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, 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.