Page 6 of His Naughty Girl

My finger hovered over it for a moment before I gathered the courage to tap it. When I did, I got a new screen, full of text. The basic tenets appeared at the top:respect, obedience, dedication, and modesty.Innocuous, if old-fashioned. As I scrolled down to read the specifics, though, I felt a wave of mortification wash over me.

Girls will address their elders as sir and ma’am.

Girls will be home by sundown unless given express permission for a date with an approved suitor.

Girls will do whatever they are told by Mr. and Mrs. Weathers without question.

Girls will maintain proper hygiene, including weekly shaving of intimate areas.

Girls will submit to weekly inspections to ensure their modesty and hygiene.

Girls will wear the modest underwear and dresses provided by the New Modesty authority, except on Saturday when girls are allowed to wear pants, if they’ve behaved themselves.

My eyes widened as I read this rule. I glanced down at my current outfit—a knee-length skirt and blouse that I had thought was perfectly modest. Apparently, it wouldn’t meet the standards in Cato. I tried to imagine what kind of dresses and underwear would be considered acceptable. Would I be forced to wear long, shapeless sacks that hid every curve? And the idea of someone else dictating my undergarments made me squirm in my seat.

The next rule made my tummy flip:

Girls will go on the dates arranged for them and be respectful to their approved suitors.

Arranged dates? Approved suitors? The words swam before my eyes as I struggled to process their implications. I thought of my past relationships—the awkward first dates, the thrill of mutual attraction, the freedom to choose who I wanted to be with. All of that would be taken away. Instead, I would be expected to docilely accept whichever man the Weatherses deemed appropriate for me.

My mind conjured an image of myself sitting across from some stern-faced stranger at a quaint diner, forcing polite small talk while he evaluated me as a potential wife. Would I be expected to laugh at his jokes, agree with his every opinion? The thought made me feel slightly ill.

With growing dread, I read the final rule:

Infractions of the rules will be punished with traditional family discipline: spanking for minor offenses, the family strap for more serious ones.

My breath caught in my throat. Spanking? A strap? Officer Porter’s words came flooding back, much more loudly.

The bare-bottom kind. The… bare… bottom… kind.

I shifted again in my seat, much too aware of my backside pressed against the worn fabric. To my horror, I felt a surge of heat between my thighs. I clenched my legs together, my face burning with shame.

This isn’t me. I don’t want this.

I tried to stop reading these rules over and over, but found myself unable to look away. My eyes kept darting back to certain phrases—modest underwear,approved suitors,traditional family discipline. Each time I read them, I felt a confusing mix of revulsion and the wayward heat that made me feel I had gone crazy.

As the bus rolled on through the picturesque countryside, making occasional stops to drop off Selecta workers and other young women whose destinations I couldn’t bear to contemplate, a desperate plan began to form in my mind. Maybe I could get off at a different stop. Slip away before anyone noticed I was gone.

An hour and a half into the journey, I decided to try it. As the bus slowed for another stop, I stood up, trying to look as casual as I could. I made my way forward along the aisle, my heart pounding. But as I reached the front, the driver’s gruff voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Andrea Jacobsen, get your backside back in that seat,” he said firmly. “I don’t want to have to tell the folks in Cato that you need even more of a lesson than you’re already in for. Cato’s next. Twenty minutes.”

My face burned with mortification as I realized the driver knew about my impending punishment. Shoulders slumped in defeat, I shuffled back to my seat, acutely aware of the curious stares from the other passengers.

As I sank back down, I caught sight of my reflection in the window. My cheeks were flushed, my blue eyes wide with fear.

Fear. That’s all. That’sall.

I looked away immediately, unable to face the conflicted emotions I saw there.

The bus rumbled on, eating up the few remaining miles between me and my new life in Cato. With each passing moment, my anxiety grew. What would happen when we arrived? Would someone be there to meet me? Would I be taken straight to the Weatherses’ home, or to the New Modesty office first?

And looming over it all was the promise—the threat—of my ‘lesson.’ My stomach twisted as I imagined myself bent over, skirt raised, panties lowered…

The bare-bottom kind, Officer Porter had said. I squirmed in my seat, trying to banish the mental image. The way he had said it, I realized, had made it ten times worse. As if…

As if it were something I would be getting used to.

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