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The pleasure was short lived.
The captain raised his hand, snapped his fingers, and broke into a brisk stride toward her. His men and women in uniform burst into action. Half of them mounted the stairs and quickly returned with large trunks painted in military grays and greens. The rest began to arrange furniture against the walls, clearing a wide space at the center of the room.
Quaia watched it all executed with such efficiency and precision it looked as choreographed as a Balongian harvest dance. Which was a bit terrifying. She was suddenly uncertain that any great change was in store for her.
Oh, well, she thought. She’d been steeling herself for this moment for seasons. It didn’t seem in imminent danger of becoming any worse than what she had been expecting.
Torian came to stand directly in front of her, blocking her view of the rest of the chamber. Expecting him to do something, Quaia looked back at him, but he gazed into her eyes long enough for a hot blush to rise to her cheeks. She saw his eyes glance down, briefly, to her scantily covered body, lingering just a little on the bits so shamefully exposed. When his eyes rose back to hers, her heart started to beat faster.
She’d never met a man, or alien, who’d had an effect like this on her. Even more disconcerting was the not-so-gentle pull she felt toward him. As if he possessed a gravity far greater than his size allowed. Her mouth went dry and her palms a little damp.
“Have you had a man inside you?” he asked abruptly.
Audible gasps sounded from behind him. The first women, used to the puff-chested ceremonies of Goethen’s Ripenings, were obviously astonished by the lewd, direct query.
Quaia’s face blushed hotter, and a profound shame worked through her torso, deep into her belly. Somehow managing to keep her composure, she stared straight into Torian’s eyes.
“I have not,” she whispered.
He held her gaze for an uncomfortably long time again. Behind him his underlings bustled, unlatching and opening the great trunks, pulling out foldable tables and apparatus before removing the trunks to one corner of the room, saluting, then standing at attention to await their next order.
Nerves fluttered in her belly. The chamber had fallen eerily silent, High Mother and her entourage now seated in the chairs lined up by the wall. She glanced at them to see High Mother holding her nose disdainfully high and looking straight ahead, obviously still humiliated by the dressing down Captain Torian had given her in front of the others. Suddenly that seemed less pleasing than it had moments ago.
Before the Andomocles had docked she’d felt dread, and hadn’t expected things to get any better. The impending ceremony, and all the ways she might be shamed and humiliated, though, were known to her.
The uncertainty of not knowing what, exactly, the captain was going to do to her now felt —surprisingly—far worse. It twisted into a heavy discomfort at the very bottom of her guts.
Captain Torian raised his hand and snapped his fingers once more. Two of his lesser aides came bounding up to stand on either side of him. He locked eyes with Quaia again.
“Remove her robe,” he said quietly.
The aides stepped briskly forward. Both put a hand on each of Quaia’s shoulders and the one on her right pulled apart the back of the shift she was wearing. This exposed her back and bare bottom to the chamber, though thankfully she was facing forward so no one was able to see. It was when the aides pulled the robe away from her body that she felt the full weight of the humiliating spectacle descend on her.
She did her best to keep her poise. Standing tall and staring straight ahead even though she could feel the gazes of the first women and High Mother searing into her flesh. The reaction was immediate and unexpected: her nipples hardened, becoming so tight they almost ached. A hint of moisture seeped from her sex, dampening the soft folds of her core.
Captain Torian stepped to one side, revealing the full arsenal of equipment that had been arranged behind him.
Quaia gasped. Momentarily forgetting about her own nudity, she gazed at the tables, filled with neatly arranged implements. Her eyes came to rest on the most bizarre and formidable-looking contraption, what looked to be some sort of examination bench with a padded center and arm and leg rests protruding out from that. It rested on a swiveling dais. The most disquieting thing about it was the straps that dangled from the ends. Straps obviously meant to hold the subject lying on it in place.
“Kindly escort the maiden to the examination table,” Captain Torian said to his aides.
Each took her by the wrist and led her toward the contraption.
She glanced nervously side to side at them. Their expressions were as stoic as the captain’s, and they seemed intent on following every order he gave without question. Realizing she had little choice, she allowed them to guide her toward the seat.
Torian’s eyes fell to her womanhood. His expression remained unchanged, but it almost threw Quaia off her game to see him looking at her. Not a single man had ever seen her in this vulnerable a state. She steeled herself against a deepening humiliation. What occurred instead was most puzzling.
The heaviness in her stomach vanished. It was replaced by that same fluttering, nervous feeling she’d had earlier. A titillating tingling that sank between her legs and drew more moisture from her body. When Torian stepped forward, she drew in a breath and held it, her lip trembling nervously as he walked around the platform on which she was perched.
He held out a hand, as if they were some ancient couple going on a ‘date.’ Confused, she took it anyway, more out of curiosity than anything else. His hand was large, and strength coiled in his unusual fingers. She almost felt as if she’d been shocked by him. An electric tremor ran up the length of her arm and across her back.
But this was no romantic date: it was an examination before the entire court. Nothing had really changed about any of this, just that the Vokl running it was much better looking, and better mannered than Goethen.
He guided her to sit down, which she did. She looked straight ahead as he gently placed her ankles in the stirrups and fastened the straps, holding her legs open and spread wide. She shifted in the seat, reverting to her original plan: she was going to pretend like none of this affected her one way or the other.
The Vokl’s eyes met hers after he fastened the final strap around her wrist. “It’s not too tight?” he asked her.
Quaia stared back at him, unable to respond for a moment. Her eyes went to her arm, where his fingers still rested in the strap, so close to her skin. “I…” she began. Then she shook her head, feeling like an idiot. She had no idea how to respond.
