ESSAY STRESS
The Master
My seminar tutor asked us all to see her individually about our essays. Something to do with improper referencing by some of us, she said. Nothing to worry about, she said.
Yeah.
Right.
You can’t help worrying about these things. Not until they’re over and you find out there genuinely wasn’t a problem. We simultaneously got the jitters.
So we made appointments. She’d divided the afternoon into five-minute segments and handed round a sheet. We picked our times. I, being almost the last person to receive the sheet and our group being the last group, received a sheet with very few times left—all of them within a half-hour period. Presumably those going later were occupied most of the afternoon. I took the earliest of the half-hour’s slots. Glancing across, I saw the girl next to me choose the time immediately after me. I grinned, then hid it.
A smart man, my father always said, should be able to turn any situation to his advantage in some way. So I did, pretty much.
I went back to my room in Halls after the seminar and dumped my bag. Then I knelt down. Under the bed, the Uni has been kind enough to issue us with slide-out drawers. Most people keep their non-perishable food in them. I do so with only one of them; the other houses a lot of magical detritus from home. My best mate’s father is a mage, though a signwriter by trade, and he gave his son a potions book for his twelfth birthday. We’ve made most of them for want of anything better to do at some time or other, and on occasion his dad’s let us browse through the rest of his library.
I folded the drawer’s lid back and looked down at the labelled old jamjars we keep various things in. I pulled out one particular jar and left it on the bed for later, then I moved to the wardrobe, one side of which has been converted to shelving. I pulled out one of the thin leather gloves I got for a fancy dress do and slid it on, then did a quick glamour on it so that it disappeared from sight. Onto the leather I smeared a finger of the rather solid potion from the jamjar, before tucking said jar away. Then I put a CD on and settled down to wait for my appointment.
Round about half past four I wandered down to the office. I knocked on the door and poked my head around it.
Laura—my seminar tutor—returned my gaze and smiled. “Hi,” she said. “Come on in, have a seat.”
I went on in.
I didn’t take a seat.
Instead I clamped my gloved hand over her face, smearing the ointment over her face. It percolated through her pores and got to work, subtly altering her aura, meddling with her soul essence.
It’s fast working stuff, but not quite immediate. I held on grimly as she tried to wrench her face away from my grip, and withstood her rather pathetic—the magic sapping her strength—attempts to make me let go by other means.
And I started to roll her head around on her neck in circles, tilting her head back and round and forward and round... and so forth.
“Just relax,” I said. I could feel her will slipping, drowned as her soul essence was slowly poisoned, magically abused. “Just.... relax... and as you relax, feel your nipples harden because you’re aroused, so very aroused, but you can’t do anything about it because you’ve just lost all strength in your limbs...” I smiled; her flailing limbs had abruptly stopped, just dropped away. “And as your nipples slowly develop an absolute rock hardness, your pussy begins to grow wet, and you’re still relaxing, just sinking deeper and deeper... and I’ll tell you now, you’re sinking into my control, you’re allowing yourself to become my slave but you just want to relax, you’d rather be my slave than have to think, and you’re more and more relaxed but at the same time you’re more and more aroused, and your will is flowing slowly away from your mind... Your will can no longer control your body because it’s been replaced by my will. As my slave your will is nothing compared to mine, and as you sink ever deeper you know your will is collecting in your pussy and you’re hotter and hotter, your whole body full of sexual energy, but you can’t do anything about it, and despite feeling so horny you can’t help but relax further, you feel you head just slip under the waters of my control and you’re happy to be there, nothing but my slave... moan if you’re my slave...”
A low noise escaped her lips, the moan of one whose body can’t respond to moan along with it. I took my hand off her face, as I didn’t think it was needed anymore, and looked at her for a moment. Unconsciously, her head still revolved as I’d been moving it—she hadn’t noticed a thing. Her still open eyes just stared unseeing forward.
“And in a second I’m going to snap my fingers,” I continued, “and you’re going to come, and as your come leaves you so will your will. You will be left utterly subservient to me. Nothing else will matter.”
I snapped my fingers.
This time the moan was louder, more passionate. I smiled wider.
“Look at me, Laura,” I said. Those unseeing eyes detached themselves from unreality, focused, and raised themselves to regard me.
“I am your master,” I said, using words I’d used two or three times before. I always remove the spell eventually; I couldn’t manage too great a number of slaves and, being yet young, I often want to move on.
“You are my master,” she parroted, predictably enough. People who’ve been treated the way I treated Laura are not suggestible, the way hypnotised people are supposed to be; they are, purely and simply, extremely eager for whoever treated them to be happy, and if that means expressing undying obedience—and meaning it—they’ll do it. They’ll also feel and act however you want them to; it’s just on the very inside that the eagerness exists, keeping them balanced and spinning the way you want them to like a gyroscope for emotions.
“You are my slave,” I said. This is kind of a ritual for me; I lifted it off the Archive a while back, when I turned 17. Yes, I do know I wasn’t supposed to be there. Fuck that; I go where I please. I’m not Mageborn, but my friend is and any kid I have will be—I’ve managed to imbue myself with the stuff.
“I am your slave, master.”
The honorific had sunk in already; I was pleased. I checked my watch; another minute and Rosie should arrive. I wanted her too, and I was damned if I wasn’t going to get her. See two paragraphs above.
“Good,” I said. “Now, take your trousers off and set your panties aside.”
Laura
My thighs are still damp, but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t show now I have my trousers back on, and so Rosie was not forewarned. The smell of my surrender lies on the air, but not strongly enough to warn her. I stand and watch the Master complete his ritual. I stand and watch because I can do naught else; he has given me nothing else to do and my tasks are done.
I watch him move her head in the graceful swirl that dragged me in, too, and I do not respond. At length she comes and her surrender joins mine, mingling, perfuming the air.
“Look at me, Rosie,” he says. He likes to say this sort of thing. It is his prerogative as Master. Her eyes, always open, see once more. They see only him.
“I am your master,” he says.
“You are my master.”
“You are my slave.”
“I am your slave, master.”
I remember this happening to me. I do not think upon what that means; I cannot. I think for myself no longer; I think only for Master now.
“Take your trousers off,” he says. Rosie sheds her belt and kicks off her shoes to make it easier, then undoes the top button on her jeans and unzips. The denim slides down. I watch. I can do nothing else. Her panties are slowly unveiled and displayed.
Master takes her waistband in one hand and slides the panties down. I continue to watch as her mound is revealed. He orders her to remove her panties entirely, and she steps out of them. Master appears to claw at his hand for a moment, and then a layer of skin comes off. Then it flickers and becomes a glove. His hand remains unmarred beneath. The glove is streaked with some sort of gel. He flexes his hand and then produces my panties from their hiding place, and then picks up Rosie’s.
“The cum you’ve left in these,” he says, “represents your will. Since you don’t have it, you’ve both accepted me as your controller. But that’s not purely because I possess your cum-stained panties, it’s simply because I had the power to force my will upon you. Nevertheless, you can never regain your will unless you don the panties you wore when I took control of you. And, Rosie, you’ll die before you’ll let Laura have these back without my express order.” He hands Rosie my will, and I watch. “Not that you can persuade your body to attempt to wear them, Laura. Is that clear, both of you?”
“Yes, master,” I say. Rosie joins me. We speak with the same tone, the same lack of inflection, and we watch.
“Good,” he says. “Because that means when I give Laura these, Rosie, you both understand what that means, correct?” He hands me Rosie’s will. We acknowledge his control, and we stand there, and we wait.
He steps back from us for a moment, and scrutinises us, and smiles; and then he speaks. “Laura, forget everything from this point onwards,” he says, and suddenly there is nothing.
Rosie
I watch Master as he locks the door of Laura’s office. Now we are both inside there is no need to allow others access. He draws the curtains, too, though it is daylight. I do not understand, but I do not have to. I watch him produce a camera, and I wonder. Then he sets it up. It faces Laura. My brain—that part which is left to me, that I can act normal when required—puts the pieces together with our orders. I hesitate no longer. I step toward her and push her down into her chair, standing over her. I undo my jeans once again and place my hands either side of her head. I grip, my fingers closing around hair, around ears, and I pull her into me. Her mouth opens—I feel it against my flesh—and her tongue slips out and into me. She begins to lick. The camera is rolling. I watch, and I feel. I smile. Until the orgasm comes upon me, I do nothing but react to her ministrations.
I come. She ceases to stimulate me, but begins to devote her attention to licking my thighs clean. What little will still rested on my legs is removed, absorbed into Laura; but Laura is also owned by the Master, so, as he explained, it has no effect on either of us.
After he has finished filming, I take his penis into my mouth. Already hard after our earlier actions, it does not take long before he releases, and his come washes into my mouth. I swallow it and spend an instant thinking about the taste of him. Then I zip him back up, clean myself off, pick up my essay and leave.
I cannot speak of this to anyone else. I know this.
Laura
I am giving a lecture. I see Master and Rosie in the front row, as I scan the room. I am reciting the lecture, almost; I know exactly what to say and how to phrase it at all times. My gaze passes over Master again, and he winks.
I stop, mid-sentence. My mind is utterly empty.