Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
"Demerit. Chin down. That posture commands respect from others and reminds you of your place," Jino continues. "You represent the Bavga name with every movement."
Emmaleen's eyes flick up to Jino, seeking confirmation that this isn't some elaborate joke. That Jino actually believes what he's saying. That this Doctrine isn't just theatrical nonsense I've concocted to torment her.
She's examining my methodology. Testing its authenticity through Jino.
Interesting.
Jino has no patience for insubordination. "Eyes down," he snaps, marking something in his notebook. "Demerit. Article Two: Eye contact is granted, not taken."
Emmaleen's gaze lingers despite the fact that Jino is now ticking off consequences. "Three more demerits. Do you want to make it four, Miss Take? Lower. Your fucking. Eyes."
But again, she doesn't lower her eyes.
"Five. Six. Seven more demerits—" Jino continues.
Finally, she looks down.
I stand up, palms pressed flat on the desk as I lean forward. What the fuck was that?
Jino tallies up her defiance in penalties. "That's a total of twelve demerits, Miss Take. Twelve. We're not even five minutes in."
Emmaleen blows out a breath, making her unkempt hair fly up around her eyes.
"Thirteen."
She looks back up at him, defiant and angry. "What did I do now?"
"Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. They're piling up fast."
"Fuck," she mutters.
"Oh, yes," Jino says. "You are so fucked." He slaps the crop against his hand as he continues to circle her. "This is not a game to me. I'm not here to tantalize myself with your submission. I'm not here to get off on your obedience. I'm not here to give you the alpha-male experience, Miss Take. I'm here to teach you how to serve. This is a job to me. You are an assignment. I have been tasked with molding you into Giovanni Bavga's submissive. When I'm done with you, you will worship the ground he walks on. You will submit to him because it pleases you. You will obey him because every fiber of you has been conditioned to crave his control. You will kneel when he enters a room. You will thank him for his discipline. You will beg for his approval, not because you fear punishment, but because you cannot breathe without it. That is the point where my work ends, Miss Take—when your resistance becomes devotion, and when Giovanni Bavga does not need to demand your submission. You will offer it. Freely. Desperately. Without hesitation."
Emmaleen says nothing, just continues to look down at her feet. But I can tell she's not submitting to Jino.
She's thinking…
"You signed the Doctrine," Jino continues. "You know where the key is. You can leave at any time, I need to make that very clear. You are not my prisoner. You are my student. You are here of your own free will. You are here because you want to learn how to please Giovanni. If any of this sounds like something you'd rather not subject yourself to, I urge you to take the key and leave. Now. Do not waste my time, because if you do, you will just piss me off."
Still, she thinks. Staring down at her yellowed sneakers, she thinks.
"Do you understand me?" Jino asks.
Emmaleen doesn't look up this time. She nods her affirmation.
Jino cracks his gloved hand with the crop. "When you speak to me, you say, Yes, Sir."
"Yes, Sir," she says. But then, she looks up. Smiles at him.
"Seventeen."
She looks down.
What the hell is happening here? Why was she smiling?
I don't know why I'm asking myself this question, the answer is so obvious.
She… likes him.
No, maybe a jump too far.
She… respects him.
He explained himself. She got rules. She was given expectations.
He was… fair.
And if there's one thing Miss Take likes, it's fairness.
For a moment, I can't think.
Emmaleen is responding to Jino. Not with reluctant compliance, but with something that borders on... willingness.
I lean closer to the monitor as Jino's corrects her posture. Her spine straightens. Her chin lowers precisely the right amount. Her hands fold in front of her without trembling.
These aren't the movements of someone who's merely placating. These are the calibrations of someone testing a system they find intriguing.
Is she a true submissive?
I hadn't factored that into my calculations. I assumed her submission would be a painful, broken thing—extracted like a molar, bloody and unwilling. I expected resistance at every step, creating the perfect conditions to break her spirit and make her take the money and leave.
But this...
Jino circles her like a drill sergeant, his boots marking each step with quiet authority. He adjusts her elbows, taps her ankles into proper position. It's methodical, exact, and utterly without sexual overtone—yet her breathing changes with each correction. It quickens, then steadies as she finds the position.
"That outfit is an insult to both taste and protocol," Jino says, gesturing to her mismatched clothes. "Was this deliberate provocation or just incompetence?"
Emmaleen doesn't answer. Smart. She's learning faster than I anticipated.