Page 22 of Punished and Trained
The chain connecting her wrists to her collar was just long enough to allow basic movement while preventing access to her sex. Mistress Orela tested the length with professional efficiency, ensuring Viola couldn’t reach below her waist even if she tried.
“There,” the mistress said with satisfaction. “You’ll find the restraints quite comfortable for sleeping, but they’ll prevent any inappropriate touching during the night.”
I watched Viola’s face flush crimson at the implication. The idea that she might be tempted to pleasure herself in the darkness clearly mortified her, yet the governor’s readings told a very different story. Her arousal continued climbing as she contemplated the long night ahead, her body trapped between desire and denial. The reconnaissance data we’d gathered on President Viola Herranofar had told us that she had masturbated before sleeping most nights, like so many healthy but repressed women. I couldn’t help but feel a pang ofsympathy for her alongside the hardening of my cock at the idea of the deprivation enforced by the virtue-keeper.
The dormitory room itself was spartanly furnished—three narrow beds with crisp white linens, a single window with gauze curtains, and little else. Viola apparently shared the space with Morandra and Palla, the two women from Hippolyta who had volunteered for reformation rather than face house arrest.
I had read their files with considerable interest. Both had been caught aiding the resistance during the Vionian revolt, but their sentences had been surprisingly lenient. The fact that they had chosen the Academy over a few years of comfortable confinement suggested something deeper, of course—a need they perhaps hadn’t fully acknowledged even to themselves.
Now I watched as all three women settled onto their beds, the virtue-keepers making their movements rather awkward and deliberate. The restraints clearly served a more abstract purpose, beyond preventing masturbation, for the Euporian Good Way: they provided a constant reminder of control, of feminine submission, and of the imminence of disciplinary consequences for forgetting who truly owned a woman’s sweet, needy cunt.
“Sleep well, ladies,” said Mistress Orela as she left the room, turning off the light and closing the door behind her. The low-light capacity of the camera through which I watched let me see the three pupils very clearly in the darkness, all of them curled sweetly on their sides with their bound hands in front of them.
A minute went by. I almost turned off the feed, but I had a feeling I might miss something if I did. Sure enough, my Viola spoke, in a hesitant voice, just when it seemed all three of them might have fallen asleep.
“I… I don’t want to pry,” she said, “but… if you don’t mind talking about it… maybe…”
“What?” asked Palla in a voice that suggested she hadn’t gotten especially close to sleep yet.
“If we don’t want to answer,” Morandra said in the sort of authoritative voice that I imagined came naturally to a university professor, “we won’t, obviously.”
“Well,” Viola said. “Is it true that… that you volunteered to come here?”
Ah, yes, I thought, my heart going out to my beautiful new concubine.That would be what you want to know, wouldn’t it, Viola?
Viola
My heart had started to beat much faster than I really thought the simple question warranted. I couldn’t deny, though, that the answer seemed to matter a great deal to me.
“I mean,” I continued, “if you did volunteer, the alternative… it must have been awful, I know. Like… I mean, we don’t have it on Artemisia, but I know there are still places where they impose the death penalty.”
“No,” Morandra said softly. “The alternative was just a few years of house arrest.”
I felt the air leave my lungs in a rush. “House arrest? But… that’s nothing. That’s…” I couldn’t finish the sentence, my mind reeling with the implications.
“Comfortable house arrest,” Palla added, her voice barely above a whisper. “With full access to books, entertainment systems, even limited social contact. We would have been bored, but safe.”
The silence that followed was deafening. I stared at the ceiling, trying to process what they had just told me. They had chosen this—the Academy, the degradation, the systematic breaking down of their independence—over a few years of comfortable confinement.
“I’m sorry,” Palla said suddenly, her voice thick with embarrassment. “I know how that must sound to you. You didn’t have a choice at all, and here we are, having voluntarily walked into this place.”
“It’s not that simple,” Morandra said, and I could hear her shifting restlessly on her narrow bed. “Palla, you know why we’re here. We both know.”
“I was trying to help the resistance for all the wrong reasons,” Palla whispered, her voice so quiet I had to strain to hear it. “I thought… I thought if I could prove I was brave enough, strong enough, independent enough… maybe I could convince myself that I really belonged on Hippolyta.”
She trailed off, too embarrassed to continue. I waited, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“It was the same for me,” Morandra said finally. “I kept volunteering for dangerous missions, kept pushing myself intosituations where I could have been killed, all because I was trying to… to deny what I really needed.”
The admission hung in the air between us like a confession. I felt something shift in my chest—not quite relief, but a terrible recognition.
The silence stretched on for what felt like hours. Then, almost without thinking, I heard myself ask, “Do you think… do you think the virtue-keepers make us want to touch ourselves even more than we would otherwise?”
All three of us started giggling—soft, nervous laughter that seemed to bubble up from some deep well of shared understanding. The sound was both mortifying and oddly comforting.
“Yes,” Palla whispered through her giggles.
“Definitely yes,” Morandra agreed, and I could hear the smile in her voice despite everything.
