u/Iantletoxx

You can read more of my stuff here.

Nicole

After more than three hours in the waiting area, the small meeting room robbed me of the thinness of oxygen. Still, I longed for a release that I could read from the faces of my predecessors. A pair of lawyers behind the counter encouraged me to imitate their smiling reception, and I cheered up. Not because of them, but because of my prospects in their hands.

 "Take a seat, Ms. Xiong. You must be a popular girl," the older lawyer sighed and placed a bundle of the sealed envelopes in front of me. "Four applications. We can discuss them from the first to the last, but you are probably mainly interested in the fact that the signature of your fiancé is on the uppermost one." He snorted to emphasize again that he knew how our negotiations would go.

The last remnants of doubts left me as soon as I read the whole of my beloved's name. I added mine to the other corner, and the spell of my heart sang a warm melody.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Yoon," the lawyer told me as soon as I handed him the document. "On behalf of the principal, I am to inform you that your lessons of the Lovemaking have ended. You are expected to spend the evening only in your room. Except for today. You are to come to prepare your wedding dress."

My name is Nicole Yoon.      

The mere awareness of my new surname filled me with hope. It was as if the smallest of my toes left The Princess Tower. I was determined to say goodbye to Carl, even though I didn't have to go to see him anymore, and even I was discouraged against it. I had to suffer the tailors, though. They must have had all my measurements on the computer a long time ago, but some guys with inquisitive hands just had to touch me just an inch from my bra or panties. I almost calmed my discomfort, because the design of my wedding dress on the monitor was way cool! There were horses; that was given. I also found historical war scenes, and above all, a lot of sex. There was still some space for a badge on my left breast, but I was still afraid to ask what it meant.

The working conditions may have changed, but I haven't. I still love the same man, and I know that when you are searching for a job, a positive attitude will help.

"You're an excellent lover, homemaker and submissive, Miss Xiong," Weatherby told me recently during a consultation. "However, we are afraid that all this is a manifestation of unhealthy ambition that could jeopardise your marriage."

I laughed nervously and waved my hand dismissively.

"Peter is the best thing that has ever happened to me! My primary ambition is to make him happy and strong. I'm from a family of two children, and I'd like to have three! In such a situation, if you understand me, I have no choice but to work from home. If my husband allows me!" The surrendering woman with my body stretched her hands to the ceiling.

"According to your psychological profile, you could be putting pressure on your husband," said a suspicious Weatherby sternly.

"There's a difference between putting pressure on Peter and inspiring him based on The Princess Tower lessons," I said. "Without them, he would hardly have thought that we could start a company to produce and distribute the sex toys!"

I had nothing to be ashamed of. From the first day, I was publicly humiliated in front of all the men in the area. That didn't change anything about who I was inside. As much as Peter may have changed as a result of the experience with me and Carl, he was still an indecisive, weaker man, and he needed my guidance. The establishment may not know, but of course it will be me who multiplies the family fortune.

"When Miss Xiong comes out, tell her we'll talk. She is not allowed to have any excuses."

It was the first time I had heard a veiled female voice from behind the crowd – too old to belong to one of the Princesses. The tailors had already taken all conceivable measurements from me. So I jumped down from my stool to meet the uncompromising matron.

I didn't really know the old lady in the silvery dress, but she looked at me worryingly.

"Miss Xiong," she breathed.

"Mrs. Yoon," I corrected her.

"How could I forget?!" The old lady patted my shoulder lightly. "You're married, and that's the thing that brings me here." She scratched the bridge of her nose and introduced herself to me. "Elizabeth Hoffmeister. I'm... Carl is my son, you see. I'd like you to get dressed and follow me to the lounge, where we can discuss your decision."

I didn't understand why the lady should discuss my personal choices, but I needed to find out what was bothering her. She remained silent the whole time until we reached the lounge and sat down.

"I found my son's relationship with you rather strange," she said slowly. "Hearing about him, giving himself to the betrothed girl every night. Hearing about her—that is, you—being willing to sleep with two men at once. "Forgive me—" She touched my knee. "I didn't want to go to this place. As a free woman, I didn't. Our son was chosen for my husband's merits. But then I heard what was happening here, and I had to rush to help him. And Carl told me about you. He wanted us to meet, which I didn't until he did that-"

"What did he do?" I dug my fingers into the sofa. Dammit, Carl, you are rational…

Mrs. Hoffmeister blurted out an answer. "You know, he was sure how the whole thing would turn out. That you would choose your fiancé. He was devastated that... that you didn't even open the envelope with his application."

Yes, I didn't even bother opening them. One of them was from Carl??

"I didn't find out who they were from," I admitted.

"I don't know if my son had any hope that you would change your mind once you saw his signature." Mrs. Hoffmaister sighed. "He was never good at talking to girls and had many fantasies when he did strike up a long conversation with one. He had been carrying something unpleasant about him since the day his sister died."

It took me more than three minutes before I could answer. 

"Yes." I had to support my head with my hands. "That can hurt people."

"Miss Xiong, you were expecting a visit from your family, weren't you?" "That's right," I confirmed it to the policeman in my backyard. I made enough lemonade to drink it together all weekend. Dad, Mom, and Brother Steve were supposed to spend most of their visit in the bathroom, which wouldn't grub me in a wrong way. However, the question alone, coming from the cop with a stern expression… I felt it under the skin like a long sting, burrowing underneath.

"You should sit down," the cop suggested.

"No!"I was angry. I was looking for an anthill to kick, some fly to squash. "Say it!"

"The pilot did everything he could, but the plane did not survive the maneuver at the airport. All the passengers were burned."

For me, the cop embodied that message. I had to escape. I ran home, but I didn't have a final line, only the starting point and the continuum.  I remembered my parents' affection, Steve fighting with his hyperactivity, Dad losing his job, homeschooling, and the rise of our mother. Dad finding a new job, which in turn relieved Mom of worries forevermore. They all were strong in the end. Conquerors of life, now conquered by death.

Sometimes deceased people in the underworld were called shadows.

But no, they were less than shadows.

Less than a specter.

They were no more.

"We miss Laura," Mrs. Hoffmeister lamented. "These days, however, I'm glad that she didn't live to see someone really hurt her, but it's not much of a consolation." I could hear her contempt for our regime in her voice. Even after so many months here, I bit my lip so that I wouldn't say something sharper and more specific.

"Carl is a sensitive and clever young man," I assured the old lady. "But I never would have thought that he'd cling to me like this... If he wants closure, I'll give it to him as soon as I've made breakfast tomorrow."

"It is my pride, if I have brought him up so well," said Mrs. Hoffmeister. "He doesn't push anyone to heal his old wounds. But he should also be able to heal them himself. Once. Until then, I'd be grateful if you say a few well-chosen words to him."

"You know," I remembered something. "My religion emphasizes that life is a mess because we inevitably get used to pleasant things and long for them even after they end, and we will wish for more of them. I'm starting to understand, but I can hardly lecture others about it."

Nicole Yoon—Buddha's faithful printer.

"You don't have to teach him about spirituality," Mrs. Hoffmeister reminded me. "My little cup broke. He needs to collect the shards and get some glue so that he won't be so fragile."

I was about to comfort her when a tailor appeared in the lounge, holding a tablet.

"Mrs. Yoon, I have the final design of your wedding dress here. You'll definitely be satisfied."

As if I could object to your tastes.

The design consisted of details that I already knew. I was only interested in one place, and I still didn't understand it...

What does the badge mean? "I pointed to the thing on the chest of the dress. "Why is the number two there?"

"I'm surprised you don't know," the tailor stopped. "Mr. Yoon is already married. You're his second wife."

I felt as if Cupid's arrow were breaking in that badge.

I hid what the guileless-looking young man had told me from the girls in the room. It would have seemed like blasphemy to shove my problems in the face of Ruby, who was supposed to stay in the Tower for the next school year. To the face of Pat, for whom allegedly no one asked, destined to be auctioned off as some antique lamp from the estate. Claudia had no choice but to nod to the applicant, her photographer, and refused to talk to me or the girls begging for comfort. I wasn't going to dissuade my roommates from the idea that the brightest part of family life was before me, even brighter than that of Alice, for whom her husband was waiting to grab her, dressed as on the day of her arrest, in her open arms.

I begged the various faces of the bureaucracy to allow me to talk to Peter, but they wouldn't budge. "You will talk to each other only after you return. The end of the school year must not be disturbed by the contact from the outside."

Everything is good, and happiness never goes away. I remembered a motto that I had more or less believed in since James White was courting me. So why did I cling so much to the moments when the happiness was right in front of me, when it seemed like a hand extended by the universe was running over my shoulders?

Perhaps the incomprehensible testimony of Peter's second wife was meant to indicate that I should search for love elsewhere?

I was only partially prepared to find out that when I wanted to go and see Carl, the wardens and the Princeps' military supervisors wouldn't let me.

"You're a married woman." I heard it six times that morning. "Now it's inappropriate for you to associate with a man who's got...physical knowledge of you."

"I need advice from him about marriage," I excused myself. "And I'm just going to talk to him in public."

My words eventually softened the right men, and I made it to the lounge, which, after being occupied by the Heirs turned into a loud fight club. Several groups of boys and girls were arguing with each other and even slapping themselves; one blow resulted in another from the opposite side. Vulgar insults flew through the air, as did sarcastic girl giggles.

"She's proving it again and again!" shouted Lucas Balaban. "She's a manipulative bitch, and it doesn't matter to her that she was ousted!"

"Boy, if you feel like a tool, you are invited to do so, but I will do what my conscience and my courage tell me to do. I didn't mind Mayson and Arnolph having their business here and me having mine. "Neither do I care for the conclave in Washington," Arthur FitzPatrick responded." And I will not care till we'll get Cooper inaugurated as Gilbert's successor. He is the one who'll make justice our new currency.“

I pushed him away to get to Carl, who was sitting alone on the sofa, and greeted him.

"I thought you were cool with what's going on politically?" I began, uncomprehending.

"Who can know what will happen and when?" Carl tried to regain his balance, but he gasped as soon as he saw me. "Many of us are relieved that Arnolph is already helpless. But now, all of a sudden, he has sent some explosive material to Washington via a judge. Moreover, it is said that the FBI busted both Brunkows. Suddenly, many of us would obey our parents and drive away. We just hope everything  will be better after the election."

"We already know that you, faux-princesses, can't be trusted," said a sharp and cold girl's voice. "That Shieldmaiden's party of yours is selfish to the core. They should cut out pieces of your brains!"

Bellinda, I realized. It wasn't just that she was a loyal Heir. She despised me personally because of Peter and the rifle act.

"I understand you. That surgery would bring them to your level!" Carl defended us. I turned just in time to see Bellinda furrow her brow and barely hold back her tongue in her teeth, hissing softly but as menacingly as any venomous viper. 

"Don't waste your life on the likes of her," Carl urged me. "Why did you come?"

"I heard how I disappointed you. I came to apologize."

Carl snuggled up to me, and I don't think it was just to make me hear him better in that tumult.

"She told you..." Carl was rather relieved. "I'm sorry, Nicole. I thought you'd open the other envelopes, if only out of curiosity. And then you would think about it, because I mean something to you."

I smiled at him as much as I could. "Of course you mean something to me, but I already had a plan for my life."

"I've been a part of your life," Carl said, all the more bitter. "Besides, I've always been willing to help women; now I'm an unofficial Shieldmaiden!"

"Virtue doesn't make you the man of my choice!" I snapped at him, but then I put on my kind face again. "I understand that you may feel that your life is empty and you want to fill it somehow, but you can't rush it. You have to find someone whose life fits with yours."

"This is not how people were doing it originally," Carl said. "Love was their duty."

"I think that's just your excuse for being lazy," I retorted. "These thoughts... They're just words, and words can be misleading. You never acted that way while I taught you how to fuck. You never acted that way when White threatened you to your face. I think you got this idea when you met the man I thought loved me!"

"Who you thought loved you?" Carl was genuinely confused.

I realized my slip.

This was not something that anyone else was allowed to hear. I moved closer to him and whispered in his ear in a truly loving way. "Peter is already married. I don't know to whom."

Carl looked encouraged for a moment before trying to project compassion on his face. "And you're going to marry him anyway?"

"There's nothing I can do about my signature," I reminded him. "Maybe he still thinks he loves me, but something happened that I don't understand, and he will explain himself. Otherwise, I am not looking forward to freedom."

"I don't know how he could have done this to you," Carl said, enraged. "Whatever the outcome, my apply was supposed to be a sign of my affection."

I became nervous, unsure what to think about the derailed conversation.

"I used to think Peter was my safe harbor. But if he's not faithful to me, I guess I must thank you."

We held hands. Peter was performing a plastic smile, and I was grateful that I couldn't see my own face.

Behind Carl's shoulders stood Arthur FitzPatrick. "Pure love," he overestimated us. "That's such an inappropriateness in our hate circle that we should kick you out."

He went to borrow my right arm from Carl. "All I'm saying is that this place has lost the romantic spirit it took so long to build, Ms. Xiong."

"Owwww!" Something from his palm pricked my hand. I didn't see any ring, and I didn't care.

"I'm Mrs. Yoon!" I corrected him. "Stick somewhere your fingers and your suggestions!"

Carl forced me back onto the sofa. "Guards!" he shouted to the nearby warden force. "I think my ward needs some—unsupervised discipline."

They complied with him surprisingly willingly. The wardens took us to our perfume-making cottage and handed him paddles with long metal spikes. He dropped it as soon as they left the room. He kissed me on the lips for so long, as he had never done it before. For the benefit of doubt I gave to Peter, I should have resisted, but Carl's tongue just tasted so good, and in the spirit of our Lovemaking lessons, I tried to make mine also taste good to Carl. His hand fumbled under my skirt and into my panties, and when he verified that I had gotten wet in the right places, he pulled them down and threw them in the corner.

I knew why I hadn't taken the chastity belt.

Carl pulled away, pulling his pants down.

"I think we have much more delicious bits," he told me, and I knew immediately what his desire was. He lay down on the table, and his cock was already waking up to a new life. I threw off my skirt and walked over to him. Two fingers were enough for me to help achieve a full erection. I ran my tongue over his cock. It was especially good for the boy, so I positioned myself so that my ass and waist were near his head. Carl didn't need to be encouraged. His tongue went hedonistically over my labia and then to the inner side of my womanhood. Of course, I needed to properly reward him, so I kissed his glans and then took him in my mouth whole, so I had him inside me in two ways. I kept swaying forward and backward, prolonging our common pleasure. We needed to dissolve our melancholy in sex.

Even though I was counting on Peter to be able to explain the whole thing to me somehow, I succumbed to the discharge of lust. As long as people exist, two things are certain. They will feel joy and they will suffer. So let's make the joy lasting and meaningful.

At that table, Carl and I indulged in a few more pleasures, including the peculiarities which people call perversions. Carl even walloped my ass a few times to make it look like some kind of punishment had been done.

All this delay meant was that I had to stay longer for Homemaking, which was ninety per cent of today's class, especially for assigned women like me. 

I returned to my room quite late at night. Into the darkness, but not into silence. Pat was crying. When I tried to calm her down, she pushed me away.

There was no point in lying to herself. She hated my status, and if I tried to explain to her that mine didn't particularly suit me either, she would just laugh at me. 

I lay down in bed, convinced that I would fall asleep at most an hour before the wake-up call. But then I started to feel an intense pain above the bridge of my nose. I pressed my head into the pillow, and lying there in a faint, I was delivered into a dream that was not sure of its reality.

"Thank you for the pearls, Nicole," Carl said. "Here, you get two nice car toys in exchange."

They were adorable! "Thanks, Carl. I've always liked blue. But I'll probably need a lot of milk to make them last for a few days, right?"

"Mrs. Xiong, turn your attention to us!"

I saw Peter. Surrounded by two women!

"I'm Mrs. Yoon," I corrected the woman who had addressed me, pointing to my love. "When I get to him, he'll have to explain to me who his first wife is!"

"It's me," said the woman whose hair color was constantly changing. "Your husband married me for my safety."

"Was your safety more important to him than my marriage?"

"Nicole, focus! This is a lucid dream brought on by the nanobot injection, given by our associate FitzPatrick. I am Katarzyna, although most of my colleagues know me as Agent Swallow. I, Larissa, and Peter here are calling you."

"Wait, are you all really here? Even Carl?"

"The three of us are real, love," Peter said. "We don't even see Carl."

"What?" Carl asked. "Friendzoned first and now, I don't exist?"

I wasn‘t paying attention to him. "Lewandowska, are you here, too?"

"After the fall of Olsson, I hid in the place of another of our agents. I have been waiting for an opportunity to make this connection. We are broadcasting to you and a few other acquaintances tonight to explain the new task."

"What if someone wants to trick me? I thought. "You can pull most of the things you tell me from my head!"

"Nicole, please listen to them!" Peter urged me. "I think when they explain what they want, you won't resist."

The next day's breakfast confirmed the growing trend that the inmates were mainly interested in applications. The most desperate and vocal were those like Pat, who either had not been demanded at all or by the man in whose arms they did not want to end up at any cost. Of course, that meant that they would end up on the stage as slaves of old and given over to the highest bidder. I've seen some desperate attacks here and there, directed at those of us who were known to be getting back together with our loves, old or new. I've noticed that Stacey Hamilton avoids these discussions. As we were leaving the dining hall, I seized the opportunity to start talking to her.

"I tore up a few envelopes before I even opened them," Stacey admitted. "We're working to improve our conditions better, not become the property of a man who will order us by post."

"When you put it that way, didn't you dream about something distressing last night?"

Our conversation was interrupted by the wardens, but between cooking and embroidery, we agreed. Yes, we were dreaming of the same thing, and yes, the request did sound logical. Under different circumstances, we would have been scared of the machinations orchestrated by the Polish secret service through its plots.

Gathering those who had been stung by FitzPatrick was not difficult. All we needed to do was to ask the Shieldmaidens and their girlfriends. Even those who had not received any messages joined the required, easily understood mission.

"We appreciate the support our movement has received." We kissed the ass of Principal Weatherby. "And we have come to the conclusion that it is necessary to issue a political statement that reflects your positions."

Weatherby made no secret of his newfound joy, but something held him back. "You want to send a message to Washington? That would have to be something very intelligent and relevant." The principal stood up and, without asking us, poured himself and our delegation drinks. "The political situation has now become both simple and incredibly dramatic. Vice-chairman Cao has disappeared. The only one who could theoretically help us is his colleague, fellow Neumann, whom military intelligence has recently successfully isolated, but fellow Cao himself is still impossible to apprehend and deaf to any calls. Many members of the Conclave were disappointed that the election of the new Princeps lost such a promising candidate."

"It's us who don't want the wrong voice to win it!" I told him. "We consider fellow Cooper to be a weakling. Jesus Christ, he might even be a traitor! We want to make it clear to our legislators that we definitely do not support him."

"Neither do I," Weatherby said, happily drinking from his glass. "I think you're going to send out a positive signal."

If the Poles are not mistaken, that is*.*

"Many members of the Conclave have terrible contempt for the Shieldmaidens and their role in Green's Fall," Agent Swallow said. "They're all like Cao. Misogynists who also think that it is a farce when the inmates of the re-education institution mix with political figures. However, if someone like that says she hates Cooper, they'll take it as proof that Cooper isn't controlled by women, and he'll be more acceptable to them as Princeps."

We are the responsible ones; we will choose the new leader. Even if it will be by the childish technique of reverse psychology.

Almost all of the Shieldmaidens made a clip slandering Cooper, well aware that our actions can have different, even contradictory, consequences. Out of all the possible responses, we received one from an unexpectedly close source.

We didn't discuss our activities or, God forbid, their motives. One advantage of the school year ending was that in the evenings we weren't so exhausted and we had more fun together between dinner courses.

"I used to love holidays," Helen said. "Sometimes it was the sea, sometimes it was history. I enjoyed the waves, and my parents swam nearby, making me siblings. It was compensation for the torment of school. We should probably convince our husbands to take us across the ocean."

"Peter always wanted to see India, but it would put us down even if we had gotten a travel permit," I pondered.

"Leave that to your man. Wouldn't you like to visit us again?"

A woman spoke up from among the uninvited guests in our dining room. Behind Bellinda were Lucas Balaban and a burly guy whose name we didn't know.

"Why did you come here?" I made no attempt to hide my hostility.

Bellinda clapped briefly. "We liked your last performance. You expressed the words that no one would listen to from us. We would like to invite you to the lounge and help us settle our differences of opinion."

It sounded uncharacteristically guileless coming from her, but our group was in no position to refuse such a polite suggestion. Quite a few of us responded to the request. I stood up. I hadn't been one of the shieldmaidens from the beginning, but this mattered to me personally. Stacey and Therese also stood up, as did Claudia and Adriana or Roxie, as representatives of the "military wing". Montserrat Gutiérrez, an actress from the series that inspired us, also joined our representation.

The lounge was already packed before we arrived. Some Heirs were seated, but most were standing. Unlike my previous visit, they were all keeping quiet.

Bellinda squeezed us into the middle of the room, which was an extremely uncomfortable position for us. Her expression suggested she was enjoying it.

"I understand you have many admirers among us," said Bellinda, the former kindness quickly fading from her voice. "You might be surprised how many of them were not only supporters of former principal Arnolph but also of Timothy Cooper in the current elections. They presented him as a candidate who would right the alleged wrongs that you, as courageous warriors, stood up against. We, on the other hand, argued that his election would be absolutely unacceptable. You even called him a weakling. Perhaps you should explain in your own words what the ideal candidate should look like."

"Yes, this attitude of yours has confused many!" said a voice older than I was used to hearing here. A man named Joseph Singerton stepped forward from among the youngsters. Stacey had told me that he was Jenine's husband.

Bellinda snickered. "Our heroines understand well-put structure. They can suck it up to Princ.. Principal and to the current princeps."

We had not many gifted speakers among us girls, and I don't think we even thought beforehand that we would have to defend the cunning actions of the Poles to someone. I could tell from the faces of my comrades that they were displeased with this pressure. So I stepped forward and looked into those sad male eyes.

"We are no longer going to be defended by weak men," I told them resolutely. "We want someone at the helm whose steadfastness we can be sure of. If he has real inner strength, he will enter into dialogue with us."

"No one will talk to you; that's the magic!" Lucas Balaban said. Bellinda nodded, but her gaze did not leave us.

"A lot of terrible things have been done among us. Much of them by women of your nature," she said slowly. "I spoke to Principal Weatherby, and he agreed that it was shameful that so many men had been infected by your views."

"This was no infection, but an epiphany!" shouted a Heir, whom I had heard for the first time. "What we were offered here is a perversion of freedom. We are not free if we participate in slavery!"

An empty gesture, I thought. But if there are more such voices in the society...

"Let's be honest with ourselves," Bellinda growled. "You can only say this because the Justice Department won't arrest its boss' son. The principal suggests that all the Shieldmaidnes' tutors end lessons for their wards, cut off contact with them, and return home."

"We're done in a few weeks!" FitzPatrick said mockingly. "What will we achieve with such a gesture?"

"The political situation is fucked," Bellinda reminded him. "Any time is fine for a good gesture!"

Suddenly, one of the Heirs stood up. It was Carl. He looked at me as if some of his machinery had exploded inside him. I didn't understand it at all.

"I agree with you," he told Bellinda. "But we must face it together. We will vote on it. If we agree with you, we will all leave to solidify Princeps' peace!" 

He stood next to a shocked Bellinda. "If our Rapunzels don't want us as protectors anymore, then either we have failed or they have. We helped them with the fucking; now we have to pay for whores who will behave professionally."

"You have to listen to mummies and daddies, right?" Stacey quipped.

“No,” Carl said. “We’ll leave together and then we’ll decide where to go next.”

I didn’t recognize him, and it saddened me to see how many other Heirs patted him on the shoulder. I found myself searching for the brave anti-establishment figure who had spoken a moment earlier, but I didn’t find his face or hear his voice again.

"Take all the guests out for the voting!" Lucas Balaban suggested. A few wardens and stronger men began pushing our Shieldmaiden group and Mr. Singerton into the hallway. At this point, I wouldn't have minded if they had just locked us in our rooms and kept us there until we left. I didn't understand how anyone could accuse us of betrayal. 

Everything in life can be overcome. It's just that some changes can be better prepared for and others worse.

"Believe me, what we did was necessary; otherwise we wouldn't have done it." It was important to comfort Mr. Singerton, but it wasn't me who had made the decision; it was Stacey. 

"I know," Mr. Singerton said, standing away from the women. "We all have our reasons. But believe me, I don't feel like defending anyone except my wife."

"And I can forgive only my husband," I said. "I think few people are as lucky as Jenine or me in having a partner."

Joseph walked over to me and kissed my hand. "Do your best for your husband, just as I'm trying to do for her. I have one more thing planned, but if that doesn't work out, I should tell her how to survive in a world of the endless dark."

I kissed him lightly on the cheek. My colleagues muttered. "Just remember that people doing bad things is like bad weather. Help others, but strip out of your mind, and you'll endure everything."

"Are you spiritual?" Joseph asked me.

"I'm sort of Buddhist."

"It always seemed to me that Buddhism is Hinduism for whiners," Joseph said. "But you must look everywhere when you search for good advice." 
Bellinda emerged from the lounge, looking as if someone had put her in the same monkey costume they had put us in for the interrupted game.

"You can come back if you wish, but I don't know if you'd be interested," she said. "We are leaving. Immediately. I'm glad you won't be too grateful about your departure."

 

You can read more of my stuff here.

Nicole

After more than three hours in the waiting area, the small meeting room robbed me of the thinness of oxygen. Still, I longed for a release that I could read from the faces of my predecessors. A pair of lawyers behind the counter encouraged me to imitate their smiling reception, and I cheered up. Not because of them, but because of my prospects in their hands.

 "Take a seat, Ms. Xiong. You must be a popular girl," the older lawyer sighed and placed a bundle of the sealed envelopes in front of me. "Four applications. We can discuss them from the first to the last, but you are probably mainly interested in the fact that the signature of your fiancé is on the uppermost one." He snorted to emphasize again that he knew how our negotiations would go.

The last remnants of doubts left me as soon as I read the whole of my beloved's name. I added mine to the other corner, and the spell of my heart sang a warm melody.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Yoon," the lawyer told me as soon as I handed him the document. "On behalf of the principal, I am to inform you that your lessons of the Lovemaking have ended. You are expected to spend the evening only in your room. Except for today. You are to come to prepare your wedding dress."

My name is Nicole Yoon.      

The mere awareness of my new surname filled me with hope. It was as if the smallest of my toes left The Princess Tower. I was determined to say goodbye to Carl, even though I didn't have to go to see him anymore, and even I was discouraged against it. I had to suffer the tailors, though. They must have had all my measurements on the computer a long time ago, but some guys with inquisitive hands just had to touch me just an inch from my bra or panties. I almost calmed my discomfort, because the design of my wedding dress on the monitor was way cool! There were horses; that was given. I also found historical war scenes, and above all, a lot of sex. There was still some space for a badge on my left breast, but I was still afraid to ask what it meant.

The working conditions may have changed, but I haven't. I still love the same man, and I know that when you are searching for a job, a positive attitude will help.

"You're an excellent lover, homemaker and submissive, Miss Xiong," Weatherby told me recently during a consultation. "However, we are afraid that all this is a manifestation of unhealthy ambition that could jeopardise your marriage."

I laughed nervously and waved my hand dismissively.

"Peter is the best thing that has ever happened to me! My primary ambition is to make him happy and strong. I'm from a family of two children, and I'd like to have three! In such a situation, if you understand me, I have no choice but to work from home. If my husband allows me!" The surrendering woman with my body stretched her hands to the ceiling.

"According to your psychological results*, you could be putting pressure on your husband," said a suspicious Weatherby sternly.*

"There's a difference between putting pressure on Peter and inspiring him based on The Princess Tower lessons," I said. "Without them, he would hardly have thought that we could start a company to produce and distribute the sex toys!"

I had nothing to be ashamed of. From the first day, I was publicly humiliated in front of all the men in the area. That didn't change anything about who I was inside. As much as Peter may have changed as a result of the experience with me and Carl, he was still an indecisive, weaker man, and he needed my guidance. The establishment may not know, but of course it will be me who multiplies the family fortune.

"When Miss Xiong comes out, tell her we'll talk. She is not allowed to have any excuses."

It was the first time I had heard a veiled female voice from behind the crowd – too old to belong to one of the Princesses. The tailors had already taken all conceivable measurements from me. So I jumped down from my stool to meet the uncompromising matron.

I didn't really know the old lady in the silvery dress, but she looked at me worryingly.

"Miss Xiong," she breathed.

"Mrs. Yoon," I corrected her.

"How could I forget?!" The old lady patted my shoulder lightly. "You're married, and that's the thing that brings me here." She scratched the bridge of her nose and introduced herself to me. "Elizabeth Hoffmeister. I'm... Carl is my son, you see. I'd like you to get dressed and follow me to the lounge, where we can discuss your decision."

I didn't understand why the lady should discuss my personal choices, but I needed to find out what was bothering her. She remained silent the whole time until we reached the lounge and sat down.

"I found my son's relationship with you rather strange," she said slowly. "Hearing about him, giving himself to the betrothed girl every night. Hearing about her—that is, you—being willing to sleep with two men at once. "Forgive me—" She touched my knee. "I didn't want to go to this place. As a free woman, I didn't. Our son was chosen for my husband's merits. But then I heard what was happening here, and I had to rush to help him. And Carl told me about you. He wanted us to meet, which I didn't until he did that-"

"What did he do?" I dug my fingers into the sofa. Dammit, Carl, you are rational…

Mrs. Hoffmeister blurted out an answer. "You know, he was sure how the whole thing would turn out. That you would choose your fiancé. He was devastated that... that you didn't even open the envelope with his application."

Yes, I didn't even bother opening them. One of them was from Carl??

"I didn't find out who they were from," I admitted.

"I don't know if my son had any hope that you would change your mind once you saw his signature." Mrs. Hoffmaister sighed. "He was never good at talking to girls and had many fantasies when he did strike up a long conversation with one. He had been carrying something unpleasant about him since the day his sister died."

It took me more than three minutes before I could answer. 

"Yes." I had to support my head with my hands. "That can hurt people."

"Miss Xiong, you were expecting a visit from your family, weren't you?" "That's right," I confirmed it to the policeman in my backyard. I made enough lemonade to drink it together all weekend. Dad, Mom, and Brother Steve were supposed to spend most of their visit in the bathroom, which wouldn't grub me in a wrong way. However, the question alone, coming from the cop with a stern expression… I felt it under the skin like a long sting, burrowing underneath.

"You should sit down," the cop suggested.

"No!"I was angry. I was looking for an anthill to kick, some fly to squash. "Say it!"

"The pilot did everything he could, but the plane did not survive the maneuver at the airport. All the passengers were burned."

For me, the cop embodied that message. I had to escape. I ran home, but I didn't have a final line, only the starting point and the continuum.  I remembered my parents' affection, Steve fighting with his hyperactivity, Dad losing his job, homeschooling, and the rise of our mother. Dad finding a new job, which in turn relieved Mom of worries forevermore. They all were strong in the end. Conquerors of life, now conquered by death.

Sometimes deceased people in the underworld were called shadows.

But no, they were less than shadows.

Less than a specter.

They were no more.

"We miss Laura," Mrs. Hoffmeister lamented. "These days, however, I'm glad that she didn't live to see someone really hurt her, but it's not much of a consolation." I could hear her contempt for our regime in her voice. Even after so many months here, I bit my lip so that I wouldn't say something sharper and more specific.

"Carl is a sensitive and clever young man," I assured the old lady. "But I never would have thought that he'd cling to me like this... If he wants closure, I'll give it to him as soon as I've made breakfast tomorrow."

"It is my pride, if I have brought him up so well," said Mrs. Hoffmeister. "He doesn't push anyone to heal his old wounds. But he should also be able to heal them himself. Once. Until then, I'd be grateful if you say a few well-chosen words to him."

"You know," I remembered something. "My religion emphasizes that life is a mess because we inevitably get used to pleasant things and long for them even after they end, and we will wish for more of them. I'm starting to understand, but I can hardly lecture others about it."

Nicole Yoon—Buddha's faithful printer.

"You don't have to teach him about spirituality," Mrs. Hoffmeister reminded me. "My little cup broke. He needs to collect the shards and get some glue so that he won't be so fragile."

I was about to comfort her when a tailor appeared in the lounge, holding a tablet.

"Mrs. Yoon, I have the final design of your wedding dress here. You'll definitely be satisfied."

As if I could object to your tastes.

The design consisted of details that I already knew. I was only interested in one place, and I still didn't understand it...

What does the badge mean? "I pointed to the thing on the chest of the dress. "Why is the number two there?"

"I'm surprised you don't know," the tailor stopped. "Mr. Yoon is already married. You're his second wife."

I felt as if Cupid's arrow were breaking in that badge.

I hid what the guileless-looking young man had told me from the girls in the room. It would have seemed like blasphemy to shove my problems in the face of Ruby, who was supposed to stay in the Tower for the next school year. To the face of Pat, for whom allegedly no one asked, destined to be auctioned off as some antique lamp from the estate. Claudia had no choice but to nod to the applicant, her photographer, and refused to talk to me or the girls begging for comfort. I wasn't going to dissuade my roommates from the idea that the brightest part of family life was before me, even brighter than that of Alice, for whom her husband was waiting to grab her, dressed as on the day of her arrest, in her open arms.

I begged the various faces of the bureaucracy to allow me to talk to Peter, but they wouldn't budge. "You will talk to each other only after you return. The end of the school year must not be disturbed by the contact from the outside."

Everything is good, and happiness never goes away. I remembered a motto that I had more or less believed in since James White was courting me. So why did I cling so much to the moments when the happiness was right in front of me, when it seemed like a hand extended by the universe was running over my shoulders?

Perhaps the incomprehensible testimony of Peter's second wife was meant to indicate that I should search for love elsewhere?

I was only partially prepared to find out that when I wanted to go and see Carl, the wardens and the Princeps' military supervisors wouldn't let me.

"You're a married woman." I heard it six times that morning. "Now it's inappropriate for you to associate with a man who's got...physical knowledge of you."

"I need advice from him about marriage," I excused myself. "And I'm just going to talk to him in public."

My words eventually softened the right men, and I made it to the lounge, which, after being occupied by the Heirs turned into a loud fight club. Several groups of boys and girls were arguing with each other and even slapping themselves; one blow resulted in another from the opposite side. Vulgar insults flew through the air, as did sarcastic girl giggles.

"She's proving it again and again!" shouted Lucas Balaban. "She's a manipulative bitch, and it doesn't matter to her that she was ousted!"

"Boy, if you feel like a tool, you are invited to do so, but I will do what my conscience and my courage tell me to do. I didn't mind Mayson and Arnolph having their business here and me having mine. "Neither do I care for the conclave in Washington," Arthur FitzPatrick responded." And I will not care till we'll get Cooper inaugurated as Gilbert's successor. He is the one who'll make justice our new currency.“

I pushed him away to get to Carl, who was sitting alone on the sofa, and greeted him.

"I thought you were cool with what's going on politically?" I began, uncomprehending.

"Who can know what will happen and when?" Carl tried to regain his balance, but he gasped as soon as he saw me. "Many of us are relieved that Arnolph is already helpless. But now, all of a sudden, he has sent some explosive material to Washington via a judge. Moreover, it is said that the FBI busted both Brunkows. Suddenly, many of us would obey our parents and drive away. We just hope everything  will be better after the election."

"We already know that you, faux-princesses, can't be trusted," said a sharp and cold girl's voice. "That Shieldmaiden's party of yours is selfish to the core. They should cut out pieces of your brains!"

Bellinda, I realized. It wasn't just that she was a loyal Heir. She despised me personally because of Peter and the rifle act.

"I understand you. That surgery would bring them to your level!" Carl defended us. I turned just in time to see Bellinda furrow her brow and barely hold back her tongue in her teeth, hissing softly but as menacingly as any venomous viper. 

"Don't waste your life on the likes of her," Carl urged me. "Why did you come?"

"I heard how I disappointed you. I came to apologize."

Carl snuggled up to me, and I don't think it was just to make me hear him better in that tumult.

"She told you..." Carl was rather relieved. "I'm sorry, Nicole. I thought you'd open the other envelopes, if only out of curiosity. And then you would think about it, because I mean something to you."

I smiled at him as much as I could. "Of course you mean something to me, but I already had a plan for my life."

"I've been a part of your life," Carl said, all the more bitter. "Besides, I've always been willing to help women; now I'm an unofficial Shieldmaiden!"

"Virtue doesn't make you the man of my choice!" I snapped at him, but then I put on my kind face again. "I understand that you may feel that your life is empty and you want to fill it somehow, but you can't rush it. You have to find someone whose life fits with yours."

"This is not how people were doing it originally," Carl said. "Love was their duty."

"I think that's just your excuse for being lazy," I retorted. "These thoughts... They're just words, and words can be misleading. You never acted that way while I taught you how to fuck. You never acted that way when White threatened you to your face. I think you got this idea when you met the man I thought loved me!"

"Who you thought loved you?" Carl was genuinely confused.

I realized my slip.

This was not something that anyone else was allowed to hear. I moved closer to him and whispered in his ear in a truly loving way. "Peter is already married. I don't know to whom."

Carl looked encouraged for a moment before trying to project compassion on his face. "And you're going to marry him anyway?"

"There's nothing I can do about my signature," I reminded him. "Maybe he still thinks he loves me, but something happened that I don't understand, and he will explain himself. Otherwise, I am not looking forward to freedom."

"I don't know how he could have done this to you," Carl said, enraged. "Whatever the outcome, my apply was supposed to be a sign of my affection."

I became nervous, unsure what to think about the derailed conversation.

"I used to think Peter was my safe harbor. But if he's not faithful to me, I guess I must thank you."

We held hands. Peter was performing a plastic smile, and I was grateful that I couldn't see my own face.

Behind Carl's shoulders stood Arthur FitzPatrick. "Pure love," he overestimated us. "That's such an inappropriateness in our hate circle that we should kick you out."

He went to borrow my right arm from Carl. "All I'm saying is that this place has lost the romantic spirit it took so long to build, Ms. Xiong."

"Owwww!" Something from his palm pricked my hand. I didn't see any ring, and I didn't care.

"I'm Mrs. Yoon!" I corrected him. "Stick somewhere your fingers and your suggestions!"

Carl forced me back onto the sofa. "Guards!" he shouted to the nearby warden force. "I think my ward needs some—unsupervised discipline."

They complied with him surprisingly willingly. The wardens took us to our perfume-making cottage and handed him paddles with long metal spikes. He dropped it as soon as they left the room. He kissed me on the lips for so long, as he had never done it before. For the benefit of doubt I gave to Peter, I should have resisted, but Carl's tongue just tasted so good, and in the spirit of our Lovemaking lessons, I tried to make mine also taste good to Carl. His hand fumbled under my skirt and into my panties, and when he verified that I had gotten wet in the right places, he pulled them down and threw them in the corner.

I knew why I hadn't taken the chastity belt.

Carl pulled away, pulling his pants down.

"I think we have much more delicious bits," he told me, and I knew immediately what his desire was. He lay down on the table, and his cock was already waking up to a new life. I threw off my skirt and walked over to him. Two fingers were enough for me to help achieve a full erection. I ran my tongue over his cock. It was especially good for the boy, so I positioned myself so that my ass and waist were near his head. Carl didn't need to be encouraged. His tongue went hedonistically over my labia and then to the inner side of my womanhood. Of course, I needed to properly reward him, so I kissed his glans and then took him in my mouth whole, so I had him inside me in two ways. I kept swaying forward and backward, prolonging our common pleasure. We needed to dissolve our melancholy in sex.

Even though I was counting on Peter to be able to explain the whole thing to me somehow, I succumbed to the discharge of lust. As long as people exist, two things are certain. They will feel joy and they will suffer. So let's make the joy lasting and meaningful.

At that table, Carl and I indulged in a few more pleasures, including the peculiarities which people call perversions. Carl even walloped my ass a few times to make it look like some kind of punishment had been done.

All this delay meant was that I had to stay longer for Homemaking, which was ninety per cent of today's class, especially for assigned women like me. 

I returned to my room quite late at night. Into the darkness, but not into silence. Pat was crying. When I tried to calm her down, she pushed me away.

There was no point in lying to herself. She hated my status, and if I tried to explain to her that mine didn't particularly suit me either, she would just laugh at me. 

I lay down in bed, convinced that I would fall asleep at most an hour before the wake-up call. But then I started to feel an intense pain above the bridge of my nose. I pressed my head into the pillow, and lying there in a faint, I was delivered into a dream that was not sure of its reality.

"Thank you for the pearls, Nicole," Carl said. "Here, you get two nice car toys in exchange."

They were adorable! "Thanks, Carl. I've always liked blue. But I'll probably need a lot of milk to make them last for a few days, right?"

"Mrs. Xiong, turn your attention to us!"

I saw Peter. Surrounded by two women!

"I'm Mrs. Yoon," I corrected the woman who had addressed me, pointing to my love. "When I get to him, he'll have to explain to me who his first wife is!"

"It's me," said the woman whose hair color was constantly changing. "Your husband married me for my safety."

"Was your safety more important to him than my marriage?"

"Nicole, focus! This is a lucid dream brought on by the nanobot injection, given by our associate FitzPatrick. I am Katarzyna, although most of my colleagues know me as Agent Swallow. I, Larissa, and Peter here are calling you."

"Wait, are you all really here? Even Carl?"

"The three of us are real, love," Peter said. "We don't even see Carl."

"What?" Carl asked. "Friendzoned first and now, I don't exist?"

I wasn‘t paying attention to him. "Lewandowska, are you here, too?"

"After the fall of Olsson, I hid in the place of another of our agents. I have been waiting for an opportunity to make this connection. We are broadcasting to you and a few other acquaintances tonight to explain the new task."

"What if someone wants to trick me? I thought. "You can pull most of the things you tell me from my head!"

"Nicole, please listen to them!" Peter urged me. "I think when they explain what they want, you won't resist."

The next day's breakfast confirmed the growing trend that the inmates were mainly interested in applications. The most desperate and vocal were those like Pat, who either had not been demanded at all or by the man in whose arms they did not want to end up at any cost. Of course, that meant that they would end up on the stage as slaves of old and given over to the highest bidder. I've seen some desperate attacks here and there, directed at those of us who were known to be getting back together with our loves, old or new. I've noticed that Stacey Hamilton avoids these discussions. As we were leaving the dining hall, I seized the opportunity to start talking to her.

"I tore up a few envelopes before I even opened them," Stacey admitted. "We're working to improve our conditions better, not become the property of a man who will order us by post."

"When you put it that way, didn't you dream about something distressing last night?"

Our conversation was interrupted by the wardens, but between cooking and embroidery, we agreed. Yes, we were dreaming of the same thing, and yes, the request did sound logical. Under different circumstances, we would have been scared of the machinations orchestrated by the Polish secret service through its plots.

Gathering those who had been stung by FitzPatrick was not difficult. All we needed to do was to ask the Shieldmaidens and their girlfriends. Even those who had not received any messages joined the required, easily understood mission.

"We appreciate the support our movement has received." We kissed the ass of Principal Weatherby. "And we have come to the conclusion that it is necessary to issue a political statement that reflects your positions."

Weatherby made no secret of his newfound joy, but something held him back. "You want to send a message to Washington? That would have to be something very intelligent and relevant." The principal stood up and, without asking us, poured himself and our delegation drinks. "The political situation has now become both simple and incredibly dramatic. Vice-chairman Cao has disappeared. The only one who could theoretically help us is his colleague, fellow Neumann, whom military intelligence has recently successfully isolated, but fellow Cao himself is still impossible to apprehend and deaf to any calls. Many members of the Conclave were disappointed that the election of the new Princeps lost such a promising candidate."

"It's us who don't want the wrong voice to win it!" I told him. "We consider fellow Cooper to be a weakling. Jesus Christ, he might even be a traitor! We want to make it clear to our legislators that we definitely do not support him."

"Neither do I," Weatherby said, happily drinking from his glass. "I think you're going to send out a positive signal."

If the Poles are not mistaken, that is*.*

"Many members of the Conclave have terrible contempt for the Shieldmaidens and their role in Green's Fall," Agent Swallow said. "They're all like Cao. Misogynists who also think that it is a farce when the inmates of the re-education institution mix with political figures. However, if someone like that says she hates Cooper, they'll take it as proof that Cooper isn't controlled by women, and he'll be more acceptable to them as Princeps."

We are the responsible ones; we will choose the new leader. Even if it will be by the childish technique of reverse psychology.

Almost all of the Shieldmaidens made a clip slandering Cooper, well aware that our actions can have different, even contradictory, consequences. Out of all the possible responses, we received one from an unexpectedly close source.

We didn't discuss our activities or, God forbid, their motives. One advantage of the school year ending was that in the evenings we weren't so exhausted and we had more fun together between dinner courses.

"I used to love holidays," Helen said. "Sometimes it was the sea, sometimes it was history. I enjoyed the waves, and my parents swam nearby, making me siblings. It was compensation for the torment of school. We should probably convince our husbands to take us across the ocean."

"Peter always wanted to see India, but it would put us down even if we had gotten a travel permit," I pondered.

"Leave that to your man. Wouldn't you like to visit us again?"

A woman spoke up from among the uninvited guests in our dining room. Behind Bellinda were Lucas Balaban and a burly guy whose name we didn't know.

"Why did you come here?" I made no attempt to hide my hostility.

Bellinda clapped briefly. "We liked your last performance. You expressed the words that no one would listen to from us. We would like to invite you to the lounge and help us settle our differences of opinion."

It sounded uncharacteristically guileless coming from her, but our group was in no position to refuse such a polite suggestion. Quite a few of us responded to the request. I stood up. I hadn't been one of the shieldmaidens from the beginning, but this mattered to me personally. Stacey and Therese also stood up, as did Claudia and Adriana or Roxie, as representatives of the "military wing". Montserrat Gutiérrez, an actress from the series that inspired us, also joined our representation.

The lounge was already packed before we arrived. Some Heirs were seated, but most were standing. Unlike my previous visit, they were all keeping quiet.

Bellinda squeezed us into the middle of the room, which was an extremely uncomfortable position for us. Her expression suggested she was enjoying it.

"I understand you have many admirers among us," said Bellinda, the former kindness quickly fading from her voice. "You might be surprised how many of them were not only supporters of former principal Arnolph but also of Timothy Cooper in the current elections. They presented him as a candidate who would right the alleged wrongs that you, as courageous warriors, stood up against. We, on the other hand, argued that his election would be absolutely unacceptable. You even called him a weakling. Perhaps you should explain in your own words what the ideal candidate should look like."

"Yes, this attitude of yours has confused many!" said a voice older than I was used to hearing here. A man named Joseph Singerton stepped forward from among the youngsters. Stacey had told me that he was Jenine's husband.

Bellinda snickered. "Our heroines understand well-put structure. They can suck it up to Princ.. Principal and to the current princeps."

We had not many gifted speakers among us girls, and I don't think we even thought beforehand that we would have to defend the cunning actions of the Poles to someone. I could tell from the faces of my comrades that they were displeased with this pressure. So I stepped forward and looked into those sad male eyes.

"We are no longer going to be defended by weak men," I told them resolutely. "We want someone at the helm whose steadfastness we can be sure of. If he has real inner strength, he will enter into dialogue with us."

"No one will talk to you; that's the magic!" Lucas Balaban said. Bellinda nodded, but her gaze did not leave us.

"A lot of terrible things have been done among us. Much of them by women of your nature," she said slowly. "I spoke to Principal Weatherby, and he agreed that it was shameful that so many men had been infected by your views."

"This was no infection, but an epiphany!" shouted a Heir, whom I had heard for the first time. "What we were offered here is a perversion of freedom. We are not free if we participate in slavery!"

An empty gesture, I thought. But if there are more such voices in the society...

"Let's be honest with ourselves," Bellinda growled. "You can only say this because the Justice Department won't arrest its boss' son. The principal suggests that all the Shieldmaidnes' tutors end lessons for their wards, cut off contact with them, and return home."

"We're done in a few weeks!" FitzPatrick said mockingly. "What will we achieve with such a gesture?"

"The political situation is fucked," Bellinda reminded him. "Any time is fine for a good gesture!"

Suddenly, one of the Heirs stood up. It was Carl. He looked at me as if some of his machinery had exploded inside him. I didn't understand it at all.

"I agree with you," he told Bellinda. "But we must face it together. We will vote on it. If we agree with you, we will all leave to solidify Princeps' peace!" 

He stood next to a shocked Bellinda. "If our Rapunzels don't want us as protectors anymore, then either we have failed or they have. We helped them with the fucking; now we have to pay for whores who will behave professionally."

"You have to listen to mummies and daddies, right?" Stacey quipped.

“No,” Carl said. “We’ll leave together and then we’ll decide where to go next.”

I didn’t recognize him, and it saddened me to see how many other Heirs patted him on the shoulder. I found myself searching for the brave anti-establishment figure who had spoken a moment earlier, but I didn’t find his face or hear his voice again.

"Take all the guests out for the voting!" Lucas Balaban suggested. A few wardens and stronger men began pushing our Shieldmaiden group and Mr. Singerton into the hallway. At this point, I wouldn't have minded if they had just locked us in our rooms and kept us there until we left. I didn't understand how anyone could accuse us of betrayal. 

Everything in life can be overcome. It's just that some changes can be better prepared for and others worse.

"Believe me, what we did was necessary; otherwise we wouldn't have done it." It was important to comfort Mr. Singerton, but it wasn't me who had made the decision; it was Stacey. 

"I know," Mr. Singerton said, standing away from the women. "We all have our reasons. But believe me, I don't feel like defending anyone except my wife."

"And I can forgive only my husband," I said. "I think few people are as lucky as Jenine or me in having a partner."

Joseph walked over to me and kissed my hand. "Do your best for your husband, just as I'm trying to do for her. I have one more thing planned, but if that doesn't work out, I should tell her how to survive in a world of the endless dark."

I kissed him lightly on the cheek. My colleagues muttered. "Just remember that people doing bad things is like bad weather. Help others, but strip out of your mind, and you'll endure everything."

"Are you spiritual?" Joseph asked me.

"I'm sort of Buddhist."

"It always seemed to me that Buddhism is Hinduism for whiners," Joseph said. "But you must look everywhere when you search for good advice." 
Bellinda emerged from the lounge, looking as if someone had put her in the same monkey costume they had put us in for the interrupted game.

"You can come back if you wish, but I don't know if you'd be interested," she said. "We are leaving. Immediately. I'm glad you won't be too grateful about your departure."

 

Nicole

After more than three hours in the waiting area, the small meeting room robbed me of the thinness of oxygen. Still, I longed for a release that I could read from the faces of my predecessors. A pair of lawyers behind the counter encouraged me to imitate their smiling reception, and I cheered up. Not because of them, but because of my prospects in their hands.

 "Take a seat, Ms. Xiong. You must be a popular girl," the older lawyer sighed and placed a bundle of the sealed envelopes in front of me. "Four applications. We can discuss them from the first to the last, but you are probably mainly interested in the fact that the signature of your fiancé is on the uppermost one." He snorted to emphasize again that he knew how our negotiations would go.

The last remnants of doubts left me as soon as I read the whole of my beloved's name. I added mine to the other corner, and the spell of my heart sang a warm melody.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Yoon," the lawyer told me as soon as I handed him the document. "On behalf of the principal, I am to inform you that your lessons of the Lovemaking have ended. You are expected to spend the evening only in your room. Except for today. You are to come to prepare your wedding dress."

My name is Nicole Yoon.      

The mere awareness of my new surname filled me with hope. It was as if the smallest of my toes left The Princess Tower. I was determined to say goodbye to Carl, even though I didn't have to go to see him anymore, and even I was discouraged against it. I had to suffer the tailors, though. They must have had all my measurements on the computer a long time ago, but some guys with inquisitive hands just had to touch me just an inch from my bra or panties. I almost calmed my discomfort, because the design of my wedding dress on the monitor was way cool! There were horses; that was given. I also found historical war scenes, and above all, a lot of sex. There was still some space for a badge on my left breast, but I was still afraid to ask what it meant.

The working conditions may have changed, but I haven't. I still love the same man, and I know that when you are searching for a job, a positive attitude will help.

"You're an excellent lover, homemaker and submissive, Miss Xiong," Weatherby told me recently during a consultation. "However, we are afraid that all this is a manifestation of unhealthy ambition that could jeopardise your marriage."

I laughed nervously and waved my hand dismissively.

"Peter is the best thing that has ever happened to me! My primary ambition is to make him happy and strong. I'm from a family of two children, and I'd like to have three! In such a situation, if you understand me, I have no choice but to work from home. If my husband allows me!" The surrendering woman with my body stretched her hands to the ceiling.

"According to your psychological profile, you could be putting pressure on your husband," said a suspicious Weatherby sternly.

"There's a difference between putting pressure on Peter and inspiring him based on The Princess Tower lessons," I said. "Without them, he would hardly have thought that we could start a company to produce and distribute the sex toys!"

I had nothing to be ashamed of. From the first day, I was publicly humiliated in front of all the men in the area. That didn't change anything about who I was inside. As much as Peter may have changed as a result of the experience with me and Carl, he was still an indecisive, weaker man, and he needed my guidance. The establishment may not know, but of course it will be me who multiplies the family fortune.

"When Miss Xiong comes out, tell her we'll talk. She is not allowed to have any excuses."

It was the first time I had heard a veiled female voice from behind the crowd – too old to belong to one of the Princesses. The tailors had already taken all conceivable measurements from me. So I jumped down from my stool to meet the uncompromising matron.

I didn't really know the old lady in the silvery dress, but she looked at me worryingly.

"Miss Xiong," she breathed.

"Mrs. Yoon," I corrected her.

"How could I forget?!" The old lady patted my shoulder lightly. "You're married, and that's the thing that brings me here." She scratched the bridge of her nose and introduced herself to me. "Elizabeth Hoffmeister. I'm... Carl is my son, you see. I'd like you to get dressed and follow me to the lounge, where we can discuss your decision."

I didn't understand why the lady should discuss my personal choices, but I needed to find out what was bothering her. She remained silent the whole time until we reached the lounge and sat down.

"I found my son's relationship with you rather strange," she said slowly. "Hearing about him, giving himself to the betrothed girl every night. Hearing about her—that is, you—being willing to sleep with two men at once. "Forgive me—" She touched my knee. "I didn't want to go to this place. As a free woman, I didn't. Our son was chosen for my husband's merits. But then I heard what was happening here, and I had to rush to help him. And Carl told me about you. He wanted us to meet, which I didn't until he did that-"

"What did he do?" I dug my fingers into the sofa. Dammit, Carl, you are rational…

Mrs. Hoffmeister blurted out an answer. "You know, he was sure how the whole thing would turn out. That you would choose your fiancé. He was devastated that... that you didn't even open the envelope with his application."

Yes, I didn't even bother opening them. One of them was from Carl??

"I didn't find out who they were from," I admitted.

"I don't know if my son had any hope that you would change your mind once you saw his signature." Mrs. Hoffmaister sighed. "He was never good at talking to girls and had many fantasies when he did strike up a long conversation with one. He had been carrying something unpleasant about him since the day his sister died."

It took me more than three minutes before I could answer. 

"Yes." I had to support my head with my hands. "That can hurt people."

"Miss Xiong, you were expecting a visit from your family, weren't you?" "That's right," I confirmed it to the policeman in my backyard. I made enough lemonade to drink it together all weekend. Dad, Mom, and Brother Steve were supposed to spend most of their visit in the bathroom, which wouldn't grub me in a wrong way. However, the question alone, coming from the cop with a stern expression… I felt it under the skin like a long sting, burrowing underneath.

"You should sit down," the cop suggested.

"No!"I was angry. I was looking for an anthill to kick, some fly to squash. "Say it!"

"The pilot did everything he could, but the plane did not survive the maneuver at the airport. All the passengers were burned."

For me, the cop embodied that message. I had to escape. I ran home, but I didn't have a final line, only the starting point and the continuum.  I remembered my parents' affection, Steve fighting with his hyperactivity, Dad losing his job, homeschooling, and the rise of our mother. Dad finding a new job, which in turn relieved Mom of worries forevermore. They all were strong in the end. Conquerors of life, now conquered by death.

Sometimes deceased people in the underworld were called shadows.

But no, they were less than shadows.

Less than a specter.

They were no more.

"We miss Laura," Mrs. Hoffmeister lamented. "These days, however, I'm glad that she didn't live to see someone really hurt her, but it's not much of a consolation." I could hear her contempt for our regime in her voice. Even after so many months here, I bit my lip so that I wouldn't say something sharper and more specific.

"Carl is a sensitive and clever young man," I assured the old lady. "But I never would have thought that he'd cling to me like this... If he wants closure, I'll give it to him as soon as I've made breakfast tomorrow."

"It is my pride, if I have brought him up so well," said Mrs. Hoffmeister. "He doesn't push anyone to heal his old wounds. But he should also be able to heal them himself. Once. Until then, I'd be grateful if you say a few well-chosen words to him."

"You know," I remembered something. "My religion emphasizes that life is a mess because we inevitably get used to pleasant things and long for them even after they end, and we will wish for more of them. I'm starting to understand, but I can hardly lecture others about it."

Nicole Yoon—Buddha's faithful printer.

"You don't have to teach him about spirituality," Mrs. Hoffmeister reminded me. "My little cup broke. He needs to collect the shards and get some glue so that he won't be so fragile."

I was about to comfort her when a tailor appeared in the lounge, holding a tablet.

"Mrs. Yoon, I have the final design of your wedding dress here. You'll definitely be satisfied."

As if I could object to your tastes.

The design consisted of details that I already knew. I was only interested in one place, and I still didn't understand it...

What does the badge mean? "I pointed to the thing on the chest of the dress. "Why is the number two there?"

"I'm surprised you don't know," the tailor stopped. "Mr. Yoon is already married. You're his second wife."

I felt as if Cupid's arrow were breaking in that badge.

I hid what the guileless-looking young man had told me from the girls in the room. It would have seemed like blasphemy to shove my problems in the face of Ruby, who was supposed to stay in the Tower for the next school year. To the face of Pat, for whom allegedly no one asked, destined to be auctioned off as some antique lamp from the estate. Claudia had no choice but to nod to the applicant, her photographer, and refused to talk to me or the girls begging for comfort. I wasn't going to dissuade my roommates from the idea that the brightest part of family life was before me, even brighter than that of Alice, for whom her husband was waiting to grab her, dressed as on the day of her arrest, in her open arms.

I begged the various faces of the bureaucracy to allow me to talk to Peter, but they wouldn't budge. "You will talk to each other only after you return. The end of the school year must not be disturbed by the contact from the outside."

Everything is good, and happiness never goes away. I remembered a motto that I had more or less believed in since James White was courting me. So why did I cling so much to the moments when the happiness was right in front of me, when it seemed like a hand extended by the universe was running over my shoulders?

Perhaps the incomprehensible testimony of Peter's second wife was meant to indicate that I should search for love elsewhere?

I was only partially prepared to find out that when I wanted to go and see Carl, the wardens and the Princeps' military supervisors wouldn't let me.

"You're a married woman." I heard it six times that morning. "Now it's inappropriate for you to associate with a man who's got...physical knowledge of you."

"I need advice from him about marriage," I excused myself. "And I'm just going to talk to him in public."

My words eventually softened the right men, and I made it to the lounge, which, after being occupied by the Heirs turned into a loud fight club. Several groups of boys and girls were arguing with each other and even slapping themselves; one blow resulted in another from the opposite side. Vulgar insults flew through the air, as did sarcastic girl giggles.

"She's proving it again and again!" shouted Lucas Balaban. "She's a manipulative bitch, and it doesn't matter to her that she was ousted!"

"Boy, if you feel like a tool, you are invited to do so, but I will do what my conscience and my courage tell me to do. I didn't mind Mayson and Arnolph having their business here and me having mine. "Neither do I care for the conclave in Washington," Arthur FitzPatrick responded." And I will not care till we'll get Cooper inaugurated as Gilbert's successor. He is the one who'll make justice our new currency.“

I pushed him away to get to Carl, who was sitting alone on the sofa, and greeted him.

"I thought you were cool with what's going on politically?" I began, uncomprehending.

"Who can know what will happen and when?" Carl tried to regain his balance, but he gasped as soon as he saw me. "Many of us are relieved that Arnolph is already helpless. But now, all of a sudden, he has sent some explosive material to Washington via a judge. Moreover, it is said that the FBI busted both Brunkows. Suddenly, many of us would obey our parents and drive away. We just hope everything  will be better after the election."

"We already know that you, faux-princesses, can't be trusted," said a sharp and cold girl's voice. "That Shieldmaiden's party of yours is selfish to the core. They should cut out pieces of your brains!"

Bellinda, I realized. It wasn't just that she was a loyal Heir. She despised me personally because of Peter and the rifle act.

"I understand you. That surgery would bring them to your level!" Carl defended us. I turned just in time to see Bellinda furrow her brow and barely hold back her tongue in her teeth, hissing softly but as menacingly as any venomous viper. 

"Don't waste your life on the likes of her," Carl urged me. "Why did you come?"

"I heard how I disappointed you. I came to apologize."

Carl snuggled up to me, and I don't think it was just to make me hear him better in that tumult.

"She told you..." Carl was rather relieved. "I'm sorry, Nicole. I thought you'd open the other envelopes, if only out of curiosity. And then you would think about it, because I mean something to you."

I smiled at him as much as I could. "Of course you mean something to me, but I already had a plan for my life."

"I've been a part of your life," Carl said, all the more bitter. "Besides, I've always been willing to help women; now I'm an unofficial Shieldmaiden!"

"Virtue doesn't make you the man of my choice!" I snapped at him, but then I put on my kind face again. "I understand that you may feel that your life is empty and you want to fill it somehow, but you can't rush it. You have to find someone whose life fits with yours."

"This is not how people were doing it originally," Carl said. "Love was their duty."

"I think that's just your excuse for being lazy," I retorted. "These thoughts... They're just words, and words can be misleading. You never acted that way while I taught you how to fuck. You never acted that way when White threatened you to your face. I think you got this idea when you met the man I thought loved me!"

"Who you thought loved you?" Carl was genuinely confused.

I realized my slip.

This was not something that anyone else was allowed to hear. I moved closer to him and whispered in his ear in a truly loving way. "Peter is already married. I don't know to whom."

Carl looked encouraged for a moment before trying to project compassion on his face. "And you're going to marry him anyway?"

"There's nothing I can do about my signature," I reminded him. "Maybe he still thinks he loves me, but something happened that I don't understand, and he will explain himself. Otherwise, I am not looking forward to freedom."

"I don't know how he could have done this to you," Carl said, enraged. "Whatever the outcome, my apply was supposed to be a sign of my affection."

I became nervous, unsure what to think about the derailed conversation.

"I used to think Peter was my safe harbor. But if he's not faithful to me, I guess I must thank you."

We held hands. Peter was performing a plastic smile, and I was grateful that I couldn't see my own face.

Behind Carl's shoulders stood Arthur FitzPatrick. "Pure love," he overestimated us. "That's such an inappropriateness in our hate circle that we should kick you out."

He went to borrow my right arm from Carl. "All I'm saying is that this place has lost the romantic spirit it took so long to build, Ms. Xiong."

"Owwww!" Something from his palm pricked my hand. I didn't see any ring, and I didn't care.

"I'm Mrs. Yoon!" I corrected him. "Stick somewhere your fingers and your suggestions!"

Carl forced me back onto the sofa. "Guards!" he shouted to the nearby warden force. "I think my ward needs some—unsupervised discipline."

They complied with him surprisingly willingly. The wardens took us to our perfume-making cottage and handed him paddles with long metal spikes. He dropped it as soon as they left the room. He kissed me on the lips for so long, as he had never done it before. For the benefit of doubt I gave to Peter, I should have resisted, but Carl's tongue just tasted so good, and in the spirit of our Lovemaking lessons, I tried to make mine also taste good to Carl. His hand fumbled under my skirt and into my panties, and when he verified that I had gotten wet in the right places, he pulled them down and threw them in the corner.

I knew why I hadn't taken the chastity belt.

Carl pulled away, pulling his pants down.

"I think we have much more delicious bits," he told me, and I knew immediately what his desire was. He lay down on the table, and his cock was already waking up to a new life. I threw off my skirt and walked over to him. Two fingers were enough for me to help achieve a full erection. I ran my tongue over his cock. It was especially good for the boy, so I positioned myself so that my ass and waist were near his head. Carl didn't need to be encouraged. His tongue went hedonistically over my labia and then to the inner side of my womanhood. Of course, I needed to properly reward him, so I kissed his glans and then took him in my mouth whole, so I had him inside me in two ways. I kept swaying forward and backward, prolonging our common pleasure. We needed to dissolve our melancholy in sex.

Even though I was counting on Peter to be able to explain the whole thing to me somehow, I succumbed to the discharge of lust. As long as people exist, two things are certain. They will feel joy and they will suffer. So let's make the joy lasting and meaningful.

At that table, Carl and I indulged in a few more pleasures, including the peculiarities which people call perversions. Carl even walloped my ass a few times to make it look like some kind of punishment had been done.

All this delay meant was that I had to stay longer for Homemaking, which was ninety per cent of today's class, especially for assigned women like me. 

I returned to my room quite late at night. Into the darkness, but not into silence. Pat was crying. When I tried to calm her down, she pushed me away.

There was no point in lying to herself. She hated my status, and if I tried to explain to her that mine didn't particularly suit me either, she would just laugh at me. 

I lay down in bed, convinced that I would fall asleep at most an hour before the wake-up call. But then I started to feel an intense pain above the bridge of my nose. I pressed my head into the pillow, and lying there in a faint, I was delivered into a dream that was not sure of its reality.

"Thank you for the pearls, Nicole," Carl said. "Here, you get two nice car toys in exchange."

They were adorable! "Thanks, Carl. I've always liked blue. But I'll probably need a lot of milk to make them last for a few days, right?"

"Mrs. Xiong, turn your attention to us!"

I saw Peter. Surrounded by two women!

"I'm Mrs. Yoon," I corrected the woman who had addressed me, pointing to my love. "When I get to him, he'll have to explain to me who his first wife is!"

"It's me," said the woman whose hair color was constantly changing. "Your husband married me for my safety."

"Was your safety more important to him than my marriage?"

"Nicole, focus! This is a lucid dream brought on by the nanobot injection, given by our associate FitzPatrick. I am Katarzyna, although most of my colleagues know me as Agent Swallow. I, Larissa, and Peter here are calling you."

"Wait, are you all really here? Even Carl?"

"The three of us are real, love," Peter said. "We don't even see Carl."

"What?" Carl asked. "Friendzoned first and now, I don't exist?"

I wasn‘t paying attention to him. "Lewandowska, are you here, too?"

"After the fall of Olsson, I hid in the place of another of our agents. I have been waiting for an opportunity to make this connection. We are broadcasting to you and a few other acquaintances tonight to explain the new task."

"What if someone wants to trick me? I thought. "You can pull most of the things you tell me from my head!"

"Nicole, please listen to them!" Peter urged me. "I think when they explain what they want, you won't resist."

The next day's breakfast confirmed the growing trend that the inmates were mainly interested in applications. The most desperate and vocal were those like Pat, who either had not been demanded at all or by the man in whose arms they did not want to end up at any cost. Of course, that meant that they would end up on the stage as slaves of old and given over to the highest bidder. I've seen some desperate attacks here and there, directed at those of us who were known to be getting back together with our loves, old or new. I've noticed that Stacey Hamilton avoids these discussions. As we were leaving the dining hall, I seized the opportunity to start talking to her.

"I tore up a few envelopes before I even opened them," Stacey admitted. "We're working to improve our conditions better, not become the property of a man who will order us by post."

"When you put it that way, didn't you dream about something distressing last night?"

Our conversation was interrupted by the wardens, but between cooking and embroidery, we agreed. Yes, we were dreaming of the same thing, and yes, the request did sound logical. Under different circumstances, we would have been scared of the machinations orchestrated by the Polish secret service through its plots.

Gathering those who had been stung by FitzPatrick was not difficult. All we needed to do was to ask the Shieldmaidens and their girlfriends. Even those who had not received any messages joined the required, easily understood mission.

"We appreciate the support our movement has received." We kissed the ass of Principal Weatherby. "And we have come to the conclusion that it is necessary to issue a political statement that reflects your positions."

Weatherby made no secret of his newfound joy, but something held him back. "You want to send a message to Washington? That would have to be something very intelligent and relevant." The principal stood up and, without asking us, poured himself and our delegation drinks. "The political situation has now become both simple and incredibly dramatic. Vice-chairman Cao has disappeared. The only one who could theoretically help us is his colleague, fellow Neumann, whom military intelligence has recently successfully isolated, but fellow Cao himself is still impossible to apprehend and deaf to any calls. Many members of the Conclave were disappointed that the election of the new Princeps lost such a promising candidate."

"It's us who don't want the wrong voice to win it!" I told him. "We consider fellow Cooper to be a weakling. Jesus Christ, he might even be a traitor! We want to make it clear to our legislators that we definitely do not support him."

"Neither do I," Weatherby said, happily drinking from his glass. "I think you're going to send out a positive signal."

If the Poles are not mistaken, that is*.*

"Many members of the Conclave have terrible contempt for the Shieldmaidens and their role in Green's Fall," Agent Swallow said. "They're all like Cao. Misogynists who also think that it is a farce when the inmates of the re-education institution mix with political figures. However, if someone like that says she hates Cooper, they'll take it as proof that Cooper isn't controlled by women, and he'll be more acceptable to them as Princeps."

We are the responsible ones; we will choose the new leader. Even if it will be by the childish technique of reverse psychology.

Almost all of the Shieldmaidens made a clip slandering Cooper, well aware that our actions can have different, even contradictory, consequences. Out of all the possible responses, we received one from an unexpectedly close source.

We didn't discuss our activities or, God forbid, their motives. One advantage of the school year ending was that in the evenings we weren't so exhausted and we had more fun together between dinner courses.

"I used to love holidays," Helen said. "Sometimes it was the sea, sometimes it was history. I enjoyed the waves, and my parents swam nearby, making me siblings. It was compensation for the torment of school. We should probably convince our husbands to take us across the ocean."

"Peter always wanted to see India, but it would put us down even if we had gotten a travel permit," I pondered.

"Leave that to your man. Wouldn't you like to visit us again?"

A woman spoke up from among the uninvited guests in our dining room. Behind Bellinda were Lucas Balaban and a burly guy whose name we didn't know.

"Why did you come here?" I made no attempt to hide my hostility.

Bellinda clapped briefly. "We liked your last performance. You expressed the words that no one would listen to from us. We would like to invite you to the lounge and help us settle our differences of opinion."

It sounded uncharacteristically guileless coming from her, but our group was in no position to refuse such a polite suggestion. Quite a few of us responded to the request. I stood up. I hadn't been one of the shieldmaidens from the beginning, but this mattered to me personally. Stacey and Therese also stood up, as did Claudia and Adriana or Roxie, as representatives of the "military wing". Montserrat Gutiérrez, an actress from the series that inspired us, also joined our representation.

The lounge was already packed before we arrived. Some Heirs were seated, but most were standing. Unlike my previous visit, they were all keeping quiet.

Bellinda squeezed us into the middle of the room, which was an extremely uncomfortable position for us. Her expression suggested she was enjoying it.

"I understand you have many admirers among us," said Bellinda, the former kindness quickly fading from her voice. "You might be surprised how many of them were not only supporters of former principal Arnolph but also of Timothy Cooper in the current elections. They presented him as a candidate who would right the alleged wrongs that you, as courageous warriors, stood up against. We, on the other hand, argued that his election would be absolutely unacceptable. You even called him a weakling. Perhaps you should explain in your own words what the ideal candidate should look like."

"Yes, this attitude of yours has confused many!" said a voice older than I was used to hearing here. A man named Joseph Singerton stepped forward from among the youngsters. Stacey had told me that he was Jenine's husband.

Bellinda snickered. "Our heroines understand well-put structure. They can suck it up to Princ.. Principal and to the current princeps."

We had not many gifted speakers among us girls, and I don't think we even thought beforehand that we would have to defend the cunning actions of the Poles to someone. I could tell from the faces of my comrades that they were displeased with this pressure. So I stepped forward and looked into those sad male eyes.

"We are no longer going to be defended by weak men," I told them resolutely. "We want someone at the helm whose steadfastness we can be sure of. If he has real inner strength, he will enter into dialogue with us."

"No one will talk to you; that's the magic!" Lucas Balaban said. Bellinda nodded, but her gaze did not leave us.

"A lot of terrible things have been done among us. Much of them by women of your nature," she said slowly. "I spoke to Principal Weatherby, and he agreed that it was shameful that so many men had been infected by your views."

"This was no infection, but an epiphany!" shouted a Heir, whom I had heard for the first time. "What we were offered here is a perversion of freedom. We are not free if we participate in slavery!"

An empty gesture, I thought. But if there are more such voices in the society...

"Let's be honest with ourselves," Bellinda growled. "You can only say this because the Justice Department won't arrest its boss' son. The principal suggests that all the Shieldmaidnes' tutors end lessons for their wards, cut off contact with them, and return home."

"We're done in a few weeks!" FitzPatrick said mockingly. "What will we achieve with such a gesture?"

"The political situation is fucked," Bellinda reminded him. "Any time is fine for a good gesture!"

Suddenly, one of the Heirs stood up. It was Carl. He looked at me as if some of his machinery had exploded inside him. I didn't understand it at all.

"I agree with you," he told Bellinda. "But we must face it together. We will vote on it. If we agree with you, we will all leave to solidify Princeps' peace!" 

He stood next to a shocked Bellinda. "If our Rapunzels don't want us as protectors anymore, then either we have failed or they have. We helped them with the fucking; now we have to pay for whores who will behave professionally."

"You have to listen to mummies and daddies, right?" Stacey quipped.

“No,” Carl said. “We’ll leave together and then we’ll decide where to go next.”

I didn’t recognize him, and it saddened me to see how many other Heirs patted him on the shoulder. I found myself searching for the brave anti-establishment figure who had spoken a moment earlier, but I didn’t find his face or hear his voice again.

"Take all the guests out for the voting!" Lucas Balaban suggested. A few wardens and stronger men began pushing our Shieldmaiden group and Mr. Singerton into the hallway. At this point, I wouldn't have minded if they had just locked us in our rooms and kept us there until we left. I didn't understand how anyone could accuse us of betrayal. 

Everything in life can be overcome. It's just that some changes can be better prepared for and others worse.

"Believe me, what we did was necessary; otherwise we wouldn't have done it." It was important to comfort Mr. Singerton, but it wasn't me who had made the decision; it was Stacey. 

"I know," Mr. Singerton said, standing away from the women. "We all have our reasons. But believe me, I don't feel like defending anyone except my wife."

"And I can forgive only my husband," I said. "I think few people are as lucky as Jenine or me in having a partner."

Joseph walked over to me and kissed my hand. "Do your best for your husband, just as I'm trying to do for her. I have one more thing planned, but if that doesn't work out, I should tell her how to survive in a world of the endless dark."

I kissed him lightly on the cheek. My colleagues muttered. "Just remember that people doing bad things is like bad weather. Help others, but strip out of your mind, and you'll endure everything."

"Are you spiritual?" Joseph asked me.

"I'm sort of Buddhist."

"It always seemed to me that Buddhism is Hinduism for whiners," Joseph said. "But you must look everywhere when you search for good advice." 
Bellinda emerged from the lounge, looking as if someone had put her in the same monkey costume they had put us in for the interrupted game.

"You can come back if you wish, but I don't know if you'd be interested," she said. "We are leaving. Immediately. I'm glad you won't be too grateful about your departure."

 

On a third day of the house arrest, Aurelia discovered that her buttocks hurt somewhat less, releasing her from the unpleasant reminder of her husband's anger whenever she sat down. However, she still tended to sleep on her tummy.

Princess Octavia, who visited her stepmother after every meal, remembered the consequences of her misbehaving far more painfully. She thanked her for both of her recent spankings, but it was clear that both women would certainly like to be spared of their bottoms aching. Both were also afraid of what other fate His Majesty—Aurelia's husband and Octavia's father—would have in store for them.

The Queen wanted to discuss it with the Princess after lunch, but suddenly Prince Reginald, a twenty-year-old man in a naval uniform, arrived.

"Hello," he said, sounding serious. "I heard that both girls of the police are in trouble."

He was like his father. Wonderfully formal and polished in public, and he liked to have order in the palace.

"I don't think it's comparable," Aurelia said. "Although it's true that we were punished similarly." 

Reginald might have given his stepmother a wry look, but it couldn't compare to the scathing criticism that emanated from his eyes as he looked at his mixed-race sister. "I think it'll be a while before you fully pay for this. Especially here, Octavia doesn't seem to have fully learned her lesson."

"What are you talking about?" Aurelia asked. "She got her thrashing."

"Hell, yeah," Reginald said. "But she's been careful ever since that time to keep her father from hearing about it. The day before yesterday she went to Mrs. Sullot and gave her half her allowance. That hag even accepted it!"

"Then another educational lesson will be necessary!" the queen admitted. Although she couldn't blame her stepdaughter, she tried to avoid the inevitable clash with the royal belt.

"I will give you the second half!" Octavia announced proudly. "You don't have to tell him, and I will be punished enough."

"Keep your money," said Reginald. "I won't tell him. It gives me a chance to deal with you like you were eight again!"  

"But I'm eighteen!"

Reginald didn't care. "Pants down!"

Octavia glared at her brother but took only one step back. She didn't turn around, probably not wanting to show him her ass at that moment.

"Didn't you hear me, sister?

Pull your jeans to your knees. You want me to smack you even more!"

Since Octavia didn't react this time either, Reginald reached out and unbuttoned her jeans. Octavia tried to pull away, but the prince grabbed her ear and continued on. Once he had the zipper down, he could uncover his sister's waist in one movement, depriving her of both pants and panties.

Reginald managed to settle comfortably on the sofa, while his sister was to be awkwardly bent over his lap.

The prince had no real problem with holding Octavia's hand or with blocking her legs, but he was angry with the rebellious girl, which was reflected in the stinging smackings by steel-hard hands he used to punish her ass.

"When you hid it from your father..." (SMACK!) "...you committed a crime!" (SMACK!, SMACK!) Then accept your punishment! (SMACK!) from another man in the family (SMACK!, SMACK!, SMACK!!), who just wants (SMACK!!) to have a well-behaved sister! " (SMACK!!!).

Octavia remained bravely silent at first, only tossing and turning on her brother's lap, trying to kick Reginald or even to escape. Of course, it couldn't hurt as much as the recent lessons with the hairbrush, let alone cane, but the interventions of Reginald's hand surely awakened unhealed wounds, prompting the princess to wail and to plead.

"Hold still!" Reginald picked up the pace and was slapping both cheeks of his sisters' bottoms, alternating them relentlessly. Octavia struggled for a minute, but then she gave in and accepted the rest of the merciless whirlwind.

"You will stay here!" Reginald told her after the spanking's conclusion and helped her kneel on the sofa, facing the wall, holding her head, forbidden from touching her sore cheeks. Not even Octavia's numerous tears would cool them down.

The Prince looked at Aurelia. "You've gotten yourself into some serious trouble, Aurelia. Believe me, I'd love to do the same to you," he said sadly.

This angered Aurelia. "Young man, realize that unofficially I'm your—"

"You're not my mother," he interrupted her. "If you were, you wouldn't be walking in front of me in a dressing gown. But you should come with me now. Father has ordered me to take you and the Rangers to the musical lounge. What will happen to you there, I don't know."

Aurelia knew there was only one way to find out. She called his stepson out of the room and changed. She put on delicious caramel-colored underwear and a seductive gold gown with a bare back that charmed the king in the right way every time.

In the drawing room, her noble husband was waiting for her, along with the six female soldiers and a woman in a black executioner's hood. Aurelia's stomach clenched, as she suspected that she was in for the most painful predicament of the week or perhaps of a lifetime. Where pianos or harps were usually offered to guests, two large A-shaped constructions now stood, equipped with horrific-looking shackles.

Wait, two? Aurelia searched the audience and found that among the soldiers sat her lover Francis, completely humiliated, only in his boxers.

"It's a good thing we have you both here," Reginald said with satisfaction, showing his wife a sheet of paper. "I sentenced you both to twelve lashes this morning. Accept it, Aurelia, for this is the only way we can ever reach closure!!"

The queen found herself in the cage of embarrassment, solidified by her husband's stern look and locked by the humiliation of the nearly naked Francis. She had to get used to the idea that she would not leave the room today except marked by the cane. If she resisted, she might have ended up with them in more places. She turned to face the structure and took off her dress, handing it immediately to the soldiers nearby. As soon as she found herself in her underwear before the witnesses, they dragged Francis to the spot of his coming torment. The handcuffs immediately clicked, both on his ankles and, as soon as he bent in the middle of the structure, on his wrists on the other side. Finally, the soldier pulled his boxers down, exposing the white bottom she loved so much. Aurelia arched her back, but the seated king stopped her.

"Take off your panties yourself, dear, or your punishment will be doubled!" 

The queen blushed in shame, further embarrassed by Reginald's presence. She touched the lower piece of her underwear and got rid of it with gentle movements. The soldier who took over did not let go of her arm. She jerked it hard and forced the whole figure to lie down, presenting her vulnerable ass to the audience. Aurelia closed her eyes. She felt pommel, attached to protect her kidneys. Above all, however, she noticed the clicking of the metal on her hands and feet and the belt around her waist, taking away freedom of movement from her.

All too soon, Aurelia heard the soft steps between the two contraptions, and in the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a dark outfit of the woman with the hood on her head.

"I hope you will like Miss Cecillia's service, darling," she heard Clarence saying. "I called her from the Land of the Gallic Rooster."

He imports from France everything that America does not supply us, it seemed to the queen. "I will accept my fate," said Aurelia stoically. In truth, she was scared. She heard when the executioner grabbed the cane, and the vibration of the rod carried through the air, making a soft but unpleasant response in her mostly naked body. The body which was presented to the audience like a piece of an exhibition.

"I can finally see the most important part of her," Reginald praised, looking at the view. Aurelia stiffened. She felt someone adding padding to her above the bottom, probably to protect her kidneys.

SWISH!

Aurelia heard the movement of the reed in the air even faster than she expected. She yelped loudly, but for some reason she hadn't felt the sting on her bottom yet. Francis, however, screamed this way, and Aurelia understood that the first profession was intended for him. It didn't matter, as the audience laughed at her reaction.

"She is too frail and not used to the pain of this world," Reginald joked.

"Not for long," his father responded.

Obviously, Aurelia soon felt the rod leaning on her buttocks. She was embarrassed from her previous performance, so now she clenched her teeth. She turned her head a little and saw that Clerence was signaling to the executioner with a handkerchief. She closed her eyes, waiting for her punishment.

SWISH!

The full force of cane's strike marked her exposed ass with a stripe of fire that she knew would not disappear for a long time. She slowed her tears with the strength of her eyelids, letting only a tiny whimper escape from her lips. At first, she was comfortable with the fact that now her lover should get his portion again, but when she was left alone with her adulterous burning bottom for a while, she began to wonder if she would survive the remaining eleven strokes.

SWISH!

"Ow, Owww, OWWW!"

"Finally, we are getting to some results," said Clarence, who seemed to not be fed up with Francis' screaming.

"Mercy! She seduced me!" shouted the punished man, whom no one in the room felt sorry for.

SWISH!

The torn skin was now burning Aurelia in three wide spots. If she was no longer afraid for her life, she was afraid for her sanity. She was bending her back, whipping the handcuffs on her hands and feet, and trying to wiggle. She knew it was impossible, but the incipient agony triumphed over normal reasoning. The only thing she was grateful for at this moment was Francis' whining and pleas, following each odd-numbered whistle of the cane, even though she was always reprimanded afterwards.

SWISH!

"AAAAAAAA!"

After the fourth and a little more significantly after the fifth stroke, she could feel almost every drop of sweat that was forming in her outstretched armpits. She was grateful that she couldn't see her butt, which reminded her of itself with an unbearable burn.

"Please, I need a break!" cried Aurelia desperately, unable to shake off her painful grimace. 

"Wouldn't that be counterproductive?" asked Reginald.

"I don't think so," the king pondered. "Okay, let's let them rest for a while from the official punishment."

That wording scared Aurelius quite a bit, but for the time being, Clerence stood behind her and caressed the buttocks of his wife, whom he loved so much, with his hand. He did it lovingly, but at this moment she was stammering in pain as well. It seemed to her that his fingers did not avoid her welts in any way. Suddenly, Clarence's hand left and something flashed before Aurelia's eyes. "Do you recognize my cord, dear? I think you've always liked how I can use it."

"Noooooo!" screamed Aurelia, who knew what her husband was up to.

SWISH!

SWISH!

SWISH!

"AAAAAAAHHHAAAAHHH!"

Clarence flicked his cord over her bulging buttocks three times in quick succession. Although the individual blows were not as painful as those of the reeds, the queen suddenly felt that her buttocks were being torn by the plethora of the splinters. 

"I think it will be easier for you if you don't ask for more mercy," Clarence said to his wife as he sat back.

Aurelia did not say a word during the second half of her sentence. She wasn't able to do that anyway, because six more times the cane burned itself into her body, and each and every time it seemed that it scorched her deeper.

She hoped that the second half of her sentence would pass quickly, but she was not allowed to do so. Francis fainted after the eighth blow and had to be brought back to consciousness, so her suffering grew even more with unbearable waiting. The executioner did not falter in her work. As she continued, she knew how much force she had used last time and how to press so that Aurelia wouldn't stop feeling the sentence on her tossing ass.

Despair came to such a point that when the cane finally whistled for the twelfth time, the queen was still afraid of what would happen next.

"Untie him," Clarence ordered. "Reginald, bring your sister. She has problems with behavior and grades. We need to show her my final warning."

"I want you to leave her here until eleven o'clock in the evening!" He poked his finger in his wife's ass, whereupon she squealed loudly. "I believe she will be grateful for my bed and never frolick in any other again."

Aurelia was no longer quite sure if she still loved her husband. It was only clear to her that she would never break any of the marriage vows again.

The End  

You can read more of my stuff here.

You can read Part 1 here.

On a third day of the house arrest, Aurelia discovered that her buttocks hurt somewhat less, releasing her from the unpleasant reminder of her husband's anger whenever she sat down. However, she still tended to sleep on her tummy.

Princess Octavia, who visited her stepmother after every meal, remembered the consequences of her misbehaving far more painfully. She thanked her for both of her recent spankings, but it was clear that both women would certainly like to be spared of their bottoms aching. Both were also afraid of what other fate His Majesty—Aurelia's husband and Octavia's father—would have in store for them.

The Queen wanted to discuss it with the Princess after lunch, but suddenly Prince Reginald, a twenty-year-old man in a naval uniform, arrived.

"Hello," he said, sounding serious. "I heard that both girls of the police are in trouble."

He was like his father. Wonderfully formal and polished in public, and he liked to have order in the palace.

"I don't think it's comparable," Aurelia said. "Although it's true that we were punished similarly." 

Reginald might have given his stepmother a wry look, but it couldn't compare to the scathing criticism that emanated from his eyes as he looked at his mixed-race sister. "I think it'll be a while before you fully pay for this. Especially here, Octavia doesn't seem to have fully learned her lesson."

"What are you talking about?" Aurelia asked. "She got her thrashing."

"Hell, yeah," Reginald said. "But she's been careful ever since that time to keep her father from hearing about it. The day before yesterday she went to Mrs. Sullot and gave her half her allowance. That hag even accepted it!"

"Then another educational lesson will be necessary!" the queen admitted. Although she couldn't blame her stepdaughter, she tried to avoid the inevitable clash with the royal belt.

"I will give you the second half!" Octavia announced proudly. "You don't have to tell him, and I will be punished enough."

"Keep your money," said Reginald. "I won't tell him. It gives me a chance to deal with you like you were eight again!"  

"But I'm eighteen!"

Reginald didn't care. "Pants down!"

Octavia glared at her brother but took only one step back. She didn't turn around, probably not wanting to show him her ass at that moment.

"Didn't you hear me, sister?

Pull your jeans to your knees. You want me to smack you even more!"

Since Octavia didn't react this time either, Reginald reached out and unbuttoned her jeans. Octavia tried to pull away, but the prince grabbed her ear and continued on. Once he had the zipper down, he could uncover his sister's waist in one movement, depriving her of both pants and panties.

Reginald managed to settle comfortably on the sofa, while his sister was to be awkwardly bent over his lap.

The prince had no real problem with holding Octavia's hand or with blocking her legs, but he was angry with the rebellious girl, which was reflected in the stinging smackings by steel-hard hands he used to punish her ass.

"When you hid it from your father..." (SMACK!) "...you committed a crime!" (SMACK!, SMACK!) Then accept your punishment! (SMACK!) from another man in the family (SMACK!, SMACK!, SMACK!!), who just wants (SMACK!!) to have a well-behaved sister! " (SMACK!!!).

Octavia remained bravely silent at first, only tossing and turning on her brother's lap, trying to kick Reginald or even to escape. Of course, it couldn't hurt as much as the recent lessons with the hairbrush, let alone cane, but the interventions of Reginald's hand surely awakened unhealed wounds, prompting the princess to wail and to plead.

"Hold still!" Reginald picked up the pace and was slapping both cheeks of his sisters' bottoms, alternating them relentlessly. Octavia struggled for a minute, but then she gave in and accepted the rest of the merciless whirlwind.

"You will stay here!" Reginald told her after the spanking's conclusion and helped her kneel on the sofa, facing the wall, holding her head, forbidden from touching her sore cheeks. Not even Octavia's numerous tears would cool them down.

The Prince looked at Aurelia. "You've gotten yourself into some serious trouble, Aurelia. Believe me, I'd love to do the same to you," he said sadly.

This angered Aurelia. "Young man, realize that unofficially I'm your—"

"You're not my mother," he interrupted her. "If you were, you wouldn't be walking in front of me in a dressing gown. But you should come with me now. Father has ordered me to take you and the Rangers to the musical lounge. What will happen to you there, I don't know."

Aurelia knew there was only one way to find out. She called his stepson out of the room and changed. She put on delicious caramel-colored underwear and a seductive gold gown with a bare back that charmed the king in the right way every time.

In the drawing room, her noble husband was waiting for her, along with the six female soldiers and a woman in a black executioner's hood. Aurelia's stomach clenched, as she suspected that she was in for the most painful predicament of the week or perhaps of a lifetime. Where pianos or harps were usually offered to guests, two large A-shaped constructions now stood, equipped with horrific-looking shackles.

Wait, two? Aurelia searched the audience and found that among the soldiers sat her lover Francis, completely humiliated, only in his boxers.

"It's a good thing we have you both here," Reginald said with satisfaction, showing his wife a sheet of paper. "I sentenced you both to twelve lashes this morning. Accept it, Aurelia, for this is the only way we can ever reach closure!!"

The queen found herself in the cage of embarrassment, solidified by her husband's stern look and locked by the humiliation of the nearly naked Francis. She had to get used to the idea that she would not leave the room today except marked by the cane. If she resisted, she might have ended up with them in more places. She turned to face the structure and took off her dress, handing it immediately to the soldiers nearby. As soon as she found herself in her underwear before the witnesses, they dragged Francis to the spot of his coming torment. The handcuffs immediately clicked, both on his ankles and, as soon as he bent in the middle of the structure, on his wrists on the other side. Finally, the soldier pulled his boxers down, exposing the white bottom she loved so much. Aurelia arched her back, but the seated king stopped her.

"Take off your panties yourself, dear, or your punishment will be doubled!" 

The queen blushed in shame, further embarrassed by Reginald's presence. She touched the lower piece of her underwear and got rid of it with gentle movements. The soldier who took over did not let go of her arm. She jerked it hard and forced the whole figure to lie down, presenting her vulnerable ass to the audience. Aurelia closed her eyes. She felt pommel, attached to protect her kidneys. Above all, however, she noticed the clicking of the metal on her hands and feet and the belt around her waist, taking away freedom of movement from her.

All too soon, Aurelia heard the soft steps between the two contraptions, and in the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a dark outfit of the woman with the hood on her head.

"I hope you will like Miss Cecillia's service, darling," she heard Clarence saying. "I called her from the Land of the Gallic Rooster."

He imports from France everything that America does not supply us, it seemed to the queen. "I will accept my fate," said Aurelia stoically. In truth, she was scared. She heard when the executioner grabbed the cane, and the vibration of the rod carried through the air, making a soft but unpleasant response in her mostly naked body. The body which was presented to the audience like a piece of an exhibition.

"I can finally see the most important part of her," Reginald praised, looking at the view. Aurelia stiffened. She felt someone adding padding to her above the bottom, probably to protect her kidneys.

SWISH!

Aurelia heard the movement of the reed in the air even faster than she expected. She yelped loudly, but for some reason she hadn't felt the sting on her bottom yet. Francis, however, screamed this way, and Aurelia understood that the first profession was intended for him. It didn't matter, as the audience laughed at her reaction.

"She is too frail and not used to the pain of this world," Reginald joked.

"Not for long," his father responded.

Obviously, Aurelia soon felt the rod leaning on her buttocks. She was embarrassed from her previous performance, so now she clenched her teeth. She turned her head a little and saw that Clerence was signaling to the executioner with a handkerchief. She closed her eyes, waiting for her punishment.

SWISH!

The full force of cane's strike marked her exposed ass with a stripe of fire that she knew would not disappear for a long time. She slowed her tears with the strength of her eyelids, letting only a tiny whimper escape from her lips. At first, she was comfortable with the fact that now her lover should get his portion again, but when she was left alone with her adulterous burning bottom for a while, she began to wonder if she would survive the remaining eleven strokes.

SWISH!

"Ow, Owww, OWWW!"

"Finally, we are getting to some results," said Clarence, who seemed to not be fed up with Francis' screaming.

"Mercy! She seduced me!" shouted the punished man, whom no one in the room felt sorry for.

SWISH!

The torn skin was now burning Aurelia in three wide spots. If she was no longer afraid for her life, she was afraid for her sanity. She was bending her back, whipping the handcuffs on her hands and feet, and trying to wiggle. She knew it was impossible, but the incipient agony triumphed over normal reasoning. The only thing she was grateful for at this moment was Francis' whining and pleas, following each odd-numbered whistle of the cane, even though she was always reprimanded afterwards.

SWISH!

"AAAAAAAA!"

After the fourth and a little more significantly after the fifth stroke, she could feel almost every drop of sweat that was forming in her outstretched armpits. She was grateful that she couldn't see her butt, which reminded her of itself with an unbearable burn.

"Please, I need a break!" cried Aurelia desperately, unable to shake off her painful grimace. 

"Wouldn't that be counterproductive?" asked Reginald.

"I don't think so," the king pondered. "Okay, let's let them rest for a while from the official punishment."

That wording scared Aurelius quite a bit, but for the time being, Clerence stood behind her and caressed the buttocks of his wife, whom he loved so much, with his hand. He did it lovingly, but at this moment she was stammering in pain as well. It seemed to her that his fingers did not avoid her welts in any way. Suddenly, Clarence's hand left and something flashed before Aurelia's eyes. "Do you recognize my cord, dear? I think you've always liked how I can use it."

"Noooooo!" screamed Aurelia, who knew what her husband was up to.

SWISH!

SWISH!

SWISH!

"AAAAAAAHHHAAAAHHH!"

Clarence flicked his cord over her bulging buttocks three times in quick succession. Although the individual blows were not as painful as those of the reeds, the queen suddenly felt that her buttocks were being torn by the plethora of the splinters. 

"I think it will be easier for you if you don't ask for more mercy," Clarence said to his wife as he sat back.

Aurelia did not say a word during the second half of her sentence. She wasn't able to do that anyway, because six more times the cane burned itself into her body, and each and every time it seemed that it scorched her deeper.

She hoped that the second half of her sentence would pass quickly, but she was not allowed to do so. Francis fainted after the eighth blow and had to be brought back to consciousness, so her suffering grew even more with unbearable waiting. The executioner did not falter in her work. As she continued, she knew how much force she had used last time and how to press so that Aurelia wouldn't stop feeling the sentence on her tossing ass.

Despair came to such a point that when the cane finally whistled for the twelfth time, the queen was still afraid of what would happen next.

"Untie him," Clarence ordered. "Reginald, bring your sister. She has problems with behavior and grades. We need to show her my final warning."

"I want you to leave her here until eleven o'clock in the evening!" He poked his finger in his wife's ass, whereupon she squealed loudly. "I believe she will be grateful for my bed and never frolick in any other again."

Aurelia was no longer quite sure if she still loved her husband. It was only clear to her that she would never break any of the marriage vows again.

The End  

You can read more of my stuff here.

You can read Part 1 here.

On a third day of the house arrest, Aurelia discovered that her buttocks hurt somewhat less, releasing her from the unpleasant reminder of her husband's anger whenever she sat down. However, she still tended to sleep on her tummy.

Princess Octavia, who visited her stepmother after every meal, remembered the consequences of her misbehaving far more painfully. She thanked her for both of her recent spankings, but it was clear that both women would certainly like to be spared of their bottoms aching. Both were also afraid of what other fate His Majesty—Aurelia's husband and Octavia's father—would have in store for them.

The Queen wanted to discuss it with the Princess after lunch, but suddenly Prince Reginald, a twenty-year-old man in a naval uniform, arrived.

"Hello," he said, sounding serious. "I heard that both girls of the police are in trouble."

He was like his father. Wonderfully formal and polished in public, and he liked to have order in the palace.

"I don't think it's comparable," Aurelia said. "Although it's true that we were punished similarly." 

Reginald might have given his stepmother a wry look, but it couldn't compare to the scathing criticism that emanated from his eyes as he looked at his mixed-race sister. "I think it'll be a while before you fully pay for this. Especially here, Octavia doesn't seem to have fully learned her lesson."

"What are you talking about?" Aurelia asked. "She got her thrashing."

"Hell, yeah," Reginald said. "But she's been careful ever since that time to keep her father from hearing about it. The day before yesterday she went to Mrs. Sullot and gave her half her allowance. That hag even accepted it!"

"Then another educational lesson will be necessary!" the queen admitted. Although she couldn't blame her stepdaughter, she tried to avoid the inevitable clash with the royal belt.

"I will give you the second half!" Octavia announced proudly. "You don't have to tell him, and I will be punished enough."

"Keep your money," said Reginald. "I won't tell him. It gives me a chance to deal with you like you were eight again!"  

"But I'm eighteen!"

Reginald didn't care. "Pants down!"

Octavia glared at her brother but took only one step back. She didn't turn around, probably not wanting to show him her ass at that moment.

"Didn't you hear me, sister?

Pull your jeans to your knees. You want me to smack you even more!"

Since Octavia didn't react this time either, Reginald reached out and unbuttoned her jeans. Octavia tried to pull away, but the prince grabbed her ear and continued on. Once he had the zipper down, he could uncover his sister's waist in one movement, depriving her of both pants and panties.

Reginald managed to settle comfortably on the sofa, while his sister was to be awkwardly bent over his lap.

The prince had no real problem with holding Octavia's hand or with blocking her legs, but he was angry with the rebellious girl, which was reflected in the stinging smackings by steel-hard hands he used to punish her ass.

"When you hid it from your father..." (SMACK!) "...you committed a crime!" (SMACK!, SMACK!) Then accept your punishment! (SMACK!) from another man in the family (SMACK!, SMACK!, SMACK!!), who just wants (SMACK!!) to have a well-behaved sister! " (SMACK!!!).

Octavia remained bravely silent at first, only tossing and turning on her brother's lap, trying to kick Reginald or even to escape. Of course, it couldn't hurt as much as the recent lessons with the hairbrush, let alone cane, but the interventions of Reginald's hand surely awakened unhealed wounds, prompting the princess to wail and to plead.

"Hold still!" Reginald picked up the pace and was slapping both cheeks of his sisters' bottoms, alternating them relentlessly. Octavia struggled for a minute, but then she gave in and accepted the rest of the merciless whirlwind.

"You will stay here!" Reginald told her after the spanking's conclusion and helped her kneel on the sofa, facing the wall, holding her head, forbidden from touching her sore cheeks. Not even Octavia's numerous tears would cool them down.

The Prince looked at Aurelia. "You've gotten yourself into some serious trouble, Aurelia. Believe me, I'd love to do the same to you," he said sadly.

This angered Aurelia. "Young man, realize that unofficially I'm your—"

"You're not my mother," he interrupted her. "If you were, you wouldn't be walking in front of me in a dressing gown. But you should come with me now. Father has ordered me to take you and the Rangers to the musical lounge. What will happen to you there, I don't know."

Aurelia knew there was only one way to find out. She called his stepson out of the room and changed. She put on delicious caramel-colored underwear and a seductive gold gown with a bare back that charmed the king in the right way every time.

In the drawing room, her noble husband was waiting for her, along with the six female soldiers and a woman in a black executioner's hood. Aurelia's stomach clenched, as she suspected that she was in for the most painful predicament of the week or perhaps of a lifetime. Where pianos or harps were usually offered to guests, two large A-shaped constructions now stood, equipped with horrific-looking shackles.

Wait, two? Aurelia searched the audience and found that among the soldiers sat her lover Francis, completely humiliated, only in his boxers.

"It's a good thing we have you both here," Reginald said with satisfaction, showing his wife a sheet of paper. "I sentenced you both to twelve lashes this morning. Accept it, Aurelia, for this is the only way we can ever reach closure!!"

The queen found herself in the cage of embarrassment, solidified by her husband's stern look and locked by the humiliation of the nearly naked Francis. She had to get used to the idea that she would not leave the room today except marked by the cane. If she resisted, she might have ended up with them in more places. She turned to face the structure and took off her dress, handing it immediately to the soldiers nearby. As soon as she found herself in her underwear before the witnesses, they dragged Francis to the spot of his coming torment. The handcuffs immediately clicked, both on his ankles and, as soon as he bent in the middle of the structure, on his wrists on the other side. Finally, the soldier pulled his boxers down, exposing the white bottom she loved so much. Aurelia arched her back, but the seated king stopped her.

"Take off your panties yourself, dear, or your punishment will be doubled!" 

The queen blushed in shame, further embarrassed by Reginald's presence. She touched the lower piece of her underwear and got rid of it with gentle movements. The soldier who took over did not let go of her arm. She jerked it hard and forced the whole figure to lie down, presenting her vulnerable ass to the audience. Aurelia closed her eyes. She felt pommel, attached to protect her kidneys. Above all, however, she noticed the clicking of the metal on her hands and feet and the belt around her waist, taking away freedom of movement from her.

All too soon, Aurelia heard the soft steps between the two contraptions, and in the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a dark outfit of the woman with the hood on her head.

"I hope you will like Miss Cecillia's service, darling," she heard Clarence saying. "I called her from the Land of the Gallic Rooster."

He imports from France everything that America does not supply us, it seemed to the queen. "I will accept my fate," said Aurelia stoically. In truth, she was scared. She heard when the executioner grabbed the cane, and the vibration of the rod carried through the air, making a soft but unpleasant response in her mostly naked body. The body which was presented to the audience like a piece of an exhibition.

"I can finally see the most important part of her," Reginald praised, looking at the view. Aurelia stiffened. She felt someone adding padding to her above the bottom, probably to protect her kidneys.

SWISH!

Aurelia heard the movement of the reed in the air even faster than she expected. She yelped loudly, but for some reason she hadn't felt the sting on her bottom yet. Francis, however, screamed this way, and Aurelia understood that the first profession was intended for him. It didn't matter, as the audience laughed at her reaction.

"She is too frail and not used to the pain of this world," Reginald joked.

"Not for long," his father responded.

Obviously, Aurelia soon felt the rod leaning on her buttocks. She was embarrassed from her previous performance, so now she clenched her teeth. She turned her head a little and saw that Clerence was signaling to the executioner with a handkerchief. She closed her eyes, waiting for her punishment.

SWISH!

The full force of cane's strike marked her exposed ass with a stripe of fire that she knew would not disappear for a long time. She slowed her tears with the strength of her eyelids, letting only a tiny whimper escape from her lips. At first, she was comfortable with the fact that now her lover should get his portion again, but when she was left alone with her adulterous burning bottom for a while, she began to wonder if she would survive the remaining eleven strokes.

SWISH!

"Ow, Owww, OWWW!"

"Finally, we are getting to some results," said Clarence, who seemed to not be fed up with Francis' screaming.

"Mercy! She seduced me!" shouted the punished man, whom no one in the room felt sorry for.

SWISH!

The torn skin was now burning Aurelia in three wide spots. If she was no longer afraid for her life, she was afraid for her sanity. She was bending her back, whipping the handcuffs on her hands and feet, and trying to wiggle. She knew it was impossible, but the incipient agony triumphed over normal reasoning. The only thing she was grateful for at this moment was Francis' whining and pleas, following each odd-numbered whistle of the cane, even though she was always reprimanded afterwards.

SWISH!

"AAAAAAAA!"

After the fourth and a little more significantly after the fifth stroke, she could feel almost every drop of sweat that was forming in her outstretched armpits. She was grateful that she couldn't see her butt, which reminded her of itself with an unbearable burn.

"Please, I need a break!" cried Aurelia desperately, unable to shake off her painful grimace. 

"Wouldn't that be counterproductive?" asked Reginald.

"I don't think so," the king pondered. "Okay, let's let them rest for a while from the official punishment."

That wording scared Aurelius quite a bit, but for the time being, Clerence stood behind her and caressed the buttocks of his wife, whom he loved so much, with his hand. He did it lovingly, but at this moment she was stammering in pain as well. It seemed to her that his fingers did not avoid her welts in any way. Suddenly, Clarence's hand left and something flashed before Aurelia's eyes. "Do you recognize my cord, dear? I think you've always liked how I can use it."

"Noooooo!" screamed Aurelia, who knew what her husband was up to.

SWISH!

SWISH!

SWISH!

"AAAAAAAHHHAAAAHHH!"

Clarence flicked his cord over her bulging buttocks three times in quick succession. Although the individual blows were not as painful as those of the reeds, the queen suddenly felt that her buttocks were being torn by the plethora of the splinters. 

"I think it will be easier for you if you don't ask for more mercy," Clarence said to his wife as he sat back.

Aurelia did not say a word during the second half of her sentence. She wasn't able to do that anyway, because six more times the cane burned itself into her body, and each and every time it seemed that it scorched her deeper.

She hoped that the second half of her sentence would pass quickly, but she was not allowed to do so. Francis fainted after the eighth blow and had to be brought back to consciousness, so her suffering grew even more with unbearable waiting. The executioner did not falter in her work. As she continued, she knew how much force she had used last time and how to press so that Aurelia wouldn't stop feeling the sentence on her tossing ass.

Despair came to such a point that when the cane finally whistled for the twelfth time, the queen was still afraid of what would happen next.

"Untie him," Clarence ordered. "Reginald, bring your sister. She has problems with behavior and grades. We need to show her my final warning."

"I want you to leave her here until eleven o'clock in the evening!" He poked his finger in his wife's ass, whereupon she squealed loudly. "I believe she will be grateful for my bed and never frolick in any other again."

Aurelia was no longer quite sure if she still loved her husband. It was only clear to her that she would never break any of the marriage vows again.

The End  

You can read more of my stuff here.

Newlyweds Mark and Rachel interrupted their fiery honeymoon just in time to start preparations for the celebration of Rachel's birthday. Mark had already bought several gifts in advance, but he wanted to buy something grandiose in the city, especially as a reward for all those wonderful nights.

And mornings.

And afternoons.

He was still buying even on that special day, when suddenly he saw his brother, Larry, walking through the nearby store, the adhesive bandage above his eye.

"What happened? Are you coming to the celebration?" Mark asked him.

"I don't wish to be near Rachel!" Larry shouted. "She gave me this mark!" He pointed out his bandaged eyebrow. "I went to her and tried to take some of Mother's things, and she used them to punch me! I am not sure why women can get physical with us, while we... Look, it is pointless. She even left the house before me, probably to find you and lie to you!"

There was not much that the obligatory apologies could do, and Rachel's excuses on the cell phone were far more useless. Mark, however, had the idea for the only present Rachel now deserves. He bought it and placed it in the bedroom. When Rachel came, he dragged her slender figure inside. His anger could be saturated only with justice being served. 

"Everything you do has a consequence, Rachel," Mark said. "And the consequences of your actions today will be a sore bottom for all the coming days."

Rachel breathed deeply. "You have no right to beat your wife."

Mark disagreed. "As long as my wife disrespects my family, I have a right to set down the limits of her behaviour. Even if they will hurt her a little."

She was going to slap him, but he got hold of her wrist. "I want to punish your bottom, my love, not your hand!"

She slipped away from him and turned her back on him, which was a signal for him to finally take full control. He grabbed her shoulders firmly, and with a few movements he directed her towards the bedroom. She was babbling incoherently, but her will was slowly breaking.

True, it didn't seem so when she took a look at her new present, lying on the bed, over the cushion.

"I want you to give me it and kiss it," Mark said, pointing to the long, black tawse. Reachle took the leathery scorpion with two tails, and she gave it to her husband with stiffened hands. 

Mark refused. "If you won't kiss this thing, it will kiss your bottom all the more."

Rachel kissed the tawse on the handle, symbolically. This time her husband accepted it.

Mark smacked the cushion with the implement.

"Bend. You have sentenced yourself with your behaviour."

Rachel lay on the edge of the bed in such a way that the cushion lifted her waist and behind. Mark stripped his wife out of her green dress. She had some Roma blood in her, which coloured her in a glamorously caramel shade, giving more beauty to her big free-of-bra breasts, which landed on the bed. Mark stared at the panties with a seductive hole in the middle.

She might have imagined using her feminine weapons on him, but Mark decided to remind her who possessed the bigger strength here. He surprised them both when he smacked her bottom with his hand first. 

"Mhhhhrg," Rachel moaned softly. 

From this point on, however, justice was to be done only by the tails of the tawse, with which Mark signed all his might on two parts of Rachel's single tail. He took longer breaks between strokes to let the heat sink in.

Mark's wife was brave at the start, unwilling to express the pain loudly. After every thundering SLAP! She just clenched her teeth. However, the stinging in the bottom got harsher and harsher. After the sixth stroke, she had to release a scream that turned into a plea along the way.

"AAAAAAAHNOMOREPLEASE!" 

Mark byl spokojen se svou prací. He considered the plea as proof that he did a good job and gifted her another six licks of his husbandly care, this time in rapid succession. 

Rachel was praying for the end and was grateful for Mark's caressing hand on her back, oblivious to the stuff he was saying. What she couldn't ignore were his fingers under the waistband of her panties. Realising what was going to happen, she rose from the bed. The strength of Mark's arms was pushing her back down, but she slipped out. Unfortunately, she lost her panties in the short fight. Mark slid them entirely. Wearing only the heat of her bottom, Rachel pushed Mark away, but not before the tawse smacked her bare buttocks.

The wailing nude woman ran to the corridor, scared of her angry husband.  Although her bottom protested, she reached the door below. She pushed the handle but suddenly stiffened, remembering the state of her undress.

"You are so careless," Mark said sadly, blocking now her way out. "You should calm down first and then finally admit that a wild thrashing is exactly what you need and it must be this hurtful."

Rachel couldn’t answer through the stream of tears. She wanted to turn back, but her husband stopped her. "I want you to remember how foolish you were." He made a few steps back. "I want you to bend, your arms on the door. You will get twelve more, and after each of them I want you to say, 'Help me, world, I am a naughty hussy!' Don't worry, girl. You will feel it. And your bottom will remind you of this for at least two coming weeks!"

Rachel admitted her defeat. She also stepped back a little, as much as her husband would allow her to, and bent her naked body. She tried to stabilise herself – with her hands on the door and her legs spread – from her toes to her bouncing tits.

WHACK!"

"OWW! OWW! OWW! Help me, world, I am a naughty hussy!"

Their home echoed with the sounds of the falling tawse and the words of the punished woman, mixed with moans. This part of the sentence was much more forced and vengeful, burning the woman's butt ceaselessly. Rachel blamed herself for not staying in the bedroom, where she had at least some comfort. But she couldn't think; her mind was now concentrated only on receiving the pain.

Losing her breath, she counted the last promised stroke on the bare.

"Happy birthday," her husband said. "You are twenty-five today. Is that right, dear?"

"Ye-es," Rachel stammered.

Mark put the tawse on her back, using it as a table, and kissed Rachel on the nape of her neck.

"So, a year later, one strike more. If I won't have other reasons to keep on adding."

You can read more of my stuff here.

Newlyweds Mark and Rachel interrupted their fiery honeymoon just in time to start preparations for the celebration of Rachel's birthday. Mark had already bought several gifts in advance, but he wanted to buy something grandiose in the city, especially as a reward for all those wonderful nights.

And mornings.

And afternoons.

He was still buying even on that special day, when suddenly he saw his brother, Larry, walking through the nearby store, the adhesive bandage above his eye.

"What happened? Are you coming to the celebration?" Mark asked him.

"I don't wish to be near Rachel!" Larry shouted. "She gave me this mark!" He pointed out his bandaged eyebrow. "I went to her and tried to take some of Mother's things, and she used them to punch me! I am not sure why women can get physical with us, while we... Look, it is pointless. She even left the house before me, probably to find you and lie to you!"

There was not much that the obligatory apologies could do, and Rachel's excuses on the cell phone were far more useless. Mark, however, had the idea for the only present Rachel now deserves. He bought it and placed it in the bedroom. When Rachel came, he dragged her slender figure inside. His anger could be saturated only with justice being served. 

"Everything you do has a consequence, Rachel," Mark said. "And the consequences of your actions today will be a sore bottom for all the coming days."

Rachel breathed deeply. "You have no right to beat your wife."

Mark disagreed. "As long as my wife disrespects my family, I have a right to set down the limits of her behaviour. Even if they will hurt her a little."

She was going to slap him, but he got hold of her wrist. "I want to punish your bottom, my love, not your hand!"

She slipped away from him and turned her back on him, which was a signal for him to finally take full control. He grabbed her shoulders firmly, and with a few movements he directed her towards the bedroom. She was babbling incoherently, but her will was slowly breaking.

True, it didn't seem so when she took a look at her new present, lying on the bed, over the cushion.

"I want you to give me it and kiss it," Mark said, pointing to the long, black tawse. Reachle took the leathery scorpion with two tails, and she gave it to her husband with stiffened hands. 

Mark refused. "If you won't kiss this thing, it will kiss your bottom all the more."

Rachel kissed the tawse on the handle, symbolically. This time her husband accepted it.

Mark smacked the cushion with the implement.

"Bend. You have sentenced yourself with your behaviour."

Rachel lay on the edge of the bed in such a way that the cushion lifted her waist and behind. Mark stripped his wife out of her green dress. She had some Roma blood in her, which coloured her in a glamorously caramel shade, giving more beauty to her big free-of-bra breasts, which landed on the bed. Mark stared at the panties with a seductive hole in the middle.

She might have imagined using her feminine weapons on him, but Mark decided to remind her who possessed the bigger strength here. He surprised them both when he smacked her bottom with his hand first. 

"Mhhhhrg," Rachel moaned softly. 

From this point on, however, justice was to be done only by the tails of the tawse, with which Mark signed all his might on two parts of Rachel's single tail. He took longer breaks between strokes to let the heat sink in.

Mark's wife was brave at the start, unwilling to express the pain loudly. After every thundering SLAP! She just clenched her teeth. However, the stinging in the bottom got harsher and harsher. After the sixth stroke, she had to release a scream that turned into a plea along the way.

"AAAAAAAHNOMOREPLEASE!" 

Mark byl spokojen se svou prací. He considered the plea as proof that he did a good job and gifted her another six licks of his husbandly care, this time in rapid succession. 

Rachel was praying for the end and was grateful for Mark's caressing hand on her back, oblivious to the stuff he was saying. What she couldn't ignore were his fingers under the waistband of her panties. Realising what was going to happen, she rose from the bed. The strength of Mark's arms was pushing her back down, but she slipped out. Unfortunately, she lost her panties in the short fight. Mark slid them entirely. Wearing only the heat of her bottom, Rachel pushed Mark away, but not before the tawse smacked her bare buttocks.

The wailing nude woman ran to the corridor, scared of her angry husband.  Although her bottom protested, she reached the door below. She pushed the handle but suddenly stiffened, remembering the state of her undress.

"You are so careless," Mark said sadly, blocking now her way out. "You should calm down first and then finally admit that a wild thrashing is exactly what you need and it must be this hurtful."

Rachel couldn’t answer through the stream of tears. She wanted to turn back, but her husband stopped her. "I want you to remember how foolish you were." He made a few steps back. "I want you to bend, your arms on the door. You will get twelve more, and after each of them I want you to say, 'Help me, world, I am a naughty hussy!' Don't worry, girl. You will feel it. And your bottom will remind you of this for at least two coming weeks!"

Rachel admitted her defeat. She also stepped back a little, as much as her husband would allow her to, and bent her naked body. She tried to stabilise herself – with her hands on the door and her legs spread – from her toes to her bouncing tits.

WHACK!"

"OWW! OWW! OWW! Help me, world, I am a naughty hussy!"

Their home echoed with the sounds of the falling tawse and the words of the punished woman, mixed with moans. This part of the sentence was much more forced and vengeful, burning the woman's butt ceaselessly. Rachel blamed herself for not staying in the bedroom, where she had at least some comfort. But she couldn't think; her mind was now concentrated only on receiving the pain.

Losing her breath, she counted the last promised stroke on the bare.

"Happy birthday," her husband said. "You are twenty-five today. Is that right, dear?"

"Ye-es," Rachel stammered.

Mark put the tawse on her back, using it as a table, and kissed Rachel on the nape of her neck.

"So, a year later, one strike more. If I won't have other reasons to keep on adding."

Newlyweds Mark and Rachel interrupted their fiery honeymoon just in time to start preparations for the celebration of Rachel's birthday. Mark had already bought several gifts in advance, but he wanted to buy something grandiose in the city, especially as a reward for all those wonderful nights.

And mornings.

And afternoons.

He was still buying even on that special day, when suddenly he saw his brother, Larry, walking through the nearby store, the adhesive bandage above his eye.

"What happened? Are you coming to the celebration?" Mark asked him.

"I don't wish to be near Rachel!" Larry shouted. "She gave me this mark!" He pointed out his bandaged eyebrow. "I went to her and tried to take some of Mother's things, and she used them to punch me! I am not sure why women can get physical with us, while we... Look, it is pointless. She even left the house before me, probably to find you and lie to you!"

There was not much that the obligatory apologies could do, and Rachel's excuses on the cell phone were far more useless. Mark, however, had the idea for the only present Rachel now deserves. He bought it and placed it in the bedroom. When Rachel came, he dragged her slender figure inside. His anger could be saturated only with justice being served. 

"Everything you do has a consequence, Rachel," Mark said. "And the consequences of your actions today will be a sore bottom for all the coming days."

Rachel breathed deeply. "You have no right to beat your wife."

Mark disagreed. "As long as my wife disrespects my family, I have a right to set down the limits of her behaviour. Even if they will hurt her a little."

She was going to slap him, but he got hold of her wrist. "I want to punish your bottom, my love, not your hand!"

She slipped away from him and turned her back on him, which was a signal for him to finally take full control. He grabbed her shoulders firmly, and with a few movements he directed her towards the bedroom. She was babbling incoherently, but her will was slowly breaking.

True, it didn't seem so when she took a look at her new present, lying on the bed, over the cushion.

"I want you to give me it and kiss it," Mark said, pointing to the long, black tawse. Reachle took the leathery scorpion with two tails, and she gave it to her husband with stiffened hands. 

Mark refused. "If you won't kiss this thing, it will kiss your bottom all the more."

Rachel kissed the tawse on the handle, symbolically. This time her husband accepted it.

Mark smacked the cushion with the implement.

"Bend. You have sentenced yourself with your behaviour."

Rachel lay on the edge of the bed in such a way that the cushion lifted her waist and behind. Mark stripped his wife out of her green dress. She had some Roma blood in her, which coloured her in a glamorously caramel shade, giving more beauty to her big free-of-bra breasts, which landed on the bed. Mark stared at the panties with a seductive hole in the middle.

She might have imagined using her feminine weapons on him, but Mark decided to remind her who possessed the bigger strength here. He surprised them both when he smacked her bottom with his hand first. 

"Mhhhhrg," Rachel moaned softly. 

From this point on, however, justice was to be done only by the tails of the tawse, with which Mark signed all his might on two parts of Rachel's single tail. He took longer breaks between strokes to let the heat sink in.

Mark's wife was brave at the start, unwilling to express the pain loudly. After every thundering SLAP! She just clenched her teeth. However, the stinging in the bottom got harsher and harsher. After the sixth stroke, she had to release a scream that turned into a plea along the way.

"AAAAAAAHNOMOREPLEASE!" 

Mark byl spokojen se svou prací. He considered the plea as proof that he did a good job and gifted her another six licks of his husbandly care, this time in rapid succession. 

Rachel was praying for the end and was grateful for Mark's caressing hand on her back, oblivious to the stuff he was saying. What she couldn't ignore were his fingers under the waistband of her panties. Realising what was going to happen, she rose from the bed. The strength of Mark's arms was pushing her back down, but she slipped out. Unfortunately, she lost her panties in the short fight. Mark slid them entirely. Wearing only the heat of her bottom, Rachel pushed Mark away, but not before the tawse smacked her bare buttocks.

The wailing nude woman ran to the corridor, scared of her angry husband.  Although her bottom protested, she reached the door below. She pushed the handle but suddenly stiffened, remembering the state of her undress.

"You are so careless," Mark said sadly, blocking now her way out. "You should calm down first and then finally admit that a wild thrashing is exactly what you need and it must be this hurtful."

Rachel couldn’t answer through the stream of tears. She wanted to turn back, but her husband stopped her. "I want you to remember how foolish you were." He made a few steps back. "I want you to bend, your arms on the door. You will get twelve more, and after each of them I want you to say, 'Help me, world, I am a naughty hussy!' Don't worry, girl. You will feel it. And your bottom will remind you of this for at least two coming weeks!"

Rachel admitted her defeat. She also stepped back a little, as much as her husband would allow her to, and bent her naked body. She tried to stabilise herself – with her hands on the door and her legs spread – from her toes to her bouncing tits.

WHACK!"

"OWW! OWW! OWW! Help me, world, I am a naughty hussy!"

Their home echoed with the sounds of the falling tawse and the words of the punished woman, mixed with moans. This part of the sentence was much more forced and vengeful, burning the woman's butt ceaselessly. Rachel blamed herself for not staying in the bedroom, where she had at least some comfort. But she couldn't think; her mind was now concentrated only on receiving the pain.

Losing her breath, she counted the last promised stroke on the bare.

"Happy birthday," her husband said. "You are twenty-five today. Is that right, dear?"

"Ye-es," Rachel stammered.

Mark put the tawse on her back, using it as a table, and kissed Rachel on the nape of her neck.

"So, a year later, one strike more. If I won't have other reasons to keep on adding."

You can read more of my stuff here.

You can read Part 1 here.

Jonathan

"Sea-sick, laddie? I think you are not allowed to drink any alcohol. Pussy, on the other hand, cures any boy's malady," Jean-Eric praised his favorite part of the female body. I had to thank God I have a very loyal and good friend who can't see things for what they are.

For one, I wasn't seasick. I felt that way when I was twelve, but today, if I was pale in the face, it was because I was about to disembark and meet relatives, old and new.

And he was wrong about parts of the female body, too. Pussy is important, some would say crucial, but my eyes and hands craved something different. Even the cock can go there, and no children will ever make an exit.

Jean-Eric rubbed his shaved face as if he wanted to grow a manly beard and showed his blond ponytail to the ladies who were bringing dinner to all the passengers on the ship. He nudged me and pointed to the girl who was bringing us chicken and spinach twice.

"Buy her!" he urged me. "It's in the contract, and your bride will be wonderfully jealous when she smells it on you!"

This time he was right. The girls on board the Eurus owned their bodies only during the day. At night they were supposed to provide the passengers with more than just a plate and a smile. They were alre-ady inviting special services. The nipples printed on their uniforms revealed that they were not wearing bras and, if the advertising leaflet was not lying, the same was true of their panties.

We were served by daughters of Asia or daughters of Africa, all in the red miniskirts purple T-shirts, but our waitress was a pure European beauty, distinguished by thick red hair and proudly wearing her tight T-shirt, in which her D-cup breasts stood out.

"I want to do something with her," I admitted, whispering. "But it will be more about training my ma-nhood. You know. Before you can love a woman, you have to conquer her."

"Cool," Jean-Eric said. "Your bride will be for a right kind of terror!"

The waitress clearly knew that she didn't just have to bring the feast; she had to be a little feast herself, practicing the art of the smile and leaning forward. Admirable.

I thanked her and smelled the rich aroma. But before I took my cutlery, I reached into my wallet and showed the girl a bundle of two hundred Eastern dollars.

"They will be yours after this night," I told her. "Meet me at seven before cabin 15."

She kept her fake smile, but I could see in her eyes that she wasn't looking forward to what I was going to do to her. I started eating and looked at the buckle on my belt. I thought I would please her with something and embarass her with something else.

I had eaten enough, but not so much that I was tired. Jean-Eric left me to grope other hostesses while I galloped after my chosen one. As I thought, she smiled only when she noticed me coming. I let her into the cabin, holding her hand. She sat down on the bed, but as she started to take off her shirt, I stopped her.

"It will be better if you completely undress," I assured her. "However, you must know that instead of classic love, you will have a little play of tough parenting love." I playfully leaned her forward and slap-ped her ass to make it clear what was in store for her.

I felt her breathing on my hand, although I wasn't sure if it was a sign of relief or that of stress.

"I'm surprised you didn't stay in Europe," the hostess sighed. "They often don't care about whether a woman wants it or not. The spanking, I mean."

I made her look at me and tried to smile, sincerely, this time. "Yes, I've seen a lot of that. I spent some time in Kiev. In the courtyard there, a female teacher, who was unfairly grading her students, got a few strokes with her cane. There was also a pretty young woman who was wailing there once because she disrespected her husband in front of their children. The whole family was standing in the front rows...

"You traveled all that far?" the hostess was surprised.

"Yes, actually it was related to what we were talking about. My family does business with a Belarusian who used to teach political sciences but then got rich trading in slaves. He benefits many poor people by buying their wives, daughters, many of them voluntarily..." "Okay," the hostess could hardly control her grin. "What will you use on me, and how many strokes will you give me?"

I felt a little bad that she didn't like the idea, but I preferred the thrill of the anticipation of beating the insolence and resistance out of her. "Fifteen with my belt," I announced. "What's your name, Miss?"

"Camilla," she replied, annoyed.

"Will it be your first thrashing, Ms. Camilla?"

"Dad switched me once," she admitted reluctantly.

Who knows, maybe this will be a milder experience," I mused. "Now undress and get your ass ready for the scorching." She got up and her clothes soon began to fall on the bed. I had an easy task. I just un-fastened the belt, folded it, and played with it a bit in front of the girl undressing. I even slammed it menacingly on the table when it seemed to me that he was dragging his feet too much.

"Wouldn't you like to fuck after all?" she asked me, and I have to say that when she stood in front of me without any secrets, I thought about changing my wish at the last minute, but then I tightened my belt and reminded myself of the pleasure of the erotic power. In addition, I spared myself of classic erotic experiences until I met Clementine. I shook my head and moved the pillow to indicate where to lay down his narrow waist. Reconciled with her fate, she lay down on the bed, and the sight of her ma-de me feel better. Staring at her ass was better than star-gazing.

"You don't have to count," I assured the beauty before letting her enjoy the first stroke. "Owww!" She clung to the pillow with her fingers, like a cat when she is afraid of losing her bed. At the same time, her long, cute legs shook. I liked that. Not to mention that there was a dark mark on her ass after my touch. If I had any regrets before, they quickly left me. Especially when I remembered the beautiful sound of her scream. I wondered what it would be like if I hit her somewhere else...

With a sadistic penchant for girlish suffering, I whipped her thighs. The stroke hit the right one in par-ticular, but Camilla must have felt the pain because she cried out loudly and raised her feet to the air.

This was starting to be fun. I climbed onto the bed next to her and partially covered her legs. My next stroke was directed at her left thigh, and I made sure that she felt even more. I probably succeeded, because Camilla was bawling like a baby and started dodging me. However, I could not allow her to lose her honestly earned money. Even though punishing her thighs was tempting, I put my hand on the soft skin of the small of her back and, above all, focused most of the time on her twisting, restless ass.

Nine more blows, nine slaps on Camilla's cheeks triggered countless tears and pleadings, and I hoped they weren't just pretended. I knew that spankings are actually welcome among boat owners because their soft ladies are more sensitive, so Camilla should actually thank me. I noticed an interesting purple spot on the trembling ass. I tickled her with my index finger. "Owieee, owieee," Camilla wailed, but I don't know if she wanted to evoke sympathy. "You'll have a pretty nice bruise here," I said, praising my work. "Sensitive, isn't it?"

"Ye-gulp-yeah."

I gripped my belt again, and with a quick and precise swing, I aimed it right there.

"WAAAAAA-ARGHHH-AAAAH!"

Camilla was desperately trying to catch her breath, even though the end of the beating consisted of only three strokes. I imagined myself watching Uncle Thomas and Aunt Yuka watching the whipping, in awe of how skillful I am.

I felt satisfied when I imagined how I would now give her ten minutes of corner time and only then let her get dressed. But I had to restrain myself. As much as I enjoyed what I did with her, and as much as I finally felt like the master of the situation, I still felt the opposite, unacknowledged passion.

Beatrice

Helot service was more difficult for employees and completely humiliating for anyone who could not encounter physical correction in a normal job. Although Beatrice had extra pounds, she was better off than Alexandra, slow and attracting annoying attention.

Members of their unit were again tasked with cleaning, this time the Turtle Pavilion at the zoo, and the safety of many small, expensive specimens had to be overseen. True, there were many larger turtles, but unfortunately, they didn't give a fuck about their small cousins. So the workers had to perform a humiliating service in their underwear. Some girls and boys like Alexandra would always be an unwanted distraction half-naked, but now, in addition to her body, she was showing off maps of red spots, welts, and bruises, making herself a rising attraction.

"Is that part of a sentence? I don't remember hearing about this in the news." One senior man could not control his curiosity.

"Or is that your new job? Prostituting yourself for the kinksters?" asked the youth with a missing tooth, possibly in his early twenties. "Because if so, I know what I could spend the hidden remnants of my allowance on!" he chuckled, making Beatrice wonder if the government was secretly performing lobotomies on its citizens.

"Ask Mr. Flynn if you like your parts beaten," she scolded the youth and made him take a distance with her scowl. However, she had to admit that a girl with striped breasts was a better sight than the bumps of shells hiding listless reptiles.

She started somewhere else but moved her bucket so that she was practically breathing down Alexandra's neck. "You've done enough, and we're going to have a break," she murmured to her. "I think we'll both spend it using the toilet."

Alexandra, looking both weary and frustrated, nodded. Once they were allowed to, they went into the hallway, and in the bathroom Beatrice slammed the door shut with a broom. "We need privacy even from the other ladies."

"Why?" Alexandra asked. "For the first time in my life, I don't mind guys staring at me, but otherwise I wouldn't complain," she whined.

"You have more to complain about," Beatrice said. "If you screw up your job, I might lose mine, and I would prefer if that didn‘t happen. On the other hand, if you succeed but get crazy or die in the process, I might lose it too or live with pangs of conscience. So, thank you for the job, girl, and believe me, it was a treat seeing you humiliated, but I hate when snoots treat someone like a punching bag or a sex doll."

"Or a punching sex doll," Alexandra suggested. She avoided Beatrice‘s gaze for a moment, then looked into her eyes. "You spoke differently when Yuka was around."

"You don‘t complain right up just after you were hired," Beatrice said. "I would have saved you from the flames on the day we met even if I knew from the start what had happened. I will save you from the danger. That is my lifelong mission! "

Alexandra hesitated. "The city has rejected us, so we must turn to the rich. Who knows, maybe one day I'll meet a man who likes this." She ran her hands over the lines on her chest.

"You'll meet their nephew," Beatrice reminded her. "Once he gets here, it'll be too late. Yuka's going to have you tied up at his house, and you think my job is to keep you safe? No, my job is to keep you from running away. It's best for both of us if we run away now. Maybe they'll accept us into Klan territory. We're both white, and they hate the Grand York government."

"My uncle is a patriot," Alexandra wailed. "And I think my cousin lives right there as one of the knights. What if he asks him to kill me?"

"Then I'll tell you another way!" Beatrice finally got angry. "People like you and me, Alexandra, are the potential collateral damage for them! It will mean nothing to them if you die, and I would have to be taken care of! That's why I advise you to escape while you can!"

"I'm afraid nobody will employ us anymore!" Alexandra cried out.

Beatrice spoke to her again, a little more seriously. "Alexandra, do you remember what I did the last time you didn't act like in adult and threatened the people around you?"

Alexandra turned pale. "That's beyond compare."

"You're not a threat to so many people now, but I still know what I must do!" The former firefighter was faster this time. She grabbed Alexandra's hand and pulled it part way over her knee, covering her upper half with one of the sinks. She immediately pulled down her friend's tiny panties.

"Not again!" Alexanda resisted. "Beatrice, I can think about it..."

SLAP!

Beatrice took immense pleasure in pounding that slender ass again, already marked by the recent care of Yuka and two guys in Lynch-Metzen's dungeon. It turned out typically there. Alexandra was uncooperative, so it took additional strokes and lashes before she began to cooperate and could finally be released home.

Alexandra is a dumb girl, and those need special guidance.

SLAP! SLAP!

Beatrice concentrated her tremendous strength and slapped both cheeks of the rapidly reddening bottom separately. Bearice turned her head and saw the face of the suffering girl, gritting her teeth. She stroked the young woman's bottom for a long time, like a caring, forgiving mother. She immediately corrected her by slapping her right in the middle.

"Yaowww!" Alexandra shouted but quickly fell silent.

"Do you want to embarrass yourself, girl?" Beatrice asked.

Alexandra shook her head quickly. She was rewarded with a lighter blow to her right cheek.

Beatrice rubbed her hand on her warm behind. She decided to give it a little shock therapy. "The guys will hear what's going on here, but it doesn't matter (SLAP!). They're used to it, and they know roughly what's going on with you (SLAP!), but know that the man they're preparing you for (SLAP!) could be many times worse (SLAP!), and it could end up killing us both (SLAP!), so come to your senses and see to it that this will be the last thrashing of yours for a while."

She might have finished her speech, but the humiliating spanking was not over. Alexandra trembled after each blow and jumped a little without really defending herself. Despite that, Beatrice increased her force to emphasize the importance of her request. Since the maiden had finally shown herself to be understanding, she finished after counting twenty-seven sharp spanks.

"I'll do that!" Alexandra confirmed sensibly through her tears and slowly put her panties back where they belonged. With the permission of the satisfied Beatrice, she unlocked the door of the bathroom. The break was just ending, and the unfortunate Alexandra leapt even more distant from the guys from the party and definitely did not lean forward too much so that her latest wounds would not stand out.

Jonathan

Camilla's private whipping helped me overcome the anxiety I felt before my short engagement and wedding. I lay down on the bed, and my thoughts returned to her cute scream and skin changing color involuntarily. I wondered how Clementine, who had been preparing for a similar relationship since she was little, would react to my belt.

Yes, since she was little. But I was tempted to try something different. It started with an "innocent" bachelor party that I celebrated with my friend Howard. We invited six strippers who had covered maybe the crotch, nipples, and forehead at the beginning, but during the evening they lost that and showed us that even this slow, minimalist undressing can be an art. But then his future wife came for Howard. With his sister and mother marching towards us. What they did left me breathless.

Suzan, who was getting ready for a wedding night, slapped the face of her fiancé, and as she led him away, her hand made a similar mark on Howard's backside, which his mother and sister also enthusiastically praised. A stream of thoughts flowed through me at that time. Could it be that he had been raised in his family in a similar style intended for girls in my neighborhood? From then on, I looked at dominant women like my mother and people like Aunt Yuka completely differently. I wondered what it would be like to remain a little boy forever, grateful for the gentle touches but also aware of the reprimanding and painful ones that I might eventually like.

But even Jean-Eric wouldn't understand that, let alone Uncle Thomas. "When a man dominates over a woman, he's drawing on his nature-given strength," the proud guy liked to say. "When a woman dominates a man, they're just playing."

The way I saw it, it was a game anyway. Only the people clinging to the idea of power needed to pretend otherwise.

I dared to be playful...

So that night I was in a dilemma. On the one hand I couldn't forget Camilla's battered behind, but at the same time I imagined what it would be like if she complained to the captain. He would be angry, and as his deputy, he would send his wife, who works in the galley, clutching the paddle.

No, that's impossible. That's what the girls are here for. No one would blame me, and if they did, they would send a man...

My thoughts influenced my dreams at night, but I didn't see anyone until dawn. At breakfast, I didn't register Camilla among the hostesses, and Jean-Eric and I glanced at a Black woman who, although she was publicly kissing a fat Belgian, was making it clear to all the men that she was enjoying every aspect of her job.

Alas, the wenches were available to the passengers, and it was their duty, and ours, to disembark on the shores of The Grand York.

"Boy, I envy you getting married now," Jean-Eric lamented. "Your family will throw you a bigger party than when the prodigal son came back to his dad."

"Funny you mention that," I lamented, turning back on the steps leading off the ship. "When I was leaving, they gave me the first woman to test my dominance, and I became the laughingstock for a night."

"What happened?" Jean-Eric asked.

I didn't want to talk about it, but it was too late to go mute. "The girl started crying and screaming that she didn't really want it. I freed her from the handcuffs and didn't even touch her. Uncle Thomas laughed at me. He explained that it was the most important test of my script. I was supposed to remain deaf to her pleads and show how I could break her. "I shuddered. "I looked like a weakling!"

Jean-Eric shrugged. "Failure is the teacher, man," he stretched. When you have a chance to torture a woman, don't let her open her mouth!"

"Come, Jonathan!" Return to the home soil!" shouted an excited Aunt Yuka down the steps.

"I'm coming with one guy, sentenced to the married life! " Jean-Eric exclaimed, laughing.

"If he gets it done like I did, he'll never have to complain. He'll be the one setting the course!" exclaimed Uncle Thomas, kissing his wife passionately on the cheeks and lips before throwing his strong arms around me.

"And we definitely don't want him to get lost in the sea of relationships," Yuka said, turning to Jean-Eric for a moment. Then she shook my hand and gave me a quick kiss under the eye. She turned to Jean-Eric for a moment. "We'll introduce you to our dungeon soon. Clementine is waiting there for the wedding, and she'll definitely be grateful for a familiar face. For any face at this stage. She's had intense training, no matter how short. As for the groom..."

She looked at me. "We have a training and refreshments for him in the Solitude Hotel."

I smiled and thanked her. I could hardly admit it, but I felt more like requesting her presence in my room, trying to peek at my glorious aunt in her underwear, imagining how she would punish me for that transgression.

I let myself be comforted by these images throughout the journey, well aware that in the end I would have to be the active one. One can say I should be grateful to life for giving me the upper hand.

Gratitude to life reminded me of the journeys of a hotel. In Europe I visited many supermarkets that offered their goods inside, hidden from the eyes of those who just passed by. Grand York, on the other hand, lived the tradition of people accustomed to offering their goods in markets outside, whether it was food, toys, clothes, or books.

But people also needed to lay their heads and whisper their secrets somewhere. Part of that world were the corridors of the Grand Solitude and the privacy of the room Aunt Yuka had led me to. "Check your service first, boy," she urged me as she opened the door for me.

I thanked her, and since I suspected what she meant by "service," I felt a lustful tickle in my crotch that demanded another sensual adventure. Inside, I appreciated the tear-shaped window and the large refrigerator, but according to my aunt's instructions, I headed for a closed room, above which was a simple picture suggesting a smiling girl in a wedding dress, bound hand and foot. This was clearly intended to serve as a honeymoon suite for a rich man.

On the other side was a room furnished with barrels with a skylight. In the middle of the ceiling hung a young attractive brunette, whose private parts were covered (if you could call it that) by iron panties and a bra. It seemed to me that she was sleeping, or at least hiding from the world behind her closed eyes.

"Hello, slave!" I greeted her and ran my hand along her side. I had to admit that I liked her and was determined to touch many more of her parts today... When I'll free her from her constraints, that is. By now I was too much in the memory of the night with Camilla, so I wanted to make this ass suffer even more.

"You must be Jonathan," the charming girl whispered in response. She reminded me of Sleeping Beauty waking up, which is not so far off, considering the sexual content of the original fairy tale.

"Yes, I am, and I'm going to return the pain in your life! "I needed to bolster my confidence a little.

"Please, sir," sighed the beauty. My name is Alexandra Ortiz, and I told people from your family I want to quit. I am scared of more pain, and I don't wish to be your servant!"

Jesus Christ, she didn't even try to sound sincere. "You don't have to try, girl; I played this game before," I said, relieved that now I see through the deception. I walked around Alexander and saw her reddened ass, suggesting she had it beaten recently. She must be used to it, maybe even a professional.

"No, I mean it! Please, let me go!" She was overreacting, suggesting she might be a good prostitute but a terrible actor. Well, she didn't come here to become Desdemona. During her unconvincing whining, I was choosing from the spanking tools hung on the wall. I had no interest in tawse, as it would be too similar to my recent experience, and the cane was best for the position where the punished one has a properly arched or lifted butt. So I took a big paddle with holes. It was quite heavy, but when I thought about the final effect, it didn't bother me so much. While I was weighing down the instrument, Alexandra insisted on her fake crying and repeating pleas for liberation, a few simple words over and over again. Looking at that trembling ass wasn't enough for me, so I finally took advantage of the paradoxical situation where beating your bottom is more polite than touching it.

WHACK!

"NO! SOMEBODY FREE ME!!!"

Alexandra continued to play. As soon as the paddle proved the power of my swing, she began to stomp furiously on the ground, demonstrating how she was trying to break her bonds above her head. Naughty girls show off that they need more strokes, even if their ass starts to look like the setting sun. One has to convince them about the futility of their resistance. I figured it would need about five more strokes.

WHACK!

WHACK!!

WHACK!!!

Alexandra no longer shouted specific words; she just writhed. I have to say that this is how I liked it the most. The way her hips writhed emphasized the helplessness of the "distressed" damsel, the way she stretched her long, arousing legs in all directions, and the way her ass danced completely. She turned me on, and I could already see my cock between those red cheeks, giving her later more profound and deeper pain. Even now, I had no intention of sparing her. I bent down and tried to whack that ass even harder than in previous cases.

Alexandra howled terribly. "AAAAH—"

The scream ended unusually early. Alexandra's head fell forward and her whole body, just a moment ago in tension, suddenly relaxed. It didn't take me long to understand that the girl was unconscious. I grabbed her with my hands, trying to wake her up, among other things. As soon as drops of blood stained my fingers around her iron panties, I jumped. I shook Alexandra's head furiously, but my most uncertain salvation lay in someone else. I ran out into the hallway and grabbed my cell phone.

"Hi, Aunt! Sorry, but I screwed up again!"

You can read more of my stuff here.

Roberta

If you have chosen a career as a teacher, it is likely that you are an idealist whose brain revels in the presentation of information but suffers from an inability to process warning signs.

Disappointment and a sense of unappreciation can make you a drug addict or at least an alcoholic.

My tongue tastes the drink, the warm Mexican sun, and the bitter cactus needles rolling around my mouth.

Weatherby allowed us to take a liquor of our choice to his appointment, and you need something spicier when you have to look at him sitting behind the principal's desk. Full-time teachers and co-lectors alike would like to be preserved in alcohol at the idea of our inclusion in the new school curriculum.

"The past school year has been intense, and we have a lot to build on to approach the often problematic wards in the next school year," says Weatherby in the suite, a possible specimen of one of the fabled missing links. "Since normal educational subjects will only be provided in rare cases where they might benefit the inmate, here Lindsey—" He pointed to his admirer with a cup of gum of her own making—"will get a position as a scientific advisor for experience with submitting to androcentrism. She writes a comprehensive doctoral thesis about it, and the new students will help her."

There is a small gap between our table and his desk, but except for Lindsey Trevorrow, we are not close to it. Weatherby's authority bites us like overgrown lice.

"Of course, not everything will change!" emphasizes Weatherby, whose mood, unlike ours, is improving. "For example, Ruby has to repeat a year due to her treatment, so she'll continue to assist us with teaching the Art of Lovemaking. Especially younger inmates will appreciate her presence!"

The porn star did not react to his words in any way. One had to talk to her face; if they wanted a reaction.

"However, other ladies are waiting for modified assignments, just like Lindsey. Lady Georgianna turns into a slave of the master Malcolm. We're all looking forward to seeing her in the harness!"

The dominatrix poured herself a new glass of the dark whisky. Beck winked at me and my wife. We still had fresh memories of seeing each other at a consultation, where we had talked about my future. I came there like any other inmate.

"We're thrilled with the captivating lesbian performances you've given at the Lovemaking Bar," Beck said. "However, you should consider all the more what you prefer in the future. We have already handed you a document with the name of the man who applied for you."

"No," I resolutely refused. I won't spend an hour with him, let alone life."

"Then it's our right to auction you," Beck said, scratching his nose. "Due to the nature of your couple, the auction hall will probably sell you two for the price of one, and interested parties have been informed about your skills. Cabarets and brothels will certainly consider you a lucrative investment."

"I'm a teacher, not a stripper," I objected.

Beck tapped his finger impatiently on the table. "And that's why you aroused the interest of another group. Rich men who are alright with their wives but would like to get the tutor and comforter for their teenage son. Even two. I think you should openly agree to such a possibility from the beginning, because it will take a while before the state allows women to return to the public education sphere."

"I'd rather cook somewhere in the gas station restaurant," I told him. "But with the marks we have given you, they won't want you there," says the cook on Beck's left venomously.

Georgianna se omluvila a z Weatherby's mummery odešla, jakmile to bonton dovoloval.

"I admire you. You're the only one of us who's holding on," she told me.

She overestimated me. The future suffocates me, I need to be reminded of the time dedicated to celebrate love.

Before the next breakfast, I wanted to ask Sylvia if she knew what day it was, but I woke up second.

My wife was already bending over me, and with considerate movements, she was pushing my pillow away so that she could caress my face.

"You like punctuality, Roberta, so we have to say something to each other when we wake up." She gave up all the dignity she usually held up when she spoke to me. I saw Kelly studying us from a distance, behind her shoulder, while I could only see the leg and the edge of the side of Hamilton. Basma was hiding from me. I could sense her, immobilized by Hamilton's relentless grip.

I forgot about my roommates when Sylvia kissed me on the cheek for a long time. Then on the lips. and finally on the other cheek.

"If I had to name every single thing I'm grateful for, I wouldn't fit in with the rest of our generation," Sylvia sighed. "Thank you for you, my love! Thank you for sticking with me until today's anniversary!"

"And I thank you for being the first to accept me as I am! "I don't know if she understood me through my tears. "Even though I think your dream has come true and you don't have to spend any of your salary on a gift for me!"

Sylvia gave me a smaller kiss on the forehead. "I have two presents for you. You'll get one when we get back to bed..." She turned away and wiggled her adorable ass. "As for the latter, I begged Lindsay to keep the small fruits of labor from our stocks." She handed me a tiny bottle containing a clear liquid. "It literally contains drops of our sweat, but it smells sweet. It smells like the day we met."

Remembering the beginning of someone's love is to enter the stream of eternity.

Lindsay and I don't just work on perfumes, but mainly on those chewing gums that she likes to show off so much at all meetings. In the evening, we each took one while putting on body underwear, which we called leaky webs, before heading to the Lovemaking Bar stage.

We used to spend the evening with only one guy, but Martin apparently fulfilled his life in some grizzly's stomach. Arnolph outlined a new destiny for us in the form of a performance for many men. They didn't touch us anymore but ogled us with vehemence. We stood by the statue of a giant metal hedgehog and stimulated its belly, from which a semi-solid red play-dough sphere stuck out. Once it grew enough, we each swung on it from one side and engaged our butts, backs, and bosoms to mold it into a heart shape. As with any acrobatic number, it was hell at the beginning, but now we manage it in a single minute, and in the middle of that new heart we met, touching each other with bubbles coming out of our mouths. We ran with them from the crevice between the breasts to the lines dividing the small tongues of passion that made up mine and Sylvia's female flower.

"Don't burst them! Don't burst them!" chanted the Heirs, enjoying our movements, the way a single man had once enjoyed looking at us. Bursting them was a necessity; they were, after all, a symbol of our orgasm. My bubble exploded loudly as its scent mingled with the air coming from Sylvia's crotch. At least I stuck out my tongue, knowing that the men below us wouldn't know the difference for a little while.

Right after this care, Sylvia defiled me with chewing gum and her saliva. It hit me above my ass.

The heart spun with us for a while, and we had to endure its rotation until the mass was completely freed from the hedgehog. The fall, however, did not end our lovemaking. The meat hooks persisted until it seemed appropriate to us to use our limbs to wave to the eager male crowd, pressing towards their mostly involuntary companions.

Sylvia and I sat down at a table with egg soup in our underwear. We had regular refreshments with Bar Society after the show. Today, thanks to our special reminder, we felt exceptionally festive, even though we were deprived of privacy.

I hugged Sylvia. Spontaneity was not my strong suit, but I believed I might be able to tell her something nice and new.

"You've been like that ever since you learned to talk. You run to toys and machines that can be switched off at any time. You can't do that with people, so you don't understand them."

An old woman shouted from the next table. My wife and I listened to the reproaches she leveled at the much younger man sitting opposite from her as we ate our slow meal. I found out that it was one of our reluctant allies, Carl. Either he couldn't speak quietly or he didn't mind making his family argument public.

"Some people are easier to deal with, Mother," he snapped. "I'll leave; you know I have to do that. But I'm not going to disappear under your thumb until I've arranged something for my friends. I have several here, not just Nicole. And by naming her, I'm reminding you that you should meet her!"

His mother gasped. "I heard she's engaged."

Carl nodded. "You'd be surprised how well I get along with her fiancé. But you don't know anything about her as a person. You should ask—"

"Don't you know what this place is? Didn't you watch the news with us yesterday? Even the judge ran away from here!"

Aha! Zimmerman concluded his trial after all!

"You call that an escape? Cruz and Romano accompanied him to Washington like a pair of seraphim with flaming swords! He found the truth here, as I did. I wish the same for you." 

"They did it!" Sylvia said.

"Shh!" I shouted out at her. "It's a consequence of our nobility but hasn't paid off for us." She should have been in a good mood because of our day, not because something that wouldn't benefit us anyway. 

Carl and his mother left the table with their food still unfinished, and they were hardly an exception. The seated Heirs thinned out considerably and discussed with their parents on the way, on rare occasions separating from them.

"We are blessed, girl, unburdened by the straight sex," I said and took Sylvia's hand lovingly. 

"I am grateful for you, Roberta, not for my homosexuality," Sylvia disagreed. 

"Don't you understand what the straight sex produces?"

"People," Sylvia responded.

"Worse! Children!" We both laughed. I had to continue.

"Mother Nature is terrifying, and the relationship between parent and child is the testament to her sadism," I lectured my wife. "Sometimes it starts with the hetero couples' relationships."

"Like the praying mantis," Sylvia suggested. 

"Eating the male? That's just the most obvious. What about those spiders whose mothers give themselves as food for their children because they are less important than them? Or have you heard about the anglerfish? Where a male reduces himself to just a sperm producer living from the blood sucked out of the female?"

"But that's how many human females would describe their marriage!" My wife chuckled.

"Metaphors, schmetaphors, Sylvia! The point is that life is pointless and sex is part of it! I mean, especially the straight sex because that's how genes sacrifice us in the name of the new carrier! Or what about the mayfly legend..."

"What legend?" Sylvia asked. "They live for one day. Yesterday evening is a legend for them."

"That's what people got wrong!" I lectured her. "They live for several years as larvae. That short lifespan, that is simply their maturity when they can fuck, and then they are offed because that's the only thing their maturity is for."

"I'm glad we did it more than once," Sylvia said. 

"Sex is part of the problem, but we homosexuals have it better because our consequences are so limited," I told her. "Also, there is the love that makes it more bearable. I'm glad that you're a blessed lesbian like me, Sylvia, and that you gave me your heart in exchange for mine."

From another nearby table, I noticed Deborah Sledge smiling at me, holding the hand of her lover Raven, served by her sex slave Helen. 

"It was time to exchange them," Sylvia said. "When we met, you were fat, and there was a risk that the blood pumper would break not by loneliness but by clogged blood vessels."

I puffed. "What are you doing?"

Sylvia blinked. "Today, I want you to have lots of energy in bed, and you are at your most awake when angry with someone rude," Sylvia declared boldly. "And I know you'll never punish me on our anniversary!"

I didn't even know if I was being playful or angry when I said, "You often sound so stupid I don't know how you ever became a teacher."

"You're careless, and I suspect you've married me to have a replacement mom," I added on the way back home.

We walked cautiously around the squirming Hamilton in the room. She may have only pretended to be asleep so that she could spy on us. Sylvia stretched out longingly on the bed, her beauty triumphing over the lack of light.

"You have such a lazy ass that I must beat it every other week," I whispered, unable to resist the innocence, seasoned with Sylvia's lust. It started with her opening her mouth wide and resting one foot on the pillow and continued with freeing her beautiful breasts from under the useless cloth of the underwear.

"My ass might be lazy, but tonight it wants to work. And my pussy wants to be filled, and it aches to be stimulated!" Sylvia moaned as if I were already eating her out.

"Undress completely, restless student!"

I ordered her. Sylvia obeyed, and, since she was in the mood, her every move was overflowing with love and fervor. When she lifted her legs up, she was able to bulge her ass even when lying down, and as soon as she got rid of the underwear, she spread her legs so wide that one would think she wanted to suck the moon into herself.

She threw her underwear over my head. I got hers and mine out of myself. The trembling of my completely naked skin charmed the connection between me and the nakedness of my wife. Sylvie pressed her breasts together, emphasizing her need for lustful touches.

I was so horny that I directed my next kiss at her chest and tormented one of her stiff nipples in my mouth. We've been hurting each other a lot during sex lately. We did everything possible to make the other one have a reason to scream, which the other couldn't do, because, unlike our former roommates, we didn't desire to wake anyone up.

I knew what she was trying to tell me. I need you below! It was true that I had already secured myself there. My fingers alternately massaged my clit and then thrust in. The memory of my recent experience with men made me clench with fear, so I had to fix my eyes on Sylvia's face, reminding myself of my beloved being.

But now I shouldn't have looked at her face, so I kept my hand on my clit. I released Sylvia's nipple from the grip of my tongue and teeth and slid my head between her legs. I couldn't see much from her pussy, but that never stopped anyone. My lips, and especially my tongue, delighted both of us by teasing the depths of her tender sex, so sweet, so tight, and so responsive. We were engaging in the act of pure and natural love.

The sound of the tawse and the lament of a girl provided a welcome contrast to my previous career, so I learned to tolerate my stay here. I focused on my profession as much as possible. Many girls defied me stubbornly and made it clear to me what they thought of my orientation. Basma from my own room, to whom I already passed on the notion of the discipline. Gladys with family for a hundred years in Klan. Whenever a girl proved to be ill-mannered, I could always draw my weapon.

The punitive implements remained at school for my successors, but the teaching materials slowly disappeared into the basement and often even into the rubbish bins. In the spirit of the reform introduced by our new principal, the maps were rolled up and were never to be unrolled again. We had to delete the virtual reality files en masse. The flasks and test tubes turned into piles of shards, and not even the law of conservation of mass could save them. The mob focused on our science.

I say "our," but Lindsey could have shit herself out of excitement when I gave her the inventory of the destroyed property to sign. "It was an honor to work with you, Roberta," she said, gently reminding me that she will be a teacher for at least one more year, whereas I won't be.

"We still need Brandon's signature," my colleague added. "You are lucky; he wants more from me. Although, if I give it to him, I might get a summer vacation."

Weatherby wasn't filing or digitizing the documents in his office. He was lurking. I could tell from the way he was sitting. He would occasionally rearrange something on his desk to his liking, but as soon as I walked in, he would stop. This confirmed to me that I was the prey he was looking for.

He snatched the paper from my hand. "You have something much more important to give me, Roberta: the explanation."

"That's just one word. Two if you're feeling generous. Explain yourself about the explanation."

I sat without him inviting me to. I believed that by pissing him off, I could derail him beyond his comfort zone.

"Do you know what Judge Zimmerman did?" Weatherby asked me. 

I leaned against the chair and had to be careful not to fall. How much good would it do me to play dumb?

"I heard that the trial was interrupted because he had to attend to his duties elsewhere. Some old lady at the bar was telling her son that Zimmerman had appeared at the Conclave. The scene of our Tower is more important than it seems from inside the classrooms."

Weatherby drummed his whole hand in an accelerating rhythm.

"Roberta, if the world of the classroom had been enough for you, you might have been happy."

"I guess not, if that's what you're trying to deprive me of." I braced myself for the cat to swallow his mouse.

Weatherby slammed the table. "Roberta, do you know what Zimmerman said? Do you know why deputies, experts, councilmen, and most likely the Princeps himself are now being deprived of their sleep?"

"It was the dirt on Cao." I tried to buy myself a few more seconds.

"A truckload of dirt," specified Weatherby. "Princeps is having problems with cleaning it all. Cruz and Romano are hard to dismiss. The case itself is...technically irrefutable. Too many influentials have seen the materials, which were marked with a code inseparably linked to Alexander Cao and his files."

Weatherby moistened his lips. "We searched for that very code and found it among the ruins of your teaching applications and records, Roberta. We have magic to restore deleted items."

He said it with no satisfaction, his hand hitting the desk below twice more.

"You were worried about your future? About your assessments? About your marriage to Sylvia? All of that looked rough while people didn't give a damn about it. So close your eyes and try to comprehend what I'll do when I'm angry with you!"

The new principal was undergoing his first political test in his office, and he wasn't coping well, as one could tell by his pounding hand and quivering lip.

I sat in front of him, stressed, but at the same time I called for my reason to save me.

I tried to be pragmatic. "You don't have to know that; just keep it a secret."

"No! "Weatherby refused resolutely. "I want to know what's going on here. How you did it and who helped you!"

He was acting disgustingly, and given what Woodroof had told me about him, I began to despise him more than ever. His facade of intelligence was crumbling.

"Cao is just a replaceable candidate, and you're just the principal," I reminded him. "What are you afraid of? That someone will replace Cao, like he replaced Green, and that one won't like your turncoating so much?"

I knew I would make Weatherby angry, but I didn't. He fell silent, his lip quivering even more.

"Do you know him?" he asked. "The one who's going to take over from Cao?"

Ah, he remembered Ekstrom. Maybe this paranoid idea was worth feeding. "I might. Do you think a person who is not an agent of someone powerful could handle it?" I faked a laugh, but the fake laugh might have had an even better effect.

"You should be able to prove it!" Weatherby said coldly.

I stood up and leaned across the table towards him. "I'll give you proof, and it will bind you to help only the real breadwinner, me and Sylvia, from now on!"

"If Roberta speaks of her, I think we can trust her," a familiar voice said, coming from the computer in the corner of the principal's desk.

"Was that Georgianna?" I asked.

Weatherby nodded. "The new headmaster needs a hard-working deputy. Lady Georgianna has proven herself to be most capable, as she was the one who figured out how to search the teacher database, including yours..."

 

"The author of this comic was making fun of biology," I complained when I finally got to see my character in the virtual crystal mirror. It was as if I had ordered a giant swimming ring, only to find that a former student had taken revenge by shaping it into a fat black frog.

"She is Kranuut," Woodroof, aka Captain Kuntblade, explained to me unconvincingly. "They can live in water like fish, move underground like snakes, and yet walk bipedally like humanoids."

"Her nature probably can't afford to pay for every niche, so it has to micromanage," I said.

"Kran is a very wealthy planet," Woodroof objected. I made a gesture as if to slap her. She lacked a comic book answer for that and shut up.

I was pissed off not because of my alien character. I was thinking of Georgianna. She had admired me before and then found a way to use me. Maybe it was the fruits of her admiration. She didn't have to look after anyone, so maybe that was why she was so ruthless towards me and knew I could surprise myself with how much I dug up.

"I hope you understand that you can only do this because the princeps wants to have control over the situation." We sat on an alien beach filled with mountainous formations that we were using as chairs. In their midst were three cyborg knights, one of whom was speaking in the voice of Agent Daher.

"And bugging Neumann's computer will benefit everyone in the audience," Stacey said. "I'm glad you're capable of other kinds of support than physical."

"He's calling!" Zita announced, pressing a button on the pommel of her weapon—probably the kuntblade that gave her character the name.

"Tip," the mechanical voice said. "I can't imagine why you want to talk to me. I'm not in the mood for a list of villains, and the point of our last conversation was to read the fact that I can't moderate much anymore!" The distorted voice contained no emotion, but it was clear that Neumann's nerves were failing, and not in the sense that he had stopped feeling pain.

"I enjoy moderating, but without you we don't have enough material on new book titles," Zita said. "Horus Orthodoxy and I are in a situation where we can either study or chat. So I wanted to know if you could give us a few tips for a free discussion evening."

The man on the other end wasn't happy about the request, but he spoke up. Dismissively, at first, then instructively, while still ignorant about the fact that Knight Provecho is targeting his IP address.

"He better be Neumann," Daher said, cracking his teeth. "And he better have important information on that computer."

"You take the important one; I'll be satisfied with a merely authenticated one," I said.

"Tip," an agitated voice disrupted the flow of the conversation. "I might turn my systems off. I've registered some hacking activity."

"Are you a wacko? You must have a top-notch firewall!" Not even Woodroof could pretend to be calm.

"What are you doing?!" Stacey chivvied Provecho.

"I don't know what I'm seeing! It's as if he has four other computers connected to his own, snitching on each other and on me!" The hacker had naturally quick hands, but now they were dancing on the keyboard, issuing as many commands as there are words in English.

"This is one skillful hacker," Neumann commented from the distance. "I must find where they are and... My God! There? You?"

"He's ended the chat!" Zita shouted, desperately.

"The computer is now off-limits," Provecho affirmed.

Daher didn't need to unlock his Quasar revolver to make me worry about losing my head to him.

"I'll contact the CIA for intel about Neumann. But trust me, if he's not in the predictable spot, you'll wish you could have disappeared with him—which I won't let you!"

The agent accepted the idea of unmaking the trouble I made, but I had to stay up until one in the morning for it. It was no harm to me, since I wouldn't have slept anyway, but I didn't enjoy it. Daher and I sat in silence in the interrogation room, whose door finally opened again, and two handcuffed figures were led in by the male enforcers. Our former principals.

"I wish we were discussing the teaching forecasts again, Roberta," Daniel Mayson expressed sentimentally.

"The problem is, we're always dealing with the kids, but no one's watching the adult politicians, Daniel," I quipped.

"What's wrong with you? I thought our plan had worked when Zimmerman adjourned his trial again and disappeared," Arnolph asked.

"I guess you don't watch the news anymore either. Zimmerman left us, we were relieved. But then Cao disappeared, and now Neumann has vanished into thin air, too."

"The guilt admitted," Mayson spat out.

Daher pulled a disgustingly squished piece of gum out of his mouth and threw it into the bin. I didn't even know if the gesture was meant to parody Daniel or me.

"I took a careless step. I need to ask you two if you have learned where Cao and Neumann might be hiding. Love nest, treason nest, we would like to end their unexpected vacation and put those two pupils in detention!"

You can read more of my stuff here.

Roberta

If you have chosen a career as a teacher, it is likely that you are an idealist whose brain revels in the presentation of information but suffers from an inability to process warning signs.

Disappointment and a sense of unappreciation can make you a drug addict or at least an alcoholic.

My tongue tastes the drink, the warm Mexican sun, and the bitter cactus needles rolling around my mouth.

Weatherby allowed us to take a liquor of our choice to his appointment, and you need something spicier when you have to look at him sitting behind the principal's desk. Full-time teachers and co-lectors alike would like to be preserved in alcohol at the idea of our inclusion in the new school curriculum.

"The past school year has been intense, and we have a lot to build on to approach the often problematic wards in the next school year," says Weatherby in the suite, a possible specimen of one of the fabled missing links. "Since normal educational subjects will only be provided in rare cases where they might benefit the inmate, here Lindsey—" He pointed to his admirer with a cup of gum of her own making—"will get a position as a scientific advisor for experience with submitting to androcentrism. She writes a comprehensive doctoral thesis about it, and the new students will help her."

There is a small gap between our table and his desk, but except for Lindsey Trevorrow, we are not close to it. Weatherby's authority bites us like overgrown lice.

"Of course, not everything will change!" emphasizes Weatherby, whose mood, unlike ours, is improving. "For example, Ruby has to repeat a year due to her treatment, so she'll continue to assist us with teaching the Art of Lovemaking. Especially younger inmates will appreciate her presence!"

The porn star did not react to his words in any way. One had to talk to her face; if they wanted a reaction.

"However, other ladies are waiting for modified assignments, just like Lindsey. Lady Georgianna turns into a slave of the master Malcolm. We're all looking forward to seeing her in the harness!"

The dominatrix poured herself a new glass of the dark whisky. Beck winked at me and my wife. We still had fresh memories of seeing each other at a consultation, where we had talked about my future. I came there like any other inmate.

"We're thrilled with the captivating lesbian performances you've given at the Lovemaking Bar," Beck said. "However, you should consider all the more what you prefer in the future. We have already handed you a document with the name of the man who applied for you."

"No," I resolutely refused. I won't spend an hour with him, let alone life."

"Then it's our right to auction you," Beck said, scratching his nose. "Due to the nature of your couple, the auction hall will probably sell you two for the price of one, and interested parties have been informed about your skills. Cabarets and brothels will certainly consider you a lucrative investment."

"I'm a teacher, not a stripper," I objected.

Beck tapped his finger impatiently on the table. "And that's why you aroused the interest of another group. Rich men who are alright with their wives but would like to get the tutor and comforter for their teenage son. Even two. I think you should openly agree to such a possibility from the beginning, because it will take a while before the state allows women to return to the public education sphere."

"I'd rather cook somewhere in the gas station restaurant," I told him. "But with the marks we have given you, they won't want you there," says the cook on Beck's left venomously.

Georgianna se omluvila a z Weatherby's mummery odešla, jakmile to bonton dovoloval.

"I admire you. You're the only one of us who's holding on," she told me.

She overestimated me. The future suffocates me, I need to be reminded of the time dedicated to celebrate love.

Before the next breakfast, I wanted to ask Sylvia if she knew what day it was, but I woke up second.

My wife was already bending over me, and with considerate movements, she was pushing my pillow away so that she could caress my face.

"You like punctuality, Roberta, so we have to say something to each other when we wake up." She gave up all the dignity she usually held up when she spoke to me. I saw Kelly studying us from a distance, behind her shoulder, while I could only see the leg and the edge of the side of Hamilton. Basma was hiding from me. I could sense her, immobilized by Hamilton's relentless grip.

I forgot about my roommates when Sylvia kissed me on the cheek for a long time. Then on the lips. and finally on the other cheek.

"If I had to name every single thing I'm grateful for, I wouldn't fit in with the rest of our generation," Sylvia sighed. "Thank you for you, my love! Thank you for sticking with me until today's anniversary!"

"And I thank you for being the first to accept me as I am! "I don't know if she understood me through my tears. "Even though I think your dream has come true and you don't have to spend any of your salary on a gift for me!"

Sylvia gave me a smaller kiss on the forehead. "I have two presents for you. You'll get one when we get back to bed..." She turned away and wiggled her adorable ass. "As for the latter, I begged Lindsay to keep the small fruits of labor from our stocks." She handed me a tiny bottle containing a clear liquid. "It literally contains drops of our sweat, but it smells sweet. It smells like the day we met."

Remembering the beginning of someone's love is to enter the stream of eternity.

Lindsay and I don't just work on perfumes, but mainly on those chewing gums that she likes to show off so much at all meetings. In the evening, we each took one while putting on body underwear, which we called leaky webs, before heading to the Lovemaking Bar stage.

We used to spend the evening with only one guy, but Martin apparently fulfilled his life in some grizzly's stomach. Arnolph outlined a new destiny for us in the form of a performance for many men. They didn't touch us anymore but ogled us with vehemence. We stood by the statue of a giant metal hedgehog and stimulated its belly, from which a semi-solid red play-dough sphere stuck out. Once it grew enough, we each swung on it from one side and engaged our butts, backs, and bosoms to mold it into a heart shape. As with any acrobatic number, it was hell at the beginning, but now we manage it in a single minute, and in the middle of that new heart we met, touching each other with bubbles coming out of our mouths. We ran with them from the crevice between the breasts to the lines dividing the small tongues of passion that made up mine and Sylvia's female flower.

"Don't burst them! Don't burst them!" chanted the Heirs, enjoying our movements, the way a single man had once enjoyed looking at us. Bursting them was a necessity; they were, after all, a symbol of our orgasm. My bubble exploded loudly as its scent mingled with the air coming from Sylvia's crotch. At least I stuck out my tongue, knowing that the men below us wouldn't know the difference for a little while.

Right after this care, Sylvia defiled me with chewing gum and her saliva. It hit me above my ass.

The heart spun with us for a while, and we had to endure its rotation until the mass was completely freed from the hedgehog. The fall, however, did not end our lovemaking. The meat hooks persisted until it seemed appropriate to us to use our limbs to wave to the eager male crowd, pressing towards their mostly involuntary companions.

Sylvia and I sat down at a table with egg soup in our underwear. We had regular refreshments with Bar Society after the show. Today, thanks to our special reminder, we felt exceptionally festive, even though we were deprived of privacy.

I hugged Sylvia. Spontaneity was not my strong suit, but I believed I might be able to tell her something nice and new.

"You've been like that ever since you learned to talk. You run to toys and machines that can be switched off at any time. You can't do that with people, so you don't understand them."

An old woman shouted from the next table. My wife and I listened to the reproaches she leveled at the much younger man sitting opposite from her as we ate our slow meal. I found out that it was one of our reluctant allies, Carl. Either he couldn't speak quietly or he didn't mind making his family argument public.

"Some people are easier to deal with, Mother," he snapped. "I'll leave; you know I have to do that. But I'm not going to disappear under your thumb until I've arranged something for my friends. I have several here, not just Nicole. And by naming her, I'm reminding you that you should meet her!"

His mother gasped. "I heard she's engaged."

Carl nodded. "You'd be surprised how well I get along with her fiancé. But you don't know anything about her as a person. You should ask—"

"Don't you know what this place is? Didn't you watch the news with us yesterday? Even the judge ran away from here!"

Aha! Zimmerman concluded his trial after all!

"You call that an escape? Cruz and Romano accompanied him to Washington like a pair of seraphim with flaming swords! He found the truth here, as I did. I wish the same for you." 

"They did it!" Sylvia said.

"Shh!" I shouted out at her. "It's a consequence of our nobility but hasn't paid off for us." She should have been in a good mood because of our day, not because something that wouldn't benefit us anyway. 

Carl and his mother left the table with their food still unfinished, and they were hardly an exception. The seated Heirs thinned out considerably and discussed with their parents on the way, on rare occasions separating from them.

"We are blessed, girl, unburdened by the straight sex," I said and took Sylvia's hand lovingly. 

"I am grateful for you, Roberta, not for my homosexuality," Sylvia disagreed. 

"Don't you understand what the straight sex produces?"

"People," Sylvia responded.

"Worse! Children!" We both laughed. I had to continue.

"Mother Nature is terrifying, and the relationship between parent and child is the testament to her sadism," I lectured my wife. "Sometimes it starts with the hetero couples' relationships."

"Like the praying mantis," Sylvia suggested. 

"Eating the male? That's just the most obvious. What about those spiders whose mothers give themselves as food for their children because they are less important than them? Or have you heard about the anglerfish? Where a male reduces himself to just a sperm producer living from the blood sucked out of the female?"

"But that's how many human females would describe their marriage!" My wife chuckled.

"Metaphors, schmetaphors, Sylvia! The point is that life is pointless and sex is part of it! I mean, especially the straight sex because that's how genes sacrifice us in the name of the new carrier! Or what about the mayfly legend..."

"What legend?" Sylvia asked. "They live for one day. Yesterday evening is a legend for them."

"That's what people got wrong!" I lectured her. "They live for several years as larvae. That short lifespan, that is simply their maturity when they can fuck, and then they are offed because that's the only thing their maturity is for."

"I'm glad we did it more than once," Sylvia said. 

"Sex is part of the problem, but we homosexuals have it better because our consequences are so limited," I told her. "Also, there is the love that makes it more bearable. I'm glad that you're a blessed lesbian like me, Sylvia, and that you gave me your heart in exchange for mine."

From another nearby table, I noticed Deborah Sledge smiling at me, holding the hand of her lover Raven, served by her sex slave Helen. 

"It was time to exchange them," Sylvia said. "When we met, you were fat, and there was a risk that the blood pumper would break not by loneliness but by clogged blood vessels."

I puffed. "What are you doing?"

Sylvia blinked. "Today, I want you to have lots of energy in bed, and you are at your most awake when angry with someone rude," Sylvia declared boldly. "And I know you'll never punish me on our anniversary!"

I didn't even know if I was being playful or angry when I said, "You often sound so stupid I don't know how you ever became a teacher."

"You're careless, and I suspect you've married me to have a replacement mom," I added on the way back home.

We walked cautiously around the squirming Hamilton in the room. She may have only pretended to be asleep so that she could spy on us. Sylvia stretched out longingly on the bed, her beauty triumphing over the lack of light.

"You have such a lazy ass that I must beat it every other week," I whispered, unable to resist the innocence, seasoned with Sylvia's lust. It started with her opening her mouth wide and resting one foot on the pillow and continued with freeing her beautiful breasts from under the useless cloth of the underwear.

"My ass might be lazy, but tonight it wants to work. And my pussy wants to be filled, and it aches to be stimulated!" Sylvia moaned as if I were already eating her out.

"Undress completely, restless student!"

I ordered her. Sylvia obeyed, and, since she was in the mood, her every move was overflowing with love and fervor. When she lifted her legs up, she was able to bulge her ass even when lying down, and as soon as she got rid of the underwear, she spread her legs so wide that one would think she wanted to suck the moon into herself.

She threw her underwear over my head. I got hers and mine out of myself. The trembling of my completely naked skin charmed the connection between me and the nakedness of my wife. Sylvie pressed her breasts together, emphasizing her need for lustful touches.

I was so horny that I directed my next kiss at her chest and tormented one of her stiff nipples in my mouth. We've been hurting each other a lot during sex lately. We did everything possible to make the other one have a reason to scream, which the other couldn't do, because, unlike our former roommates, we didn't desire to wake anyone up.

I knew what she was trying to tell me. I need you below! It was true that I had already secured myself there. My fingers alternately massaged my clit and then thrust in. The memory of my recent experience with men made me clench with fear, so I had to fix my eyes on Sylvia's face, reminding myself of my beloved being.

But now I shouldn't have looked at her face, so I kept my hand on my clit. I released Sylvia's nipple from the grip of my tongue and teeth and slid my head between her legs. I couldn't see much from her pussy, but that never stopped anyone. My lips, and especially my tongue, delighted both of us by teasing the depths of her tender sex, so sweet, so tight, and so responsive. We were engaging in the act of pure and natural love.

The sound of the tawse and the lament of a girl provided a welcome contrast to my previous career, so I learned to tolerate my stay here. I focused on my profession as much as possible. Many girls defied me stubbornly and made it clear to me what they thought of my orientation. Basma from my own room, to whom I already passed on the notion of the discipline. Gladys with family for a hundred years in Klan. Whenever a girl proved to be ill-mannered, I could always draw my weapon.

The punitive implements remained at school for my successors, but the teaching materials slowly disappeared into the basement and often even into the rubbish bins. In the spirit of the reform introduced by our new principal, the maps were rolled up and were never to be unrolled again. We had to delete the virtual reality files en masse. The flasks and test tubes turned into piles of shards, and not even the law of conservation of mass could save them. The mob focused on our science.

I say "our," but Lindsey could have shit herself out of excitement when I gave her the inventory of the destroyed property to sign. "It was an honor to work with you, Roberta," she said, gently reminding me that she will be a teacher for at least one more year, whereas I won't be.

"We still need Brandon's signature," my colleague added. "You are lucky; he wants more from me. Although, if I give it to him, I might get a summer vacation."

Weatherby wasn't filing or digitizing the documents in his office. He was lurking. I could tell from the way he was sitting. He would occasionally rearrange something on his desk to his liking, but as soon as I walked in, he would stop. This confirmed to me that I was the prey he was looking for.

He snatched the paper from my hand. "You have something much more important to give me, Roberta: the explanation."

"That's just one word. Two if you're feeling generous. Explain yourself about the explanation."

I sat without him inviting me to. I believed that by pissing him off, I could derail him beyond his comfort zone.

"Do you know what Judge Zimmerman did?" Weatherby asked me. 

I leaned against the chair and had to be careful not to fall. How much good would it do me to play dumb?

"I heard that the trial was interrupted because he had to attend to his duties elsewhere. Some old lady at the bar was telling her son that Zimmerman had appeared at the Conclave. The scene of our Tower is more important than it seems from inside the classrooms."

Weatherby drummed his whole hand in an accelerating rhythm.

"Roberta, if the world of the classroom had been enough for you, you might have been happy."

"I guess not, if that's what you're trying to deprive me of." I braced myself for the cat to swallow his mouse.

Weatherby slammed the table. "Roberta, do you know what Zimmerman said? Do you know why deputies, experts, councilmen, and most likely the Princeps himself are now being deprived of their sleep?"

"It was the dirt on Cao." I tried to buy myself a few more seconds.

"A truckload of dirt," specified Weatherby. "Princeps is having problems with cleaning it all. Cruz and Romano are hard to dismiss. The case itself is...technically irrefutable. Too many influentials have seen the materials, which were marked with a code inseparably linked to Alexander Cao and his files."

Weatherby moistened his lips. "We searched for that very code and found it among the ruins of your teaching applications and records, Roberta. We have magic to restore deleted items."

He said it with no satisfaction, his hand hitting the desk below twice more.

"You were worried about your future? About your assessments? About your marriage to Sylvia? All of that looked rough while people didn't give a damn about it. So close your eyes and try to comprehend what I'll do when I'm angry with you!"

The new principal was undergoing his first political test in his office, and he wasn't coping well, as one could tell by his pounding hand and quivering lip.

I sat in front of him, stressed, but at the same time I called for my reason to save me.

I tried to be pragmatic. "You don't have to know that; just keep it a secret."

"No! "Weatherby refused resolutely. "I want to know what's going on here. How you did it and who helped you!"

He was acting disgustingly, and given what Woodroof had told me about him, I began to despise him more than ever. His facade of intelligence was crumbling.

"Cao is just a replaceable candidate, and you're just the principal," I reminded him. "What are you afraid of? That someone will replace Cao, like he replaced Green, and that one won't like your turncoating so much?"

I knew I would make Weatherby angry, but I didn't. He fell silent, his lip quivering even more.

"Do you know him?" he asked. "The one who's going to take over from Cao?"

Ah, he remembered Ekstrom. Maybe this paranoid idea was worth feeding. "I might. Do you think a person who is not an agent of someone powerful could handle it?" I faked a laugh, but the fake laugh might have had an even better effect.

"You should be able to prove it!" Weatherby said coldly.

I stood up and leaned across the table towards him. "I'll give you proof, and it will bind you to help only the real breadwinner, me and Sylvia, from now on!"

"If Roberta speaks of her, I think we can trust her," a familiar voice said, coming from the computer in the corner of the principal's desk.

"Was that Georgianna?" I asked.

Weatherby nodded. "The new headmaster needs a hard-working deputy. Lady Georgianna has proven herself to be most capable, as she was the one who figured out how to search the teacher database, including yours..."

 

"The author of this comic was making fun of biology," I complained when I finally got to see my character in the virtual crystal mirror. It was as if I had ordered a giant swimming ring, only to find that a former student had taken revenge by shaping it into a fat black frog.

"She is Kranuut," Woodroof, aka Captain Kuntblade, explained to me unconvincingly. "They can live in water like fish, move underground like snakes, and yet walk bipedally like humanoids."

"Her nature probably can't afford to pay for every niche, so it has to micromanage," I said.

"Kran is a very wealthy planet," Woodroof objected. I made a gesture as if to slap her. She lacked a comic book answer for that and shut up.

I was pissed off not because of my alien character. I was thinking of Georgianna. She had admired me before and then found a way to use me. Maybe it was the fruits of her admiration. She didn't have to look after anyone, so maybe that was why she was so ruthless towards me and knew I could surprise myself with how much I dug up.

"I hope you understand that you can only do this because the princeps wants to have control over the situation." We sat on an alien beach filled with mountainous formations that we were using as chairs. In their midst were three cyborg knights, one of whom was speaking in the voice of Agent Daher.

"And bugging Neumann's computer will benefit everyone in the audience," Stacey said. "I'm glad you're capable of other kinds of support than physical."

"He's calling!" Zita announced, pressing a button on the pommel of her weapon—probably the kuntblade that gave her character the name.

"Tip," the mechanical voice said. "I can't imagine why you want to talk to me. I'm not in the mood for a list of villains, and the point of our last conversation was to read the fact that I can't moderate much anymore!" The distorted voice contained no emotion, but it was clear that Neumann's nerves were failing, and not in the sense that he had stopped feeling pain.

"I enjoy moderating, but without you we don't have enough material on new book titles," Zita said. "Horus Orthodoxy and I are in a situation where we can either study or chat. So I wanted to know if you could give us a few tips for a free discussion evening."

The man on the other end wasn't happy about the request, but he spoke up. Dismissively, at first, then instructively, while still ignorant about the fact that Knight Provecho is targeting his IP address.

"He better be Neumann," Daher said, cracking his teeth. "And he better have important information on that computer."

"You take the important one; I'll be satisfied with a merely authenticated one," I said.

"Tip," an agitated voice disrupted the flow of the conversation. "I might turn my systems off. I've registered some hacking activity."

"Are you a wacko? You must have a top-notch firewall!" Not even Woodroof could pretend to be calm.

"What are you doing?!" Stacey chivvied Provecho.

"I don't know what I'm seeing! It's as if he has four other computers connected to his own, snitching on each other and on me!" The hacker had naturally quick hands, but now they were dancing on the keyboard, issuing as many commands as there are words in English.

"This is one skillful hacker," Neumann commented from the distance. "I must find where they are and... My God! There? You?"

"He's ended the chat!" Zita shouted, desperately.

"The computer is now off-limits," Provecho affirmed.

Daher didn't need to unlock his Quasar revolver to make me worry about losing my head to him.

"I'll contact the CIA for intel about Neumann. But trust me, if he's not in the predictable spot, you'll wish you could have disappeared with him—which I won't let you!"

The agent accepted the idea of unmaking the trouble I made, but I had to stay up until one in the morning for it. It was no harm to me, since I wouldn't have slept anyway, but I didn't enjoy it. Daher and I sat in silence in the interrogation room, whose door finally opened again, and two handcuffed figures were led in by the male enforcers. Our former principals.

"I wish we were discussing the teaching forecasts again, Roberta," Daniel Mayson expressed sentimentally.

"The problem is, we're always dealing with the kids, but no one's watching the adult politicians, Daniel," I quipped.

"What's wrong with you? I thought our plan had worked when Zimmerman adjourned his trial again and disappeared," Arnolph asked.

"I guess you don't watch the news anymore either. Zimmerman left us, we were relieved. But then Cao disappeared, and now Neumann has vanished into thin air, too."

"The guilt admitted," Mayson spat out.

Daher pulled a disgustingly squished piece of gum out of his mouth and threw it into the bin. I didn't even know if the gesture was meant to parody Daniel or me.

"I took a careless step. I need to ask you two if you have learned where Cao and Neumann might be hiding. Love nest, treason nest, we would like to end their unexpected vacation and put those two pupils in detention!"

Jonathan

"Sea-sick, laddie? I think you are not allowed to drink any alcohol. Pussy, on the other hand, cures any boy's malady," Jean-Eric praised his favorite part of the female body. I had to thank God I have a very loyal and good friend who can't see things for what they are.

For one, I wasn't seasick. I felt that way when I was twelve, but today, if I was pale in the face, it was because I was about to disembark and meet relatives, old and new.

And he was wrong about parts of the female body, too. Pussy is important, some would say crucial, but my eyes and hands craved something different. Even the cock can go there, and no children will ever make an exit.

Jean-Eric rubbed his shaved face as if he wanted to grow a manly beard and showed his blond ponytail to the ladies who were bringing dinner to all the passengers on the ship. He nudged me and pointed to the girl who was bringing us chicken and spinach twice.

"Buy her!" he urged me. "It's in the contract, and your bride will be wonderfully jealous when she smells it on you!"

This time he was right. The girls on board the Eurus owned their bodies only during the day. At night they were supposed to provide the passengers with more than just a plate and a smile. They were alre-ady inviting special services. The nipples printed on their uniforms revealed that they were not wearing bras and, if the advertising leaflet was not lying, the same was true of their panties.

We were served by daughters of Asia or daughters of Africa, all in the red miniskirts purple T-shirts, but our waitress was a pure European beauty, distinguished by thick red hair and proudly wearing her tight T-shirt, in which her D-cup breasts stood out.

"I want to do something with her," I admitted, whispering. "But it will be more about training my ma-nhood. You know. Before you can love a woman, you have to conquer her."

"Cool," Jean-Eric said. "Your bride will be for a right kind of terror!"

The waitress clearly knew that she didn't just have to bring the feast; she had to be a little feast herself, practicing the art of the smile and leaning forward. Admirable.

I thanked her and smelled the rich aroma. But before I took my cutlery, I reached into my wallet and showed the girl a bundle of two hundred Eastern dollars.

"They will be yours after this night," I told her. "Meet me at seven before cabin 15."

She kept her fake smile, but I could see in her eyes that she wasn't looking forward to what I was going to do to her. I started eating and looked at the buckle on my belt. I thought I would please her with something and embarass her with something else.

I had eaten enough, but not so much that I was tired. Jean-Eric left me to grope other hostesses while I galloped after my chosen one. As I thought, she smiled only when she noticed me coming. I let her into the cabin, holding her hand. She sat down on the bed, but as she started to take off her shirt, I stopped her.

"It will be better if you completely undress," I assured her. "However, you must know that instead of classic love, you will have a little play of tough parenting love." I playfully leaned her forward and slap-ped her ass to make it clear what was in store for her.

I felt her breathing on my hand, although I wasn't sure if it was a sign of relief or that of stress.

"I'm surprised you didn't stay in Europe," the hostess sighed. "They often don't care about whether a woman wants it or not. The spanking, I mean."

I made her look at me and tried to smile, sincerely, this time. "Yes, I've seen a lot of that. I spent some time in Kiev. In the courtyard there, a female teacher, who was unfairly grading her students, got a few strokes with her cane. There was also a pretty young woman who was wailing there once because she disrespected her husband in front of their children. The whole family was standing in the front rows...

"You traveled all that far?" the hostess was surprised.

"Yes, actually it was related to what we were talking about. My family does business with a Belarusian who used to teach political sciences but then got rich trading in slaves. He benefits many poor people by buying their wives, daughters, many of them voluntarily..." "Okay," the hostess could hardly control her grin. "What will you use on me, and how many strokes will you give me?"

I felt a little bad that she didn't like the idea, but I preferred the thrill of the anticipation of beating the insolence and resistance out of her. "Fifteen with my belt," I announced. "What's your name, Miss?"

"Camilla," she replied, annoyed.

"Will it be your first thrashing, Ms. Camilla?"

"Dad switched me once," she admitted reluctantly.

Who knows, maybe this will be a milder experience," I mused. "Now undress and get your ass ready for the scorching." She got up and her clothes soon began to fall on the bed. I had an easy task. I just un-fastened the belt, folded it, and played with it a bit in front of the girl undressing. I even slammed it menacingly on the table when it seemed to me that he was dragging his feet too much.

"Wouldn't you like to fuck after all?" she asked me, and I have to say that when she stood in front of me without any secrets, I thought about changing my wish at the last minute, but then I tightened my belt and reminded myself of the pleasure of the erotic power. In addition, I spared myself of classic erotic experiences until I met Clementine. I shook my head and moved the pillow to indicate where to lay down his narrow waist. Reconciled with her fate, she lay down on the bed, and the sight of her ma-de me feel better. Staring at her ass was better than star-gazing.

"You don't have to count," I assured the beauty before letting her enjoy the first stroke. "Owww!" She clung to the pillow with her fingers, like a cat when she is afraid of losing her bed. At the same time, her long, cute legs shook. I liked that. Not to mention that there was a dark mark on her ass after my touch. If I had any regrets before, they quickly left me. Especially when I remembered the beautiful sound of her scream. I wondered what it would be like if I hit her somewhere else...

With a sadistic penchant for girlish suffering, I whipped her thighs. The stroke hit the right one in par-ticular, but Camilla must have felt the pain because she cried out loudly and raised her feet to the air.

This was starting to be fun. I climbed onto the bed next to her and partially covered her legs. My next stroke was directed at her left thigh, and I made sure that she felt even more. I probably succeeded, because Camille was bawling like a baby and started dodging me. However, I could not allow her to lose her honestly earned money. Even though punishing her thighs was tempting, I put my hand on the soft skin of the small of her back and, above all, focused most of the time on her twisting, restless ass.

Nine more blows, nine slaps on Camilla's cheeks triggered countless tears and pleadings, and I hoped they weren't just pretended. I knew that spankings are actually welcome among boat owners because their soft ladies are more sensitive, so Camilla should actually thank me. I noticed an interesting purple spot on the trembling ass. I tickled her with my index finger. "Owieee, owieee," Camilla wailed, but I don't know if she wanted to evoke sympathy. "You'll have a pretty nice bruise here," I said, praising my work. "Sensitive, isn't it?"

"Ye-gulp-yeah."

I gripped my belt again, and with a quick and precise swing, I aimed it right there.

"WAAAAAA-ARGHHH-AAAAH!"

Camilla was desperately trying to catch her breath, even though the end of the beating consisted of only three strokes. I imagined myself watching Uncle Thomas and Aunt Yuka watching the whipping, in awe of how skillful I am.

I felt satisfied when I imagined how I would now give her ten minutes of corner time and only then let her get dressed. But I had to restrain myself. As much as I enjoyed what I did with her, and as much as I finally felt like the master of the situation, I still felt the opposite, unacknowledged passion.

Beatrice

Helot service was more difficult for employees and completely humiliating for anyone who could not encounter physical correction in a normal job. Although Beatrice had extra pounds, she was better off than Alexandra, slow and attracting annoying attention.

Members of their unit were again tasked with cleaning, this time the Turtle Pavilion at the zoo, and the safety of many small, expensive specimens had to be overseen. True, there were many larger turtles, but unfortunately, they didn't give a fuck about their small cousins. So the workers had to perform a humiliating service in their underwear. Some girls and boys like Alexandra would always be an unwanted distraction half-naked, but now, in addition to her body, she was showing off maps of red spots, welts, and bruises, making herself a rising attraction.

"Is that part of a sentence? I don't remember hearing about this in the news." One senior man could not control his curiosity.

"Or is that your new job? Prostituting yourself for the kinksters?" asked the youth with a missing tooth, possibly in his early twenties. "Because if so, I know what I could spend the hidden remnants of my allowance on!" he chuckled, making Beatrice wonder if the government was secretly performing lobotomies on its citizens.

"Ask Mr. Flynn if you like your parts beaten," she scolded the youth and made him take a distance with her scowl. However, she had to admit that a girl with striped breasts was a better sight than the bumps of shells hiding listless reptiles.

She started somewhere else but moved her bucket so that she was practically breathing down Alexandra's neck. "You've done enough, and we're going to have a break," she murmured to her. "I think we'll both spend it using the toilet."

Alexandra, looking both weary and frustrated, nodded. Once they were allowed to, they went into the hallway, and in the bathroom Beatrice slammed the door shut with a broom. "We need privacy even from the other ladies."

"Why?" Alexandra asked. "For the first time in my life, I don't mind guys staring at me, but otherwise I wouldn't complain," she whined.

"You have more to complain about," Beatrice said. "If you screw up your job, I might lose mine, and I would prefer if that didn‘t happen. On the other hand, if you succeed but get crazy or die in the process, I might lose it too or live with pangs of conscience. So, thank you for the job, girl, and believe me, it was a treat seeing you humiliated, but I hate when snoots treat someone like a punching bag or a sex doll."

"Or a punching sex doll," Alexandra suggested. She avoided Beatrice‘s gaze for a moment, then looked into her eyes. "You spoke differently when Yuka was around."

"You don‘t complain right up just after you were hired," Beatrice said. "I would have saved you from the flames on the day we met even if I knew from the start what had happened. I will save you from the danger. That is my lifelong mission! "

Alexandra hesitated. "The city has rejected us, so we must turn to the rich. Who knows, maybe one day I'll meet a man who likes this." She ran her hands over the lines on her chest.

"You'll meet their nephew," Beatrice reminded her. "Once he gets here, it'll be too late. Yuka's going to have you tied up at his house, and you think my job is to keep you safe? No, my job is to keep you from running away. It's best for both of us if we run away now. Maybe they'll accept us into Klan territory. We're both white, and they hate the Grand York government."

"My uncle is a patriot," Alexandra wailed. "And I think my cousin lives right there as one of the knights. What if he asks him to kill me?"

"Then I'll tell you another way!" Beatrice finally got angry. "People like you and me, Alexandra, are the potential collateral damage for them! It will mean nothing to them if you die, and I would have to be taken care of! That's why I advise you to escape while you can!"

"I'm afraid nobody will employ us anymore!" Alexandra cried out.

Beatrice spoke to her again, a little more seriously. "Alexandra, do you remember what I did the last time you didn't act like in adult and threatened the people around you?"

Alexandra turned pale. "That's beyond compare."

"You're not a threat to so many people now, but I still know what I must do!" The former firefighter was faster this time. She grabbed Alexandra's hand and pulled it part way over her knee, covering her upper half with one of the sinks. She immediately pulled down her friend's tiny panties.

"Not again!" Alexanda resisted. "Beatrice, I can think about it..."

SLAP!

Beatrice took immense pleasure in pounding that slender ass again, already marked by the recent care of Yuka and two guys in Lynch-Metzen's dungeon. It turned out typically there. Alexandra was uncooperative, so it took additional strokes and lashes before she began to cooperate and could finally be released home.

Alexandra is a dumb girl, and those need special guidance.

SLAP! SLAP!

Beatrice concentrated her tremendous strength and slapped both cheeks of the rapidly reddening bottom separately. Bearice turned her head and saw the face of the suffering girl, gritting her teeth. She stroked the young woman's bottom for a long time, like a caring, forgiving mother. She immediately corrected her by slapping her right in the middle.

"Yaowww!" Alexandra shouted but quickly fell silent.

"Do you want to embarrass yourself, girl?" Beatrice asked.

Alexandra shook her head quickly. She was rewarded with a lighter blow to her right cheek.

Beatrice rubbed her hand on her warm behind. She decided to give it a little shock therapy. "The guys will hear what's going on here, but it doesn't matter (SLAP!). They're used to it, and they know roughly what's going on with you (SLAP!), but know that the man they're preparing you for (SLAP!) could be many times worse (SLAP!), and it could end up killing us both (SLAP!), so come to your senses and see to it that this will be the last thrashing of yours for a while."

She might have finished her speech, but the humiliating spanking was not over. Alexandra trembled after each blow and jumped a little without really defending herself. Despite that, Beatrice increased her force to emphasize the importance of her request. Since the maiden had finally shown herself to be understanding, she finished after counting twenty-seven sharp spanks.

"I'll do that!" Alexandra confirmed sensibly through her tears and slowly put her panties back where they belonged. With the permission of the satisfied Beatrice, she unlocked the door of the bathroom. The break was just ending, and the unfortunate Alexandra leapt even more distant from the guys from the party and definitely did not lean forward too much so that her latest wounds would not stand out.

Jonathan

Camilla's private whipping helped me overcome the anxiety I felt before my short engagement and wedding. I lay down on the bed, and my thoughts returned to her cute scream and skin changing color involuntarily. I wondered how Clementine, who had been preparing for a similar relationship since she was little, would react to my belt.

Yes, since she was little. But I was tempted to try something different. It started with an "innocent" bachelor party that I celebrated with my friend Howard. We invited six strippers who had covered maybe the crotch, nipples, and forehead at the beginning, but during the evening they lost that and showed us that even this slow, minimalist undressing can be an art. But then his future wife came for Howard. With his sister and mother marching towards us. What they did left me breathless.

Suzan, who was getting ready for a wedding night, slapped the face of her fiancé, and as she led him away, her hand made a similar mark on Howard's backside, which his mother and sister also enthusiastically praised. A stream of thoughts flowed through me at that time. Could it be that he had been raised in his family in a similar style intended for girls in my neighborhood? From then on, I looked at dominant women like my mother and people like Aunt Yuka completely differently. I wondered what it would be like to remain a little boy forever, grateful for the gentle touches but also aware of the reprimanding and painful ones that I might eventually like.

But even Jean-Eric wouldn't understand that, let alone Uncle Thomas. "When a man dominates over a woman, he's drawing on his nature-given strength," the proud guy liked to say. "When a woman dominates a man, they're just playing."

The way I saw it, it was a game anyway. Only the people clinging to the idea of power needed to pretend otherwise.

I dared to be playful...

So that night I was in a dilemma. On the one hand I couldn't forget Camilla's battered behind, but at the same time I imagined what it would be like if she complained to the captain. He would be angry, and as his deputy, he would send his wife, who works in the galley, clutching the paddle.

No, that's impossible. That's what the girls are here for. No one would blame me, and if they did, they would send a man...

My thoughts influenced my dreams at night, but I didn't see anyone until dawn. At breakfast, I didn't register Camille among the hostesses, and Jean-Eric and I glanced at a Black woman who, although she was publicly kissing a fat Belgian, was making it clear to all the men that she was enjoying every aspect of her job.

Alas, the wenches were available to the passengers, and it was their duty, and ours, to disembark on the shores of The Grand York.

"Boy, I envy you getting married now," Jean-Eric lamented. "Your family will throw you a bigger party than when the prodigal son came back to his dad."

"Funny you mention that," I lamented, turning back on the steps leading off the ship. "When I was leaving, they gave me the first woman to test my dominance, and I became the laughingstock for a night."

"What happened?" Jean-Eric asked.

I didn't want to talk about it, but it was too late to go mute. "The girl started crying and screaming that she didn't really want it. I freed her from the handcuffs and didn't even touch her. Uncle Thomas laughed at me. He explained that it was the most important test of my script. I was supposed to remain deaf to her pleads and show how I could break her. "I shuddered. "I looked like a weakling!"

Jean-Eric shrugged. "Failure is the teacher, man," he stretched. When you have a chance to torture a woman, don't let her open her mouth!"

"Come, Jonathan!" Return to the home soil!" shouted an excited Aunt Yuka down the steps.

"I'm coming with one guy, sentenced to the married life! " Jean-Eric exclaimed, laughing.

"If he gets it done like I did, he'll never have to complain. He'll be the one setting the course!" exclaimed Uncle Thomas, kissing his wife passionately on the cheeks and lips before throwing his strong arms around me.

"And we definitely don't want him to get lost in the sea of relationships," Yuka said, turning to Jean-Eric for a moment. Then she shook my hand and gave me a quick kiss under the eye. She turned to Jean-Eric for a moment. "We'll introduce you to our dungeon soon. Clementine is waiting there for the wedding, and she'll definitely be grateful for a familiar face. For any face at this stage. She's had intense training, no matter how short. As for the groom..."

She looked at me. "We have a training and refreshments for him in the Solitude Hotel."

I smiled and thanked her. I could hardly admit it, but I felt more like requesting her presence in my room, trying to peek at my glorious aunt in her underwear, imagining how she would punish me for that transgression.

I let myself be comforted by these images throughout the journey, well aware that in the end I would have to be the active one. One can say I should be grateful to life for giving me the upper hand.

Gratitude to life reminded me of the journeys of a hotel. In Europe I visited many supermarkets that offered their goods inside, hidden from the eyes of those who just passed by. Grand York, on the other hand, lived the tradition of people accustomed to offering their goods in markets outside, whether it was food, toys, clothes, or books.

But people also needed to lay their heads and whisper their secrets somewhere. Part of that world were the corridors of the Grand Solitude and the privacy of the room Aunt Yuka had led me to. "Check your service first, boy," she urged me as she opened the door for me.

I thanked her, and since I suspected what she meant by "service," I felt a lustful tickle in my crotch that demanded another sensual adventure. Inside, I appreciated the tear-shaped window and the large refrigerator, but according to my aunt's instructions, I headed for a closed room, above which was a simple picture suggesting a smiling girl in a wedding dress, bound hand and foot. This was clearly intended to serve as a honeymoon suite for a rich man.

On the other side was a room furnished with barrels with a skylight. In the middle of the ceiling hung a young attractive brunette, whose private parts were covered (if you could call it that) by iron panties and a bra. It seemed to me that she was sleeping, or at least hiding from the world behind her closed eyes.

"Hello, slave!" I greeted her and ran my hand along her side. I had to admit that I liked her and was determined to touch many more of her parts today... When I'll free her from her constraints, that is. By now I was too much in the memory of the night with Camille, so I wanted to make this ass suffer even more.

"You must be Jonathan," the charming girl whispered in response. She reminded me of Sleeping Beauty waking up, which is not so far off, considering the sexual content of the original fairy tale.

"Yes, I am, and I'm going to return the pain in your life! "I needed to bolster my confidence a little.

"Please, sir," sighed the beauty. My name is Alexandra Ortiz, and I told people from your family I want to quit. I am scared of more pain, and I don't wish to be your servant!"

Jesus Christ, she didn't even try to sound sincere. "You don't have to try, girl; I played this game before," I said, relieved that now I see through the deception. I walked around Alexander and saw her reddened ass, suggesting she had it beaten recently. She must be used to it, maybe even a professional.

"No, I mean it! Please, let me go!" She was overreacting, suggesting she might be a good prostitute but a terrible actor. Well, she didn't come here to become Desdemona. During her unconvincing whining, I was choosing from the spanking tools hung on the wall. I had no interest in tawse, as it would be too similar to my recent experience, and the cane was best for the position where the punished one has a properly arched or lifted butt. So I took a big paddle with holes. It was quite heavy, but when I thought about the final effect, it didn't bother me so much. While I was weighing down the instrument, Alexandra insisted on her fake crying and repeating pleas for liberation, a few simple words over and over again. Looking at that trembling ass wasn't enough for me, so I finally took advantage of the paradoxical situation where beating your bottom is more polite than touching it.

WHACK!

"NO! SOMEBODY FREE ME!!!"

Alexandra continued to play. As soon as the paddle proved the power of my swing, she began to stomp furiously on the ground, demonstrating how she was trying to break her bonds above her head. Naughty girls show off that they need more strokes, even if their ass starts to look like the setting sun. One has to convince them about the futility of their resistance. I figured it would need about five more strokes.

WHACK!

WHACK!!

WHACK!!!

Alexandra no longer shouted specific words; she just writhed. I have to say that this is how I liked it the most. The way her hips writhed emphasized the helplessness of the "distressed" damsel, the way she stretched her long, arousing legs in all directions, and the way her ass danced completely. She turned me on, and I could already see my cock between those red cheeks, giving her later more profound and deeper pain. Even now, I had no intention of sparing her. I bent down and tried to whack that ass even harder than in previous cases.

Alexandra howled terribly. "AAAAH—"

The scream ended unusually early. Alexandra's head fell forward and her whole body, just a moment ago in tension, suddenly relaxed. It didn't take me long to understand that the girl was unconscious. I grabbed her with my hands, trying to wake her up, among other things. As soon as drops of blood stained my fingers around her iron panties, I jumped. I shook Alexandra's head furiously, but my most uncertain salvation lay in someone else. I ran out into the hallway and grabbed my cell phone.

"Hi, Aunt! Sorry, but I screwed up again!"

You can read more of my stuff here.

You can read Part 1 here.

Jonathan

"Sea-sick, laddie? I think you are not allowed to drink any alcohol. Pussy, on the other hand, cures any boy's malady," Jean-Eric praised his favorite part of the female body. I had to thank God I have a very loyal and good friend who can't see things for what they are.

For one, I wasn't seasick. I felt that way when I was twelve, but today, if I was pale in the face, it was because I was about to disembark and meet relatives, old and new.

And he was wrong about parts of the female body, too. Pussy is important, some would say crucial, but my eyes and hands craved something different. Even the cock can go there, and no children will ever make an exit.

Jean-Eric rubbed his shaved face as if he wanted to grow a manly beard and showed his blond ponytail to the ladies who were bringing dinner to all the passengers on the ship. He nudged me and pointed to the girl who was bringing us chicken and spinach twice.

"Buy her!" he urged me. "It's in the contract, and your bride will be wonderfully jealous when she smells it on you!"

This time he was right. The girls on board the Eurus owned their bodies only during the day. At night they were supposed to provide the passengers with more than just a plate and a smile. They were alre-ady inviting special services. The nipples printed on their uniforms revealed that they were not wearing bras and, if the advertising leaflet was not lying, the same was true of their panties.

We were served by daughters of Asia or daughters of Africa, all in the red miniskirts purple T-shirts, but our waitress was a pure European beauty, distinguished by thick red hair and proudly wearing her tight T-shirt, in which her D-cup breasts stood out.

"I want to do something with her," I admitted, whispering. "But it will be more about training my ma-nhood. You know. Before you can love a woman, you have to conquer her."

"Cool," Jean-Eric said. "Your bride will be for a right kind of terror!"

The waitress clearly knew that she didn't just have to bring the feast; she had to be a little feast herself, practicing the art of the smile and leaning forward. Admirable.

I thanked her and smelled the rich aroma. But before I took my cutlery, I reached into my wallet and showed the girl a bundle of two hundred Eastern dollars.

"They will be yours after this night," I told her. "Meet me at seven before cabin 15."

She kept her fake smile, but I could see in her eyes that she wasn't looking forward to what I was going to do to her. I started eating and looked at the buckle on my belt. I thought I would please her with something and embarass her with something else.

I had eaten enough, but not so much that I was tired. Jean-Eric left me to grope other hostesses while I galloped after my chosen one. As I thought, she smiled only when she noticed me coming. I let her into the cabin, holding her hand. She sat down on the bed, but as she started to take off her shirt, I stopped her.

"It will be better if you completely undress," I assured her. "However, you must know that instead of classic love, you will have a little play of tough parenting love." I playfully leaned her forward and slap-ped her ass to make it clear what was in store for her.

I felt her breathing on my hand, although I wasn't sure if it was a sign of relief or that of stress.

"I'm surprised you didn't stay in Europe," the hostess sighed. "They often don't care about whether a woman wants it or not. The spanking, I mean."

I made her look at me and tried to smile, sincerely, this time. "Yes, I've seen a lot of that. I spent some time in Kiev. In the courtyard there, a female teacher, who was unfairly grading her students, got a few strokes with her cane. There was also a pretty young woman who was wailing there once because she disrespected her husband in front of their children. The whole family was standing in the front rows...

"You traveled all that far?" the hostess was surprised.

"Yes, actually it was related to what we were talking about. My family does business with a Belarusian who used to teach political sciences but then got rich trading in slaves. He benefits many poor people by buying their wives, daughters, many of them voluntarily..." "Okay," the hostess could hardly control her grin. "What will you use on me, and how many strokes will you give me?"

I felt a little bad that she didn't like the idea, but I preferred the thrill of the anticipation of beating the insolence and resistance out of her. "Fifteen with my belt," I announced. "What's your name, Miss?"

"Camilla," she replied, annoyed.

"Will it be your first thrashing, Ms. Camilla?"

"Dad switched me once," she admitted reluctantly.

Who knows, maybe this will be a milder experience," I mused. "Now undress and get your ass ready for the scorching." She got up and her clothes soon began to fall on the bed. I had an easy task. I just un-fastened the belt, folded it, and played with it a bit in front of the girl undressing. I even slammed it menacingly on the table when it seemed to me that he was dragging his feet too much.

"Wouldn't you like to fuck after all?" she asked me, and I have to say that when she stood in front of me without any secrets, I thought about changing my wish at the last minute, but then I tightened my belt and reminded myself of the pleasure of the erotic power. In addition, I spared myself of classic erotic experiences until I met Clementine. I shook my head and moved the pillow to indicate where to lay down his narrow waist. Reconciled with her fate, she lay down on the bed, and the sight of her ma-de me feel better. Staring at her ass was better than star-gazing.

"You don't have to count," I assured the beauty before letting her enjoy the first stroke. "Owww!" She clung to the pillow with her fingers, like a cat when she is afraid of losing her bed. At the same time, her long, cute legs shook. I liked that. Not to mention that there was a dark mark on her ass after my touch. If I had any regrets before, they quickly left me. Especially when I remembered the beautiful sound of her scream. I wondered what it would be like if I hit her somewhere else...

With a sadistic penchant for girlish suffering, I whipped her thighs. The stroke hit the right one in par-ticular, but Camilla must have felt the pain because she cried out loudly and raised her feet to the air.

This was starting to be fun. I climbed onto the bed next to her and partially covered her legs. My next stroke was directed at her left thigh, and I made sure that she felt even more. I probably succeeded, because Camilla was bawling like a baby and started dodging me. However, I could not allow her to lose her honestly earned money. Even though punishing her thighs was tempting, I put my hand on the soft skin of the small of her back and, above all, focused most of the time on her twisting, restless ass.

Nine more blows, nine slaps on Camilla's cheeks triggered countless tears and pleadings, and I hoped they weren't just pretended. I knew that spankings are actually welcome among boat owners because their soft ladies are more sensitive, so Camilla should actually thank me. I noticed an interesting purple spot on the trembling ass. I tickled her with my index finger. "Owieee, owieee," Camilla wailed, but I don't know if she wanted to evoke sympathy. "You'll have a pretty nice bruise here," I said, praising my work. "Sensitive, isn't it?"

"Ye-gulp-yeah."

I gripped my belt again, and with a quick and precise swing, I aimed it right there.

"WAAAAAA-ARGHHH-AAAAH!"

Camilla was desperately trying to catch her breath, even though the end of the beating consisted of only three strokes. I imagined myself watching Uncle Thomas and Aunt Yuka watching the whipping, in awe of how skillful I am.

I felt satisfied when I imagined how I would now give her ten minutes of corner time and only then let her get dressed. But I had to restrain myself. As much as I enjoyed what I did with her, and as much as I finally felt like the master of the situation, I still felt the opposite, unacknowledged passion.

Beatrice

Helot service was more difficult for employees and completely humiliating for anyone who could not encounter physical correction in a normal job. Although Beatrice had extra pounds, she was better off than Alexandra, slow and attracting annoying attention.

Members of their unit were again tasked with cleaning, this time the Turtle Pavilion at the zoo, and the safety of many small, expensive specimens had to be overseen. True, there were many larger turtles, but unfortunately, they didn't give a fuck about their small cousins. So the workers had to perform a humiliating service in their underwear. Some girls and boys like Alexandra would always be an unwanted distraction half-naked, but now, in addition to her body, she was showing off maps of red spots, welts, and bruises, making herself a rising attraction.

"Is that part of a sentence? I don't remember hearing about this in the news." One senior man could not control his curiosity.

"Or is that your new job? Prostituting yourself for the kinksters?" asked the youth with a missing tooth, possibly in his early twenties. "Because if so, I know what I could spend the hidden remnants of my allowance on!" he chuckled, making Beatrice wonder if the government was secretly performing lobotomies on its citizens.

"Ask Mr. Flynn if you like your parts beaten," she scolded the youth and made him take a distance with her scowl. However, she had to admit that a girl with striped breasts was a better sight than the bumps of shells hiding listless reptiles.

She started somewhere else but moved her bucket so that she was practically breathing down Alexandra's neck. "You've done enough, and we're going to have a break," she murmured to her. "I think we'll both spend it using the toilet."

Alexandra, looking both weary and frustrated, nodded. Once they were allowed to, they went into the hallway, and in the bathroom Beatrice slammed the door shut with a broom. "We need privacy even from the other ladies."

"Why?" Alexandra asked. "For the first time in my life, I don't mind guys staring at me, but otherwise I wouldn't complain," she whined.

"You have more to complain about," Beatrice said. "If you screw up your job, I might lose mine, and I would prefer if that didn‘t happen. On the other hand, if you succeed but get crazy or die in the process, I might lose it too or live with pangs of conscience. So, thank you for the job, girl, and believe me, it was a treat seeing you humiliated, but I hate when snoots treat someone like a punching bag or a sex doll."

"Or a punching sex doll," Alexandra suggested. She avoided Beatrice‘s gaze for a moment, then looked into her eyes. "You spoke differently when Yuka was around."

"You don‘t complain right up just after you were hired," Beatrice said. "I would have saved you from the flames on the day we met even if I knew from the start what had happened. I will save you from the danger. That is my lifelong mission! "

Alexandra hesitated. "The city has rejected us, so we must turn to the rich. Who knows, maybe one day I'll meet a man who likes this." She ran her hands over the lines on her chest.

"You'll meet their nephew," Beatrice reminded her. "Once he gets here, it'll be too late. Yuka's going to have you tied up at his house, and you think my job is to keep you safe? No, my job is to keep you from running away. It's best for both of us if we run away now. Maybe they'll accept us into Klan territory. We're both white, and they hate the Grand York government."

"My uncle is a patriot," Alexandra wailed. "And I think my cousin lives right there as one of the knights. What if he asks him to kill me?"

"Then I'll tell you another way!" Beatrice finally got angry. "People like you and me, Alexandra, are the potential collateral damage for them! It will mean nothing to them if you die, and I would have to be taken care of! That's why I advise you to escape while you can!"

"I'm afraid nobody will employ us anymore!" Alexandra cried out.

Beatrice spoke to her again, a little more seriously. "Alexandra, do you remember what I did the last time you didn't act like in adult and threatened the people around you?"

Alexandra turned pale. "That's beyond compare."

"You're not a threat to so many people now, but I still know what I must do!" The former firefighter was faster this time. She grabbed Alexandra's hand and pulled it part way over her knee, covering her upper half with one of the sinks. She immediately pulled down her friend's tiny panties.

"Not again!" Alexanda resisted. "Beatrice, I can think about it..."

SLAP!

Beatrice took immense pleasure in pounding that slender ass again, already marked by the recent care of Yuka and two guys in Lynch-Metzen's dungeon. It turned out typically there. Alexandra was uncooperative, so it took additional strokes and lashes before she began to cooperate and could finally be released home.

Alexandra is a dumb girl, and those need special guidance.

SLAP! SLAP!

Beatrice concentrated her tremendous strength and slapped both cheeks of the rapidly reddening bottom separately. Bearice turned her head and saw the face of the suffering girl, gritting her teeth. She stroked the young woman's bottom for a long time, like a caring, forgiving mother. She immediately corrected her by slapping her right in the middle.

"Yaowww!" Alexandra shouted but quickly fell silent.

"Do you want to embarrass yourself, girl?" Beatrice asked.

Alexandra shook her head quickly. She was rewarded with a lighter blow to her right cheek.

Beatrice rubbed her hand on her warm behind. She decided to give it a little shock therapy. "The guys will hear what's going on here, but it doesn't matter (SLAP!). They're used to it, and they know roughly what's going on with you (SLAP!), but know that the man they're preparing you for (SLAP!) could be many times worse (SLAP!), and it could end up killing us both (SLAP!), so come to your senses and see to it that this will be the last thrashing of yours for a while."

She might have finished her speech, but the humiliating spanking was not over. Alexandra trembled after each blow and jumped a little without really defending herself. Despite that, Beatrice increased her force to emphasize the importance of her request. Since the maiden had finally shown herself to be understanding, she finished after counting twenty-seven sharp spanks.

"I'll do that!" Alexandra confirmed sensibly through her tears and slowly put her panties back where they belonged. With the permission of the satisfied Beatrice, she unlocked the door of the bathroom. The break was just ending, and the unfortunate Alexandra leapt even more distant from the guys from the party and definitely did not lean forward too much so that her latest wounds would not stand out.

Jonathan

Camilla's private whipping helped me overcome the anxiety I felt before my short engagement and wedding. I lay down on the bed, and my thoughts returned to her cute scream and skin changing color involuntarily. I wondered how Clementine, who had been preparing for a similar relationship since she was little, would react to my belt.

Yes, since she was little. But I was tempted to try something different. It started with an "innocent" bachelor party that I celebrated with my friend Howard. We invited six strippers who had covered maybe the crotch, nipples, and forehead at the beginning, but during the evening they lost that and showed us that even this slow, minimalist undressing can be an art. But then his future wife came for Howard. With his sister and mother marching towards us. What they did left me breathless.

Suzan, who was getting ready for a wedding night, slapped the face of her fiancé, and as she led him away, her hand made a similar mark on Howard's backside, which his mother and sister also enthusiastically praised. A stream of thoughts flowed through me at that time. Could it be that he had been raised in his family in a similar style intended for girls in my neighborhood? From then on, I looked at dominant women like my mother and people like Aunt Yuka completely differently. I wondered what it would be like to remain a little boy forever, grateful for the gentle touches but also aware of the reprimanding and painful ones that I might eventually like.

But even Jean-Eric wouldn't understand that, let alone Uncle Thomas. "When a man dominates over a woman, he's drawing on his nature-given strength," the proud guy liked to say. "When a woman dominates a man, they're just playing."

The way I saw it, it was a game anyway. Only the people clinging to the idea of power needed to pretend otherwise.

I dared to be playful...

So that night I was in a dilemma. On the one hand I couldn't forget Camilla's battered behind, but at the same time I imagined what it would be like if she complained to the captain. He would be angry, and as his deputy, he would send his wife, who works in the galley, clutching the paddle.

No, that's impossible. That's what the girls are here for. No one would blame me, and if they did, they would send a man...

My thoughts influenced my dreams at night, but I didn't see anyone until dawn. At breakfast, I didn't register Camilla among the hostesses, and Jean-Eric and I glanced at a Black woman who, although she was publicly kissing a fat Belgian, was making it clear to all the men that she was enjoying every aspect of her job.

Alas, the wenches were available to the passengers, and it was their duty, and ours, to disembark on the shores of The Grand York.

"Boy, I envy you getting married now," Jean-Eric lamented. "Your family will throw you a bigger party than when the prodigal son came back to his dad."

"Funny you mention that," I lamented, turning back on the steps leading off the ship. "When I was leaving, they gave me the first woman to test my dominance, and I became the laughingstock for a night."

"What happened?" Jean-Eric asked.

I didn't want to talk about it, but it was too late to go mute. "The girl started crying and screaming that she didn't really want it. I freed her from the handcuffs and didn't even touch her. Uncle Thomas laughed at me. He explained that it was the most important test of my script. I was supposed to remain deaf to her pleads and show how I could break her. "I shuddered. "I looked like a weakling!"

Jean-Eric shrugged. "Failure is the teacher, man," he stretched. When you have a chance to torture a woman, don't let her open her mouth!"

"Come, Jonathan!" Return to the home soil!" shouted an excited Aunt Yuka down the steps.

"I'm coming with one guy, sentenced to the married life! " Jean-Eric exclaimed, laughing.

"If he gets it done like I did, he'll never have to complain. He'll be the one setting the course!" exclaimed Uncle Thomas, kissing his wife passionately on the cheeks and lips before throwing his strong arms around me.

"And we definitely don't want him to get lost in the sea of relationships," Yuka said, turning to Jean-Eric for a moment. Then she shook my hand and gave me a quick kiss under the eye. She turned to Jean-Eric for a moment. "We'll introduce you to our dungeon soon. Clementine is waiting there for the wedding, and she'll definitely be grateful for a familiar face. For any face at this stage. She's had intense training, no matter how short. As for the groom..."

She looked at me. "We have a training and refreshments for him in the Solitude Hotel."

I smiled and thanked her. I could hardly admit it, but I felt more like requesting her presence in my room, trying to peek at my glorious aunt in her underwear, imagining how she would punish me for that transgression.

I let myself be comforted by these images throughout the journey, well aware that in the end I would have to be the active one. One can say I should be grateful to life for giving me the upper hand.

Gratitude to life reminded me of the journeys of a hotel. In Europe I visited many supermarkets that offered their goods inside, hidden from the eyes of those who just passed by. Grand York, on the other hand, lived the tradition of people accustomed to offering their goods in markets outside, whether it was food, toys, clothes, or books.

But people also needed to lay their heads and whisper their secrets somewhere. Part of that world were the corridors of the Grand Solitude and the privacy of the room Aunt Yuka had led me to. "Check your service first, boy," she urged me as she opened the door for me.

I thanked her, and since I suspected what she meant by "service," I felt a lustful tickle in my crotch that demanded another sensual adventure. Inside, I appreciated the tear-shaped window and the large refrigerator, but according to my aunt's instructions, I headed for a closed room, above which was a simple picture suggesting a smiling girl in a wedding dress, bound hand and foot. This was clearly intended to serve as a honeymoon suite for a rich man.

On the other side was a room furnished with barrels with a skylight. In the middle of the ceiling hung a young attractive brunette, whose private parts were covered (if you could call it that) by iron panties and a bra. It seemed to me that she was sleeping, or at least hiding from the world behind her closed eyes.

"Hello, slave!" I greeted her and ran my hand along her side. I had to admit that I liked her and was determined to touch many more of her parts today... When I'll free her from her constraints, that is. By now I was too much in the memory of the night with Camilla, so I wanted to make this ass suffer even more.

"You must be Jonathan," the charming girl whispered in response. She reminded me of Sleeping Beauty waking up, which is not so far off, considering the sexual content of the original fairy tale.

"Yes, I am, and I'm going to return the pain in your life! "I needed to bolster my confidence a little.

"Please, sir," sighed the beauty. My name is Alexandra Ortiz, and I told people from your family I want to quit. I am scared of more pain, and I don't wish to be your servant!"

Jesus Christ, she didn't even try to sound sincere. "You don't have to try, girl; I played this game before," I said, relieved that now I see through the deception. I walked around Alexander and saw her reddened ass, suggesting she had it beaten recently. She must be used to it, maybe even a professional.

"No, I mean it! Please, let me go!" She was overreacting, suggesting she might be a good prostitute but a terrible actor. Well, she didn't come here to become Desdemona. During her unconvincing whining, I was choosing from the spanking tools hung on the wall. I had no interest in tawse, as it would be too similar to my recent experience, and the cane was best for the position where the punished one has a properly arched or lifted butt. So I took a big paddle with holes. It was quite heavy, but when I thought about the final effect, it didn't bother me so much. While I was weighing down the instrument, Alexandra insisted on her fake crying and repeating pleas for liberation, a few simple words over and over again. Looking at that trembling ass wasn't enough for me, so I finally took advantage of the paradoxical situation where beating your bottom is more polite than touching it.

WHACK!

"NO! SOMEBODY FREE ME!!!"

Alexandra continued to play. As soon as the paddle proved the power of my swing, she began to stomp furiously on the ground, demonstrating how she was trying to break her bonds above her head. Naughty girls show off that they need more strokes, even if their ass starts to look like the setting sun. One has to convince them about the futility of their resistance. I figured it would need about five more strokes.

WHACK!

WHACK!!

WHACK!!!

Alexandra no longer shouted specific words; she just writhed. I have to say that this is how I liked it the most. The way her hips writhed emphasized the helplessness of the "distressed" damsel, the way she stretched her long, arousing legs in all directions, and the way her ass danced completely. She turned me on, and I could already see my cock between those red cheeks, giving her later more profound and deeper pain. Even now, I had no intention of sparing her. I bent down and tried to whack that ass even harder than in previous cases.

Alexandra howled terribly. "AAAAH—"

The scream ended unusually early. Alexandra's head fell forward and her whole body, just a moment ago in tension, suddenly relaxed. It didn't take me long to understand that the girl was unconscious. I grabbed her with my hands, trying to wake her up, among other things. As soon as drops of blood stained my fingers around her iron panties, I jumped. I shook Alexandra's head furiously, but my most uncertain salvation lay in someone else. I ran out into the hallway and grabbed my cell phone.

"Hi, Aunt! Sorry, but I screwed up again!"

Roberta

If you have chosen a career as a teacher, it is likely that you are an idealist whose brain revels in the presentation of information but suffers from an inability to process warning signs.

Disappointment and a sense of unappreciation can make you a drug addict or at least an alcoholic.

My tongue tastes the drink, the warm Mexican sun, and the bitter cactus needles rolling around my mouth.

Weatherby allowed us to take a liquor of our choice to his appointment, and you need something spicier when you have to look at him sitting behind the principal's desk. Full-time teachers and co-lectors alike would like to be preserved in alcohol at the idea of our inclusion in the new school curriculum.

"The past school year has been intense, and we have a lot to build on to approach the often problematic wards in the next school year," says Weatherby in the suite, a possible specimen of one of the fabled missing links. "Since normal educational subjects will only be provided in rare cases where they might benefit the inmate, here Lindsey—" He pointed to his admirer with a cup of gum of her own making—"will get a position as a scientific advisor for experience with submitting to androcentrism. She writes a comprehensive doctoral thesis about it, and the new students will help her."

There is a small gap between our table and his desk, but except for Lindsey Trevorrow, we are not close to it. Weatherby's authority bites us like overgrown lice.

"Of course, not everything will change!" emphasizes Weatherby, whose mood, unlike ours, is improving. "For example, Ruby has to repeat a year due to her treatment, so she'll continue to assist us with teaching the Art of Lovemaking. Especially younger inmates will appreciate her presence!"

The porn star did not react to his words in any way. One had to talk to her face; if they wanted a reaction.

"However, other ladies are waiting for modified assignments, just like Lindsey. Lady Georgianna turns into a slave of the master Malcolm. We're all looking forward to seeing her in the harness!"

The dominatrix poured herself a new glass of the dark whisky. Beck winked at me and my wife. We still had fresh memories of seeing each other at a consultation, where we had talked about my future. I came there like any other inmate.

"We're thrilled with the captivating lesbian performances you've given at the Lovemaking Bar," Beck said. "However, you should consider all the more what you prefer in the future. We have already handed you a document with the name of the man who applied for you."

"No," I resolutely refused. I won't spend an hour with him, let alone life."

"Then it's our right to auction you," Beck said, scratching his nose. "Due to the nature of your couple, the auction hall will probably sell you two for the price of one, and interested parties have been informed about your skills. Cabarets and brothels will certainly consider you a lucrative investment."

"I'm a teacher, not a stripper," I objected.

Beck tapped his finger impatiently on the table. "And that's why you aroused the interest of another group. Rich men who are alright with their wives but would like to get the tutor and comforter for their teenage son. Even two. I think you should openly agree to such a possibility from the beginning, because it will take a while before the state allows women to return to the public education sphere."

"I'd rather cook somewhere in the gas station restaurant," I told him. "But with the marks we have given you, they won't want you there," says the cook on Beck's left venomously.

Georgianna se omluvila a z Weatherby's mummery odešla, jakmile to bonton dovoloval.

"I admire you. You're the only one of us who's holding on," she told me.

She overestimated me. The future suffocates me, I need to be reminded of the time dedicated to celebrate love.

Before the next breakfast, I wanted to ask Sylvia if she knew what day it was, but I woke up second.

My wife was already bending over me, and with considerate movements, she was pushing my pillow away so that she could caress my face.

"You like punctuality, Roberta, so we have to say something to each other when we wake up." She gave up all the dignity she usually held up when she spoke to me. I saw Kelly studying us from a distance, behind her shoulder, while I could only see the leg and the edge of the side of Hamilton. Basma was hiding from me. I could sense her, immobilized by Hamilton's relentless grip.

I forgot about my roommates when Sylvia kissed me on the cheek for a long time. Then on the lips. and finally on the other cheek.

"If I had to name every single thing I'm grateful for, I wouldn't fit in with the rest of our generation," Sylvia sighed. "Thank you for you, my love! Thank you for sticking with me until today's anniversary!"

"And I thank you for being the first to accept me as I am! "I don't know if she understood me through my tears. "Even though I think your dream has come true and you don't have to spend any of your salary on a gift for me!"

Sylvia gave me a smaller kiss on the forehead. "I have two presents for you. You'll get one when we get back to bed..." She turned away and wiggled her adorable ass. "As for the latter, I begged Lindsay to keep the small fruits of labor from our stocks." She handed me a tiny bottle containing a clear liquid. "It literally contains drops of our sweat, but it smells sweet. It smells like the day we met."

Remembering the beginning of someone's love is to enter the stream of eternity.

Lindsay and I don't just work on perfumes, but mainly on those chewing gums that she likes to show off so much at all meetings. In the evening, we each took one while putting on body underwear, which we called leaky webs, before heading to the Lovemaking Bar stage.

We used to spend the evening with only one guy, but Martin apparently fulfilled his life in some grizzly's stomach. Arnolph outlined a new destiny for us in the form of a performance for many men. They didn't touch us anymore but ogled us with vehemence. We stood by the statue of a giant metal hedgehog and stimulated its belly, from which a semi-solid red play-dough sphere stuck out. Once it grew enough, we each swung on it from one side and engaged our butts, backs, and bosoms to mold it into a heart shape. As with any acrobatic number, it was hell at the beginning, but now we manage it in a single minute, and in the middle of that new heart we met, touching each other with bubbles coming out of our mouths. We ran with them from the crevice between the breasts to the lines dividing the small tongues of passion that made up mine and Sylvia's female flower.

"Don't burst them! Don't burst them!" chanted the Heirs, enjoying our movements, the way a single man had once enjoyed looking at us. Bursting them was a necessity; they were, after all, a symbol of our orgasm. My bubble exploded loudly as its scent mingled with the air coming from Sylvia's crotch. At least I stuck out my tongue, knowing that the men below us wouldn't know the difference for a little while.

Right after this care, Sylvia defiled me with chewing gum and her saliva. It hit me above my ass.

The heart spun with us for a while, and we had to endure its rotation until the mass was completely freed from the hedgehog. The fall, however, did not end our lovemaking. The meat hooks persisted until it seemed appropriate to us to use our limbs to wave to the eager male crowd, pressing towards their mostly involuntary companions.

Sylvia and I sat down at a table with egg soup in our underwear. We had regular refreshments with Bar Society after the show. Today, thanks to our special reminder, we felt exceptionally festive, even though we were deprived of privacy.

I hugged Sylvia. Spontaneity was not my strong suit, but I believed I might be able to tell her something nice and new.

"You've been like that ever since you learned to talk. You run to toys and machines that can be switched off at any time. You can't do that with people, so you don't understand them."

An old woman shouted from the next table. My wife and I listened to the reproaches she leveled at the much younger man sitting opposite from her as we ate our slow meal. I found out that it was one of our reluctant allies, Carl. Either he couldn't speak quietly or he didn't mind making his family argument public.

"Some people are easier to deal with, Mother," he snapped. "I'll leave; you know I have to do that. But I'm not going to disappear under your thumb until I've arranged something for my friends. I have several here, not just Nicole. And by naming her, I'm reminding you that you should meet her!"

His mother gasped. "I heard she's engaged."

Carl nodded. "You'd be surprised how well I get along with her fiancé. But you don't know anything about her as a person. You should ask—"

"Don't you know what this place is? Didn't you watch the news with us yesterday? Even the judge ran away from here!"

Aha! Zimmerman concluded his trial after all!

"You call that an escape? Cruz and Romano accompanied him to Washington like a pair of seraphim with flaming swords! He found the truth here, as I did. I wish the same for you." 

"They did it!" Sylvia said.

"Shh!" I shouted out at her. "It's a consequence of our nobility but hasn't paid off for us." She should have been in a good mood because of our day, not because something that wouldn't benefit us anyway. 

Carl and his mother left the table with their food still unfinished, and they were hardly an exception. The seated Heirs thinned out considerably and discussed with their parents on the way, on rare occasions separating from them.

"We are blessed, girl, unburdened by the straight sex," I said and took Sylvia's hand lovingly. 

"I am grateful for you, Roberta, not for my homosexuality," Sylvia disagreed. 

"Don't you understand what the straight sex produces?"

"People," Sylvia responded.

"Worse! Children!" We both laughed. I had to continue.

"Mother Nature is terrifying, and the relationship between parent and child is the testament to her sadism," I lectured my wife. "Sometimes it starts with the hetero couples' relationships."

"Like the praying mantis," Sylvia suggested. 

"Eating the male? That's just the most obvious. What about those spiders whose mothers give themselves as food for their children because they are less important than them? Or have you heard about the anglerfish? Where a male reduces himself to just a sperm producer living from the blood sucked out of the female?"

"But that's how many human females would describe their marriage!" My wife chuckled.

"Metaphors, schmetaphors, Sylvia! The point is that life is pointless and sex is part of it! I mean, especially the straight sex because that's how genes sacrifice us in the name of the new carrier! Or what about the mayfly legend..."

"What legend?" Sylvia asked. "They live for one day. Yesterday evening is a legend for them."

"That's what people got wrong!" I lectured her. "They live for several years as larvae. That short lifespan, that is simply their maturity when they can fuck, and then they are offed because that's the only thing their maturity is for."

"I'm glad we did it more than once," Sylvia said. 

"Sex is part of the problem, but we homosexuals have it better because our consequences are so limited," I told her. "Also, there is the love that makes it more bearable. I'm glad that you're a blessed lesbian like me, Sylvia, and that you gave me your heart in exchange for mine."

From another nearby table, I noticed Deborah Sledge smiling at me, holding the hand of her lover Raven, served by her sex slave Helen. 

"It was time to exchange them," Sylvia said. "When we met, you were fat, and there was a risk that the blood pumper would break not by loneliness but by clogged blood vessels."

I puffed. "What are you doing?"

Sylvia blinked. "Today, I want you to have lots of energy in bed, and you are at your most awake when angry with someone rude," Sylvia declared boldly. "And I know you'll never punish me on our anniversary!"

I didn't even know if I was being playful or angry when I said, "You often sound so stupid I don't know how you ever became a teacher."

"You're careless, and I suspect you've married me to have a replacement mom," I added on the way back home.

We walked cautiously around the squirming Hamilton in the room. She may have only pretended to be asleep so that she could spy on us. Sylvia stretched out longingly on the bed, her beauty triumphing over the lack of light.

"You have such a lazy ass that I must beat it every other week," I whispered, unable to resist the innocence, seasoned with Sylvia's lust. It started with her opening her mouth wide and resting one foot on the pillow and continued with freeing her beautiful breasts from under the useless cloth of the underwear.

"My ass might be lazy, but tonight it wants to work. And my pussy wants to be filled, and it aches to be stimulated!" Sylvia moaned as if I were already eating her out.

"Undress completely, restless student!"

I ordered her. Sylvia obeyed, and, since she was in the mood, her every move was overflowing with love and fervor. When she lifted her legs up, she was able to bulge her ass even when lying down, and as soon as she got rid of the underwear, she spread her legs so wide that one would think she wanted to suck the moon into herself.

She threw her underwear over my head. I got hers and mine out of myself. The trembling of my completely naked skin charmed the connection between me and the nakedness of my wife. Sylvie pressed her breasts together, emphasizing her need for lustful touches.

I was so horny that I directed my next kiss at her chest and tormented one of her stiff nipples in my mouth. We've been hurting each other a lot during sex lately. We did everything possible to make the other one have a reason to scream, which the other couldn't do, because, unlike our former roommates, we didn't desire to wake anyone up.

I knew what she was trying to tell me. I need you below! It was true that I had already secured myself there. My fingers alternately massaged my clit and then thrust in. The memory of my recent experience with men made me clench with fear, so I had to fix my eyes on Sylvia's face, reminding myself of my beloved being.

But now I shouldn't have looked at her face, so I kept my hand on my clit. I released Sylvia's nipple from the grip of my tongue and teeth and slid my head between her legs. I couldn't see much from her pussy, but that never stopped anyone. My lips, and especially my tongue, delighted both of us by teasing the depths of her tender sex, so sweet, so tight, and so responsive. We were engaging in the act of pure and natural love.

The sound of the tawse and the lament of a girl provided a welcome contrast to my previous career, so I learned to tolerate my stay here. I focused on my profession as much as possible. Many girls defied me stubbornly and made it clear to me what they thought of my orientation. Basma from my own room, to whom I already passed on the notion of the discipline. Gladys with family for a hundred years in Klan. Whenever a girl proved to be ill-mannered, I could always draw my weapon.

The punitive implements remained at school for my successors, but the teaching materials slowly disappeared into the basement and often even into the rubbish bins. In the spirit of the reform introduced by our new principal, the maps were rolled up and were never to be unrolled again. We had to delete the virtual reality files en masse. The flasks and test tubes turned into piles of shards, and not even the law of conservation of mass could save them. The mob focused on our science.

I say "our," but Lindsey could have shit herself out of excitement when I gave her the inventory of the destroyed property to sign. "It was an honor to work with you, Roberta," she said, gently reminding me that she will be a teacher for at least one more year, whereas I won't be.

"We still need Brandon's signature," my colleague added. "You are lucky; he wants more from me. Although, if I give it to him, I might get a summer vacation."

Weatherby wasn't filing or digitizing the documents in his office. He was lurking. I could tell from the way he was sitting. He would occasionally rearrange something on his desk to his liking, but as soon as I walked in, he would stop. This confirmed to me that I was the prey he was looking for.

He snatched the paper from my hand. "You have something much more important to give me, Roberta: the explanation."

"That's just one word. Two if you're feeling generous. Explain yourself about the explanation."

I sat without him inviting me to. I believed that by pissing him off, I could derail him beyond his comfort zone.

"Do you know what Judge Zimmerman did?" Weatherby asked me. 

I leaned against the chair and had to be careful not to fall. How much good would it do me to play dumb?

"I heard that the trial was interrupted because he had to attend to his duties elsewhere. Some old lady at the bar was telling her son that Zimmerman had appeared at the Conclave. The scene of our Tower is more important than it seems from inside the classrooms."

Weatherby drummed his whole hand in an accelerating rhythm.

"Roberta, if the world of the classroom had been enough for you, you might have been happy."

"I guess not, if that's what you're trying to deprive me of." I braced myself for the cat to swallow his mouse.

Weatherby slammed the table. "Roberta, do you know what Zimmerman said? Do you know why deputies, experts, councilmen, and most likely the Princeps himself are now being deprived of their sleep?"

"It was the dirt on Cao." I tried to buy myself a few more seconds.

"A truckload of dirt," specified Weatherby. "Princeps is having problems with cleaning it all. Cruz and Romano are hard to dismiss. The case itself is...technically irrefutable. Too many influentials have seen the materials, which were marked with a code inseparably linked to Alexander Cao and his files."

Weatherby moistened his lips. "We searched for that very code and found it among the ruins of your teaching applications and records, Roberta. We have magic to restore deleted items."

He said it with no satisfaction, his hand hitting the desk below twice more.

"You were worried about your future? About your assessments? About your marriage to Sylvia? All of that looked rough while people didn't give a damn about it. So close your eyes and try to comprehend what I'll do when I'm angry with you!"

The new principal was undergoing his first political test in his office, and he wasn't coping well, as one could tell by his pounding hand and quivering lip.

I sat in front of him, stressed, but at the same time I called for my reason to save me.

I tried to be pragmatic. "You don't have to know that; just keep it a secret."

"No! "Weatherby refused resolutely. "I want to know what's going on here. How you did it and who helped you!"

He was acting disgustingly, and given what Woodroof had told me about him, I began to despise him more than ever. His facade of intelligence was crumbling.

"Cao is just a replaceable candidate, and you're just the principal," I reminded him. "What are you afraid of? That someone will replace Cao, like he replaced Green, and that one won't like your turncoating so much?"

I knew I would make Weatherby angry, but I didn't. He fell silent, his lip quivering even more.

"Do you know him?" he asked. "The one who's going to take over from Cao?"

Ah, he remembered Ekstrom. Maybe this paranoid idea was worth feeding. "I might. Do you think a person who is not an agent of someone powerful could handle it?" I faked a laugh, but the fake laugh might have had an even better effect.

"You should be able to prove it!" Weatherby said coldly.

I stood up and leaned across the table towards him. "I'll give you proof, and it will bind you to help only the real breadwinner, me and Sylvia, from now on!"

"If Roberta speaks of her, I think we can trust her," a familiar voice said, coming from the computer in the corner of the principal's desk.

"Was that Georgianna?" I asked.

Weatherby nodded. "The new headmaster needs a hard-working deputy. Lady Georgianna has proven herself to be most capable, as she was the one who figured out how to search the teacher database, including yours..."

 

"The author of this comic was making fun of biology," I complained when I finally got to see my character in the virtual crystal mirror. It was as if I had ordered a giant swimming ring, only to find that a former student had taken revenge by shaping it into a fat black frog.

"She is Kranuut," Woodroof, aka Captain Kuntblade, explained to me unconvincingly. "They can live in water like fish, move underground like snakes, and yet walk bipedally like humanoids."

"Her nature probably can't afford to pay for every niche, so it has to micromanage," I said.

"Kran is a very wealthy planet," Woodroof objected. I made a gesture as if to slap her. She lacked a comic book answer for that and shut up.

I was pissed off not because of my alien character. I was thinking of Georgianna. She had admired me before and then found a way to use me. Maybe it was the fruits of her admiration. She didn't have to look after anyone, so maybe that was why she was so ruthless towards me and knew I could surprise myself with how much I dug up.

"I hope you understand that you can only do this because the princeps wants to have control over the situation." We sat on an alien beach filled with mountainous formations that we were using as chairs. In their midst were three cyborg knights, one of whom was speaking in the voice of Agent Daher.

"And bugging Neumann's computer will benefit everyone in the audience," Stacey said. "I'm glad you're capable of other kinds of support than physical."

"He's calling!" Zita announced, pressing a button on the pommel of her weapon—probably the kuntblade that gave her character the name.

"Tip," the mechanical voice said. "I can't imagine why you want to talk to me. I'm not in the mood for a list of villains, and the point of our last conversation was to read the fact that I can't moderate much anymore!" The distorted voice contained no emotion, but it was clear that Neumann's nerves were failing, and not in the sense that he had stopped feeling pain.

"I enjoy moderating, but without you we don't have enough material on new book titles," Zita said. "Horus Orthodoxy and I are in a situation where we can either study or chat. So I wanted to know if you could give us a few tips for a free discussion evening."

The man on the other end wasn't happy about the request, but he spoke up. Dismissively, at first, then instructively, while still ignorant about the fact that Knight Provecho is targeting his IP address.

"He better be Neumann," Daher said, cracking his teeth. "And he better have important information on that computer."

"You take the important one; I'll be satisfied with a merely authenticated one," I said.

"Tip," an agitated voice disrupted the flow of the conversation. "I might turn my systems off. I've registered some hacking activity."

"Are you a wacko? You must have a top-notch firewall!" Not even Woodroof could pretend to be calm.

"What are you doing?!" Stacey chivvied Provecho.

"I don't know what I'm seeing! It's as if he has four other computers connected to his own, snitching on each other and on me!" The hacker had naturally quick hands, but now they were dancing on the keyboard, issuing as many commands as there are words in English.

"This is one skillful hacker," Neumann commented from the distance. "I must find where they are and... My God! There? You?"

"He's ended the chat!" Zita shouted, desperately.

"The computer is now off-limits," Provecho affirmed.

Daher didn't need to unlock his Quasar revolver to make me worry about losing my head to him.

"I'll contact the CIA for intel about Neumann. But trust me, if he's not in the predictable spot, you'll wish you could have disappeared with him—which I won't let you!"

The agent accepted the idea of unmaking the trouble I made, but I had to stay up until one in the morning for it. It was no harm to me, since I wouldn't have slept anyway, but I didn't enjoy it. Daher and I sat in silence in the interrogation room, whose door finally opened again, and two handcuffed figures were led in by the male enforcers. Our former principals.

"I wish we were discussing the teaching forecasts again, Roberta," Daniel Mayson expressed sentimentally.

"The problem is, we're always dealing with the kids, but no one's watching the adult politicians, Daniel," I quipped.

"What's wrong with you? I thought our plan had worked when Zimmerman adjourned his trial again and disappeared," Arnolph asked.

"I guess you don't watch the news anymore either. Zimmerman left us, we were relieved. But then Cao disappeared, and now Neumann has vanished into thin air, too."

"The guilt admitted," Mayson spat out.

Daher pulled a disgustingly squished piece of gum out of his mouth and threw it into the bin. I didn't even know if the gesture was meant to parody Daniel or me.

"I took a careless step. I need to ask you two if you have learned where Cao and Neumann might be hiding. Love nest, treason nest, we would like to end their unexpected vacation and put those two pupils in detention!"

You can read more of my stuff here.

Roberta

If you have chosen a career as a teacher, it is likely that you are an idealist whose brain revels in the presentation of information but suffers from an inability to process warning signs.

Disappointment and a sense of unappreciation can make you a drug addict or at least an alcoholic.

My tongue tastes the drink, the warm Mexican sun, and the bitter cactus needles rolling around my mouth.

Weatherby allowed us to take a liquor of our choice to his appointment, and you need something spicier when you have to look at him sitting behind the principal's desk. Full-time teachers and co-lectors alike would like to be preserved in alcohol at the idea of our inclusion in the new school curriculum.

"The past school year has been intense, and we have a lot to build on to approach the often problematic wards in the next school year," says Weatherby in the suite, a possible specimen of one of the fabled missing links. "Since normal educational subjects will only be provided in rare cases where they might benefit the inmate, here Lindsey—" He pointed to his admirer with a cup of gum of her own making—"will get a position as a scientific advisor for experience with submitting to androcentrism. She writes a comprehensive doctoral thesis about it, and the new students will help her."

There is a small gap between our table and his desk, but except for Lindsey Trevorrow, we are not close to it. Weatherby's authority bites us like overgrown lice.

"Of course, not everything will change!" emphasizes Weatherby, whose mood, unlike ours, is improving. "For example, Ruby has to repeat a year due to her treatment, so she'll continue to assist us with teaching the Art of Lovemaking. Especially younger inmates will appreciate her presence!"

The porn star did not react to his words in any way. One had to talk to her face; if they wanted a reaction.

"However, other ladies are waiting for modified assignments, just like Lindsey. Lady Georgianna turns into a slave of the master Malcolm. We're all looking forward to seeing her in the harness!"

The dominatrix poured herself a new glass of the dark whisky. Beck winked at me and my wife. We still had fresh memories of seeing each other at a consultation, where we had talked about my future. I came there like any other inmate.

"We're thrilled with the captivating lesbian performances you've given at the Lovemaking Bar," Beck said. "However, you should consider all the more what you prefer in the future. We have already handed you a document with the name of the man who applied for you."

"No," I resolutely refused. I won't spend an hour with him, let alone life."

"Then it's our right to auction you," Beck said, scratching his nose. "Due to the nature of your couple, the auction hall will probably sell you two for the price of one, and interested parties have been informed about your skills. Cabarets and brothels will certainly consider you a lucrative investment."

"I'm a teacher, not a stripper," I objected.

Beck tapped his finger impatiently on the table. "And that's why you aroused the interest of another group. Rich men who are alright with their wives but would like to get the tutor and comforter for their teenage son. Even two. I think you should openly agree to such a possibility from the beginning, because it will take a while before the state allows women to return to the public education sphere."

"I'd rather cook somewhere in the gas station restaurant," I told him. "But with the marks we have given you, they won't want you there," says the cook on Beck's left venomously.

Georgianna se omluvila a z Weatherby's mummery odešla, jakmile to bonton dovoloval.

"I admire you. You're the only one of us who's holding on," she told me.

She overestimated me. The future suffocates me, I need to be reminded of the time dedicated to celebrate love.

Before the next breakfast, I wanted to ask Sylvia if she knew what day it was, but I woke up second.

My wife was already bending over me, and with considerate movements, she was pushing my pillow away so that she could caress my face.

"You like punctuality, Roberta, so we have to say something to each other when we wake up." She gave up all the dignity she usually held up when she spoke to me. I saw Kelly studying us from a distance, behind her shoulder, while I could only see the leg and the edge of the side of Hamilton. Basma was hiding from me. I could sense her, immobilized by Hamilton's relentless grip.

I forgot about my roommates when Sylvia kissed me on the cheek for a long time. Then on the lips. and finally on the other cheek.

"If I had to name every single thing I'm grateful for, I wouldn't fit in with the rest of our generation," Sylvia sighed. "Thank you for you, my love! Thank you for sticking with me until today's anniversary!"

"And I thank you for being the first to accept me as I am! "I don't know if she understood me through my tears. "Even though I think your dream has come true and you don't have to spend any of your salary on a gift for me!"

Sylvia gave me a smaller kiss on the forehead. "I have two presents for you. You'll get one when we get back to bed..." She turned away and wiggled her adorable ass. "As for the latter, I begged Lindsay to keep the small fruits of labor from our stocks." She handed me a tiny bottle containing a clear liquid. "It literally contains drops of our sweat, but it smells sweet. It smells like the day we met."

Remembering the beginning of someone's love is to enter the stream of eternity.

Lindsay and I don't just work on perfumes, but mainly on those chewing gums that she likes to show off so much at all meetings. In the evening, we each took one while putting on body underwear, which we called leaky webs, before heading to the Lovemaking Bar stage.

We used to spend the evening with only one guy, but Martin apparently fulfilled his life in some grizzly's stomach. Arnolph outlined a new destiny for us in the form of a performance for many men. They didn't touch us anymore but ogled us with vehemence. We stood by the statue of a giant metal hedgehog and stimulated its belly, from which a semi-solid red play-dough sphere stuck out. Once it grew enough, we each swung on it from one side and engaged our butts, backs, and bosoms to mold it into a heart shape. As with any acrobatic number, it was hell at the beginning, but now we manage it in a single minute, and in the middle of that new heart we met, touching each other with bubbles coming out of our mouths. We ran with them from the crevice between the breasts to the lines dividing the small tongues of passion that made up mine and Sylvia's female flower.

"Don't burst them! Don't burst them!" chanted the Heirs, enjoying our movements, the way a single man had once enjoyed looking at us. Bursting them was a necessity; they were, after all, a symbol of our orgasm. My bubble exploded loudly as its scent mingled with the air coming from Sylvia's crotch. At least I stuck out my tongue, knowing that the men below us wouldn't know the difference for a little while.

Right after this care, Sylvia defiled me with chewing gum and her saliva. It hit me above my ass.

The heart spun with us for a while, and we had to endure its rotation until the mass was completely freed from the hedgehog. The fall, however, did not end our lovemaking. The meat hooks persisted until it seemed appropriate to us to use our limbs to wave to the eager male crowd, pressing towards their mostly involuntary companions.

Sylvia and I sat down at a table with egg soup in our underwear. We had regular refreshments with Bar Society after the show. Today, thanks to our special reminder, we felt exceptionally festive, even though we were deprived of privacy.

I hugged Sylvia. Spontaneity was not my strong suit, but I believed I might be able to tell her something nice and new.

"You've been like that ever since you learned to talk. You run to toys and machines that can be switched off at any time. You can't do that with people, so you don't understand them."

An old woman shouted from the next table. My wife and I listened to the reproaches she leveled at the much younger man sitting opposite from her as we ate our slow meal. I found out that it was one of our reluctant allies, Carl. Either he couldn't speak quietly or he didn't mind making his family argument public.

"Some people are easier to deal with, Mother," he snapped. "I'll leave; you know I have to do that. But I'm not going to disappear under your thumb until I've arranged something for my friends. I have several here, not just Nicole. And by naming her, I'm reminding you that you should meet her!"

His mother gasped. "I heard she's engaged."

Carl nodded. "You'd be surprised how well I get along with her fiancé. But you don't know anything about her as a person. You should ask—"

"Don't you know what this place is? Didn't you watch the news with us yesterday? Even the judge ran away from here!"

Aha! Zimmerman concluded his trial after all!

"You call that an escape? Cruz and Romano accompanied him to Washington like a pair of seraphim with flaming swords! He found the truth here, as I did. I wish the same for you." 

"They did it!" Sylvia said.

"Shh!" I shouted out at her. "It's a consequence of our nobility but hasn't paid off for us." She should have been in a good mood because of our day, not because something that wouldn't benefit us anyway. 

Carl and his mother left the table with their food still unfinished, and they were hardly an exception. The seated Heirs thinned out considerably and discussed with their parents on the way, on rare occasions separating from them.

"We are blessed, girl, unburdened by the straight sex," I said and took Sylvia's hand lovingly. 

"I am grateful for you, Roberta, not for my homosexuality," Sylvia disagreed. 

"Don't you understand what the straight sex produces?"

"People," Sylvia responded.

"Worse! Children!" We both laughed. I had to continue.

"Mother Nature is terrifying, and the relationship between parent and child is the testament to her sadism," I lectured my wife. "Sometimes it starts with the hetero couples' relationships."

"Like the praying mantis," Sylvia suggested. 

"Eating the male? That's just the most obvious. What about those spiders whose mothers give themselves as food for their children because they are less important than them? Or have you heard about the anglerfish? Where a male reduces himself to just a sperm producer living from the blood sucked out of the female?"

"But that's how many human females would describe their marriage!" My wife chuckled.

"Metaphors, schmetaphors, Sylvia! The point is that life is pointless and sex is part of it! I mean, especially the straight sex because that's how genes sacrifice us in the name of the new carrier! Or what about the mayfly legend..."

"What legend?" Sylvia asked. "They live for one day. Yesterday evening is a legend for them."

"That's what people got wrong!" I lectured her. "They live for several years as larvae. That short lifespan, that is simply their maturity when they can fuck, and then they are offed because that's the only thing their maturity is for."

"I'm glad we did it more than once," Sylvia said. 

"Sex is part of the problem, but we homosexuals have it better because our consequences are so limited," I told her. "Also, there is the love that makes it more bearable. I'm glad that you're a blessed lesbian like me, Sylvia, and that you gave me your heart in exchange for mine."

From another nearby table, I noticed Deborah Sledge smiling at me, holding the hand of her lover Raven, served by her sex slave Helen. 

"It was time to exchange them," Sylvia said. "When we met, you were fat, and there was a risk that the blood pumper would break not by loneliness but by clogged blood vessels."

I puffed. "What are you doing?"

Sylvia blinked. "Today, I want you to have lots of energy in bed, and you are at your most awake when angry with someone rude," Sylvia declared boldly. "And I know you'll never punish me on our anniversary!"

I didn't even know if I was being playful or angry when I said, "You often sound so stupid I don't know how you ever became a teacher."

"You're careless, and I suspect you've married me to have a replacement mom," I added on the way back home.

We walked cautiously around the squirming Hamilton in the room. She may have only pretended to be asleep so that she could spy on us. Sylvia stretched out longingly on the bed, her beauty triumphing over the lack of light.

"You have such a lazy ass that I must beat it every other week," I whispered, unable to resist the innocence, seasoned with Sylvia's lust. It started with her opening her mouth wide and resting one foot on the pillow and continued with freeing her beautiful breasts from under the useless cloth of the underwear.

"My ass might be lazy, but tonight it wants to work. And my pussy wants to be filled, and it aches to be stimulated!" Sylvia moaned as if I were already eating her out.

"Undress completely, restless student!"

I ordered her. Sylvia obeyed, and, since she was in the mood, her every move was overflowing with love and fervor. When she lifted her legs up, she was able to bulge her ass even when lying down, and as soon as she got rid of the underwear, she spread her legs so wide that one would think she wanted to suck the moon into herself.

She threw her underwear over my head. I got hers and mine out of myself. The trembling of my completely naked skin charmed the connection between me and the nakedness of my wife. Sylvie pressed her breasts together, emphasizing her need for lustful touches.

I was so horny that I directed my next kiss at her chest and tormented one of her stiff nipples in my mouth. We've been hurting each other a lot during sex lately. We did everything possible to make the other one have a reason to scream, which the other couldn't do, because, unlike our former roommates, we didn't desire to wake anyone up.

I knew what she was trying to tell me. I need you below! It was true that I had already secured myself there. My fingers alternately massaged my clit and then thrust in. The memory of my recent experience with men made me clench with fear, so I had to fix my eyes on Sylvia's face, reminding myself of my beloved being.

But now I shouldn't have looked at her face, so I kept my hand on my clit. I released Sylvia's nipple from the grip of my tongue and teeth and slid my head between her legs. I couldn't see much from her pussy, but that never stopped anyone. My lips, and especially my tongue, delighted both of us by teasing the depths of her tender sex, so sweet, so tight, and so responsive. We were engaging in the act of pure and natural love.

The sound of the tawse and the lament of a girl provided a welcome contrast to my previous career, so I learned to tolerate my stay here. I focused on my profession as much as possible. Many girls defied me stubbornly and made it clear to me what they thought of my orientation. Basma from my own room, to whom I already passed on the notion of the discipline. Gladys with family for a hundred years in Klan. Whenever a girl proved to be ill-mannered, I could always draw my weapon.

The punitive implements remained at school for my successors, but the teaching materials slowly disappeared into the basement and often even into the rubbish bins. In the spirit of the reform introduced by our new principal, the maps were rolled up and were never to be unrolled again. We had to delete the virtual reality files en masse. The flasks and test tubes turned into piles of shards, and not even the law of conservation of mass could save them. The mob focused on our science.

I say "our," but Lindsey could have shit herself out of excitement when I gave her the inventory of the destroyed property to sign. "It was an honor to work with you, Roberta," she said, gently reminding me that she will be a teacher for at least one more year, whereas I won't be.

"We still need Brandon's signature," my colleague added. "You are lucky; he wants more from me. Although, if I give it to him, I might get a summer vacation."

Weatherby wasn't filing or digitizing the documents in his office. He was lurking. I could tell from the way he was sitting. He would occasionally rearrange something on his desk to his liking, but as soon as I walked in, he would stop. This confirmed to me that I was the prey he was looking for.

He snatched the paper from my hand. "You have something much more important to give me, Roberta: the explanation."

"That's just one word. Two if you're feeling generous. Explain yourself about the explanation."

I sat without him inviting me to. I believed that by pissing him off, I could derail him beyond his comfort zone.

"Do you know what Judge Zimmerman did?" Weatherby asked me. 

I leaned against the chair and had to be careful not to fall. How much good would it do me to play dumb?

"I heard that the trial was interrupted because he had to attend to his duties elsewhere. Some old lady at the bar was telling her son that Zimmerman had appeared at the Conclave. The scene of our Tower is more important than it seems from inside the classrooms."

Weatherby drummed his whole hand in an accelerating rhythm.

"Roberta, if the world of the classroom had been enough for you, you might have been happy."

"I guess not, if that's what you're trying to deprive me of." I braced myself for the cat to swallow his mouse.

Weatherby slammed the table. "Roberta, do you know what Zimmerman said? Do you know why deputies, experts, councilmen, and most likely the Princeps himself are now being deprived of their sleep?"

"It was the dirt on Cao." I tried to buy myself a few more seconds.

"A truckload of dirt," specified Weatherby. "Princeps is having problems with cleaning it all. Cruz and Romano are hard to dismiss. The case itself is...technically irrefutable. Too many influentials have seen the materials, which were marked with a code inseparably linked to Alexander Cao and his files."

Weatherby moistened his lips. "We searched for that very code and found it among the ruins of your teaching applications and records, Roberta. We have magic to restore deleted items."

He said it with no satisfaction, his hand hitting the desk below twice more.

"You were worried about your future? About your assessments? About your marriage to Sylvia? All of that looked rough while people didn't give a damn about it. So close your eyes and try to comprehend what I'll do when I'm angry with you!"

The new principal was undergoing his first political test in his office, and he wasn't coping well, as one could tell by his pounding hand and quivering lip.

I sat in front of him, stressed, but at the same time I called for my reason to save me.

I tried to be pragmatic. "You don't have to know that; just keep it a secret."

"No! "Weatherby refused resolutely. "I want to know what's going on here. How you did it and who helped you!"

He was acting disgustingly, and given what Woodroof had told me about him, I began to despise him more than ever. His facade of intelligence was crumbling.

"Cao is just a replaceable candidate, and you're just the principal," I reminded him. "What are you afraid of? That someone will replace Cao, like he replaced Green, and that one won't like your turncoating so much?"

I knew I would make Weatherby angry, but I didn't. He fell silent, his lip quivering even more.

"Do you know him?" he asked. "The one who's going to take over from Cao?"

Ah, he remembered Ekstrom. Maybe this paranoid idea was worth feeding. "I might. Do you think a person who is not an agent of someone powerful could handle it?" I faked a laugh, but the fake laugh might have had an even better effect.

"You should be able to prove it!" Weatherby said coldly.

I stood up and leaned across the table towards him. "I'll give you proof, and it will bind you to help only the real breadwinner, me and Sylvia, from now on!"

"If Roberta speaks of her, I think we can trust her," a familiar voice said, coming from the computer in the corner of the principal's desk.

"Was that Georgianna?" I asked.

Weatherby nodded. "The new headmaster needs a hard-working deputy. Lady Georgianna has proven herself to be most capable, as she was the one who figured out how to search the teacher database, including yours..."

 

"The author of this comic was making fun of biology," I complained when I finally got to see my character in the virtual crystal mirror. It was as if I had ordered a giant swimming ring, only to find that a former student had taken revenge by shaping it into a fat black frog.

"She is Kranuut," Woodroof, aka Captain Kuntblade, explained to me unconvincingly. "They can live in water like fish, move underground like snakes, and yet walk bipedally like humanoids."

"Her nature probably can't afford to pay for every niche, so it has to micromanage," I said.

"Kran is a very wealthy planet," Woodroof objected. I made a gesture as if to slap her. She lacked a comic book answer for that and shut up.

I was pissed off not because of my alien character. I was thinking of Georgianna. She had admired me before and then found a way to use me. Maybe it was the fruits of her admiration. She didn't have to look after anyone, so maybe that was why she was so ruthless towards me and knew I could surprise myself with how much I dug up.

"I hope you understand that you can only do this because the princeps wants to have control over the situation." We sat on an alien beach filled with mountainous formations that we were using as chairs. In their midst were three cyborg knights, one of whom was speaking in the voice of Agent Daher.

"And bugging Neumann's computer will benefit everyone in the audience," Stacey said. "I'm glad you're capable of other kinds of support than physical."

"He's calling!" Zita announced, pressing a button on the pommel of her weapon—probably the kuntblade that gave her character the name.

"Tip," the mechanical voice said. "I can't imagine why you want to talk to me. I'm not in the mood for a list of villains, and the point of our last conversation was to read the fact that I can't moderate much anymore!" The distorted voice contained no emotion, but it was clear that Neumann's nerves were failing, and not in the sense that he had stopped feeling pain.

"I enjoy moderating, but without you we don't have enough material on new book titles," Zita said. "Horus Orthodoxy and I are in a situation where we can either study or chat. So I wanted to know if you could give us a few tips for a free discussion evening."

The man on the other end wasn't happy about the request, but he spoke up. Dismissively, at first, then instructively, while still ignorant about the fact that Knight Provecho is targeting his IP address.

"He better be Neumann," Daher said, cracking his teeth. "And he better have important information on that computer."

"You take the important one; I'll be satisfied with a merely authenticated one," I said.

"Tip," an agitated voice disrupted the flow of the conversation. "I might turn my systems off. I've registered some hacking activity."

"Are you a wacko? You must have a top-notch firewall!" Not even Woodroof could pretend to be calm.

"What are you doing?!" Stacey chivvied Provecho.

"I don't know what I'm seeing! It's as if he has four other computers connected to his own, snitching on each other and on me!" The hacker had naturally quick hands, but now they were dancing on the keyboard, issuing as many commands as there are words in English.

"This is one skillful hacker," Neumann commented from the distance. "I must find where they are and... My God! There? You?"

"He's ended the chat!" Zita shouted, desperately.

"The computer is now off-limits," Provecho affirmed.

Daher didn't need to unlock his Quasar revolver to make me worry about losing my head to him.

"I'll contact the CIA for intel about Neumann. But trust me, if he's not in the predictable spot, you'll wish you could have disappeared with him—which I won't let you!"

The agent accepted the idea of unmaking the trouble I made, but I had to stay up until one in the morning for it. It was no harm to me, since I wouldn't have slept anyway, but I didn't enjoy it. Daher and I sat in silence in the interrogation room, whose door finally opened again, and two handcuffed figures were led in by the male enforcers. Our former principals.

"I wish we were discussing the teaching forecasts again, Roberta," Daniel Mayson expressed sentimentally.

"The problem is, we're always dealing with the kids, but no one's watching the adult politicians, Daniel," I quipped.

"What's wrong with you? I thought our plan had worked when Zimmerman adjourned his trial again and disappeared," Arnolph asked.

"I guess you don't watch the news anymore either. Zimmerman left us, we were relieved. But then Cao disappeared, and now Neumann has vanished into thin air, too."

"The guilt admitted," Mayson spat out.

Daher pulled a disgustingly squished piece of gum out of his mouth and threw it into the bin. I didn't even know if the gesture was meant to parody Daniel or me.

"I took a careless step. I need to ask you two if you have learned where Cao and Neumann might be hiding. Love nest, treason nest, we would like to end their unexpected vacation and put those two pupils in detention!"

You can read more of my stuff here.

You can read Part 1 here.

Aurelia found that even with the cushions she couldn't concentrate on the chair, so first she asked her stepdaughter to stop, lifted her beaten bum, and drank some rosé wine. She leaned against the table and eyed Octavia.

"So tell me what's bothering you!"

Princess wiped her tears for the last time and began to tell what had happened to her three days ago.

Even at her age, Octavia had to submit to the strict traditional way of education at the royal court. In her uniform, she was visiting the private lessons of her teacher and governess. This strict woman had the most modern means to tutor royal daughter at her disposal, but at the same time, a long, thin cane lay on her desk. Mrs. Sullot may have moved to Weinendstein just so that she could use it without hesitation. But not for a princess; that was another strict condition of tradition. Octavia had her whipping girl, a pretty Frenchwoman named Loraine. In their childhood, they got along well, and Octavia tried to make sure that her friend's ass or hands were spared from the stinging, whipping rod. She thought her father wished these two were getting along for precisely this reason.

Three days ago, Octavia woke up very early and walked the halls of the palace before she had to find her classroom. While doing so, she overheard Loraine talking to the maid Jill, who recently doubled as her nurse after the occasional canings striped her butt.

"I hope you like our new queen," Jill remarked.

"I think yours is the best of the three," Loraine responded. "The first one was from this country but couldn't act as a queen. The king was right to exile her. And the second one was African, for God's sake! You are supposed to be a conservative kingdom, and such people should be your entertainment!"

At this point of her story, Octavia was breathing heavily. 

"That's how I reacted back then, too!" she said.

Jill tried to talk Loraine down. "She is the mother of your friend!"

"Octavia is good because she is from the king's seed," Loraine objected. "The only thing this Black whore of a mother could do was speak on behalf of immigration and then disappear to the fate unknown until the judge said she was dead and the king could marry again!"

Octavia's stomach burned by every word that slandered her mother. Beloved parent, lost years ago, swallowed by the unknown, that even Octavia herself couldn't be sure if it was death or not.

Although she had quite a lead, she arrived at the classroom about six minutes after the start. The other two participants were already there. Mrs. Sullot showed her the back of her bun for a moment, but she immediately bowed to her, and Loraine was still at attention next to the desk like another piece of furniture.

"Punctuality is unbecoming of a member of the royal family," the teacher snapped. Loraine, the fingers!"

The whipping girl sighed and obediently extended her hand. Mrs. Sullot didn't have much harsh swing, but Loraine grimaced when her cane tasted her fingers.

Octavia sat down at her desk, while Loraine positioned herself at the punishment chair. The princess sensed her opportunity.

"Bright star of the kingdom, which language is Romanian closest to?"

French was the correct answer. "Russian," Octavia said.

The teacher sighed. "Loraine, bend over the chair and show me your panties!"

The princess was surprised at how quickly it happened. Loraine, hiking her skirt, got into the position, the rod in the teacher's hand whizzing through the air, and Loraine crying in a stinging pain she never quite got used to.

"Only the warning stroke was on the panties!" the teacher warned both girls. Octavia was thrilled by the performance.

Mrs. Sullot repeated her question.

"Hungarian?" said Octavia.

True to her word, the teacher ordered Loraine to pull down her white and blue checkered panties to her knees. The whipping girl got two strokes this time. The teacher used an increasingly forceful strength to mark young round buttocks. Octavia thought with mischievous glee how wonderful it is when she robs Loreine's boyfriend of places for the lovely touch. She kept answering incorrectly and happily watched as the later strokes left swollen purple stripes in their path. Loraine squirmed and screamed, but the endless "AAAAAHHHH!s" didn't give her satisfaction even on the fifth stroke. Octavia, of course, didn't want to look stupid, so she answered something correctly from time to time, but she set the number of cane strokes to nine.

"I'll inform your father!" The teacher nodded nervously. "The end of the lesson means one additional stroke for any mistakes in the course of the lesson!"

SWISH! She rounded off the punishment.

"WAAAAAAHHHH!" Loraine jumped around the class after the lesson.

"And this was the thing I remembered when I saw Dad thrashing you," Octavia concluded her story.

Aurelia got a hold of her stepdaughter's hand. "You were right to be angry, but for this confession, I must deal with you. First as a mother and then as a queen."

Ignoring the silent despair in Octavia's eyes, the Queen addressed one of the Rangers guarding her room and asked him to invite Sullot and Loraine to her place.

"But now to the motherly business," Aurelia took out her favorite hairbrush from the drawer. The broad white thing with a picture of the playing birds, it was a beautiful object; just now it was a threat for the young woman.

"I expect you to act like royalty," Aurelia said, pointing the hairbrush to the broad sofa. Octavia obediently laid down, shedding her skirt in the process.

"I need a strict punishment, your majesty," she whispered.

"In that case, you don't need these," Aurelia said and yanked Octavia's yellow panties.

"Yes, I must be dealt with—OW!"

WHACK! "SOB!" WHACK! "SOB!!" " WHACK! "SOB!!" The room shook with the sounds of strokes and the increasingly loud wails of the punished girl, who was slowly losing the dignity of the princess. However, she never rebelled against the hairbrush terrorizing her pretty, dark-skinned bottom.

Aurelia herself didn't like chastisement from her husband, but now she had to act like a parent. And that sometimes means giving your daughter the experience she wouldn't want to repeat. Octavia received fifteen strokes in a quick succession, followed by the short pause and fifteen more, this time with a few scenes between them, giving the naughty princess a time to relieve herself by kicking her legs around and "enjoying" the sharp sting.

Somebody knocked on the door.

"Stay in your position!" Aurelia instructed the waggling princess. Both the teacher and the whipping girl entered the room to witness her shame. That disgrace went larger and stronger when the queen explained why she had to beat her stepdaughter's behind.

"I was a fool," Loraine shrieked. "I didn't know she was listening!"

"I was fooled!" Sullot gulped.

Aurelia nodded. "That's why you are invited to return the thrashing where it belongs. I'm giving you my... permission."

Sullot pulled her flexible cane from under her waistband and tapped it on Octavia's exposed buttocks.

"Do you agree, Bright Star of the kingdom?"

"Yes, just be done with it!"

CRACK! Just a quick, smaller stroke.

"OWWWWW!"

"That doesn't count; it was for disrespecting your teacher!"

SWISH!

The cane began to crack loudly, and this time Sullot's hand worked with velocity and the distance with which the strong-willed woman marked the suffering girl's ass. Octavia jumped up and screamed at each following stroke, twisting her back and ass in unison. She might have had dark skin, but even so, she could gain some color, being beaten like never before.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!"

"You've been rewarded just five times for your naughtiness, princess," Sullot said. "Maybe you need something cool for your warmed-up parts."

No," Aurelia objected. She was mad with revenge against Aurelia's father and his fearful thrashing. "She deserves a few seconds to let the pain sink in but not more!"

So, Sullot let her hands relax, listening to Octavia's lamentation, but after the brief moment of mercy, she renewed the switchings. Her whole arm was repeating the arches like a part of the machine, enkindling a new wave of agony in the poor girl's body.

"YAAAAAAAAAAA!!! THAT WAS TEN!"

"She is right," Sullot testified. "She got as much as Loraine did."

Aurelia was thinking about it, but she made her. mind that she will break Octavia's hope.

"Yes, Loraine got ten, but you practice one more as a bonus, don't you? Loraine, take the cane and give one more to your friend as proof you will always be connected."

The whipping girl quickly took the educational tool along with the breath, and after a movement that resembled a dance pirouette, delivered a loud blow to the field of welts on Octavia's skin.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! THANK YOU, LORAINE! "

Octavia was unable to stop wailing, let alone to move her scorched bottom out of the sofa.

"We have to base a permanent regime on that. From now on, you will be punished in the class, Octavia; Loraine will simply be given the double."

Stallot nodded silently. The whipping girl was embarrassed to say anything about this idea, but the princess began to sway desperately from side to side, relieved of a guilty conscience but also unhappy about the perspective of the sharp education.

To be concluded...

 

You can read more of my stuff here.

You can read Part 1 here.

Aurelia found that even with the cushions she couldn't concentrate on the chair, so first she asked her stepdaughter to stop, lifted her beaten bum, and drank some rosé wine. She leaned against the table and eyed Octavia.

"So tell me what's bothering you!"

Princess wiped her tears for the last time and began to tell what had happened to her three days ago.

Even at her age, Octavia had to submit to the strict traditional way of education at the royal court. In her uniform, she was visiting the private lessons of her teacher and governess. This strict woman had the most modern means to tutor royal daughter at her disposal, but at the same time, a long, thin cane lay on her desk. Mrs. Sullot may have moved to Weinendstein just so that she could use it without hesitation. But not for a princess; that was another strict condition of tradition. Octavia had her whipping girl, a pretty Frenchwoman named Loraine. In their childhood, they got along well, and Octavia tried to make sure that her friend's ass or hands were spared from the stinging, whipping rod. She thought her father wished these two were getting along for precisely this reason.

Three days ago, Octavia woke up very early and walked the halls of the palace before she had to find her classroom. While doing so, she overheard Loraine talking to the maid Jill, who recently doubled as her nurse after the occasional canings striped her butt.

"I hope you like our new queen," Jill remarked.

"I think yours is the best of the three," Loraine responded. "The first one was from this country but couldn't act as a queen. The king was right to exile her. And the second one was African, for God's sake! You are supposed to be a conservative kingdom, and such people should be your entertainment!"

At this point of her story, Octavia was breathing heavily. 

"That's how I reacted back then, too!" she said.

Jill tried to talk Loraine down. "She is the mother of your friend!"

"Octavia is good because she is from the king's seed," Loraine objected. "The only thing this Black whore of a mother could do was speak on behalf of immigration and then disappear to the fate unknown until the judge said she was dead and the king could marry again!"

Octavia's stomach burned by every word that slandered her mother. Beloved parent, lost years ago, swallowed by the unknown, that even Octavia herself couldn't be sure if it was death or not.

Although she had quite a lead, she arrived at the classroom about six minutes after the start. The other two participants were already there. Mrs. Sullot showed her the back of her bun for a moment, but she immediately bowed to her, and Loraine was still at attention next to the desk like another piece of furniture.

"Punctuality is unbecoming of a member of the royal family," the teacher snapped. Loraine, the fingers!"

The whipping girl sighed and obediently extended her hand. Mrs. Sullot didn't have much harsh swing, but Loraine grimaced when her cane tasted her fingers.

Octavia sat down at her desk, while Loraine positioned herself at the punishment chair. The princess sensed her opportunity.

"Bright star of the kingdom, which language is Romanian closest to?"

French was the correct answer. "Russian," Octavia said.

The teacher sighed. "Loraine, bend over the chair and show me your panties!"

The princess was surprised at how quickly it happened. Loraine, hiking her skirt, got into the position, the rod in the teacher's hand whizzing through the air, and Loraine crying in a stinging pain she never quite got used to.

"Only the warning stroke was on the panties!" the teacher warned both girls. Octavia was thrilled by the performance.

Mrs. Sullot repeated her question.

"Hungarian?" said Octavia.

True to her word, the teacher ordered Loraine to pull down her white and blue checkered panties to her knees. The whipping girl got two strokes this time. The teacher used an increasingly forceful strength to mark young round buttocks. Octavia thought with mischievous glee how wonderful it is when she robs Loreine's boyfriend of places for the lovely touch. She kept answering incorrectly and happily watched as the later strokes left swollen purple stripes in their path. Loraine squirmed and screamed, but the endless "AAAAAHHHH!s" didn't give her satisfaction even on the fifth stroke. Octavia, of course, didn't want to look stupid, so she answered something correctly from time to time, but she set the number of cane strokes to nine.

"I'll inform your father!" The teacher nodded nervously. "The end of the lesson means one additional stroke for any mistakes in the course of the lesson!"

SWISH! She rounded off the punishment.

"WAAAAAAHHHH!" Loraine jumped around the class after the lesson.

"And this was the thing I remembered when I saw Dad thrashing you," Octavia concluded her story.

Aurelia got a hold of her stepdaughter's hand. "You were right to be angry, but for this confession, I must deal with you. First as a mother and then as a queen."

Ignoring the silent despair in Octavia's eyes, the Queen addressed one of the Rangers guarding her room and asked him to invite Sullot and Loraine to her place.

"But now to the motherly business," Aurelia took out her favorite hairbrush from the drawer. The broad white thing with a picture of the playing birds, it was a beautiful object; just now it was a threat for the young woman.

"I expect you to act like royalty," Aurelia said, pointing the hairbrush to the broad sofa. Octavia obediently laid down, shedding her skirt in the process.

"I need a strict punishment, your majesty," she whispered.

"In that case, you don't need these," Aurelia said and yanked Octavia's yellow panties.

"Yes, I must be dealt with—OW!"

WHACK! "SOB!" WHACK! "SOB!!" " WHACK! "SOB!!" The room shook with the sounds of strokes and the increasingly loud wails of the punished girl, who was slowly losing the dignity of the princess. However, she never rebelled against the hairbrush terrorizing her pretty, dark-skinned bottom.

Aurelia herself didn't like chastisement from her husband, but now she had to act like a parent. And that sometimes means giving your daughter the experience she wouldn't want to repeat. Octavia received fifteen strokes in a quick succession, followed by the short pause and fifteen more, this time with a few scenes between them, giving the naughty princess a time to relieve herself by kicking her legs around and "enjoying" the sharp sting.

Somebody knocked on the door.

"Stay in your position!" Aurelia instructed the waggling princess. Both the teacher and the whipping girl entered the room to witness her shame. That disgrace went larger and stronger when the queen explained why she had to beat her stepdaughter's behind.

"I was a fool," Loraine shrieked. "I didn't know she was listening!"

"I was fooled!" Sullot gulped.

Aurelia nodded. "That's why you are invited to return the thrashing where it belongs. I'm giving you my... permission."

Sullot pulled her flexible cane from under her waistband and tapped it on Octavia's exposed buttocks.

"Do you agree, Bright Star of the kingdom?"

"Yes, just be done with it!"

CRACK! Just a quick, smaller stroke.

"OWWWWW!"

"That doesn't count; it was for disrespecting your teacher!"

SWISH!

The cane began to crack loudly, and this time Sullot's hand worked with velocity and the distance with which the strong-willed woman marked the suffering girl's ass. Octavia jumped up and screamed at each following stroke, twisting her back and ass in unison. She might have had dark skin, but even so, she could gain some color, being beaten like never before.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!"

"You've been rewarded just five times for your naughtiness, princess," Sullot said. "Maybe you need something cool for your warmed-up parts."

No," Aurelia objected. She was mad with revenge against Aurelia's father and his fearful thrashing. "She deserves a few seconds to let the pain sink in but not more!"

So, Sullot let her hands relax, listening to Octavia's lamentation, but after the brief moment of mercy, she renewed the switchings. Her whole arm was repeating the arches like a part of the machine, enkindling a new wave of agony in the poor girl's body.

"YAAAAAAAAAAA!!! THAT WAS TEN!"

"She is right," Sullot testified. "She got as much as Loraine did."

Aurelia was thinking about it, but she made her. mind that she will break Octavia's hope.

"Yes, Loraine got ten, but you practice one more as a bonus, don't you? Loraine, take the cane and give one more to your friend as proof you will always be connected."

The whipping girl quickly took the educational tool along with the breath, and after a movement that resembled a dance pirouette, delivered a loud blow to the field of welts on Octavia's skin.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! THANK YOU, LORAINE! "

Octavia was unable to stop wailing, let alone to move her scorched bottom out of the sofa.

"We have to base a permanent regime on that. From now on, you will be punished in the class, Octavia; Loraine will simply be given the double."

Stallot nodded silently. The whipping girl was embarrassed to say anything about this idea, but the princess began to sway desperately from side to side, relieved of a guilty conscience but also unhappy about the perspective of the sharp education.

To be concluded...

 

Aurelia found that even with the cushions she couldn't concentrate on the chair, so first she asked her stepdaughter to stop, lifted her beaten bum, and drank some rosé wine. She leaned against the table and eyed Octavia.

"So tell me what's bothering you!"

Princess wiped her tears for the last time and began to tell what had happened to her three days ago.

Even at her age, Octavia had to submit to the strict traditional way of education at the royal court. In her uniform, she was visiting the private lessons of her teacher and governess. This strict woman had the most modern means to tutor royal daughter at her disposal, but at the same time, a long, thin cane lay on her desk. Mrs. Sullot may have moved to Weinendstein just so that she could use it without hesitation. But not for a princess; that was another strict condition of tradition. Octavia had her whipping girl, a pretty Frenchwoman named Loraine. In their childhood, they got along well, and Octavia tried to make sure that her friend's ass or hands were spared from the stinging, whipping rod. She thought her father wished these two were getting along for precisely this reason.

Three days ago, Octavia woke up very early and walked the halls of the palace before she had to find her classroom. While doing so, she overheard Loraine talking to the maid Jill, who recently doubled as her nurse after the occasional canings striped her butt.

"I hope you like our new queen," Jill remarked.

"I think yours is the best of the three," Loraine responded. "The first one was from this country but couldn't act as a queen. The king was right to exile her. And the second one was African, for God's sake! You are supposed to be a conservative kingdom, and such people should be your entertainment!"

At this point of her story, Octavia was breathing heavily. 

"That's how I reacted back then, too!" she said.

Jill tried to talk Loraine down. "She is the mother of your friend!"

"Octavia is good because she is from the king's seed," Loraine objected. "The only thing this Black whore of a mother could do was speak on behalf of immigration and then disappear to the fate unknown until the judge said she was dead and the king could marry again!"

Octavia's stomach burned by every word that slandered her mother. Beloved parent, lost years ago, swallowed by the unknown, that even Octavia herself couldn't be sure if it was death or not.

Although she had quite a lead, she arrived at the classroom about six minutes after the start. The other two participants were already there. Mrs. Sullot showed her the back of her bun for a moment, but she immediately bowed to her, and Loraine was still at attention next to the desk like another piece of furniture.

"Punctuality is unbecoming of a member of the royal family," the teacher snapped. Loraine, the fingers!"

The whipping girl sighed and obediently extended her hand. Mrs. Sullot didn't have much harsh swing, but Loraine grimaced when her cane tasted her fingers.

Octavia sat down at her desk, while Loraine positioned herself at the punishment chair. The princess sensed her opportunity.

"Bright star of the kingdom, which language is Romanian closest to?"

French was the correct answer. "Russian," Octavia said.

The teacher sighed. "Loraine, bend over the chair and show me your panties!"

The princess was surprised at how quickly it happened. Loraine, hiking her skirt, got into the position, the rod in the teacher's hand whizzing through the air, and Loraine crying in a stinging pain she never quite got used to.

"Only the warning stroke was on the panties!" the teacher warned both girls. Octavia was thrilled by the performance.

Mrs. Sullot repeated her question.

"Hungarian?" said Octavia.

True to her word, the teacher ordered Loraine to pull down her white and blue checkered panties to her knees. The whipping girl got two strokes this time. The teacher used an increasingly forceful strength to mark young round buttocks. Octavia thought with mischievous glee how wonderful it is when she robs Loreine's boyfriend of places for the lovely touch. She kept answering incorrectly and happily watched as the later strokes left swollen purple stripes in their path. Loraine squirmed and screamed, but the endless "AAAAAHHHH!s" didn't give her satisfaction even on the fifth stroke. Octavia, of course, didn't want to look stupid, so she answered something correctly from time to time, but she set the number of cane strokes to nine.

"I'll inform your father!" The teacher nodded nervously. "The end of the lesson means one additional stroke for any mistakes in the course of the lesson!"

SWISH! She rounded off the punishment.

"WAAAAAAHHHH!" Loraine jumped around the class after the lesson.

"And this was the thing I remembered when I saw Dad thrashing you," Octavia concluded her story.

Aurelia got a hold of her stepdaughter's hand. "You were right to be angry, but for this confession, I must deal with you. First as a mother and then as a queen."

Ignoring the silent despair in Octavia's eyes, the Queen addressed one of the Rangers guarding her room and asked him to invite Sullot and Loraine to her place.

"But now to the motherly business," Aurelia took out her favorite hairbrush from the drawer. The broad white thing with a picture of the playing birds, it was a beautiful object; just now it was a threat for the young woman.

"I expect you to act like royalty," Aurelia said, pointing the hairbrush to the broad sofa. Octavia obediently laid down, shedding her skirt in the process.

"I need a strict punishment, your majesty," she whispered.

"In that case, you don't need these," Aurelia said and yanked Octavia's yellow panties.

"Yes, I must be dealt with—OW!"

WHACK! "SOB!" WHACK! "SOB!!" " WHACK! "SOB!!" The room shook with the sounds of strokes and the increasingly loud wails of the punished girl, who was slowly losing the dignity of the princess. However, she never rebelled against the hairbrush terrorizing her pretty, dark-skinned bottom.

Aurelia herself didn't like chastisement from her husband, but now she had to act like a parent. And that sometimes means giving your daughter the experience she wouldn't want to repeat. Octavia received fifteen strokes in a quick succession, followed by the short pause and fifteen more, this time with a few scenes between them, giving the naughty princess a time to relieve herself by kicking her legs around and "enjoying" the sharp sting.

Somebody knocked on the door.

"Stay in your position!" Aurelia instructed the waggling princess. Both the teacher and the whipping girl entered the room to witness her shame. That disgrace went larger and stronger when the queen explained why she had to beat her stepdaughter's behind.

"I was a fool," Loraine shrieked. "I didn't know she was listening!"

"I was fooled!" Sullot gulped.

Aurelia nodded. "That's why you are invited to return the thrashing where it belongs. I'm giving you my... permission."

Sullot pulled her flexible cane from under her waistband and tapped it on Octavia's exposed buttocks.

"Do you agree, Bright Star of the kingdom?"

"Yes, just be done with it!"

CRACK! Just a quick, smaller stroke.

"OWWWWW!"

"That doesn't count; it was for disrespecting your teacher!"

SWISH!

The cane began to crack loudly, and this time Sullot's hand worked with velocity and the distance with which the strong-willed woman marked the suffering girl's ass. Octavia jumped up and screamed at each following stroke, twisting her back and ass in unison. She might have had dark skin, but even so, she could gain some color, being beaten like never before.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!"

"You've been rewarded just five times for your naughtiness, princess," Sullot said. "Maybe you need something cool for your warmed-up parts."

No," Aurelia objected. She was mad with revenge against Aurelia's father and his fearful thrashing. "She deserves a few seconds to let the pain sink in but not more!"

So, Sullot let her hands relax, listening to Octavia's lamentation, but after the brief moment of mercy, she renewed the switchings. Her whole arm was repeating the arches like a part of the machine, enkindling a new wave of agony in the poor girl's body.

"YAAAAAAAAAAA!!! THAT WAS TEN!"

"She is right," Sullot testified. "She got as much as Loraine did."

Aurelia was thinking about it, but she made her. mind that she will break Octavia's hope.

"Yes, Loraine got ten, but you practice one more as a bonus, don't you? Loraine, take the cane and give one more to your friend as proof you will always be connected."

The whipping girl quickly took the educational tool along with the breath, and after a movement that resembled a dance pirouette, delivered a loud blow to the field of welts on Octavia's skin.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! THANK YOU, LORAINE! "

Octavia was unable to stop wailing, let alone to move her scorched bottom out of the sofa.

"We have to base a permanent regime on that. From now on, you will be punished in the class, Octavia; Loraine will simply be given the double."

Stallot nodded silently. The whipping girl was embarrassed to say anything about this idea, but the princess began to sway desperately from side to side, relieved of a guilty conscience but also unhappy about the perspective of the sharp education.

To be concluded...

 

You can read more of my stuff here.

You can read part 1 here.

Aurelia found that even with the cushions she couldn't concentrate on the chair, so first she asked her stepdaughter to stop, lifted her beaten bum, and drank some rosé wine. She leaned against the table and eyed Octavia.

"So tell me what's bothering you!"

Princess wiped her tears for the last time and began to tell what had happened to her three days ago.

Even at her age, Octavia had to submit to the strict traditional way of education at the royal court. In her uniform, she was visiting the private lessons of her teacher and governess. This strict woman had the most modern means to tutor royal daughter at her disposal, but at the same time, a long, thin cane lay on her desk. Mrs. Sullot may have moved to Weinendstein just so that she could use it without hesitation. But not for a princess; that was another strict condition of tradition. Octavia had her whipping girl, a pretty Frenchwoman named Loraine. In their childhood, they got along well, and Octavia tried to make sure that her friend's ass or hands were spared from the stinging, whipping rod. She thought her father wished these two were getting along for precisely this reason.

Three days ago, Octavia woke up very early and walked the halls of the palace before she had to find her classroom. While doing so, she overheard Loraine talking to the maid Jill, who recently doubled as her nurse after the occasional canings striped her butt.

"I hope you like our new queen," Jill remarked.

"I think yours is the best of the three," Loraine responded. "The first one was from this country but couldn't act as a queen. The king was right to exile her. And the second one was African, for God's sake! You are supposed to be a conservative kingdom, and such people should be your entertainment!"

At this point of her story, Octavia was breathing heavily. 

"That's how I reacted back then, too!" she said.

Jill tried to talk Loraine down. "She is the mother of your friend!"

"Octavia is good because she is from the king's seed," Loraine objected. "The only thing this Black whore of a mother could do was speak on behalf of immigration and then disappear to the fate unknown until the judge said she was dead and the king could marry again!"

Octavia's stomach burned by every word that slandered her mother. Beloved parent, lost years ago, swallowed by the unknown, that even Octavia herself couldn't be sure if it was death or not.

Although she had quite a lead, she arrived at the classroom about six minutes after the start. The other two participants were already there. Mrs. Sullot showed her the back of her bun for a moment, but she immediately bowed to her, and Loraine was still at attention next to the desk like another piece of furniture.

"Punctuality is unbecoming of a member of the royal family," the teacher snapped. Loraine, the fingers!"

The whipping girl sighed and obediently extended her hand. Mrs. Sullot didn't have much harsh swing, but Loraine grimaced when her cane tasted her fingers.

Octavia sat down at her desk, while Loraine positioned herself at the punishment chair. The princess sensed her opportunity.

"Bright star of the kingdom, which language is Romanian closest to?"

French was the correct answer. "Russian," Octavia said.

The teacher sighed. "Loraine, bend over the chair and show me your panties!"

The princess was surprised at how quickly it happened. Loraine, hiking her skirt, got into the position, the rod in the teacher's hand whizzing through the air, and Loraine crying in a stinging pain she never quite got used to.

"Only the warning stroke was on the panties!" the teacher warned both girls. Octavia was thrilled by the performance.

Mrs. Sullot repeated her question.

"Hungarian?" said Octavia.

True to her word, the teacher ordered Loraine to pull down her white and blue checkered panties to her knees. The whipping girl got two strokes this time. The teacher used an increasingly forceful strength to mark young round buttocks. Octavia thought with mischievous glee how wonderful it is when she robs Loreine's boyfriend of places for the lovely touch. She kept answering incorrectly and happily watched as the later strokes left swollen purple stripes in their path. Loraine squirmed and screamed, but the endless "AAAAAHHHH!s" didn't give her satisfaction even on the fifth stroke. Octavia, of course, didn't want to look stupid, so she answered something correctly from time to time, but she set the number of cane strokes to nine.

"I'll inform your father!" The teacher nodded nervously. "The end of the lesson means one additional stroke for any mistakes in the course of the lesson!"

SWISH! She rounded off the punishment.

"WAAAAAAHHHH!" Loraine jumped around the class after the lesson.

"And this was the thing I remembered when I saw Dad thrashing you," Octavia concluded her story.

Aurelia got a hold of her stepdaughter's hand. "You were right to be angry, but for this confession, I must deal with you. First as a mother and then as a queen."

Ignoring the silent despair in Octavia's eyes, the Queen addressed one of the Rangers guarding her room and asked him to invite Sullot and Loraine to her place.

"But now to the motherly business," Aurelia took out her favorite hairbrush from the drawer. The broad white thing with a picture of the playing birds, it was a beautiful object; just now it was a threat for the young woman.

"I expect you to act like royalty," Aurelia said, pointing the hairbrush to the broad sofa. Octavia obediently laid down, shedding her skirt in the process.

"I need a strict punishment, your majesty," she whispered.

"In that case, you don't need these," Aurelia said and yanked Octavia's yellow panties.

"Yes, I must be dealt with—OW!"

WHACK! "SOB!" WHACK! "SOB!!" " WHACK! "SOB!!" The room shook with the sounds of strokes and the increasingly loud wails of the punished girl, who was slowly losing the dignity of the princess. However, she never rebelled against the hairbrush terrorizing her pretty, dark-skinned bottom.

Aurelia herself didn't like chastisement from her husband, but now she had to act like a parent. And that sometimes means giving your daughter the experience she wouldn't want to repeat. Octavia received fifteen strokes in a quick succession, followed by the short pause and fifteen more, this time with a few scenes between them, giving the naughty princess a time to relieve herself by kicking her legs around and "enjoying" the sharp sting.

Somebody knocked on the door.

"Stay in your position!" Aurelia instructed the waggling princess. Both the teacher and the whipping girl entered the room to witness her shame. That disgrace went larger and stronger when the queen explained why she had to beat her stepdaughter's behind.

"I was a fool," Loraine shrieked. "I didn't know she was listening!"

"I was fooled!" Sullot gulped.

Aurelia nodded. "That's why you are invited to return the thrashing where it belongs. I'm giving you my... permission."

Sullot pulled her flexible cane from under her waistband and tapped it on Octavia's exposed buttocks.

"Do you agree, Bright Star of the kingdom?"

"Yes, just be done with it!"

CRACK! Just a quick, smaller stroke.

"OWWWWW!"

"That doesn't count; it was for disrespecting your teacher!"

SWISH!

The cane began to crack loudly, and this time Sullot's hand worked with velocity and the distance with which the strong-willed woman marked the suffering girl's ass. Octavia jumped up and screamed at each following stroke, twisting her back and ass in unison. She might have had dark skin, but even so, she could gain some color, being beaten like never before.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!"

"You've been rewarded just five times for your naughtiness, princess," Sullot said. "Maybe you need something cool for your warmed-up parts."

No," Aurelia objected. She was mad with revenge against Aurelia's father and his fearful thrashing. "She deserves a few seconds to let the pain sink in but not more!"

So, Sullot let her hands relax, listening to Octavia's lamentation, but after the brief moment of mercy, she renewed the switchings. Her whole arm was repeating the arches like a part of the machine, enkindling a new wave of agony in the poor girl's body.

"YAAAAAAAAAAA!!! THAT WAS TEN!"

"She is right," Sullot testified. "She got as much as Loraine did."

Aurelia was thinking about it, but she made her. mind that she will break Octavia's hope.

"Yes, Loraine got ten, but you practice one more as a bonus, don't you? Loraine, take the cane and give one more to your friend as proof you will always be connected."

The whipping girl quickly took the educational tool along with the breath, and after a movement that resembled a dance pirouette, delivered a loud blow to the field of welts on Octavia's skin.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! THANK YOU, LORAINE! "

Octavia was unable to stop wailing, let alone to move her scorched bottom out of the sofa.

"We have to base a permanent regime on that. From now on, you will be punished in the class, Octavia; Loraine will simply be given the double."

Stallot nodded silently. The whipping girl was embarrassed to say anything about this idea, but the princess began to sway desperately from side to side, relieved of a guilty conscience but also unhappy about the perspective of the sharp education.

To be concluded...