Part of him thought that in that case he should make sure the Indus’ new ship girl remained in awe of him. The remainder, though, wanted to show Britana that although Captain Vincent Edwards could fulfill his duty as a stern commander, and although he took his sexual pleasure dominantly, using the young body of a ship girl as a Magisterian officer should, when the need came upon him, he had at his core a kindness on which she could always rely.
As he smiled, he worked her warm, wet cunny gently but also continuously and with increasing firmness. He taught her with his fingers of the demands he would place upon her in the hospitality suite, of her own duties aboard his ship. His fingers went in and out, and then slipped up and down the sweet cleft of her quim, his pace increasing with each movement.
Britana’s eyes went wide and her lips parted. Little whining sounds came from her mouth as her mobile brow told him just how much stimulation the head sister’s terrible punishment now added to her onrushing pleasure. Though Vincent could hear soft, involuntary, answering sounds from the other girls in the class, especially Melora, who still knelt in front of the bench, and though Sister Portia stood there watching, he knew he could reduce Britana’s world to two: herself and her new master. He moved his left hand from her back, reached it around her face to the back of her neck, and bent down to kiss her, long and hard, just as she began to come.
Britana came and came and came, her body straining against the restraints of the bench so that the wood groaned beneath her. With his middle fingers firmly on her clit and his tongue flicking urgently against hers, Vincent made her climax continue for long seconds. He used his palm to press softly on her whipped bottom-cheeks, to remind her of her punishment—to add both to her bodily sensation and to her mental submission. His fingers continued to caress the tiny bud of her clit until a final shudder racked her limbs, and she lay limp upon the bench.
“There,” said Sister Portia. “Girls, I hope you see why Britana Geran needs what she will get from Captain Edwards this evening, just as you all need it, you little whores.”
For the briefest of moments, still kissing Britana, Vincent wondered whether he could hear in the head sister’s voice the tiniest bit of affection for her ship girls.
Chapter 13
After supper, two hours later, Sister Portia stopped Britana as she followed the rest of the beginners’ class from the dining hall. Britana had heard from Melora that the girls got some free time to spend in the common room of the dormitory upstairs—which Britana had only seen for a moment, before supper. Sister Portia had put an end to that hope.
At least Britana had been able to verify that her bag sat on the bed Sister Gracilis showed her, two down from Melora’s. Then the bell had rung again, though. Britana had winced a little with each step. Her face had grown very hot at the looks the fully clothed advanced girls gave her bare, whipped bottom. Britana had followed the beginners as bravely as she could, though, into the dining hall for another surprisingly delicious meal, marred less than she had feared by the agonizing state of her posterior.
She had had to perch on the edge of the bench to keep her whipped bottom-cheeks from touching the hard wood. She had blushed as her uncontrollable fidgeting at the still-painful state of her backside drew looks from up and down the long table, but at least the compassionate Melora had kept up a light conversation about the center, to distract Britana from her trouble.
She had almost persuaded herself, though she knew deep down the hope was in vain, that she would not see the head sister or the captain again—that day, at any rate, and she could worry about the future when it came. She felt considerably more ambivalence with regard to Captain Edwards, but if she never saw Sister Portia again it would be too soon.
“Britana Geran,” the head sister said, emerging out of nowhere, it seemed to her. “Follow me.”
Melora reached out to grasp Britana’s hand for a moment, as she turned to face Sister Portia.
“It only hurts a little,” she whispered. “Much less than—”
“Silence, Melora Bullen,” the teacher commanded. “It will hurt a great deal more—as it should—if this little whore decides to show again how sluggish and slow to obey her nature is. Sister Gracilis?”
The sister at the head of the beginners’ class turned to face her fellow teacher.
“Yes, Sister?”
“You will spank Melora Bullen before bed. She spoke out of turn just now.” The tall, frightening woman turned back to Melora and hissed, “As you bend over the foot of your bed and have that naughty bottom smacked in front of your friends, slut, think about what hurts and what does not.”
Britana looked into Melora’s face fearing she might see resentment, now that her kindness to the new girl had gotten her into trouble, after the terrible shafting earlier in the classroom. To her surprise, though, her friend’s face had an ambiguous expression, as if something about the thought of the spanking Sister Gracilis would give provoked an emotion other than fear, or hatred, or even remorse.
It made Britana think of the captain, of his hands on her—his mouth on hers. She felt her brow pucker as she followed Sister Portia to the bathroom where the class had showered after physical education. Each step reminded her now not just of the head sister’s terrible strap, but also of Captain Edwards’ urgent, soothing touch. Her cheeks grew hot, and what Sister Portia said next made them even hotter.
“You will shower, girl. Leave the stall door open so I can be certain you clean yourself thoroughly for Captain Edwards’ bed.”
Britana whimpered as the warm water touched her punished bottom, though she tried not to let Sister Portia hear and she hoped the rushing of the shower would cover the noise. The head sister seemed content to let Britana turn away as she washed her hair in the sweet-smelling shampoo and conditioner she found in the stall.
Those familiar things stood next to a strange sort of rubber bulb, red and with a tapered end, that Britana couldn’t identify, sitting in a small plastic bowl. She decided it must have something to do with athletics, and concentrated on the lovely distraction of the warm conditioner.
The relative peace of taking care of her hair, when Britana could forget about her terrifying observer, only lasted a minute or two, though.
“Wash your private part well, girl,” came the sister’s voice from behind her, full of impatience. “Turn toward me and show me. No, Britana Geran. Not with your wicked hand, you little minx. Use the washcloth. You must be spotless there, for your master.”
Britana had thought she had experienced as much shame as she possibly could feel, but it now became apparent she had greater depths of humiliation awaiting her. She rubbed the warm, soapy cloth between her thighs, and she bit her lip at the way the sensation brought back the memory of the captain’s hand. Her knees bent and she couldn’t help moving her hips the same way she had on the whipping bench.
“Stop that at once, you little whore,” Sister Portia said, her voice full of disapproval. “Wash your bottom now. Take the enema bulb on the shelf and fill it from the bowl. Put a few drops of liquid soap into the bowl too. Then clean yourself for the captain’s pleasure.”
For a moment Britana pretended to herself that she hadn’t heard the sister’s words. She turned to look at the bulb in the bowl, whose purpose she hadn’t understood until now. Part of her mind desperately said, No, you just imagined that. That’s not what it’s really for.
“Did you hear me, slut?” the sister demanded. “Fill the bowl with water from the shower, then put a few drops of soap into it.”
Britana’s lips parted, and she breathed the moist air of the shower rapidly. So many sensations mingled so dismayingly in her body and her mind: the comforting warmth of the water—how it had even soothed away some of the soreness the sister’s strap had left; the lingering need from the soapy washcloth between her thighs; the tingling of her nipples at the spray; worst of all the way she had suddenly grown terribly conscious of her punished bottom and the little flower between her t
horoughly whipped hind-cheeks.
“Come now, girl, you heard what the doctor said this morning, and you saw another girl shafted today. Make yourself ready to serve as a ship girl must. Tonight your wanton nature will receive its full recompense, as you learn what happens to young women whose worlds rebel.”
Britana looked through the mist at Sister Portia. She couldn’t quite see the woman’s face, but she had already learned precisely the expression that must occupy it: that superior, censorious sneer that somehow made the head sister’s face seem both frighteningly cold and terrifyingly beautiful. It seemed impossible to believe that under her habit Sister Portia wore the lingerie Britana had seen with her own eyes in the classroom, or that she had actually donned the awful punishment harness and shafted Melora, with the promise that the same fate awaited Britana for any disobedience. The contrast between the looming figure in shapeless black outside the shower and her memory of the same woman, nearly naked, in a very different sort of black garments, made Britana turn away, her whole body feeling much hotter even than the shower’s rushing water could make her.
Her hands shaking, she took the red bulb in her right hand and the plastic bowl in her left. The bowl already had a little water in it just from the shower’s spray, and as Britana picked it up more went in, so that it had become a third full. Britana looked at the water, and at the enema bulb in her hand.
“Put soap in the bowl, girl. The captain wants you nice and clean.”
Britana felt her forehead pucker. Trying not to think at all, she used her right hand, still holding the bulb, to pump a little soap into the bowl. Biting her lip, she used the tapered end—the nozzle, she understood now with a blush—to stir the water and raise suds.
“I’m waiting, Britana Geran. So is your master.” Sister Portia’s impatience made itself clearly known in her clipped consonants. Britana frowned for a moment at the new thought that the head sister used her voice as a talented actress might. Was Sister Portia acting?
“I doubt you want another whipping for your dawdling, girl,” said that voice from behind her. Acting or not, the words made Britana practically jump out of her skin. Her poor bottom hurt so much, even at the soothing touch of the warm water. With trembling hands she squeezed the air out of the enema bulb, then put the nozzle in the soapy water and released it, so that the fluid rushed into the vacuum she had created. Britana thought of the physics: she had wanted a scientific career after all.
Sister Portia had heard the sound of the bulb.
“Bend over and show me, now,” she said. “Put the nozzle in deeply and squeeze every bit of water into that impudent backside.”
Britana gave a sob from deep in her chest. She tried to think only of the physics, but Sister Portia clearly meant to make the new pupil think only of the humiliation that the young women of rebel Normeria must undergo at the victors’ hands.
Their hands… and their enemas… and their… The image of the stern, kind captain came to Britana’s imagination, and she felt herself blush hot once again as she wondered what he would look like without his uniform, and what she might see in his eyes, then, as she knelt before him.
As I kneel before him? No one had said anything about kneeling, had they? Britana bent, steadying herself with her left forearm on the slippery shower enclosure. She needed to get the image of herself kneeling in front of the naked captain out of her mind, so she kept her eyes open and tried to watch the water swirling on the floor of the shower as she reached the plastic bulb between her thighs.
But the sensation of the slick, soapy nozzle between her bottom cheeks, as she tried to find the tiny aperture where it must go, brought her back to an even more shameful reality. She must not only kneel in front of Captain Edwards, if and when he commanded it, but he would also command much, much more. So important and fundamental a thing, it seemed, was the state of a ship girl’s anus that Sister Portia had to undertake to ensure Britana’s cleanliness there.
She cried out as she found the place, and pressed the narrow, tapering nozzle inside.
“Deeper, girl. All the way in.”
Oh, no. It felt too… good. So much better than the doctor’s speculum. Britana sobbed as she obeyed, pushing the thing inside, and desperately—to have it over with and to feel it fully—squeezing the bulb. The shameful sound that emerged made her whimper with embarrassment, but the true mortification lay in the groan of pleasure and of… need… that followed.
“That’s it, Britana Geran. Little whores like you get what they deserve here. Now let it out, and wash yourself thoroughly.”
Britana gave another sob, as much at Sister Portia’s words as at the wicked, degrading feeling.
What I deserve, she repeated to herself as she obeyed the sister, her legs trembling with the lingering soreness in the strap welts across her bottom and thighs. What do I deserve, for the way the captain made me feel?
“Stop, girl,” said the head sister as Britana emerged from the shower itself into the little changing area just outside it. “Look at yourself in the mirror.”
Britana, confused, turned with a blush to see her naked body, clean and, she thought, rather pretty—if embarrassingly nude.
“No, girl, turn and look over your shoulder at your backside. I want you to remember what happens to disobedient ship girls. You will be possessed tonight in every way, whether you obey or not, but you will be a happier young woman if you remember the lesson you learned on the whipping bench this afternoon, and do as you are told.”
Britana felt her face crumple as she turned and looked at the reflection of her back. The welts had gone purple, and the sight made her bite her lip. To her astonishment and horror, Sister Portia reached her hand down and seized the little bottom she had punished in an icy grip.
“This belongs to Captain Edwards tonight,” she hissed into Britana’s ear. “Do not forget that. Now take the hair dryer over there and be quick. Your master is waiting.”
Chapter 14
Vincent opened the door at Sister Portia’s sharp knock. On the other side stood Britana, her hands held a little awkwardly in front of her smooth tummy, fists half clenched, as if the head sister had just told her not to cover her tiny breasts or the exciting cleft of her sweet, bare quim.
Sister Portia had clearly stepped back from the door a moment before as well, for Britana’s eyes had fixed on the black-clad teacher in obvious anxiety. The girl of course had only the vaguest, most worrying notions of what would happen in the captain’s bedroom. As she turned to look at him, dressed casually now in a loose white tunic and black pants of fine synth-cotton, she caught her lower lip between her teeth, and a beseeching expression came into her dark brown eyes.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said, smiling in a soft, reassuring way and doing his best to keep the hunger from his eyes. That task presented considerable difficulty: the arrival of a naked ship girl at his door always got him instantly hard, if the very expectation of the pleasures to come hadn’t already accomplished it. Knowing that Britana had come to his room to serve a man for the first time made that anticipation even more arousing.
Her eyes showed that Vincent had perhaps managed to reassure her a bit. He thought he could also see, though, in the way she chewed on her lip, that some of his ardor had probably also revealed itself to her.
Good, Vincent thought, his smile broadening a little, and perhaps becoming even a bit hungrier. A ship girl needs to see both things in her captain: that he will treat her with compassion, and that he will fuck her as he chooses.
He remembered what his first commander, Captain Garrick, had told him when Vincent had earned a visit—his very first—from the most experienced of the Manchester’s three fucking pieces. “Ship girls are for fucking, lad. They know it, and so must you.”
That lovely young woman, Fulvia, a year older than Vincent, had worn the marks of the cat across her backside, for some minor infraction. She had served Lieutenant Vincent Edwards humbly, the strength of his twenty-year-old body cl
early having an urgent effect on her smaller, softer one after her punishment.
Skillfully and subtly, as Captain Garrick had no doubt instructed her to do, Fulvia had taught Vincent a young Magisterian man’s most important lesson. As she had knelt before him, he had learned to master her with mingled dominance and tenderness. She had cried out as he pounded her whipped bottom with his muscular lap and he had learned through the excitement those cries aroused, and the pleasure Fulvia had given, to own his world’s heritage of command.
“Britana Geran, you little slut,” said Sister Portia, “will you not greet the captain? You know why you are here, and so does he. I know that your blushes are all wicked hypocrisy, girl, and so does Captain Edwards—especially after your shameless display in the classroom this afternoon.”
Britana’s face crumpled, as she glanced at the head sister and then back at Vincent, her cheeks very red. A veteran now of many an encounter with ship girls less experienced than Fulvia, he recognized the opportunity Sister Portia had given him.
“Sister,” he said, letting a note of mild reproof ring in his voice. “I must disagree, I fear. Britana only arrived at the training center today. I don’t think her modesty is false at all.”
Britana’s eyes went wide, and she cast another glance at Sister Portia, her anxiety that the older woman might contradict Vincent plain. When she saw instead that the head sister’s face had grown less censorious, she turned back to him, her lips a little parted now and her tongue sweetly appearing, so that he thought of their lovely kiss as she had climaxed under his hand for the first time.
“I suppose you are right, Captain,” said Sister Portia. “We sisters see so much of the wantonness in these young women, raised on a badly governed world like this one. We often require a reminder like yours that they have despite their whorish natures a certain innocence and even a goodness as well—or else of course they would not make helpful and pleasurable servants for brave men such as yourself, would they?”
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