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Agent Delvik kept moving his fingers up and down, in and out, while the aftershocks of what I would soon learn to call a climax made my body jerk under his hands.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “That’s it. Let’s get that all out of your system before I really punish you.”
I shook my head, trying to understand. The dread only began to creep in as the pleasure receded and awareness returned. I remembered all the things he had threatened. I twisted my head around, trying to get a look at his face. I felt the paddle slide down onto the table, and I shuddered at the feeling, at the memory of how he had used it on my bottom and my thighs.
“Wait…” I pleaded, sure that he meant to start up again immediately. “Wait… sir, please…”
But he had taken a step back, and as I watched he sat in the chair.
“First I’m going to inspect you properly, though,” he said. “I already know you’re a little whore—your cunt told me that all on its own. I need to evaluate your body, though. So we’ll go back to the beginning. Get up and turn around. Put your hands on your head and keep your eyes lowered, where they belong. It’s up to you how severe your second paddling is going to be, so choose wisely.”
CHAPTER 8
Chalondra
Choose wisely.
Agent Delvik’s words drew a sob from deep in my chest. I lowered my eyes to his black leather boots, trying to push back the insane feeling of gratitude that filled my chest. I frowned and ground my teeth hard to stop a sob of relief from rising, that he didn’t seem inclined to punish me for having forgotten his instructions and seeking to look him in the face.
I let it happen. The soreness in my bottom and thighs, the fear of the searing pain of the punisher between my legs, which it seemed the agent could visit on me any time he wanted, and the terrible shame of what he had made my body do, the impossible pleasure he had forced on my pussy… it all just became too much. I closed my eyes, and I swallowed hard because the sob threatened to emerge after all, at the idea of the comfort I might find simply by giving in.
Then I opened my eyes again, and I focused them downward, wanting not to see anything at all but the bare minimum ofvisual feedback required to keep my balance. I did everything in my power to think only about Agent Delvik’s shiny boots, about the dirt of the floor on which they stood, about the metal legs of the chair in which he had seated himself as if it were the imperial throne.
Those boots, though: did a concubine have to polish them every day? Did Agent Delvik have a young woman of his own, a Kamnian or a Breslian, or a girl from another of the worlds from which the Vionian trading companies extracted human property? I knew that most Kamnian concubines were purchased by the nobility, but bonded servants from other worlds labored everywhere in the empire, owned by wealthy Vionians or by the companies themselves.
Would I have to polish my master’s boots? Would I have to kneel, naked, not on dirt but on a floor of metal—or marble, the stone I had never seen but only read about, as the most luxurious of building materials—to do the demeaning duty?
“Good girl,” I heard him say, and only then did I realize I had done it—or my body had: I stood before him where he sat, with my hands on my head, my head bowed, and my eyes downcast as far as they could go. “Spread your feet for me now. Just a little more than shoulder width. No, Chalondra. Much further than that.”
I watched his hand reach out, below my waist. The impression that whatever terrible thing he did now would happen to a different person became much stronger even than it had been. When he gave an impatient slap to the inside of my right thigh, the sensation seemed to affect my body and not my mind. I heard myself yelp, but it seemed a different Kamnian girl made the noise.
So when the hand that had slapped me took hold of that spot, high up on the inside of my leg, and then went upward to take hold of my pussy from below, the shudder of renewed need traveling through my entire body didn’t belong to me. It couldn’t: a spirited girl would never allow a man to do that, would she? I could see it there: I had to see it there, because I couldn’t look up, because if I looked up he would whip me… but the fingers that held, that possessed, that fondled… they had been laid on a different woman.
“Begin narrative record. Kamnian concubine Five-Seventeen, given name Chalondra, service name… hmm…”
The hand between my legs squeezed. I whimpered. I could feel his eyes on my face. The fingers that worked themselves farther back seemed almost thoughtful in their movements. One of them touched me where it felt terribly shameful even to touch myself, the tiny bud hidden deep between my bottom cheeks. My hips jerked forward at the sensation, pushing my pussy further into his palm. The girl between whose thighs Agent Delvik was causing such terrible confusion—she, not I—let out the wrenching sob she had tried so hard to keep down.
“Service name Wetquim. The girl’s cunt has certainly shown the truth of that—why not advertise it?”
He spoke as if he meant his words for someone else. Their effect on me—or, I told myself with the kind of urgency a person only uses when they want something to be true that simply isn’t, their effect on the other girl, the not-me girl—threatened to drive me to my knees. I tried to keep my mind from understanding the terms the agent used:service name… quim. Butservice nameseemed completely obvious, and he had already usedquimto refer to the part of me where his hand kept caressing, toying, playing.
Agent Delvik had just casually renamed me.
“Wetquim is a naughty young Kamnian female,” he continued. “Refer to her data stream for details, but she required several interventions from the punisher when her pre-training began, and actually wet herself in her effort to disobey the instructions of the preparing agent.”
My face had twisted into a mask of woeful denial, and I found that I had begun to shake my head slowly. “No,” I whispered. “No… I…”
“Pause record,” Agent Delvik said, his voice impatient. “Wetquim, you’ll be silent while I make this inspection record, or I’ll paddle your naughty bottom until you are, and it still won’t count towards your punishment for your first disobedience. Do you understand, Wetquim?”
His hand moved again, even further back, so that he could take hold of my bottom cheeks and squeeze until I cried out.
“Do… you… understand… Wetquim?”
A pitiful moan came from somewhere. From me. I could feel it, to my horror. I could feel the truth of the terrible name he had given me. My need—for I understood that, now, from the brutal lessons Agent Delvik had given me in the last few minutes—flowed into his strong, grasping hand.
“Yes, sir,” I sobbed. He pulled the tormenting hand away, and I had to fight with all my will not to let out a pitiful beseeching noise, out of frustration and the sheer animal yearning for the return of the caressing fingers.
“Resume record,” his voice intoned from outside my field of vision, where he could examine my naked body just as hepleased while I gazed down at those horrid, shiny boots. “Wetquim is a naughty Kamnian girl of average height and superior skin tone. As the images from her preparation will show, her backside displays the marks of discipline superbly. Her eyes are a rare, very attractive hazel hue and her hair, naturally very curly, is of a darker blue that sets off her face rather bewitchingly.”
