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I cried out, throwing my head back with the overwhelming excess of pleasure I hadn’t sought and didn’t want—and yet couldn’t help wanting, needing, begging for with everything but my voice.
The calibrator thing had fastened itself onto my clit, and begun to vibrate and, even more dismayingly, to suck gently at that most sensitive part of my whole body. The sensation sent shockwaves of ecstasy and need through every inch of me, it seemed like, from my toes to the roots of my hair.
I heard a rapid beeping, an alarm of some kind, coming from something in the doctor’s direction.
My climax started to build itself with amazing speed down below my belly. I hadn’t had many at all in my whole life and even if these men allowed me this one I could still have counted them on two hands. It seemed to swell inside me, underneath the tormenting vibrator, a crackling electrical connection between my aching pussy and my tingling nipples.
None of the orgasms I’d had—little things, under a boyfriend’s fingers or tongue, after sex—had felt anything like it. A moment of wonder flashed through my brain as I asked myself whether I had ever really experienced a sexual climax at all.
“Oh, no,” I moaned. “Oh… please…”
Sir.I just barely kept myself from saying it. I couldn’t say that, could I? Or only when hemademe. That thought made the need inside me pulse and throb so strongly that I wondered if I had started to lose my mind—how could my body respond like this to these unacceptable thoughts?
All of this had taken perhaps a second, and I knew if it went on another instant I would come as I had never come before, with them watching, with the major holding the mirror and looking intently at my face or my pussy, my paddled bottom, as he chose, with the alarm frantically beeping…
The calibrator things—the ones on my nipples and the one on my clit—stopped vibrating. My body gave another jerk, and I whimpered in frustration as the thing was removed from my pussy.
“Look at that,” the doctor said. “Those contractions of her vagina are quite strong—level five or even six on the Lourcy scale, I’d say, though you’ll probably want to use a measuring phallus to be sure, when you train her to the penis. Concubines with that level of compression fetch high prices these days, I’m told.”
All my intentions to keep my face stony had flown so far away I could barely remember making my futile resolution. I tried to tell my brain not to even attempt to puzzle out all the horrible degradations implied in the doctor’s words. My eyes closed, I tried to pretend I wasn’t there, again floating with an ease that surprised me to a plane where it all happened to another girl, a girl who didn’t mind, a girl who… wholikedit.
“Sara,” Doctor Greenway said, though, “open your eyes, please, and look in the mirror. A girl with an arousal profile like yours can benefit greatly from watching how a physician prepares her for sexual training—especially if she’s going to receive a governor as part of that preparation.”
The aftershocks of the climax he had just denied me still sent waves of need through my lower body. I felt tears form again at the corners of my eyes at the mention of the governor. Helpless to do anything else, trying to maintain the strange fiction that it had all befallen another woman and that the doctor would soon install the terrible device on another woman’s clit, I opened my eyes and looked at the mirror.
Major Harrow held it in the same place he had before. The illumination from the light on the doctor’s forehead made it all much too easy to see, though I had never looked before at that inaccessible region, the one that no one should ever see, that a girl should only touch to keep herself clean. To my distress, I watched my inner lips contract again, and I whimpered at the aching pulse of need that accompanied it on the inside.
Not my body.But…
I looked up at the major. His eyes had once again fixed themselves on my face. His expression pulled me back into myself, because I couldn’t escape the idea that this man, despite the qualities I had spent my whole life so far thinking objectionable—unacceptable, atavistic, corrosive—seemed to see me in a way no one else ever had. A way I craved despite myself.
Yes, my body,my heart seemed to plead with my mind.
“Look at your cunny for me, Sara,” his voice said, his mouth smiling as he spoke despite the degradation of the words. “Look how pretty it is with no hair on it—and look how wet it got.”
I obeyed, and I choked back a sob of arousal as I saw what he told me to see.
“Look how adorable your little anus is, too,” said my guardian. “We’re going to take our time training your bottom.”
“That’s the best way,” the doctor agreed. “Especially from a medical standpoint. After a few weeks of regular anal intercourse she won’t remember why she put up such a fuss the first time you penetrated her there.”
I didn’t want to give either of them an excuse to tell me to look in the mirror again, so I tried to fix my eyes on its white plastic frame, but Doctor Greenway’s condescending words seemed to force my attention back to the forbidden place they had decided toexplainto me this way. To make it worse, the doctor put his fingertip there, as if illustrating his point: I could see him touch me there, in the mirror, and I let out a tiny whimper as he pushed gently.
“See, Sara?” he asked. “That feels pleasant, I know. Especially for a girl like you who fantasizes about a master’s dominance over your body.”
CHAPTER13
Philip
I couldn’t get over how arousing I found Sara’s responses to her instructional exam. I had spoken flippantly to the doctor when I had said I thought egalitarian cultures like Artemisia’s had certain things to recommend them, and I hadn’t intended to brood on the observation. Nevertheless, my own words, in combination with Sara’s helpless moans and the delightful spectacle of her stimulation by Doctor Greenway’s innocuous-looking but very potent calibrators, had remained fixed in my consciousness for the last few minutes.
I would never have thought myself inclined to endorse a cultural philosophy that seemed to me, as it doubtless seemed to all my fellow Magisterians, to have proven itself so inferior to my own. Magisterian culture had a place for those who wished to live an egalitarian life much like the one Sara had lived to this point on her own world.
Even those egalitarians, however, who lived in their own quasi-autonomous enclaves either on Magisteria itself or on one of her own home colony worlds, would readily admit that the traditional ways of the Magisterian metrosphere, as we called the megalopolis that served as our political center, provided the superior form of governance. In the matter of foreign policy alone—as for instance we had just demonstrated in this idiotic war in which the Vionian Empire had used worlds like Artemisia as hapless cannon fodder—the enlightened patriarchal oligarchy of our federation had proven its superiority with decisive thoroughness.
Having gotten to know Sara Granzofar a bit, however, I couldn’t say for certain that I wouldn’t in the future turn to the egalitarian cultures when looking for a concubine. The cock-stiffening joy of introducing a lovely young woman to her hitherto-barely-guessed-at submissive needs, whose previous incursions into her imagination had doubtless always made her blush furiously and hastily turn to thoughts of facts and figures, could hardly be overstated.
Such intellectual speculation only added spice to the immediate stimulation of the sight right before my eyes: the doctor’s index finger pressed against Miss Sara Granzofar’s adorable, wrinkly little anus, just entering her there by a millimeter, as she must watch it happen in the mirror.
