Not only the time for her to be deflowered, as the old books called it, was appointed, but also the manner. It would be in the pink-covered bed, after a time getting ready upon that lesson table . Gretchen shivered to think of what the phrase meant. How many lessons would she have atop that table?
“First, though,” said Mr. Lourcy, “I want you to come kneel on the floor in front of me, so that I may tell you about your new life. There are things that I want you to learn that are different from what you learned in orientation.”
A little mystified, but also reassured by her master’s kindly tone, Gretchen walked slowly over to his chair and sank to her knees, looking into Mr. Lourcy’s light brown eyes that seemed like milk chocolate, a treat she had only had a few times in her life.
“Good girl,” he said. “You may sit back on your heels.” Gretchen did, wondering why it felt so comforting to have her master praise her, and command her in his strangely polite way.
“Gretchen,” he said, “do you know what a wife is?”
Gretchen felt her brow furrow. Of course she did—you couldn’t understand practically any book from the old times unless you knew about marriage. “Yes, sir,” she said.
“What is a wife?” He seemed so very serious that Gretchen began to cast her mind about to try to understand why he would ask that sort of question. Marriage, and husbands and wives, were part of the past. The elites had specifically abolished it when they founded the community that built Athena and then withdrew there—here.
“It’s… I mean, she’s…” She felt herself start to panic a little at the strange questions and not being able to answer as she wished. Something about kneeling before this man seemed to take her wits away. Perhaps the reason was that he would soon have sex with her because that was how he wished it, and her opinion on the matter didn’t play any role at all. Perhaps it was because Gretchen’s back was on the one hand to the enormous window with the view of the sun, the stars, and the planets, and on the other to the strange lesson table and the room where the sex—Gretchen’s very first sex, which she could not help fearing because she knew that pain and blood were a practically essential part of the experience—would take place.
Mr. Lourcy put out his hand and stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Gretchen gave a little whimper. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he said. “The question doesn’t have a correct answer, because so many people over the years defined the marital roles so differently. I only want to know what you think, and have heard, about it.”
Gretchen compressed her lips and gave a little nod. She tried to smile bravely, but she feared that the expression emerged onto her face as a grimace. Mr. Lourcy, still smiling at her, moved his hand to her hair, which the assistants in the orientation center—relict girls who had done their two years’ service—had gathered into a loose ponytail sort of style that they had called a chignon, though Gretchen had of course never heard the word before. In the enclosure, if you kept your hair long, it was in a tight, efficient ponytail or it was down over your shoulders.
Her master’s hand, she realized with a jolt of recognition not entirely to her liking, felt good . Only her mother had ever touched her gently, that way, before. Yes, when he had rubbed her bottom after the spanking in the orientation center, it had awakened memories of the first spanking, back on Earth, and even more memories of the way he had touched her between her legs on the shuttle, but Gretchen would call that pleasure rather than goodness . Mr. Lourcy’s big, masculine hand—his firm hand, which had spanked her now twice—stroking her hair felt good: comforting, loving. It seemed the gestural equivalent of him saying ‘good girl,’ that phrase she found she had begun to long for above every other sound.
Chapter
“First, though,” said Mr. Lourcy, “I want you to come kneel on the floor in front of me, so that I may tell you about your new life. There are things that I want you to learn that are different from what you learned in orientation.”
A little mystified, but also reassured by her master’s kindly tone, Gretchen walked slowly over to his chair and sank to her knees, looking into Mr. Lourcy’s light brown eyes that seemed like milk chocolate, a treat she had only had a few times in her life.
“Good girl,” he said. “You may sit back on your heels.” Gretchen did, wondering why it felt so comforting to have her master praise her, and command her in his strangely polite way.
“Gretchen,” he said, “do you know what a wife is?”
Gretchen felt her brow furrow. Of course she did—you couldn’t understand practically any book from the old times unless you knew about marriage. “Yes, sir,” she said.
“What is a wife?” He seemed so very serious that Gretchen began to cast her mind about to try to understand why he would ask that sort of question. Marriage, and husbands and wives, were part of the past. The elites had specifically abolished it when they founded the community that built Athena and then withdrew there—here.
“It’s… I mean, she’s…” She felt herself start to panic a little at the strange questions and not being able to answer as she wished. Something about kneeling before this man seemed to take her wits away. Perhaps the reason was that he would soon have sex with her because that was how he wished it, and her opinion on the matter didn’t play any role at all. Perhaps it was because Gretchen’s back was on the one hand to the enormous window with the view of the sun, the stars, and the planets, and on the other to the strange lesson table and the room where the sex—Gretchen’s very first sex, which she could not help fearing because she knew that pain and blood were a practically essential part of the experience—would take place.
Mr. Lourcy put out his hand and stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Gretchen gave a little whimper. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he said. “The question doesn’t have a correct answer, because so many people over the years defined the marital roles so differently. I only want to know what you think, and have heard, about it.”
Gretchen compressed her lips and gave a little nod. She tried to smile bravely, but she feared that the expression emerged onto her face as a grimace. Mr. Lourcy, still smiling at her, moved his hand to her hair, which the assistants in the orientation center—relict girls who had done their two years’ service—had gathered into a loose ponytail sort of style that they had called a chignon, though Gretchen had of course never heard the word before. In the enclosure, if you kept your hair long, it was in a tight, efficient ponytail or it was down over your shoulders.
Her master’s hand, she realized with a jolt of recognition not entirely to her liking, felt good . Only her mother had ever touched her gently, that way, before. Yes, when he had rubbed her bottom after the spanking in the orientation center, it had awakened memories of the first spanking, back on Earth, and even more memories of the way he had touched her between her legs on the shuttle, but Gretchen would call that pleasure rather than goodness . Mr. Lourcy’s big, masculine hand—his firm hand, which had spanked her now twice—stroking her hair felt good: comforting, loving. It seemed the gestural equivalent of him saying ‘good girl,’ that phrase she found she had begun to long for above every other sound.
Chapter
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