Chosen by the Governor (18 page)

“Strip her,” Lalita ordered.

Freya expected an overseer to carry out the instruction, but it was one of the guards who tore the dress from her shoulders. For some reason, the infringement of her last shred of dignity caused Freya to snap. She resisted by folding her arms across her chest. He in return was forced to tear her dress into ribbons. Eventually, his comrade joined in and pulled her arms to her sides. The remains of her dress lay in tatters by her feet and as the guards kicked it aside, she pushed her chin up, desperate to regain a morsel of dignity while inside she battled to stay calm.

Naked and feeling alone in a room full of people, she decided she would do everything she was capable of doing to fight back. Clenching her fists, she would show them she wasn’t a weakling.

The door behind her opened and she shot a glance over her shoulder. Marco.

Freya’s heart skipped a beat. It had been pummeling her against her breastbone throughout Gellis’s caning, but the sight of Marco changed the speedy palpitations from beats of regret and anger, to relief and for some unknown reason, excitement. He’d come—she hadn’t been forgotten by him.

He circled her and as he did, the guards released their grip on her flailing arms and gave her space. She stilled and altered her aggressive stance to one more befitting his presence. She bowed her head and dropped her arms to her sides.

He pinched her chin between his finger and thumb and lifted her face. She stared directly into his dark eyes and they pierced her, crushing the rebellion that she threatened to unleash. He displayed not only his sternest expression—straight lips and narrowing eyes—but also his heart-melting good looks, which always seemed to sharpen when in close proximity. She had nothing to say, no words to explain how she felt inside. The conflict of emotions—dread, anticipation, longing—was too difficult to describe.

“I’m so disappointed,” he said softly, but not in Vendian. He spoke in his heavily accented, but accurate English. “I thought I could trust you and that you trusted me. Instead, you conducted a covert activity behind my back, dragged along your maid, and tricked my assistant. I don’t care that you believed you were doing a good deed; this is not how you respect me, Freya.” He removed his hand.

His words hurt, probably more than the cane that would soon strike her ass. “You lied, too. You said you wouldn’t let anyone else punish me, yet here we are—”

“I will be the one punishing you. However, I never said it would be in private. Don’t be angry with me, Freya. I’m doing exactly what is necessary to show you how much I care for you. Isn’t that what you want from me?”

Her needs went far further than he’d offered her to date. She wanted him to tell her he loved her. How would he demonstrate that to her when he refused to speak of it? She furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t understand how this is caring for me.”

“I will show you how to trust again. You will trust me to punish you appropriately and within your limits of endurance, and in doing so, I will accept you back. If you want me, as much I want, need you, Freya, you’ll do this.”

Submit without a fight? She’d prepared herself for a battle, and now he expected her to bend over without resisting. Was she ready to do that for him?

“Please,” she pleaded. “Don’t do this. I can’t bear to be spanked in public.”

“It’s not in public. It’s a private audience and none of these women will respect you less if you obey me and do as you’re told.” He waited for her response and she doubted she’d much time to decide between rebelling or submitting.

“The guards—” She cocked her head at one of the young men.

“Will be dismissed. Or would you like them to force you over the bench?”

Freya licked her dry lips. “No. Sir.”

There was no way out. She’d given herself no choice but to comply because to fight off the guards in front of Marco would not only undermine his authority, but reinforce his opinion that she didn’t trust him.

“Very well,” Marco nodded and switched to Vendian. “You two, wait outside,” he commanded. The guards about-faced and marched out of the room.

Walking toward the bench, her legs shook. What awaited her was more than a thorough spanking. Something more fundamental was happening—she was so conscious of the eyes watching her every move. With her wary gaze flitting about the room, unsure of what the others thought of her punishment and whether she deserved it or not, she shuffled forward and bent.

The cool surface met her bosom and she hugged the thin support and clasped her hands together underneath the padded beam. Lalita bound her wrists together, but left her arms free to dangle beneath. However, a link chain tightly cuffed each of her ankles to a leg of the bench. She rattled it against the metal legs of the bench and managed to balance on her tiptoes.

With bottom raised and her sex on display, Freya concentrated on her breathing. Beside her, Lalita read out the list of rules she’d broken. Some she couldn’t deny—trickery, leaving the Volta under false pretenses, coercing her maid into deceiving Puto. Others, she considered excessive—dressing in clothes without permission seemed a trivial matter. What surprised her was there was no mention of her accessing Marco’s console. The reason for adventure was left out and to the observer; it must seem she simply went to find Marco for no particular reason.

Naturally, no questions were raised and the audience listened in silence.

“The punishment is the rod—ten hard strokes on her bottom. This will be done in conjunction with the application of aylerberry juice around her anus and with the insertion of a butt plug, inside her bottom.”

A gasp went up around the room. What the hell was aylerberry juice? A berry bush wouldn’t be native to Tagra, so it must be something in one of those bottles in the punishment room.

“Governor, please proceed as you wish.” Lalita stepped away from the bench.

She heard noises behind her, but couldn’t see what he was doing. Only when something icy cold rested between her bottom cheeks did she understand what was about to happen. Was he really going to insert a plug into her tight hole without preparation?

She whimpered and rattled her ankle bindings.

“Do you wish her gagged?” Lalita asked Marco in hushed tones.

“No,” Marco swiftly replied.

The tip of the plug—she’d no idea of its size—nudged against her puckered bud. He smeared something along the furrow, using the smooth surface of the plug to spread the odorless concoction.

She held her breath, wondering what nasty sensation would torment her. All she felt was the cold metal tracking up and down her cleft. He rested his spare hand on the top of her ass. The warmth of his skin contrasted with the icy plug.

“Freya,” he said softly. “You need to relax or else this is going hurt more than you’d want it to. I’m going to ask you to breathe in deeply, then I’m going to insert the plug. Now. Breathe.”

He pressed the hard bulge of the plug into her bottom hole and she whistled in a lungful through gritted teeth. The burning sensation as he pushed the bulbous plug inside was intense, almost too much. She struggled to relax her sphincter muscles. She cried out and her buttocks instinctively clenched around the plug, resisting its entry.

Marco continued to penetrate her tight hole without pausing and it came as a relief when he announced it was fully inserted. She exhaled and tried not to imagine the scene—bent over with her bottom plugged and on display.

Mortified, unable to do anything, she flopped onto the bench, and in doing so, she realized she’d been too tense. The loosening of taut muscles eased the discomfort and gradually, she accepted the sensation of fullness, of being stretched wide.

A minute or so past and nothing else happened. What was Marco waiting for? Why hadn’t he used the rod on her poor ass?

It began with prickles. Loads of tiny pinpricks danced along the groove between her buttocks and the tingles were especially intense on her anus. She flexed around the plug’s neck, which held the object in place. It reminded her of nettle stings and the discomfort, although unpleasant, wasn’t terrible.

He smacked her bottom with his hand. The use of his hand surprised her, as did the imprint of pain it left behind. Rather than bombard her with spanks, he switched between each cheek in a leisurely, almost ponderous fashion; however, the hardness of the slaps was greater than he’d ever used before.

Alongside the prickles came the heat of a spanking. The addition of the ball buried deep inside her created a medley of sensations. She gasped repeatedly with each of his smacks and at the same time tried to assimilate what the aylerberry was doing to her.

Prickles turned to stings, then a subtle burning as if a spice had been placed inside her passage. She tried to rock her hips from side to side, but with her legs splayed wide, there was little room for maneuvering.

“Ow,” she whimpered, unable to contain her protests.

Marco stopped spanking her bottom. “The rod, please.”

Under the bench, Freya clenched her hands together. She closed her eyes and blotted everything out—the gathering and shuffles of restless feet on the floor.

She heard a swoosh, but when she tensed, expecting the first strike, nothing arrived. He was practicing, she assumed. A few more swishes, then she felt the cane tap against her hot ass.

He focused his taps on a patch just above the crease. She braced, and when the swoosh came this time, so did the sting of the cane landing on her bottom. A bee sting might have hurt less than the rigid length of the rod cracking against her behind. Its inflexible form offered no mercy. She opened her mouth to cry out, but too stunned, not a sound left her lips. With her legs tethered, she had no ability to escape the flight of the rod or even kick out in an open act of resistance.

Marco called out the first number. “One.”

She immediately expected the next and every muscle in her legs and belly locked rigid. She squeezed her buttocks together and clamped down on the plug buried in her bottom. The prickles intensified, as the aylerberry liquid, which was coated on the plug, heightened its effect.

“Oh, no,” she muttered, realizing exactly what its purpose was. If she reacted by clenching, the aylerberry ramped up its impact; if she relaxed, then the cane would hit a softer surface.

He touched her. Not between her legs, but along the line he’d produced on her ass. He stroked it back and forth, testing the rise of the welt. She arched her back and pushed toward him. She desired his touch, not the cane, and if he saw her respond then he’d know what she wanted from him.

A soft swell of exclamations and mutterings reached her ears. Had she done something unusual? She wished they were alone, then she could be more vocal, perhaps even tell him what she felt. Instead, the presence of an audience inhibited her and added to the humiliation.

Why had he elected to punish her in such a fashion? She could make a guess. Pain, she could tolerate up to a point, but the shame was harder to bear. The proud Earthling stretched out with her red ass on show and no means to extradite herself.

The rod cracked against the width of her bottom and the singe of fire joined the line below it. Eight more to go. Then, as she attempted to relax her cheeks, a flurry of butterflies leapt out of her belly. Another different, more pleasurable reaction had awoken.

Her eyes widened in amazement. How could this be happening in the midst of a humiliating caning?

Marco launched another snap of the rod and the response intensified, and again with the next. It wasn’t a false emotion—she really was aroused.

Nothing could have prepared her for the conjoined impact of the cane and the strange effect of the aylerberry juice. She squirmed, as much as her bonds allowed her and moaned. The heat inside her interior rose and the plug seemed larger, more invasive. It pressed down into her belly and as she jolted with another blow of the rod, reaching the seventh in the count, her clitoris knocked into the beveled edge of the bench. The rounded surface chafed in a way she’d not expected—it magnified the arousal.

How could she find pleasure amongst pain and heat of her punishment? While Marco brushed his fingertips along another welt, Freya clenched her pussy as if it too had been penetrated.

To add to her mortification, Marco used the interval between strokes to do a closer inspection. Placing the cane to one side, he moved her buttocks apart, spreading them wider so he could see her slit. He separated her folds and opened up her pussy with his fingers.

A plume of heat rose across her bosom and into her neck. Oh, if they were alone, she’d start asking to come, but in front of others, the examination was nearly intolerable.
Please
, she pleaded silently,
don’t touch my clit
.

“Pass me the aylerberry juice,” he commanded.

With another three strokes on her ass, he chose to torment her further. He smeared the extract along her labia, mixing it with her own juices. The prickles preluded a fresh wave of burning heat and by the time he resumed caning her, a spicy inferno had formed on the tender skin.

“Oh, gracious,” she mumbled in English. The composition of pain and pleasure he’d created was indescribable and she responded to each element with conflicting emotions—she loathed the sting of the cane and the sharpness of the aylerberry’s prickling, but she welcomed the warmth generated and how it excited her.

The ninth strike heralded a new level of pain and it nearly obliterated all other sensations. Freya yelped and bucked against the benched, grateful for the layer of padding on top of it. As with all the other stripes, Marco traced his finger along the new line and as he did, he leaned over her and whispered into her ear.

“Do you trust me now? Will you accept my role in your life as essential? Desired? Do you promise to share your worries, your concerns, to keep alive the bond between us with honesty?” He spoke in English, aware of their audience.

“Yes. Yes, yes,” she rattled with increasing urgency. He’d pressed his hips against her ass when he’d bent over her and she detected the slight bulge, the hardness contain within his pants.