Psych Class

Doctor Mathews had been planning this class -- on the last day of semester -- since the start of semester, preparing and moulding the material, selecting what he required and shaping it just so, so that this particular class would go off without a hitch.

To begin with he had needed to watch his psychology class quite carefully, looking for subjects with the right qualities. Athletic builds, long hair, beautiful faces, generous breasts, legs to dream of. Six in all were selected, the most beautiful of his students, six innocent young maidens to be crafted into something... better.

Next to separate them from the herd: the first few assignments, making sure all six got poor marks, but crafting the comments just so, so that they were always driven to try harder. Then, of course, when they came to talk to him about what they could do to get a better grade, appear to think about it, offer them a place in his special tutor group.

Classes for that group were scheduled for 6 PM every Friday, and the first few lectures -- with slides, and CD's to take home and listen to, in order to aid in their learning -- were crafted, primarily to make sure that they thought of the classes as a treat, something they got for being special. That they didn't want to share, didn't want to talk about -- and didn't want to miss. Most importantly of all, to accept whatever he said -- no matter how ridiculous -- as true since he was the professor and they were students, and they clearly knew little because of how they were failing.

Mathews had, you see, spent the last several years working on subliminal programming. It was such worked into the materials that these succulent young ladies were absorbing so hungrily, without knowing they were.

The next batch of programming was a little more complicated. Designed to make them obey him, when class was in session, to the point where they would readily accept anything he said as truth. This took the longest, needing to be worked into a three-week long assignment, that they would need to go over in groups every night.

Once that set of programming was in, he began the custom of getting volunteers to come forward to help him demonstrate things. Combined with that, programming to put whoever volunteered or was chosen into a mild hypnotic trance, doing what she was told if it was within the framework of the lesson, and more importantly, programming the others to feel at a subconscious level whatever the volunteer felt.

By this point he had models of how each of them thought, and they were given personal assignments, each unique -- designed to remove sexual inhibitions when in his class, encourage sexual behaviour, and preparing them for specific roles in the final lesson.

All the groundwork done, the final course was on 'human sexuality'. More specifically, the various stereotypes, and what truths underlay them, and some made up BS about signs to indicate which one you were. Specifically and subtly -- and strongly emphasized within the programming they received at this stage -- the concept of 'Slut' was tied to every characteristic the subjects thought of themselves to possess. For the last few classes, he'd been suggesting they 'dress up' for class as whatever stereotype was being discussed, and for this last lesson, He'd saved the topic they'd being dancing around: what, exactly, a Slut was.

As his students filed in one by one, the fruits and rewards of the program became apparent. After all, they'd all dressed for the occasion, and as they removed jackets, the delights were unveiled for all to see.

Ashley was first in, of course. She always was. 5'6", with long, platinum blonde hair reaching to the small of her back: it was left loose today. Blue eyes, luxuriant lips, touched up with makeup to make her look like she was built to swallow something: her C-cups pulled high and pushed together by a shirt that was tied underneath, exposing a generous amount of flesh, tied tightly enough that the outline of her nipples plainly showed the lack of a bra. A toned, flat stomach, a skirt so short it almost qualified as a belt, then nothing to cover those long, shapely legs until the high heels at the bottom.

Next, Vanessa and Brittany. Those two stuck together like twins, and there was a passing similarity. Of similar build, with beautiful butts, long, slender limbs and the kind of form you would expect of girls who had been dancing since an early age: nice and limber. The main differential was the hair: Vanessa, a vibrant electric red, curling down around her bare shoulders. Brittany, conversely had a trail of honey-blonde curls stopping at her ears.

Again, they both wore make-up to emphasise their features sexually, and -- as he'd expected -- they'd dressed similarly, with a bikini that barely covered the essentials, of a slightly translucent material. It gave shadow of what lay beneath and the transparent, coloured skirts that barely covered their butts did little more to cover their most intimate spots. Again, legs bare, and high heels to emphasise those gorgeous, sexy legs.

Erin was next, by a mere few seconds, and most decidedly the sexiest of the bunch. It wasn't just how she looked, per se: it was a combination of that -- her dirty blonde hair, that hung loose to her shoulders, her wide-eyed, innocent blue gaze, her full lips, pert breasts, and luxuriant legs... That, and how she moved, an unconscious sexuality that had only strengthened as his programming had taken root.

Combined with what she wore now, it was like she screamed 'FUCK ME!' with every step, an unconscious sexuality proud and on display. Again, heels -- he liked what it did to how they walked, and thus he'd made sure it factored into their model of a 'slutty look' -- and knee-high socks, tight and pale and sculpted to her legs.

Moving up, he'd swear she'd oiled her legs. Her gorgeous little butt was covered by a scandalously short skirt, a mocking imitation of a schoolgirls, that flashed her lace underwear with every sway of her hips. That perfectly flat belly also glistening softly with oil, and a schoolgirls shirt -- tied up and round her generous breasts, but in such a way that they looked almost ready to spill out. Once again, the rich coppery skin he could see glistened with oil. The overall effect made her look like a woman in heat, desperate and needy, coated in sweat. Her makeup, what there was of it, seemed designed to create the image of the slutty little schoolgirl, and as she sashayed past him, he had to hold to the table to stop himself grabbing her right then and there.

Last -- but most decidedly not least -- Shasha and Clare came in together, chattering like magpies. Sasha's chocolate complexion was dressed today in just enough makeup to make you want to taste it: her luxuriantly large breasts barely kept in check by a thin ribbon of fluorescent material, just large enough to cover her nipples, that encircles her chest, pulling in those lovely mounds just to emphasise how fuckable they were.

A thong of the same colour barely contained her curvaceous butt, flashing into view with every motion of the pleated belt -- sorry, skirt -- she wore that would just about hide her pussy should she stand still, and fishnet tights enclosed those elegant, gorgeous legs. Again, the heels, a good four inches on her feet, making the chocolate student sway most enticingly.

Clare, of course, was almost her polar opposite. With a creamy, pale complexion, as opposed to Sasha's rich chocolate, her hair was just as long -- reaching to mid back -- but platinum blonde, almost white, as opposed to Sasha's black with blue highlights - to match Sasha's eyeshade, apparently.

They were similar in other ways, however. The same gorgeous butts, elegant legs, and flat bellies: Clare's breasts were, if anything, larger. She, too, seemed to have donned a thin coat of oil over her body -- he presumed that was what made the thin white dress cling to her body in that semi-transparent fashion, tight as a second skin. Reaching to midthigh, it quietly broadcast that all else she wore were a pair of high heels and her makeup.

The pair of them sauntered in with a distinctive sway to their hips, the kind that just make's men's eyes go left, then right, then left... as they gaze -- as he did now -- at those gorgeous butts walking by.

He took a moment just to bathe in the sight. But just a moment, lest he lose all self-control. Six of the most gorgeous of his students, dressed in clothing that did everything but beg you to hold them down and fuck them till they pass out. A moment, to shut the door, and lock it -- as he always did, to 'prevent any interruptions of our special tutorial.'

"Good evening, class," he began, clicking up the first slide. "To begin our final lecture on human sexuality: the Slut. I'm going to start with one simple truth. There is a Slut in each and every woman on this planet. If you don't believe me, look around!" He grinned, eliciting a bemused laugh from the girls as they took in what they were all wearing.

"Now, it is commonly assumed that a Slut is just a girl who sleeps around. This is fundamentally untrue. A girl becomes a Slut in one of two ways: when she has sexual intercourse with the right person - her 'Master' - or if she is present when a girl of a similar mental type -- more on that in a moment -- becomes a Bonded Slut, and is involved in the bonding, even just as a spectator.

What is a Bonded Slut? Well. Suppose the 'Master' has sexual intercourse with the Slut-in-Potential, the proto-slut, and does not ejaculate within her. This awakens her as, to put it bluntly, someone whose primary drive in life is having sex as often as possible. In tribal societies, this ensured that there was sufficient procreatation to supplement losses to disease and warfare. With the prevalent use of condoms in the modern era, this is thus the type of personality associated with the word, as very few have their first sexual encounter with their matching Master-type in a situation where internal ejaculation takes place.

However, if the 'Master' does ejaculate within the proto-slut with the first event of sexual intercourse between the pair, The result is a 'Bonded Slut' instead. She differs primarily from the Unbound Slut in that her primary concern becomes sex with her master, and -- more importantly -- her Master's sexual pleasure becomes, in essence, a form of abstracted erogenous zone -- It will act to drive her to higher levels of sexual excitation and satisfaction, higher levels of pleasure, and just being in the presence of her Master when he is displaying sexual behaviour will make her highly aroused."

A pause, while he watched them take this in: more importantly, as he'd been speaking, the automated change of slides, with the subliminal coding within it. The stress on the key words was a core part of this, the subtle emphasis to remind them of their 'studies'.

"So, then, what do we mean by the 'right person'? Well, the pattern in the research shows that for women of the same personality gradient (a basic piece of bullshit he'd introduced at the start of this special course: Just by coincidence, all the girls had the same gradient. There was a nice long piece of bullshit about why this explained why they needed the remedial tuition, but the concept that they were of a similar pattern was so deeply embedded now, they didn't even think about it. Which had been the point.), the same man can be considered a potential Master: However, the only way to test if someone is a suitable Master is to engage in some form of sexual interaction with that man -- even simply dancing in such a way as to accentuate your body, or participating in some form with someone showing off their body and accentuating their sexual features to him, again, even if only as a spectator.

If the man is a potential master for your personality-gradient, then you will find yourself becoming highly aroused, very quickly. to the extent that satisfying that arousal will quickly become the foremost thought in your mind. Secondly and more importantly, should you actually copulate with a potential master, you will orgasm the moment his penis enters your body. This will continue to do so more frequently, and more powerfully, than you ever have before.

Of course, should that happen, you have two choices: to become an Unbound Slut, spreading your legs for any man who asks, or to get him to ejaculate within you, triggering the bonding process. Should this eventuality occur, then at the moment of your Master's ejaculation, a series of orgasms ten times more powerful than anything you have ever felt before will pass through your body, and your sexual patterns will change in the process of becoming his Bound Slut: your sexual interests switch to, 'Whatever Master's sexual interests are', and over fifty percent report that they find obeying their new master highly pleasing -- and arousing.

However, note there is another way of becoming a Slut. Should a woman be present when a woman of the same personality gradient undergoes sexual intercourse with a potential master -- not the most common of events -- she will, as noted, become highly aroused, and may well start masturbating right then and there. Indeed, she will almost certainly orgasm whenever the matching 'slut' does. However, if the woman undergoing sexual intercourse becomes an unbound slut, so will she: if the woman she is watching becomes a bound slut, then she will still become an unbound slut unless semen of the potential Master enters her body.

There is a chance that it merely touching her skin would suffice, but that's proportional to the amount of semen coating the skin: you'd probably need to rub it all over your chest for the same effect. She has maybe an hour after the Bonding Orgasm of the now Bound Slut for this to occur, otherwise, over the next few days, she becomes an Unbound Slut.

Of course, should this unlikely bonding event occur, then she will experience the same intense orgasm as the one who engaged in sexual intercourse, just from the psychological interaction with the semen, and the same changes in thought processes. More intriguingly, if a group of Bound Sluts who were bound at the same event are present when one or more of their number is having sex with their master, they will all share in the sexual sensations each feels.

Obviously, this is not exactly something you need to worry about. Statistically, it seems that less than one percent of men fit the appropriate 'Master' type for each personality gradient." A soft chuckle. "Erin. Could you come to the front please, I'd like your help with a demonstration to illustrate this point."

He mentally scolded himself to control his breathing as the gorgeous girl rose from her seat and swayed alluringly towards his desk, a brief flash of her panties with each step.

"Now, Erin. As noted, the easiest way of detecting if someone is a potential master for your personality gradient is to engage in some form of behaviour that has sexual connotations before him. So," he grinned, and hit a key: dance music began playing, something with a lively beat. "To demonstrate the unlikelihood of it occurring with a random stranger, I want you to dance in front of me, focusing on what you're wearing and how it exposes your body in your mind. Everyone else? Pay very close attention to everything she does."

From early in the programming he had intended Erin to be the first, and as she began to dance, her specific role in the session began to kick in. Specifically, as she began to sway and dance provocatively, she seemed to drift away, her hands moving more suggestively over her skin, her breasts, and her legs. He could both see and hear her breathing deepening, her skin growing flushing with arousal.

Within mere minutes, she was clearly groping herself, pulling up her skirt and showing off sheer lace panties, and it was when she started to rub her own pussy -- and the rest of the girls watching were noticeably aroused, staring in fascination and unable to look away, as their programming commanded- that he grinned, reaching out to touch Erin's shoulder. "Erin?"

With a gasp at his touch, she looked at him, her blue eyes filled with lust: reaching out to place his other hand on her other shoulder, he repeated, "Erin? Do you want something?"

"You!" she gasped out, throwing herself at him with a moan, her tongue diving between his lips as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close, running a hand up her legs and under her skirt to cup that delicious ass.

She continued to moan as he pulled her on top of him, passionately kissing him as she pulled at his belt, gasping with pleasure as he cupped her breast with his left hand, squeezing the nipple: he had to discipline himself to let her take the lead here. Moaning more, she pulled him onto the desk, rolling so he was on top of her even as she pulled his trousers and pants down, grabbing for his dick. "Fuck me. I'm so fucking wet. Fuck me." she growled, at the feel of his hard, erect dick, her right leg encircling his waist to pull him in closer. "Please, god, Fuck me."

What kind of man can refuse an offer like that? Pulling her panties down hard enough that they tore, he pressed his weight forward: eagerly, she guided him towards her pussy, whimpering at the first touch against her labia, then screaming with bliss as he pushed himself within her hot, wet cunt, as the first of her programmed orgasms hit her like a tidal wave.

Right now, everything he'd done for this project was worth it. This gorgeously sexy babe, screaming with bliss as she undulated underneath him. Her legs wrapped around his waist to keep him within her, her gorgeous ass in one hand, a gorgeous breast in the other: As she began to subside, he reached both hands up to give both breasts squeeze. By the gods, she felt good.

"Shit. I Didn't mean for this to happen!" he lied, risking a glance at the rest of the class -- all of whom were aroused. Clare and Sasha looking like they'd already started masturbating, and all had that dazed look that told them that they had all had the first of the sympathetic orgasms he'd built into them. "Fuck. Erin. Erin." She looked at him blankly, for a moment, "What..." Her tone mostly that of objection that he'd stopped, filled with lustful need.

"Fuck. If I pull out now, the whole class will become an unbound slut. If I don't come in you, then you'll put all your friends at the mercy of every man on campus. But if I do, you'll be my Bound Slut. My slave. Decide, Erin. What do you want?"

"I want you to come in my pussy." She growled, just like he'd meant her to. "Make me your slut. Make me your filthy little whore. Fuck me. Don't stop fucking me, sir."

Jerking of the hips accompanied these words, producing a moaning undercurrent, even as her limbs tightened around his body. Grinning, he reached down, yanking his shirt over his head. "Fine then."

Growling victoriously, he pulled open her shirt, to expose those glorious breasts, and bent down to taste them even as he began pounding her against the desk. This just made her moan some more, another orgasm quickly building: lifting her up, he sat back in a chair so she was astride him, and she began frantically fucking him for all she was worth, letting him enjoy the sights and sensations of that magnificent chest against his own.

Another orgasm, and another wracked her body as he explored all her secret, delightful places. Caressing, kissing and stroking her body, until he couldn't take any more: the background noise of moans and groans showed that the programming in the other girls had kicked in with a vengeance, screams echoing forth as they came in sympathy - with a moan of his own, he shot a load of semen deep within her body.

The effect was immediate. A high, ululating scream of bliss that echoed throughout the room -- a highlight to the soft moaning and softer screams of bliss of the other members of the class -- as her body arched tight as could be, spasming again and again, jerking motions passing in waves throughout her body as she emitted soft, high-pitched squeals, fully consumed by the bliss she was feeling as he shot a second then a third load of semen into her body, her pussy clamping him within her like a vise.