The Schooling of Carolyn [Academy for Discipline #1] Read online

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  Copyright ©2005 Pearl Jones

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  ACADEMY FOR DISCIPLINE, VOL. 1

  THE SCHOOLING OF CAROLYN

  By

  PEARL JONES

  A Renaissance E Books publication

  ISBN 1-58873-652-0

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2005 by P. Jones

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  For information contact:

  Renaissance E Books

  Email [email protected]

  A Sizzler/B&D Edition

  CHAPTER ONE

  WELCOME

  It didn't look like a pit. Carolyn had expected something ... seedier. A run-down old hotel, perhaps, with women leaning out from the windows. Or maybe a half-converted jail. Even one of those tastelessly ostentatious modern buildings. Not this. The Academy looked like a very expensive resort; high in the mountains, far from the modern world. Stone walls bordered the manicured grounds, and the limousine drove for what seemed like miles after passing through high wrought-iron gates.

  She spent the ride wondering what she had done. What she'd gotten herself into. It had all seemed reasonable enough the night before—seen through the bottom of a shot-glass, shock and orgasm as intoxicating as the drink. But now, alone in the back of a limo, far from the only town, the only life she'd ever known, it seemed completely insane. Surreal.

  Discipline.

  The stranger who had told her of the Academy had whispered it, and it was embossed on the thick rag-bond card she'd been given. The driver had murmured it just before closing the car door. Discipline.

  What kind of discipline?

  Sexual, surely, given the things that odd woman had said and done. But what did that mean? Did I sell myself into some kind of sex slavery? Damn, I don't even know if this place is co-ed! That woman, last night, she didn't say. And why didn't she come get me herself? What's with the stretch? And the driver? What's going to happen to me?

  Her head hurt, and all the questions boiling in her skull didn't help. Hung over, and not for the first time. Fine; she could handle that. She'd had a lot of experience over the past few months. Hangovers were just the price she paid for drinking, and they were still better than the nothingness she drank to escape. Had drunk to escape. Until last night, when a stranger had offered her something better.

  Maybe ... She shook her head. No point to wondering what would happen; the limo was nearing the end of the drive. All she had to do was get out of the car, and she would see what was to be seen. Or not. I could go home. Just forget about all this.

  Go back? To what?

  Carolyn dug the card out of her pocket and traced the single word. She licked her lips, remembering the strange events of the night before, the stranger's whispered words echoing off tile as they echoed now in memory.

  "This is your entry visa,” the woman had said while Carolyn still reeled. “And the key to your success.” And she had smiled like a snake, her tongue darting out to trace her lips.

  What had she meant by that? And why isn't she here? Not that they were friends or anything; Carolyn didn't even know the woman's name. It was simply that she was lonely, and frightened. And wet. She spread her legs a bit, embarrassed by the thought, the fact, frustrated. If she hadn't worried about the driver seeing, she might have tried to give herself some relief, but she'd never been very good at that. Maybe they'll—whoever runs this place—maybe they can teach me how to do something about it. Oh, God, I'd give anything for that.

  The car pulled up at last by a sprawling stone manse, and the driver came around to open the door for her. Carolyn blinked, for the driver was very differently dressed than she had been before, wearing a driver's cap but little else on her lithe small form: A short vest that pushed her breasts forward, offering them to the world. A skirt so short it didn't deserve the name. High-heeled shoes with dainty straps around the ankles. And a choker with a tiny gold lock holding it closed. When she'd arrived at Carolyn's, she'd worn a duster that had covered her as well as a nun's habit. Had this been beneath it all the while?

  Why would anyone dress that way? Hookers don't show that much skin! And that necklace...

  Discipline?

  Carolyn shrank back into the seat.

  The driver waited, patient and placid, holding the door open until Carolyn gathered her courage and ventured forth. Cap doffed, she led the way inside to a room out of a British drama, old glowing wood and leather and polished brass. A shallow bow seemed to suggest that Carolyn might sit.

  She chose a chair. When next she looked around, the driver had gone. She looked around the room, waiting for whatever came next. And trying not to scream from nerves. What am I doing here? I don't fit! This place, this isn't for someone like me. She swallowed, trying to remember what she had been told. A place to learn, for people whose needs were different. And that word, that one word. Discipline.

  Right. Try to stay calm. Like that boy with the fox. Oh, I wish I hadn't thought that. For some reason, her mind flashed on the stranger's fingernails. Her body responded with a flood of wetness. Oh, God.

  She was using her hands to fan her cheeks when the door opened, and three impossibly beautiful beings walked into the room. Two men, one woman, they shone with wealth, with success. The looked like the kind of people on television. Glossy. Important. Privileged. Carolyn looked down at her shoes, embarrassed by their lack of polish, feeling awkward and frumpled and fat and perfectly out of place. She darted a glance up through her lashes, wanting to stare, but not to be seen. The woman met her eyes, smiling, wise and kind. Carolyn felt her cheeks heat even more but raised her head, and the men each offered a brief nod.

  There are some men here, at least. That's a relief. She didn't bother to ask herself why. And they were gorgeous, too. So was the woman. And the driver. And the stranger. All of them, good-looking and polished. Unlike me. She looked at her shoes again, run down and scuffed and probably years out of style, if they'd ever been in style to begin with.

  "Tell us why you are here,” the woman commanded. Her voice was soft, but it was firm, as well. Carolyn couldn't look at any of them while she spoke, but she forced herself to answer, stammering out a confused tale of the woman in the bar. Her offer. Her demonstration. The climax—not Carolyn's first, but one of few, and the strongest. How different the world seemed, now, how much more it had to offer. How she yearned.

  "Why are you here?” The woman's voice was almost a caress.

  "To learn,” Carolyn whispered. “To ... feel.” She licked her lips. “She said—she said you could give me ‘sensations beyond belief.'” She blinked back tears, desperate and afraid, clutching her hands to still their shaking. Her palms were damp; not the only moisture she could feel. She swallowed, trying not to squirm in the leather chair. What if they don't take me? What might happen then? What happened if they did, what would they ask of her? “Sensations beyond belief.” She said it like a prayer.

  One of the men spoke. “Stand up and remove your clothing."

  She gaped, shook her head. Surely she had misheard? But the woman raised one elegantly curved brow, and she kn
ew she had heard the command.

  Do I obey? What if I don't? Is this some test? The only answer she could find was in the woman's eyes. They demanded obedience, and she found herself on her feet, undoing buttons even as she asked herself what she thought she was doing. Her cheeks were hot, her hands shook, her breath caught in her throat, but she obeyed. In far too little time for her comfort, she stood exposed, naked but for the blush crawling down her neck toward her breasts.

  "Turn,” the man said, and she did, not even thinking to resist. Her mind was still busy wondering how she had come to where she was. “Bend.” “Raise your arms.” “Open your mouth.” She did what she was told.

  "Expose your clit.” She froze, blinking, unable to speak. There was no doubt in her mind she had heard correctly this time. But she could not. She hadn't been able to do that for her husband, her ex, the one time he had asked. There was no way she could do for a stranger what she could not have done out of love!

  The woman leaned forward in her chair. “Are you refusing the command?"

  The soft purr of her voice seemed to slither across the room, crawling to Carolyn's core to nestle there. Dazed with the feeling—so new, incredible!—Carolyn placed her hands over her mound and spread her fingers a bit. Then more, pulling her lips open until she felt the chill air on the tenderest flesh of her body. She smelled herself on the air, and flushed head to toe. Someone chuckled; she screwed her eyes shut. Discipline. She arched her back, offering herself to the view of the strangers before her.

  "Well.” The man who had not yet spoken cleared his throat. “Come."

  Carolyn shook her head; not refusal, but confusion. “How?” She croaked the word, throat tight with too much emotion. She desperately wanted to obey that single-word command; her whole body felt taut as a bowstring, ready, but she didn't know what to do. She hadn't masturbated much, and had never found the trick to it; her hands felt pleasant on her body but she rarely achieved climax.

  "Hm.” He snapped his fingers, and Carolyn's eyes popped open at the sound. A door opened, and she groaned. Another person to see her exposed; she flushed again. The driver appeared, minus her cap, bearing a tray. She offered a single feather to the man. Turning away at a wave, she tossed a wink at Carolyn, who dropped her eyes to the floor, stifling a sob.

  Juices trickled down her thighs, chilling as they went. The man beckoned her forward with a finger, and she stepped, awkward with her hands still between her legs.

  "Spread your feet."

  She stood there, waiting, as they all looked upon her. When the feather touched her, she flinched back, then forced herself to be still. It teased, tormented, circling around her nub, brushing across it only briefly before darting away. Her breath quickened, and sweat broke out on her body, nipples wrinkled tight, her fluids dampening her feet.

  It stopped. She opened eyes she did not remember closing, mouth open wide. “Why?"

  "How do you feel?"

  "I ... need."

  "Is this what you were expecting, when you agreed to study here?"

  The question took a moment to penetrate, as Carolyn's attention was mostly on her body. “I don't know what I expected. I needed something. A change. And I don't have any money, or any skills.” The quiet man chuckled, but said nothing. She continued, “I don't know much about sex or anything, but the woman said you'd teach me to enjoy. I want that, I want to know how to make myself come, and to do to other people what she did to me."

  I want to feel. Anything. And if you don't start ... playing ... with me again soon, I am going to scream. Please! Please? It took all her strength not to speak. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she felt it strong beneath her fingers as she held herself open, praying for his attentions.

  He was talking; she shook her head, and he smiled. Understanding crinkled his eyes, a warm expression like a grandfather would wear; she didn't feel at all familial. She wanted his hands, his mouth, his cock, that feather he still held and would not use!

  He spoke again, a hint of scolding in his voice. “Do you understand that, if you are accepted, you will remain her for two years? No weekends, no vacations, no off-season. No time to visit friends. Your time is ours, for twenty-four full months. If we accept you, will you be able to handle that?"

  Pay attention! Or do you want to be sent away? Her whole body clenched in fear. She cleared her throat. “Two years is fine; I wasn't doing anything, anyway.” Just ... drifting.

  "Do you understand that, while you are here, you are to follow orders?"

  She nodded, silent, waiting.

  "The Academy is not like the world outside. As a student, you would be required to follow all orders, regardless of how you may feel about them. Do you understand that? Do you understand even your body will not be your own? Are you agreeing to give yourself over to us?"

  Carolyn swallowed. Can I do this? Really? A small breeze stirred the air. She felt it on every inch of her skin, like a kiss, like an answer. I'm standing here naked. I can do anything. She nodded.

  "Then stand still.” The man's stern expression faded into fond approval, and the feather resumed its flicking, teasing torment. Dipping between her lips, darting away. She felt the air it stirred, heard the murmurs of the others, smelled lemon polish and cologne and scotch and her own sex. Her knees went weak; she tried to lock them, to keep herself steady while the man did as he willed.

  Discipline, she thought, over and over, until the feather chased even that word from her mind. Panting, sweating, perfuming the air with her fluids, she shook and whispered her pleas to the room. She lost all sense of time, of dignity, of pride, and would gladly have spread her legs to one and all. But no matter how she tried, she could not find the edge to pleasure; the feather always pulled away.

  A few times, her hands slipped toward her center; she caught herself before she quite touched her clit. Some part of her remembered what she had promised, and feared that if she disobeyed, she might still be sent away.

  This feeling, this suspense, was far better than the emptiness she had lived with since the divorce—or before. She did her best to stay on her feet and still. The air around her warmed and moistened, until she felt like she had become a swamp.

  She was tormented by that feather until the sheer intensity of the sensation drove her to her knees by the sensation, what seemed mere heartbeats from climax. She writhed on the floor, begging, sobbing, completely vulnerable, as the three took turns scraping the feather over her clitoris and surrounding flesh. Their skill was as impressive as their patience. They teased and tickled, poked and pressed, circled and stroked and traced—and pulled away, again and again, just when it seemed she had reached the point of no return. From time to time there were new instructions, poses to take, parts to offer up to that wonderful, horrible feather. She did as they commanded, blushing and biting her lip and trying not to beg.

  She failed, but they didn't seem to mind.

  When she was at long last dismissed from the room, she crawled toward the door, too drained and shaken even to attempt to stand. The motion of her legs sent her finally over the edge, so powerful an orgasm that she went blind and deaf for a moment.

  That was her welcome to the Academy.

  CHAPTER TWO

  INITIATIONS

  Carolyn's mind whirled. Too many things had happened in too short a time. Someone led her to a place she could recover; it might have been the driver, or the stranger, or an angel complete with wings. She must have seen the person, but took no note of identity, simply too tired to care. She hadn't slept much the night before, and that interview had taken every last bit of strength she had. Head down, she followed where she was led, and fell on a couch, and simply breathed.

  She thought she would sleep, but instead, as she panted, she remembered. A night ago, a different life.

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  She had emptied her bank account for one last bender. Enough bourbon to float a ship, and then she'd worry about what came next. The money hadn't gone as far as she'd hop
ed, but then a woman had taken the seat beside her, and offered to buy her a drink and lend an ear. “Tell me your tale of woe."

  "'S nothing special,” Carolyn drawled. She wasn't drunk—or not enough. But it was nice to pretend, to spill out her sorrows as though her tongue had been lubricated by alcohol, and the woman had, after all, paid for the drink. “Happens every day. Make a fairy tale out of it, ‘xcept there's no happy endin’ for me. Once upon a time, a small-town girl got dumped. Her husband left her, and there she was, all on her own-some."

  The woman made a sympathetic sound. Carolyn barely noticed. She was searching for the words to tell her tale. Easier as a story, as though it had happened to someone else. “Caro was a very good little girl, always wanted to make her parents proud. And she grew up pretty, too! Not smart, but that was okay. She was nice. A cheerleader type, you know? Just what everyone expected her to be. She made it through high school, married the captain of the football team, made a home for him, and tried to keep busy while she waited to have babies. Like everyone expected. Even her.” She gulped at her drink, liquid fire to burn away the sob she felt trying to come out. Her vision blurred; she shook her head, angry at herself. It's done. Why bother crying now? The woman sat, grace on a barstool, waiting. Except for her hands, she was perfectly still. Carolyn blinked again; for a second, it had looked like the woman was, well, like she was practicing for when she got home to her lover.

  Her cheeks heated. She swallowed hard and looked at her own fidgeting fingers and went on, “But the babies didn't happen, the husband was almost never home, and even when he was, there was no ... nothing. I guess no one expected Caro to be exciting, or they forgot to teach her how. For sure her husband couldn't do it; he didn't even try. He just went off to the city every day, to work, like everyone expected him to do. And the babies still weren't coming, and football wasn't exciting any more, and so he found a city woman, and left Carolyn on her own."

  She swirled her glass, one sliver of ice melting into the amber. Her mouth was dry, but she was out of cash. Would her listener buy her another one? The stranger smiled with her oddly triangular mouth, and signaled the bartender; Carolyn nodded thanks and drained her drink.