Page 7 of Punished and Trained
One of the Euporian wives shifted slightly at this, her eyes darting up briefly before returning to her lap. I caught her gaze in that fleeting moment—something like sympathy, or perhaps recognition, passed between us.
The transport slowed as we approached a striking edifice of white stone and blue glass—the new Magisterian embassy. Unlike the rigid symmetry of the surrounding Euporian architecture, the building incorporated subtle curves andorganic elements that marked it as distinctly Magisterian. The contrast was deliberate, I realized—a visual reminder of Magisterian dominance, even here.
“Your staff has prepared the Grand Hall for tonight’s reception,” Havelorn said as the transport came to a stop. “Two hundred of Euporia’s most influential citizens will attend.”
CHAPTER 4
Hendren
I had expected only a moderate level of hospitality from the staff of this brand new embassy, but, as often, the resources of the Federation surprised even me. The sheer opulence of the reception exceeded even my royal standards. Two hundred of the Euporian elite mingled throughout the gorgeous Grand Hall, in groups that somehow looked like military formations, men in formal attire on one side of the aisle, their wives in modest blue gowns on the other—a living tableau of their fascinating ‘Good Way.’
The centerpiece of it all was, of course, Viola. I had positioned her on the raised dais at the front of the hall, naked save for her collar, her posture perfect after days of training. The juxtaposition was exquisite: my naked concubine surrounded by the fully clothed Euporian dignitaries, her submission a silent testament to Magisterian dominance.
“Your Royal Highness,” First Minister Havelorn approached, a glass of Magisterian wine in hand, “the display is most effective.Several Academy Mistresses have already requested permission to document your methods. The wives are of course a little scandalized, and I imagine several will be over their husbands’ knees later tonight for their prudery, but I imagine that pleases you, rather than the reverse.”
I chuckled, and sipped my own wine, savoring both its complex notes and the moment. “As long as the husbands know to use their wives’ sweet bodies rigorously afterward—as I’m quite certain every Euporian husband does—I’m very glad to know it. The Federation is pleased to share our techniques. After all, our mutual goal is the restoration of proper order across the systems.”
My gaze drifted to Viola, standing precisely where I had positioned her, eyes downcast, shoulders back to display her breasts. The former president of Artemisia, once one of the most powerful women in the quadrant, now the embodiment of feminine submission. I felt a surge of satisfaction at how thoroughly I had begun to break her resistance in just a week’s time.
“The Vionian revolt nearly destroyed everything we’ve built,” Havelorn said, his voice dropping to ensure our conversation remained private. “If the resistance had succeeded in spreading their… egalitarian notions to Euporia…”
“But they didn’t,” I reminded him. “Your society’s adherence to the natural order provided immunity to their poisonous ideas.”
“Indeed.” Havelorn nodded solemnly. “Still, the threat remains. There are always those who question the Good Way, even here.”
I studied him, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders. “You’ve had internal dissent?”
“Nothing significant,” he assured me quickly. “Isolated incidents, mainly among university students exposed to off-world literature. The Academy handles most cases effectively.”
An older woman in the distinctive uniform of an Academy Mistress approached, her severe hairstyle and perfect posture marking her as one accustomed to authority—within her prescribed female domain, of course.
“Your Royal Highness,” she said, bowing deeply. “I am Mistress Orela, head of behavioral conditioning at the Girls’ Training Academy. May I have permission to examine your concubine more closely?”
I smiled and nodded my assent. “By all means, Mistress.” I excused myself from the First Minister and walked the mistress over to the dais.
“Viola,” I said, “look at me.”
The lovely slut raised her eyes: could I see rebellion lingering there? Inwardly, I rejoiced, for it portended so much pleasure to come.
“You will answer Mistress Orela’s questions truthfully and completely,” I instructed.
“Yes, Sire,” Viola replied, her voice quivering slightly.
Viola
Mistress Orela circled me with the precision of a scientist examining a specimen. Her eyes—a piercing, icy blue—catalogued every inch of my exposed flesh as if assessing livestock. I fought to maintain the posture Prince Hendren had demanded, even as humiliation burned through me like acid.
“Remarkable,” she said finally, her voice crisp and clinical. “The muscle tone suggests regular physical activity during her previous life, yet the response patterns show significant progress toward proper feminine surrender.” She reached out without warning, her cool fingers cupping my breast. “Excellent mammary development. Natural?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I whispered, my cheeks flaming as she squeezed experimentally.
“And very responsive to touch,” she noted as my nipple hardened traitorously against her palm. “The Magisterian methods do seem efficient.” She addressed Prince Hendren while continuing to handle me. “We find at the Academy that even the most stubborn girls eventually yield to their natural needs. The body instructs the mind, rather than the reverse.”
To my horror, her hand dropped to my bare pussy, fingers probing with clinical detachment. “Recently depilated. Very smooth work.” One finger slipped between my labia, and I bit my lip to suppress a gasp. “And quite wet. Fascinating.”
I wanted to die. Standing naked before Euporia’s elite was terrible enough, but this dispassionate examination, this reduction of my body to a collection of responses and biological functions, seemed to strip away the remnants of dignity to which I had desperately clung.
“Turn around,” Mistress Orela commanded. “Bend forward and spread your buttocks.”
