by Pearl Jones
She didn't catch everything, too lost in wonder to concentrate, and more than once caught herself drifting into fantasy. Pay attention! What if there's a test? That thought was too tantalizing; she bit her lip and focused on the lecture.
"And so,” Grace continued, “we come to the knee. An overlooked erogenous zone, these days. A good rule of thumb is that if you can tickle it, it is very sensitive. Observe.” Her hapless victim lifted a leg, clenching his fists at his sides. The instructor cupped her hand around the back of his knee and stroked gently. His erection grew thicker and longer as he moaned. Cheeks and neck as red as Carolyn's felt, he stood meekly beneath Grace's ministrations, and she gave his discomfort no attention at all.
Carolyn was by turns shocked and jealous; the other students all seemed to take it in stride. Hard as she tried to keep her mind on the lesson, she couldn't help wondering how it would feel to take his place. To be standing there, probed and stroked and tickled, while dozens of eager students watched and took notes. She was amused to note her own focus: here was a chance to observe a man's phallus in daylight, something she'd never had the chance to do, and she was busy watching the back of his knee.
What would that feel like? Would I like it? Her hand slipped below the desk before she thought. No, that's not allowed. Besides, Grace might notice. She was walking around the room now, reading the students’ notes. Hurriedly, Carolyn scribbled a few words down. Ticklish. Where am I ticklish?
The instructor stopped by her desk. “Well, Carolyn, isn't it? I see you're going to fit in. Stand up and raise your skirt.” Carolyn looked up, jaw gaping wide. Is she serious? The question didn't need to be asked; gulping, Carolyn followed orders, standing before her desk with her skirt hiked high.
Grace had a pointer, and she used it with great skill, tracing glyphs and runes on Carolyn's thighs. Her legs spread to invite it higher, but the teacher declined. Descending instead to her knee, the instructor drew circles, varying pressure and angle, writing messages on her skin. Her legs shook—shame, desire—and she bit down on her lip. A firmer touch; her legs buckled, and she came.
The instructor smiled. “That is forbidden, you know. You were not given permission to enjoy. But, it is your first day, so I'll postpone your punishment. You may take your seat."
Shaking, Carolyn leapt to obey. Wow! She stared at her desktop, refusing to look up, afraid to find the whole class still staring at her. She imagined she could feel their eyes just the same, and flushed, but, Wow! How did she do that? My knee? God, what could she do ... there?
Her next class was in Discipline, something she felt she sorely needed. It, too, promised to be riveting.
* * * *
Bertha was the first person Carolyn had seen at the Academy who wasn't physically alluring. Not that she was ugly, she was simply white-haired with skin folded by time and wear.
That's disgusting. She's old enough to be my grandmother!
The Mistress of Discipline who sat at the front of the class was indeed quite aged. She was also in charge, and perfectly capable of controlling the classroom, which she demonstrated bare moments after the bell rang to begin.
"Carolyn. What is the first command?"
It had been on the sheet she had been given, and was carved above several doors. She answered confidently. “Your place is to obey."
"Good. Remove your skirt."
Carolyn froze. Not now, please! Her thighs were still sticky. The underwear she had been given was lace: thin, sheer, dainty, revealing. And wet. Her hands clenched on the waistband of the skirt, and she paused, wishing, but she had promised herself she would do what was wanted, here. I made my choice. And I will see it through. Closing her eyes for a moment, she let the skirt fall.
"Turn."
She did, hating the flush she could feel rising to her cheeks. It would spread south, she knew, down her neck, her chest, perhaps further. “Bend over. Show the class your ass,” the old woman said.
Why that? Tears stung beneath her eyelids as she moved to obey the command. Carolyn had always been ashamed of her behind. Jutting back as if to draw attention to itself, larger than one would expect from her otherwise-slender frame, it was almost large enough to be seen from the front, and she had spent years in A-frame dresses and knee-length shirts to keep it concealed. But she no longer had any choice in clothing, not that it seemed she would get to stay dressed for long. She stayed in position until the old woman told she could stand, feeling her ass cheeks heat as if they, too, were blushing.
Perhaps they were.
Obediently, she rose, and the grey-hair began to use her as a lecturing tool. Though only an hour before jealous of a student in this situation, now all Carolyn could do was wish to be elsewhere. The topic was on corporal punishment, in its several forms. Spanking, caning, whipping, paddling, and so on. No strike hit her rear, all stopping before contact, but the constant sharp breeze as the instructor waved implements around made her shiver, and shake, and moan.
And the wetness trickled down her thighs to darken her stockings, obvious to all in the room, adding to her shame. The descriptions were vivid, almost painful by themselves. And then the woman pulled down Carolyn's underwear.
She whimpered, and tears striped her cheeks, but she made no protest. Your place is to obey. And she had chosen this. A tickling came, and she flinched, but tried to stay still. The old woman was drawing on her ass! Her jaw fell when she figured it out. The lecture continued, Carolyn flushing hotter than before.
"Enough!” The voice was sharp. Carolyn started. What had she done wrong?
"Rise."
She rushed to comply.
"You've smeared my lines with your juices. What is the second law?"
Carolyn frowned. She'd only received the rules the day before, and it hadn't exactly been boring; she'd had no time to study, yet. “I don't know,” she was forced to reply, and Mistress Bertha scowled. The rest of the class winced, knowing what came next.
"The second law, foolish child, is as follows, and I suggest you take heed. ‘Pleasure and pain come from Their hands, and by Their will.’ You are not to experience pleasure save when ordered to, do you understand?"
Carolyn nodded, emphatic, afraid of this ancient woman's ire. Why am I so scared? And so wet? What's she done to me? But, really, she'd been aroused since coming here. “Sensations beyond belief,” she had been promised, and here they were. This place was something she'd never have conceived. In her old life, sex was something kept behind closed doors, with the lights out. Now, people she hadn't met could do things to her. This frail old woman could command her, and she would obey. And enjoy it, apparently, though it was against the rules.
I smeared her ink. Carolyn stifled her laugh, but the smile escaped.
"You find this amusing?” The grey-hair's voice was calm. The threat was all in the undertones, but it was there. Carolyn heard it, and shook her head, but knew she was doomed. Everyone knew it, and they waited for the ax to fall; small murmurings came from the students as the old one flourished an oddly shaped bit of metal.
"I wonder if you'll find this, too, amusing,” she said as she crooked a finger for Carolyn to come nearer. “Spread your labia, and hold them open wide."
Carolyn bit her lip, swallowing her moan. Your place is to obey. She pulled her shoulders back. Ignoring the flush still spreading over her body, she did as she was commanded, trying to be calm. Her breath hitched, but she paid it no attention, her focus on the woman giving orders. Your place is to obey. She would not fail.
The old woman moved her this way and that, like a toy, a doll. Carolyn let her eyes roam the room, though they shied away from faces. There, in the door, stood a long, lean length of a man. Her eyes traveled up from the boots to the well-worn jeans. A soft silk shirt lapped over a leather belt. Strong shoulders, big hands. A face from her wildest dreams.
Literally. This was the man she had seen as the hero in her fantasies, in every role from Prince Charming to the Pirate Definitely Without a Heart
of Gold, and everything in between. Strong chiseled jaw, neat mustache, white pointed teeth. Cheekbones like cliffs, twinkling eyes. One brow quirked higher than the other.
Her heart skipped a beat; she did not notice. All the world fell away. There was no room for it in her awareness, only him. His eyes roved over her, and then he looked away, turned and left; she felt his absence like a physical pain.
"Wait!” She didn't mean to speak, to move, but could not help herself. He was gone!
The old woman pinched her clitoris between sharp fingernails. Carolyn yelped, focus instantly returned to the classroom and her fate. The device was being calibrated, she was told; she must be still. Another pinch convinced her it was wisest to obey, but her heart yearned to follow after the man.
She paid little attention to the adjustments which followed, or the lecture, her mind filled with his image, wondering who he was. Hoping she'd see him again soon, and plotting ways to find him.
The old woman gave up at last, and sent her back to her seat.
* * * *
Halfway through dinner, Carolyn became aware of the world again. She was eating, though she had no memory of selecting food. Her sex was swollen, and there was something hard there, holding her open, intruding barely within. Her stockings were stiff, and her panties were quite soaked.
"Who was that man?"
Her tablemates looked at her, wondering.
"Standing in the doorway, in Discipline,” she explained, sighing. Her words cut off with a yelp as she felt a bright sharp pain. “Something bit me!” She lifted her skirt to stare at ... a chastity belt? A silvery triangle covered her mound, curving to hug her curves faithfully. I look like a Barbie doll, she thought. Smooth ‘round the bend. Her nerves told her more about the shape than her eyes could convey—the inside was not smooth, but molded with small ridges and protrusions. It wasn't uncomfortable so much as disconcerting, this object in such intimate contact that it kept her from the world. “What is this?"
"Damn, girl, where you been the past hour? Ain't you hear a word old Bertha say?"
Another student chimed in. “Aww, don't you remember your first days? Don't worry, Carolyn, you'll get used to it. Some day. That thing you've got on is an Enforcer. It shocks you when you flow."
"Flow?” Carolyn shrugged her shoulders, wrinkled her nose. “I don't..."
The student laughed. “When you become aroused. It's to enforce the second law, which is why the teachers named it what they did. However wet you were when it was calibrated, that's how much it allows. Anything more than that, you get a shock, stronger the wetter you are. So you learn some restraint."
"Hah!” Jack joined in from her end of the table. “You learn to enjoy the pain, if you have any sense at all. There's no way you can be here and not be aroused, and the teachers know it. Hell, they designed the place. The real point to that thing—some of us students call it a Jitterbug—is just to keep you from coming. They want you on pins and needles all the time, and so do we. Admit it; if we didn't enjoy the feeling, we wouldn't be here."
The conversation continued, argument and agreement. Carolyn sat and listened, for the most part, wincing now and then. The device did seem designed for both pain and pleasure, with a ridge set between her lips just nudging her clitoris. Friction made her wet, which made it shock her, which stopped the production of fluid for a bit. But then she'd move, and rub against the ridge, and it started all over again.
By the end of the meal, she was almost resigned to her position. They were devious, the teachers, and she was glad of it. They would teach her things she'd never even imagined; right now, she was learning to dance the Jitterbug. She wondered what the evening would hold, and was eager to find out, hoping that the man she had seen earlier would appear again.
She flowed just at the thought of him, and was shocked, and the students jeered and laughed. Sympathy, envy, cruelty, each according to their nature, they all showed their emotions on their faces, and their desire. All of them burned with arousal, no matter their words. Looking around, Carolyn noted the same look in every eye. Teacher or student—all bound by desire. It made her feel drunk, even as she blushed from shame. She didn't like being the center of attention, and they were all staring at her. But the way they were looking ... that she didn't mind a bit. If only there weren't so many of them! She felt trapped by all the eyes, staring hot and wide.
Oh, help! She looked around the room, searching for escape. It was too much, the mix of feelings—she was embarrassed, and eager, and aflame. Please! She didn't know what she was looking for, but still she found it. There, at a corner table, sat the man of her dreams. He was sipping something, listening to his seatmate, oblivious to her, but her eyes locked on to him like the answer to her prayers.
Her insides melted, just at the sight of him, and the Enforcer sent its scolding shocking forth. She winced, and the students chuckled or clapped or told her to enjoy. She didn't even look at them. Let them watch, she thought. Let him.
A perverse imp of impulse made her grind against the seat. The Enforcer, unyielding, pressed hard into her mound and sent forth its electric scold. Again, a third time, and a fourth, faster, harder. She climaxed in time with the shock, screaming loud into the hall.
The shocks continued, making her body writhe. Spasming, gasping, eyes and mouth gaping wide. Calibrated with great care, it could not really hurt her, but it fired all it could, and her eyes rolled back in her head with the sensation.
Beyond pleasure, beyond pain, her whole body clenched in orgasm. Rictus smile stretching her face, she fell forward in her chair. The table might have been a pillow filled with goose down, from the way she sighed.
"Jitterbug,” she purred, and went to sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
LEARNING CURVE
She woke sometime in the night, the soft slap of flesh on flesh whispering through the air. It was dark; she could not see who, or what, made the noise, heard only the pleasure, smelled the musk in the breeze, and a slight hint of antiseptic. Sighs and moans and kisses lulled her back to sleep. In the morning, when the white-coated doctor woke her, her first thought was to look around the room. The infirmary, she decided. No mussed bed sheets met her eyes; she was left to wonder. And smile wryly when she realized how disappointed she was not to know.
She'd never cared before, what people did together. But now, she was curious. And envious. They had enjoyed themselves, whoever they had been; she wanted to feel the same, and more, and now. Sharp burning between her thighs told her not to be impatient; still, she yearned. This, she thought, is what life is all about.
The doctor released her to what he called a light schedule, and sent her to breakfast and classes after telling her to take care. Just before she left, he smeared a cream on her vaginal mound; she jumped at the cold touch, but made no sound of protest. Somehow, it didn't seem worth the effort. The chill faded quickly, and he waved her on her way. Dressing, she realized it had taken all her pain.
She whistled as she made her way to the dining hall, hunger spurring her steps till she got to the door. Sudden memory made her freeze. I can't go in there! Blood rushed to her cheeks as she remembered what everyone had seen. “Oh, no,” she moaned.
"Carolyn!” Jack shouted from a table, waving. Mortified, Carolyn shuffled to her chair. She choked down a few bites to the jests and jeers of the students, her tears flavoring her meal though she tried her best not to hear.
"Oh, hush,” a redheaded woman spoke from a nearby table. “We've all been through it. Don't worry, sugar; you adjust. Are you in much pain?” Carolyn shook her head, not daring to look up. “Well, then, just you get on with your studies. There's a great deal to learn!” The talk turned to classes, and homework, and teachers and tutors. Carolyn listened, desperate to know everything she could about this place. Who is he? Where can I find him? What will he expect?
The bell rang for class.
* * * *
She'd never liked history in high school, but they hadn't taug
ht it anything like this. Variously crafted phalluses were positioned around the room. The instructor held a box before the class. “Cleopatra's vibrator. Instead of electricity, she had buzzing bees.” The lesson included information about society, dress and custom and belief, money and politics. It was all fascinating, and all tied into sex. Carolyn was eager for the study period, and the chance to read her textbook. She'd never seen ancient Egyptian pornography!
The next class was in the language hall; she was told she'd be learning French. Her heart sank; she'd done poorly in that, too. But perhaps it would be like history had been, so different from her experience as to be almost alien. She stood in the doorway as class started, hoping against hope.
A beautiful sculpted woman lounged in a chaise at the front of the room. Love words rolled off her tongue like honey, heavy and golden. Carolyn's nipples tightened purely in reflex, the voice so intimate it seemed to caress her ears. A man in his twenties raised his hand, and the woman gestured. He stood, uniform shorts tented out over an impressive erection, and spoke a few words, in French, presumably. Carolyn had never learned to understand more than a handful of words. Whatever he said, it seemed to amuse the woman, who laughed and purred something that made him come where he stood. The class didn't seem surprised, but rather sympathetic. Carolyn got the idea this teacher didn't enforce the second rule.
She stepped inside. The numbness was beginning to fade from her core, and soreness intruded, but she made her way to an empty desk and gingerly sat down. The woman said something, and the man at the desk beside her replied and bent his head to Carolyn's ear. “We'll meet after supper, and I'll help you get caught up. For now, just listen.” He turned his face forward, expression rapt, as the woman declaimed.
Though she could not understand a word, Carolyn, too, listened. That voice! With the return of soreness came a throbbing she was beginning to get used to. It all melted together, until she felt like she was living in a dream.
If I'm dreaming, don't wake me up. Even with the pain and the humiliation, she had never felt as alive as she did then. Her skin tingled with expectation as she waited for what came next, hoping it would be a chance to see the man of her dreams.
