Page 54 of Punished and Trained
The knowledge that countless eyes were already observing my nakedness, my vulnerability, sent a wave of mortification through me that had nothing to do with physical arousal. The governor’s suppression ensured that my body remained coldly unresponsive, but my mind reeled with the implications.
“Sergeant-at-arms,” Prince Hendren commanded, “release her from the wall.”
I felt the chain slacken as my wrists were freed from their anchor point, though the metal cuffs remained locked around them. The sergeant-at-arms guided me to sit up on the edge of the narrow bed, my bound hands resting in my lap in a futile attempt to preserve some modesty.
Prince Hendren held up the cane, turning it slowly so I could see its full length and thickness. “This is a judicial cane, Viola. Regulation weight and flexibility, designed to deliver maximum correction with minimal risk of permanent injury. Twenty-four strokes will leave marks that last for months.”
I stared at the implement with growing terror, my imagination conjuring the devastating impact it would have against my tender flesh. The cane was longer and thicker than any implement I had ever seen, let alone experienced during my humiliating training as a concubine.
“I need you to understand,” he continued, his voice dropping to the intimate tone that made my breath catch, “that from this point forward, there will be no mercy. The cameras will capture every moment, every cry, every tear. The galaxy will witness your complete submission to Federation justice.”
“I understand, Sire,” I whispered, though the words felt inadequate to express the terror and strange anticipation warring in my chest.
Prince Hendren set the cane aside and moved to stand directly before me, his hands settling on my shoulders with possessive weight. “Before we proceed, there’s one practical matter that must be addressed.” He turned slightly toward where I knew the cameras hovered, his voice taking on the formal cadence he used for public addresses. “For those viewing throughout the Federation, it’s essential that the subject not be distracted from her punishment by any bodily needs. Proper judicial correction requires complete focus on the lesson being administered.”
My stomach dropped as I began to realize what my master meant. He gestured toward a corner of the cell. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now I saw a small drain, set into the floor.
“Viola,” he commanded, his voice carrying absolute authority, “you will relieve yourself now, over the drain.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. To be forced to perform such an intimate, degrading act while millions watched throughthe broadcast feed felt like a violation beyond anything I had yet experienced. My cheeks burned with mortification as I struggled to process the command.
“Please, Master,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Not… not in front of everyone.”
“This is not a request,” Prince Hendren replied firmly. “Stand and walk to the drain. The sergeant-at-arms will assist you.”
With trembling legs, I rose from the narrow bed, my bound hands making balance difficult. The sergeant-at-arms moved to support my elbow as I shuffled toward the corner, each step feeling like a march toward the gallows. The drain was simply a circular opening in the stone floor, its utilitarian design making the act I was about to perform seem even more degrading.
I positioned myself over the drain with shaking legs, my naked form completely exposed to the watching cameras. The knowledge that this moment would be broadcast across the galaxy, that my most private functions were being turned into public spectacle, sent waves of humiliation through me that had nothing to do with physical sensation.
As I began to relieve myself, the mortifying sound echoing off the stone walls of the cell, I realized with stunning clarity that Prince Hendren had been right from the beginning. There truly was no floor to the humiliation he could devise for me. Each time I thought I had reached the depths of degradation, he found new ways to strip away whatever dignity I imagined I still possessed.
Yet even as my body performed this most basic function under the scrutiny of millions, I found my mind retreating to that strange sanctuary I had discovered during the night. The governor’s suppression kept my flesh cold and unresponsive, butmy thoughts could still find a thrilling arousal in the complete surrender, in the way my master’s authority extended even to this most private aspect of my existence.
When I finished, the sergeant-at-arms guided me back to the center of the cell where Prince Hendren waited with the judicial cane once again in his hands.
“Sergeant-at-arms,” he commanded. “Put the penitent’s hands behind her back.”
The sergeant-at-arms unclipped my cuffs from one another, then firmly but without any painful force, refastened them behind my back. The new restraint thrust my breasts forward obscenely. I felt my nipples harden in the cool air of the cell, though the tingle I would ordinarily have felt at the response died away, dampened by the governor between my thighs.
“Now we proceed to the punishment yard,” Prince Hendren announced, his voice carrying the formal authority of judicial procedure. “The tribunal has specified that your correction will take place in full view of invited witnesses.”
My legs nearly buckled at his words. I had somehow imagined that the caning would occur here in the relative privacy of the cell, with only the cameras to record my degradation. The thought of being marched through corridors and courtyards, my naked body on display for anyone present at the embassy, sent fresh waves of terror through me.
“Move,” the sergeant-at-arms commanded, his hand settling firmly on my shoulder to guide me toward the cell door.
With my hands bound behind my back, every step felt precarious. The restraints forced my shoulders back and my chest forward, making my breasts bounce with each movementin a way that felt deliberately humiliating. My bare pussy was completely exposed, revealed to every gaze as we emerged from the cell into a stone corridor lined with other holding chambers.
The embassy staff we passed—guards, clerks, diplomatic aides—all stopped their activities to watch our procession. Some maintained professional composure, but I caught glimpses of curiosity, sympathy, and in a few cases what looked disturbingly like anticipation.
“Keep your head up, Viola,” Prince Hendren murmured as we walked. “You represent more than yourself now. Show them dignity in submission.”
I forced myself to straighten my spine despite the awkward position of my arms, trying to project the bearing of someone accepting necessary correction rather than a broken prisoner. The effort felt both futile and essential—I was completely naked and bound, about to be brutally punished before an audience, yet somehow my master’s words made me want to do this with grace.
We passed through a heavy wooden door into bright morning sunlight. The punishment yard was larger than I had expected, a rectangular space surrounded by stone walls topped with decorative iron spikes. Tiered seating had been arranged along two sides, already filling with what appeared to be embassy staff, local dignitaries, and media representatives. At the center of the yard stood an apparatus that made my breath catch in my throat.
The punishment frame stood in stark contrast to the ornate Academy equipment I had grown accustomed to during my training. This apparatus served a single, brutal purpose—to position the penitent for maximum exposure while ensuring she couldn’t escape the correction she deserved. A horizontal bar,positioned at waist height, dominated the center of the device. Below it, metal supports waited to secure my feet in place, while above, restraint points would hold my hands steady as the cane did its work.
“The design is intentionally minimal,” Prince Hendren explained as we approached, his voice carrying clearly to both the assembled witnesses and the broadcast audience. “Unnecessary padding or concealment would compromise the educational value of the correction.”
