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 specialentrance 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 lovelyfeatures… 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. Opalinare 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.
