KathrynLocksley
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The Bureau of Pleasure Control #3
🕑 Added 2023-05-18 19:40:04 +0000 UTC(Note, this story takes place in a chastity dystopia, where the government exerts a great deal of control over character's sex lives. However, the characters generally choose and enjoy what sexual interactions they take part in. All characters are over the age of 18.)
***
For a brief moment, Kristen had thought she might be finished with classrooms. Her résumé had already been judged and found adequate. Anything she added to it now would be a hobby of her own choosing, rather than a desperate bid to be noticed and chosen for the best opportunities.
What better opportunity could she possibly hope to compete for than the one she’d already been offered, as a trainee of the Bureau?
Already, they had moved her out of her childhood home and into a barracks of other future pleasure control officers. They had issued her a level one ID card. She had been allowed to handle misbehaving citizens’ most delicate parts, almost at her own discretion.
She was practically a member already.
Never again would she have to slog through dull, redundant homework that no teacher would even look at, just to remain officially compliant with her obligations to society.
These were the naïve thoughts she’d entertained before she’d received her training schedule.
Only two hours of each day were devoted to working with Officer Deacon. During those precious two hours, Kristen got to shadow her mentor in action, assist her with whatever she needed, and sometimes handle a session under her supervision, with breaks for one-on-one coaching.
Another six hours of each day… classrooms.
“Pop quiz, tactile, rear,” Professor Lawrence announced as he strolled in, setting a large plastic crate on his desk and opening the lid. He stroked his short, blond goatee, deliberating over the contents with subtle enjoyment.
Without so much as a sigh of protest, all fifteen trainees in attendance stood up. Fifteen locked chastity devices clicked against the individual plastic desks attached to their seats, as they bent over the front of them.
Like Kristen, everyone else in her Disciplinary Tools class was currently serving their mandatory three-month deprivation period. During that time, they were all barred from trading for any release at all, regardless of their performance or merit point totals.
Bent over their desks like this, their short, white trainee tunics rode up behind them over their open-backed devices, completely exposing their asses to the front of the room.
Professor Lawrence started with the front row, pacing back and forth, choosing trainees out of order.
Kristen kept her head down, but she could identify almost half the tools he quizzed them on by sound alone.
A menacing swish followed by a localized pop.
Riding crop, Kristen thought.
“Riding crop, sir,” said the guy in the front row.
She smiled for him.
A much lighter swish followed by a more diffused wooden slap.
Paddle 1.
“Paddle one,” said the young woman on the receiving end.
When he finished with the first row, Professor Lawrence proceeded down the center aisle, clearly aware of the imposing shape of his shadow and click of his boots. As a professor, he had more flexibility in his wardrobe than trainees or officers. His tweed jacket and pleated suit pants made him look broader than he was, and made it easy to forget that, underneath, he was caged by the Bureau just like everyone else.
Kristen was ready for him.
Being punished by men had been the hardest part of the curriculum for her at first, but the more practice she got wielding her authority over both men and women in the visitor rooms, the easier she found it to accept her place the classroom, no matter who was running it.
Right now, Professor Lawrence was her instructor, and she was a trainee. Last month, she had been nothing but another subject of the Bureau. She was working her way up, and this was how.
She knew every tool in that box, how to use them, and how to explain them thoroughly to visitors. She was glad when he chose her first out of the second row.
Professor Lawrence stood behind her for several anticipation-building seconds, before snapping the mystery implement across both her cheeks.
The explosion of stinging pain, and the corresponding flare of arousal inside her cage, made it harder to concentrate than it had been while listening to everyone else’s turns. Still, Kristen kept her head about her, adding up the details from all her senses.
“Strap two,” she identified the implement with ninety-five percent confidence.
“Incorrect,” said Professor Lawrence, tongue lingering fondly over the sounds. “Pay closer attention.”
Kristen’s throat tightened. She had been so sure she knew them all. Being the first to get one wrong hurt more than the second snap of the implement against the exact same strip of skin.
“Maybe… strap one?” she guessed again. It felt too wide for strap one. It also felt slightly too narrow for strap two, if she was honest. But there was nothing in between those two options.
“Incorrect,” said Professor Lawrence. “This time, describe it.”
He snapped it across her upper thighs.
“Describe the object, or the sensation it produces?” Kristen asked with the breath she’d been holding in.
“The object,” Professor Lawrence answered. Thankfully, he seemed to find the question valid, and not a reason for an extra stroke.
“It’s a flexible strap approximately an inch and a half in width,” said Kristen. “Real leather, grain side facing me, with a stitched border.”
“And which implement in the Bureau standard discipline arsenal fits that description?”
Kristen thought until she felt the strap brush her ass again in warning.
“None of them, sir,” she said.
“Are you sure about that?” Professor Lawrence asked.
“Yes!” said Kristen, hoping her emphasis sounded nervous instead of indignant, which was closer to how she felt.
Professor Lawrence brushed her ass again and then wound up for another snap, which didn’t come. He reached forward and allowed the strap to hang in front of her face instead.
“It’s your belt,” Kristen identified the object, indignation growing.
“Correct,” said Professor Lawrence. “So why did you think it was strap two?”
Because it’s the closest thing we’ve been trained with, thought Kristen.
“Because… I made a false assumption about the parameters of the quiz,” she answered.
“Correct again,” said Professor Lawrence, giving her a hearty pat on the back.
Kristen didn’t think she’d ever gotten a literal pat on the back for anything before. It felt so good that her annoyance slipped away in spite of her.
Professor Lawrence took her hand from where it was hanging over the side of the desk, and pressed two straps into it. She knew them by touch alone: strap one and strap two.
“Take these back to the barracks tonight, and practice with them until you’re certain you couldn’t mistake them for anything else. And the next time something feels off, don’t doubt yourself.”
“Yes, sir.”
The professor varied up his pattern after that, weaving back and forth between the second and third rows. Kristen counted each quiz as it passed. Hers was the only one that came with a trick.
The very last student to fall under Professor Lawrence’s attention was Zach, Kristen’s lefthand neighbor when they were sitting up, righthand neighbor when they were in this position.
A controlled breath of sympathy ran through the room as the students heard, not an impact, but the cap of the professor’s lube bottle. Zach was only the third out of the fifteen to be tested on something insertable.
Brushing her hair out of her face, Kristen stole a glimpse of the long, hooked piece of metal, with its shorter, beaded end sinking into Zach’s ass.
“It’s…” Zach’s breath went shallow. “Is it plug one?”
Kristen winced at the easy mistake.
“Incorrect,” said Professor Lawrence, sliding the hook out and back in.
The hook’s most distinguishing feature was its long handle with a chain on the end, designed to lock around the subject’s neck. When engaged, the chain kept the hooked end trapped inside the subject, forcing them to hold their back straight until it was removed.
Professor Lawrence currently had that long handle angled just far enough away that Zach couldn’t feel it along his back.
“I… I don’t know then,” said Zach. “It’s not from our arsenal?”
“I’m afraid it is,” said Professor Lawrence, penetrating him again.
“I don’t know, sir!” Zach repeated.
“Pay attention to the shape.”
He pulled the hook out and plunged it in harder than before.
“I can’t!” said Zach, reaching instinctively for his chastity device, trying uselessly to rub himself through the bars of the cock cage. “If I could just cum, I’d be able to think straight!”
“Our graduates discipline their minds to be stronger than the urges of their bodies,” Professor Lawrence reminded him, thrusting the beaded end in again. He pivoted the handle to the left and then right, twisting the end inside Zach.
“Yes, sir,” Zach moaned, but did not follow this with another guess.
Professor Lawrence continued, driving the end of the hook in three more times, with a pause after each one to give Zach a chance to respond.
He only moaned and stroked his chastity device with melancholy longing.
“Describe it,” the professor prompted him for an easier, partial response. He pressed the hook in far enough for its curve to cradle Zach’s tailbone, as a clue.
Zach still responded with nothing but more moans, pressing his forehead against the back of his chair, with his face turned slightly in Kristen’s direction.
His eyes were fixed on someplace beyond the classroom around them, far away from the task of guessing.
When Kristen had watched just about as much of this as she could take, she coughed and brought her hand to her mouth, with one finger in a hooked position.
The noise brought Zach’s eyes into focus just in time for him to catch her signal.
“It’s a hook!” he exclaimed with the thrill of revelation. “Hook… hook number three!”
Professor Lawrence pulled the hook out of Zach and stood in silence in the aisle.
Kristen braced her still-exposed ass for whatever might follow, instead of the word “correct.”
“Yes, thank you for that, Kristen,” Professor Lawrence finally responded. “Front and center now, both of you. Everyone else, back to your seats.”
Kristen stood and pulled her tunic skirt down to the tops of her thighs. She held her head high as she made her way to the front of the room, trying to imagine only the punishments she knew she could handle — whipping, hot wax, suspension of the senses she had left — anything but revocation of her place here.
Zach shuffled along beside her in a daze. He met Kristen’s eyes once, and when he did, he couldn’t seem to decide between gratitude and accusation.
“Why did you give Zach the answer?” Professor Lawrence asked when the two trainees were lined up in front of his desk.
Denying it would only make things worse now.
“Because he was checked out,” Kristen answered, face forward. “Fucking him with that hook wasn’t getting anyone anywhere.”
“Correct,” said Professor Lawrence.
Kristen looked to the professor, startled. By the slight shuffle in the room, she guessed she wasn’t the only one.
“You didn’t trust me to recognize a problem that was obvious to a trainee such as yourself?” Professor Lawrence asked her.
“I….” A lie was never the right answer. “No, I guess I didn’t,” said Kristen.
“We’ll discuss that after class.”
“Yes, sir.”
The professor shook his head with a put-upon sigh and turned to the rest of the class.
“As I was about to segue into explaining, before Kristen’s initiative got the better of her, there will be countless moments in your work as officers when your subjects will slip out of the motivation zone. Can anyone guess what I mean by the motivation zone?”
Most of the class was staring at their desks, coming up with notes to take, lest they absorb some of Kristen and Zach’s guilt just by looking at them. No one raised a hand.
“Let’s illustrate it with a demonstration, then,” said Professor Lawrence. “Thankfully, we already have two volunteers.”
He arranged two folding chairs on opposite sides of his desk to imitate the visitor rooms, relocating the crate of implements to the floor.
“Kristen, you’re going to be the most uncooperative subject you can imagine, every officer’s nightmare. Shouldn’t be too hard for you. Zach, you’re going to be the officer. Apply whatever tools you find necessary to bring her to heel.”
Kristen and Zach took their seats.
“What am I in for?” Kristen asked.
“Let’s say cheating,” said Professor Lawrence. “You’ve been sent in by your employer for cheating on a training exercise.”
Kristen supposed she should have seen that coming.
“So,” Zach cleared his throat and folded his hands on the desk. “How are you feeling about what you did?”
He seemed to perk up considerably as he slipped into the role of officer. He’d always been better at practical exercises than test-taking.
“Like a fool, officer,” Kristen answered.
“You’re an uncooperative subject,” Professor Lawrence reminded her.
“Right, sorry.” Kristen shook off the urge to placate and please. She crossed her arms, shrugged sullenly, and gave the reins to her most dangerous, thoughtless instincts. “I feel fine about it. I did what seemed right at the time.”
“Have you thought at all about what would have happened if you’d just shown trust in your trainer?” Zach asked. “Your classmate would have been fine in a few minutes anyway, and you wouldn’t need to be punished now. Are you telling me you wouldn’t go back and do things that way if you could?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you,” Kristen doubled down.
Zach’s officer mode wavered for an instant, replaced by a secret smile for Kristen. He seemed to have settled on gratitude over accusation.
When Professor Lawrence circled into a position where he could see Zach’s face, the smile vanished without a trace.
“I’m calculating your debt at, let’s say, one hundred points,” said Zach. “How would you like to pay it?”
“I wouldn’t,” said Kristen.
“You won’t leave this building until you do,” Zach injected a bit of growl into his voice, which clashed mildly with his slight frame.
“Fine,” said Kristen. “Guess I live here now. Oh, wait, I already live here.”
“If you don’t choose, I’ll have to choose for you,” Zach went on. “So, I’ll ask again, how would you like to pay?”
Kristen kept her arms crossed and her mouth shut.
“That’s an extra fifty points of debt for failure to answer,” Zach pointed out.
Even in this mock session, the thought made Kristen’s stomach clench a little, but what was done was done, as far as her careless character was concerned. She shrugged again.
“My choice it is, then,” said Zach. “You’ll earn back fifty points of your debt with mandatory lockup. That’s an additional two months on top of your current sentence. No release no matter what other points you earn in that time.”
“Yeah, what else is new?” said Kristen.
“The other hundred we’ll take care of more efficiently,” Zach stepped up the harshness in his voice. “Fifty strokes of the level two cane.”
“Are you prepared to follow through on that?” Professor Lawrence asked Zach. “Full force?”
Kristen’s already unsteady stomach rolled a somersault. She couldn’t be held responsible for the attitude of a character she’d been assigned to play, could she? Three months of deprivation already felt like an eternity ahead of her. She wasn’t sure she could endure five. And cane two had brought her to tears with just ten strokes during her sampling session with it.
“Now, sir?” Zach asked, authority dropping into uncertainty. “I thought we were just practicing.”
“Can you do it?” Professor Lawrence repeated.
“I… I could,” Zach was careful to give a direct answer. “But… it’s Kristen. She’s—”
“A human being who broke the rules,” said Professor Lawrence. “Just as your subject would be if this were real. Are you preparing to handle real cases, or are you just playing around and wasting time?”
“Preparing, sir,” said Zach.
“Well then…” said Professor Lawrence.
Zach looked back to Kristen. His harshness was more forced when she said, “Bend over the table.”
Kristen kept her arms crossed. If she was going to be forced to accept the stakes of this character she hadn’t asked for, she would at least accept the opportunity to vent her frustration and be as stubborn as she pleased.
“Make me,” she said.
Zach’s mouth fell open slightly.
“That’s another fifty points,” he said shakily. “Another twenty-five strokes.”
“You’ll have to deliver the other fifty first,” said Kristen.
Giving up on words, Zach stood up, letting his chair scrape against the floor, and picked the bamboo cane out of the crate of implements. He walked up to Kristen.
She held her ground on the chair.
Zach sprang forward and grabbed Kristen by the arm.
“Get on the goddamn table,” he shouted, trying to drag Kristen bodily over the wooden surface.
Kristen dug in her heels. She had at least a twenty-pound advantage on Zach, and there was simply no way the shorter, skinnier trainee could budge her without flailing and straining like a bored little kid pulling on a parent’s hand.
By wedging his foot against Kristen’s chair, Zach did manage to force her most of the way to her feet a couple times, only for a second or two at a time, long enough to swat at her ass with the cane.
They were rushed, glancing, single-cheeked blows — still painful, but in a way that shocked Kristen into laughter rather than tears.
“Stop,” said Professor Lawrence, after the second hit.
The slight chuckle in his voice emboldened the rest of the class into a few nervous laughs of their own.
Kristen and Zach broke apart and stood in front of the professor’s desk again.
“Did that feel powerful?” Professor Lawrence asked Zach.
“No, sir.”
“To anybody?” he asked the class.
The other trainees shook their heads.
Professor Lawrence sat down in the folding chair that Zach had vacated, motioning Kristen to return to the one across from him.
Not having been given permission to return to his own desk, Zach hovered awkwardly behind them.
“You really wanted to help your classmate, didn’t you?” Professor Lawrence asked Kristen in a soft, conversational tone.
Kristen wasn’t entirely sure who she was supposed to be now, but the answer was the same either way.
“Yes.”
“You didn’t mean to make things worse. We all know that.”
“I really didn’t,” Kristen agreed.
“Would you be willing to help him in a more appropriate way? With some private tutoring?”
“Sure,” Kristen responded instantly, without thinking about it. She was always happy to share (and, incidentally, show off) the things she’d learned. It was a lot more satisfying than biting her tongue while someone else struggled.
“I’d love to provide the two of you with some privacy and access to tools,” said Professor Lawrence. “But I can’t just go around rewarding dishonesty in my classroom. We’d end up turning out completely unqualified officers. It’d help if you’d accept responsibility for what happened.”
Kristen watched him warily, preparing for the moment when he would issue an official question or command, and she would have to respond.
“Punishment for cheating does have to be severe,” said Professor Lawrence, with the same helpful tone. “But I think we can still manage to make it quick. We can even let Zach administer it, so that you can apologize for making him an accomplice.”
This still wasn’t quite a question.
Professor Lawrence reached into the crate and retrieved the riding crop.
“We could invite Zach to hold this and deliver just one swift swat to your clit.”
Kristen’s starving clit throbbed with a rush of blood.
“It’s not like you’re using it lately anyway.” Professor Lawrence went on.
It throbbed harder.
“You’d have plenty of time to heal from any bruising before your next chance at pleasure. Just one swat to your little tender spot, one chance for Zach to channel any lingering ire he might hold for you, and the two of you can have a long, unsupervised cram session together. That sounds more than fair, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Kristen blurted out, not caring how she was supposed to calculate her response.
The fear of that swat buzzed through her body like a live current, but the thought of getting this over with in one second, and then shifting into a role where her excellence was acknowledged, while simultaneously clearing the air with one of her new barracks-mates before any drama could start….
Compared with a caning of unthinkable length, that felt like mercy.
“Face front, then,” Professor Lawrence directed, passing off the crop to the still awkward but not entirely disinterested Zach. “Legs open.”
Kristen turned her chair toward the class and obeyed, unable to hide the shaking in her legs.
Professor Lawrence retrieved his ID card from his jacket pocket and tapped it to the front of Kristen’s chastity device. With a few taps of the control app on his phone, the chains of the device loosened enough for him to pull the front panel down and away from her pubis like an oven door.
“Just one,” Professor Lawrence prompted Zach. “Make it hurt.”
Zach took his place in front of Kristen, just far enough off to the side to avoid blocking her from the class’s view.
Apology was just one of the many sentiments that flashed through Zach’s eyes as he raised the crop.
Kristen gripped the sides of the chair, reminding herself to breathe, and ignoring her own reminders. The hair stood up all over her body in anticipation. Her right foot kept tapping spasmodically, completely of its own accord.
Zach took a breath.
“Stop,” Professor Lawrence said.
Kristen moaned in confusion.
Zach froze, looking to him questioningly.
The professor stepped past Zach to tap his ID against Kristen’s device once more.
Kristen let out a shuddering exhale when the chains tightened back into place, locking her away again.
“What?” Professor Lawrence asked her. “You didn’t want me to make him hit you there, did you?”
“N… no,” Kristen answered.
“Then get back to your desks, both of you. None of that counted, by the way. Although, I can set you up with a tutoring space if you’d both like.”
As Kristen returned to her seat, she wondered if she had just gotten away with lying.
No. She really did want to protect her tremblingly sensitive clit, so her answer was at least more true than not.
Still, it was dizzying to realize just how desperate she had gotten for any kind of clitoral attention at all. Enough that there was a tiny part of her that had thought the punishment sounded better than nothing.
“So.” Professor Lawrence clapped his hands together, half-sitting against the edge of his desk. “What did we just learn about the motivation zone?”
Still, no one ventured a guess, but the whole class waited for the explanation with rapt attention.
“What was the officer’s objective in the scenario we just played out?” Professor Lawrence asked.
There was a silence, long enough that Kristen thought no one was going to answer again, before a hand rose into the air in the front row.
“Yes, Cara,” Professor Lawrence pointed to her.
“To get Kristen to accept punishment for her actions.”
“Correct,” said Professor Lawrence. “And how did I accomplish that objective? Jason?”
Jason lowered his tentatively raised hand.
“You… you bribed her?”
Professor Lawrence laughed indulgently. “I suppose you could call it that. But what I offered her really wasn’t much, if you think about it, was it? I didn’t lavish her with unearned points, or unauthorized stimulation. The biggest prize I dangled was chance to provide uncompensated assistance to the Bureau’s recruitment and training efforts. The important thing is that I laid out a conceivable path back to compliance for her, and helped her to see that it was in her best interests to follow it.”
He began sorting the tools from the crate into those that could still be reused as-is and those in need of cleaning, as though he would have no further use for them today.
“People are most motivated to comply,” he explained, “when they believe that doing so will significantly improve their experience in life, especially in the short term. They get unmanageable when they’re feeling complacent, taking their pleasure for granted, but also when they’re feeling helpless, unable to improve their circumstances no matter what they try.”
He motioned toward Kristen and Zach, directing the rest of the class’s attention as they absorbed this idea.
“The space between those feelings, that’s the motivation zone. So many people believe that helplessness and compliance are the same thing. That misconception is exactly why so many attempts at control fall apart. Helplessness is one of compliance’s deadliest enemies. During the quiz, what was I trying to get Zach to do? Yes, Amber?”
“Describe the hook,” Amber answered from the back row.
“Exactly,” said Professor Lawrence. “And did I have the power to make him do that, while he was feeling helpless?”
“No.”
“No!” Professor Lawrence repeated triumphantly. “I could have kept hooking him all day long, stepped it up to a thousand other types of punishment, ordered extensions to his mandatory lockup, made his life miserable for longer than his crisis-mode thinking could even comprehend in that moment. He had almost no power in the interaction, yet I couldn’t make him do what I was asking.”
The room was heavy with silence.
“Knowing your arsenal is essential,” said Professor Lawrence. “But you can’t let yourself fall in love with it. If you do, you’ll be tempted to reach straight for the nastiest piece of equipment at the first sign of resistance. You’ll find yourself beating your subjects deeper into the hole under the motivation zone, when what you need to do is toss them a rope, and help them climb up into it.”
He glanced at the clock.
“I think we’ll leave it here for today. Dismissed. Except for you, of course.”
Kristen took the cue to stay in her seat, as her classmates packed up and filed out around her. She stuffed her notebook and the two practice straps into her bag and waited with crossed arms, more out of a feeling of smallness than stubbornness now.
Professor Lawrence remained in his half-seated position at the edge of the desk, watching her wordlessly until at least thirty seconds after everyone else had gone.
Finally, he said, “Good work today.”
Kristen’s chest reflexively glowed.
“But you did cheat,” he cut through the feeling. “And those practice responses were just practice. Over the desk, now.”
He slapped the wooden surface as he stood up from it.
Resigned, Kristen walked to the front of the room and lowered her torso lengthwise over the desk, nervously eyeing the bamboo cane still waiting among the reusable tools.
Instead, professor Lawrence picked up the hook from the to-clean pile, and began scrubbing it down with disinfectant wipes.
“This seems only appropriate, don’t you think?” he asked.
“Yes, professor,” Kristen agreed.
It wouldn’t be comfortable, but she knew she would have accepted this to give Zach a break in the first place, if that option had been on the table.
Professor Lawrence applied a fresh layer of lubricant to the hook’s newly clean end, took hold of the zipper tag at the back of Kristen’s neck, and pulled it all the way down, so that her tunic dress fell open along her naked back.
Kristen paced her breathing and did her best to relax her body as Professor Lawrence lined up the hard metal bead of the hook with her ass.
“Are you going to try to sneak something past me again now?” he asked calmly. “Or are you going to trust me?”
“Trust,” Kristen answered in a small voice.
The reminder that she had disappointed someone, whether she actually regretted her actions or not, was one of the deepest-stinging types of punishment for her.
He pushed the bead in, followed by the full seven-inch length of the curved end.
Kristen’s clit rioted, demanding a scrap of the friction her ass could easily spare, to no avail.
Professor Lawrence pressed the length of the hook handle against her spine, right up to the base of her skull, and fastened the chain at the end around her neck. A second chain, coiled inside the midpoint of the handle, he unreeled and wrapped around her waist. Her breath cut off briefly when he lifted her by the neck chain, in order to pass the waist chain under her.
With a tap of his ID card, both chains automatically shortened themselves to a safe but secure tightness, where they would remain until he removed them, holding the hooked end of the instrument inside her.
He zipped her dress back up over the hook handle and gave her ass the usual parting smack, making her clench against the intruding object.
“Go on,” he said. “Don’t keep your mentor waiting any longer. I don’t want her coming after me.”
Gingerly, Kristen managed to lift her rigid upper body off of the desk and make her laborious way out the door.
#
Officer Deacon was waiting for Kristen alone in one of the officers’ lounges, sipping coffee with the air of someone who had never found the challenge she couldn’t meet with dignity.
Wrung out from the morning, Kristen stumbled right to her mentor’s chair and threw herself into her arms. She had to bend deeply at the hips to lower her head onto Officer Deacon’s soft shoulder.
It was the first time they had hugged, and Kristen would not have been surprised if Officer Deacon had pushed her away and levied a point deduction for her presumption.
After a brief, stiff pause, the officer set down her coffee and embraced Kristen in return, squeezing her closer to her high, thinly covered breasts.
“Tough day?” Officer Deacon asked, tracing the hook handle up Kristen’s back to the chain at her neck.
“Yeah, it wasn’t my best,” Kristen said casually.
Officer Deacon eased Kristen just far enough away to look her in the eye, brushing her long, dark hair behind her ears. “The professors love to set you up for the toughest attention, don’t they?”
“It sure seems that way,” Kristen admitted.
“It was the same for me.”
Kristen scoffed with disbelief.
“Really,” said Officer Deacon. “It’s because they see your potential.”
“I must put off prodigy vibes, then.”
Officer Deacon allowed Kristen a few more seconds of self-pity, before giving her nipple a rough pinch through its stiff, pleasure-proof pastie.
“Come on,” she said, pulling Kristen upright by her hook handle while rising to join her. “We have a pleasant case to take your mind off it this afternoon.”
“Disciplining a bigger screwup than me?” Kristen guessed.
The officer shook her head.
“Put on your cupid wings,” Officer Deacon said, wiggling her shoulders with a puckish grin, “because we’re conducting a honeymoon.”
