The door warning sounded unexpectedly in Dorana’s hab unit, while she and her mother were in the midst of the daily wash, their arms in warm, soapy water up to their shoulders. Dorana’s mother dried her hands quickly and hurried to answer the door, a puzzled frown on her face.
“Administrator!” Dorana heard her mother say. “It’s…”
Then Dorana thought she heard a man’s voice interrupt, his tone too low for his words to be intelligible. Curious and a little alarmed, Dorana dried her own arms and moved closer, to stand a few feet behind her mother.
When she heard what the administrator—a tall man in a blue uniform—was saying, her alarm instantly grew much, much greater.
“She must take her clothing off immediately and come with us,” the tall man said, sounding apologetic—as if his feeling bad about what he had to do would help Dorana at all. “The Magisterians will take her from town hall to their city.”
Dorana didn’t know what became of the eighteen-year-old girls chosen to go to the capital city of her world, now occupied by the planet’s Magisterian conquerors. The Paternian government had participated in the unjust war launched by the Vionian Empire against Magisteria. Now, each year, three girls from Dorana’s town had to go to the capital, not to be seen again. It had happened twice already.
She understood immediately, though: it was happening again, and it was happening, terrifyingly, to her. Only three weeks after Dorana’s eighteenth birthday, the town administrator stood at the door, with two policemen behind him.
Dorana knew only one terrible fact about the way they departed from their homes, a fact she had told herself must only be a rumor, but which she had to her mortification just heard from the mouth of the administrator himself: the chosen girls went to the town hall without their clothes on.
“Please,” Dorana’s mother, Merona, said. “Please, can’t she… can’t she keep her underwear on, at least?”
Dorana’s face went very red, even to hear her mother mention the white bra and the blue synth-cotton panties she wore under the colony’s simple garb of light canvas pants and loose flannel tunic. Paternia colony had been founded on a cold world, and its settlements lay under transparent domes that warmed them somewhat, but the administration only had enough energy at their disposal to maintain the temperature at a constantly chilly but easily bearable level.
Dorana had grown up in these warm, loose garments that hid her shape even when it began to emerge. At eighteen she had what she thought of as medium-sized breasts and a bit of curve at her hips. She hadn’t really considered what that would mean—she had hardly had time—but having her mother make reference to her underwear when speaking to their settlement’s administrator got her cheeks very hot.
“No, I’m afraid not,” he said grimly, nodding to the policemen in their red tunics, who took a step forward. “We don’t have much time, Dorana,” he said. “You must get undressed or these men will undress you for me.”
“But…” she whispered, looking from one policeman’s face to the other, and then back at the administrator. “But can’t I say goodbye to my family? My dad is at work, and my sister is at school.”
The administrator nodded, in a way that seemed to Dorana not unkind. “They may come to town hall to say farewell this evening when the Magisterians take you away.” Then he said, “Last chance, Dorana.”
But she couldn’t do it. She looked from the administrator in his blue tunic to the policemen, and bit her lip.
“Don’t make us strip you,” the one on the left said.
“It’s nice and warm in the car,” said the other.
“But why?” Merona pleaded. “Why can’t… I mean, couldn’t she…”
Dorana knew her mother meant to ask why the Magisterians, if they wanted Dorana naked, couldn’t take her clothes away when she got to town hall—or even when she got to their city. Her voice trailed off, though, because the answer seemed so clear.
The administrator gave it nonetheless. “The Magisterians want to be sure everyone knows they will do as they like with our girls. They want to shame us, as we deserve.”
His face had become hard and bitter. Dorana wondered how he had felt about the administration’s decision to enter the war on the Vionian side.
“But why Dorana? Why my daughter?”
“We don’t know how they choose,” the administrator said, his voice becoming impatient. He turned to the policemen. “Strip her.”
Dorana cried out as the broad-chested man on the left reached out and seized her around the waist, turning her so that her back came up hard against his muscular body. He put one hand around her midsection while with the other he started to raise her tunic. The chilly air of the hall, which served as an insulating entry to a Paternian dwelling, wafted underneath the tunic’s heavy fabric and made Dorana shudder despite the synth-cotton camisole she wore over her bra for warmth.
“No!” Merona cried. She lunged for the second policeman, but the administrator took firm hold of the older woman’s shoulder.
“Go inside, Merona,” he said. “I can order you to do it, and lock the door until we’re gone, but I advise you to go voluntarily. You’ll see Dorana this evening before she goes.”
The policeman let go of Dorana, then, so that mother could give her a tearful hug.
“It’ll be okay, Mom,” Dorana said, her voice thick with her own tears.
“I love you,” Merona told her. “I’ll… I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah,” Dorana responded, trying not to let her mind fill with apprehensive images of what that later, at town hall, would be like. The rumors said it would be very strange—so strange that maybe the families should stay away, but how could they?
Reluctantly Merona released her daughter from the embrace. She gave the administrator a resentful look, though, before she obeyed his advice and stepped back into their house, the door sliding closed automatically behind her.
The man in the blue tunic turned to Dorana.
“Can you take your clothes off by yourself, now, sweetheart? Or do we have to do it for you after all?”
Dorana bit her lip. The heat in her face surged again, but she said in a shaky voice, “I can do it.”
“Go ahead,” he replied. “Let’s see your pretty body without all those clothes on.”
Dorana looked at the door through which her mother had disappeared. She knew somehow that the administrator wouldn’t have put the matter that way with Merona present. His words made something inside her flutter, and she found that she had put her hands to the bottom hem of her tunic, and started to raise it up over her head.
One of the policemen took it from her, and then, so that she wouldn’t lose the impulse, she pulled off the black camisole too, and handed it to the man. She shivered in the chilly air as, standing between the policemen, she looked at the administrator. She held her arms self-consciously across her breasts, still covered by her bra, hoping for a reprieve but knowing it would not come.
“Take away those hands, and take off your pants, now, Dorana,” he said. “Then we’ll have that bra and your panties off, too. We’re going to see how your breasts and your little pussy have come along since you turned eighteen.”
Dorana’s lips parted, and she took a sharp little breath. Not just her face but her whole upper body seemed to flare with heat despite the chill of the air, now that her warm tunic and her camisole sat in the policeman’s hands. Her tummy had a terribly funny feeling inside it, and something else—something new—began to feel funny as well.
She had thought at first that the administrator seemed sympathetic, but she understood now that he had just pretended to feel bad about having to take Dorana, naked, to town hall. She shivered as much at the teasing, lecherous look in his eye as at the cold.
He wanted to see her pussy. Dorana couldn’t think of that naughty word without her cheeks turning red, just as she couldn’t think of the way her breasts had grown, marking her as a young woman—making her a young woman, even: a chestnut-haired, blue-eyed girl whom everyone called pretty, who now wore a grownup’s bra to hold her budding breasts and to keep them modestly enclosed.
Boys would be interested in her now, her teachers at school had said. Paternian children went to school until the age of eighteen. Before she had graduated, a few days later in the monthly ceremony, she and the other graduating girls had attended a health class.
They had known about sex before, from a school unit when they were ten or eleven, but it had been made clear then that they wouldn’t have to worry about it until they graduated. Their private parts should be kept private until then, and kept clean and covered. Babies got made by the putting together of those private parts, but children under eighteen needn’t think about how that happened.
In the senior health class, Dorana had learned that it happened by men getting interested in a young woman whose breasts had begun to fill the cups of her bra. Paternia hadn’t been a very prosperous colony before the Magisterian conquest, and its material circumstances had deteriorated further since then: the colony couldn’t afford to allow courtship to occupy too much time, and since the gene pool stood just on the edge of viability, sexual choice had to be strictly limited. The eighteen-year-old girls would begin to attend dances, where they would know exactly which boys were permitted to take an interest in them.
When an approved boy took an interest, he would seek her consent to bring her to a courtship room. There she would undress, and they would have sex. The co-teachers of the health class, a married couple, made it sound mildly enjoyable, but the idea embarrassed Dorana so much that she could hardly look at them. She wasn’t sure why she should be so embarrassed, and it didn’t seem like all the girls in the class felt the same way—though she could tell a few of them did, the ones who bit their lips and looked down at their desks, while the others exchanged what seemed to Dorana strangely knowing smiles.
Eleven girls had just turned eighteen in Dorana’s settlement. She hadn’t known any of the others, since schooling happened in small local units so that—in Dorana’s settlement anyway—the older kids could help with tending to the plants growing in the hydroponic farms that represented the colony’s most important resource. It seemed to her like the girls who gave the knowing smiles must come from the center of town, where they probably had had a chance to see how courtship worked.
For Dorana, even the word courtship brought a tingle of shame to her face. To hear the administrator say he wanted to see her breasts and her pussy made that tingle seem to run up and down her whole body.
In senior health class the teachers had said that the medical words the girls had learned when they were young would still represent the best way to talk about their private parts, and how they used them. They had said also, though, that most people didn’t use those words as much as what the teachers called the colloquial terms for sex and the body parts people had sex with. In order to prepare for courtship and marriage, the girls would have to learn those words.
“Some people still, even after humans have spent many hundreds of years as a spacefaring species, call these words naughty,” Terna, the female teacher, had told them. “Some of you girls from the town might have heard older friends whisper them, and tell you not to say them because if you did you would get in trouble.” Terna had sighed, looking around the classroom. “Although I disagree with the philosophy, your parents or guardians have the right, under the Magisterians’ revisions to our colony charter, to punish you for using these words in what some people call the old-fashioned way.”
Dorana had had no idea, none at all, why that phrase had sent a thrill of embarrassment through her. She had learned in civics class that the Magisterians had brought their system of justice, which included corporal punishment, to Paternia in the wake of their conquest. She hadn’t known that it extended to the family level. Something about the idea, the way Terna had just referred to it, as having punishment imposed for saying a naughty word about her body, seemed to her the most mortifying part of the lesson yet.
Lord Jason Lourcy, deputy provincial governor of Paternia, watched young Dorana’s induction with great interest, seated at his desk in the temporary office provided to him in the settlement’s town hall. The Magisterians called the delicious moment when an eighteen-year-old female of a conquered world was made to strip naked for the first time her induction, since it led her onto the beginning of the path that would deliver her, finally, into sexual servitude.
The reparations program instituted on Paternia used a sophisticated algorithm to identify the girls taken for their conquerors’ pleasure. Dorana, like the other two naked girls already in the administrator’s car, had demonstrated in her senior health class exactly the sort of innocence that made an eighteen-year-old most appealing.
Lord Jason’s rather pleasurable duty here in her settlement today involved supervising the first phase of pretty Dorana’s training. Most important, he would take charge of the three teenagers when they arrived at the town hall in a little while.
Through the body camera of one of the police officers, Lord Jason watched Dorana’s face turn a deep red at the administrator’s mention of her breasts and her pussy. Like most of the colonial magistrates with whom Lord Jason had dealt, this one clearly enjoyed this particular part of his job. He had every reason to enjoy it, of course: he had seen the files of the three girls chosen to go to the Magisterian city, and he knew that Dorana had scored quite high on the sexual responsiveness charts.
Moreover, he knew that his Magisterian overlords wished the girls taken to the town hall to understand from the beginning the meaning of their induction: they would soon be sexual servants, as befit their needs and their masters’ desires. The administrator knew that he would do Dorana no favors by handling her gently.
The girl’s hands trembled, and moved from her chest a little, but the administrator, with a cruel little smile on his face, nodded to the policemen, and they each seized one of her arms and held her hands at her sides.
“No! Please!” she cried as the tall man in the blue tunic approached her.
“I’m sorry I have to do this, Dorana,” he said in a voice that made clear that he didn’t actually feel any sorrow about it. He put his hands on her hips and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her brown farmer’s canvas pants.
Dorana cried out as the administrator stripped the pants down to her ankles, so that she stood in her underwear—the simple synth-cotton stuff that Lord Jason found strangely arousing because it betokened innocence so well. She shivered at the cold.
The administrator took a step back to look her up and down. He took longer with his lecherous survey than Lord Jason thought strictly helpful, and he frowned at the view screen.
“Get on with it, man,” he said, shaking his head. He had sometimes considered, as he supervised the past two inductions, that it might help to give the Paternians stricter guidelines as to how to accomplish this stage of the process. Magisterian lords learned in early adulthood how to handle these matters, and it didn’t involve leaving girls like Dorana shivering in their underwear for so long.
The administrator, however, had enough of the same masculine instincts as Lord Jason that he did speak the very important words that came next in the process of almost every induction.
“Now, Dorana, you can take off your bra and your panties for me, or I can take them off for you, and you can have a spanking when we get to town hall.”
“A… a what?” Dorana asked. Lord Jason studied her face, in the profile he could see through the police body camera. Some of them really didn’t know what a spanking was, despite the seed of mortifying knowledge planted by their health teachers, at the Magisterians’ express command, in the crucial phrase, the old-fashioned way.
Dorana, however, clearly did not fall into that category. Her pink face had flushed a deeper red, and her brow had creased. She glanced at the door through which her mother had disappeared, a sure sign in Lord Jason’s eyes that the girl had done the bit of illicit research necessary to learn what the old-fashioned way meant, when it came to the discipline of women.
“You heard me,” the administrator said, obviously picking up on the same signals Lord Jason had. “Your Magisterian master-daddy is waiting at town hall, and he would like nothing better than to put you face down over his lap and treat you like the naughty little girl you are, for making me pull your pants down that way.”
“What?” Dorana said. “I don’t… I don’t understand.” She looked from side to side in desperation, as if the policemen would confirm that the administrator had lost his mind. Her voice fell to a whisper. “Master-daddy?”
Tight-lipped, the administrator shook his head. He took a pair of safety scissors from his pocket, at the sight of which Dorana cried out and began to struggle. The policemen, far from reassuring the girl, held her tighter while the scissors quickly cut through the straps of the girl’s bra, so that the administrator could pull it off her. Lord Jason noted with pleasure the firmness of the girl’s young breasts, over which the magistrate’s hands lingered, of course, as he removed the bra.
Dorana had her lower lip between her teeth, and Lord Jason could hear a whine coming from her throat at the touch of the man in the blue tunic. Despite the chill in the air, the Magisterian lord deputy could see very clearly that the girl had tasted real arousal for the first time. Confused, ashamed, and frightened—the precise triggers calculated to ready the sort of girl the Magisterians claimed as their war reparations for her lewd, humiliating training—she struggled against the iron grip of the men holding her fast.
“These are very nice, girl,” the administrator said, holding Dorana’s left breast frankly now, running his thumb over the nipple to make it stiffen even more than arousal and the cold had already done. “Now let’s have a look at your pussy.”
Dorana emitted a little whimper as the magistrate put his left hand inside the waistband of her blue panties, then brought the scissors to bear so that he could cut cleanly through the synth-cotton. The panties fell down around her other leg, exposing an adorable tuft of chestnut fur, just beginning—as befit a girl of eighteen—to crown the sweet slit of her young pussy.
The administrator took a step back so that he could inspect her, his dark eyes fixed on the naughty space between her thighs. Dorana gave another little cry, struggling anew, though to even less effect, against the restraining hands of the policemen.
“Please… don’t…” she sobbed. Lord Jason could see on her face just how thoroughly her own body had confused and dismayed her. She didn’t even truly understand, of course, what naughtiness meant, or why she should feel such a desperate urge both to cover herself and to be examined more intimately. He smiled, as he felt the warmth of a new affection begin to take root. Lord Jason, despite his necessary resolve to show a stern exterior, knew himself to have a heart very susceptible to fondness for a certain kind of submissive young woman—and Dorana most definitely fell into that category.
“Very nice, Dorana,” said the administrator. “That pussy will look even sweeter with your hair removed so your master-daddies can see it clearly and you know they’ll take a close look whenever they feel like it.”
“Oh, no,” the girl whispered. “I don’t understand.” She shook her little head, her lips pursed and her eyes closed. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to understand,” replied the magistrate. He reached for the other side of her panties, whose gusset hung useless against Dorana’s right thigh. She cried out to feel his hand there again, so close to the exposed cleft of her girlish labia, the fingers doubtless putting skillful pressure in the region of her certainly aching clit. Lord Jason felt his own cock leap between his thighs at the thought of baring the girl for the last part of her induction, and inspecting her rosy little clitoris at some length.
The scissors cut through the final bit of Dorana’s simple blue panties, and the administrator pulled their remnants roughly out from between her thighs, drawing another whimper from the girl.
“I’m sorry you’ll have your first spanking so soon, Dorana,” he said, once again feigning sorrow so very poorly that Lord Jason had to smile. The man in the blue tunic spoke to the policemen. “Put her in the car.”
Lord Jason continued watching as the men holding Dorana’s arms made her step out of her pants and walk, in her sandals alone, to the official car in the driveway. Her eyes went wide when she saw that two other naked girls sitting in the back seat of the automobile, then even wider as she recognized them from her senior health class. Did she realize that the girls in the car had reacted much as she had done, when their teachers had discussed words like pussy and fuck and cock? Lord Jason thought he saw something of a dawning awareness on the last glimpse he had of her face through the policeman’s body camera before he too got into the car.
The lord deputy closed the view screen and stood up. The car should arrive at town hall within ten minutes. In the interim, he had another pleasant duty to fulfill. He left the little office and walked down the hall to the holding room where the first young women taken to the Magisterians city two years before waited. Now aged twenty, they would go free today, after showing their community—and the new girls about to undergo the same training and the same fate—what they had learned.
He walked through the open doorway to see Jasa, Borina, and Pronda sitting just where he had told them to sit, side by side on the upholstered bench. Of course the three girls, in their pretty, ruffled pink dresses, didn’t truly have a choice in the matter because Lord Jason had with the help of the town hall security officers strapped them with sturdy black webbing to the back of the bench by their waists and to the seat of the bench by their wrists. They looked appropriately small, Lord Jason thought, in the room that would soon hold a good many more Paternian young people in addition to the three young women returning to the settlement.
Jasa, Borina, and Pronda were relatively used to such restraints by now, but Lord Jason could see on their faces clear evidence that even two years of training from skilled Magisterian daddies couldn’t get a young woman completely used to that sort of treatment—not this kind of young woman, anyway. He thought of Dorana, of her chestnut-furred quim so soon to lose its grownup hair, and looked forward greatly to beginning her training just as he finished that of these three twenty-year-olds.
“Hello, girls,” he said, smiling at them.
“Hello, Daddy Jason,” they chorused back obediently, though their voices sounded troubled at the thought of the final embarrassments they knew were coming.
“Come now,” Lord Jason said, putting a bit of gentle teasing in his tone. “You three are the first from this settlement to return. Everyone is going to be so happy to see you, and you’re going to be able to help the new girls understand a little, in a way you yourselves didn’t understand about your time in the city.”
Jasa, on Lord Jason’s right, looked over at Borina, who sat in the middle of the bench. Borina turned her face back and forth, exchanging glances with both of her companions. Pronda, the leftmost of the three, bit her lower lip as she returned Borina’s gaze. The three young Paternian women, despite their pretty party dresses, of the kind that had never gone out of style for the human race for sweet young girls even in their arduous journey to the stars, seemed less certain than the lord deputy. Perhaps, they seemed to be thinking, they had been just as happy not to know what awaited them in the city of the master-daddies until they arrived there.
An intercom on the wall buzzed. “The new girls are here,” the administrator said over the speaker.
Lord Jason pressed the transmit button and held it. “Bring them up, please, along with the twenty-year-olds from these girls’ class.”
He turned back to the three young women on the bench, whose faces had gone bright red.
“Don’t worry, my dears. Remember it’s only the new girls who are going to get spanked.”
Dorana followed the other two naked girls down the main corridor of the town hall, trying desperately to forget that behind them walked twenty or so fully clothed young men and women. They had seemed just as surprised and embarrassed to see Dorana and the other two naked girls—Heva and Welana—as the three of them had been to find a large group of slightly older people awaiting them in the town hall lobby. The administrator, though, had said, “Follow us, please, ladies and gentlemen,” and led the blushing trio down the hallway with the policemen still keeping careful watch to see that the nude girls did as instructed.
At the end of the corridor, Dorana saw that a doorway opened into a large room that seemed mostly empty. They approached nearer, and she could make out a few pieces of furniture in the brightly lit room—benches, mostly, it seemed. Then Dorana saw that on a bench along the far wall three girls sat, wearing frilly pink dresses that made the heat come to her face as she remembered long-ago birthday parties.
The Paternian colonists dressed alike when they reached their teenage years and everyone had to work to ensure the continued, if rather meager, prosperity of the colony. They retained, however, the same reverence for childhood that Dorana had learned in school featured prominently in much human culture. As a little girl, she had worn pretty dresses with ruffles, on special occasions, and when a friend got to wear one—and some girls came from more prosperous families and got to wear nice clothes to school every day—she had felt the sort of envy she knew she shouldn’t.
The girls on the bench, whom Dorana recognized now, her eyes going wide at the flash of memory, each wore a pink dress of the kind Dorana had never seen on a girl older than ten. The ruffles on the shoulders and at the waists made her think of the one time she had owned a very pretty hand-me-down from a neighbor girl, in which she had gone to a special anniversary party. The feelings inside her, as she looked at Jasa, Borina, and Pronda and understood that they had come back from the city of the Magisterians wearing pink little-girl party dresses seemed to churn into a mixture that made Dorana’s brow crease and her breath come out between tightly pursed lips with a soft whine.
Dorana looked over at Heva and Welana and saw that they, too, had recognized the young women on the bench, and the three naked girls exchanged wide-eyed, uncomprehending looks. If they had difficulty figuring out what was happening, the group of twenty-year-olds behind them seemed equally confused, and perhaps even more alarmed.
“Borina?” called one boy, as if he couldn’t restrain his curiosity.
“That’s Pronda,” a girl behind Dorana whispered to someone else.
“Why are they…” another girl whispered back. “Why are they dressed… like that?” The speaker’s embarrassment for the girls on the bench made itself heard unmistakably in the stifled giggle that followed the question.
Dorana understood: she and the two other girls destined for the Magisterian city could take a little comfort in the probability that the girls in the party dresses represented their future, two years hence, and that it involved returning to their settlement clothed rather than naked. Yes, the clothing turned the faces of Jasa, Borina, and Pronda almost as pink as their dresses, as they saw their old friends come to this holding room to…
What? Dorana wondered. To bring them home in their pretty little-girl dresses? She thought that must make up part of what would happen now, though she also wondered if, considering the presence of the three naked girls, other, even more embarrassing events might take place.
The cheeks of the three young women on the bench had gotten evidently ruddier at being made a spectacle of by the tall Magisterian lord whom Dorana now noticed for the first time, standing to the side of the bench where the twenty-year-olds sat motionless. She reflected, though, that they had come back home, at least—not in the nude but wearing clothes, even if those clothes embarrassed them. They would be able to change once they got back to their hab units, wouldn’t they?
“Welcome, boys and girls,” said the Magisterian in a deep voice, accented with the elegant vowels that Paternians instinctively knew represented the galactic culture to which their own colony aspired. Dorana would have known the handsome man with his gray-flecked temples and his sharp, high cheekbones to belong to the world that had conquered her own simply from his height. She needn’t even have noticed his forest green military uniform, bearing on the breasts the insignia Paternian schoolchildren learned marked out nobility and authority and on the shoulders the epaulettes that meant he belonged to the Magisterian interplanetary service.
Master-daddy. The strange compound word—at least Dorana had heard it as a compound, emerging from the mouth of the administrator—floated into her mind and sent a thrill of embarrassment from her bare tummy to her cheeks. His gray eyes, as she saw him looking at her with evident enjoyment of her nudity, made her tingle, mortifyingly, her nipples growing stiff again just as they had done under the administrator’s terribly degrading touch.
She bit her lip and turned away from him, to look at the girls on the bench, hoping to take some comfort in their pretty dresses, inappropriate as they might be. Her eyes met Jasa’s, and she saw that the sweet girl, with whom Dorana had been friendly at school despite the difference between their ages, shake her head slightly, as if warning Dorana—telling her she mustn’t do something.
The administrator came up behind her and spoke to her, then, though in a voice clearly meant for everyone to hear.
“Dorana, you already have a spanking coming. Take your hands away from your breasts and your vulva this instant. Lord Jason will certainly spank you harder for that.”
Dorana heard a nervous giggle from more than one of the twenty-year-olds. It helped a very little to know that whoever had giggled almost certainly had emitted the humiliating sound through sheer anxiety. She understood what Jasa had meant to tell her now: under the appraising eyes of the Magisterian lord she had unconsciously put her hands over her private parts, though she and Heva and Welana had been told they must not cover themselves.
Feeling her face go as hot as an oven, she turned, her hands clutching at her bosom and at the chestnut-thatched place between her thighs rather than moving away as the administrator had ordered. She saw… she saw him, the magistrate in the blue tunic, and she saw all the twenty-year-olds, and it seemed like her whole body had caught fire.
Then, as if she might find some comfort from him, of all people, Dorana found herself turning to the Magisterian lord—Lord Jason, had the administrator called him? The expression on Lord Jason’s face made the heat all over Dorana blaze up even higher. He wore an amused air, but in his eyes she thought she could also make out some kind of… appetite. It made her bite her lip and emit another mortifying little whimper.
“Did you hear me, girl?” the administrator hissed.
Dorana could hear in his tone that he must be worried about looking bad in the eyes of Lord Jason. Still she couldn’t seem to obey: she turned from the Magisterian to the girls on the bench, and she saw sympathy in their eyes as they watched what Dorana realized with a momentary chill must be something they had seen many times.
The chill blazed to heat again, and at last, in fear of the terrible threat the administrator had made, but also from a horribly confusing mixture of thoughts and feelings, all of them telling her she must obey or things would become even worse, Dorana drew her hands away from her breasts and her pussy. A little sob burst from her chest as she felt the air there—warmer in the town hall but still not as warm as the bathroom at home, the only place she had ever been in the nude before.
Much worse than the air, though, Dorana felt the eyes of everyone in the room: the twenty-year-olds, the naked girls who shared her destiny, the administrator and the policemen, the girls on the bench in their frilly dresses, and above all Lord Jason. The furrow on her brow grew so deep it almost pained her, as she searched desperately for a place to look, then at last turned her eyes downward to the feet of the girls on the bench, shod in shiny black synth-patent-leather that made Dorana’s tummy turn over. Her hands, held stiffly now at her sides, balled into little fists, unclenched, clenched again.
“Oh, does this one get a spanking, Administrator?” the Magisterian asked. “Come here, girl. Let’s get this over with.”
In abject horror, Dorana looked up to see the officer looking straight at her, with his right hand pointing to a high-backed, armless chair of a material that she identified as wood, though she had never seen anything actually made of the substance so abundant on the human home world and so rare in the colonies.
The old-fashioned way, she heard in her mind. The Magisterians believed in disciplining women the old-fashioned way.
Lord Jason’s other hand, the fingers long and elegant and beautifully manicured, stretched out to her, as if inviting Dorana to take it, so that he could lead her to the chair. She knew of spankings from books. She had looked it up, so horrified had the lesson in senior health class made her, with the talk of discipline for saying the naughty words the girls had learned in order that they might at least recognize them, when the time for intimacy came. Daddies gave spankings, in the old days.
They pointed to wooden chairs, and they held out their other hand to lead girls over for the punishment they had earned.
Bare-bottom punishment for naughty young ladies. Discipline with their panties down, for disobeying their daddies’ rules.
Dorana turned her eyes again to the girls on the bench, and for the first time she noticed why they sat so still: she saw the straps around their waists and around their wrists, and she had the terrible feeling that just as she did not wish to be naked, Jasa, Borina, and Pronda did not wish to wear the pink party dresses. Again she saw the sympathetic look in their eyes, and she knew that it could only come from their having learned, over the past two years since they had last been seen in the settlement’s town hall, how firmly the Magisterians believed in disciplining young women the old-fashioned way.
She felt the administrator’s hand on her shoulder, urging her toward Lord Jason. Dorana turned and tried to run.
She didn’t have any idea, really, why she thought an attempt at escape might be a good idea. In fact, she thought she probably hadn’t considered it from the standpoint of logic at all. Her body made the decision, and even as her mind told her that she had no chance of getting away it tried to evade the grasping hand of the magistrate, and then the even more authoritative hands of the policemen.
They took hold of her, of course, as the twenty-year-olds looked on with wide eyes, some of the girls turning away with looks of distress on their faces. The men in the red tunics took Dorana by her arms and marched her to Lord Jason, who looked grave.
Something inside Dorana, something from the body that had rebelled and tried to flee, spoke to her, then. As she felt the strong grip of masculine hands on her naked limbs, and she still struggled instinctively against their drawing force, bringing her to the terrible wooden chair and the more terrible Magisterian lord, she realized where her doomed attempt to run away had come from.
Even as she sobbed in fear, to see Lord Jason seat himself in the chair and pat his right thigh, then put his hand up again for Dorana to take, so that he might guide her over his lap, she shook her head violently and kept trying to pull away from the policemen. That part of her, deep inside her body, couldn’t comply. She needed to resist, though she didn’t know why.
Lord Jason sighed as he looked up at her. “My dear… Dorana, is it?” he asked in that cultured accent that by itself made her heart beat faster with fear.
He seemed to read her acknowledgement of her name from the distress in her face.
“Dorana, I am afraid you are going to have a difficult time accepting your new life in my city. You will quickly learn, however, that your difficulty does not pose much of a challenge for your new daddies.”
As Dorana bit her lip, a whine emerged through her nose.
Lord Jason turned to the policemen. “Put her over my lap, and hold her legs and arms if you have to while I spank her.”