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General Sarah Alder didn’t know what the hell was happening to her. She had always found that rather modern expression strange, inadequate, for she believed hell was on Earth, and had been for many centuries for her people – she didn’t believe in a religious hell, or in a paradise, either. And anyway, it was a lie, because she knew full well what was happening to her. Because it had happened again and again, ever since she had met a Bellweather, a Collar and a Craven. Now, once again, the scions of the matrilines had been reunited, and as her personal tradition decreed, they were going to make her life hell – so many human expressions with “hell” – and she was going to have a hell of a time resisting the bond she would form with one of them.
She remembered all too well the first “Bellweather unit” – not their mothers, but their great-grandmothers, in the 1890s. Abigail Bellweather, - the name was handed down to the youngest daughter, Rachelle Collar and Nathalia Craven. She could still see them in her office, in their demure dresses, doing their best to look innocent until proven guilty. They hadn’t yet adopted military uniform, then. The young recruits fought in long dresses, corsets, hats and gloves. Parasols used to be very useful. Not as much as their current whips, but at least as efficient as a sword. Discipline was more stringent, too. Since they hadn’t been able to explain why they had been missing at roll call, and she had made them admit they had snuck out to see their boyfriends, a most unladylike escapade in addition to being an infraction to their military code, she had thoroughly chastised them. She had made them roll up their dresses and petticoats and bend over the desk and she had to admit she had enjoyed lowering their drawers herself, and then caning them over their bare bottoms. Such a nice variety of shapes and colours, too. After having thrashed them, she had made them stand in the various corners of the room, their red and striped backsides on display, and she had dismissed the biddies to satisfy her urgent needs. Her own drawers had been soaked, and she had thought herself lucky she was wearing good-quality woollen dark trousers. After a while, she had dismissed them, only keeping the most defiant one behind. Abigail Bellweather… At twenty-two, she had been a beautiful young woman, very much like her great-granddaughter. She had kept her behind because she was the only one of the three who hadn’t broken down and cried. She quite liked people resisting her – not too much, but showing some spirit was an asset. That day, she had made her bend back and touch her toes and beaten her again for her insolence. It had taken almost double the punishment for the Bellweather of that time to cry and beg for mercy. And when Sarah had relented and taken her into her arms, murmuring sweet nothings to calm down the by then almost hysterical girl, she had let her hand wander under her petticoats, and discovered the wetness underneath. As she had gently coaxed the girl to climax, not even needing to penetrate her, only with smooth rubbing movements on the right spot, Abigail the First had whimpered and cried and then slumped in her arms, begging for more. She hadn’t obeyed, of course, because cadets did not give her orders, even as delightful as that one could have been. But she had gone on soothing the girl, and she had graced her bed for several months before she had been killed in battle.
The next Bellweather had been uninteresting – too cloaked in duty to enjoy such frivolous pursuits. Anyway, the world had suffered a great war, and by then was in the middle of another, and she had had no time to dedicate herself to educate her wards in the joys of sex. Then had come Raelle Collar’s mother… She hadn’t had to educate her in anything. Willa Collar had come on to her so strongly that it would have been churlish to refuse. So she hadn’t. Sarah sighed, remembering the smooth hot skin, so responsive to her caresses, Willa’s long blonde hair entangled in her fingers and her little cries when she finally came under her ministrations. But Willa had married, Willa had left her, and now her daughter was here, wreaking havoc with the rest of her unit. She knew they had doubts about her. Especially Tally Craven, who thought she knew her…And she did, but she knew too much, and too little at the same time.
If Sarah had wanted to explain, she would have said that she didn’t crave power and world domination. She only wanted to right the wrong done to our people. And if she came a little – well, a lot – too strong at times, it was only because she had lost so many and so much that she needed that power to repair herself, to stitch her soul back together, and to protect those under her care, so it never happened again. And if she wanted to do that, she had to stifled rebellions in embryo…
“Enter.”
Sarah stared at the girl she had just admitted. Not a girl. A woman. Tally was over twenty-one, and anyway, she had been a biddy, and she had retained part of that old age too. And part of herself…She realised she felt uncomfortable in Tally’s presence. She started to stand, then sat down again. The next thing she knew, she’d be fidgeting, for the goddess’ sake.
“Explain.”
The way Tally looked at her, it was obvious her curt order hadn’t been understood. She started again. “Tell me what you know about Nicte.
- I saw everything. How you stole her work, how people killed themselves with it, how..
- It was necessary, Craven. For the good of the people who were left, for…
- Yah – the good of the many, uh, General ? Well, I don’t believe you anymore – I don’t believe in you anymore, I…Why don’t you back down? Why don’t you – oh, I don’t know, go and fuck yourself!”
The biddies hissed.
Tally must have realised what she had said, because she stumbled back, put her hand over her mouth and she blushed crimson. The General sat back for a second, stunned. Not many people dared to talk to her like that. And then she stood, putting her hands flat on her desk to steady herself. She couldn’t. But she had to do something, and fast. She motioned to the biddies and they left the room, looking disapproving. As the silence lasted, Tally became more and more uncomfortable.
“So I should go and fuck myself, uh, Craven?”
The General was now almost in Tally’s personal space.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am – I…”
“You overstepped your bounds. Do you agree with me that this should be corrected? Do you agree that you deserve a punishment?”
Tally only nodded and looked down.
“Look at me, Cadet!”, Sarah snapped. Since Tally still stared at the floor, she cupped her chin in her hand and forced her face up. “Do you agree to receive a punishment? I need words.”
“Ye-yes, Ma’am.”
The General felt sensations she had almost forgotten come back to her body. These were so much better than the pleasure she had once derived from eating, and yet, she didn’t get to enjoy them often these days either.
She drew a chair in the middle of the room and sat down.
“ Trousers down, and get over my lap.”
Tally looked shocked for a moment, and Sarah wondered if the cadet would refuse. This was still the army, but not the 19th century anymore, after all. But Tally was not only her soldier, but her daughter, linked by the blood of witches, and in need of chastisement.
Tally slowly unbuttoned her trousers, let the drop at her ankles and lowered herself on the General’s lap and struggled a little with the position. The General didn’t want to be aroused, but Sarah was, and she wondered whether she would manage to hold back. She smacked Tally’s creamy right bottom cheek, and although the young woman gasped, she didn’t cry out. She struck the left, with force. Another gasp as the red imprint blossomed on the white skin. She did it again, and again, maybe a dozen times, and then she delicately lowered the cadet’s panties. They were soaked. Her fingers lingered a little on the source of the arousal, but she did not want to…This was a punishment, she had to finish it. She spanked Tally again, with more force, and this time she cried out, and gushed at the same time. She only managed about twenty more spanks before Tally came on her lap, and a few seconds to breathe before her own orgasm followed, more discreet but just as strong. She vibrated as Tally trembled against her and soared in concert.
She left them a few minutes to recover, gently stroking the burning skin, before helping Tally to stand up and taking her in her arms. She had no words. There was no need. They knew each other intimately already, and their hands were only finishing a work started in the communion of their minds. She kissed the soft lips eagerly responding to her prompt and caressed Tally’s hair, lowering her hand to the small of the girl’s back, and back on the red victims of her displeasure. She should have stopped there, dismissed the girl, called the biddies back. But instead, she helped Tally lie down on the sofa, covered her with a blanket, and left the room. It had been too long, and Sarah needed to be alone with her memories. She suddenly could not bear the new load of youthful emotions that had been added to her already heavy burden.
