My hand hovered over my own dial. The ache between my legs had become almost unbearable. I could feel moisture there, knew that my body was responding exactly as the sensors were designed to detect. But if I touched that dial, if I gave in to what my body wanted, wouldn’t that prove everything Ms. Opalin hadwarned me about? Wouldn’t it mean I was weak, that I had been corrupted by Magisterian propaganda?
Alpha pulled his cock from Sala’s mouth with an obscene sound. Saliva connected her lips to his shaft in glistening strands. He moved the wooden chair to the front of the stage, positioning it so the back faced us, then placed the cushion on its seat.
“Up,” he told Sala.
She stood on shaky legs, and he guided her to kneel on the cushion, facing us. Her knees were on the chair’s seat, her hands gripping its back for support. To my dismay, I couldn’t help picturing how she looked from her husband’s perspective: the posture must have left her completely exposed—her smooth pussy, her reddened bottom, everything visible to the man who clearly owned her in every way.
Alpha positioned himself behind her. His cock, glistening with Sala’s saliva, pressed against her pussy. Through the posts of the chair’s rail back I could see the cleft, the way the huge blue penis began to stretch the entrance to her body. I saw Sala tense, saw her knuckles whiten on the chair back, and then he thrust forward.
Sala cried out—a sound of discomfort mixed with something I recognized, with a flash of heat to my face, as primal need. Alpha’s enormous cock had penetrated her, opening her in ways that must have hurt despite the arousal I could see glistening on her thighs. He began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful, and Sala’s cries became a rhythmic accompaniment to his fucking.
But even as she cried out, even as I could see the strain on her face, I could also see something else. Her back arched to takehim deeper. Her hips pushed back to meet his thrusts. The pain was obviously real, but so was the pleasure, and watching the two intertwine on her face made my own body respond in ways I couldn’t control.
Brequa climaxed again, her second orgasm making her slump in her seat. Two other girls I couldn’t identify also cried out their release. The theater had become a symphony of pleasure and submission, and I seemed to be the only one fighting against it.
Alpha’s thrusts slowed, then stopped. He pulled his cock from Sala’s pussy and I watched him move it upward, position it higher for some reason, then slowly begin to press.
It took me a moment, and Sala’s whimper of discomfort, different from before, to understand.
No, I thought.Not that. Please, not that.
But Alpha pushed forward, and Sala’s cry this time was definitely pain. I knew her anus was stretched around his girth now, resisting, but I could see that her husband was relentless. Inch by inch, I could see on her face, he penetrated her bottom. Tears streamed down her face even as through the chair back I could see how her pussy continued to glisten with arousal.
“This is discipline,” Alpha said, his voice carrying easily through the theater despite his exertion. “This is how a Magisterian husband reminds his wife of her marital obligations. But watch closely—watch Sala’s face.”
I couldn’t look away. As Alpha began to fuck Sala’s bottom with the same powerful thrusts he had used on her pussy, I saw the pain on her face gradually transform. Her cries became moans. Her body, which had been rigid with discomfort, began to relax and move with him.
To my astonishment, Sala spoke, her voice a strained moan:
“Sir… please… may I?”
Alpha’s deep voice seemed smooth, unaffected by the effort of using his wife’s smallest hole.
“Yes, my love. Touch yourself. Make your little cunny feel good.”
Oh, no.That word… the c-word, the other terribly vulgar word… but, in a diminutive form that made it even more mortifying… I felt my own… my owncunnyclench, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out as I watched Sala’s hand slip between her legs, saw her fingers find her clitoris and begin to rub.
She was going to climax. He was fucking her bottom, using her in the most degrading way possible, and she was going to climax from it. She was playing with her bare little cunny, like a naughty girl… in front of all of us… and she wanted to… tocomethat way, too.
When Sala’s orgasm hit, it was explosive. Her whole body shuddered, her cries filling the theater, and I watched Alpha increase his pace, driving deeper into her bottom as she came. The sight pushed three more of my classmates over the edge, their own climaxes triggered by witnessing Sala’s overwhelming pleasure-pain.
My hand still hovered over the dial. The sensors in my seat had surely recorded everything—my elevated heart rate, my dilated pupils, the heat of my skin, the moisture between my legs. They knew. They all knew what my body wanted, even if I refused to give in to it.
Alpha’s thrusts became irregular, then stopped as he found his own release. He remained buried in Sala’s bottom for a longmoment before slowly withdrawing. I could see his seed leaking, running down her leg out of her unseen but surely stretched opening, could see the way her body trembled with aftershocks.
The demonstration was over.
Ms. Haspor’s voice broke the silence. “Thank you, Alpha and Sala, for that illuminating presentation. Girls, you may turn off your seat vibrations now.”
The motors gradually fell silent. My classmates sat in various states of dishevelment, some looking satisfied, others embarrassed by what they had just experienced. I remained rigid in my seat, my hand finally dropping away from the dial I had never touched.
I hadn’t given in. I had resisted. Surely that would count for something when they evaluated us. Surely they would see that I was unsuited for Magisterian service.
Alpha helped Sala to her feet, supporting her as she stood on trembling legs before us. He guided her back to the exhibition chair and helped her settle into it, her punished bottom surely aching against the seat. She looked exhausted but somehow radiant, her face flushed and her eyes bright.
Then Alpha turned to face us fully, his imposing blue form still naked, though his enormous cock had begun to soften. When he spoke, his voice carried that same melodic quality I had noticed earlier—both soothing and commanding.
“What you have witnessed today,” he began, “represents something the Collective has come to recognize as fundamentally important to human psychology. We call it ‘sex with power.’ The interplay of dominance and submission, authority and obedience, discipline and pleasure.”
