Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 87050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
The thought of him stretching me open, filling me so completely while I was bound and unable to move, was so powerful that I felt a little of its intensity before the tingle of the governor took it away. I heard the beep of Dr. Porter’s handheld, and I let out a sob as my hips jerked against the leather belt across my back.
“Gentlemen,” Dr. Porter said, “as you may have just noticed, Miss Tessara is extremely responsive. We must make allowances, of course, for a girl who has served the Vionian fleet.”
Tears formed in my eyes, and I bit my lip. Dr. Porter hadn’t spoken cruelly, and he hadn’t said anything but the truth.
I belong to Gamma, now, I told myself urgently. Gamma loves me. Gamma will teach me to please him. Gamma likes to watch me punished. I blinked, because I realized at that moment that I no longer had any doubt about it: somehow I could feel Gamma’s dominant pleasure, across the room.
I tensed as I heard Dr. Porter retrieve his cane, the slight rattle of it against the tabletop making my brow furrow. I heard him swish it through the air again, just as he had done before whipping Elara. Each whistle of the thin rod made me flinch, my imagination running wild with thoughts of how it would feel striking my tender flesh.
Again I felt something that I knew must come from the man I loved: I felt how bewitching he found the sight of me, how he, too, wished he could move the headmaster aside and thrust his hardness deep inside me. I clung to the idea that he himself had sent me these ideas, that his alien consciousness could somehow reassure me of his approval.
Part of me wondered how I could possibly love a man—an only partly human man—who enjoyed watching me whipped for touching my cunny without permission. The rest of me simply understood it, perhaps on the cosmic level Gamma himself had told me of, or perhaps on the much more basic level of my body and its inborn desires, its shameful-but-impossible-to-deny needs.
“Miss Tessara,” Dr. Porter’s voice rang out, stern and unyielding. “You will receive six strokes for your misbehavior. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, sir,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Very well,” he replied. “Prepare yourself.”
I gripped the edges of the whipping horse, my knuckles turning white with the effort. My entire body was taut with anticipation, every nerve feeling stretched and hypersensitive. I felt Dr. Porter’s hand come down on the belt across my waist, a firm pressure that seemed to fix me in place.
The whoosh of the cane cutting through the air seemed to last an eternity. Then, with terrible precision, it connected with my bare bottom. The pain was instant and searing, far more intense than anything I had experienced even at the hands of the Vionians. A line of fire blazed across both my cheeks, and I couldn’t hold back a cry of anguish.
Before I could fully process the agony of the first stroke, the second fell. Again, Dr. Porter’s aim was impeccable, laying the cane just below the first welt. The pain was exponential, building upon the burning sting of the initial strike. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I bit my lip hard to keep from screaming.
The third stroke landed with devastating accuracy, crossing the first two welts and sending shockwaves of agony through my entire body. I couldn’t hold back my scream this time, the sound tearing from my throat and echoing in the quiet room.
As the fourth stroke fell, I was struck by the realization that Dr. Porter hadn’t uttered a word since beginning my punishment. There was no counting, no admonishments—just the whistling of the cane and the crack of its impact against my flesh. The silence somehow made the experience even more terrible.
I screamed and screamed as Dr. Porter’s cane fell again and again, each stroke more agonizing than the last. Where the Vionians’ whippings had been brutal and careless, Dr. Porter’s caning was precise and methodical, each stroke placed with devastating accuracy to maximize my suffering.
The fifth stroke landed directly across the tender crease where my bottom met my thighs. I thrashed against the restraints, my back arching as I tried desperately to escape the searing pain. But the leather straps held firm, keeping me immobilized and helpless beneath Dr. Porter’s merciless cane.
As the sixth and final stroke fell, crossing diagonally over the previous welts, I felt something deep inside me shatter. My scream turned into a keening wail, my body shuddering with the intensity of the pain. Tears streamed down my face, dripping onto the leather upholstery of the whipping horse beneath me.
In the haze of agony, I found my mind turning to Gamma. I pictured his stern blue face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched me receive my just punishment. The image of his approval, of his pleasure in seeing me corrected so thoroughly, sent an unexpected jolt through me.