Chapter 16
Jendra
Sala led me to a transit station. I remembered the train ride with my classmates on what must have been a branch line of the same system.
It had only happened a week before, but it seemed in my memory like a different historical era.
Before I had watched Sala, the woman leading me now, submit to her huge blue husband on that stage.
Yes, I could remember the thoughts… the thoughts that had led to the creation of Omega…
they had been present before Sala had gone over Alpha’s knee.
I remembered the way it had felt getting undressed, how I had blushed seeing the mortifying exhibits in the museum.
But until I had sat in the special seat, watching a strong, gorgeous man disciplining and enjoying a beautiful woman…
it felt like I had been a different person: a Hippolytan girl on a field trip to a bizarre patriarchal world.
So this train station seemed like a reminder that I had left that old, proud self behind forever.
I followed Sala through the sterile white corridors that seemed to represent a special entrance for lab personnel.
I felt acutely conscious of my nakedness, though I did remember that nudity carried a very different set of meanings on Magisteria from what it meant on Hippolyta, where young women were taught to embrace their independence.
The platform opened before us, and I stopped short at the sight.
There were perhaps two dozen people waiting.
Half of them were women—some naked like me, others clothed in elegant dresses like Sala, held up by the magnetic clasps characteristic of Magisterian fashion.
The naked women stood differently than the clothed ones.
Their postures seemed more deferential, eyes downcast, hands clasped at their midriffs, generally clutching little purses in front of them.
Their pussies all seemed smooth and bare like mine, and I felt heat flare in my cheeks as I realized I had looked to verify that embarrassing fact.
The clothed women held themselves with more confidence, though they too seemed to defer to the men in crisp uniforms who stood scattered throughout the crowd.
“Come,” Sala said gently, guiding me forward with a hand on my elbow.
I couldn’t stop staring at the other naked women. Were they concubines, the women who served Magisterian men in the bedroom? They must be. The realization sent a confusing mixture of shame and something else through me—almost a sense of belonging, which made my face burn hotter.
The train arrived with barely a whisper of sound, its sleek silver surface reflecting the harsh station lights. The doors opened, and we boarded along with the others.
Inside, I found myself standing near one of the poles, gripping it for balance as the train began to move. Sala stood beside me, her presence somehow comforting despite the strangeness of everything.
“The naked women,” I whispered, unable to help myself. “They’re…”
“Concubines, yes,” Sala confirmed quietly. “Concubines are generally never allowed to wear clothes. It’s a sign of their status—available to their masters at all times, with nothing to hide.”
“And the clothed women?”
“Wives, usually. Though some are simply single women going about their business.” Sala’s blue eyes met mine with understanding.
“Single women on Magisteria accept that they may be disciplined in the traditional way by the authorities, if they misbehave—and that when they enter into a romantic relationship they belong to the man they love as a concubine-in-training. You can tell the difference by how they carry themselves, can’t you? ”
I nodded. The wives and single women had an air of confidence and independence, though they still clearly all had something demure and quiet about them that struck me as very unlike what I would see on a train on Hippolyta.
The concubines seemed more submissive, their eyes downcast and their bodies held in stillness as if one of the men or the clothed women might demand that they kneel and perform some shameful duty at any moment.
At the same time, none of them looked unhappy; indeed, I thought I could discern small, gentle smiles on the faces of more than a few.
I wondered what brought those pleasant expressions to their universally lovely features…
the thought of their beloved, protective masters, and how they would next serve them?
Then I wondered what I looked like to the others on the train, and felt the heat come into my cheeks.
Beta’s concubine.
The thought appeared in my mind unbidden, and my breath caught in my throat. Was that what I was becoming? Not just a girl being punished and trained, but actually… his?
A glorified fuck toy, Omega’s voice whispered in my memory, but the words felt different now. Not cruel, but almost… appealing? The idea of being Beta’s—of existing primarily to please him, to serve his needs—sent heat pooling between my legs despite my fear.
What was wrong with me? The question returned, and grew in volume in my mind. After everything with Omega, after the degradation and terror, shouldn’t I be cured of these desires? Shouldn’t the reality of submission have destroyed the fantasy?
I glanced at Sala and found her watching me with knowing eyes.
“You’re thinking about it,” she said softly. “About what it means to belong to him.”
I felt tears prick my eyes. “Part of me thought… after Omega… I thought maybe I’d be free of these feelings.”
Sala’s smile was kind, but also knowing in a way that made my stomach tighten.
“It doesn’t work that way, Jendra. Omega showed you the dark side of dominance—cruelty without care.
I’m no scientist, but if I had to guess you brought him into being that way because you thought that’s what dominance meant.
Or perhaps you wanted to prove that people like your Ms. Opalin are right about our Magisterian customs. But that doesn’t erase your need for the right kind of submission.
If anything, it probably makes you crave it more. ”
The train slowed, and an automated voice announced: “Hendrick Palace.”
“This is our stop,” Sala told me.
My heart lurched as she took my hand and we stepped off the train onto another pristine platform.
This one seemed much grander than the first, with soaring ceilings and elaborate murals that must depict scenes from Magisterian history.
I recognized King Hendrick the Elder in one of them, his stern face watching over his domain.
“There’s a section of the palace complex that’s set aside for visiting dignitaries,” Sala told me. “That’s where we’re headed.”
We walked through corridors that grew progressively more luxurious, passing guards who nodded respectfully to Sala. Finally, we reached a set of ornate doors that opened at our approach.
“Beta’s suite,” Sala said simply.
The rooms beyond were sumptuous. A living area with plush furniture and a massive view screen showing the stars above Magisteria’s ice. Beyond that, I glimpsed a bedroom with a bed large enough for several people. And through another doorway, the gleam of what must be a bathroom.
Sala led me straight in that direction. “First, let’s get you clean,” she said.
The space was larger than my entire dormitory room back on Hippolyta.
A huge tub—no, some kind of hot spring, I realized—dominated one corner, steam rising from its surface.
A vast shower stall fashioned of marble and glass occupied another corner.
I swallowed hard as Sala began removing her dress, and I watched the magnetic clasps release one by one until she stood as naked as I was.
Her body was beautiful, slender and graceful, her skin pale and perfect. I felt my face heat as she stepped into the water and beckoned me to follow.
The heat enveloped me as I sank into the spring, and I couldn’t suppress a small moan of relief. My muscles, tense for what felt like days, began to relax.
Sala moved closer, producing a soft cloth and some kind of soap. “Let me help you,” she said.
Her hands on my skin were gentle but thorough. She washed my arms, my shoulders, my back. When her fingers brushed the sides of my breasts, I gasped and pulled away.
“Shh, darling… easy…” Sala murmured. “In Magisterian culture, wives and concubines often pleasure each other. With permission from our masters, of course. When we’ve behaved ourselves.”
Her hands moved lower, washing my stomach, my hips. I felt my breath quicken.
“I would like to pleasure you, Jendra,” Sala said softly. “To help you relax before… before what comes next. But Beta will want you to receive your punishment first. Pleasure is a reward, not something to be given before discipline.”
The reminder of what awaited me sent ice through my veins even as my body responded to her touch with shameful heat. I was going to be whipped. Beta was going to whip me.
Sala’s hands moved between my legs, washing me there with careful attention. I trembled at the contact, my pussy clenching despite—or perhaps because of—my fear.
“You’re very aroused,” Sala observed without judgment. “That’s natural. The anticipation, the fear, the knowledge that it will happen whether you want it to or not… these things affect us in ways we can’t always control.”
I sobbed softly. “Part of me really did think Omega would cure me. That after experiencing real domination, real cruelty, I wouldn’t want this anymore.”
Sala’s smile was gentle again as she guided me to rinse off under a warm stream of water.
“Remember… it doesn’t work that way,” she repeated.
“Omega is an aberration who rose from your wild subconscious. But that doesn’t mean submission itself is wrong.
It just means you need the right master.
Someone firm but caring. Someone like Beta. ”
When we were both clean, Sala helped me from the water and dried us both with soft towels. Then, with a sense of terrible inevitability, she led me to a door at the far end of the suite.
“This is the discipline room,” she told me quietly.
The door opened, and I stopped at the threshold, my vision swimming. The room was smaller than I’d expected, but somehow that made it worse. More intimate. More focused in its purpose.
Against one wall stood various pieces of furniture—a padded bench, a frame with restraints, mats on the floor. But what drew my eye, what made my knees weak and my pussy clench with mingled terror and need, was the rack on the opposite wall.
Three implements hung there, each one more terrifying than the last.
“Come,” Sala said gently, guiding me forward. “Let me show you.”
I felt like I was floating, disconnected from my body, as we approached the rack.
“This is a naval cat,” Sala said, touching the first implement. It had multiple leather tails, each ending in a small knot. “It’s used for more severe punishments, usually reserved for serious infractions. The knots leave marks that last for days.”
I whimpered, imagining those tails striking my bare bottom.
“This is a cane,” Sala continued, moving to the second implement. It was long and thin, made of some flexible material. “Very precise. Very painful. It creates sharp, intense sensations and distinctive welts.”
My breathing had become rapid and shallow. I felt like I might faint.
“And this,” Sala said softly, touching the third implement, “is a cunt paddle.”
The name alone made me sob. It had a broad, triangular blade, about the size of my hand, made of stout leather.
The narrow end was attached with rivets to a polished wooden handle twice as long as the blade.
I imagined it in Beta’s enormous hand, raised high as I gazed up at him with wide, terrified eyes, my knees parted and raised at his command.
“It’s designed specifically for whipping a woman’s vulva,” Sala explained, her voice gentle despite the horrifying words. “To punish her most intimate places. To remind her that everything between her legs belongs to her master.”
“Please,” I gasped, tears streaming down my face. “Please tell me he won’t… he won’t use that on me…”
Sala’s expression filled with sympathy, but she didn’t lie to me. “I’m sure he will, Jendra. To finish your punishment. To teach you what it means to have your cunt belong to someone else.”
“No,” I sobbed. “I can’t… I can’t take that…”
“Search your feelings,” Sala said softly, taking my hands in hers.
“I’m certain you know you need this. Don’t you?
You need to have your cunt whipped. You need to feel that punishment in the place that got you into this mess.
The place that craved Omega’s domination so badly that you summoned him into existence. ”
I wanted to deny it. Wanted to scream that she was wrong, that I didn’t need any of this, that I just wanted to go home.
But I couldn’t.
Because she was right.
“Yes,” I whispered through my tears. “Yes, I know. I know I need it. I need my cunt whipped. I need to be punished for what I did.”
Sala pulled me into an embrace, and I sobbed against her shoulder. “It’s going to be alright,” she murmured. “Beta will hurt you, but he’ll also take care of you. And afterward, you’ll begin to heal as you learn to please him.”
We stood there for a long moment, my tears gradually subsiding into quiet hiccups. Then I heard footsteps behind us.
Beta’s voice, deep and commanding, filled the room.
“Kneel before me, Jendra.”