Savannah's Chance

by D. A. Maddox

  Thompson patted the cushion of the A-frame. Officer Alejandro joined her there. He still hadn’t said a word.

  “Are we rolling, Officer Kersey?”

  “Like marbles on linoleum, boss.”

  “Stay on to get the cover shots for tomorrow’s show, then cut right before the first punishment starts.” To Veronica, “We do not film any of the preliminary out-of-session discipline. Think of this as preparation for tomorrow, should you need correction then as well.”

  “They always do,” Kersey muttered.

  And, as Nurse Reyes-Garcia unplugged her from the machine, Veronica still couldn’t see any punishment implement anywhere in the room.

  She wanted to ask. She didn’t.

  Nurse Reyes-Garcia gently squeezed her shoulders, right by either side of her neck.

  “Take off your shoes, your top, and your panties.”

  Veronica’s eyes widened in disbelief. Officer Thompson had promised her—

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Officer Thompson said. “You won’t be naked. You’ll still have the hat.”

  ****

  Headmaster Lachance twirled the rod in his hand like a parade baton. He walked around her. Behind her. Tucked the rod under his arm and guided her to the desk. “Put your hands on it.”

  Breathing heavily, eyes glistening, Savannah obeyed.

  Real desk, she couldn’t help but think. Scott, how did you—

  “Hands all the way to the other side, Miss Savannah. Bend over.”

  She leaned over, curled her fingers around the other end of the desk, and felt the headmaster’s hands slide down her ribs, then her waist, settling on her skirt. “H-Headmaster,” Savannah said, feeling her fingertips go white as he gently fondled the backs of her legs, “w-what are you … going to do to me?”

  “No more than prudence requires,” he said, reaching around and finding the skirt clasp, which he fumbled with for half a minute before managing to get it undone. “Actions have consequences, Miss Savannah.”

  “Yes … sir, Headmaster, sir.”

  Her skirt dropped to the floor, leaving her naked from the hips down to her socks except for her underwear. Savannah had chosen a pink pair with a pretty pattern for this—not even knowing what “this” was going to be, but—

  With both hands, in a single pull, Scott had them down to her ankles.

  “Step out,” he said, husky and half in his normal voice.

  “Yes … Headmaster—oh, God, I’m so ashamed.”

  Headmaster Lachance set the panties on the desk—centrally, where Savannah could not help but look at them. Then he parted her legs, one palm gripping each inner thigh until she was fully spread. He squeezed her butt-cheeks, as though testing their firmness for the rod.

  He leaned over her, resting his hips against her bared, quivering, secret flesh. “It’s unfortunate it has to be this way,” he breathed into her ear. “But it must be done. Please know, what I do to you now I do with no pleasure—”

  “Then why,” Savannah purred over her shoulder on a whim, “does Headmaster Lachance have a boner the size of Sicily before the last tectonic shift?”

  Which got them both laughing.

  “Savannah,” Scott started.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Savannah said, trying to stifle herself. “Ahem. I mean—please, Headmaster, go easy on me. I-I’ve never been in trouble this way before. I-I’m a … good student, and—”

  Thwap! The rod came down, right over her naked ass.

  “Ow!” Savannah shouted, half from surprise, half from the sting of it. He’d given her a good one. “Oh, God, Headmaster. Ow.”

  She arched her feet up and down. Her leg muscles contracted and let go, contracted and let go, even as a slow fire marched a horizontal line across her ass.

  Thwap!

  “Ooooo, Headmaster…”

  A little lower this time, high on the thigh. Savannah panted, eyes dripping, pussy lips moistening.

  “Yes, Miss Savannah?”

  “M-mercy, Headmaster Lachance. Your student begs … mercy.”

  A chuckle, a cut of the rod through open air.

  “Mercy, hm? I want you to show me what a good student you are, young lady.”

  “What … what must I do, Headmaster?”

  “Ask for mercy in Arabic.”

  Savannah’s eyes blinked in shock. She fished around in her mind, manually shifting it over to Arabic. “Al-rahma, Headmaster!” she cried. “Al-rahma!”

  Thwap! A bit harder that time. Crossover points on Savannah’s ass burned like bonfires punctuating straight rivers of smaller flame. If there were anything soft on that desk right now—minus her own panties—Savannah would have bitten down on it.

  “Give it to me in Latin, young lady. Beg mercy in a language that’s mostly dead.”

  Savannah gathered her breath, bracing herself. “Misericordia!” she hollered, knowing what was coming, screaming when it cut the wind, screaming more after it came down. “Oh, misericordia, Archididascalum.”

  She was sobbing. Her whole face was dripping, even as her pussy lips oozed over her inner thighs.

  Thwap!

  “French.”

  “C-Clemence, directeur! Oh, mon Dieu—oh, mon Dieu, clemence, si’l vous plait!”

  Scott set the rod on the desk, came around the front of it to face her. He leaned over from the other side, lifting her chin with a finger, studying her. Raised an eyebrow at her.

  “You’re amazing,” he said. “I love you. Now—Constantinople?”

  Savannah caught a laugh through the tears and nodded. “Just kiss me,” she said. “Then fuck me. I’m … so hot I can’t fucking stand it.”

  He kissed her, stroked her soaked face. “I haven’t been able to manage a bed yet.”

  Savannah patted the desktop. “This’ll do for now,” she said, working her shirt buttons, her countenance livid and blotchy with expectation and lingering sting. “At least I’ll be able to move my arms and legs this time. Get naked.”

  ****

  “What are you waiting for, Miss Cruz?” Officer Alejandro asked, running his hand along the A-frame cushion. “Do you suppose, perhaps, that my wife will change her mind if you dally?”

  “Please, Madam Reyes-Garcia. I—”

  “Do it,” she said, “or it will be done for you.”

  The timer on the righthand wall started counting down. 30, 29, 28…

  Veronica kicked the shoes off, then away, painfully aware of every pair of eyes in the room as she gathered the bottom of the halter top in two tremulous fists.

  Well, every pair of eyes except Kersey’s. She was behind the camera. She was one big eye.

  Rolling her bloodshot eyes, Veronica pulled the shirt over head—mindful not to lose the hat in the process—and then held it in one hand by her side. Down to her jail-issued panties now, tits out, her deep pink nipples as perky as the tops of baby bottles, Veronica first met one stare, then another, then another.

  “Stop looking at me!” she yelled at them—only to be rewarded with silence in return. Continued staring. Waiting.

  She dropped the shirt.

  This was the deal you made on my behalf, Mom? Are you watching? Did you pay the thousand dollars to see them do this to me? Okay, maybe I do deserve it—but so do you.

  She slid her panties down, then off. She hung her head and covered herself—

  …just as Melody had done, until the other subs had pulled her hands away. No different from Celia, made to strip in front of her boyfriend and her boyfriend’s teacher. And just like Savannah had wanted to do but couldn’t, tied to two totem poles for winning a lottery Veronica had rigged.

  “Shame shot,” Officer Kersey said, businesslike and bored, coming around the camera—locked in position, still running—and taking more still shots. “Okay, 197, got that. Arms down. No, don’t wipe your face. Hold that for five seconds. As if you don’t love this.”

  Veronica held it, endured it. Burned in it. The viewership count was up to
80.

  “Let’s get one with your hands on your head, top of the ballcap. Oh, that’s almost cute. And—another with your hands behind your back. Good.” Then she desisted, and walked over to Nurse Reyes-Garcia with the camera. “I’ll tell you, boss, I’m not sure about which one to use for the cover shot. Got a couple that are passable.”

  Together, eyes glued to the back of the camera, they checked the shots, Kersey swiping them one by one while Veronica stood and waited, naked but for the hat. She’d never felt so foolish in her life.

  Come on. Please. I’m dying over here. What the hell’s a cover shot, anyway?

  “That one,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said, pointing. “The lighting is best in that one.”

  “Okay, that’s me done for the night,” said Officer Kersey, switching the smaller camera off and returning to the tripod camera and shutting it down. “I’ll have the title superimposed over the image before we go full-audience live in the morning. Hey—hold position, 197. No one told you to move.”

  Veronica put her hands back behind her back, sniffling. “I’m sorry. You said you were done.”

  “Said I was done, what?”

  “I’m sorry … ma’am. You said you were done.”

  “She is,” said Officer Alejandro, “but we are not. You are not. Officer Thompson?”

  They came for her, the younger woman and the older man, each taking one of her arms, leading her to the cushioned A-frame.

  “Noooo,” Veronica moaned, pulling back a little. “No—no, please. I’m not ready. I’m not ready for this!”

  But they were stronger than she was. Either one of them alone would have been more than sufficient to the task—particularly Alejandro, who seemed to have the upper body strength of a superhero, or villain. And the A-frame, though only waist high, expanded and grew in Veronica’s vision as they drew closer to it, until it swallowed her world.

  Desperately, Veronica looked away, back to Nurse Reyes-Garcia, who had taken a seat back at the interview table and drawn the small device that monitored her vitals from the wristband transmitter.

  “Help me!” she called to her.

  “That is what we are doing,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia calmly said, without even looking up. “Helping you. You must trust us. You will be fine.”

  Alejandro and Thompson forced her, bodily, to bend at the middle over the A-frame. The cushion was pillow-deep. It didn’t hurt her stomach.

  There were steel rings at the bottom of the struts where Thompson lined up her hands, spread to either side. She cuffed each through its ring with a separate pair of handcuffs. Veronica tested them right away, yanked against them, even as Alejandro lined up one of her ankles.

  “Stop! I’m a—”

  “What?” asked Officer Thompson, her voice calm but firm, patting her face as though to comfort her. “You’re a what, Miss Veronica Cruz?”

  Alejandro cuffed one ankle in place, then spread her legs and did the other, leaving her more lewdly on display from behind than Veronica would have thought possible.

  “I’m a … human being,” Veronica sobbed.

  “Yeah, that’s true,” said Officer Thompson, standing, running a finger down the soft notches of her spine, making her kick reflexively from the unexpected sensation. “You’ve done similar to other human beings, I bet. We don’t have specifics. But we did get some helpful tips—one of them less than an hour ago.”

  Veronica’s face had been hanging, allowing her to look under the A-frame between her own legs as Alejandro, in his turn, patted her parted ass cheeks. Now, she forced her head up—and she found herself looking at Thompson’s ass, clothed in black slacks and a belt.

  From which there hung a tawse, quite a lot like a three-pronged tail. Officer Thompson shook that ass, right in her face, tickling her nose and chin with the leather straps. And she laughed. “Human beings,” she said, “need more discipline than animals—not less. Quit your bitchin’, girlfriend. This won’t take long.”

  Veronica hung her head again. It was just easier. She heard the tawse come unclipped from Officer Thompson’s belt.

  How she had looked on Savannah—had made Savannah look at her, straight at her, when Rusty had whipped her with the tawse three times; and although Savannah had never screamed, not then, how she had relished the transformation of Savannah’s features, the agony that had been wrought upon that total stranger at Veronica’s command.

  Officer Thompson joined Alejandro at her exposed backside, standing at her left with Alejandro on her right.

  “Okay,” Veronica said, her voice pleading. “Okay, I get it! I’m sorry!”

  “You or me first?” Thompson asked the senior officer.

  “Oh, I would not even dream of it,” Alejandro said. “I am a gentleman. Ladies first, Officer Thompson.”

  Veronica’s voice hit a higher note, shrill and terrified. It wasn’t just her ass out in the open. Her gaping slit, unaccountably wet, was hopelessly out there. “Please! I’m trying to talk to you! I’m begging—”

  A quick cut through the air, a smart and firm cut across her lower body, and Veronica’s breath left her. It was so swift and so strong, she felt she might have ejected her own eyeballs from the shock of it.

  But the real pain came seconds later, as Thompson passed off the tawse to Alejandro.

  She shrieked before the second blow fell, which made her catch her breath again.

  Then they waited as she kicked and pulled and wailed, all without even rocking the A-frame, which was hard-magnetized to metal plates on the floor. Ten seconds, fifteen. They let the first welts rise up.

  Veronica bit her lower lip and held her breath for the third blow. She had no words left in her after that—only noise. Only miserable noise.

  “You earned the first three for your reluctance to comply,” Alejandro said. “You get the final two for your attitude. Are you sorry, Veronica Cruz?”

  “Y-yes,” she managed, panting, having been asked a direct question. “I’m so—”

  Alejandro brought the tawse down again, then passed it back to Officer Thompson as Veronica’s protests and cries tapered to a helpless whimpering.

  “One more,” he said. “Nearly there.”

  “Anything more to say?” asked Officer Thompson.

  Crying hadn’t worked. Screaming hadn’t worked. Begging hadn’t gotten her shit. And Nurse Reyes-Garcia had been clear she was not allowed to swear—unless she was in physical pain and could not help herself.

  This, she thought, qualifies.

  “Suck … my fuckhole … you peasant bitch.”

  Down came the tawse, no harder and no lighter than before, drawing one final scream for the night from Veronica. She’d never suffered so much in her life.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” said Officer Thompson, dropping the tawse and kneeling between Veronica’s legs.

  Chapter Twenty-Four:

  Settling

  Scott stayed on top of her, pushup position, wearing only his watch. His cock, resting over her thatch in a sticky puddle of his own spunk, was still as hard and springy as the scaling rod he had used in their role-play. Savannah’s ankles were crossed over the small of his back. They breathed in time.

  He stared down at his ejaculate, which had shot right up to and between her breasts. “God, that’s disgusting,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  She chuckled, kissed his chin. “Smells funny, too,” she said. “It’s okay. Better than if you came inside.”

  It had been a close call. The climax had sneaked up on him like a mugger in an alleyway. By the time he’d pulled out, he was nearly shooting already.

  I need to find a black market for our own protection, he thought. Man, the world is so messed up. Old enough to fight in a war and too young to buy a fucking rubber.

  Then, bad form though it might have been, he checked the time. They were in a safe place, for a time, but it would not be safe for them forever. “Oh, shit,” he said. “Savannah, we have to get dressed and go.”

  She
frowned at him. He understood. To her, lying naked under him on top of a teacher’s desk, this would look a lot like bang-and-scram.

  “Just from here,” he said, “but I’ve got a friend coming in fifteen minutes to clear out all these … props before the next kid comes in to use the lab at nine—for, you know, real schoolwork. Beer and a bite a Finney’s? My treat.”

  That seemed to reassure her. “It doesn’t always have to be your treat, Scott,” she said, scooting out from under him. “But yeah. That sounds nice.”

  “How long do you have tonight?”

  “Got my work done—barely. I have until curfew.”

  That meant eleven. “Me, too,” he said, swinging his legs over the desk and looking around for his pants. “We’ll have time to talk about the weird shit neither of us has talked about yet.”

  “Top secret, in my case,” said Savannah.

  “Yep,” Scott said. “Government agents? Consequences, Live? Jail if we blab?”

  “Got it in one,” Savannah said. “Can’t wait to exchange notes.”

  “Seriously. And I’m about dying for a plate of wings.”

  “Mm,” Savannah agreed, then looked down on herself. “Ugh.”

  On a whim, she beat Scott to his own boxers and wiped herself off. Then, pinching the underwear between two fingers, sheepishly offered it back to him.

  “All right,” Scott said, receiving them the same way. “Think I’ll … be going commando to dinner tonight.”

  They got dressed. Scott shut down the sim, returning them to the dimly-lit basement warehouse and the exit door clearly visible less than a hundred feet away. They held hands and walked to it.

  “Still,” Scott said, “it’s been a hell of a good night, everything taken together.”

  Savannah nudged him with her shoulder. “Yeah,” she said. “Could’ve been worse.”

  ****

  Nurse Reyes-Garcia pulled on the latex glove and snapped it against her wrist.

  Veronica remained bent over the A-frame, but the pain had been mostly taken away. Not by Officer Thompson—she’d been in agony, still, as the junior punishment warden had first tamed her, and then made her come all over her own welts, using only her deft and searching tongue. But Nurse Reyes-Garcia had afterward applied some kind of accelerant, or ointment or gel, that had at first flamed hotter than the tawse, then settled to a massive, cooling relief.