Chapter 17: Conditioning
The door clicked shut behind her, and Mira was already trembling.
Lena didn’t speak right away. She locked the practice room with a quiet flick of her wrist, then turned slowly to face Mira—eyes calm, mouth unreadable. Mira stood near the piano, breath shallow, her entire body still humming from the lecture. She clutched her bag to her chest like a shield, but her gaze was wide, expectant.
Lena stepped forward.
“You listened.”
Mira nodded, mute.
“You obeyed.”
Another nod. Quieter. Almost a shiver.
Lena’s hand found her cheek, the touch so gentle it made Mira’s knees weaken. She leaned into it without thinking.
“I’m proud of you,” Lena said softly. “You did so well.”
The praise hit deeper than Mira expected—burrowed under her skin, warm and blinding. She didn’t realize she was leaning until her bag slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud.
“Take off your skirt.”
Mira's breath caught. She obeyed.
Lena circled her slowly, eyes dragging over her body like she was taking stock of something she already owned. Then she reached for Mira’s wrist and guided her down—not to the bench or piano, but to the floor.
“Lie back,” Lena said. “Legs open. Show me how good you were.”
The cold of the hardwood made Mira shiver as she obeyed, lowering herself onto her back, arms folded beneath her head, legs spreading slowly. Her underwear was still on, soaked and clinging to her—Lena hooked a finger in the waistband and peeled them down her thighs, tossing them aside without a word.
She knelt between Mira’s legs, and instead of diving in right away, she just looked. Let her stare settle there—hungry, pleased, possessive.
“You’re soaked. All from keeping still for me?”
Mira nodded, face burning.
Lena smiled. Not sweet—sharp. Knowing.
She bent forward, grabbed Mira’s thighs, and pushed them up toward her chest, folding her in half—completely open, completely pinned. One hand braced under a knee, the other between her legs, fingers sliding through the slick heat with a slow, deliberate stroke.
“You look obscene like this,” Lena murmured. “Like something meant to be ruined.”
Then she slid two fingers in, deep and unforgiving. Mira gasped, hands flying to grip her own knees for support, thighs trembling from the stretch of the angle.
Lena didn’t let up—her fingers thrust hard, fast, grinding inside her while her other hand reached up to tweak Mira’s nipple through her shirt. Mira arched, a breathless sound spilling out of her.
“Keep your legs up. Don’t move.”
Mira whimpered, struggling to hold the position, arms shaking slightly as she gripped behind her own thighs. Her shirt had ridden up, stomach exposed, lips parted and wet.
“Look at you,” Lena whispered. “Holding yourself open for me like that.”
She fucked her harder now—the wet sp of fingers inside her loud in the quiet room, filthy and rhythmic. Mira’s hips rocked helplessly with each thrust, but she didn’t let go. She kept her legs up, kept herself open, and let Lena use her.
“Do you want to come?”
“Yes—please—Lena—”
“Then earn it. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” Mira sobbed. “Please, I’m yours—make me come—”
Lena leaned in and bit gently at her inner thigh. “Good girl.”
She pressed her thumb to Mira’s clit and rubbed tight, punishing circles while her fingers drove deeper, faster—and Mira broke.
She came hard, moaning, shivering, her legs nearly falling out of position as her whole body tensed. Her slick liquids flooded Lena’s hand, loud and wet and messy. She barely noticed when Lena slowed her movements, coaxing every st tremble out of her.
Afterward, Lena pulled her upright into her p, one arm around her waist, the other still sticky between Mira’s thighs. She kissed her—slow, open-mouthed, licking the whimper off her lips like it belonged to her.
“You obey so beautifully,” Lena murmured, low against her mouth. “And now you’ll think of me every time you lie down.”
---
They didn’t meet the next day.
Lena sent no texts. No signals. Just silence.
But Mira didn’t panic.
Not this time.
She carried the memory of the practice room with her like armor, the feel of Lena’s mouth, her hands, the things she whispered into her skin. It made her thighs press together under the table in css. It made her fingers hover over her phone in the quiet stretches of the evening.
And then, on Wednesday morning, her phone buzzed.
From: Lena Today, no bra.
Mira stared at the message, heat blooming under her colr. She hesitated, just for a second. Then slipped off her top, uncsped her bra, and tucked it into her bag before heading to css with her jacket zipped high.
Lena didn’t check in.
She didn’t need to.
Mira spent the whole day aware of herself—of how sensitive she was, how easily her nipples brushed against the fabric of her shirt, how exposed she felt beneath the surface. She blushed when professors called on her. She kept her arms crossed tighter than usual. But she did it.
She obeyed.
The next day, it was something new.
From: Lena No panties. Text me when it starts getting hard to focus.
Mira did.
She sat in the back of her music theory css, legs tightly crossed, fingers trembling over the keys of her ptop. When she finally messaged Lena—I can’t concentrate,—the reply was immediate.
From: Lena Good. Stay like that.
Every day, it was something. Sometimes small—don’t speak unless spoken to, sit in the library but don’t study, wear a colr under your shirt. Sometimes harder.
By the end of the week, Mira didn’t even question it anymore.
She just followed.
And Lena rewarded her—in touches, in whispers, in quiet, devastating moments when she would brush Mira’s hair back in the hallway and murmur mine so low it made Mira ache for hours.
It became a rhythm.
Mira carried Lena’s instructions through her days like prayer beads, each one making her feel more tethered, more known, more wanted.
But beneath it, something else had started to stir.
A kind of hunger that wasn’t just physical. A need to be seen—not just in private, not just when the doors were closed—but always. A quiet, dangerous ache that Mira didn’t have the words for yet.
And Lena, watching her closely, saw it.
She always did.
