Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
T essara
I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, shame washing over me in waves. “I’m sorry, sir,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
“I’m sure you are,” Dr. Porter replied, not unkindly. “And you certainly will be even sorrier very soon. Now, up you go.”
With trembling limbs, I climbed onto the whipping horse. The leather was cool against my skin as I positioned myself, the padding firm yet somehow yielding beneath me. I felt terribly revealed as Dr. Porter guided me into place, spreading my legs wider and pressing my upper body down onto the bench.
My breath came in ragged, fearful gasps as the headmaster methodically secured the restraints. The stout leather straps encircled my wrists and ankles, each click of a buckle seeming to echo loudly in the hushed room.
As Dr. Porter tightened the strap across my lower back, almost immobilizing my hips, I couldn’t help but picture Gamma. How intently was he watching as I was prepared for my punishment? The thought sent a jolt of mingled shame and excitement coursing through me. I imagined his stern gaze taking in every detail of my naked form, wondered if the front of his trousers had developed a bulge as he watched me being strapped down for a whipping.
To my mortification, the thought of my guardian’s—my master’s—cock made me acutely aware that my governor was still set to level seven. Despite my fear and embarrassment, I could feel the wetness of my need dripping down my inner thighs. The constant tingle between my legs served as a maddening reminder of my body’s betrayal. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could sink into the floor and disappear.
I tested the restraints instinctively, finding very little give. The realization that I was utterly helpless, unable to protect myself from the coming punishment, made my heart race even faster.
I heard Dr. Porter’s footsteps move away, then the soft beep of his handheld device. “I’ve lowered your governor to level three, Miss Tessara,” he announced, just as he had for Elara. “It’s essential you feel every stroke acutely.”
The change felt immediate and jarring. The constant arousal that had been humming through my body suddenly dimmed, leaving me feeling oddly bereft. As that sensation faded, though, I became hyperaware of my surroundings—the leather against my skin, the slight breeze from a cracked window caressing my bottom, the weight of everyone’s gaze upon me.
Again, despite myself, I pictured Gamma, the front of his trousers even more distended as he noticed the moisture on my thighs. My breath caught as I imagined him rising from his chair, his massive blue form towering over Dr. Porter. In my mind’s eye, I saw him gently but firmly pushing the headmaster aside, his piercing gaze fixed on my helpless body.
A shiver ran through me as the irresistible little fantasy continued and I saw my true master approaching the whipping horse, his large hand coming to rest on the small of my back. I could almost feel the heat of his palm against my skin, its difference from the cool upholstery beneath me. The imagined touch sent sparks of electricity coursing through my body, making me acutely aware of how exposed and open I was in this position.
My cheeks burned with shame as I realized I was longing for Gamma to take advantage of my helpless state. I pictured him unfastening his trousers, freeing his enormous blue cock. The memory of its impressive size made me whimper softly, a mixture of fear and desperate need washing over me.
In my fevered imagination, I felt the blunt head of Gamma’s cock pressing against my smallest entrance. Despite my fear and the lingering soreness from the plug I’d worn all night, I found myself wishing he would thrust forward, claiming me fully in front of everyone.
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.
I clung to that mental picture, using it as an anchor in the storm of pain that threatened to overwhelm me. Yes, I told myself through the tears and screams, this is what Gamma wants. This is how I learn to be good for him. The thought didn’t lessen the physical agony, but it gave me something to focus on beyond the burning fire across my bottom.
As my screams subsided into choked sobs, I became aware of the room around me once more. The cool air on my blazing skin, the soft creak of leather as I trembled in my bonds, the hushed silence broken only by my ragged breathing. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room upon me, watching as I quivered and wept in the aftermath of my punishment.
My bottom felt as though it had been set ablaze, each welt a line of fire across my tender flesh. The pain seemed to pulse in time with my racing heart, waves of agony washing over me with each beat. I knew without seeing—seeing instead through Gamma’s eyes—that my pale skin must be crisscrossed with angry red welts, evidence of Dr. Porter’s skill with the cane.
Through my tears, I found myself marveling at the difference between this punishment and those I had endured at the hands of the Vionians. Where they had been cruel for cruelty’s sake, this felt… purposeful. Educational, even. The precision of Dr. Porter’s strokes, the careful positioning of my body, the attentive silence of the witnesses—all of it spoke to a deeper meaning behind the pain.
As I lay there sobbing, I felt gentle hands beginning to unbuckle the restraints. Mrs. Porter’s soothing voice cut through my haze of pain. “There now, Miss Tessara. It’s all over. You’ve taken your punishment very bravely.”
Her words, meant to comfort, only intensified my shame. I hadn’t been brave at all—I had screamed and cried like a child. Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks as Mrs. Porter helped me to my feet. My legs trembled beneath me, barely able to support my weight. Every movement sent fresh waves of agony through my bottom, making me whimper pitifully.
Mrs. Porter’s arm around my waist steadied me as she guided me across the room. Each step was agony, the movement causing the welts on my bottom to stretch and burn anew. I kept my eyes downcast, unable to meet the gaze of the assembled men. The thought of Gamma seeing me like this—tearstained, trembling, and utterly humiliated—made me want to sink into the floor and disappear.
As we approached the wall where Elara stood, I risked a glance at my schoolmate. Her freckled face was streaked with tears, her bottom a canvas of angry red welts. The sight made my stomach clench, knowing my own backside must look just as terrible.
“Face the wall, girls,” Mrs. Porter instructed gently. “Hands on your heads, please.”
I turned, pressing my burning forehead against the cool plaster. The position thrust my punished bottom out, putting it on full display for the room. I could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze upon me, examining every welt and stripe. The shame of it was almost worse than the physical pain.
I swallowed hard as I caught another one of those lustful-but-comforting thoughts that seemed to come from Gamma, though now I didn’t feel certain that I hadn’t imagined it to make my ordeal easier. I felt what seemed to be his even greater arousal at the sight of my poor, whipped backside on display next to my schoolmate’s.