When Ben woke her up with his fingers the next morning, Peaches cried out slightly. Xxnx Peaches sighed hungrily despite herself, and tried to regain control. Ben flinched back in terror; he knew that Peaches had a tiny transmitter and analyser, buried under her skin, that recorded all her orgasms. The boy slipped his fingers, wet with her pussy juices, between her lips, and puller her upright, his hands lingering on her body. She was to spend the next few days naked, on display in the Pirnce’s audience room, as the whip marks faded; he had been a bit enthusiastic in his use, as the troopers agreed as they washed her. ‘Coming Sir!’ Ben called back, collaring Peaches, attaching her lead and leading her, barefoot, naked and bound, down the corridor. But she had absolutely no choice, of course! The boy was young, surely no older
