The Secret Garden Academy Ch 04

The Secret Garden Academy Chapter Four.

In which Doctor Varela Autopoiesis--the university professor turned undercover agent and abducted to a sex-slave training resort--discovers more about Prince Orlov but makes a stupid mistake and is rightfully punished.

MORNING. THE SECRET GARDEN LIBRARY.

The Master Librarian is a lean, athletic young man. His gold-rimmed round glasses frame bright, observant eyes, and he makes me blush when I realize my Red Cape is open. My hands are free, so I automatically try to cover my breasts under the corset half-cups. But Sluttyself glowers. "Shush, you bad girl." I try to restrain her as I try to assume a professional stance. Nothing unusual, just a professor visiting the University library in the nude, the handsome librarian staring at her neatly trimmed hairy pussy.

The young man raises an eyebrow when I require a few books and old newspapers. "Dean's orders." Sarge confirms, without adding details, and the Master Librarian efficiently provides the sources I need: Chatham House and Carnegie Moscow Center analyses, SIPRI reports, RAND Corporation papers.

Sitting at my crystal library desk under the soft glow of a green-shaded lamp, I get lost in the excitement of the first phases of a new research project, oblivious to the worrying surroundings. But it is an easy research. Bingo! Here he is. Prince Victor Orlov, businessman, oligarch, and arms dealer. And the vengeful man who ordered my abduction.

The man is famous, but of course he has become secretive in recent years. Evantually, I find an old photograph showing him in St. Petersburg. And for the first time, Sluttyself shows some interest in my academic activities. I don't know if it is the Kalashnikov he brandishes or his pale-blue piercing eyes, the same color as the Neva river flowing behind him, and as cold as its water.

"He is cool! Dangerous!"

"Dangerous and vengeful, remember that, you stupid bitch." Sluttyself gets silent, and I shiver, realizing I am still in the Red Cape, in a sex-slave training resort detailed to train me for servicing the dangerous man and possibly his friends, and the two guards are still behind me, on the ready.

Just then, a muscular Black man in a black T-shirt and black denim barges in. White teeth shining, a dazzling smile on his full lips, he zeroes in on me. Behind me, my guards chuckle.

Shit. I guess Sarge notified his boss I am skipping the Blowjob and Deepthroat class without mentioning the Dean's permit. I am about to protest, but the newcomer speaks first, "What is it? Your make-up sucks, Ma'am! Look at that eyeshadow! A factory worker could do a better job on her commuter train! Do you think you are superior to these humble tasks, Ms. Ivy League?"

Shit! Shit! He is right. I have not refreshed my make-up after my performance with the Dean. Classy sex slaves should keep their makeup perfect even after half a dozen blowjobs, I guess. "But we know how to correct your wrong attitude, honey. Panties off, Doctor, please show this poor Master your gorgeous intellectual ass."

With that, he grabs unceremoniously my left wrist and drags me toward the center of the library, where someone has previously set a lone chair.

'Panties off' is obviously a figure of speech, because I have been pantyless since I was abducted. But they still love undressing their trainees, so Sarge happily unbuckles the Red Cape, leaving me suitably dressed in silk stockings, stockings, and red-soled heels. Last detail: grinning at me he frees my breasts from the corset half-cups. I guess the spectators could like seeing my small tits bouncing.

The Master Spanker slaps his muscular thigh and presto! I find myself wrapped across his lap, my bum aimed towards the library entrance -- where a small audience of valets and servants is gathering -- my face towards the library, where the bespectacled librarian and a few intellectual readers look at me with interest. I recognize the beautiful but oversized woman who occupies the doll-cage opposite mine, who has stopped working on her laptop, and I wonder why she too has skipped class. Sarah.

One of the big man's hands rests on my shoulders as the other one massages my butt, preparing it, taking his time. "Now please madame, help count. Bad make-up. Two dozen of the best. And thank me, since I am helping you improve your education."

I yelp but do not count the first slap. The second is harder. At the third hit, I change my mind, and start counting, yelping and crying. The slaps resound loudly in the secluded space of the library as the man works with a steady, slow rhythm, alternating my right and left buttock, taking his time. He stops after the sixth whack to trap my wiggling legs between his, then retrieves his task.

At "Twelve! Thank you Sir!" my bum is on fire, and I feel a salty taste at the corner of my mouth--unexpected tears on my face. Now the makeup is ruined for sure. Sarah looks at me, baffled, but fascinated. I hear some males snickering and fidgeting behind. I hear the word "slit".

Then something unexpected happens. Although the slaps sound as loud as before, the pain starts mellowing into a sort of strange elation.

At "Twenty-four! Thank you, Sir!" -- actually, twenty-seven, adding the three uncounted but felt ones -- the Master Spanker stops. I try to stand up, but his heavy hand is still on my shoulder, and his deft fingers are massaging my neck. Then suddenly, without warning, he tucks his hand between my flaming buttocks and slides two fingers into my pussy. I gasp as they swish in with remarkable easiness, so he slides them out and circles my clit twice, laughing.

"Very well, very well... so top scholars have a soul, too"

The Master Spanker snaps his fingers and I feel something unexpected. A warm hand on my offended ass. Lad. He gently spreads ointment across the affected area without rubbing too hard. "There, there, Docteur. Your ass will heal very quickly with this, ready for further usage." However, he seems to have forgotten the beauty moles doubling as interference cameras so I don't raise the issue.

He checks my pussy with his deft fingers, circling my clit, and I sigh. Then, he signals with a gentle smack that I can stand up. Which I do, trembling, breathing hard, reaching out a hand for my Red Cape.

But the Master Spanker doesn't give it back to me. "I'll take this until you have fixed your makeup--and your bad attitude, Miss Ivy League. High time to show our brave guards your classy academic cunt and your newly shining ass." I oblige, sashaying away, followed by my men in black. "And hurry up, keep these lovely tits bouncing: you are just in time for your Sex-slave dress-code class."