Subclasses Ch. 06

I give her a round of applause and she takes a bow. "Good! Would you mind a little feedback for next time?"

"Yes! I'd appreciate it!" Bea says.

"While I highly doubt you'll be transforming anyone else's body—so this command is good as-is—you could generalize it with 'parameters' to make it more versatile. We'll have to work on the syntax, but something like," I give her my best Speaking impression, "Whenev-"

She bursts into laughter at my terrible impersonation. I grin at her and continue far too confidently in my rumbly voice.

"Whenever I Speak and tell someone," I emphasize the word to contrast it with 'Sarah', "to be girly or boyish, optionally appending for me, then apply the following to that person: if I specified boyish, then their body becomes that of someone born with an XY-chromosomal pair, otherwise their body becomes that of someone born with two X chromosomes. If the specified gender matches the person's gender identity, their body transforms to match their internal image of their identity. Otherwise, if I specified 'for me', their body becomes how I imagine them, and, if I didn't, how they imagine themselves with the set of chromosomes they've received.

"I admit it is very wordy to set up—it wouldn't be nearly so long with the symbols and keywords we use in programming languages—but now, with three or five words, you can, one, change their sex chromosomes to whichever you want; two, make their body match their own identity or how they would imagine themselves with that identity; and three, by appending 'for me', optionally override their image with your own."

"Huh, I'm starting to see how this could be useful and—you're right—more versatile." She gives me an appraising look which shifts into one of appreciation and then to excitement. "Could you write that down for me? I want to practice!"

I do so and she does. Then she Speaks a new function of her own. "Whenever I Speak and tell someone to be natural, optionally specifying a percentage, their body returns to that they were born with. If I specify a percentage, then they only detransform by that ratio, otherwise they return completely to their original form." I smile at her use of "ratio". Nerd.

"Wow, you're a quick study," I say. I actually feel a sense of pride at how quickly Bea picked it up. "You sure you aren't a computer science major in disguise?"

"Gah!" she exclaims, holding her hand over an imaginary bullet wound in her chest. "You caught me! My plans to conquer the world have been thwarted! Now I must settle for only conquering you." Her eyes turn wicked.

"Come here, Pet." She jerks her hand toward herself and I'm pulled by my collared neck. I go in for a kiss, then, but she takes a step back. "You don't get a kiss after foiling my plans," she chides. "You must make it up to me. Kneel."

I freeze at the sudden heady turn of events. Apparently, I take too long. I feel an electric shock on the back of my neck. "Kneel. I do not like to repeat myself." The shock is strong enough that I fall to my knees involuntarily. "Good girl," she says tersely. I whimper with need. She walks around me, invisible leash in hand, as she considers what my punishment should be. "For such a grievous sin, I don't think my pet deserves clothing. Take off your dress and throw it to the floor behind me."

My body reacts before my mind can even process the command. I try to resist the sudden compulsion to move and... nothing. I haven't an ounce of control over my body. Still kneeling, with no hesitation, no resistance or pause in my motion, I pull my dress off over my head and toss it carelessly to the floor behind Bea. It lands, a discarded green heap of cloth, well out of my reach. Looking down, I discover my panties were transformed minutes earlier into soft, ruched boyshorts, ones that don't even hint at what's beneath, but beg you to find out. Despite this, I have never felt so naked, as I do now. I've never felt so powerless, never so scared to lose my autonomy. I have never been so completely turned on.

"Come here." I begin to stand. "No, Pet. Crawl to me like the naughty slave girl you've been." Feeling embarrassed and slightly humiliated, I feel a blush run up my face as I crawl awkwardly to my mistress. Mistress outstretches her hand, poised to catch something. The closet door bursts open, propelled by the flogger she's summoned.

She hadn't Spoken. She must have prepared some things while I slept in this morning.

No, I realize, she's been preparing for this her whole life, fantasizing about having a sub and creating the supernatural tools she'd want to use to dominate her. It's what I would have done.

"Remove my underwear," Mistress Beatrix commands. Today, she's wearing a white, button-down tee shirt—one size too small, I've noticed, for her 32D breasts—tucked into a short, light gray pleated skirt with seams of pink thread, and a pair of dark gray thigh-highs each topped by a tiny, blood red bow just above the knee. I reach for the bottom hem of her skirt. Whap! I feel the flogger lash across my back, sensitizing both my skin and my psyche. "If I had wanted you to use your hands, I would have said so," she says as if it was obvious, holding me in an ironclad gaze.

"May I use my mouth, Mistress?" I ask in a tone exuding more submissive obedience than I had planned.

She smiles wickedly. "Yes, Pet, you may use your mouth."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"Good girl." My insides squirm. God, is that belittling. And fulfilling. And belittling because it's fulfilling. I hate it. I love it.

On hands and knees, I crawl until my head is beneath her skirt, compelled by my arousal as strongly as by any magic. As I rise, I press my face into her thighs. My nose slides between her pantied lips, and I hear her gasp.

I tilt my head so that my mouth can reach the bottom hem of her heart-and-star-speckled, skin-tight boyshorts without disturbing the waistband of her skirt. When I bite down, I get a little of her leg along with the hem I was aiming for. She gasps at the nip. Whap! My ass stings for an instant, the pain quickly fading to heat. Involuntarily gasping, I open my mouth and lose its hold on the cloth.

I pull my head back to see where the hem is, but I feel her hand holding me in place from outside the skirt. "Did you let go of my underwear? If relying on your eyes results in biting my leg and losing your grip, then what use are they? Until I give her permission, Sarah loses her ability to see." My vision goes dark. No, not just dark, not like being blindfolded in a dark room. My sense of sight, itself, vaporizes. I can no longer imagine what it means to see; it has become a foreign concept.

I hear the mocking, sadistic mirth in her voice as she says, "You'll have to take a more ... tasteful approach."

I lick up the inside of her thigh, seeking the hem again. She moans, and despite myself, I feel a heady burst of pride at being the cause of that sound. I locate the hem, and, having learned what happens if I nip, I try to slip my tongue under it. It takes a few tries—and a few gasps from Bea—to wriggle under the tight-fitting cloth. I taste cum and stifle a moan of my own. Pinching the soft, wet cloth between my tongue and my top row of teeth, I carefully slide her underwear past her knees, and then let go, dropping them the rest of the way.

Whap! "My underwear doesn't belong on the dirty floor!" I begin to move my head in a blind attempt to pick it back up, but she stops me. "Leave it. It's too late now." Leather presses into my chin as she lifts my head to meet her gaze. I can't see, but can still sense her eyes disappointedly appraising my face, still feel my diminutized role as my Mistress's disobedient pet human.

"No, Pet, for inconveniencing me, you owe me an orgasm. Your tongue will neither leave my cunt nor stop pleasuring me until I scream." In an instant, my tongue is sticking out of my mouth—half again the length I can extend my tongue without it hurting—deep in her vagina. Her Spoken command had teleported me into that position. I hadn't been maneuvered; I had been displaced.

Beatix's taint is sharp and tangy, somehow reminding me of a fecund jungle. I love the taste of women's desire. I love Beatrix's best.

I physically cannot pull away from her more than the inch or two my tongue will allow. For the next five minutes, I lick and suck, her pleasure audibly building to match my own. Every time she's on the edge, I feel her smother her arousal so the pending climax will be that much stronger. And, I think, to prolong my punishment.

"Deeper," she commands. "Use your hands if you need to." My tongue is still bound to her vulva, but I use my hands to pull her by the ass closer to my mouth. My fingers tease between her cheeks, the tips brushing the sensitive skin rimming her anus.

I feel Bea's muscles tense as she stifles a startled scream so as not to break the spell. Recovering a moment later—my tongue still firmly glued to her clit, a mindless slave to the compulsion of Bea's ability—she says in her domineering tone, "I wonder how it would feel if your tongue and fingers switched places." I recognize the question disguised as the preamble to a command. Surprising myself, I nod my consent into the flesh above her slit. I'd never done anything anal-related; until this moment, I had never wanted to. "... ass ... anus ... clean, now, ... always will ... begins pleasuring ...." I feel the command more than hear it as she Speaks under her breath. Then, addressing me, "Your tongue may not leave my ass nor your fingers cease pleasuring my pussy until you make me scream."

And suddenly I'm behind her, nose-deep in the valley of her soft ass, tongue touching the exact point around her rim that my finger had been. The residual cum on my tongue, lips, and cheeks lubricates the area. My finger has taken on my tongue's job fondling her clit. My thumb joins in, and two fingers on my other hand slide into her depths, slick with arousal.

It doesn't take long after that. She arches her back and screams out in pleasure. I am released from my compulsion. But I am a good girl; I won't stop with just one orgasm. Her legs trembling, she falls forward to her desk for support. I keep at it, sliding my fingers in and out of her. Between each orgasm, I vary the pressure, speed, and path of my thumb and forefinger over her clit. My face and tongue slide up and down between her Aphroditean ass cheeks. My tongue detours at her rosebud gate to tease its way into her, a little deeper—her moan a little louder—with each shallow dive.

In all, I elicit four more orgasmic moans from her beautiful lips. "Good girl," she says when her gasping subsides in a satisfied, liquid purr. While the clipped tone of her usual "good girl" leaves me craving more, this rendition makes me feel accomplished, a praise beyond the common treat used to train an animal.

She recovers enough to leave the desk, then leads me—still blind and on hands and knees—by the collar with a finger. "Lie on the bed, face up, legs dangling off the edge."

"Yeth, Mithtreth," I say with my exhausted, leaden tongue. Either she doesn't remember I'm blind, or doesn't care, so I grope for the edge of the bed frame with my hands, then climb up into her desired position.

"You have pleased your Mistress well, Pet. How should I reward you? Your sight, perhaps?" I feel her sit on the bed next to me. "No, I think not." She runs her hands up and down the length of my torso, each time stopping torturously short of my pantyline. "You are a cute one, aren't you? I think I will reward myself for owning such an obedient slave girl. Let the pride of your pleased mistress be your reward."

She's atop me, then, none-too-gently sliding her hand under my back. "Let's see those exquisite tits I've given you." She unclasps my bra and pulls me upward half an inch so the bra straps spring loose out to my sides. The cups jump up over my bust to smack me in the face. She pulls her hands out from under me, etching shallow, finger-width lines into my skin. Leaving the bra where it rests slung across my mouth, she says, "Ah, yes, I am quite the artist, aren't I?" Quiet. "Answer me," she demands with a sharp twist to each of my freshly exposed nipples. I scream at the rough treatment, and I feel myself wetten further.

"Yesth, Misthtreth."

"Yes what, Pet?"

"Yesth, you are a wonderful artitht, Misthtreth. Thank you for giving me thuch beauthiful tisth."

Her voice lands somewhere between warm, self-satisfied, and cruel as she says, "You are most welcome, Pet. It pleases me to do so. It wouldn't do for me to own a pet that was anything less than beautiful, now would it?"

"No, Misthtreth."

"Good girl," she says, once again in her training voice. She climbs off me, leaving me suddenly chill, particularly where her cum-wet labia had rested against my inner thighs. I feel my face begin to itch as Bea's own cum dries on my cheeks, but I know better than to rub it off.

I can tell she's on the floor facing my prone body, but little else. "Every sensation," she Speaks softly but audibly, "Sarah gave me will bring her twice as much pleasure when I return the touch." I'm equal parts stunned, aroused, and scared of the mindless puddle I suspect I'm about to become.

She pulls me roughly by the hips toward her until my butt is hanging half an inch off the edge of the mattress. Even though I never touched her hips and do not receive a double dose of pleasure at the contact, my senses are heightened from the anticipation of what's to come in combination with the residual sensitivity from the lash of her flogger and my blind inability to predict when and where the touch would land. I moan. Loudly.

Whap! My midriff stings at the flogger's leather touch. "None of that. I don't want a sound from you. You will not cum until I tell you to. Do you hear me?"

I nod quickly in acknowledgement. Whap! "Yes, Mistreth." Well, at least my tongue is recov-

Her nails dig painfully into my thighs, just above my knees, but her touch softens as she strokes up between them. Up, up, u- She lifts her fingers just shy of my inner thigh crease—the skin spanning the gaps between my legs and labia. Forgetting myself, I moan out my carnal hunger. Whap! My outer thigh this time. There's no accompanying verbal admonition, just the stinging slap of the flogger.

She goes in again, this time caressing that skin between my legs and vulva. The sensation is incredible, overwhelming, mind-ending. Impossibly, I stifle this moan. Somewhere in the back of my mind, Sarah Prime notes Beatrix's mistake: her command took the sum total of the sensations she felt on each piece of her skin, and now applies twice that total to my skin with every touch to my corresponding area. Rather than receiving sensations piece-by-doubled-piece, I'm getting every touch I gave her, twice over, every time. I choose not to make her aware of the error. Heck, who knows if it even was an error?

She teases my ruched panties from my hips. I imagine her look of delight as my cunt is revealed, and feel a pleasure all my own, one neither amplified nor applied by Beatrix's cruel imagination. I feel her tongue on my clit, and my consciousness dissolves.

I am a being of pure, unadulterated pleasure, a formless creature aware only of the ecstasy of the omnidirectional touch of skin against skin. Over me, around me, inside me, through me. I lean into each sensation, become each sensation. Eons pass, and between each, a sharp climax of condensed bliss racks my being. How many eons? I wonder.

I lose track at one.

* * *

When I wake, it's to a fluid mass of aching muscles. I am spent. My vision has been restored, though whether by Beatrix's choice or my de facto retraction of consent upon losing consciousness, I don't know.

Beatrix lies astride my body, waiting for my breathing to normalize. "You, my dear, were very naughty."

I raise a questioning eyebrow, mind too stupid to word good.

"It's like you didn't even try to hold in your moans," she chides, poking a bright red welt on the front of my left thigh. I wince. With a dramatic sigh, she concedes, "But, I had fun with you anyway. And considering the nine orgasms I counted, I'd say you did too."

I nod at her with a dazed expression.

"You alright?" she asks, noticing my bepuddled state for the first time. I nod again, eyes unfocused, and her face contorts with concern. "Baby? Speak to me. Are you alright?"

"I... will be," I manage to shove through the mess of tangled wires that is my mind and out through my mouth.

"Okay," she says dubiously. She continues to watch my face closely, concern strengthened—not lessened—by my response.

I close my eyes again, allowing my mind to take a break from processing visual input. It's then that I notice I'm cold. Not just that, I am drenched. The sweat has started to evaporate in force, taking its heat with it, and now I find that I am severely dehydrated.

"Water?" I croak.

Bea rushes to grab a cup from her desk. "This cup is clean and filled with water." She hands it to me, then helps me sit up. When it's clear my muscles are too shaky to hold the cup still enough for me to drink, she adds, "There is a bendy straw in this cup." I pull the straw to my mouth and gulp down several mouthfuls. Whether by oversight or design, the water is lukewarm, which I appreciate: it goes down easily and doesn't tighten the muscles around my esophagus or risk an ice cream headache. "This cup is filled with water," she repeats.

My water tank replenished, the haze starts to dissipate. I'm at last able to focus my eyes enough to make eye contact. Beatrix releases a long, pent up sigh of relief. "I was worried," she says.

"Yeah," I say, moving to sit up. I grab a blanket and drape it over our legs. "That was intense, to say the least. I don't remember much after you told me not to come until you allowed it." I startle. "Did I wait?" I asked with a touch of panic.

She snorts. "No. No, Love, you did not. You came hard not ten seconds after I told you to hold it in. You've got the welts to prove it." She gives me a teasing, affectionate shoulder nudge.

I nod, internally scanning my body. I find three welts and a dozen warm spots that had only been flogged once or twice. Of the welts, one is on my leg, one just below my ribs, and one, to my great confusion, on the bottom of my left buttcheek, none of which will last longer than a day before fading into a dark bruise. How did she reach my butt when I was lying on my back? I decide I'd rather not know.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"For what?"

"For coming without permission."

She snorts again. "Well, Pet, I guess that means we'll have to do some orgasm denial endurance training," she says in a mock approximation of her dominant tone. I nod, and twist to lie on the bed lengthwise, my legs across her lap as she remains sitting, her back to the wall. She gingerly runs her fingers up and down my legs, careful not to put pressure on any of the welts. "What happened?" Bea asks.

"I more or less lost myself in a sea of bliss, pleasure mixed with small amounts of pain," I say. "I'm pretty sure I know why the effect was so strong. If I'm right, it had to do with the phrasing of your command." I explain my theory.

When I finish, she says, "I am so sorry! I should have thou-"