Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
The dress pooled around my feet, leaving me naked except for my collar and sandals. The cool air of the preparation room raised goosebumps across my skin, my newly bare sex feeling especially exposed. I fought the urge to cover myself, remembering Prince Hendren’s training.
“Sandals as well,” Mistress Orela instructed without looking up from her tablet. “Students at the Academy wear proper footwear. It reinforces your vulnerability and ensures you move with proper feminine grace.”
I stepped out of the sandals, the marble floor cold against my soles. Mistress Orela finally looked up, her clinical gaze cataloguing my naked form with the same detached interest she had shown at the reception.
“Adequate physical condition,” she murmured, making notes on her tablet. “The Magisterian methods have produced acceptable preliminary results.” She gestured toward one of the examination tables. “Up on the table, on your back. Legs in the stirrups.”
My stomach clenched, but I forced myself to comply. The metal stirrups were cold against my calves as Mistress Orela adjusted them, spreading my legs wide and tilting my pelvis upward. The position left me completely revealed, my smooth sex on mortifyingly full display.
“The Academy requires a complete physical assessment of each new student,” she explained, pulling on examination gloves. “We must understand exactly what we’re working with.”
Without further warning, the fingers of her right hand began to probe between my legs. I thanked the powers, as humiliating as it was, for my governor, as I felt it regulating my helpless arousal at the woman’s ministrations.
“Hmm,” Mistress Orela said, withdrawing her hand and taking her handheld from a pocket in her dress. “I think we’ll turn your governor up, Viola, so as to get an idea of your natural responses.”
I almost protested—almost asked for the horrid thing to be turned down all the way. I managed to keep it in, though. I even managed to keep from crying out as Mistress Orela turned the governor up, and the unwelcome arousal came flooding back into my system.
Sensation flooded through me instantly, and despite my desperate attempts to control my reaction, I felt my body respond with terrible eagerness. My nipples hardened, my breathing quickened, and I knew with mortifying certainty that I had just become wet.
“Fascinating,” Mistress Orela murmured, her eyes fixed on the screen of her handheld device. “The biometric readings are remarkably precise. I can see your heart rate increasing, blood flow to your genital region expanding…” She looked up at me with clinical interest. “The governor provides real-time monitoring of your arousal state. Every flutter of excitement, every surge of need—it’s all perfectly tracked.”
My face burned with humiliation as she continued her examination, her gloved fingers probing and testing while she watched the readouts on her screen like a scientist studying a specimen.
“Excellent responsiveness,” she noted, making entries on her tablet with her free hand. “I imagine that Prince Hendren’s Magisterian reconditioning has enhanced your natural sensitivity considerably, even in so short a time. Surely you weren’t so needy as president of a planet.”
I felt a surge of heat travel through me that made me think my skin might actually burst into flames. I understood the irony all too well: Mistress Orela was actually implying that my unmet sexual needs had endangered my world. At this point, I didn’t know whether I wanted the horrid woman to be right or wrong, but something in me knew how terribly accurate her judgment was. If I had had more sex… if I had let a man dominate me in bed… would I have found a way to save Artemisia from Magisteria’s iron fist?
Mistress Orela withdrew her fingers and stripped off the gloves. “You may sit up now,” she said, as if commanding women’s postures were as natural to her as breathing.
I struggled to an upright position, my legs still splayed in the stirrups, acutely aware of how exposed I remained. Mistress Orela moved to one of the wardrobes and began selecting items.
“You’ll be housed in the Academy dormitory with your five classmates,” she explained, returning with an armful of clothing. “The dormitory system serves multiple purposes—it creates bonds between students while maintaining healthy competition for approval.”
She held up what appeared to be a schoolgirl’s uniform: a white blouse with a collar that made me think of ancient portraits of distant ancestors, a pleated navy skirt that would barely reach mid-thigh, white knee socks, and shiny black shoes I thought I had once heard called Mary Janes, though I had no idea who that millennia-dead Mary Jane might have been. The outfit was clearly designed to infantilize and sexualize simultaneously.
“Each dormitory room houses three students,” Mistress Orela continued as she helped me down from the examination table. “You’ll share with Morandra, a former university professor, and Palla, who was a systems administrator. They both come from Hippolyta. Has His Royal Highness told you about Hippolyta?”