Super College Ch. 05

Author's Note:

I'm not writing a lot for Literotica lately (clearly...) but I discovered I had this, unfinished. So here it is.

This is a series, and a lot of the rules are already established, so please read the first four first. This will probably still stand on its merits, but will be less confusing.

#

Kimberly crouched, her entire body still but for her eyes.

She was wearing lightweight, figure-hugging kevlar mesh with expanding pleated leather knee and elbow pads and rigid forearm, shin and outer thigh pads. It looked like a cross between a motorbike suit and a SWAT outfit, but lighter and more flexible than either.

She had a helmet with clear wrap-around goggles and a rigid microphone boom that ended next to her mouth.

Her gloves looked like light motorbike gauntlets but with spikier knuckle pads, and her boots had tough but flexible soles and ankle protection.

Everything she wore was in light-absorbing matte black.

It was the College intern armour, with no insignia except textured College logos on the shoulders and back, and with more attention paid to protection than style.

Many graduates based their uniform on the armour, because it worked so well. Those who did not need armour because of their invulnerability (or confidence) were free to dress how they pleased. Some of the more famous examples had multiple fan sights in the seedier parts of the internet - or a nice line in autographed photos.

But Kimberly, whose speed meant she could dodge almost anyone but did not mean she could not be hurt, had been practicing heavily in the armour and intended to stay in it. The extra weight wasn't enough to slow her down, while any protection at all upped her chances of surviving a close fight. There was a small click in her ear. "Clear from up top. Kim, go."

That was Jules, on the roof, able to teleport in and out of trouble and not dependent on stairs.

They were hunting a petty crook who had taken refuge in a train siding. The College had sent in the students on their first mission. The police were outside enjoying both their break and, mostly to annoy the students, doughnuts.

Kimberly erupted from the shadows of the flat car she was crouching next to, streaked across open space, then flattened herself against a freight car. To normal eyes, she was a blur. Her eyes flicked over Jules' blind spot.

"Clear," she said curtly.

"Alex, go."

On Jules' signal, the chamaeleonic male stopped looking like the edge of a pile of scrap and flowed easily and almost silently across the railyard cinders.

"Stacey, go."

"Megan, go."

Bit by bit, quartering the ground, they pushed forwards. Jules had already seen movement going into a freight car, but they knew the thief was armed and they did not know whether or not he had friends.

By they time they reached the target car, nobody had seen, heard or, in one case, felt, any other human or parahuman presence.

The open door of the car - the only door on the car - was facing a small gap between rails. There was little visibility and little room to manoeuvre.

After a long, weighted silence, Jules whispered "Megan, go."

Wearing identical armour, the tall girl slid out from between two cars. Step by cautious step, she moved obliquely towards the open door.

Five shots ran out, almost as fast as a semi-automatic. Megan jerked, thrown backwards, landing heavy and limp on the cinders. Those with the keenest ears heard a frantic clicking before the robber's brain realised that his finger had already emptied his clip.

There was deathly silence.

The shadows inside the freight car moved. The robber's head poked out. He glanced around, terrified, before jumping down, landing awkwardly but without falling. He took one step, fumbling with his pistol to eject the clip, before Kimberly had him face-down in an arm-lock before he had a chance to cry out.

Megan's body disappeared and the real Megan stepped out from hiding, to a spontaneous round of applause from her fellow students.

The police came in to collect the robber, grudgingly congratulating the interns.

Tornado, in identical armour, and Dr Summers, waiting in a remote monitoring van, did not immediately berate them for anything.

Kimberly was still buzzing after everyone had hugged her, and was almost skipping as the students were detailed to do a final sweep of the grounds.

She was walking past a car, all senses alert but her brain not fully committed to the job, when something struck her on the side of the neck and she blacked out.

#

When she awoke, she was berating herself for her own stupidity before she was even aware of her surroundings.

Restrained - check. Bright lights directed at her - check. Naked - check.

She gritted her teeth before she reminded herself to be perfectly neutral.

She was lying on a table - fairly standard - with firm cuffs over her ankles and wrists and around her neck. She was comfortable, but everything was tight enough that she knew there would be little hope of extricating herself.

She flicked her eyes around, but couldn't see anything beyond a white-walled room with computer monitors and medical equipment just visible at the edge of her vision.

She started carefully turning her head, but bumped into a padded and quite firm pad against her temple. There was one just like it on the other side.

"You're awake. Good. I was beginning to think we had got the dose wrong."

It was a tribute to Kimberly's training that she didn't jerk in surprise at the voice behind her head. She was well past blushing, or panicking that she was naked.

She also didn't say anything.

"Quiet? Don't blame you, really. I suppose you can guess what is going to happen to you now. I'm not sure why Heroes," the unseen speaker said, spitting out the capital H, "and Villains," again, enforcing the capital bitterly, "get so hung-up with mind-control and reprogramming and perversions. Villains turn Heroes into slaves, Heroes try to forcibly rehabilitate Villains with reprogramming and only ever turn out docile drones that eventually return to form anyway."

What?! Kimberly couldn't help her eyes bugging open at that. That couldn't be true!

"Oh, I saw your little reaction, don't try and hide it. I know you're trained to not resist when appropriate, and I must complement the College on that, but really, you don't have anything to lose by chatting with me. It might even delay the inevitable. You know, give you a chance to change my mind or something.

"Yes, my dear, that really does happen. You know as well as I do that there are Heroes with mind-control capabilities. What did you think they did, apart from training? They're 'Counsellors'." The bitterness in his voice as he slotted in the capital "C" was even stronger.

"Never does anyone any good in the long run. Everyone knows - I'm sure you've been taught this, and taught it well - that no mind-control is long-term. Everything reverts. Villains just hope to drag it out for enjoyment, Heroes hope to suppress instincts as long as possible. That really just means that Villains try to produce wanton sluts with unbuckled self-control and unleashed primal desires, or," he enunciated the alternative clearly, "docile but with no behaviour limits.

"While Heroes try to ratchet up the morality and empathy, and internal behaviour auditors, while diminishing any form of self-fulfilment drive, but it turns out you can't increase the urge for social approval separate to the urge for physical gratification or violence. Odd, that, but not something we've been able to get around, yet."

The owner of the voice finally moved around to where Kimberly could see him, looming over her from the right of what seemed to be a standard-height surgical table.

He looked nothing like a normal Villain. He wasn't muscular or handsome. In fact, he had no sex appeal at all. He looked old, but more mature than aged. He looked like an experienced craftsman.

He was sharp enough to see Kimberly's eyes flick over him.

"Don't look like much, do I?" he said, conversationally.

"Let me tell you - I was one of the first. My genius is not flashy, not great in a fight and not likely to be noticed if I'm not careful. My ability is with human-machine interfaces."

He caressed a monitor, lovingly. "X-ray machines, ECGs, MRIs, even standard computers - I can make machines read and respond to people like nobody else. I have several patents registered through untraceable secondaries."

He turned around to face her again. "Obviously, you would have worked out by now that I can make it happen the other way, as well."

She had worked that out. She was not happy about it at all.

He leaned over her. "And yes, I'm telling you this because it gives me immense satisfaction, and because wiping memories is something that can be made to stick."

He straightened up again.

"So what is your name? At least tell me that," he said, glancing down at the tablet computer he was carrying.

She said nothing. Name, rank and serial number were the worst things you could give, when mind-control was an option. It gave them an immediate input into quite important parts of your mentality.

He sighed. "Well, I will have to just call you Kimberly, then,"

She silently cursed.

"Powers: Speed, strength, skilled at martial arts. Can't fly, can jump from a great height."

She cursed even harder, but still silently.

"If you don't say anything at all, I'll get started immediately," he said casually.

"You use machines for mind-control," she said flatly, then cursed herself for responding too quickly.

"Of course I do! Those pads either side of your head will control your brain waves. They work very, very well."

"You'll turn me into a brainless slut," she said, still flatly, determined to use this conversation to any advantage she could get - admitting your fate meant it had less hold over you.

"Oh, no!" he said, delightedly. "Well, sure, I'll fuck you senseless to test the efficacy of the programming - and let me tell you, bare-backing hot, tight young bodies like yours is a considerable perk of being a Villain - but really, what we want you for is a brain-washed soldier to capture, one by one, all of your colleagues, so we can turn them into mindless sluts! Starting, of course, with Megan."

"No!" she burst out, and bit it off even as the short syllable was flying out of her mouth.

He chuckled, then stabbed at the on button.

Physically, all she felt was a small pinch between her eyes.

Psychically, she felt a sledge-hammer blow to her frontal cortex.

She had enough experience, now, to know when the self-control, self-auditing part of her brain had been short-circuited and shut down. But she didn't move, or say anything, because her entire body locked rigid.

"Now I have to tune some of the parameters."

She felt her body relax slightly, and was able to say "Ghhhhhhh."

She relaxed slightly more. "Fuuuuck youuuuuu."

Her body went limp, suddenly, flopping onto the table, but her jaw was still locked and her eyes still wide open, helplessly staring and beginning to dry out.

"Hmmm," he said, quietly.

Her eyelids unexpectedly closed, then opened, blinking rapidly as tears flooded her eyes then had to be cleared, but her jaw was still locked.

Impulses streamed through her mind without any inhibitions at all. She wanted to kill this Villain. She wanted to rip his head off. She wanted to beat him to death with the stupid tablet. She wanted to fuck him. She wanted to kiss him while tearing his heart out with her bare hands. She was going to just ignore him and walk out. She was going to hunt down a properly studly young Villain and get fucked in the arse until she couldn't walk.

"How about now?"

"Fuck you, you cock-sucking arsehole," she burst out, before her jaw clamped shut again.

"Got it. Right, let's begin, shall we?"

She knew that she usually tried to fight back at this point, by not fighting back, but she felt no real compulsion to do that, or not do that, or just ignore him.

"Are you currently strapped to a table?"

Her jaw suddenly worked again. "Fuck you."

"Are you currently strapped to a table?"

"No."

"Useful. Are you currently strapped to a table?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. Bound to happen eventually."

"Let me go and I'll suck your dick," she said, spontaneously.

"You'll do that anyway. Are you naked?"

"Can't you see, limp-prick?"

"Are you naked?"

"Yes, I'm fucking naked, fucking do something to me!"

"Good!"

Suddenly, her mouth wouldn't work again.

He hummed to himself for a while, then reached out to cruelly tweak one nipple. She tried to shriek, but her mouth just didn't cooperate.

He hummed to himself some more, then roughly rubbed her pussy lips for a second.

This time, she spontaneously tried to hump back against him, but her body wouldn't even acknowledge the command.

He hummed some more, then said, quite brightly, "I think I've got all I need. It's time we began this properly."

He disappeared from her peripheral vision. She heard a scraping sound and a thump. He reappeared, lower.

A stool, she told herself. Wonder if he'll bend me over it when he takes me, later. Wonder if I could fuck myself with one of the legs. Bet I can use it to take his head clean off: Just blood everywhere.

"Right," he said brightly. "I'm going to ask you a series of questions. The ones you answer, we can use."

"Why the fuck are you doing that?" It occurred to Kimberly that she was swearing a lot more than normal. She realised that was because she didn't have any inhibitions at the moment, and enjoyed the fact.

"Do you enjoy sex?"

"Yeah!"

She felt something happen in her mind, but so faintly and so vaguely that she didn't understand what it was.

"Do you enjoy being dominated during sex?"

"Well, sometimes, I mean, if I ..."

"Have you ever enjoyed being dominated during sex?"

An image of that one time she had been fooling around with a College senior flashed through her mind, and how they had been roleplaying her getting caught and brainwashed ... "Fuck, yeah!"

Again, that thing in her mind, too faint to comprehend.

"Can you enjoy being dominated during sex?"

"Well, yeah."

There it was again.

"Do you enjoy being dominated during sex?"

This time, there was no hesitation or qualification in her reply. There it was again - the faint thing in her brain, and this time she recognised it as a locking sensation - a definite, assertive, forceful behavioural switch in a mind full of uninhibited, roving impulses.

Then she realised what he was doing with his general-to-specific questioning.

"Do you enjoy being handled roughly during sex?"

"Sometimes."

"Have you ever enjoyed being handled roughly during sex?"

The same memory flashed through her mind. "Yeah."

Click.

"Can you enjoy being handled roughly during sex?"

"No, fuck you," she said promptly, on a whim, wondering what he would do with that.

There was a mental click, and his chuckle. "I can use wrong answers, you know," he said, an amused tone in his voice. "Do you enjoy being handled roughly during sex?"

"Nah," she said, still trying to lie.

Click.

"Do you enjoy being ordered about during sex?"

This time, all the fixed attitudes - dominance, roughness, sexuality - combined to one unequivocal response. "Yes," she said, forgetting for a moment her impulse to try and confound him by lying.

Click.

"Are you naturally submissive during sex?"

"No way, dude, I can ..."

"Thought this would be the difficult one," he said, overriding her. "Have you ever enjoyed being submissive during sex?"

"Well, yeah, but ..."

Click.

"Can you enjoy being a submissive slut who does what she is told?"

That was close enough to the truth, for a given definition of "can you ever."

Click.

"Do you enjoy ..."

Click.

Click.

Click.

She became not only submissive, but turned on by being submissive. Not only turned on, but needing to submit. Not only needing to submit, but helpless to resist submitting. She became a submissive woman whose whole sexual identity was tied to being a slave, a subslut, a cum-dumpster, a whore, an unresisting

- no, eagerly complicit - slave to every whim of everybody who took her.

Then the questioning changed, while the newly inhibited parts of her mind told her that it was good to answer truthfully, it was good to be helpful, it felt so good to comply with this degradation, this reprogramming of what it most fundamentally felt like to be her, because the reward was to feel that delicious burn between her legs and, if she was a good girl, to feel him between her legs, which was all, at the moment, that she wanted.

"Do you do what you're told?"

"Yes, Master."

"Do you do everything you're told?"

"Yes, Master."

"Do you faithfully obey every command I give you?"

"Yes, Master."

"Are you willing to be my soldier?"

"Yes, Master."

"Are you willing to be my soldier, even if it means fighting your former fellow students?"

"Yes, Master." She felt an extra delicious thrill at that, as her submissive mind overruled the screaming of that part of her that had still not been overwritten, and damped it down and shut it out.

"Are you willing to be my soldier, even if it means defeating and capturing your closest friend?"

"Yes, Master."

"Are you willing to beat, hurt, and rape your closest friend if I order it, and deliver her here to me for reprogramming?"

"Yes, Master."

She felt the approval in his voice and shivered deliciously as he continued.

"Is it your dearest wish to capture your closest friend and bring her here to me so she can be reprogrammed and turned into a fellow adoring slut?"

"Yes, Master." She was dripping between her legs, now.

"Do you want to fuck your dearest friend for me?"

"Yes, Master."

He sighed happily, a sound that induced a small, tremulous orgasm in the strapped-down slave-flesh.

"I think we're finished, for now," he said, and suddenly she felt another pinch between her eyes, but this time associated with a feeling of lightness and freedom.

The bonds relaxed and then retracted into the table, but she didn't move. She hadn't been ordered to.

Master stood up, put his tablet down on a table, then undid his white coat, revealing no shirt or trousers, or underwear. His erection was practically throbbing.

"You have been strapped here, naked, for far too long while I had to reprogram you to behave properly," he said. "I think you need to make amends for how long it took you to give in."

Shivering with shame, she rolled off the table, knelt down, then took him in her mouth.

It really did not take him long.

"I want to cum on your tits," he grunted as he began to pulse in her mouth.

She quickly pulled back, aimed him, then pumped him with one hand. He came almost immediately, his cum splashing over her breasts.

"Lick up what you can," he ordered. She eagerly lifted her firm breasts up to your mouth, bending down enough to get not just each nipple but a fair amount of the tip of each breast between her lips. She scooped up what her mouth couldn't reach, licking and sucking it off her hands.

"Turn around," he ordered, "and lie on the table."

She eagerly scrambled to her feet, turned and lay across the table, holding on to the other edge and spreading her legs for him, her still sticky breasts squelching down onto the table's surface. It was the table that had remade her. She was so grateful it would play such a role as he fucked her for the first of what she hoped was many times.

#

Only the effectiveness of College training let Megan function well enough to be part of the search team.

Several Heroes had joined the College, some flying in (under their own power in every case) from interstate, and all the College's parahuman instructors and attached staff or colleagues were in uniform. All senior students were in teams directed by staff. Regular police, understanding the situation, stepped back and kept a low profile as the Heroes searched for one of their own.