Pearl Jones - The Schooling of Carolyn

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.