by Pearl Jones
"Tests? Sir?” She remembered her own entry here, the woman in the bar, the encounter as much pain as pleasure, the commands from people she'd never met, and the teasing torment. Had those been tests? If she'd failed them, would she have been sent away? The thought was frankly frightening now; she couldn't imagine her life, had she not come here. Had she never found a place to teach her what she'd learned, what she was still learning, looked forward to each day.
"Yes.” Seeing the interest in her eyes, he spoke at some length, telling her how Jennifer had been selected. The approach, the scripted encounter, the scene here at the school. Different from her own, but similar. “She responded well, not climactically, but not all do.[?] She showed pleasure, and interest, and willingness to submit. But since she's been here, what she mostly does is cry. The classes don't arouse her, her tutor can't make her come. She sometimes shows pleasure when punished, particularly when being spanked, but she can't let herself go. And no one's made her do so but you and Jack.” He smiled to see her nipples crinkle as his words. “If Jack hadn't been nearly ready to graduate, we'd have assigned her the task. As it is, well, you seem to have selected yourself."
"I don't understand. What is it you want me to do?"
"Tomorrow morning, before breakfast, report next door. Her tutor will have instructions for you. And, Carolyn,” he waited for her to blink, “you are not to come. No transgressions, do you hear me?"
"Yes, sir. I am not to come.” But her clit throbbed warning and yearning even as she spoke. What will they let me do to her?
* * * *
Close up, Jennifer's tutor was almost as magnetic a person as her own; Carolyn's hands shook with the need to run her fingers through his hair; her thighs fell open further than required purely out of longing for his touch.
He acted completely unaware of her response to him, though he could not possibly have been. “She's been given her instruction, a task to complete. Walk her through it, then take her with you to class. Her schedule's been shifted, she attends your classes now, all of them.” He paused, waiting for Carolyn's nod. “Three things: she comes only when I can see it. Here, or in the hall if I am present; for any other location, you ask permission of me, and wait to see that I am there. No student touches her but you. And you don't remove anything I put on her. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Go."
Carolyn nearly leapt from her chair, eager to see her project. The door opened easily.
"Oh!” Jennifer glanced around, shoulders falling from where they'd risen, up around her ears. “Good morning,” she said shyly, venturing a smile.
"You aren't dressed.” Not that Carolyn minded seeing the opulent flesh so much on display, the sheer short nightgown more decoration than protection for any maiden's modesty.
"No, I,” the twist was unconsciously graceful, almost a dance, and Carolyn's hands clenched into fists at her sides, half longing to caress the soft form before her, half to grasp hard enough to bruise. “My tutor told me I have to choose one of these.” There was a collection of dildos laid out on the table, from slim small lengths of plastic to monsters of latex bristling with bumps and thorns. “And use it. On myself, to, to make myself, you know. And I, I just can't."
"Little girl,” Carolyn drawled, “that's the last time you'll use that phrase.” Dim memory of herself crying just those words to her tutor mere months ago, but all she felt was impatience for the girl she'd been. She'd learned since just how much she could do, and looked forward to learning how far she had yet to grow; time and long past for this shrinking soft body to learn, too. Her hands gentler than they might have been, enjoying the pale smooth skin, Carolyn turned Jennifer to face a floor-to-ceiling mirror, their eyes meeting in the reflection. “Take off the nightgown."
She held her gaze steady until Jennifer obeyed her. “Now, remember how Jack touched you?"
A hesitant nod from the brunette. (Carolyn wondered how soon they'd bleach her hair, quite certain they would, to make her more like Marilyn.) “Take my fingers, show me how Jack touched you.” With a few false starts and flinches, Jennifer surrendered, closing her eyes, leaning back into the circle of Carolyn's arms, guiding the fingers in soft slow circles and quicker strokes, finally pistoning several in and out of her own core. With another of those high gentle cooing cries, she fell back against Carolyn, body rigid as she came.
"Good, very good.” If Carolyn's whisper was shaky, she didn't think Jennifer would notice. But the sight as always filled her with conflicting desires, to come herself, to dig her hands into Jennifer's body until she screamed, to make her come, still screaming, begging for the torment not to end. She contented herself with continuing her soft thrusting, not letting Jennifer relax from ecstasy's peak. When the cooings had changed to whimpers of growing need, Carolyn told her to reach out with her hand and grasp one of the dildos. “Any one, I don't care."
Jennifer bit her lip hard enough to leave a mark, but she did as she was told, her hand finding a medium-thickness dildo with a vibrating head and corkscrew shaft. Eyes still closed, she held it out to Carolyn.
"Good,” she whispered, and nibbled Jennifer's ear, increasing the pressure of her strokes. Her free hand took the dildo, drawing her fingers out and replacing them without missing a beat, inserting the cool plastic to the same depth her fingers had reached, the same angle. Jennifer only moaned and shifted in her embrace.
"Do you remember how I touched you, the difference between my touch and Jack's?” She nibbled Jennifer's earlobe again, whispered the words. The answering shiver was so strong it traveled through both their bodies, making Carolyn laugh. “I see you do. Show me."
Jennifer's eyes opened, searching the mirror, her confusion plain to see. “But you know."
"Use your hands as I used mine."
She didn't obey instantly; it took some soft-voiced threats, reminders that her tutor would punish her if she didn't come as instructed, stroking never ceasing all the while, but finally her body's needs and her own fears pushed her to comply, and she used her hands quite roughly on her own form, taking control of the dildo, pushing it high, pulling it completely free and jamming it home, plunging it in deep as she could, flicking her clit at the same time. When she came this time, it was crying, not cooing, her belly rippling for several minutes.
"Good. You see, you can. Now get dressed; we're late for class."
* * * *
Carolyn spent the day alternately basking in the admiration of her peers and wishing desperately for five unobserved minutes so that she could come! Not, as she kept telling herself, that she had any intention of so disobeying her tutor, but her body was screaming for release. She drank in the sight of Jennifer all flushed and sticky with her spendings, the scent of her perfuming the air, trying desperately to pretend she wasn't the focus of all eyes, and beamed with pride, knowing she was the cause, both of the pleasure and a large portion of the shame. She took every chance to remind Jennifer of the rules, telling her to spread her legs, pull her shoulders back to show her breasts, thrilling to the bloom of crimson on the ivory cheeks.
But she was confused, too, the part of her mind still thinking. Her tutor was right, Jennifer didn't seem to be enjoying the attention at all. She'd come, yes, but she should have been shaking for release again, with all the students and teachers so obviously lusting after her, and she wasn't. Carolyn was, but Jennifer showed no arousal at all.
Carolyn was scheduled for an evening seminar in Discipline, which meant that Jennifer attended it too. Grey-haired old Bertha who taught the class decided to use Carolyn for a teaching tool, and had her bent backwards over the desk, her back arched, weight largely on her arms, breasts and belly and inner thighs all within reach of the crop. Desperate not to look weak in front of Jennifer, Carolyn took the punishment that followed without a cry, not moving until given permission, thanking Mistress Bertha with a gentle, composed smile.
She thought the woman looked disappointed.
And then it was time to re
turn to the dormitories, except that Carolyn received a note. Delivered by one of the ubiquitous attendants, it commanded her to bring Jennifer to her tutor's study. On their arrival, the tutor told Jennifer to fetch “her chosen tool.” Carolyn had to give her a shove to get her to obey.
And then she returned, dildo in hand, quivering, shaking. “Demonstrate,” the tutor barked.
"I..."
Carolyn caught the other woman's eyes, and the next word died on her lips unborn.
"I'll try,” Jennifer whispered, and spread her legs, screwed her eyes shut and plunged the tool between her lips. In and out, mechanically, uninspiring. And uninspired, judging from her own lack of response.
Carolyn looked at the tutor for permission, then began to speak. “You don't want to fail here. To be punished. Use your hands, remember how Jack touched you. How I touched you. You can touch yourself the same way. Think of how good it will feel, the release, the pleasure. Use your tool the way I used my hands. Think of me."
Jennifer heard, and listened, and obeyed, her hands soft and gentle, as Jack's had been, then rough. Soon her head went back, her mouth fell open, and Carolyn drank in the sight of the writhing form.
Even without an orgasm of her own, it was lovely. Though she went to sleep wondering about the other woman's key. Not attention, not pain, not punishment. But something, she'd seen it more than once.
What makes her thrill, despite herself? How can I find it, use it to make her mine?
All that night—except when she was desperately trying not to touch herself, not to stroke or pinch or even just squeeze, not to come—Carolyn worried at that puzzle. Jennifer had passed the tests; she was excitable, sexually, and submissive. But it wasn't attention that got to her, nor shame. Not being ordered, dominated. So, what? Physically, she seemed to like it a little rough, but didn't need it that way. What turned her on?
The next morning, eager to find out, Carolyn presented herself, bright-eyed and eager, at the study door. The tutor motioned her inside; unlike most students, Jennifer didn't sleep in the dormitory, but in a separate bedroom accessible only by passing through the study. Carolyn couldn't blame him for being cautious, as Jennifer's very existence seemed an invitation to sex. She walked in without knocking, hoping to catch the younger woman doing something wrong. Instead, she found Jennifer doing nothing; she was hunched in on herself, wearing nothing but a loosely belted robe.
"Why aren't you dressed? You know what happens if we're late."
"I can—I mean, it's too much, the cloth. It hurts.” Jennifer turned, showing Carolyn her breasts. The nipples weren't visible, covered by some apparatus.
Not wanting to appear uncertain, Carolyn simply shrugged. “You'll adjust. Come on, now. Get dressed.” She pushed and prodded, goaded and teased, got the girl downstairs in time for breakfast, then shepherded her to class, almost nipping at her heels. Varying her comments all day, trying to find the key.
Bertha, in Discipline, helped unlock it. She commanded Jennifer to assume the pose Carolyn had taken the day before. When she proved incapable, Bertha suggested that Carolyn help. Between them, they got the young woman bent over backwards, tits in the air, skin flaming as the class murmured and jeered. Bertha slapped the bottoms of Jennifer's breasts with a rubber flail, more noise and shock than pain, suited for beginners. Jennifer, of course, wailed and cried. But then came the finish, when the punished had to give thanks. Carolyn prodded her to that, insisting, and Jennifer obeyed. “Thank you, Mistress Bertha, for your attention. Your attentions."
Carolyn was close enough to feel the sudden rush of heat; even if she hadn't been, she'd have seen the change in Jennifer's eyes. The shift as the soft welcoming thighs pushed and rubbed together. The parting of those perfect lips.
Got it! She needs to be forced into, what, gratitude? Into admitting that this is what she needs. Thank you for treating me like the little girl I am. Thank you for taking the trouble to care for me. Oh, can I work with that! Little girl, you are going to crawl to me, beg for my attentions, and thank me for your pain.
The day seemed to go on for a week. But at last, she was free to give Jennifer back to her tutor, seek her own for a brief conference before bed. He took one look at her face and told her to go “cool down"; an ice-water enema to quench her fires. Even the cramping didn't dampen her need, as she thought of what she wanted to do to Jennifer.
* * * *
"Oh, Carolyn, help!” Body held as still as possible, which wasn't very, Jennifer rose from the bed when Carolyn entered the room. “This shirt, there's no way I can put this on."
Carolyn felt the fabric and grinned. It was a rough weave, worn only to irritate. She waited, and Jennifer explained. “Those things, yesterday, on my,” she looked down at her breasts. “They're swollen now, and too sensitive. I can—” She cut herself off again. “I tried, really I did, but it made me scream. What am I going to do? We're already late!"
Laughing inside, thinking of all the things this girl was going to be thankful for, Carolyn made a show of thinking hard, gnawing on her lip. “You could lick them,” she said at last, with an air of sudden inspiration. “You could reach, I think."
"L-lick them? These? My...” That characteristic quick flush of hers came and went.
"You really will have to learn to say the word. Nipples. It's okay. Go on. Say it."
"Nipples.” This time the flush came, and stayed.
"Good. Think how happy your tutor will be, the punishments you'll be avoiding. Words are much easier than strikes, you know. So, go on now, lick them. It'll feel better; you'll see."
Carolyn had to lean back against the wall, her knees went so weak at the sight. A young Marilyn suckling her own distended nipples, first one, then the other, alternating, gentle smile in her eyes. A simple, innocent pleasure, untainted by lust.
For now. “Doesn't that feel better?” Carolyn husked.
"Oh, yes,” Jennifer sighed. She looked up, her thanks plain to see. “I was wrong about you. I thought you were mean. But you're a friend."
"Sometimes friends have to be cruel. You know that, right?"
A shaky nod.
"And when we are, we feel like maybe our friends won't like us anymore."
Frantic head-shaking. Carolyn couldn't blame her. In her months at the Academy, Jennifer hadn't made any friends, too busy with her own pains, her own concerns.
She almost felt guilty for what she was trying to do, but a long look at that body, sex written in every line, and her resolve hardened again. “Especially when we do things in public that our friends might not really like. It makes us feel like our friends just want us to go away. Even when we know we're doing the right thing, it's really hard.” A soft look, a touch. “You know, it'd help a lot if you could tell me you know I'm just doing what's best for you. If you could thank me, like you did Mistress Bertha yesterday."
"Oh, I do! I really do! I know you're just trying to help, and I'm ever so grateful. But right now, we're going to be late! Oh, I'm going to get you in trouble. I'm so sorry!” And Jennifer raced around the room collecting her clothes, shrugging into the shirt with barely a wince.
Carolyn flagged an attendant, scribbled a brief note, and hastened Jennifer down to the dining hall. The tutor appeared just before the changing bell. He nodded, and Carolyn took a deep breath.
"Remember what you told me earlier, okay?"
Jennifer blanched and dropped her fork.
"Carolyn.” The tutor said nothing else. Jennifer sat, unmoving, as Carolyn rose.
"Hsst. Get up, this is your tutor. You don't sit in front of him!"
A soft “Oh!” and Jennifer scrambled to her feet.
"Sir, your handiwork.” Carolyn smiled widely, took a breath to prolong her own enjoyment, and then she reached over and tore open Jennifer's blouse.
Tears began to roll down Jennifer's eyes, but she made no sound nor move of protest. The tutor peered close, shook his head. “Not yet,” he said, and turned away. A few feet on, he paused.
“Correct her,” and he claimed his seat.
Carolyn looked around the room, knowing she had every eye. Well, the scene she'd set did. There was a banana on the table; she reached over, handed it to Jennifer. “You remember how you used your tool?"
"Here?” An agonized sound, half whisper, half shriek.
"It's better than being punished, isn't it?” She spoke through a smile, as softly as she could and yet be sure Jennifer would hear. “Remember Jack's hands, and mine, and do what you have to do. Or your tutor will punish you, and he doesn't look very patient to me."
Jiggling with her sobs, Jennifer bent to her task. When the students nearest began to cheer, Carolyn frowned them into silence, but they would have quieted soon anyway. It was rare to see a woman struggle so toward a climax; in the Academy, most were hair-triggered from constant need. Sweat broke out over Jennifer's body, gilding her in the light; she moaned softly, or groaned beneath her breath. Partly out of pity, partly for the sake of the show, Carolyn leaned in and whispered. “If you don't push that all the way up, he's going to do it for you."
Jennifer's coos became grunts as she shoved her curved fruit phallus high inside, finding the g-spot with predictable results. The students applauded while she was still coming, belly rippling like the ocean waves, and she threw up her hands to hide her face.
Oh, can't have that, little girl. Carolyn cleared her throat, still speaking softly. “Get up, take a bow. Toward your tutor, go on, you know you can.” Still impaled on the fruit, Jennifer bobbed, head bowed. “Properly. Go on. If you don't finish, it doesn't count. You don't want to be punished, do you? Or for someone else to be?” She batted her eyes.
Jennifer pulled back her shoulders and bowed again, her face turned toward her tutor, eyes open wide.
Gotcha! You'll do things to help your friends that you wouldn't do on your own. So, now to strike your spark. “I hope you understand,” she said in an intimate tone, “why I did what I did."