The Secret Garden Academy Ch 03

MORNING. DEAN'S CASINO AT THE SECRET GARDEN.

In which Doctor Varela Autopoiesis--the university professor turned undercover agent-- demonstrates her eloquence and other valuable oral skills, learns more about the sex-slave training program, and discovers who is the billionaire who ordered her abduction.

***

"Let me introduce myself, Doctor. My name is Norman Saturday. Doctor Norman Saturday. I am the Dean of the Secret Garden Academy. Thank you for accepting my invitation to breakfast."

Doctor Saturday is the quintessential University Professor, the type that attracts young female students like a deadly, gorgeous flower attracts honeybees. He has left his Prada casual jacket hanging on his Rector Chair, and stands in front of me, his white, slightly crumpled monogrammed linen shirt open at his sailboat-tanned neck. No tie. Round glasses and an artfully tousled, longish hair complete the effect. The morning sun streams gently through the Renaissance windows into his grand office, in the casino overlooking the Secret Garden.

I try to convey as much sarcasm as possible in my retort.

"My pleasure, dear colleague. I apologize for not shaking hands with you. At this moment I am a little tied up."

"Ah, sure, Doctor" he grins as he nods to Lad who quickly frees my wrists and stands respectfully aside. I try to relax, but I am shaking slightly, and mustering all the dignity I can, trying not to cover myself with the cape. I know they would like that and force me to do something even more indecent than just showing off my tits and pussy with fake nonchalance. Modesty is a liability here. So, I pretend to be perfectly comfortable. Two academicians exchanging small talk at breakfast before a conference. One of them happening to be almost naked and quite wet down there. Nothing unusual.

Without a word, the so-called Dean guides me gently to a small table, outside his office, under the shade of the portico. He pulls out my chair with a practiced elegance. "Please, make yourself comfortable," he says, his hand hovering just above the chair back until I sit. As I lower myself into the chair, he took his seat across from me, never breaking his gaze. I make the error of crossing my legs and he nods to the guards, so Lad grabs my right knee and Sarge the left one and they gently spread my legs until my pussy is visible to the Dean. "Legs spread when sitting in front of men, please, Docteur." whispers Lad in a didactic tone. Sex-slave trainee basics.

"I've taken the liberty of ordering for us," the Dean says with a leering smile, while Lad touches my nipples to make them more erect for the great man. "I am pleased to notify you that your application has been accepted and you are admitted to our advanced course, the MSS, Mistress in Sex Service. I hope you have traveled comfortably, Doctor."

I answer in what I hope sounds like a mocking tone, "Sure. I enjoy traveling naked, tied, and gagged in a crate. Besides, I have been almost gang-bang-raped in the process." He frowns as he answers and--for an instant--I believe that my arrow has found its mark. But I am wrong.

"Our abduction crates are the best in the world. They are made for us by Masterpiece Packaging. They are the very best at building fine-arts crates. The crates are air-conditioned and perfectly comfortable, and they even provide musical entertainment to our merchand... I mean, hmm, to our valued trainees. We have treated you better than the Botticelli's Venus, Ma'am. And we apologize for the hmm... incident."

I can't believe this. The man seems more affected by the critique at the logistic arrangement the Patriarchs organized than by confessing he is an accomplice in crime. But I must admit that the crate was more comfortable than most commuter trains, except for the hideous country songs. But it doesn't seem the right moment for a complaint, so I follow a different line, "And by the way, what is this ridiculous Master? Any woman could be forced to belly-dance, worship cock and spread legs for powerful men."

He doesn't get the scorn, as he answers in his refined academic tone, as if he was addressing an adoring post-doctoral student: "You are wrong, Ma'am. Our Mistresses in Sex Administration are Alpha sex-slaves. Only a few selected women can become true MSAs. Top politicians, successful professionals, or Ivy League professors, like you. We incur into so many inconveniences and expenses in hmm... recruiting you ladies. You see, only a classy, intellectual woman can complete a MSS course, and not all of them have the right attitude..."

The door opens quietly, and a uniformed waiter steps in carrying a silver tray. Automatically, I cross my legs. The young man approaches the table. "Your coffee, Madam. Sir," he says professionally. Inspited, I spread again my legs, and the young man spills some coffee. Blushing, the poor boy steps back, a little bulge already showing at his groin as I re-cross my legs.

"...but I believe you qualify." The Dean concludes, looking at me intently until I spread my legs again. Shit! Sluttyself took control of me.

I roll my eyes, trying to regain my stance. "And I beg your pardon, Dean, but I think your recruiting office made a mistake. I didn't apply for your indecent advanced course."

He nods again. "Well, we have a particular protocol for applications Ma'am. Your application was signed by a valued customer of our Academy. And a very distinguished one."

"I guess money can make anybody distinguished..."

"Not really, Doctor Autopoiesis. Your suitor is not a common billionaire, you see. He is a Prince."

A Prince. Bingo! Prince Orlov. There are more princes than necessary around the world, and Orlov looks like a rather common Russian name. But how many Prince Orlovs are out there? Combining the two hints I can easily identify the man. But not when I am tied up.

"Cool! A Prince! We will be the sex-slave of a Prince." Sluttyself is quite excited.

"A vengeful Prince." I remind her, and she shuts up, worried. I am worried as well. Why on Earth should the powerful man be vengeful? I shiver.

The Dean notices my pussy is wet and possibly more shining (hopefully not dripping yet), due to Sluttyself excitement, and the danger. I blush, and the 'Dean' smiles an irritant, contented smile. I try to ruin it. "I guess that the students of your advanced course are led by these men-in-black around the hmm... campus, tied and naked." I am mocking him with his hmms, and he raises his eyebrows"Oh no, Doctor. This is just the dresscode for the Secret Garden. Our customers are... well, you know, they want their sla... hmm, I mean, our ladies in formal dresses. Hence the Read Cape, the formal dress for trainees in the Secret Garden. And the heels and hmm... bracelets. But you will be free to go about the campus dressed as you like. You'll have specific classes on proper dress codes. And--when free from classes--you can bask in the sun at the swimming pool, or work out at the gym, or visit our library."

"Library?" A library? This is what I would need to identify Prince Orlov. Could they be so confident to let me access a library?

"Sure. We are a serious academic institution." He brags. "You'll see, our library is small but has all what you need for your research, Doctor."

"Classes?"

"Ah, times flies when discussing with a colleague. And a beautiful woman..." The Dean checks his Rolex, pulls out a small leather-bound Secret Garden' planner and opens it to a neatly written schedule.

"I don't want you to be late for your first class."

The Library! I need to buy some time, now, and go to the library, but how?

The Dean taps the first line with a finger. "Your first class is scheduled in twenty minutes, at ten-fifteen. You are lucky, it is B&D, as our best trainees call it. A very popular course. The Blowjob and Deepthroat Seminar."

"Blowjob and Deepthroat Seminar?" I repeat, and I hear Sarge snicker.

"Anything you want to ask about it, Doctor?" The Dean confirms, and Lad giggles.

"Yes, Dean, please. I believe I can skip this class. You know, I am already proficient in the subject. Very proficient."

I part my lips seductively and Sluttyself applauds. For a moment both my selves are in agreement. We have unbalanced the man. He is uncertain, and he addresses me like Emperor Joseph addressed Mozart before his demonstration of his incredible musical skills,

"Really?"

"Really."

He looks at me with a mix of uncertainty and lust, then he snaps his fingers at the guards, and Sarge bring his Rectoral chair to the Portico. "Show me."

I don't move, until he snaps his finger again (not a very academic gesture), and Lad sets in front of me a soft pillow, where I kneel between the Dean's spread legs.

Every housewife can give a decent blowjob. But a true deepthroat is another thing. At a Totally. It is something between sports and arts, like artistic gymnastics. And--like artistic gymnastics--it is risky. You can choke on cock. And when the Dean unzips I can see the one he owns is sizable--at least for a white man.

I am confident when I look up at him, straight into his smiling eyes. Thank God I have mastered the technique at the Agency. With the best instructors.

A MONTH BEFORE. AT THE CUNTS' INTELLIGENCE AGENCY.

The Directress of the recently created all-female Intelligence Agency came to the meeting room herself. The Agency's official name was 'Parallel National Security Intelligence Agency', but the misogynistic management of the old-fashioned Central Intelligence Agency-- after their strenuous opposition to the idea--had mockingly dubbed it the Cunts Intelligence Agency. But the clever Directress made their dirty joke backfire, officially adopting the name and explaining how 'cunt' was not an insult, it was an homage to diversity.

"Special Agents, during your first training days at our Cunts' Intelligence Agency, you have followed a training program very similar to the one followed by our colleagues at the old-fashioned, male-driven Agency: martial arts, firearms, surveillance. But today it will be different," said the Directress welcoming us to a novel course, the first -- she proudly continued -- aimed at leveraging the powerful, diverse female natural skills which were -after all - the raison d'être of our organization. Her naughty smile was not lost on me.

I exchanged a puzzled look with my colleagues.

Smiling sweetly, the Directress introduced the instructors of today's seminar, and they filed in. Men!

More than just men. The small group of big guys who walked into the classroom wore black turtlenecks and bluish camouflaged baggy trousers on their muscular frames. A golden trident shone on the black square insignia each wore on his chest.

They stopped in front of us, standing in line, at ease, slightly awkward and somehow morose, an uncertain smile on their hard faces as they looked at us.

"Ladies, let me introduce Lieutenant Angel Garcia and his scuba instructors team." continued the Directress "Usually the Armed Forces are not so keen to help intelligence agencies but, for whatever reason, the Navy Seals are quite happy to collaborate with us for this course."

Their smiles broadened. Maybe they knew what was coming, as we did not.

"Now, special agents, let me explain. You know that when you will be operational undercover your colleagues will be very close, ready to intervene as soon as needed. However, you might need to call the cavalry in with a certain... urgency. In these cases, it will be vital for you to buy some precious time. As per our simulations, you'll need seventeen minutes. And there, we have a great advantage over our colleagues from the Other Agency. How do we buy those vital seventeen minutes? We trick the opposition. We distract them with something they are totally unable to withstand."

Then with a grand gesture, marking the capital initials, the Directress announced:

"Special Agents, welcome to the Second Blowjob and Deepthroat Seminar"

I had seen that coming, and I felt my face blushing as my colleagues started chatting animatedly in low voices and the smiles on the Seals' faces broadened.

She continued in her didactic tone:

"Any questions before we start, special agents?"

Miss Feihong, the delightful Oriental girl who excelled in our martial arts classes, raised a hand:

"You said 'Second Seminar' Ma'am... - was there a First one?"

"Good question, special agent Feihong." the devilish woman answered with a sweet smile, continuing,

"A good Directress wouldn't propose a course without being sure of its value and quality. And what better way to check that than to participate in a first pilot course? I did, and I will introduce today's seminar with a demo. Your goal after the seminar, and the final test, consists of - hmm... - incapacitating three armed men for at least seventeen minutes, giving time to our standing-by swat squads. As you may know, blocking three armed men is almost impossible for our male colleagues... but after the seminar, you will be able to do so."

Miss Feihong cocked her head, nodding, then winked secretly at me. She was wearing a rather severe but sexy black minidress, the pearl string and a feather fascinator conveying to the men that she was a delicate human being, in need of protection. Wrong impression. They are so gullible.

"Now, Lieutanant Garcia, if you please assist me in the demo..." she continued, switching to her sensual voice. She unbuttoned the first two buttons of her classy blouse, exposing a black lace bra.

"With pleasure, Ma'am" the man answered with a military salute. They had choreographed that in advance, of course, because he grinned and shouted, "KING! JOHNSON!"

The two SEALs didn't expect the order, but they reacted perfectly, jumping towards the table on which lay the blue training revolvers we used for our 'react and disarm' classes. They aimed the fake Smith & Wesson.45 at the poor Directress as Lieutanant Garcia seized her wrists and handcuffed her behind her back.

"With your permission, Ma'am..." continued Lieutanant Garcia, interpreting consciously the role of a dirty villain, as he wrapped his left hand around the Directress' waist, unbuttoning her blouse with his right hand. King and Johnson, fake guns in hand, were trying to play their roles, covering the suspect and securing the nearby area, but their sights were all focused on her notable bosom when she activated the radio nail extension--having her hand handcuffed behind the back simplified the task--simulating the help request to the swat squad. In response, a large digital wall clock started counting seconds. The lace bra appeared in full glory through the blouse flap, and the men's smiles broadened at the sight. Still standing behind the Directress, Lieutanant Garcia deftly unhooked the bra -- it was front-hooked. At that moment, I understood her suggestion to wear today the identical one she had given me. The D-cups opened smoothly as her round boobs spilled out, their small incipient sagging making them even more enticing. The men's eyes bulged, and their uncertainty vanished at once. In fifteen seconds, they were sitting in the low armchairs, as she kneeled in front of the first one, King. He unbuttoned his flap, and his sizable cock sprung out, already half stiff.

Cocking her head, the directress took it delicately into her mouth and started her deft action, then after a minute, she switched equanimously to Johnson, then to Lieutanant Garcia who had meanwhile found his place in the third armchair.

The Directress looked at us, retrieving her didactic tone:

"I imagine you ladies are rather acquainted with the basic blowjob technique." Giggles from the audience.

"But as you may guess, ladies, our subjects have been distracted, but not yet incapacitated. Something more is necessary."

With that, she again mouthed King -- who actually owned a king-size cock - and slowly, but confidently, managed to slide it all into her mouth, kept it there, still, for fifteen seconds, then slide it slowly out. King closed his eyes and sighed.

"You see, ladies, this is the basic deepthroat technique. They cannot resist it more than they can pretend they are eunuchs. But mastering the technique it tricky. It can be dangerous, so all our Seals boy here are scuba divers and apnea instructors. They will teach you how to breathe properly during your performance, and avoid being chocked on cock

I looked at the unlucky men who were still standing at ease, away from Ursula's magic lips. Only one of them was not looking at the admirable performance of the Directress. He was possibly the youngest of the team, and he was looking at me. Suddenly inspired by Sluttyself, I smiled back, unbuttoning the first button of my blouse, and he responded with a dazzling, white, perfect smile. I had found my instructor.

The Directress continued her action. Johnson's turn, then Lieutenant Garcia's. They had their eyes half-closed and seemed rather oblivious to the surroundings. They had been thoroughly incapacitated.

King's turn again. Suddenly, he grunted and shuddered as he came into her mouth. The Directress waited until he slumped in his armchair, then quickly switched her attention to Johnson. He was sighing with closed eyes. King was still breathing hard, slowly recovering when the forgotten clock struck seventeen. The Lesbo Squad--Alice and Ellen--jumped and was on the hard-cock criminals at once, yelling at the top of their lungs.

"Freeze! Police!"

King and Johnson were already frozen. Lieutenant Garcia attempted a weak reaction, but he was too slow, and in a split second Miss Feihong was on him, even before his feather fascinator, launched in the air as she had bolted, had time to touch down. She is petite and has a sweet smile, so her opponents tend to underestimate her. This is a mistake, as poor Lieutenant Garcia realized immediately. He found himself on the floor on his belly, Miss Feihong's stiletto heels on the small of his back, his baggy camouflaged trousers at his knees, his muscular buttocks up in the air. Hopefully, she had not damaged that beautiful cock of his. His expression was rather unhappy. Just at that moment, the big screen showed the title of today's seminar, followed by the presentation of our instructors and their motto, which read "The only easy day was yesterday". I guessed Lieutanant Garcia truly understood the motto at that moment. His men were pointing at him, grinning widely at each other.

The Directress theatrically pointed at the blonde Erinys and the petite Oriental beauty, proudly stating: "These I call my girls!"

We all applauded, and even the men joined. It had been an impressive demonstration, indeed.

Poor Johnson, still on the armchair, his cock slowly subsiding, had a sorry expression when -- unexpectedly--the Directress retrieved her action on him. His smile returned. Her hands freed by Ellen, the Directress was able to cup and twist gently his balls, so in a minute he grunted hard and jerked, closing his eyes, his cock still deep into her mouth. Very professional, she stood still as he shuddered slightly, then eventually got elegantly up and helped Lieutanant Garcia--still handcuffed on the floor--on his feet. His erection has subsided -- but his cock was impressive anyway - and he was still rather shaken.

The Directress smiled at us, "Deepthroat is power, Special Agents. And now, girls, I'll let you with your instructors."

The instructors were all broad smiles now.

As the Directress was addressing us, Lieutanant Garcia buttoned up his camouflaged trousers, trying to recover his hierarchic place, a funny expression on his face. He was mildly in shock. I could perfectly understand the silent debate in his mind.

Thesis. He had been sucked and even deepthroated by a topless, kneeling, handcuffed woman, the epitome of female submission.