Pearl Jones - The Schooling of Carolyn

"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.