Chapter 11
Viola
As I sank to my knees, the familiar position sending unwelcome heat shooting through me, I heard Colonel Quinst’s belt buckle chime softly.
The sound made my stomach clench with dread and helpless, mortifying anticipation.
My eyes remained fixed on the polished floor as I heard the whisper of fabric, the soft rustle of clothing being adjusted.
The classroom had fallen into absolute silence except for the rapid breathing of my classmates and the steady tick of the wall chronometer.
“Look up, Viola,” Colonel Quinst commanded, his voice carrying the same authority I had heard at the embassy reception. “You will look at my manhood closely, and then you will meet my eyes as you perform this act of submission.”
I raised my gaze slowly, my cheeks burning with humiliation as I took in the sight before me.
Colonel Quinst stood with military bearing, his uniform trousers open to reveal his imposing manhood.
Unlike Guardian Aldrich’s measured presentation, there was something more demanding about the colonel’s posture, something that spoke of an expectation of absolute obedience.
I obeyed, and I looked my new Guardian’s erection: I couldn’t help myself.
The rigid shaft seemed just as imposing as Prince Hendren’s, though where my master’s cock was thick and broad like a broadsword, the Colonel’s was leaner, more like a rapier—elegant in its severity.
The comparison sent fresh heat flooding through my cheeks, and to my utter dismay, I felt my mouth begin to water involuntarily.
The treacherous response horrified me. Prince Hendren had used my mouth so thoroughly, so completely, that my body had apparently learned to anticipate such use.
The memory of his thick shaft sliding between my lips, the taste of him, the way he had gripped my hair while claiming my throat—all came rushing back as I knelt before this stranger.
I shouldn’t find the prospect so shameful, I told myself desperately.
After everything Prince Hendren had done to me, after the way I had learned to service him with my mouth, this simple kiss should be nothing.
Yet somehow, being commanded to perform this intimate act before my classmates, before these strangers who would control my next phase of training, felt like crossing a line I couldn’t uncross.
“I can’t,” I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them. “Please, Guardian, I can’t do this.”
The classroom seemed to hold its breath. Colonel Quinst’s expression didn’t change, but I saw something flicker in his eyes—not anger, which would have seemed easier, I thought, but a kind of cold satisfaction, as if my refusal represented exactly what he had expected.
“I see,” he said calmly, making no move to cover himself. “Betty, I believe our new pupil requires immediate correction before she can properly demonstrate her submission.”
Mistress Quinst’s hand tightened on my shoulder, her maternal warmth never wavering even as steel entered her voice. “Of course, darling. Viola, stand up immediately. You’ve just earned yourself a very thorough spanking in front of your classmates.”
My legs trembled as I rose, acutely aware of Colonel Quinst’s exposed manhood still demanding acknowledgment, of the shocked faces of my fellow students, of the complete authority these strangers now wielded over my body.
The familiar heat of arousal mixed with terror as I realized that my first real act of defiance at the Academy was about to be corrected with public humiliation.
Colonel Quinst moved to the nearest chair, his erection still proudly displayed as he settled himself with military precision. “Over my knee, Viola. Now.”
My trembling legs carried me forward as if my body understood what my mind still rebelled against. I positioned myself awkwardly across his lap, acutely aware of his rigid shaft pressing against my stomach through the thin fabric of my blouse.
The intimate contact sent helpless need through me even as tears of humiliation pricked at my eyes.
“Skirt up,” Mistress Quinst commanded from beside us, her voice maintaining that maternal warmth that somehow made everything worse. “Let’s make certain your classmates see exactly what happens to disobedient girls.”
I felt hands—both the colonel’s and his wife’s—flipping up my pleated navy skirt to expose my white cotton panties to the entire classroom.
The cool air against my thighs made me shiver, but it was nothing compared to the burning shame of being displayed so intimately before my fellow students.
As so many times before, the rational knowledge that I had been displayed so often by my master, in much more embarrassing situations, seemed to have no effect at all.
The Euporian Good Way seemed simply to override such abstract ideas with the concrete reality of having my bottom exposed for discipline
“These will come down as well,” Colonel Quinst announced, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties. “Proper correction requires bare skin.”
“No, please—” I started to protest, but his free hand pressed firmly between my shoulder blades, holding me in place as he stripped away my last barrier of modesty.
The cotton panties slid down to my knees, leaving my bottom completely exposed.
I heard Palla’s sharp intake of breath, felt the weight of six pairs of eyes on my naked flesh.
The position thrust my bare sex into view as well, and I knew with mortifying certainty that my arousal would be visible to everyone watching.
“Spread your legs slightly,” Mistress Quinst instructed, her hand guiding my knee outward. “Perfect. Now everyone can see exactly how a naughty girl’s body responds to old-fashioned discipline.”
Mistress Orela’s voice cut through the scene. “You’ve heard about her Prosperian governor, I’m sure, Colonel. I’ve set it to the neutral position, so Viola’s responses will be entirely natural.”
“Thank you, Mistress Orela,” the colonel replied.
His hand rested on the curve of my exposed bottom, his palm warm against my skin.
“Viola, this spanking will continue until you beg to kiss my manhood,” he announced to the silent classroom.
“Let this be a lesson to all of you about the consequences of disobedience.”
The first smack landed with stunning force, the sharp crack echoing through the room. Pain bloomed across my right buttock, intense and focused. I gasped, my body jerking forward against his thighs, feeling his manhood press more firmly against my stomach.
The second blow fell on my left cheek with equal precision.
These weren’t the measured strokes of Prince Hendren’s cane—this was raw, immediate punishment delivered with a soldier’s efficiency.
My bottom began to burn as Colonel Quinst established a rhythm, alternating cheeks with methodical thoroughness.
“You know, Viola,” Colonel Quinst said conversationally as his hand continued its relentless work, each word punctuated by another stinging blow, “in my thirty years of marriage to Betty, I’ve probably spanked close to two hundred young women.
Academy girls, mostly, during my tours as a Guardian instructor. ”
Smack. The blow landed with particular force, making me cry out.
“Some were defiant like you,” he continued in that same calm tone, as if discussing the weather rather than systematically turning my backside into a seat of fire. “Others were simply careless or lazy. But they all learned the same lesson in the end.”
Smack smack. Two rapid blows to my sit spots made me writhe helplessly across his lap.
“Even my dear wife requires regular correction,” he added matter-of-factly. “Don’t you, Betty?”
“Yes, sir,” Mistress Quinst replied, a little hesitancy in her voice along with a trace of shame.
“Well,” my Guardian said, with a tinge of annoyance, stopping the spanking for a moment, “elaborate, Betty. We’re teaching Viola about our way of life.”
“Please, John,” my Mistress said. “Later?”
“No, Betty,” the colonel replied in a stern voice.
“Do you want to go over my knee after I’m done with Viola?
” I cried out as his hand came down three times in quick succession as if to make sure I didn’t think I would be spared simply because my Mistress had roused my Guardian’s anger.
Hot tears splashed from my eyes onto the wood floor.
“I go over the colonel’s knee once a week at least,” Betty said, her tone full of reluctance. “Last week John had me over his knee for letting the silver tarnish. I was so busy with Academy preparations that I completely neglected the housework.”
“Thirty-eight lashes of the family strap,” Colonel Quinst said, landing another punishing blow that made me sob. “Mrs. Quinst miscounted the first time. I had to start over.”
The casual discussion of my Mistress’s own spankings, delivered while my bottom was being systematically set ablaze, felt surreal. These people discussed domestic discipline the way others might talk about gardening or meal planning.
Smack smack smack. Three more rapid blows finally broke through my attempts at stoic endurance.
“Please!” I screamed, my voice cracking with desperation. “Please, Guardian, it hurts! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”
“What are you sorry for?” he asked calmly, not pausing in his methodical punishment.
Smack. Another blow landed as I struggled to form words through my tears.
“For disobeying! For not—” smack “—for not kissing your—” smack “—please, Guardian, please stop!”
“Stop what, Viola?” His voice remained infuriatingly calm as my bottom blazed with agony.
“Stop spanking me! Please, I’ll do anything! I’ll be good, I promise!”
Smack smack. Two more blows landed on my upper thighs, where it seemed to hurt more.
“And what exactly will you do to demonstrate your obedience?” Colonel Quinst prompted, his hand never slowing.
The words I had been fighting against finally tore from my throat in a desperate wail: “I want to kiss it! I want to kiss your penis, Guardian! Please, please let me kiss your cock!”
The spanking stopped abruptly, leaving me gasping and shuddering across his lap.
My bottom felt like it was on fire, each breath sending fresh waves of pain through my punished flesh.
Colonel Quinst’s hand rested on my burning bottom, his touch surprisingly gentle now that I had surrendered completely.
“Much better,” he said with satisfaction. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Betty, help our pupil to her knees so she can properly demonstrate her newfound obedience.”
Mistress Quinst’s hands were tender as she helped me slide from her husband’s lap, though I winced as my punished bottom came into contact with the cool air.
My panties were still tangled around my knees, and I felt terribly revealed as I knelt before Colonel Quinst once again, my face level with his rigid manhood.
“Now then,” he said, his voice carrying that same military authority, “you will kiss my cock with proper reverence. Not because you’re forced to, but because you’ve chosen to submit to my authority as your Guardian.”
I stared at his imposing shaft, my mouth still watering traitorously despite my humiliation. The memory of Prince Hendren’s training flooded back—how he had taught me to worship his manhood with my lips and tongue, how my body had learned to respond to such intimate service.
“Don’t hesitate, dear,” Mistress Quinst said softly, her hand stroking my hair with maternal gentleness. “This is a beautiful moment—your first true act of submission to your new Guardian. We’re so proud of you for choosing obedience over continued defiance.”
I leaned forward slowly, my lips trembling as they approached the swollen head of Colonel Quinst’s cock.
The masculine scent of him filled my nostrils, and I felt that familiar shameful heat building between my thighs despite everything.
To my distress, I longed for the little tingle of the governor that meant my master, or Mistress Orela, or anyone else had suppressed my need.
My lips brushed against his shaft in the softest of kisses, barely more than a whisper of contact.
But the symbolism felt devastating—I had just willingly submitted to this stranger’s authority in the most intimate way possible, and I had done it in front of my classmates and the other Guardian couples.
“Beautiful,” Colonel Quinst murmured, his hand settling on my head with possessive approval. “Now you understand what true submission means, don’t you, Viola?”
“Yes, Guardian,” I whispered against his skin, my voice barely audible.
“Good girl,” Mistress Quinst said warmly, helping me to my feet. “Now let’s get your panties back up and your skirt straightened. We have a lovely evening planned for you at our home.”
As she adjusted my clothing with efficient maternal care, I caught sight of my classmates’ faces.
Palla looked horrified but strangely fascinated, while Morandra’s expression held something that looked almost like envy.
Trellama, Lara, and Reb watched with varying degrees of shock and arousal, all of them obviously understanding that they would soon face similar moments of surrender.
“Ladies,” Mistress Orela announced to the classroom, “let us proceed constructively from that helpful demonstration. Miss Lara, you are next.”