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“Please let me…” I gasped, my hips helplessly riding the motions of the plug, my vagina clenching with the need of something there, something much bigger and harder than the little plug my guardian had made me lubricate for my bottom-hole. “Please, may I play with my cunny!”
The governor’s tingle became so fierce I felt it must have decided to curb my arousal not only with a subtraction of nerve stimulation but with positive pain.
Philip smiled.
“Go ahead, good girl,” he said, and I saw that at some point he had taken the silver card out of his pocket and he was holding it in his left hand. I saw him look down at it, and I saw his eyebrows go up as he took in the reading the governor had just taken of my arousal level.
He took his right hand from atop mine, and to my dismay I found that my fingers kept making the shameful little movements that drove the toy back and forth inside my body’s narrowest passage. All of it together, the sights and the thoughts and the sensations, made the movement of my left hand to my clit seem like an unwilled thing, one that took no time at all. My whole body bucked at the addition of stimulation there, where I craved it most, and I cried out with the almost-pain of the governor’s response.
Philip’s right hand went toward the controller, his index finger extended.
From a long way away, it seemed, I heard the girl with the dark, complicated needs, begging her master to let her feel good.
“Please, sir,” she whispered. “Please.”
I felt my lips move as the other girl said it. I heard her sob and I felt the sob in my chest. The pleasure mingled with terrible need rocketed through both our bodies.
She watched her master’s lips start to speak. I heard my guardian’s words, saw him turn his face to address not her, his fuck toy in training, but the camera.
“I’m going to turn Sara up all the way to ten, now,” he said. “That means the governor will allow her to feel all the pleasure her body can feel. Watch what happens.”
Suddenly I felt a thrill of fear go through me. My mouth opened, my eyes went wide. Part of me wanted to beg Philip not to do it, to plead that my body might not be able to withstand what would happen now.
My master’s finger moved on the little silver card, his eyes flicking down to watch what he did, then up to meet mine again. The last thing I saw before I had to close my eyes and concentrate on my pussy, my clit, my anus, and the pleasure crashing out from all of them, was his smile: evaluating, dominant, but also kind.
My back arched and my hips thrust, and I cried out over and over as the shameful movements of fucking, of a girl being fucked by a man who knew how to fuck her hard, took hold of all my muscles at once.
“Oh… no… oh, no… oh, please,” I screamed.
All the pleasure my body could feel. I had been right to feel anxious, even though now that my orgasm had begun I wouldn’t have wanted my master to stop it for anything in the galaxy. I had never imagined my pussy could feel so much, that the need for a strong man’s cock inside the aching, pulsing sheath of my vagina could get so intense, so good and so desperate at once.
The terrible vividness of the fantasy that took hold of me as I came and came took me utterly by surprise. It seemed more like a vision or a waking dream than the sort of fantasy I had had before, the kind where I told myself a story. Without any conscious thought, I imagined Philip over me, fucking me, using me so hard that I felt my body would break under the onslaught of his rough pleasure.
On the bed with my eyes closed, knowing somewhere in the back of my head that the cameras took it all in for the purpose of showing every person on my world and any other world that cared to tune in and watch the degradation of a proud, intelligent young woman… I saw only my guardian, seemed to feel him holding me wide open, entering me with a tremendous thrust, using my needy pussy… my little cunny… thrusting in and out there the same way I moved my two middle fingers in and out in a desperate search for more of the delight he had allowed me.
In my mind’s eye, each arch of my back, each push of my hips, answered a savage in-driving of his cock into me. I came again, and I felt my right hand move the plug. The part of me that remembered the camera stood aghast in the back of my head as I showed the galaxy how bad a girl, how dirty a girl Sara Granzofar was.
In my imagination, Philip pulled his hardness from my pussy and moved it down. He growled, deep in his throat, that I must prepare myself to take him along the narrow path that would hurt as much as it pleased, that would punish me as much as it rewarded me. I cried out in the real bedroom as in my mind’s eye my guardian took my anal virginity, and I came again, this climax the greatest yet and the one I knew had to be the last if I had any hope of surviving the storm of wanton arousal, of filthy fantasy.
I opened my eyes, suddenly desperate to see him, to learn if he could truly read my mind—or perhaps if he had somehow sent me this shameful vision of my utter sexual submission to an enemy officer. His dark eyes gazed straight back into mine. His smile—the best of his smiles, the one that said he liked me very much, or maybe even more—told me that hecouldread my mind, in some sense anyway.
I felt a hot blush come into my cheeks. I understood a great deal from his assessing expression: Philip knew at least that I couldn’t help imagining him using me, while my body dissolved into pure pleasure from the orgasm he had allowed me.
His eyes flicked downward, and I saw his finger move on the controller.
“No!” I cried. “Please, sir… please…” Even though I didn’t think my body could take any more, I didn’t want it to end, as if in my shame and my lewd imagination I would keep playing with myself until I passed out from the pleasure.
But I felt the governor control that pleasure. The tingle of its reduction made me sob, and my face became a scrunched pout of frustration.
“Take your hands away from your cunny and your bottom,” Philip said. “Put them on the bed on either side of your hips.”
I closed my eyes, my face burning as the awareness of the filthy show I had just put on for millions of people rose into the suddenly returning logical part of my brain. My fingers clutched at my private parts, moved to try to cover my spread, still warm and wet, nakedness, rather than complying with the command my guardian had just issued. I had no feeling there—no special feeling, anyway—and that lack somehow sent a tingle to my clit as the very idea of Philip commanding me so thoroughly seemed to draw my body further under his control.
“Sara,” Philip said from the darkness beyond my eyelids, where the cameramen and their lenses, I couldn’t forget, continued to take background footage of my utter humiliation. His voice had become a growl, and I could hear the threat so clearly that I whimpered.
I made my shaking hands obey: I took them from my pussy and from the plug and I laid them on either side of my hips. I waited for the next horrible thing to happen.
But what I felt was entirely different from what I expected. A hand—a hand that smelled of pleasant, manly scents like spice and sandalwood—touched my cheek very gently, the fingertips moving gently downward to come lightly around the back of my neck. The thumb rubbed softly across my cheekbone.
