Carolyn stood with her tray in her hands, looking around the hall. Jack was out on assignment somewhere, had left the day after their “candlelit supper"; Sherry was nowhere to be seen. Tom was at a largely untenanted table, grinning; she wouldn't sit there.
Jennifer was alone. Nodding to herself, Carolyn chose her seat.
"Go away! Please! Wasn't,” she glanced toward the stage, “enough? Or did you like being strapped down and burned like that?"
Carolyn chuckled at the question, knowing the answer was both yes and no. It had been well orchestrated, she hadn't really been burned, just scalded a touch by the wax. The marks had barely lasted a day. To Jennifer she said nothing but, “Eat. Starving yourself won't do anyone any good.” She picked up her own fork to set an example, but didn't taste a bite, too busy staring at Jennifer. Even the slope of her shoulders was pure Marilyn. Soft and delicate and begging to be claimed.
Looking around the room, she spied her tutor, his glance on her table, but not on her. She saw red, remembering a day not long before. She'd been walking down the hall, trying to balance on five-inch heels, her posture further distorted by her new plug, extending deep within her and curling back toward her spine. She'd been tottering, much to her tutor's amusement, and both their arousal. And then his eyes had left her, ranging down the hall. To the sobbing pitiful little wretch he stared at now, that same look of lust in his eyes.
She yearned to punish, not her tutor, but the object of his stare. How dare she take his attention away from me? But Jennifer was doing nothing but trying to choke down a meal. Carolyn gritted her teeth behind a fake friendly smile, and tried to get the younger woman to talk.
When that didn't work, she went back to giving soft orders phrased as advice. “Spread your legs before some one sees you. Unless you want to be punished again.” And later, “Drink your water. You need the fluid, all the crying you do.” A brief flush stained the pale skin, fading almost instantly away. Carolyn had to bite her lip to keep from moaning her pride and pleasure at the sight. Blush, little girl, and shake. You have no idea what I'm going to do to you.
In truth, she didn't know herself, just that Jennifer was going to pay for the way Carolyn's tutor looked at her.
Only a few minutes remained before the bell to end the meal; Carolyn looked around for some way to keep Jennifer in the hall. A passing student caught her eyes; she flagged him down and sent him off for a milkshake. Students weren't supposed to order each other around, but quite often did, exchanging favors, trading tasks, or just exerting their wills. Carolyn had guessed he wouldn't refuse her; all the school was aware of the game she and Jack had begun, and were curious to know what would happen next.
He was back in a wink with a chocolate shake in a fountain glass, topped with a puff of whipped cream and a cherry. Carolyn smiled and nodded her thanks as he set the dessert, with straw and long-handled sundae spoon, in front of Jennifer.
The bell rang.
"Do you have to be anywhere?"
Jennifer bit her lip, shook her head, face downcast.
"Look at people when they talk to you. It's in the rules, remember? Now, since you don't have class this evening, why don't you just sit here and drink your shake?"
Wide crystal eyes gleaming with incipient tears, Jennifer nodded, pursed perfect lips around the straw, and began to suck. Carolyn had to look away herself, before she came.
Oh, my. What has become of me? In the few short months she'd been at the Academy, Carolyn's responses had changed quite a bit, humiliation now as arousing to her as it was hated, anal stimulation often a positive joy; this, though, was still strange to her. She thrilled at the thought of this woman obeying her command.
What have I become, that I long to see her in pain, on her knees before me? But though she might wonder, it was her desire, faced with the sight of this soft, fragile creature. To see her on her knees, weeping those giant tears, desperate to climax, begging for permission. Begging her.
"Your legs are closed again.” Carolyn's voice was husky. Jennifer's eyes went wide, and her thighs spread open wide so fast the skirt made a snapping sound as it strained. “Good.” The milkshake was gone, only the cherry left at the bottom, resting on a soft deflated cushion of half-whipped cream. “Eat your cherry.” It'll be good practice for later.
They sat in silence for a moment. “You said you didn't have to be anywhere. Is there anything you were told to do?"
Again the quick flush and pale. A nod. A whisper. “I, my tutor said,” the rest of the words were too soft for Carolyn to hear. She insisted that the younger woman repeat herself, and a third time before she finally understood. “He told me to sit here with my thumb up my butt."
"Well, then,” Carolyn purred, “What are you waiting for?"
Again the tears spilled over the beautiful face. “I can't!"
The feel of the air changed, or perhaps it was a sound she didn't realize she'd heard, but something made Carolyn turn. Her tutor stood with another man of commanding presence, close enough to see, to hear, far enough away to go unobserved. The looks in their eyes filled her with unreasoning jealousy-and a certain dark sympathy. She knew how they felt when they looked at Jennifer, felt that way herself, yet still blamed the girl for making her tutor stare.
"I told you, little girl, don't lie to me. You can. You may not want to, but that's no concern of mine.” Holding Jennifer's chin in her hand, she brought her face down to the seated girl. “You can, and you will. Now, open that pretty mouth of yours and suck on your thumb. Or stick it in dry, for all I care."
She stood back (to make sure the men could see), sneered down, and waited. Frame shaking with her sobs, Jennifer slowly brought her hand to her face, began to suck her thumb. Carolyn let her take a minute, then spoke sharply. “Enough. You have your instructions. Do it. Now."
Jennifer jumped, looked, pleading, up at Carolyn. Her shoulders slumped in defeat at what she saw. She pulled her thumb out of her mouth with a pop, dropped her hand down between her outspread thighs. Frowned daintily. Slid forward on the bench, then stopped, her expression almost comical.
"Turn this way."
Jennifer followed Carolyn's gesture, turned to straddle the bench, lay back on it. Her thumb merely damp by now, she pushed her lacy underwear aside, put the tip at her back entrance, and began to squeal.
Without pushing the digit inside.
"Well?"
Jennifer screwed her face up, shook her head from side to side. The finger didn't move.
"You have your instructions,” Carolyn said again. And sharply, “Now!"
That worked. Jennifer jumped, and yelped as her nail scratched over her sphincter, then set her thumb to her most secret entrance and pushed resolutely. Panting and grunting indelicately, she forced her thumb all the way in, until there was nowhere left to go, then stopped, relief and discomfort warring in her face and body.
"You're not finished yet, little girl,” Carolyn laughed. “Repeat your instructions aloud."
"I am supposed to sit here with my thumb up my butt until he comes for me."
"And are you?"
Jennifer frowned her confusion.
"Are you sitting?"
Comprehension bled what little color she had from her face, and she struggled to sit up.
Carolyn stood back and watched, not even thinking to help. Jennifer jiggled delightfully. Her tutor crooked a finger, and Carolyn nodded, but paused. “Good,” she told Jennifer. “It's easier if you follow instructions. Don't forget to keep your legs open, and your chin up.” And then she walked to her tutor, hips swaying wide, desperate to come, though she knew it was not allowed.
The look in those wide eyes! Fear, and confusion, and gratitude. And pain, of course. Can't forget the pain.
* * * *
"Enjoyed yourself last night, did you?"
"Yes, sir.” Carolyn saw no point to lying. She had, though she wasn't quite sure why.
"Did you know, that's the first order she's obeyed without punishment? In all the time she's been here, that's the very first time."
"Why is she here, if I may ask? She doesn't seem to enjoy it the least bit."
"She doesn't, does she? And yet, she passed the tests.” Her tutor frowned into the distance, leaving Carolyn to her thoughts. He shrugged after a long moment, and shook his head.
"Tests? Sir?” She remembered her own entry here, the woman in the bar, the encounter as much pain as pleasure, the commands from people she'd never met, and the teasing torment. Had those been tests? If she'd failed them, would she have been sent away? The thought was frankly frightening now; she couldn't imagine her life, had she not come here. Had she never found a place to teach her what she'd learned, what she was still learning, looked forward to each day.
"Yes.” Seeing the interest in her eyes, he spoke at some length, telling her how Jennifer had been selected. The approach, the scripted encounter, the scene here at the school. Different from her own, but similar. “She responded well, not climactically, but not all do.[?] She showed pleasure, and interest, and willingness to submit. But since she's been here, what she mostly does is cry. The classes don't arouse her, her tutor can't make her come. She sometimes shows pleasure when punished, particularly when being spanked, but she can't let herself go. And no one's made her do so but you and Jack.” He smiled to see her nipples crinkle as his words. “If Jack hadn't been nearly ready to graduate, we'd have assigned her the task. As it is, well, you seem to have selected yourself."
"I don't understand. What is it you want me to do?"
"Tomorrow morning, before breakfast, report next door. Her tutor will have instructions for you. And, Carolyn,” he waited for her to blink, “you are not to come. No transgressions, do you hear me?"
"Yes, sir. I am not to come.” But her clit throbbed warning and yearning even as she spoke. What will they let me do to her?
* * * *
Close up, Jennifer's tutor was almost as magnetic a person as her own; Carolyn's hands shook with the need to run her fingers through his hair; her thighs fell open further than required purely out of longing for his touch.
He acted completely unaware of her response to him, though he could not possibly have been. “She's been given her instruction, a task to complete. Walk her through it, then take her with you to class. Her schedule's been shifted, she attends your classes now, all of them.” He paused, waiting for Carolyn's nod. “Three things: she comes only when I can see it. Here, or in the hall if I am present; for any other location, you ask permission of me, and wait to see that I am there. No student touches her but you. And you don't remove anything I put on her. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Go."
Carolyn nearly leapt from her chair, eager to see her project. The door opened easily.
"Oh!” Jennifer glanced around, shoulders falling from where they'd risen, up around her ears. “Good morning,” she said shyly, venturing a smile.
"You aren't dressed.” Not that Carolyn minded seeing the opulent flesh so much on display, the sheer short nightgown more decoration than protection for any maiden's modesty.
"No, I,” the twist was unconsciously graceful, almost a dance, and Carolyn's hands clenched into fists at her sides, half longing to caress the soft form before her, half to grasp hard enough to bruise. “My tutor told me I have to choose one of these.” There was a collection of dildos laid out on the table, from slim small lengths of plastic to monsters of latex bristling with bumps and thorns. “And use it. On myself, to, to make myself, you know. And I, I just can't."
"Little girl,” Carolyn drawled, “that's the last time you'll use that phrase.” Dim memory of herself crying just those words to her tutor mere months ago, but all she felt was impatience for the girl she'd been. She'd learned since just how much she could do, and looked forward to learning how far she had yet to grow; time and long past for this shrinking soft body to learn, too. Her hands gentler than they might have been, enjoying the pale smooth skin, Carolyn turned Jennifer to face a floor-to-ceiling mirror, their eyes meeting in the reflection. “Take off the nightgown."
She held her gaze steady until Jennifer obeyed her. “Now, remember how Jack touched you?"
A hesitant nod from the brunette. (Carolyn wondered how soon they'd bleach her hair, quite certain they would, to make her more like Marilyn.) “Take my fingers, show me how Jack touched you.” With a few false starts and flinches, Jennifer surrendered, closing her eyes, leaning back into the circle of Carolyn's arms, guiding the fingers in soft slow circles and quicker strokes, finally pistoning several in and out of her own core. With another of those high gentle cooing cries, she fell back against Carolyn, body rigid as she came.
"Good, very good.” If Carolyn's whisper was shaky, she didn't think Jennifer would notice. But the sight as always filled her with conflicting desires, to come herself, to dig her hands into Jennifer's body until she screamed, to make her come, still screaming, begging for the torment not to end. She contented herself with continuing her soft thrusting, not letting Jennifer relax from ecstasy's peak. When the cooings had changed to whimpers of growing need, Carolyn told her to reach out with her hand and grasp one of the dildos. “Any one, I don't care."
Jennifer bit her lip hard enough to leave a mark, but she did as she was told, her hand finding a medium-thickness dildo with a vibrating head and corkscrew shaft. Eyes still closed, she held it out to Carolyn.
"Good,” she whispered, and nibbled Jennifer's ear, increasing the pressure of her strokes. Her free hand took the dildo, drawing her fingers out and replacing them without missing a beat, inserting the cool plastic to the same depth her fingers had reached, the same angle. Jennifer only moaned and shifted in her embrace.
"Do you remember how I touched you, the difference between my touch and Jack's?” She nibbled Jennifer's earlobe again, whispered the words. The answering shiver was so strong it traveled through both their bodies, making Carolyn laugh. “I see you do. Show me."
Jennifer's eyes opened, searching the mirror, her confusion plain to see. “But you know."
"Use your hands as I used mine."
She didn't obey instantly; it took some soft-voiced threats, reminders that her tutor would punish her if she didn't come as instructed, stroking never ceasing all the while, but finally her body's needs and her own fears pushed her to comply, and she used her hands quite roughly on her own form, taking control of the dildo, pushing it high, pulling it completely free and jamming it home, plunging it in deep as she could, flicking her clit at the same time. When she came this time, it was crying, not cooing, her belly rippling for several minutes.
"Good. You see, you can. Now get dressed; we're late for class."
* * * *
Carolyn spent the day alternately basking in the admiration of her peers and wishing desperately for five unobserved minutes so that she could come! Not, as she kept telling herself, that she had any intention of so disobeying her tutor, but her body was screaming for release. She drank in the sight of Jennifer all flushed and sticky with her spendings, the scent of her perfuming the air, trying desperately to pretend she wasn't the focus of all eyes, and beamed with pride, knowing she was the cause, both of the pleasure and a large portion of the shame. She took every chance to remind Jennifer of the rules, telling her to spread her legs, pull her shoulders back to show her breasts, thrilling to the bloom of crimson on the ivory cheeks.
But she was confused, too, the part of her mind still thinking. Her tutor was right, Jennifer didn't seem to be enjoying the attention at all. She'd come, yes, but she should have been shaking for release again, with all the students and teachers so obviously lusting after her, and she wasn't. Carolyn was, but Jennifer showed no arousal at all.
Carolyn was scheduled for an evening seminar in Discipline, which meant that Jennifer attended it too. Grey-haired old Bertha who taught the class decided to use Carolyn for a teaching tool, and had her bent backwards over the desk, her back arched, weight largely on her arms, breasts and belly and inner thighs all within reach of the crop. Desperate not to look weak in front of Jennifer, Carolyn took the punishment that followed without a cry, not moving until given permission, thanking Mistress Bertha with a gentle, composed smile.
She thought the woman looked disappointed.
And then it was time to return to the dormitories, except that Carolyn received a note. Delivered by one of the ubiquitous attendants, it commanded her to bring Jennifer to her tutor's study. On their arrival, the tutor told Jennifer to fetch “her chosen tool.” Carolyn had to give her a shove to get her to obey.
And then she returned, dildo in hand, quivering, shaking. “Demonstrate,” the tutor barked.
"I…"
Carolyn caught the other woman's eyes, and the next word died on her lips unborn.
"I'll try,” Jennifer whispered, and spread her legs, screwed her eyes shut and plunged the tool between her lips. In and out, mechanically, uninspiring. And uninspired, judging from her own lack of response.
Carolyn looked at the tutor for permission, then began to speak. “You don't want to fail here. To be punished. Use your hands, remember how Jack touched you. How I touched you. You can touch yourself the same way. Think of how good it will feel, the release, the pleasure. Use your tool the way I used my hands. Think of me."
Jennifer heard, and listened, and obeyed, her hands soft and gentle, as Jack's had been, then rough. Soon her head went back, her mouth fell open, and Carolyn drank in the sight of the writhing form.
Even without an orgasm of her own, it was lovely. Though she went to sleep wondering about the other woman's key. Not attention, not pain, not punishment. But something, she'd seen it more than once.
What makes her thrill, despite herself? How can I find it, use it to make her mine?
All that night-except when she was desperately trying not to touch herself, not to stroke or pinch or even just squeeze, not to come-Carolyn worried at that puzzle. Jennifer had passed the tests; she was excitable, sexually, and submissive. But it wasn't attention that got to her, nor shame. Not being ordered, dominated. So, what? Physically, she seemed to like it a little rough, but didn't need it that way. What turned her on?
The next morning, eager to find out, Carolyn presented herself, bright-eyed and eager, at the study door. The tutor motioned her inside; unlike most students, Jennifer didn't sleep in the dormitory, but in a separate bedroom accessible only by passing through the study. Carolyn couldn't blame him for being cautious, as Jennifer's very existence seemed an invitation to sex. She walked in without knocking, hoping to catch the younger woman doing something wrong. Instead, she found Jennifer doing nothing; she was hunched in on herself, wearing nothing but a loosely belted robe.
"Why aren't you dressed? You know what happens if we're late."
"I can-I mean, it's too much, the cloth. It hurts.” Jennifer turned, showing Carolyn her breasts. The nipples weren't visible, covered by some apparatus.
Not wanting to appear uncertain, Carolyn simply shrugged. “You'll adjust. Come on, now. Get dressed.” She pushed and prodded, goaded and teased, got the girl downstairs in time for breakfast, then shepherded her to class, almost nipping at her heels. Varying her comments all day, trying to find the key.
Bertha, in Discipline, helped unlock it. She commanded Jennifer to assume the pose Carolyn had taken the day before. When she proved incapable, Bertha suggested that Carolyn help. Between them, they got the young woman bent over backwards, tits in the air, skin flaming as the class murmured and jeered. Bertha slapped the bottoms of Jennifer's breasts with a rubber flail, more noise and shock than pain, suited for beginners. Jennifer, of course, wailed and cried. But then came the finish, when the punished had to give thanks. Carolyn prodded her to that, insisting, and Jennifer obeyed. “Thank you, Mistress Bertha, for your attention. Your attentions."
Carolyn was close enough to feel the sudden rush of heat; even if she hadn't been, she'd have seen the change in Jennifer's eyes. The shift as the soft welcoming thighs pushed and rubbed together. The parting of those perfect lips.
Got it! She needs to be forced into, what, gratitude? Into admitting that this is what she needs. Thank you for treating me like the little girl I am. Thank you for taking the trouble to care for me. Oh, can I work with that! Little girl, you are going to crawl to me, beg for my attentions, and thank me for your pain.
The day seemed to go on for a week. But at last, she was free to give Jennifer back to her tutor, seek her own for a brief conference before bed. He took one look at her face and told her to go “cool down"; an ice-water enema to quench her fires. Even the cramping didn't dampen her need, as she thought of what she wanted to do to Jennifer.
* * * *
"Oh, Carolyn, help!” Body held as still as possible, which wasn't very, Jennifer rose from the bed when Carolyn entered the room. “This shirt, there's no way I can put this on."
Carolyn felt the fabric and grinned. It was a rough weave, worn only to irritate. She waited, and Jennifer explained. “Those things, yesterday, on my,” she looked down at her breasts. “They're swollen now, and too sensitive. I can-” She cut herself off again. “I tried, really I did, but it made me scream. What am I going to do? We're already late!"
Laughing inside, thinking of all the things this girl was going to be thankful for, Carolyn made a show of thinking hard, gnawing on her lip. “You could lick them,” she said at last, with an air of sudden inspiration. “You could reach, I think."
"L-lick them? These? My…” That characteristic quick flush of hers came and went.
"You really will have to learn to say the word. Nipples. It's okay. Go on. Say it."
"Nipples.” This time the flush came, and stayed.
"Good. Think how happy your tutor will be, the punishments you'll be avoiding. Words are much easier than strikes, you know. So, go on now, lick them. It'll feel better; you'll see."
Carolyn had to lean back against the wall, her knees went so weak at the sight. A young Marilyn suckling her own distended nipples, first one, then the other, alternating, gentle smile in her eyes. A simple, innocent pleasure, untainted by lust.
For now. “Doesn't that feel better?” Carolyn husked.
"Oh, yes,” Jennifer sighed. She looked up, her thanks plain to see. “I was wrong about you. I thought you were mean. But you're a friend."
"Sometimes friends have to be cruel. You know that, right?"
A shaky nod.
"And when we are, we feel like maybe our friends won't like us anymore."
Frantic head-shaking. Carolyn couldn't blame her. In her months at the Academy, Jennifer hadn't made any friends, too busy with her own pains, her own concerns.
She almost felt guilty for what she was trying to do, but a long look at that body, sex written in every line, and her resolve hardened again. “Especially when we do things in public that our friends might not really like. It makes us feel like our friends just want us to go away. Even when we know we're doing the right thing, it's really hard.” A soft look, a touch. “You know, it'd help a lot if you could tell me you know I'm just doing what's best for you. If you could thank me, like you did Mistress Bertha yesterday."
"Oh, I do! I really do! I know you're just trying to help, and I'm ever so grateful. But right now, we're going to be late! Oh, I'm going to get you in trouble. I'm so sorry!” And Jennifer raced around the room collecting her clothes, shrugging into the shirt with barely a wince.
Carolyn flagged an attendant, scribbled a brief note, and hastened Jennifer down to the dining hall. The tutor appeared just before the changing bell. He nodded, and Carolyn took a deep breath.
"Remember what you told me earlier, okay?"
Jennifer blanched and dropped her fork.
"Carolyn.” The tutor said nothing else. Jennifer sat, unmoving, as Carolyn rose.
"Hsst. Get up, this is your tutor. You don't sit in front of him!"
A soft “Oh!” and Jennifer scrambled to her feet.
"Sir, your handiwork.” Carolyn smiled widely, took a breath to prolong her own enjoyment, and then she reached over and tore open Jennifer's blouse.
Tears began to roll down Jennifer's eyes, but she made no sound nor move of protest. The tutor peered close, shook his head. “Not yet,” he said, and turned away. A few feet on, he paused. “Correct her,” and he claimed his seat.
Carolyn looked around the room, knowing she had every eye. Well, the scene she'd set did. There was a banana on the table; she reached over, handed it to Jennifer. “You remember how you used your tool?"
"Here?” An agonized sound, half whisper, half shriek.
"It's better than being punished, isn't it?” She spoke through a smile, as softly as she could and yet be sure Jennifer would hear. “Remember Jack's hands, and mine, and do what you have to do. Or your tutor will punish you, and he doesn't look very patient to me."
Jiggling with her sobs, Jennifer bent to her task. When the students nearest began to cheer, Carolyn frowned them into silence, but they would have quieted soon anyway. It was rare to see a woman struggle so toward a climax; in the Academy, most were hair-triggered from constant need. Sweat broke out over Jennifer's body, gilding her in the light; she moaned softly, or groaned beneath her breath. Partly out of pity, partly for the sake of the show, Carolyn leaned in and whispered. “If you don't push that all the way up, he's going to do it for you."
Jennifer's coos became grunts as she shoved her curved fruit phallus high inside, finding the g-spot with predictable results. The students applauded while she was still coming, belly rippling like the ocean waves, and she threw up her hands to hide her face.
Oh, can't have that, little girl. Carolyn cleared her throat, still speaking softly. “Get up, take a bow. Toward your tutor, go on, you know you can.” Still impaled on the fruit, Jennifer bobbed, head bowed. “Properly. Go on. If you don't finish, it doesn't count. You don't want to be punished, do you? Or for someone else to be?” She batted her eyes.
Jennifer pulled back her shoulders and bowed again, her face turned toward her tutor, eyes open wide.
Gotcha! You'll do things to help your friends that you wouldn't do on your own. So, now to strike your spark. “I hope you understand,” she said in an intimate tone, “why I did what I did."
"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.