Page 32 of Punished and Trained
“Please what, dear?” she asked, her fingers slowing to an agonizing pace that left me trembling with need.
“I… I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice breaking with shame and desire.
She smiled with maternal satisfaction. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You’re learning to surrender control, to let someone else decide what your body needs.”
Her other hand moved lower, tracing patterns I hadn’t expected. When her finger found the tight ring of my bottom, I jerked against the restraints with a strangled cry.
“Shh,” she whispered soothingly, even as her finger continued its gentle exploration. “This is part of your education too, dear. A properly trained woman must be prepared to give, and to receive, all forms of pleasure.”
The shame that flooded through me seemed overwhelming. Having another woman touch me there, in that most private place that Prince Hendren had claimed so thoroughly just a few nights before, sent mortifying arousal crashing through my entire body. But worse than the shame was the way my body responded—the involuntary clenching, the humiliating dampness that increased as her finger circled that forbidden entrance.
“No, please,” I whimpered, even as my hips moved traitorously against her touch. “Not there.”
“But you like it, don’t you?” she said softly, her finger pressing more insistently. “I can tell by the way you’re moving. Your body remembers what happened with your master, doesn’t it?”
I couldn’t deny it. The memory of His Royal Highness taking me there for the first time crashed over me—the burning stretch, the overwhelming fullness, the way my body had eventually betrayed me by finding pleasure in his use of me. Now Mrs. Quinst’s knowing touch awakened those same shameful responses.
“Tell me about it,” she murmured, her finger beginning to breach the narrow ring with patient persistence. “What was it like when he took your anal virginity?”
“I can’t,” I sobbed, my body squirming helplessly as she worked her finger deeper. The sensation felt different from Prince Hendren’s forceful claiming—gentler, more coaxing, but no less invasive.
“Of course you can,” she said, adding a second finger with deliberate slowness. “It helps to talk about these experiences. How did it feel when he first entered you there?”
The dual invasion made me cry out, my back arching as shameful pleasure mixed with the burning stretch. “It hurt…” I gasped, “so… so much. B-but then… oh, God, then it felt…”
“Good?” she supplied gently, her fingers moving with practiced skill. “It’s natural, dear. The body learns to find pleasure even in submission. When I was your age, training under my Guardian and my Mistress, I felt the same shame the first time he took my bottom.”
The reminder that my elegant Mistress had once been in my position sent a fresh surge of heat through me. “You… was he… was he rough?”
“A little, yes,” she confirmed, her fingers continuing their maddening rhythm. “But I needed that. I was so ashamed ofhow my body responded, how I began to crave his dominance. But he taught me that shame and pleasure could coexist, that surrendering to both was the path to true fulfillment.”
I had started to sob openly now, my body writhing against the restraints as overwhelming sensations crashed through me. “Thank you,” I heard myself whisper through my tears, the words torn from somewhere deep inside me. “Thank you, Mistress.”
The bedroom door opened with a soft click, and Colonel Quinst’s voice filled the intimate space. “Don’t stop on my account, ladies. This is exactly what I hoped to see.”
Betty’s fingers stilled for a moment as she turned toward her husband, her cheeks flushed with arousal and something that looked like nervous pride. “Thank you, John. Viola is proving quite responsive to feminine instruction.”
“Indeed she is,” he replied, his eyes taking in the scene with evident satisfaction. “Continue with her training. I want to watch.”
Something shifted in Betty’s demeanor at her husband’s presence. Her maternal warmth took on a harder edge, as if she felt compelled to demonstrate her authority over me for his benefit. Her fingers resumed their movement with renewed intensity, making me gasp and writhe against the restraints.
“Viola,” she said, her voice carrying new command, “if you want to reach completion, you must ask permission properly. Tell me exactly what you need.”
The demand sent fresh mortification through me, but my body was too far gone to resist. “Please, Mistress,” I sobbed, “I need… I need to come. Please let me come.”
“Not yet,” she said firmly, her fingers slowing to an agonizing pace that left me trembling on the edge. “You’ll wait until I decide you’re ready.”
Colonel Quinst moved closer to the bed, his hands already working at his uniform buttons. “Betty, I want you to use your mouth on her while you continue with your fingers. Show me how well you can make her respond.”
“Yes, sir,” Betty replied immediately, her submission to her husband’s direction absolute even as she maintained control over me. She positioned herself between my spread thighs, her breath warm against my most intimate places.
When her lips found me, I cried out in shock at the sensation. The combination of her skilled tongue and the continued pressure of her fingers sent me instantly to the precipice of release.
“Please!” I begged desperately, my hips bucking against her mouth. “Please, Mistress, I can’t… I need to come!”
Betty lifted her head just enough to speak, her lips glistening. “Not yet, dear. You must learn patience.”
“Please, I’m begging you!” I sobbed, my entire body trembling with need.
