Pearl Jones - The Schooling of Carolyn

But then one phrase caught her ear. “Sensations beyond belief."

Not “pleasure” or “climax” but “sensations.” Carolyn's eyes filled with tears as she stared at this barroom apparition leaning so close to her. She thought she was drunk, and dreaming, thought no one could really understand. “You know."

"I know more than you can dream … now,” the stranger said. “I know…” she took Carolyn's chin in one hand and turned her head, and began to nibble on her ear. And she spoke, between licks and bites and teasings, about what she was going to do to show Carolyn just how little she knew about herself.

No one had ever spoken to her this way, filthy words describing what Caro thought of as sacred things. No one but her husband had ever touched her there ; it couldn't possibly feel as good as this snaky vision described. Orgasm-she knew it was possible, a simple muscular contraction, response to stimulus. But the small flutterings she'd felt once or twice when her husband fingered her were nothing like the risings into heaven this cobra woman whispered of.

"Let me show you.” One strong hand still covered Carolyn's; she squeezed not quite gently, tugged, pushed and prodded.

Carolyn let her.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe simply depression. Maybe she was lonely. Or maybe she really wanted to know. Probably that last; she felt an unfamiliar, throbbing heaviness between her thighs. She followed the stranger to a stinking, filthy, ill-lit stall, and as soon as she turned to work the slide on the door she was expertly, confidently pushed up against it. Half-protesting, half-complacent, curious, excited, she let the stranger fondle her, let her skirt be tucked around her waist, her underwear be pushed aside. Flickering florescence making her as dizzy as what she felt, she spread her legs to the stranger's insistent attentions. Those long slender ever-moving hands, bright-tipped and knowing, pinched and probed and pushed. She gasped as two fingers plunged into her core, rose high, and curved. Nails scraped at inner walls-she had never felt anything so urgent as that feeling. It hurt, but the pain was more intoxicating than any mild pleasure sex had ever brought her. She pushed her hips back, inviting the woman to press harder, to hurt her more.

Hot breath on her neck, softness of breasts at her shoulder blades, the smell of juniper and expensive perfume. An inescapable torment as the other twisted her wrist. Small sounds she thought, later, had come from her own throat. Strobing light that could have been the lights, or flashes behind her eyes. A thick, heavy feeling, her blood pooling in her veins. Strong pulses at her crotch, clenching around the fingers, never still within her, but flexing up and down, drumming, teasing, scratching.

Sharp bits of pain as the woman pinched her inner thighs, one, the other, to make her spread her legs more. A different pain at her earlobe. Teeth? More pressure, inside, the woman pushing up and forward until Carolyn was on tip-toe, mashing her breasts into the door, then pistoning in and out without uncurving her fingers.

And some switch Carolyn had never found in her own body switched on, and the flexings and pains and pulses joined, and she screamed as her body tightened and crashed, trapped between the door and the woman, and waves of ecstasy washed through her.

In a scant quarter-hour the woman taught Carolyn things she'd never thought to learn, pain and pleasure and fear and exultation all at once. And then the offer came again, of sensation and teaching, and this time she accepted, and her head spun at how quickly her life had changed.

"Take this,” the stranger said, and pressed a card into her hand. “And … welcome to the family.” And she was gone.

Carolyn left the bar without looking back; alcohol was no longer a temptation for her. She wanted what she had just had. Much more of it. Now. “The Academy,” she whispered, over and over again. “I can't wait to see what they teach."

* * * *

She blinked, looked around at the darkened room. I'm here. I made it, I passed, they didn't send me away.

So what am I doing lying around when there's things to learn?

* * * *

Carolyn didn't exactly regret her enthusiasm, but by the time dinner was over, she was wishing she had taken a nap while she'd had the chance. The food looked like it would taste good, but it seemed too much effort to lift a fork. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so tired.

And she was sure she'd never felt so excited and scared and ashamed and aroused all at once.

"I'm Jack."

Carolyn looked up to find a woman in her early thirties who wore the Academy uniform as casually as denim. Lean, tanned, confident, hair black as coal, eyes a startling bright sapphire blue, she smiled as she stood patient beneath Carolyn's gaze.

"Come on."

"Where?” The evening had been filled with this person and that beckoning her here and there. The infirmary, for an embarrassingly thorough physical. Stores, where she'd been given a Frederick's-does-school-girl outfit: short plaid skirt, sheer top, thigh-highs, mary janes. A dormitory, where she was assigned a bed. Induction, for a sheet of rules she was instructed to memorize. The dining hall, where at last she got a chance to sit and rest. And now this woman with a man's name bade her follow.

Carolyn followed. Your place is to obey. It was the first item on the sheet of rules, and carved above the entrance to the dining hall. Half the people who'd told her to do things had quoted it. The first rule: your place is to obey. So she did. Jack led her to a small auditorium, like any lecturer's hall at university except for an odd dais in place of the lectern.

"Assume the position."

Confused, Carolyn shook her head.

"Kneel, knees spread, back straight, hands behind your head, elbows up. Face forward; they like to see your expression.” Jack pushed her up onto the dais. A nudge to move a knee, a tap on a hand; in seconds, Carolyn knelt facing the room. “Sit back on your heels."

The door opened, and students streamed in. Mostly young, late teens, early twenties, like Carolyn herself, some older, like Jack, male and female both. All in some form of school uniform designed to be revealing, with small patches and symbols whose meaning she could not begin to guess. They were all attractive, in various ways, all glowing with good health and sex appeal; all smiling, laughing, joking. All looking at Carolyn. She flushed, feeling vulnerable, exposed, with her legs spread wide beneath the too-short skirt. The panties she had been given were sheer as nothing at all; she knew she was making a horrible display. And then a light came on, highlighting her.

God, help! It was worse than the afternoon session had been. Partly from the sheer size of the audience, but mostly because these were her peers. Students, people she might have known back home. They were dressed as she was, her equals, yet she knelt before them. Her skin was tight; she knew her neck had gone red.

Knew, too, that there was a wet spot between her thighs. This isn't what I wanted! But it was too late to worry about such things. She darted glances at the students arrayed before her, squinting to catch their expressions: excited, eager. Waiting.

While they took their seats, Jack went to the back of the room. She emerged with a small object and several straps, and moved to Carolyn, a secret smile hovering over her lips. She leaned in close. “You'll win friends by resisting as long as you can,” she murmured, then bent down to place the cold slick object at Carolyn's clit. The strip of lace was no impediment at all, sodden as it was, and Jack laughed softly as she stole the chance for a brief caress.