by Pearl Jones
Lunch. She ate hungrily.
* * * *
Discipline was a daily class; she had to face Bertha again. The old woman merely smiled inscrutably. Carolyn dutifully took notes, attending her pen that she need not look at the teacher; the topic was restraint, physical as opposed to mental. “You'll learn of that another day.” Bertha spoke of what they might expect when first they were restrained, the panic, the feeling of claustrophobia. “When your eyes are covered, you feel enclosed, even out in the open. This is natural, but you will need to keep yourself calm."
"Why?” A young woman spoke from the front of the room. Her uniform was like Carolyn's, bare of patches. Another new girl? “Why shouldn't we panic, if someone covers our eyes?"
"If you wish to displease your masters, then panic away. But you are here to learn how to please them, no?"
Carolyn frowned. To please masters? Is that why I'm here? I don't think so, but ... it could be. Part of it. I guess. Bertha continued, looking around the room. “Anyone can be frightened; there is no skill in that. It takes a certain person to delight in his own fear. To make of it a gift to his master, a spur to heighten pleasure. To obey, when instinct screams at you to fight, to protest. Not to ignore your fear, but to choose to listen to your master anyway. That is why you are told something of what to expect, to help you when your fear is loudest in your ears. You must listen not to it, but to your master. Do you understand?"
Her eyes locked on Carolyn's. “Do you understand?"
Carolyn gulped, and the hated flush rose again to her cheeks. “I-I'll try,” she whispered, and the harridan at last moved on. Squirming, wincing as rough lace scraped across tender flesh, she stifled a groan. Damn, that woman scares me! I wonder why. It wasn't the threat of the Enforcer, but something more. She seemed to give off a sense of immovable certainty, like a Sunday-school teacher or the warden at a prison might. “I know what's right, and you have no say in the matter.” There was no telling what she might do, if she thought it would be for the best.
God, I'm wet! How long ‘til I get some relief? The bell rang at last.
* * * *
Carolyn did not attend her last class for the day; with the young woman who had spoken, she was pulled aside. “You're wanted in the library. Come along.” They followed biddably, Carolyn trying not to wince as each step increased her pain. The analgesic had well and truly worn off.
She was still eager to come, even knowing how much it would hurt her already overused flesh. Swaying her hips, she made her way down a hall either too long by far or not nearly long enough, each step a new burst of pleasure-pain.
Six people sat in the room; Carolyn saw only one. The man from her dreams, dark mustache, white slash of smile. Her hand rose to her chest, to keep her heart from leaping forward. She took two steps toward him, but an attendant barred her way.
"Kneel."
She went to her knees, taking the position Jack had taught her. Beside her, the other woman was prodded into place. “Jennifer, tell us why you are here."
The woman sobbed, a loud, sloppy, liquid sound. “I don't kn-ow...” she whined. “I thought ... but then...” She stammered for a while, but didn't manage a single coherent phrase.
"Carolyn."
She licked her lips.
"Tell us why you are here."
"I am here to learn.” She had been told to keep her eyes down, but could not resist a glance. He was there, real, within reach, had she but dared touch him. “To feel.” It wasn't enough. The set of his shoulders told her he waited for something. Her mind raced. What could she say, what did he want to hear? Discipline. “My place is to obey.” The words welled up from somewhere near her heart.
And they worked. He didn't smile, but she thought he came close to it. His shoulders relaxed, his chin dropped in kin to a nod. He was pleased, and knowing that made her insides melt. I pleased him. She felt she was glowing, head to toe.
"There is one here who wants you. Go to that person.” She rocked back on her heels and went to him. Kneeling as she had been taught, she dared to meet his eyes for one brief moment, then looked down, keeping her face tilted up at him.
"Carolyn.” That was all, he merely spoke her name. But her body tightened all at once, and then relaxed. Not quite a climax, but a strong burst of pleasure. Her breath rushed out, and she shuddered.
"Jennifer."
Someone else had spoken, Carolyn did not know who, nor care. She knelt, torn between yearning and satisfaction, wanting to look at him, but happy just to be there. The others dealt with Jennifer; Carolyn paid no attention, the sounds just background as she basked in his presence so close to her.
The attendant spoke again. “Carolyn, rise and follow.” She whimpered, though she tried not to, as she obeyed. Down a corridor to a hall lined with doors, but no windows. “This is your tutor's office. Be here tomorrow. That is all."
She found her way back to the dining hall, hands shaking with her need.
* * * *
The man from her French class, Tom, sat with her at dinner, telling her how things worked. “Tomorrow morning, after breakfast, you knock on his door. Do what he tells you, whatever he tells you, and you'll be fine. Disobey, and you could find yourself out of here. Tutorials take precedent over everything else; your tutor can take you out of classes, forbid you to sleep ... anything he says goes, for as long as he wants you. But you still have to keep up with your class work. Have you memorized the rules?"
Carolyn had, so Tom started quizzing her on her French. Finding she had none, he shrugged. “You'll need a tutor."
"But, I thought I had one. Tomorrow morning, I knock on his door?"
"No, I mean you'll need to find someone to teach you to speak French. Your tutor has nothing to do with classes; that's something else. You'll need to make a bargain with somebody."
"A bargain?” Carolyn shook her head, completely lost. “Help?"
Tom put his hand on Carolyn's thigh. His smile reminded her of a jackal, though she'd never seen one. Without thinking, she pulled away from him, frowning. His sneer was menacing. “You don't have anything to offer, little girl."
Jack's voice came from behind. “Nor anything worth taking, right, Tom?"
Tom craned his neck around, took a good look, and spread his hands, displaying emptiness.
"You were just leaving, right? I'll take that seat.” When he was out of earshot, Jack directed her frown down at Carolyn. “Stay away from him; he'll just get you into trouble. Found a tutor yet?"
Smile bright as sunlight, Carolyn began to talk about her day.
The evening passed too quickly, in conversation and in study; Carolyn lost herself in reading about history. But when she lay her head on her pillow, her thoughts were not of Egypt—she looked forward, not to the past. Her dreams were all about her tutor, and what he might teach. Whatever it was, she was eager to learn. Proctors patrolled the dormitories, ensuring compliance to the rules. That night, several had to move Carolyn's hands above the covers.
Morning came, and she moved through the routine like a sleepwalker. Fear became arousal, which changed to terror, then desire, an unending loop. What would he want of her? Her heart pounded. What if she wasn't good enough? She couldn't even meet a small town's expectations; how could she expect to satisfy this man? She didn't even know what he would want!
She knew what she wanted: him. And the sensations she had been promised. Sensations beyond belief, a promise already being kept. She wanted more. Even the blushes, the shame?
Yes. It was all better than drifting and emptiness, even the worst of it. You don't know that. You just got here. It could get worse.
"So what?” She spoke aloud, felt her cheeks heat, forced a laugh, and knocked on his door.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE TUTOR
An attendant opened the door, waving her inside with a gloved hand. She heard the door close behind her, did not turn to look. She could not. Her eyes were glued on him.
Even half-hidden b
ehind a desk, he seemed strong and commanding. Her legs were shaky. God, I need ... His eyes were intense; she felt the heat as he looked at her, from her no-doubt scarlet face to her feet in their bright-polished shoes and back again.
She knew what he saw. Aside from the outfit, the same thing she had long since ceased to see when she looked in the mirror. A woman; longish hair, slimmish form—except for the jutting ass, two half-globes nothing ever hid—nothing missing, nothing malformed.
Fidgeting.
He bade her sit, in a chair placed to face his desk. She crossed her legs automatically; he raised an eyebrow. Some took longer than others to forgo the habits of the outside world. Following his gaze, she flushed slightly as she realized her error.
Rule six: The legs are to remain open at all times, seated or standing. This signifies accessibility and obedience.
Taking a deep breath—his gaze mimicked the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her thin cotton blouse—she spread her legs, sitting deep into her chair as though to protect herself.
"Tell me, how do you masturbate?” His voice was calm, casual.
It took a moment for the sense of the words to penetrate. “What?” Unconscious of the movement, she slid a hand along her thigh, pulling her skirt taut.
"I said ‘tell,’ not ‘show.'” His voice was still calm, almost amused. She followed his glance again. Flushed. Inhaled.
"I-I don't...” She could find no words. He seemed disinclined to prompt her further, and she had learned that hesitation was inadvisable here in this place. Gulping down her discomfort, she tried again. “I don't often masturbate. In the bath, sometimes. You have to be clean, you know.” She almost thought he smiled, then. “I use a sponge, or my fingers.” She stopped, out of words, hoping that she had satisfied him.
The slightest of smiles curved his lips. “Did you ever put anything else in your vagina?” Calm, remote, even clinical, he could have been a doctor. “Or elsewhere?"
"No, I...” she trailed off again. “There was my husband, of course, but nothing else.” The rest of his question caught up with her. “Elsewhere?"
"In your anus, perhaps?"
"No!” She nearly rose out of her chair, visceral outrage and disgust overriding caution. Catching herself, she resumed her position, grasping the arms of the chair firmly. “No,” she continued, striving for calm. “I've never put anything ... there."
"I'd like you to do so now. Place a finger in your mouth, suck it, wet it, then slide forward in your chair and insert the finger as far as possible.” His voice was still level, unemotional; he might have been discussing the weather.
She felt threatened. Trapped, endangered. The hair on her arms stood up; her body was tense. What he asked, the way he talked about it, or maybe that it was him, the man so uncannily like her dream hero, something about it scared her witless.
She couldn't breathe. Wanted to run; knew there was nowhere to run to. Wanted to fight; knew that she would lose. Wanted to die, if that was the only way to escape this. Only, some part of her knew that she didn't really want that at all. She had come here when all seemed hopeless, but it had been her choice. And she had chosen largely because of a moment much like this. Not so intense, but what was the difference, really? She wasn't a lesbian, had never thought of women as attractive, but that hadn't seemed to matter much. Had never thought of pain as sexy, but that hadn't stopped her, either. Why was this, what he wanted, any different?
She was repulsed, disgusted, ashamed, afraid. And curious; somewhere deep in her heart, she wanted to learn. Your place is to obey. Didn't you promise to do that? And besides, it's not like it's all that big a deal. Babies get their temperatures taken that way, and sometimes even adults take medicine ... there.
Shaking, tears flowing down her face like rain, she lifted her hand to her mouth and sucked on a finger. He watched, and she felt his attention like a weight. Her movements were slow; reluctance, partly, but more than that. It was almost as though the air had thickened, or gravity grown stronger; hard to move, hard to breathe. Her mouth caressed her finger, cheeks concave with effort, then she looked at her shiny-wet digit, blinked, and let her hand fall.
Eyes half closed, she pushed aside the lacy confection that ornamented more than it concealed. She set her finger against the wrinkled indentation she could feel, though not see, and pressed gently, then firmly, gasping as her asshole surrendered suddenly, allowing her finger in to the first knuckle. Her nail scraped muscle as it passed. It felt unnatural, the sphincter's grip greedy around the unwanted intrusion.
"Farther,” he rasped.
Screwing her face up, she obeyed. Grunts accompanied her finger's slow advance until the second knuckle was caressed in its turn. She panted, mouth dry, skin slick with sweat.
"More."
Squealing with pain as cramped muscles protested, she forced her hand forward, until, finally, her sphincter clenched against her palm. Her hand held her cheeks apart, for there was no other place it could rest.
"Hold still."
She struggled to obey, as her wrist cramped from the bending, her legs began to shake with strain, her throat to burn from holding curses and screams and pleas within. Her crotch was wet, her clit throbbed. That might have been the worst pain of all.
"Bring your other hand forward,” he said. No least hint of disobedience crossed her mind, she wanted simply to get through the ordeal. “Finger yourself."
"What?"
"You heard me."
She wasn't sure she had, but decided to take a chance. Sliding two fingers beneath her panties, she stroked her clit. When he didn't bark at her, she continued, fingers slick with the moisture of her secret shame. She was always wet, here, no matter what they did to her. Always ready. Always. But never more than now.
"Stop."
Damn! She had been close.
"Show me your fingers."
Relieved, she began to withdraw both hands.
"No. Just the one hand."
She didn't need to ask which one. Choking back a sob, more of frustration than pain, she displayed the hand still sticky with her juices.
"So you enjoy this.” It wasn't a question, more a purr. “Remove the finger."
She hurried to obey, only to discover that a quick withdrawal would be too painful to endure. Carefully, she inched her way out, trying without success to find a position which would not scrape and burn. Finally, as her finger popped free of her sphincter's perverse embrace, she sighed.
"Stand before me."
She struggled from her chair and waddled to him, feeling herself unnaturally opened, stretched, then took the position she had been taught. Legs apart, always. You must always be accessible. Hands behind your head, elbows out, unless your hands are bound behind you. Face forward, they like to see what you are feeling. Her breasts strained against her blouse, nipples drawn hard and tight; her underwear was still bunched up, out of place. She was sopping wet, moisture dripping down her thighs, and could smell her own arousal. She felt a slattern, sloppy, unkempt, ashamed.
He took something from his desk; she didn't see what. Expressionless, he swiped it along her slit—she jumped, though she knew it was forbidden—and placed it in a drawer. “I'll call for you tomorrow. You are dismissed."
She turned to leave, feeling her thighs slide against each other, feeling the swelling between them.
"You are not to masturbate today, nor to allow anyone else to touch you. No matter the lesson."
She was shaking as she left the room. He's a pervert. My God! How could you do this to me? Her asshole felt distended, open, gaping wide. She thought about putting her finger back, and stumbled in shock. She wanted to!
He's not the only pervert. It would be a very long day, and a longer night.
* * * *
It was the most unbelievable sensation. Moist caresses at the very center of her being, a firm yet gentle probing, an angel or a butterfly sipping nectar. Dreaming, she stretched, luxuriating in sensation. Encountering an obstr
uction between her legs brought her fully awake. Discovering a person in bed with her, she screamed.
Lights came on in the dormitory. Carolyn's uninvited guest cowered beneath the covers; she tore them away, furious.
A proctor stood above the bed, glowering. “Explain."
"I woke up. She was here.” Later, she would think about how it had felt to be loved by the mouth of another woman. Right now, all she wanted was to be sure this would never happen again. It had been such a lovely dream...
"You, report to the front desk.” The proctor frowned in the intruder's direction. “You, Carolyn, isn't it?” She didn't wait for a response. “You've an appointment. Confess your transgression to your tutor.” She turned away. Though the dormitory was full, not a single head was canted in the direction of the disturbance. If others were wakeful, they concealed it well. Carolyn was forced to dress mostly by touch, as the senior reached the light switch before she was halfway clothed. She did not dare protest.
Reaching the office door, she paused, breathing deeply. She had stopped by a bathroom, brushed her teeth, washed her face, straightened her clothing, then hurried, hoping she had broken no rule. A recent arrival, she was unsure what was permitted, but surely cleanliness was desirable? She knocked.
"Enter."
The voice sent shivers through her. She had seen him the day of her arrival, and been struck by his strength, his presence. Yesterday, he had commanded her, and though she had hated every moment of it, still, she had been aroused as never before. It was a feeling she was getting used to, but none sparked it in her as strongly as he. Even his voice drew her body tight. She entered.
"You are early.” While it didn't sound like a question, she thought it best to answer.
"There was ... a disturbance. A student entered my bed, and woke me.” Please, don't ask for details.
"Describe what happened."
Damn! “I was asleep, dreaming. I must have moved, because I bumped into her. It woke me. I screamed, and the proctor came. She sent the other to the front, and me to you.” Carolyn breathed deeply. She knew she had to tell everything, though it shamed her. What else is new? “She had her head between my legs, was using her mouth on me. The proctor told me to ‘confess my transgression’ to you, though it wasn't me transgressing. I was asleep."