Super College Ch. 02

"So I lay traps, here in the hallowed - brand new, actually, but nevermind - grounds of this College for the strong and the dedicated and the highly trained, and I wait until someone blunders into one of them.

"Now that book I handed you, that one is special. That one never saw a bulk printing press.

"That one completes the job. If you're so weak you fall prey to the trap, that one will strip all conscious will from you and leave you with only the psyche necessary to function, to obey me.

"Let's see if you're good for anything. Take your clothes off."

Megan began mechanically unbuttoning her blouse, from top to button, moving competently but without passion or attempt at flirtation.

The watching man only saw a young woman slowly exposing herself as her hands peeled back the loose but entirely opaque fabric of her blouse to reveal a sensible, modest and flattening full-cup bra in the same tones as the blouse.

The woman's skin was a uniform light olive tone over arms and shoulders and belly, which the man found aesthetically satisfying. The bra, however, was disappointingly un-sexy.

Megan stepped out of her shoes, flats that were strapped well enough to need levering off at the back, then undid her pants and pushed them off her hips. They were loose enough to fall to the ground once past her pelvis, exposing boy-leg panties the same colour as her bra.

The man snarled. "When will you tarts learn to be sexy? It's all you're good for, so flaunt it! It's why you're on this earth, after all. Take those granny-rags off!"

Megan stopped moving, her hands, which had been reaching for her bra clasp, frozen in mid-air.

The man swore in frustration. "Your underwear! Take your underwear off! You don't even know what you're wearing! You may as well still have your blouse on, with that covering your tits!"

When Megan undid the clasp on her bra, her chest expanded as the pressure was released, mollifying the man slightly. When she pulled the straps off her shoulders and then the cups off her breasts, he sighed happily, gazing in appreciation at her ripe, plump, swollen 18-year-old breasts and fleshy nipples. He was disappointed at the tan lines, as soft as they were on her naturally olive skin, but appreciated the thought of the skimpy bikini top they outlined.

He was even happier when she peeled her panties down her legs and revealed a shaven pussy, but was annoyed at the stubble, more than a day's growth.

"Your grooming," he snarled, "is not up to standard! I should make you shave here and now, but I don't have time."

Megan straightened up, hands by her side, still expressionless, still moving only with robotic efficiency.

The man leant forwards in his chair, put his hands on the arms and used them to push himself upright.

"It's such a shame I haven't managed to tune this well enough to keep you alive in here," he said, stepping forwards and lightly rapping Megan on the forehead with his knuckles. "But living dolls are fun, too."

He stared into her eyes, from centimetres away. She didn't focus on him.

"Be aroused," he whispered.

Her pupils immediately dilated, swelling even further than they already were in the dim light.

His gaze idly travelled down her body, seeing her aureolae pucker and her nipples grow out of them, and marking a slight swelling in her breasts.

He had to step back to look further down, to where there was a slight but definite swelling and change to her smooth, young pussy lips.

"Given enough time with me," he said softly into her face, "you would respond that quickly even without my control. All good sluts should."

He reached down, traced the outsides of her lips with his gloved fingers, then used thumb and little finger to spread her lips and pushed the other three inside her.

She was so wet there was almost no friction as he slid inside her, and despite her youthful tightness and his thick fingers he pushed hard and without stopping until he was buried as far as he could go, stretching her remorselessly.

"Now the best part about this," he said, still soft, "is that although your body can be controlled by your mind, it will also continue to respond normally.

"So if I continue to fuck you," he began pushing his fingers in and out of her, no hint of pain, discomfort, arousal or lust on her slack face, "your flesh, which is all I'm really interested in, will continue to get happy.

"If I cared about tarts like you, I'd think it was a pity you weren't still conscious in there, because you would really be enjoying this."

The subtle signs of arousal - the clenching in her pussy, the swelling of her breasts and nipples, the flush slowly growing on her face, upper chest and breasts - were slowly growing. Her hands started to twitch, and her hips began to push back against his fingers.

He laughed, rolling his thumb sideways to press against her swollen clit, which made her body, beneath her impassive face, shudder.

"It's a shame I'm not allowed to use my cock yet, it's even thicker than my fingers are!"

With his free hand he seized one nipple, squeezed it cruelly, twisted and yanked it outwards. Her face showed no sign of pain, but her body twitched harder and there was an extra spasm around his fingers.

He laughed again, gave the same treatment to the other nipple.

"I could train you to cum on command, or not cum no matter what. That really would destroy what little was left of your weak, pathetic mind!

"But let's see how quickly you cum with no com..."

Her body shuddered, face flushed but still impassive, hips jerking four times quickly and her cunt shuddering as often around his fingers, which felt a spurt of increased wetness.

"Is that it?" he asked, incredulously. "Already? Well, you really are a slut, aren't you, if you're that easy!"

He pulled his fingers out of her, ordered her to lick them clean, then, with a final sneer and a slightly disappointed, angry look at her breasts, picked up his books and walked out the door she had come in by.

When the door closed, reality returned.

It was like waking up with a start, realising you had been day-dreaming. The last thing she remembered was taking notes.

The first thing that returned was the throbbing pain from her nipples, the soreness and post-orgasm sensitivity and glow between her legs, and the post-orgasmic weakness in her limbs.

Her knees buckled, her brain not realising it had to try and hold her up. She landed on the floor with a violent sense of shock more severe than being thrown into ice water, and she screamed with all-consuming rage as realisation came, her power making the air about her flicker with nightmarish images of burning faces twisted in hate.

She almost launched herself at the figure sitting in the chair before realising it was Professor Wittger, who was observing her with mild, dispassionate interest.

Later on, she would write "Robotic puppetry, with unconsciousness and complete retrograde amnesia."

They had made her sit through the whole video, and pay attention, so she would know what had happened to her. She had watched her abuse with a feeling of isolated detachment from proceedings, but with a smouldering rage and an absolute vow that she would fight back and would never again be an easy target.