Training Planet

by Tilton, Emily

  The doctor spoke to Sister Portia in a businesslike voice, now. “Her breasts are gamma for size, but I’m guessing alpha for responsiveness.”

  The hand moved across Britana’s chest to her other breast and her other nipple. Taking it between his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed.

  “This is going to cause a little discomfort, sweetheart,” he told her, his eyes looking into Britana’s as the pressure increased.

  Britana cried out, her body bucking. She chewed the inside of her cheek hard to keep from making another sound as the doctor released the poor little nubbin, and the sensation flowed back into it. Again her hips gave another of those shameful jerks.

  “Alpha, yes, Doctor. You were exactly right,” Sister Portia said in an unctuous tone that made Britana want to scream. When she looked at the woman, she saw that the sister had her eyes fixed on her tablet, as if something there had told her about Britana’s reaction.

  “That’s a good thing, Britana,” the doctor said. “You’re likely to get a good assignment even with that small chest. Girls with your responsiveness are in great demand.”

  Sister Portia made a sort of dismissive, snorting sound. “Little whores, they are,” she said.

  “Come now, Sister,” the doctor said, as Britana felt her face go as hot as the sun. “You and your fellow instructresses are going to make sure this girl learns to behave herself, just as you’ve always done. Britana, sweetheart, try not to be ashamed of how strong your erotic needs are. Trust the Sisters of Service to teach you how to keep your modesty even as you serve the fleet.”

  “But…” Britana tried, her voice coming out quavery and petulant. “But it’s so… mean.” She searched for a better word. “Cruel! I thought Magisterians were supposed to be just!”

  “Silence, girl!” Sister Portia thundered. “The doctor doesn’t want to hear your opinion about Magisterian ways.”

  “No, that’s alright, Sister,” the clean-shaven, light-haired man with the high cheekbones all Magisterians seemed to have said. “It’s natural for an intelligent girl to have questions.”

  He sat on the stool between Britana’s raised feet, now, and looked up at her over her newly hairless pussy, her flat tummy, her little breasts, all so naked that it made Britana feel faint just to see him there, with his eyes on her most private, most secret places.

  “I know how very hard it is to understand this punishment—the one your world earned from us with your rebellion,” he said as he took a sort of headband out from a drawer beneath the chair and put it on. He flipped a little switch, and the light on the headband came on, bright and focused, ready to shine on Britana’s pussy. “But Magisteria has decided that shame represents a powerful motivating force—more powerful and more humane than reckless violence could ever be.”

  From the same drawer, Britana saw him take a plastic speculum. She bit her lip at the sight of him putting lubricant on it.

  “Now I think you know I don’t need much of this, do I, sweetheart?” he asked her, looking up from the speculum with a smile.

  “You certainly don’t, Doctor,” said Sister Portia dourly, looking down at her tablet. “She’s as wet as a waterfall.”

  Doctor Hascom chuckled as he looked down. Britana felt his hand there, his fingertips slick with the lube he had just put on the speculum. They moved over the place at the top, the place whose name she knew from school but had never spoken out loud—the place whose name sounded so naughty, somehow.

  “What—” Britana gasped. “What are you—” Her backside jerked over the crinkly paper on the chair as a sensation that felt as good as it was unwelcome seemed to flow out through her whole body.

  It felt like her restless nights, when she would move her thighs in bed, squeeze down there just to see, guiltily, what happened when she did, how she would dampen her panties with the pleasant feeling. But the direct way Doctor Hascom did it, the frank touch and the skillful movement, made her pussy, her private, naughty cleft, feel too good: her face got even hotter than his fingers made her down there, and she suddenly had the strange, troubling thought that perhaps she should be whipped for letting the doctor touch her that way—as if Britana had any choice.

  “Hush, you little whore,” Sister Portia said. “The doctor is testing how pleasurable you can be for a man.”

  “Sister,” Doctor Hascom said, the admonishing tone of his voice comforting Britana, though only for a moment. “Britana, sweetheart, I’m stimulating you the way a man might when he means to use your vagina for his pleasure. You paid close attention in school, I imagine, during your health and hygiene classes?”

  Oh, no. Images filled her mind. Naughty pictures her teacher had made them all look at, and some not naughty—but still so shameful. Lessons about how humans made new humans, about changing bodies, about consent, and about… sex. All so theoretical, because although Britana knew she liked boys—from the way she felt funny when she saw the Magisterian officers in their uniforms or the young physical education teacher in his tight t-shirt and shorts—she got too embarrassed when she thought about them in association with the curriculum of health and hygiene class.

  Now Britana couldn’t resist the images. A Magisterian in a uniform had his hand down there, and he had just said… use your vagina for his pleasure.

  She sobbed, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back against the chair. Her hips jerked and her hands struggled. The webbing of the belt holding her down and restraining her wrists at her sides seemed to increase the shameful pleasure somehow, as if the idea that she had no choice brought out more wantonness in her pussy. She had begun her life as a captive ship girl, a fuck toy of the fleet, a little whore, and Sister Portia would train her to do as she was told, no matter how degrading the command.

  “That’s alpha plus,” Doctor Hascom observed. “Britana, sweetheart, go ahead and climax for me. I need to see how long it takes for you to orgasm, and how long it lasts. It will feel even better when you have a penis inside you, but a clitoral orgasm is a good measurement.”

  “Shall I get the clitoral trainer, Doctor?” asked Sister Portia.

  Britana’s eyes flew open, to see that the older woman wore a superior smile. Sister Portia had already reached into a cabinet above the sink.

  “I don’t think so,” the doctor said. “This one doesn’t need it. She’ll climax quickly without the extra stimulation, I think. Britana, honey, I’m guessing you play with yourself often? Every day, even?”

  Her back jerked against the chair, the paper crinkling, mortifying her more somehow by reminding her that she was in a doctor’s exam room. She shook her head wildly, even as her bare pussy seemed to contradict her denial, clenching under Doctor Hascom’s knowing fingers.

  “Nonsense,” scoffed Sister Portia. “Just look at her, Doctor.”

  “I…” Britana sobbed. “I don’t… I have…”

  She could feel it, now—she hadn’t even been sure what the doctor meant about climaxing, before, because it had actually never happened to her despite what she knew from health and hygiene class. She had sometimes gotten to a point, in a restless night, where she had almost wondered what might come next, but she had always felt too embarrassed.

  The doctor’s fingers, though, had already gone much further. She struggled against the belt and the cuffs and the restraints on her knees, and it made the pleasure even greater. It felt like a balloon of ecstasy had begun to expand between her legs, spreading and spreading, and it would burst soon. She closed her eyes, bit her lip, and whimpered with each gentle movement of the doctor’s fingers.

  “I have… restless… nights,” she breathed. “Sometimes. Oh, please… please… stop…”

  So close, now, the acme of pleasure, the top of the wicked mountain.

  “Restless nights mean sore backsides, here, girl,” said Sister Portia.

  It happened. Britana couldn’t do anything at all to stop it; she looked at the head sister and the doctor, and she saw that both of them had fixed their eyes betw
een Britana’s thighs, where the sister had spread her out and shaved her grownup hair away. She thought of what Sister Portia meant to do, of the whipping the woman had promised, and to her dismay it made the balloon explode, and she climaxed—she had no doubt at all now about what it meant—crying out and jerking hard against the restraints. Spasm after spasm went through her body as her bottom squirmed in the chair, until the doctor took his hand away at last.

  “Alpha plus definitely. And the wand has clearly worn off,” he told Sister Portia. “Britana, I’m hoping that orgasm will help you relax for the speculum. I just need a quick look inside you.”

  Britana gasped as she felt the beak of the thing opening her, but she found to her embarrassment that indeed the climax had relaxed the muscles down there. The sensation was so odd and humiliating that she had to work to keep from tensing back up, but she felt desperate to show Sister Portia that she could obey the doctor.

  “Hymen is intact,” the doctor said. “She’s been a good girl.”

  “That’s a surprise,” said the head sister. “But she won’t be a virgin for long, and her whorishness will truly come out as soon as she’s bedded.”

  Britana could only bite her lip and try to keep from crying out. The speculum withdrew. For a moment, she thought the exam had ended, and despite the threats of Sister Portia she knew an instant of gladness.

  Then the doctor spoke again, just as she felt the plastic beak again, at the entrance to her tiniest hole, the most private place of all.

  “Just a peek in here, now, sweetheart. Relax as much as you can.”

  She gave a little cry, as she felt her bottom resist the violation.

  “Don’t make a fuss, girl,” said Sister Portia. “You know how. You need to get used to it as much as you can before you’re taken there.”

  Britana’s lips parted in discomfort. She looked from the sister to the doctor, who had his head bent, the light shining on her darkest place. She felt the beak open, widening her bottom, opening her little ring.

  “What?” she gasped. “What does… taken mean?”

  Neither the doctor nor the head sister answered her directly. When he spoke again, he addressed his words to the older woman.

  “She looks fine for intercourse here, but she’s quite tight. Seven, I’d say. Her first master should be notified. He’ll want to break her bottom in gradually, I imagine.”

  Chapter 6

  Doctor Hascom washed his hands and left the examination room, after the rectal examination. Sister Portia began to remove the restraints from the whimpering, red-faced girl, whose eyes remained closed.

  “Get up, girl,” the head sister said. “Follow me. We’ll go to the dormitory now, and I’ll whip you there, before I take you to your classroom.”

  As Britana climbed off the chair, knees trembling, Vincent reluctantly closed the video feed from the training center and turned to the watch reports from his first officer. He supposed he would miss seeing the girl punished in real time, but he reflected that he could call the scene up from the Sisters of Service video archive whenever he liked.

  One of the many helpful services with which their order provided the Magisterian Royal Navy comprised an archive full of such scenes, from the training of ship girls like Britana Geran. In the absence of a ship girl of one’s own, a young officer sometimes needed to make do with visual pleasures, and the Sisters of Service understood the needs of men in the Magisterian military very thoroughly.

  After reading through Lieutenant Gordon’s reports, Vincent took a tour of his bridge and bid both his lieutenants good morning.

  “Any chance of a ship girl for us soon, Captain?” Lieutenant Erie, the tactical specialist asked him.

  Vincent smiled. “It’s a definite possibility, Lieutenant,” he confided.

  “You have your eye on one, sir?” asked Lieutenant Gordon from his own station in front of navigation.

  “I may,” Vincent replied, smiling. “When you’re off duty, have a look at the girl who just arrived this morning. Britana Geran is her name. She’s probably getting her first whipping right now.”

  Erie chuckled. “She’s a naughty one? Captain, I wouldn’t have thought you’d go for a bad girl.”

  “Oh, she’s not a bad girl,” Vincent said, chuckling. “Just a little dreamy, maybe. You know those sisters, though. Britana’s getting the strap for dawdling. The head sister had her quim hair off five minutes after she arrived, though, dawdling or no.”

  Just then the handheld at Vincent’s side buzzed. To his surprise, he had a mail from Sister Portia of the training academy. He returned to his quarters to read it.

  Dear Captain Edwards,

  The governor was kind enough to forward your gratifyingly solicitous inquiry concerning our new girl, Miss Britana Geran. I am pleased to inform you that as the first inquirer into the taking of her virginity, you have the right of first refusal, so long as you can spare the time to come down to the surface of Normeria within the next few Normerian days. As I am sure you know, it is important to Britana’s training that she be used for the first time soon after her arrival here.

  If your schedule allows you to join us at the center as soon as this evening, indeed, I will postpone the little whore’s first punishment in order that you may observe it, and then you may take her to the hospitality suite and enjoy her. I have already informed Britana that her appointment with my strap has been put off, a delay that does the girl much good in helping her to think about the shameful and painful consequences of her actions. Indeed, if it proves impossible for you to come to the surface, I shall invite one of the officers of the Colonial Authority to observe Miss Britana Geran’s first discipline session, and to possess her afterward, as the girl clearly belongs to that class of young woman who benefits from decisive, firm-handed masculine attention.

  In hope that you may assist in the training of an obedient and useful ship girl, and that I may have the honor of meeting you myself—and of allowing you some sweet respite from your onerous naval duties,

  Sister of Service Portia Viadoloris

  Vincent touched his communicator. “Lieutenant Gordon.”

  “Captain?” The communicator made it sound as if the first officer were present next to his commander.

  “Would you order a surface shuttle for me, please? As soon as possible?”

  “Certainly, sir. Shouldn’t be longer than an hour before it gets here. The ship girl, sir?”

  Vincent could hear the hope in his voice. If he knew Gordon, the lieutenant would like Britana just as much as Vincent already did, from the mere way she spoke and carried herself—displeasing as those things apparently seemed to the Sisters of Service.

  “That’s right. I’m going to deflower her this evening after I watch her have her cute little bottom whipped for the first time.”

  Gordon chuckled. “You’re a lucky man, Captain.”

  “I hope we’ll all be lucky men soon enough, Ben,” he chuckled, and closed the channel.

  * * *

  Three hours later Sister Portia met him at the main entrance of the center, which led through huge doors into a grand foyer where the president of Normeria had held his state receptions.

  “Very nice,” he said to the head sister, looking around him, after they had exchanged the usual formal pleasantries.

  “Indeed it is, Captain,” Sister Portia said, imitating his admiring look at the neo-classical furnishings, stark white and contrasted with gilt at the edges of the huge mirrors that reminded Vincent of images of Versailles on old Earth.

  “Do you use the space,” he asked, “for your own purposes here at the center? Or does it just stand empty as a lesson to these rebels?”

  The sister smiled the same sort of superior smile that Vincent had seen strike shame and fear into Britana. To Vincent, on the same side of the power dynamic at which the Sisters of Service excelled as the woman herself, the expression seemed no less potent.

  “You should wait and see, Captain,” Sister
Portia said with a conspiratorial air. “I could tell you, but you will learn for yourself soon enough, if you follow the progress of Britana Geran or any of our other little sluts.”

  Vincent smiled back. “Very well, Sister,” he said. “I am in your hands. I have never found the Sisters of Service wanting in their assistance to myself or my brother officers.”

  “Good man,” Sister Portia said, nodding. “We will go observe Miss Geran in her classroom, I think. I shall whip her at the end of afternoon lessons.”

  As they walked along the grand hallway toward what Vincent imagined must have been the administrative part of the president’s residence, the head sister told him about the program of the center.

  “The class for new girls teaches them Magisterian history, while introducing them to cultural concepts that they are likely to find strange and rather embarrassing.”

  A naked young woman emerged from a doorway a few yards ahead of them. Pretty and petite, her red hair and green eyes matched the pert, stiff nipples that stood up on her well-rounded breasts. On seeing Sister Portia and the Magisterian officer with her, the reflexes of her upbringing obviously took over, and the girl put her hands over her hairless pussy and her breasts, as her face went bright red.

  “Melora Bullen,” the sister said, her voice full of disapproval. “Take your hands away this instant and place them behind your back. How many times do we have to tell you girls how to behave in the presence of an officer?”

  Melora bit her lip. Her hands clenched into little fists for a moment, and then she obeyed, the way a trained ship girl would: she put her hands behind her, clasping them at her tailbone so that Vincent could inspect her in an informal way.

  “What are you doing out here, Melora?” he asked the girl, using his voice to comfort her a little and knowing Sister Portia would appreciate the bit of help he could provide in Melora’s training.

  One of the essential ideas behind the educational philosophy of the Sisters of Service involved this sort of conditioning to the commanding presence of a dominant man. Sister Portia and her fellow teachers worked to bring a young woman like Melora or Britana not just to acceptance of her fate, but to appreciation of it.