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How could I accuse Viola of betraying me when my own body reacted with such treachery to the sound of an enemy officer saying he meant to care for me?
“I’m sure you will,” the prince said. “Why don’t you go ahead and take her upstairs? I’m told the doctor’s ready to give her her entrance examination, and then he’ll be able to certify your guardianship. Sara, Viola and I will see you later on. Say goodbye, Viola.”
I opened my eyes and looked at her. Viola had used me to escape the terrible fate of sexual servitude to which I had been consigned, and she had gained by it the privilege of being treated like a little girl by a prince of Magisteria. I tried to ask, with my sorrowful eyes, if she was happy with her choice.
She looked back at me with a face full of doubt. Her eyes moved to Major Harrow, and then back to me, and I thought perhaps I could see something there that could console me just a little, as absurd as it seemed: envy.
* * *
Major Harrow and Lieutenant Withers marched me up the grand staircase of the beautiful mansion. From the formal stone of the entry hall, the furnishings changed on the second floor to the comforts provided to the president and their family. My feet sank into the soft blue carpet as I walked with my hands still on my head toward what I had known as the presidential suite—rooms I had had the great privilege of visiting on only two occasions, when Viola had summoned me for intimate talks about the state of public opinion.
I thought at first they wanted me to see some desecration they had committed in those beautiful rooms, before they marched me to whatever closet they had appointed as my cell. I did see a strange rearrangement of the furniture, when they walked me into the living room—an odd sort of high wooden bench in the middle of the room where the coffee table had stood, and a camera setup around it with lighting and reflectors.
As soon as I had noticed that the bench seemed to have stout straps affixed to its legs that seemed like they might be made of real leather, and my mind had begun to travel in dismaying directions, though, Major Harrow said, “Welcome to your new home, Sara.”
I frowned deeply, caught between tryingnotto think about the bench and trying to figure out what the major meant. They had already told me that Viola had consigned me to the ‘reformation center’ they had made of the presidential mansion. What did the Magisterian mean by repeating the information?
“The doctor is waiting for you in your bedroom.”
“Wait,” I said, yet another distressing idea impinging on my thoughts. “What?”
During the walk upstairs and down the carpeted corridor Major Harrow had taken his hand away from my backside. I had naturally stopped as soon as he had led me through the door to the presidential apartment. Now, to my dismay, he returned his big hand to my bottom, and forced me to remember my punishment yet again, even as I realized that the soreness from the spanking had nearly, but not quite, vanished.
“You’ll find out what we’re going to do here soon enough, Sara,” he said. “It’s time to see the doctor.”
I had barely even registered that part of what the Magisterians had said in the last few minutes. The way Major Harrow spoke the wordssee the doctor, though, made the fluttering start again in my belly. I didn’t know why, exactly, but I could tell that whatever the doctor had planned for me wouldn’t provide me with any of the reassurance I had almost always associated with visits to the clinic.
I turned to look up at the major, standing beside me now with his hand on my bottom, and I found myself struck again by his absurd handsomeness and by his infuriating self-assurance, his clear conviction that he knew what would be good for me a great deal better than I did.
He pushed me forward with his hand, squeezing gently so that I felt my face pucker into a mask of woe. A tendril of heat from the rapidly fading sting of that same big hand on my backside found its way forward, and the worst things about Major Harrow came leaping to the front of my mind: his apparently irresistible effect on my body, his dark-bearded appearance, his commanding words, and his dominant touch.
I jumped forward, trying to get away, and took a few steps toward the bedroom.
“Wait, Sara,” the major said behind me.
I stopped abruptly, turning my head over my shoulder, alarmed by the stern warning in his tone. I became terribly conscious of my hands-on-head posture once again, and the way it rendered me helpless to keep from exhibiting my naked body—my bare breasts, my little bottom, my blonde-thatched pussy—to anyone who cared to look. I didn’t think the cameras the Magisterians had placed in this room could be filming at the moment, but their very presence made my nudity feel twice as embarrassing. Stopped by the major’s command in the middle of my flight to the bedroom, I felt caught in an inescapable web of shame.
“I’m not your guardian yet, Sara, so I’m not going to punish you for this,” he said, making the heat rush to my face, “but from now on you’re going to have my hands on you whenever I choose, and if you keep trying to get away from them you’ll have a lot of uncomfortable lessons to learn.”
I took the inside of my cheek between my teeth. The cameras, there in my peripheral vision, such a familiar part of my life as the secretary of public relations, seemed to mock me, to sayA lot of uncomfortable lessons… on your bare bottom… filmed in front of a studio audience and broadcast to your entire world.
I had frozen completely, still looking at Major Harrow through the opening made by my outstretched, bent elbow. He took a step forward toward me, and then another, until he stood very close behind me. I gave a little cry of surprise and embarrassment as I felt his left hand return to my bottom, his eyes remaining locked on mine.
“Have you learned what to say, Sara, when I give you an instruction?” he asked softly, gently even, his mouth bent close to my ear.
I closed my eyes, to see if in the darkness behind their lids I could find any success in warding off the heat that had started to run through me at the touch of his fingers and the nearness of his muscular, impeccably uniformed body.
It didn’t help: it only sent the answer to his question floating to the top of my mind, so I had to utter it, in a weak little sob.
“Yes, sir.”
His hand squeezed my bottom again. I felt his middle finger press between the cheeks, right where they met the tops of my thighs… right where the dismaying ache had begun. I had never felt anything like this before, I realized with a humiliating shudder at that lewd touch. Anger at my body’s betrayal filled me, and I almost tried to get away again, but at that instant Major Harrow started to move me forward in that degrading fashion, marching me toward the double doors that led to the state bedroom.
My room? Really?
I had to know.
“Am I really going to live here?” I demanded as I crossed the final meters to the doors, urged by the major’s too-intimate hand.
