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For not the first, and if I'm honest, almost certainly not the last time, I resolved to keep my big mouth shut. Its never a smart idea, and even less so when you're just someone else's property.
I was lying there, looking up at her plaintively, and looking even more desperately at the clock, and more to the point its second hand, as it ticked away. Far, far, far too slowly, in my opinion. You might not think an exercise that involves basically supporting yourself on your feet and elbows would swiftly become exceptionally painful, but you'd be wrong.
"D-Domina" I managed to gasp out, in what I will be the first to admit was a somewhat plaintive manner.
She, however, paid not the slightest bit of attention, instead swearing under her breath as she scribbled over a draft of her article, which was provisionally entitled 'An examination of the changes, evolution and continuities of servile criminal law, legal approaches and philosophical justifications during the Early and Middle Reunified Imperial Eras". Speaking as someone who had to edit the whole thing later, it was as riveting as it sounds, although she did at least allow me to butcher the title into something at least vaguely arresting. (Stop, slave! Criminal slaves under the Emperors).
The pain in my stomach was going from extreme to agonising; I could feel the muscles in my legs metaphorically screaming, and my arms were letting it be known that they were not in the least bit enjoying this. I shifted position, which brought a minuscule amount of relief and -
"I saw that, Flavia!"
"But it hurts, Domina." I looked at her pleadingly.
"Well, you've got an extra thirty seconds added onto this one" she said, crushingly. "Honestly, that's just shirking."
I bit back a pithy and probably unwise response, and instead counted down in my heads. Fifty seconds to go now, I thought. Only fifty more seconds of this...only forty nine...only forty eight...
My Domina glanced casually at the clock. "Don't worry!" she said, in a voice that was meant to be either genuinely encouraging or sadistically mocking (with her, it can be hard to tell). "You've only got forty six more seconds or this one, and three more to go." She grinned. "And just think of all the good its doing you."
It may have been doing me good, but it certainly wasn't feeling good, and when the time had expired I collapsed gratefully onto the floor, whimpering very slightly.
"Just three more to go, now!" called out my Domina, cheerfully.
I stood up, shaking the aches out of my body as best I could.
"You know, Domina, I think I've got the idea of this, now."
"I don't call that research, really. You should do the whole thing, Flavia." She looked at me, skeptically. "You can't encourage someone to do something you won't do yourself."
She had, I admit, a point. It had been my idea for a filler article in Loyalty, after all, and in my defense it was a good idea. Slaves are people too (biologically, anyway, if not legally) - and doesn't everyone feel a bit flabby and drained after Saturnulia? So, why not suggest some easy, quick exercises us slaves could do, in between serving our superiors? A fit slave is an effective slave, after all, and even the lowliest garden boy wants to look better, doesn't he?
I'd already drafted most of it, got the sign-off from the editors once they realized it was not a covert militant training program, and had located some books from which I'd copied the instructions more or less word for word, before my Domina had sweetly enquired why I wasn't actually doing the whole thing myself, daily, as I'd suggested?
Personally, I think she just has a sadistic streak in her. Although, perhaps, I would concede that mentioning to her that very few of our readers were actually interested in the details of servile law the day before was perhaps also a contributing factor.
"I have done it, Domina!" I protested, weakly. I took a sip of water. "In fact, apparently we've already had several letters in, congratulating us for such a helpful article." An even split, I'd noticed with some amusement, between slaves and free. I wondered vaguely how many slaves were now cursing me for giving their owners some bright idea about compulsory exercise.
She snorted. "Maybe we should do a follow up, then. We could illustrate it." She laughed as s thought struck her. "You could be the model, even. Shame we didn't take some photos right at the start. We could have 'what Flavia looked like after stuffing her face during Saturnulia' and 'the stunning redhead three months later."
"Isn't my fault." I grinned at her. "You do bake some very good cakes, Domina."
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Flavia." She pointed back down on the floor. "Right, back on the floor, slave."