He stepped away and she fell back, as far as her tight leash would allow, soon righting her posture, keeping her legs apart, rolling her hips in time with the vibrators, trying to keep another orgasm away.
Then his hands were on her again, parting her red hot butt cheeks, stroking their tender insides before placing a lubricated fingertip against that tight pucker.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, tensing her sphincter.
“No,” he admonished, wiggling the finger, making her feel the pressure. “This is all part of your punishment. You don’t get to pick and choose. Don’t forget, let me know when you reach your limit. You can still speak, can’t you?”
“Just…about…” she gasped, shimmying violently as his fingertip made it through the tiny ring, opening up her most private space to his intrusions.
“Are we at your limit, Suka
? Do you want to stop now?”
“No!” she exclaimed, relaxing into the odd sensation, revelling in how utterly owned and surrendered it made her feel. This was another dream realised, never mind the discomfort his prodding and poking around in her bum was causing her. He had that right. He held all rights over her. She belonged to him, in every respect now.
Another finger spread her wider. She struggled to retain a semblance of composure, but the buzzers defeated her and she wailed aloud, sure that another unwanted climax couldn’t be far off. This felt so uniquely sinful, so decadent.
“You can take this, Suka,” he said, softly, keeping her calm, tamping down her rising panic. His fingers scissored inside her, then they met the solid resistance of the dildo, just a thin stretch of flesh separating them. He pulled out and Suka released a long exhalation, only to yelp anew as a larger, wider, colder substitute took the place of Paul’s fingers.
“You know about butt plugs, don’t you, Suka?” he asked, easing it carefully between her cheeks and into the circular aperture. “They are especially necessary for bad little ensigns like you. They keep them in their place. You won’t be able to forget you are wearing one of these. I’d like to take one of these back to the ship. It would be nice to know you were squirming in your seat on the bridge with one of these stuffed inside your tight pants every time you broke a rule. Beats loss of Association Time privileges. Bending you over and spanking your arse, then filling it up with one of these would work wonders on you, I think. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, Sir,” she moaned, twisting her hips as the widest part of the plug tested her endurance.
“I think we’d soon have one very obedient, very well-behaved little ensign, wouldn’t we?”
“Yes, Sir.” The plug seated itself fully and then, to Suka’s mingled ecstasy and despair, it began to buzz in unison with its pussy-bound counterparts.
“Ohh.” Suka’s moans were low and throaty. The vibrator in her arse added a mind-blowing power to the fifth orgasm and she crumpled in the bonds, a boneless doll, taken over the edge of heavenly darkness.
“Stand straight,” commanded Paul.
Somehow, she obeyed. Somehow, though her knees no longer existed and she was no more than a sticky mess of lust and exhaustion and submission.
“I’m going to give you six. Count them.”
“Can’t…”
“This is your limit?”
He put aside whatever he was holding and made to release her wrists.
“Yes, I can!” she cried, delirious with the power her submission had given her. No amount of drilling on the Academy quadrangle had ever tested her tolerance levels like this, but, in the very kernel of her being, Suka knew she could take more. She could take as much as he could give. “Give it to me! Give me what I need!”
“Since you put it that way…”
She heard a low swish through the air behind her. It must be a cane.
Fear and exhilaration coursed through her. This, she knew from her studies, was the most severe of implements. If Paul gave her this, he must think she could handle it. She had won! She had won his hand, the hand that would hold her in check.
You have to take the caning first, Suka, she cautioned herself, realising a victory celebration might be pre-emptive. Marshal your strength. Ignore the vibrations. Breathe through it. Take it. It’s only six strokes.
The slender rod tapped against the apple of her backside. She had had time to recover from the paddling and her bottom was no longer anywhere near numb, though the heat and sting were still very much in evidence. Her thighs were soaked with her own chilling juices, her clit fat and overworked, her cunt and arse straining to keep up with the relentless stimulation.
The menacing swish cut through the air again, and this time it ended with a flat split of sound that, for a moment, Suka did not recognise as the cane’s contact with her bottom. But in a millisecond ferocious white-hot pain streaked a line across her cheeks and she needed all her breath control, every scrap, not to scream like a banshee.
“Ohh, ohh, one, Sir,” she whimpered, trying to escape, trying to distract him with her swinging hips, trying to do anything that might get her out of any more of those breathtaking stripes.
“Is that painful?” he asked, with pretend sympathy. “Poor Suka. I think we’ve found the implement for her. I think we’ve found the thing that will work. I’ll take this back with me too.”