Page 182 of Twisted Royals

"I'm sorry," I said.

"What?" Mama Bear asked. "Say that a little louder please, princess."

"I'm so sorry," I said, louder and more clearly. "I… I shouldn't have broken in… and… and done the other things." I looked at the master sergeant. "I'm really sorry about your chair."

Baby Bear smiled at me in the mirror. "Don't worry, Susanna. You'll buy me a new one. Or your grandfather will, anyway."

That made me giggle through my tears. I would never in a million years have thought, before that day, that I could laugh while bound naked atop the discipline horse, with six lashes of the cane to go before my captors would release me so that I could clean up the mess I'd made on their carpet.

"I think," Papa Bear said, "that we can get the rest of your whipping over with more quickly, now that you've expressed regret. Remember to count, please."

I felt his left hand tighten on the belt once again, and I watched in the mirror, unable to turn away, as his right arm rose to shoulder height. I only had time to take a single panting breath before the cane flashed down with the horrid swish and the awful crack.

It didn't vanish — all the warmth I had felt towards my bears, I mean — as the pain built from the new line of fire across my ass. It did seem to change, though, in my mind and in my heart. For a moment I had felt like a… well, a real person again. Not a naughty girl getting a whipping for her misdeeds. Not a fuck toy who had taken her captors cocks and would take them again… who would, her new Papa had promised, lose her anal virginity to them very soon. No, for a little while amidst it all, I had felt like a young woman who had made a mistake but wanted to make up for it, and would have the chance.

With the return of the cane to my backside, that all receded into the recesses of my mind. I became the well-disciplined sexual servant of the residents of this cottage. I hung my head and sobbed as the pain washed through me.

I still had a real person inside me: I did know that, because she had once again traveled far away so that she could watch.

"Seven, Papa, thank you," I choked out.

The next lash came down so quickly it felt like the colonel must have started to swing his arm before I had counted the last one. The agony of it, on top of the previous stroke, made me scream, my head rearing back and my hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. I breathed hard, not thinking about anything but how much it hurt.

The real me, far away, told me I needed to count the stroke for my new Papa, who had taken it upon himself to correct me with such thoroughness.

But if I counted, he would give me another one.

But if I didn't count, he would never let me off the awful discipline horse. He would never make me come.

I had no idea how I could think about coming, with the fire of the cane traveling up and down my body. As the idea occurred to me, though, my hips jerked and my bottom squirmed and the real me said, Look at that little slut. Even getting caned makes her horny.

"Eight, Papa, thank you," I sobbed.

I screamed and wept, as the colonel gave me the next four strokes. My limbs writhed in the leather straps, straining against them desperately. That fruitless struggle somehow made the ordeal a tiny bit easier, because every time I felt the strength of my bonds I understood anew that I had no choice. I had chosen to violate the sanctity of a firm-handed officer's home, and I had wound up here, with all my freedom taken away, so that I would learn my lesson.

By the time I said, "Eleven, Papa, thank you," the screams had become short, staccato responses to the crack of the cane, which faded into sobs as I regained enough composure to count the stroke.

I felt my new Papa's body shift again, through the subtle movement of his hand atop the belt. I whimpered at the way his fingertips brushed my skin, remembering how tenderly he could touch me when he chose. Then I heard the swish, and the crack, across the center of my bottom where so many strokes had already landed.

"Twelve, Papa, thank you," I cried out, relief drowning out a little of the pain. Then I lowered my head and felt the tears flow freely down my cheeks.

CHAPTER 15

Goldilocks

They didn't make me do more than a token job of cleaning the carpet. It was the way they made me do it, though, that turned it into an exercise in penitence and arousal fit to finish off the humiliating and unforgettable lesson my bears had taught me.

Still naked on my hands and knees, with a basin of warm, soapy water and a stack of towels, I started to scrub at the hardly visible but very much smellable wet spot I had made. My cheeks glowed, but that hardly compared to the heat in my backside that made me whimper softly each time I shifted my position.

That clearly didn't seem like enough of an ordeal, though, to Mama Bear.

"Lift that bottom, Susanna," she commanded from behind me.

"Arch your back," said Baby Bear. "I want to see what Papa Bear did with his cane."

I bit my lip, my forehead furrowing deeply, and I obeyed. To my horror, I felt my pussy clench hard as the movement exposed my most private places, lifting my backside and parting its thoroughly punished cheeks. I thanked God that at least I could keep my face downward as I scrubbed the soapy water into the stain I had made.

"That's it," Papa said. "There's our good little slut. Give her a bit of a wank, Karl, to let her know we use rewards to train our princesses as well as punishments."

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