by Pearl Jones
"So the small-town beauty became a small-town wife, but not a small-town mother. And now she's a divorcee?"
Laughter startled out of Carolyn; she hadn't laughed in ... too long. Years. “What a word! Sounds so much classier than truth.” A deep breath of the bar's fetid air. “What I am, lady, is broke."
"There are worse fates."
The stranger's voice was calm, certain, and Carolyn swiveled on her stool to look at her. A shirt of some soft material draped over her shoulders, hiding her shape but implying there was a very good one underneath. She wore slacks that fell in graceful unstructured folds, and like the top promised riches. Her fingers were never still, tracing the rim of her glass or trailing down the side, smoothing a wayward tendril of hair; she didn't seem nervous, but the motions drew attention to her hands.
Carolyn stared and licked her lips.
"See something you like?"
The bartender set two shot glasses and a bottle down in a triad of thumps, then took himself away.
"Hope you don't mind,” the stranger said, and poured.
Carolyn tried not to feel the flush spreading, and grabbed her glass. I'm not ... oh, hell, what does it matter anyway? Drink.
"You were telling me what happened to you after the divorce."
"Happened? Why, nothing. Nothing at all.” Her gesture encompassed her self, the bar, the town. “Nothing ever happens. It's all empty."
"Empty?"
"Empty.” She shivered; despite the blush, she felt cold. “Empty. Like me."
The stranger said nothing for a moment, but poured another drink and stared at something Carolyn didn't bother to turn her head to see. She sipped this time, savoring the oily fiery liquid; nothing she'd had before. Idly, she wondered what this woman was after. A lesbian hook-up? It didn't seem likely. Small-town beauty she might once have been, but Carolyn knew she was no match for the snakily seductive stranger in the clothing that whispered of money and taste and class. Things I don't have. “Do you have family here?” It was the only thing she could think of; the woman was so obviously out of place.
"Not precisely, no."
"Precisely.” Oh so not a local. What gives?
"What did you mean, when you said you were empty?” The stranger's voice was low and intimate. Inviting. Compelling Carolyn to speak. “And when you said you, Caro, didn't know how to be exciting. What did you mean?"
Well, why not? What can it hurt now? “I mean, in bed."
"Ah."
Again, the stranger paused, seeming content to let Carolyn catch her breath. And then she changed the subject, asking about school and whether Carolyn had ever traveled, and what her childhood dreams had been. The level of liquid in the bottle fell, and the conversation ranged far and wide, from the memories she most cherished to the moments she had been most ashamed, until Carolyn almost felt she had laid bare her mind.
And then the question she had expected all that long while—minutes? hours? ago: “Have you ever been with anyone but your ex?"
"N-no."
"No women? No other men?"
"Well, I kissed another boy once, when I was in high school."
"Oh, you poor little lamb,” the stranger purred, and poured her another drink.
Carolyn had lost all track of time. When the woman rose, perfectly steady on ludicrously high heels despite all the alcohol she had drunk, Carolyn blinked, blearily confused. “Bathroom,” the stranger said, and reached for Caro's hand. It was the first physical contact between them. Her fingers were cool, but the skin beneath them burned.
She stood, and stumbled, and the stranger caught her easily. She was tall, taller than she had seemed, and lean, and darker than the bar; not classically beautiful, certainly, but oddly alluring. And in her voice more like a snake's even than her smile, she hissed words of promise and secrets.
The stranger seemed to know what Carolyn craved, though Carolyn herself did not. “Follow,” she hissed, and, “surrender.” And Carolyn felt hypnotized. How did this woman know what she'd never said? Never really thought?
"I know what you need, little girl. And you can have it, if you dare. There is a place..."
In the trip across the bar and down the dingy hall to the bathroom, Carolyn's odd drinking companion told her of that place. An academy, she said. A private place, for people of a certain kind. People who had found the courage to reach for their desires. The strength to accept that their needs were different, but that they were not unique.
"I don't know what you mean,” Carolyn managed, wondering as she spoke if the words were true. And, “A school? But I'm too old for that."
"You are a child,” came the answer, “a babe, for all your years. The only question is whether you wish to learn."
The formality of the words was almost enough to make Carolyn turn and run; she had no way to match it. It sounded citified to her, like the woman her husband had left her for. Perhaps her face showed her feelings, for the stranger's hand tightened on hers. “To those who can be taught, all doors may open. And you would not be alone."
A place for people like her? What would that be like?
The bathroom was empty; the stranger pulled Carolyn inside, whispering all the while about this Academy. All that was needed was the longing, and the daring, and a bit of time. Money? Not a concern; she would leave wealthier than she arrived. Two years, not too much to ask, was it? And so on. The words flooded over Carolyn; she felt she might drown.
But then one phrase caught her ear. “Sensations beyond belief."
Not “pleasure” or “climax” but “sensations.” Carolyn's eyes filled with tears as she stared at this barroom apparition leaning so close to her. She thought she was drunk, and dreaming, thought no one could really understand. “You know."
"I know more than you can dream ... now,” the stranger said. “I know...” she took Carolyn's chin in one hand and turned her head, and began to nibble on her ear. And she spoke, between licks and bites and teasings, about what she was going to do to show Carolyn just how little she knew about herself.
No one had ever spoken to her this way, filthy words describing what Caro thought of as sacred things. No one but her husband had ever touched her there; it couldn't possibly feel as good as this snaky vision described. Orgasm—she knew it was possible, a simple muscular contraction, response to stimulus. But the small flutterings she'd felt once or twice when her husband fingered her were nothing like the risings into heaven this cobra woman whispered of.
"Let me show you.” One strong hand still covered Carolyn's; she squeezed not quite gently, tugged, pushed and prodded.
Carolyn let her.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe simply depression. Maybe she was lonely. Or maybe she really wanted to know. Probably that last; she felt an unfamiliar, throbbing heaviness between her thighs. She followed the stranger to a stinking, filthy, ill-lit stall, and as soon as she turned to work the slide on the door she was expertly, confidently pushed up against it. Half-protesting, half-complacent, curious, excited, she let the stranger fondle her, let her skirt be tucked around her waist, her underwear be pushed aside. Flickering florescence making her as dizzy as what she felt, she spread her legs to the stranger's insistent attentions. Those long slender ever-moving hands, bright-tipped and knowing, pinched and probed and pushed. She gasped as two fingers plunged into her core, rose high, and curved. Nails scraped at inner walls—she had never felt anything so urgent as that feeling. It hurt, but the pain was more intoxicating than any mild pleasure sex had ever brought her. She pushed her hips back, inviting the woman to press harder, to hurt her more.
Hot breath on her neck, softness of breasts at her shoulder blades, the smell of juniper and expensive perfume. An inescapable torment as the other twisted her wrist. Small sounds she thought, later, had come from her own throat. Strobing light that could have been the lights, or flashes behind her eyes. A thick, heavy feeling, her blood pooling in her veins. Strong pulses at her crotch, clenching around the fingers,
never still within her, but flexing up and down, drumming, teasing, scratching.
Sharp bits of pain as the woman pinched her inner thighs, one, the other, to make her spread her legs more. A different pain at her earlobe. Teeth? More pressure, inside, the woman pushing up and forward until Carolyn was on tip-toe, mashing her breasts into the door, then pistoning in and out without uncurving her fingers.
And some switch Carolyn had never found in her own body switched on, and the flexings and pains and pulses joined, and she screamed as her body tightened and crashed, trapped between the door and the woman, and waves of ecstasy washed through her.
In a scant quarter-hour the woman taught Carolyn things she'd never thought to learn, pain and pleasure and fear and exultation all at once. And then the offer came again, of sensation and teaching, and this time she accepted, and her head spun at how quickly her life had changed.
"Take this,” the stranger said, and pressed a card into her hand. “And ... welcome to the family.” And she was gone.
Carolyn left the bar without looking back; alcohol was no longer a temptation for her. She wanted what she had just had. Much more of it. Now. “The Academy,” she whispered, over and over again. “I can't wait to see what they teach."
* * * *
She blinked, looked around at the darkened room. I'm here. I made it, I passed, they didn't send me away.
So what am I doing lying around when there's things to learn?
* * * *
Carolyn didn't exactly regret her enthusiasm, but by the time dinner was over, she was wishing she had taken a nap while she'd had the chance. The food looked like it would taste good, but it seemed too much effort to lift a fork. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so tired.
And she was sure she'd never felt so excited and scared and ashamed and aroused all at once.
"I'm Jack."
Carolyn looked up to find a woman in her early thirties who wore the Academy uniform as casually as denim. Lean, tanned, confident, hair black as coal, eyes a startling bright sapphire blue, she smiled as she stood patient beneath Carolyn's gaze.
"Come on."
"Where?” The evening had been filled with this person and that beckoning her here and there. The infirmary, for an embarrassingly thorough physical. Stores, where she'd been given a Frederick's-does-school-girl outfit: short plaid skirt, sheer top, thigh-highs, mary janes. A dormitory, where she was assigned a bed. Induction, for a sheet of rules she was instructed to memorize. The dining hall, where at last she got a chance to sit and rest. And now this woman with a man's name bade her follow.
Carolyn followed. Your place is to obey. It was the first item on the sheet of rules, and carved above the entrance to the dining hall. Half the people who'd told her to do things had quoted it. The first rule: your place is to obey. So she did. Jack led her to a small auditorium, like any lecturer's hall at university except for an odd dais in place of the lectern.
"Assume the position."
Confused, Carolyn shook her head.
"Kneel, knees spread, back straight, hands behind your head, elbows up. Face forward; they like to see your expression.” Jack pushed her up onto the dais. A nudge to move a knee, a tap on a hand; in seconds, Carolyn knelt facing the room. “Sit back on your heels."
The door opened, and students streamed in. Mostly young, late teens, early twenties, like Carolyn herself, some older, like Jack, male and female both. All in some form of school uniform designed to be revealing, with small patches and symbols whose meaning she could not begin to guess. They were all attractive, in various ways, all glowing with good health and sex appeal; all smiling, laughing, joking. All looking at Carolyn. She flushed, feeling vulnerable, exposed, with her legs spread wide beneath the too-short skirt. The panties she had been given were sheer as nothing at all; she knew she was making a horrible display. And then a light came on, highlighting her.
God, help! It was worse than the afternoon session had been. Partly from the sheer size of the audience, but mostly because these were her peers. Students, people she might have known back home. They were dressed as she was, her equals, yet she knelt before them. Her skin was tight; she knew her neck had gone red.
Knew, too, that there was a wet spot between her thighs. This isn't what I wanted! But it was too late to worry about such things. She darted glances at the students arrayed before her, squinting to catch their expressions: excited, eager. Waiting.
While they took their seats, Jack went to the back of the room. She emerged with a small object and several straps, and moved to Carolyn, a secret smile hovering over her lips. She leaned in close. “You'll win friends by resisting as long as you can,” she murmured, then bent down to place the cold slick object at Carolyn's clit. The strip of lace was no impediment at all, sodden as it was, and Jack laughed softly as she stole the chance for a brief caress.
Carolyn froze, half in surprise, half in sudden hope. Will she ... ? But the older woman had already moved her hands, was tugging things into place. Thin nylon straps went around waist and thighs, cutting into flesh just a trifle as the Jack snugged the device home. Standing, she announced, “This is your initiation. From now until you leave the Academy, you are forbidden to pleasure yourself save on command. Tonight, for the next hour, you belong to us. And we command you—” everyone in the room joined in. In a great cheer, they all shouted, “Come! Come! Come!"
Jack turned a dial, and Carolyn threw back her head and screamed.
The vibrator was turned on high, and it was less pleasure than pain. Orgasm ripped through her body again and again. No variation, no respite, just a constant overstimulation. She fainted, woke still coming, lying on the floor, body shaking fit to tear itself to pieces. No one seemed concerned; they chanted. “Come. Come. Come.” Jack motioned to her to rise, and, weary, she obeyed. She fell over again, the floor seeming harder than before. The chanting trailed off as people began calling numbers, times and words Carolyn didn't have the energy to wonder about. It blended into an aural fog around her: the voices, the buzzing sound of the vibrator, her own moans and cries. She fought her way to her knees again, trying to hold herself still. Failing. Riding a constant climax, helpless to resist.
She passed out again. Woke. Climbed to her knees. Sobbed and begged and came. And then another darkness swallowed her, and there was an end to the climaxing, and her muscles eased as she fell into simple sleep.
When she woke, sore and dizzy with weakness, the room was empty but for her and Jack. “How do you feel?"
Carolyn moaned, but considered the question. The answer shocked her awake. “I...” She couldn't say it. Her skin flushed and paled, as, mortified, she realized.
"I know,” Jack nodded. “It's why you'll fit in here.” She helped Carolyn back to the dorm, tucked her into bed, wished her a good night. Carolyn said not a word, still stunned by her own reaction. Sore almost beyond bearing, humiliated, used for entertainment—she was ashamed, in pain. But beyond all that, she was, incredibly, aroused. So raw she couldn't close her legs, and desperate to come again.
"It's why you'll fit in here."
CHAPTER THREE
FIRST DAY JITTERS
Carolyn sat at a long table in the dining hall. She felt rumpled, though every hair was in place. Jack had waked her before dawn to walk her through the morning routine, and it was more thorough than she ever could have imagined. She'd never seen a bidet before, and that was only the beginning of the adventure. By the time she'd been allowed to put on her uniform, she was wishing for ice to cool the heat of her constantly blushing cheeks. The other students had done their best not to laugh. It hadn't helped.
Jack had been patient with her, and now encouraged her to eat. The food was as well-prepared as dinner had been, but Carolyn couldn't swallow. She was too nervous, for after breakfast her classes would begin. She sipped at some juice, mostly to keep Jack from fussing, and shifted in her seat, trying to ease her nerves.
And her arousal. She was less tender than
she'd expected to be, just sore enough to make her aware of every inch. And everything around her reminded her of where she was, and why. It's so ... so. She had no words for what she felt; it was too different from what she'd known. Grown men and women in school uniforms. Dormitories and proctors and curfews. Dining halls. And sex everywhere, but not what she thought of as sex.
She pressed her legs together, trying to ease the throbbing, and heard a student clear his throat. What? Oh, right. That was on the sheet of rules: The legs are to remain open ... She forgot how it went.
"Does it get easier?"
Jack knew what she meant. “Yes and no. Look over there.” She pointed to a table of men and women of varying ages, not wearing any kind of uniform; all confident, healthy as everyone at the Academy, welcoming or forbidding, but eye-catching, every one. “Those are tutors. Once one picks you, things change a bit. More fun, but harder. Until then, you just have classes, and you'll be amazed at the things you never knew you could learn! Just make sure you learn the rules, and follow them, and you'll be fine. Horny every second of every day, but fine.” The bell rang, and Jack walked Carolyn to her class. “Good luck,” she whispered, and patted Carolyn's behind.
Startled, she stepped forward into the room.
The class was called Intro to The Body, and like everything else she had seen, it made Carolyn gape—torn between shock and fascination, shamed and aroused at once. The instructor, Grace, took a few moments to welcome the new students, and then began. As the students around her did, Caro took out a pen and notebook and prepared to take notes. There were textbooks, but Grace favored a hands-on approach.
And those hands went everywhere. More than the fact that the instructor simply chose two models from the students, it was the way the she so casually poked and prodded and lifted and squeezed and stroked that took Carolyn's breath away.
