Page 59 of Her Alien Guardian

I gripped the edges of the whipping horse, my knuckles turning white with the effort. My entire body was taut with anticipation, every nerve feeling stretched and hypersensitive. I felt Dr. Porter’s hand come down on the belt across my waist, a firm pressure that seemed to fix me in place.

The whoosh of the cane cutting through the air seemed to last an eternity. Then, with terrible precision, it connected with my bare bottom. The pain was instant and searing, far more intense than anything I had experienced even at the hands of the Vionians. A line of fire blazed across both my cheeks, and I couldn’t hold back a cry of anguish.

Before I could fully process the agony of the first stroke, the second fell. Again, Dr. Porter’s aim was impeccable, laying the cane just below the first welt. The pain was exponential, building upon the burning sting of the initial strike. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I bit my lip hard to keep from screaming.

The third stroke landed with devastating accuracy, crossing the first two welts and sending shockwaves of agony through my entire body. I couldn’t hold back my scream this time, the sound tearing from my throat and echoing in the quiet room.

As the fourth stroke fell, I was struck by the realization that Dr. Porter hadn’t uttered a word since beginning my punishment. There was no counting, no admonishments—just the whistling of the cane and the crack of its impact against my flesh. The silence somehow made the experience even more terrible.

I screamed and screamed as Dr. Porter’s cane fell again and again, each stroke more agonizing than the last. Where theVionians’ whippings had been brutal and careless, Dr. Porter’s caning was precise and methodical, each stroke placed with devastating accuracy to maximize my suffering.

The fifth stroke landed directly across the tender crease where my bottom met my thighs. I thrashed against the restraints, my back arching as I tried desperately to escape the searing pain. But the leather straps held firm, keeping me immobilized and helpless beneath Dr. Porter’s merciless cane.

As the sixth and final stroke fell, crossing diagonally over the previous welts, I felt something deep inside me shatter. My scream turned into a keening wail, my body shuddering with the intensity of the pain. Tears streamed down my face, dripping onto the leather upholstery of the whipping horse beneath me.

In the haze of agony, I found my mind turning to Gamma. I pictured his stern blue face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched me receive my just punishment. The image of his approval, of his pleasure in seeing me corrected so thoroughly, sent an unexpected jolt through me.

I clung to that mental picture, using it as an anchor in the storm of pain that threatened to overwhelm me. Yes, I told myself through the tears and screams, this is what Gamma wants. This is how I learn to be good for him. The thought didn’t lessen the physical agony, but it gave me something to focus on beyond the burning fire across my bottom.

As my screams subsided into choked sobs, I became aware of the room around me once more. The cool air on my blazing skin, the soft creak of leather as I trembled in my bonds, the hushed silence broken only by my ragged breathing. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room upon me, watching as I quivered and wept in the aftermath of my punishment.

My bottom felt as though it had been set ablaze, each welt a line of fire across my tender flesh. The pain seemed to pulse in time with my racing heart, waves of agony washing over me with each beat. I knew without seeing—seeing instead through Gamma’s eyes—that my pale skin must be crisscrossed with angry red welts, evidence of Dr. Porter’s skill with the cane.

Through my tears, I found myself marveling at the difference between this punishment and those I had endured at the hands of the Vionians. Where they had been cruel for cruelty’s sake, this felt… purposeful. Educational, even. The precision of Dr. Porter’s strokes, the careful positioning of my body, the attentive silence of the witnesses—all of it spoke to a deeper meaning behind the pain.

As I lay there sobbing, I felt gentle hands beginning to unbuckle the restraints. Mrs. Porter’s soothing voice cut through my haze of pain. “There now, Miss Tessara. It’s all over. You’ve taken your punishment very bravely.”

Her words, meant to comfort, only intensified my shame. I hadn’t been brave at all—I had screamed and cried like a child. Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks as Mrs. Porter helped me to my feet. My legs trembled beneath me, barely able to support my weight. Every movement sent fresh waves of agony through my bottom, making me whimper pitifully.

Mrs. Porter’s arm around my waist steadied me as she guided me across the room. Each step was agony, the movement causing the welts on my bottom to stretch and burn anew. I kept my eyes downcast, unable to meet the gaze of the assembled men. The thought of Gamma seeing me like this—tearstained, trembling, and utterly humiliated—made me want to sink into the floor and disappear.

As we approached the wall where Elara stood, I risked a glance at my schoolmate. Her freckled face was streaked with tears, her bottom a canvas of angry red welts. The sight made my stomach clench, knowing my own backside must look just as terrible.

“Face the wall, girls,” Mrs. Porter instructed gently. “Hands on your heads, please.”

I turned, pressing my burning forehead against the cool plaster. The position thrust my punished bottom out, putting it on full display for the room. I could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze upon me, examining every welt and stripe. The shame of it was almost worse than the physical pain.

I swallowed hard as I caught another one of those lustful-but-comforting thoughts that seemed to come from Gamma, though now I didn’t feel certain that I hadn’t imagined it to make my ordeal easier. I felt what seemed to be his even greater arousal at the sight of my poor, whipped backside on display next to my schoolmate’s.

CHAPTER 33

Tessara

Distantly, I heard Dr. Porter’s voice. “Miss Lydia, come to the whipping horse, please.”

My heart ached for Lydia, knowing the ordeal that awaited her. Yet a small, shameful part of me was not only relieved that my own punishment was over but, to my distress, was much too interested in seeing—or at least hearing—Lydia get her whipping.

I bit my lip, disgusted with myself for feeling even a hint of pleasure at another’s impending suffering. I also, with a sudden hot blush, felt the governor curb a sharp jolt of arousal between my thighs. I could hardly believe that I could feel that sort of need after my terrible caning by Dr. Porter, but as the agony in my bottom began to dull, the warmth seemed to creep forward into my cunny.

I found myself picturing Gamma yet again, and to my horror hoping the man I loved had his eyes fixed on my punished backside, and that he liked what he saw. I shuddered as Iexperienced again the strange sensation of feeling I knew his thoughts, even as I felt absolutely certain that my enormous blue guardian wanted, very urgently, to hold me in his arms and to softly fondle my poor, whipped rear.

As I stood there, though, bottom blazing and on display, I began to doubt the feeling, just as suddenly as I had been so certain of it. Had I really sensed his thoughts and feelings from across the room? Was my true master pleased with how I had taken my punishment? Did the sight of my welted flesh actually arouse him that way? The questions swirled in my mind, bringing a fresh wave of turbulent emotions—shame, desire, and a desperate need for his approval.

I pictured Lydia approaching the whipping horse on her bare feet. I heard the creak of leather-covered wood as she positioned herself, and then the clink of the buckles as Dr. Porter strapped her down, immobile and helplessly offered for her correction.

Dr. Porter’s voice cut through the hushed room, his tone stern and disapproving. “Miss Lydia, I see the marks from yesterday’s caning are still quite visible on your bottom. I had hoped that lesson would have been sufficient to curb your willful behavior, but it seems I was mistaken.”

I heard Lydia’s soft whimper, imagining her shame as Dr. Porter examined her still-punished backside. The headmaster continued, his words sending a chill down my spine.

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