by Pearl Jones
Disgust, and shame, and pain, and pleasure. All at once. She wept, and begged for more.
"Not now. Go to lunch, go to your classes. I'll see you tomorrow.” He released her, helped her to stand. She walked to the door in a daze. Had an attendant not met her in the hall, she would have gone to lunch still cuffed and dressed in nothing but a cape and heels. And anal plug, of course.
* * * *
Carolyn felt like a stranger in her own body. Stretched around an anal plug—disgusting thing, she thought—newly cleansed by a painful enema session, glowing with aftershocks of a glorious orgasm, and primed for many more. Her ass ached; sitting was torture. The plug shifted with her every moment, and she could not remain still. What was happening to her?
"Punishment drill, eh?” A vaguely familiar-looking student leaned across the table, looked deep into her face, and nodded. She poured a glass of water. “Here, drink this. You probably need it.” Carolyn nodded her thanks, unable to find words. “It gets easier, or you get used to it, or something. Have you eaten today?” Carolyn shook her head, uncertain. What day is it? she wondered, but could not gather the strength to ask. The other woman rose from the table, appearing again in a moment with a mug of creamy soup. “Easier than solids. Go on, take it.” She folded Carolyn's hands around the cup, waiting until Carolyn took a sip to return to her seat.
Carolyn managed to drink the soup, and found the strength thereafter to nibble a bit of bread. Her companion nodded encouragement and introduced herself. Sherry was a redhead with the characteristic peaches and cream complexion of an English countrywoman and breasts like pillows stretching her shirt. A junior, she was eager to be “out in the world,” though she planned to return from time to time. “To keep my hand in, don'cha know,” she laughed. She smiled a lot, and Carolyn found herself grinning in return. Reaching for a roll, Sherry's shirt gapped open, a button slipped free of its buttonhole.
Carolyn gasped in shock at the weights depending from Sherry's nipples. “Doesn't that hurt?"
"Of course. That's the point.” Sherry laughed, unconcerned. “'Pain and pleasure will come to you,'” she quoted. Shaking her shoulders gently to make her breasts jiggle, she continued, “I've got a full pound of weights on today, and they'll probably add another after supper. From my nipples again, or from my labia. Makes a good display, don'cha think?"
Carolyn could only gape. Display! Was that to be her future here? She couldn't imagine the pain, the torment, she would feel in Sherry's place. The humiliation was only too clear. At least the plug is inside, she thought, then castigated herself. There is nothing good about that thing. No matter what you might have felt, things are not supposed to go back there! It's unnatural. Disgusting.
It had felt kind of nice, rubbing against her vaginal wall from the other side. Intense. Remembering, she squirmed in her seat, the ache of her ass and the internal caress combining in an odd sort of pleasure-pain. She pushed down into her chair.
"I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to do that,” Sherry remarked. Carolyn looked up. “They usually tell you outright not to masturbate, but even when they don't, you're not allowed to pleasure yourself. ‘Pleasure and pain,’ remember?"
"I-I wasn't...” Carolyn couldn't continue. Wasn't what? Pleasuring herself? Of course she was. No matter what she might feel about the idea, she was enjoying the way the plug felt. But it's not right!
And the whispered thought came, Says who? Her mouth dropped open.
Sherry smiled, shook her head, and reached for a piece of fruit. The rest of the meal passed in silence. Carolyn spent the time trying to convince herself that the anal plug within her didn't exist—in which case, she wouldn't have to decide how she felt about it. As her body kept repositioning itself to accommodate the object, she didn't have much success.
* * * *
Freshman orientation was taught by a man no more than twenty-one; Carolyn had trouble thinking of him as a teacher when she saw him in the halls, but in his classroom, he was perfectly in control. She wondered about that. Was that something that could be taught? Was it taught at the Academy?
Is it something they teach in the outside world? And why didn't anyone ever teach me?
Not that it mattered anymore, but it bothered her to think of it. Would her life have been different if she'd had the right teachers? Well, I have good ones now. Even if I haven't learned how to masturbate yet. She'd sat in on an evening workshop, but been forbidden to participate.
Orientation was concerned largely with The Rules; regulations, commands, litanies. Obedience. Carolyn had no trouble memorizing the rules, but following them was another matter entirely. And drained by her experiences and the constant stimulation of the plug in her ass, she was having difficulty staying awake.
The teacher decided to make her an object lesson for the rest of the class. “Carolyn, over.” By the hand motion, that meant “bend over the table,” so she did. Her skirt raised above her ass, and gasps from behind her told her that her underwear concealed bruising as poorly as it did anything else. “Plugged, I see,” he mused. “Face the class, and describe your transgression."
Turning to obey, Carolyn wondered at the phrasing. Was plugging, then, a punishment? Was she not supposed to enjoy it? A secret thrill ran through her. “Another student used her mouth on me while I slept. My transgression was enjoying the attention; you see the attention my tutor gave me.” Too late, she worried how that might sound. “This was fifty strokes."
"Next time, perhaps you will remember the second rule. Raise your skirt, and display yourself again."
She did, blushing. The teacher began to discuss technique, using her bruises as a teaching aid. “This pattern here shows considerable skill, strike after strike falling in the same location. It provides a longer-lasting pain, sometimes in excess of one week, while causing no scarring, skin-splits, or other permanent damage. Call it a very palpable reminder not to disobey. This single strike here...” Impossible as it seemed, Carolyn fell asleep. The teacher woke her at the end of class with a pinch to the worst-bruised area.
Somehow, she made it through the rest of her schedule without mishap. Sherry sat with her again at dinner, and told jokes and stories to keep her awake until dismissal. She had nowhere to report that evening, and gratefully took to her bed, asleep before her head hit the pillow. She spared no thought for the anal plug still lodged within her; it felt completely natural.
She woke with the bell. Moving to sit up, she froze and gasped. Pain—there was something inside her! A moment later, she remembered the anal plug. Moving gingerly, she gathered her things together to head for the bathroom. She felt swollen around the plug, distended. Had it gotten larger? Waddling, stepping carefully, she entered the shower. As other students jostled for hot water, for soap, she crept along a wall, praying no one would bump into her.
"Ah!” She gasped as someone's elbow brushed her hip.
The woman turned, puzzled, then, seeing her stance, smiled gently. “First time with an overnight, eh? No worries.” She moved off, leaving Carolyn to ponder her remark. Overnights were uncomfortable for everyone, it seemed. And common, to be so soon recognized. Her heart sank.
Dressing was an ordeal; she felt impaled. Natural movement was not possible; her center of gravity seemed to have shifted back a few inches. She was graceless, and knew it, and hated it. Not secret at all, this horrid plug, some part of her sourly observed. She wanted it out, wanted it gone, wanted to feel her sphincter closed, not stretched around a foreign invader. She wanted to be able to slouch, to twist, to bend. And she could not.
Part of her wondered at the shift. It had not seemed so bad the night before. Why had her body not adapted? Not that she wanted to adapt to such an unnatural internal companion, but it seemed strange that it was worse in the morning. With no appetite for breakfast, and neither Sherry nor Jack to be found, she toyed with her meal, exiting the dining hall as soon as possible.
Class served to distract her a bit; they were studying the stru
cture of the male organ in Intro to the Body. While not a virgin, Carolyn had never truly examined a cock before, having been of the lights-out, missionary-only contingent. Or at least, married to a man who was. God, did I ever think about it at all?
Students at the Academy were expected to do more than just think about sex; she was beginning to realize she was expected to do anything and everything. "Sensations beyond belief.” And experiences I'd never have dreamed.
Look at it! It jumped. She nearly managed to forget about her unwanted internal guest until the discussion moved to things anal.
"The prostate,” Grace said, “can trigger orgasm despite the unwillingness of the subject male. Observe.” The subject, spread-eagle on a display frame, bit his lip as the instructor inserted a lubricated finger. His half-erect cock sprung up as the internal massage progressed, orgasm following perhaps a minute later. Spent, he hung from his bonds, panting. His sperm had reached even the back rows. He sobbed.
Grace wiped her finger clean, and continued. “This subject's display results in a punishment he knows well, and despises. Despite this, and despite the fact that he has a personal animus towards me, he was unable to prevent orgasm. You will all learn this technique. In passing, it should be mentioned that while women do not possess the identical anatomy, many women can also be sparked to orgasm by anal stimulation, despite—or, often, because of—distaste for any such action.” The instructor smiled in Carolyn's direction, and she flushed, squirming. The pain of her ass, today several shades of blue and red, served only to inflame her desire. The more she moved, the more welcome the plug became to her, the rubbing within her almost like intercourse. Her juices flowed, soaking her underwear. Her nipples tightened, her breathing quickened. Panting, she forced herself to stillness. Grace paused beside her chair, raised a brow. Leaning close, he whispered, “Because of, in your case."
Flushing red-hot, she came.
* * * *
Orgasm during class, without permission. She shuddered to think what her punishment would be. Orgasm from an anal plug; she blushed still more with shame. Grace said nothing to her beyond commanding her to confess her transgression at her appointment. She was sent on to her next class as though nothing had happened, still sticky with her juices. Still plugged. It felt not at all unwelcome now, physically. Mentally, emotionally, she still thought it unnatural, but she had to admit that it stimulated her.
Walking the hall to class, she swayed her hips side to side, feeling the plug shift with each step. By the time she reached her destination, she was well on her way to another illicit orgasm. Whispers greeted her at the door; those students from the last class telling others what she had done. The teacher, too, seemed already to have heard: Carolyn was given a seat on a high stool in the front corner of the room. With no desk, she had perforce to balance her notebook on a thigh, crouching forward against the plug, or raising a leg high to form a desk, opening herself fully to view. It was quite uncomfortable, and quite a spectacle. The attention of much of the class ensured she would not accomplish any surreptitious rubbing. She knew she was displaying herself, and had no choice. The stool was hard, rubbing her bruised ass, forcing the plug deep. She couldn't help her arousal, the shame seemed only to drive it higher. By the end of class, she was shaking from need, exhausted from the strain of her position, and there was a puddle of her juices beneath the stool.
Thank God, time for my appointment! She waddled as fast as she could.
Carolyn stood before the office door, shaking. Confession led to punishment, and she was unsure she could take another punishment. Her ass ached even standing; sitting tortured her bruised flesh, and there was the oddly pleasant torment of the anal plug within her. Weak with conflicting desires—to run, to cry, to lean against a wall and pleasure herself, permissions be damned—she breathed as hard as if she'd run a marathon. Her thighs were sticky with residues of need past and present.
The door opened before her. “Were you intending to knock?” He stood backlit, looming, haloed, his face in darkness. Her knees weakened, as they always did when she saw him, heard his voice, felt the heat coming off him. Not waiting for an answer, he motioned her to follow, and led the way to the tiled chamber where yesterday she'd been stretched by enemas at his command. She entered reluctantly, remembering pain, but unable to defy him. Your place is to obey.
"Strip. Remove the plug, clean it. There is an enema bag readied; set the timer for ten minutes. Massage your stomach in a circular pattern, lower right to upper left. Release it, shower, bring the plug back to my office.” He turned with no further word, and left. She stood, mouth gaping, wondering. Why had he led her here, instead of sending an attendant? Why had he given those orders? Was she to ... oh, God, no. He can't mean for me to leave my clothes here. I can't just walk the halls naked. Though she had seen no one the last time she'd traveled that hall, just the thought of exposure made her shake with fear. She could imagine it, every shameful step, naked, blushing, brandishing an anal plug. No!
Yes. Your place is to obey.
Her hands shaking, she moved to do as he had commanded. Removing the plug, she gasped at the sensation as her anus contracted around empty air. It felt oddly bereft. Replacing it with the enema tube was not as hard as she would have thought, but the rush of fluid soon bent her over, cramping. Remembering, she set the timer, then began to massage her belly, feeling it stretch under her hands until the bag was empty, and she was full.
The cramps were not as bad this time. Perhaps there was less fluid, or perhaps she was adjusting. Horrible thought. Fluid moved with her motion, circles gently encouraging the flow upward, deeper into her. She felt she was being molded into some new pattern or form.
The timer rang, giving her permission to release, to shower. She spent a long time cleaning herself, trying to still the trembling in her knees. At last, fearing delay would result in further punishment, she dashed down the corridor, unclothed, bearing the plug before her. This time, she didn't hesitate at the door, knocking as soon as it was within reach.
He waited a moment before answering.
Taking the plug from Carolyn's shaking hand, he replaced it with one a size larger. “You'll not report to me tomorrow, but the day after, at this time. Until then, wear this. If there is nothing further..."
She dropped her gaze to the floor. “Sir, forgive me, please, I have a confession to make. I experienced release without permission in class this morning.” Not looking up, though she knew she was supposed to, she related the sordid tale briefly. No sound met her straining ears but her own breathing. He might have been a statue. Finally, she looked up.
"An orgasm? What prompted this?” He wasn't frowning, or smiling. An eyebrow slightly raised, nothing more.
"Grace, the instructor ... she said that some women experienced orgasm from anal stimulation. I was curious. I didn't mean to ... pleasure myself, I just wanted to know if it would be possible. And then she breathed on me. And I shook. And it ... it just ... happened. I really didn't mean to...” She trailed off. What more was there to say?
"She breathed on you?” His voice shook with ill-concealed laughter. “And did her breath perchance carry words?"
Carolyn dropped her eyes, blushing furiously. “She said I liked it because I didn't like it."
"And was she right?"
Carolyn looked up, anger suddenly boiling in her veins. “You know I hate it! That's why you do it! If you thought I liked having a giant rubber plug up my butt, you'd find something else to do to me.” She was so angry she was panting, and he smiled, not bothering to pretend he wasn't enjoying the picture she presented. Her blush didn't stop at her face, traveling down her neck to her breasts, accenting her distended nipples.
"And yet you came.” He sounded so smug it made her growl.
"Yes, damn you, I came! That's why you chose me, isn't it, that I get off on this shit?"
"Please don't be vulgar,” he murmured, motioning her to back up.
She looked down, surprised
to find she was leaning over his desk, her face inches from his. She stepped back as he spoke.
"You know quite well why you are here, and the terms of the agreement you made. I don't recall that tantrums were among the qualities you were told we look for.” He was smiling again.
"No.” She sighed, deflated. “I'm sorry.” She tried to read his face, could not. Waited, spreading her legs a bit more, hoping to impress him with her obedient posture.
He reached into a desk drawer, withdrew a bottle of oil. “Put that on the plug, then bend over the desk and insert it."
Gaping with surprise at the mildness of his tone, she rushed to obey, coating the plug liberally with the pleasantly-scented oil, then resting her chest against the desk, reaching back to open her cheeks. She pressed the plug in quickly, desperate to get the deed done, and squealed as the burning began.
"What?” She twisted to look at him, shock and pain widening her eyes, her ass dancing away from inescapable pain.
"Would you like to come now?” His voice was soft, almost a purr, as he leaned back drinking in the sight of her, squirming and panting before him.
"God! No! Yes!” She gasped out the words, unable to think past the searing. Pressing back, she tried to expel the plug, but the motion made her sphincter grasp more fiercely, and heat burned. She threw her weight from side to side, desperate to escape. “Yes,” she moaned, shame and need turning beneath the pain.
"Then do so.” She reached a hand, but he spoke a single word—"no"—and she withdrew it. She frowned, puzzled, wondering how she was expected to come, and gaped as the answer occurred to her. He wanted her to repeat her earlier performance, bearing down on the plug and using it to bring herself off.
"I can't,” she sobbed. “Please, don't make me.” Her traitorous body wriggled against the desk, frigging her clit against it even as she begged.
