Her Shameful Service – Galactic Discipline Read Online Emily Tilton

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Erotic Tags Authors: Emily Tilton Advertisement

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Turn around and bend over. Please.

I felt the sob rising in my chest. I told myself that I was turning around so that I could conceal it and keep the horrible Vionians from hearing it and perceiving how much power their degrading words had over my mind and spirit.

I bit my lip hard, once I had my back to them, and I could feel their eyes on my bruised backside, because the humiliating noise threatened to emerge despite my movement. Then, as I began to bend, the pain Agent Delvik’s paddle had left in my bottom and my upper thighs forced it out of me anyway. The renewed pain, along with the crushing shame, sent tears streaming down my face.

“Oh,” said Jorlin’s consort, clearly taken aback. “That’s…”

“Pretty, isn’t it?” the agent said. “Punishing a Kamnian bed girl turns her backside such lovely colors, no? And I promise she wouldn’t have been paddled that way if it wasn’t for her own good. I can wank her while you watch if you’d rather not risk that charge I mentioned. This sort of girl needs it very badly—both the paddle and the cock, when the time comes.”

I could tell from the rapidity and the smooth rhythm of his words that he had heard in the young woman’s reaction the same startled horror and disgust I had sensed. The agent had also pitched his voice so that all the little crowd could hear him, as if he meant to ensure that my value hadn’t decreased because of the evidence of severe punishment. I closed my eyes very tightly, my cheeks burning, as I remembered one of the terrible things Agent Delvik had said—that for the right bidder, knowing I required such firm discipline would raise my value rather than lowering it.

My perception of this agent’s motive in speaking to the young couple that way almost—almost—kept me from listening to his words themselves. But as my mind, so terribly disoriented by everything about my abrupt arrival as an item of merchandise, here on Vion Prime, caught up with the content of what he had said, the last part sent terrible, irresistible, dismaying ripples through my nervous system.

Needs it very badly… both… both the paddle and…

What did it mean? Jorlin’s consort had giggled; other female giggles had come with that musical yet horrid sound. At what? At that word?

The cock. I couldn’t help myself. I mouthed it, silently, feeling how it shaped my mouth. I didn’t know what it could be, and yet I knew it could only mean something degrading—something like the paddle, that they would use to discipline me, but not yet. Something that would put an end to my virginity?

I felt my eyes go round at that thought, but I didn’t have the chance to pursue it, because Jorlin’s consort spoke, distracting me from my inner turmoil.

“No…” she said, and somehow I could tell she was trying very hard to seem bored and jaded. “No, that’s fine. Jorlin, sweetheart, we don’t want a fuck toy who needs to be beaten every time we tell her to get into bed with us. Let’s look at that one, over there. Seafoam, it says her name is. She’s almost as pretty, isn’t she?”

“Very good, milady,” the agent said. “Wetquim, you⁠—”

I could hear in the way he addressed me that he would tell me to turn around, that this utter degradation had reached its end. My heart lifted, though the foolishness of taking any comfort amidst this utter degradation brought a wave of anger, directed both inward at my own weakness and outward at the real enemy, the company agent.

Then a female voice interrupted him.

“His lordship would like to see that demonstration, if you please.”

She sounded so different from Jorlin’s consort that I decided without even seeing her that she must belong to the group of servants in the gray dresses.

“Of course, mistress,” I heard the agent say. “Come here, Wetquim. Just back up until your buttocks touch the bars. Don’t worry, the punisher isn’t set to activate when you make contact with the cage. Hmm… yes.” His voice changed again, back to the obsequious tone in which he had addressed the woman he had called mistress. “She’s had rather a lot of the punisher, as well as the paddling you can see there on her lovely backside. She’s definitely in the top five percent as far as her resistance quotient is concerned. Certainly one of the most spirited of this crop.”

I breathed in and out through my parted lips, as evenly as I could, in hope of not giving any audible sign of how the agent’s assessment affected me. To have my spirit—the part of me my mother had urged me to hold onto—evaluated that way… to be called part of a crop… I felt new tears leak out from between my tightly closed eyelids. What could I do if even my feeble attempts to resist, my desperate efforts to retain a modicum of defiance just so that I could still feel like a person rather than a piece of merchandise, simply got factored into my selling price?

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