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“Whatever,” I said, and at the same time I started to kick off my sweats and panties, while grabbing the hem of my t-shirt and pulling it over my head in what I thought would be the least provocative way possible. This whole ridiculous scene might represent something sexual for these Magisterian fucks, but I refused despite mycomplicationsto let it have that kind of effect on me.
I shouldn’t have tried to combine the two actions, because though I definitely didn’t feel sexy I also nearly fell down. With my t-shirt still over my head, I lost my balance when I tried to free my right leg from the sweats. I tried to step in the other direction, felt my foot impeded by the bunched fabric, and knew with a sickening sensation that I would fall—probably right into my ultra-expensive glass-topped coffee table.
I felt a man’s big hands on me, around my waist. I cried out and flailed with my arms, finally managing to rip my shirt over my head to find that Major Harrow had saved me from hurting myself through my stupidity. His hands held me from behind just under my breasts, and I felt a surge of distressing heat traveling outward from his grip all through my body.
He held me like that for only a moment, until my feet came under me, and then he let go. I looked over my shoulder at him, trying and failing to keep my face impassive as I stared into his too-handsome face.
“Thanks,” I said. “I guess.”
“Don’t mention it, Sara,” he responded.
For a puzzling moment I thought he looked as if he might say more—might say something nice, even. I turned away in confusion, and finished getting my sweatpants and panties off. Turned completely away from the Magisterians now, I gathered myself, my hands down at my sides, kept only with difficulty from any humiliating attempt to cover up my pussy and my breasts.
I lifted my eyes and turned around to face them.
“Fine,” I said. “Take me away.”
CHAPTER5
Sara
They walked me naked through my door and into the hallway of my deluxe apartment building. It was still relatively early in the morning for a Saturday, so for a few moments I supposed this part of my humiliating ordeal wouldn’t add much to my mortification. After we had emerged into the quiet corridor, I thought they might take me quickly to the elevator and down to whatever vehicle they had waiting in the underground garage—without any of my fellow citizens seeing the secretary of public relations paraded nude, her bottom bright red from her first taste of Magisterian discipline.
Then Lieutenant Withers, who had moved swiftly in front of me, pounded on the door of my next door neighbor, twenty feet or so ahead.
“Magisterian Special Police,” he shouted. “Come out, please.”
I froze for an instant, and then I tried to walk more quickly. Major Harrow, walking just behind me, put his hand on my elbow.
“No, Sara,” he said, his voice stern. “This is an important part of your planet’s reparations.”
The lieutenant had moved across the corridor to pound on another door.
“Come out, please. By order of the provisional government. Come out for a demonstration, please.”
Something about the way he kept sayingpleasemade the whole scene much worse. The idea that the Magisterians clearly had politeness deeply ingrained in their enforcement measures—that the lieutenant, despite the imperious tone, had courteously invited my neighbors to watch me taken into custody without a stitch of clothing—sent a thrill of embarrassment from the soles of my feet to the roots of my hair. I couldn’t help it: I moved my hands to cover my breasts and my pussy.
“No, Sara,” the major said again. “Put your hands behind your head, please.”
Jim Weminat and Heather Moklin, who lived in the first apartment whose door the lieutenant had knocked on, hard enough to wake the dead, opened it and they both stepped out into the corridor with surprised, angry looks on their faces. The lieutenant had gone further down the hall to bang on the two remaining doors of this floor, and I could see that the commotion had already brought out Mrs. Urnor, the older woman—a prominent fashion designer—who lived closest to the elevator.
Jim and Heather took a long moment to grasp what they saw. I saw Heather’s jaw drop as her eyes went from Major Harrow to me, as if at first her brain had refused to register the bizarre, shameful sight of a high-ranking government official naked in the hall of her apartment building.
When her gaze did settle on me, though, the mixture of emotions I saw in her face made me clutch at myself, and try to cover my private places more thoroughly, for I hadn’t had time even to register fully the order the major had just given me. I looked over at Jim and saw that his eyes had gone wide as he took in my nakedness, and then I watched him avert his gaze. I knew he meant to keep himself from seeing me naked out of respect, but Jim’s refusal to look at me sent a new shudder of hot embarrassment echoing through my whole body.
The neighbors from across the hall, whose names I always forgot, two wealthy young women who worked at a big foundation, came out. They saw Jim and Heather first, and one of them said, “Is this about the news flash?” Then she turned a little and caught sight of me with Major Harrow next to me, and her mouth fell open. Her cheeks went bright crimson and she gave a little gasp.
“I told you to put your hands on your head, Sara,” the major said, his voice very authoritative. I realized that he must have begun to fulfill some duty to project Magisterian dominance. With all of them watching—Mrs. Urnor and Ronaldo and Quentin from the other apartment at the end had come out at the lieutenant’s commands—he grabbed my hands away from my chest and my thighs and raised them into the position he had demanded. “I don’t want to have to spank you again.”
That made Heather gasp, and the blushing girl from across the hall cry out in dismay. Her partner had a look of abject fear on her face. I remembered what the first girl had said about the news, and I understood what must have happened: while Major Harrow and Lieutenant Withers had carried out the first phase of taking me into custody, the Magisterians had turned on the info displays of every home on my hall—no, probably of every home in the capital or maybe even the whole planet. They had announced the new treaty, and—I guessed from what the lieutenant had said—a provisional government. Viola had, it seemed, traded away even her administration’s hold on the reins of power.
For what?
A terrible suspicion took shape in my mind as I thought about my own horrible experience thus far. Standing there with my hands behind my head, my wrists still held inside Major Harrow’s tight grip, unable to meet the eyes of my neighbors as they beheld my little breasts and my blonde-thatched pussy so lewdly presented to them, I wondered whether President Viola Herranofar might have acomplicatedside to her own personality.
If she did, I thought, closing my eyes with a tiny sob, I could understand her doing nearly anything short of sacrificing her people’s actual lives, to avoid finding herself in the position I did right now.
No, I told myself.That’s insane. Your president didn’t do this to you by choice.
