Page 26 of Punished and Trained
“Beautiful,” Colonel Quinst murmured, his hand settling on my head with possessive approval. “Now you understand what true submission means, don’t you, Viola?”
“Yes, Guardian,” I whispered against his skin, my voice barely audible.
“Good girl,” Mistress Quinst said warmly, helping me to my feet. “Now let’s get your panties back up and your skirt straightened. We have a lovely evening planned for you at our home.”
As she adjusted my clothing with efficient maternal care, I caught sight of my classmates’ faces. Palla looked horrified but strangely fascinated, while Morandra’s expression held something that looked almost like envy. Trellama, Lara, and Reb watched with varying degrees of shock and arousal, all of them obviously understanding that they would soon face similar moments of surrender.
“Ladies,” Mistress Orela announced to the classroom, “let us proceed constructively from that helpful demonstration. Miss Lara, you are next.”
CHAPTER 12
Viola
The Quinst residence, in a suburb of the capital, proved a good deal more modest than I had expected. A comfortable home, certainly, but by no means the sort of palace Euporia’s formal buildings, like the Academy, might have led me to expect. Built from imitation wood—or perhaps even from real trees—it reminded me most of the sort of suburban family home I had seen in ancient images of old Earth. I supposed that fit, given the culture and lifestyle the founders of Euporia seemed to have intended to enforce on their society.
“Welcome to your home for your Guardian lessons, Viola,” Mistress Quinst said, her hand resting possessively on my knee as the vehicle came to a stop. “I know you’ll find our hospitality educational, and we’ll do our best to make it warm as well, despite the challenges we know you face.”
Colonel Quinst emerged first, his military bearing unchanged even in civilian surroundings. He moved around the transport to open my door with practiced courtesy, though his blue eyes heldthe same cold authority that had reduced me to begging in the Academy classroom only an hour or so before.
“Out,” he commanded simply, and I obeyed without hesitation.
The interior of their home struck me as cozy, rather than grand in any way. The furnishings of the single story, with a large kitchen and dining area as well as an expansive living room, seemed placed and maintained in just as orderly a way as I might have expected from a colonel and his obedient spouse.
“Your bedroom is the first on the right, down that hall, Viola,” my Mistress told me. “You may put your things in there, then freshen up in your bathroom, at the end of the hall. Then come to the living room so that we can go over our expectations, for this evening and for your future stays with us.”
Clutching my overnight bag to my chest as if to guard me from Euporia’s monstrous ideology, I walked down the hallway on unsteady legs. I was a good deal more aware than I wished to be of my bottom’s lingering tenderness, from the thorough spanking Colonel Quinst had administered in front of my classmates. The bedroom the Quinsts had provided to me was small, but comfortable, with a single bed covered in a patchwork quilt that looked handmade. A wooden dresser stood against one wall. I put my overnight bag down on a chair beside it.
The bathroom at the end of the hall was equally modest—white tile, a simple shower stall, and basic amenities arranged with military precision. I splashed cool water on my face, trying to compose myself a little. I turned away from my reflection so as not to have to see the president of Artemisia wearing the ridiculous schoolgirl uniform that marked me as a student of the horrid Women’s Training Academy.
When I returned to the living room, I found Colonel and Mrs. Quinst seated on a comfortable sofa, a tea service arranged on the coffee table before them. The domestic scene might have been reassuring if not for the way they both watched me enter—I couldn’t help thinking of predators assessing their prey.
“Sit there, Viola,” Mrs. Quinst said, gesturing to a straight-backed chair positioned directly across from them. “We need to discuss your training schedule and our household rules.”
I perched carefully on the edge of the chair, wincing slightly as my punished bottom made contact with the hard wood. The Quinsts noticed my discomfort with evident satisfaction.
“Rule number one,” Colonel Quinst began, his voice carrying the same authority he had displayed at the Academy. “You will address us properly at all times. I am Guardian, and Mrs. Quinst is Mistress. Any failure to show proper respect will result in immediate correction.”
“Yes, Guardian,” I replied quickly, remembering the burning lesson of my earlier defiance all too well.
“Rule number two,” Mrs. Quinst continued, pouring tea with an elegance that could only have come from long practice. “You will maintain perfect posture and feminine deportment at all times in our home. Shoulders back, spine straight, eyes downcast unless given permission to look up.”
I adjusted my position immediately, pulling my shoulders back despite the way it emphasized my breasts beneath the white blouse.
“Rule number three,” the colonel said, accepting a cup from his wife. “You will participate in all household activities as directed. Cooking, cleaning, serving—consider it part of your domesticeducation. I suppose that as the concubine of a Magisterian prince you may not be required to engage in such tasks, but the mental attitude fostered by compliance in such things will certainly please your master when you return to him.”
The basic idea of performing menial labor while wearing this humiliating uniform vied for attention in my mind with the more abstract notion of how Prince Hendren would benefit. Together they sent fresh heat rising into my cheeks, but I nodded obediently.
“And rule number four,” Mrs. Quinst added with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “you will submit completely to any instruction or correction we deem necessary. Your body belongs to Prince Hendren, but your training belongs to the Academy, and to us.”
This second, even more direct, reminder of my master’s ownership rights sent an involuntary shiver through me. I wondered if he was watching even now, monitoring my responses through the hateful governor, taking satisfaction in my mounting humiliation and submission to these strangers.
“Yes, Mistress,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
“Excellent,” Colonel Quinst said, setting down his teacup with a soft clink. “Now then, let’s discuss this evening’s schedule. Dinner will be at six o’clock sharp. You’ll help Betty prepare the meal, then serve us properly. After dinner, we’ll begin your first intimate lesson.”
My stomach clenched at his words. I felt terribly foolish at the next words that came out of my mouth, since the meaning of his words seemed dismayingly clear, but part of me simply refused to know it. “Intimate lesson, Guardian?”
“Don’t look so frightened, dear,” Mrs. Quinst said, though her smile held a predatory edge. “Tonight we’ll simply be assessing your current level of training. Prince Hendren has been quite thorough, I’m sure, but the intimacy prescribed by the Good Way is of a different kind.”
