As Lord Jason helped Dorana stand up, he said to Heva and Welana, “Girls, I want you to have a good look at Dorana’s bottom. I’m going to put her over the bench so you can see what happens to disobedient young ladies in my city.”
Her bottom felt like she had sat on the stove. It hurt to walk the few steps to the bench, and she sobbed at each movement not so much with that pain, even, as with the shame of having been punished naked over a man’s knee. She sank to the floor almost gratefully, and did not resist as Lord Jason pressed her face against the synth-leather of the bench’s seat, with her breasts just at its edge, though his dominant hands on her back and in her hair drew a humiliating moan from her chest.
Why had she resisted, at the beginning of the punishment? Why had she made the policemen put her over Lord Jason’s lap and hold her there? Surely it had only made her… her master-daddy… spank her harder?
With her cheek pressed against the bench, Dorana tried to search her thoughts and feelings. She cast her mind back to the mortifying scene in front of her house, when she had rebelled against the administrator’s command to take off her underwear. She bit her lip, remembering the moment she had tried to run away here in the room with the terrible bench.
Every time she seemed to come close to the idea that lay at the root not only of her failure to comply with the administrator’s command to strip, in the beginning, but also of her defiance when Lord Jason had beckoned her to him for her first old-fashioned lesson, though, her mind shied away and a rush of hot blood came into her cheeks. Worse, that rush in her face seemed to have as its lewd accompaniment a corresponding rush down below, where Lord Jason had touched her in that… that terrible way.
Terrible. It’s all so… so terrible. Part of Dorana couldn’t help thinking back to school, and how often her teachers had praised her for her vocabulary. Now it seemed terrible was the only word she had for what she had to undergo, because her planet had done something… terrible.
She felt her back heave against Lord Jason’s hand in a sob of shame and discomfort. To her dismay, he had begun to move his hands over her body, down her back, across her bottom, down her legs. A whining noise escaped her lips, and she felt her brow crease deeply as those large, elegant, roving hands reminded her of the way he had commanded her most private places, when she had been put over his knee.
“Raise this, sweetling,” she heard him say, as he returned his hand to her still-hot bottom-cheeks and took firm grasp of them. “Arch your back properly, so your friends can see you.”
Lord Jason had stooped over her, to position her for this humiliating ordeal, and so his voice came from a spot very close to Dorana’s ear. She could feel the warmth of his breath and she even caught the scent of its sweet smell, minty from the Magisterian’s tooth cleanser. That made her think again of his impeccable green uniform, of his manicured fingernails, of his cultured accent and the gray at his temples.
Dorana had always heard that Magisterians were more civilized than Paternians—at least since the war, with the change in the school curriculum. She hadn’t truly believed it until now, seeing Lord Jason—seeing him, and feeling his hands on her whether she liked it or not.
He had called her sweetling. All the confused thoughts and feelings came rushing back, and she sobbed into the bench seat, feeling how the motion of her upper body made her tingling nipples brush against the synth-leather. It made her hips buck, and her bottom squirm, in a truly mortifying way—a way that moreover moved her backside in the opposite direction to the one Lord Jason had commanded.
“No,” he said in a voice that to Dorana’s surprise seemed less severe than sympathetic. Its gently scolding tone made the problem between her thighs, the sense-memory of his skillful hand there, worse.
But the lord deputy accompanied his no with a lifting of his right hand off her bottom and then, to Dorana’s sobbing sorrow and fearful cry, an increase of the pressure on her back.
She knew what would happen: she had learned it only a few minutes prior, over his lap. When Lord Jason used his left hand like that, on a girl’s back, and he lifted his right hand…
Dorana cried out, “Please, no!” just as she felt the puff of air from the Magisterian’s firm right hand. Then she heard the slap of his palm and fingers echo off the walls of the big, now empty room, and she felt its terrible sting on her right bottom-cheek. Combined with the terrible soreness he had bestowed there over his knee, it felt like a burning brand, and Dorana cried out again with the awful pain of old-fashioned bare-bottom discipline.
“I… told… you… sweetling,” Lord Jason said as he renewed her spanking in this even more humiliating position, “to… push… this… up.”
“Oh, no… oh, no… oh, no,” Dorana sobbed into the bench. Desperately she tried to do as her master-daddy had told her. She arched her back as much as she could and she tried to raise her backside, so that Heva and Welana would see her bottom and know that they never ever wanted to have a bare-bottom spanking of their own.
She felt their eyes on her, and she wondered what they felt, and she didn’t want to know, all at the same time. Dorana remembered how she had felt, watching the girls in the pretty pink dresses have to lower their panties, with their faces in this same bench. The knowledge that in two years it seemed she herself would be back here, with pink panties on, and she would have to take them down for everyone to see her pussy… her bare, smooth pussy… It made the sting in her bottom change, and move, so that she found she had to push her bottom up and out even further.
She wanted something. No, she needed something. What?
Then Dorana saw where her resistance came from, when the thought of what she needed broke upon her consciousness.
No. How can I… how can I need that? I have to… to fight it.
Then she heard Lord Jason’s voice, and she felt his hands, and she understood that he, too, knew the source of her defiance.
“Girls, please watch carefully. Dorana is trying to be a good girl, now, and good girls earn treats from their daddies.”
The Magisterian’s left hand moved around Dorana’s right hip, to take firm hold of her there. That made Dorana cry out, but what his right hand did made her shame herself so utterly that she felt sure she would faint. Lord Jason thrust that hand between her thighs, his fingers twining in the little nest of chestnut fur and his thumb pressing inside the soaking slit of her pussy. Dorana arched her back even further, and she felt her bottom work to the motion of her daddy’s urgent fingertips.
She simply couldn’t help it: the smart of the bare-bottom spanking… her position naked over the bench… the eyes of the other girls… Lord Jason’s smoldering gaze… Lord Jason’s hands… Dorana’s little pussy, crowned with embarrassing grownup hair… the pink panties, the smooth pink pussies, her bare little bottom raised over her daddy’s knee for an old-fashioned spanking…
“Good girl,” the Magisterian said in his deep, cultured voice, softly into her ear. “Good girl. Time to come for Daddy. Time to come for the very first time.”
Come. Dorana remembered that lesson from senior health class again. Come. Climax. Orgasm.
His thumb inside her pussy pressed in a little further. Sex. Fucking.
Would Lord Jason fuck her little pussy? Would he?
His fingertips rubbed hard at the place that made her hips buck. My clit. My little clit.
“See, Heva and Welana? Dorana knows what she needs. Look at how she’s moving her hips.” His voice had such a patronizing, degrading tone that Dorana couldn’t help thinking again of his lap, of being held there, of his hand coming down on her bottom over and over.
She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut as tightly as she could, as she felt the pleasure that must be her first orgasm build inexorably in the naughty place below her tummy.
“No, please…” she whispered. “Please… don’t… don’t…”
She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say fuck, because… because he would spank her again, of course, for saying the wicked word.
“Oh, sweetling,” Lord Jason said in her ear. “I’m not going to fuck this adorable pussy now. I’m going to save it for later, when I decide it’s the right time to deflower you.”
Dorana threw her head back, lifting her face off the bench and thrusting her hips against his caressing hand. Behind her she heard one of the other girls give a little sob as if in sympathy with the terrible ordeal of pain and pleasure the Magisterian lord had inflicted on a fellow teenager, for his enjoyment… for Dorana’s training as his… his…
His fuck toy.
As Dorana thought of the terrible word she felt sure she had just invented, the thing she must not think, must not need, the pleasure seemed to lift her out of herself and to take control of her body. She writhed in Lord Jason’s grip, and the single thought, I’m coming. I’m coming. I’m coming represented the whole of her mind as she felt ecstasy travel in waves from her pussy through her shuddering limbs.
Dimly she felt her master-daddy’s hands fondling her gently as the aftershocks of her climax jolted in her hips, her thighs, even her arms.
“There you go, sweetling,” he said.
She felt the pressure of his lips, to her surprise, on the skin of her shoulder. She started at the feeling, gave a little cry.
“Shh,” Lord Jason breathed in her ear, and kissed her there. “See what a good girl gets?”
Then with a final caress his hands left her, and she sensed that he had stood up.
“Come, girls,” he said to Heva and Welana. “It is time for you, too, to go over the bench, though I am afraid you will have to wait for your first climaxes until you meet your own daddies. I must bare these sweet little pussies, though, before we get you dressed to say goodbye to your families.”
Through the strange mixture of lingering pleasure and continuing shame that seemed to have rendered Dorana’s mind detached and relaxed, and somehow distant from the scene, she felt the bench shift. Lord Jason made Heva kneel next to Dorana on the right and Welana kneel next to her on the left. He must have pushed them down onto the seat, just as he had done to her, because she could turn her head and see the other girls’ frightened faces looking back at her.
Blonde Heva whispered, “Did it hurt?”
Dorana felt her forehead crease. She bit her lip, and had just begun to contemplate an answer when she heard Lord Jason say, “Silence, Heva!”
Then Heva gasped, Dorana heard a loud slap, and Heva gave a cry of pain as the lord deputy began to spank her, too.
“You want to know if it hurt?” he asked. “Does it hurt, sweetling?” Heva’s body shook with each swat.
“Yes, sir,” the blonde girl sobbed.
Lord Jason stopped spanking her. Dorana frowned, sensing that Heva had reacted differently—much more compliantly than she herself had. Does she not need it the way I do? she wondered. It seemed to her that a girl who needed it would resist. Wouldn’t she?
“What about you, Welana?” the Magisterian asked in a stern voice. “Do you need to feel if it hurts when your daddy spanks you?”
“No, sir,” redheaded Welana said in a voice more like a whimper than a declaration.
Dorana chewed on her lower lip. Maybe they do need it, but they need it… differently?
Her little reverie ended, then, because she heard a click behind her, and then a strange buzzing.
“I want your knees spread, girls,” Lord Jason said. “And I want you to put your hands back and spread your bottom-cheeks for me. I’m going to remove the hair from your little quims now with my sonic trimmer.”
Quim. Dorana’s face went very hot. The teachers in senior health class hadn’t taught them that word. It must be a Magisterian word? She didn’t have any doubt what it meant.
She heard Welana give a little sob, and felt the bench shift as the other two naked eighteen-year-olds complied with Lord Jason’s shameful instruction. Dorana couldn’t help picturing it: their little hands spreading their bottoms, the pussies and the bottom-holes obediently confronting the gaze of their master-daddy.
“Dorana,” he warned, “don’t make me spank you again. Show me your quim and your little anus.”
She whimpered as her body responded to the degradation, warmth and need growing in the place her daddy had demanded to see. She didn’t want to show him, but now that the pleasure from his dominant hand had faded, her bottom still hurt so much from her punishment. She couldn’t bear any more… she just couldn’t. She reached her hands back and took hold of those sore cheeks, whimpering with discomfort and need at the touch of her own fingers. She spread them open with a little sob of shame, and felt the air moving where it shouldn’t move.
“There we go, sweetlings. Three pretty cunts and three pretty arseholes, almost ready for your lucky daddies.”
Then the buzzing came closer, went to Dorana’s left. She heard Heva give a startled little cry, but not of pain.
“Just feels warm on your quim, doesn’t it?” Lord Jason said in a gentle voice. “There we go. Getting nice and smooth for fucking, aren’t you now?”
Those words made all three girls whimper.
“So pretty,” the lord deputy said, and then abruptly felt the warmth on her own pussy, moving gently up and down, and she couldn’t help moaning.
“Yes, Dorana. You need it very much, don’t you, sweetling?”
She could feel the curls falling away, and it made her face hot, but she couldn’t help moving her hips, too.
“Yes, girl,” her new daddy murmured into her ear as he bared her pussy. “Yes, you’ll have a cock in here very soon.”
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