CHAPTER 4
Jendra
More motors activated around me. I counted at least six, maybe seven of my classmates who had reached for their dials. The sounds they made—soft whimpers, breathy moans—filled the spaces between the sharp cracks of Alpha’s palm against Sala’s punished flesh.
“Very good, Brequa,” Ms. Haspor said warmly. “Don’t fight what you’re feeling. Let yourself experience it.”
Brequa’s whimper grew louder. Her hips had begun to move, grinding against the vibrating seat in small, helpless circles.
“Mabola, excellent,” Ms. Haspor continued. “I can see you’re letting yourself feel the pleasure.”
I glanced at Mabola, shocked to see my usually composed classmate with her eyes half-closed, her lips parted, her hand gripping the armrest as the other stayed on the dial. Her analytical mind had apparently decided that experiencing the sensation was the logical choice.
My own seat remained still and silent beneath me, though also much too warm for my mental ease. The throbbing between my legs, though, had intensified to the point of actual discomfort. I pressed my thighs together, trying to find some relief, and immediately regretted it as the pressure only made the aching worse.
Alpha’s hand finally stilled. Sala lay across his lap, her bottom a deep, angry red, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He helped her to her feet with surprising gentleness, then guided her to the front edge of the stage and turned her to face away from the audience.
“Hands on your head,” he commanded, his voice firm but not cruel.
Sala obeyed immediately, lacing her fingers behind her head. The position lifted her chest and made her back arch a bit, as if to display her punished bottom better to all of us. I could see the way the round cheeks trembled, could see the heat radiating from the reddened skin.
Around me, more whimpers. A girl behind me—I thought it might be Cerista—let out a low moan that sounded almost like pain, but I knew it wasn’t. Not really.
“That’s it, Cerista,” Ms. Haspor encouraged. “Let it happen. Let yourself climax.”
My face burned at the word.Climax. Orgasm. The thing I had almost given myself that night in the dormitory before I’d stopped, frightened by my own imagination.
Alpha stood and began to remove his uniform. First the jacket with its insignia, then the shirt beneath. His blue skin seemed to shimmer more intensely as each layer came off, his musculatureclearly defined. When his hands went to the fastening of his trousers, my heart began to pound so hard I thought it might burst from my chest.
The trousers fell away.
The collective gasp from my classmates was audible even over the whirring of their vibrating seats. I felt my own breath catch, felt my eyes widen despite every instinct telling me to look away.
Alpha’s cock—and I couldn’t think of it as anything else, besides the naughty word older girls had whispered… notpenis, notmember, butcock—hung nearly to his knees even in its semi-flaccid state. It was thick, impossibly thick, and as we watched, it stiffened and rose even further.
“Now you know, girls, I think,” Ms. Haspor said, and I heard amusement in her voice, “what Sala meant about discomfort.”
The enormous appendage continued to harden, lifting until it jutted out from Alpha’s body at an angle, massive and rigid. The head was darker than the shaft, and I could see a bead of moisture at its tip. My wellness classes had not prepared me for this. The clinical diagrams had shown nothing like this—nothing that conveyed the raw, primal reality of what I was seeing.
A girl to my right—I thought it was Lenara—cried out, her body shuddering in her seat. She had climaxed, I realized. The vibrations and the sight of Alpha’s enormous erection had pushed her over the edge.
“Beautiful, Lenara,” Ms. Haspor praised. “Don’t be ashamed. Your body knows what it needs.”
Alpha retrieved a cushion from behind the wooden chair and placed it at the center of the stage. Then he looked at Sala, stillstanding with her hands on her head, her punished bottom on display.
“Come here, wife,” he said.
Sala moved immediately, gracefully, despite what must have been considerable pain from her spanking. She knelt on the cushion without being told, her posture perfect, her gaze lifted to look at her husband’s face.
Alpha stepped closer, his massive cock now level with Sala’s face. He placed one hand on the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her short black hair.
“Open,” he commanded.
Sala’s mouth opened, and Alpha guided his cock between her lips. I watched, transfixed and horrified in equal measure, as he pushed forward. Sala’s lips stretched around his girth, her eyes watering as he penetrated deeper into her mouth and throat.
The huge blue captain began to fuck his wife’s face—there was no other way to describe it. His hips moved in steady thrusts while he held her head in place, using her mouth for his pleasure exactly as she had described men doing at the pleasure station.
More motors whirred to life. More gasps and moans filled the theater. Another girl climaxed—I couldn’t tell who this time—her cry of release mingling with the wet sounds of Alpha’s cock sliding in and out of Sala’s throat.
