Page 18 of Punished and Trained
Palla fumbled with her book, her hands still trembling, obviously from what we had all witnessed. “The natural order dictates that feminine submission serves not only individual happiness but societal stability,” she began in a soft voice.
“Louder,” Mistress Orela commanded. “Confidence in reciting truth is essential.”
“The natural order dictates that feminine submission serves not only individual happiness but societal stability,” Palla repeated, her voice stronger now. “When women attempt to usurp masculine authority, chaos inevitably follows. The recent Vionian revolt demonstrates this principle with devastating clarity.”
I felt a familiar surge of anger at the words, but it was quickly tempered by something more complex. Sitting here in this schoolgirl uniform, my body still humming with unwelcome arousal from the posture exercises, I found myself unable to dismiss the argument as easily as I once had. My world had fallen. I had failed to protect my people. The treaty I’d signed in desperation had led directly to my current position—dressed in this ridiculous uniform, collared and controlled, my most intimate responses monitored by an electronic device I couldn’t remove.
“Continue, Miss Palla,” Mistress Orela prompted.
“Women who embrace their natural submissive tendencies report higher levels of satisfaction and purpose,” Palla read, her voice gaining confidence. “The burden of leadership creates psychological stress incompatible with feminine biology. When women surrender these inappropriate responsibilities to masculine guidance, they discover fulfillment previously denied to them.”
The words hit me like physical blows. I wanted to argue, to point out the logical fallacies, to defend the achievements of female leaders throughout history. But sitting in this classroom, my body still tingling from watching Morandra’s punishment, my sex wet with shameful arousal, the arguments felt hollow in my mind.
“Miss Viola,” Mistress Orela said suddenly, making me start. “You seem particularly thoughtful. Please share your reflections on this passage with the class.”
My mouth went dry. Every eye in the room turned toward me, waiting. I could feel the weight of expectation, the trap being laid. Any defense of egalitarian principles would be seen as defiance, earning me the same treatment Morandra had received. But agreement would feel like betraying everything I had once stood for.
“I…” I began, then stopped, swallowing hard. “I’m still… processing these concepts, Mistress.”
“Elaborate,” she commanded, her pale eyes fixed on me with predatory intensity.
I clasped my hands tighter in my lap, fighting to find words that wouldn’t damn me either way. “The passage suggests thatleadership caused me stress, Mistress. And I… I cannot deny that the presidency was often overwhelming.”
“Go on,” Mistress Orela encouraged, as if sensing victory.
“Perhaps…” I forced the words out, hating myself for speaking them, “perhaps there is wisdom in recognizing one’s limitations.”
The admission tasted like ash in my mouth, but I saw satisfaction flicker in Mistress Orela’s eyes. Around me, my classmates watched with expressions ranging from sympathy to something like relief—as if my capitulation somehow validated their own.
“An excellent beginning,” Mistress Orela said. “Personal reflection is the first step toward genuine transformation. Miss Morandra, since you seem so eager to contribute today, please continue reading from where Miss Palla left off.”
Morandra shifted carefully in her seat, obviously still in pain from her earlier punishment. Her voice was steady as she read, but I caught the slight tremor that betrayed her ongoing discomfort.
“The Guardian–Mistress system provides optimal feminine development through structured guidance and loving correction,” she began. “Each woman benefits from both masculine strength and feminine wisdom, creating a comprehensive educational environment that addresses all aspects of proper behavior.”
I found myself listening intently despite my revulsion at the concepts being presented. The very idea of being placed under the control of a married couple, subject to both a man’s dominance and a woman’s guidance in submission, sentconflicting signals through my nervous system. Terror and anticipation warred within me as I imagined what such an arrangement might entail.
“The Guardian provides discipline and sexual instruction,” Morandra continued, her voice becoming smaller with each word, “while the Mistress offers emotional support and practical training in domestic arts. This dual authority ensures that no aspect of feminine development is neglected.”
Mistress Orela nodded approvingly. “Precisely. The system recognizes that women require both firm masculine guidance and nurturing feminine mentorship. You ladies will experience this firsthand beginning tomorrow evening.”
My stomach clenched. “Tomorrow?”
“You will spend tonight in the dormitory, but tomorrow you will each have your first night with your Guardian and your Mistress. They will come to fetch you in the afternoon.” She made eye contact with each of us in turn, an infuriatingly knowing smile on her lips. “Alright, ladies. That will do for your classroom learning for the morning. It’s time for you to move on to your physical education session.”
We followed Mistress Orela through corridors that seemed to wind endlessly through the Academy’s interior, our Mary Jane shoes clicking in unison against the polished marble floors. The sound created an oddly hypnotic rhythm that seemed to emphasize our collective subjugation.
“Physical education is just as important as the more abstract knowledge we’ve begun exploring in the classroom,” Mistress Orela explained as we walked. “Our program emphasizes grace, flexibility, and cooperative movement.”
We arrived at a set of double doors, and Mistress Orela pushed them open, revealing a spacious room with polished wooden floors and mirrored walls. Exercise equipment lined the perimeter: weight machines and treadmills, but also ballet barres, yoga mats arranged in precise rows, and what appeared to be specialized furniture designed for stretching and positioning.
“Ladies, meet Mistress Nurana, your physical education instructor,” Mistress Orela announced.
A woman in her thirties stepped forward, her auburn hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. She wore form-fitting exercise attire that accentuated her athletic build, and her green eyes assessed us with the same clinical interest we had come to expect from Academy staff.
“Welcome, girls,” Mistress Nurana said, her voice carrying a slight accent I couldn’t place. “Physical conditioning is essential to proper feminine development. A woman’s body must be both pleasing to observe and capable of the flexibility her Guardian and her husband will require.”
The implications of her words sent heat rushing through me again. I glanced at my classmates and saw similar reactions—Palla’s face had flushed pink, while Trellama seemed to be fighting tears.
