The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Finance majors at CU had to wait until their junior year before they could take a single finance class; when Troy finally enrolled in Intro to Financial Management, he’d felt that a moment he’d been waiting for all his life had finally arrived. It was both his favorite college class so far and his first of the week that semester. But this Monday morning, Troy’s mind was elsewhere. It was also elsewhen: Immediately after the finance class, Troy had Organizational Behavior. And Organizational Behavior had Kayla.

Troy was excited, yet apprehensive. Would she remember the weekend’s events and go ballistic on him? Would she seek him out to talk, before or after class? Would she get uncontrollably horny with him sitting just twenty feet away, or would his command to control herself in class hold? How about after class, when he got her alone somewhere . . . ?

The answer to these questions was, figuratively and literally, anticlimactic. Caught in a crush of students coming out of the finance class, Troy arrived at the management class moments before the 11 o’clock bell. Kayla, for whom Organizational Behavior was the first class of the week, was already there, sitting alongside one of her Zeta sisters, Shelby. Troy took his seat and watched her. For the entire period, Troy’s gaze was fixed on Kayla like a pin through a butterfly, but she never looked at him once. In fact, her own eyes hardly wavered from Professor Johns, as if she’d suddenly decided that what he was saying was actually interesting. And at the end of the period, Kayla and Shelby walked out together, absorbed in a quiet but animated conversation. Neither of them so much as glanced back at him. Troy tailed them as far as the quad, then lost them in the lunchtime crowd. He decided there was probably nothing to worry about, but his mood was still dampened.

For the rest of the week, Troy kept his eyes open for Kayla, hoping to catch her alone at some point. His earlier mingled excitement and worry were gradually replaced by exasperation, as he spotted Kayla several times—every time in the company of one of her sorority sisters! Had she remembered his command and found herself a loophole that allowed her to remain in control? No other explanation suggested itself.

By the end of History of Western Architecture on Thursday afternoon (Troy had always been interested in buildings, especially skyscrapers; his dreams of becoming rich mostly revolved around real estate development), his frustration had reached a peak, and he went to the student athletic center to work off some steam on the resistance machines. It was there, while doing flies, that he saw something that altered his mood considerably.

It was Kayla, wearing a T-shirt and black Lycra stretch pants, accompanied by yet another of her Zeta sisters, Krista. Krista was a starter player on CU’s women’s soccer and volleyball teams; Troy also occasionally saw her running on campus in the mornings. She was about 5-foot-8, with short, dark hair and the rectangular build of an athlete. As Troy watched, Krista escorted Kayla around the room, pausing by the treadmills, the stair climbers, the ab bench, the leg curl machine, the abductor. At each machine, Krista gave what looked like a demonstration, while Kayla watched and nodded attentively, then tried it herself. A satisfied smile began to take over Troy’s face. There was no question about it: His command that she get in shape had stuck.

As the women’s circuit progressed, it became evident that it would eventually bring them to the fly machine. Troy resumed his exercise, eager to see Kayla’s reaction when she came face to face with him.

“Okay, this is the fly machine,” he heard Krista say as they approached. “This is for your chest, shoulder and back muscles. See the way this guy’s using it? That’s a chest fly. It builds up the muscles in your chest, your pectorals, which makes your boobs stand out more—not that you need that. Those other pads there”—she pointed—“are for doing shoulder flies. You flap your arms like a bird.” She demonstrated the motion with her elbows. “That’s a shoulder exercise; I do that for volleyball training. And you can do inverted flies, which are like the chest flies, but pushing out instead of in. That works the rear deltoids, the backs of your shoulders. It’s really good for your posture.” She turned her attention to Troy. “Almost done?”

“Just finishing this set,” Troy said. Then, with almost exaggerated casualness, “Hey, Kayla.”

For just a second, Kayla’s face was inscrutable; then it resolved itself into a smile, one that suggested formality more than friendliness—but her eyes remained locked onto his a moment too long to be entirely natural. “Hi, Troy,” she said. Krista looked at her quizzically.

Troy did four more flies, stood up, and wiped his sweat from the machine. “All yours,” he said, making no move to leave.

Eyeing him with what could have been suspicion or merely curiosity, Krista made a couple of adjustments to the fly machine and sat down. “All right, Kayla,” she said, “here’s how you do the inverted fly.” She turned to Troy. “If you want to watch the show,” she said testily, “you can buy tickets at the box office.”

“What do you think, Kayla?” Troy said, smirking. “Is it worth the price of admission?” Kayla smiled uncertainly and dropped her eyes.

“Come on, meathead, you’re creating a hostile workout environment here,” warned Krista. “You remember the no-harassment pledge you signed to get in here, right?”

“Fine, fine. No need to get bitchy.” Troy moved toward the bench press machine, giving Kayla a parting glance and a nod. She returned them mechanically.

As he did a set of bench presses, Troy reflected on the exchange. Kayla had smiled. She hadn’t been rude or uptight. She didn’t seem aroused at all, but that made sense, since Krista was there. He couldn’t see anything wrong with the picture. It all looked to be going according to plan.

It was time to expand the plan.

Somehow, he needed to get Kayla alone—away from her sorority sisters, away from class, away from overly curious eyes. But the only places he could be sure of crossing paths with her were management class and right here, in the rec center. She had friends in management class, and the rec center was full of other students . . .

Wait. The rec center wasn’t always full of other students. Friday nights it was open till 10 PM, well after the CU student body had gotten its weekend partying under way. The center would be practically empty. That was it—that was his opening.

Troy finished his bench press sets and got up from the machine. He watched Kayla and Krista—from a distance—until Krista left Kayla’s side to refill her water bottle at the drinking fountain. Seizing the opening, he walked past the machine where Kayla was doing leg curls; it took all his willpower not to stare at her rounded, upthrust ass. “Hey, Kayla,” he said, “we should work out together sometime. Maybe I’ll see you here tomorrow night around 9.”

She raised her head to look at him, and her blue eyes locked onto his. The measured breaths of her workout gave way to a deep, shuddering inhalation. She squirmed on the exercise bench, squeezing her thighs together. “O-okay,” she stammered, blushing. Troy nodded and made his exit before Krista returned.

Troy could hardly focus on anything the next day. Finance went by in a blur. Management was a repeat of Monday and Wednesday, with Kayla sitting across the room beside Shelby and listening to Professor Johns with peculiar attentiveness, then leaving class without—wait, this time it seemed like she did glance in Troy’s direction, for so brief an instant that Troy had to think about whether he’d really seen what he thought he’d seen. Then time slowed to a crawl. With no classes between lunch and 9 PM, Troy felt as if the hours were conspiring against him. He tried reading the weekend’s architecture assignment but caught himself glancing at the clock at twenty-minute intervals, then fifteen, then, at one point, only five. He had no more luck with management or marketing. Only in his finance homework was he able to immerse himself for a while: the chapter was on assessment of risk in investment appraisal, which appealed to his enterprising nature. After an hour or so, however, his mind began to wander to whether he’d thoroughly assessed the risks in using the VM-Stim on Kayla Henry, and he decided that enough was enough. He packed away his books and walked across campus to Moore Street, where he demolished a sandwich and a bag of chips at Sub Galley . . . only to look up at the clock and discover that it was barely 5:15 PM. “This is fucking nuts,” he muttered.

Troy walked back to his apartment to dump his books and collect his workout clothes. Justin, out with his own friends, had left him a note about cleaning the bathroom. Troy went at the task with a relish and thoroughness he rarely had for it, following it up by washing the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and wiping down the counter. He was pleased to find, when he was done, that it was already a quarter to 8. That was more like it. He changed into a T-shirt and sweats, slipped a couple of rubbers into his pocket, and returned to campus to wait for Kayla at the rec center.

She arrived at 8:56.

Troy was doing curls on the bicep machine when she walked into the room, wearing the same outfit as before. Aside from themselves and the bored sophomore checking student IDs at the front desk, the rec center was deserted; it was quiet enough to hear the classic rock radio station piped in through the speakers in the ceiling. Kayla saw Troy and stopped, lowering her eyes.

“Hi, Kayla,” he called.

“Hi, Troy,” she answered.

“Glad you could make it.”

“You said I should come.”

“And you came just because I said, huh?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

“You wanted to?”

“I had to.”

Troy stood up and began to walk toward her.

“Why did you have to?”

Kayla seemed to struggle with the answer to this question. “Because . . . I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I needed to know you forgive me. You know, for being such a bitch to you.”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Troy’s ego couldn’t resist the next question. “So you couldn’t stop thinking about me, huh?”

Kayla averted her eyes. “No, I couldn’t.”

“And what kind of thoughts were you having?”

Kayla’s face flushed, and she took a deep breath before answering. “I felt like I owed you something, like I needed to do something to make it up to you. And . . . ummm . . . ”

“Yeah?”

Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I got kind of turned on thinking about you.”

“Kind of turned on, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“And are you kind of turned on now?”

“I—" Kayla swallowed. “I’m kind of more than kind of turned on right now.”

Troy closed the distance between them and placed his hands on her hips. Her body involuntarily flowed into his, her breasts pressing into his chest, pelvis pressing against pelvis. She tilted her face up toward his, her eyes wide, seeking confirmation. He lowered his mouth to hers, and they kissed, their mouths opening to each other, tongues searching. Troy’s hands slid around to Kayla’s ass, and he felt her buttock muscles clench as she pressed her mouth harder against his.

When they broke for breath, Troy glanced around and noticed the security camera in the corner of the room. “Come on,” he said, “follow me.” He led Kayla by the hand out into the hall to the men’s locker room and opened the door. She hesitated. “Come on,” he said again, and she followed him in as if pulled by an invisible hawser.

In the locker room, he grasped the lower hem of her T-shirt and lifted; she raised her arms and let him pull it over her head, revealing a white cotton sports bra, smooth with a triangle of mesh in the middle between the cups. He pulled off his own sweatshirt and T-shirt and dropped them on a bench, and she placed her hands on his chest, stroking his pectoral muscles with feather-light touches of her fingertips. He slid his hands up her lower back to the elastic bottom edge of the bra and tried to find where it detached. She laughed nervously, saying, “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Show me how it does work.”

She pulled the bra away from her chest by the bottom front edge and lifted it over her head and arms, then dropped it to the floor. Her unconstrained breasts now hung before him, round and perfect, nipples standing at attention. He ran his hands over them, rubbed and kneaded, while she closed her eyes, tilted her head back and sighed, pushing her chest into his hands. Her own hands trailed down his chest across his stomach, to the waistband of his sweatpants, and stopped, evidently hesitant to go any further.

Troy got the message, pulling down his sweatpants and boxer-briefs to free his growing erection. Kayla stared at it, outthrust before her. Troy moved her hands to it, and she grasped it, stroked it, milked it, slid her fingertips down the underside, and cupped his balls in one hand as she slowly jacked it with the other. “Put your mouth on it,” Troy directed. Breathing heavily, she looked him in the eye and kneeled on the floor, taking his cock into her mouth.

What she’d learned their first night together, she clearly remembered. The wet sensation over the head of his cock, the gentle hand jerking it back and forth, had Troy closing his eyes, panting through clenched teeth. When he opened his eyes and looked down at her, he saw her gazing up at him, searching for signs of approval, her mouth still working around his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” he exhaled. “Fuck. Fuck. Kayla, oh, fuck.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I want to fuck you, Kayla. Right now.”

“Okay,” she said. She pushed off her Lycra pants and panties and lay down on the wooden changing bench, legs parted, her blond-furred pussy (several shades darker than her hair, Troy noted) flowering pinkly open. Troy ran a finger across her lower lips and found them already slick and hot. He reached into his sweatshirt pocket for a condom, unwrapped it, and rolled it on. But when he tried to mount her on the bench, he realized there was nowhere for him to place his hands to support his weight.

“Come with me,” he ordered, taking Kayla’s hand and pulling her up from the bench. He led her to a shower and turned it on. Kayla squealed as cold water hit her foot before the flow heated up.

“Come here,” said Troy, pulling Kayla to him under the hot shower. Their hands roamed over each other, clutched, squeezed; their mouths pressed together as if starving. Kayla gasped and moaned as Troy’s hands kneaded her tits, pinched and pulled her nipples. She trapped his sheathed cock between her legs and rubbed her pussy against it. “Please,” she moaned, “please, Troy, tell me what to do. Tell me. I want to please you.”

She was too short for him to fuck standing up, so he told her to get down on her hands and knees. The tiled floor was hard, but he was past caring as Kayla, on all fours, presented her excited pussy to him as she had on the bed at the party and waited for him to use her.

Troy kneeled, aimed his cock at her pussy, and pushed. “Ohhhh!” Kayla moaned. “Ohhhh, fuck. Fuck.” She continued to moan loudly as Troy buried his cock in her again and again, feeling her tunnel grip him like a fist. Her moans rose in pitch and volume until he felt the sudden squeeze of her pussy and heard her primal “Unnnnnnnggggh!” erupt from within her core. After several hard squeezes, she resumed fucking back against him, moaning, “Yes. Yes. Yes! Oh, fuck. Oh fuck! Ahh! Ahhhh! Ahhhh!” as she built to another peak. Troy felt his shaft enlarge and load itself up with his come, and as he heard the joyous noises of her second climax, he let his seed go in a rapturous burst of pure electric pleasure. His balls pumped the last of his load into the condom as Kayla’s orgasmic grunts resolved into satisfied sighs.

“This is crazy,” Kayla said as they walked back to Troy’s apartment.

“What’s crazy?”

“This. Us. I’m—" She groped for words. “I’m not like this. I don’t do this.”

“You don’t? You do it pretty well for something you don’t do.”

“I mean—I’m not a slut.”

“Yes, you are. You’re my slut. You’re my sex-crazed blond bimbo slut.”

She looked at him strangely—part challenge, part realization. “I am a slut . . . with you. I don’t know why I get this way around you. When I’m with you alone, I just want sex. Like crazy.”

“That’s because you’re mine. My blond bimbo slut.”

“Please, stop saying that. It makes me feel like shit for wanting it this badly.”

Troy was torn. His instinct told him to assert his dominance, to demand her compliance with his fantasy. His hand drifted to his pocket and rested on the VM-Stim, which he’d brought along in case of emergency. On the other hand, here she was saying that she couldn’t resist him, that his presence drove her crazy with thoughts of sex. He did control her body, and her mind seemed to be going along with it for the most part. How could he be unhappy about that?

He decided to take a different tack. “It does feel good, doesn’t it?” he said. “You could just give in to these feelings you’re having, you know. Let the sex take over your brain. You could let yourself be a bimbo with me. You could give yourself to me.”

Her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath. “I want to give myself to you. I want to do this for you. I want to please you. Just thinking about it is getting me hot again.”

Troy began stripping off her workout clothes again as soon as they’d closed the apartment door behind them. He led her to his bedroom, where she lay on the bed as he got naked again. His dick had recovered quickly from his earlier orgasm, revived by Kayla’s coos and sighs of sex-charged helplessness. He played with her amazing breasts—Jesus, he couldn’t get enough of those—while smiles of pleasure fought with contortions of sensory overload for control of her face. He could smell the funk of arousal drifting up from her pussy and slipped two fingers in. They slid into her liquid center without resistance. He curled his fingers up and worked them in and out, and her arousal skyrocketed: her torso heaved, her breaths became pants, which quickly escalated to moans. He grabbed another condom and rolled it over his dick with some difficulty—after his earlier orgasm, it didn’t want to stay rock-hard—then mounted her on the bed.

Sex with Kayla face to face was different from sex with Kayla doggy-style—to Troy’s surprise, even more intense. She wrapped her legs around him as he pumped, and stared into his eyes with absolute devotion, as if nothing mattered but the pleasure he took from her, as if his satisfaction would bring her to ecstasy, as if his disappointment would plunge her into despair. But there was nothing disappointing about this fuck. Once inside Kayla, moving back and forth, Troy’s cock had the good graces to stay hard; awash in the pleasure of her pussy’s grip, of his masculine force plunging and withdrawing, of the pricks of her hard nipples against his chest, and of her acquiescence to her lust, her submission to him, he kept going, kept fucking, longer than he’d thought possible. She, meanwhile, reached a moaning plateau of arousal and teetered on the edge of it, not coming but seeming always about to. When his balls finally decided it was business time and his own grunts and gasps rose in volume, Kayla’s breath quickened, her pussy tightened around him, and she nodded vigorously. As he emptied himself in her, she came as well, every muscle clenching him tightly to her.

He fucked her again later that night, and in the morning she was ready to do it yet again, but he no longer felt up to it. Instead, he told her to masturbate in front of him, which she did—self-consciously at first, but soon losing herself in it as he urged her on with suggestions about obeying him and the cry of her awakened hormones. She even shuddered in involuntary excitement when he dropped the phrase “my blond bimbo slut” into his patter. As she dressed and left, he told her to look for opportunities to get away from her sorority sisters and be with him. She assured him that she would.

The rest of the weekend passed uneventfully, though Troy couldn’t entirely suppress his self-satisfied smirk around Justin, knowing that his “sex ray” had worked. The certainty affirmed his sense of control, and he returned to classes on Monday with a clear head—which he needed in order to catch up on a few important concepts that he’d been too distracted to digest the week before. He did note with some perplexity that Kayla not only gave Professor Johns her undivided attention but even wrote some things down in a spiral notebook, something he’d never seen her do before; then again, the material this week was more interesting than usual, dealing with the relationship between motivation and job performance. Troy pondered how his own achievement in school and in the various jobs he’d held had always varied according to his level of interest, how he’d never been able to bring himself to invest effort in things he didn’t care about. Then he thought about Kayla, and how determined she’d been to please him sexually when they were together, even though—as far as he could tell—she didn’t seem to care for him at all. Oh, she wasn’t rude or bitchy to him anymore, and she no longer hated his guts, but she didn’t suddenly seem to consider him Prince Charming either. She had to blow him and fuck him if he told her to . . . but she didn’t have to do it well, and she’d done it well. What was motivating her? Professor Johns had talked about some guy named Maslow and his “hierarchy of needs,” in which basic bodily needs—food, shelter, and so on—had to be satisfied before you could think about anything else. Was that how the VM-Stim worked? Had it cranked up Kayla’s libido so that she had to do more to satisfy it? But how did pleasing him fit into that—and how could she be overwhelmed by it in one situation and suppress it in another? There was a hole in his theory somewhere. Justin probably could have found it, but Troy couldn’t, so he shrugged it off.

Meanwhile, Kayla was once again going everywhere in the company of one or more of her sorority sisters. Troy caught her eye in the hallway at one point and gave her a stern look; she returned it with a look that said she was doing the best she could. It was after lunch Thursday, sitting on a bench in the quad, when he saw her finally break free of Shelby and another Zeta and walk briskly in his direction. “I’m sorry,” she said as she reached him, “I couldn’t get away. We always go everywhere together, even to the bathroom. I couldn’t think of an excuse to go off by myself.” Having unburdened herself of her apology, she paused to catch her breath, then looked to Troy for his response. As their eyes met, he could see a change come over her: her breath quickened, her eyes widened, she bit her bottom lip.

Troy grinned. “Did you miss me?”

She glanced away. “I’ve been thinking about you . . . at night.”

“You need me, don’t you?”

“I—Yes. I wish I was with you.”

“You need me right now, don’t you?” challenged Troy.

Kayla blushed. “Yeah,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Oh, God, yeah.” She looked around in panic. “I can’t—I have to be in PR in five minutes.”

“You could skip it. For me.”

She gazed at him with deadly earnestness. “I could. I would.” Her face became a question mark, drawn in conflict. “Is that what you want me to do?”

It was, but Troy couldn’t think of any good place nearby where they could fuck and not risk getting caught—and if he took her back to his apartment, he’d be tempted to spend the whole afternoon fucking her and miss his own architecture class. “No,” he said, “don’t skip it.” Kayla sighed with relief. “But you’re going to see me this weekend.”

“Okay. If I can come up with an explanation for the others.”

“No,” said Troy, his territorial instinct getting the better of him, “you’re going to see me, whether you’ve got an explanation or not.”

Kayla looked momentarily stunned, then bowed her head in resignation. “I guess I have to, don’t I? You come first,” she said with a frown, struggling with the new belief that wasn’t really hers, “before the Zetas.”

“That’s right,” Troy answered.

“I’ll find time. I’ll let you know. Maybe Saturday. We have a mixer on Friday.”

“All right. Saturday. Call me in the afternoon.”

Kayla nodded, then dashed off to her 1:30 class.

Around 2 PM on Saturday, while Troy was studying for a management test, the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Troy? It’s Kayla.”

“Hey. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Then, in a lower voice: “God, everyone’s so nosy here. They know I’m going out tonight, but not with who. They’re driving me crazy.”

“You haven’t said anything?”

“No. They don’t know it’s you. I think they’d freak.”

“Well, don’t tell them.”

“I won’t.” She paused. “Is this . . . a date?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is this a date-date, or are we just . . . " She trailed off.

Troy couldn’t resist teasing her. “Are we just what? Are we ‘just friends’?”

“No! I mean . . . " She collected her thoughts. “I don’t know. What are we doing? Am I just coming over for sex? Is that all this is?”

This was a surprise. Two weeks ago, Kayla couldn’t stand the sight of Troy; now she seemed to think she was supposed to be his girlfriend.

Did he want that?

“I don’t know,” he said, truthfully. “What do you want?”

There was an uncomfortably long pause. “I don’t know what I want,” Kayla said in a voice tinged with worry.

Troy pondered. If she belonged to him—and it certainly appeared that she did—the least he could do was treat her nicely. “Come over at 6, and I’ll order something in,” he said. “We’ll talk. We won’t just fuck.” Then he added wickedly, “But we will fuck.”

He heard her breath quicken on the phone. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

The doorbell rang at 6 on the dot. Troy opened the door to see Kayla dressed differently from the usual sweatshirt-and-jeans sorority look. She’d made an effort to look good, wearing clothes that played up her assets: a V-neck sweater over a blouse unbuttoned to show a hint of cleavage, dark flat-front pants gathered with a wide belt, and high heels. “Damn, Kayla,” Troy said. “You look good.” She smiled shyly at his reaction. “If you’re going to dress like that,” he added, “I should take you out somewhere, so I can show you off.” She still smiled, but her eyes’ widening betrayed different thoughts behind it—half flattery, half apprehension. “What?”

She blushed at having been caught. “I want to go out, but . . . what if, you know, someone sees us? I thought we were trying—”

“Gotcha. Let’s go to Geppetto’s. It’s the other direction from Moore Street. I’ve never seen anyone I knew there.”

“Okay.” This idea seemed to genuinely please her. He quickly changed his clothes to match hers and took her downstairs to his car, a used Acura RL sedan.

It was the first actual date Troy had been on since high school, and he was surprised to realize, well into his entrée, that he was enjoying it. Kayla had asked him questions about himself, and he’d happily rattled on about his ambition of making a pile in real estate development, his lifelong infatuation with great construction projects and skyscrapers, his admiration for Robert Moses, his dream of one day having a building named in his honor. Most of the stories were ones he’d told before to anyone who’d listen—the telling of which, in fact, had formed the basis of his reputation as a self-styled big shot—but Kayla listened dutifully, her gaze never wavering from him. When he paused in his declamation, he noticed that her attention was tinged with a different sort of hunger than the one she’d had for her linguine. He also noticed, speaking of the linguine, that she’d stopped eating, leaving about half of it on her plate.

“Are you going to finish that?” he asked.

“It’s good,” she said, “but I’m on a diet. You get so fat eating on campus.”

Troy smiled to himself. “So what about you? Why’d you major in marketing?”

Kayla looked embarrassed. “I don’t know,” she said. “It just seemed like a good idea. Some of my friends said they were going to major in it. I guess you can make good money with it.”

“Did you ever want to major in anything else?”

“I don’t know . . . not really. I didn’t really like any of my classes in high school, so why would I major in those things in college? I guess I just wanted something different. Except the first two years of college are mostly those same things all over again anyway, and the new stuff, like economics and accounting—God, I hardly understood any of that.”

“Ahh, those things aren’t so tough. It’s really just a matter of following the money. Knowing how to keep track of it and what it makes people do. If you look at it that way, it all makes sense.”

“Maybe. I guess. It never made a lot of sense to me. Any sense, actually.” Her face took on a distant look. “OB is starting to make more sense, though. That stuff about motivation—I get that. And my PR prof is really good at explaining things.”

Troy was reminded of his earlier musings. “What do you think about people being motivated by the things that interest them? Like, I’m really motivated in my finance classes, because I’ve always been interested in what you can do with money. But I never cared much about philosophy, and I didn’t do shit in that class. I almost failed it.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been really interested in a class, except now. A lot of stuff just seems really boring.”

“I bet I can think of one thing you’re interested in, though,” Troy said, leering.

“You do, huh?”

“I bet you’re thinking about it right now.”

Kayla blushed. “God, stop that!” Her voice lowered. “I’ve been thinking about it all through dinner. I’ve been thinking about it since you were in the other room changing your clothes. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing a little exercise won’t fix.”

“Oh! You asshole!“ Kayla said. “Seriously, when I’m not thinking about class, I’m thinking about sex. I’ve never been like this. Right now, I just want you to rip my clothes off. I think you could do it right here, and I wouldn’t care.”

“Then I think we need to get the hell out of here.”

“I think you might be right.”

Kayla’s body seemed to generate an electric field, one that made her skin, her nipples, her nerves stand on end and tingle, one that her clothes barely contained. Every time Troy touched her, it sent a jolt through her body. With every article of clothing he removed, she exhaled with relief, as if she were being freed from imprisonment. She arched and twisted and pressed her body into Troy’s roaming hands. Her pussy was molten. Five minutes of halfhearted foreplay were followed by fifteen of frenzied fucking. Troy’s cock, plunging down again and again into Kayla’s upthrust cunt, turned in his fevered imagination into a great iron drill penetrating the geothermal depths of the earth. Her moans bent reality. When his cock swelled in her and the jets of semen began to erupt, her wordless vocalizations changed into “Yes! Yes! Yes! Ye—unnh! Unnnnnnnngggghh! Unnnnnnghhh!“ as she encouraged him, only to be seized by her own orgasm.

“Fuck, Kayla. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Ohhh. Ohh, Troy. Oh, God. I can barely catch my breath.”

“Fuck. Jesus Christ. Fuck.”

“God, I’ve never had sex like this. I never had sex that was even good.“

“Shit. No wonder you hated everybody.”

Kayla frowned. “I don’t hate everybody. I don’t think other people like me very much. You never know what kinds of things they’re saying behind your back. People are mean. And so many guys are just pigs. They’re so rude.” She turned to look at him. “You’re kind of rude too, you know. But . . . I don’t know. The way you looked at me at the gym. It did something to me.”

That’s not what did something to you, Troy thought wryly. “Kayla, are you on the pill?”

“No.”

“You should get on the pill.”

“Are you—why?”

“Think of what we just did,” Troy said, pulling Kayla’s hips toward his. “Now think of being able to do that anywhere, any time. With nothing in the way.” He moved his fingers over her pussy. “Think of me fucking you. Think of me coming in you. Not in a condom. In you.“

“Oh, God,” breathed Kayla. “Oh, God.“ She closed her eyes. Her breasts heaved. “Troy?”

“Yeah?”

“Do anything you want to me.”