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Complicated. I felt my face crumple as I couldn’t help picturing it: the porn video about a fantasy character, composited by a computer… the proud, independent Artemisian cabinet secretary having her pants and panties pulled down by one Magisterian officer while another kept her bent over the arm of her luxurious couch.
I could feel the air moving around my naked legs, between my trim thighs, but my brain told itself that the fictional video simply had a very high degree of reality. It couldn’t be real: this couldn’t happen to an Artemisian woman—let alone a high-ranking member of the planetary administration.
The Sara over the arm of the couch, the disobedient girl of whom the Magisterians clearly felt the need to make an example… Major Harrow pulled her sweatpants and her black bikini briefs down to her knees to imprison her legs in a soft but still restrictive tangle of fabric.
“Sara,” he told that girl…me… he’s saying this tome,some rational part of my mind tried to persuade me.Get it together! This isn’t a hallucination!“I want to make it clear that the hand spanking I’m about to give you is the lightest punishment you’re likely to receive from this point forward.”
I had nearly exhausted my strength in my reflexive struggle against Lieutenant Withers. My mind and my body conspired for a moment to make my limbs relax under that iron grasp as I tried to process what Major Harrow had just said.
Lightest… from this point forward…
For an instant I felt certain the major would pause for questions, then. When I ran a media conference, I would always follow the sort of statement he had just made with a space to allow the assembled journalists at least to start shouting their inevitable challenges to the carefully worded information I had just provided. Sometimes I even intended to answer a carefully selected question or two.
More often I merely meant to provide my administration with the appearance of being open with the people of Artemisia. I didn’t have any hope that I would get an honest answer from the major to any question I asked, but I thought he would stop and wait to let his outrageous statement sink in.
Instead the Magisterian officer put his left hand on my bare right hip, working it under the hem of my t-shirt, and gripped firmly. I barely had time to draw breath and start a cry of protest before I felt a slight rush of air behind me, against the bare flesh of my bottom-cheeks and, to my dismay, further forward between my upper thighs.
Then I felt it and heard it at the same time: the major’s big, open hand coming down hard on my backside, low on my right cheek. I felt the pressure, and the sharp sound came to my ears, so loud that I felt instantly sure my neighbors would hear it through the walls.
The pain took a moment to follow, so that the first spank of my life—and I remembered with far too much clarity for the nanosecond’s space it took what the major had said about what I should expectfrom this point forward—only really started to hurt as the second one landed, on the same side of my bottom, a little lower down so that it stung my thigh as well.
I realized then that whatever fuckingcomplicatedthing existed inside my mind or my heart or my body or whatever had prevented me from truly struggling before. The pain from those two swats of Major Harrow’s open hand to my backside, to which he quickly added a third and fourth on my left cheek, brought out the real fight-or-flight response in my body. I writhed desperately under the lieutenant’s grip, only to find out exactly how much skill he had at restraining disobedient girls.
He pressed me against my elegant couch cushion, putting just enough pressure on my pinioned left arm that it discouraged me from twisting too far. The frustrated energy from my imprisoned muscles seemed to go in a rush to my chest and then my throat, as I let out a pitiful sobbing cry.
“No… no… please,” I begged. Instinctively I tried to kick out with my right leg, taking the left with it and feeling for a moment completely unbalanced atop the arm of the couch.
Major Harrow tightened his grip. His horrible, huge hand, which had quickly attained a swift, sharp rhythm that he seemed to have no intent of pausing, started punishing my upper thighs with hard swats that stung even more than the ones to my bottom. He didn’t need to speak a single warning word; he told me with his hand to stop kicking.
Take your punishment, the hand said.Your lightest punishment, from this point forward.
I sobbed into my couch, realizing that I had made a pool of tears on the beautiful blue fabric. My bottom felt like I had sat on a stove, and every shameful, involuntary squirm of my spanked cheeks reminded me of just how helpless the major had rendered me.
Again I seemed to float out of my body, but in a different way—a confusingly, distressingly peaceful way. I felt for a horrifying moment the justice of the Magisterian’s treatment of me.You disobeyed him, when he had treated you so reasonably. He made it clear that you would have to take your clothes off and go with them, and you decided to be naughty. So now you, the girl being held firmly over the arm of her fancy couch, are getting the lesson you earned, on your bare bottom, just as you deserve.
My body relaxed. The next spank that landed, on my already terribly warm right cheek, made me whimper, and made my hips jerk with the additional sting, but to my dismay I pushed out my bottom right afterward, as ifinvitinganother swat.
I felt the major observe the change; I sensed the way his grip loosened a little, and the slight pause before he gave me that final spank, right in the middle of my backside, very hard. I gave a pitiful, sobbing cry, my whole body tensing and then going limp.
The lieutenant let me go, whether at a nod from the major or simply because he, too, knew exactly what to look for in a girl receiving bare-bottom discipline for the first time.
“You may stand up, Sara,” the major said, “and take off your clothes for me now.”
CHAPTER4
Philip
I found Sara Granzofar very distracting, in a way partly welcome and partly not. The usual sort of distraction I frequently felt when employed on reparations business—that’s to say, the pleasant experience of teaching a pretty girl the sort of lesson she desperately needs—didn’t bother me in the slightest. On the other hand, Sara had something special about her that I wanted to find a moment to consider, when I really didn’t have that moment to spend on idle reflection.
I thought the reflection would prove idle, anyway. I had never felt a hint of romantic interest in the subject of a reparations call, and at first I didn’t recognize my emotional and mental response to Sara Granzofar as such. I simply realized that I found her even more attractive than the vast majority of the reparations subjects assigned to me by federation command.
The nature of reparations work meant that the women Withers and I visited always ranked in the very highest category of feminine beauty, as assigned by the algorithm that scanned the portraits of every high-status woman on a newly subject world. For the purpose of making a proper example to the rest of the population, the first subjects delivered for reformation needed to possess an immediate appeal in their looks.
Sara’s beauty would ensure the success of the peace treaty Artemisia had signed with the Magisterian Federation. When federation command broadcast the results of her reformation, the girl’s platinum-blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and sweet, heart-shaped face would do as much as a hundred earnest public service announcements. Her slim, petite body and her perfect little breasts, exposed and enjoyed in the course of her training night, would drive home the seriousness of Magisteria’s new order more effectively than any message from the government—or, more important, any wasteful destruction of the world’s vital infrastructure.
Even judged by the standards of the dozen or so lovely young women I had visited for this purpose—in the course of that duty having to give five or six of them the same sort of spanking I had just given Sara—Miss Sara Granzofar’s pretty face and gorgeous little bottom sparked my dominant libido to an extreme degree. I had taken beautiful, submissive girls to reformation centers on several of the far-flung worlds brought into line by the Magisterian-armed forces and our equally hard-fighting diplomatic corps. I knew the distraction of a hard cock after punishing a naughty bottom until it glowed fiery red with the just reward of feminine disobedience.
But Sara also seemed to have resisted her submissive tendencies rather more thoroughly than any young woman I had visited before. For some reason, the challenge implied in her attitude—indeed, even in the dossier Withers and I had received at command that morning before coming to the girl’s high-rise apartment—intrigued me, and distracted me, more than the standard challenges of the cases I had worked thus far in my current role as deputy chief of reformation services.
