Subclasses

Chapter 21

"I can stop your period and prevent you from having more with my ability," Bea says at lunch on Wednesday after my chem lab.

"I appreciate that," I say, "and I may take you up on the offer in the future, but for now, this is a woman's rite of passage. As unpleasant and unfortunately disruptive as this period is, I want to experience it. It's like how I like shaving my legs."

She nods. "Makes sense. I guess this means no sex for tomorrow's date then? I'll have to make new plans."

"Oh. Sorry."

"No, no, it's alright. This is part of being a woman." She smiles warmly at me.

After a moment, I say, "Come to think of it, shouldn't you have had your period by now? We've been dating for a month."

"My IUD prevents them, though, if it didn't, I'd probably prevent them with my ability," she admits. "I have endometriosis, so my periods are really painful."

I nod. "I'm sorry to hear that, but glad you have a solution.

"So what were your plans for tomorrow before my--as Gabi put it--red alert?"

"Nuh uh uh," she chides, waving a finger back and forth. "I will still use these later. No spoilers, silly girl."

I pout.

The cafeteria is fairly quiet this late in the lunch hour. Hours. Whatever.

"I love you," I tell her.

She looks up at me. "I love you, too. Is everything okay?"

"Yep! I just have a hard time not speaking when that thought enters my mind." She smiles at me. "That thought pops up quite a lot, so you should be impressed that I hold it in so often!"

"

Sarah will never suppress saying, 'I love you,' when she thinks it.

" I feel a warm sensation settle in my mind.

"Uhh, I know you mean well, but I'm going to end up saying that a hundred times a day, most of which, won't be near you. I'd rather not blurt out 'I love you' in the middle of my data structures class." Then, compelled, I blurt out, "I love you." It turns me on.

"Oh, boo," she says, sticking out her bottom lip. I know she's going for pouty, but I just want to kiss it. She undoes the trigger, then after a moment's thought, says, "I could just make it whenever I'm in earshot."

"Only if you want me to interrupt movies and concerts," I tease.

"Concerts, hmm?" she muses. She appears lost in thought, and when she doesn't say anything more, I let the matter drop.

"I love you," I repeat, this time of my own accord.

She smiles. "I love you, too, Sarah."

* * *

As Linear Algebra gets out, my phone buzzes. Beatrix wants some help with her ability, but...

Chapter 21 Appendix Entry 21.1

... I can't remember any details, and apparently I've deleted the text messages we've exchanged on my way from Bond to FX. I suspect that means I'm in for a treat tomorrow.

I enter my room and shut the door. Gabi's playing Mario Party. I clear my throat and she looks at me. Then I begin to dance. I don't know how to dance, but that doesn't stop me. I know I'm making a fool of myself. Gabi's eyebrows raise in surprise, but her gaze doesn't waver as she watches my thirty second uncoordinated performance.

I pull out my phone and text Beatrix, who appears suddenly on Gabi's bed a moment later. Characteristically, Gabi shrieks at her sudden appearance. "So, Gabi," Bea asks, "has Sarah done anything embarrassing lately?"

"Hmm?" Gabi asks. "No, I don't think so."

"Hey!" I protest. "Why would you assume that was embarrassing?"

"Really?" Bea asks, addressing Gabi and completely ignoring my protest. I stick out my tongue. Clearly Beatrix was the reason I spontaneously busted a move. I am surprised Gabi didn't mention it though. "I could have sworn that would have worked," Bea murmurs with an amused twinkle in her eye.

"I..." Gabi says, "I really can't say what, but yes, she did."

"Interesting. Do me a favor and try your hardest to tell me what it was. Sarah and I are testing my ability."

We are?

"Sarah d--" Gabi tries to spit out the word "danced" but stutters and chokes on the word. Beatrix sighs in relief.

"

Gabi is released from the dance license agreement.

"

"Danced!" Gabi shouts victoriously. "Sarah danced and it was so bad!" She accompanies this victory with a seated bouncing dance of her own. I'm momentarily hypnotized by the up-and-down jiggle of her tits. I glance at Bea and notice she is similarly entranced.

Regaining control of her faculties, Beatrix says, "And now I must return to finish planning our date. See you in an hour, Gabi. Ta!

I am now in my room.

"

Chapter 21 Appendix Entry 21.2

* * *

That evening, Gabi and Beatrix saunter into our dorm room after their date.

"You ladies look like you had fun," I say.

"Mmhmm," Gabi says, pleased as peach pie.

"Yeah, it was a lot of fun," Bea says. She sits down on Gabi's bunk and winces.

"You alright?" I ask.

"Yes, just sore. Tonight was my first time ice skating."

"Ahh," I say. "Fell down a lot, did you?"

"Yes. And Gabi forbade me from using my ability to keep me upright. I was too proud to use one of the training walkers some of the kids we're using."

Gabi looks amused. "Falling on your ass is an ice skating rite of passage."

"I'll rite your passage," Bea says with a huff. "Mario Party. Now."

"Ah Mario Party: a Valentine's Day classic," I tease. I am about to ask why they hadn't gone back to Bea's room for sexy times, but stop as the obvious reason occurs to me. "So, too sore for sex, eh?"

Bea sticks her tongue out at me, then tosses me a controller.

"Can't you use your ability to heal yourself?" I ask, curious.

"I've had mixed results with healing. I think it's because I don't have the medical background, and don't have a clear enough understanding of what needs to occur. Plus, since I'd be applying it to myself, I wouldn't have the non-harm consent safeguard I'd have if trying to heal someone else. There's a high probability I'd end up doing far more damage than healing. Better to use conventional painkillers."

I nod, though something feels a little off about her explanation--it's more data to chew on regarding the inner workings of her ability. I return my thoughts to the conversation. "I guess none of us are having sex this Valentine's Day.

"But you had fun?" I ask again.

"I did," Bea says.

"Good. That's all that matters," I say. "That and that you didn't break anything."

"I'll break your anything," she retorts. I arch an eyebrow. "Hmm. Doesn't quite work as well as 'riting Gabi's passage,' does it?"

I smirk with a slight shake of my head.

Bea proceeds to rite Gabi's passage and break my anything over the course of thirty Mario Party minigames.

* * *

📲

Sarah

How should I dress for our date?

Bea 🦹🏼‍♀️

Whatever's comfortable 😈

Sarah

What's with the 😈?

Bea 🦹🏼‍♀️

😈

📵

I guess that's all I'm getting out of her

, I think.

📲

Sarah

See you at 4:20! ❤️

Bea 🦹🏼‍♀️

Don't be late, Pet!

Sarah

Oh please. When have I ever been late?

Bea 🦹🏼‍♀️

*Eyeroll* Brat

Sarah

You do know there's an eyeroll emoji, right? 🙄

Bea 🦹🏼‍♀️

Yes. My question is why isn't there a whip emoji?

Sarah

😳

📵

I put away my phone, and apply some basic makeup: foundation, clumsy mascara, and redder-than-my-usual lipstick. I'm once again so grateful that my facial hair has been permanently removed, and I no longer need to hide my previously impervious creeper stache with concealer.

Then again, I might as well hide that zit.

With no direction to go off of, I don't see much of a reason to change out of my casual clothes--a gray tee with an untied lace-up neckline and laundry-faded black shorts over black yoga pants; any change I make is liable to be a worse choice.

A half hour of scrolling through Instagram later, I don my white, poofy winter jacket and leave the dorm room for CF104.

And wouldn't you know it, despite my best efforts I enter the building at 4:20:15. Beatrix locks eyes with me, and I feel a fantom belt whip across my butt. I manage to just barely contain my cry of pain, but my eyes water and my knees threaten to buckle. Fifteen seconds warrants a lash more painful than any punishment she's ever given me, and I suspect it left my cheeks bright red if it didn't leave a pair of welts. Oddly, I see Beatrix react to pain, too, though she contains it better with barely more than a look of surprise.

And then I feel hands rubbing my cheeks, simultaneously soothing and exacerbating the pain of the lash. They pull me toward her, and my wobbly legs have to race to stay standing. She walks forward to meet me halfway.

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

"I'm sorry, Mistress." It comes out louder than the whisper I had intended, and a nearby student glances toward us. Her face is unreadable, so I don't know if she overheard or not. Either way, I'm embarrassed. And turned on, as evidenced by the swelling and pleasant burn I feel between my legs. I notice absently that I can't tell if I'm "getting wet" because the sensation of my period is an order of magnitude stronger.

Ah yes, the quintessential 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 my body shrink and feminize gradually over the duration of the walk, slow enough that no one would notice. Since it's new to me and thus of immediate interest, I describe my first menstr--

Nope!

I think.

Not thinking that word on Valentine's Day (observed).

...my first time of month. Beatrix patiently listens as if she hasn't had the same experience dozens of times.

"Sorry for, er, mansplaining," I say sheepishly.

"You weren't mansplaining," Bea says. "True, I didn't ask for an explanation and I obviously have had my own periods, but you weren't so much explaining a concept I know well as describing your own experience. It's obviously on your mind--and for good reason--and I like when you speak your mind. There was no condescension or assumption, just academic, nerdy enthusiasm for something new." I nod, mostly persuaded that I'm not being an ass.

"Was that belt lash too hard?" 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 be pleasurable, but I think I enjoy

discomfort

much more than actual pain. Like, right now, sitting will hurt; it will be uncomfortable. That reminder, 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 pause, marshaling the vulnerability to explain the origin of this kink. "Growing up, I didn't know how to relate to other people, especially girls. I couldn't figure out how to get them to like me, could never say the right thing. And I needed them to like me. I was one of them, but didn't know how to behave like them and definitely didn't know how to tell them I was a girl. Heck, I hadn't even figured out I was a girl. As a result, I was frequently called creepy. 'Creepy' became a traumatic trigger word for me, full of shame, and while I'm working on it, a large part of me still believes it's true, both because I've been called it dozens of times and because I learned from my parents that transgender people--especially transgender women--are creepy and perverted.

"So, rather than learning how to be likable, I learned how to be useful. People tolerate and sometimes include me if I'm helpful, and so I learned to equate utility with affection. My fantasies grew from that seed. To be controlled, to be trained or disciplined 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 I suspect most people do--as I enjoy being required to be used. Someone being useful can still be annoying. However, someone being used has been chosen. Someone being used for pleasure then must be desirable. Someone worth disciplining over a long period, of turning into a better tool-slash-pet, in and out of the bedroom, must be loved.

"Your ability is a perfect fit for me. You use me for your pleasure which gives me pleasure, and out of that use, you strengthen your ability."

She stops walking abruptly so I stop and turn to face her. Her eyes are glistening, her expression a mix of pity, pain, and compassion. "It's not a big de--" She interrupts me with a tight bear hug, and, having now shrunken to her own height, I feel a tear drop from her face and run down my own cheek.

"You are

not

creepy, Sarah," she says firmly. A dozen objections immediately spring to mind, but are silenced by the conviction in her voice. "You are lovely and worthy and precious. I

adore

you. I'd adore you whether you were useful to me or not. I am so sorry--so

angry

--that people mistreated you and taught you such ugly lies about yourself." Her tone has turned pained, almost pleading; she needs me to believe her. "You are an incredible, beautiful woman. I love you and you mean more to me than you can ever know."

The moment she finishes speaking, my own dam breaks and I cry with her. "Th-thank you, Beatrix. Th-that m-means everything to me. I love you, too." I pull back and kiss her deeply, uncaring of the discomfort it might cause passersby. This isn't a horny kiss inflamed by passion. This is a kiss filled with gratitude, fueled by the absolute, palpable need to be as close to this heretofore unexperienced source of love and comfort as possible. Closer than that. With this kiss, our souls touch, mingle, and, for a moment, become one.

When we at last pull apart, something has changed. Something in me, something in our relationship.... I'm not sure what. But something fundamental. It's both a small thing and a huge thing at once. An inflection point in the polynomial of my history.

"Thank you," Bea says, "for telling me. I know that took courage."

"It wa-- was nothing," I say, my attempted deflection betrayed by my choked voice. She smiles and leaves it at that.

We turn and walk hand-in-hand in comfortable silence the rest of the way from the Engineering Technology building to Nash Hall.

* * *

As soon as I shut Beatrix's dorm room door behind us, my clothes change instantaneously. I find myself in a slinky red dress with a low neckline and a slit up my right leg ending a mere inch below my panties. The fit is remarkable as if it had been tailored to hug my curves. It presses my breasts together to effect considerable cleavage. In place of my leather collar, I'm wearing a ruby lariat necklace--gem nestled between my breasts--and the standing mirror Bea had prepared reveals my hair is done up in two small braids starting at my temples tying an intricate bun. My face feels slightly weightier: my professionally applied makeup matches my new attire. I wobble a little as I take my next step and look down. I'm in two-inch shiny black heels with rounded toes. I have never felt sexier in my life.

I look at Beatrix and my jaw drops. I barely recognize her. Her blonde hair has been shortened to an adorable pixie cut. Her eyebrows have been trimmed to be harsher, more controlling. Her lipstick is a deep maroon. Instead of a dress, she's in a black tailored feminine suit with a black necktie against a black dress shirt. Until now, I never thought I'd ever find hair as sexy as Beatrix's characteristic high ponytail, but this matches it; my mouth waters and I have to close it to prevent myself from drooling.

"I'll take that look to mean you find this style attractive," she says, bemused.

"I...."

"You what?" she asks with a teasing lilt.

"What?" I ask, trying to remember, well, anything.

"Silly girl." She smiles. "You ready for dinner?"

* * *

Beatrix teleports us to an uninhabited alley in Seattle Center. "I hope you don't mind playing tourist for a bit," she says as we walk. "I made reservations at the Space Needle." Anyone from Washington knows that the Space Needle restaurant, Loupe Lounge, is overpriced for the quality of its food, but the view is romantic.

"Sounds fun. I've been to the top a few times, but never to the restaurant, and have always thought it was something I ought to experience at least once." She squeezes my hand, and we get in line for the elevator.

Two other couples share our elevator on the way up, but Beatrix and I might as well be alone as we stand, looking out at the Seattle waterfront and partial skyline. She stands behind me, arms wrapped comfortably around my belly, her cheek pressed to mine. Her right hand finds the slit of my dress and she teases me with a finger running up the inside of my leg. I suck in a quiet breath, and lean back into her embrace. Her fragrance is intoxicating and despite the view outside, I close my eyes content to breathe her in.

The host seats us and a server asks if we'd like anything to drink while we look at the menu. He addresses me first, but Beatrix interrupts.

"We're actually ready to order. I'll have the salmon and a lemonade. The lady will have a steak, medium, a side salad with honey mustard in place of the potatoes, and a virgin strawberry daiquiri."

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

I stare at Beatrix, feeling hot, feeling controlled by the simple act of choosing my dinner. She looks at me in that domineering way she has, enhanced by her pixie cut, and I melt further; at this point, I'm unsure how I haven't pooled into a puddle on the floor.

"Yes, pet?" she asks.

"I... I've never had someone order for me. That was hot."

"Good," she says with a placid tone that doesn't match the twinkle of pride in her eyes.

"Did I tell you what I would want and forget that I did?"

"No. I just pay attention, read the menu ahead of time, and took a chance. How did I do?"

"Spot on," I say, grinning. "It's been ages since I've had a good steak."

As the floor of the restaurant slowly spins, we talk of small things: childhood anecdotes, elementary school crushes, county fairs, and the like.

"You've lived in Redmond since the start of high school and never been to Wild Waves?" I ask, shocked that she has never been to the only major waterpark in the area.

"Nope. Is it fun?"

"As good as any water park, I suppose. I've only been to two, to be honest, though I've heard it's not nearly as fun as the one in Coeur d'Alene.

"Wild Waves has a ride called Konga Lazy River," I continue, "where you get an inner tube and float down a slow moving water slide--a lazy river, if you will." Bea rolls her eyes affectionately. "It has multiple 'lakes' where you can get stuck, bumping into other people. You often get bumped around each lake a few times before you get to the slide to the next lake. It's a relaxing ride." I smile at the memory. "One year, Ty and I rode it probably five times, racing each other to the bottom, completely defeating the intended purpose. We were pretty fast by the end, getting through each lake in half a lap each."

"Maybe this summer we'll have to go together."

"I know water parks are geared toward kids, but honestly, I'd love that. I bet Gabi would like to join us, too, if that's okay with you."