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The thought of her reaction, the certainty that she must have become helplessly aroused, that—I couldn’t think otherwise, as terribly as my former president had betrayed me—her soul must be in torment to watch me whipped with such severity and to feel so wantonly moved by it… It made me scream, and scream, and scream, as my guardian kept whipping me.
Philip knew how to show a terrible mercy, in that the next few strokes came quickly; as soon as I had counted the previous cut my master bestowed the third, the fourth, the fifth, the six, the seventh, and even the eighth and ninth of the promised twelve. Through my screams and my freely flowing tears and the helpless writhing of my limbs against the restraints of the punishment horse, he brought the cane down each time I sobbed the number he had given me thus far.
Then Philip, in his awful majesty—so much greater for me, at any rate, than that of his arrogant, sarcastic prince—showed a different kind of mercy, one that felt more like cruelty. He stopped, and he said, “I know how difficult this is, Sara, and you’ve been a good girl so far. I’m going to turn up the governor a little higher now, and help you take your last three strokes.”
I shook my head, unable to do anything else. I meantnobut I meantyestoo.Nobecause of the many, many things I thought I couldn’t bear about what might happen… whatwouldhappen because my master had decided they should happen to me, the idea that he would touch me… caress me where he had whipped me… even make mecomethis way, on a live broadcast in front of Viola Herranofar and in front of the galaxy, with my bottom striped from his cane… that idea seemed the most unbearable of all.
And yet I knew even before I felt the governor’s moderation of my nervous system ease that Philip had to know that in that way he could best degrade me, humiliate me, and—worst of all—make me his.
The pain in my bottom had become a raging fire, as if I had sat on a thornbush very hard. Each time my cheeks clenched in search of some way to ease the pain, a surge of agony shot through the whole area between waist and knees. That little jolt of pain gave way immediately to what felt like a slightly more endurable level, though.
Now I instinctively clenched my muscles as a defense against my need—what I knew I would feel when my guardian turned the governor up. But he—no doubt skillfully using my own body’s responses against me—chose that precise moment to raise the level of arousal he permitted my pussy to feel.
I screamed in an utterly different way from how I had cried out under the cane’s fiery instruction in absolute obedience. I reared back on the punishment horse, my limbs working against their restraints.
Then Philip put his hand between my thighs, firmly and possessively.
CHAPTER30
Sara
The sharp stab of pain in my bottom had become a pleasure so great I thought it would tear me apart. I guessed immediately that Philip must have turned my pussy up to eight or nine. If someone had asked me to guessout loud, of course, I couldn’t have managed to put enough words together to say anything intelligible in response. I had a thought, somewhere in my soaring mind, though. I thought my most sensitive, intimate places—all of them, suddenly and cataclysmically—felt very much the way they had felt when he had allowed me pleasure after paddling me.
Except that because of the searing agony of the cane, my pussy and my nipples and, frankly, it seemed the entirety of my skin, from my crumpled forehead to my trembling knees, felt the delight and the need much, much more intensely. I sobbed, moaned, and begged when my guardian’s fingers worked their way inside the strip of lace that covered my clit, my labia, my aching vagina.
When his thumb went over the back part of that shameful underwear and pressed firmly on my wrinkly little anus, where he had begun training me for his pleasure already.
Something about that level on the governor, I realized at that moment, balanced the mixture of arousal and pleasure my body could feel so exquisitely that I knew I would do anything, absolutely anything, for my master—as long as he promised to let me come.
No, really the shameful undoing of my will was much worse than that. As long as I had the slightest notion that the tiniest chance existed that he would keep moving his fingers that way between my thighs and inside my panties, I would kill or die for him. I would give him every embarrassing part of me to fuck or to whip, in front of the whole galaxy—not restrained, but willingly, kneeling before him and worshipping his hardness as he degraded his naughty little fuck toy.
“Please,” I sobbed. “Please, sir.”
The thumb on the tiny ring of my bottom moved downward and entered my vagina. It slid in so easily that I knew I must have gushed with need the moment he touched me. The ball of his thumb went deep, and it pushed and I literally saw stars. I thought for a nanosecond that he would let me come—not the kind of shattering orgasm I’d had with the humiliating plug in my anus as he trained me on the bed but the little kind that this setting of the governor allowed.
But Philip had no intention of gratifying me that way before what I, too, felt would be the proper time. He merely wanted to reward me in this tormenting fashion, both to help with the agony of the caning he had chosen to give me and to remind me of his ownership. When he decided to allow me more, it would come with a further price of degradation, and a further lesson about my shameful need for it.
The hand went away.
“Three more, Sara,” he said sternly. “Count them.”
I thought he would deliver those strokes immediately—that the quick finish to my whipping would make another part of my reward for learning to obey my master even when he strapped me down and made me scream in agony. I felt certain that Philip intended exactly that, because he had already shown himself such an expeditious disciplinarian.
But Prince Hendren did not approach the matter the same way—and he had a galactic audience to entertain, as well as a recalcitrant egalitarian world to teach.
“That’s it, Major,” His Royal Highness said. “Teach her the price of her pleasure.”
I couldn’t help it. I looked over at him—at them, at the arrogant royal and at my own deposed president, and I saw that he had put his hand under Viola’s skirt. I saw his fingers move there. I saw her face, the way she had her lower lip between her teeth… the redness of her cheeks… the crease in her brow.
The prince’s fingers moved, and Viola’s hips squirmed, her bottom mobile on his lap, against where I knew his royal cock must lurk inside his impeccably tailored trousers. I lifted my eyes to his face, and saw that he had fixed his attention directly on me.
To my abject dismay, he spoke.
“Sara, dear, Viola here has consented to let me touch her cunt while she watches your whipping.”
I gave a tiny sob, and I saw in Viola’s eyes that it was true—that His Royal Highness had in his own way brought the downfallen president of Artemisia to the same point Philip’s cane had brought me. Viola needed release just as badly as I did, and the price she must pay—some wonderfully noble part of me declared—was in its own way even steeper than the one my bottom would pay. The humiliation of needing His Royal Highness’s hand inside her panties without the awful compulsion she had visited on me, but simply with the provocation of having to watch my whipping while on the prince’s lap…yes, I thought,it’s worse.
My gaze lowered to Viola’s skirt again. I wanted suddenly for the prince to lift her skirt, so that I and the whole world could see the shame of the president’s wet pussy exposed, the panties pulled aside. That didn’t seem part of the agreement, though: Prince Hendren’s hand worked ceaselessly in its hidden domain, the presidential cunt he had so thoroughly, it seemed, made his own. Viola moaned and closed her eyes, and the prince said, “Whip that girl, Major. Make her scream for her president.”
