Male Subjugation 101
Chapter 1. Inductions and Introductions
Elena Fremont smoothed out her pencil skirt and tried to hide the smirk she was wearing when she walked into the lecture hall. Her lecture hall. The garden that would cultivate the first generation of her students. She had spent considerable time and taken on considerable risk in securing her position as a psychology professor at one of the most prestigious institutions in the country. She had big plans for her fledgling proteges and even bigger plans for her position in the psychology community. Not the public-facing academic psychology fellowships, filled with stuffy intellectuals and ethical red tape. No, she wanted to climb the ladder of...that other group.
So when she strode into her classroom, her garden, her temple, it was not an easy task to hide her smile and she only managed to smother it down to an arrogant half smirk. Lips curling at the corners of her mouth as if she had just heard a clever joke. She had never met any of the students who turned their heads to watch her, not in person anyway. But she had met them all a hundred times in reports and photos and videos from the private investigators she had hired. She had spent the better part of a year researching her starry-eyed roster. The twenty girls that stared at her cascading down the aisle had been hand selected. Scrutinized for their possession of a dozen or so very specific traits. The amount of string-pulling and wrist-twisting she had had to employ to orchestrate this day would have demoralized a lesser woman. But for Elena it was just the beginning.
She kept her eyes forward. Locked like a panther on the dais at the center of the lecture hall. Her seat of power. The whiteboard on the far wall read “Introduction to Advanced Applications of Psychological Stimulation on the Frontal and Parietal Lobes”. A daunting title, to be sure. One more suited to a research project or a grant proposal than a sophomore college course. And more than one of the students in the room had already wondered to herself if the forces that had coerced her into attending this class had led her astray.
One of the students in the back had seen a well dressed man who looked like a security detail standing outside the hall, facing out as the door had slowly closed behind Ms. Fremont. She had only caught a glimpse of the man, and idly wondered why a college campus would ever need such a thing. At least, that’s what she would have wondered, had her thoughts not shifted when Ms. Fremont entered. In fact, only one thought had dominated the minds of the students as soon as their new teacher entered the room; Ms. Fremont was unequivocally beautiful.
Every article of clothing she wore looked as if it had been tailored for her that morning. Every piece was professional enough to maintain her visage as a member of academia, yet form-fitting enough to turn every head that saw her and make them wonder “Is that a college professor, or a stripper applying for tenure?” The form that her clothing stuck to so devotedly was no less impressive, either. All the usual suspects for a knockout beauty were represented in spades: shapely ass, tiny waist, large breasts, the top quarter of which were exposed through the first two undone buttons of her shirt. Her auburn hair was wavy and bounced animatedly with every step she took, and as she walked up onto the raised platform and arrived at the dais at the front of the room, she turned and revealed her most impressive feature. Her face was a work of art. Not hot, like a sex-drunk sorority girl. Not cute, like an anime cosplayer. It was, quite simply, beautiful. Flawless skin, piercing blue eyes and, as the class saw her smirk finally give way into a full smile, dazzling white teeth. It was with that wide smile that she finally acknowledged her fledgling priestesses.
“Hello class. I’m Ms. Fremont. Welcome to the last psychology course you’ll ever need to take.”
As odd of an introduction as that may have been, most of the women in the class were still too distracted by Ms. Fremont’s stunning beauty to heed it with any scrutiny. The lecture proceeded in a more straightforward manner when Ms. Fremont instructed them to begin taking notes and she turned to start writing on the whiteboard. She adjusted the microphone attached to her shirt collar so that the class could still hear her clearly even as she was facing away from them, and began a cacophony of written and oral facts about psychological effects on the human brain as the students furiously tried to codify it all. The lecture was extremely dense and filled with terminology and convolutions that kept the students increasingly puzzled as to how this was at all suitable for an introductory course. After about ten minutes of befuddled note taking, a student in the front row finally let her aggravations boil over.
“Ms. Fremont, what exactly is all of this? This can’t possibly be an introductory course. I’m completely lost and it’s day one. And why are we in a huge lecture hall when there are only about twenty of us? And what do you mean that this is the last psych course we’ll need? And—”
Ms. Fremont raised a hand to silence the stream of questions. She turned to regard the interrupter, another half smile playing at her lips. Clair Hartman, aggressive and just impatient enough to keep things moving forward.
“Yes Miss Hartman, I think you’re right. Let’s have a practical demonstration. Mister Carter, would you please join me up at the front of the room?”
Claire’s confusion that Ms. Fremont already seemed to know her name, and the annoyance that Ms. Fremont hadn’t even attempted to answer her questions, were both instantly forgotten as a new realization dawned on her; there were more than just the women in the class. There was a man. And he was gorgeous. Sitting by himself in a section to her right. His polo shirt was stretched somewhat tightly over an immaculate body. His face, while boyish, was just as gorgeous as the rest of him, and he knew it. With a confident smirk, Brandon Carter rose out of his seat and walked down the aisle and up the stairs leading onto the stage. Ms. Fremont had moved some large, plush looking chairs around on the stage and instructed Brandon to take a seat in the one with its back to the whiteboard. She took the one facing it.
“Brandon, I’d like to continue the lecture by demonstrating your autonomic nervous response to memories linked to various senses. Can you recount the best memory you have of a strong smell?”
“Uh, sure, I guess. I dunno, we went to the fair when I was a kid and there was a stand selling cornbread and—” as Brandon continued to stumble through an old memory, Ms. Fremont looked up at the whiteboard behind him and furrowed her brow.
“Ah, excuse me, Brandon, keep going, I just need to erase the notes from the previous lecture.” She stood up, grabbed the eraser, and leaned forward over Brandon’s shoulder to erase something. Brandon had leaned to the side out of politeness, but Ms. Fremont was stretching across his entire field of vision. And as she leaned further over her shirt, which came down just to the top of her skirt, started riding up.
“Um, well, so there was this stand next to the flame jugglers—”
“I’m sorry,” she cut him off, “I’ve asked Professor Whitaker to clean up after his lectures but he is rather adamant. We go back and forth like cats and dogs about the tiniest of things. Do you ever do that with your friends, Brandon? Go back and forth with them?”
Brandon had since given up trying to recount his memory of the fair, and had given up on trying to be polite, opting instead to ogle the site in front of him. Ms. Fremont’s taut stomach and deep round navel were staring him right in the face and he wanted to drink as much of them in as he could in the short time he had to do so.
“Do you ever just get fixated on something tiny and go back and forth with it? Like your argument has happened a hundred times before and you’re just actors, playing out your parts? Going back and forth. Fixating on the topic and going back and forth.”
She had stopped erasing and just kept moving her hips from side to side in front of Brandon’s face. She straightened herself, pushed her skirt down a few inches and rolled her shirt up a bit to keep her toned stomach visible even when she stopped stretching. Brandon’s features had relaxed and his mouth hung slightly open as he drank in the sight of her stomach and navel swaying in front of his eyes.
“Now girls, as you might be able to see, I have Brandon here in a light trance. I’ve given him something to fixate on and he’s taken to it like a fish to water. Isn’t that right Brandon?”
She cupped his chin with her right hand, stroking the underside of his neck gently with her index finger. Her other hand lovingly pushed strands of his hair away from his eyes and behind his ear. Her navel and hips continued their incessant sway.
“This is what I meant, Claire. I did not mean that you will learn all of psychology in this class. I did not mean that you will get enough credits from me to graduate. I meant that if you stay here and learn what I have to teach you, you will have the resources to acquire anything else you could want in life. All of you, including Brandon here, were hand picked by me. All of you, except Brandon, are free to go, right now, if you so choose. It will not be easy to stay. And unfortunately, it will not be safe either. But if you remain in this class, you can become So. Much. More.”
She punctuated the last three words with a tiny tap on the entranced Brandon’s cheeks and nose. Some of the girls looked confused, others slightly taken aback. Others were looking around nervously to see how everyone else was reacting. It was a huge risk, a pivotal moment for Elena. The culmination of all of her planning and research. She felt confident that she knew the personalities of the girls well enough that they would at least stay to see how this lecture played out. While the girls tried to puzzle through what Ms. Fremont was saying to them, Elena stood Brandon up and led him to the center of the stage, next to the podium.
“While you decide, let me continue with the lecture. The real lecture this time.” Ms. Fremont beamed. She turned Brandon so he was facing the class, arms hanging meekly at his sides and glassy eyes. She continued nonchalantly as she started to undo his belt buckle.
“As I said, Brandon is in a light trance from my impromptu dance. In this state, a fast movement or a sharp pain will pull him out and back into wakefulness. And we don’t want that, do we?” She asked no one in particular. Smiling, she continued “I hope none of you are offended by nudity. This is a technical demonstration of the applications of psychology, and I do hope we can all be adults about it.” Smiling mischievously, she finished undoing Brandon’s pants and dropped them, along with his boxers, to the floor. The girls, some of whom had been half-heartedly feigning disgust, were now completely captivated by the proceedings and looked on with unabated lust. They all could plainly see that Brandon was gorgeous. But his real claim to fame was his cock. It curved away from his body, fully engorged, bowing under its own weight. Towering over two enormous balls no doubt churning with cum. It was far larger than anything any of the girls had seen before. And though she had never laid eyes on it herself either, Ms. Fremont was well aware of his enormity from interviews she had conducted with Brandon’s ex-girlfriends. She continued the lecture as she coaxed Brandon’s arms over his head so she could remove his shirt.
“There is a way to deepen his trance so that no amount of distractions or even extreme pain could bring him out. And as you might have guessed, it involves extreme pleasure.”
She brought one of the chairs back over and placed it behind Brandon and instructed him to sit in it. She kneeled and started removing his shoes, socks, and the pants puddled at his feet.
“There is a reason why I have chosen you girls as my disciples, and Brandon here as a…demonstration. Domination is a game. A game of control. And God saw fit to provide women with a convenient joystick to help us win that game. And as if that wasn’t enough, the closer you are to winning, the more access you get to your joystick.”
As she explained this last part, Elena grabbed the base of Brandon’s mammoth cock, causing it to flex and strain into the air in front of the awestruck women. She pulled up a chair next to Brandon and sat, crossing one leg over the other, and rested her head on his shoulder, like they were an old married couple waiting for their stop on the subway. With her right hand she reached up and guided him by the chin until his head was staring down into her luscious cleavage. With the other hand she took possession of his meaty shaft and began slowly pumping.
“Brandon here is a very horny boy, so all it took was a little bit of skin and some soft touches to claim ownership of him, but some men will resist more. Much, much more. But no matter how daunting the...task at hand is…” she giggled and waved Brandon’s cock from side
to side like a gargantuan metronome, causing some of the girls to giggle as well “...you must always remember this, the first and most important lesson you will learn in this room; if it has a cock, it can be subdued.” She paused and hoped that that tenant had found its way into the girls’ heads despite the lewd display that accompanied it. “And to say that Brandon has a cock is a bit of an understatement, wouldn’t you agree, Brandon?”
He could only groan. Maybe in response to hearing his name, maybe because of the hand pumping him so deliciously. Stroking up slowly to let the girls see the skin bunch up around the head and the tiny bead of precum that formed. And then slowly back down, pulling the skin taut, causing the enormous cock to strain and the bead to drip down and join its brethren in a pool between Brandon’s legs. The onlookers hadn’t moved a single atom, or looked anywhere but directly at the erotic domination taking place at the front of the room.
Some mouths were agape. Some eyebrows were raised impossibly high. Some hands were trembling with excitement. And some other hands had unconsciously found their way to a stubbornly erect nipple or damp panty.
“Well, it’s about time we finished with our little demonstration.” Ms. Fremont declared, standing and walking behind Brandon’s chair. She bent over at the waist so her head was next to Brandon’s ear and reached down so she could get a better grip on the massive tool between his legs. With a smile on her face and Brandon’s enormous cock in her hand she began pumping him firmly and quickly.
“Brandon has been a very good boy, haven’t you? But I don’t think he really wanted to play this game of ours. I think Brandon gave up a while ago and just needs to drain these heavy balls of his so he can go to sleep, isn’t that right sweetie? Awww, I know, I know. But before I let you blow all of that sleepy, obedient cum out, I need you to tell me what you are. Okay sweetie?”
Staring straight ahead, glassy eyed, Brandon furrowed his brow in concentration.
“Br….Brandon.”
“Hahaha, no sweetie, that’s your name. I want to know what you are” His brow furrowed deeper and he tried again.
“...Slave?” Elena pumped him excruciatingly fast now and gave him a big kiss on his cheek.
“Oh verrrrry gooood. Tell me again what you are.”
“...Slave.”
Elena let go of his pole, straightened up and walked to stand beside the defeated man. She cupped his chin and guided his head until he was looking up into her beautiful blue eyes.
“Tell me one more time. Louder. Brandon Carter, what are you?”
Brandon was slumped all the way into his chair. Arms hanging limp. Legs sprawled out haphazardly like he had just run a marathon. His member, not having the firm support of Ms. Fremont’s experienced hand to guide its movements, twitched and bobbed ominously in the air. Brandon stared up into the endless pools of Elena’s eyes and the lesson finally cemented itself in his brain. He proudly exclaimed his answer, with a tiny smile and a hint of the confidence he had gone through life with.
“Slave!”
“Good boy!” Ms. Fremont barked out a laugh of victory and slapped Brandon’s face as hard as she could. The impact drove his head back to facing forward and, like a Rube-Goldberg machine, unstoppable biological processes involved in the male orgasm began to all happen
simultaneously. Elena, beaming from ear to ear, stepped back and held up some ta-da hands at Brandon’s beautiful, convulsing body, doing her best impersonation of a magician’s assistant.
“Ladies!....” she bellowed.
The first shot of jizz erupted out of Brandon, sending his tortured meat careening to slump over his left leg. The next blast arced across the stage and sent his cock flying, noisily landing on his six-pack abs, like steak dropped onto a countertop, only to be knocked around again by the next blast. Brandon was in the midst of a titanic climax and his cock was closer to an out-of-control firehose than a human sex organ. Gobs of jism fired off in every direction. His limbs spasmed with the force of his orgasm, but none of it showed on his face, which was still glassy and docile, chanting over and over the word that had unlocked this hidden dimension ofpleasure.
“Slave. Slave. Slave.”
“....Welcome to Male Subjugation 101”