The Schooling of Carolyn [Academy for Discipline #1]

by Pearl Jones

  "Did you enjoy it?"

  "I ... yes, I guess. It was a pleasant dream, at least.” She heard what he was saying. She had been told when she arrived here. Your place is to obey. You are to be accessible, subservient, accepting. Pleasure and pain will come to you; the choice is no longer yours. She had sworn the oath. Enjoying without permission was now a transgression. She bowed her head.

  "Follow.” Rising from his desk, he opened a door she had not noticed, and led the way down a dimly-lit hall. Another door led to a room decorated in early medieval. A torture chamber, she supposed. There was a large block of stone at the center, toward which he directed her after commanding her to strip.

  He clapped his hands, and an attendant appeared. Like all of them, this one was robed, masked, gloved, she could not even tell gender or race. Anonymous. No words were spoken; the attendant tapped her firmly behind the knee, and she knelt. He pulled her wrists forward until she was bent over the stone, breasts crushed beneath her, then fastened cuffs to pull her taut. Moving behind her, he bound her ankles in some way, forcing her to splay herself most uncomfortably, her pelvis pushed against the stone, thighs turned slightly inward. She was trapped.

  "I know you are new—come here, so I shall explain this, once. For any correction in which you are not gagged, you count the strokes aloud. Should you lose count, begin again at one. Following the correction, you give thanks, confess, and apologize. Do you comprehend?"

  "I-I think so. Count, thanks, confess, apologize. Is that correct?” He did not reply, unless the sound of his footsteps leading away meant something. Tense, afraid, in pain and discomfort which would soon become pain, she waited.

  Slap! Sharp, but not unbearable, the first stroke hit her left butt cheek. “One!” she cried, startled. Count each stroke aloud. Two through ten alternated, left, then right, smarting, stinging, but not really hurting. Carolyn began to believe she could get through this.

  "Eleven!” The count was forced from her as the blow pushed her into the stone she was pressed against. The same instrument, but now wielded with a punishing strength. By twenty-five, she was hoarse from screaming, sure she was bleeding, her ass raw. “Twenty-six,” she rasped.

  He paused. Drawing the edge of the paddle between her legs, he observed a quantity of fluid. “You enjoy even this,” he murmured, almost too softly for her to hear over her own sobbing. Chuckling as a flush spread down her back, he continued, putting more force into each successive stroke.

  "Forty-nine,” she whimpered. Limp within her bonds, totally defeated, she waited. Pleasure and pain will come to you. She could not remember pleasure, only this. It seemed it had gone on forever, would continue until the end of time. She knew only pain.

  "Fifty!” The stroke hit the bottom center of her ass, where none of the others had. Up and in it pushed, her flesh quivering, pelvis thrust against the stone, grinding, breasts tearing across the sandpaper surface. Her ribs, thighs, knees, shoulders all voiced protest, but she could not distinguish. It was all, simply, pain.

  He clapped again. The attendant came, released her bonds, stood back. Dazed, she lay there a moment. Thanks. Failure to obey would mean punishment. She could not take any more. She pushed herself up from the stone, and, lacking the strength to stand, crawled to him. On her knees, hands behind her head, clasped tightly so she would not let them fall, she croaked her thanks: “Thank you, sir, for the attention you have shown me. For taking the time and effort to correct me with your own hand.” What next? Confess, apologize. “I deeply regret my transgression. Pleasure comes from your hand, as does pain, and I was not given leave to enjoy. I apologize for my error, in enjoying without your command.” Whew! Where did those words come from? Was it enough? Does he want more?

  "Rise."

  She struggled to her feet, hands still behind her head.

  "Present."

  She did not understand, just stood there, feet apart, waiting.

  He sighed. “After a correction, you display the part of your body attended to.” He chuckled softly, smiled. “Show me your ass."

  She turned her back to him and bent over. Prayed she wouldn't fall. His hand clutched a cheek, fingers digging in, making her whine high in her throat. A finger dipped below, scooped some of the plentiful moisture gathered in her core, stroked backward.

  "Please, no,” she whispered.

  He paid no heed, not even to admonish her for speaking out of turn. Firmly, he pressed in, his finger so much larger than her own. First knuckle, second, third, all in a single push.

  She couldn't breathe. Impaled on his digit, she gasped, hating the clench of her sphincter around him, body weak from strain and punishment, and seconds away from orgasm. Her thighs were wet, heart racing. Each heartbeat tightened her around him. She began to cry.

  He pulled his finger from her, turned away. Snapping, he brought the attendant closer, and gave instructions. “Bathe her, shave her cunt, then call me.” The attendant nodded, reached out, and grabbed her nipple in a gloved hand. Gasping, she straightened with the tug, and was led from the room. Her only thought was panicked. He didn't give me permission to leave! But the pain was too great to resist.

  It was a large chamber, unlike anything she had ever seen. There were shower heads mounted at odd levels, a hot tub large enough for a football team with seating at several heights, bidets, toilets, oddly-canted tables and things she could not begin to classify. She was led painfully to something much like a kiddy-pool, with manacles hanging above. Exhausted from her recent ordeal, she found it difficult to raise her arms long enough to be fastened, but a sharp twist and tug on her abused nipple lent her strength. Her attendant was joined by another, also robed and masked and gloved, and the two cleaned her as thoroughly and impersonally as possible. She gasped as water was forced into her vagina, but it did not linger long enough to bring her much pleasure. She sighed as her breasts were laved, soothing the burn left by the stone to which she'd so recently been bound, but her nipples were in no way stroked. She'd been thoroughly depilated on her arrival, all except a triangle of glossy hair, which the attendants now removed with a straight razor. It was waved before her eyes to encourage her to be still; she was. When they had finished, they left her there, naked as a child, alone, wrists fastened above her. Afraid. Aching. Ashamed. And aroused.

  It wasn't really cold in the room, merely a bit cool to be standing around unclothed. Carolyn shivered, making the chains above her rattle. The sound echoed in the tiled room. She shifted her weight slightly, trying to relieve the strain, and that sound, too, bounced off the walls. Each sigh seemed louder than the last.

  There's nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. No one here to punish you, to inflict pain. Enjoy the break! It failed to convince. She was chained, helpless. Anyone could come in, do whatever they pleased to her. Just like the rest of this place. Physical chains are nothing. Accept what is, and endure.

  Shifting her weight again, she closed her legs, opening them the instant she realized what she had done. “The legs are to remain open at all times, seated or standing or lying down. This signifies accessibility and obedience.” She whispered the words aloud, one of many commands she had been required to memorize. Thinking through them all, murmuring softly, so as not to cause more echoes, she was not immediately aware that she was no longer alone.

  He stood before her, studying the scene; she followed his glance as best she could. Clean, newly shaven, faint marks of stone burn on her stomach and thighs, deeper on her breasts. Her knees were faintly bruised. Behind, her ass bright red and bruise-dark, two blotches nearly black with blood. She winced at what she could see—the pain seemed suddenly worse, as though the sight made it somehow more real—and wondered if she'd ever be able to sit down again.

  Moving to the wall, he turned a dial. The chains descended from the ceiling; her arms dropped before her. Detaching the bracelets from the chain, he pulled her by the cuffs to a metal table. Patted it, as he would a chair, inviting a pet to jump up.


  Wearily, she clambered to the top. He fastened the cuffs to the head of the table. When she tried to lie flat, he smacked her ass. She squeaked her pain, but remained still, awkwardly kneeling forward. He bent her elbows, allowing her to take some of her weight on her forearms. Her knees he fastened to the sides of the table, just enough wider than her hips to be uncomfortable, but not enough to be truly painful. She hung her head, almost too tired to be afraid.

  "I owe you a correction,” he said, as if continuing a conversation, “but it will have to wait. You are to be cleansed now; after, I will have instructions for you. I know this will be difficult for you, but it will go easier if you relax.” There were sounds, as of wheels on a floor, soft squirts, a susurration. A cold pressure at her anus.

  "No!” She gasped, a rejection, a plea. Her head turned back to him. “Please, no more. I can't.” Crying again.

  He smiled. “That's two.” A pinch to her beaten ass made her breath catch, and she subsided. “You can do anything I tell you to. Your place is to obey."

  Distantly, she wondered how much time had passed, how much longer she had to stay in this place, how many months she had been in chains. Though she could not remember sleep or food since waking in the dormitory, it seemed weeks had passed since then. How long was I on the rock? she wondered. How long in this room?

  A probing at her sphincter, cold, slick. Thinner than her finger, it slipped in, she objecting to the intrusion but making no outcry. Then warmth inside her. Oddly pleasant at first; she had been chilled. Pressure came, high in her gut, making her moan. She did not understand what was happening. A greater pressure, and a gurgling noise from inside her. “Ow,” she whispered, knowing it was not permitted, wishing instead to scream. “Mm.” She felt like a balloon, stretching around something. Craning her head around, she could see a pole, and a tube. Looking down, she tried to see between her legs, but her stomach, large as a pregnant woman's, blocked her sight. An enema!

  She was aghast, horrified, but not surprised. She had heard they were not supposed to hurt, but had never believed that, anyway. This hurt. She felt she would explode, but knew he would not allow that. The point was pain, or humiliation, or maybe simply cleanliness. Death was no part of the bargain she had made.

  The pressure seemed to level off, then returned with greater force. She whined, pushing back against the hose, but could not force it out. Panting, she felt waves moving inside her, heard sloshing, and then the pain lessened.

  "The nozzle's a special design,” he said calmly. “Hurts a bit coming out, but you can take it. This way, you can do the cleansing and the retention all at once. I'll be back in twenty.” He patted her on a bruised cheek, and left the room. The tears flowed in waves like the pain.

  He returned, eventually, and did something which tilted the table. Frantic, she grasped the edge with her cuffed hands. She felt like she was going to fall off, her knees spread wide, no way to grasp with her feet, her center of gravity pulling her back toward nothing but air. Holding herself up as best she could, she barely heard his words. “I'm going to pull the plug now, and you're going to release the fluid. I want you to push it all out, you hear?” He didn't wait for a response, just yanked the nozzle from her body.

  She shrieked at the new pain, and a rush of foul-smelling liquid rushed from her body. Straining, she pushed, spewing more and more. How much had she held? She could still feel some. And the stench! He reached around her and massaged her left side. More fluid escaped. Finally, when nothing more would come, he hosed her off with soapy water, and leveled the table again.

  "Round two,” he said quietly as he reinserted the nozzle. She lost her temper all at once—all her pain and fear and disgust and frustration boiling up from somewhere before she had any idea what she really felt—and began to scream curses at him. “And that's three.” He started the flow of solution, asked one question, and left the room. It was a long time before the fluid stopped flowing into her, and even longer before she stopped crying. His words echoed in her mind, unforgettable, undeniable. “Your cunt is dripping, did you know?"PAGEBREAK

  CHAPTER SIX

  ALL PLUGGED UP

  An attendant helped her off the table and to a toilet, removed the nozzle. She didn't have the strength to moan. She massaged her belly as best she could, still cuffed, pushing fluid from herself until she was finally emptied. Drained in more senses than one, she couldn't even stand on her own, and had to be propped against a wall beneath the shower heads. The attendant scrubbed her clean, hosed her off, dried her. Caressed her, in passing. Her breath caught.

  He or she dressed her, after a fashion: A cape of some sheer material, draped across her shoulders and belted. High-heeled shoes with wide ankle straps. Nothing else. Thus clothed, she was led back to the office, where her tutor sat again behind his desk, holding a small rubber object.

  "Sit."

  It was not an invitation. She collapsed into the chair, still weak, only to jump up as her bruised, abused ass hit the seat. Without looking in his direction, she warily lowered herself. Spread her legs.

  "I told you I'd have instructions. This is an anal plug. You will be wearing it for the next twenty-four hours. At this time tomorrow, you will again report to me here. You may not masturbate, nor allow yourself to be touched. Now, catch!” He threw the plug, which she caught awkwardly. Twice as large around as his finger, it seemed impossibly wide to her. The tip was rounded as a cock head, and there was a slight indentation near the bottom end. It lay heavy in her cuffed hands.

  "Suck it."

  Gulping, she obeyed, laving the horrid object with her tongue, layering it with saliva.

  "Insert it."

  She slid forward in the chair, wincing at the pain in her ass. Grasping the plug by the bottom, she placed it at her rear entrance, then paused. Looking pleadingly in his direction, she waited. No reprieve was spoken. Squealing even before she began to push, she inserted the plug completely. She felt the stretch, a fearful burning; the hateful clench as her body seized on the narrowest part as though to hold it in place.

  The pain was almost welcome. It's unnatural. It should hurt. She refused to think of why she felt the need to tell herself any such thing, but looked to her tutor once she was sure it was all the way in.

  "Good.” It was the first time he'd spoken that word to her; she was surprised at the leap of her heart. And her clit. “Sit up straight, please.” She complied, gingerly. Stretched around the plug, she felt each pulse of her heart in her sphincter. She supposed, dimly, that she ought to be grateful for the enema, if she was to be plugged for a day, but it seemed too much to ask of herself. She would have slumped in her chair, exhausted, but her rubber intruder kept her upright. She breathed shallowly, holding as still as could be.

  "How does it feel?"

  Too tired for indignation, she hissed. “I hate it. But you know that."

  "Yes, I do.” He smiled like a cat. Not a Cheshire cat, a well-fed lion. “How does it feel?"

  "Like a burning brand, how do you think?” She wanted to raise her voice, to shout, but had no energy left to fight. The thought of punishment was no deterrent now; she couldn't imagine that anything could be worse than crouching dog-fashion on a table while oceans of water pushed inside her. Remained inside her, washing away her strength. She had no fire left, she felt, it had all been soaked away.

  "Still feisty? Perhaps you need another cleansing."

  She gasped, shaking her head frantically, and began to stammer an apology. Not that! He held up a hand, and she ceased. Your place is to obey, she told herself. Do not push him.

  "Come here."

  She leapt up and toward him all in a single movement, fear lending her a bit of strength. At his direction, she stood, legs apart, and laboriously raised her bound hands above her head, then pushed them back behind her neck. Losing her balance on the heels, she fell back against the desk, sitting down hard. She whimpered.

  "That will do.” He pushed her legs farther apart, forcing more weight
down on her ass. The bruised flesh complained, but she was far more disturbed by the shifting of the plug within her. It pushed forward, against the flesh which formed a shared wall with her vagina. Disgusted as she was by the intrusion, still, it felt ... good. Better than good.

  Her legs were far enough apart now that her newly denuded crotch rubbed against the desk. Cool polished wood caressed her, and she rubbed herself against it, unconscious of the movement. He raised a brow, but did not move to stop her. She ground down; the motion caused the plug to move. She pushed harder.

  "What are you doing?” He sounded faintly amused.

  She inhaled sharply. “I-I am sorry. I-I don't know what happened. I just ... was trying to find my balance."

  "Really? And that's why my desk is slimy now?” He didn't sound amused any longer.

  "Please. Please, I can't take any more. Get this thing out of me, please! I'll...” she trailed off. I'll do anything, she had been going to say, but she'd already made that promise, and here she was begging to break it. “I'm sorry, it's just too much.” She hung her head, ashamed. A failure already. Failing him.

  "Lie back.” His voice was so soft, it took a moment for her to understand. “Feet on the table, here.” The straps on the heels had a purpose, she realized. He fastened her down, spread wide; arms cuffed behind her head, she was opened to whatever whim might strike him. At least he won't be putting things up my ass. She smiled bleakly.

  "Just this once,” he whispered in her ear. He sat in his chair, reached out a single hand, and stroked her clit. Nothing more was needed; she came instantly. The orgasm pulsed through her system, radiating out from her core. She was shocked by its intensity, its duration. Its focus. Her body clenched around the plug, caressing, welcoming.