by Pearl Jones
"Not that way,” he crooned, and she wept as she obeyed the implied command, lifting her lower body away from the desk. She struggled, but eventually her need overcame her pain, and she sat down on the desk, legs spread before him, bruised ass pushing against the wood, and squirmed her way to orgasm.
He made her pull the plug out and re-oil it, then slide it in and out in a parody of intercourse. She came that way, too, of course, and he squirted oil directly into her asshole before making her repeat her performance again. A third agonizingly shameful orgasm left her too weak even to lift herself away from pain, and she slumped over, flushed and sobbing.
"I owe you several punishments, but I think I'll wait a bit. You've missed lunch, but you can still make your afternoon classes. Go back to wherever you've left your clothes—” a brief hint of shame flickered within her, but she hadn't the strength to protest “-and dress yourself as best you're able. I'll see you the day after tomorrow.” He waved her away, and she fairly fell from the desk, drained and swollen with pleasure and pain. Her clit throbbed weakly, begging for more even now.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LESSONS LEARNED
Sherry appeared at dinner, moving with a great deal of care, but unconcerned. She made Carolyn eat, shared jokes and gossip, trying to distract Carolyn from her impalements—the physical and the emotional. Finally, she asked what was wrong.
"I've got a bigger plug in me than before, and it's coated in boiling oil,” Carolyn said shortly. And I got off on it. More than once. And I so need to come.
"Well, of course,” her new friend laughed. “An ass like yours, you had to know someone was going to plug you. It's prep for the corking.” She shrugged, and chimes sounded beneath her shirt. She reached for the rolls, and her shirt tightened against oddly-shaped protrusions.
Carolyn shook her head, confused and distracted. “Corking? And what have they done to you?"
Sherry smiled, bent forward, allowing Carolyn a glimpse of chains with charms, bells and whistles and ornaments. Her nipples were dark, misshapen by the clamps holding everything on. “Corking is being fucked up the ass. You haven't?"
Carolyn looked down at her plate, toyed with her food, and tried not to shift in her chair. “No. I'd never had anything up there before. My tutor made me put my finger in there, and then his finger, and then enemas and the plugs, but I'd never even thought about it before. And now,” she felt her cheeks warm, “well, you might of heard of a student who came in class this morning? That was me."
"I know.” Sherry smiled. “It's why I came to dinner; I wanted to see how you were holding up. Things can be pretty intense here.” She reached out, patted Carolyn's hand, and Carolyn smiled in her turn. A friend could make things much easier.
"There's a workshop tonight. You going?"
"I will if you will."
* * * *
Because of her tutor's instructions, Carolyn was excused from the practical portion of the evening's lesson, on taking a spanking with pleasure. She sat, mouth wide with amazement, as student after student posed over the lap of a volunteer and was subjected to the humiliation of having their asses spanked. Not one of them seemed to mind! They squirmed, panted, moaned, begged. Not to have it stop, but for more! Every student in the class, even those who shook with fear at the beginning of the session, seemed to enjoy the sensation. Carolyn twisted in her chair, jealousy and curiosity making her bite her lip, and her abused ass throbbed a warning. She froze, shocked to realize how close she had been to coming again. Half wishing she hadn't caught herself in time.
Four volunteers “saw to” the class of twelve, not including those students not permitted to take part. The leaders (Carolyn wasn't sure if they were tutors or instructors or older students) were dressed alike, in textured aprons, and by the end of class those aprons glistened with the juices of the willing victims. As the bell sounded dismissal, the volunteers stood and bowed, and one of the students rose and bowed in return, reddened ass turned to face them. A laugh ran through the room, and Carolyn saw one of the apron-clad spankers motion to the impudent student. She sobbed deep in her throat, wishing.
Her sleep was plagued with dreams, of her tutor “seeing to” her, of being corked, of coming until she could come no more, finally satisfied. Morning found her still tired, stretched too full to breathe in comfort, and dreading the day. The note delivered to her by an attendant at breakfast didn't help. In strong masculine handwriting, it read, “Oil yourself before each class, meal, and bed.” Her hands shook with fear and shamed anticipation. The attendant handed her a bottle.
Oh, God. Please. She didn't know what she would have asked for—for the torment to end, or just to be allowed to come.
* * * *
Carolyn fell into bed, tears leaking from her eyes. The day had been unbearable! She'd failed a quiz in class, which merited punishment. She'd been unable to complete an assignment, too busy with her suffering, and earned another punishment. She'd been excused from a class on self-pleasure, which made her furious, and her protests had earned her yet another punishment. All of which were deferred, since tutors had first claim on their students—and one teacher added on extra “demerits” for the delay! Thankful it was finished, she buried her face in her pillow and tried to sleep. Her clit throbbed with need, her ass clenched with the same pulse, and she lay wakeful long into the night.
Too early in the morning, she was prodded out of bed by another student, and plodded groggily toward the showers, even the pain of her overnight plugging unable to fully wake her. Breakfast passed in a daze; she could not eat, too filled already. Morning classes, too, went by in a blur. She thought she might have seen an odd glance or two directed her way, but was really too tired to care. The moment arrived at last for her to present herself to her tutor. She stood before the office door, staring blearily at the wood-grain as she waited for him to answer her knock.
"In,” he barked. She entered to find him standing, an attendant at his side. “Strip,” he commanded, and she obeyed without protest. The attendant placed a narrow collar around her neck, and fastened a leash to its end. She flushed a bit, humiliated, but said nothing. Juices flowed down her leg, and she bit her lip, wondering how she could still have the energy to be aroused. The plug felt like a club within her, impossibly large, conquering.
Her mary janes were removed, replaced with high stiletto heels. The attendant tugged on her leash, and she stumbled after. Her tutor followed behind, loudly enjoying the view; to him, he explained, the bruising added interest to her flesh. Her thighs glistened, and he laughed at the proof she enjoyed the situation. The blush creeping down her back excited him, too, he said.
They reached a stairway; the attendant led her forward, each step a new and unique torture. Up they went to a small room, uncarpeted, bare.
"Kneel."
She knelt, trying to keep her ass from resting on her heels.
"Tell me what you are feeling."
The words rushed forth. “Please. Please let me come!"
"What,” he chuckled, “no protestation? No ‘burning brand'? Are you telling me you've learned to enjoy being plugged? Already?"
"Oh, God! No. I hate it. You know that. It's wrong, it's unnatural. But I need to come, please. You have to let me! Plee-ease!” Tears streaked her face, fell into her opened mouth; she didn't care. She was naked, had just been in plain of view of anyone who'd cared to look, though she had, in fact, seen no one. She was on an honest-to-God leash, just like a dog. She was plugged. And none of it mattered at all, if she could just come.
"Aren't you going to ask me to get it out of you? Accuse me of being a pervert? Beg to be set free?” He still sounded gently amused, his voice almost smoky. She imagined it touching her, and shook with need.
He waited, as did she. She couldn't think of anything to say. “Well,” he sighed. “I suppose you can remove the plug.” She remained still. “Didn't you hear me? Remove the plug.” She bent forward to obey. “No. Spread your legs wider.” She did, of course. “Do it fr
om that position."
It took some effort, but she managed at last. It felt larger, with her positioned so nearly upright; she winced as she tugged it out. His laughter made her breath catch, her insides clench, and the pop when her asshole let go made her flush hot with shame.
"Put it back,” he said. She sighed; she'd expected it. But she hadn't thought it would be so easy to obey. Her sphincter opened almost eagerly to the intruder, stretching wide in welcome, holding tight to the narrower base.
"Tell me you love it.” He leaned in, whispered in her ear. His breath was hot on her skin, making her shiver. “Tell me how much you enjoy it."
"I do,” she sobbed. “God, I love it. It's horrible, it hurts, but it's fantastic! Please, please let me come. I need it. I need it so much...” She babbled, and knew that she babbled, and didn't give a damn. If it made her look like a fool, then so be it. All she wanted was an orgasm, or ten, or twenty, and she would do whatever she had to if she was allowed to come.
"Take out the plug.” She actually thought of protesting. But she obeyed. “There.” He pointed to the center of the room. There was a stool, with an object rising up. A dildo, set back from center, pointing straight. “I'd suggest you use your mouth first, then take your seat.” She rushed to the stool, eager to comply. It was shaped differently than the plug, almost a cone, narrowest at the tip, then widening at the base. She laved it with her tongue, then tried to climb onto the stool. Her heels gave her trouble, and the attendant came to help.
"Thank you,” she said, holding onto robed shoulders. They quivered beneath her hands; she was too involved to notice. Aiming herself with great care, she began her descent, and the blunt tip of the dildo parted her sphincter, making her sigh. She lowered herself an inch, clutching at the attendant, then another, and another until she was halfway down. Her tutor snapped his fingers, and the attendant suddenly stepped back. She shrieked as, her support gone, she slid down inexorably toward the stool. Her heels could gain no purchase to assist. Inevitable as death, gravity pulled her, stretching her wider than she had ever been stretched.
She whined. Trying to hold herself closed did nothing to stem the movement. Leaning desperately forward halted it, for a bit. The tip bit like a spear, though; she straightened lest she harm herself, and the slide down continued, halting with an inch left to go before the seat.
She was stretched as wide as she would go, but still gravity insisted. Every muscle held tight, as she balanced precariously. Eyes and mouth wide in sympathy, she stared at her tutor. “You may come,” he told her.
Her hands were gripping the seat. If she let go to stimulate herself, she would be further impaled. If she didn't, how then could she come? Stupid question. She lifted herself as best she could and slid carefully down again. Short, choppy movements, but enough—her body clenched, froze, quivered, exploded. Clit dancing in the breeze, vagina empty, ass more than filled, she writhed on the stool in climax, and poured forth her thanks. As her muscles tensed and released, she slid gently down to the stool, until the aftermath of her pleasure found her breathless and widely, thoroughly, plugged.
"How do you feel?"
She smiled, basking in the afterglow. “Mm."
"That's not an answer.” His voice was mild, and, as always, made her insides melt.
"I feel ... wonderful."
"You enjoy the sensation?” He was purring; she opened her eyes. She was nearly asleep, but wanted to see him smile. His expression was fiercely triumphant, and her eyes went wide. Oh, no! What did I say? What will he do now?
"Tell me how you feel."
"I ... am scared.” She laughed nervously, and gasped at the ripples echoing through her form; she'd never realized that laughter moved so many muscles, or just which ones. “I feel ... stretched ... too widely. I think I'm stuck. And I'm afraid of what you'll do next, what you'll make me do.” It was all true. But they both knew it wasn't the whole truth; he motioned for her to go on. “I hate that you make me do ... that,” she looked away, “and I hate that it feels good, but you know it does."
"I make you do what?” Her blush started at the hairline and spread down. “Say it,” he commanded. She swallowed, shook her head. “Say it."
Your place is to obey. She licked her lips. “It's unnatural. Things aren't supposed to go into ... there. The anus. The asshole.” She sighed, looked away. “You make me put things in my ass, and I enjoy it. There! I said it."
"Yes, you did. You may come now.” Her body clenched. With no memory of having decided a thing, she found herself sliding up and down the pole. The friction and the stretching sped her quickly on her way, and she screamed her climax to anyone who cared.
And again, when he told her that he intended to plug her in public, murmuring of all the eyes locked on her ass. He made her beg him to do it, and she cried as she came. He was almost tender, then, as he helped her to get down.
"Rest now."
She folded to the floor, not even bothering to move toward a wall, and closed her eyes. The attendant had to wake her when it was time to go.
* * * *
Still tired, and stumbling on the unaccustomed heels, she walked behind the robed individual who held her leash. Distracted by pain and shame and arousal, she didn't quite realize she was being led down a hallway toward the dining hall until she saw the doors open before her, students and instructors turning to stare as they approached. “No,” she whispered, turning her head toward her tutor, “please, no.” He ignored her, and the attendant just tugged on the leash until she had to follow. Tears poured down her face as fast as her juices flowed down her legs as she walked the aisle to the dais. She felt every gaze as a touch. God, he's going to do it!
He's going to do what I asked him to. Show everyone what a—what he does to me.
"Carolyn, confess your transgressions.” He smiled at her, the use of her name striking her as another torment. Not enough to be displayed, punished, she would be identified as well. She sobbed, but complied. There was no escape, she knew.
"I protested my tutor's attentions, not once, but many times. I yelled at him, used vulgar language. I forgot my place.” There were other transgressions, of course, but she felt that he was only concerned with her actions toward him. If not, she was sure he would inform her. Painfully. I can't believe this! She shook, shame and more. How can I need to come again? What's wrong with me?
That small part of her mind that so often found life amusing whispered, The same thing wrong with them all. Or right. There was something there, a safety—but before she could figure it out, her tutor spoke.
"And what have you to say for yourself?” He purred the words, silken invitation to self-damnation. Her heart skipped a beat. His voice always did things to her, even now. Especially? There was no escape, only obedience. Nothing she could do. No. There is one thing you can do: you can say what he wants to hear. What he wants them all to hear you say.
She knew what that was, though she wasn't sure how she knew. What she said wouldn't change the outcome. Her only choice was whether to obey the command he had not given, only implied. To expose her feelings, as well as her body. What do I have to say for myself?
"Nothing. I have no excuse, sir. Please, correct me, teach me the error of my ways.” She wept, but her voice was steady, exhaustion masquerading as calm. Better to cooperate, she thought, and be done with it. And maybe it would please him enough that he would let her come. Her clit throbbed excitement and agreement; her sphincter fluttered on emptiness. It felt good to be able to close that ring of muscle, and yet ... She shivered as her juices flowed, shamed and terribly aroused.
"On the table, and kneel.” The attendant positioned her, then hooked her leash to the underside of the table, forcing her head down. Her ass was raised high, offered to whatever might befall. She saw a familiar pole, tube wrapped around it, and groaned. A public enema, my God!
The nozzle was forced into her body, making her cry out in pain and an odd sort of relief. She had felt empty, walking un
plugged to the hall. She moaned as it was pressed home, and her ass wiggled invitingly. The blush spread over her body, and she reddened from head to toe. The audience, silent until now, began to whisper. Fluid seeped within her.
The attendant massaged her stomach as she was filled, more and more liquid finding its way into her bowels, stretching her stomach until she looked pregnant and past her due date. She panted, breath forced from her as her body made way for the watery intrusion. The cramping this time was intense, sharper pains and a slight burning. She shook with pain. And her clit danced.
At a nod from her tutor, the attendant detached her from the tubes, leaving the nozzle within her. “Speak, if you will,” she heard, and began to beg. Her ears burned with the shame as she heard herself asking, not that the nozzle be removed, but that she be allowed to come. Her tutor laughed, and she felt a single sharp smack against her mound. The orgasm was immediate, and left her shaking. Powerful, but unsatisfying. She needed more.
The attendant detached her leash from the table, and pulled her down. She gasped with pain as fluid pushed against the nozzle, and the attendant tugged sharply downward until she fell to her knees, then forward. She was to crawl, she assumed. Shrugging inside, wondering if she had finally reached a saturation point for humiliation, she followed the attendant, crawling throughout the room, passing every table, displaying herself to all who cared to look. Tears flowed down her face unheeded.
When she had completed her circuit, the attendant pulled her back to the dais, back up onto the table. A plexiglass shield had been added to the display. She was posed over a basin, and the nozzle pulled free. She flushed again, aghast, as she voided her bowels before everyone. And then was hosed off. That finished, she was posed again, leashed, and handed a thick plastic phallus. “As you did with the plug,” her tutor told her, as she looked at it in fear. Its shaft was as thick as the dildo on the stool had been at its base, and long, longer than she thought could possibly fit. But he was implacable, and she obeyed, sucking the fake cock to wet it, then placing it at her rear. She winced in anticipation, pressed in. And whined high in her throat as it stretched her wide.