Stacy's Education Pt. 01

After a fun night out, college co-ed Stacy wakes up and discovers that she's in a sticky predicament: she finds herself unable to orgasm without explicit permission from someone else. After habitually using others for her own pleasure, she finds herself struggling to let go of her pride long enough to ask anyone for help with her little problem. Very dark content rating, 17k words.

Note: the full story is 17k words, but I have divided it into three parts, each roughly 5-6k words in length. I will be posting one part per week. The content warnings below apply to the whole story, so you may see some content warnings here that don't yet apply in part one.

Content warnings/tags: nonconsensual hypnotism/conditioning; dubious consent; mildly abusive protagonist; sexualized bullying; misogynist language, including slut-shaming; sex as revenge/punishment; careless use; gangbang; fisting; very mild exhibitionism/exposure

Stacy woke up horny.

Her hand was already between her thighs, like she'd been trying to rub herself off in her sleep; clearly, she hadn't been doing a very good job, because her clit was throbbing like crazy. She pressed the heel of her hand against her panties and groaned in pleasure at the sensation that burst inside of her, her toes curling into the bedding.

"Fuck," she groaned, and then quickly lifted her head, looking around to be sure she had the dorm room to herself.

The bed belonging to her roommate, Mindy, was empty. Relieved, Stacy dropped her head back onto her pillow and shoved her hand into her panties, letting out another loud groan as her fingers brushed directly against her aching clit. Her hole fluttered, feeling open and wet and a little bit sore, and a brief memory flashed through her mind.

She'd...gone out the night before, hadn't she? Didn't she go home with some guy?

That explained things a bit--it wouldn't be the first time she'd woken up horny after a sexual encounter, especially if the guy only got her off once; she typically needed a couple of orgasms to really feel sated.

This was a whole new level, though. Her body was off the charts this morning, her pussy practically boiling with need.

"Yeah," she gasped, rubbing her clit firmly, and then whimpering at the pulsing emptiness inside her. "God. Fuck. I wanna--mmm..." she tore her fingers away from her clit with some regret, but her pussy felt so fucking empty, she needed to put something in it before she went off.

Stacy looked around the room frantically as her body clenched and tingled, screaming to be filled and satisfied. She kept a little bullet vibe in her dorm dresser, but nothing that could go inside her; she was one of the hottest commodities on campus, and it was typically pretty easy to find a guy when she wanted a good fuck. When all else failed, her ex, Brad, would still come running for a quickie, as long as she could tolerate his pathetic, dog-eyed begging when he inevitably tried to convince her to get back together with him.

But she didn't have time for a booty call this morning. Even if Brad booked it across the campus, she didn't have the patience to wait for him. She needed to get off now. She felt like she'd been getting teased for hours!

As she glanced feverishly around the room, her gaze landed on a hairbrush. It belonged to her roommate, Mindy, but it was practically brand new, and the handle was nice and thick and smooth...

Her body thumped with pleasure so hard that her knees trembled faintly as she climbed out of bed and crossed the room to Mindy's desk to snatch the brush. She would wash it off after, it'd be fine.

Stacy grabbed her bullet vibe out of her dresser, too, for good measure, then kicked her panties off entirely before climbing back into bed.

She was so wet that the handle of the brush slid right into her waiting pussy, drawing out a loud moan from her as the firm plastic pressed into the delightfully sore muscles. Whoever she'd gone home with must have worked her hard. She hoped she'd gotten his number; next time she'd teach him how to get her off right so that she didn't wake up such a horny mess.

Or maybe she'd just spend the night at his house and ride his face in the morning.

Stacy turned on the bullet vibe and pressed it lightly to her clit, gasping and rocking her hips into the air as the sensations rocketed through her.

"Oooh, yes! Right there, just like that," she whimpered, keeping her touch light and forcing herself to press up into the bullet. She was already so fucking close, but she wanted to draw it out for at least a couple more seconds, to enjoy the deep pressure of the brush for a bit before she satisfied herself.

"Mmm...mmm..." Her words dissolved into whining squeals as she humped her hips up into the buzzing pleasure of the bullet, approaching her climax quickly in spite of her efforts. It was building, building...it was going to be so fucking good...

She dangled on the edge for a long moment, her clit twitching and pulsing as she strained her hips hard to press it directly into the delicious vibrations, her pussy squeezing around the brush handle, and--and--

"Please may I come?" she whimpered.

What the fuck?

Stacy shuddered and squirmed on the bed, confused by the words that had come out of her mouth--since when did she ask anyone for permission to come?--and by the sense of desperation that was rising inside her, a weird sort of panic, like something inside her objected to the entire idea of masturbating alone.

A foggy memory drifted through her arousal-addled mind. This was a familiar feeling. She'd felt like this a lot, hadn't she? Recently? Dangling on the edge, waiting, begging to come--? Begging that guy she'd slept with--? And he'd said...he'd said...

There was a sound like someone had snapped their fingers in her ears.

The massive orgasm that had been building inside of Stacy...vanished, like it had been washed away with a splash of cold water.

"What the fuck," Stacy gasped, then whined, because she was still horny. She was just as fucking horny as when she'd woken up, she'd just lost all progress towards her orgasm. "What, I...fuck..."

Confused and needy, she collapsed down onto the bed, twisting her thighs together and groaning at the way her own movements jostled the hairbrush inside of her. No longer willing to tease herself, she pressed the bullet vibe down firmly on her clit, rubbing quickly back and forth over it.

"Come on...mmm, yeah..."

The edge came even faster this time, her body barreling towards release as she humped her hips to rock the hairbrush inside her pussy and massaged herself eagerly with the bullet vibe. Within seconds, she was almost--almost--!

'Don't forget to ask permission,' a man's voice echoed in her head.

Stacy sobbed out, "Please!" and then wailed at the loss as her orgasm once again disappeared like a phantom, leaving her whimpering and squirming.

In desperate disbelief, Stacy repeated the pattern twice more--bringing herself right to the edge, and then, in a cold flash, feeling her building orgasm simply vanish before she could experience it, leaving her frustrated and unsatisfied.

The final time, she grabbed hold of the brush and jammed it into herself rapidly, grinding the buzzing bullet hard against her clit with her other hand.

The pleasure was so blinding, the orgasm that was coming so all-encompassing that she was sure it would work, she was going to come, she was going to come so fucking hard, she was going to keep this fucking hairbrush because it felt so fucking good--

'Not without permission,' the man's voice dripped through her memories.

Stacy squealed and whimpered and jerked as her body went right to the edge and...nothing.

Just an aching, empty nothing, in spite of the hard pressure of the brush pounding away inside her and the delicious vibrations of the bullet on her twitching clit.

After that, Stacy had to take a break. She lay in bed for a long moment and breathed hard, sore and shaken. She forgot to turn off the bullet vibe, so about five minutes into her break, its buzzing weakened, then faded as the battery died.

"Fuck," she muttered, tossing it across the room. Then she reached down and rubbed her clit, whimpering quietly at how sore and swollen it felt, like the aftermath of a hard frigging--but it was still aching and unsatisfied, too, sending tingling needles of pleasure through her as she circled it with her finger.

Once she started touching, it was hard to stop. She went on slowly rubbing, whining quietly and feeling sorry for herself. After a while, her whines turned to moans as the little starbursts of pleasure began to collect again.

Something inside her balked, not wanting to experience another of those strange edges, not wanting to get her hopes up for another orgasm that would just be stolen away.

But maybe the problem had been the vibrator? Maybe she was too sensitive right now, and her clit just couldn't get over the edge with the vibrations?

And the gentle rubbing felt so good, the hairbrush inside her rocking more gently now with the natural movements of her body...

"Yes," Stacy whined quietly, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her finger into the most sensitive spot on her clit and shuddering. "There...right there, that's good, yes..."

Her pussy shuddered around the hairbrush handle and she whimpered with need, so close to coming that she could taste it, one of those deep, delicious orgasms that usually took so much time and patience to pull out of her body, like when she made Brad lick her for ages.

'Naughty, spoiled girl.'

"No," Stacy whimpered frantically. She could feel the edge hanging over her longer this time, without the hard pleasure of the vibrator pushing her against it. She was there, she should be coming, she could feel how good the orgasm was going to be, if she just...had permission to...

"Please, please may I come? Please, please? Please may I come? Ohh, please!"

What was she saying? She'd never asked anyone for permission to orgasm in her life! Why was she begging the empty room like some kind of fantasy fetish slut?

But--! She needed--!

"Please, please, please!" she sobbed, and then tears spilled from her eyes as the orgasm abandoned her again, leaving her throbbing. "No! Why? Why can't I come?"

She yanked the hairbrush out of herself and tossed it across the room, too, and then grabbed her pillow and curled around it, burying her face into it to muffle her inconsolable sobs.

Stacy had always taken sexual pleasure as her right. As the only child of a well-off middle-class couple, she'd had her own room her whole life, and a fat bank account to buy herself plenty of toys as a teen before she'd become bold enough to start approaching boys in high school.

She was pretty and popular, and she learned quickly enough that boys were willing to do just about anything for a chance with her; they'd eat her out--more than once!--just for the opportunity to spurt in her hand while she let them touch her breasts. She knew a dozen ways to make herself come, and another dozen ways that she could instruct a man to make her come.

But now...her body had betrayed her. She was more frustrated and needy than she'd ever been in her life, her hips rocking pitifully against the firm mattress even as she cried.

When the tears finally began to slow, she felt a bit more clear-headed. She got up on shaky legs and wrapped herself in her bathrobe, then went to the bathroom again and filled one of the glasses there with water, gulping it down.

The water immediately helped, her mind ungluing and starting to work again, although her pussy also fluttered between her legs, reminding her pointedly that it was still deeply unsatisfied. She resolutely ignored it and filled the glass with water again, drinking more, trying to replace all the fluids she'd leaked and cried out over the past hour or so.

That guy she'd gone home with. He must have done something to her. There was no other explanation.

Stacy wracked her brain, trying to remember what they'd done together, but her memory of the prior night was foggy and distant. He'd fucked her hard, for sure--but was she even really remembering that, or was she just creating the memory from the fact that she had woken up sore? She tried to remember what position they'd been in, and her mind offered up a plethora of possibilities--standing in a kitchen, braced over the counter; doggy-style on the floor; riding on top of him on a bed--any of which could've been fabricated from memories of previous encounters she'd had with other men.

She couldn't even remember what he looked like. Dark hair, maybe? No...had he been greying?

"Of course he was some old pervert," she muttered. "Probably slipped something in my drink."

That was it. He'd dosed her with something--no way she ever would've gone home with a guy with greying hair otherwise--and whatever it was, it must be having some kind of effect on her nervous system.

"It'll wear off," she told herself, looking in the mirror. She didn't look too certain, so she frowned at herself and said it again. "It'll wear off. And in the meantime, I'll report that fucking asshole to the police."

***

First, though, Stacy cleaned up and went to class.

She wasn't sure what else to do. Reporting the guy to the police was a great idea, but what the fuck was she going to report? She didn't remember a name, a description--other than the hair, and that described half of the men over thirty in town. She didn't even remember what bar she'd gone to.

She must have gone with someone, though. She never went drinking alone. So she texted a couple of the girls she usually hung out with, including her roommate, Mindy; and then, while she waited for answers, she went to her English 102 class, because if she hung around in her room then she was just going to end up trying to masturbate again. At least class might keep her mind off of things.

Maybe.

It worked for a little while. They were discussing The Great Gatsby, which she'd already had to read once in high school, and she thought it was a pretty good book. She started a spirited debate with one of the more obnoxious guys in the class who clearly didn't get it.

As the hour ticked by, though, her focus began to wane, and she felt increasingly irritable. In spite of her efforts to keep her mind off her pussy, it demanded her attention, twinging and aching from the bruises she'd left in herself with the hairbrush--but in a way that begged to be filled again, to be fucked to satisfaction.

She crossed her legs under her desk and shuddered at the pressure it put on her tenderized insides, setting her clit throbbing. The flash of pleasure immediately made her flush, and she immediately thought that she should un-cross her legs again, even if nobody else in class could tell what she was doing. But it felt so good...she'd been so close to coming so many times, if she could just...just...

'Ask permission,' reprimanded the man's voice in her head, and Stacy's mouth dropped open, ready to beg for what she needed, for the mercy that would allow her to unleash the thundering need inside her--

She slapped her hand over her mouth as she remembered, with a flash of disbelief, that she was in the middle of class.

Her pussy pulsed tightly a few times between her squeezing thighs, and then she felt the empty ache of another near-orgasm fading away.

"Stacy?" her professor asked from the front of the classroom. "Are you alright?"

"Um," Stacy said, unsure if her voice sounded strange to everyone else or if her hearing had just gone odd from the hard edge she'd just experienced. "I, um, excuse me, I just need to--" she grabbed her things and scrambled up out of her seat, then rushed out of the room.

In a blind panic, she hid herself in the single-person bathroom at the end of the hall. She dumped her things on the floor and leaned back against the tiled wall, letting out a quiet, despondent whimper as her poor pussy throbbed at her again, as if begging to know why it was being neglected.

Stacy cupped a hand between her legs and groaned as she almost immediately hit the edge again, her clit jumping at the firm contact.

"Please...please..." she whimpered, trying to keep herself quiet as the pleasure welled up inside her.

'You're a spoiled brat. You need to learn to ask for what you want,' echoed her memories.

Stacy burst into tears again, squirming and jumping in place in frustration as she mashed and rubbed her hand desperately between her legs, pressing her fingers up against her sore pussy and the heel of her hand into her clit. She slapped her other hand over her mouth again to quiet her sobs and to stop herself from screaming and begging to be allowed to come.

Her body squeezed hard, once, and a squirt of hot liquid gushed out, soaking her panties and wetting her hand, as if in preparation of a massive orgasm.

She squealed and rocked her hips frantically, but even as her body squeezed again, fluttering and dripping, she could feel the orgasm fading away, slipping out of her reach.

"No-o-o," Stacy sobbed, muffled, into her hand, and then she slid down to her knees on the tiled floor, her body trembling with exhaustion and frustration. Her hips continued to rock, grinding her dripping pussy roughly into her palm as her body continued to seek the satisfaction it ached for.

After several long, tortured seconds, she tore her hand away and grabbed onto the handicap rail above her, not wanting to get stuck in a cycle of fruitlessly rubbing herself in a public bathroom. She squeezed tight on the railing as her body continued to jerk and squirm, unable to stop herself from trying to hump the empty air.

She needed to come. She needed to figure this out. She needed...she needed...

She needed permission.

There was no getting around it. She didn't know what happened, what that guy had done to her, but if what she needed was for someone to give her permission to come...then she had to try it.

***

Stacy nearly reconsidered her plan three times while she waited in the locker room. She even stood up once, ready to walk right out.

When she felt how her pussy clenched and her thighs shook at just the sensation of sliding across the hard wooden bench to stand, she changed her mind and sat right back down again.

She was waiting for Brad.

She'd texted him from the bathroom, asking if he was interested in a hookup. It'd taken a little pressure--he had said something stupid about wanting a break from her or some shit, but she wasn't looking to take no for an answer, not in the state she was in, and she wasn't about to fucking embarrass herself by begging in front of any other guy. She didn't give a shit what Brad thought of her.

He'd finally said he was about to do some laps in the school's pool. She'd agreed to wait in the locker room for him for a quickie in the showers.

That had been over an hour ago. He had to be almost done by now. He had to be.

Stacy bit her lip and squeezed the edge of the bench with her hand until the corners of the wood bit into her palm, struggling against the urge to put a finger or two on her pulsing clit.

With her other hand, she scrolled through her phone. Most of her friends had answered back, saying that they hadn't gone out with her the night before and didn't remember her saying anything about going out.

Real fucking helpful, girls, thanks a lot.

A few more memories had surfaced slowly as she'd sat there staring at the grey locker doors, too. Or maybe she was just making them up, but...it was hard to imagine that she'd make up something so...humiliating. It was hard to even think about.

She remembered riding the guy cowgirl-style, which wasn't something she ever did--she didn't see any reason why she should be doing that much work, and it made her feel sweaty and gross and slutty, bouncing up and down like that--but she remembered doing it, needing to do it, begging him to let her ride him, and then sobbing as she desperately bounced on his cock and fingered her clit and he'd...he'd asked her something...