Page 25 of Punished and Trained
“You know, Viola,” Colonel Quinst said conversationally as his hand continued its relentless work, each word punctuated by another stinging blow, “in my thirty years of marriage to Betty, I’ve probably spanked close to two hundred young women. Academy girls, mostly, during my tours as a Guardian instructor.”
Smack.The blow landed with particular force, making me cry out.
“Some were defiant like you,” he continued in that same calm tone, as if discussing the weather rather than systematically turning my backside into a seat of fire. “Others were simply careless or lazy. But they all learned the same lesson in the end.”
Smack smack.Two rapid blows to my sit spots made me writhe helplessly across his lap.
“Even my dear wife requires regular correction,” he added matter-of-factly. “Don’t you, Betty?”
“Yes, sir,” Mistress Quinst replied, a little hesitancy in her voice along with a trace of shame.
“Well,” my Guardian said, with a tinge of annoyance, stopping the spanking for a moment, “elaborate, Betty. We’re teaching Viola about our way of life.”
“Please, John,” my Mistress said. “Later?”
“No, Betty,” the colonel replied in a stern voice. “Do you want to go over my knee after I’m done with Viola?” I cried out as his hand came down three times in quick succession as if to make sure I didn’t think I would be spared simply because my Mistress had roused my Guardian’s anger. Hot tears splashed from my eyes onto the wood floor.
“I go over the colonel’s knee once a week at least,” Betty said, her tone full of reluctance. “Last week John had me over his knee for letting the silver tarnish. I was so busy with Academy preparations that I completely neglected the housework.”
“Thirty-eight lashes of the family strap,” Colonel Quinst said, landing another punishing blow that made me sob. “Mrs. Quinst miscounted the first time. I had to start over.”
The casual discussion of my Mistress’s own spankings, delivered while my bottom was being systematically set ablaze, felt surreal. These people discussed domestic discipline the way others might talk about gardening or meal planning.
Smack smack smack.Three more rapid blows finally broke through my attempts at stoic endurance.
“Please!” I screamed, my voice cracking with desperation. “Please, Guardian, it hurts! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”
“What are you sorry for?” he asked calmly, not pausing in his methodical punishment.
Smack.Another blow landed as I struggled to form words through my tears.
“For disobeying! For not—”smack“—for not kissing your—”smack“—please, Guardian, please stop!”
“Stop what, Viola?” His voice remained infuriatingly calm as my bottom blazed with agony.
“Stop spanking me! Please, I’ll do anything! I’ll be good, I promise!”
Smack smack.Two more blows landed on my upper thighs, where it seemed to hurt more.
“And what exactly will you do to demonstrate your obedience?” Colonel Quinst prompted, his hand never slowing.
The words I had been fighting against finally tore from my throat in a desperate wail: “I want to kiss it! I want to kiss your penis, Guardian! Please, please let me kiss your cock!”
The spanking stopped abruptly, leaving me gasping and shuddering across his lap. My bottom felt like it was on fire, each breath sending fresh waves of pain through my punished flesh. Colonel Quinst’s hand rested on my burning bottom, his touch surprisingly gentle now that I had surrendered completely.
“Much better,” he said with satisfaction. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Betty, help our pupil to her knees so she can properly demonstrate her newfound obedience.”
Mistress Quinst’s hands were tender as she helped me slide from her husband’s lap, though I winced as my punished bottom came into contact with the cool air. My panties were still tangled around my knees, and I felt terribly revealed as I knelt before Colonel Quinst once again, my face level with his rigid manhood.
“Now then,” he said, his voice carrying that same military authority, “you will kiss my cock with proper reverence. Not because you’re forced to, but because you’ve chosen to submit to my authority as your Guardian.”
I stared at his imposing shaft, my mouth still watering traitorously despite my humiliation. The memory of Prince Hendren’s training flooded back—how he had taught me to worship his manhood with my lips and tongue, how my body had learned to respond to such intimate service.
“Don’t hesitate, dear,” Mistress Quinst said softly, her hand stroking my hair with maternal gentleness. “This is a beautiful moment—your first true act of submission to your new Guardian. We’re so proud of you for choosing obedience over continued defiance.”
I leaned forward slowly, my lips trembling as they approached the swollen head of Colonel Quinst’s cock. The masculine scent of him filled my nostrils, and I felt that familiar shameful heat building between my thighs despite everything. To my distress, I longed for the little tingle of the governor that meant my master, or Mistress Orela, or anyone else had suppressed my need.
My lips brushed against his shaft in the softest of kisses, barely more than a whisper of contact. But the symbolism felt devastating—I had just willingly submitted to this stranger’s authority in the most intimate way possible, and I had done it in front of my classmates and the other Guardian couples.
