Her Alien Guardian (Galactic Discipline)

Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

T essara

The next morning, they—Gamma, Alpha, and Sala—delivered me to Dr. Porter’s Academy for Young Ladies. As we approached the grand manor house that housed the school, my stomach tied itself into knots. The imposing stone facade loomed before us, its many windows like watchful eyes. I tugged nervously at the hem of my new blue dress, still unused to the feel of such fine fabric against my skin, let alone the sensation of the proper underwear beneath it.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’ve never been to school before. What if I can’t keep up? What if I disappoint everyone?”

Sala’s gentle hand came to rest on my shoulder, her touch instantly soothing. “Breathe, Tessara,” she said, her voice quiet and reassuring. “Dr. Porter has a reputation as a kind headmaster. Strict, yes, but fair. He understands that some of his pupils come from… unconventional backgrounds.”

I nodded, trying to draw strength from her words. But as we climbed the wide stone steps to the entrance, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was woefully unprepared for what lay ahead.

Alpha’s deep voice cut through my anxious thoughts. “Don’t mistake the doctor’s kindness for leniency, though,” he warned. “Prosperian school discipline follows the model of the traditional schools of old Earth. You must expect to be whipped for any misconduct, Tessara.”

I felt the blood drain from my face at his words. “Wh-whipped?” I stammered, images of the brutal punishments I’d endured aboard the Conqueror of Bresla flashing through my mind.

“It’s not like what you experienced before,” Gamma assured me quickly, his large hand coming to rest on the small of my back. “Prosperian discipline is meant to correct and teach, not to break your spirit.”

Before I could respond, the heavy oak door swung open, revealing a stern-faced woman in a high-necked black dress. Her gray hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and her sharp eyes seemed to take in every detail of my appearance at once.

“You must be our new pupil,” she said, her voice crisp. “I am Mrs. Porter. Please, come in.”

As we stepped into the foyer, I was struck by the opulence of my surroundings. Rich wooden paneling lined the walls, interspersed with oil paintings of stern-looking men and women. The floor was polished marble, so shiny I could see my own reflection in it.

Mrs. Porter led us down a long hallway, the click of her heels echoing off the high ceilings. We passed several closed doors, behind which I could hear the murmur of voices— other students, I realized with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

Finally, we reached a large oak door at the end of the hall. Mrs. Porter knocked twice, then opened it without waiting for a response. “Dr. Porter,” she announced, “your new pupil has arrived.”

Mrs. Porter ushered us into a spacious classroom, its walls lined with bookshelves and adorned with maps of far-off worlds. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting a warm glow over the polished wooden desks arranged in neat rows. At the front of the room stood a distinguished-looking man with short-cropped gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His watchful brown eyes seemed to miss nothing as they swept over the group.

Two young women sat at desks near the front, their posture impeccable as they turned to regard us with curiosity. One had long chestnut hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders, while the other sported a head of curly auburn locks. Both wore the same style of blue dress as mine, though theirs seemed to fit more naturally, as if they were accustomed to such finery.

“Ah, excellent timing,” Dr. Porter said, his voice deep and authoritative. “We were just discussing a crucial point in Austen’s Pride and Prejudice . Please, have a seat.” He gestured to an empty desk near the front of the room. “These are your new schoolmates, Miss Lydia and Miss Elara.”

I cast a glance backward at Gamma, who smiled and nodded. With trembling legs, I made my way to the indicated seat, acutely aware of the eyes following my every move. As I sat down, smoothing my skirt nervously, Dr. Porter resumed his lecture.

“Now, as I was saying,” he continued, pacing slowly at the front of the room, “much of the trouble that befalls the Bennet family could have been avoided if Mr. Bennet had exercised proper discipline over his household. The foolishness of Lydia, the impertinence of Elizabeth, even Mrs. Bennet’s ridiculous behavior—all of these could have been corrected with the judicious application of corporal punishment.”

I felt my eyes widen at his words, my gaze darting to Gamma for reassurance. He gave me a small nod, his expression calm and encouraging.

Dr. Porter continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “Had Mr. Bennet taken his adult daughters across his knee for a sound spanking when they first showed signs of willfulness, or better yet, used his cane to instill proper obedience, the family might have avoided the scandal of Lydia’s elopement entirely.”

The girl with the chestnut hair—the one herself named Lydia, I thought—suddenly spoke up, her voice trembling slightly but filled with conviction. “But sir, surely you can’t mean that! The Bennet sisters were grown women, not children to be disciplined like?—”

“Silence!” Dr. Porter’s voice cracked like a whip, cutting off the girl’s protest. His eyes flashed with a mixture of disappointment and stern resolve. “Miss Lydia, I’ve warned you about speaking out of turn. It seems you need a demonstration of the very point I’m making.”

My heart began to race as Dr. Porter crooked his finger at Lydia, beckoning her to the front of the classroom. The young woman’s face had gone pale, but she rose from her seat with a quiet dignity that impressed me. As she approached the large oak desk at the front of the room, Dr. Porter’s stern gaze never left her.

“Bend over the desk, Miss Lydia,” he commanded, his voice laced with authority.

Lydia hesitated for just a moment, her eyes darting to where Gamma, Alpha, and Sala stood observing. Then, with a small sigh of resignation, she leaned forward, placing her palms flat on the polished surface of the desk. The curve of her bottom, clearly visible beneath her blue dress, seemed to invite Dr. Porter’s waiting hand.

My breath caught in my throat as Dr. Porter reached for the hem of Lydia’s skirt. With a swift, practiced motion, he lifted the fabric, draping it over her back to reveal her white cotton drawers. I felt my cheeks burn with secondhand embarrassment, remembering my own recent experience with the doctor and feeling again the strange operation of Prosperian clothing on my mind. Nudity had never seemed so shameful until I had been allowed lovely, modest clothing.

“Miss Tessara,” Dr. Porter said, his eyes meeting mine, “observe carefully. This is how we correct impertinence and willfulness in young ladies at this academy.”

He touched the waistband of Lydia’s drawers and my eyes went wide as I noticed the subtle relaxation of the fabric.

“Miss Lydia’s guardian,” Dr. Porter went on, “has of course given Mrs. Porter and me authority over her garments, as of course Miss Elara’s parents have over hers—and should your guardian enroll you here, he will do over your own, Miss Tessara. Note that this of course means you will have to ask permission to use the lavatory.”

With that, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of the snow-white drawers and tugged them down to Lydia’s knees. I couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of her bare bottom, the pale flesh quivering slightly as Lydia shifted nervously.

Suddenly, I felt a familiar tingle between my legs—my governor activating in response to the arousal I couldn’t quite suppress. The device curbed the heat that threatened to build in my core, leaving me with a frustrating awareness of my body’s reaction without the satisfaction of full arousal.

Dr. Porter noticed my reaction and smiled knowingly. “Ah, yes, Miss Tessara. You’re experiencing the effects of your governor, aren’t you? I imagine it’s currently set to level five, which allows for some arousal but prevents you from becoming too… distracted.”

He turned his attention back to Lydia, who remained bent over the desk, her bottom bare and offered for discipline. “Now, Miss Lydia’s governor is usually set to seven, as is standard for our pupils. This allows for a higher level of arousal, which is important for their education in wifely duties. However, for the purposes of this punishment, I’m going to lower it to four.”

As he spoke, Dr. Porter retrieved a control device from his pocket. With a few taps, he adjusted Lydia’s governor. I saw the young woman’s body tense slightly, no doubt feeling the change in her body’s sensations.

“This will ensure that Miss Lydia feels the full sting of her punishment, without the cushion of pleasure that might otherwise dull the lesson,” Dr. Porter explained. “You will, I imagine, note that as we proceed, Miss Lydia will nevertheless become quite aroused.”

From a drawer in his desk, he produced a long, slender cane made, I thought, of a thin branch, or perhaps a dried reed.

Dr. Porter swished the cane through the air, the sound making me flinch. Without further preamble, he brought it down sharply across Lydia’s upturned bottom. The crack echoed through the classroom, followed immediately by Lydia’s sharp intake of breath.

“One,” Dr. Porter counted calmly. “Miss Lydia, you will count each stroke and thank me for your correction.”

“O-one, sir,” Lydia gasped out. “Thank you for my correction.”

The cane whistled through the air again, landing with precision just below the first stroke. A vivid red line bloomed across Lydia’s pale flesh.

“Two,” Dr. Porter said. “Thank me, Miss Lydia.”

“Two, sir,” Lydia repeated, her voice wavering slightly. “Thank you for my correction.”

As Dr. Porter continued to administer Lydia’s punishment, he turned his attention to me. “You see, Miss Tessara,” he explained between strokes, “Miss Lydia here is quite headstrong. She requires a firm hand to guide her toward proper behavior.”

The cane fell again, eliciting a muffled cry from Lydia. “Three, sir,” she managed. “Thank you for my correction.”

“It’s not uncommon for young ladies to arrive at our academy with willful tendencies,” Dr. Porter continued, his tone conversational despite the brutal act he was performing. “Our job is to mold them into obedient, well-mannered women who will make excellent wives and mothers.”

Another stroke landed, the sound making me wince. “Four, sir,” Lydia whimpered. “Thank you for my correction.”

As the caning progressed, I couldn’t help but notice the change in Lydia’s demeanor. Despite the obvious pain she was experiencing, just as Dr. Porter had predicted there was a flush creeping up her neck, and her breathing had become more ragged in a way that seemed unrelated to her cries of pain.

“Notice, Miss Tessara,” Dr. Porter said, pausing briefly in his ministrations, “that Miss Lydia is indeed becoming quite aroused despite the lowered setting of her governor. This is a natural and desirable response. It helps associate discipline with pleasure in the female mind.”

He resumed the caning, each stroke precise and methodical. Lydia continued to count and thank him, her voice growing increasingly breathless.

“Now, regarding our other pupil, Miss Elara,” Dr. Porter gestured to the auburn-haired girl who had remained silent throughout the proceedings, “her governor is set to seven, as I told you is standard for our students.”

My gaze drifted to Elara, the other student in the room. Her face had gone a deep shade of red, almost matching her auburn curls. Her hands, atop her desk, had clenched into tiny fists, the knuckles white. With a flip of my tummy, I realized that Elara was engaged in a struggle all too familiar to me: not to put a hand in her lap, to press against the aching bud that crowned her own needy cunny.

Another crack of the cane drew my eyes back to the mortifying, exciting spectacle of the girl bent over her headmaster’s desk with her drawers down. “Eight, sir,” Lydia gasped. “Thank you for my correction.”

“This higher setting,” Dr. Porter explained, “allows for greater arousal and sensitivity. It’s crucial for a girl’s education here at the academy, you see.”

Dr. Porter paused in his caning of Lydia, resting the implement against her reddened bottom as he turned to address me more fully. “You see, Miss Tessara,” he explained, his tone taking on a professorial air, “our pupils come to the academy not just to learn proper etiquette and household management, but in great part to welcome their future husbands’ dominant, intimate attentions.”

I felt my cheeks grow hot at his words, the blush spreading down my neck as I struggled to maintain eye contact with the stern headmaster.

“A Prosperian wife,” Dr. Porter continued, “must be prepared to submit fully to her husband’s desires, no matter how… unconventional they may seem. It is our duty to ensure that our young ladies not only accept this fact, but learn to crave it.”

As if to emphasize his point, he picked up the cane and brought it down sharply across Lydia’s upturned bottom once more. The young woman cried out, her voice a mixture of pain and the kind of something else that made my own body tingle with confused desire.

“Nine, sir,” Lydia gasped, her voice breathy. “Thank you for my correction.”

I couldn’t help but notice how Lydia’s body had changed throughout her punishment. Despite the obvious pain she was in, her thighs trembled with barely suppressed need. A sheen of sweat glistened on her skin, and her breathing had grown ragged in a way that had little to do with her cries of pain.

“Observe, Miss Tessara,” Dr. Porter said, gesturing toward Lydia’s exposed sex. “See how wet Miss Lydia has become? How her body yearns for more despite the sting of the cane and the operation of her governor? This is the true purpose of the discipline at my academy—to awaken a woman’s deepest submissive desires.”

My eyes widened as I took in the sight before me. True to Dr. Porter’s words, Lydia’s intimate flesh glistened with obvious arousal. I felt my own body respond, the governor between my legs tingling as it worked to curb my rising desire.

“Ten, sir,” Lydia moaned as another stroke landed. “Thank you for my correction.”

Dr. Porter set the cane aside, running his hand almost tenderly over Lydia’s welted bottom. “There now,” he murmured. “You’ve taken your punishment well, Miss Lydia. You may pull up your drawers and return to your seat.”

As Lydia straightened, wincing slightly, and bent to gather her snow-white undergarments, I caught sight of her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with unshed tears and unmistakable arousal. She moved gingerly back to her desk, wincing as she sat on the hard wooden seat.

“Alright, girls,” Dr. Porter announced, his tone so benevolent I would never have thought he had just administered such a fierce punishment. “Class dismissed. Mr. Gamma and Miss Tessara, would you please accompany me to my study?”