Girl by Eden Bradley Page A

predicament amuse you, Girl?”
    I flinch, but don’t dare to answer.
    “Or are you thinking, perhaps, that you’d love to be in his position? It can certainly be arranged.”
    He turns to the bad slave and smacks his chest with the pointer stick, hard enough to leave a long, pink welt. The slave doesn’t move a muscle.
    “This is what happens, Boys and Girls, to bad students. To slaves who have a smart mouth. And this is only the beginning of the punishment he will receive today. You see, Christopher here lacks the appropriate respect for myself and my staff. And he is very bad at answering the test questions. Aren’t you, Christopher?”
    I am shocked to hear this slave called by name! But I remember the name from the Master’s conversation with Mistress Alexa yesterday. I am just as shocked when the bad slave spits on the floor.
    The Master grabs his chin in a hard, vicious hand and squeezes, holding Christopher’s angry gaze to his own as he beats his thighs with the pointer stick. When it breaks, the wood splintering with a jolting crack, he drops it, releases Christopher’s face and walks away. At his desk, he opens a drawer, takes a white handkerchief from it and wipes his hands carefully.
    He says, “Shall we?” as if nothing has happened.
    Christopher, for his part, wears the same angry glare, his cock harder than ever, his mouth more set. My body surges with heated desire. Who is this slave that he can take a beating like that without moving, without flinching? His thighs are striped with pink welts, and I want to kiss them away. I want to kiss his beautiful hard-on away too.
    Who is this slave that he still has a name in this place?
    The Master pulls another pointer stick from behind the desk, where I imagine he has a good supply of them, goes to the blonde and grabs her long braid, yanking her head back. “Girl, tell our newcomer what to expect here in my classroom.”
    “Yes, Master,” she says in a soft, timid voice. “We will be asked questions by the Master, or by the schoolmaster, Mr. Clare. If we are correct, we may be allowed to kiss the Master’s hand. If we are unable to answer correctly, we will be advanced one row, until we reach the front of the room. If, in the front row, we get a wrong answer, we will earn a beating with a ruler, or…something worse. Is that right, Master?”
    “Very good, darling Girl,” he says, leaning down to brush a kiss across her cheek, and I am filled with jealousy.
    If only he would kiss my cheek, call me “darling.” Or if only Christopher would.
    I silently berate myself as I try to focus only on the Master. He moves toward the Boy with the dark hair.
    “Boy, first series of questions. Define a light year.”
    “Yes, Master. A light year is the distance light can travel in vacuum in one year’s time.”
    “Very good.”
    He extends his hand, and the slave turns so that I see his face in profile. He is beautiful, as we all are here in our own way, with sharp features, like a faun. He places a soft kiss on the back of the Master’s hand.
    “Now answer this: name the spiral galaxy nearest to the Milky Way, and its distance in light years.”
    “Yes, Master. The nearest galaxy to ours is the Andromeda Galaxy, and it is…over two million light years away…?”
    “You sound uncertain,” he says, tapping the pointer against the toe of his polished shoe.
    His dark hair is a little more mussed than usual after his small struggle with Christopher, and he is so stunningly handsome I find it difficult to look at him. Yet at the same time the only thing that can really tear my gaze from him is the sullen Christopher and his beautiful erection. I force myself to keep watching the Master, as I’m fairly certain he’ll catch me if I don’t, and I have no idea how bad the punishments are in the schoolroom. This thrills me a bit—more than a bit—but not enough to risk it. As I said, I am mostly a good Girl.
    The Master taps the Boy’s calf with the