The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Tolerant

Chapter Two

DJ returned to the dorm after the incident at the library, his mind restless. Ashley came with, naturally—she didn’t have a shirt, after all, and without him around to make excuses for her, she’d have had a hell of a time. It had taken some prodding, getting her to leave the library; evidently she had more than a few unredressed grievances with her former employer and co-workers. She’d wanted to trash that old Asian woman’s office, knock over more shelves, and that girl Cara...

She’d been lucky to get off as lightly as she did. Ashley had shredded the girl’s clothes before he could stop her (the ones that hadn’t already been absconded with by library patrons after she’d initially tossed them away into the crowd), and between her nudity, her thoroughly beaten rear-end, and the clear sense of shame she’d felt, Ashley still hadn’t been satisfied. Pity had made him all but drag Ashley out before she enacted a few more petty spites, beginning with a threat to hack off the girl’s hair with a pair of scissors.

Women, though DJ ruefully.

She’d been grateful, after the fact—very much so. All of the girls he’d been with had more or less ignored him after the deed was done. None had reached out to him, expressed gratitude, asked for his number, nothing. Jody had been eager for a little more, but that was just teenage hormones, he was pretty sure. The others—that stripper Kelsey, Emily, Brianne, Lauren, Morgan, the cheerleaders—had all been perfectly content to watch him walk away after.

Well, there was Brittney. She seemed to harbor some affection for him, maybe. DJ wasn’t stupid; he’d taken Intro to Psych and gotten his RA training in counseling (though a fat lot of good it had done in his efforts with Cara and Ashley). It was obvious Brittney had some experience with abusive men, and that made her more malleable to his pressuring. He didn’t like to think about it; every time he did, he felt guilty and anxious. Still, whatever her issues, she never failed to have that beatific kind smile for him.

He’d dropped off Ashley at their dorm; before she left, they exchanged numbers and she gave him a long, dick-hardening kiss before sauntering away. As he watched her go, he heard guys cat-calling the busty shirtless co-ed once she got a ways away from him, but she didn’t break her gait or otherwise acknowledge them.

Tired from a day of two blowjobs and a threesome, he retreated to his room. The floor was lively, as just about everyone was back from break and friends were happily reconnecting, sharing stories and flitting between rooms. Some of the guys nodded a pleasant acknowledgment to him as he passed; the girls eyed him in a range from wary to curious, probably wondering if they were up for “inspection.” He ignored both groups and sealed himself in, turning up some music to block out the sounds from the hall.

Finally alone, DJ revisited the days events, trying to make sense of them. Before today, it had seemed difficult, almost impossible, for someone to realize the nature of what he could do. He’d had to hammer it home for his friend Derek to acknowledge it, and if anyone else was even aware of it, they’d not revealed it to him.

Ashley, however, had realized it all too easily. She wasn’t immune to it; he was all but sure of that, having deliberately tested it a bit before he let her go. The ease with which she’d acquiesced to leaving Cara alone when he said it was time to go made him pretty sure, but just to double-check, he’d taken the cash out of her purse and tossed it out the car window on the drive home. She hadn’t said a word except a brief sullen look that he recognized too well.

Still, she’d noticed. He’d pushed her, certainly; maybe the explanation was simply that he’d entertained that juvenile dare to have Brittney blow him that caused her to observe and reflect where everyone else half-noticed and tolerated. Still, what repercussions could this have? Once he’d verified its existence, he’d more or less abandoned testing it further, but today, he’d had to wonder all kinds of other things, and once he began, the questions kept coming. He began listing them out, along with observations, on a notepad.

He pondered on into the night, and finally let himself fall asleep.

The next day was a return to classes. He got in his morning shower with Cassie, the German international student; chicks with accents just didn’t get old. (“Sank you for halping vash me, DJ.” Sigh.) Then it was back to classes. He paid minimal attention in most of them; one lecture was mildly interesting, but the others, he only half-listened at best.

During statistics, he soon grew bored and approached some hot girl whose name he didn’t know and pulled her into his lap, lifted her shirt up, and played with her tits for most of the lecture. He wound up amused enough that, rather than go to Dr. Missy’s class, he just went with her back to her apartment off-campus and treated himself to an hour-long blowjob, then had her make him dinner. (She wasn’t much of a cook, as it turned out.)

He kicked himself a little; he’d had experiments in mind for Dr. Missy pursuant to his questions from the night before. Oh well, he’d see her Wednesday. In the meantime, he had to get back in time for duty.

Driving back home, washing the taste of bad Italian food out of his mouth with a soda, he had to ask himself why he was even bothering. Not like he could be fired for not doing his job. Not like he needed the money from the job any more in the first place. (His credit cards had arrived in the mail over break, and he patted himself on the back for arranging them to have no spending limit and for the payments to be handled by the company itself each month.)

Really, if he wanted to, he could just move into a sorority and live it up, or round up the college cheerleading squad and go on a world tour on a stolen (donated) private jet, or move into a mansion on the beach somewhere and stock it with super-models. So why not?

If he were being honest with himself, he didn’t really want those things. Not yet, at least. Context was part of what made his enjoyments enjoyable, and he decided to pardon his lack of ambition.

He arrived a few minutes late for duty; Emily had already picked up her set of master keys and signed in, then probably head back to her room to wait for rounds. DJ did the same, stopping by Brittney’s room to snag her, apologizing to Mercedes for interrupting their viewing of some sappy rom-drama they were watching.

“Heya, DJ.” She smiled her sweet Brittney smile, gave him a sweet Brittney kiss. “Good day?”

“Yeah, decent. Lousy dinner, but otherwise pretty good.” (“Pretty good” for DJ Swanson now entailed hour-long grope-sessions and blowjobs from beautiful strangers. He never did bother learning that girl’s name.)

“Good. We had a pop quiz today over the break readings that I totally bombed, but yeah. Otherwise pretty good.”

“Sorry about that—I guess that’s my fault, huh.”

“You’ll have to make it up to me,” she said, poking him softly in the tummy.

“That I will.” He kissed her again. “I figured I’d give you the night off, though—let you and Mercedes do your thing, and I guess get caught up on that reading. I just wondered if you’d do me a favor.”

“Name it, and I’ll do my best.”

He adopted a concerned expression. It should have been easy; Brittney was wonderful, and more so than any other girl he’d been with these past weeks, he really did value her. It should have been.

“Well, it’s just me worrying, I guess, but I know things have been kinda wild for you lately, and, um, I guess I just wanted to make sure you were holding up OK.”

“That’s very sweet of you to worry about me. Most guys never bother to ask how I’m doing.” Her smile brightened, radiant; big blue eyes watered up with her effortless gratitude. He’d had a game plan, but caught in the wake of her sincerity, he found himself, for once, being honest with her.

“Sweet? Um, Brittney, I loaned you out to a girl as a playmate last week. I had sex with you in front of dozens of people. I’ve been terrible to you.”

Her smile wavered; she seemed to consider these events. “You didn’t have fun? I’m trying to be a good girlfriend for you. Is there something I could do differently? Better?”

He just stared a moment uncomprehendingly, before it dawned on him that she internalized his mistreatment of her as a result of something she’d done wrong. “Oh God, Brittney, no. That was my way of apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about any of it.” Her lower lip threatened to pout, as effective as a loaded gun to his head.

“No. No no no. Brittney, you’re incredible and I’ve been horrible to you and I’m sorry and you’ve been nothing but amazing to me.” He pulled her into his arms, burying his head in the golden hair cascading over her shoulder. She hugged him back tightly.

Well this isn’t how this was supposed to go at all. C’mon, DJ, you have an agenda. Get to it. He let her go and tried to segue back to his original plan. “Anyway, I was just worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m a big girl, and I had a lot of fun last week. I even finally got all the pebbles from your step-mom’s roof off my butt.”

He laughed. “Good, good—still got a few in my knees, I think. But look, I know our relationship is kinda weird, and I worry it might be a little much for someone as nice as you. Do you keep a journal or diary or anything? Something to write down your feelings about things?”

“No. You want me to write down how I’m feeling for you? I could just tell you, save a tree.”

Tempting, but sweet as she was, he didn’t trust her to be fully honest with him. She had to think it was something private. “No, I’m not trying to force a confession out of you or anything; I just know it’s one of those things emotionally healthy people do. To help make sense out of things, process them. It wouldn’t be for anyone else but you.”

Brittney twisted her lips a bit from side to side. “I dunno. I don’t usually do a lot of writing, but if you think it’ll help, I’ll do it for you.”

He smiled sweetly, and kissed her again. “Do it for you, Brit.”

She smiled back angelically. “OK. I’ll do it. Thanks for worrying about me, love.”

His heart skipped a beat at her choice of address, but he tried to mask it. “All right. You guys have fun, and I hope the writing goes well. Remember, it doesn’t need to be an essay; just write down how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking about, whatever’s going through your head.”

She nodded. “OK.”

DJ released her (after one more kiss—she really was just too beautiful to be ignored) and let her go back to her room, then settled in to wait for rounds with Emily.

Emily Turner gathered her gear for rounds with a sigh. She’d wanted to put in a request to switch shifts with someone else, but she knew she’d hurt DJ’s feelings, and that was unseemly. She was raised Catholic, and her guilt was as much a part of her as her fingernails. Maybe more so.

It had been more than two weeks since that incident in the lounge, when he’d guillted her into giving him a blowjob while he fingered that chesty girl from the sixth floor. Ashley, she thought her name was. Then he’d talked her into finishing rounds naked, his cum on her face, in front of God and everyone.

She’d lost her family’s trust and support as a result of the pictures that had gotten out. Maybe their love, too, though she couldn’t make herself think about that. These past weeks had been hard enough without that.

Two weeks of getting leered at, cat-called, slut-shamed and propositioned wherever she went. Last night she’d encountered one of her residents’ boyfriends by the water fountain, and even as that wolfish grin appeared, his girlfriend rushed over and literally dragged him away, glaring at Emily like she’d been been caught in the act of seducing him.

Emily had a boyfriend, for fuck’s sake, a Marine overseas in Afghanistan, and she was content to wait. (Well, she used to have one, anyway; she didn’t know if someone had told him about the photos yet, and how he’d react when he found out.) She had urges, sure, but nothing a few minutes with her vibrator couldn’t quell. Only now, half the guys she ran into treated her like she’d been asking them to bend her over.

It was a hard line to walk, for sure. On the one hand, having everyone think she was a slut was mortifying after working hard to cultivate a hands-off demeanor where men were concerned. She wasn’t frigid; she was just a good Catholic girl and a loyal girlfriend. She was confident in her body and good looks, she dressed like someone who was proud of her body, but she was strictly look-but-don’t-touch.

On the other hand, there were the consequences of standing up for herself, telling everyone she hadn’t wanted to blow DJ, much less be paraded around naked and cum-smeared. Telling them she had wanted to slap him across the face for how he’d treated her. Yet even thinking it, she shuddered in revulsion. Doing that would be like getting a swastika tattooed on her forehead. A dozen of them. Then going and screaming the n-word at the MLK Jr. memorial.

No, it was just something she’d have to put up with.

Speak of the devil and soon enough there he was, waiting for her in their usual spot to begin rounds. Rounds were pretty simple—just a quick tour around all the separate floors and units in the dorm, check to make sure the building was secure and residents were behaving. They did rounds once at 10pm and again at midnight. Nine times out of ten, they passed without incident, and the other time, it was usually something trivial like someone’s alarm going off after they’d left for the evening. Tonight, she just hoped it wouldn’t be the sight of her bare, freshly fucked ass doing cartwheels down the hallway to amuse her rounds partner.

To diminish the likelihood, she’d come out in a frumpy gray sweat suit, her hair pulled back in a pony tail, and no makeup whatsoever. She was a pretty girl, sure, but this was about as unattractive as she could manage without sprinkling dirt on her face or contracting some kind of wasting disease. DJ looked plainly disappointed as he rounded the corner. Which stung, but still.

“Wow, Emily, you not feeling OK?”

“Nah, just comfy,” she said tersely. “Let’s go.”

She’d always been short with DJ, really. Not that she disliked him; he just didn’t seem like he was especially interesting, and she usually didn’t try to make new male friends. Her boyfriend was the jealous type, for one, and for two, it just seemed to invite drama, which she cared for not at all. She had never meant to be rude to him; she simply kept to herself where he was concerned to keep things simple. He wasn’t unusual in this regard; it was her default attitude towards guys.

Most nights they’d been on duty together, they barely said a word. Tonight began much the same, which was fine by her—she was still so haunted, so livid, so humiliated from their last encounter.

Worse, she hated all the spiteful thoughts she had about him, even though she couldn’t stop having them no matter how hard she tried.

They made it through three floors before he started to talk to her.

He cleared his throat nonchalantly. “So hey, about that thing the other week...”

“It was nothing, OK? You already apologized, water under the bridge.” She tried to dismiss the topic as hard as possible without being too impolite. He’d come to her the next day to apologize, and she’d blown him off, lied to him about her feelings and the fallout to stop him from feeling bad. No mere apology could make things go back to how they were, and telling him how hard it had made things for her would make him feel bad and thus make her feel worse. Her muscles tensed.

“I wasn’t going to apologize again. I just wanted to ask you about it, if that’s OK.”

I don’t ever want to talk about it again with anyone, especially not you. I didn’t then, and I didn’t now. “Sure, go ahead.”

He held the door for her as they reached the stairwell and headed down to the next floor. “So, I was kinda hard on you that night, I know.”

She shrugged indifferently. “Yeah, I guess.” ...that you’re a fucking asshole, she finished mentally, then kicked herself. She was better than that.

“So like, do you regret it?”

It took her three tries to hold her hand steady enough to get her key in the lock so they could enter the next floor. “Regret it? I mean, it wasn’t how I’d planned on spending my night, obviously. But whatever.” UGH, Emily, how can you be so fucking rude?

He waved a hand. “No no, I mean like... I know you were fine with it at the time. But how do you feel about it now? Have your feelings changed any? Wish you’d done anything differently? Put up a fight, said no, stormed out...?”

You forgot ‘cut your balls off and feed them to you’, mother fucker. She entertained a split-second-long fantasy of what her boyfriend would do to DJ if he found out, leaving him in a bloody heap by the dumpsters. Even as she thought it, she mentally kicked herself. She’d never actually do anything to hurt him, no matter how upset she was, and part of her mind was beginning to get fed up with the anti-DJ bigotry she was dealing out. “Nah, I guess it was all fine. You did what you had to do, and I did what I had to do.”

He was silent for a time as they proceeded through the lounge and down the adjoining hallway. She paused to ask a guy to lower the volume on his music a bit, given the hour. Then he addressed her again. “What does that mean? That you ‘did what you had to do.’”

She considered. It was hard to phrase; she wanted to tell him she’d let him rape her mouth out of some combination of pity and basic human decency. “I dunno, DJ, like... you demanded things, and I didn’t want to be some psycho-bitch and say no, make a fuss, make you feel bad.”

“Does that mean you didn’t want to do it?”

Is he seriously asking me if I didn’t want to suck his cock and receive a facial and finish rounds in nothing but my panties? Seriously? “Hey, if the options were doing it or rejecting you, then yeah, by that standard I guess I ‘wanted to.’ If you’re asking if I was about to suggest it on my own before you brought it up... I don’t know what to tell you.” She rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh before she could stop herself.

She immediately felt horrible about it, about showing such acrimony to DJ of all people. It reminded her of when she’d had that outburst right after he’d sprayed his cum in her eye, and how awful she’d felt after complaining. It was just a little light passive aggressiveness, but still, it was wrong to show that kind of defiance. No, not “wrong”—evil. She felt sick to her stomach over it.

She knew if he pushed the slightest bit, she’d beg his forgiveness for even half-suggesting she hadn’t wanted it. Even though she hadn’t in the least.

Thankfully, he didn’t. They were on the last floor before he spoke again. Her nerves over her not-quite-spite had calmed, but only barely. “What if I asked you to do it again?”

She froze in her tracks so quickly that he ran into her from behind before he could swerve to avoid her. “The same thing again? In the lounge, with that other girl...?” Oh please don’t let him want that. I’ll do it, I’ll do it to make up for what a bitch I’ve been to him, but please, please don’t want that.

“Well, not necessarily a reenactment, but you know, just to fool around again. Have some fun.”

Tension flooded out of her as the specter of another public three-way faded into the part of her brain where nightmares lurked unseen. Normal playing around she could tolerate no problem. It was the least she deserved for her unseemly outburst. “Sure, that’d be fine. Great, even.” She forced a smile.

“Awesome,” he said as he held the final door open for her. 10:00 rounds were over. “How about I swing by your room in a while and we’ll do what we do?”

“Cool, I’ll see you in a bit then.”

She raised her walkie talkie to her mouth and hit the button. They had to sign off after rounds so another staff member, who was on call in case of emergencies and the like, would know they were done. “Rounds complete.”

“Copy that,” the other staffer’s voice replied, followed by the usual burst of static.

Emily practically flew back to her room. She’d been horrible to him before. I don’t know what to tell you, her words echoed in her ears, the snotty tone like an arrow to her heart. What a mean-spirited fucking cunt. Whatever he wanted, she’d do it. She could be better than this. Sure, he’d ruined her life, but that didn’t mean she had to stoop to his level.

She rushed to the shower to shave her legs and trim her pubes; he hadn’t gotten to see those before, so she didn’t know how he’d like her kitty to look. She’d never actually worried about what a guy thought about such things before—she was plenty hot and she knew it.

Still, she’d been rude to DJ.

Kind of. The bastard. Dammit, there I go again! What’s wrong with me?!

After drying off, Emily reached for her sweat suit again, but thought better of it. After how she’d been acting, he deserved better than that baggy shapeless thing. A swift kick in the balls is what he really deserves.

OK, that was it. This couldn’t just be indulgence; it had to be a penance. With a heavy heart, she knew what she had to do. To punish herself for being so terrible. To prove to herself she was capable of better. She rummaged through her closet until she found a little box she’d nearly forgotten she had, and emptied its contents onto her bed.

Can I really do this?

Can I really not?

It was more than an hour before he arrived. She’d expected him before she finished getting dressed—but that was fine. He could take his time. Whatever he wanted. She would be a good girl. In the interim, she’d actually fallen asleep, and woke up to his wolf whistle after he opened her door without knocking.

It was a well-justified one, too. To help put her conscience to rest, she’d picked out the absolutely sluttiest thing she had on hand: a fetish cop costume her boyfriend had talked her into wearing when he was stateside last Halloween nearly a year ago.

It was a dress made of glossy black latex not quite long enough to cover her butt, allowing the barest glimpse of the bottom of the black latex thong if she took anything but the smallest steps. A silver zipper held it together, which she presently had unzipped nearly to her navel; only the tightness of the material kept her breasts from bursting out of it. There were knee-high black leather boots with towering heels, coupled with fishnet stockings sporting tiny handcuff bangles at the tops, and a pair of regular-sized handcuffs clasped onto the belt. A hat, a pair of fingerless black gloves and a little star badge on the breast completed the ensemble.

When her boyfriend had bought it for her, she’d nearly slapped him—she didn’t go for such things, and certainly hadn’t agreed to wear it to their friends’ Halloween party like he’d wanted. She’d amused him in the bedroom with it to soothe his hurt feelings. (OK, so she wasn’t always a good Catholic girl.)

Emily sure wasn’t going to be one tonight.

She stood up, shaking off sleep hurriedly and fervently hoping he shut her door before anyone walked by. “I take it you approve?” She managed a flattered smile, she was pretty sure, even as she cringed inside. She spun in place slowly, letting him see her from all angles. Emily could practically feel his eyes on her butt, and doubted he even noticed the positively whorish level of makeup she’d put on, bright red lipstick and heavy blush and eyeliner. Like it or not, you owe him this. And you deserve it, you bitch.

“Damn, Emily, I had no idea you were into this kind of stuff.”

“Usually I’m not, but I figured you’d like it, so...”

He grinned like a kid in a candy store. It was probably impossible for a hetero male to look at her in this getup and not do so. “You know, I was really worried that you were still pissed at me, for before.”

“Still pissed”?! Oh no! That meant he had realized she’d been mad at him! What must he think of her! How long had he been feeling this, that she was some egomaniacal psychopath who couldn’t handle a facial and some exhibitionism for the sake of common decency?! She wanted to wash her mouth out with soap for her hurtful words, her eyes for ungrateful looks. To wash her soul.

That did it. If she’d had an ounce of hesitancy before, it was washed away in her tsunami of guilt.

“Pissed? DJ, I could never be pissed at you!” she said emphatically, hoping he wouldn’t notice her fists clench at the lie of it. “Nothing could be further from the truth!”

“You’re sure? Really, Emily, I know you want to be polite or whatever, but if there’s any part of you that wants to, please feel free to yell at me, hit me, knife me, whatever.”

Each fantasy of hers he named was more damning than the last. She’d even dreamed of choking him to death one night before waking up in a cold sweat, but she’d made peace with it because she didn’t control her dreams. To hear him say them out loud, as if he knew she’d been thinking them, made her want to crawl into a hole and die.

“No! DJ, please. I was just surprised at the time. I actually really loved it. That was one of the hottest things I’ve ever done.” He looked plainly unconvinced. “Really! It was so hot, having you just... take charge like that. So manly, impulsive. I was so turned on,” she said, pawing at his chest affectionately as she tried to use his frame to block sight of her from the still-open door. Though that barely mattered to her now. Being thought of as a slut was nothing compared to being thought of as anti-DJ.

“Seriously?” He still looked skeptical, but it was a rare man who wasn’t susceptible to this much flattery from a girl like her. “You seemed upset, at the time. Embarrassed, even, when I... you know.”

Showed me off like your personal jizz-trophy? “No, I was just trying to be a good girl, that’s all—good girls aren’t supposed to like stuff like that, right? I thought it was crazy hot.” She nodded earnestly, taking his hips in her hands.

“Even when we walked around the building? I know—now—that Ashley’s into that stuff, but I didn’t figure you were.”

Of course I’m not, you fucking...! Emily stopped herself mid-curse. She was getting better. That was good. “Oh no, I just didn’t want to admit it. You have no idea how wet you made me, DJ. It’s just, um, embarrassing, ya know, to be turned on by things like that, for us good girls.”

Her colleague looked like he was finally beginning to believe her, thank God. “Good girl? Pretty sure good girls don’t dress up in stuff like that, Officer Turner.”

“What are you talking about? I’m an officer of the law,” she said playfully. “I’m the goodest girl there is.”

He took a step back, eyeing her appraisingly. One of the girls on her floor walked by, doing a double-take at seeing her RA dressed like a slutty cop, then continued on before she could disrupt DJ. Smart girl. “And you’re sure you mean it?”

She nodded vigorously. “Every word.”

“You swear to God? On your life? On your mother’s soul?”

Emily hesitated. That was a strong oath. But then, how much worse would her mother think of her for being rude to DJ? “I swear.”

He relaxed, the last of his skepticism vanishing. “Well OK, then. Let’s go do rounds.”

Wait, WHAT?! She blinked. She was sure he’d been about to throw her on the bed and fuck her senseless. Probably use those stupid handcuffs or something, destroy the happy memory she had of her boyfriend doing just that. She’d been prepared for that. But this! To have to go out into the public eye dressed like this! He took a step toward the door, turning to hold out a hand to guide her by.

What choice did she have?

Swallowing the last shattered fragments of her pride, she took his hand and stepped out into the hallway.

As they went through their midnight rounds, she tried to maintain her sanity by taking every horrible indignity she suffered and making herself say something positive about the situation.

“C’mon, Em, put a little wiggle into your step,” DJ urged as they proceeded. She complied, of course, putting one foot in front of the other, her buttocks jiggling like crazy as she walked, the tiny little dress unable to keep up with the fleshquake of it and revealing far more than even the designers of this skimpy thing had intended. At least it’s making him happy.

As they descended the first flight of stairs, two guys stopped in their tracks at the sight of her, plainly looking right up the tiny dress at her glossy black thong. DJ took her by the waist to stop her, inviting the guys to take a nice long look. Good to know I have the body to pull this off, anyway.

The next floor was a guy’s floor; one fratty-looking douchebag was leaving the shower in a towel and stopped to leer at her perky little breasts jiggling slightly between the gap in the zipper. He invited her to frisk him, and she ignored it. As she walked past him, he griped that for being so fresh, he ought to at least get a little spanking. DJ had laughed; he obviously thought it would be funny. Mortified, she about-faced and gave him a few playful swats on his behind. This is still better than the last time. I have my clothes on. Kind of. And no jizz on me.

She kept track of the slights she heard in her wake (some of them meant as compliments). “Skank.” “Hot-ass bitch.” “Should fire her.” “No self-esteem.” “Sweet piece of ass.” “Slut.” “Fucking slut.” “Shameless slut.” “Gutterslut.” Forget them. No matter how I’m dressed, I still know my own self-worth. What’s left of it.

And so on. JP took his time, indulging her admirers periodically by stopping her so they could get a good long look, posing her. Once again, bold horny geeks managed to get snapshots of her. This time she at least was technically covered, but now she was also adopting sultry poses, clearly playing along with what was happening.

They were on the second-to-last floor when they hit a snag. They could hear the tell-tale sounds of a party as soon as they stepped onto the floor—loud voices, louder music, bottles clinking. It was a no-brainer of a bust. Emily was the sort who did her job, rain or shine; she was pro-legalization and pro-lowering the drinking age, but the people who paid her room, board and stipend said to address it, so she did. Besides, the campus judicial system was a joke anyway; people got pissed off when they got busted, but the sanctions were usually just a slap on the wrist.

Except tonight, she was dressed like a police whore.

DJ clearly heard it too. “Should we?” she asked. Normally not a question for her, but she’d be happy to avoid it this time. She tried to inflect it to suggest it wasn’t worth dealing with.

“Hey, be a shame if you got all dressed up like this for nothing,” DJ laughed. “C’mon, let’s give ’em a little thrill.” He approached the door behind which the noises were coming, and knocked firmly. There was the usual scuffle: someone looking out the peephole, a hiss that it was the RAs, the sounds of bottles and cans and cups being hidden away, the music silencing as someone stalled them with questions and excuses shouted in a nervously guilty tone. Routine.

They didn’t take quite long enough to merit a second knock. The door opened to a room of five college students, two guys and three girls. It was one of the guys who answered the door—it was a men’s floor, so probably the guy who lived here—while two of the girls sat cross-legged on the bed as the final two occupants lounged together on a bean-bag chair on the floor.

“Hey, sorry about the noise,” said the resident. Robbie, if the nametag on the door was to be believed. “We’ll keep it... um... we’ll...” He trailed off, his eyes diverting from DJ to Emily. “Wait, are you RA’s?”

“We sure are,” DJ replied.

“Uh, both of you?” He looked skeptically to Emily, where his eyes remained.

“What, she doesn’t look authoritative?” DJ joked. “So c’mon, we know you were partying, let’s see the booze and get on with this.”

“Booze? We weren’t drinking—we were just hanging out.” His friends nodded as one to verify their innocence.

“Ugh. Already sick of being lied to. Emily, slap him.”

It was hard to say whether Emily or Robbie looked more startled. “You... want me to slap him?”

He just nodded. What should she do? Hitting someone was... wrong. Illegal. Fireable. Mean, dangerous, nothing like her.

But it might help make DJ happy.

“OW!” Robbie yelled, rubbing his sore cheek. His friends looked around at one another nervously.

“Now, where’s the booze...” DJ looked at the name on the door. “Robbie?”

He looked to his friends. “Um, like I said, there isn’t any.”

DJ sighed, annoyed. “Well, I’d wanted to do this the easy way, but sure. Let’s make it fun.” He pointed to one of the girls, a cute-ish blonde, pale and waifish. “You there, blondie. C’mere.”

She looked around, like he might have meant some other blonde, then reluctantly stood up. (Emily noticed the neck of a bottle of rum poking out from under the blanket she’d been sitting in front of.) The girl stopped in front of DJ.

“Can you touch your toes, Miss...?”

“Chloe.”

“Can you touch your toes, Chloe?”

“Yeah,” she said nervously.

“Oh? Good, go ahead then.” He put a hand on her back and pushed until she complied, which didn’t take long. She held still even as he grabbed her work-out shorts and pulled them down, along with her little pink panties. Pale as she was, there were still tan lines visible on her even paler ass as it sat out on display.

“Not bad, not bad. I think Emily here’s got a better one—dare say she’s got one of the nicest asses I’ve seen—but not bad. Speaking of Emily...” He gestured for her to approach him and blondie, and she did, of course.

“Emily, I want you to spank this girl. Good and hard. Then count down from three, slowly, and do it again, and again, and so on.”

Emily sighed, horrified to be a part of humiliating and harming this poor girl, but she had no choice. With an open palm, she cracked down, hard. The girl yelped. “Three... two... one...” Smack. “Three... two... one...” Smack.

“Now Robbie, you can save your little friend here—” Smack. “—a lot of pain and embarrassment if you just cooperate—” Smack. “—with us.”

“Ow! C’mon, you guys, this really hurts!” Chloe pleaded. DJ grabbed a sock from the floor and shoved it in her mouth. She squealed around it fretfully.

Robbie and his other friends were sufficiently mesmerized by the slut cop punishing their friend’s cute little ass that she got another in before he finally launched into action, urging his friends to cooperate. With a nod from DJ, Emily kept at it as they produced the rum, a bottle of JD, and a partially empty 24-pack of some cheap-ass beer from under some dirty laundry in the closet.

“There, that’s all of it!” he said. The guys were all staring at Chloe’s bright red ass. Emily had tried to spread things around as much as she could, hoping that would help, but still, it would definitely be a long day for her tomorrow, she was sure.

“I don’t believe you.” Emily didn’t either, truth be told; she read people pretty well, and scared, drunk freshmen were easier to read than most. DJ took the rum and poured it out the window calmly, then walked back over and handed the empty bottle to Emily. She was thankful for an excuse to cease the corporal punishment.

“Emily, shove the bottle in Chloe’s ass.”

“What!” Emily exclaimed. “No way, you can’t possibly expect me to do that!”

DJ frowned at her. “I thought you were into this kind of thing. Outfit like that, I figured you were hella kinky.”

The guilt for her outburst hit her like a blow to the breadbasket. Jesus, she couldn’t be civil to him for ten little minutes! “Sorry, I am—just surprised you were too,” she said, grinning slyly, sick inside. She gritted her teeth a moment, then placed the end of the bottle at the blonde girl’s exposed asshole. She hesitated, then took the neck of the bottle into her mouth and gave it a thorough tongue bath. This would be brutal enough as it was without at least some lubrication.

“Aw, that’s sweet of you,” DJ said as she got back to it. She could barely hear him over Chloe’s muffled screams as the bottle slid into her tight little ass, inch by inch. Emily was just glad the bottle had a relatively thin neck. Her heart went out to her; she wished she could apologize without offending DJ.

DJ looked back to Chloe’s horrified friends. “Now, kiddies, if I don’t have the rest of the alcohol in my hand in the next ten seconds, Emily here is going to butt-fuck your friend here like she wronged her in another life. You get me?”

They were stunned, just staring at the slut-cop braced to go to town on their friend’s tender ass numbly. “Clock started, genius. Six... five... four...”

Robbie and the others launched themselves into action. DJ charitably slowed his count, and by the time he was done, there was a fifth of vodka, an untouched case of fruity girl drinks from the bin over his closet, and a bong.

“No weed?”

“I don’t have any right now, I swear, you can search the room, whatever, just don’t...” He looked to Emily pleadingly.

“He’s telling the truth,” Emily said quickly. Please, please please don’t make me do this.

DJ considered. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” She let out a breath she’d not realized she’d been holding. “All right now, we’re confiscating this, and letting you off with a warning. You people keep your music down, and be good little boys and girls from now on.”

They all murmured promises that they would—except Robbie, who was just too stupid to know when to quit. “Hey! You can’t confiscate that—you’re supposed to pour it out. I got busted last year—you can’t just steal my stuff, man.” He looked at DJ’s impassive face. “Um, sir.”

DJ shook his head reprovingly. “Emily, give blondie a taste.”

She wanted to say no. Run away. Take the bottle and smash it over his head. Break it off and slash his throat with the jagged glass. And each such thought deepened her remorse until she was overwhelmed with the need to be good to him. To be perfect to him. To prove to him she wasn’t the horrid person she knew in her mind she truly must be to have such thoughts. She would be perfect to him.

Emily broke.

“All right, you little bitch, time to show your friend what a bad, bad boy he’s been,” she said menacingly. DJ wanted her to be a Bad Cop. She could do that for him. She pulled the bottle out until she saw the lip, then slid it back in. She struck up a rhythm, soon working it as quickly as the tight little chute would let her. The blonde girl wailed impotently behind her sock-gag. Emily slapped her reddened ass a few times, too. DJ had liked that. The girl struggled, but only slightly.

DJ watched, smiling arrogantly at all present as Emily savaged the girl’s ass. Robbie begged her to stop, apologized repeatedly first to DJ then to Chloe and a couple of times to God—but Emily didn’t let up. DJ wanted this bitch ass-fucked, she was going to ass-fuck this bitch. It was that simple.

“All right, Officer Turner, I think she’s had enough,” DJ finally said. Emily grunted, playing up her Bad Cop persona, reluctant to be pulled away from a perp. She gave a last hard thrust into Chloe’s ass, hard enough she fell forward onto the floor. She lay there shaking, sobbing, the bottle twitching uncomfortably where it was lodged. Robbie knelt beside her to comfort her, but she elbowed him away.

“Now, anyone else have complaints about confiscation? No?” He eyed them imperiously. “Thought not. Now take care of your friend, and keep the noise down.” He grabbed the girly drinks and the vodka and walked out. In the hall, more than a dozen other residents were lurking, waiting to see who would come out of the door. Upon seeing Emily strutting out—and she was strutting, that’s what DJ wanted to see—the men went goggle-eyed. She walked right by them, sashaying enticingly for her partner’s viewing pleasure.

When they reached the lounge, DJ suddenly all but tackled her, driving her thin body up against one of the walls. Her desire to complain was silent. Her instinct to resist was a memory. All she could think to do right now was be whatever DJ wanted her to be. It was the only choice. Her salvation.

She could feel his hard-on through his pants, through her little dress, pressing right up against her ass, rubbing against her. His hands groped about for the zipper and started pulling it down. It was undone in an instant, but the latex clung to her body tenaciously to the point that removing it required him to literally peel it off of her. He spun her around and kissed her, hard, and she returned it as fiercely, wrapping one slender leg around his waist to lock his body against her.

“What you did in there, how you were in there, that was so fucking hot,” he said as his hands pawed hungrily at her petite breasts, squeezing them not-quite-painfully.

“Being your little Bad Cop bitch, you mean?” She moaned theatrically for him as he took a nipple into his mouth and nipped at it with his teeth. It didn’t feel very good, but that didn’t matter. She owed him. She wanted to better understand how to be good for him, make things right.

“No, you were so...” he cut off frustratingly as he found the other nipple.

“Bossy? Mean? Cruel? Dominating?” she prompted, sneaking a hand down to finger her pussy, trying to get herself ready in case he was going to fuck her. Or shove a bottle in her, perhaps, who knew. Whatever he wanted.

He chuckled a little as he let up. “There it is again. You’re just so... eager to please,” he said, grabbing her ass in both hands. She wriggled a little. Guys always loved her ass. “Obedient.”

Ah, so that’s what he’s into. Of course. She smiled at him adoringly. “You like it when I’m your obedient little partner, do you?” She clenched her butt, just catching some of his finger-tips.

“It’s just... well, usually I have to be a little more direct, break down resistance.”

“I’d never resist you, DJ. I’ll do anything you want. Just tell me what it is.” And she would. Her hatred for him kept clashing with her guilt over feeling it, with the latter coming out stronger and stronger with each fresh wave. As terrible as she felt for hating him, she’d do anything she could to make it better.

He eyed her with interest, specifically a sort of predatory, male interest. “Lift your arms over your head.”

She obeyed instantly. Her pert little tits lifted as well; what little underboobage she had was on display. He smiled like a toddler who’d found a new toy as he traced his fingers over her exposed body possessively.

“Stand on one foot.” She did. The balancing wasn’t easy, but she’d taken some martial arts classes with her dad when she was younger, and that bad been part of it. She was glad she knew how to obey well. She wobbled on her planted foot, but only a little.

“Jump up and down.” She did, her breasts bouncing wildly, fighting not to fall as she bounced on one foot.

“Do jumping jacks.” Emily obeyed, relieved to have both feet under her. She counted them off as she did them.

“Bark like a dog.”

He hadn’t said to stop what she had been doing, so she just added it in. “ARF! Sixteen. ARF! Seventeen. ARF! Eighteen. ARF!”

“Now like a big dog.”

“Twenty. WOOF! Twenty-one. WOOF! Twenty-two. WOOF!”

DJ just watched and laughed at her unabashedly, finally ordering her to a halt after fifty-six. Emily just smiled at him mildly as she caught her breath, eager to complete the next portion of her self-imposed penance.

He gave her plenty of opportunities, obviously elated at the power she’d given him over her. She crab-walked around the room, then bear-walked, then did the splits (frontways and sideways), a few cartwheels... the guy wanted a circus act more than a blowjob, it seemed.

It was nearing 1am before he finally tired of just leering at her. She was in the midst of doing wall-stands, a hand-stand with her feet against the wall, trying to see how wide she could spread her legs in that position. DJ stood over her, gently caressing her thighs, her ass, her pussy. She did her best to think of things that aroused her so she’d be wet for him as he’d no doubt enjoy. Her arms and legs and abs and glutes and even her neck muscles were all on fire from the exertions she’d put them through.

“Emily, do you like to roleplay?” he asked without summary.

She didn’t, as a matter of fact; it had always felt distracting and awkward. Yet her loathing had reached a point where independent thought felt impossible around him. Her answers came automatically as the one she thought he’d most enjoy. She was human garbage, so she deserved nothing better.

“Oh, you know I do.” She tried to smile, even though she was pretty sure he couldn’t see her face in her upside-down position.

He eased her off the wall, then helped her up to her feet. She pressed her naked, sweaty body against his, anxious to hear his next command.

Then he dangled the handcuffs from her costume in front of her eyes.

He didn’t say a word as he walked her across the lounge and closed them around one wrist, then wound the chain through through the bars in the radiator, then put on the other one. Emily was only glad it hadn’t gotten cool enough yet that the radiator was turned on. She could no longer stand up all the way, and whatever she did, her back was presented to him, her sweat-glistening ass thrust out for his amusement.

“You know, any more, people always go along with whatever I want,” DJ said, his words seeming to address her pussy rather than her face. “I thought it might be fun to see what it would be like if they didn’t.”

Comprehension dawned on her. “You... want me to pretend I don’t want it.”

DJ nodded, licking his lips hungrily. She could practically hear his cock twitching in his pants. “Is that OK with you? If that’s too much, that’s fine.”

Emily’s fragile, wounded, chaotic little mind tried to process this. She definitely didn’t want him to fuck her.

She hated him. Which made her hate herself. Which made her want to show she could be better. Which made her want to be good for him. Which, now, meant pretending she hated him. Which she did. Which made her hate herself...

“Yeah, you better fucking let me out of here, you fucking pussy,” she said angrily. “Get these fucking cuffs off me right this fucking second or I swear to God I’ll kill you when I get out of here.”

DJ blinked in surprised, then smiled as he saw the game had begun. Smiles were weird; they didn’t make any sense to her any more. How could anyone smile when the world was so devoid of anything good?

She tried to kick at him, but he was too far away. He maintained his safe distance as he disrobed, and there it was again, that cock she’d sucked on film, that had coated her face and ruined her life. “You asshole! How could you do this to me!” she shrieked.

After a few more vicious-but-ineffectual kicks, she lost her balance and fell to a knee. DJ was on her in a second, grabbing her waist and pulling her up to her standing position, still bent from the cuffs. Emily had taken womens’ self-defense classes; she had a few techniques she could use right now that would at least make him regret this, if not release her altogether. She wanted to. She wanted so bad.

God she was a horrible person.

Instead, she struggled feebly, like the weak, fuckable little slut he wanted her to be.

DJ fucked her. She wasn’t especially wet, but it was enough, and he’d been turned on enough from her display of obedience that her new act of disobedience drove him over the edge in mere minutes. It felt like hours. Hours of despising herself for having to seem to pretend not to mean the things she meant wholeheartedly, baring the ugliest part of herself for his entertainment.

When he came in her and pulled out, she’d never been more relieved. He took a few steps back and watched her sink to her knees, genuinely weeping and trembling.

“Emily... are you... OK? It was just pretend, right? Right? Tell me you’re OK.” His voice, somehow, sounded genuinely concerned. Why would anyone be concerned for her? She was worthless. Not even her own mom could love her any more. Which was good. Emily loved her mom; she deserved a better daughter.

She made herself smile, awkwardly managed to brush the tears from her face. DJ doesn’t want to see me crying. I can still try to be good. That’s all that’s left. “Oh! Yeah, I’m super fine. That was CRAZY hot. Being chained to a radiator and fucked like a little bitch... so fucking HOT.”

He still looked concerned. “You’re... sure?”

Dammit, now she was making him feel guilty again! “What? Oh geez, that was all acting, DJ. Seriously, I loved it.” She nodded earnestly. “You wanna do it again? I’m still so fucking horny for you!” She waggled her ass at him enticingly.

At last, he looked relieved. “Good. I... got a little carried away there. You’re just so damn hot, and I... sorry. Anyway.”

She helped him find the key in its hidden compartment behind the badge and he unlocked her, kissing her sore wrists tenderly. She wanted to vomit, which made her smile all the brighter as she thanked him.

Then she sank to her knees and begged him to let her suck his cock. At this point, he didn’t need much convincing, and didn’t seem to even consider she might not be sincere. It took a while to get him ready again—which didn’t matter, none of her needs mattered compared to his—but before long she felt him twitching in her mouth.

She pulled off at the last minute and aimed him at her face, coaxing every last drop of jizz she could out of him before she was content. He got dressed; she didn’t. She sauntered out of the lounge completely naked, coated in DJ’s spunk, for the second time. She wasn’t even in a hurry. She wanted this—she needed this. DJ followed behind, taking in the sight of her undulating hips as she swaggered like a peacock through the last floor on their rounds.

No one was misbehaving. Only one resident was out in the halls, a scrawny little geek who looked shocked to see her. She just winked at him with the one eye that wasn’t covered over in cum. He watched her until she reached the door and stepped out into the night air.

Emily raised her walkie talkie. “Rounds complete.”