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"Ow! Wait!" I tried, my voice sounding high and strained and desperate.
But the sergeant spanked me steadily and hard twice more, then twice more again, moving his blows from cheek to cheek now. My bottom clenched in agony. My hips bucked over his thigh in search of some position that didn't hurt as much. I turned my face to the other side, trying to see the colonel and the major but instead just seeing the other two beds and, worse, a little bit of the horrible discipline horse.
"That's the way, Master Sergeant," I heard the colonel say in a very approving tone from where he and the major must be standing out of my view, to watch my punishment. "Six more, I think, and then we'll see if she's ready to pay attention."
"Please!" I yelled, wanting to tell him that I could pay attention already — though in another strange moment of self-reflection I wondered if that was the truth, despite how much my ass already hurt.
It didn't make any difference, though. Sergeant Karl gave me the six spanks specified by his commanding officer in the same steady rhythm he had given me the first six. He delivered these right-left-right-left-right-left, so that I knew where the next one would land, with the result that by the third of them I had started to scream for mercy, sure that my burning bottom couldn't withstand another descent of that huge, strong hand.
When the sergeant had delivered the sixth one, I lay sobbing over his knee, my cheeks tensing and relaxing uncontrollably in pain. To my dismay, his hand returned, to hold the whole of my ass, squeezing gently and then rubbing. Heat flooded my face — and, worse, the part of me that lay over the sergeant's uniformed thigh, inches from his caressing fingers.
I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, feeling tears leak out of them onto the fabric of the comforter.
"Don't," I choked out. "Please… please, don't."
"The Master Sergeant is going to touch you any way he feels like, Susanna," said the major in a cold voice. "Just like the colonel and I are. I told you already. You're not just going to leave here punished. You're going to be trained."
Whether intentionally or by accident Sergeant Karl accompanied these cryptic words from the major with a movement of his fingers lower down on my burning bottom. My back arched and I struggled anew in his grasp as I felt two fingertips press in between my thighs, as if in clarification of what the major had said.
"T—trained?" I asked, my voice thick with my tears. "Trained to do what?"
The colonel answered.
"Trained to be our pretty little fuck toy, Princess Goldilocks."
CHAPTER 7
Papa Bear
If I'd had any doubt that the psychobiometric analysis of Her Royal Highness Princess Susanna of Forthia had described her correctly, it would have vanished at that moment. Her lovely body bucked hard over Karl's knee, her head threshing from side to side on the bed.
I watched with satisfaction as the Master Sergeant took advantage of the princess' response to my words and pressed his two middle fingers further in between the backs of her thighs. Even better, he loosened the hold of his right leg across her denim-bound knees, allowing her to spread them a few centimeters — which of course she did, instantly and obviously of her own accord, welcoming the intrusion of Karl's thick digits into her wet pussy.
Susanna clearly needed this very badly — just as badly as the counterintelligence report I'd obtained from the psy-ops division had indicated. Thank God, really, she'd ended up in her mortifying predicament, here in our cottage, with her own silly, but in its own way very serious, misbehavior.
No one in military headquarters had thought we would have the chance to act on the alarming things psy-ops had figured out about our princess' libido, with the help of an intercept from American intelligence. The Americans had developed their psychobiometric algorithms over the past few years to be able to pinpoint precisely the kind of risk our Princess Goldilocks posed. We in Forthian intelligence had fretted a little at the news that Susanna represented a target for subversion, but the royal family had of course remained off limits — until now.
I had to admit I still couldn't quite believe that the pleasurable duty of giving the lovely young woman precisely the humiliation, the old-fashioned discipline, and the good, hard fucking she needed had fallen to me and my little group of security operations experts. We had the requisite skills, however, as well as the necessary inclinations, from a sexual point of view.
As we had watched her shameful little performance from the monitoring center, we had agreed that the report on her erotic needs authorized the most direct possible approach. Her sheer physiological response to her first spanking, together with Hanna's words about training and my abrupt announcement that she was destined to become our sexual plaything, had just validated that premise.
Allowed to slip his fingers inside her by Susanna's own shameless opening of her thighs, Karl worked her now, his hand squeezing her red bottom in a steady rhythm. I watched his muscles flex as he moved his unseen digits, buried in her sweet pink sheath, drawing muffled sobs of need and embarrassment from her hidden face.
"Put your thumb inside that little ass, Master Sergeant," Hanna said, matter-of-factly. "She was playing with her anus when she was masturbating on your bed."
"Oh, no," Susanna moaned, her face buried in the softness of Karl's green comforter. "Please… please…"
But Karl followed Hanna's order. His big thumb parted the punished hemispheres. Standing behind Susanna, I got a diverting peek at the tiny wrinkled hole that the princess had clearly enjoyed touching so very much, while she had misbehaved with her pants down.
She wailed as she felt the ball of the master sergeant's thumb press against her most private place, and then she cried out in helpless pleasure as it entered her there. Her hips gave another jerk, riding Karl's thigh, and she showed every sign of nearing another climax, despite all the orgasms she had given herself earlier.
"Don't let her come," I told Karl. "Let's get her clothes off, since she doesn't seem willing to do it herself."
Goldilocks
They stripped me, just like that. I think Major Jarowski took my running shoes off, with my no-show socks inside them. Sergeant Karl still had his hand between my thighs, his thumb just inside my anus. He had stopped moving his fingers, following Colonel Baer's instruction, leaving me maddeningly, mortifyingly needy.
The sheer presence of his possessive grip on my pussy and my bottom, though, kept sending waves of shame and frustrated arousal through my nervous system. When he lifted his right leg a little, so that the colonel could strip my jeans down and off, I made a weak attempt at kicking out, trying to get free or at least to inflict some damage on one of them. The movement only made me cry out anew as I felt the firmness of the enormous hand holding my private places.
