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“Of course they are. Otherwise, you would be in direct violation of your oath to the Imperator, would you not?”
High Mother fell silent.
The Commissar turned to Quaia warily. “The girl’s insolence is of no importance. This is an objective analysis of what has or has not occurred here.” He looked at Quaia sternly. “If you please. I will need you to remain standing momentarily while I compare the information transmitted from your examinations to your actual physical condition. I will advise you when to sit.”
Quaia stood up and smirked at High Mother before focusing on the seam between the wall and the ceiling.
The Commissar began to prod Quaia. He touched her nipples, and Quaia had to stifle a desire to inhale sharply as his rough fingers squeezed the sore nubs that Torian had sucked on. He made notes in his tablet as he did so, his face revealing nothing.
“Turn.”
She obeyed, aware that by now, all eyes in the room were upon her. Everyone could see for themselves, and were no doubt looking at the welted stripes where she had been disciplined with the rod, or the reddened skin in the shape of Torian’s hand.
But this was all good, she reminded herself, even as her body began to betray her yet again with arousal that wept between her legs. It was good because it was what they had wanted.
“Very well,” the Commissar said. “Sit in the chair.” Quaia did so, and the Commissar ordered the guards in his native language—or certainly one he spoke better than the common tongue or Voklish. The guards moved forward to lift Quaia’s arms to the armrest, which were, differently than before, raised.
Then they moved to her ankles, positioning them, as they had been before, so that her legs were splayed wide open.
Quaia stared at the seam in the walls. With her hands close to her head like this, the position felt more vulnerable than before. She knew that the entire room could see her pussy, the wetness that poured out of it, and her hardening nipples that ached from Torian’s bites and the Commissar’s rough ‘inspection.’
The Commissar donned medical gloves, making Quaia shiver. He waved at the chair, and it began to tilt, just as a lump rose at the small of Quaia’s back, thrusting both her pussy and her bottom-hole, with the plug nestled inside it, into the view of everyone.
Despite her earlier convictions, Quaia felt her cheeks flame with stinging humiliation. She ground her teeth and stared at the ceiling as the Commissar’s gloved fingers began to trace lines around the shapes of her tenderest flesh.
“There!” Quaia heard High Mother shout. “You can see as plainly as I can, Commissar, that the girl is not a virgin. Look how her flower is split open and swollen.”
The Commissar frowned, lifting his head to look Quaia in the eyes. “The examination did note that you had responded that you had not had a man inside you,” he said, his fingers probing her vagina, searching for the hymen that was no longer there. “And the measurements forwarded to us reflect the same. Have you an explanation?”
Quaia was mortified by the touch of the Commissar, but that wasn’t what sent a spike of panic through her. She had no idea how to answer this question.
High Mother was spluttering again, about to begin a lengthy diatribe, Quaia could tell. Quaia looked the Commissar in the eye, thinking fast.
“I’m sure the report reflects also that I have a rather difficult temperament,” she snarled. “I required punishment and the captain administered it.”
“Oh, please,” High Mother interjected. “Anyone can see that—”
“A simple test, Madame, will confirm what the female is telling us,” the Commissar snapped, a great big drop of sweat gathering on his bald head. He barked something in his language and a drone appeared with a lengthy, thin rod attached to it.
It centered between Quaia’s legs, and the long shaft entered her in a single, tidy movement. Quaia felt discomfort, a little cramping, as the probe moved inside her, pressing up and then down, and in other directions. Then it withdrew.
The Commissar looked at his tablet. “The results are negative for male fluids, Madame.”
“I do not believe it!”
“Even if you do not, it is so,” the Commissar snapped. He stood up and faced High Mother and the half-dozen gathered in the room, leaving Quaia callously fastened to the examination chair.
“The female in question, Quaia Sangsen, matches measurements sent to our Commissar, with the exception of edema here, here, and here, as well as tearing here… and of course considerable differences in the elasticity of her anus…”
For each of these observations and measurements, the Commissar touched Quaia wherever he was talking about it.
“These differences, however, are readily explained by the employment of approved corrective measures upon the subject. I conclude, as such, that the female has been properly handled, measured, and is quite clearly being trained. As you must certainly see, Madame, by the placement of a training plug in her rectum.”
High Mother was furious. “Commissar,” she spat. “I hardly see how this is—”
“Do you not?” the Commissar said, suddenly quite feisty. He turned to Quaia and placed a hand on her knee, then reached for the flange between her buttocks. He grasped it, and moved it slowly out, then in, repeating the actions several times.
Quaia closed her eyes as the object moved inside her, pressing against the sore flesh, pushing into the very aroused interior of her pussy, igniting her arousal.
