CHAPTER10
Philip
Sara’s reaction to the news that she would receive a governor to control her cunny’s pleasure showed me with wonderful clarity just how submissive—and how repressed—her sexuality was. The sheer obviousness of her knowledge concerning Prosperian customs—a fact that had somehow escaped our datascape, which had only covered information related to Magisteria itself—not to mention the lovely rosy hue it had brought to the girl’s cheeks, made my dominant blood sing in my veins.
Oh, sweet Sara, I’m going to have a good deal of fun teaching you what you really need.
She shook her head, but she did it so weakly, her eyes pleading desperately with me to be spared not only the paddling she had coming but also the gathering realization brought by every new indication of her sexuality’s true nature.
I tore my eyes away from her lovely, fearful face and looked across her sweetly bent body to Lieutenant Withers.
“May I, Lieutenant?” I asked, reaching out my left hand to take command of Sara’s legs, enjoying the frisson that traveled from my fingers to my quickly stiffening cock as I took hold of the silky backs of the girl’s thighs.
Withers grinned back at me and let go, surrendering my new ward—my newconcubine—to me. He took a step back from the exam chair and put his hands behind his back, at parade rest: the posture known to every Magisterian soldier as the only truly appropriate one in which to witness punishment.
At my touch, Sara tried again to get away, attempting to turn from me on the chair and to slip off it. She gave a little cry of fear, and I could feel, as if her thoughts were traveling across her very skin, her fear of the paddle, mingled with her helpless fascination by it—and by me.
“No,” I said sternly, using my hold on the backs of her knees to immobilize her in the chair and at the same time bringing the paddle down sharply on her beautiful backside.
Sara cried out piteously, her body shuddering as the sting of her first acquaintance with this severe new implement made its way through her nervous system. The crack of the paddle, delivered with my practiced snap of the wrist, echoed in the cavernous space of this sumptuous state bedroom.
Again she struggled, and again I kept her still, my attention focused on the indescribably enticing sight of her pink labia, still thatched in gold but wonderfully exposed nonetheless, like an open flower. Below it the tiny bud of her certainly virginal anus waited, not yet tried but ripe for enjoyment.
I brought the paddle down again.
“I know you don’t want the cane, girl,” I said sharply, cracking the flat wood blade across both her bottom-cheeks a third time.
“Sir,” she sobbed, tugging gently at my heartstrings with the instinctive use of the honorific that conveyed her submission to me so very well. “Please. Sir… it hurts.”
I continued the verbal part of the lesson, which I didn’t intend to be a long one—faults of speech represented to me only a minor matter, though they might serve as an important symptom of a broader challenge. That problem of attitude, though—which of course Sara had, and would have for some time yet, simply due to the degrading position in which her president had placed her—needed a more thorough treatment, an intervention based as much in pleasure as in pain.
I would take my time, as the matter required, performing that intervention, and I would savor it to the fullest extent possible. I would explore every avenue of pleasure the girl might afford me, and I would do my best to ignore my growing affection for her as I did my duty in training her for the bed of whatever Magisterian noble would purchase her, when the time came.
“You… will… learn… to… control… your… tongue…” I said, bringing the paddle down hard on Sara’s sweet bottom with each word.
* * *
Sara
I screamed and I struggled, but the resistance I posed to Major Harrow’s controlling hand had grown feeble. My ebbing strength, to my shame, had as much to do with a humiliating acquiescence and yielding in my treasonous body as with my failing muscle power.
I had closed my eyes when I felt my limbs relax, as if I were giving myself over to the major’s will. I felt his hand on the backs of my knees loosen its grip, then move a little, up and down, as if he meant to praise me for accepting his discipline. The horrid paddle came to rest gently on my burning bottom-cheeks, and Major Harrow moved that, too, in a gentle circle.
The awful message seemed much too clear:I could paddle you more. I can punish you as much as I think you need and deserve, but when you show yourself compliant, you will find me merciful.
I heaved a great sob as I heard, inside my mind, how my heart and my flesh cried out in response. Words came in a whimper, hardly intended and flooding out in a final plea.
“Please, sir… no more… it hurts so much.”
“Are you going to control that filthy tongue, Sara?” he asked in a slow, stern voice. He rubbed another circle on my blazing hot bottom with the blade of the paddle.
I felt my brow crease in a deep frown. I knew I had to say it, and the worst part lay in the way my heartwantedme to say it. The words came out in a whisper.
“Yes, sir.”
I thought he would let go, then, but instead he spoke to the doctor.
“Doctor Greenway, in a case like this one it’s absolutely necessary to follow protocol. I’m not Sara’s guardian yet, so I’m not permitted to give her what I think she needs right now. Would you be willing to sign the papers at this point?”