That's disgusting. She's old enough to be my grandmother!
The Mistress of Discipline who sat at the front of the class was indeed quite aged. She was also in charge, and perfectly capable of controlling the classroom, which she demonstrated bare moments after the bell rang to begin.
"Carolyn. What is the first command?"
It had been on the sheet she had been given, and was carved above several doors. She answered confidently. “Your place is to obey."
"Good. Remove your skirt."
Carolyn froze. Not now, please! Her thighs were still sticky. The underwear she had been given was lace: thin, sheer, dainty, revealing. And wet. Her hands clenched on the waistband of the skirt, and she paused, wishing, but she had promised herself she would do what was wanted, here. I made my choice. And I will see it through. Closing her eyes for a moment, she let the skirt fall.
"Turn."
She did, hating the flush she could feel rising to her cheeks. It would spread south, she knew, down her neck, her chest, perhaps further. “Bend over. Show the class your ass,” the old woman said.
Why that? Tears stung beneath her eyelids as she moved to obey the command. Carolyn had always been ashamed of her behind. Jutting back as if to draw attention to itself, larger than one would expect from her otherwise-slender frame, it was almost large enough to be seen from the front, and she had spent years in A-frame dresses and knee-length shirts to keep it concealed. But she no longer had any choice in clothing, not that it seemed she would get to stay dressed for long. She stayed in position until the old woman told she could stand, feeling her ass cheeks heat as if they, too, were blushing.
Perhaps they were.
Obediently, she rose, and the grey-hair began to use her as a lecturing tool. Though only an hour before jealous of a student in this situation, now all Carolyn could do was wish to be elsewhere. The topic was on corporal punishment, in its several forms. Spanking, caning, whipping, paddling, and so on. No strike hit her rear, all stopping before contact, but the constant sharp breeze as the instructor waved implements around made her shiver, and shake, and moan.
And the wetness trickled down her thighs to darken her stockings, obvious to all in the room, adding to her shame. The descriptions were vivid, almost painful by themselves. And then the woman pulled down Carolyn's underwear.
She whimpered, and tears striped her cheeks, but she made no protest. Your place is to obey. And she had chosen this. A tickling came, and she flinched, but tried to stay still. The old woman was drawing on her ass! Her jaw fell when she figured it out. The lecture continued, Carolyn flushing hotter than before.
"Enough!” The voice was sharp. Carolyn started. What had she done wrong?
"Rise."
She rushed to comply.
"You've smeared my lines with your juices. What is the second law?"
Carolyn frowned. She'd only received the rules the day before, and it hadn't exactly been boring; she'd had no time to study, yet. “I don't know,” she was forced to reply, and Mistress Bertha scowled. The rest of the class winced, knowing what came next.
"The second law, foolish child, is as follows, and I suggest you take heed. ‘Pleasure and pain come from Their hands, and by Their will.’ You are not to experience pleasure save when ordered to, do you understand?"
Carolyn nodded, emphatic, afraid of this ancient woman's ire. Why am I so scared? And so wet? What's she done to me? But, really, she'd been aroused since coming here. “Sensations beyond belief,” she had been promised, and here they were. This place was something she'd never have conceived. In her old life, sex was something kept behind closed doors, with the lights out. Now, people she hadn't met could do things to her. This frail old woman could command her, and she would obey. And enjoy it, apparently, though it was against the rules.
I smeared her ink. Carolyn stifled her laugh, but the smile escaped.
"You find this amusing?” The grey-hair's voice was calm. The threat was all in the undertones, but it was there. Carolyn heard it, and shook her head, but knew she was doomed. Everyone knew it, and they waited for the ax to fall; small murmurings came from the students as the old one flourished an oddly shaped bit of metal.
"I wonder if you'll find this, too, amusing,” she said as she crooked a finger for Carolyn to come nearer. “Spread your labia, and hold them open wide."
Carolyn bit her lip, swallowing her moan. Your place is to obey. She pulled her shoulders back. Ignoring the flush still spreading over her body, she did as she was commanded, trying to be calm. Her breath hitched, but she paid it no attention, her focus on the woman giving orders. Your place is to obey. She would not fail.
The old woman moved her this way and that, like a toy, a doll. Carolyn let her eyes roam the room, though they shied away from faces. There, in the door, stood a long, lean length of a man. Her eyes traveled up from the boots to the well-worn jeans. A soft silk shirt lapped over a leather belt. Strong shoulders, big hands. A face from her wildest dreams.
Literally. This was the man she had seen as the hero in her fantasies, in every role from Prince Charming to the Pirate Definitely Without a Heart of Gold, and everything in between. Strong chiseled jaw, neat mustache, white pointed teeth. Cheekbones like cliffs, twinkling eyes. One brow quirked higher than the other.
Her heart skipped a beat; she did not notice. All the world fell away. There was no room for it in her awareness, only him. His eyes roved over her, and then he looked away, turned and left; she felt his absence like a physical pain.
"Wait!” She didn't mean to speak, to move, but could not help herself. He was gone!
The old woman pinched her clitoris between sharp fingernails. Carolyn yelped, focus instantly returned to the classroom and her fate. The device was being calibrated, she was told; she must be still. Another pinch convinced her it was wisest to obey, but her heart yearned to follow after the man.
She paid little attention to the adjustments which followed, or the lecture, her mind filled with his image, wondering who he was. Hoping she'd see him again soon, and plotting ways to find him.
The old woman gave up at last, and sent her back to her seat.
* * * *
Halfway through dinner, Carolyn became aware of the world again. She was eating, though she had no memory of selecting food. Her sex was swollen, and there was something hard there, holding her open, intruding barely within. Her stockings were stiff, and her panties were quite soaked.
"Who was that man?"
Her tablemates looked at her, wondering.
"Standing in the doorway, in Discipline,” she explained, sighing. Her words cut off with a yelp as she felt a bright sharp pain. “Something bit me!” She lifted her skirt to stare at … a chastity belt? A silvery triangle covered her mound, curving to hug her curves faithfully. I look like a Barbie doll, she thought. Smooth ‘round the bend. Her nerves told her more about the shape than her eyes could convey-the inside was not smooth, but molded with small ridges and protrusions. It wasn't uncomfortable so much as disconcerting, this object in such intimate contact that it kept her from the world. “What is this?"
"Damn, girl, where you been the past hour? Ain't you hear a word old Bertha say?"
Another student chimed in. “Aww, don't you remember your first days? Don't worry, Carolyn, you'll get used to it. Some day. That thing you've got on is an Enforcer. It shocks you when you flow."
"Flow?” Carolyn shrugged her shoulders, wrinkled her nose. “I don't…"