The Schooling of Carolyn

masturbate. In the bath, sometimes. You have to be clean, you know.” She almost thought he smiled, then. “I use a sponge, or my fingers.” She stopped, out of words, hoping that she had satisfied him.

The slightest of smiles curved his lips. “Did you ever put anything else in your vagina?” Calm, remote, even clinical, he could have been a doctor. “Or elsewhere?'

'No, I…” she trailed off again. “There was my husband, of course, but nothing else.” The rest of his question caught up with her. “Elsewhere?'

'In your anus, perhaps?'

'No!” She nearly rose out of her chair, visceral outrage and disgust overriding caution. Catching herself, she resumed her position, grasping the arms of the chair firmly. “No,” she continued, striving for calm. “I've never put anything … there.'

'I'd like you to do so now. Place a finger in your mouth, suck it, wet it, then slide forward in your chair and insert the finger as far as possible.” His voice was still level, unemotional; he might have been discussing the weather.

She felt threatened. Trapped, endangered. The hair on her arms stood up; her body was tense. What he asked, the way he talked about it, or maybe that it was him, the man so uncannily like her dream hero, something about it scared her witless.

She couldn't breathe. Wanted to run; knew there was nowhere to run to. Wanted to fight; knew that she would lose. Wanted to die, if that was the only way to escape this. Only, some part of her knew that she didn't really want that at all. She had come here when all seemed hopeless, but it had been her choice. And she had chosen largely because of a moment much like this. Not so intense, but what was the difference, really? She wasn't a lesbian, had never thought of women as attractive, but that hadn't seemed to matter much. Had never thought of pain as sexy, but that hadn't stopped her, either. Why was this, what he wanted, any different?

She was repulsed, disgusted, ashamed, afraid. And curious; somewhere deep in her heart, she wanted to learn. Your place is to obey. Didn't you promise to do that? And besides, it's not like it's all that big a deal. Babies get their temperatures taken that way, and sometimes even adults take medicine … there.

Shaking, tears flowing down her face like rain, she lifted her hand to her mouth and sucked on a finger. He watched, and she felt his attention like a weight. Her movements were slow; reluctance, partly, but more than that. It was almost as though the air had thickened, or gravity grown stronger; hard to move, hard to breathe. Her mouth caressed her finger, cheeks concave with effort, then she looked at her shiny-wet digit, blinked, and let her hand fall.

Eyes half closed, she pushed aside the lacy confection that ornamented more than it concealed. She set her finger against the wrinkled indentation she could feel, though not see, and pressed gently, then firmly, gasping as her asshole surrendered suddenly, allowing her finger in to the first knuckle. Her nail scraped muscle as it passed. It felt unnatural, the sphincter's grip greedy around the unwanted intrusion.

'Farther,” he rasped.

Screwing her face up, she obeyed. Grunts accompanied her finger's slow advance until the second knuckle was caressed in its turn. She panted, mouth dry, skin slick with sweat.

'More.'

Squealing with pain as cramped muscles protested, she forced her hand forward, until, finally, her sphincter clenched against her palm. Her hand held her cheeks apart, for there was no other place it could rest.

'Hold still.'

She struggled to obey, as her wrist cramped from the bending, her legs began to shake with strain, her throat to burn from holding curses and screams and pleas within. Her crotch was wet, her clit throbbed. That might have been the worst pain of all.

'Bring your other hand forward,” he said. No least hint of disobedience crossed her mind, she wanted simply to get through the ordeal. “Finger yourself.'

'What?'

'You heard me.'

She wasn't sure she had, but decided to take a chance. Sliding two fingers beneath her panties, she stroked her clit. When he didn't bark at her, she continued, fingers slick with the moisture of her secret shame. She was always wet, here, no matter what they did to her. Always ready. Always. But never more than now.

'Stop.'

Damn! She had been close.

'Show me your fingers.'

Relieved, she began to withdraw both hands.

'No. Just the one hand.'

She didn't need to ask which one. Choking back a sob, more of frustration than pain, she displayed the hand still sticky with her juices.

'So you enjoy this.” It wasn't a question, more a purr. “Remove the finger.'

She hurried to obey, only to discover that a quick withdrawal would be too painful to endure. Carefully, she inched her way out, trying without success to find a position which would not scrape and burn. Finally, as her finger popped free of her sphincter's perverse embrace, she sighed.

'Stand before me.'

She struggled from her chair and waddled to him, feeling herself unnaturally opened, stretched, then took the position she had been taught. Legs apart, always. You must always be accessible. Hands behind your head, elbows out, unless your hands are bound behind you. Face forward, they like to see what you are feeling. Her breasts strained against her blouse, nipples drawn hard and tight; her underwear was still bunched up, out of place. She was sopping wet, moisture dripping down her thighs, and could smell her own arousal. She felt a slattern, sloppy, unkempt, ashamed.

He took something from his desk; she didn't see what. Expressionless, he swiped it along her slit-she jumped, though she knew it was forbidden-and placed it in a drawer. “I'll call for you tomorrow. You are dismissed.'

She turned to leave, feeling her thighs slide against each other, feeling the swelling between them.

'You are not to masturbate today, nor to allow anyone else to touch you. No matter the lesson.'

She was shaking as she left the room. He's a pervert. My God! How could you do this to me? Her asshole felt distended, open, gaping wide. She thought about putting her finger back, and stumbled in shock. She wanted to!

He's not the only pervert. It would be a very long day, and a longer night.

* * * *

It was the most unbelievable sensation. Moist caresses at the very center of her being, a firm yet gentle probing, an angel or a butterfly sipping nectar. Dreaming, she stretched, luxuriating in sensation. Encountering an obstruction between her legs brought her fully awake. Discovering a person in bed with her, she screamed.

Lights came on in the dormitory. Carolyn's uninvited guest cowered beneath the covers; she tore them away, furious.

A proctor stood above the bed, glowering. “Explain.'

'I woke up. She was here.” Later, she would think about how it had felt to be loved by the mouth of another woman. Right now, all she wanted was to be sure this would never happen again. It had been such a lovely dream…

'You, report to the front desk.” The proctor frowned in the intruder's direction. “You, Carolyn, isn't it?” She didn't wait for a response. “You've an appointment. Confess your transgression to your tutor.” She turned away. Though the dormitory was full, not a single head was canted in the direction of the disturbance. If others were wakeful, they concealed it well. Carolyn was forced to dress mostly by touch, as the senior reached the light switch before she was halfway clothed. She did not dare protest.

Reaching the office door, she paused, breathing deeply. She had stopped by a bathroom, brushed her teeth, washed her face, straightened her clothing, then hurried, hoping she had broken no rule. A recent arrival, she was unsure what was permitted, but surely cleanliness was desirable? She knocked.

'Enter.'

The voice sent shivers through her. She had seen him the day of her arrival, and been struck by his strength,