The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Tolerant

Chapter Eight

Life was pretty good for DJ for a while. As the weeks passed, he made a few adjustments to his routine, and began living the life of a king. Per his promise, he made Ashley his queen, and her rule-with-an-iron-fist was a nice complement to his rule-with-an-apathetically-waved-hand. His residents didn’t like it, having to heed someone else’s whimsical rules, but he made a couple harsh examples and they soon toed the line.

Peace was achieved.

He’d worried—secretly, selfishly—that Ashley would wind up blocking him from other women, but in actuality, far from it. She’d vetoed a small handful of the girls on his floor and around campus and prohibited them for petty interpersonal reasons, though really, only one or two of them would he have considered anyway. The good-looking girls on her wrong side, she arranged for DJ to dish out a little punishment to. (She reasoned that they would tolerate the consequences handily, just as she and Emily had their first night together—so why not let her have her vicarious fun?)

She didn’t even veto Brittney, although… that was complicated.

The dilemma was introduced one afternoon while Ashley was at one of her art classes. (DJ no longer had classes; Ashley had convinced him to just email his profs and tell them the grade he expected—he’d have his whole life to get educated if he wanted to. He only went to campus to troll for ass, or meet up with Ashley.)

Anyway, Brittney stopped by, and before he even laid a finger on her, he texted a quick Brittney…? to Ashley, an implicit question of whether she was OK with his dalliance, and whether she’d like to join in. He kept it short—nothing to emphasize his particular interest in this case.

K came the reply. She wasn’t usually verbose, but still, one letter was uncommonly terse. He was suspicious, and opted to play it safe.

He invited her over and the beauty queen cheerfully accepted. They cuddled when she turned on a Disney movie, but both of them fell asleep before anything lurid could happen. Ashley came home to find them as such, and while it wasn’t unheard of for her to come home and find another woman in their bed, but there was an awkwardness about it today. Ashley offered to let them chill; Brittney declined and made an excuse to leave.

The tension lingered after, and DJ finally had to probe it. They had such a good thing; he didn’t want any unspoken issues disrupting it. “Is everything OK?” he asked tentatively. She gave him a one-word answer, so he pressed a little harder.

“Sorry, just… something about that girl,” she said uneasily. “It’s nothing.”

DJ was at least aware enough to know it’s nothing meant you damn well better find out what it is and fix it, so he turned to her earnestly. “Ash, talk to me.”

She fidgeted a while; he wasn’t used to this Ashley, this taciturn, anxious version. He waited patiently until she finally blurted, “she’s too hot!”

DJ arched an eyebrow, surprised. Ashley was an attractive woman, by any standard. Maybe she wasn’t a perfect ten, but she was happy in her skin and was generally confident that whatever her physical short-comings, she made up for in sheer pizzazz. “What do you mean, ‘too hot’? She’s not that hot.” (She was, but this wasn’t the time for honesty.)

“Eat my ass, Deej. She’s stupidly hot and it just… I dunno. It makes me… nervous.”

“Nervous? You have nothing to worry about. It’s just casual fun, same as any other girl we play around with.”

Only it wasn’t. Saying it out loud made him realize just how untrue the sentiment was. Fact of the matter was, DJ liked Brittney—more than just the carnal. (Though he liked that, too. Quite a lot, actually.)

Still. She wasn’t Ashley.

“See, you say that, but when was the last time I came home to find you sleep-cuddling another woman?”

“Last week, Emily,” he rebutted quickly.

“Emily doesn’t count. That’s like cuddling an inflatable doll or a security blanket.”

He laughed. “Sweetheart, really. There’s nothing to be paranoid about. And if you want to put her on the veto list, we’ll put her on the veto list.” DJ smiled, but inwardly, he was steeling himself.

“No,” she said at last after a long pause. “No, I know you guys are buddies. I’ll deal.”

DJ tipped her sullen chin up to look at him, and kissed her tenderly. “You don’t have to deal. You don’t want us hanging out, we don’t hang out. I’m putting her on the list. Period end.”

She opened her mouth to disagree, but he silenced her with a kiss, and by the time they stopped, the matter had been long since considered concluded.

Only… it wasn’t.

With opportunity, desire, and a healthy supply of boner pills courtesy of his tolerant local pharmacist, DJ marauded the campus at his leisure. Anywhere and everywhere was an opportunity, and increasingly, he just did what he felt like doing without even considering. On his own, he probably wouldn’t have, but Ashley was his most ardent cheerleader. If he saw some flowers he wanted to give to Ashley, he picked them out of the campus gardens and gave them to her. He saw someone with a candy bar he wanted, he took it. Nice boobs? He squeezed ‘em.

Nothing was off-limits to him any more.

Sara Bradshaw awakened with a start when her alarm notified her it was time to go to her next class. What a fucked up, dream, she thought. She didn’t want to forget it, so she decided to text her bestie, Hannah, about it. Hannah always liked hearing about these kinds of things—she luxuriated in the weird.

so u no how i nap in the union btwn classes? had KRZY dream 2day

Hannah replied quickly with a ???, so she continued, assured of her live audience.

so like i fell asleep rite? and in the dream, i was ALSO asleep in the union, and it started w waking up to find this guy feeling me up just sitting next 2 me squezing my tits like it was normal lol

Was it someone u know, or one of those fuzzy face stranger dream guys? Hannah asked.

neither—just sum rando

She was still typing when Hannah interjected again. Was it a nekkid dream? I get those sometimes, where I’m in public and in my underwear or something. Supposedly means your stressed or something…?

Sara deleted her text to reply. no like was wearing same clothes im really wearing now shut up so i can tell u she said, adding an lol to conceal her irritation. neway so in the dream i thought it was real and i was like who da fuq is u and he actually tells me its just a dream go back 2 sleep. so i look aroudn and theres like six ppl nearbye and none of them r even looking as he just gropes me, and i was like i don’t want him to but i just sat there and let him

lol—dream Sara is apparently a great big slut, Hannah joked.

i no! it was like i didnt want him 2 but i like couldn’t convince myself 2 stop him so like i just figured it must be a dream so like IN THE DREAM i went back 2 sleep and he just like lifts my shirt and undoes my bra and like even tho it was a dream he had trouble with it lol

Boobs like yours require some pretty serious hardware :P

shut up lol i cant help it! The lol was literal.

She was at her lecture hall by now, and found her usual seat in the front row—she always sat in front, to help her professors recognize her face and name. Hannah impatiently asked if that was the whole thing, so once she had her pen and notebook out, she resumed. sorry just settling in 2 class. so neway im like lying there ‘asleep’ and hes groping me, then he stops and im like whew and then he just moves he onto my back, climbs on top of me and just… ya

wtf is “ya”?!?!?! you can’t skip over the good stuff, Sar! >:(

you know, like, he put IT btwn my boobs and started rubbing it until he was happy

… you srsly let a guy titty-fuck you in a dream? also—you can’t just say “titty-fuck” even in a text message? Sara could practically hear her friend’s characteristic snark.

ok fine yes he titty-fucked me happy now? :—/ Sara didn’t like those kinds of words.

Not as happy as your dream stud, sounds like… Hannah retorted.

ugh ya he like totally got off all over my neck and my face and 4 a minute i worried it wasnt a dream but then like i heard him tell ppl to quit staring and i opened my eyes and noone was and like no way ppl wouldnt b looking if it was 4 real

Sara took a deep breath. It had been so vivid that it was all easy to recall. then he just put my bra back on and tugged my sweater down and left, and the dream ended and i woke up 2 my alarm

The professor was now in the front of the room getting his presentation ready; class would begin in a moment. that’s… insane, Hannah said, then quickly followed, you’re SURE it was a dream, right? That’s really freaking weird.

Sara rolled her eyes. Hannah always thought she had all these repressed sexual urges hidden just beneath the surface. duh—i definitely wouldnt put up with that shit—it was super weird and gross. def a dream—no worries. talk more l8r class is starting, Sara finished hurriedly and put the phone away as her professor took to his podium.

“Good evening, class. I got a lot of emails from you about the reading this week, so I wanted to start by…” As he spoke, his eyes focused increasingly on Sara in her front-row seat, then squinted, scrutinizing her attentively. “Um, Ms. Bradshaw? You’ve got… something…” He made a face.

Sara frowned at being in the spotlight so suddenly. Not knowing what he meant, she quickly got her phone back out and turned on the camera. There, staring back at her with an expression of dawning horror, was her face, and on her face—and her neck, and spotting her sweater—were numerous mostly-dried blobs of semen.

She fainted.

“I just happen to think we should all be working at what we’re best at,” DJ explained to his boss Katja. “Play to our strengths as the old saying goes. I know you’re concerned that Emily isn’t keeping up on her programs and that rounds aren’t always done quite how you want them to be, but maybe you just need to step back and re-think things.

“You see, each of us has talents and interests, and as someone working in the field of ‘student development,’ I’d expect you to appreciate my approach. I have an interest in girls, for example, so my rounds are often spent in developing that interest in my fellow students. Emily’s been a big help, honestly. Abby, too. And they’re both developing their own interest in pleasuring me, which I’m sure you can appreciate is perfectly natural for young women to do.

“As for programming, no, Emily’s girls aren’t being educated in a traditional sense, but I think there’s a lot for young women to learn from such a fine role model, don’t you? How to scurry, fetch, clean, pamper, wait, and otherwise please a man. Not that I think all of her girls are into men, but most are, and besides, sometimes targeting a particular demographic can enhance the educational outcomes.

“Now I don’t want to hear any more about you hassling them. Their job is keeping me satisfied, and they’re doing great at it. You, on the other hand… next time I have to come in here for some training, I expect your blowjobs to be much more refined than this. Ask Emily, if you need help—she’s a pro. I won’t stand for this kind of negligence to vital tasks, understand?”

Katja would have said yes, but there was a cock in her mouth.

“Looks like we’re almost all here,” Jeremy—or, to his fellow Upstanding Citizens guildies, Balzrog—said. “Should we just get going and let Bl00dlust catch up? I wanna see what this new expansion’s got for us.”

“Just gonna be the usual random mobs that kick our ass until our gear levels,” said Lamershamer, as ever trying to suck the fun out of things with his pessimism. Then again, healers could get away with murder, practically. “May as well get on with it. Again.”

So the three of them set out, wading into the new desert zone. It wouldn’t be hard for Bl00dlust to find them, nor would it take long for her to catch up in XP.

Balzrog wouldn’t have minded waiting, but his fellow Upstanding Citizens knew too well about the crush he’d had on her, and he was long since tired of their teasing. Jeremy and Miko had been guildies long enough to be friends in other social media, and she was a cutie, even aside from his thing for Asian girls. Bl00dlust—or Miko, her real name—had one of those really sexy voices, too, so just having her on v-chat was a plus in his book.

Ultimately he was glad they didn’t wait—it was nearly a half hour past start time when they finally heard her voice. “Sorry, guys. Um… something came up.” She sounded a little odd—and she’d left her microphone on, so there was a kind of constant buzz going.

“Bout time,” said MavRick88, their fourth member, as he dove free of the magma drake’s plasma surge. “No fuckin’ DPS without you in here, been hella slow going.”

“Actually, I wanted to tell you guys…” she said hesitantly. Her voice was a little faint, so Balzrog turned up his volume a little (and ate another plasma surge while his hands were away). He thought he heard another voice, also female, but even softer, say “go on and tell them Miko.”

He heard a sigh. “Do I have to?”

She must’ve been talking to whoever was in the room with her, but Lamershamer obviously hadn’t heard the other voice. “Hey, don’t do us any favors, bitch,” he said scornfully. He’d never liked gaming with a girl in the first place—the sexist things he said behind her back were just horrendous, and Balzrog wasn’t exactly what one would call a feminist.

“No, I wasn’t talking to—” SMACK “YEEEEE!” she squeaked, in the aftermath of that cracking noise. It nearly blew his ears out it was so loud; he had to adjust his volume again, and this time stopped short of the next mob. Lamershamer and MavRick88 stopped too.

“I’ve… recently learned—”

“Decided,” came that other female voice, admonishingly.

“I’ve recently decided that I am too much into Boy Things, and I need to learn how to be a girl. So… I’m, um, going to let Boy Things get into me.” There was definite mocking laughter coming over the mic now, unmistakeable.

“Bl00dlust? Are… you OK?” MavRick88 asked, concerned. She was usually kind of grim, their hard core killer. Hearing her say something like that was totally out of character for their sadistic demon-kin bounty hunter, and he was worried.

Balzrog, on the other hand, was rock hard. He opened up a town portal and the team ran through; there, in the town square, was Bl00dlust, standing in front of a fountain, battle axe in hand. It was an ultra-rare drop, and was rendered to constantly drip with blood.

“She’s fine,” came that other female voice, now right into the mic. “She’s just dropping her panties, bending over, and waiting to be mounted. Isn’t that right, Miko?”

“That’s right,” Miko said. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“Wrong attitude,” said the other girl. A moment later, the battle axe disappeared from Bl00dlust’s hand, followed by a howl of despair.

“Dammit all to hell! Do you know how rare that item is?! I spent MONTHS raiding for that, you—No—no no no no no NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” There went her armor; Bl00dlust stood there in the boring fur bra that covered the naked setting of her model. “Fine! Fine, I’ll be good, just STOP doing that!”

“You need to learn to be more feminine, tomboy. Soft and squishy and eager to please your man. Now get to it.” A sharp noise—fingers snapping?

By now, the guys were just text-chatting through the game; nobody wanted to talk over what seemed to be happening. iz this legit? Lamershamer asked.

She sounds like she’s being threatened or something MavRick88 said. I want to call the cops but I don’t even know where she lives.

Balzrog knew full well where she lived, but whatever concern he had for her well-being evaporated at the sound of a soft female grunt. He’d watched enough amateur porn to recognize the sound of a girl being penetrated by a cock bigger than what she was used to.

She was being mounted.

“She nice and tight?” Ashley asked. A man’s voice grunted.

She’s just role-playing, getting off on this—let her have her fun, Balzrog said. The mic suddenly moved close enough to Miko’s face that they could hear her breathing. It slowly increased in pace and became punctuated by little whimpering sounds in her high-pitched voice.

This is sick! I’m not going to sit here and listen to this. MavRick88 signed off, and his avatar disappeared.

“Tell them what’s happening, Miko—let your little friends know what new skill you’re learning,” Ashley’s voice said in the background.

“I’m… I’m being fucked,” Miko whined. With the volume up, Balzrog could just barely here the sounds of flesh smacking on flesh. “From behind, bent over my desk.” Balls on ass, that would be then.

“You know, you’re not a very good narrator. Here, let me give them a few thousand words’ worth.”

“Oh shit, please don’t take pictures—oh shit, oh fuck you’re huge,” Miko panted. On screen, someone—Ashley, probably—had entered /thank—the command to get down on hands and knees in a worshipful pose. As their guildmate moaned as she took her doggy-style fucking, however, it took on the mental image of Bl00dlust bent over ready to be drilled.

Miko moaned, whined, squealed when her g-spot was tickled. She begged. “Fuck me harder, fuck Bl00dlust harder! Put me in my place! Oh yeah, more, PLEASE!” she screamed. She was acting, obviously—again, his porn experience made him sure of it just from the sound—but he could care less. It went on and on, and sometimes he could hear Ashley prompting more of it; sometimes, it seemed to come unbidden.

I always knew she was a crazy fuckin slut, Lamershamer said. Balzrog couldn’t argue.

As the performance hit minute ten or so, Bl00dlust—or someone at her station—entered a web address into the guild chat. It was the Upstanding Citizens’ website, but he didn’t recognize the page. Curious, Balzrog clicked—and there were the photos, dozens and dozens of them.

Miko’s face, eyes bulging, mouth open and slack-jawed. Miko’s ass from above, a shaft just visible at the rear. A man’s hand gripping her soft, slightly tanned ass, fingers indenting the soft flesh. Her little breasts flattened on her desktop. Another closeup of her face, this time eyes squeezed shut in an expression that was an exquisite mix of pleasure and shame.

One over the shoulder of the guy fucking her, looking right down at her PC, where he saw her looking right at him—Balzrog, that is—as she got stuffed.

Balzrog came for the second time at the sound of her moans of ecstacy when her lover, apparently, came in her. Lamershamer, meanwhile, entered the /slowclap command to mock her whorish display in character. gg—nice display of leadership, Bl00dlust he typed.

“So she’s your leader, eh?” Ashley’s voice responded. “Hmm… I think she’s going to need a new role, one better suited to her new status. From now on, Miko is the official guild whore.”

she always was :P said Lamershamer, just before Balzrog entered what does that entail?

“It means she’s not in charge any more, and she gives you guys pictures and chats like this whenever you tell her.”

“Ashley…” came a male’s voice reprovingly.

“Fine, fine, you’re right. Once a week. And if I ever chat up the Upstanding Citizens guild, I better hear she’s been a perfect lady, sweet and accommodating.”

The guy seemed mollified, because he didn’t respond further.

soooooo…………. we gonna game or what? Lamershamer pressed.

There was a long silence. Balzrog didn’t care. He was still staring at Miko’s lithe body getting fucked like a bitch in heat.

I’m going to need some new armor, Bl00dlust typed at last. Her microphone was now silent.

what’re you going to do to earn it?Balzrog asked.

“Dude, you gotta start coming to psych lectures again.”

“Fuck that, man. That class is fuckin’ lame. All that old geezer bitch ever does is regurgitate the readings. She doesn’t take attendance or do pop quizzes or anything to make it worth going.”

“I know, I know, but… trust me.”

“What the fuck for?”

“Fine, fine, no appreciation for fuckin’ suspense.”

“No, you just don’t know how to build any.”

“Eat me. No, dude, there’s this chick, man.”

“You do know that in the twenty-first century, all my classes are co-ed, right? You seriously want me to go back to class just to meet a fuckin’ girl?”

“Not meet, dude. I’m pretty sure she’s not available.”

“… to meet some guy’s girlfriend…?”

“Not some ‘guy’s’ girlfriend. Some chick’s.”

“To meet some fuckin’ dyke bitch? Man, I am gonna punch you in your fuckin’ throat, you’re so goddamn stupid.”

“DUDE. This chick, she comes in every class following this other chick, and they’re so fucking hot together, dude. Well, the one chick is. The other one’s hot, but she’s not all… wild about it, like her girlfriend.”

“So a cute lesbian couple is in our history class, and you want me to make it like a fuckin’ field trip? Do you know what a lesbian is, man? One more girl who’s never gonna fuck you.”

“No. The one chick is just… I dunno, man. She’s like the other girl’s… I dunno, slave, or something, dude.”

“Wait, what?”

“See? Now I got your attention. Yeah, one of them’s a gothy redhead chick with these HUGE knockers, and the other’s like this skinny chick, real pretty, good bod.”

“Wait, which one’s the slavey one? Tits, or Face?”

“Face.”

“Aw, fuck that.”

“Just listen, dude! So like, Face starts following her to class a couple weeks ago. I don’t even think she’s enrolled—I’ve checked the class page and I can’t find her on it. I think she’s just following Tits.”

“You’re still under-selling it, man. Meh.”

“No, Face—she like… dresses up for her.”

“Dresses… how?”

“Like… slutty. Every class it’s something different. Like, the first week I noticed her, she came in in this little tube top thing, and like, she had this collar on—like a black collar, with little metal studs and shit.”

“That’s not that slutty, man.”

“You weren’t there, dude. But sure, fine, whatever. The next week, Face comes in wearing this skimpy little bikini. AND the collar. Always the collar. That’s why I think the slave thing.”

“A bikini? To class? In November…?”

“Well, she had one of those little wrap thingies around the bottom, but it was like, part see-through, so you could tell the bottom was like this tiny little thong thing, dude.”

“What? Prof didn’t say nothing?”

“Dude, she hasn’t noticed shit—blind as a bat. Or thought it was just one of those Kids These Days kinda things. But no, dude, last week she came in in just this little tiny dress that everyone was just waiting for her boobs to pop out of the top but still so fuckin’ short that you could totally see her ass hanging out the bottom, dude.”

“So there’s a hot girl, dresses slutty, I get it. You need hobbies, man. Or porn.”

“No, dude! I told you, she’s like… a slave, or something. Last few classes, she’s just literally kneeled on the ground next to her girlfriend. Tits leaned down and says something to her, and she like runs off to fetch her a bottled water from the vending machine, goes right back to kneeling, and Tits just pats her head like a dog and shit, dude.”

“OK, that’s pretty crazy, sure. But still, what exactly do you think’s gonna come of it?”

“I dunno, I was talking to this other dude in class, and he said he like went up to ‘em and tried to hit on ‘em, you know, work up to a three-way or something, and he told me Tits was like ‘sorry, not interested, but Face’—I forget her name, but he said it—anyway ‘Face, go ahead and show him your ass’ and she just flipped up her skirt right there in class. Everybody was gone by then, but still. Then Tits tells him to go ahead and cop a feel, and the bitch just LET HIM.”

“What? No way, that’s bullshit. He’s makin’ shit up.”

“Oh yeah? Well how ‘bout this, dude? I knew you wouldn’t believe it, so I snapped some pics.”

“Sure, man, you took those for me—you just wanted to jack it to these lezzie bitches.”

“Fuck you, dude, plenty of people were taking pics.”

“Sure, sure.”

“Just look, dude.”

“… holy FUCK. You… you weren’t kidding. What the fuck is that, a slutty schoolgirl outfit?”

“Most of one, at least. Keep scrolling, it gets better.”

“Oh hey, there’s that collar…Whoa, is she… is she… winking at you?”

“Yep—she saw me, I guess, and… bitch is fuckin’ crazy, like I said.”

“Fuck me, dude… what time does class meet again?”

“I said, ‘let’s go wait outside and church and—’”

“That’s what I thought you said. No.”

“Come on, asshole, I just wanna find—”

“No.”

Mercedes was one of the last people to the lounge for DJ’s pre-Thanksgiving relaxation session, having stalled as long as she could. Corny orchestral music was playing on a boombox in the corner, and a pair of blandly scented candles burned at opposite ends of the room.

“Come on in,” her RA said, smiling broadly. She politely smiled back, even though she thought he was a total creep. She had no idea what her roommate saw in this guy. I mean, if it was just putting up with it, sure—Mercedes had been singled out for his attentions more than once—but Brittney seemed to somehow actually like this loser. She said she didn’t, but Mercedes knew how to read her. There was something going on. (DJ’s girlfriend saw it too, which was no doubt why she personally told Brittney not to come tonight.)

Either way, no one had made such an exception for her, so Mercedes sucked it up and came in rather than risk getting slapped with whatever bullshit ad libbed punishment he came up with for her absence. Which would almost assuredly be something sexual, as 95% of his punishments were for the girls on the floor from what she’d heard. She’d been spanked two weeks ago, bare ass, for using her hair dryer too early.

There were no seats left, so the platinum blonde just found one of the non-repellent-seeming girls and made small talk with her. Jillian, that was her name—she remembered their last floor meeting, when the RA had “inspected” her, which was DJ’s code for fucking a girl whenever he felt like it. Other than Brittney, she didn’t really have any other Friend friends on the floor, so these things were always awkward, fending off the incessant advances of every horny geek who thought today might be his lucky day. She did her best to keep her back to them when she saw them lurking nearby.

Soon, DJ rang a little bell—ugh, lame—and people quieted down. “Welcome everyone, welcome. It’s awesome to see so many of you here tonight. We’re going to have ourselves a great time here. I think Thanksgiving is a very important holiday, and I wanted to show my gratitude for all of you, and how amazing you’ve been to work for, by throwing a little shindig for you. I had a lot of ideas in mind for what I wanted to do for you guys, but I know you’re busy and I didn’t want to eat your whole evening, so in lieu of something fancier, we’re going to have ourselves a massage night!”

There were some enthusiastic responses—some feigned, she thought, but most not—as he shut off the lights, plunging the room into near darkness, lit only by candles around the outside of the room, their light blocked by the bodies of her fellow residents. She couldn’t even make out Jillian’s face in the dimness, and she was no more than a couple feet away.

DJ explained how it was going to work, and began arranging them accordingly (flipping the lights back on briefly to put a stop to the ensuing stumbles). The girls were going to sit on the floor in a circle, and the guys would line up behind them. To keep things civil—by which he meant, to keep the boys from trying to stake out the hotter girls—he then had them walk around a couple rotations and stop, landing on a random girl. There was to be no talking, though appreciative noises were considered polite.

In a soft voice—probably meant to be soothing, and it might’ve been if it hadn’t been the voice of the man who’d made her kneel down and tit-fuck him in the shower three times in as many weeks—he instructed the guys on what to do. Many of them had never actually given a back rub before. Mercedes had no way of knowing who was behind her, but his hands were thick, pudgy. She thought she remembered the name of that fat guy on the floor. Curtis?

Still, a back rub was a back rub, and if she was here, she meant to enjoy it. DJ walked them through the basics, starting with their shoulders, working the neck a little. She didn’t like having a stranger’s hands touching her hair, but she had to admit the gentle rubbing of her scalp and temples felt pretty good. She began to relax and forget the doughboy whose hands were on her.

“OK girls. Now, to help your partners get to your muscle tissue more easily, I need you all to take your bras off.” Mercedes looked in the direction of his voice, but all she could see was blacknes. Was he fucking serious? Take her bra off, in the middle of the lounge, so some lard-ass could touch her more easily?

Many of the girls balked at this—though none spoke up, of course—so DJ just told the guys to help them out and take the bras off themselves if their partners were shy. In an instant, she felt maybe-Curtis’s fingers untucking her blouse from behind. She flinched away from it, considered trying to punch him in the junk, but in the dark, she’d probably just embarrass herself.

“What’s wrong, Mercedes—you don’t like my program?”

Damnit—his eyes must be acclimating to the dark better than hers, or maybe her platinum blonde hair made her easier to pick out. She didn’t want to be rude to him, so she phrased her response carefully. “No, it’s not that, your program’s great, just, I don’t wanna—”

“Shhh,” he cut her off. She stopped talking immediately. It would be impolite not to. “I’m glad you’re having fun. Now c’mon, we’re all friends here. Off with it.”

With no way to protest, and looming certainty that the next step would either be him removing it for her, or worse, earning a punishment, she unclasped it through her top, then slid it off through one of her sleeves. She felt exposed, even though it was dark and no one could see. Still, she’d always had an amazing set of tits, and she was always conscious of people looking. She could feel eyes on her in the dark room, imagining. Pervs.

The back rubs resumed, and began to take the edge off. A little. Curtis kneaded and worked the little knots near her shoulder blades with reasonable proficiency, and sure, maybe not having a bra on made it easier. Some of the girls were letting out sighs of appreciation, which DJ encouraged. Not Mercedes. She wasn’t going to turn this into auditory porno.

Then, she lost that choice.

“All right, guys,” DJ said some time later, talking just loud enough to be heard over that annoyingly smooth music. Now, I know you’ve all been really great this past month with Ashley, and she’s said you’ve all been really great in welcoming her to our community. I wanted to give a chance to show you my especial appreciation on her behalf, so, for the rest of the session, you can extend the massage to any part of your partner that you’d like.”

There was a stunned silence in the room.

“Go on,” he said. “Have fun, guys.”

“You mean, we can…?” came the voice from just behind her. Ugh, he even sounded fat.

“That’s right. Ladies, I want you to be supportive of me here—I’ve given you all a lot of attention lately, and the guys haven’t uttered a word of complaint as I ignored them. Time to give back to the community.”

Suddenly, she heard a squeak from across the circle. Jillian, she thought. “Hey! Keep your hands off those!”

DJ was engaging shushing mode in an instant, though. “C’mon, ladies. No talking. Just be good partners—we have a set of community standards I expect you to adhere to. I don’t want to have to get all RA on you about them, but I will if you make me.”

Mercedes considered the things she’d heard of him doing to the others on the floor—taking money out of their wallets, breaking their stuff, all sorts of humiliating sex acts, often in view of others. She’d been the recipient of such more than once.

At least with Curtis, she was in the dark and no one would see. So, when she felt his thick, sausagey fingers creeping over her shoulders and down to her breasts, she said nothing. After all, this whole thing was DJ’s idea, and… some things you just had to put up with, living in campus housing.

Her co-resident, emboldened by her lack of resistance, helped himself to two big handfuls, groping and squeezing her through her thin blouse. Curtis sought out her nipples, and the traitors were disloyally hard and thus easily found. He pinched at them a little painfully, as she tried to signify with a hissed intake of air between her teeth, then softened his touch without ceasing his twisting and tugging on them.

Mercedes wished she’d worn a nice thick hoody or something, like some of the girls had, but then DJ robbed her even of that fantasy. “It sounds like some of you are having a little trouble, so guys, if clothing is getting in the way, go ahead and remove it. We’re all friends here. Just be careful—it’s dark, after all.”

Mercedes was not at all surprised when Curtis started unbuttoning her blouse, though she was a little offended when her tits distracted him for maybe two minutes before he started pulling off her leggings. The things were already skin-tight, but no, that wasn’t enough for Fatso here. Next thing she knew she was bare-ass naked in the middle of the lounge, lying flat on her stomach on the cold tile floor while her partner “massaged” her ass.

Then he started using his mouth, licking up her thigh and onto her bare butt, where he proceeded to literally nibble on her exposed butt cheek. Holy shit, Lardo Curtis is going to fucking eat me to death in the lounge. She made a few displeased noises, but they only seemed to spur him on to nipping at her harder and harder. Fucking freak.

This was so far beyond what had been authorized, she finally made herself say something. “Um, DJ? My partner is, uh, using his mouth. And teeth.” He pulled back suddenly. The fat fucker.

“Mercedes, this is the second time I’ve had to warn you, and you’re starting to try my patience. No. Talking. If he likes you enough to want to suck on you, you should take it as a compliment and lie still and let him have his fun.”

A guy spoke up. “Are you saying we can…?”

“No no, no sex. Hands and mouths only—this is just a relaxation night, not an orgy guys.” He laughed. Laughed!

For the next half hour, Mercedes was his pliant toy. She was poked, squeezed, fondled, pinched, kissed, sucked, humped (with jeans on, but still)… and she lie there and took it. She almost pitied the guys who wound up with the ugly girls, though she wondered if they could tell the difference in the dark. Some, probably. Did Curtis even know who she was, or was she just the a vague outline of a hot girl? Did her breasts feel as good as she knew they looked?

The big lug finally decided that if he couldn’t fuck her, and wasn’t man enough to get his cock out and try something else with it, he’d settled for “tongue-massaging” her pussy. She’d thought he was done with her, actually, until she suddenly felt the presence of his broad face between her thighs, followed by a tongue gently probing her clit.

And dammit all to hell if he wasn’t actually really fucking good at eating pussy.

Mercedes soon violated her self-sworn vow not to make any noises that sounded even close to appreciative. She hadn’t wanted him to get the satisfaction of knowing that a few of his clumsy efforts struck gold. This, however, gave her no choice. She had both her fists reflexively entwined in his hair, giving him a little scalp massage of his own as he probed impressively deep inside her, ran laps around her clit, teased up and down her labia, and generally worked her cunt like an instrument.

She didn’t know it, but the whole lounge could hear her orgasm building and building as Curtis’s tongue abandoned its usual fare of ho-ho’s and pizza and found its second love, Mercedes’ pussy.

She was seconds, mere seconds away from a truly divine orgasm, when DJ spoke up again. By now, he had to raise his voice a good deal higher to be heard over Mercedes than he did for the shitty music. “All right folks, I think that’s enough. I hope you all had fun, and I hope you have safe travels and a happy Thanksgiving.”

“No! No! Almost! There! Don’t! STOP!” Mercedes panted, thighs clenching around Curtis’s doughy face. This was going to be an epic orgasm, and she didn’t want to have come this far without having something to show for it. Her partner gamely complied—probably because she was going to suffocate him with her cunt if he didn’t.

Then the light turned on, allowing just long enough for people’s eyes to recover in time for the whole floor to watch her have a shrieking orgasm sprawled out in the middle of the lounge.

Mercedes blinked, once her own vision cleared—from the light, and the blinding orgasm—and saw them staring. And she’d been wrong—Curtis was across the circle by that German girl, Cassie. Her dude was some different chubba wumba whose name she didn’t even know.

“Say thanks, ladies.”

The girls complied (except for Cassie, who murmured “danke schön” in the same flat tone as the others). “Thank you,” Mercedes muttered sullenly, looking around for her top. But it was gone.

“That was the wildest Halloween party I’ve ever been to,” Blake said to his buddy Nick.

Nick scoffed. “Betas are usually kinda lame. Three to one guy-girl ratio, sitting around watching people play beer pong.”

“Hey, I only went ‘cause my friend Will is a brother there—but this time… holy shit. It was supposed to be a ‘bottoms up’ theme—wear your underwear on the outside.”

“That’s the fucking stupidest party theme I’ve ever heard.”

“Just listen. So I went early, just hangin’ out with Will and all, and then… somebody changed the theme at the last minute. From ‘bottoms up’ to ‘tops off’.”

“What? That’s… what?”

“Yeah. I guess some dude—I dunno if he was an alum or what—just showed up and announced it, then stood at the door and enforced dress code. All the chicks had to strip from the waist up at the door.”

“Why would they even go in? Any girl I know that’s not a total fucking ho would just turn around and find another party.”

“Beats the fuck out of me, but they did. Looked all shy about it and all, but I guess once you get used to seeing everyone else walk around half-naked, you just… get with the program.”

“Huh. That’s fuckin’ nuts. I guess the Betas aren’t such total losers after all.”

“That’s not the half of it. So they get some decent music going, people start actually partying for once, then this guy—the guy I said before—comes in with this girl who’s totally naked. I mean, totally bare-ass, pussy and all.”

“She hot? C’mon, don’t hold out on me here.”

“Yeah, she’s hot. Huge tits, huge ass but like in a hot way, ya know? Like all the good parts on a fat girl but without the fat.”

“Nice. Shallow, but nice.”

“Blow me. So anyway, they’re all dancing up on each other, and I mean, everybody’s looking, ‘cause… well, they’re naked, but like we don’t wanna look like we’re looking, ‘cause like, we don’t wanna be the douche canoe armada or nothin’ with this guy, but like, you can’t not notice, right?”

“Yeah, I can see how a naked girl in the middle of a dance floor would attract the eye.”

“Yup. So then, the girl just gets down and starts blowing him, right in the middle of the party.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hand to god, man. Sucks his dick in front of everybody. And like, I don’t know what happened, but I guess once she got going, some of the other chicks musta figured it was cool, and suddenly, there’s like a half dozen blowjobs going on around the room. Guys with girlfriends, mostly, but not all. And Danni—you remember Danni, Eric’s ex, with all the tats?”

“Yeah yeah, we always called her D-block Danni, ‘cause she seemed like she’d probably gone psycho and killed someone at some point.”

“I thought she was D-cup Danni.”

“Only when she wasn’t in earshot. Big freakin’ ho, as I recall.

“Sure was—and she went down on yours truly.”

“Get the fuck outta here.”

“Hey, I’m telling you as a courtesy, man. You don’t want the details…”

“Fine, fine, keep goin’.”

“So then then the trend-setter bitch—guess she was getting whore’s cramps, ‘cause she just stands up, turns around, and the guy starts fucking her, right there.”

“I think I’m running out of ways to say ‘no way’ here.”

“Yeah. And I mean… it didn’t go viral like the other thing, but some girls got in on it, and… well, I’m proud to say our low opinion of D-block Danni was once more validated. I nailed her right up against a pillar, held her up by her ass and did it upright. Fuckin’ pro move.”

“You fucked Danni.”

“Sure did.”

“At a party. Like at a party.”

“Yep.”

“Wow. Danni’s crazy hot. And just plain crazy.”

“No shit. She fucked four other guys at the party, too.”

“Before or after she got to you?”

“I’d rather not talk about that.”

“So before.”

“I said I’d rather not discuss it.”

Dr. Rajanece Austin poked her head from the small room that served as her office in the Campus Counseling Services for the first time that day, having taken no breaks between sessions except for a fifteen minute pause to eat lunch while responding to emails. Her watch said that it was 2:57 in the afternoon. That meant she had three minutes before she had to meet with her next appointment, no doubt the rather pitiful yet conspicuously attractive young woman with the occupying the office chair next to her.

Dr. Austin avoided eye contact deliberately and notified the department secretary that she was stepping out, then had to quickly add she’d be right back. She hustled up to the roof and, with tremulous hands, lit a cigarette.

She’d given up smoking almost thirty years ago, and it had been incredibly difficult. These past six weeks, however, she’d started up again. She had to do something to take the edge off, that constant, overwhelming melancholy brought on by the recent surge in her case load.

Rape and sexual assault were a fact of life on college campuses. Usually, in a given school year, she had around two to four rape and sexual assault survivors. Twice—ever—she’d had male survivors. A few years, she’d had no such cases at all—they’d come through her office, surely, but the cases had been assigned to her colleagues. In her worst year, she’d had nine total cases.

Since fall break, she had averaged one and a half such new cases. Per week. Her case load, which had been full already, now had her working 60+ hour weeks to give each case its due diligence.

Bizarrely, there was a pattern to them—sex crimes by strangers were incredibly rare, but most of these women said they didn’t even recognize the perpetrator. Stranger still, those who described the incident all had similar tales of being violated while consenting. None of them had reported it to the police, and all were emphatic that they would never do such a thing. Dr. Austin neither discouraged nor encouraged it—that was their decision—but increasingly, she realized the pattern.

The incidents often occurred in public. They often had pictures or video taken. The woman was made to feel guilty for resenting the attention. A woman—an accomplice, perhaps?—was with the violator, sometimes taking part, always spurring him on.

Finally, one client—a freshman named Rachael—had given her a name. Well, the initials, but still, with that and the knowledge that he was a student, Dr. Austin’s access to student records could in time allow her to find him. How many DJ’s could be enrolled here?

Still, Dr. Austin had ironclad oaths—and laws—which prohibited her from disclosing any information to the police. Only in the case of an imminent threat to someone could she disclose any information—or if a client authorized her to. Rachael would not. She was near to retirement anyways; could it be worth it to lose her job to confront this DJ herself?

She ground out her cigarette and headed back downstairs, addressing the young woman in the waiting room. “I’m Dr. Rajanece Austin,” she said pleasantly. “You can call me Nece, if you like.”

“Dr. Melissa Restrepo,” said the patient, shaking her hand. “You can call me Missy.”

Brittney Jenner finished recording another entry in her feelings journal—the digital one—and saved the file. She tried to write in it every day even if she didn’t have much of anything to say. Still, DJ had wanted her to, and someday, it might help with what she needed to do, what that nagging voice in her head was always pushing her to do. (It wasn’t a literal voice, but the instinct was so loud it may as well have been.)

She hoped the journals would help. Her feelings were beyond confusing lately.

That done, it was time to start the day. Mercedes was still sawing logs after coming home wasted—she’d gone bar-hopping after the massage night program and came home totally hammered—so Brittney quietly slipped into her robe and grabbed her shower caddy, then off she went.

It was Thursday, which had for a brief time meant it was her turn on the rotation—to shower with DJ, that is. Ashley stepped in whenever she felt like it, but otherwise, he had one girl or another in to bathe him every day. By now, he’d probably forgotten how to clean himself.

It was one of the things Brittney had genuinely enjoyed with him. She knew many of the other girls didn’t (of course, none truly minded, certainly not enough to complain or beg off), but she actually liked it. For one, she just really liked being in the shower—the dorm had great water pressure and an endless free supply of hot water. For two, she just enjoyed it. It was a lot of soft touching, and she always thought boys looked better wet and naked than dry. She knew she did.

Still, ever since Ashley came into his life, she’d seen precious little of him. Plenty in passing (they lived less than a hundred feet away from one another after all) but seldom in any prolonged duration. At that nagging voice’s prompting, she made excuses to cross his path when she could—heading to the drinking fountain when she heard his creaky door moving, getting lunch in the cafeteria at the same time, and so on.

It wasn’t easy, though. Ashley watched her prize like a hawk.

In the month and a half since fall break, she’d become certain of Ashley’s agenda. It was pretty obvious, really—suck him in with her body, ham up her enthusiasm, be “the perfect girlfriend” by letting him enjoy unlimited access to other women—or nearly unlimited, with limitations imposed only by her. Then, emotionally manipulate him to keep everyone else who he might care about at a distance.

Brittney recognized it easily. After all, it was nearly the same thing men had been doing to her since she’d hit puberty. From the outside, it was hard to see how anyone would let it happen to them, but she’d been there. She understood.

Ashley was rubbing in her victory, too (if it could be called that). Mercedes was one of her favorite targets for a third wheel in their sex play (or fourth wheel, if that girl Emily was around). She’d walk right in, snap her fingers or say something bitchy to command Mercedes’ presence, then smirk at Brittney as her roommate shuffled out.

Brittney didn’t even get why, really. She hadn’t been courting DJ. She certainly didn’t want to benefit from his power—the opposite, in fact. Maybe they could have developed into something, or she might have had some success in prying his attention away from some innocent girls, but she was pretty sure Ashley thought they were after the same goal.

Let her.

The warm water began to wash the stress off Brittney’s body; she closed her eyes, put her hands on the wall to brace herself, and turned off her mind. She was doing a wonderful job of blocking all thoughts of DJ and Ashley and strange powers and bizarre experiences and desire and anger and longing and dread—right up until she heard DJ’s voice outside her stall.

She kept her head down by instinct, as they were easily tall enough that he would otherwise identify her by the top of her face. She saw two pairs of feet under the divider between the stalls; one were obviously DJ’s, and between the voice and the dusky tint of the skin on those feet, it had to be Tara.

Brittney just left the water running and listened. She ought to just turn the water off and go, avoid running afoul of Ashley and the train wreck that confrontation would likely be. Instead, she compromised by beginning a quick cleaning, applying her shampoo to her hair as her ears strained to catch every little sound from her neighbors.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to take care of you?” Tara asked politely.

“Nah, I get taken care of too much as it is,” DJ replied. “Today, I’ll do you.”

“If you say so,” Tara said, sounding perplexed by the shift in routine. There were the clacks of plastic bottles being opened, the squishes of soap being worked into a lather. She could just barely catch the shlick-shlum sounds of DJ’s hands rubbing the body wash on Tara’s curvy body. Brittney desperately wanted to look; to see what he looked like. How interested he was. How hard he was.

If he was as hard as he got with her.

She didn’t really get her own curiosity—DJ screwed around with so many women these days, she didn’t know why she should take an interest.

Truth was, though, she always took an interest. She’d been telling guys she had a boyfriend ever since fall break to keep them away from her, to let her spend more time eavesdropping on the variegated moans coming from the RA room down the hall. Mercedes nagged her, though didn’t really have a defense when Brittney pointed out that she’d technically cheated on her boyfriend with DJ over and over, so maybe she should ease off the accusations. Not that she blamed Mercedes

DJ was a predator, a monster. It shouldn’t matter to her what he did.

Surprisingly soon, only a few minutes later, the other shower stopped flowing. She still hadn’t finished her own shower, and she’d been trying to be quick.

“You’re sure you’re good?” Tara double-checked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Under the stall door, Brittney watched the feet shuffle back out of the shower area. She rinsed the shampoo from her hair, and resumed her slumped pose. Somehow, those few minutes had drained her of all the rest she’d gotten the night before.

Then there was a knock at her stall door. “Brittney?”

She jumped in surprise. “DJ? Um, hang on, I’m…” Naked? Crying? Freaked out to have a guy knocking on my shower stall like it was the front door of my house?

“Sure, take your time.”

Brittney soon realized she didn’t really know what she was waiting for; sheepishly, she fidgeted to and fro, stalling, feeling like a fool. “How’d you know it was me?” she asked.

“I smelled your shampoo.” He came right up to the stall, plainly looking over, a smile touching his eyes. Caught red-handed doing nothing, Brittney smiled back awkwardly and opened the door. He came in, latching the door behind him.

There they were, alone together for the first time in over a month, since they took that nap together. He was in a towel; to reduce her disadvantage, she folded her hands delicately over her nether parts.

He looked at her, still smiling. It was infectious, and she found herself smiling back. It wasn’t a leer, wasn’t a smirk; he was glad to be seeing her, and enjoyed what he saw. She didn’t know how much time passed, jets of hot water splashing into her back, running down her shoulders, and nothing at all between the two of them.

“I got your text.”

She blinked. “Text? I didn’t…”

“Last month. Right before Halloween? I didn’t respond, but I wanted you to know I got it.”

Brittney laughed, flushing with happiness that he remembered it. That it was the first thing he wanted to say to her. “I wondered.”

“I didn’t… Ashley wouldn’t have… You just…” He stop-started, and Brittney waited patiently. She’d waited almost two months to talk to him. She could keep waiting.

Instead of finishing his sentence, he dropped his towel, stepped into the stream and kissed her. It was a perfect kiss—needful, insistent, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other on the back of her head, to keep kissing her until he was done.

Now’s your chance, said that little nagging voice. Seduce him. Take him back. You were made for this.

Brittney wrapped one long, wet thigh around him and kissed back.

It was a perfect shower. They didn’t have sex—she would have, even wanted to. (She didn’t have a strong sex drive, but going from sex nearly every day to nada in six weeks… She was ready.)

DJ, however, just wanted to touch her, to kiss her and hold her and wrap himself around her in the steamy shower. To be wet and naked against her wetness and nakedness. It was perfect the way it was, and she still wanted more.

You need to do more, said the voice.

It was true. DJ had gotten worse and worse with Ashley, and if she was going to get him away from her, this was her best chance. All she had to do was sink down to her knees and take him into her mouth and…

Except that’s exactly what Ashley had done. She would happily go down on him, or have sex with him—but doing it for manipulative ends made her feel disgusted with herself. But was it worth it, to sacrifice herself in such a way?

Of course it’s worth it. Now get on your knees and make him forget that other girl. Make him yours again!

Her knees had just started to buckle when DJ stepped away from her. He didn’t seem to have noticed. “I should go—Ashley’s waiting for me.” His smile faded. Oddly, his reticence to leave made it hard to stop herself from grinning.

DJ began to towel himself off, handing Brittney her own towel so she could do the same. There was a tense silence as he wrapped his around his waist, she slipped back into her robe. He kissed her again, but this time on the cheek, and only for a moment. Then he turned to leave.

“I still miss you,” she said. That voice told her to say it, but she would have said it anyway. She thought.

He stopped. “I miss you, too.”

He was about to go again when she pressed. “So do something about it.”

His shoulders tensed. She knew what she was asking crossed a line he’d been told—or maybe even volunteered—not to cross. Still, every day there were fresh victims, people used and humiliated and violated. Days mattered.

The voice on her shoulder said that. Her heart had told her to say the same, but for reasons she still didn’t understand.

“Let’s meet here, same time next Thursday.”

She spun him around and kissed him again. “Next Thursday.”

Well done, the voice in her head said. Or maybe it wasn’t coming from her head, but from her shoulder.

But which shoulder?