The Schooling of Carolyn

The attendant signaled that all was in readiness. Carolyn led the compliant young woman to the stage.

The auditorium was packed; Carolyn doubted a single person remained elsewhere on the grounds. Painfully aroused, she pretended calm and walked Jennifer through her lines, such as they were. Her stage bits. A silly bit of nonsense; the real entertainment was as carefully plotted, but Jennifer was unaware. Would remain so, until it was just a bit too late.

They began, and Jennifer played her part to perfection, earnest and honest and beautiful. Carolyn stalked across the stage like a hunting cat, herding the younger woman, who stopped just on her mark, legs spread, mouth barely open. And a gust of cold air came up from the stage floor.

The audience erupted into laughter as Marilyn's clone reenacted that famous scene, this time done without censoring. The skirt flew up, exposing her, and she struggled to force it down, hands racing to control the fabric, unsuccessfully. The air stream changed direction and force, so she had to guess where it would strike next. Her cheeks were flaming, chest heaving. Her thighs dripping wet. Her nipples threatening to tear through her dress.

Carolyn, hands shaking, looked to the wing of the stage, where the attendant waited for her command. She nodded, and a panel opened in the stage floor, a pole-mounted vibrator rising between Jennifer's legs. Busy with the billowing chiffon, Jennifer didn't see it, didn't know it was there until it nudged between her labia.

'Oh, no, please. I can't.'

Carolyn smiled, all teeth, when she heard those words.

Too late, Jennifer realized what phrase she'd used, and hurried to retract it, but Carolyn just kept smiling, shaking her head.

The dildo rose, parting Jennifer. She moaned, her hands crushing chiffon. The blunt head was larger than her chosen tool's, the shaft thicker than her own wrist. The tears at last overflowed, streaking down her cheeks. The audience made no sound, watching, drinking in the scene.

'Thank them for being here,” Carolyn husked. “For watching you.'

She did, stammering, voice higher than ever as she was slowly impaled. Through her sobs, she thanked the audience. Thanked the attendants, the stylists. Carolyn. Her tutor. The Academy. Her breath caught, voice hitched, and she cleared her throat. “Thank you all for knowing what's best for me. For giving me what I need. I need…” Writhing on the pole, the dildo fully inside, she panted, sweated, stammered. “I need, I need.'

Carolyn waited for the right moment. “Marilyn, come.'

The woman screamed.

That should have been the end of the scene, but it was not. Carolyn still had too many things she longed to do. Calling the woman “Marilyn” each time, she gave her commands. For her to clean the dildo. To thank the audience again, and the attendants for setting up the scene. By this time, her excitement was obvious even to the farthest rows, the scent of her filling the room.

Half drunk on that scent and the power, and the heat of her tutor's stare, Carolyn made the woman kneel and swear her allegiance, to the tutor and the Academy and the lessons they taught there. Had her crawl across the stage with a dog's leash in her mouth, the collar attached to her own neck. Had her beg to be punished for lying. For saying “I can't.” And, again, Marilyn had to thank her “friend” for everything, for the pain and the attention and the embarrassment. Sweat soaked her dress, making it cling to the soft curves, as Marilyn-who-was-Jennifer writhed with need, and finally begged to be “made” to come. And Carolyn, laughing, whipped her with the leash until she came, and struck again and again all through that climax to the next.

Her fantasy complete, Carolyn looked down at the heaving soft body, marked by her touch, pleasure and pain. And a sudden well of feeling made her own eyes overflow. “Sir?” she called, knowing he was near.

Her tutor replied, as did one other man. Jennifer's-Marilyn's-tutor, Carolyn was sure.

'Sir, I submit that my project is ended. Marilyn has learned the ways of the Academy.” She took a deep breath, turned, kneeled before them. “And I would return to you, to my own lessons, if I could. There is much I have yet to learn.'

'Indeed,” said her tutor. “Like when not to speak. I decide when you're finished with something. Do you understand?” She nodded, smiling through her tears. She'd missed that gruff warm tone he used before he punished her, missed his touch on her, in her. His beloved torments.

The other man snorted. “We could do them together,” he muttered. “Close out the show that way.'

And so they did, Marilyn and Carolyn bent over together, side by side, the two men paddling them in perfect time. They came again and again, through the pain, because of it, offering their cries to the audience, their thanks to the men who gave them what they needed to receive.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FINAL EXAMS

The announcement came at breakfast: several students would be examined for advancement. Carolyn had no idea what that meant; she turned to Sherry, who had gone pale.

'What's wrong?'

'Oh, I hate exams. They always find something I think I've gotten past, y'know?'

'Ah, no, I don't. Help a friend out, here?'

'Sorry.” Sherry called down the table for someone to pass the juice-a stalling tactic. After a gulp or two, the redhead seemed a little less shaky. “Okay, you know when you signed on here, they said two years?” She waited for the nod, went on, “That's not always split up into four equal semesters; depends on how well you do. When they decide a few of us are ready, they test us. With me so far?'

'Sure. I did pass Orientation, you know.” Carolyn brushed the badge on her skirt; the only one she'd earned so far. It bothered her; even Marilyn had three, one for starring in the drama that Carolyn had set up! Her thoughts must have shown on her face; Sherry's smile was wry.

'Right. Well, some tutors do the tests one by one; others do them in groups, for a better show. Last time, mine did this three-day trial with a whole year's worth of tests. By the end of it, I was so tired I could barely swallow!'

What that had to do with anything, Carolyn didn't know, but it didn't seem all that important. “Show? As in, in public?” And you just know he will, too. Please, God, let it not be too bad.

Hell with that-just let me come a few times. That's all I ask.

'Very much in public. Sometimes with audience participation. And if there's anything your tutor thinks you aren't doing well enough with … darlin', it's just not like anything you've dreamed.” She looked scared, and her arms crossed over her breasts as though to protect them.

Carolyn could see the wet spots on her shirt, and wondered if it was from excitement. Breast climaxes?

Only here. She looked toward the tutors’ table, but the face she sought wasn't there. Maybe he's off planning something. Oh, God, I hope he lets me come! In that moment, she had no doubt she would be tested. But the surety didn't last; by the time she took her seat in class, she was worrying she hadn't done well enough yet. I suck at French. And I talk about the teachers. And he scolded me about that scene with Marilyn. Oh, God, what if he doesn't think I'm ready?

Do I think I am?

Excitement made the air electric; not only Carolyn's. Grace walked into the room, looked around, and laughed. “All right; talk among yourselves. I know you're all wondering who'll be tested, and what the tests will be, and all the rest. You have five minutes. Then I expect your attention. Hear?'

'Yes, ma'am,” came the chorus, and then the whispering.

Carolyn listened to the others, but she had nothing to say. She guessed that, ready or not, her tutor would test her in public-if only for the show-and from the looks people were giving her single-badged skirt, everyone else thought so, too.

When the attendant came, she stood even before her name was called, and for once didn't follow the anonymous someone, but led the way.