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“Because you need it, my dear,” Philip said, his voice suddenly gentle again, as if he meant to inform me of a sad necessity. “And because I like to whip young women who need whipping.”
My breathing instantly sped up to near hyperventilation as I took his words in and their meaning seemed to wrap around my consciousness. Down below, to my horror, I felt my clit tingle with the governor’s control. I wondered, wildly and humiliatingly, what the numerical display showed about just how terribly aroused Philip’s awful little speech had gotten me. For a nanosecond I almost felt grateful to the governor for not allowing me to feel all the shameful need my guardian’s words had generated in me.
The governor controlled only my bodily arousal, though. Its operation awakened something else in my heart and my mind. The horrible thing they had installed in my pussy, together with the utterly dominant words this arrogant Magisterian officer had just spoken, made me aware of a need in my soul that I wanted desperately to turn away from.
Philip obviously knew that: I could see it in his dark eyes and hear it in his gentle tone. He had no intention of allowing me to deny it. Or maybe, rather, he knew I would keep denying it, but he didn’t mean to let that stop him from doing precisely as he pleased with my trembling body.
“I don’t,” I sobbed. My chin quivered and the tears rolled down my cheeks. “Please…”
I heard myself: heard the other girl, pleading like a child, and I gave into it completely. The vision of the cane and the horse, of my limbs restrained over that terrifying bench and the even more terrifying length of bamboo whistling through the air to punish me, seemed to drive all rationality from my head.
“Please… sir… don’t whip me. I’ll do anything… anything you want.”
His gaze didn’t stir from mine, but I felt his fingers between my thighs shift. He took hold of the base of the plug still shamefully inside my bottom and he tugged it gently. My eyes went wide and my breath came in ragged pants between my lips. Wordlessly he reminded me of his possession, and of everything he intended to do with me, whether I wanted it or not.
“Yes,” he finally said. “You will. After your whipping I’m going to claim you completely, to prepare you for your sale to a Magisterian master.”
Then he leaned forward again and kissed me, and to my dismay I felt my body yield to his hands and his mouth. As his tongue moved between my lips, gently touching my own tongue, his thumb pressed into my still warm sheath, and the little stimulation the governor allowed me made me whimper up into his mouth.
“Alright,” I heard the director say, after a few moments. “Let’s cut there.”
For a moment I wondered if Philip would break the kiss immediately—if it really just represented him acting like a lover for the camera, to pretend my fellow citizens that the women who would consider going to the reparations classes would find not just discipline but some sort of ‘loving’ discipline there. But he kept his mouth on mine, his hands still moving tenderly on me, so that I couldn’t stop the wanton little noises coming from my throat. Even with the governor turned so far down I felt my hips try to push my pussy upward into his hand, offering myself to the man who had just said he would tie me down and whip me for no reason at all.
* * *
They let me take a break, then, as Philip had promised. The prince brought Viola back, walking normally and her clothes restored to their usual places. She had it seemed received the duty of acting as my servant—my ladies’ maid, the prince said, in the old Earth Victorian style. It made me blush furiously, but she accompanied me to the bathroom, where she had to stay while I showered.
Philip had given her charge of the flat box, closed again, with the lingerie inside. From the shower in the gorgeous blue-tiled bathroom I could see Viola sitting on a bench with the box in the lap of her schoolgirl skirt. She hadn’t spoken to me at all since coming back into the bedroom—hadn’t even looked at me.
She had said, “Yes, Your Royal Highness” twice, when the prince had told her to play ladies’ maid, her eyes on the carpet and her face red. I wondered, feeling a blush come onto my cheeks even in the warmth of the shower, what had passed between the former president and the Magisterian royal after her humiliating spanking and her ignominious exit from the bedroom.
I tried to stay in the shower as long as I could, partly because the warm water felt so lovely and partly because I dreaded what would happen in the next part of this ‘break.’ How could Philip call it abreakwhen Viola had to accompany me? How could such a thing as a break even exist for me, the woman he had transformed into an object, a possession.
A treasure, my mind whispered as I looked again through the steamy glass at Viola. She had her face turned down, her eyes apparently on the box in her lap. I bit my lip as I thought of the contents of the box, the sort of pretty things someone might wrap a treasure in, to present it to its new owner.
As if I had once again traveled outside my body, I watched my right hand reach out to turn the water off.
A treasure, my inner voice repeated.
A fuck toy, whispered another, darker, deeper voice.
I felt the horrible governor moderate me, down there in the place where my guardian wanted me prepared and adorned with lacy underwear. He wanted my wanton desires curbed and contained… banked like the embers of a fire…
I put my right hand on the tile, and I bent over a little, feeling the tingle change just a bit and knowing with yet more heat in my cheeks that wherever he was, Philip had just increased the level of pleasure his fuck toy could feel.
Silence reigned in the bathroom except for the dripping of the water off my body. I had my back to Viola, my eyes looking at the tile and my face working with shame and need at the thought of what must happen next. My left hand found the front of my thigh and clutched the taut flesh there. I wanted to move that hand further over, with an urgency I had never felt, as if now that my guardian had taught me to masturbate I could hardly keep from playing with my needy pussy.
From behind me I heard Viola say something, but she spoke so softly that with the echoing of her voice against the tile the words were lost. The sound, though, made me whirl around in the shower, my hands instinctively going to my breasts and my pussy to cover myself, as if the degradations of the past few hours hadn’t happened—as if I hadn’t become a naked sexual servant, whose modesty didn’t merely make her seem weaker, more fit for the rough us of her guardian and whomever else he wanted to pass her along to.
Viola had stood up. The box lay on the bench and the deposed president held a fluffy blue towel adorned, I saw, with the presidential seal—a towel she herself had probably used countless times in utter privacy here in her beautiful bathroom. I took a deep breath through my nostrils, trying to lower my heart rate. I pulled my hands away from my private parts and I straightened up out of the cowering, cringing position I had fallen into at the reminder of Viola’s presence.
I assumed she had said something like,I’ve got a towel for you, though what I could make out of the syllables hadn’t corresponded to those words at all. I took a step forward and put my hand on the door handle of the neo-glass no-steam shower door, noticing that Viola had fixed her own gaze on my face and realizing that our eyes had just met for the first time since the terrible humiliation we had undergone in the bedroom—before, my mind told me with a strange emphasis, I had come with the plug in my bottom.
Involuntarily I jerked my chin to the left, where I had put the shameful toy after I had taken it from my anus at the start of my shower. I had, according to the instructions Philip had given, washed it off and left it there, but as I looked at Viola’s troubled expression I couldn’t help wondering what had passed through her mind and her heart—and her pussy, the ungovernably lewd part of my brain said—at the mortifying sounds I had made, and the plug had made, as I expelled it from my tightest place.
When I looked back at Viola, on the verge of opening the shower door and starting to cool from the heat of the water, she spoke again. I realized she was repeating the question she had asked a moment ago, and I heard in her tone a disquiet that almost, once again, made me pity her.
“What is it like?”
