The Schooling of Carolyn

'I'm keeping you in French,” her tutor told her. “You haven't a chance of passing, and while it might be amusing to watch you try, I'd rather not hear you mangle such a lovely tongue.'

She quailed beneath his frown; he was really displeased with her. Bowing her head, she promised herself she'd do better.

'You'll test for all the rest, and for a few specialty skills,” he added. Her head came up, wondering. She got no answers then, he simply waved at her to follow the attendant.

She'd grown used to the anonymous figures’ attentions, but it was still difficult to strip before them. Small-town programming, and I am working on it! Though she knew it amused her tutor. Piece by piece, this one helped her out of her uniform and daily toys, until she stood completely nude. He or she then led her to stand before a mirror-not part of the usual routine-and handed her a skirt.

It was a discreet plaid, but the weave was the only discreet thing about it; the hem was exactly long enough to hide her cunt, looked at straight on. She had never had the chance before to watch the flush creep down her chest. The shirt was as bad, a collared white cotton top that had no neck at all, but ended just at the base of her breasts. A single white garter and black patent leather shoes much like the mary janes she wore every day, but with two inch heels completed the new look. She was given no undergarments at all.

Skin hot with embarrassment, she went where she was bade, to a salon she had seen once before, where a familiar figure waited, grinning.

'Nice show you put on. Gonna do it again?'

'I'm the victim this time,” she said.

'And I get you first.” He rubbed his hands and waved her into a chair.

He spent what seemed like hours doing things to her face; except for one fast-drying gel, it was applied with the tiniest of brushes. She'd expected trowels, or sponges, at least. Sometimes it tickled, or itched, sometimes she felt only a slight breeze. At his direction, she pursed her mouth, closed or widened her eyes, puffed out her cheeks. Fear faded, replaced by curiosity and then by excitement; when she squirmed in her chair, he pinched her nipple, very casually.

When he was finished, he turned her chair around, toward a mirror. She couldn't see what he had done-there was no obvious color, no lines or circles, but her eyes looked large and wide, her mouth seemed slightly open even when it wasn't, her lips full and soft. He put something in her hair that made it shine like silk, then topped it with a headband. Like the clothing, it was an odd mix of innocent and harlot.

She stared at her reflection for a while, fascinated. “Damn.'

'Senior year,” he told her, laughing gently. “You'll learn to do that for yourself, and at least a little of how to make up other people for various effects. If you have any talent in that area, we can even take you through a whole cosmetology program, complete with certificate.'

She blinked, completely at a loss for words. It hadn't occurred to her to wonder why the stylists weren't robed like the attendants, but now that she thought of it, that might mean they were instructors.

Her mind flashed on those tiny brushes of his; she moaned.

'Get gone,” he told her, “before I decide to paint a handprint on your ass.'

Her knees went weak at the thought. God, how humiliating that would be … and how sexy.

She strutted after the robe, hips swinging wide.

The attendant led her to an alcove and motioned for her to wait-then leaned in to whisper, “Remember what I told you when you got here: you'll win friends by resisting as long as you can.'

Jack! Carolyn opened her mouth, but the robed figure had gone.

She leaned against the wall, thinking. If the attendants were older students-or maybe recent graduates-what did that mean for her? I'll never stop blushing, but that's not news. Anyone could be under those robes, and she would never be able to look at her fellow students without wondering how many of them had intimate knowledge of her body.

Though there was no one in sight, she felt like the world was staring. She had assumed the attendants were service people, like nurses or waiters. Not students like herself.

That sometimes-separate part of her stirred. So what? They worked toward his ends, did what he wanted done. They are his tools. Do you worry what the dildos and the plugs think? Looked at that way, it did seem a little silly. Think about him. Please him, and he'll give you all that sensation you hunger for. A tiny muscular twitch, her body's reaction to any thought of him. Oh, please…

When an attendant came to lead her, she didn't blush even a little bit. The calm didn't last.

* * * *

The clickety-clack of her heels echoed off stone; she flinched, then stumbled, almost fell. Carolyn felt more uncomfortable than the outfit could account for; she finally realized it was because she was being down a hall she had seen only once, the day of her first arrival. Where is this test supposed to be?

Please, God, not Outside. Not out in the world, she meant, off the Academy grounds. She didn't think of being out of doors as a particular problem-until she stepped through the heavy doors and felt the sun on her uncovered breasts.

'Eep.” Hope I don't burn. The attendant pointed, a dramatic gesture with the robe and gloves and all. She went where she was directed, walking toward a gated boxwood hedge above which pennants fluttered. The hedge bordered a large lawn, she knew, a plain stretch of greenery she found boring. Usually.

There was nothing at all boring about the sight that met her eyes: here a platform she recognized from History, there a set of stocks she knew from personal experience, a ten-foot pole with a ring at the top and leashes dangling down … some objects that threatened though she had no idea what they were for, others she knew at a glance how to use. Still others she recognized, but wondered about-what would a simple broom be used for, in the context of these tests? And combat boots?

She didn't have long to wonder; her tutor approached and, very formally, offered her his arm. She looked up at him. “Orders, sir?” Her voice squeaked.

'Do your best,” he replied, and smiled, and then led her to a table, a simple wooden rectangle with no grace at all, only strength. “Up,” said, and “stay,” and then he was gone. Leaving her to worry, and to blush as people wandered the lawn, looking at things. And then to marvel, as a few other students were brought in, and some of those strange objects were put into use.

There was one like a rocking-horse that made her squirm-she was so fascinated that Bertha had to raise her voice. A lapse for which she was sure she would have to pay.

In barely the blink of an eye, she was strapped into an Enforcer; this one, she was told, had a stronger bite. As intended, the thought sent a shiver of excitement through her-Bertha had vastly understated the case.

'And just to keep things interesting,” the old woman went on, and motioned for someone to come near, “we've decided to test you two at once.'

Carolyn saw who was approaching and groaned.

As Tom came close, though, she saw the absence of his usual cruel grin, and the mincing way he walked, and felt the slightest bit sorry for him. And then Bertha made him kneel, and she absolutely grinned. She looked down, and for one moment saw, not Tom, but her ex. Wha-at? God, bad as Tom is, he's so much stronger than that. He, at least, had the courage to come here. She smiled almost fondly, and Tom faltered, stared at her.

He shook his head and bent over her breasts; she felt his breath on her, hot, then he opened his mouth wide and engulfed her-not her nipple, as she'd expected, but as much of her as he could. Her own mouth fell open in surprise; her eyes closed at the sensation.

The Enforcer sent its warning thrumming through her. Right. Can't let him win. She clenched every muscle tight, held her breath, tried not to feel her breast swelling to fill Tom's mouth, the strange new pressures of his cheeks, the edges of his teeth, the way his tongue probed and pushed, lifting her to the roof of his mouth, hard and comparatively cool.

'Time,” Bertha said, and Tom released her.

She wished she could sigh, didn't dare-she was far too close. And it would be no “transgression” this time, but failure.

'She has two, you know,” the old woman said, and Tom tried to smile. Caro felt sorry for him; his test,