Page 15 of Punished and Trained
I felt a surge of heat travel through me that made me think my skin might actually burst into flames. I understood the irony all too well: Mistress Orela was actually implying that my unmet sexual needs had endangered my world. At this point, I didn’t know whether I wanted the horrid woman to be right or wrong, but something in me knew how terribly accurate her judgment was. If I had had more sex… if I had let a man dominate me in bed… would I have found a way to save Artemisia from Magisteria’s iron fist?
Mistress Orela withdrew her fingers and stripped off the gloves. “You may sit up now,” she said, as if commanding women’s postures were as natural to her as breathing.
I struggled to an upright position, my legs still splayed in the stirrups, acutely aware of how exposed I remained. Mistress Orela moved to one of the wardrobes and began selecting items.
“You’ll be housed in the Academy dormitory with your five classmates,” she explained, returning with an armful of clothing. “The dormitory system serves multiple purposes—it creates bonds between students while maintaining healthy competition for approval.”
She held up what appeared to be a schoolgirl’s uniform: a white blouse with a collar that made me think of ancient portraits of distant ancestors, a pleated navy skirt that would barely reach mid-thigh, white knee socks, and shiny black shoes I thought I had once heard calledMary Janes, though I had no idea who that millennia-dead Mary Jane might have been. The outfit was clearly designed to infantilize and sexualize simultaneously.
“Each dormitory room houses three students,” Mistress Orela continued as she helped me down from the examination table. “You’ll share with Morandra, a former university professor, and Palla, who was a systems administrator. They both come from Hippolyta. Has His Royal Highness told you about Hippolyta?”
I shook my head as I pulled on the white cotton panties she handed me, the fabric strange against my bare skin after days of nudity.
“Answer me, Viola,” Mistress Orela said sharply. “Show me the respect I deserve.”
I swallowed hard.
“No…”
“Mistress,” the awful woman said, tilting her head toward me and narrowing her eyes.
“No, Mistress,” I said. “Prince… I mean, His Royal Highness—he hasn’t told me…”
I felt like my sanity had started to slip away. I couldn’t even seem to form a thought in the face of Mistress Orela’s complete conviction of her authority and rectitude.
“Put on your blouse,” she commanded.
I obeyed, grateful at least for a task to occupy me. The blouse had buttons—small and fiddly ones—clearly designed to make dressing a deliberate process.
“Hippolyta is called Magisteria’s sister planet not only because the two worlds lie in close proximity, but because women from Magisteria who do not wish to submit to masculine authority are allowed to settle there and govern themselves in the same sort ofegalitarianway your world thought you could.”
I remembered now that I had indeed heard about Hippolyta. During the treaty negotiations, it had seemed at one point that Artemisia might be allowed to remain sovereign under the same kind of plan. Then with a flash of heat that went to my scalp I remembered that I had been the leader of the opposition to that idea.
“Morandra and Palla were caught aiding the resistance and given a choice. They decided to volunteer for reformation here on Euporia. I hope their attitude may teach you something, Viola, even though the dormitory phase lasts only a few days,” Mistress Orela explained, watching me struggle with the skirt’s complicated fastenings. “In that time, however, we are able to assess each student’s particular needs and provide guidanceto their Guardians. Your case, of course, will require special consideration.”
My hands stilled on the skirt’s waistband. “Special consideration?”
“Your former position makes you a unique challenge,” she replied, adjusting the collar of my blouse with practiced efficiency. “Not every Guardian couple would be suitable for training a former head of state. We needed individuals with both the experience and the… fortitude to handle such a case.”
CHAPTER 7
Hendren
I could watch her forever.
The thought struck me as I reclined in the leather chair of my embassy study, eyes fixed on the high-definition display that showed the Women’s Training Academy classroom in exquisite detail. Viola sat ramrod straight at her assigned desk, her schoolgirl uniform perfectly arranged, her hands folded in her lap with the precise positioning Mistress Orela had drilled into her during the morning session. Even through the video feed, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw clenched almost imperceptibly as she fought to maintain the required posture.
Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
The camera angle gave me a perfect view of her profile—the elegant line of her neck rising from the white collar of her blouse, the way her dark hair had been styled in what seemed the Academy’s prescribed manner, with a simple blue ribbon. The schoolgirl aesthetic was devastatingly effective on her. Whereonce she had commanded respect in tailored presidential suits, now she looked like what she was becoming: a woman learning her proper place.
“Attention, ladies.” Mistress Orela’s crisp voice carried clearly through the audio feed. “We will now practice what we Euporians call the seven essential postures. These postures aren’t taught to young women until they are almost on the point of marriage, for they are—as you will see—quite openly suggestive. But with more mature learners I find the lesson helpful as a beginning. We’ll start with position one, which we callPresentation.”
I leaned forward slightly, my interest sharpening. This was new to me—Magisterian concubine training involved its own formality, but didn’t prescribe particular positions this way. I watched as Viola and her five classmates rose from their desks with varying degrees of uncertainty.
Curious, I fetched my handheld from a side table and pulled up the readout from Viola’s governor. I saw that Mistress Orela had left the suppression setting off, so that Viola could feel all the arousal and pleasure her cunt would naturally experience. The graph showing Viola’s arousal history over the last few minutes showed an interesting, rather pleasing spike, that looked to have occurred when the mistress had said the wordPresentation.
“Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart,” Mistress Orela instructed, her own posture demonstrating perfect form. “Hands clasped behind your back, shoulders pulled back to display your chest properly. Eyes lowered in deference. This is how you will present yourself when your Guardian enters a room.”
