Marital Training at St. Helga's

Literotic asexstories – Marital Training at St. Helga's by dothemath,dothemath
There were many challenges in the lives of the young women who chose–or in most cases, were required–to attend St. Helga’s Academy for Girls. The long classroom hours, the excessive chores, and the strict grading system–upheld through corporal punishment–were all features of regular complaint. But, of all the privations suffered by the Academy’s students, the one loathed most fervently was the marital training program.

It was a very straightforward program, intended to prepare the students for their future marriage beds, while also preventing any unseemly incidents of student pregnancy. As only youths eighteen years or older were admitted to the Academy, and as enrollment was technically voluntary, it was entirely legal, though many students initially tried to argue otherwise.

The program began as soon as a student was enrolled. On her first day, she was checked over by a nurse, who ensured that she was healthy–and not, God forbid, already pregnant or carrying any venereal diseases–and then she was fitted with a chastity belt. It was the position of the founders of the Academy that masturbation was not only unseemly, but constituted a sin of unfaithfulness against one’s marriage partner, nearly as severe as cheating.

This, of course, was difficult enough for most students, with the hormones of youth ravaging their bodies. The belts came off on a weekly basis for washing, under the watchful eye of the staff; inevitably, at least one new student would be so desperate for a come after the first week or two that she would make a sneaky attempt to rub one out anyway, hands drifting between her legs whenever the supervising staff’s attention was on another student in the showers, furtively jacking her stiff little clit or rolling over her swollen labia.

Inevitably, too, the student would be caught and made an example of. For the following month, the cleansing of her belt and nethers would be entirely in the hands of the staff. Specific staff members were trained for the job, and they truly endeavored to make it a punishment; rather than the quick soap and rinse that most wise students preferred, the girl would be obligated to spread her legs and reveal her twitching sex to be gently caressed with water for minutes on end, leaving the poor young woman panting and humping helplessly into the spray in front of her fellow students as she was brought to the edge, and then crying bitter tears when she was denied and locked back into her belt.

The enforced denial was also often compounded by the corporal punishment. Many of the teachers would discipline an incorrect answer or wandering attention by bending the student over her own desk, lifting her skirt, and giving her several stinging slaps across the butt with a ruler or even with their own hand, leaving her smarting and squirming.

Even students who initially displayed no tendencies towards masochism, who perhaps sneered at their fellow girls who dripped through their belts when being spanked, would find by their second or third semester that their body was beginning to associate and confuse the throbbing pain in their ass with the throbbing ache in their locked-up sex, leaving their bodies hot and desperate for the rest of the day after a solid spanking.

The girls spread a legend about a student who had one time gotten such a severe spanking and had loved the pain of it so much that she’d been brought to a screaming climax right there in front of the whole class. They whispered the tale like a ghost story and called the supposed student “poor Sally Spanks”, but many of them shifted their thighs restlessly while talking about it, their eyes dark with longing.

Sally Spanks was not the only myth that the girls had, either. There was Nancy Nips, a girl who had supposedly disappeared for a week and then been found hidden away in the school’s attic, making herself come over and over again by playing with her nipples; Betsy Brownnose, who was said to have such a love and talent for rimming other girls that she could make anyone come that way; and Crazy Cathy, who, they whispered, was a perfect student up until she went mad from the pressure, tied up a teacher, and was found humping his crotch and grunting like an animal as if she was trying to fuck him through her belt.

“And now, you know, she’s locked up in an asylum,” the story would often end, “wrapped up in a straitjacket, so she’s never going to be touching herself again.”

The chastity itself was not, however, the most crucial aspect of the marital training program at St. Helga’s, nor the most unique. They were far from the first private school for youths to take a practical approach to preventing dalliances, after all. No, the most remarkable part of the program was the monthly event known as “real practice”.

One Friday of each month was set aside for the affair. The girls gathered in their homerooms and waited while students from the neighboring campus of St. Helga’s Academy for Boys trooped over and were distributed among the rooms.

Girls and boys were matched by their relative academic achievement, so that the highest-performing were often paired together, as well as the lowest-performing. They would then sit for a half hour or so of theoretical sex education, covering everything from basic biology to the historical study of sexual pleasure. And then, one by one, the pairs would come up to the front of the room and engage in a more practical form of education.

The girl’s chastity belt wouldn’t be removed entirely, but would be partially disassembled; a panel, unlocked from the center of the belt, would expose her damp pussy while leaving her sensitive clit shielded and out of reach. The boy, similarly kept denied all month, would have his cock cage unlocked and removed.

The girl either bent over or lay across the teacher’s desk, which had been specially cleared for the purpose, and the teacher would give a short inspection of each student, remarking on the health and color of their genitals, as well as whether the young woman was appropriately wet and welcoming for her practice partner. Then–as the young man’s cock was usually quite hard after the short inspection–the teacher would apply a condom to him, and then instruct the pair to engage in some real practice for their future marriage by having intercourse.

For the young men, of course, this was the highlight of their month. The point of the practice, for them, was to maintain the health of their reproductive systems by allowing them a monthly release, while keeping them accustomed to spilling inside of a woman rather than in their own hand.

For the young women, however, it was often a very different experience. Their own release was nowhere near guaranteed; the lesson to be learned was how to find their pleasure in a few short minutes of fucking, without bothering their partner with concerns like foreplay or clitoral stimulation. And, if that wasn’t possible, they were expected to accept their lack of satisfaction with grace as was befitting of a young lady.

Some common sights on real practice day include:

The high-achieving girl, top of her class, who is always paired with the same high-achieving boy. His rough, prodding thrusts are more painful than pleasurable, but when he slams into her that final time and grunts out his climax, she always hollers out a delicate exclamation of orgasm and fakes the convulsions of pleasure, just for the sake of hearing her teacher praise her for being such a model of femininity. Then, locked back in her belt, her pussy clenches and drips as the burn from the rough fuck settles into her, turning her arousal into a maddening itch that she can’t scratch.

The desperate girl, who–like many of the others–finds herself unable to come at all without stimulation on her clit, and who is reduced to tears from the need to touch herself as her insides are stroked with a hard, hot cock. If she gives in and begs fruitlessly to be allowed to rub her throbbing clitty, she’s punished with a swift spanking once her partner is finished with her.

The smug girl, the one who comes quite easily from vaginal penetration and enjoys the opportunity to show off her back-arching, toe-curling orgasms in front of her less sexually gifted classmates. Usually, for her, real practice day is a celebration; but occasionally, she is unfortunate enough to be paired with a boy who’s more pent up than usual, such that she receives one–two–perfect, cunt-spearing thrusts, and then, before she’s even properly warmed up, he’s groaning and coming into the condom, leaving her cross-eyed and confused, her pussy tingling and fluttering as it continues to anticipate its monthly reward.

The tormented girl, who usually finds herself no closer to coming from being fucked, but this time–this time–she’s so incredibly wet, and the boy thrusting into her has found just the right angle. She can feel it building inside of her, inevitable and massive, and for a few minutes she’s actually grateful to be attending St. Helga’s, to have the opportunity to experience the amazing orgasm that she knows is coming.

And then, right as she declares out loud that she’s about to finish, her partner is so overcome by pleasure at the sound of her voice that he comes–and then pulls out, taking her pleasure with him, leaving her screaming and reaching down in a wild attempt to rub her wet pussy, to shove her fingers inside of herself, anything to get the final bit of stimulation she needs. Her hands are yanked away by the teacher and her ass is reprimanded with the ruler, the harsh pain of it keeping her riding right on the hard edge of that beautiful climax for torturous minutes, until her belt is locked back on and she’s sent back to her seat to slowly feel it slip out of her reach.

Or, if she’s especially unlucky, the boy might remain inside her just long enough to roll her over the edge, catapulting her into bliss for a fraction of a second before he pulls out and ruins her orgasm. She might even squirt a bit, a display that would earn her high compliments from her teacher, even as she sobs and resists the urge to plead that no, she didn’t finish properly, she needs to rub, please, it hurts.

And, finally, the remedial girl, the most pitiful display of all. While St. Helga’s considers it unhealthy to allow a boy to go more than a month without climax, no such consideration is given to the girls, and their opportunity to orgasm might be taken away entirely if they’ve been especially poorly-behaved or have failed to live up to even the lowest academic standards. For this girl, her belt remains fixed firmly in place and she’s instead expected to squeeze her thighs around her partner’s cock as he thrusts into the tight heat of her legs in a parody of intercourse. While her cunt receives no stimulation from this, of course, the closeness to a boy and the sounds of pleasure that he makes into her ear often leaves this girl dripping and aching regardless, vividly imagining how it would have felt for him to have been fucking into her hot, tight pussy instead.

By the end of real practice day, fewer than a quarter of the girls have found true release; and yet most of them go to bed that night dreaming already of the next month’s practice, moaning into their pillows as their bodies ache and throb, their untouched clits twitching feverishly as they imagine that next time, next time, maybe it will happen.