skirts, then stand displaying herself in her draws, open legged draws of cotton and lace.

“Over the table I think,” Samuel announced.

“Yes Dear,” Lily breathed, hurrying past her husband to lay herself along the tabletop, her legs parted to expose the rounded lips of her sex, inner lips parted ready for him to enter her.

“Those others will finally have to listen!” Doctor croft proclaimed as, cock in hand; he pushed up against his wife and felt her yield.

Not as hot, nor as tight as his daughter, Lily still proved to be a pleasant haven for his cock, letting it slide fully into her before then trying to grip him in her wetness.

He pumped himself against her, lost for a while in his thoughts of his forthcoming successes, oblivious to the squeals his wife delivered as the constant friction of his cock brought on her crisis.

“They will come, begging I show them my brilliance!” he panted, shoving back and forth in her burning cunt, hardening his thrusts until she gasped with each one.

“Yes, they will gather around me and listen,” he told her, gripping her hips and forcing her back onto him as he thrust, ignoring her squealing orgasm. Reaching her cervix was harder than reaching Jasmine’s, but it could be done he had found.

Now he ploughed into his wife’s bent form, slapping into her bottom to feel that little nip on the tip of his cock, the sharp pain being all that was needed to bring on his own crisis, flooding her with his release.

Outside in the darkened hallway, Jasmine pushed the side of her wrist into her mouth, silencing her cry of delight as a fingertip stroked her swollen and extremely tender clitoris hood, bringing an intense and delightful pleasure to her burning cunt.

---