Page 42 of Punished and Trained
“Look at me, Viola,” he commanded softly, his voice carrying that familiar authority that made my knees weak.
I raised my eyes slowly, meeting his icy gaze as he began to part the cloak’s lapels. The fabric whispered against my skin as the prince moved it aside, revealing my barely clad form to his appreciative assessment. The white lace panties felt impossibly scandalous under his penetrating stare, the delicate material doing nothing to preserve my modesty.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his hands tracing the edge of the cloak where it framed my exposed curves. “The Academy has only enhanced what already seemed perfect.”
Around us, I could feel the attention of other guests drawn to our tableau. Powerful men paused their conversations to observe how a Magisterian prince inspected his prized concubine, their own wives standing with downcast eyes in similar states of elegant undress. The weight of their collective gaze made mycheeks burn with shame even as my body responded with that familiar, treacherous need.
“Tell me, Colonel,” Prince Hendren continued, never taking his eyes from my trembling form, “how did she respond to your particular methods of instruction? I was able to observe from a distance, but remote viewing only goes so far. I’d appreciate hearing your firsthand impressions.”
“Your bed servant complied with notable enthusiasm once Mrs. Quinst and I had addressed her resistance properly,” Colonel Quinst replied with professional pride. “She proved quite receptive to both feminine and masculine guidance. The cunt and anus both proved extremely pleasurable, and I know Betty found the mouth delightful after a bit of a tutorial.”
How can they talk about me… about my body… that way?a part of me still wanted to know.
Frank… obscene… degrading. But I knew how, and why. For their own enjoyment—and, more dismaying, with a canny eye for training me to accept the response their humiliation evoked in that same body. My exposed nipples had hardened and wetness had gathered between my thighs as Prince Hendren’s possessive gaze traveled over every inch of my exposed skin. Their coarse words had brought that arousal to such a pitch that I felt, more than heard, a tiny humming whimper escape through my nose.
“Excellent,” my master said with evident satisfaction. “She seems quite ready to be presented.”
Mrs. Quinst’s hand settled on my shoulder with possessive pride. “She’s learned to embrace her true nature, Your RoyalHighness. By the end of our instruction, she was begging for our attention quite beautifully.”
Before Prince Hendren could reply, the gentle murmur of conversation throughout the hall began to fade as a distinguished figure approached the raised platform at the center of the room. First Minister Havelorn, resplendent in formal robes that spoke of centuries of tradition, raised his hand for silence. I swallowed hard, for Mistress Orela had told us what this moment meant.
“Honored guests, distinguished masters, and esteemed colleagues,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the acoustically perfect space, “welcome to this evening’s Presentation ceremony. Tonight we celebrate not merely the successful completion of another training cycle, but the forging of bonds that will strengthen our society for generations to come.”
A respectful hush fell over the assembly as spotlights illuminated the platform. I found myself trembling as I considered what was about to unfold—a formal, public acknowledgment of our new status as property.
“Each of the Academy’s pupils has been claimed by a worthy master,” the First Minister continued, his voice carrying the weight of ceremonial authority. “These men have demonstrated their commitment to our shared values through generous contributions to the public good.”
The spotlight shifted to illuminate the first of my former classmates. I recognized Trellama’s distinctive red hair immediately as she stood beside her new Guardian couple, her posture perfectly straight despite the obvious tension in her slender frame.
“Master Nerbusson has generously endowed our city’s new medical research facility,” the First Minister announced, “ensuring that Euporia remains at the forefront of galactic healthcare innovation.”
Trellama’s Guardian swept back her dark cloak with theatrical flourish, revealing her pale skin barely concealed by the scandalous white lace. His wife’s hands moved with practiced showmanship, cupping the girl’s small breasts and turning her slightly so the assembled guests could appreciate her delicate curves from every angle.
A distinguished older man stepped forward from the crowd—Master Nerbusson, I realized. Without hesitation, Trellama sank gracefully to her knees, her hands working at his formal trousers with the skill the Academy had drilled into all of us. When she freed his impressive manhood, she pressed her lips to the swollen head in a reverent kiss that drew murmurs of approval from the watching elite.
The spotlight moved on, finding Palla’s voluptuous form beside another Guardian couple. “Master Vance has funded the expansion of our agricultural research centers,” the First Minister continued, “ensuring food security for our growing population.”
Again the ritual played out—cloak swept aside, intimate display, the kneeling submission and worshipful kiss. Palla’s fuller figure drew appreciative comments from several guests as her new master accepted her homage with evident satisfaction.
Morandra’s turn came next, her scholarly bearing somehow maintained even as her academic achievements were reduced to this moment of public degradation. “Master Corwin has established a new wing of our planetary library,” theFirst Minister announced, “preserving knowledge for future generations.”
Then Reb, trembling as her pale, delicate form was revealed and displayed. “Master Henrik has funded improvements to our transportation infrastructure, connecting our growing cities with unprecedented efficiency.”
Finally, Lara stood in the spotlight’s glare, her Euporian heritage making her submission particularly meaningful to the assembled crowd. “Master Darius has endowed our cultural preservation society, ensuring that Euporian traditions remain strong for centuries to come.”
Each presentation followed the same degrading pattern, each girl accepting her new master’s claim with the practiced grace we had all been taught. The assembled elite watched with evident satisfaction as their investment in our training paid such visible dividends.
Then the spotlight found me.
“And finally,” the First Minister’s voice swelled with particular pride, “we acknowledge His Royal Highness Prince Hendren of the Magisterian Federation, whose extraordinary generosity has surpassed all others. In honor of his ownership of former President Viola Herranofar of Artemisia, His Royal Highness has endowed the Academy itself, ensuring that our methods of feminine education will continue to flourish and expand throughout?—”
“Free Artemisia!”
The words, shouted by a masculine voice somewhere at the back of the hall, rang out, and suddenly the vast space fell silent. Thena murmur ran through the crowd, and I saw people beginning to move aside, as if to let someone through.
Colonel Quinst picked out who it was first, his tone of grim resignation indicating that though the interruption itself had come as a surprise, its source did not.
“Solamo,” he told his wife. Then, in explanation to me, “Former First Minister John Solamo.”
