And what did you choose, Caro? A deep, shuddering breath. I chose what I needed, of course. Who I needed. Him. She thought of her tutor's hands, and his voice, and the way he looked at her, all heat and amusement and confidence and clarity. And how very much she loved the things he made her do, that she would never have tried without his command. I chose the one who sees me better than I do myself.
She bit her tongue to keep from moaning; clenched her hands into fists and savored the bite of her nails in her palms-anything to keep from coming. Her whole body thrummed with desire, with something deeper than that. More than anything, she wanted to run to him, to tell him what she had just realized. But he had set her a task, and she had not finished. She took a breath.
Jennifer was waiting, needing reassurance, needing to be stroked; she forced a smile. “He wouldn't have chosen you if he didn't know what you could be. And he's doing everything you need, even if you can't always see it. Trust in that.
"Why, he even gave permission for me to try to help you. Would he have done that if he didn't care?” The newly fair-haired Jennifer shook her head. “And you know I'm trying to help, right?” A nod. “So, if I'm trying to help, and he sent me to you…"
Jennifer smiled, a sudden bright expression like the sun coming from behind a cloud. “Then he does like me! Oh, Caro, thank you!"
Carolyn looked at Jennifer-her nipples thrusting half through the dress, the perfect thighs glistening when she moved-and smiled. She's ready. Time to make her scream. Her new awareness did nothing to mitigate her desires; she wanted, still, to punish Jennifer and force her to enjoy it, and though she knew it was partly out of jealousy, she didn't care. Why waste time on guilt? She'll love it. She just doesn't know it yet.
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
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.