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The woman looked back at me with no pity at all — none I could see, anyway. I watched her lips curve up into a smile with no warmth at all: an expression of absolute satisfaction at my obvious terror in the face of the commanding officer's terrible words. Her eyes locked on mine, she spoke again.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be, Susanna. You've been a very naughty girl and now, for the first time, you're going to pay the price, and you're going to learn submission."
My mouth opened again, as if to speak, but no sound emerged. I looked back over at the older man. The part about going to learn submission sounded ominous: a good deal more ominous even than the cane, if that were possible.
"Wh—" I started, my eyes flicking back at the sergeant when I found the officer's face too frightening to bear. "Wh— what does that mean?"
"It means what it sounds like, Susanna," the older man said. "Let me introduce myself and my little unit. I'm Colonel Joseph Baer. This is Major Hanna Jarowski, and over there is Master Sergeant Karl Gertner."
I blinked at them. "I…" I said, but no words occurred to me with which to follow it. "I…" I tried again.
"Why don't you call us Papa, Mama, and…." He shot an amused look over at Sergeant Gertner. "Yes, Baby."
The sergeant laughed. "Fine," he said. "We'll see who the baby is once our little slut here is sucking both our cocks."
"What?!" I cried. "What the… what the fuck are you?—"
Colonel Baer cut me off, his commanding voice not so much loud as absolutely authoritative. "You will not use that sort of language here, Susanna. And Karl has spoken nothing but the truth."
My eyes went wide. My mouth opened even wider. The rest of my body responded more urgently. The fight or flight reflex swung all the way to flight. Without even thinking about it beyond the basic idea of get the fuck out of this house, I rolled off the bed in the direction of the door to the living room.
If I could dart over the middle bed — Mama's bed? — I would have a clear shot past the horrible discipline horse. The colonel and the major and the sergeant might well get blocked by it, allowing me to scamper out the door and then further, into the wood beyond the front door. Then all I'd have to do is start yelling for help, and the palace guards would find me and protect me — soldiers from the real military, as opposed to whatever bunch of lunatics had apparently stolen their uniforms and then found me in the weird little house, and decided to try to play crazy sex games with the person third in line for the throne of Forthia.
I got onto the bed, propelled by sheer terror, not caring at all about the complete nudity of my body between waist and knees. I clambered across it, and I managed to swing my legs around so that I could actually rise to my feet and start to run.
Then, abruptly, the wind was knocked out of me and my face was up against the wooden floor, with my arms on either side, having just broken my fall in time to save me from a concussion or a broken nose. It took a moment to figure out what had happened — my jeans had tripped me, obviously — during which I felt the weight of the colonel's massive body approach, making the floorboards creak beneath his feet.
Papa. He had said to call him Papa. I tried without success to banish the word from my mind.
"Let's call this," his deep voice said from what sounded like a mile above me, "another reason why a young lady shouldn't pull her jeans down in someone else's house."
"Especially when she's not wearing any panties," said the major. Mama. A thrill of shame traveled from my belly to my burning face.
"What's the first one?" asked the sergeant.
"Well," the colonel said, "maybe because this could happen to her. Go ahead and have a seat on your bed, Karl. I think you should give our little princess the first taste of her punishment, since it was your chair she destroyed."
Since falling on my face, I hadn't moved a muscle or made a sound. I desperately wanted to yell that none of this could possibly be real, but my senses said the opposite. What happened next, though, brought my body back to life.
I sensed the colonel shifting his stance, and then I felt his hands on me, scooping me up as if I weighed nothing at all. I writhed in his arms, trying to twist away, to hit him, to kick, but he didn't even seem to notice. he had one arm under my chest and the other under my waist, and he simply carried me that way, kicking and yelling, "Stop! No!" over to the bed where I had played with myself — the sergeant's bed, where the sergeant now sat with his knees splayed.
"No…" I said again. "No… please."
He patted his knee. Colonel Baer started to lower me. I struggled harder, though I could feel my strength beginning to fade. I succeeded only in hastening my descent towards the lap of the enormous red-haired sergeant, whose own strong arms took hold of me just as the colonel's — Papa's — let go of me.
Worse, my writhing let Sergeant Karl adjust me as he pleased: every movement I made with my arms or my legs seemed entirely anticipated. I tried to kick away, but I found the sergeant's iron-hard right leg across both my knees, bending me at the waist and raising my backside so prominently that a hot blush of shame filled my cheeks. When I flailed out with my arms, he plucked my right wrist out of the air and twisted it painfully behind my back, transferring his grip deftly from his right hand to his left, so that he could…
I understood what was about to happen a split second before it did. Somehow I found the opportunity in that tiny flash of time to feel surprise — shock, really — that I was about to be spanked, for the very first time, without any further ceremony. More, I realized at that moment, in the blink of an eye, how big a brat I had been, pretty much all my life and especially since my eighteenth birthday. I understood that because — as it seemed to me, anyway — only a brat would feel that much indignation at receiving an unceremonious spanking rather than a ceremonious one.
I'm a princess, for fuck's sake, I thought, even as I grasped that Sergeant Karl, brawny, burly Baby Bear, had set his hand in motion towards my ass. If you're going to spank a princess, you can't just dump her over a man's knee and start smacking her bare butt.
And yet he did. He didn't say anything — not about the risotto, or the chair, or the sight of me with my jeans down and my hand between my thighs in his oh-so-comfy bed. Not even about the terrible thing he had said a few moments before, that I so desperately wanted replayed to make sure I had heard it correctly — about me and his and the colonel's penises.
Sergeant Karl just held my left hand behind my back, with my legs pinned under his right knee and my bottom upturned atop his left thigh, and he started to punish me the old-fashioned way. My face had ended up against the comforter, my left arm trying in vain to reach around and hit the sergeant, then to give me a little traction I could use to twist out of his grasp. As the sound of the first spank rang off the walls of the bedroom, I turned my burning cheek against the soft fabric and cried out at the way the initial sting, which didn't seem that bad, built into a burning agony.
"Ow! St?—"
The enormous hand came down again, and another sharp smack drowned out my words.
