Girl by Eden Bradley Page B

pointer stick. “Is that the best you can do?”
    The Boy bites his lip. “Master, Andromeda Galaxy is two point five million light years from the Milky Way.”
    “Ah, very good.” He lets the Boy place another kiss on his hand. “And what is the most commonly used measure of distance in astrometry, the branch of astronomy that deals with measurements and positions of celestial bodies?”
    “That is the parsec, Master.”
    Again the slave is allowed to press his lips to the back of the Master’s hand, while I panic in my seat. I couldn’t possibly answer these questions. But as much as I crave the Master’s hand beneath my hungry lips, I am still eager for the punishment. I want to move up the rows until my cunt and my ass are penetrated in the front of the room. To please the Master in this way, which, I am certain, is more satisfying to him than our ability to answer the questions. This idea makes me relax a bit. But only a bit. There is still the narrow pointer stick and the Master is creative in his use of us.
    “Girl,” he says suddenly, making my head jerk up, and I realize I’ve been daydreaming. But he’s addressing the Girl with the pink hair. “Which of the Greek philosophers said ‘No intelligent man believes that anybody ever willingly errs or willingly does base and evil deeds; they are well aware that all who do base and evil things do them unwillingly’?”
    She sits perfectly still, but I can see the tension in her shoulders—until the Master, out of patience, slams her desk with the stick.
    “Answer,” he demands sharply, making me shiver.
    I want that harsh voice aimed at me. And I don’t want it. I fear it. Oh, but fear can be such a delicious thing.
    “Master, I think it was Diogenes.”
    “Wrong,” he says as he smacks her thigh with the pointer stick.
    Her body goes loose, and I understand this reaction so perfectly, the release that comes with an anticipated punishment. Then he marches to his desk at the front of the room, presses a button on a device I hadn’t noticed before that looks like an old-fashioned intercom.
    “Advancement,” he says.
    A moment later the door opens and two men come in, both of them burly in build, and I recognize one of them as Gilby. They unhook the pink-haired girl’s leash and lift her, moving her up one row and lowering her onto the phallus so quickly I barely have time to take in what’s happening. It’s then I see that all of the dildos in that row are carved with intricate patterns, and I can only imagine how they feel. My cunt squeezes the hard shaft inside me, which is suddenly far too small. How I want to be that Girl! I tremble with need at my school desk. Even more so when Christopher raises his chin and his urgent, angry gaze finds me. His golden eyes lance through me like flame and smoke and the keen edge of a knife. He is sublimely savage, this bad slave. The longer he stares at me, the more deeply I feel it. Feel him .
    I cannot believe he is looking at me. I feel my mouth fall open a little, and a small smirk appears at one corner of his wicked lips, a dimple flashing for a moment in his cheek.
    Ah God. I could die now. Come now.
    Come. Now.
    My cunt squeezes.
    No!
    I take in a breath. I hate to do it but I have to look away.
    And suddenly the Master advances, his gaze on mine. He presses the tip of the pointer between my breasts. Lovely little pain.
    “Girl, your first question. Who painted the infamous Garden of Earthly Delights ?”
    I almost want to get the answer wrong, but this I know. Art has long been an obsession of mine.
    “Hieronymus Bosch, Master.”
    “Ah, the new Girl answers correctly. You may kiss my hand.”
    He extends it and it is all I can do to control myself, to place a quiet kiss there rather than licking it, sucking on his fingers.
    “And now tell me, what element on the periodic table included in those below the atomic number ninety-two is not naturally occurring?”
    My mind scrambles for information it