Chapter 13
Hendren
My handheld chimed as I was finishing up a meeting with the Magisterian ambassador to Euporia and the Euporian galactic secretary.
The negotiation over the gravitium tariffs had occupied most of the day, and I hadn’t had the chance to check on Viola since she had been taken for her night with Colonel and Mrs. Quinst.
I tried not to hurry unduly, at least in any visible way. My eagerness to see what had triggered my little whore’s arousal spike refused to let me even pour myself a drink, though, before I turned on the monitor and pointed it to the feed curated for me by the Academy.
A camera in what I saw was the Quinsts’ kitchen provided an excellent view of a charming domestic scene. Apparently Viola would be helping her Mistress prepare dinner this evening. Colonel Quinst, it appeared, had just entered, his handheld in his hand.
I leaned forward in my chair, intrigued to discover whether the colonel’s arrival had something to do with the alert I had received myself from my concubine’s governor.
Through the high-definition feed, I could see Viola’s face had flushed that delicious crimson I had come to know so well, her breathing visibly shallow as she stood frozen beside the kitchen counter.
“Your arousal just spiked to level eight,” Colonel Quinst announced, his military bearing making the clinical observation sound like a battlefield report. “What exactly did your Mistress say to provoke such a response?”
I felt my own pulse quicken as I watched Viola’s mortification deepen.
The combination of her obvious distress and the unmistakable signs of arousal created exactly the sort of delicious contradiction that had drawn me to her from the moment I’d seen her dossier before the peace talks on Artemisia.
A former president, reduced to trembling in a kitchen while strangers discussed her most intimate responses—beautiful.
“I… I don’t…” Viola stammered, her hands twisting in the apron strings with a nervous gesture I had learned to interpret as a sign of her internal struggle between defiance and submission.
Betty Quinst stepped closer to her charge, maternal warmth radiating from her expression despite the sexual hunger that lurked in her eyes.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, dear.
” She turned to her husband. “I simply mentioned that Viola would serve dinner with her panties around her knees. A perfectly reasonable training exercise.”
The casual way she repeated the instruction that must have made Viola’s cunt clench a few moments earlier now sent another visible shudder through my little whore’s frame.
I glanced at my handheld—Viola’s arousal had climbed to level nine.
Fascinating. The simple act of having her degradation discussed so openly seemed to affect her even more powerfully than the original command.
“Remarkable,” Colonel Quinst murmured, studying his readings with the same interest I felt, observing from my embassy study. “The repetition of the instruction actually intensified her little cunny’s response.”
A week of forced submission with me, then a few days at the Euporian Academy, had begun to break through the president’s repression of her need to serve.
Certain phrases and certain situations had started to cause predictable surges of shameful need.
The Academy’s methods were proving to complement my own work beautifully.
The basic arousal patterns had been born in her, but Viola’s training had taught her body to respond much more urgently, and more healthily for both her body and her mind.
Betty Quinst nodded thoughtfully, her experienced eye taking in Viola’s trembling form. “Of course. Prince Hendren has been quite thorough, hasn’t he? Viola, tell us—when your master commands you to expose yourself, how does your body typically respond?”
The direct question sent fresh color flooding Viola’s cheeks. She opened her mouth as if to protest, then seemed to remember the burning lessons meted out for her earlier defiance. “I… it makes me…” She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “It makes me wet, Mistress.”
“Louder, dear,” Betty commanded gently. “Speak clearly so your Guardian can hear you properly.”
Viola
“It makes me wet!” I said, the words bursting from my lips in a virtual sob.
The admission hung in the air like a confession torn directly from my soul.
My face burned with such intensity that I wondered if my cheeks might actually burst into flames, even as Colonel Quinst consulted his handheld with evident fascination.
“Level nine point five,” he told me in a satisfied tone. “Viola, I strongly advise you to take this to heart. Your arousal grows when you acknowledge your body’s needs honestly.”
Mrs. Quinst smiled with maternal approval, her hand settling on my shoulder with humiliating, though gentle, possession. “Think of how much pleasure you have in store, dear. You’re learning to embrace your true nature instead of fighting against it.”
She guided me to face her, her pale eyes holding mine with hypnotic intensity. “Reach under your skirt and lower your panties to your knees. Right now, while your Guardian watches.”
My hands trembled as they moved toward the hem of my short skirt, every fiber of my being screaming in protest even as my treacherous body hummed with unwelcome arousal.
The white cotton panties felt strange beneath my fingers, a symbol of modesty that signified everything I was about to yield to the command of these virtual strangers.
“That’s it,” Mrs. Quinst encouraged softly. “Slowly now. Let us see how gracefully you can obey.”
I lifted the pleated navy fabric with shaking hands, revealing the white cotton beneath. Colonel Quinst watched closely, his blue eyes tracking every movement as I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties.
The cotton slid down my thighs with agonizing slowness, the air of the kitchen making for a mortifying sensation on my bare pussy as I settled the garment around my knees.
I felt the exposure beneath the short skirt and the way the panties would hinder my movement, how I could walk only with the careful, tiny steps that would prevent the panties from falling further.
Colonel Quinst stepped forward with predatory grace, his military bearing making the intimate invasion seem like a tactical maneuver. Without warning, his fingers reached between my thighs to touch the cotton gusset of my lowered panties.
“My goodness, Betty,” he said, his voice full of satisfaction as he felt the mortifyingly damp fabric. “Her cunny is obviously even wetter than I imagined. The material is absolutely soaked through.”
The coarse assessment of my arousal, delivered in that plain, military tone while his fingers lingered on the evidence of my shameful need, sent a fresh surge of heat to my scalding skin.
I bit my lip to suppress a whimper as he tugged the panties up slightly, displaying the wet patch to his wife with the same interest I guessed he might show a battlefield report.
“Fascinating,” Mrs. Quinst murmured, moving closer to examine her husband’s findings. “And this from simply being told she would serve dinner in this state. Imagine how she’ll respond in our bed.”
She reached out to touch the dampened cotton herself, her fingers brushing against Colonel Quinst’s as they both assessed the physical proof of my body’s betrayal. My knees threatened to buckle as I did my best to hold still, rather than trying to flee somehow.
“The governor’s readings are clearly quite accurate,” Colonel Quinst observed, consulting his handheld while his other hand still held my panties.
“But there’s something particularly satisfying about tangible evidence.
Viola, tell us—when did you first realize you were becoming aroused by our instructions? ”
The direct question, asked while they both continued to handle my underwear, only intensified my arousal. I could feel fresh wetness gathering between my thighs, my body responding to their proximity with distressing eagerness.
“I… when Mistress said I would serve with my panties down,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I guess it put an image in my mind that made me…”
“Made you what?” Mrs. Quinst prompted gently, her maternal tone making the interrogation even worse.
“Made me clench,” I admitted, the words torn from my throat. “You know… down there.”
Colonel Quinst released my panties, allowing them to settle back around my knees.
“That honesty is very helpful, Viola. Well done. Now then, let’s see how gracefully you can move while made to think of what will happen to your cunny and bottom in the bedroom after dinner.
Help your Mistress with the vegetables.”
I took a tentative step toward the counter where Mrs. Quinst had laid out carrots and potatoes, immediately discovering the degrading reality of trying to move with my panties binding my knees.
Each step required careful calculation—too long a stride would send the cotton garment sliding down to my ankles, while too short made me look like I was mincing about like a child playing dress-up.
“Excellent posture,” Mrs. Quinst observed approvingly as I reached for a paring knife with trembling fingers. “The restriction teaches you to move with proper feminine grace. Notice how you’re forced to take smaller steps, to keep your thighs closer together. Very ladylike.”
The knife felt strange in my hands as I began peeling carrots, acutely aware of how the short skirt rode up with each movement of my arms. The knowledge that my bare sex was exposed beneath the pleated fabric, that any wrong movement might reveal me completely to my Guardian’s watchful eyes, made every task feel fraught with potential humiliation.
“Tell me about your domestic experience, Viola,” Colonel Quinst said, settling into a chair at the kitchen table where he could observe my struggles. “As president, I assume you had staff to handle such menial tasks.”
“Yes, Guardian,” I replied, focusing intently on the carrot to avoid meeting his penetrating gaze. “I haven’t… I mean, I don’t cook very often.”
“How refreshing,” Mrs. Quinst said, moving to stand beside me with fluid grace. “A completely blank slate. We’ll teach you everything from the beginning—how to plan meals that please your master, how to serve with proper submission, how to find joy in caring for a man’s needs.”
Her hand covered mine on the knife handle, guiding my movements with maternal patience. The intimate contact, combined with her casual discussion of my future servitude, sent another unwelcome surge of heat through my core.
“Slower, dear,” she instructed, her breath warm against my ear. “Cooking requires the same patience and attention to detail that you’ll need to learn in the bedroom. Every motion should be deliberate, graceful.”
I tried to focus on the vegetables, but the kitchen seemed to pulse with sexual tension.
Colonel Quinst’s eyes tracked my every movement while his wife’s body pressed close behind mine, her hands occasionally brushing against me as she adjusted my technique.
The dampness between my thighs continued to build, and I wondered with growing desperation if they could smell my arousal in the confined space.
“Much better,” Mrs. Quinst murmured as I finished the last carrot. “Now the potatoes. Small, uniform pieces—your Guardian prefers his vegetables precisely cut.”
When we had prepared the meal, and the delicious-smelling chicken emerged from the oven, Mrs. Quinst let me sit at the small table in the kitchen and have my own dinner quickly. Then I had to serve them at the dining table, still with my panties around my knees.
The dining room proved more intimate than I had expected, with a small table set for two and a sideboard where the serving dishes waited.
The soft lighting cast warm shadows that might have been romantic under different circumstances, but now only emphasized how exposed I felt with my underwear restricting my movement.
“Serve your Guardian first,” Mrs. Quinst instructed from her seat, “then me. Always remember the proper order of precedence.”
I lifted the platter of carved chicken with careful hands, acutely aware of how I had to shuffle rather than walk normally. As I leaned forward to place a portion on Colonel Quinst’s plate, his hand suddenly cupped my bare bottom beneath the short skirt.
“Excellent presentation,” he said conversationally, his palm warm against my naked flesh as if touching me so intimately was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers traced the curve of my buttock with evident interest while I stood frozen, the serving fork trembling in my grip.
“Thank you, Guardian,” I managed to whisper, though my voice came out strangled. The casual way he explored my body while I served dinner sent more treasonous need flooding through me.
His hand moved lower, fingers brushing against the wetness between my thighs with deliberate precision. “Still quite aroused, I believe. Betty, she’s like a fountain.”
I bit my lip to suppress a whimper as he tested my slickness, his touch both invasive and assessing. When he finally withdrew his hand, I nearly collapsed with relief and unwelcome disappointment.
“Now serve your Mistress,” he commanded, wiping his fingers on his napkin with matter-of-fact efficiency.
My legs shook as I moved around the table, the panties around my knees making every step a careful negotiation. Mrs. Quinst smiled warmly as I approached, but her eyes held the same predatory gleam I had seen in her husband’s.
As I leaned forward to serve her, her hand slipped beneath my skirt from the front, fingers finding my bare pussy with unerring accuracy. Unlike her husband’s frank exploration, her touch carried a feminine understanding that made my knees threaten to buckle.
“Such a randy little thing,” she murmured, her fingers circling my most sensitive areas with practiced skill. “Prince Hendren has begun to break you in, but there’s still so much more to learn.”
Her thumb found the small hood that covered my most private place, rubbing with just enough pressure to make my brow furrow and a tiny humming whimper come from the roof of my mouth.
I gripped the serving platter so tightly my knuckles went white, fighting not to drop it as shameful pleasure flashed through me.
“Please,” I gasped, “Mistress, no.”
“Hush, dear,” she said softly, her fingers continuing their maddening exploration. “This is all part of your education. Learning to serve while your body is being pleasured will make you invaluable to your master.”