Page 31 of Punished and Trained
“How delightfully appropriate,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the edge of the flimsy material. “The Academy’s methods are quite inspired. This little thing makes you feel almost naked while still technically clothed, doesn’t it?”
I could only nod, my throat too tight for words as she peeled away the halter with the same maternal care she might use to undress a child. The cool air of the bedroom raised goosebumps across my exposed breasts, my nipples tightening into painful points under her assessing gaze.
“Beautiful,” she said softly, her hands cupping my breasts with possessive appreciation. “Prince Hendren chose well. Now I’m going to take off your skirt, dear.”
The pleated navy fabric pooled around my ankles, leaving me standing in only my knee socks and the white cotton panties still tangled around my knees. I felt more keenly than seemed logical how my bare sex had just come into full view, and then how the idea itself made fresh wetness gather between my thighs as Mrs. Quinst’s eyes traveled over my exposed form with obvious hunger.
“Step out of everything,” she commanded, her voice husky with desire. “Except your collar, of course. That stays on always. You must remember that you aren’t the one in charge of your body.”
I obeyed with trembling legs, the panties finally freed from their degrading position. Standing completely naked except for my collar, I felt somehow more bare and revealed than I had even during my most intimate, degrading moments with Prince Hendren. There was something about being stripped by another woman, assessed and prepared for her pleasure, that struck me as fundamentally different from masculine dominance—as if my master and my Guardian, the men to whom I belonged, had delegated their ownership to my Mistress, and in the process deepened my abasement.
Mrs. Quinst moved to the bed, drawing back the crisp white covers to reveal more restraints, these already secured to theheadboard and footboard. “Lie down on your back, Viola. Arms above your head.”
“Mistress, please,” I began, but she silenced me with a gentle finger to my lips.
“Hush, dear. These restraints aren’t meant to frighten you. They’re simply to help you learn to receive pleasure properly, without the distraction of trying to control the situation.”
I climbed onto the bed, every part of me seeming to quiver with anxiety and helpless need. The soft leather cuffs closed around my wrists, securing my arms above my head with just enough slack to allow slight movement. Mrs. Quinst’s touch remained gentle yet inexorable as she moved to my ankles, spreading my legs and fastening the restraints there as well.
“There,” she murmured with satisfaction, stepping back to admire her work. “Now you’re properly positioned for your lesson.”
My body laid spread over the white sheets as if in a display of sheer powerlessness. I tugged experimentally at the bonds, finding them secure, but not painful—surely meant, I realized with growing dread, for extended use.
“The first thing you must understand,” Mrs. Quinst said, beginning to undress with deliberate slowness, “is that pleasuring another woman requires patience and attention to detail. You can’t simply rush to completion as men sometimes do.”
Her navy dress slipped from her shoulders, revealing elegant lingerie beneath—a matching set in deep burgundy that emphasized her mature curves. I found myself staring despitemy mortification, taking in the confident way she moved, the obvious pride she took in her body.
“Are you looking at me, Viola?” she asked with evident pleasure. “Good. You should study my body, learn what pleases a woman of experience.”
She continued undressing, each garment removed with a degree of theatricality that brought a little surge of heat to my cheeks as I considered how different my own undressing had been. When she finally stood naked except for her own collar—a more elaborate piece than mine, I noticed, marking her high status—I couldn’t deny a reluctant appreciation for her form. Years of disciplined self-maintenance had kept her figure trim and graceful.
“Now then,” she said, climbing onto the bed beside me, “let’s examine what Prince Hendren has been working with.”
Her hands began at my shoulders, tracing patterns across my skin with clinical interest. “Excellent muscle tone,” she murmured, as if cataloguing livestock. “And your skin responds beautifully to touch.”
I gasped as her fingers found my nipples, rolling the sensitive peaks between thumb and forefinger with practiced skill. The sensation was entirely different from masculine touch—knowing, intuitive in ways that spoke to shared experience.
“Do you feel how your body responds differently to a woman’s touch?” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. “We understand what you need because we need it ourselves.”
Her mouth replaced her fingers, lips closing around my nipple with gentle suction that made my back arch against therestraints. I bit my lip to suppress a moan, fighting the shameful pleasure that flickered through my body.
“Don’t fight it, dear,” she murmured against my skin. “Acceptance is the first step toward true submission.”
Her hands roamed lower, tracing the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips. When her fingers finally reached the junction of my thighs, I couldn’t suppress a whimper of need.
“My goodness,” she breathed, her touch confirming what we both already knew. “You’re just as naughty a girl as the colonel imagined you would be, aren’t you?”
CHAPTER 15
Viola
Her fingers began to explore me with a knowledge that made my breath catch in my throat. Where Prince Hendren’s touch had been commanding and possessive, Mrs. Quinst’s was intuitive, finding places that made me gasp before I even knew they existed.
“Such lovely responses,” she murmured, her thumb circling that most sensitive spot with such evident knowledge that the very idea made me blush even hotter. “I can see why His Royal Highness was so taken with you. But there’s so much more you need to learn.”
I pulled against the restraints as pleasure built within me, my hips moving involuntarily against her skilled fingers. The rational part of my mind screamed in protest, but my body had begun to respond with terrible eagerness to her attentions.
“Please,” I gasped, though I wasn’t sure if I was begging her to stop or continue.
