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What she’s got coming, my mind said, as my body responded so treasonously to all of it: the sounds and the sight and the suddenly greater arousal down between my legs.
I couldn’t have stopped the thing that happened next if I had spent years practicing some spiritual discipline of restraint and self-denial. My right hand moved automatically from my side, over my hip, down across the little valley at the top of my thigh.
Overwhelmed, and feeling more than ever that another girl had taken possession of my body, I started to play with myself while I watched Viola Herranofar, president of my world, receive a spanking for talking back to a prince. I found myself so very wet, from my shamefully having released my bladder in front of them all, from the need that the turning up of the governor had let rise down there.
In the back of my mind some remaining rationality reminded me that my pee was sterile and I couldn’t get an infection this way. That didn’t stop the urgent feeling of naughtiness—of dirtiness—that made my hips jerk hard, to bring my clit upward against my inexperienced fingers. I realized I couldn’t do it as well as my guardian did, and that made the heat in my face surge even more fiercely.
I didn’t have my master’s skill with my own pussy…my own cunny, my mind whispered. I had enough, though: my body told me what it needed and for the first time in my life, at the filthiest, most wanton moment of my life, I responded.
My eyes had traveled to Viola’s face. The deposed president had stopped twisting her head in a vain effort to plead her doomed case to the prince, because—I knew from the desperate expression on her face—she had seen where my hand was. Viola’s attention had fixed itself on me, as I masturbated uncontrollably to the sight of her spanking. Our eyes locked on each other while I pressed my middle two fingertips against my needy clit, sensing suddenly that although my guardian had raised the level of arousal I could feel it still wouldn’t be enough; I wouldn’t be able to come.
The prince spanked Viola again and again. Her whole body shuddered over his strong thigh, under his muscular arm. Her face had become a tearful mask of woe and penitence, and I couldn’t help the pleasure her awful lesson gave me, between my thighs. I whimpered as she cried out, rubbing up and down, harder, hoping maybe I could steal a little orgasm despite the major’s control over my pussy.
“No, Sara,” I heard him say, though, as I had known in the back of my head he would. “Take that hand away or I’m going to have to cane you.”
CHAPTER19
Philip
Sara looked at me, her woeful face a cock-stiffening echo of Viola’s, both girls desperate for things their culture had never allowed them to admit they needed. The controller in my hand flashed red, and its digital display told me that Sara’s cunny had just experienced a massive surge of arousal, to ninety-three percent of her observed maximum, which the governor had curbed to her current level of eight.
What I had learned while preparing for the assignment seemed accurate: the girl couldn’t have an orgasm at level eight. Some women, the user’s manual I had read had informed me, could come at level nine, though their orgasms didn’t satisfy them the way those possible at level ten did.
I couldn’t get over how absolutely fascinating—and irresistibly arousing—I found Sara’s reactions to my precisely calibrated control of her cunny. Her hips jerked with that charming, squirming movement I had already come to know and to enjoy so much, and she gave a gasping little moan.
Turning her governor up had represented the correct decision, I could see; the lovely naked girl had learned a great deal in the last few moments of watching Viola punished over His Royal Highness’ knee, solely from having her pleasure slightly amplified. A glance at Viola’s pretty, tearstained face as she learned her lesson told me that she, too, was benefitting from the shameful experience.
To receive such a juvenile punishment, skirt up and panties down, in front of her former subordinate, couldn’t but help the former president in accepting the new reality she had chosen. Viola Herranofar had doomed her whole world with her decision not to capitulate immediately, and then she had doomed Sara Granzofar in particular when Prince Hendren had presented her with the stark choice: Viola or Sara, sent into concubinage in the most public possible way.
I could see on Viola’s face the beginnings of real penitence, as the shapely cheeks of her swiftly reddening bottom reflected just how thoroughly His Royal Highness had decided to correct her behavior. Looking back at Sara, now, I had to sympathize with her need to play with herself as she watched, though of course I couldn’t permit it.
Her hand had frozen, the naughty fingertips ceasing their frantic rubbing movement up and down her cunny lips. She hadn’t removed the hand from between her thighs, however.
“Sara,” I said slowly, as the relentless rhythm of Viola’s spanking continued, the gunshot smacks of the prince’s hand and the pitiful yelps and sobs of the girl’s mounting pain echoing off the walls. “Take your hand away from your little cunny this instant.”
Sara sobbed and obeyed at last. Viola cried out even louder as His Royal Highness slowed the pace of her punishment, each swat coming from higher in the air and landing with a louder, more painful-sounding crack.
“Put your hands under your bottom,” I ordered. “Hold yourself open. That will keep your fingers busy.”
Sara’s eyes showed just how degrading she found this command, even as another red flash alerted me to the need in the place I had just made her hand abandon. Her bottom squirmed desperately as she obeyed, her eyes flicking from my face to Viola’s, and the controller kept turning red and then green, the display now reading ninety-four percent. I watched her slender fingers move under her still-pink bottom cheeks, and take hold of herself there. The governor did its work again, and Sara let out a little whimper of need.
The prince gave Viola a final hard spank, and she went limp over his knee, her face hanging down, her back heaving with sobs.
“Now, Viola,” said His Royal Highness. “I would like you to clean Sara up as you were told. Leave your skirt up and your panties down, please.”
* * *
Sara
My guardian made me hold myself open that way while Viola used the warm, soapy washcloth to clean my pussy and my bottom. Part of me, to my mortification, wished he would turn the governor down so it wouldn’t make me feel so needy—so in need, my body wouldn’t stop telling me, ofhim.
“Get that cunt nice and clean, Viola,” the prince said. “All of Artemisia is going to see it soon.”
I looked down between my legs at where my former boss, her face and her bottom both bright red, obeyed the shameful command. Viola refused to look at me, of course, but I couldn’t look away from her; I could see just how red the prince had turned her bottom, and how lasciviously the tucked-up schoolgirl skirt and lowered white panties framed her punished cheeks.
“I was telling you,” His Royal Highness continued, “before we were interrupted, Sara, that Viola—despite the many times she played with herself in bed, reading and watching contraband erotica intended principally for Prosperian men…”
My mouth opened in astonishment. Viola gave a little sob of protest. She had stopped the movement of the cloth between my legs and closed her eyes.
