the day. The note delivered to her by an attendant at breakfast didn't help. In strong masculine handwriting, it read, “Oil yourself before each class, meal, and bed.” Her hands shook with fear and shamed anticipation. The attendant handed her a bottle.
* * * *
Carolyn fell into bed, tears leaking from her eyes. The day had been unbearable! She'd failed a quiz in class, which merited punishment. She'd been unable to complete an assignment, too busy with her suffering, and earned another punishment. She'd been excused from a class on self-pleasure, which made her furious, and her protests had earned her yet another punishment. All of which were deferred, since tutors had first claim on their students- and one teacher added on extra “demerits” for the delay! Thankful it was finished, she buried her face in her pillow and tried to sleep. Her clit throbbed with need, her ass clenched with the same pulse, and she lay wakeful long into the night.
Too early in the morning, she was prodded out of bed by another student, and plodded groggily toward the showers, even the pain of her overnight plugging unable to fully wake her. Breakfast passed in a daze; she could not eat, too filled already. Morning classes, too, went by in a blur. She thought she might have seen an odd glance or two directed her way, but was really too tired to care. The moment arrived at last for her to present herself to her tutor. She stood before the office door, staring blearily at the wood-grain as she waited for him to answer her knock.
'In,” he barked. She entered to find him standing, an attendant at his side. “Strip,” he commanded, and she obeyed without protest. The attendant placed a narrow collar around her neck, and fastened a leash to its end. She flushed a bit, humiliated, but said nothing. Juices flowed down her leg, and she bit her lip, wondering how she could still have the energy to be aroused. The plug felt like a club within her, impossibly large, conquering.
Her mary janes were removed, replaced with high stiletto heels. The attendant tugged on her leash, and she stumbled after. Her tutor followed behind, loudly enjoying the view; to him, he explained, the bruising added interest to her flesh. Her thighs glistened, and he laughed at the proof she enjoyed the situation. The blush creeping down her back excited him, too, he said.
They reached a stairway; the attendant led her forward, each step a new and unique torture. Up they went to a small room, uncarpeted, bare.
'Kneel.'
She knelt, trying to keep her ass from resting on her heels.
'Tell me what you are feeling.'
The words rushed forth. “Please. Please let me come!'
'What,” he chuckled, “no protestation? No ‘burning brand'? Are you telling me you've learned to enjoy being plugged? Already?'
'Oh, God! No. I hate it. You know that. It's wrong, it's unnatural. But I need to come, please. You have to let me! Plee-ease!” Tears streaked her face, fell into her opened mouth; she didn't care. She was naked, had just been in plain of view of anyone who'd cared to look, though she had, in fact, seen no one. She was on an honest-to-God leash, just like a dog. She was plugged. And none of it mattered at all, if she could just come.
'Aren't you going to ask me to get it out of you? Accuse me of being a pervert? Beg to be set free?” He still sounded gently amused, his voice almost smoky. She imagined it touching her, and shook with need.
He waited, as did she. She couldn't think of anything to say. “Well,” he sighed. “I suppose you can remove the plug.” She remained still. “Didn't you hear me? Remove the plug.” She bent forward to obey. “No. Spread your legs wider.” She did, of course. “Do it from that position.'
It took some effort, but she managed at last. It felt larger, with her positioned so nearly upright; she winced as she tugged it out. His laughter made her breath catch, her insides clench, and the pop when her asshole let go made her flush hot with shame.
'Put it back,” he said. She sighed; she'd expected it. But she hadn't thought it would be so easy to obey. Her sphincter opened almost eagerly to the intruder, stretching wide in welcome, holding tight to the narrower base.
'Tell me you love it.” He leaned in, whispered in her ear. His breath was hot on her skin, making her shiver. “Tell me how much you enjoy it.'
'I do,” she sobbed. “God, I love it. It's horrible, it hurts, but it's fantastic! Please, please let me come. I need it. I need it so much…” She babbled, and knew that she babbled, and didn't give a damn. If it made her look like a fool, then so be it. All she wanted was an orgasm, or ten, or twenty, and she would do whatever she had to if she was allowed to come.
'Take out the plug.” She actually thought of protesting. But she obeyed. “There.” He pointed to the center of the room. There was a stool, with an object rising up. A dildo, set back from center, pointing straight. “I'd suggest you use your mouth first, then take your seat.” She rushed to the stool, eager to comply. It was shaped differently than the plug, almost a cone, narrowest at the tip, then widening at the base. She laved it with her tongue, then tried to climb onto the stool. Her heels gave her trouble, and the attendant came to help.
'Thank you,” she said, holding onto robed shoulders. They quivered beneath her hands; she was too involved to notice. Aiming herself with great care, she began her descent, and the blunt tip of the dildo parted her sphincter, making her sigh. She lowered herself an inch, clutching at the attendant, then another, and another until she was halfway down. Her tutor snapped his fingers, and the attendant suddenly stepped back. She shrieked as, her support gone, she slid down inexorably toward the stool. Her heels could gain no purchase to assist. Inevitable as death, gravity pulled her, stretching her wider than she had ever been stretched.
She whined. Trying to hold herself closed did nothing to stem the movement. Leaning desperately forward halted it, for a bit. The tip bit like a spear, though; she straightened lest she harm herself, and the slide down continued, halting with an inch left to go before the seat.
She was stretched as wide as she would go, but still gravity insisted. Every muscle held tight, as she balanced precariously. Eyes and mouth wide in sympathy, she stared at her tutor. “You may come,” he told her.
Her hands were gripping the seat. If she let go to stimulate herself, she would be further impaled. If she didn't, how then could she come?
'How do you feel?'
She smiled, basking in the afterglow. “Mm.'
'That's not an answer.” His voice was mild, and, as always, made her insides melt.
'I feel … wonderful.'
'You enjoy the sensation?” He was purring; she opened her eyes. She was nearly asleep, but wanted to see him smile. His expression was fiercely triumphant, and her eyes went wide.
'Tell me how you feel.'
'I … am scared.” She laughed nervously, and gasped at the ripples echoing through her form; she'd never realized that laughter moved so many muscles, or just which ones. “I feel … stretched … too widely. I think I'm stuck. And I'm afraid of what you'll do next, what you'll make me do.” It was all true. But they both knew it wasn't the whole truth; he motioned for her to go on. “I hate that you make me do … that,” she looked away, “and I hate that it feels good, but you know it does.'
'I make you do
'Yes, you did. You may come now.” Her body clenched. With no memory of having decided a thing, she found herself sliding up and down the pole. The friction and the stretching sped her quickly on her way, and she screamed
