Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I should have felt sympathy, horror at the brutal display. Instead, shameful heat pooled between my thighs. The sight of Morandra’s exposed flesh, the sound of leather meeting skin, the way her body writhed with each blow, all sent unwelcome arousal spiraling through me.
The second stroke fell lower, crossing the first welt. Morandra cried out, her hands gripping the edges of the desk. I found myself leaning forward slightly, my breathing shallow, transfixed by the punishment unfolding before me.
“This is what happens to disobedient women on our world,” Mistress Orela said calmly, landing the third stroke with methodical precision. “Whispered conversations during instruction are forbidden.”
Morandra’s breathing was becoming ragged, her knuckles white where they gripped the desk. The fourth and fifth strokes fell in quick succession, and she couldn’t suppress a sob.
I watched in horrified fascination, my own body responding in ways that shamed me. My nipples had hardened to painful points beneath the white cotton, and I could feel dampness gathering between my thighs, making me wish again, perversely, that Mistress Orela would control my pussy’s need with the governor, much as I hated knowing the device was there. The rhythmic crack of the strap, Morandra’s increasingly desperate gasps, the didactic efficiency with which Mistress Orela administered each stroke, all combined to create a tableau that sent unwanted thrills through my nervous system.
“Count the remaining strokes aloud,” Mistress Orela commanded. “Thank me for each one. This will be the sixth.”
The vicious stroke landed, and Morandra’s voice broke as she gasped, “Six! Thank you, Mistress!”
Seven. Eight. Nine.
Each counted stroke seemed to echo in my own body, phantom sensations that made me shift restlessly on my knees. Around me, the other students watched with expressions ranging from horror to something disturbingly similar to what I was feeling. Palla’s face was flushed, her breathing as shallow as mine.
“Ten! Thank you, Mistress!” Morandra’s voice was barely a whisper now, tears streaming down her face.
The final five strokes came with devastating efficiency. By the fifteenth, Morandra was sobbing openly, her bottom a canvas of angry red welts. Yet she had maintained her position throughout, accepting the punishment with a submission that both appalled and aroused me.
“Return to your position,” Mistress Orela commanded, setting the strap aside with the same casual air she might use to replace a piece of chalk.
Morandra struggled to stand, her movements stiff and pained. She pulled up her panties with trembling hands, the white cotton stark against her flesh. When she returned to her kneeling position beside me, I could see tears still glistening on her cheeks.
“Now then,” Mistress Orela continued as if nothing had happened, “where were we? Ah yes, position five: Supplication. From your kneeling position, lean forward and place your forehead on the floor. Arms extended forward, palms down. This demonstrates complete surrender to your Guardian’s will.”
I lowered my forehead to the cold floor, my arms stretched out before me in the degrading pose. The position made me feel utterly powerless, my bottom raised high while my face pressed against the marble. Around me, I heard the soft sounds of my classmates assuming the same humiliating posture.
“Position six,” Mistress Orela announced, “Display. Rise to your hands and knees, then lower your upper body while keeping your hips elevated. This position allows your Guardian to examine and appreciate your most intimate areas.”
My cheeks burned as I moved into the pose, acutely aware of how the short skirt must be riding up, how exposed I was becoming. The position thrust my bottom high into the air while my chest nearly touched the floor. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the mortification.
“And finally, position seven: Surrender. Roll onto your back, draw your knees to your chest, and hold your ankles. This is the ultimate display of feminine submission and availability.”
The final position was the most degrading of all. Lying on my back with my knees pulled up, holding my ankles as instructed, I felt completely vulnerable and exposed. The white cotton panties were the only barrier between my mortifyingly warm pussy and the open air of the classroom.
“Excellent,” Mistress Orela said as she walked among us. “These seven positions form the foundation of proper Euporian wifely behavior. You will practice them daily until they become second nature. You ladies should feel fortunate that you are learning these postures now, before you are sent to serve your Guardians and Mistresses. As I told you earlier, younger girls are not allowed to know them, and thus will quite frequently find themselves whipped for being insufficiently submissive.”
I watched out of the corner of my eye as, to my dismay, our teacher stooped down to inspect the woman from Draco, whose name I thought I remembered was Trellama. Mistress Orela sniffed the air. Trellama let out a little sob, and I bit my lip as I pictured what the mistress could see and smell. At last she spoke, her voice full of satisfaction. “Miss Trellama, the wet spot on your panties does you credit, as does the strong scent of your vagina. Try to feel no more than the proper shame a woman should have to her panties exposed to view, as your sexual response is a positive thing. Have you had a man’s penis there often?”