I was new to the college, and looking to make a good impression; I did not have a permanent job, but I wanted one. Consequently I tried to make friends with whoever would talk to me. I wanted to show I was a team player and could be a good colleague. As a part of that strategy, I made sure to attend every gathering that I could: academic talks, presentations by the school administration, and art films put on by the faculty film club. And so it was that I came to a campus-wide staff meeting. We were in a new campus theatre hall, specially purposed to show films and videos. It had all the trappings of an up-scale movie house, with chairs whose plush seats folded up, had high backs, and which gently curved around you, enveloping you and directing your gaze towards the front. I half expected to see popcorn between the rows of seats. I had arrived early, so I walked down close to the front of the room, sat down in one of the comfy chairs, and waited. Of course, the room being so dark and the chairs being so comfy, I dozed. I was pulled up out of my stupor by a presence; I felt a large woman striding into the theatre, waltzing up row and sitting down beside me. She turned a beaming smile my way and said,

"Hello, I'm Clarity."

"I'm Adrian," I replied, and moved to shake the hand she offered.

As I say, she was large and she had pronounced features. Blonde hair that came down to her shoulders, and gaping eyes looking out from behind glasses. Her eyes were intense, and their action was really more of a stare than a looking. She gazed at me in that unflinching way, and she said,

"I don't think we've met; you must be new here, since I've inspected everyone on faculty already and I don't remember you. I am a professor in the Religious Studies department, and I teach classes on mysticism and sects. The joke is that if you take a course with me, you're initiated into my cult, and I've got you for the rest of your undergraduate career! Really it's just a rumour spread by other professors who are jealous of my enrollment numbers. My classes fill up immediately, and I will say that students find me captivating; they seldom take just one of my courses . . . why just this year I had an enormous player of the football team devote himself to me, or more properly, my instruction. He quit the team so that he could give himself over to my studies. That caused quite the ruckus, I can assure you!'

"Apparently he was quite good at competing physically with other men, had scouts drooling over him, and I got several phone calls from the coach, begging me to put him back on the team. It got so bad I had to go make a personal visit to the athletic facilities to stop the pestering. His office was at the back of the weight room, and so to see him, I had to walk through a room full of sweating, muscular young bulls straining and moaning as they ogled me. Not a situation just any woman can control. But fortunately, that's a group I know how to handle. And when I was done in the coach's office . . . well, the matter was decided."

The whole time she was saying this, she had been boring into my eyes without flinching. This was disconcerting. Usually you need to look away at some point when you are speaking to someone. It's just common curtesy, and it also helps you to be sure of your train of thought. If you're staring at someone's face intensely, then you're using all of your focus to read the signs they're making with facial movements, and you don't have much mental power left over to make up your own little speech. At least, that's how I thought it was supposed to go. But Clarity seemed able to examine me with great attention to check for my reactions while speaking at the same time, and again, I found this very odd. It was, if I'm being truthful, also a little stimulating. It's rare to have a woman focus on you in such a concentrated way, and flattering; why was I worthy of such attention? Here was an obviously powerful, intense woman applying herself to me. The natural reaction in such a situation is to swell up: if someone is fawning on you, you can't help but think better of yourself too, and so the top of my chest expanded out as I breathed in and tried to be more, well, virile.

Seeing this, she touched my hand. She then brought her other hand over to give mine a shake in greeting. Indeed, as if to maximize the impact she tightened her clasp with both hands and made it a two-fisted shake, slowly pumping my hand up and down and saying, "It's very nice to meet you, Adrian."

While this was happening, her gaze held my eyes. I was being forced to take notice of her facial features, which were large, rounded, and perfectly symmetrical. On anyone else I would have thought they were almost mannish, but she somehow came across as uniquely feminine; the combination said nothing so much as divinely woman to me.

"Actually my real name is Siva, but that's still a bit unsettling for most of the older faculty here who can't accept a non-Western name, so I go with Clarity. Easier for everyone, don't you think?" By now the handshake had taken on a definite slow rhythm: she would move my hand down slowly and then bring it back up again more quickly. This also caused her to slowly rock towards me, and her eyes seemed to flare a little bit with each up-stroke. Her smile was constant and her chin bobbed up in time with her hands. Almost imperceptibly, she had arched her back and was looking slightly down at me.

"Yes, of course," I said in a haze. Now, university professors are generally an eccentric group. Because of their academic abilities, society tends to allow for all sorts of idiosyncratic behaviour; witness Einstein's hair, for a very tame example. Nevertheless, and even in my befuddled state, this greeting struck a part of me as weird. But another part, a larger part of me, was taken. Unconsciously I started to rock back towards her, synchronizing my movement with hers and nodding my head up at the same time she did. For anyone watching it would have looked like we were just agreeing with one another, but it was clearly something else for me. The blood rushing through my ears started to sound like shouting.

"Good," she said with a curt nod, and released her grasp. I sank back into my chair, feeling a little drained. On the stage was a lectern and behind it a row of chairs, in which various members of the school administration were seated. At that moment the President of the university stood up from his chair which was off to the side of the others and moved to the lectern to address the faculty. I could see the first place he looked was at Clarity, and in response she smiled and let out a musical little laugh. The President began his annual report, discussing student enrollment, a few standout accomplishments of various faculty members, and other things that I quickly lost interest in. He seemed to be glancing over our way every now and then, but I thought nothing of it until at one point I saw Clarity suddenly raise her chin, and the President immediately looked her way. I thought this was something too, and began to pay more attention to what was going on. In a few minutes it happened again. After the third time, there could be no mistake: our President was responding to Clarity. I frowned, wondering what was going on, and Clarity leaned over and pressed her head close to mine so that she could whisper in my ear.

"The President and I were close last year," she said, and then pulled back. I inhaled deeply, as her voice, and, more peculiarly, her scent, pushed me back into a fog. She sat staring at me, gauging me, and then she broke out into her joyous smile. The school President was looking over at us again, and now I thought I could detect some perspiration on his forehead. Clarity leaned in to me again, placed her hand on my forearm, and whispered in my ear, "So far, I've been signalling him to raise his excitement level, and he's very attentive to my suggestions. But I think he also wonders who you are." Now this was confusing too; what did that mean, "raise his excitement level"? Was she some kind of life-coach, cajoling him from the audience to put a little more 'oomph' into his speech? But that didn't seem right. She leaned in again. "I prefer people to be excited when they address me; it's only appropriate, don't you think?" I could only nod. This time when she moved her head back, she left her hand on my arm. There was no shock associated with her touch, but it forced all of my awareness to focus on Clarity. As if in recognition of this, her smile broadened out again, and she sat up very straight. She arched her back, and her breasts swelled out as she did so. She displayed herself, she was proud, and she took pleasure in being admired. Again with that smile. Although she was looking straight ahead, it was clear she knew what was happening to me and even measuring it. Somewhere in the background, far away, I heard the President say, "And now we would like to present to the faculty something that we hope will help reverse our enrollment trends. For the first time, our school has a recruitment film. This will be sent out to all the local high schools and posted both on our website and on Youtube. Please enjoy our promotional movie, "The Experience!""

The President was not a tall man, and he was stocky. His muscles were obviously straining within the confines of the suit he wore; it looked a bit too small for him. From the angle we were sitting at, it was quite clear that he was sporting an erection as he sheepishly went back to his seat. I felt my vision was slowly narrowing, and I looked into Clarity's face, which was entrancing with its smile, and then the lights went down. The immediate change in lighting meant everyone was blind, and in that moment of confusion Clarity leaned over and whispered into my ear,

"I will have your penis engorged, now."

Suddenly I was very alert and immediately hard. Clarity quickly laid her coat over both of our laps and then reached underneath it and deftly undid my pants, placing her cold hand on my responsive cock. I shuddered. I looked around us, hoping to know if, with the slow return of vision, anyone was aware of what was going on. No one was sitting in our immediate vicinity, and no one in the audience seemed to be noticing what was going on. I looked up, and to my horror, I realized the President could see us from his seat on the stage, and he was staring right at us. The sweat on his forehead was now plainly visible. I looked to Clarity, who again moved her head to my ear, and whispered,

"The tremors will begin soon." It was true. Already I could feel my hips starting to buck of their own will under her enticements. I looked back at the President; did he know what was going on? His face was inscrutable, although he was clearly under stress. He kept staring directly at us. I turned to Clarity with a slightly panicked look on my face.

"You didn't think I would do something like this without being watched? For one thing it will make you perform better, knowing that someone with power is watching us, watching you, and how well you service my needs and commands. He is, after all, your leader, and he has dominion over you. And even though he burns with jealousy, a part of him will be watching to be sure you please me; he will accept no less on your part. But for another, it suits me to instill a desire in others that has no outlet while I reward someone else. Look at him squirming up there. The more I dominate you, the more he is enflamed, and yet the more he has to control himself and not act on his passions. It is another, more indirect way of asserting myself among men."

Her hand had begun to move, and it was like a magnet drawing up an electric charge to the tip of my penis. Her rhythm was slow, and without urgency, which contrasted with the tension that I was feeling. I was being put on the slow boil, which, for all that the pace was slow, made the conclusion seem that much more unavoidable.

"Now, you are hard for me, yes?" she continued. "Harder than you have ever been? I could strike you senseless at this point, but still your erection would hold firm. In my younger days I might even have choked you with one hand while I throttled your cock, and you would have begged me to squeeze harder. You see, you want nothing so much as to produce for me, and how does one make a ripe fruit produce its sustenance? How to make it give up its juices? One squeezes. And the more one squeezes, the more the liquor comes out. You are as a fresh peach to me, stretching its skin from being pumped with the tree's nutrition, aching for some animal to come and sink its teeth into you and release the pent up flood. You wished to be consumed? Do I fill you with the need?"

I could only moan in response. And she had been right about the tremors, as I had started to shake and I could not control it. Right now the jerks were contained to my back and legs, and they were small, but I was worried where the shaking was headed. I looked up at the President, and I could see recognition in his face. No comradery though; he did not look upon me as a fellow sufferer. Instead there was an obvious jealousy, and maybe a flickering of hate.

I looked back at Clarity. Now I knew she deserved to be called Siva. She was sitting up very straight, and glanced up at the stage. Seeing the hate there, she smiled, and turned her head upwards. She continued to stroke me, and I was growing more and more excited with each motion. Now she was stopping at the top of each upstroke and twisting the knob, which caused me to moan a little in pain, and then the down stroke brought a wash of pleasure back over my face.

"Yes, feel the build as I prepare you. Feel the elation as I lift up, and then the sudden pain. You need to feel the pain so that the pleasure is so much greater as I slide my hand down and encompass your cock again. That's it. Up . . ."

"And then pain!" She said this as she twisted again on my sensitive head. I felt my chest crumpling in agony as she wrenched what seemed to be the centre of my being.

"Relief. Do you feel the return of pleasure as I glide down your shaft? Taste it, it feels so much better and fulfilling after the wrenching."

"We build up . . ."


"And relief . . ."

The cycle repeated.

"Now you begin to see. I control your pleasure and pain, and I give you more than you imagined possible. And so you give yourself to me, a little bit more with each stroke. With each flood of pleasure you realize that your life is somehow more with me controlling your ecstasy and pain. You love me now, don't you? More and more. I stroke up slowly, more slowly, more build, then a simple twist, you feel the sting, and then a stroke down. It is like heroin, the wash of pleasure at the end that surges through you. And it overcomes you, and you need more."

"Again, up, and you're losing your mind a little bit, aren't you? Come on, you don't need it anymore; your mind couldn't have found this for yourself, and now you've found someone who will do it for you better than your own mind could. So why have an organ that has no purpose? And down. Oh, yes, feel that wave that I give you. You can have it, but you have to give in to me. Up now, get ready for the shock, here it comes, and oh! The agony. And down with release. The more you leave off your own thinking, the more pleasure I can give you. Do you feel how good that is? Don't you want more?"

The stroking continued, and it was true, with every down I felt myself becoming more hard, more wanting of the pleasure, and more compliant.

"It's important that you don't cry out. I need to know that you have lost control of yourself, but also that I haven't. For it is the nature of a peach to want to be consumed; that is just how the universe works. The tree makes the peach to be eaten, and who am I not to gorge myself? There is nothing abnormal in the peach wanting to have its vital juices sucked, dripping out from the sides of my mouth and down my chin. It is the best thing that can happen to a peach, yes? You pity the fruit that is not devoured, but instead is left to moulder and rot; that is unnatural. But you, you will be greedily wolfed down by me, and then I will spit out the stone, the leftover husk of a man. Is that what you want? You may claim your destruction, it is your right. Admit it, your need, your fulfillment. Are you under me?"

"Yes," was all I could struggle out. She stroked me slowly, and squeezed very hard. I felt like my cock was a bar of iron, and the squeezing did not bother me at all. It made me grit my teeth, and I snarled lightly, but I was filled with a strange urge to prove my strength to her and endure; she made me want to be as aggressive and powerful a man as I could be.

"And are you going to perform for me?"

"Please," was all I could muster.

"Yes, you are eager to serve. I can feel it." I glanced at the man on the stage, and it was clear he knew what was going on, but was unable to draw his eyes away. "You wonder, eh? That one is completely craven to me; in a moment of unrestraint, I pressed him too much and now he is less than a man. But I only glory in taking men. Also I would have him jealous for me, it will insure his performance when the time comes. For him to be jealous, he must watch the ecstasy."

"Bending you to me can be done in various ways, of course," She brought her hand that had been resting on my forearm over and brushed it across her blouse. "Look down at my skin; do you see how golden honey my breasts are? They are actually expanding right now to lure you into my influence. All women do this to control a man, but none suffocates a man's mind like I do. My breasts hold you now. Gaze on me, and while we both become engorged," and with that she undid two buttons of her blouse "we inflate for different ends. I am filling with confidence, I am joy, and you are a tool, an instrument being charged." Her breasts spilled out, there for me to see, and she was right, they did seem to have expanded while we had been sitting here. They were full and round, barely contained by a white satin bra that lovingly strained under their heaviness. She inhaled and her bosom puffed out, enough so that a brown nipple popped up over its restraint. The image was her in an microcosm, she had grown beyond her boundaries, expanded into something more serious, more mature, more influencing. I gasped and glanced up at the stage, and there was our President, hypnotized by Siva's display.

"Yes, you'd like to suckle from me now, wouldn't you?" she continued to squeeze and pump me while she whispered; the effect was hypnotic. "But I don't want to reduce you to a mindless thing just yet, I want the satisfaction of a broken man. My vanity alone will detonate your mind." She continue with her hand slowly and moved her head back, the better to burn into me with her eyes. Her face took on a slightly plaintive look to me, and again she started nodding slightly in time to her stroking. Then her smile returned, and she alternated between that and her plaintive face as she worked away on my member.

"Do you want to come for me?" she asked.

"Oh God!"

"Mmmmm . . . are you going to come for me?"

"Oh God!" I was squirming more fervently now, and I couldn't help but keep repeating myself as I felt myself being beaten down by her eyes and her smile. She began to repeat herself too, and she did this to enflame me more. Her pace with her hand stayed constant, but the verbal goading had the effect of ratcheting up the pressure tremendously. I defy any real man to listen to a woman provoking him to come for her and not to respond positively. Maybe he doesn't want to, maybe in his mind he thinks he's not the kind of person to be dominated in that way, but his body will respond. His testicles will fire and his semen production will increase dramatically, and it will feel tremendous. That is the very heart of a woman's control: a man is built to produce semen for a woman's use, and when she commands it, she is merely switching on a circuit that was waiting to be switched all along. In this Siva had been right. It dawned on me how powerful any woman could be if she had this knowledge.

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