by Pearl Jones
"Oh, of course I do,” Jennifer cried, one hand impulsively laid on Carolyn's shoulder. “You're just trying to keep me safe, and teach me. Thank you."
"Even for that?” Carolyn nodded slyly at the banana.
"Oh!” Blushing, Jennifer reached out her hand.
"No, leave it there until the bell rings. You really don't know the rules yet, do you?"
"I have to keep it inside?” Her cheeks flushed hotter. She shifted in her seat, pressing her legs closed, obviously aroused. Carolyn pinched a thigh sharply, making her gasp. “Oh, right. I forgot. Legs open, all the time.” She looked away, shifting again, grinding in her seat. “Thank you."
Carolyn smiled.
Convincing Jennifer to go along with her plan wasn't as hard as Carolyn had expected; more than anything, that ease convinced her the tutors had been right to let the young woman in. One night after dinner, she made a suggestion. “You need to make some friends among the students, you know."
"I don't really know how,” came the soft reply. “I mean, they all seem more or less happy here. And except for you, there's none of them I can talk to. They just don't understand."
"If this was any other sort of school, you'd try to make friends, wouldn't you?"
"Of course, but I, I'm so unhappy here. And no one except you has even tried to help."
"That's not true. Lots of us have, you just didn't accept.” Now Carolyn met Jennifer's startled gaze, nodding to emphasize her words. “We all know what it's like in the beginning, how hard it is to remember the rules. So we remind each other. Like I've done with you. Only mostly, we try not to make it so obvious. So we do little things instead, like pinch you when you're slouching.” She'd seen Tom do that to Jennifer more than once. No need to tell her he did it only for his pleasure; she'd be much happier if she thought it was kindly meant.
Jennifer's eyes filled with tears and overflowed.
God, I can't wait to give you something to cry about! But Carolyn kept her face solemn and let Jennifer cry. Wail about how she'd misjudged them all.
"You could do something nice for them, if you want.” The eager nod was enough of a reply. “How about a play? Something of an apology, a new student showing she understands. I'll do most of it, you just show what you've learned, end by thanking them for watching the show. You know, like you'd thank a tutor."
Jennifer seemed frightened, but Carolyn insisted it was a good idea. And as she'd come to expect, Jennifer agreed to it, her thighs misty as she said yes. “You know what's best."
Carolyn fairly dragged her unwitting victim to the study; her own thighs stuck as she walked. Her mind was filled with two images: her tutor staring at Jennifer, and Jennifer staring up at her, sobbing and squirming and coming like she would never stop. In her dreams, Jennifer was not a brunette.
"Go on, go ask him if you can dye your hair."
Jennifer balked in the study doorway, shaking in fear. “What if he asks why? What am I supposed to tell him?"
"Tell him it's to please him, of course. That you want to look good for him. Trust me.” Carolyn grinned evilly, knowing she couldn't see. “I know what I'm doing. It's for your own good."
Stance a little shaky, with fear or desire or likely both, Jennifer knocked on her tutor's study door. The command came: “In!” She gulped, looked back over her shoulder, then, at Carolyn's gesture, opened the door and went in.
Time passed, Carolyn entertaining herself discreetly. She wasn't allowed orgasm, or to masturbate, but she could rub up against things if she was careful, flex her muscles and tense them, and find some pleasure there.
The cry startled her; she rushed to the door, then froze. Do I knock? The cry came again. This time it was followed by a shout, a man's voice calling her name. She knocked, then opened the door, looked inside. Jennifer was standing before her tutor, head hanging low.
"You called, sir?"
"I thought you'd taught this girl the rules."
"As did I, sir. If I may?"
He waved a hand in permission, and she turned to Jennifer. “Tell me what happened, from the instant you walked into the room."
Jennifer knew what she'd done wrong, that much was clear. She stammered as she went over events. “He startled me, and I flinched, but I didn't mean to. I know I should be still for his touch."
And grateful, don't forget grateful! “Sir, if I might suggest?” She waited for the wave, deep breaths to keep her calm. “Permit me, sir, to pound the lesson into her flesh, that next time she will not forget.” She smiled at Jennifer, knowing the young woman was so trusting, she'd see the fire in her eyes as a message of hope. I am going to spank you, make you scream and cry, and you're going to thank me for it, and mean it, too. I wonder if I can spank you until you come?
The tutor gave his permission, and Carolyn told Jennifer to go over the desk, spreading her legs wide with kicks to the brunette's ankles the better to display that soft, inviting, pale ass. She lifted up the skirt, folded it and tucked it around Jennifer's waist, tugged the panties down ‘til they strained at her ankles. Staring a moment at the so-longed-for sight, she grinned, leaned over, and whispered into Jennifer's ear. “Thank him for every strike, each time I hit you. And ask for more. Trust me."
And then she stepped back, set her feet, and struck.
A paddle isn't as hard to use as a whip can be; by the fourth or fifth strike, Carolyn felt confident. Pull back, strike down, enjoy the slap and the jiggle, wait for the gasp to fade into words. “Thank you, sir, for correcting me. Please, sir, more. One more.” Only sometimes, it was, “Thank you, Carolyn."
Jennifer was obviously in pain, her ass pink and red, flinching away from the breeze, the strike. But her thighs were shiny, her labia plump, her jumps and flinches revealing her twisting, seeping sex. She rubbed herself on the desk, seeking relief. “Thank you, thank you, more, more. Thank you."
Carolyn and the tutor exchanged a triumphant grin. “Just a few more to go, I promise. But I need you to count them for me. Out loud. ‘One, thank you. Two.’ Okay?"
Jennifer sniffled and nodded and tried to stay still.
Carolyn stepped back again, winked at the tutor, and struck. Not on one cheek or the other, but full across them both, pounding with all her might into the cracked flesh. That impact, she knew, would be echoed in Jennifer's mound.
"One!” A yelp. “Thank you,” on a sigh.
She came on five, bucking back into the paddle. The sight was too much for Carolyn, who came herself. As did the tutor, sitting in his chair.
* * * *
Jennifer's tutor had given Carolyn complete control of the plans, and ordered the attendants to assist, as well. At her direction, they collected all the necessary materials. She had thought they would take care of everything including costuming, but instead, a few hours before the event, they led the way to a salon, complete with sinks and drying chairs and a stylist who shooed Carolyn into a waiting area.
She felt her jaw drop in admiration as the stylist led Jennifer into the room. “Marilyn,” she sighed. Platinum blonde, soft hairstyle, makeup, all of it perfect. Trembling lower lip, hesitant stance, a young naif waiting to be stroked into happiness.
"You like?"
Oh, my. Yes. “Yes, thanks. We'll, uh, see you later?” The stylist grinned and wandered off, muttering something about a good seat; Jennifer seemed not to have heard.
Carolyn snapped her fingers, and an attendant drew near. She whispered her needs. Turning to Jennifer, she smiled, spoke compliments, and watched the younger woman glow with sudden joy. “Your tutor will be very pleased with you.” The shoulders fell. “What's wrong?"
"He doesn't like me. He wishes he hadn't picked me after all.” Little-girl tones and shining eyes. Hoping the mascara wouldn't run, Carolyn stammered reassurances. But her mind was on the moment her tutor had chosen her.
"One there is who wants you. Go to him."
When he'd told her about the testing process, describing how each part worked, he'd left that
one out. But it was obvious now that she thought about it. She chuckled, then threw back her head and laughed. The secret of the Academy's success, right there. And the reason for Jennifer's problems, her struggles since she'd first arrived. The students chose!
And Jennifer had chosen someone stern, because that was what she needed—but more than sternness, she needed to be taken in hand, had to feel she was being cared for, no matter the form of that “care.” Well, easy enough to correct; it would take only a conversation with the man.
And what did you choose, Caro? A deep, shuddering breath. I chose what I needed, of course. Who I needed. Him. She thought of her tutor's hands, and his voice, and the way he looked at her, all heat and amusement and confidence and clarity. And how very much she loved the things he made her do, that she would never have tried without his command. I chose the one who sees me better than I do myself.
She bit her tongue to keep from moaning; clenched her hands into fists and savored the bite of her nails in her palms—anything to keep from coming. Her whole body thrummed with desire, with something deeper than that. More than anything, she wanted to run to him, to tell him what she had just realized. But he had set her a task, and she had not finished. She took a breath.
Jennifer was waiting, needing reassurance, needing to be stroked; she forced a smile. “He wouldn't have chosen you if he didn't know what you could be. And he's doing everything you need, even if you can't always see it. Trust in that.
"Why, he even gave permission for me to try to help you. Would he have done that if he didn't care?” The newly fair-haired Jennifer shook her head. “And you know I'm trying to help, right?” A nod. “So, if I'm trying to help, and he sent me to you..."
Jennifer smiled, a sudden bright expression like the sun coming from behind a cloud. “Then he does like me! Oh, Caro, thank you!"
Carolyn looked at Jennifer—her nipples thrusting half through the dress, the perfect thighs glistening when she moved—and smiled. She's ready. Time to make her scream. Her new awareness did nothing to mitigate her desires; she wanted, still, to punish Jennifer and force her to enjoy it, and though she knew it was partly out of jealousy, she didn't care. Why waste time on guilt? She'll love it. She just doesn't know it yet.
The attendant signaled that all was in readiness. Carolyn led the compliant young woman to the stage.
The auditorium was packed; Carolyn doubted a single person remained elsewhere on the grounds. Painfully aroused, she pretended calm and walked Jennifer through her lines, such as they were. Her stage bits. A silly bit of nonsense; the real entertainment was as carefully plotted, but Jennifer was unaware. Would remain so, until it was just a bit too late.
They began, and Jennifer played her part to perfection, earnest and honest and beautiful. Carolyn stalked across the stage like a hunting cat, herding the younger woman, who stopped just on her mark, legs spread, mouth barely open. And a gust of cold air came up from the stage floor.
The audience erupted into laughter as Marilyn's clone reenacted that famous scene, this time done without censoring. The skirt flew up, exposing her, and she struggled to force it down, hands racing to control the fabric, unsuccessfully. The air stream changed direction and force, so she had to guess where it would strike next. Her cheeks were flaming, chest heaving. Her thighs dripping wet. Her nipples threatening to tear through her dress.
Carolyn, hands shaking, looked to the wing of the stage, where the attendant waited for her command. She nodded, and a panel opened in the stage floor, a pole-mounted vibrator rising between Jennifer's legs. Busy with the billowing chiffon, Jennifer didn't see it, didn't know it was there until it nudged between her labia.
"Oh, no, please. I can't."
Carolyn smiled, all teeth, when she heard those words.
Too late, Jennifer realized what phrase she'd used, and hurried to retract it, but Carolyn just kept smiling, shaking her head.
The dildo rose, parting Jennifer. She moaned, her hands crushing chiffon. The blunt head was larger than her chosen tool's, the shaft thicker than her own wrist. The tears at last overflowed, streaking down her cheeks. The audience made no sound, watching, drinking in the scene.
"Thank them for being here,” Carolyn husked. “For watching you."
She did, stammering, voice higher than ever as she was slowly impaled. Through her sobs, she thanked the audience. Thanked the attendants, the stylists. Carolyn. Her tutor. The Academy. Her breath caught, voice hitched, and she cleared her throat. “Thank you all for knowing what's best for me. For giving me what I need. I need...” Writhing on the pole, the dildo fully inside, she panted, sweated, stammered. “I need, I need."
Carolyn waited for the right moment. “Marilyn, come."
The woman screamed.
That should have been the end of the scene, but it was not. Carolyn still had too many things she longed to do. Calling the woman “Marilyn” each time, she gave her commands. For her to clean the dildo. To thank the audience again, and the attendants for setting up the scene. By this time, her excitement was obvious even to the farthest rows, the scent of her filling the room.
Half drunk on that scent and the power, and the heat of her tutor's stare, Carolyn made the woman kneel and swear her allegiance, to the tutor and the Academy and the lessons they taught there. Had her crawl across the stage with a dog's leash in her mouth, the collar attached to her own neck. Had her beg to be punished for lying. For saying “I can't.” And, again, Marilyn had to thank her “friend” for everything, for the pain and the attention and the embarrassment. Sweat soaked her dress, making it cling to the soft curves, as Marilyn-who-was-Jennifer writhed with need, and finally begged to be “made” to come. And Carolyn, laughing, whipped her with the leash until she came, and struck again and again all through that climax to the next.
Her fantasy complete, Carolyn looked down at the heaving soft body, marked by her touch, pleasure and pain. And a sudden well of feeling made her own eyes overflow. “Sir?” she called, knowing he was near.
Her tutor replied, as did one other man. Jennifer's—Marilyn's—tutor, Carolyn was sure.
"Sir, I submit that my project is ended. Marilyn has learned the ways of the Academy.” She took a deep breath, turned, kneeled before them. “And I would return to you, to my own lessons, if I could. There is much I have yet to learn."
"Indeed,” said her tutor. “Like when not to speak. I decide when you're finished with something. Do you understand?” She nodded, smiling through her tears. She'd missed that gruff warm tone he used before he punished her, missed his touch on her, in her. His beloved torments.
The other man snorted. “We could do them together,” he muttered. “Close out the show that way."
And so they did, Marilyn and Carolyn bent over together, side by side, the two men paddling them in perfect time. They came again and again, through the pain, because of it, offering their cries to the audience, their thanks to the men who gave them what they needed to receive.PAGEBREAK
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FINAL EXAMS
The announcement came at breakfast: several students would be examined for advancement. Carolyn had no idea what that meant; she turned to Sherry, who had gone pale.
"What's wrong?"
"Oh, I hate exams. They always find something I think I've gotten past, y'know?"
"Ah, no, I don't. Help a friend out, here?"
"Sorry.” Sherry called down the table for someone to pass the juice—a stalling tactic. After a gulp or two, the redhead seemed a little less shaky. “Okay, you know when you signed on here, they said two years?” She waited for the nod, went on, “That's not always split up into four equal semesters; depends on how well you do. When they decide a few of us are ready, they test us. With me so far?"
"Sure. I did pass Orientation, you know.” Carolyn brushed the badge on her skirt; the only one she'd earned so far. It bothered her; even Marilyn had three, one for starring in the drama that Carolyn had set up! Her thoughts must have shown on
her face; Sherry's smile was wry.
"Right. Well, some tutors do the tests one by one; others do them in groups, for a better show. Last time, mine did this three-day trial with a whole year's worth of tests. By the end of it, I was so tired I could barely swallow!"
What that had to do with anything, Carolyn didn't know, but it didn't seem all that important. “Show? As in, in public?” And you just know he will, too. Please, God, let it not be too bad.
Hell with that—just let me come a few times. That's all I ask.
"Very much in public. Sometimes with audience participation. And if there's anything your tutor thinks you aren't doing well enough with ... darlin', it's just not like anything you've dreamed.” She looked scared, and her arms crossed over her breasts as though to protect them.
Carolyn could see the wet spots on her shirt, and wondered if it was from excitement. Breast climaxes?
Only here. She looked toward the tutors’ table, but the face she sought wasn't there. Maybe he's off planning something. Oh, God, I hope he lets me come! In that moment, she had no doubt she would be tested. But the surety didn't last; by the time she took her seat in class, she was worrying she hadn't done well enough yet. I suck at French. And I talk about the teachers. And he scolded me about that scene with Marilyn. Oh, God, what if he doesn't think I'm ready?
Do I think I am?
Excitement made the air electric; not only Carolyn's. Grace walked into the room, looked around, and laughed. “All right; talk among yourselves. I know you're all wondering who'll be tested, and what the tests will be, and all the rest. You have five minutes. Then I expect your attention. Hear?"
"Yes, ma'am,” came the chorus, and then the whispering.
Carolyn listened to the others, but she had nothing to say. She guessed that, ready or not, her tutor would test her in public—if only for the show—and from the looks people were giving her single-badged skirt, everyone else thought so, too.
When the attendant came, she stood even before her name was called, and for once didn't follow the anonymous someone, but led the way.
