Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 87050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
She needs sterner discipline than Tessara and Elara, and Dr. Porter knows how to give it to her. Bravo.
I gasped. The intensity of Gamma’s thoughts and emotions, combined with my own confused response to Lydia’s punishment, left me trembling against the wall. My governor worked furiously to suppress my arousal, but it felt like fighting against a tidal wave. I squeezed my eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through my body and the certainty that I was truly experiencing Gamma’s thoughts and feelings.
As the caning continued, Lydia’s cries became more desperate, more primal. I could hear her thrashing against her restraints, seeing through my alien guardian’s eyes how she arched her back, trying futilely to escape the burning lashes of the cane. But Dr. Porter was merciless. He laid stripe after stripe across her tender flesh with precision and force.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I listened to Lydia’s suffering, despite my shameful, uncontrollable arousal. Each scream seemed to go on forever, filling the room with her anguish. I found myself silently counting the strokes, my heart racing as the number climbed higher and higher.
By the eighth stroke, Lydia’s screams had turned into broken sobs, punctuated by sharp cries each time the cane fell. I could almost feel the fire spreading across her bottom, imagining angry red welts crisscrossing her pale skin, overlapping and intensifying with each new stroke.
The final four strokes seemed to fall even harder, if that were possible. Helpless to turn my thoughts away, I watched from Gamma’s perspective as Dr. Porter delivered the last stroke with devastating precision, laying it crosswise over several others. Lydia’s heaving sob filled the room, her body convulsing against the restraints. I flinched at the sound, feeling it reverberate through my very bones.
The room fell into an eerie silence. The only sounds were Lydia’s ragged breathing and the soft rustle of clothing as the gentlemen shifted in their seats. I could almost feel the weight of their gazes upon us—three chastised girls, our bottoms striped and on display.
Mrs. Porter’s gentle voice broke the tension. “There now, Miss Lydia. It’s all over. Let’s get you up.”
I heard the soft clink of buckles being undone, followed by Lydia’s whimpers as Mrs. Porter helped her to her feet. The floorboards creaked softly as they made their way across the room. I tensed as I sensed them approaching, my hands pressing harder against my head.
“Face the wall, Miss Lydia,” Mrs. Porter instructed softly. “Hands on your head, just like your schoolmates.”
I felt rather than saw Lydia take her place beside me. The heat I imagined radiating from her punished bottom seemed to mingle with the fire still blazing in my own welts. Her quiet sobs and hitched breathing filled my ears, making my heart ache with sympathy even as a mixture of relief and lingering arousal coursed through me.
“Well done, girls,” Mrs. Porter said, her tone a mixture of sternness and approval. “You’ve taken your punishments bravely. Now, you’ll remain in this position while the gentlemen have their tea. This will give you time to reflect on your misdeeds and the consequences of such behavior.”
I heard Mrs. Porter’s footsteps retreat, and then a creaky sound that I thought must be old-fashioned wheels, along with a soft clink of china. The aroma of freshly brewed tea wafted through the air, a jarringly domestic scent that contrasted, I suddenly became aware, with a musky smell my schoolmates and I emitted, standing on display in the nude. My face blazed with heat as I realized we had all become so aroused as to emit that mortifying, lewd aroma.
“Gentlemen, please help yourselves,” Mrs. Porter said. “I’ve prepared a selection of sandwiches and pastries to accompany your tea.”
The rustle of movement filled the room as the men rose from their seats. I could hear the soft murmur of their voices as they gathered around the little trolley I realized I could see, in a ghostly way, through my guardian’s eyes. My cheeks burned as I sensed them casually serving themselves refreshments while we stood, naked and punished, only a few feet away.
“I must say, Dr. Porter,” Mr. Blackwood’s deep voice carried clearly across the room, “your skill with the cane is truly impressive. The precision of your strokes is remarkable.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blackwood,” Dr. Porter replied, a note of pride in his voice. “It’s a skill honed over many years of experience. One must learn to be precise, you know.”
They continued their casual conversation as they sipped their tea and nibbled on the delicate sandwiches. I couldn’t help but listen, my cheeks burning as they discussed us as if we weren’t even there.
“I must say,” Mr. Thornton remarked, his voice carrying a note of appreciation, “there’s something quite fetching about a well-punished bottom. The contrast of those vivid welts against Miss Elara’s pale skin is really quite striking.”