“Is that right?” Major Harrow asked. Rather to my surprise, I heard in my guardian’s voice a slight hint of annoyance—even of resentment. He must, I realized with a twist of something in my heart that I refused to call affection, feel the need to let his prince take control as the royal diplomat wished, despite his own claim as my principal trainer. “Sara, do you need to pee?”
I looked up at him and nodded, sure that at least having revealed the embarrassment my guardian would release me and let me go to the beautiful bathroom I knew lay adjacent to the bedroom, but which of course I had never seen except in a documentary about the mansion I had watched as a child.
“Go ahead,” said the major.
It took me more than a second to understand what he meant. Viola seemed to grasp the intention at the same time she did, and I heard her make another little noise, one I felt sure had something of arousal in it, as well as surprise.
I started to shake my head, but with each movement of my chin, the pressure between my thighs seemed to grow more urgent. A sob burst from my chest.
“Please,” Viola whispered, her eyes going to the bared intimate places between my legs as if drawn by an uncontrollable attraction. “Please don’t make her. Not… not here? Sir?”
I felt the governor moderate me, the tingle that meant Viola’s plight and my shameful need had brought on arousal so strong, down there, that it needed the controlling device my guardian had had installed in my pussy. The idea of peeing in the exam chair, in the state bedroom where Viola had spent so many luxurious nights—and so many sleepless ones as well, I felt sure—from which she had ruled my world… it took hold of my body, and the sheer physical urgency of the fluid seeking release overcame me for an instant. To my horror, I felt a little of my pee come out and trickle down.
I cried out, and Viola—who hadn’t taken her eyes from my pussy—gave a little answering cry that sounded almost as much like a moan of submissive pleasure as like a noise of surprise. I managed to stop the flow, but I could feel the humiliating wetness there.
“Do you know how often Viola masturbated in that bed over there?” the prince said, in such a casual tone of voice that at first I couldn’t comprehend his words, so mismatched did the meaning seem with the way he had asked the terrible question.
I shook my head more violently; I didn’t mean that I didn’t know—rather I meant that I didn’t want to know.
Except that, to my horror, Ididwant to know.
“I think the average we came up with from our nano-drone surveillance—”
“No!” Viola cried, her voice almost a shriek. “No, please… don’t… I’ll…”
She had managed to close her eyes instead of looking at the sight of my naked bound body that so clearly affected her much more deeply than she wished. Her face, though, had gone a shade of red that I thought must rival mine despite her darker coloring.
But the prince continued undeterred.
“More than twice a night,” he said, addressing Major Harrow. “On average.”
“I…” Viola sobbed. “The… the job…”
As a young woman who had never played with herself, but who had received permission to do it from her culture in so many ways—while at the same time receiving the mixed messages about masturbation having a shameful element—I would never have thought President Viola Herranofar would… take care of herself that way. Where had she found the time? Clearly during those sleepless nights.
“So stressful,” Viola whispered.
“Oh, no,” I whimpered, because with a shudder over all its limbs my body had given way fully, and I had started to pee. I balled my hands into tight fists and I kept whimpering as the golden liquid rushed out of me, the sound of it streaming down, of it dripping onto the beautiful carpet, renewing at every moment the tingle in my clit.
I had my eyes very tightly closed, but I could picture the flashing of the silver card in Major Harrow’s hand all too well. My muscles, with the release, seemed to have molten warmth flowing through them, and the lingering soreness of my paddled bottom-cheeks seemed to echo it back, all straight to my clit and inside my pussy. The need grew with every tingle from the governor, but the pleasure remained muted, so that my whimper became a drawn-out moan. As the sound died in my throat I felt the last spurts of my golden stream emerge and trickle down my bare, open labia, over the entrance to my aching sheath, and onto the upholstery of the exam chair.
“Viola,” the prince said. “You’re going to clean Sara up before she masturbates in your bed.”
“No,” I sobbed.
“Oh… no,” Viola whispered.
“Let’s go to the bathroom and get what we’ll need,” the Magisterian continued, as if he were proposing an enjoyable little activity, like a game or a walk in the park. “Come along, Viola. Major Harrow, I should have asked—does this plan work for you?”
I swallowed hard and my eyes opened. I couldn’t seem to keep from looking at my guardian for long—above all whenever a matter concerning his care for me came up.
“Oh, completely, Your Royal Highness,” the major said. “Sara will benefit a great deal from having Viola clean her up, and I imagine Viola will as well.”
He said these things with an air even more assured than that of Prince Hendren. I had the mortifying flash of a feeling of mingled happiness and pride that Major Harrow had become my sure-handed guardian while Viola had to answer to the degrading whims of the prince. My eyes went from the major’s handsome face, from his intent look into my eyes, to the expression of my former boss. Her brow had furrowed very deeply, and her eyes had returned to the floor.
“But…” she whispered. “But this… it wasn’t part of the agreement.” Her eyes rose to look at the prince.
“Oh, yes, it was, Viola,” the prince replied with a superior smile. “The only thing we guaranteed you was that Sara here would be the one on camera—and the only one whose concubine indentures we would sell. You agreed to obey me as long as I don’t apply force to enjoy you sexually, or allow anyone else to do so, and as long as any corporal punishment I decide to give you doesn’t injure you.”