textfiles/sex/EROTICA/O/orientat.txt

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The Orientation
by
"Altered Ego"
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Chapter 1

No matter how hard she'd try to think of anything else, that
conversation with Anne kept coming back to her.  Well, she'd know for
herself soon enough.  Even if she kept to the speed limit, she'd be
there in less than half an hour.

It wasn't the words so much as the tone, the way it revealed the same
sort of - dependence? helplessness? almost terror - that she hadn't
felt since that time her fifth grade teacher made her tell who ripped
the Thanksgiving poster.  15 years ago.  Could they turn you into an
11 year old again?  No, Anne is no 11 year old, that's for sure.
Still, something about the way she said those words...

Laura glanced at her watch.  6:34.  "Can I make it by 7?  Do I want
to?", she found herself saying out loud.  The time struck her, for
some reason.  She noted in her mind that it was exactly one week and
34 minutes ago that she last saw Marc - no, he's My Lord now - and she
missed him.  But those were the rules.  No contact for the week prior
to the Orientation.  Rules.  Orientation.  And that conversation with
Anne.  But she had thought about it enough already; she wanted to go
through with this, and there's no sense going back now.

And what a week it was, she thought.  They had been separated before,
even for a month, but it was never like this, she thought, glancing
over at the journal she was required to keep.  It was never formal.
Somehow, the formality of her aloneness this past week made her feel
overpowered.  Overpowered by a man who isn't even there.  I guess they
want you to feel this way, she thought.

Anne and Laura have been the closest of friends for 6 years now, since
they met in college.  It was Anne who told her about the Orientation;
in fact, it was Anne who convinced her that it was all right to
explore that side of her relationship with Marc in the first place.
Anne always seemed like the quintessential well-adjusted woman, kind
of a role model for Laura.  That's what made the way she said those
words so disturbing.

It was the week before last, right before the isolation period began,
when Laura needed to talk to Anne just once more.  Anne came right
over, and they sat in the kitchen and sipped wine until the sun came
up.  Anne reassured her that she really could leave any time she
wanted to, but that if she completes the Orientation she'll never be
quite the same again.  She said it's hard, but you learn so much about
yourself it's worth it.  Think of it as kind of a graduation present,
a kind of learning vacation, she said.  The way kids go to Europe for
a month after they finish college.  Innocently, Laura asked, "But what
happens when you get there?  What do they DO?"

"I'm not allowed to tell any details," Anne said, flatly.  Laura had
heard it before, but this was the first time she noticed the fear
behind the words.  It wasn't a playful answer, not one that really
meant "It would be BETTER if I don't tell you any details".  No, she
really felt forbidden from telling her best friend any details of what
she said was- the most profound experience of her adulthood.  At
first, taken aback by Anne's uncar acteristic seriousness, Laura
pressed for an answer, expecting Anne to just laugh and break the
uncomfortable mood.  Anne could only say "You'll understand."  Now,
Laura wondered if Anne knew how much those few silly words had
affected her this week.

Marc was reluctant at first to give his approval.  Even though it was
clear to both of them that their relationship was evolving to a point
where they were both happiest with Marc as the Master, the idea of the
Orientation made him a little uneasy.  He liked Laura's independence,
and didn't want to have to think for her.  It was Anne who convinced
him.  After all, she had been through the Orientation and she was as
able to function as ever before.  It did seem to make her and Anthony
a lot closer.  Besides, at the interview, he was assured that Laura
would be able to start her job in the Fall, just as they had planned.
"Laura will come back Laura, only more so," they said.

As she reached the exit from the highway, it occurred to her that in
just 10 minutes or so she'd begin to find out what it was that Anne
couldn't tell her.

Laura's mind raced as she negotiated the unfamiliar streets.  She had
never been to this part of the state before, but she knew from the map
that she was almost there.  Her nervousness turned to raw excitement
as the reality of what was to come set in, and she had a little bit of
trouble concentrating on driving and following the complicated map
directions.  After what seemed an eternity of one turn after another,
she saw the house.

It looked a bit out of place; too big and stately in this quiet farm-
community-turned-suburb.  Like a Southern mansion from "Gone With the
Wind" or an elite boarding school, which in fact it had been,
originally.

She had little time to ponder her surroundings, since as soon as she
pulled into the driveway a young man appeared from the door and
approached her car.

"Laura?" he asked, and she nodded.  "Please leave your car here and
come with me."  He looked to Laura to be in his early 20's, a bit too
young to be in charge of a place like this, she thought.  It occurred
to her that she had never directly met anyone connected with the
Institution.  It was all through Marc, or Anne, or over the telephone.
They sent her forms and instructions in the mail, and questioned her
at length on the telephone, but she never met any of them.  It all
seemed so normal, though, insofar as an arrangement of this type can
be normal.

She brought her journal and followed the young man to the house, and
she felt an air of finality as he closed and locked the heavy front
door behind her.  "This way," he said, leading her up the main
staircase and into what appeared to be a waiting room for an important
office of some sort.  "This is Laura," he said to an older woman
sitting at a desk who appeared to be a receptionist or secretary of
some sort, and he left.

"Hello Laura, please sit down.  Do you have your journal?  Please let
me have it now," the woman said with a warm smile.  It seemed so
routine, as if she was at the doctor's office and had to provide a
urine sample while she waited for her appointment.  Almost
reluctantly, she handed over her journal.

"Please wait here.  We will be ready for you in a few minutes."  With
that, the woman disappeared behind the door leading to the main
office, leaving her alone in the waiting room.  She realized that she
was ushered into the waiting room so quickly, so efficiently, that she
had no time to look at the place.  The stairs were large and grand,
she remembered that, and there seemed to be some sort of activity
going about the house, but there was little else she could recall
seeing.  So she concentrated on her immediate surroundings.  The
waiting room itself was imposing; its well-maintained wood paneling
and overstuffed chairs helped create an impression of power mixed with
good taste.  Seductive combination, she thought.  There were paintings
on the wall, mostly old portraits of people she didn't recognize.  She
was beginning to feel overpowered again.  All she could do was wait.

"You may go in now," said the woman as the door opened from the inner
office.  Laura found herself jumping up, then hesitating a moment to
regain her composure.  The woman smiled and Laura slowly entered the
inner room.  The woman left, closing the door behind her.  Laura was
so nervous, so excited, that she found the only way she could remain
standing was to focus her attention the first object she saw, which
was a small coffee table beside a fireplace.

"Hello, Laura," came the voice from behind the desk.  Quickly, her
eyes searched for the voice.  It was a woman, and that surprised her.
She had expected a man, although in retrospect she didn't know why.
She looked to be in her early 40's, a mixture of the most dignified
qualities of teacher, mother, and successful businesswoman.  Her
presence commanded attention even without the scrutinizing gaze that
she was giving Laura.  "I am Ms. Palmer. You may call me Mistress
Elizabeth.  My husband, Lord Gregory, and I, run this institution.
Did you have a nice ride up here, Laura?"

"Yes, Mistress Elizabeth," Laura found herself answering.  She noticed
that Mistress Elizabeth had a file in front of her that seemed to have
the pictures and forms she had sent in.

"Good.  Please sit down," she said, pointing firmly to the chair in
front of the desk.  "Before we can begin your Orientation, we must
assure ourselves that you fully understand exactly what it is that you
are doing, and that you are indeed ready to take this step.  Have you
read the material we sent you last week?"

"Yes."

"Good.  Are there any questions you would like me to answer for you?
You make speak freely now."

Laura had never felt the need for permission to speak freely before,
and yet she found herself grateful for it.  She had trouble finding
the words.  "What-- When-- How long will it take?" she finally managed
to ask.

"As you know, it is an on-going process.  Assuming you do not leave
the program, as about half the trainees do, you can expect to be here
for about four weeks.  Sometimes it takes a little longer.  But this
is all spelled out in the material you read.  I think what you really
want to know is exactly what will happen to you.  Is that right?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"You must be prepared to leave this in our hands.  I can tell you that
you will start out with a comprehensive examination and assessment of
your potential.  Then you will learn the basic skills required for
your role, as well areas of special interest to your Lord.  For now,
that will have to be enough for you.  All right?"

"Yes, Mistress Elizabeth."  Less informative than Anne, she thought.

"As you know, you are free to leave at any time.  Similarly, we may
ask you to leave if we determine that you are unable to manage with
your new role.  If you decide to leave, it is ordinarily final, with
little chance of being allowed back.  Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes Mistress Elizabeth."

"Very good.  You see, you learned something already.  As I'm sure you
read in the handbook, we are quite insistent that you follow the all
the rules, even the small ones.  It may seem silly and uncomfortable
to address me in a formal manner all the time, but it will soon become
automatic - as all the rules must for you to succeed here.  I also must
remind you that while you're here, we assume complete control of every
aspect of your life.  You can no longer expect privacy in any sense.
Your body is no longer yours, and neither are your thoughts.  You are
subject to physical correction for any reason.  You may be ordered to
perform tasks that you find distasteful, and you are expected to carry
them out without hesitation or question.  As long as you remain here,
you are ours, and ours alone.  If you complete your Orientation, you
will be your Lord's, and your Lord's alone.  These are not idle words.
You will come to know it as a fundamental truth.  It will change you.
Is that clear?"

As the gravity of the words sunk in, Laura knew this was what she
wanted.  She savored the though of being Marc's and Marc's alone, and
she could not help but smile as she answered, "Yes, Mistress
Elizabeth."

"There are four basic rules of the Orientation.  You should have read
them already, but I'll go over them again now, just to be sure you
understand.  Of course, you'll be given more specific instructions as
it becomes necessary, but at all times you are governed by these basic
rules.

"First, you must obey fully any order given by any member of the
staff.  If an order contradicts a previous order, you must inform the
staff member of this fact.

"Second, you must be silent at all times except when given permission
to speak by a member of the staff.  If you require permission to
speak, you may present yourself with your head bowed and
your arms behind your back.

"Third, you must be truthful.  Your answers to questions must be
honest, direct, and complete.  If you, or anyone else, violates any
rule or order, you must report this fact to the staff at once.

"Finally, you must be constantly mindful of the fact the neither your
body nor your mind belong to you.  You must never touch yourself
unless ordered.  Your only desire is to serve your Lord Marc.

"Do you understand?"

She had read these words over and over this week.  "I understand,
Mistress Elizabeth."

"From now own, you are no longer Laura.  You are Marc's Laura.
Remember that."  Mistress Elizabeth pushed some sort of buzzer, and
another woman, about 30 years old, entered the room.  She must have
been waiting outside.  "Fiona, this is Marc's Laura," she said.
"Laura this is Mistress Fiona.  She'll get you started."

Mistress Elizabeth smiled warmly.  Laura tried to smile, too.


Chapter 2

Laura was led down the hall at a slower pace than her initial
entrance, and finally had the opportunity to take notice of her
physical surroundings.  The hall she was in seemed to house former
classrooms and offices, being lined with those wooden doors with
frosted glass windows that used to be so common in institutional
buildings.  Something about the hall seemed warm and comfortable,
though, not like you'd expect a school to be.  It must be the
carpeting, or maybe the just the lack of harsh, fluorescent lighting.
Some of the rooms had sounds coming from them, though she could not
make out any voices.  It was only now that she became conscious of the
fact that that there were other trainees here, although why would she
have expected to be the only one, she thought.  She wondered how many
others were here, and what they were like.

She thought about Marc again, forgetting that she must no longer think
of him as Marc but rather as her Lord.  She wondered what part he
would play in the Orientation, what they would teach him.  Thinking of
him confused her, since she was having trouble deciding whether she
was doing this for him or for herself, and she wasn't sure there was a
difference anymore.

They went upstairs and down another hallway, this one more
residential.  Here, the doors were of solid wood and had numbers on
them.  Just as she entered the hallway she could see one of the doors
close behind what looked like a man and two women.  One of the woman
was naked, or wearing very little at most.  Laura tried not to wonder
about it too much.  Sitting at a desk at the end of the hall was the
young man who met her at the car.  He was busy reading a book, and
didn't appear to notice her.

When they reached the last room on the hallway, they stopped and went
in.  Mistress Fiona closed and locked the door behind them.  This
would have intimidated Laura, but the woman's easy smile and
matter-of-fact manner somehow made it all right.  She didn't look like
a `Mistress Fiona' to Laura, especially with her slightly dowdy,
though neat, housedress and her walking shoes.  She was slightly
overweight, though Laura thought her quite attractive.  The room was
sparse, with a bed, lamp, small desk, two chairs and an empty
bookcase.  No dresser or mirror, though.  There was another door that
might have led to a closet or bath.  Almost like dormitory furniture,
but the bed was a bit unusual.  The headboard and footboard were solid
wood and there were cords and ropes coming from the corners.  Some
sort of restraints.  Would they tie her up?  Her mind started to race
again when Mistress Fiona finally spoke to her.

"Remove your clothes."  Her voice was soft but firm without being
angry or harsh.  She had just a hint of a British accent.  Laura had
never undressed in front of anyone except for Marc before, and she
began to blush.  At the doctor's, she'd always insist on undressing
alone, even when she knew they'd see her naked anyway.  There was
something private, personal, about the act of undressing that made her
not want to share it.  It even took her more than a year before she
could undress in front of Marc, who found her unease about it kind of
endearing and sexy.  Still, it surprised her that she was having
trouble following this simple instruction.  Maybe because it was the
first time she's been asked to do something that she'd just as soon
not do.

"Didn't you hear me?  Remove your clothes."  Same soft, firm tone,
still without anger.

"Wait-- Please, I just need--" She didn't mean to say anything.

"No, that's, `yes, Mistress Fiona'.  That's all.  I know you're new,
and I know it's hard for you to adjust, but if you don't follow
instructions or speak out of turn like that again, you'll be
disciplined.  We'll let it go this one time, though, but not again.
Now get those clothes off."

Laura took her shoes off, which gave her the time to find the courage
to begin in earnest.  By the time she was finally down to her bra and
panties, she was starting to feel as if she could do this, after all.
It was such a small thing, yet it felt like a big step, and she smiled
as she unhooked and pulled off her bra with a bit of a flourish.
Mistress Fiona seemed not to grasp the significance of this step, and
reminded her that this was not a striptease.  She was more reserved as
she pulled down her panties.

"There.  That wasn't as hard as you thought it would be, was it?"
Maybe she did understand, after all.  Maybe Marc told them this would
be difficult.

"When you stand, you keep your feet 1 meter apart-- good.  Put your
hands at your side.  Keep you head facing forward, but look at the
floor with your eyes.  Get used to this position.  When you enter a
room, you are to remain like this until instructed otherwise.  Now
we'll have to get you cleaned up, and get that awful makeup off your
face.  There's quite a bit to do tonight."  This time, Laura was
responding almost before the commands were spoken.

Laura found that her position made her feel vulnerable, since she
couldn't look around or make eye contact with her speaker.  The cool
air that circulated between her open legs heightened her sense of
nakedness, and for the first time since her arrival, her feeling of
being overpowered became overtly sexual.

"Come with me."  As Mistress Fiona led her down the hall, Laura
remembered the young man at the desk and instinctively lifted her arms
to cover her breasts.  "Hands at your sides," she was quickly
reminded.  As she continued toward the end of the hall, she began to
feel almost triumphant, as if the rest would be easy now.  She wished
Marc could see her, though.

They ended up in a large, old fashioned bathroom with a large,
freestanding tub.  There was a large countertop with various hygienic
items spread about it.  First she was given an enema, which made her
feel a bit exhausted and drained.  Then came a douche, which at once
stimulated her and made her feel violated as Mistress Fiona inserted
the nozzle while maintaining a firm grip on her hands.  She was bathed
and scrubbed thoroughly, but was not permitted to participate in the
process, her hands held above her head for the most part.  Two other
women came in and helped at various times, but they never spoke and
Laura was not permitted to look at them for very long.  This must be
what a baby feels like, she thought, so helpless and the focus of so
much attention.

As she was being dried off, the door opened and a man came in.  This
startled Laura, and again, she lifted her hands to cover her breasts.
"Hands at your side!"  This time, Mistress Fiona sounded angry and a
bit embarrassed, and wrote something in a small notebook she took from
her pocket.  Laura quickly resumed her position, fixing her eyes on
the floor in front of her.  Why do I keep doing that, Laura wondered.
She felt guilty.

"She's fussy about her breasts, I see," the man said, although it was
not clear to whom he was speaking.  From what Laura could tell he was
in his 40's or so, very well dressed, and rather distinguished
looking.  She didn't get to look at him for very long though, since he
continued walking until he was behind her.  He didn't seem
particularly interested in those breasts that he said she's so fussy
about, Laura thought; she didn't known whether it was worse to be
leered at or ignored.  He chatted with Mistress Fiona for a while, and
though they seemed to refer to her fairly often, she couldn't quite
hear what they were saying over the sound of the hair drier that was
being used on her.  Eventually, the man left, and Mistress Fiona told
her that the man was Lord Gregory.  That made sense, Laura thought.
From what she had seen, he looked like she thought he would.

As the other women left the room, Mistress Fiona seemed to scrutinize
Laura's body.  She poked and probed her at length without saying a
word, or even seeming to acknowledge that Laura was present.  Finally,
she said, "You need to gain a little weight.  You also need exercise."
Laura resented this, but she also knew better than to react.  There
was an uneasy silence, and she guessed that this was deliberate, to
see if she'd say anything.  "Put this on," Mistress Fiona eventually
said, and she handed Laura a neatly folded garment.  It was a loose
fitting gown, something like what they give you in a hospital, or
maybe what they wear in prison.

When they got back to her room (or at least she assumed it was her
room), she found her clothes had been taken away and the bed had been
made.  "Did you eat dinner?" Mistress Fiona asked.

"No, Mistress Fiona," she said eagerly, since she was quite hungry by
this time.

"Wait here and I'll get you some," and Mistress Fiona left the room.

Even though she had only been there for a few hours, Laura felt
overwhelmed by all the attention and was glad to be left alone.  She
sat on the edge of the bed and thought about how much things had
changed, how different things were already.  She was proud of herself
for reasons she couldn't understand, since following orders wasn't
something she often considered a virtue.  But she thought about Anne,
and how she must have gone through all the same things (and this was
only the first day!), and that made it easier to accept, somehow.  And
she realized she was learning self control.  She wanted so much to be
under Marc's control sometimes, but she often had trouble getting all
the way there.  Maybe she's learning how.  It's only the first day.
Try not to think so much, she told herself.  It felt good to curl up
under the blanket.

The door opened, and Laura was quickly lurched out of her
introspection.  "What are you doing?  Were you told to lie down?"
Mistress Fiona demanded, angry again.

"No, Mistress Fiona," Laura said, jumping to her feet and assuming her
standing position.  Damn, she though, she did it again.

Mistress Fiona made another note in her book and told Laura to sit and
eat the dinner she brought her.  Then she added, "Ordinarily, I'd
discipline you right now for this.  We'll have to leave it for later,
though - there isn't time.  Now I know you're trying, but I don't
think you understand that we're serious when we say you have to obey
us in every way.  This is more serious than you seem to think.  Think
about this while you eat."  She looked almost sorry - disappointed in
Laura - and she left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Discipline.  The word terrified Laura, and she had trouble eating,
though she was very hungry.  This place seemed so... serious.
Whatever they do to you has to be worse than those spankings Marc
would give her, even when he used the riding crop she got him last
year for his birthday.  (She remembers him complaining that she really
bought it for herself).  But, she reasoned, she needed a little
discipline, although she was having trouble remembering exactly why.
She felt guilty, and very uneasy.

The meal helped calm Laura down, and soon after she finished, the
young man from the car came to her room.  "Come with me," he said, and
she wondered if he was going to punish her.  She knew she shouldn't
ask, though, and she followed him down the stairs to the same waiting
room she was in before.  The secretary wasn't there this time.  He
told her to wait while he went into the main office, where she heard
him tell someone that she was ready.  They told him something, but she
couldn't hear what it was or who said it.  When he came out, he told
her she could go in, and he left.

She walked into the room slowly, so she could get a look around before
she would have to assume her standing position and gaze at the floor.
After less than a day, she was beginning to learn how to cope with the
rules, and that thought made her a little bit smug.  Mistress
Elizabeth and Fiona were there, as was Lord Gregory and another woman
she didn't recognize.  They didn't seem to take note of her presence
at first, talking among themselves about people she hadn't heard of.
Lord Gregory was the first to speak to her, after a very long few
minutes.

"Marc's Laura, I've not had the chance to properly introduce myself.
I am Lord Gregory, although perhaps you know that already.  There is
so much we must do when a new trainee arrives, it is so easy to forget
to be civil.  Although I've not yet read your journal, I feel as if I
know so much about you just from your file."  He had a warm, fatherly
look about him.

He was charming, Laura thought, and she found herself hoping that when
her Lord Marc grew older he'd be something like this, too.  Quite an
improvement over what she thought in the bathroom.  She realized that
her new name, `Marc's Laura', felt like it fit, like it really was her
name, for the first time.

"You're a beautiful and very intelligent woman," he continued, "and
for the first time in your life, you may find your beauty and
intellect making things harder instead of easier.  But it also makes
things so much more interesting."

She wondered what he meant.  Mistress Elizabeth, who was sitting on
the couch behind her, spoke next.

"Turn to face me.  Good.  You're here because you want to learn to
please your Lord, enough that you are willing to make enormous
sacrifices to do so.  But that's not enough.  You must change.  You
must learn what it means to be governed by another person, and that's
often painful and perplexing.  You've been here, what, four hours, and
you've only begun to get a taste of the sort of changes you must make
in order to succeed here and in order to achieve your goal.  I hope
you can do it, I really do.  One thing that you must remember is that
we're here to help you do this, and that will be very easy to forget
at times.  But once you put yourself in our hands, your goal will get
easier."

Laura was having a hard time understanding what they were trying to
tell her, and she decided that she should just take it all in for now
and not try to understand anything.  Maybe they were about to punish
her, after all.

Lord Gregory spoke again.  "You have been whipped before, have you
not?"

Oh, god, here it comes.  "Yes, Lord Gregory, by my Lord Marc."

"What did he use?"

"A riding crop, Lord Gregory."

"On your ass?"

"Yes, Lord Gregory."  Get on with it already!  Her voice faltered a
bit, which made her even more nervous.

"Have you, yourself, ever administered discipline?"

She didn't expect this question.  "No, Lord Gregory."

"You'd be surprised at how hard it is to do properly.  Physically and
emotionally difficult.  When your Lord whips you, what do you feel?"

Why is he asking these questions?  "Some pain, but his love for me
makes it a good pain, Lord Gregory."  She had no idea where those words
came from, but she seemed satisfied with them, even if it was stuffier
than she'd like it to sound.

"Have you ever had an orgasm while being beaten?"

"Once, Lord Gregory."

"From the whipping alone?"

"No, Lord Gregory, he rubbed me between the strokes."  Marc must have
told them, she guessed.  Right now, she was starting to become excited
again.

"It's not easy to do properly," he repeated, almost under his breath.
"Fiona, would you hand me my cane, please?"

Yes, here it comes, she thought, as she saw the long, thin, tan stick
in the corner of her eye.

"You will learn a lot about control, and pain, and pleasure, and
yourself, for that matter, while you are here.  Right now, you will
learn about proper punishment.  Come here."  He motioned for her.
"When Lord Marc whips you, he may do it for a number of reasons.  He
may want to punish you, that's true.  But perhaps he finds it erotic.
Perhaps you yourself find it erotic - a sensual form of communication
between you.  Here, though, the purpose of a whipping is simple.  We
use it to teach on a deep, automatic level.  When we whip, it is
anything but erotic.  It's just a lesson - a painful lesson."

Laura braced herself and walked slowly toward him.  He's enjoying
drawing this out, she thought.

"This is the cane.  We like it more than some other tools because it
can be quite effective without excessively many strokes, and it leaves
few lasting marks.  It works best on the ass and the thighs, being
fleshy parts of the body.  To be used to best effect, you must stand
back from the subject and use your whole arm, without bending your
wrist and keeping your elbow fairly straight.  Like this."  He brought
a sharp blow on the bottom part of her ass, over her gown.  It made a
muffled cracking sound.  She jumped, almost loosing her balance.

"AHHH!" she cried out, automatically.  It was one of the sharpest
pains she had ever felt, even through the modest padding of her gown.
Much worse than anything Marc had ever administered.  And the sting
lasted, like a deep ache.  There was no way she could take much more
of this.  It was anything but sexy, and a few moments later, it
occurred to her that she was no longer excited.  She still felt
overpowered, though.

"Oh, I startled you!  I'm sorry, really I am quite sorry."  And he
really did seem sorry.  "I should have warned you first.  But that is
what a properly administered stroke should feel like, more or less, at
least for starters.  Here, you try.  Use the edge of the sofa."

What?  He wanted her to use the cane?  What was he doing?

"Go on," he encouraged her.

Reluctantly, she took the cane, and gave the sofa a light tap.
  
"No, no.  Use your whole arm.  It doesn't take much force, but you
have to give it something."

She pulled her arm back, and, with a loud swish, landed the edge of
the cane on the arm of the sofa.  She could feel a vibration in her
hand when it landed.

"Very good."  He seemed genuinely pleased with her.  "Give it a few
more tries."

She still felt uneasy about this, but she did her best for three or
four more strokes.  Is this what they would do to her, she wondered.

"Now you've got the hang of it.  See, it's really quite easy,
mechanically speaking.  Now you must always land the stroke below the
lowest part of the back.  Before you learn to aim well, it is best to
aim for the lower half of the cheeks.  If you miss and hit a thigh,
that's all right."

Why was he telling her this?  She didn't come here to learn to whip
people, that was for certain.

"Rita, why don't you get Kenneth's Lydia now?" he said to the woman
who Laura didn't recognize.

Mistress Elizabeth took the cane, and explained, "Normally, minor
violations of the rules are corrected immediately and forgotten.  More
serious infractions involving willful disregard for the rules are
taken care of in formal disciplinary sessions, generally right before
bedtime but sometimes in the afternoon.  It can be quite exhausting,
you know.  Anyway, all but the most serious infractions can be
properly disciplined in one or two sessions."

Laura was becoming scared again.

"They say that to dominate, you must know what it is to be dominated.
The converse is true as well, you know.  Since Kenneth's Lydia is
being punished this evening anyway, we thought this would be an
excellent opportunity to teach you what it means to administer
discipline, so you will be better able to learn and profit from it
when the time comes to for you to be disciplined."

They're going to make her watch while they whip another trainee.

Almost on cue, the woman, Mistress Rita, returned.  With her was a
small woman wearing the same kind of gown Laura had on.  She looked a
little younger than Laura, maybe 23, and she was quite pretty, Laura
thought, with flowing brown hair and a sweet face.  On that face Laura
saw a look of resigned apprehension, as if she were about to undergo
her second root canal.

Mistress Elizabeth, who held the cane, addressed the woman.
"Kenneth's Lydia, you know why you're being punished, right?"  She
sounded just like a mother chastising her daughter for staying out
late.

"Yes, Mistress Elizabeth.  I'm sorry," she replied, with little
emotion.

"I hope this helps your body learn what your mind must already know.
We are going to do things a little differently tonight.  Remove your
gown."  She complied quickly, though not eagerly.  "Bend over the
couch, that's right."

Lydia bent over the back of the couch with her legs spread about four
feet apart and her hands grasping the front of the couch seat.  It
must be a position they teach you for being whipped, Laura thought,
and she noticed how it positioned her cheeks right where she landed
the cane when she used it on the couch.  Lydia had a number of faint
and not-so-faint bruises on her cheeks and thighs, and Laura wondered
if they made the whipping worse, and what it was she did to get them.
She felt sorry for her, and she wished she didn't have to watch this.

"Marc's Laura, use the cane to whip Kenneth's Lydia," Mistress
Elizabeth commanded.

She couldn't believe her ears, although it was obvious that that's
what they wanted her to do.  She just didn't want to believe it.

After ten or fifteen seconds, Mistress Fiona added, "You heard her,
take the cane."

Slowly, Laura took the cane.  She thought about those words, `ordered
to perform tasks you find distasteful' and she knew this was one of
them.  She had never met this girl, she couldn't hurt her.  That cane
hurt like hell.  She couldn't do it.  But she knew she had no choice.

Laura prepared to cross another line.  She raised the cane, and gave
Lydia's left cheek a light tap.

"Harder," someone said, probably Mistress Fiona. "You know how to do
it."

This time, Laura really let the cane go, and she heard the same
swishing noise and loud crack that caused her to jump.  But this time,
it was she who held the cane.  Lydia groaned loudly.

"Again.  Continue until you are told to stop."

Laura continued, but the cane seemed to get heavier and the vibrations
in her hand more acute.  After five or six strokes, however, she began
to find herself disconnected from the whole situation, as if someone
else was holding the whip.  She almost started to enjoy the power.
The disconnection and enjoyment was short-lived, though, since each of
Lydia's frequent cries brought Laura abruptly back to reality.  Then
Laura felt even worse.  Lydia's cheeks were covered with long, thin
welts.  Laura tried to avoid hitting them again, guessing that they
hurt more.

"Harder," they urged her on.

After a few minutes (they could have been hours, for all Laura knew),
she just couldn't do it any more.  She began to sob openly, and her
strokes became weaker and less accurate.  Finally, Lord Gregory told
her to stop.

"That's enough," he said.  "That was barely adequate, but I think you
have learned something.  Rita, will you please finish this upstairs?"

Mistress Rita helped Lydia to her feet.  There were tears in her eyes,
but she managed to walk, with some difficulty.  She turned to Laura
and said, "Thank you."

Laura couldn't believe it.  What was she thanking her for?  Laura
mouthed "I'm sorry" to the woman, but she may not have seen it as
Mistress Rita hurried her out the door.  Were they really going to
whip her more?  Whatever could she have done?

Laura continued sobbing, and Mistress Fiona led her back to her room.
Mistress Fiona deposited Laura in her bed, and told her that she would
give her a little time alone to collect herself before she punishes
her for her earlier behavior.


Chapter 3

For a little while, all Laura could do was cry.  Eventually, perhaps
simply by virtue of running out of the energy required to maintain the
flow of her tears, Laura got more of a grip on herself.  She tried to
sort out the cacophony of thoughts that whirled around her head.
Maybe if she could just decide what it is she is feeling she could
come to terms with it, at least.  But there were so many things to
think about.

She tried to take her emotions one by one.  First, there was guilt, of
course, and the inevitable rationalizations that follow from it.  The
picture of Lydia, being taken naked from the office, her rear covered
with those welts, was as vivid in Laura's mind as the room around her.
But they made her do it, didn't they?  Some excuse.  Just following
orders doesn't cut it.  But aren't all the trainees here voluntarily?
Lydia could leave if she didn't want it.  And besides, she must have
done something to deserve such a whipping.  Doesn't mean you had to
enjoy doing it though.  That last point weighed heavily.  She took a
little bit of solace in the fact that they were going to punish her,
too.

Fear.  The thought of being on the receiving end of a whipping half as
severe as the one she had just administered mortified her.  She
remembered the sharp burn that seemed to cut right through her, making
her jump.  And that awful ache; she could still feel it.  That was
through her gown, too.  She couldn't take it.  Why were they going to
punish her, anyway?  She remembered feeling ashamed for something or
other earlier, but what was it?  Maybe it was a mistake.  Maybe they
won't whip her.  Maybe she can convince them not to if she just says
she's sorry, or something.  Denial.  Not such a great defense
mechanism when you realize that's what you're doing.  No, she knew
Mistress Fiona would be coming back soon, and she knew that this time,
she really was going to get a beating.

She thought of the times Marc would spank her.  One time, he really
did hurt her enough that she almost called out her escape word.  (They
had always agreed that when they were playing she could end things
right away by just by saying "mercy" if things got a little too rough.
No escape word here.  Unless she quits, and she didn't want to quit).
It was about six months ago, while they were on vacation at that
little country inn celebrating his new book.  It was just as they had
planned, until the phone rang.  It was his publisher; they never got
the final draft.  She forgot to mail it.  He had a copy with him
(thank god), so it wasn't as bad as it could be, but he was mad,
madder than she had ever seen him.  It took a few hours before he
could talk to her, and they agreed that he'd punish her the next day,
after he'd cooled down.  The next morning, he was calm, but both
understood that she had to be punished.  They didn't have their crop
with them, so he had her drive into town and purchase another, which
was embarrassing enough.  This time it was real punishment, and he hit
hard enough that there was no doubt that this wasn't for her
enjoyment.  She had trouble enduring it and he kept at it for what
seemed like an eternity.  The only thing that kept her from yelling
mercy was that she knew she was getting just what she deserved, and
that he'd still love her when it was done.

Most of the time, though, it wasn't like that.  She loved those
spankings, the feel of his hand, the gentle caresses afterward.  It
was an expression of his power over her, and sometimes, when he was a
little too forgiving, she'd have to tease him and bait him into doing
it.  The thought of Marc's hand, his touch, his power, led Laura to an
undeniable state of arousal.  She wanted to see him, hold him,
anything.  Just laying in bed was almost a sensual overload, with her
frequent breaths tickling her shoulder and the gentle flow of air
beneath her gown enticing her, seducing her.  Without deliberate
effort, she slowly smoothed out her gown with her hands, grasping the
the fabric where it ended just above her knees.  Her whole body tensed
as she began to pull the gown up above her thighs, her own thoughts
beginning to carry her away from this room and back to Marc's embrace.

And then she heard the footsteps and the turn of the doorknob.  All at
once, she was back at the Orientation, and she turned red as a beet as
she wondered if she could get her gown in order before the door swung
open.  "You must never touch yourself" she recalled the rules saying,
but she hadn't done that yet, fortunately.

Mistress Fiona walked in slowly, almost as if she didn't care to see
what might have been going on.  Laura's eyes were still red from the
tears, but, even in her slightly disheveled state, she at least looked
more composed than she did when she was taken from the office.  For a
few awkward moments, no one said a word.

Eventually, Mistress Fiona broke the silence and asked, "Do you need
to use the toilet?"

Laura thought about it and realized that she did, rather badly, in
fact.  "Yes, Mistress Fiona."  She was so nervous she had trouble
speaking.

"Come with me, then."

As they walked down the hall, all Laura could think about was the odd
contrast with this woman, who as far as she knew was about to beat her
senseless, showing concern for her comfort first by asking her if she
needed to use the toilet.  Wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable while
we beat you, right?  In Laura's nervous state, it seemed impossibly
funny.  When they reached the bathroom, she had to dig her nails into
the palms of her hands to keep from bursting out into laughter.

"Go ahead," Mistress Fiona said.  She remained in the bathroom while
Laura urinated, not allowing her the dignity of privately taking care
of her own bodily functions.  Laura's sense of her loss of privacy
heightened, and her giddy near-laughter was replaced by a more somber,
controlled composure.

They did not return to Laura's room, going instead to a room in
another residential-looking hallway.  The room was marked "Discipline
- 3", the reading of which caused Laura's stomach to jump.  As
Mistress Fiona opened the door, Laura expected to see some kind of
torture chamber.  She felt uneasy relief when she saw that the room
was empty but for a bed, three chairs, a desk, and the only odd
looking article in the room, which resembled a padded exercise bench.
The room was similar in size to her own, though even more sparsely
furnished and without a window.

"Remove your gown," Mistress Fiona ordered, with the same calm, easy
voice that Laura now understood as deceptively inviting.

All of a sudden, it seemed very real.  As she lifted the gown over her
head and felt the fabric pull over her bottom, she felt more
vulnerable, more exposed, than ever.  She handed the gown to Mistress
Fiona and assumed her usual standing pose.

"Since this is the first time you're being disciplined, I'll have to
explain certain things to you.  Most of the time, if you have to be
disciplined for some minor thing, it will be taken care of at once by
whoever is working with you at the time.  For more serious breaches of
the rules, where you simply should have known better yet choose to
violate the rules anyway, you'll be punished in a formal session such
as this one.  In the future, when one of these sessions becomes
necessary, you'll be sent here, usually at bedtime, but sometimes
before dinner.  You'll be told which room to go to and should report
directly there.  All the rooms are on this hallway, which is around
the corner from your room.  Most of the time, I'll be your
disciplinarian, though Lord Scott, who you have not met yet, might
take care of you some of the time.  Anyway, when you reach the room,
you remove your gown and fold it neatly, placing it on the desk.
Remain standing, facing the door, until the Lord Scott or I arrives.
When your session is finished and you're released, it's considered
appropriate for you to thank your disciplinarian.  I'm sure you can
understand the reason for that courtesy, given that this is a
difficult thing for everyone involved and is for your benefit.  Now,
bend over here."  She tapped the top of the bench.

Slowly, Laura bent over the bench, trying to concentrate on the words
and ignore the situation.  "You'll need to follow instructions more
quickly than that, or things will be much harder for you."  Laura
searched for the courage to accept what was coming.  "Since you've not
been trained to do without them yet, I'll have to restrain you."
Mistress Fiona opened the closet and got a number of items that Laura
couldn't quite see.  She put some sort of cuffs around Laura's ankles
and fastened them to the base of the bench, about three or four feet
apart.  It was a bit hard to balance.  Then she did the same with
Laura's hands, connecting them to the base of the other side of the
bench so that Laura's cheeks were exposed up in the air, just like
Lydia was over the couch in the office.  Laura offered no resistance,
almost paralyzed by fear.

"For most infractions requiring prompt correction, we use corporeal
punishment, usually on the cheeks of the buttocks, but sometimes
elsewhere, using a cane or strap.  This time, I'm going to use the
strap."  Mistress Fiona dangled the strap next to the bench so Laura
could see it.  It was made of thick, brown leather, about 3 inches
wide and 2 or 3 feet long with a split down the middle for the last
foot or so.  It looked sort of like a belt, or those straps found on
old fashioned barber chairs.  It also looked like it would hurt quite
a bit.  Laura wanted very much to get this over with.

"Now, you are here because you underestimated the importance of
following instructions."  Her tone changed from being friendly and
informative to one more harsh and disapproving.  "It's actually quite
unusual for a new trainee to need to come here so soon.  Perhaps you
were 'testing' us, the way a teenager tests her parents.  Perhaps you
didn't understand what was expected of you, and you thought that you
would be permitted leeway in interpreting your orders.  Perhaps you
were simply inattentive, and forgot for a moment what your orders
were.  It doesn't matter.  What matters is that you failed to follow
instructions.  Now I almost thought about letting you off with a
warning this time, but I think this will help you more.  It's critical
that you recognize your mistakes, learn to avoid repeating them, and
this will help you do that.  I hope that when your Lord Marc gives you
an instruction, you carry it out with more attention than you showed
us this evening.  Without attention to every detail, without greater
self control than you've demonstrated so far, you will not succeed."

That got her.  Her anxiety about the whipping was briefly replaced by
guilt and anxiety about her ability to please Marc.

"Do you even remember what you did?  I'll bet you thought nothing of
it.  I'll remind you.  First, you failed to remain with your hands at
your sides, despite being reminded just a few minutes before.  It was
in the bath, you covered your breasts.  Don't try to excuse it by
saying it was a reflex.  There's no such thing!  You must control
yourself.  Until you learn, you can never relax.  For this, you are to
receive ten strokes."  Laura gasped.  "And that's not even all you
did.  You were left standing in your room but when I returned, I found
that you had taken it upon yourself to lie in your bed.  Now, perhaps
you thought this was a reasonable assumption to make.  After all, no
one was looking.  You're training doesn't stop when no one is looking,
though, and you must learn that you belong to us, body and mind, 100
percent of the time.  That little `assumption` earns you another
fifteen strokes, for a total of twenty five.  Normally, we wouldn't be
nearly so permissive, but you're new and this should be enough to
serve as a warning.  In the future, you could expect this sort of
behavior to earn you a full half hour with the cane. "

Twenty five strokes, and with that thing!  Laura knew this would be
hard to take, but her resolve was strengthened by that little lecture
about learning to please Lord Marc.  It was as if Mistress Fiona were
an expert saleswoman, and she had just sold Laura a whipping.  It may
be worse than she'd like it to be, but, she'll have to keep telling
herself, it will teach her something.

"Keep your noise down.  One of the the things you are here to learn is
how to accept what you have coming to you with decorum.  If you make
too much noise, I'll have to discipline you for that as well."

Laura remembered that when Marc spanked her, he'd make her count the
strokes and if she missed, he'd start all over again.  Sometimes she
enjoyed those spankings so much she'd deliberately miss count.  But
that was a game.  This is real, and she's not going to enjoy it.  No
cute rules about counting here.

Out of the corner of her eye, Laura saw Mistress Fiona raise her arm
and she could hear her draw in a breath.  Laura closed her eyes and
tried to brace herself.  It seemed to take a long time for the stroke
to land, and when it finally did, it made a very loud cracking noise
that she could hear just before she felt it.  The pain was even worse
than she expected.  It was a stinging burn, concentrated in the area
of the blow, but quickly spreading without any loss of intensity.  Not
as sharp as the crop, but Laura thought it just as bad.  She wanted to
jump, but her restraints proved effective in preventing that.  All she
could do was move her rear end a little to the side.  She let out a
dull moan despite her best efforts to control herself.

Just as the pain was beginning to subside, the second blow came, and
it seemed worse than the first.  It was as if it were timed to arrive
at the worst possible moment.  Laura wondered if she could take 23
more of these without begging for her to stop.  She knew that would
mean the end of the Orientation, and she put that thought out of her
mind.

Unlike Laura with Lydia, Mistress Fiona was not shy about hitting the
same spot more than once.  In fact, she concentrated her efforts on
just three spots that hurt more and more as the beating continued.  To
Laura, she was an expert at causing pain, avoiding enough regularity
that would allow Laura to predict the next spot or the precise moment
that the blow would arrive.  She seemed oblivious to Laura's cries
(which she was unable to contain at all after the third stroke), never
allowing them to influence the strap.  Laura desperately wanted to
move her legs; having them spread apart like that made the pain much
worse.  The twenty five strokes seemed to last for hours, although, in
fact, it probably took less than three or four minutes.

Finally, she stopped.  Laura was gasping for breath, and she couldn't
move for a little while even after the restraints were detached.  She
was a bit disoriented, and her rear was on fire.  Her hands free, she
started to rub her cheeks.

"What are you doing?  Get your hands off yourself.  Have you
completely forgotten the rules?  Get back over the bench."

Oh, no, Laura thought.  She did it again already.

"I'm going to give you just three more strokes, as a reminder.  Grasp
the base of the bench."

The three strokes weren't quite as bad, physically, as the last ones,
mostly landing on new spots.  Mistress Fiona took her time delivering
them, however, and they almost pushed Laura over the edge of bursting
into tears.

"All right.  Now get yourself up."

This time, Laura remembered not to try to rub herself, as badly as
she wanted to.  She also remembered what she was told before the
whipping, and said, as best she could in her weakened state, "Thank
you, Mistress Fiona."

"You're welcome, Marc's Laura.  Now come with me."  She took Laura,
who was still naked, back toward her room, supporting her as she
occasionally faltered.

As they returned to the other hallway, Laura saw Lydia standing, also
naked, in front of one of the rooms, facing one of the doors.  Her
cheeks were covered with even more welts than when Laura had finished
with her, and although she felt sympathy for her, mostly the sight
made Laura wonder what her own rear must look like.  Mistress Fiona
explained that in the future, she would be expected to return by
herself to her room after punishment and wait, as Lydia was, for
someone to let her in.  Laura guessed that this was a form of public
humiliation.

Back in Laura's room, Mistress Fiona put a leather collar around
Laura's neck.  Then she attached cuffs, similar to the ones used in
her beating, to Laura's wrists and attached them to the collar with
cords that were each about a foot long.  She explained that this was
to keep her from touching herself while she was sleeping, as most
trainees do out of habit, and that eventually she wouldn't need it.
She put Laura in bed.

"Sleep well, Marc's Laura-- your examination starts tomorrow, and
you'll need your rest."  She kissed Laura on the forehead and left the
room.  The lights went out after she closed the door; there was no
light switch in the room.

Her rear end ached so much it was too uncomfortable to rest on her
back, which was her preferred sleeping position.

Laura tried to go over the events of the evening in her mind, but was
too tired, overwhelmed by it all.  She had been there for about six
hours (or so she guessed, not having her watch anymore), and so much
had happened to her she didn't know where to begin.  It didn't take
long for her to drift off to sleep, despite the constant burn that
seemed almost as severe as it was during the whipping.

When morning came, she was awakened by a gentle tapping on her
shoulder.  "Marc's Laura, wake up.  Time to get out of bed."  It was a
man's voice, which startled her enough that she had no trouble waking
up.  As she opened her eyes, he repeated his command that she get out
of bed.  She jumped up and assumed her standing position.

"I'm Lord Scott.  Did you sleep well?"  He looked young to Laura,
maybe younger than herself.  He looked rather ordinary, but despite
his youthful appearance he had a commanding demeanor.  As he spoke, he
examined her still-aching bottom.

"Yes, Lord Scott," Laura answered, still sleepy.  She was successful
in fighting the urge to cover herself.

He removed her collar and cuffs.  "You may stretch if you like."  She
was grateful for that.  "You have a very full schedule ahead of you
today, Marc's Laura.  First, let's get you cleaned up."

They went back to the same bathroom, where she was allowed to use the
toilet and then given another bath.  The hot water hurt her bottom,
but she managed to avoid complaining.  Lord Scott and a woman, who did
not speak, washed her as she was washed the previous day, not
permitting Laura to be an active participant.  As Lord Scott washed
her breasts, she found herself slightly aroused, but that was soon
replaced by an oddly guilty feeling as she recalled the showers she
and Marc would take.  She knew she would have to fight any attraction
she might develop for Lord Scott.  Lord Scott seemed almost bashfully
respectful of Laura's person and his manner was slightly halting as he
rubbed the soapy water around her crotch and sore bottom.  This small,
perhaps unintentional, deference to Laura's body somehow only made her
more aware of her dependence, her bondage.  She didn't know what to
feel, but she knew she was grateful for his gentleness.

As they dried her, she was able to get a glance at her wounds in the
mirror.  She was bruised in several places, and she wondered how long
it would take to heal.

Finally, she was given a clean gown and led back to her room, where a
breakfast tray was waiting for her.  She was left alone in her room to
eat and she was grateful for the private solitude this afforded her.
It was her first real chance to reflect, unencumbered by the myriad
immediate concerns that consumed her for most of last night.

She reviewed last night in her mind over and over, as if rewinding a
video tape.  Mostly, she thought about the way she reacted rather than
the events themselves, and she wondered if she'd be able to learn the
sort of self-control that was demanded of her.  Whether she wanted to
continue wasn't even a question in her mind, and when she recalled
Mistress Elizabeth telling her how she was free to go whenever she
chooses it made her that much more determined to stay.  Anne did it.
She wondered if they whipped Anne the way they whipped her and if her
determination ever faltered.  She wondered about Lydia.  Would she see
her again?  Would she forgive her for the whipping?  The question
seemed less urgent than it did yesterday, more a point of detached
curiosity than anything else.

Shortly after she finished eating, Lord Scott returned.  "It's time to
start your examination.  The others are ready for you, and there's a
lot to do.  Come with me, please."

Please.  It was the first time since she started that someone had used
that word with her.  Although it had been less than 24 hours since her
arrival, she had almost forgotten what being treated with even the
most superficial politeness was like.  She smiled as she got up and
followed him down the hall and toward the stairs.


Chapter 4


Lord Scott brought Laura to one of the rooms with frosted glass doors
in the hallway that had all the classrooms.  He told her to wait in
the hall, and as he went in, she could see that the room was a small
lecture hall, with rows of chairs and a little stage about two feet
off the ground.  There were a number of people in the room, although
Laura only got a few moments to look at them before the door was shut
in front of her.  Once again, she could hear only muffled talking,
though it did sound like quite a bit of discussion was going on.

Eventually, the door was opened and she was told to come to the front
of the room.  The first two rows of chairs were filled with about 20
people, including Mistresses Elizabeth, Fiona, and Rita and Lords
Gregory and Scott.  Everyone was sitting down, quietly, as if waiting
for a lecture or concert to begin. She was led to the front of the
room and told to sit in a chair up on the stage.  For several minutes,
everybody just sat and looked up at Laura, as if expecting her to say
something.  It made her uncomfortable, and she wondered what she was
supposed to do.  She decided that since they hadn't told her
otherwise, she should just sit there quietly.

Eventually, Mistress Elizabeth spoke.  "I think we've all had the
chance to read through your journal, Marc's Laura, and now we'd like
the chance to learn more about you.  This will help us to determine
how best to train you, if in fact you are suitable for training at
all.  Now, I'll ask the first question and get things started.  In
your journal, you wrote that last Wednesday you ate dinner at a
restaurant across the street from your apartment.  Did you eat alone?"

What kind of question was this, Laura wondered.  Well, at least she
could answer it.  "Yes, Mistress Elizabeth."

"We can be informal here -- you need not address us by name.  You may
answer simply with 'sir' or 'ma'am,' in the interests of moving along
quickly.  Now, what did you do when you were waiting for the food?"

"I brought a book to read, ma'am"

"I see. Are you uncomfortable being alone, in public?"

"No, I mean-- what do you mean, ma'am?"

"Does it make you uncomfortable to sit alone in a restaurant with
nothing to do?"

"Yes, a little, ma'am."  Doesn't this make everyone uncomfortable, for
god's sake?

"Your training will sometimes make you feel the same way, only a
hundred times more so.  I am, frankly, concerned about this need for
privacy of yours.  It suggests selfishness."

Laura didn't know if she was supposed to try to defend herself or
what.  It was as if she was being psychoanalyzed in front of an
audience.  All this insight from the way she eats?  Again, there was
uneasy silence, and Laura did feel just like she was sitting in a
restaurant, alone, with everyone watching her, thinking about her,
judging her.  But no one speaking to her.

A man spoke next.  He was unfamiliar to Laura, and he looked like he
was in his late 30's.  He looked a little like and old school teacher
of hers, and that made him seem more intimidating than he otherwise
would have been.  "When you were young, what was the worst punishment
your parents ever imposed on you?"

Well, between his appearance and his question, this guy sure knows how
to dredge up childhood anxiety, Laura thought.  "I was grounded for
three weeks, sir," she answered after a few moments.

"That was the worst?"

"Yes, sir."  Laura was embarrassed that she couldn't do better.

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen, sir."

"Why did they do this?"

"I pushed my sister down the stairs.  She broke her wrist, sir."
Laura didn't enjoy remembering this; the awful shame of that incident
came back to her all at once.

"What were the conditions of being grounded."

"It was in the summer, sir.  I had to stay in my room all day except
for meals, and there was no television or telephone.  I was allowed to
go outside, with my mother, for half an hour or so a day, sir."

"Did they strike you?"

"No, sir."  Laura remembers wishing they had.

"What did you do all day?"

"I read, and also made up stories, sir"

"Did they forgive you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you forgive them?"

"For a week or so I felt really guilty, and felt that I deserved the
grounding.  After that I was angry, and I stayed angry for about a
month, sir."

Before she could add anything more, Lord Gregory asked another
question.  "Last night, when we asked you to help us discipline
Kenneth's Lydia, you seemed hesitant.  Why was that?"

What was there to say?  "I-- I don't know, sir."

"Of course you do.  What did you feel?"

Laura said the first thing that popped into her head.  "I felt like I
was betraying her, sir."

"Betrayal.  Powerful idea.  But you didn't betray her.  You cannot
betray anyone, since you belong to us.  You don't seem to understand
that.  You belong to us.  You are responsible to us and only us for
your actions."  Laura very much wanted to understand that.

Again, there was a pause, with everyone just looking at her, although
a few seemed to be writing notes.  It was like being interrogated by a
committee.  The whole affair reminded Laura of her thesis defense.
Defense.  At least there she knew what it was she was defending.
Here, they just seemed to be prodding and poking at everything that
made her uncomfortable.

Mistress Fiona stood up and approached the stage.  "Remove your gown
and hand it to me."  Laura froze, and she wondered if this was going
to be as hard as it was yesterday.  This time there was an audience,
and here she was, the whole show.  But she did it before.  At least
there was only the gown this time.  Laura almost surprised herself
when she stood up and pulled the gown over her head.  She smiled,
proud of herself for this accomplishment.

"Why are you smiling?"

"I-- I guess-- I'm nervous, ma'am"

This didn't satisfy Mistress Fiona.  "First of all, I don't think
you're telling me the whole truth.  You're nervous, all right, but I
think we all can see the pride in that face of yours.  You're proud of
yourself for doing something that was hard yesterday, aren't you?"

Laura wondered if these people were mind readers.  "Yes. ma'am.  A
little."

"Well, it's nice that you're proud.  But, and this is a big but, you
look like you want us to pat you on the head or something.  It makes
the rest of us uncomfortable.  You have to learn to control yourself.
Follow orders, that's all you do for now.  Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."  Laura felt like she couldn't do anything right.  If she
makes a mistake, however small, they punish her.  If she accomplishes
something, she can't show her pride.  Almost like it's not enough to
act properly, she has to think properly, too.  Maybe that was the
whole point.  Laura didn't like Mistress Fiona very much, at the
moment.

For about a minute, everyone just sat there, looking at her naked body
up there on the stage.  Again, Laura started to feel detached, as if
she, too, were in the audience, wondering how she would react, what
she would do, what she's feeling.  She noticed a video camera set up
at the back of the room, apparently recording the entire session.
Maybe they'd show it to Marc.  No time to think about that now,
though.  As she looked through the room, she saw Lord Scott thumbing
through his notes.  When he spoke, she was a bit startled, and that
made her awkwardly aware of her nakedness again.

"You wrote about masturbation in your journal.  You said you only
masturbated once during the isolation week, but that you ordinarily
masturbate whenever you go to bed alone.  Is that correct?"

He's going to make her masturbate, right there in public.  Great.
"Yes, sir."

"Have you ever been caught masturbating?"

"Yes, sir, I think so."

"Tell us about it."

"I was about 15 years old, and I was on the couch in the living room.
No one was home, and I was in my nightie.  I was thinking about Derek,
my boyfriend, and it was the first time I ever really connected the
feeling you get when you masturbate with the idea of actually having
sex with someone.  Anyway, I must have kind of gotten lost, thinking
about Derek, rubbing myself, you know, and the next thing you know, I
saw my mom walk in to the living room.  I think she saw me, but she
made some noise and never said a word about it."  It was a hard
memory, and it made Laura blush, but at least as long as she was
talking they couldn't ask her anything else.

"I see," Lord Scott said after a pause.  "You may put your gown back
on."  Mistress Fiona placed the gown behind Laura, so she had to bend
over with her bruised rear end to the audience to pick it up.

Laura was relieved, if a bit confused, that she wasn't going to have
to masturbate on stage after all.  At least not for now.

"I'm concerned that you had to be punished last night," Mistress
Elizabeth said.  "Most new trainees try very hard to follow every
instruction to the letter, and it is only after being here a while
that they might become forgetful.  You, on the other hand, are off to
a poor start.  Do you generally have trouble understanding simple
instructions?"

"No, ma'am"

"So you're making a special effort for us?"  The sarcasm was rather
obvious from her tone.

"I'll try harder.  I guess I was nervous, ma'am."

"You'll be made more nervous than that, I can assure you.  No matter.
Now, I'm interested in knowing the thing you've done in your life for
which you harbor the most guilt."

Laura had no idea what to say.  An eternity of silence passed.

"We're waiting.  Let me help out - stealing, betrayal, cheating,
immorality, murder?"

"I lied to my father about using the car when I was 17."  It was the
first thing that popped into her head.

"Could you be holding something back, Marc's Laura?  Either you have
led a very dull life or you're being less than honest with us."

After a moment, Laura admitted what she was unable to remember before.
She almost hyperventilated as she got the words out.  "I once cheated
on Marc.  Two years ago, with someone I met in school."

"Excellent."  It seemed to be exactly what they were looking for.
They couldn't have known, could they?

The questions went on and on.  Various members of the audience asked
what seemed to Laura a stream of unrelated, but deeply probing,
questions about her inner feelings, her dreams, her sexuality.
Although her gown remained on for all but that brief period at the
beginning of the session, she soon felt more naked than ever before.
She tried to figure out what they were doing, what they were trying to
find out, but she had to concentrate so hard all she could do was
defer such thoughts until later.  One thing was for sure: they knew
her, and they knew just where to look to find areas of her mind she'd
rather not talk about.  Oddly, though, they never asked her anything
more about her infidelity.

After about three hours, it was finally over.  Everyone filed out of
the room, leaving just Lord Scott and Laura.

"You did well, but you have to learn to do two things that will seem
contradictory.  First, you have to learn not to think so much before
answering, unless it's thinking that you've been asked to do.  Second,
you must learn to answer forthrightly and coherently, as if you had
all the time in the world to construct your answers.  Do you
understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, sir."

"No.  First of all that's `Yes, Lord Scott' now, and second, I don't
think you do understand yet.  It's a costly mistake to claim that you
understand when you don't.  Well, anyway, what you have to do is turn
off part of your mind.  Specifically, the part of your mind that
filters out what you don't want others to hear and see.  We are that
part of your mind now and one of the things you have to learn is to
get out of the way.  At the same time, you must accept our training,
so that what you automatically say and do is exactly what we need you
to say and do - always.  It's hard, but we're all here to help you
learn.  If you really want to learn, you'll probably be able to, but
only if you really want to.

"Now, it's time to get a bit of lunch.  Do you need to use the
toilet?"

"Yes, sir."

"No, no, no.  What did I just tell you?  `Yes, Lord Scott.'  Was this
an honest slip, or were you testing me?

"Oh! Sorry! I'm sorry.  It was a mistake.  I'm sorry, Lord Scott,
honestly."  Laura couldn't believe how she could have been so stupid
or inattentive.

"Never, ever, tell me you're sorry as if that somehow forgives you.  I
asked a direct question, so a simple answer will do.  As for your
slip, I'll accept that as an honest mistake, but you'll need a
reminder so it won't be repeated.  Come with me."

Another whipping.  Laura followed Lord Scott to the bathroom, and
again, he stayed with her as she relieved herself.  After she got up,
they stayed in the room.

"To remind you to be more careful when addressing me, I'm going to
wash your mouth out with soap.  Now, come here."  He motioned her
toward the sink.

Mouth washed out with soap?  He's got to be kidding, Laura thought.
Well, it's got to be better than last night's beating.

Lord Scott took a small bar of brown soap, a bit smaller than those
soap bars in airplane bathrooms, and lathered it up under the warm
water while Laura watched.  "Now, open your mouth and stick out your
tongue."  Reluctantly, but without visible hesitation, Laura did as he
said.  Lord Scott gently grasped her jaw and slid the soap back and
forth across her tongue with his fingers, finally tucking it behind
her left cheek.  Laura's first thought was of how remarkably sensual
this experience would be if the bar of soap were, say, a chocolate
truffle.  He had the right touch for the job, at least.  Instead,
though, it was just humiliating, being punished just like a little
child who used naughty words.  "Close your mouth.  Stay here until I
come back."  He left the room, leaving the door open with Laura
standing there, soap suds and saliva dripping from her mouth.

The soap tasted awful; Laura wondered if it was specially selected for
this purpose.  The bitter taste seemed to build up, and Laura had to
fight to keep from swallowing.  Somehow, in her debased state, Laura
managed to find pride in the fact that she didn't fight Lord Scott or
try to reject the soap.  After a few minutes, he returned, but he
seemed not to notice that Laura was actually grinning.

"You may spit out the soap - use the sink."  Laura quickly complied,
but the strong taste stayed with her.  "I hope this little reminder
helps you find more appropriate words in the future, Marc's Laura," he
added.  Laura hoped so, too.

They returned to her room, where a lunch was waiting for her.  It may
have tasted of bitter soap, but Laura was glad to eat it.  Lord Scott
explained that once the evaluation was completed, she would eat in the
common dining room.

Laura didn't think much during lunch.  She was finding it easiest not
to try to reflect on her situation, and she didn't wonder what was
going to happen next, or even, as she had promised herself she would,
think about what they were trying to learn from all those questions.