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)
CHAPTER 8
Viola
Trellama let out a little sob.
“No, Mistress. Not… very often.”
“Less frequently than ideal, certainly,” Mistress Orela said, nodding, “or you would not be here with us, would you?”
I bit my lip to keep myself from whimpering at the way this mortifying exchange affected me. I knew I must have a wet spot of my own, and I prayed the dreadful woman didn’t intend to inspect each of us.
“N-no, Mistress,” Trellama said. “They… the government on Draco sent me as a second chance when I refused too many suitors.”
“Let us hope you make the most of it,” Mistress Orela said. “I think we’ll be able to ensure you’re ready to submit, when you return home.”
She straightened and moved further down the row. She paused beside my supine form, and I felt her gaze assessing me. “Miss Viola, your wet spot is even more commendable than Miss Trellama’s. Please maintain that position while the others return to their seats. I wish to demonstrate proper adjustment of posture.”
My heart hammered as the other students rose and moved away, leaving me alone on the floor in the shameful pose. Mistress Orela knelt beside me, her hands cool as she adjusted the angle of my legs.
“Notice how the spine must arch properly,” she lectured to the class. “The submission must be complete and aesthetically pleasing.” Her fingers traced along my thigh, ostensibly for instructional purposes, but the touch sent unwelcome shivers through me.
“Your Guardian will expect perfection in these displays,” she continued, her hand now resting possessively on my knee. “Any hesitation or improper form will result in immediate correction.”
I bit my lip to suppress a whimper as her touch lingered, knowing that my body’s treacherous responses were being monitored by the governor, recorded for Prince Hendren’s later review. The thought that he might be watching even now, seeing me debased before these strangers, made the humiliation complete.
“You may return to your seat now,” Mistress Orela finally said, rising to her feet with fluid grace.
I scrambled up on unsteady legs, my face burning as I smoothed down my skirt and returned to my desk. The brief respite of sitting normally felt like a luxury after the degrading positions we had just practiced.
“Now then,” Mistress Orela said, returning to her position at the front of the classroom, “we will discuss the philosophical foundations of the Good Way. Miss Palla, please read aloud the start of chapter three of your text.”
Palla fumbled with her book, her hands still trembling, obviously from what we had all witnessed. “The natural order dictates that feminine submission serves not only individual happiness but societal stability,” she began in a soft voice.
“Louder,” Mistress Orela commanded. “Confidence in reciting truth is essential.”
“The natural order dictates that feminine submission serves not only individual happiness but societal stability,” Palla repeated, her voice stronger now. “When women attempt to usurp masculine authority, chaos inevitably follows. The recent Vionian revolt demonstrates this principle with devastating clarity.”
I felt a familiar surge of anger at the words, but it was quickly tempered by something more complex. Sitting here in this schoolgirl uniform, my body still humming with unwelcome arousal from the posture exercises, I found myself unable to dismiss the argument as easily as I once had. My world had fallen. I had failed to protect my people. The treaty I’d signed in desperation had led directly to my current position—dressed in this ridiculous uniform, collared and controlled, my most intimate responses monitored by an electronic device I couldn’t remove.
“Continue, Miss Palla,” Mistress Orela prompted.
“Women who embrace their natural submissive tendencies report higher levels of satisfaction and purpose,” Palla read, her voice gaining confidence. “The burden of leadership creates psychological stress incompatible with feminine biology. When women surrender these inappropriate responsibilities to masculine guidance, they discover fulfillment previously denied to them.”
The words hit me like physical blows. I wanted to argue, to point out the logical fallacies, to defend the achievements of female leaders throughout history. But sitting in this classroom, my body still tingling from watching Morandra’s punishment, my sex wet with shameful arousal, the arguments felt hollow in my mind.
“Miss Viola,” Mistress Orela said suddenly, making me start. “You seem particularly thoughtful. Please share your reflections on this passage with the class.”
My mouth went dry. Every eye in the room turned toward me, waiting. I could feel the weight of expectation, the trap being laid. Any defense of egalitarian principles would be seen as defiance, earning me the same treatment Morandra had received. But agreement would feel like betraying everything I had once stood for.
“I…” I began, then stopped, swallowing hard. “I’m still… processing these concepts, Mistress.”
“Elaborate,” she commanded, her pale eyes fixed on me with predatory intensity.
I clasped my hands tighter in my lap, fighting to find words that wouldn’t damn me either way. “The passage suggests that leadership caused me stress, Mistress. And I… I cannot deny that the presidency was often overwhelming.”