Flushing red-hot, she came.
* * * *
Orgasm during class, without permission. She shuddered to think what her punishment would be. Orgasm from an anal plug; she blushed still more with shame. Grace said nothing to her beyond commanding her to confess her transgression at her appointment. She was sent on to her next class as though nothing had happened, still sticky with her juices. Still plugged. It felt not at all unwelcome now, physically. Mentally, emotionally, she still thought it unnatural, but she had to admit that it stimulated her.
Walking the hall to class, she swayed her hips side to side, feeling the plug shift with each step. By the time she reached her destination, she was well on her way to another illicit orgasm. Whispers greeted her at the door; those students from the last class telling others what she had done. The teacher, too, seemed already to have heard: Carolyn was given a seat on a high stool in the front corner of the room. With no desk, she had perforce to balance her notebook on a thigh, crouching forward against the plug, or raising a leg high to form a desk, opening herself fully to view. It was quite uncomfortable, and quite a spectacle. The attention of much of the class ensured she would not accomplish any surreptitious rubbing. She knew she was displaying herself, and had no choice. The stool was hard, rubbing her bruised ass, forcing the plug deep. She couldn't help her arousal, the shame seemed only to drive it higher. By the end of class, she was shaking from need, exhausted from the strain of her position, and there was a puddle of her juices beneath the stool.
Thank God, time for my appointment! She waddled as fast as she could.
Carolyn stood before the office door, shaking. Confession led to punishment, and she was unsure she could take another punishment. Her ass ached even standing; sitting tortured her bruised flesh, and there was the oddly pleasant torment of the anal plug within her. Weak with conflicting desires-to run, to cry, to lean against a wall and pleasure herself, permissions be damned-she breathed as hard as if she'd run a marathon. Her thighs were sticky with residues of need past and present.
The door opened before her. “Were you intending to knock?” He stood backlit, looming, haloed, his face in darkness. Her knees weakened, as they always did when she saw him, heard his voice, felt the heat coming off him. Not waiting for an answer, he motioned her to follow, and led the way to the tiled chamber where yesterday she'd been stretched by enemas at his command. She entered reluctantly, remembering pain, but unable to defy him. Your place is to obey.
"Strip. Remove the plug, clean it. There is an enema bag readied; set the timer for ten minutes. Massage your stomach in a circular pattern, lower right to upper left. Release it, shower, bring the plug back to my office.” He turned with no further word, and left. She stood, mouth gaping, wondering. Why had he led her here, instead of sending an attendant? Why had he given those orders? Was she to … oh, God, no. He can't mean for me to leave my clothes here. I can't just walk the halls naked. Though she had seen no one the last time she'd traveled that hall, just the thought of exposure made her shake with fear. She could imagine it, every shameful step, naked, blushing, brandishing an anal plug. No!
Yes. Your place is to obey.
Her hands shaking, she moved to do as he had commanded. Removing the plug, she gasped at the sensation as her anus contracted around empty air. It felt oddly bereft. Replacing it with the enema tube was not as hard as she would have thought, but the rush of fluid soon bent her over, cramping. Remembering, she set the timer, then began to massage her belly, feeling it stretch under her hands until the bag was empty, and she was full.
The cramps were not as bad this time. Perhaps there was less fluid, or perhaps she was adjusting. Horrible thought. Fluid moved with her motion, circles gently encouraging the flow upward, deeper into her. She felt she was being molded into some new pattern or form.
The timer rang, giving her permission to release, to shower. She spent a long time cleaning herself, trying to still the trembling in her knees. At last, fearing delay would result in further punishment, she dashed down the corridor, unclothed, bearing the plug before her. This time, she didn't hesitate at the door, knocking as soon as it was within reach.
He waited a moment before answering.
Taking the plug from Carolyn's shaking hand, he replaced it with one a size larger. “You'll not report to me tomorrow, but the day after, at this time. Until then, wear this. If there is nothing further…"
She dropped her gaze to the floor. “Sir, forgive me, please, I have a confession to make. I experienced release without permission in class this morning.” Not looking up, though she knew she was supposed to, she related the sordid tale briefly. No sound met her straining ears but her own breathing. He might have been a statue. Finally, she looked up.
"An orgasm? What prompted this?” He wasn't frowning, or smiling. An eyebrow slightly raised, nothing more.
"Grace, the instructor … she said that some women experienced orgasm from anal stimulation. I was curious. I didn't mean to … pleasure myself, I just wanted to know if it would be possible. And then she breathed on me. And I shook. And it … it just … happened. I really didn't mean to…” She trailed off. What more was there to say?
"She breathed on you?” His voice shook with ill-concealed laughter. “And did her breath perchance carry words?"
Carolyn dropped her eyes, blushing furiously. “She said I liked it because I didn't like it."
"And was she right?"
Carolyn looked up, anger suddenly boiling in her veins. “You know I hate it! That's why you do it! If you thought I liked having a giant rubber plug up my butt, you'd find something else to do to me.” She was so angry she was panting, and he smiled, not bothering to pretend he wasn't enjoying the picture she presented. Her blush didn't stop at her face, traveling down her neck to her breasts, accenting her distended nipples.
"And yet you came.” He sounded so smug it made her growl.
"Yes, damn you, I came! That's why you chose me, isn't it, that I get off on this shit?"
"Please don't be vulgar,” he murmured, motioning her to back up.
She looked down, surprised to find she was leaning over his desk, her face inches from his. She stepped back as he spoke.
"You know quite well why you are here, and the terms of the agreement you made. I don't recall that tantrums were among the qualities you were told we look for.” He was smiling again.
"No.” She sighed, deflated. “I'm sorry.” She tried to read his face, could not. Waited, spreading her legs a bit more, hoping to impress him with her obedient posture.
He reached into a desk drawer, withdrew a bottle of oil. “Put that on the plug, then bend over the desk and insert it."
Gaping with surprise at the mildness of his tone, she rushed to obey, coating the plug liberally with the pleasantly-scented oil, then resting her chest against the desk, reaching back to open her cheeks. She pressed the plug in quickly, desperate to get the deed done, and squealed as the burning began.