Vincent took another step toward her. Britana looked over at Melora again, but only for an instant: she turned back to find the captain only two feet away from her, his right hand extended, palm up to receive her own.
“Get up, Britana,” he said, in a practiced tone that mingled politeness with dominance. “Don’t make it worse for yourself. Sister promised you this punishment, I’m sure, and now you must have it.”
The conflict in the girl’s puckered face moved his heart even as it also stirred his cock between his thighs.
“Melora Bullen,” said Sister Portia commandingly. “Return to your desk or I shall have to whip you too.”
Britana started at the sound of the head sister’s voice, and turned to watch the beginning of Melora’s red-faced return to her desk. Vincent spoke again, then, to reclaim the girl’s attention.
“Britana,” he said, in a voice just as dominant as the head sister’s, “this is your last chance to get up the way a good girl does. I understand it’s your first old-fashioned punishment, but you must learn to accept the discipline your teachers bestow.”
She had turned back to him with terror in her eyes at the sound of his voice, Melora’s sluggish progress around the edge of the room ignored. At the sight of his face, which Vincent had set into the sort of stern but also wise expression that came naturally to an experienced leader of men, her lips parted, and she took a little gasping breath.
“Please, sir?” she asked. Her lovely nude body began to tremble, her hands held up in front of her breasts defensively. “Please… I didn’t mean to… to dawdle… I just… it’s all new, and…”
From the back of the room came the sound of a scornful snort, as Sister Portia reacted to Britana’s nearly incoherent plea.
Vincent took one more step toward Britana’s desk, and lowered his right hand, extending his left instead to take a firm but not violent hold of her forearm. Britana let out a little cry as he drew her to her feet, not resisting or struggling as much as shaking with fear.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he said, “but you have to learn.”
Britana looked up at him, her face uncomprehending—she clearly thought he only meant that she would have to learn from Sister Portia, after he marched her to the whipping bench. But the head sister had given him this opportunity, Vincent knew, in the very likely case Britana required further persuasion of the need to obey.
He used his grip on her arm to walk her not back toward Sister Portia but one step forward, so that he could then turn her around to face the back of the room. Her school desk stood right in front of her.
“What?” Britana said, her head turning back and forth, her eyes seeking Sister Gracilis’, Melora’s, even Sister Portia’s as she began to struggle against Vincent’s grasp from sheer panic. “What are you doing? Sir?”
“Bend over, girl,” he said slowly and as sympathetically as he could. “Take the corners of the desk in your hands and look at the whipping bench.”
She would also see her new friend Melora, who had just finally taken her seat at her own desk one row back. Melora had her lower lip between her teeth, and a deep crease had appeared in her brow as once again her cheeks had flushed bright pink.
“Melora, sweetheart,” Vincent said. “Would you hold Britana’s hands, please?”
Britana turned her face forward to the other girl and saw Melora extend her little hands, palms up. Britana gave a little sob from deep in her chest, and at Vincent’s urging started to bend over her desk, until she could take Melora’s fingers inside her own trembling grasp.
Vincent moved his left hand to the naked girl’s slender back and pressed with his open hand, commanding her wordlessly to assume the position for the first corporal punishment of her life. At the same time, he took the whole of her sweet young bottom in his right hand, squeezing her resilient, round cheeks firmly to make certain Britana understood the nature of her circumstances.
She gave a tiny cry as she felt a man’s hand fondle her so boldly. Vincent’s middle two fingers pressed between her thighs, where her bare, pouting quim lay just hidden, virgin and ready for what would happen later in the hospitality suite. He detected the warmth there as he leaned over to speak to her in a low voice, just loud enough for the rest of the room to hear.
“Push this out for me, girl,” he said. “Offer it, for your lesson.”
Britana shook her head, as Vincent had felt certain she would. He straightened, and kept his left hand on her back as he raised his right hand off her backside and then without further warning began to spank the girl, hard and fast.
She writhed in his grasp, crying out as smack after smack fell on her little bottom. Melora had to hold her hands tightly, and Vincent needed to apply a good deal of force to hold her down, but he didn’t break the rhythm of the spanking, making sure that the cadence of ringing slaps continued steadily. Center, left, right, all on her cheeks themselves, the way Captain Vincent Edwards always spanked a ship girl when she had a lesson coming.
For sterner shipboard discipline with the star fleet cat, Britana would find her whole backside turned into an agony should she violate some important regulation. Vincent felt certain, though, that Sister Portia meant to give her a thorough taste of that kind of punishment—he glanced at the head sister and saw that she had taken the stiff leather strap from its hook on the classroom wall above the whipping bench, and laid it on a little table by the front of the bench.
“Push… out… this… bottom… Britana,” he said as he kept spanking her, raising his arm to shoulder height and bringing his hand down hard with each word.
She had bowed her head as she tried to get away, her already pink bottom squirming and clenching lewdly under Vincent’s correction. Now he watched her raise it, and saw her take in the figure of the head sister with her strap. She gave a cry of fear and pain, and she obeyed Vincent’s command, raising her backside onto tiptoe so that she could shamelessly and submissively offer her little cheeks, her sweet cunny.
Immediately Vincent stopped spanking her. He took her warm bottom into his hand again, and soothed her punished cheeks. Britana whimpered at the touch, and the whimper became a questioning, rising moan as he used his two middle fingertips to reawaken the need between her thighs, now greatly heightened by all the complicated feelings a submissive young woman has at her first punishment from a man.
“You must stand up, now, honey,” he told her, bending down again and now speaking only to her, his voice soft in her ear. A sob racked her upper body on the desk and he saw that a pool of tears had formed on its wooden surface. “You have a whipping coming. Don’t make it worse. Show Sister that you can accept your lesson even when it hurts.”
All the while, as he spoke, he began very slowly to awaken her quim. What the doctor had begun, Vincent moved along, though much less clinically. His fingers found the wetness at the entrance to her virgin sheath and spread it further on, deeper between her thighs, until he touched her sweet little clit.
Britana gave a little cry, and tried to straighten up. Her hands twisted in Melora’s, but the other girl held on, her eyes full of sympathy, and Vincent kept Britana down over the desk with his broad left hand as he aroused her. The whipping would seem much less fearsome, and even less painful, the more the girl felt its erotic quality.
“Shh,” Vincent said softly. “Be a good girl, now.”
With his fingers still pressing her wet quim from behind, his grip firmly on her warm, spanked bottom, he moved his left hand to her upper arm again. Melora let go, and Vincent raised Britana up, her dark brown ponytail charmingly disheveled as she looked about her with tearstained eyes.
Vincent thought he could hear a needy sort of whimper from another girl as he marched Britana toward the whipping bench now with one hand on her shoulder and the other on her backside.
Sister Portia stood back as they approached. “Melora Bullen,” she said, “please fetch the punishment harness from Sister Gracilis. Britana will not receive it fully today,
as she has not served a man yet, but she must learn its nature here and now. You will receive it in her place. Captain Edwards, would you be so kind as to bind the girl on the bench?”
Britana shuddered, and turned to Vincent with wide eyes. Her incomprehension of Sister Portia’s words showed clearly in her face. He smiled down at her, soothing her bottom and her pussy as he urged her the final steps to the leather-covered bench.
“It will be over soon,” he said gently. “Now kneel down.”
But Britana had turned in other direction, to see that Melora had obeyed the head sister, and Sister Gracilis had something in her hands that must look terribly confusing to the new girl. She struggled a little against Vincent’s grasp, now, but he knew how to make her kneel down and how to keep her in place as he fastened the stout belt around her waist despite her whimpers of mingled alarm and arousal.
“It’s better this way,” he said, fastening first the wrist cuffs and then the leg cuffs, so that the girl lay prostrate on the bench, her face still turning back and forth as she tried to figure out what would befall her. “The restraints will keep you from hurting yourself when you’re punished.”
She need not have worried, for Sister Portia had led Melora to the front of the whipping bench. When the head sister put her hands to the neck of her habit and parted it, all down the front to reveal her corset and her stockings and the full dark bush that crowned her cunt, Britana cried out. When she dropped the habit behind her, though her head wrap remained in place, Britana gasped, and her hips bucked against the belt, at the sight of the nearly naked Sister Portia.
When Melora stooped to let the head sister step into the leather punishment harness with its huge red artificial cock standing menacingly upright, Britana said, “Oh, no.”
Chapter 9
The long, thick, scarlet thing pointed right at Britana’s face. She had thought when Sister Portia had suddenly, shockingly begun to strip her habit from her shoulders to reveal a sort of inner habit so very different from the outer one, that the flash of hot shame she felt through every fiber of her body could not grow more fiery. The hard, upright phallus that the head sister now brought close to Britana’s eyes proved that idea wrong.
Of course she had looked in wellness class, at the pictures. If she hadn’t looked, she would have called attention to herself. Other girls might have guessed at the wicked turmoil inside Britana’s chest, the butterflies in her tummy when she saw what men looked like, between their thighs. She had looked, and because she had a great deal of intelligence and awareness, she had—to her dismay—memorized the way the head of a penis had a strange, fascinating curve, and how it had a vein, and how it emerged from a nest of curly, wiry hair.
All of that seemed shamefully, obscenely mirrored in the false version Sister Portia had just made Melora help her don. The belt, and the strap between the sister’s thighs, made the dildo stand up from the bush of Sister Portia’s brown pubic hair. The framing of the thing between the head sister’s black corset and her black stockings, between the terribly slim parallel silk lines of the suspenders that ran up the marble thighs, made Britana whimper at the very sight.
“Kneel, Melora,” Sister Portia said in her coldest voice.
Melora seemed to understand precisely what the head sister required of her. Britana noticed that not far from the whipping bench stood a stack of oblong red cushions, three or four centimeters thick. Melora fetched one now, and laid it next to Sister Portia’s feet, which Britana noticed with widened eyes wore black high-heeled shoes, previously concealed by her voluminous outer garment.
Suddenly Britana remembered Captain Edwards. It took every shred of her will not to turn around to look at him. She felt a terrible need to know what sort of expression he wore on his face, and where he had turned his own gaze. The idea that he might be taking advantage of her knees spreading by the cuffs of the whipping bench, that he might be enjoying the sight of her bare pussy, made her bite her lip. In vain she tried to still her wayward hips, her squirming bottom. The very thought of the handsome Magisterian in his green uniform looking at her private parts, held down and displayed for him, made the wanton need rise high below her tummy, despite all the confusion caused by what Sister Portia did in front of her.
The frightening woman took a step forward, toward Britana. The obscene red thing swayed before her eyes, and though she could sense that the head sister would not approve, she had to close them. How could she keep looking at the awful artificial penis?
Instantly she felt Sister Portia’s hand seize her chin, squeeze it hard.
“Open your eyes, you little whore,” the woman said.
Startled, Britana obeyed, feeling for an instant as if the head sister’s voice somehow had the power of her obedience wand; Britana couldn’t have kept her eyes closed if her life depended on it. She had to look, had to see the huge red cock and Melora kneeling, looking up at the half-naked Sister Portia who wielded it now in her left hand, brandished it at Britana like a scepter.
“Melora Bullen,” Sister Portia commanded, “tell the new girl what I have in my hand.”
“The punishment shaft, Sister,” Melora said quietly, a deep crease appearing in her forehead.
“And what do I use the punishment shaft for, Melora?”
Britana’s eyes went from the long, thick, red thing in the sister’s hand to her half angry, half amused eyes, looking into Britana’s face as if to ensure that the new girl paid attention to every word.
“You teach girls to obey their masters, Sister,” Melora whispered, her face turning red.
Britana bit her lip, and now she couldn’t help it. She turned her head, struggling against Sister Portia’s grip on her chin. She felt absolutely desperate to see the captain if she possibly could; she yearned despite herself to know what kind of expression he wore as he watched Britana learn about the terrible degradations of her new life as a ship girl.
She saw the rest of the class, fourteen naked girls sitting quietly at their desks, watching what took place at the back of the room. Their expressions mirrored Melora’s; they obviously sympathized with the newest pupil, undergoing this shameful lesson. Yet their eyes also showed the great complexity of their thoughts and sensations.
The sight of Britana bound to the whipping bench, confronted for the first time by the punishment shaft, clearly stimulated in them a good deal more than sympathy; fists clenched on desks or even atop slim thighs, fingers trembling as if they would move to naughty places, seemed to show Britana that, to her dismay and confusion.
The captain had moved so that he stood a little off to the side, and Britana could see him. Her cheeks instantly flushed with mortification as their eyes met, and she realized that he must have taken his stand there so that she would see him, when she looked back—as he so clearly had known she would.
He stood so straight in his uniform that Britana wondered for a moment if the Magisterians actually put something stiff in the fabric to help their officers look that way—breathtakingly upright. She had to push down a little sob as she looked at his hands, clasped in front of him. They had controlled her so easily, without the help of any obedience wand. He had spanked her so hard over her desk—Britana Geran’s first taste of old-fashioned discipline, delivered by a Magisterian captain to her bare bottom.
In his eyes she saw a kind of self-assurance she didn’t think she had ever seen in any man’s eyes before. She would have called it arrogance, except that his face held such intelligence and such perceptiveness that Britana didn’t think Captain Edwards’ confidence had anything arrogant about it.
Britana also saw, much more humiliatingly, that he found her position highly pleasing. She felt her face react to the frank enjoyment in his eyes—of a misbehaving young woman’s nakedness and her being restrained for punishment. Her brow creased, even deeper, she knew, than the furrow in Melora’s, and her mouth twisted to the side.
The distress compounded itself terribly, then, because knowing that the captain co
uld see her blush made the awful, delicious warmth down below her tummy grow, too. The sense-memory of his touch—assured and skillful, just the way he appeared now as he stood looking calmly back at her—returned to her pussy, and she felt herself clench just as she had for the doctor.
Captain Edwards, though, had used his big, strong hand on her bottom and between her thighs not clinically, like Doctor Hascom, but so very possessively, and so very…
What? Britana thought, as Sister Portia’s hand got even tighter on her chin, and the horrid woman, stunning in her strange, obscene austerity, turned Britana’s face back by force to see the rigid artificial penis again.
What? How did he touch me?
A new wave of heat came to her face.
Sexually. And…
Britana gave a sob as the word came to her mind unbidden.
Affectionately. He… fondled my bare bottom, after he spanked it. He caressed my pussy before he held me there to walk me to this awful bench.
“Yes, you little whore,” Sister Portia hissed. “That is your master, if he chooses you for his starship. He is a captain of the Royal Navy, and you are not worthy to look at him unless he wishes you to see how much pleasure he takes in enjoying your sluttish charms.”
The head sister twisted Britana’s head a little further, and Britana immediately saw why: the strange thing that had hung on the wall now lay on the little table there. She hadn’t even recognized it before, but now its nature became instantly apparent. The punishment strap: not flexible and sinuous like Britana had supposed, but stiff and thick, with a wooden handle.
Britana gave a little cry of fear. Sister Portia raised her chin and stooped a little, so that Britana had to look into the terrible woman’s face, her hair still hidden by the black head scarf but her strong shoulders, and the tops of her breasts, breathtakingly bare.
Training Planet Page 6
