Chapters on Subclasses (21)

Chapters on Subclasses (21)

Chapter 21

Bea tells me, "I can stop your menstruation and prevent you from having more with my ability," during lunch on a Wednesday after my lab.

I respond, "I'm thankful for your offer, but I want to experience this as a woman. It's like how I choose to shave my legs."

She nods, understandingly. "Makes sense. So no sex for our date tomorrow then? I'll need to reschedule."

"Oh, sorry."

"No worries. This is just part of being a woman." Bea smiles at me warmly.

After a while, I remember, "Shouldn't you have had your period by now? We've been dating for a month."

"My IUD stops them," she shares, "otherwise, I'd stop them with my ability. I have endometriosis, so my periods are painful."

I sympathize, "I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm glad you've found a solution."

"Mmhmm. What were your plans for tomorrow before my announcement? Uh...we shouldn't spoil things."

"I suppose they're ruined now anyways."

Bea wiggles an anticipatory finger at me, "We'll still use this later."

I frown.

The cafeteria is quiet late in the lunch hour.

"I love you," I confess.

She looks at me, "I love you, too. Are you okay?"

"Yes. I just can't help saying it when I think it." Gazing at me, the words pop into my mind more frequently, "I love you." Then, impulsively, I tell her. It turns me on.

"Oh, boo," she pretends, pouting her lips. I can't resist. I move closer to her, turn off her ability's trigger and kiss her pouty lips.

"Concerts, hmm?" she muses, searching for a rebuttal. But she soon stops, "I got it."

"I love you," I repeat, intentionally.

"I love you, too."

* * *

Leaving Linear Algebra, I check my phone. Beatrix needs help with her ability, but I'm missing the details. I assume this means a surprise for tomorrow.

I enter my room and close the door. Gabi's playing Mario Party. Clearing my throat, I begin to dance. Unsure of the steps, I stumble through thirty seconds of movement, but continue. Gabi looks surprised, then smiles as she watches my inept performance.

I text Beatrix, who abruptly appears next to Gabi on her bed, making her jump in fright. "Gabi," Bea asks, "has Sarah done anything embarrassing lately?"

"Um...no, I don't think so," Gabi says, but pauses, "except she danced...really badly."

Bea giggles, "Great. Try to describe it to me. Sarah and I are testing my ability."

"Sarah...danced," Gabi stumbles, nearly choking on the word. Bea breathes a sigh of relief.

"Gabi's free from the dance license agreement."

"Danced!" Gabi shouts triumphantly. "Sarah danced so badly!" She jumps up and down, emphasizing the jiggle of her breasts. I stare at Bea, taken aback by Gabi's unexpected vulgarity, but she remains unfazed.

I accidentally blurt out, "I love you, Bea," and find myself turned on by the act.

Bea raises an eyebrow, "Can you repeat that? I was missing something."

"I love you, Beatrix." I grin, playing innocent, "I thought it slipped."

Trying to hide her smile, she teases, "It must be the love that led you to do that."

The corner of my mouth twitches involuntarily in amusement. "You're taking this all too well."

"I've learned to accept my partner's behavior."

As I walk away, I reflect, "I'm reminded once again why I love this woman."

(From: Documents - 88688)

Regaining consciousness, Beatrix declares, "Now I must head back to conclude date preparations. Ciao, Gabi. Adieu! I'm now in my room."

Appendix Chapter 21 Entry 21.2* * *

That night, Gabi and Beatrix stride into our dorm room following their date.

"You two seem to have enjoyed yourselves," I observantly comment.

"Mmhmm," Gabi responds, content as can be.

"I agree," says Bea, seated on Gabi's bed and grimacing.

"Are you alright?" I inquire.

"Yes, simply feeling sore," she replies. "It was my initial time ice skating."

"Ahh, so you slipped quite a bit?" I infer.

"Indeed," Bea concurs. "And Gabi would insist I refrain from employing my power to keep upright. I was too proud to make use of the training walkers some of the children were using."

Gabi looks amused. "Falling on one's rear end is a hashtag part of the ice skating experience."

"I shall rite your passage," Bea asserts. "Mario Party. Now!"

"Mario Party: a Valentine's Day staple," I joke. I am about to inquire why they hadn't returned to Bea's quarters for intimate activities, but realize the evident reason. "So, you are too sore for sex, eh?"

Bea licks her tongue at me, then tosses me a game controller.

"Can't you utilize your ability to heal yourself?" I ponder out loud.

"I've had mixed outcomes with healing," she discloses. "I believe it's due to a lack of medical knowledge and a poor grasp on what needs to happen. Additionally, if I were to heal myself, I wouldn't have the consent safeguard I'd have if healing someone else. The odds are high I'd incur more harm than good."

I acknowledge her account with a nod, though something nags at me about her explanation--this is another clue into how her ability functions. I redirect my thoughts to the conversation. "It appears none of us shall be indulging in sex this Valentine's Day.

"Did you have a good time?" I ask once more.

"I did," Bea affirms.

"That's all that matters," I assure her. "And you didn't hurt yourself?"

"I'm fine," she reaffirms.

Bea then whips Gabi's passage and breaks my resistance over the period of thirty Mario Party minigames.

* * *

📲

SarahHow should I dress for our outing?

Bea 🦹🏼‍♀️Dress casually 😈

SarahWhat's up with the 😈?

Bea 🦹🏼‍♀️😈📵

Probably all I'll get out of her, I consider.

📵

SarahSee you at 4:20! 💘

Bea 🦹🏼‍♀️Don't be tardy, sweetie!SarahOh stop. When have I been tardy?

Bea 🦹🏼‍♀️😑Bad girlSarahYou recognize there's an eye roll emoji, right? 👀

Bea 🦹🏼‍♀️Yes. But why isn't there a whip emoji?Sarah🤨

📵

I tuck away my phone, and apply some fundamental cosmetics: foundation, sloppy mascara, and a redder-than-normally-applied lipstick. I'm eternally grateful to no longer be burdened by the need to conceal my previously invincible mustache. Though that zit needs some camouflage.

Questioning the necessity of making any changes to my attire, I don my white, puffy down jacket and exit the dorm room for CF104.

And wouldn't you know it, despite my best efforts, I enter the building at 4:20:15. Beatrix stares daggers into me, and somehow I experience the sting of a whip on my butt. I can barely suppress my impressed cry of anguish as my eyes water and my knees prepare to buckle. The fifteen-second infraction warrants a lash more excruciating than any punishment she's ever doled out, and I surmise it could leave my cheeks blazing red if not leaving Behind the scenes two welts. Oddly, I detect a similar reaction from Beatrix, yet she manages to mask it better.

My buttocks then receive the soothing caress of hands, simultaneously exacerbating and alleviating the agony of the lash. They propel me closer to her, and my wobbly legs struggle to remain upright. She advances to meet me halfway. [

"You're running late," she purrs as she wraps her arms around my neck.

"Sorry, Ma'am," I mutter, louder than I meant to. A student nearby glances at us, but her expression is unreadable, so I don't know if she heard or not. Either way, I'm mortified. But I'm also turned on, as evidenced by the growing warmth and pleasure between my legs. I notice that I can't tell if I'm getting wet because the sensation of my period is much stronger. Ah yes, the perfect romantic Valentine's Day thoughts: bloody and analytical. Well done, brain of Sarah.

We kiss, then hold hands as we walk to her dorm room. I feel myself changing bit by bit, my body shrinking and becoming more feminine. It's subtle enough that no one would notice, so I describe the process to Beatrix.

"Sorry for... explaining," I mumble sheepishly.

"You weren't explaining," Beatrix says. "True, I didn't ask for your explanation and I've had my own periods, but you weren't trying to explain some concept I know well. You were just talking about your own experience. It's new to you, so I can understand why you're interested. And I like when you talk about things that excite you. There was no condescension or assumption, just your academic, nerdy excitement for something new." I nod, a little reassured.

"Was the belt lash too harsh?" she asks, changing the subject.

"It hurt more than I like, but clearly not more than some deep part of me likes," I say. "I prefer being punished with pleasure than with pain. Sometimes pain can feel pleasurable, but I think I enjoy discomfort more than actual pain. Like, right now, sitting down will hurt; it will be uncomfortable. That discomfort, though painful, turns me on because it's a reminder that I belong to you, that I'm worth disciplining."

"'Worth disciplining'?" she asks curiously. "What do you mean by that?"

I stop and think, trying to find the right words. "Growing up, I didn't know how to fit in with other people, especially girls. I couldn't figure out how to be liked, and I needed them to like me. I was one of them, but I didn't know how to act like them and I had no idea how to tell them I was a girl. I didn't even know I was a girl. So, I learned to be useful. People tolerated me if I was helpful, and sometimes included me. I thought being useful meant I was likable. My fantasies began from there. To be controlled, to be trained or punished is to be useful and desirable enough to be worth someone's time. I don't so much enjoy being useful or helpful - no more than most people, I think - as I enjoy being used. Having been chosen to be used is far more sexy to me than being simply useful."

She stops walking abruptly, and I turn to face her. Her eyes are glistening, her expression a mix of pity, pain, and compassion. "It's not a big deal," she says, "but I want to make sure you understand... You are not creepy, Sarah." Tears form in my own eyes, and I detect a few in hers.

"You are lovely and worthy and precious. I love you, Sarah," she says with conviction. "I'd love you even if you weren't useful to me. It breaks my heart... it makes me angry... that people treated you so poorly and taught you such horrible things about yourself." Her voice becomes pained, almost pleading. "You are an amazing, beautiful woman. I love you. You are worth so much more than you think."

The instant she finishes talking, my own wall collapses, and I cry together with her. "T-thank you, Beatrix. T-that means everything to me. I l-love you, too." I draw back and kiss her passionately, ignoring any potential discomfort to onlookers. This isn't a lustful kiss aroused by passion. This is a kiss infused with gratitude, fueled by the palpable requirement to be as close as possible to this previously unknown source of love and comfort. Closer than that. With this kiss, our souls unite, fuse, and, for a moment, become one.

Upon separating, something within me, something within our relationship... I'm unsure of what has altered. Something minor and significant all at once. A pivotal moment in my timeline.

"Thank you," Bea replies, "for sharing. I realize that took bravery."

"I---"

"Nothing." I utter, my attempted dismissal betrayed by my strained voice. She chuckles and we proceed in comfortable silence the remainder of the journey from the Engineering Technology building to Nash Hall.

Moments after shutting Beatrix's dorm door, my attire transforms instantly. I'm now attired in a sleek red dress with a low-cut neckline and a split up my correct leg ending an inch below my underpants. The fit is astonishing, as if it was specifically crafted to cling to my body. It pushes my breasts together to create considerable cleavage. Instead of a necklace, I'm now wearing a ruby necklace and chin tassel - stone pressed between my breasts - and the standing reflector Bea prepped showcases my hair, now done up in two petite braids starting at my temples forming an intricate bun. My face now feels more substantial: my expertly applied makeup complements my fresh wardrobe. I wobble slightly as I take my next step, beholding my shoes. I'm in two-inch high-gloss black pumps with rounded toes. I have never felt sexier in my lifetime.

I survey Beatrix and my jaw drops as I struggle to recall her. Her blonde hair has been shortened to an enchanting pixie cut. Her eyebrows have been trimmed to be stauncher, more dominant. Her lipstick is a deep maroon. Instead of a dress, she's adorned in a black tailored women's suit with a black necktie over a black blouse. Hitherto, I had assumed I'd never find a more sensual hairstyle than Beatrix's signature high ponytail, but this suits her; my mouth waters, and I must close it to ward against drooling.

"I'll take this to mean you appreciate this style," she states, amused.

"I...."

"You what?" she inquiries with a playful lilt.

"What?" I enquire, attempting to recollect, well, anything.

"Foolish young lady." She smirks. "You prepared for dinner?"

Beatrix takes us to a deserted alley in Seattle Center. "I hope you don't mind playing tourist for a spell," she proposes as we walk. "I made reservations at the Space Needle." Everyone in Washington knows that the Space Needle restaurant, Loupe Lounge, is expensive for the quality of its food, but the perspective is endearing.

"Sounds exciting. I've visited the top a few times, but never entered the restaurant, and have always harboured a desire to experience this once." My hand clasps hers, and we line up for the elevator.

Two other couples share our elevator on the way up, but Beatrix and I might as well be alone as we face outside and observe the Seattle waterfront and partial skyline. She stands behind me, arms encircling my stomach, her cheek pressed to mine. Her right hand finds the cut in my dress and she teases me with a finger tracing up the inside of my leg. I intake a quiet breath, and lean back into her embrace. Her aroma is intoxicating, and despite the view outside, I shut my eyes, relishing the delight of inhaling her.

The attendee seats us and approaching us, a server inquires if we'd like anything to quaff while we scrutinize the menu. He directs his inquiry to me initially, but Beatrix interrupts.

"We're actually ready to order. I'll indulge in the salmon and a lemonade. The woman will enjoy a steak, medium, a side salad with honey mustard instead of potatoes, and a non-alcoholic strawberry daiquiri."

"Very good, ma'am," and with that, he leaves.

I stare at Beatrix, feeling hot. Feeling controlled by the basic task of selecting my dinner alone. She gazes at me in her dominant way, further intensified by her pixie cut, and I dissolve further; by this stage, I'm uncertain how I haven't coalesced into a puddle on the floor.

"Yes, pet?" she asks.

"I... I hadn't shared what I'd want and had forgotten that I did."

I nod approvingly, chuckling. "It's been a long time since I've had a nice piece of beef."

We converse while the restaurant turns, discussing trivial matters: scenarios from our childhoods, adolescent crushes, county fairs, and more.

"You've lived in Redmond since the start of high school, yet you've never experienced Wild Waves?" I query, baffled that she's never been to the main water park in the region.

"Nope. Is it enjoyable?"

"Pretty cool, I guess. I've only been to a couple, in truth, although I've heard it pales in comparison to the one in Coeur d'Alene."

I delve further, "There's a ride there called Konga Lazy River, where you receive an inflatable tube and float down a leisurely-moving water slide—a lazy river, if you will, if you will." Bea makes fun of me. "It has several 'lakes' where you can get stuck, accidently bumping into others. You frequently cycle around the lake a few times before embarking on the water slide to the next lake. It's a relaxing ride." I recall the memory fondly. "Once upon a time, Ty and I rode it roughly five times, competing against each other to reach the bottom, completely inhibiting the actual purpose."

"Should we visit it together this summer?"

"I'm aware that water parks cater to children, but I genuinely enjoy them. I imagine Gabi would join us if that's acceptable."

Our dishes arrive, hurrying our conversation to an end. The steak surpasses my expectations given the restaurant's fame. "How do you find the salmon?" I inquire.

"Meh, it's not been my best, but it's not been my worst either. It's the companionship that matters most." I feel flattered by the genuine compliment.

We eat silently, engaging in a seemingly innocent footsie game, like flirtatious teenagers craving constant physical contact. Kicking off a shoe, she places her foot on my leg through my dress's slit, skilfully manoeuvring her toe against my underwear. Her face never changes, and I strive to do the same, devouring my meal despite the uncontainable zip of pleasure up my spine, my mind collapsing.

"Oh, pet," she chides. "I assumed you had greater endurance than that. I'll have to punish you right now."

Chills run down my spine upon noticing the ruby against my chest. It's pure torment. Exquisite torment.

After five minutes of punishment, the sensations wane. I've struggled to contain my wriggling and moans. "Good girl," Mistress commends.

Grateful, I murmur, "Thank you, Mistress."

* * *

Bea ushers us ten minutes' walk from Benaroya Hall. I struggle with heels, having to rely on her for support. I suspect she picked the heels to make me rely on her, to make me recognise that I am hers. A patch of broken cement catches my heel, causing me to stumble; Beatrix catches me instantaneously, as if she anticipated it. It's an oddly attractive gesture.

Arriving, Beatrix murmurs out of the side of her mouth, "The tickets are in my hand," avoiding the queue at the box office. We hand in our coats, drink some gratis lemon water, and enter the theater. She guides me to our seats, picking exorbitant ones among the ground floor. We chat casually while leaning on each other until the lights dim, the curtains open, and the first violinist emerges from the wings to take her place. The audience applauds.

Beatrix glances to utter, "Don't cum," in my ear. Darn!

One note in—not even a melodic composition—and I've deduced her game. Each instrument corresponds to a specific part of my body. The next ninety minutes are going to be tortuous. [Beatrix] has found a way to make string instruments, which create milky white sounds, evoke pleasure from the nether regions of my body. The rest of the orchestra finishes tuning before the show commences. My entire body tingles with a light buzz, every part of me aroused by phantom pleasure. Beatrix also appears to feel stimulated, squirming slightly.

One note in—not even a musical arrangement—and I've cracked the system. Every instrument holds its own pleasure map on my body. The next ninety minutes could potentially be agonizing. [Beatrix] has invented a method to use string instruments, whose tones are milky white in character, to trigger squeamish sensations from the depths of my body. The remaining orchestra members properly tune before the show begins. I'm vibrating with a light tingle, every part of me excited by ghost sensations.

Within moments, Beatrix squirms noticeably.

The flutes play, and I can feel my fingertips being sucked gently, sensually. I also feel pretend warm saliva coating them. Clarinets join in, and I sense a warm breath near my ear, accompanied by extreme pleasure. Next, the strings touch me, and my vagina starts to hum. A guitar strums, and my spine tingles with pleasure, with each higher note causing more pleasure. This is part two. I believe the louder the noise, the more powerful the feeling will be. I'm already feeling the urge to moan. I'm not looking forward to the volume increasing, but I definitely am.

I'm a bit concerned, though. While others will have that freedom to watch us, it won't stop them from being annoyed when I arch my back and make the seats sway. I'm sure Beatrix must've planned for this, right? Regardless, I'll do my best to hold back my urges.

After three minutes, the drums tap out a gentle beat. Each beat is like a kiss on my breasts. The song transitions, and the harp plays on my heartstrings. The music is gentle, alternating between major and minor chords. The intensity of the pleasure grows as the volume increases. Glancing at Beatrix, I see she's having a hard time keeping her motions in check.

The next song starts. A fiddle soloist plays a lively jig, louder than any of the music previously. My clit responds appropriately with rapid vibrational changes. I can't help but squirm as I listen. Tambourines send jolts up my legs, all while hitting a continuous beat. They twitch with each jingle.

A beautiful woman named Buttercup rides a horse on the giant screen above the orchestra. This is the first complex interplay of instruments. My body rejoices as each one responds to the stimulation of so many different sources, all vibrating at their own rate and force. When I moan, I'm surprised that no sound comes out. This adds to my submissive excitement.

Beatrix moans softly beside me, and I can hear her. However, when she realizes her mistake, she quickly whispers, "I can't make any sounds during the symphony."

The symphony continues, and with it, my pleasure, as more instruments join in together for the first time since tuning. Halfway through The Cliffs of Insanity, it's too much. I climax. Even as my back arches and I lose consciousness, the music keeps playing, amplifying the pleasure despite the climactic release. My orgasm appears to last forever.

A sustained high note as Westley and Inigo cross swords. My vagina and clit reach a peak of pleasure and I let out a silent scream, yet another orgasm, followed by a daydream of Beatrix's first. I'm disoriented from pleasure as the strings play a haunting melody of higher notes at a rapid speed. French horns: my shoulders. Bass drum beats: my core. I can't climax again. Then trumpets. That's it. My entire body jolts, yelping in ecstasy. The music is intense, preventing any relief. Orgasm after orgasm. I'm drenched in sweat, squirming against Beatrix who's also struggling.

Finally, intermission. I come to my senses slightly, still panting heavily. Fortunately, none of our neighbors seem to have noticed our intense wriggling. I face Beatrix and ask, "Did you somehow make our movements invisible to everyone?"

She mouthed "Yes," then straightens up. She attempts to speak again, but no sounds come out. I laugh, and say, "I guess the cat got your tongue, Miss?" She makes a low-pitched sound, which I hear via her Spell ability, but she can't verbally express what she needs. The sound fades, and frustration washes over her face. "I have to say, I'm enjoying seeing you silenced. Fortunately, I can't use my ability and would harm you if I did. You could've left yourself open to misuse."

As an immense wave of ecstasy bursts from the ruby on my chest, I bend over, experiencing a powerful orgasm that comes suddenly and without any noise thanks to the spell that silenced me during the music. The hours pass and when I regain my sight, Beatrix stares at me with a self-satisfied expression on her face. Realizing she's still capable of commanding me even without the ability to speak, I plead, "Please, Ma'am. Don't punish me."

To my surprise, Beatrix considers the sincerity of my apology. However, just as I believe she will show mercy, another wave hits me, this one stronger and lasting longer. I scream in agony and thrash around. Sensing the pain, Beatrix places her hand on my shoulder, and I feel her other hand squeezing between my legs, causing intense agony. Risking the chance of blood, she removes my panties. She then wriggles her thumb over my clit and kisses me passionately on the lips. Opening my eyes, I see myself lying on her bed. Once again, I can feel the otherworldly resonance.

With an assertive tone, Beatrix commands, "Submit."

"I submit!" I yell dutifully. "I submit!"

"Surrender to whom?" She inquires, her voice strict, and the last shreds of my resistance disappear.

"I surrender to you, Ma'am."

"Good girl. Now give me a passionate kiss." As she removes her clothes, she pulls me forcefully by my necklace towards her groin, and obediently, I perform oral sex on her. With the accumulated tension from the concert, I quickly reach her fulfillment.

We rest, our breathing regulating.

"What... what just occurred?" I ask, puzzled. "How did we get here?"

"I guessed that if I could speak without vocalizing when an effect only applied to myself, I could transport you silently. I could vanish my own clothes while teleporting. Since I was touching you, I supposed that maybe I could take you with. Apparently, I was correct," she explains.

"You were quite naughty, you realize," she notes teasingly.

"Yes, Ma'am," I respond meekly.

"We have more to deal with," she says sternly, destroying my last remaining resistance.

"Yes, Ma'am," I echo, feeling defeated.

"Are you prepared to return?" she inquires.

"Yes, but are we alright? Did I overstep?"

Beatrix's expression softens. "Nothing is wrong. I loved watching you act out. I adore when you're a naughty brat," she confesses tenderly. Stroking my head gently, she adds, "You're like a child."

"Your ability appears to be evolving," I tell her.

"It does," she admits, sounding uneasy. "A month ago, I wouldn't have been able to teleport while adhering to the rule of consent. I also wouldn't have left illusions in our seats without alerting people."

"I trust you," I state. "I know your character, your values. Even if your power was unconstrained, I have faith in your integrity. I am convinced that you wouldn't misuse your authority," I insist.

She marvels, "Thanks," sounding uncertain.

"I adore you," she whispers. "I cherish your devotion."Pausing, she sits up straight. "Right then. Are we ready?" I nod.

***

Outside the building, I lean on Beatrix's arm for support as I wobble from the orgasms and high heels.

"What did you think of the symphony?" Beatrix inquires.

"It was amazing." My voice is dazed and exhausted.

"Which part? The music or the stimulation?"

"Both, but the stimulation more so. I adore classical music, especially live. However, the choice of The Princess Bride seemed odd. Its soundtrack is not particularly memorable. I enjoyed it, but there are superior movies they could have chosen."

"True. We should plan a date where they play something different then," she suggests.

"An agreement," I confirm.

After leaving the building, we teleport back to her bedroom. I agree to end my flow so we could shower and practice our post-care routine.

"Beatrix?" I enquire.

"Yes?"

"I'm starting to fall in love with you," I confess. "More deeply, that is."

"I'm falling for you too, Darling," she breathes. "Me too."

We kiss, our bodies pressed together, as the warm shower envelopes us.

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