A Leashed Tiger Ch. 01

Chapter One: An Act Of Overconfidence

In my infinite generosity, I always give my targets a second chance. An opportunity to prove they're better than this. That I don't need to use my powers to correct them.

Professor Carter doesn't really deserve a second chance, to be honest. His attitude towards the female students on campus is well-known, as is the faculty's unwillingness to deal with it.

He always grades us girls more severely, openly ogles us, always selects a female student to intern with him as a scantily-dressed secretary for a semester... and it gets worse than that.

Every now and then, a girl would visit him during office hours. And then, her grade would suddenly shoot up. You don't need to be a feminist with literal mind control powers to know what's going on.

And yet, I'll give him that second chance all the same. That's why I'm in his office today, pretending to be concerned about my grade -- which is, indeed, insultingly and unfairly low, but that is beside the point.

I affect innocence as much as I can. I'm in a hoodie, jeans, and flat-heeled boots, really to do him a favor. I want him to have as few chances to ogle as possible. I want him to impress me. I want him to act like a professor, to show me my intervention isn't needed.

I would lie if I said that I hate using my powers. I enjoy doing it, and over the years I've gotten used to them. But I want to believe that people are good, that I don't need to play vigilante so that my fellow girls on campus can feel safe.

There's another reason why I hesitate. Once unleashed, my power cannot be stopped. It will work over the subject until he's ready to receive instructions. Once I make the decision to take over, there's no going back.

"Miss Pulling," Carter says, looking up at me with old, watery eyes behind his thick glasses. "I believe you're here about your grade?"

"Yes, professor," I say. Neutral. Relaxed. Trusting but not too much. I look like a normal student, relying on the propriety expected of someone in his position. A professor, a shepherd and protector of his students.

That's the responsibility he's been making a mockery of.

Please, Carter, don't let me down. Rise above your reputation.

"To be sure, to be sure. The finer intricacies of international commerce law can be hard to parse for even the most dedicated student."

He pauses, briefly licking his lips. "Miss Pulling -- may I call you Serena?" I'm just about to object when he resumes his speech, cutting me off. "Serena, I'm sure we can work together to improve your grade. With some... private tutoring, perhaps."

I sigh internally, the old chair groaning as I sit back in disappointment. This is taking a really bad turn already. Even so, merciful to the last, I bat my eyelids. "Sure, professor! What are you suggesting, exactly?"

"Well," he says, rubbing his wrinkly hands together, licking his lips again. You old fossil, why do you have to be like this? "This is a matter of dedication. You would have to take my instructions well, and follow them to the letter. Do you understand?"

His eyes crawl up and down my legs -- even in these baggy jeans! Then, he winks in the most obscene way possible. It's astonishing that this pathetic excuse for blackmail actually works. How is he not in jail yet?

His unabashed lecherousness makes me shiver in revulsion. I sigh internally. Why do men have to be like this? Whatever, I've given him a chance and he's pissed it to the wind. He leaves me no other option but to intervene.

So be it.

"Yes, professor," I say in a low voice. "I do understand."

I lock my gaze with his, and he seems to hesitate at the sudden fire and challenge in my eyes. The stare is the first, essential step for this to work.

When our eyes are fixed upon one another, he has no defence against me. No one does. His soul is laid bare, the door to his mind is open for me to enter at my leisure.

And so I cast away my reservations, and push my power into his mind.

For a moment -- a single, glorious and terrible moment -- his mind resists me. That happens all the time. It's like he's trying to stand fast on the shore, against a sudden wave from the sea, threatening to sweep him under.

But that's the thing about this power: it endures. Like the rolling waves of the sea in storm, it batters relentlessly at its target, one strike after another.

Living beings may tire, but not the sea. Everything in its reach falls to the storm. Even the rock is slowly but relentlessly ground to dust. All resistance flails and peters out, eventually... but the waves continue to surge.

He jumps up from the chair, recoiling as if from a strike, and I immediately rise to my feet, keeping my eyes fixed on his like a predator. I'm taller than most girls, and he's a bent old man, so I tower over him.

I admit that the reversal on gendered expectations does please me a little. And besides... it is only fitting.

No target has been able to resist me so far, and Carter is old and weak, a man with a small spine, utterly at the mercy of his lecherous impulses. He goes under more easily than most, seeming to shrivel beneath my gaze, reduced and diminished by my mere presence.

It's like I have him in my fist, pressuring him from all sides, his resistance trying frantically to hold me at bay.

But then, he stops resisting. He goes lax in my grip. That singular moment, that snap, the feeling of resistance being overcome... that's the true meaning of power.

The moment when your victim first sighs out in relaxation, accepting your mastery of them, conforming to the growing pressure of your grip... it's a feeling for which there are no words.

I realize I'm making it sound mildly erotic, and admittedly, when I use my power on a girl, it does arouse me... very much.

But I'm not into men at all, and certainly not into old creeps like Carter. The thrill I feel is not erotic in nature -- it has a much different origin. It's the thrill of carrying out justice.

And the rush of pure, unfettered power, I suppose. Carter is mine now. I own his mind. There is nothing he would refuse me, no matter how outrageous, or terrible. He is, quite literally, at my mercy.

He's lucky that I only have everyone's best interest in mind. If I were as morally bankrupt as he is, this would be the end of his independence. But I'm not that kind of person.

Once I'm confident that his mind has been bent to my will, I immediately establish my rule. My royal decrees for him, if you will.

"You will no longer harass students, irrespective of their gender," I say. "You will not flirt with them, manipulate them, or weaponize their grades to make them come to you. Your only concern at work will be how to be the best teacher you possibly can. An epytome of professionalism."

His eyes go glassy and unfocused as the new brain tries to take on such new and alien information as being a decent, professional human being.

The human brain has a tendency to reject new information that contradicts what we already know. It's an energy expenditure it would rather avoid. But my power makes that impossible.

That resistance, and critical thinking with it, are shut down under the incessant hammering of my mind.

He may still refuse to absorb the lesson once, twice... but the waves keep on coming. And eventually his jaw goes slack, as my words at last break into his brain, becoming a part of his core beliefs.

"Yes..." he whispers.

"You will read up on feminist and queer theory," I continue, smiling to myself at the very idea. "You will educate yourself, and become a proper ally, one who doesn't cost activists even more energy by forcing them to educate or debate you themselves."

"Yes..." Carter repeats, faster this time. And that makes me almost giggle in excitement, like I haven't done this a thousand times before. I suppose it never gets old, the taste of victory.

I've broken him. He can do nothing but accept my truth. That really does make me feel near-divine. And like a just god, I am merciful. I could tell him to do or believe anything, literally anything in the world.

Instead, I'm making him a better person, using my powers for entirely selfless reasons.

Alright... maybe not entirely selfless. I do have one final bit I want to get into his pliable mind.

"Last but not least... I don't need to turn in any papers for you this semester. You'll write them yourself. And then, you're going to push my grade all the way up. Do we understand one another?"

"Yes..." his head lolls downward and he slumps back into his chair. Being the target of my concentrated assault for the very first time always leaves people exhausted in body and mind.

And Carter never had energy for anything beyond perving.

And now, with a guaranteed pass in his class, I won't have to bother with him ever again. Nor will the other girls have to worry about him blackmailing them for sexual favors.

God, it's good to be the boss.

Yes, the... benefit at the end might have been unnecessary. I push the thought out of my mind, though. Come on. Most people in my situation would use their powers to live like literal kings, or worse.

So what if I do nothing in his class for the rest of the semester? Thanks to me, countless students will now be safe from emotional trauma, sexual harassment, and blackmail. If you ask me, that's worth the trade. I deserve a little thank-you present.

I smile to myself, thinking of the other ways in which I've been rewarding myself for my good deeds.

Those... rewards... are currently waiting in my dorm, as instructed, and it's time for me to go enjoy them.

After all, there's nothing like a productive morning as a feminist vigilante to put you in the mood...

***

In my infinite magnanimity, I set limits for myself.

For example: I never use my powers just to take something for me. I always advance my goals and what I believe to be justice, first. Only then do I allow myself to claim something in payment.

I do deserve it, I think.

It's for everything I do. Every morning, I wake up and make the world a better place. Or this campus, at least. I've single-handedly shut down more abusers of all stripes than years of half-hearted university policies.

It's my way to give something back to the universe, in thanks for this incredible gift I've received. These outstanding powers.

Of course, no amount of self-rationalization can stop me from considering that the scene before me might be a little, uhm... un-feminist.

As I recline in my armchair, feeling like a queen sitting upon her throne, I contemplate the three girls humbly prostrating before me.

To the left is Emily, whose duty in my dorm is more or less to act as my personal maid. She always wears skirts and stockings at my instruction, and is posing as commanded: her knees divaricated, her back slightly flexed, holding a tray of drinks with her arms.

To my right is Juliet, my... pleasure partner, dressed in simple yoga pants and a tank top. Her head rests against my thigh and she looks up at me adoringly, while I gently ruffle her hair. She's my favorite, and she knows it.

But the finest bit of my personal harem is Sarah, humbly on her hands and knees before the armchair, acting as a footstool for her queen.

The flat heels of my boots are probably digging into her back by now, but she hasn't uttered a word of complaint. She's been obediently in this position, ever since I first stepped back into my room.

Good girl...

Now, I know how this looks, but reality is a bit more complicated than that.

I don't just go out and grab girls to turn into sex slaves. Like I said, limits. But all of these girls had it coming, ever since their very first day on campus.

Before my intervention, they were a terror to the meeker girls -- and the nerdy guys, too -- bullying and mocking, both in person and online.

People from working class backgrounds, and queer people especially, used to be their favorite targets. I qualified on both counts, and was their favorite target until I developed my powers.

No longer.

I single-handedly ended their reign of terror over campus, my first act of carrying out justice, of using my powers to make people's lives better. And then, I extracted my very first payment for that good deed.

Somehow, turning the homophobic bullies into lesbian submissives, making the rich girls know what it's like to be a maid... it felt, and still feels, like just deserts. Like delicious comeuppance.

This is particularly true of Sarah. She used to rule her posse of bullies with an iron fist. Now, her back exists for me to step on.

I don't take it out on them, to be honest. Comeuppance it may be, but I make sure it's a pleasurable one. I'm a kind overlord, after all.

I make sure my girls study diligently, cultivate wholesome friendships, and I give them plenty of free time. All I demand of my harem is that they help me root out injustice... and come worship me here, after I carry out one of my interventions.

It's just a perk of my powers. No one gets hurt. As far as harems go, this is a pretty tame, even supportive one. They're much better people now under my care, than they used to be back when they were free to choose.

I'm a good person. That's why the universe awarded me this power. I deserve to be in charge.

With my small pang of guilt finally suppressed, I feel ready to enjoy my reward. To have my sapphic pets gently lick and suck, worship my toes and massage my legs and kiss my sex in reverence...

But before I give in to the pleasure, there is one thing I want to get out of the way.

"So, what has the squad been up to for me?" I say, using my somewhat ironic name for my harem. "Have you noticed any behavior on campus that needs correcting?"

"Your Majesty," Sara says from beneath my boots. "It's Kevin."

I grimace at that. He's mostly escaped my radar so far, but I know what kind of person he is. A real professional creep. "Go on."

"He's running a new anti-feminist blog, Your Majesty," Juliet continues from where Sara left off, rubbing her cheek against my thigh. The warmth feels so good... but the reality of her words disgusts me.

"Ugh. Of course he has a blog."

"He writes these endless rants about increasingly bizarre concepts," Emily adds, not once breaking her wonderful posture, trained to perfection to be a great serving girl. "Stuff about the sexual marketplace and that whole sigma thing, how to live your life if you're not a seven or up... you probably get the jist of it, Your Majesty."

"I certainly do," I say, before pronouncing what I consider my newest royal decree. "I will not suffer such incels on my campus, much less will I allow them to spread their filth, or make women feel so insecure. I think he needs his views corrected. Wouldn't you agree, girls?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," comes the chorus in reply, and as always, it fuels the slick heat between my thighs.

I'm a queen. A just queen, who's going to rid the world of yet another incel whose very presence disrespects and endangers the women around him. I use my powers for the good of all.

Even people like Kevin.

After all, my interventions never damage anyone. My targets all become better, smarter, more professional, kinder, more compassionate.

Of course, I consider as I press my boot deeper into Sarah's neck, sometimes they become my sex slaves... but that's another matter entirely.

Kevin certainly needs the intervention, I muse to myself as the girls begin to smooch my legs through my jeans. Even Sarah does her best to turn over, so she can place demure kisses on the bottom of my shoes. By training, they know that now, their first duty done, they can move on to worshipping me.

But my mind is on Kevin for the moment. I have to recognize that I hold a personal loathing for him, that I consider him to be beneath me. He's mediocre in every capacity, utterly forgettable, except for the way he creepily ogles every girl in his line of sight.

I know he dislikes me, too. He muttered some comment about women's supposed hypergamy in class once, and I laughed right in his face, much to the support of many other students. His face went beet-red, and I knew he hated me, then. He probably still does.

Still. My powers aren't for settling personal scores. It's his misogyny I aim to correct, nothing else. I shouldn't be carried away just because we dislike one another.

With a shake of my head, I take my mind off Kevin for the time being. I have three former bullies to dominate, first... in a pleasurable and wholesome wait, of course.

I stand up, unzipping my boots and sliding out of my jeans. Then I unceremoniously sit on Sarah's face.

It's a harem. There's no need for sophistication.

"You two," I tell Emily and Juliet, "make out for me. Get me going."

I let myself sink into the heat and pleasure as I watch Emily and Juliet snog one another, their tongues wrestling for temporary dominance, while Sarah squirms and whimpers right into my pussy -- through my panties, for now.

I clutch at her hair, driving her face deeper in, and watch as Juliet pins Emily to the ground. She always wins these impromptu rounds, and makes Emily her bitch for a while. I find that amusing. Back when they were a part of Sarah's bully posse, Juliet was by far the less cruel of the girls.

That's why she's my favorite. Emily having gone from bossing her around to whimpering femininely under her ministrations is just the cherry on top.

Sarah, of course, is never allowed to partake in these games. I always make sure she's at the very bottom of this harem. In my absence, she is subject to Juliet and Emily's supervision. The former arch-bully is nothing more than an obedient sex kitten when it comes to this room.

Kevin can wait. I have three girls here at my disposal. And as I slowly begin to hump Sarah's face, I tell myself that I want to make sure I enjoy them very thoroughly.

***

In my infinite compassion, I extend my second-chance policy even to Kevin. I may despise him, his blog, and his opinion on women... but I will treat him like I do all my targets.

In that same vein, I've made sure to wait until I'm certain we won't be disturbed.

It's late in the evening, and I'm in a courtyard often used by students to drink or eat. The grass sways in the wind under my boots, feeling soft and yielding... much like Kevin's mind will soon be.

Hallways leading to the dorms flank the courtyard on either side. It's usually bustling with life, lovers rolling together in the grass, or lone students poring over books on a bench.

But it's quiet, at this hour. The stars are bright tonight, and the full moon gives the sky a vaguely eerie look, like something out of a movie. I hear crickets chirping in the long grass, as I patiently wait for Kevin to leave his room.

He always does, well into the evening. Goes for a walk around a deserted campus and buys a soft drink from the vending machines, before coming here to contemplate who knows what.

It's a surprisingly thoughtful habit for an incel. But then again, even people with the most revolting views have routines, likes, and dislikes.

Predictably, he does show up. And as soon as I see him, I immediately snort in hilarity.

Oh my god. This doofus is actually wearing sunglasses at night. And while the courtyard is in the open, he's only just come out of the hallway, so he's wearing them indoors, too!

Alright, whatever. I focus once more as Kevin turns to face me, clearly confused -- my snort must have caught his attention.

"What's funny?" He asks me, approaching a trash bin to toss away an empty drinks can. He stands there, right underneath a streetlight, tapping his foot in irritation.

I quickly close the distance between us, one long stride after another in my equestrian boots. That takes him by surprise, puts him off balance. I close in, taking advantage of the fact he's clearly lacking context for my actions.