Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11407305.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Original_Work
  Additional Tags:
      Gang_Rape, Abuse_of_Power, Class_Issues, Humiliation, Device_Bondage,
      Forced_Orgasm, Beating, Watersports, Blackmail, Underage_Rapists,
      Teacher/Student
  Collections:
      Nonconathon_2017
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-07-05 Words: 8565
****** Evening Class ******
by vanessa_cardui
Summary
     "You know," said Traes, "it's a good thing that we've managed to
     schedule this class, because there's a great deal that you do not
     seem to understand about institutions such as St. Marmelion's, and
     about the class of students which these institutions attract. If you
     intend to have a career in public education, you really should pay
     close attention."
Deiran and Poss Junior were watching her as she went up the stairs to her
rooms. They smirked as she passed, wearing those ridiculous lapel pins and
looping watch chains that members of the student drinking societies affected.
As far as Entessa was concerned, sixteen year old boys shouldn't be drinking,
in societies or otherwise, and they shouldn't be near single instructor
housing, and, frankly, both Deiran and Poss Junior could've stood to spend more
time working on their assignments and less time getting dressed up to go
drinking and leering.
But the fact was, the laws and customs of St. Marmelion weren't going to change
based on the opinions of a new instructor. Or an old instructor, or anyone
else. And neither Deiran or Poss were the worst of the students, honestly.
Deiran was big for his age, and wasn't quite used to it; there was something
puppyish about the way he'd get his legs tangled with his desk when he stood,
and he did his best to learn the material, even if he wasn't really suited to
academic work. And Poss had a good enough head on his shoulders, when he could
be bothered to use it.
It was boys like Traes or Erenan Senior who were the real terrors, and after
the end of the semester, there was a better than average chance that Traes, at
least, was going to be a problem for some institution other than St. Marmelion.
For all that His Grace Ereman Traes was Duke of Aarland and a member of the
shadow cabinet, it was going to be very hard for the administration to look at
the work done by his son and heir Beredein Traes, and allow him to continue to
study at their institution. Whether or not Traes could do the work demanded, he
never even bothered to try. Entessa had been delighted by the opportunities
presented by a job at St. Marmelion, but students like Traes really--
She clattered up the well-worn wooden stairs into the single instructor
housing. St. Marmelion's was the finest instructional institution in the world-
-nearly a quarter of the prime ministers and half the lord chancellors had
passed through its gates as students--but the stairs were narrow and high and
they creaked, and they probably hadn't been replaced since the single
instructor's housing had been a medieval monastery.
Working there was the best opportunity there was for someone who wanted to
teach, or who wanted to open their own school--a tenured position at St.
Marmelion's would translate into any other job she could possibly want. But it
was exhausting. Entessa couldn't wait to pour herself a glass of wine, open up
a book, and let that all fade away.
She opened the door, stepped into her room, and then stopped, astonished. Traes
was waiting for her inside her room. Traes, and his usual cronies. Ordan and
Cass and Wain Senior. Traes was sitting in her chair, leaning back, his boots
up on her couch, where Wain Senior was sitting, his legs resting on a massive
sporting duffel. Ordan and Cass were going through her desk. Entessa was so
shocked that she just stood there, her key still in her door, mouth open.
"Good evening, teacher," said Traes, as Deiran and Poss Junior pushed in behind
her, taking the key out and locking the door closing behind them with a click.
"I believe it's time for our evening's lesson to begin?"
"What are you talking about?" said Entessa. "Coming into an instructor's
private quarters, going through her things? If you leave this instant, I won't
bring this to the dean's attention, but--"
With a flourish, Traes pulled out his drinking society watch, at the end of
that ridiculous chain. "No," he said. "I was correct. It is time for the lesson
to begin."
"If you do not leave at once, I shall--"
"You shall what, teacher?" asked Traes, and there was genuine menace in the way
he said it. "One of the great advantages that our institution provides to those
who instruct its charges is accommodations for unmarried instructors in what
was once the medieval monastic wing. Wonderfully thick walls, and heavy doors."
That was . . . he wasn't wrong, but-- "When I tell the dean about what you have
done, he will expel the lot of you."
"You know," said Traes, "it's a good thing that we've managed to schedule this
class, because there's a great deal that you do not seem to understand about
institutions such as St. Marmelion's, and about the class of students which
these institutions attract. If you intend to have a career in public education,
you really should pay close attention."
"You've come uninvited to somewhere you're not supposed to--"
"Madame Entessa," said Erenan Senior, sharply. "You will present them with a
story. Which outcome do you expect them to prefer--one which blackens the
reputation of six promising young men, or one which requires them to bury an
embarrassment, and hire a new instructor for literature and rhetoric?"
"There are promising young men turned away at the gates every year," said
Entessa, with more confidence than she actually felt.
"There are," said Traes. "There are indeed. But if they allowed applicants for
positions to gather at the gates, there would be a considerably larger crowd of
those. And there is a very great difference between students who are without
the gates, and those who are within. As I believe that you have discovered."
If Traes had bothered, he could've done well at rhetoric; that was the sort of
acid turn of phrase that was currently fashionable.
"Or am I mistaken?"
Entessa didn't know if he was mistaken, but she could hear the confidence in
his voice. He wasn't mistaken.
"And considering the nature of the instruction that we are about to administer,
I fear that this won't be a matter for expulsion. It would be a criminal case,
certainly, and I would very strongly suggest you consult with an expert on
criminal libel before you speak of this to anyone. The penalties--" He made an
elegant gesture.
"My uncle's an expert in criminal libel," said Deiran.
"Indeed he is," said Traes. "But I fear that Madame Entessa would have to find
a different solicitor. Even if there were not a conflict of interest, I very
much doubt she could afford the rates charged by your uncle's firm."
"Get undressed," said Wain Senior.
Entessa gaped at him.
"Sorry," said Traes. "I suppose I could've been clearer, but I was trying for a
turn of phrase you would appreciate. Within the gates, yes? Three meanings, but
I fear you've only caught two. Derian, her jacket, if you would?"
"Derian!' snapped Entessa. He hesitated, looked over at Traes, who frowned.
Then he grabbed hold of the back of Entessa's jacket, the other hand on her
hip, and pulled. He was sixteen years old, they all were, but he was a foot
taller than she was, and he was the scrimmage captain for varsity. Buttons
popped off and rolled across the floor, and Entessa's arms were jerked backward
as he pulled the jacket off. She started shouting, and he shoved her, more out
of surprise than because he was angry. She fell.
"There, you see?" said Traes. "Whether you want it or not, you're getting
undressed. And while you may be able to repair the jacket, I'm not certain how
much of your wardrobe you're going to be able to repair or replace, given your
salary and domestic achievements. Our esteemed institution is very generous in
some ways, and less so in others."
"This is a drinking society meeting," said Wain. "And you're the guest. Guests
get hurt a lot more if they don't go along nicely."
Entessa looked up at them. There were smirks, and there were bulges in their
trousers. All of them, not just Traes and Wain. Ordan and Cass, Deirnan and
Poss Junior.
"The gates," said Traes. He counted off on his fingers. "The gates of St.
Marmelion's, the door to your chamber, and your labia. We have established that
we are within the first two of those, and we are going to enter the third, as
forcefully as is required."
"Her blouse, Deiran." said Wain.
Deiran put his hand on her shoulder. "No," said Entessa. It had all fit into
place, and they were . . . well. When this was done, she'd see Traes out of the
school. And then she'd see what she could do about Wain. The school wouldn't,
but the teachers might. Only right there, right then--her scream had been
deadened by the walls and the door; nobody had heard it, and nobody would.
"Please, no."
"Sorry," said Deirnan. "It's just--"
"That while the Deirnan are a wealthy family, money still must cultivate
breeding," said Traes.
Entessa looked up at Deirnan, who looked a little embarrassed, but who
shrugged. He was going to do it.
It had been the cheapest blouse that had met the uniform requirements for
instructors at St. Marmelion's, and it had cost her the better part of a
month's salary. She didn't say anything, didn't give them the satisfaction. But
she started working on the buttons.
"Poss, you owe me a farthing," said Taes.
"She hasn't taken her underwear off," he said.
"She will, though," said Taes. "Only had one other brassiere in her bureau;
won't want to see half her supply ruined."
She didn't, but she also didn't want to take it off, not with the six of them
watching. But it was that, or have them tear it off her, and she couldn't
afford to replace it--she couldn't afford to replace any of it, and screaming
wasn't going to help, and damned if she was going to let them see her cry. She
unhooked it, dropped it to the side. And then she pulled her panties down,
stepped out of them, glaring at Taes. "Well?" she said.
"Thank you," he said. "The shoes and stockings, while not exactly of the
highest quality, are quite charming, and may remain. A farthing well earned is
a farthing well gained, my father always says."
"Has the Duke Taes ever even seen a farthing?" asked Wain.
"I don't believe he has, no," said Taes. "But Ordan, Cass? If you'll please
twirl our instructor about, so that we may see something even more interesting
than a farthing, and then escort her the corner of her room, please? There is a
great deal which we have to set up."
Those two were silent and sullen. Cass was a striker in scrimmage, whipcord
strong, Ordan was nearly as big as Dernan. One look at Cass's lean and dark
face and Ordan's round florid one told her that they lacked even Dernan's half-
hearted sympathy for her. It was go or be dragged there, so Entessa went,
knowing that the color was high in her cheeks, knowing that she'd find some way
to make them pay for doing this to her. They were just boys. Stupid, rich,
entitled boys who thought they could do whatever they wanted because of who
their families were. That wasn't true, not even at St. Marmelion's, and she was
going to--
She was turned around, so that the boys lounging about her room could see all
of her, naked, and not in the manner of her choosing. And then she was going to
stand in the corner of her room, apparently. Cass took a half-mark coin from
his pocket and held it up against the wall. "Hold it there," he said.
Entessa reached out hesitantly, and Ordan slapped her hand down hard. She
looked up at him, shocked.
"Hands behind your back," said Cass. "With your nose."
"Cass," said Entessa, with the voice that she used when someone had done
something disappointing, and needed to be set back on track. "This is--"
Wain whistled and tossed something to Cass. Entessa's panties fluttered through
the air, and Cass grabbed them. And then Wain tossed him a thick roll of
electrical tape.
Cass smiled. "Open up," he said.
"No," said Entessa.
Ordan hit her. In the stomach, hard enough to leave her doubled over, gasping.
Cass grabbed her hair, forced her head back, and then stuffed her panties in
her mouth, as she struggled for air. "Be good," he said, "or he's going to hit
you again."
Entessa looked up at Ordan through eyes that had filled with tears. The others
were miserable little shits, but Ordan . . . he had a dreamy look on his face,
and he was so happy with having been allowed to hit her. It was . . . Cass's
hand on her hair pulled her up to her hands and knees, and then he wrapped the
tape around her head, over and over. She didn't try to stop him. Ordan would
kill her if they let him.
"Much better," said Wain. "Yap, yap, yap."
"There there, Old Horse," said Taes. "You have to expect some dialog from a
rhetoric instructor. Help me with the table, will you? I think the idiots on
the staff stripped one of these screws."
"Staff," said Wain, "need to be taught a lesson."
"Yes, that's why we're entertaining a rhetoric instructor, rather than someone
young and pretty. But you need to help me move the table before we can do
that."
Cass pulled out one of the strands of Entessa's hair whose end had gotten under
the tape, and laid it gently back into place. She shivered at his touch, and
hated herself for it. Everything hadn't seemed real until then, but it was
real. It was real, and it was going to happen, and she was naked, and they were
going to--
She squeezed her eyes closed.
"Time to stand up. Good. Now, hands behind your back," said Cass. "Hold it in
place with your nose."
Entessa leaned forward. The coin was cold and heavy.
"If it falls," said Ordan. "I'm going to hit you pretty hard."
Entessa was crying, just a little. They were going to . . . there wasn't
anything that she could say, not with her underwear taped inside of her mouth.
And even if she could say something, there wasn't anything that she'd say that
would get them to give it up. For the moment, everything had come down to
holding a half-mark piece to the wall, and hoping that it didn't slip too far
down, because if it did, a student who ought to have failed out years ago would
hurt her badly, and there wasn't anything she could do about that.
There were noises behind her as the boys got her coffee table loose from where
it was bolted to the floor, and dragged it . . . somewhere. And set up
something else.
"To Ms. Entessa Tartiva," said Wain. "A vintage to celebrate your
achievements!" The words hit Entessa like another blow to the stomach as she
recognized the inscription he'd just read off.
"What did they give her?" asked Deirnan.
"Halfway decent Beulais," said Wain. "Hadn't cracked the seal. Here, have a
slug or two. It'll keep you from finishing up too quickly."
Her advisor from university had sent her that to celebrate her getting a
position at St. Marmelion's, and she'd been saving it for . . . well. As it
turned out, she'd been saving it to help teenage boys last longer when they
were raping her.
"And now that the hardware has been unpacked," said Traes, "Bring forth the
celebrant, so that we can bring this meeting to order."
That wasn't what a celebrant was. But it was clear what they meat. Cass re-
pocketed his half-mark, and then he took up one of Entessa's arms, and Ordan
took up the other. Where her table had been bolted to the floor, there was a
heavy-looking oaken post, fastened with the same bolts. It was short, coming to
about waist height, and there was a heavy steel ring on top of it, and two
smaller ones on the side.
Poss fiddled with a key, and the ring popped open. Ordan grabbed the back of
Entessa's head, his hand clenching in her hair, but Traes held up a hand.
"Before we begin," said Traes. "Which of the three cups would you prefer we
used for our evening's entertainment, Ms. Entessa?"
Ordan and Cass had her arms locked at her sides, and her mouth was still taped
thoroughly shut. Entessa shook her head, to get some of her hair out of her
eyes, and glared at him. "Three cups?" he said, pulling out his watch, at the
end of that looping chain. There were three cups embossed on its back.
"If you don't say which one," said Wain. "We're going to use all three. But if
you pick, and if you're very good, we'll just use the one you want."
"I don't think she understands what you're talking about said Deiran.
"Oh, come on," said Traes. "She's a rhetoric instructor. And she's a woman. I'm
pretty sure she got that 'within the gates' comment, though it took a little
while. Bound to be able to figure out which three cups we're talking about."
"Cups," said Ordan, with a giggle.
She had. And she couldn't talk. What did they want from her?
"Cass," said Traes. "Let her hand loose. I believe that the celebrant is
prepared to choose."
Cass let go, and Entessa pointed at her mouth. When she'd been with men at
university, she'd . . . well, it wasn't pleasant, the way making love was, but
it would be easier, if they were going to be doing that, over and over, all of
them.
"Looks like a biter, though," said Wain, to Traes.
"Mhmhm," said Traes. "Apologies, Ms. Entessa. But I fear that you have not yet
earned the trust of your students, in your term as an educator, which is a
dreadful failing. Perhaps it will be different after tonight. I genuinely hope
that you will--that's what all this is about, really. But until such time as
trust is earned, I'm afraid you'll have to choose between the other two cups,
Ms. Entessa."
Entessa's head had dropped down. They were going to. There wasn't anything she
could do, and that whole bit about asking her had been a ruse, to make her--
"If you don't have a preference," said Traes. "We'll be happy to make our own
choices. I mean, I have a preference."
Entessa would've sighed if her mouth wasn't taped closed. But she pointed down
to her pussy. The other . . . it hurt, it just hurt too much. She didn't want
any of that, but if they were going to force her, it was . . .
"Ah," said Traes. "Confident in your birth control method, then? Excellent.
Bastards can be a damned inconvenience, even they do reassure the old folks at
home that everything is working properly. First one that Horse fathered, his
old man gave him a beating, paid the fool girl off, and then bought him a
motorcar."
"Which I drove into a ditch two weeks later," said Wain.
"Girl, or the car?" asked Deirnan.
Ordan and Cass half walked her, half dragged her over to that post, and forced
her neck down, over the hoop. It clanged shut, and Poss slipped a lock in, and
fastened it. Then her hands, first her right, then her left.
It was hard to stand like that, bent over at her waist, her hands fastened to
the same post as her head, close enough to it that she could almost touch her
mouth, but not quite.
"I'll tell you what," said Traes, dragging her chair up so that he was in front
of her. "You've made your preferences clear, which was courteous of you;
perhaps some of the gentlemen here will have more faith in your good behavior
and take you at your. . . well, not word. Take you at your gesture. Have you
got the dice, Wain?"
"Have I . . . that's my job, Traes." He took a pair of solid gold cubes out
from his breast pocket. "Did you bring the damn cup?"
"I did," said Trace. "Not that it's time for that. Roll?"
They all rolled the dice. It seemed that Cass had won; he got claps on his
back, and approving whistles.
"Remember," said Traes. "First one is for the records. And which cup will the
gentleman prefer?"
"She's not going to bite me," he said. Then he started pulling the tape off of
Entessa's head. It had stuck to her hair, so he pulled out a lot of it, which
hurt, but she was able to spit out the sodden mass of her underwear and to take
a few hacking breaths. And then Cass shoved his cock into her mouth.
Entessa had thought that she was ready, but she wasn't. She gagged, pulling as
far back as that hoop on top of the post would let her, which wasn't very far;
when he pulled out, she turned her head and spat.
The boys laughed. "Wain's earned a farthing off you, Deirnan," said Traes. "I
believe that the young woman needs some correction. Ordan?"
Ordan took out one of the tawses that some of the older teachers used when a
student's manners failed. Entessa didn't believe in that, but when Ordan
brought it down across her ass, she gasped, and then she started shouting like
a first year who wanted his mother, as he brought it down again and again,
harder each time.
Ordan didn't stop and didn't let up. He hit her again and again, harder than
she would've thought possible. With her head held at the top of that post,
Entessa's legs had been constantly shifting, trying to find somewhere that she
could stand without too much strain, and not finding anywhere. Now, they
tensed, as she clenched up, as though there was anywhere she could stand, any
muscle that she could clench that would stop the pain of that strap. It was
impossible. She screamed and wept and begged, and when Ordan finally stopped,
Entessa's whole body drooped everywhere. She was impossibly grateful that it
had stopped, grateful to Ordan, to Traes, who'd held up a hand, to . . . they
were the ones who'd done it to her, but at the same time, she hurt, her whole
body hurt from trying to escape from what Ordan had done, and she was so very
glad they weren't hitting her.
"Well, we all find our own joy," said Traes. "But I've said before, the tawse
is a tool of instruction, not a tool of pleasure. If you'll allow me to
demonstrate, please?"
Ordan gave the tawse to Traes, and Entessa started shaking, uncontrollably. If
he was going to--
Traes' hand was cool against the heat of her ass. Cold and soft, where she was
burning. "There, there. You're a clever woman; I'm sure that you won't need
much instruction before you are performing properly. Now, face forward, ma'am,
and do try a bit harder this time."
She did. That time, she was able to hold his whole length in her mouth, and
breathe through her nose, and not gag; Cass' cock bumped up against the back of
her throat, and she choked a little, but no more than that.
"Very good," said Traes, when Cass withdrew. "And unlike some instructors, the
Three Cups believe in rewards for good performance." There was the sound of
something being uncorked, and then Traes' hand was on Entessa's pussy, and
slick with oil. She just stood there as he fondled her, to the laughter of the
others.
"Told you," said Wain, and, "That's my farthing back," said Deirnan.
"Hush," said Traes. "Evening's not done yet. Now, ma'am? When our associate
once again favors you with his attentions, you are not to keep your eyes
closed. You are to look up at him."
Cass thrust into her mouth again, and Entessa did her best to keep her eyes
open, looking up, past his unbuttoned fly and his uniform bracers, and his
shirt with St. Marmelion's crest over the pocket, to his smug, stupid grin.
Traes brought the tawse down across her ass, as Cass thrust, and even though it
hadn't been nearly as hard as Ordan had hit her, the tears once again sprung up
at the corners of Entessa's eyes; she felt like her ass had been cut open by
Ordan, so even a gentle tap would hurt, and that hadn't been gentle.
"Your fingers, please, ma'am," said Traes. "Reach for your lover. Caress him."
Entessa was crying a little, and not only because she hurt. It was because of
Cass' smug smile, it was because of the way the rest of them were watching her,
it was because of the word lover, and the way Traes had put the tawse down on
the small of her back, and was playing with her pussy and her breasts. Not
hard, not fast. Idly, like they were something that he owned, and he was
confident in owning.
Whenever she let her eyes close, or whenever she stopped reaching out to fondle
Cass's balls as he thrust into her face, Traes picked up the tawse again and
hit her. She didn't forget often, even though it wasn't easy to see him looking
down at her, even though she had to strain against the steel loops that held
her wrists in order to be able to touch him.
It seemed that she did a good enough job. It didn't take long before Cass's
thrusts were stronger and faster--she was choking on every thrust, trying to
fight back her gorge, and thick saliva dripped from his cock onto her floor.
Then his eyes started to roll back.
"Cass," said Traes, sharply. "Remember the archives."
He grunted, seemingly lost to sensation, but then, instead of thrusting into
her, he pulled out and grabbed his cock, thrusting into his own hand. He
sprayed out across her face, over and over, with so much force it was almost
like a slap each time, hot and sticky and wet, dripping down her face onto the
floor.
While he'd been fucking her, Poss Junior had gotten out a camera. There was the
actinic glare of the flash and the snap of the shutter. Again.
"Smile, please, ma'am," said Traes. "This is your immortality. The society of
the Three Cups has archives going back two hundred and fifteen years; your
image will inform and delight the very best sort of youth when we are all
passed beyond this realm and into another."
Entessa blinked some of the come from her eyes, and scowled at Poss Junior.
"She's not smiling," he said.
"If you don't smile," said Traes. "I am going to turn the tawse over to Ordan."
Entessa smiled. Not much of a smile. A grimace, anyway. Another flash of the
camera. Then the tawse correcting her, until Poss decided that she looked both
sufficiently pleased and debauched to inspire future members of the society of
the Three Cups. And another roll of the dice.
It seemed that Wain was next, and it seemed that this was hilarious. Entessa
fidgeted, wished that this wasn't happening, that this was already over, that
she'd thought to take her shoes and stockings off rather than trying to balance
on her heels in that impossible pose, her neck secured to that waist-high post.
Then Wain unbuttoned his fly, and Entessa saw what was so hilarious. And also
why they called him Horse. That thing was enormous. It was like a child's arm.
Poss Junior's, say; he was scrawny, and his wrist couldn't be as wide around as
that cock. She recoiled, as he waved it in her face, and they laughed again.
"With apologies to your preference," said Wain, "I believe that a dislocated
jaw will be more of a hindrance to your work than . . . well, than if other
things are dislocated. Besides, it's always nice to start with something fresh,
isn't it?"
Entessa was still staring at his cock, like a mouse frozen by a snake. It was--
The tawse cracked across her bruised and possibly bleeding ass. "When a
gentleman asks you a question," said Traes, "You answer."
A question? But she was--
He raised the tawse again. "If you say so," said Entessa.
The tawse came down again, almost as hard as if it was Ordan hitting her.
"Ma'am," said Traes, sternly, "Wain's father is the Baron of Verand and
Termill; this means that his son and heir is a viscount, and will be addressed
as such."
"What do you want from me?" said Entessa, trying not to sob. "I'm--"
"I want you to address your betters in a respectful fashion," said Traes. "The
strictures of our institution prevent you from using the forms of courtesy when
we are in more constrained circumstances. But now you are free to use the
proper terms, and now we are free to help you develop the correct attitude
toward those of superior rank. You will address us properly, Ms. Entessa, or I
shall correct you. Over and over, until you learn your place."
Entessa looked up at Wain, trying not to see the monstrous thing directly in
front of her. Another gob of Cass's come dripped down her face, and she
couldn't wipe it off. "If you say so, sir."
"Well done!" said Traes. "And with that I will yield the floor to my colleague
from Verand and Termil. Sir Wain?"
"Lord Traes," said Wain, with a bow. Then he stepped to where Traes had been,
and Entessa tried to brace herself. But it wasn't the mass of Wain's cock
pressing into her all at once, like she'd feared--there was oil being dripped
along the back of her ass, and then down into her pussy, worked there by Wain's
fingers. It was a courtesy, more or less, and even though there was no reason
for Entessa to be grateful about anything, she was grateful for that. Trying to
take it all at once would've split her in half.
And when the pressure did come, it was colder and harder and smaller, and not
where she'd expected it. Entessa looked at Traes, where he was pouring out some
of her wine into a comically oversized cup. "You said that you'd!"
"The tape again, please," said Traes, to Cass. Who looked disgusted at having
to pick up the underwear that had been in her mouth, and at having to touch
her. It was his come on her, but. And he'd said that--
"And ma'am?" said Traes. "We are not in any way disregarding the choice which
you were so kind as to make. This is a precaution, only--there are times when a
young man may withdraw, and be careless on his reinsertion. Particularly those
who are inexperienced in these matters. It is the first time that Poss Junior
has attended one of the affairs when we have a guest in attendance, after all.
And I fear that your third cup is not yet ready for a guest of Sir. Wain's
dimensions. Best to be safe, eh?"
When Entessa didn't open her mouth as quickly as Cass wanted, he slapped her,
hard, and wiped his hand clean in her hair. Then the cloth and the tape and so
on were back, and that heavy bit of metal was filling her ass, and then,
finally, Wain pushed inside of her.
Entessa gasped at that, the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. With the
oil, with everything, it was still impossible. It was too wide and it was too
long. It was tearing her apart, and it was punching inside of her, and she
couldn't--it was--
"In addition to deferring criticism of our technique and practice," said Traes,
"the gag does mean that you can attempt to scream, if you like, without
disturbing our enjoyment of the first cup of the evening."
Entessa glared at him. He was. . . there wasn't anything she could do then. But
he was still a student at St. Marmelion's, and she was still an instructor. He
hadn't done his work, and she had proof of it, and no matter how they
brutalized her, she was going to see him expelled. The world would be a better
place for it.
Traes did not seem distressed by what he saw in Entessa's glare. He grinned at
her, raised up that massive cup--it had probably been a trophy before they had
started using it for their stupid games--and drank to her, before passing it
along to Deiran, who drank too quickly and started coughing. The others laughed
at him, and he gave them that puppy-ish slow grin. He wasn't as brutal as they
were, not really. But he was learning.
And then Wain picked up his pace, and Entessa couldn't concentrate on much
else. He was ripping her in half. When he was done, she was never going to feel
anything there, not ever again. It was. . .his hand was on her hip, and his
other hand moved, massaging the oil into her clit, and despite everything,
despite the children drinking what had been one of her most prized possessions
from a trophy and laughing at her, despite what they'd done and what they were
going to do, despite all of it, she couldn't help responding. Just a little.
Wain was slamming into her so hard he probably didn't even notice her motion.
But Entessa knew, and it was as bad as anything they'd done. Worse.
As Wain fucked her, the others drank, recited long and stupid toasts in
languages they were butchering. Entessa heard them with half an ear; there was
too much inside of her for her to notice much else. It hurt, and it felt good
in equal measure, and she couldn't stop the traitorous heat from gathering
inside her, as Wain slapped her thigh, grabbed it, thrust and thrust and
thrust.
When he started to come, she was sure that he'd torn something inside of her.
The whole length of the thing was inside of her; he'd lifted her legs off the
ground while he'd been fucking her, and she twisted there, holding onto the
post for dear life, to keep her neck from bearing her weight. He seemed to come
forever, and she could feel his cock pulsing inside of her, it filled her so
completely.
Finally, Wain dropped her, and slowly pulled the whole massive length of him
out of her. Entessa gasped into her gag, tried to loosen her jaw, which had
been clenched the entire time.
Then they rolled again, and it was Traes.
"There are those who think it's bad luck for the master of revels to come up
too soon," said Traes. "But as you've already enjoyed Sir Horse's attention, I
don't think that anyone would describe you as being overly fresh at this
point."
There were laughs at that. Entessa was just trying to keep her feet underneath
her and trying to breathe. It was difficult, after what Wain had done. It
would've been difficult even without that gag.
"Now, before I begin," said Traes. "There are a few things that we shall make
clear."
He stepped over to her, and began playing with her breasts, running a hand
along them, enjoying their sway, pinching at her nipples, and then pinching
harder, until Entessa couldn't help squirming away from him.
"I am not certain why you do not like me, Ms. Entessa. And I do not care. You
are common born and common bred, and who you like does not matter." Then he
pinched hard enough to elicit a whimper from Entessa, who hadn't wanted to give
him that satisfaction.
"But it seems to have entered your head to move against me, despite the
difference in our stations. My father believes that when the lower orders
dislike the nobility, that shows that proper distance has been maintained, and
is a healthy and necessary fact of life. But at the same time, if a plebeian
thinks they can safely make an enemy of one of their betters, they have to be
corrected. So, let us begin our argument, Ms. Entessa, so that we can correct
our mistakes."
A long, caressing stroke of her belly, down to her oil-slicked and abused
pussy, a little tug on her curls there. "I believe the first question before us
is why would you do this, Ms. Entessa? Why would you make an enemy of the heir
to the Traes?"
He let go of her, and came around to the front of the post, where he pulled the
tape off, as well as enough of Entessa's hair to leave her choking back tears.
She spit out her underwear, and glared up at him. "You didn't do your work,"
she said.
Traes laughed. "My work." He shook his head and laughed again. "Well, then,
let's have an examination. Rhetoric, as I was told, is the art of changing
minds using only the force of words. It turns enemies to friends, and grants
comfort to allies. It is the highest and truest art of mankind."
That was what she had said at the beginning of the term. It was a bit
vainglorious, maybe, but students liked that sort of high-blown phrasing,
enjoyed being told that what they would be taught would matter.
"So, let us pose a challenge. I posit that I have studied rhetoric this
semester, and through use of words alone, I shall turn you from a defiant lover
to an obedient one, and I believe that I shall counter every possible objection
you might have to giving me the highest possible grade, and most glowing
recommendations."
Entessa shook her head, as best as the iron ring would let her. He had written
none of the required papers, he had done none of the required analysis of older
speeches. He hadn't done his work, and he had organized her assault. If he
thought that he was ever going to get anything from her but a failing mark, he
was sadly mistaken.
He smiled at her, cupped her cheek with his hand. "Primus: an example of the
power of words. Ordan, you may give her three with the tawse."
"No! please!"
Ordan didn't hit her ass that time. He hit the back of her thighs, which had
been trembling under the strain. If she could've fallen to her knees, she
would've, but the post held her up so that she couldn't. Then he hit her there
again, just as hard, and a third time, before she could adjust to anything
"Thank you," said Traes. "There, you see? My touch was nothing but kind, but
with a short sentence, a master of rhetoric is forced to beg. I think that
establishes my credentials as having understood the subject. Don't you think
so, Ms. Entessa?"
"No," said Entessa, glaring at him through her tears. They had bowed her over,
leaning against that thing, but she would not kneel, and she would not break.
"And how many times would I have to repeat that sentence before such time as
you do agree, do you think. Twenty? Fifty?"
Entessa's eyes widened, and she shrank back, pulled back against the iron
rings, and the shackles that held her arms. Fifty more like that would be--
"She'll change her mind as soon as we leave," said Wain.
"Yes," said Traes. "Quite right. It was a crude example, I'm sure. Just to show
that I understood the subject. But if you'll begin filling Ms. Entessa's first
cup, I can guarantee that I can a give a speech that will make her beg to drink
it down, as I enjoy her third cup, and she grinds enthusiastically against my
hand."
"If you don't," said Poss, "you owe me a farthing."
"Bet accepted," said Traes, cheerfully.
"Bit of Beulais still in there," said Wain, as he undid the buttons on his
trousers. "Well, not too much difference between what the commons drink, and
what they are made to drink."
His cock was nearly as large flaccid as most men were fully engorged. He
started to piss into the trophy.
Traes could hurt her as much as he wanted. He would, too, that was clear
enough. But Entessa had found a line that she wasn't going to cross, no matter
what they did to her.
"You will recall the pictures that our associate was so good as to take," said
Traes. "It is true that these are for the archives of our society, and they
will be an ornament to them. But if they are presented in a different fashion,
I believe that they will cause a certain measure of difficulty for you."
Entessa's jaw dropped. They were going to . . . but she had been . . . but
she'd smiled in the end, and when people saw those pictures, they'd see that
smile, and they'd think that they knew what it meant, and they'd judge her
accordingly.
"Yes, you see? And I fear that those will not be the last of the pictures that
we shall be taking this evening. When we are done, any animus you show towards
me will be seen as the petty cruelty of a woman scorned."
"But I--"
"But we are not in the classroom, Ms. Entessa," said Traes. "And while an
immediate direction of force may be almost as crude as force itself, it will be
applied if you speak when you are not invited to speak."
If they were going to be blackmailing her anyway, she'd tell that weasel what
he thought of her. Because if they'd--
"It does not have to be all of the photos, of course. A single negative, to
your parents, let's say? Or to your friends? Or to a fellow of your class, who
might be considering paying court to you? To an advisor who thought so well of
his pupil that he sent her a bottle of the best he could afford, to celebrate
her achievements. These images are not merely a pistol held to the head of your
reputation. If you will excuse an extended metaphor, they are a tawse held to
the quivering backside of your reputation, and they shall be applied as needed,
if you do not obey me in all things. Do you understand?"
Entessa's head dropped. "Yes," she said.
Traes tsked. "I'm afraid that it will be a partial image to your parish priest
for that," he said.
She jolted up to look at him, her eyes wide. "I said that I'd do what you
wanted. Traes, please, I can't--he's a good man, and--"
"And you have raised up a hand against the heir to the Duke of the realm," said
Traes, iron in his voice. "You will learn what that means, and until you begin
to apply yourself to your lessons, I shall have to employ my tawse. I hold the
courtesy title of Baron of Marlton. The institution that we are both proud to
represent does not encourage instructors to address us properly, but you have
failed to address me as lord, repeatedly, despite being told to behave
properly."
Father Graim was going to get a partial photograph of something they'd done to
Entessa? But he'd taught her how to . . . he'd . . . she looked up at Traes,
trying not to cry.
"Do you need another taste of the lash, ma'am?" asked Traes.
"No, my lord," she said. "Please. I understand, my lord."
"Ah," said Traes. "Very good. Now, allow me to explain what will follow." There
was a splash as Deiran pissed into that trophy they had been drinking from. "If
you beg as nicely as you possibly can, with all the skills you have spent a
lifetime earning, I may be convinced to fuck your ass. And while I am indulging
in the third cup, you shall drink down your first cup."
Traes stepped away, to allow Entessa to see Ordan pissing into the trophy. She
was going to have to . . .
"If you do not convince me, or if you decline the drink we have been so kind as
to offer, I will be forced to send a full-face picture of you to your father. I
do not wish to do this, but the duties of an instructor are not all pleasant.
Do you understand?"
"No, my lord," said Entessa, her eyes squeezing shut, her voice sounding
strange and small to her own ears. He would. Traes genuinely would. And it
would destroy her father to see her like that, no matter what she told him
about it; it would be worse, probably, if she told him the truth. She'd have
to--
"Ah," said Traes. "That is a lovely tone."
"Please, my lord, please," said Entessa. He wanted her to beg, so she needed to
beg; it was simple as that. "Please may I have your cock in my ass? I . . . I
need it lord, more than I've ever needed anything. Oh, please."
"There!" said Traes. "Very good. I believe I've earned your farthing, Poss." He
patted Entessa's head. "And that is the proper attitude that one of the lower
orders should take to their betters." He moved behind her, worked out the plug
that Wain had put into her ass. Entessa winced, pulled away; that had hurt.
"Tsk," said Traes. "Wiggle for me, ma'am. Show me how much you want it."
Entessa wiggled. If they'd started like that . . . well, maybe she would've
fought harder, maybe there would've been more letters sent out. But after what
Wain had done, she'd known that there wasn't any point in fighting, not when
her neck was already in the iron loop. "Lovely," said Traes. "There, you see?
Even these older women can have their charms."
"Still think we should've invited over Aitling's sister," said Wain. "She's got
really big tits."
"Next time, perhaps," said Traes. He pushed into Entessa's ass. She squealed a
little, tried to pull away. She couldn't. Traes slapped her hip, just like Wain
had.
He put his hand on her pussy and held it there. Not moving, not stroking. Just
held it, like he owned it. "And while I suppose it is impolite of me to use
this weapon Poss Junior has given me to earn a farthing from Deirnan, it is the
nature of the nobility to take what they want. We shall all be taking our
pleasure from your second cup this evening. If you do not reach the climax of
pleasure before you've drained that first cup, a picture of your second cup,
fully used, will be sent to your advisor at university, with a copy of that
inscription upon it. And while not all of us have the advantages that Old Horse
was born with, we all have a certain measure of experience in affairs of this
sort. If you attempt to feign that enthusiasm, you will be autographing that
inscription."
She couldn't, she couldn't, not with Traes' cock in her ass, pushing
insistently into her, not with his hand on her pussy, no. But she started to
rub against it, as best she could. There wasn't anything else she could do.
He sighed with pleasure as Ordan and Cass brought the cup up to her lips. And
Entessa fought back her gorge against the smell of it, the taste of the mingled
piss of the boys who had come into her room and attacked her.
"Isn't this better, Miss Entessa?" he said.
They took the cup away from her; there was barely less piss in it than when she
had started drinking.
"Yes, my lord," she said. "Thank you, my lord."
"Lovely," said Traes. He pushed into her hard, his hand clenching against her.
"Now that we have established who is master here, I believe our further
relations will proceed more smoothly."
Further--but she was--
"First. You will be writing my assignments for me. I shall expect them to show
the quality one expects from a gentleman of breeding, and I shall expect them
to stand up to the tightest scrutiny. Do you understand?"
If that came out, it would be worse than the photographs. One was her as a
person, the other was her as an instructor. "Yes, my lord," she said, dully. It
was true. She understood.
"Allow the postulant another sip," he said. He fucked her, as she drank piss,
and as her hips rolled, moving her pussy slickly against his hand.
"I am at St. Marmelion's for instruction," he said, when they removed the cup
again. "When I decide that I want tutoring, you shall be available in your
chambers, dressed as you are now, ready to instruct me."
"Yes, my lord," repeated Entessa, not seeing any way of avoiding that.
"Very good," said Traes. He moved his hand to her clit, and his fingers started
gently moving. He was . . . Entessa had not known that there were men like
that, let alone boys. But his fingers knew what they were doing, and she
relaxed into it as best she could, frantic to feel that traitor warmth, that
traitor feeling that would let her get what they wanted from her, so that her
father could be spared what Traes had threatened.
They brought the cup of piss to her mouth, and she drank until she gagged; they
laughed and took it away.
"Ahh," said Traes. "I can see why you wished to reserve this cup, Miss Entessa.
It is very pleasantly tight. Not so pleasant as mastery, but then, nothing is."
Entessa said nothing, her breathing going ragged as her clit slid between
Traes's fingers.
"Sentiment suggests that I rescind the message to your parish priest, but my
father warned me against that. 'If you don't use the lash, they'll think you
too soft to ever use it,' and all. But perhaps it will be only him, eh? Not
your other friends and associates."
Entessa was crying, her tears running down her face, into the trophy that they
held up to her lips. But her hips didn't stop moving, and she could feel her
pulse in her neck rising.
"Very good!" said Traes. His cock wasn't as large as Wain's, of course, but he
used it with a cool control that nobody Entessa had ever been with could match.
"Oh, and," he said, before he lost himself in the sensation, "it does not do
for an instructor at St.. Marmelion's to be without a lady's maid. It's a
disgrace to the institution."
"But my lord," said Entessa. "I can't afford--they don't--"
"Sh, sh," said Traes. "My father will be footing the bill, of course. She's
waiting outside, and when our revels this night are ended, she shall unlock
you, and clean you off, and prepare you for the next day. I'm sure that he's
hired someone who will turn you into an ornament to the profession."
There were snickers at that. Entessa tried not to hear them, tried not to think
about them, tried not to think at all, not about what they'd done, not about
what they were going to do, either them or the woman waiting outside the door
when they did it. She tried not to feel at all, nothing except a vague triumph
as she convulsed in orgasm, Traes' hand on her clit, Traes' cock in her ass,
with her lips against a trophy filled with the piss of Traes' friends.
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