Page 46 of Punished and Trained
The question hung in the air between us. I felt my throat tighten as I considered her words, the honest uncertainty they reflected. “I don’t want it,” I said firmly, but even as the words left my lips, I wondered if they were entirely true. Some buried part of me still remembered the dignity of leadership, still yearned for the respect I had once commanded.
“What did the prince tell you before we left?” Morandra asked softly. “You looked terrified when you got in the transport.”
I swallowed hard, feeling heat creep up my neck as I recalled his words. “He said… he said there would need to be something more demanding. More public than tonight. To prove definitively that I’ve surrendered to his authority.”
Palla’s intake of breath was audible. “More public than what you did tonight? But half the planet’s elite saw you…”
“What do you think he meant?” Morandra asked hesitantly, her voice dropping to barely a whisper.
I closed my eyes, my body beginning to tremble as I voiced the fear that had been growing since his words. “I think… I think it might mean terrible punishment. Public discipline. Something that would be broadcast, maybe throughout the Federation.”
The image formed unbidden in my mind—myself bound and helpless before cameras, subjected to whatever humiliation Prince Hendren deemed necessary to crush any remaining symbol of resistance I might represent. To my absolute horror, the thought sent a bolt of molten heat straight through my core.
My bottom began to squirm against the mattress involuntarily, my thighs clenching as shameful arousal flooded my system. The more I tried to push the images away, the more vivid they became—my body displayed and punished before millions…, my offered backside, bound in place, savagely whipped… my submission transmitted across the galaxy as proof of my complete surrender. The shameful heat building between my legs seemed to pulse with each imagined scenario of public discipline.
“Viola?” Palla’s worried voice seemed to come from very far away. “Are you all right? You’re breathing strangely.”
I tried to force my body to stillness, but the images wouldn’t stop coming. Prince Hendren’s hands positioning me for punishment while cameras recorded every moment of my degradation. My cries echoing through speakers as millions watched a former president reduced to a sobbing, penitent concubine. It seemed I could never get past my terrible weakness: the thought of such complete humiliation should have filled me with revulsion, but instead it sent waves of unwelcome need crashing through me.
Then, suddenly, I felt the familiar sensation of the governor activating between my thighs: a little tingle, and then a coolness.The building pleasure that had been spiraling out of control was abruptly dampened, the urgent throbbing reduced to a manageable warmth. My breathing gradually steadied as the device regulated my body’s responses with clinical precision.
He’s watching, I realized with a mixture of shame and strange comfort. Even now, even here in the dormitory surrounded by my fellow students, Prince Hendren was monitoring my responses through the governor’s data feed. He had seen my arousal spike at the thought of public punishment and had chosen to intervene, controlling my pleasure with the same authority he exercised over every other aspect of my existence.
To my amazement, instead of feeling violated by this intrusion, I felt profoundly grateful. The governor’s intervention had saved me from the mortifying experience of becoming aroused in front of Palla and Morandra while fantasizing about my own degradation. More than that, it reminded me that I wasn’t alone in navigating these shameful desires—my master was there, guiding even my most private responses.
“I’m fine,” I whispered to Palla, my voice steadier now. “Just… processing everything that happened tonight.”
The cool of the governor’s gentle regulation seemed to spread through my entire body, carrying with it a sense of security I hadn’t expected. Prince Hendren’s control over my pleasure wasn’t just about domination—it was about protection, about ensuring I didn’t lose myself completely to needs I couldn’t manage alone.
As the device continued its subtle work, I felt my eyelids growing heavy. The tension that had kept me rigid with arousal gradually melted away, replaced by a drowsy contentment that seemed to emanate from the very core of my being. My masterwas watching over me, controlling even this, and somehow that knowledge brought peace rather than resentment.
“Sleep well, Viola,” Morandra murmured softly, her own breathing beginning to deepen.
“You too,” I breathed back, and then morning had come.
CHAPTER 22
Hendren
I watched from my study as the Academy pupils settled into their history lesson the next morning, my fascination growing as Mistress Orela guided them through a discussion of the social innovation that we—the Magisterian Federation—believed the most important factor in our success. The concept of the ‘egalitarian release valve’ had proven essential to maintaining stability across our expanding territories, and seeing Viola and her fellow students grapple with its implications promised to be illuminating.
Through the high-definition feed, I observed Viola’s face as she processed the information about Magisteria’s sister world Hippolyta, and the similar communities on several other planets whose cultures adhered to traditional gender norms. Her expression carried that mixture of intellectual curiosity and dawning comprehension that I had come to find so affecting. She was beginning to understand the true scope of what we had built—not merely a system of masculine dominance, buta carefully calibrated social mechanism that channeled dissent into constructive outlets.
Morandra and Palla exchanged glances that spoke of their own experiences with these havens for those who thought themselves unsuited to traditional gender roles. They had chosen what they believed to be escape routes, only to discover that even their rebellion had been anticipated and contained. The irony was exquisite—in seeking to avoid submission, they had merely selected a different form of it.
Young Reb’s confusion was particularly telling. Her home world had been so thoroughly conquered that its population remained ignorant of the alternatives we provided elsewhere. The Vionian nobility’s traditional concubine farms had left no room for such subtleties, which went some way toward explaining their ultimate downfall.
“The historians are already saying that the Vionian Empire fell because it didn’t have such a release valve,” Mistress Orela explained in didactic tones. I leaned forward in my chair with renewed interest. This was the crucial lesson—the one that would especially help Viola understand her place in the larger galactic order.
I activated my handheld’s recording function, wanting to preserve Viola’s reaction to what came next. Her political instincts would surely recognize the implications of Mistress Orela’s revelation about Solamo’s movement and their attempts to portray our egalitarian communities as mere propaganda.
Through the screen, I watched understanding dawn in Viola’s eyes with that familiar mixture of horror and resignation. She was realizing that her public submission the night before had been only the beginning—beginning to grasp why more wouldindeed be demanded of her, just as I had warned. The sinking feeling was perfectly visible in her posture, the slight slumping of her shoulders as she grasped how thoroughly she would have to comply, in order to demonstrate the authenticity of our methods.
My cock began to harden as I contemplated the exquisite irony of it all. Viola’s brilliant political mind, the very intelligence that had once made her a formidable planetary leader, now served primarily to deepen her own humiliation. She understood exactly how she would have to be deployed against the resistance movement that had backed Solamo, could see with crystal clarity how her willing submission could serve to validate the principles for which the Magisterian Federation stood.
I had pondered deep into the night how to bring about the conditions for the demonstration I must require of my lovely concubine. I had not reached a satisfactory conclusion. Ideally, Viola would take responsibility for Artemisia’s mistakes. In a certain sense, though, that had already happened—indeed I had hoped to quell anything like this Vionian remnant’s propaganda effort by taking possession of the former president. I thus bore some blame myself, which had spurred my offer the previous night to free Viola. Since Viola had refused, though—nearly making my heart burst with affection for her—I could see no way around putting her through the ordeal of a public punishment to which she would yield herself willingly.
“You yourselves are our best demonstration of the importance of the release valve,” Mistress Orela said to the women, a rare warmth coming into her voice. “By choosing the Academy over the egalitarian options available, and learning to serve your masters precisely as they desire, your choice to enter trainingbecomes a statement, a declaration to the galaxy of the Good Way’s goodness.”
