Chapter 14
Viola
“Betty, you’re doing an excellent job with Viola’s training,” Colonel Quinst said, setting down his napkin as he surveyed the empty dinner plates with evident satisfaction.
I stood frozen beside the table, the serving platter still clutched in my trembling hands, my face burning from the intimate touches both my Guardian and Mistress had subjected me to during the meal.
The panties around my knees felt like shackles, terrible evidence of my degraded state as I waited for whatever humiliation would come next.
“Thank you, John,” Mrs. Quinst replied, her cheeks flushing with obvious pleasure at her husband’s praise. “She’s proving quite responsive to feminine guidance.”
Colonel Quinst rose from his chair, his gaze assessing me with the same clinical interest he had shown throughout dinner. “In fact, why don’t I handle the dishes tonight, Betty? You may take Viola to the bedroom and begin her instruction in pleasing another woman. I’ll join you in a little while.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My legs threatened to buckle as their meaning sank in, and I felt a too-familiar surge of involuntary heat flooding through my core despite my horror.
Worse, my mind fastened immediately on the knowledge my governor would record every spike of shameful arousal, I knew, and transmit the fact of my body’s traitorous responses to Prince Hendren’s handheld, just as it did to my Guardian’s.
Mrs. Quinst’s face lit up with surprised delight, her maternal warmth taking on a dismayingly hungry edge.
“Oh, John, how thoughtful! I was hoping we might have time for that lesson tonight.” She turned toward me, her pale eyes sparkling with anticipation.
“Viola, dear, this will be difficult for you, especially at first, but you must make up your mind to accept it as part of your new life.”
“I don’t understand,” I whispered, though the growing heat between my thighs suggested my body understood perfectly well what they intended.
“Of course you don’t, dear,” Mrs. Quinst said gently, rising from her chair with fluid grace.
“That’s why you need instruction. A properly trained woman must know how to please both her master and her mistress.
I believe it’s an essential skill for any Magisterian concubine who may find herself in sophisticated company. ”
Colonel Quinst moved toward the kitchen, pausing to cup my chin in his strong hand. “Consider this part of your diplomatic education, Viola. Prince Hendren will often entertain guests who expect their women to provide comprehensive entertainment.”
The casual way he discussed my future sexual servitude while his thumb traced my lower lip made my breath catch in my throat.
I could feel my nipples hardening beneath the white cotton of my schoolgirl blouse, my body responding to his dominance with the same shameful eagerness that had become my constant torment.
“Now then,” Mrs. Quinst said, taking my elbow with firm possession, “let’s get you to the bedroom. Put down that platter before you drop it. Your hands are shaking terribly.”
She guided me down the hallway, my steps made mortifyingly awkward by the panties still tangled around my knees.
Each shuffling step brought fresh awareness of my exposed state, the knowledge that Mrs. Quinst could see my bare bottom beneath the short skirt making my cheeks, impossibly, burn hotter with every step.
The master bedroom was much larger than my assigned room, dominated by a king-sized bed covered in crisp white linens. Soft lamplight cast intimate shadows across the space.
I noticed, dread growing in the pit of my stomach, that the heavy curtains had been drawn shut.
A lingering, rational part of me thought it should feel cozy and inviting.
The rest of me understood better: the hanging fabric created a private sanctuary for the dark sort of instruction my Guardian and Mistress had planned—a place where they could impose their desires and their will on me, and enjoy me as they chose free of any anxiety about their neighbors’ prying eyes.
“Don’t look so frightened, dear,” Mrs. Quinst said, closing the door behind us with a soft click. “I’m going to help you understand how natural it is for a woman to pleasure another woman. After all, who better to teach you about feminine needs than someone who possesses them herself?”
She moved to the bedside table, where I noticed a small collection of items had been arranged with the same precision that characterized the rest of their home.
My stomach clenched as I recognized what appeared to be restraints, along with other implements whose shapes—their lengths, their girths—made my tummy flip.
“Tell me, Viola,” my Mistress continued, turning to face me with that maternal smile that had become so terrifying, “on Artemisia, surely women had intimate relationships with other women? It’s quite common throughout the galaxy.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I admitted reluctantly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Of course they did.”
“But it never interested you personally?” she pressed, moving closer with predatory grace.
I felt my face flame even hotter as I struggled to find words. “No, Mistress. I… I don’t know why, but it just never…”
“Perhaps,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, “it was because deep down you wanted to be made to kiss another woman’s cunny. Because you craved the submission of being commanded to pleasure someone else, rather than choosing it freely.”
The words hit me like an electric shock, sending such a massive surge of arousal through my body that the clench between my thighs forced my breath from my chest in a helpless gasp. The shameful accuracy of her assessment threatened to make my knees buckle under me.
From the kitchen, I heard Colonel Quinst’s voice carry clearly through the house: “Whatever you’re doing in there, Betty, it’s working. Viola’s readings just spiked dramatically.”
The knowledge that my governor had betrayed my response, that both my Guardian and my master would know exactly how her degrading suggestion had affected me, only made the arousal worse.
I felt trapped in a cycle of shame and need that seemed to feed on itself, growing stronger with each humiliating revelation.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed about what your body tells us,” Mrs. Quinst said softly, her hands moving to the buttons of my white blouse. “Now, let’s get you undressed properly. You can’t learn to please a woman while hiding behind your clothes.”
My hands flew up instinctively to protect myself, but Mrs. Quinst caught my wrists with strangely gentle firmness. “None of that, dear. You know better than to resist your Mistress’s instructions.”
“Please,” I whispered, even as I felt my arms going limp in her grasp. “I can’t… I’ve never…”
“That’s exactly why you need to learn,” she replied, her fingers returning to my buttons with practiced efficiency. “Prince Hendren will expect you to be accomplished in all forms of pleasure. Consider this an investment in your future happiness.”
The white cotton blouse parted under her ministrations, revealing the transparent halter I still wore from the Academy’s physical education session. Mrs. Quinst’s eyebrows rose with interest as she took in the gossamer garment that emphasized rather than concealed my hardened nipples.
“How delightfully appropriate,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the edge of the flimsy material. “The Academy’s methods are quite inspired. This little thing makes you feel almost naked while still technically clothed, doesn’t it?”
I could only nod, my throat too tight for words as she peeled away the halter with the same maternal care she might use to undress a child. The cool air of the bedroom raised goosebumps across my exposed breasts, my nipples tightening into painful points under her assessing gaze.
“Beautiful,” she said softly, her hands cupping my breasts with possessive appreciation. “Prince Hendren chose well. Now I’m going to take off your skirt, dear.”
The pleated navy fabric pooled around my ankles, leaving me standing in only my knee socks and the white cotton panties still tangled around my knees.
I felt more keenly than seemed logical how my bare sex had just come into full view, and then how the idea itself made fresh wetness gather between my thighs as Mrs. Quinst’s eyes traveled over my exposed form with obvious hunger.
“Step out of everything,” she commanded, her voice husky with desire. “Except your collar, of course. That stays on always. You must remember that you aren’t the one in charge of your body.”
I obeyed with trembling legs, the panties finally freed from their degrading position.
Standing completely naked except for my collar, I felt somehow more bare and revealed than I had even during my most intimate, degrading moments with Prince Hendren.
There was something about being stripped by another woman, assessed and prepared for her pleasure, that struck me as fundamentally different from masculine dominance—as if my master and my Guardian, the men to whom I belonged, had delegated their ownership to my Mistress, and in the process deepened my abasement.
Mrs. Quinst moved to the bed, drawing back the crisp white covers to reveal more restraints, these already secured to the headboard and footboard. “Lie down on your back, Viola. Arms above your head.”
“Mistress, please,” I began, but she silenced me with a gentle finger to my lips.
“Hush, dear. These restraints aren’t meant to frighten you. They’re simply to help you learn to receive pleasure properly, without the distraction of trying to control the situation.”
I climbed onto the bed, every part of me seeming to quiver with anxiety and helpless need.
The soft leather cuffs closed around my wrists, securing my arms above my head with just enough slack to allow slight movement.
Mrs. Quinst’s touch remained gentle yet inexorable as she moved to my ankles, spreading my legs and fastening the restraints there as well.
“There,” she murmured with satisfaction, stepping back to admire her work. “Now you’re properly positioned for your lesson.”
My body laid spread over the white sheets as if in a display of sheer powerlessness. I tugged experimentally at the bonds, finding them secure, but not painful—surely meant, I realized with growing dread, for extended use.
“The first thing you must understand,” Mrs. Quinst said, beginning to undress with deliberate slowness, “is that pleasuring another woman requires patience and attention to detail. You can’t simply rush to completion as men sometimes do.”
Her navy dress slipped from her shoulders, revealing elegant lingerie beneath—a matching set in deep burgundy that emphasized her mature curves. I found myself staring despite my mortification, taking in the confident way she moved, the obvious pride she took in her body.
“Are you looking at me, Viola?” she asked with evident pleasure. “Good. You should study my body, learn what pleases a woman of experience.”
She continued undressing, each garment removed with a degree of theatricality that brought a little surge of heat to my cheeks as I considered how different my own undressing had been.
When she finally stood naked except for her own collar—a more elaborate piece than mine, I noticed, marking her high status—I couldn’t deny a reluctant appreciation for her form.
Years of disciplined self-maintenance had kept her figure trim and graceful.
“Now then,” she said, climbing onto the bed beside me, “let’s examine what Prince Hendren has been working with.”
Her hands began at my shoulders, tracing patterns across my skin with clinical interest. “Excellent muscle tone,” she murmured, as if cataloguing livestock. “And your skin responds beautifully to touch.”
I gasped as her fingers found my nipples, rolling the sensitive peaks between thumb and forefinger with practiced skill. The sensation was entirely different from masculine touch—knowing, intuitive in ways that spoke to shared experience.
“Do you feel how your body responds differently to a woman’s touch?” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. “We understand what you need because we need it ourselves.”
Her mouth replaced her fingers, lips closing around my nipple with gentle suction that made my back arch against the restraints. I bit my lip to suppress a moan, fighting the shameful pleasure that flickered through my body.
“Don’t fight it, dear,” she murmured against my skin. “Acceptance is the first step toward true submission.”
Her hands roamed lower, tracing the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips. When her fingers finally reached the junction of my thighs, I couldn’t suppress a whimper of need.
“My goodness,” she breathed, her touch confirming what we both already knew. “You’re just as naughty a girl as the colonel imagined you would be, aren’t you?”