Chapter 5
Jendra
Ms. Haspor led us back through the corridors to the cloak room. My legs felt weak beneath me, and I couldn’t tell if it was from sitting so long or from the terrible tension that still coiled in my lower belly. Around me, my classmates chattered in hushed, excited voices, but I remained silent.
I dressed quickly, my fingers fumbling with the familiar fabric of my tunic.
The simple Hippolytan clothing felt strange now, almost confining after the vulnerability of nakedness.
I noticed that several of my classmates kept glancing at each other, their faces flushed, sharing looks that spoke of shared secrets and new knowledge.
I avoided everyone’s eyes.
The journey back to Hippolyta passed in a blur of little things that seemed to be happening to someone else.
I stared out the viewport, watching Magisteria’s white surface recede, then disappear entirely as we made the jump back to our home system.
When the familiar green and blue sphere of Hippolyta appeared, I felt something loosen in my chest—but not relief. Not exactly.
Ms. Haspor made announcements about our next class sessions, about reflection papers we would need to write, about processing what we had experienced.
I didn’t hear most of it. My mind kept returning to the theater, to Alpha’s words, to Sala’s face as she climaxed with her husband’s cock buried in her thoroughly spanked bottom.
Always wondering what they might have discovered about themselves if they had been brave enough to explore these feelings further.
No. I pushed the thought away viciously. I wasn’t a coward for maintaining my principles. I wasn’t weak for refusing to give in to base physical responses. My body’s reactions meant nothing—they were simply biological, mechanical, meaningless.
When we finally landed and I returned to the dormitory, I went to the bathroom, found a stall, locked the door behind me, and leaned against it, breathing hard. I waited until the other girls who had needed the facilities had finished and I was alone.
I should have gone to see Ms. Opalin. I should have reported everything, told her about the evaluation, about the sensors, about how they had tried to manipulate us. She would understand. She would help me make sense of this.
Instead, I found myself pretending I was going to pee, doing everything in my mental power to keep myself from realizing what I really meant to do.
I pulled down my pants and my panties with trembling hands.
I sat on the toilet. I slipped my hand between my thighs and found myself slick and swollen with need.
I tried to think of something else—anything else. Abstract political theory. The upcoming debate tournament. The internship applications I needed to complete. But the images kept flooding back. Sala’s red bottom. Alpha’s enormous cock. The way she had touched herself while he used her anus.
My fingers gave an experimental rub to my clitoris and I gasped at the intensity of the sensation. I had never felt this desperate before, this consumed by physical need. I tried to keep my mind blank, to focus only on the mechanics of pleasure, but it was impossible.
I imagined strong hands on my body. A deep voice commanding me. The sting of a huge, strong palm against my bottom. And even as shame flooded through me at these fantasies, my arousal only intensified.
When I climaxed, it was with a strangled cry that I barely managed to bite my lip hard enough to quell. The pleasure crashed through me in waves, so intense it was almost painful, leaving me gasping and trembling in its aftermath.
That night, I lay in my bed with five of my classmates around me, feeling hollowed out and confused. What had I just done? What did it mean that I had touched myself, on the toilet, while thinking about exactly the things I claimed to despise?
I rolled onto my side, curling into a ball, and felt hot tears leak from my eyes. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. I didn’t understand why my body and my mind seemed to be at war with each other.
Some of you may find yourselves called to a different life than the one you imagined on Hippolyta.
No, I told myself. No, that’s not me. That can’t be me.
But even as I said it, I heard Mabola’s breathing becoming uneven in the bed next to mine, and I knew with a hot blush that she must be playing with herself.
Just as I had played with myself. Was she thinking about Alpha, too?
About his huge penis, jutting from his lap…
fucking his wife’s mouth… thrusting into her pussy…
breaching the tiny aperture of her anus and bestowing his seed there?
What did it taste like, I wondered… what did it feel like?
Mabola’s breathing hitched. Something like a sigh came from her chest. I thought of Sala’s bare pussy, of Glomana’s… of Ms. Haspor’s. What would I say if a man I loved told me I must shave away the hair, to show him everything he liked to see?
I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I put my hand down, inside my mortifyingly damp panties. The curls there suddenly felt strange… disobedient, somehow.
I circled my clitoris tentatively, feeling how sensitive it had become, how the slightest touch sent sparks through my body. My other hand moved to my breast, squeezing through my nightshirt, and I bit down harder on my lip to keep from making any sound.
Mabola’s breathing grew faster, more ragged. I heard the rustle of her blankets, the soft creak of her bed frame, and then a low, desperate moan that she tried and failed to muffle. Her climax seemed to go on forever, her breath coming in quick gasps before finally subsiding into satisfied sighs.
The sound made my own arousal spike sharply.
My fingers moved faster, pressing harder against my clitoris as I imagined Alpha’s massive cock, the way it had stretched Sala’s mouth, her pussy, her bottom.
The way she had cried out in that mixture of pain and pleasure that I still couldn’t fully understand but desperately wanted to.
Then I heard it—another sound, softer but unmistakable. Brequa, in the bed on my other side, was also touching herself. I could hear the wet sounds, could hear her trying to keep her breathing quiet and failing.
“It was so big, wasn’t it,” Mabola whispered into the darkness.
I froze, my hand still between my legs.
“Yes,” Brequa breathed. “I didn’t think… I mean, I’d read about them, and… you know… the pictures in the lesson book, but seeing it…”
“I think Jendra is touching herself too,” Mabola said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.
A whimper escaped my throat before I could stop it. Shame flooded through me, but my hand didn’t move away. If anything, my fingers pressed harder.
“Shh, don’t wake the others,” Brequa whispered. “But… maybe we could all… I mean, why should we hide it? Let’s pull down our covers. Let’s all play with our pussies together.”
Part of me thought I should say no—that I should tell them this was inappropriate, that we were betraying everything Hippolyta stood for.
But we weren’t, were we? Hippolytan women learned that their bodies belonged to them—that they could do as they pleased with their pussies. Right now, that meant three girls masturbating together. I pushed my blankets down to my waist, then lower, exposing myself in the dim light of the dormitory.
I heard rustling as Mabola and Brequa did the same. In the faint glow from the window, I could just make out their shapes—Mabola on my right, her hand moving between her legs with precise little touches. Brequa on my left, her movements more frantic, more desperate.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Brequa said softly. “The way he spanked her. The way her bottom got so red.”
“The way she took him in her mouth,” Mabola added, her voice breathy now. “So much of it, even though it was so big.”
My fingers circled faster. I pulled my panties down further, giving myself better access, and slipped two fingers inside myself while my thumb worked my clitoris.
I pressed against the place I knew to call my hymen, though I also knew a much older word: maidenhead.
The little covering through which a man might thrust his penis someday, if I let him. A shiver went through my whole body.
“I hope they choose me,” Brequa whispered. “I know I’m not supposed to say that, but I do. I want to serve a Magisterian man. I want to know what it feels like.”
“Me too,” Mabola admitted. “I’ve been fighting it all year, pretending I was just studying them objectively. But today… watching Sala get… you know… fucked… I want that. I want to be owned like that.”
“I don’t,” I heard myself say in a hoarse voice, even as my hips lifted off the bed, seeking more friction. “I don’t want to be chosen.”
“But you can’t stop thinking about it either,” Mabola said. “Can you, Jendra?”
I let out a shaky breath. “No. I can’t stop thinking about being… about being…”
I didn’t want to say it, but I also wanted to… so bad…
“Say it,” Brequa said. “It… feels… so…”
So dirty, but also so…
I whispered it, somehow pretending that it was another young woman who uttered the word.
“I want to be fucked.”
The word felt foreign and thrilling on my tongue. Vulgar. Wrong. Perfect.
“By a man like Alpha,” Brequa moaned. “With a cock that huge.”
“Stretching you open,” Mabola added. “Using you.”
“Spanking you first,” I whispered, shocked by my own words. “Making… my… I mean her… her bottom so red and sore before he fucks you.”
My fingers moved faster, plunging in and out while my thumb pressed hard circles against my clitoris. I could hear Mabola and Brequa doing the same, could hear the wet sounds of all three of us pleasuring ourselves together in the darkness.
“What if… if he shaved me,” Brequa gasped. “Like… like Sala was. He… he would see… everything. He would… take off my panties… inspect me, and tell… oh… tell me he wanted to put his penis inside me to make it feel good.”
“Oh… I… what if he… you know… what if he told me to kneel,” Mabola said. “I… he would make me… oh… oh, no… please… I’d have to put my mouth on him and feel him get hard because of me.”
“What if…” I started, then stopped, the words too shameful even now.
“Tell us,” Brequa urged.
“What if he… he put it in… in her bottom,” I said in a rush, pretending I was just speculating about another woman. “Like he did to Sala. What does it feel like… to… to… to be… oh, gods… disciplined that way?”
The confession pushed me over the edge. My climax hit hard, making my whole body arch off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed through me. I heard Brequa cry out softly, then Mabola, all three of us coming together in the darkness.
As the pleasure faded, I felt something shift inside me.
The shame was still there, but it was mixed now with something else.
Not acceptance: definitely not that. But maybe acknowledgment.
I couldn’t keep denying what my body wanted, what some deep part of me craved.
I would deal with it without serving any Magisterian, but it didn’t help to deny it.
I pulled my blankets back up, suddenly cold and exposed. Beside me, Mabola and Brequa did the same. For a long moment, none of us spoke.
“Do you think they’ll really contact us?” Brequa finally whispered.
“I don’t know,” Mabola answered. “But I hope so.”
I said nothing. Because the truth was, despite everything I believed, despite everything Ms. Opalin had taught me, despite all my resistance and my principles…
Part of me hoped so too.
The thought terrified me as I drifted toward sleep, my body finally satisfied, but my mind more confused than ever. What did it mean that I wanted this? What did it mean that I had touched myself while thinking about submission and discipline and being owned?
Tomorrow I would go see Ms. Opalin. Tomorrow I would try to make sense of all this. But tonight, I let myself sink into dreams filled with strong blue hands and commanding voices and the sting of correction across a naughty bottom, offered obediently to the man who owned it.