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Weeping, Sara rose to her feet as Withers and I stepped back from the couch where I had disciplined her. She kept her eyes on the luxurious pile carpet of the expensive home she would soon leave, not to return as the same woman who had left it.
My cock stirred forcefully against my thigh at the sight of her with her sweatpants and briefs around her knees and her hands held in front of her golden-thatched cunny. Something about the clothing worn by women on egalitarian worlds like Artemisia always seemed to provoke my dominant instincts in a rather enchanting way—at least when put into disarray as part of administering a well-deserved lesson. Her t-shirt, light blue withUniversity of Artemisiaemblazoned in white, set off Sara’s weeping eyes admirably.
I let her stay there for a moment, breathing hard, the tears trickling down her furiously blushing cheeks. The warmth from my firm hand would, I knew, already have begun to make its way through the adjacent areas, and surely Miss Sara Granzofar had started to suspect the true reason she had avoided learning anything about Magisterian culture.
She squeezed her eyes shut, and a deep crease appeared on her forehead. I knew the time had come to do a bit more of my part in this delicate early stage of Sara’s reformation.
“Once you’re assigned a guardian, Sara, I’m sure you’ll learn quickly to obey him,” I said in a reassuring tone. “If you do, you won’t feel the cane across your bottom any more than necessary to keep you pliable.”
* * *
Sara
I took a startled, gasping breath. My body’s mortifying reaction to Major Harrow’s words took me completely by surprise.
Absurdly, if with complete justice, my mind yelled—well, more like it sobbed—It’s not fair!
None of it seemed the slightest bit fair, beginning with their fucking spotless uniforms, continuing to Major Harrow’s impossibly handsome face and neatly trimmed beard, and the precision of Lieutenant Withers’ hands. Most of all, the way my private part—no, dammit, mypussy… myvagina—responded to this asshole officer’s smooth, superior voice.
Fine, I had more or less actively turned my attention away from any mention of Magisteria because of precisely this feeling, which Major Harrow with clear malicious intent had just awoken far too forcefully for me to think it a coincidence.
Complicated.Yes, I had a very complicated reaction to Magisterian culture.
Fuck Magisteria. I gritted my teeth and raised my watering eyes to meet the major’s. I took a deep breath and I forced my hands apart, balling them into fists as I pulled them away from their mortifying position in front of my privates.
Dammit.
I couldn’t stop thinking of that embarrassing area of my anatomy in that childish way, despite having more or less pushed myself into what Artemisians accepted as normal adult sexuality. I had fucked three guys, and I regularly told myself the only reason I hadn’t fucked more was that I had gotten much too busy over the past two years as a rising start in public relations.
I liked sex fine. I didn’t mind the physical cock-in-pussy part despite my inability to think of my vagina in an adult fashion unless I concentrated on rephrasing my internal monologue. I kind of liked the intimacy, too, as long as it didn’t get out of hand. Above all, I liked feeling that I could find an outlet for my physical needs without losing control.
To the extent that the fucking had represented part of romantic relationships, I supposed that had gone fine, too. I had called all three guys my boyfriend at the time, and I had enjoyed hanging out with them before work responsibilities had basically forced a breakup in each case. It didn’t seem fair to me to make a young man stay faithful when I could only see him once or twice a week, even before I joined the presidential campaign. I had shit to do, and all I wanted from a boyfriend, really, was the knowledge that I had a boyfriend like other grownup women.
I didn’t know how that came from beingcomplicated, exactly. I had turned away from the idea that a connection existed between my tepid sex life and my refusal to think about Magisteria. The worst part of this worst morning of my life undoubtedly had to be that this asshole Magisterian knew, somehow, that he could pull my panties down, spank my bare bottom like a child from an ancient story, and then make my vagina contract with his arrogant threat about a guardian and a cane.
I could see in his dark chocolate eyes that he strongly suspected the humiliating thing that had just happened between my thighs. I had no idea how he could know that, and the idiotic idea that Magisterian men had some sort of sixth sense for girls’ sexuality came unbidden to my mind. That only made the problem worse, with another surge of warmth in response to the shred of silly fantasy.
I cursed my stupid failure to learn about them and their stupid federation; maybe if I knew more I could have at least rationalized some of this horrible experience and contained its horrifying effect on my body. I tried to send angry beams shooting from my eyes into his, daring him to lower his gaze to look at the naughty sight I had just uncovered for him: cabinet secretary Sara Granzofar’s private part, open to view since a Magisterian officer had taken down her pants and underwear to give her the first spanking of her life.
He smiled. I felt my face scrunch up in abject humiliation at that expression—the superior, patronizing smile of a man who understands just how far beyond your culture’s pitiful understanding his victorious civilization has traveled.
I thought for a split-second that he would refuse to look at my pussy. The idea that he would decline my lewd, defiant offer—my attempt to show that a powerful woman from an egalitarian society had no need for modesty or shame—sent a wave of hot anger and embarrassment to my face on its own, but Major Harrow’s next action drew a much worse reaction: a whimper from my throat.
He did look down, and his smile grew as his eyes took in the sparsely thatched triangle of my privates. I knew from furtive glances in the mirror that the lightness of my pubic hair’s color meant that the major could see the cleft of my private lips—could even see the coral hint of my clit’s wrinkly hood.
I tried to keep my body’s response to that smile in check, but the whimper emerged nonetheless. My fists trembled at my sides, and I had terrible difficulty in keep them in place. The idea sprang to mind that he would spank me again if I tried to hide my pussy from him, and in turn that made me aware for the first time since I had risen from the arm of the couch of how much my bottom hurt.
I bit my lip and furrowed my brow. It did hurt: I tried to focus on that. Itdid, but the warmth there had become less of a sting and more of a glow. I realized to my dismay that the sensation had begun to produce an extremely unwelcome effect—that it was keeping me from thinking straight.
I needed to change the course of events. I needed to resist.
“Are you happy?” I asked, in as sarcastic a tone as I could manage. “Do you like what you see,Major?”
His eyes rose to meet mine, and his smile changed without departing; his eyes narrowed, sending a thrill of fear through my chest that, yes, he might well put me back over the couch arm. I fought with the instinctive urge to put my hands back behind me, to shield my butt.
“I’ll be happy when you obey me, Sara,” he said quietly.
I took a snorting breath through my nose, feeling my nostrils flare and getting some satisfaction from that defiant sensation. I tossed my head.
