The Schooling of Carolyn

his presence. Yesterday, he had commanded her, and though she had hated every moment of it, still, she had been aroused as never before. It was a feeling she was getting used to, but none sparked it in her as strongly as he. Even his voice drew her body tight. She entered.

'You are early.” While it didn't sound like a question, she thought it best to answer.

'There was … a disturbance. A student entered my bed, and woke me.” Please, don't ask for details.

'Describe what happened.'

Damn! “I was asleep, dreaming. I must have moved, because I bumped into her. It woke me. I screamed, and the proctor came. She sent the other to the front, and me to you.” Carolyn breathed deeply. She knew she had to tell everything, though it shamed her. What else is new? “She had her head between my legs, was using her mouth on me. The proctor told me to ‘confess my transgression’ to you, though it wasn't me transgressing. I was asleep.'

'Did you enjoy it?'

'I … yes, I guess. It was a pleasant dream, at least.” She heard what he was saying. She had been told when she arrived here. Your place is to obey. You are to be accessible, subservient, accepting. Pleasure and pain will come to you; the choice is no longer yours. She had sworn the oath. Enjoying without permission was now a transgression. She bowed her head.

'Follow.” Rising from his desk, he opened a door she had not noticed, and led the way down a dimly-lit hall. Another door led to a room decorated in early medieval. A torture chamber, she supposed. There was a large block of stone at the center, toward which he directed her after commanding her to strip.

He clapped his hands, and an attendant appeared. Like all of them, this one was robed, masked, gloved, she could not even tell gender or race. Anonymous. No words were spoken; the attendant tapped her firmly behind the knee, and she knelt. He pulled her wrists forward until she was bent over the stone, breasts crushed beneath her, then fastened cuffs to pull her taut. Moving behind her, he bound her ankles in some way, forcing her to splay herself most uncomfortably, her pelvis pushed against the stone, thighs turned slightly inward. She was trapped.

'I know you are new-come here, so I shall explain this, once. For any correction in which you are not gagged, you count the strokes aloud. Should you lose count, begin again at one. Following the correction, you give thanks, confess, and apologize. Do you comprehend?'

'I-I think so. Count, thanks, confess, apologize. Is that correct?” He did not reply, unless the sound of his footsteps leading away meant something. Tense, afraid, in pain and discomfort which would soon become pain, she waited.

Slap! Sharp, but not unbearable, the first stroke hit her left butt cheek. “One!” she cried, startled. Count each stroke aloud. Two through ten alternated, left, then right, smarting, stinging, but not really hurting. Carolyn began to believe she could get through this.

'Eleven!” The count was forced from her as the blow pushed her into the stone she was pressed against. The same instrument, but now wielded with a punishing strength. By twenty-five, she was hoarse from screaming, sure she was bleeding, her ass raw. “Twenty-six,” she rasped.

He paused. Drawing the edge of the paddle between her legs, he observed a quantity of fluid. “You enjoy even this,” he murmured, almost too softly for her to hear over her own sobbing. Chuckling as a flush spread down her back, he continued, putting more force into each successive stroke.

'Forty-nine,” she whimpered. Limp within her bonds, totally defeated, she waited. Pleasure and pain will come to you. She could not remember pleasure, only this. It seemed it had gone on forever, would continue until the end of time. She knew only pain.

'Fifty!” The stroke hit the bottom center of her ass, where none of the others had. Up and in it pushed, her flesh quivering, pelvis thrust against the stone, grinding, breasts tearing across the sandpaper surface. Her ribs, thighs, knees, shoulders all voiced protest, but she could not distinguish. It was all, simply, pain.

He clapped again. The attendant came, released her bonds, stood back. Dazed, she lay there a moment. Thanks. Failure to obey would mean punishment. She could not take any more. She pushed herself up from the stone, and, lacking the strength to stand, crawled to him. On her knees, hands behind her head, clasped tightly so she would not let them fall, she croaked her thanks: “Thank you, sir, for the attention you have shown me. For taking the time and effort to correct me with your own hand.” What next? Confess, apologize. “I deeply regret my transgression. Pleasure comes from your hand, as does pain, and I was not given leave to enjoy. I apologize for my error, in enjoying without your command.” Whew! Where did those words come from? Was it enough? Does he want more?

'Rise.'

She struggled to her feet, hands still behind her head.

'Present.'

She did not understand, just stood there, feet apart, waiting.

He sighed. “After a correction, you display the part of your body attended to.” He chuckled softly, smiled. “Show me your ass.'

She turned her back to him and bent over. Prayed she wouldn't fall. His hand clutched a cheek, fingers digging in, making her whine high in her throat. A finger dipped below, scooped some of the plentiful moisture gathered in her core, stroked backward.

'Please, no,” she whispered.

He paid no heed, not even to admonish her for speaking out of turn. Firmly, he pressed in, his finger so much larger than her own. First knuckle, second, third, all in a single push.

She couldn't breathe. Impaled on his digit, she gasped, hating the clench of her sphincter around him, body weak from strain and punishment, and seconds away from orgasm. Her thighs were wet, heart racing. Each heartbeat tightened her around him. She began to cry.

He pulled his finger from her, turned away. Snapping, he brought the attendant closer, and gave instructions. “Bathe her, shave her cunt, then call me.” The attendant nodded, reached out, and grabbed her nipple in a gloved hand. Gasping, she straightened with the tug, and was led from the room. Her only thought was panicked. He didn't give me permission to leave! But the pain was too great to resist.

It was a large chamber, unlike anything she had ever seen. There were shower heads mounted at odd levels, a hot tub large enough for a football team with seating at several heights, bidets, toilets, oddly-canted tables and things she could not begin to classify. She was led painfully to something much like a kiddy-pool, with manacles hanging above. Exhausted from her recent ordeal, she found it difficult to raise her arms long enough to be fastened, but a sharp twist and tug on her abused nipple lent her strength. Her attendant was joined by another, also robed and masked and gloved, and the two cleaned her as thoroughly and impersonally as possible. She gasped as water was forced into her vagina, but it did not linger long enough to bring her much pleasure. She sighed as her breasts were laved, soothing the burn left by the stone to which she'd so recently been bound, but her nipples were in no way stroked. She'd been thoroughly depilated on her arrival, all except a triangle of glossy hair, which the attendants now removed with a straight razor. It was waved before her eyes to encourage her to be still; she was. When they had finished, they left her there, naked as a child, alone, wrists fastened above her. Afraid. Aching. Ashamed. And aroused.

It wasn't really cold in the room, merely a bit cool to be standing around unclothed. Carolyn shivered, making the chains above her rattle. The sound echoed in the tiled room. She shifted her weight slightly, trying to relieve the strain, and that sound, too, bounced off the walls. Each sigh seemed louder than the last.

There's nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. No one here to punish you, to inflict pain. Enjoy the break! It failed to convince. She was chained, helpless. Anyone could come in, do whatever they pleased to her. Just like the rest of this place. Physical chains are nothing. Accept what is, and endure.

Shifting her weight again, she closed her legs, opening them the instant she realized what she had done. “The legs are to remain open at all times, seated or standing or lying down. This signifies accessibility and obedience.” She whispered the words aloud, one of many commands she had been required to memorize. Thinking through them all, murmuring softly, so as not to cause more echoes, she was not immediately aware that she was no longer alone.

He stood before her, studying the scene; she followed his glance as best she could. Clean, newly shaven,