Given to the Major by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

The idea that a man intended to explain things about my body made me close my eyes and shake my head. It seemed like the ultimate denial of everything my world had tried to represent from the beginning of our history.

“Sara,” I heard Major Harrow say, “think about the cane we showed you, please. You’re going to experience that kind of lesson very soon if you don’t learn to comply quickly even with reasonable requests like the one the doctor just made.”

My mouth opened and I took a gasping breath. I shut my eyes even tighter for an instant, feeling tears leak out from their corners and trickle down my cheeks. Then my brain, as if on a tiny time delay, processed my guardian’s words about the cane, and the remembered sight of it in the doctor’s hands, long and thin and horrible, made me open my eyes, simply to replace it with the utterly degrading view the major showed me in the hand mirror.

The worst part lay in the way I had to quell my first reaction to the sight of my bare pussy and my tiny anus. My treasonous mind said, Oh, I look so innocent. So neat and tidy.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I found myself clenching my fists and straining against the webbing cuffs around my wrists. My body wanted me to put my hands down there to cover myself, the way a good little girl knew to do if somehow someone might see something they shouldn’t.

I had opened my eyes, so I used that piece of compliance to buy myself a little more time in the dark: I closed them again, and I used that moment to set my face into an expression of hard defiance, hoping desperately that the feeling of my face set that way would bring a corresponding change of attitude to my mind. I closed my mouth and pursed my lips. I relaxed my wrinkled brow.

I opened my eyes again and flicked my gaze upward to Major Harrow. He had his attention fixed on me yet again, with the same look of assessing interest he had worn when his fingers had done such mischief between my legs. I raised my eyebrows and did all I could to make my face seem hard and cold. I didn’t speak: I let my eyes say So?

At that moment, though, I heard a beep from the place where Doctor Greenway sat between my legs, and I felt the little devices on my nipples start to tingle. My mouth opened reflexively, and I took a gasping little breath.

“Oh,” I said, though it sounded like the most pathetic little noise ever produced by a human woman.

My eyes went to the doctor, though I immediately had to squint because of the brightness of the light on his forehead. I couldn’t quite make it out because of that illumination, but I thought he had turned his attention downward to look at something in his hand.

“That’s level one to start you out,” he said.

“I thought…” I said, dismayed by the shakiness in my voice as the terribly pleasant tingling in my nipples seemed to rocket all around my body and especially down where the awful mirror waited to show me my newly shaven pussy. “I thought they were… calibrators?”

“They are, Sara,” Doctor Greenway said, in a voice that suggested he thought his words would reassure me. “They’re active calibrators. I’m going to stimulate you now, so that when I install your governor it will be able to perform as comprehensive an analysis of your arousal pattern as possible.”

Oh, no. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He actually did have things to explain about my body—things I suddenly felt much too desperate to hear and to learn. That realization, to my horror, sent another thrill traveling from the calibrators to my clit. To the suddenly aching place where I saw—my eyes going wide despite my best effort to keep my face cold—the doctor holding another device above the wrinkly hood I could just barely make out when I craned my neck.

The thing didn’t look much bigger than the ones he had put on my breasts. It glistened, and I could tell the doctor had applied a lubricant to it—I knew the sheen well, since I, like many Artemisian women, used that sort of lube to make sex comfortable despite our bodies not producing the copious vaginal moisture some women’s did.

I felt my brow furrow, foiling my brain’s express intentions for my facial expression, as I realized—with yet another jolt of wanton need—that my guardian wouldn’t need lube. I had never gotten so wet down there in my life. I couldn’t help it: I looked again at the mirror and to my horror I could see a bead of it trickling out between the rosy petals of my pussy lips.

My face felt like someone had lit a fire in my cheeks. The thought that they must look, to the major, even pinker than the wrinkly, complicated lips he had bared between my legs, made it worse; my hips moved, and I had to bit my lip to keep myself from whimpering at the way my body tried to bring my clit into contact with the thing the doctor had in his hand.

Then, the worst thing of all happened: I clenched down there, harder than I thought I had ever done, and I saw it in the mirror. I watched my labia contract and then relax, as if my pussy were begging my guardian to invade me, open me on his…

I didn’t want to think the word… I didn’t want to picture it—what he had between his thighs, under his impeccable uniform.

“Hmm,” I heard Doctor Greenway say. “That’s rather remarkable. Did you see, Major?”

“Of course,” Major Harrow answered. “That clench was so strong no one could miss it.”

“Oh, no,” I whispered, closing my eyes.

They ignored me.

“Before I even touched her with the clitoral calibrator. I don’t think I’ve even seen that before.”

No, no. No.

“Maybe there’s something to be said for these egalitarian cultures after all,” mused the major. “At the very least, it makes for an interesting sort of repression.”

I didn’t have time even to think through what the man who styled himself my new guardian had just said. The doctor brought the little thing in his hand into contact with my clit, and my whole body jerked off the chair the centimeter permitted by the belt tightly fastened around my waist.

I cried out, throwing my head back with the overwhelming excess of pleasure I hadn’t sought and didn’t want—and yet couldn’t help wanting, needing, begging for with everything but my voice.

The calibrator thing had fastened itself onto my clit, and begun to vibrate and, even more dismayingly, to suck gently at that most sensitive part of my whole body. The sensation sent shockwaves of ecstasy and need through every inch of me, it seemed like, from my toes to the roots of my hair.

I heard a rapid beeping, an alarm of some kind, coming from something in the doctor’s direction.

My climax started to build itself with amazing speed down below my belly. I hadn’t had many at all in my whole life and even if these men allowed me this one I could still have counted them on two hands. It seemed to swell inside me, underneath the tormenting vibrator, a crackling electrical connection between my aching pussy and my tingling nipples.

None of the orgasms I’d had—little things, under a boyfriend’s fingers or tongue, after sex—had felt anything like it. A moment of wonder flashed through my brain as I asked myself whether I had ever really experienced a sexual climax at all.

“Oh, no,” I moaned. “Oh… please…”

Sir. I just barely kept myself from saying it. I couldn’t say that, could I? Or only when he made me. That thought made the need inside me pulse and throb so strongly that I wondered if I had started to lose my mind—how could my body respond like this to these unacceptable thoughts?

All of this had taken perhaps a second, and I knew if it went on another instant I would come as I had never come before, with them watching, with the major holding the mirror and looking intently at my face or my pussy, my paddled bottom, as he chose, with the alarm frantically beeping…

The calibrator things—the ones on my nipples and the one on my clit—stopped vibrating. My body gave another jerk, and I whimpered in frustration as the thing was removed from my pussy.

“Look at that,” the doctor said. “Those contractions of her vagina are quite strong—level five or even six on the Lourcy scale, I’d say, though you’ll probably want to use a measuring phallus to be sure, when you train her to the penis. Concubines with that level of compression fetch high prices these days, I’m told.”

All my intentions to keep my face stony had flown so far away I could barely remember making my futile resolution. I tried to tell my brain not to even attempt to puzzle out all the horrible degradations implied in the doctor’s words. My eyes closed, I tried to pretend I wasn’t there, again floating with an ease that surprised me to a plane where it all happened to another girl, a girl who didn’t mind, a girl who… who liked it.

“Sara,” Doctor Greenway said, though, “open your eyes, please, and look in the mirror. A girl with an arousal profile like yours can benefit greatly from watching how a physician prepares her for sexual training—especially if she’s going to receive a governor as part of that preparation.”

The aftershocks of the climax he had just denied me still sent waves of need through my lower body. I felt tears form again at the corners of my eyes at the mention of the governor. Helpless to do anything else, trying to maintain the strange fiction that it had all befallen another woman and that the doctor would soon install the terrible device on another woman’s clit, I opened my eyes and looked at the mirror.

Major Harrow held it in the same place he had before. The illumination from the light on the doctor’s forehead made it all much too easy to see, though I had never looked before at that inaccessible region, the one that no one should ever see, that a girl should only touch to keep herself clean. To my distress, I watched my inner lips contract again, and I whimpered at the aching pulse of need that accompanied it on the inside.

Not my body. But…

I looked up at the major. His eyes had once again fixed themselves on my face. His expression pulled me back into myself, because I couldn’t escape the idea that this man, despite the qualities I had spent my whole life so far thinking objectionable—unacceptable, atavistic, corrosive—seemed to see me in a way no one else ever had. A way I craved despite myself.

Yes, my body, my heart seemed to plead with my mind.

“Look at your cunny for me, Sara,” his voice said, his mouth smiling as he spoke despite the degradation of the words. “Look how pretty it is with no hair on it—and look how wet it got.”

I obeyed, and I choked back a sob of arousal as I saw what he told me to see.

“Look how adorable your little anus is, too,” said my guardian. “We’re going to take our time training your bottom.”

“That’s the best way,” the doctor agreed. “Especially from a medical standpoint. After a few weeks of regular anal intercourse she won’t remember why she put up such a fuss the first time you penetrated her there.”

I didn’t want to give either of them an excuse to tell me to look in the mirror again, so I tried to fix my eyes on its white plastic frame, but Doctor Greenway’s condescending words seemed to force my attention back to the forbidden place they had decided to explain to me this way. To make it worse, the doctor put his fingertip there, as if illustrating his point: I could see him touch me there, in the mirror, and I let out a tiny whimper as he pushed gently.

“See, Sara?” he asked. “That feels pleasant, I know. Especially for a girl like you who fantasizes about a master’s dominance over your body.”