tagMind ControlCan I Speak With You A Moment?

Can I Speak With You A Moment?


Chapter One - Determination

If she wanted it, she got it; what's the big deal? That is how life works, right? There are the "have's" and the "have not's". Plain and Simple. Amy, of course, was one of the "have's" She had come late in life to well-off parents. Being their only child and a daughter at that; anyone could imagine she had the princess concept down pat by the time she went home from the hospital.

One would hope that as she interacted with others, her peers, teachers, or even employees of her parents, that she might have developed some level of humility and understanding. Sadly, it had not happened yet. And at age eighteen, most would not have held out even an inkling of hope that it would for as long as they had to deal with her. The life of a rich and privileged was bad enough of a "handicap" to deal with; when you added in her natural beauty; hope had definitely left the building.

At 5' 8", she towered over most of her female counterparts, and over half of her male classmates were still waiting for that adolescent growth spurt. She rarely gave most of those... boys any notice. And she made sure they noticed her contempt. Alas, even that height was not to be her best asset. Most were sure she had never really cut her silken blond hair. It was the kind of hair seen tossed about in slow motion on shampoo commercials; swaying behind her as she walked the high school hallways, brushing along the lower curve her perfectly rounded behind. And yes, not that most could attest to such things but, it was naturally blond.

If you happened to garner her attention, unless of course you were one of the chosen few, it was usually condescension that graced her cornflower blue orbs. Those were set, perfectly, in her angelically blessed face, on porcelain perfect pale skin. Ruby lips were quick to criticize, cutting anyone beneath her to quick with her words; if you survived the look first.

With all this said, she was not without some attributes; worthy ones even in some circles. Even at her age, she was an accomplished hostess. She had the ability to bring off anything from an intimate dinner party for ten, to a rousing charity dinner for hundreds. This was required of someone born to her position. The little people do expect these things after all. So, rather than ensuring she had actual manners; her mother ensured she had the perfect qualities to become the wife of another rich and famous man like her father. Her father, made sure the unlimited credit card bill was always paid.

She therefore sat in that first period class today, watching some lame movie about responsibility, higher learning, and goals; planning the small dinner party for the weekend instead. This would be the kick-off to finally landing her the rich and handsome spouse she so rightly deserved. If it was not for the dimming light feature on her super silent phone; she would not have gotten near as much accomplished. She spent the first half of class, mentally planning and text-coordinating with caterers, entertainment, decorators, and the like.

But, something about half way into the movie caught her eye. Her phone, luckily landed into her designer jean-clad lap, as her wrist went lax. She did not look as if she had blacked out, or somehow "checked out". She gave the appearance of someone that was suddenly taken up with the story, such as it was. If anyone noticed, she would almost seem to be agreeing; nodding now and then. It would have seemed natural if you didn't know her. Most that saw her, presumed she was talking on the phone - employing some sort of stealth-technology allowing her to think rather than type.

As the lights came up, Amy shook her head a bit, coming to her senses. She figured she had wisely nodded off during that boring lecture. Walking toward the front of the table, she wrote her name down on one of the time slots. Next to everyone's name that had signed up so far, and everyone would attend the mandatory session with a school counselor, was two or three single-letter answers to the questions at the top of the page. They were innocuous questions. Do you plan on getting advanced training? Do you plan on attending college? Do you need extra help from your guidance counselor to achieve your goals?

Out of her group, those before and those after that did the sign-in, entered the requisite Y's and N's. Amy, however, entered her three answers as YPM. No one really paid attention to that, figuring it was some acronym for just another put down from the ever stuck up Amy. One of the four guidance counselors saw the answer, Mr. Hollinger. He had to rein in the smile threatening evilly upon his lips. He made sure to block off the rest of the day after her appointment.

Her usual air of haughty contempt, for those she determined were beneath her, came across loud and clear as she approached Mr. Hollinger's office. She always found him to be mousy, unassuming, and surely clueless. That is, if she bothered to even think of him. It was not as if being a high school guidance counselor was a career wished upon. Smirking, she looked to him once more, "Probably failed out of shrink school" she thought.

She knew she was not going to bother with college. Why bother, Daddy had plenty enough for her lifetime and a few others. As long as she had trusted money managers, kept her eye on them randomly, and married the right man – she was set. She would not have bothered even showing, had it not been a diploma-stealing appointment.

Chapter 2 – Testing the Water

Mr. Hollinger was busy typing up something or other, hunting and pecking his way almost over the keyboard. Amy shut the door behind her, as she approached. A bit annoyed he didn't drop everything for her as she walked in, she took one of the bottled waters he gestured to on his desktop. With mockery in his gaze, she read the various non-elite college names depicted on his diplomas.

After tiring of this, and shockingly finishing almost the entire bottle, she took a seat across the wooden expanse. Pulling out a small compact, she checked her flawless makeup, and touched up the small smudge of shimmering lipstick. Every the proper young lady, Amy sat with one knee crossed over the other, her already short skirt rising up further upon her shapely thighs.

It seemed forever before he finally finished typing, a sigh or two escaping before he reached that point. Looking toward him with one blond brow arched, she felt his gaze hit her full force. Something felt a bit wrong compared with any of the other few interactions they had had; but, it was not something she could put a name too.

"So, Amy, I see from your answers the other day, you are not planning on entering college. Is this correct?" Mr. Hollinger asked her. His tone friendly enough, although if you knew him well you would know there was a touch of scorn that he usually hid much better. While he had a healthy respect for most women; all of those women had obtained higher education degrees, made something worthwhile of their lives. After years of dealing with Amy and others like her, Mr. Hollinger knew she was not going to truly be a productive member of society.

She nodded in response, tossing the empty water bottle into the trash, and taking another. She was not usually so thirsty; but, it really was good water. Reaching for the second, that he offered her with a raised brow, she opened it and took a long drink before starting her answer. "I really do not see the value in wasting four years of my life, studying even more subjects that will never have any use in the real world. It's not as if I am going to have to get a job or anything. "

Asking her what seemed like aimless questions, Mr. Hollinger was watching her actions closely. Initially, the subliminal messages placed in the doctored life lessons movie had seemed promising. It was not quickly apparent however, that the doctored water would have a deep enough result. Once she began shifting some in her chair, her radiant complexion becoming flushed, he knew his fantasy was becoming actualized.

"Ms. Fischer, it seems a bit warm in here don't you think?" he inquired as if he cared for her welfare. Without waiting for, or wanting, her response, he stated "I am sure that you would feel much better if you took that confining top off."

Amy was appalled he even suggested such a thing. Her mouth opening to protest, she found the words would not come out. In fact, even the power of her gaze, that should have left him cowering in the corner, lost any effect when she lifted the sweater from her nubile form. Sitting back into her chair, she acted almost as if nothing had happened at all.

"How do you feel, Ms. Fischer? I have observed your nature through sessions with other students, and I see that you quite simply, are too easy to make to submit to those with more power than yourself. Is that correct? It's correct."

Amy nodded slowly, though her mind wanted to scream at the possessive, perverted counselor, her body did not relent. She could feel sweat beginning to flow from her forehead, and her whole body felt engulfed in flames. She waved her hand to her face, trying to fan away some of the heat. It was then, and only then, that despite the screams of resistance in her head, her pussy was soaking wet, flooding with juices. Her face immediately went a scarlet, but was it the heat, or her embarrassment that made her so red?

"I've got a feeling, Ms. Fischer, that your outward anger and spite towards other girls, and lowlier men, stems from your upbringing, and your repressed, rebellious side. In fact, I know for a fact you are a closet feminist, and that bra you wear is oppressive."

Amy wanted to scream at the man. Wanted to run off and hide. To do whatever she could do to get away from this man whom apparently could strip her with mere words. But her body disagreed once more, her face a bright red.

"Yes, Mr. Hollinger... I've always hated this damn thing." With that, unwillingly in mind, her hands slipped behind her back and undid her lacy black bra. She especially loved that bra, because it made her breasts pop out so much in her many blouses. But right now, nothing felt worse on her skin, and with one fluid movement, she undid the bra and slipped it from her arms. Her perky teenage breasts protruding as her hands reached down. She had hoped that it was a movement to cover them from the man's leering gaze, but instead her soft, small hands cupped them from below, as if presenting them.

Mr. Hollinger folded his arms and leaned back in the chair, studying the girl for clues. It shouldn't be this easy, he thought to himself. His eyes wandered to her hardened nipples, and almost as if on cue, her hands rolled up the soft skin, and began tweaking them, teasing them between her fingers. "Oh, Mr. Hollinger!" Her face was redder than ever, and she bit her bottom lip, as it quivered in nervousness. The guidance counselor smiled at her reaction, folding his arms in his lap, over his already hardening cock. He hadn't seen a pair of pert tits like that since he was young and dating his wife in high school.

"Ms. Fischer, we were born nude, now, I want you to release whatever covers your God-given body, and expose yourself."

It was not even a question but a command, and her body could not disobey. Rising to her feet, she dusted off her skirt, a moment's hesitation before it fell to the floor. He nodded at her assuredly, and she slipped the lace thong from her curvy hips, letting them drop to the floor. Her pussy exposed, Mr. Hollinger could see the wetness pooling down her thighs.

All the while, something worse than embarrassment flooded over Amy's little body. It was desire, it was this burning desire to get fucked. She had never let a man so much as stick a hand down her pants, but she had burst her own cherry with her fingers long ago. She clasped Mr. Hollinger's desk, brushed all the bottled water off of it onto the floor.

Climbing up onto it, she faced him, resting on her arms which outstretched onto the oak wood to prop her up. Her legs closed tight, she tried her damnedest to keep them closed, but her body relented, and soon Mr. Hollinger was taking in the scents of a young, nubile pussy. He licked his lips, as one of her hands raised from the oak to glide a finger over her clit. She must have been really in heat, because the moment her pussy was touched, wetness flowed all over his desk.

"Mr. Hollinger! God, god..." She moaned out, "Eat me out, Mr. Hollinger! I can't... I can't resist!" The counselor leaned in, his hands on her thighs, as his tongue dragged over the soaked hood. Her hand immediately stretched out and gripped his hair, cumming all over his face.

As his tongue explored, she admitted, "God! All I've wanted since I got to this school was to be fucked! To take a nice hard cock, to be slammed and fucked, to feel the hot spurts of cum filling my insides... God! Oh my god!" She came again and again, with little to no effort. Before Lukas Hollinger had a chance to fuck the girl with even just his fingers, she passed out from the exertion. He would need to tweak his formula, it seemed.

Chapter 3 - Back to Scratch

Lukas dressed the girl as quick as he could, and buzzed the intercom.

"Nurse Francis, will you come collect Ms. Fischer from my office? It seems she has fainted from the intensity of our session." He sat there calmly, leaning in his chair, as the girl was laid out upon his desk. The nurse, Rosella Francis, entered the room. The two of them had gone to high school and were both tormented by the preppy, uppity girls back then. Lukas, for being such a nerd, and Francis, for her ugly hair cut and large size. Surely, Nurse Francis was no small, beautiful woman. But she was Lukas' only trusted friend, especially after his wife died.

"Experiment didn't work, Lukas? Don't worry, hon, you'll get it... and these young bitches will be all yours, get the shit they deserve."

Lukas grinned at the evil nurse. "Take her to your office. Tonight, I'll work on the formula. We shall see what next dumb slut comes running for her punishment." As Rosella left the room, Lukas packed up his paper work, and headed home. The whole way he smirked; finally, after all these years, it was time for his revenge. Finally after all these years, he finally felt driven to speak to the haughty eighteen year old seniors that thought they had the world in their hands.

Greeting his son, Steven, he immediately made his way to the basement. Tweaking the amount of the persuasion drug he added, he lowered the aphrodisiac potency, but increased duration of the effects. Dumping the old mixture out in the sink, he readied a new batch of bottled water, and threw them in the fridge.

It was day two tomorrow of mandatory counseling, and if his plans proceeded correctly, Ms. Fischer would be telling everyone just how much he had helped, thanks to the murmured suggestions as she tumbled from one orgasm to the next. It would become an institution of the school. He could not wait until tomorrow, to see the marking of YPM, or the many markings of it. He wanted to have his pick.

Meeting with Rosella in the Teacher's Lounge, they talked quietly over a morning cup of coffee. Both were eager to find out the results of his refined formula. She had just finished the evening before, tabulations on the end of movie survey. All told, there were nearly two dozen possible candidates they could choose from within the school. This of course, only took into account the students, because any teachers present at the time did not complete the survey. Out of the potentials, the majority of respondents were girls. Neither one was overly surprised at the four boys that had responded "correctly".

An excuse of research, attention to detail, and the general understanding that Mr. Hollinger truly cared for those in his charge; ensured no one questioned why he had particular students scheduled for longer sessions. Luckily with the addition of those four boys, he could actually double-book certain time periods, leaving the boys in a trance, while taking a more in-depth interest in his pet project.

His first appointment of the day was with Lori Hare, the head of the varsity cheerleader squad. As luck would have it, today happened to be a game day. Therefore, all of the cheerleaders were dressed in their skimpy skirts and second-skin sweaters. Watching as Lori entered, Lukas offered her a chilled bottle of his special water. "Just have a seat, Lori, I need to make one more note or two and then I will be with you."

Lori offered a well-put out sigh, as she took the water. The thought of saying thank you, was automatic, although anyone could tell there was not actually anything sincere in her tone. Slouching into the chair across from his desk, she briefly wondered about her sudden unquenchable thirst. Finishing the first rather quickly, she imperiously crossed to his small fridge and took another. Shocking to most, she thought nothing of taking exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it. She was the head cheerleader after all.

Chapter 4 - Payoffs

Halfway through the second bottle, Lukas could begin to see the water's effect on Lori. Her posture was becoming less prim and rigid. Finishing off the last of his supposed notes, he turned fully toward Lori. "So, Lori, you seem to be the sort of girl that would love to found serving the whim of any man. I am sure your dreams are filled with the thoughts of never bothering with clothing at all. With finding yourself kneeling at a man's feet, waiting in one lewd pose or another, hanging upon his every word."

He paused for effect, as if waiting for her to deny or confirm his outrageous statements. Looking into her hazel eyes, he could nearly see every heated protest that she could not vent. But, even as her mind rebelled against the wanton allegations, her body was responding. He watched her hips inching closer to the edge of the chair, her knees parting in wide invitation. "Why don't you come over here, Lori, you look to be in such torment, pain even, having to deny your true nature."

While it was nearly phrased as a question, her body took it as a command. Sliding fully from the chair, she began shedding her sweater and bra first; carelessly tossing them to the floor. Her lithe body folding to crawl like a cat in heat toward Lukas' feet. She leaned into his calves, long slender fingers reaching under the bright red skirt to lower the tight briefs from her body. She tried to toss them quickly, seeing the dark wet spot in the crotch – mortified that she could have become so glaringly aroused. She did not want to do this. She wanted to scream and threaten to call her father the judge. Instead, she kneeled like a slut at this worm's feet.

Lukas watched her as she became nearly naked, he would have forced her to remove the skirt as well, but, decided it had a nicely teasing effect. Raising a brow slightly, his tone imperious, "Now is that how you should greet your betters, slut? I think not. Your soft lips should be pressing adoring kisses to my shoes even as we speak, should they not?" He smirked at the look of hatred in her gaze, even as her bing cherry toned nipples hardened into tight buds.

Lori gazed wide-eyed at his black shoes, there were bits of dust marring any shine, not to mention the small clumps of mud around the edge of the soles. And yet, there was no way to make her body stop its descent. Lips that had only kissed one boy, were now pressed to her guidance counselor's dirty shoes! The position somewhat awkward, she inched her knees back slightly, feeling the touch of a cool breeze on her exposed nether region.

Lukas reached for the heavy yardstick that had been propped in the corner by his desk as he watch the high and mighty cheerleader begin to debase herself. Although, she did not realize of course how much further she would be pushed before her "counseling" was complete. Reaching out, he tapped twice soundly on her barely upturned rear. "You will not hide yourself like that, slut. Oh yes, I know how much you love to be called things like slut, whore, pet; how wet and needy such objectification makes you. Raise those hips high in the air; spread your knees wide. Just like a bitch in heat, begging for her cunt to be filled. I imagine already the taste of leather is making your pussy cream. I wonder how much of a puddle you will make on my floor, slut."

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