The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Of course, she had to divine their intent. If the boy was ramming his dick into her warm, sucking mouth, gasping as she rubbed her tongue along the underside… that boy was just being polite. He wanted to drizzle his seed down her throat, pubic hairs tickling her nose. So of course she shook her head no in those circumstances. And sometimes, rarely, it was a lazy Sunday hummer with the boy half-watching football, or she knew he had a yen for squirting on a pretty face, then it was okay to pull off. So really 90% of the time she was still swallowing. But it was polite, and that was what was important.

Stewart was a sweetheart who just stopped by to get drained before classes. Kristen gave him her full attention—she hardly could do otherwise—but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere even as she vacuumed his dick.

She was naked. No boy had told her to get dressed yet. But Kristen had put out a cute pink tank-top with a rainbow stripe that ran along the bottom fringe, plus a light khaki pair of shorts that were sexy without totally cutting off her circulation. And, ever hopeful, a pair of panties, just in case a boy was feeling in a good enough mood to let her wear them. Otherwise she’d be hot and bothered and leaky all day.

“Oh, sorry, you can pull off if you want,” Stewart mumbled, not meeting her eyes. It was hard for a 19 year old boy to be depressed, post-Command, but Stewart managed. He dressed in black clothes and covered acne scars with a threadbare beard.

Of course Kristen finished him. Bad skin aside, it was hard to understand why Stewart was depressed. He had a natural baritone that made her and every other girl leap to attention, and he had a generously sized dick that held her allegiance.

Despite constant practice she gagged on an unexpected volume of sperm, a torrent that leaked out the sides of her lips and ran down her chin. Kristen disengaged and lapped it up as soon as it was decent. She had been told by too many men too many times that cum was delicious to possibly disagree. Her own orgasm followed not long after.

When she came to, Stewart had already left. And without helping her get dressed.

Instead she snagged Michael.

“Can you help me get dressed?” she asked, peeking into the dorm hallway. Michael shrugged and followed her in. He was single, rumored to be betrothed back home, like a lot of families were doing these days. It would explain his determination to take every girl he happened to walk by.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Michael said, eyeing the hoped-for clothes on the bed. “C’mon, Kristen. This is not West Beverly High in 1997. It’s seventy-five degrees out and we have to take advantage while the weather holds.”

Michael paused, glanced at her. He wasn’t completely heartless. “Feel free to make a snarky comment if any come to you,” he offered.

“Maybe I’ll get more attention if I’m not another vinyl-wrapped sweetie leaking onto the classroom chairs,” Kristen said, sweetly. Michael did have that going for him, he treated girls like more then ambulatory sexbots.

“I’m willing to listen to reason,” Michael said. “Tell you what, I’ll even give you a choice. Schoolgirl or Bim-bot. No, that’s too easy, you’ll take schoolgirl. Okay, with bimbot you get to wear underwear. A tantalizing and challenging choice.”

Kristen DID have a purple bandeau dress that showed off her legs. Her best feature. And it had a set of stripes that did magical things for the apparent size and heft of her tits. Plus underwear? A deal.

“I’ll take the bimbo dress,” she said. Kristen paused. That was too aggressive, in front of a male. “If that’s okay,” she added.

“Done deal,” Michael said, smiling broadly. He glanced down to the fly of his jeans. It was already down. It was always down. “Why don’t you put it on, and I’ll show you how much I like it. And yes, I am going to ask you to swallow.”

At least he walked her to class, afterwards. Practically every inch of Kristen’s legs was on display, and she teetered in four-inch heels with stiletto points. Just like most of the other girls. The single ladies were mostly in leather or latex, dolled up in makeup, hair occasionally streaked with quickies. The married women kept close to their partners, dressed up in whatever the men preferred, schoolgirl chic or faux-raver or just a pair of tight and easily-removable shorts. Copulation on campus grounds was off limits, but rest stations were strategically scattered around.

“So what’s up with Stewart?” Kristen asked Michael. His spunk was still on her lips.

“Ahhh, the dumb fucker. He has a yen for Yasmine. She still, still, still hasn’t gone over, you know.”

Kristen raised a gummy and spattered eyebrow. “Really?”

“I know! And she’s practically twenty. She keeps saying that she’s immune, which is silly. She’s just the tail end of a bell curve. Anyway Stewart is so insecure about the way he looks…. you can probably fill in the blanks.”

“And she’s turning him down?” Kristen said.

Michael rolled his eyes. “She’s on this whole kick about it, lately. Really alienating all the guys. If she was smart she’d realize that they’re all gonna get her back—or I guess, on her back—once she goes over. That ‘on her back’ line was a joke, by the way.”

Kristen only then realized how funny Michael had been. Giggles bubbled out of her, and she had to stop and hold on to her knees while she wheezed with laughter. Michael eyed her while she chuckled.

“Alright, alright,” he said. She stopped, instantly. “How funny was it, really?”

“Very funny,” Kristen said, promptly.

Michael considered his next line. “How funny was it if I had never told you it was funny, and I asked you to be totally honest.”

“It was okay funny,” Kristen said.

“That’ll work,” Michael said. “Hey, Kristen, I have to go. Have a good day.”

So she would. Michael wasn’t totally heartless.

Professor Goddard had a voice all the girls creamed to.

It was a cheap and unfair thing, smoky and thick male voices acting as a dominance signal. And there were other signs that Kristen watched for, like build and confidence and—the final tiebreaker—that ineffable scent of an alpha male. But scientists had studied it and found that sounding like Samuel L Jackson got post-Command girls weak in the knees.

Lots of boys smoked to get that husky growl.

And today Professor Goddard’s 50-minute unceasing lecture on statistical methods had turned Kristen into a panting, dripping mess. The voice washed over her, strumming on strings deep within her brain, and sending her into a wet froth of arousal. His explanation of renormalization had Kristen soaking her preciously-gotten panties, and forced her legs wide apart. Her notes had become doodles of dicks a long time ago. The seven or eight other girls were also bitches in heat, squirming and trying not to shove a hand up their slits.

All except for Yasmine.

She wore a casual flannel and a pair of dark brown pants that were pert, a little flattering, but ultimately sedate. She had her dark black hair pulled back casually in a ponytail. She chewed on a pencil and took thoughtful notes.

She raised her hand and asked questions!

Stewart sat two rows behind her, clearly moping. He only had eyes for her. He hadn’t written down anything. It wasn’t clear he was even enrolled in the class.

It was funny, but Kristen had a hard time recalling those pre-Command days, before boys had become an all-consuming passion. Too many commands to take it easy, don’t think about it, don’t worry about it, don’t fret over it, it’s gone. They made a girl cheerful and wet and willing and prone not to overconsider her situation.

After class Kristen lingered near the front. Ordinarily juices would be streaming freely down her thighs, but the unusual gift of underwear kept her damp but contained. Kristen told herself she was watching the Stewart-Yasmine situation, but really, she hoped mostly for another few phrases of Professor Goddard before she went off to jill herself.

“Yasmine, you’re welcome to come by office hours with these questions,” the Professor was saying. Kristen closed her eyes. She glowed with pleasure, this close to an alpha. Could she come without even touching herself?

Yasmine’s thin, bright voice broke the spell. “It’s just a quick question, Professor. I want to get this down before the midterm. Unless you have somewhere to be?”

The Professor laughed. It was an obvious delight to him, being shown up by a girl. He turned back to the blackboard. Kristen sat down quietly in a seat and placed a finger between her legs. The room was empty except for her and Yasmine and the man with the sex god voice.

Yasmine saw her getting off and rolled her eyes.

“You’re such a breath of fresh air!” the Professor exclaimed, laughing. “Yasmine, you have no idea. It’s such a delight not to be constantly worrying about saying something like…” and he dropped his voice, somehow, even lower down the register. “Yasmine, I want you to be the biggest bimbo you can be.”

He checked his watch. “But I do have to leave. Yasmine, I will see you tomorrow. Kristen, have a great night.” Kristen made a mental note that she would. Professor Goddard was such a sweetheart.

She got ready to leave, too, when Kristen noticed something odd. Yasmine hadn’t moved an inch.

“Uh, Yasmine?” Kristen ventured.

She walked around the lecture hall, to where Yasmine was standing. And softly trembling. Her body quivered. It was a look Kristen recognized. Yasmine’s mind was etching itself, right then, reshaping around a set of priorities.

“Kristen,” she said, and stopped herself. When she restarted, Yasmine’s voice was high-pitched and trilling. “Kristen, I have to be the biggest bimbo I can be.”

She looked ready to bolt. Kristen knew the feeling. That first command, that shining, bright, from the sky etched-in-stone command, it had to be obeyed. What had Professor Goddard said? Something about being the biggest bimbo. Great.

“I’ve got to get out of these clothes,” Yasmine said. She looked down at them, her nose wrinkling. “They’re disgusting. Oh my god. I can’t be a bimbo in these clothes.”

“He said he wants you to EVENTUALLY be the biggest bimbo..” Kristen stopped herself. It wasn’t what the Professor had said. Just trying to twist it logically made her head hurt. She tried a new tack.

“Yasmine, why don’t I help you? I’ve been finger-fucking myself in public for awhile now, I know all about being a big bimbo,” she said. Kristen put her still wet finger out for Yasmine to examine.

“Should I… suck on that?” Yasmine said. She tentatively licked at Kristen’s fingers. Kristen didn’t stop her. It was a pretty bimbo-y thing to do. “I don’t…” the dark-haired girl appeared to regain a little possession. “Oh no. I’ve.. I got commanded. I thought I was never going to get there.”

Yeah, well, maybe you were already a little dim, then, Kristen thought. But another part of her thought: this was way out of her league. There were protocols and systems for confused girls just commanded. Being told that you were a bimbo and stalking out was not ideal. “I need to.. wait, a bimbo is horny, right? Like all the time?” Yasmine said. Kristen could only nod. The effect on Yasmine was immediate. Blood flushed her cheeks, and she had to hold herself against a chair to steady herself. “Ohhhhh shit….” Yasmine said, and moaned, deep in her throat. Her hands started to knead at her tits. “Oh my god. I’m.. I’ve never been turned on like this. This is…”

“Yeah, I think a bimbo like you should totally masturbate,” Kristen said, thinking hard. “And then, hey, why don’t we go see Professor Goddard and ask him how to be a bimbo? For tips.”

“I can’t,” Yasmine said, automatically. Her lip twisted. It was a new experience, “I can’t” being absolute rather than a figure of speech. “I really can’t. He said he’d see me tomorrow. Oh my god, I’m so turned on. I’m all wet. This is what it’s like to be a bimbo, right?”

Pretty much, Kristen thought. At least Yasmine wasn’t running out to get fucked. Sooner or later she’d figure out that a real bimbo wasn’t satisfied with her fingers. She had to think of a plan before then.

“Oh shit, this feels so good,” Yasmine murmured. She sat in a lecture chair, ass sticking out over the chair, her pants rough around her ankles. She had her hand inside her dingy white panties. “How many fingers does a bimbo use?”

“All of them,” Kristen said. It was true. It was a pretty hot scene, to tell the truth. Kristen felt many old commands come up, reminding her to always get between the legs of a wet and ready friend. But there were other, newer, countermanding commands, with enough space for her to ignore those things. But she was still getting horny, and so many of them told her to finger, lick, suck, moan, cum…

“Look, Yasmine,” Kristen said. She squeezed her eyes shut. Yasmine had her legs splayed well open and was fingering herself with abandon. She still had her pussy hair, unheard of, and the black thatch was powerfully erotic. “I’m going to.. help you. Stay here and masturbate, a girl isn’t, uh, a bimbo until she’s cum at least a dozen times in a row while sitting in a chair and not attracting attention.”

Kristen sped off.

So many boys outside. After classes the girls that could usually went back to the dorms to drink some fluids and eat something after a long day of learning and fucking. Part of the reason Southeastern Technical was so progressive was that boys were supposed to leave non-attached girls alone between the hour of 4 and 5. Although 5:00 to 5:15 was usually pretty wet as a consequence.

And then, of all the many boys she ran across, and all the men there she had personally blown, she had to run across Michael.

“Kristen! I was just thinking about a blowjob from my favorite hummer queen,” he said, smiling.

“It’s…” she was too turned on to remind him it was 5:10. Instead Kristen plopped to her knees and reached for his fly.

“Whoa! What’s the hurry? Take your time, baby,” he said, grinning. “I was thinking about you during class today. Truly a world class blowjob you gave. The way you worked the shaft. Incredible. And I didn’t even tell you to be amazing.”

Kristen tried and failed to think: you cum quickly. It was to her benefit, now. She went down deep and aggressive on Michael’s cock, bringing her tongue into it almost right away. She had been told a million times to make it amazing for the guy, but justified it on the grounds that Michael didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he gripped her hair, and urged her faster. His spunk coated her mouth for the second time of the day.

“Sorry I forgot to ask, I owe you one,” he said, and stretched. He finally noted Kristen’s worried expression. “Oh, you are in a hurry. What’s up?”

“The sky,” Kristen said, just to be sure she was answering the question correctly, “and also Yasmine went under finally.”

“Oh, finally!” Michael said. He fistpumped. “That prissy girl is ready for a guy to tell her what’s what. That is hilarious. Where is she?”

“That’s the..” Kristen paused to lick her lips. It wouldn’t do to waste any delicious white sperm. So salty. “problem. Professor Goddard told her to be the biggest bimbo ever and.. that’s it. Then he left. She’s in the auditorium masturbating and I’m worried.”

“Oh, hmm,” Michael, to his credit, did look concerned. “That’s a lot for her first command. Hmm. I think I can help. Hey, someone should tell Stewart about this. He’ll probably drown her in sperm! I think that’s worth seeing.”

The auditorium was empty.

Yasmine had obviously been there. There was a puddle where she had been sitting. And another puddle up against the wall, and a third on top of the desk. Plus her underwear had been torn to shreds.

Michael sobered up. “Well, shit,” he said. He took his hand off Kristen’s ass to think. “This is a bad situation. Someone could tell her to go break a leg. Or worse. Any ideas? We could wander around and look for the male dogpile. Yasmine is gonna be a huge draw.”

“She was complaining about her clothes,” Kristen said. She chewed at her lip. It was getting hard to ignore the fact that she hadn’t been fucked all day. “Michael, could you tell me to care about this?”

“Huh? Oh. If you want. You care about finding Yasmine.”

Her purpose renewed, Kristen pointed. “The Emporium. She’s wearing flannel. It’s where I’d go.”

“Okay, we’re off campus,” Michael said. “Pretend that I own you.”

It was a hard command to process and Kristen struggled with it. By definition it meant that he didn’t own her… but she should act like he did… but he didn’t. She walked along quietly, close to him.

“Clarification?” she croaked.

“Just stick close. Stewart texted me. He’s coming but he’s not near campus. It’s hard to parse a text message but I think he’s driving about a hundred miles per hour. I have no clue why. If the whole reason he wanted her was that she was pre-Command, guess what, that’s over with.”

They were off-campus. It was important to stick close to a man, here. It was so easy to be told to “follow me” and end up somewhere unsafe, kept as a toy by someone unscrupulous. Kristen had the chip in and so did Yasmine, probably, but everything about it was legally unsettled.

They passed a few girls in leather pants and halter tops, walking quickly on some errand. And then a Piercer, tame in her loose-fitting jeans and t-shirt, twirling her keys idly. It worked but still wasn’t very popular – any Commands she had already gotten never really went away, and besides, she was now deaf. Plus a guy could still write something down.

“Don’t get that done,” Michael said, shaking his head.

“I know,” Kristen said. She had been told how obscene it was.

Kristen had been to the Emporium before. It had once been a Goodwill, and still sort of was. Some older men with potbellies waited outside, waiting for a girl that caught their eye to emerge, shrugging off brunettes in clear plastic heels and a blonde with pierced nipples. Kristen had always come with another guy to avoid the lurkers.

Inside the clothes were loosely sorted into piles, by article of clothing, and nothing more. The place reeked of jism and lubrication and dozens of horny women and their sexual past. All the old clubwear or temporary fetishes or brief obsessions got dumped here, uncleaned, to be passed forward to the next bimbo who found herself suddenly needing schoolgirl wear. The bunny costume pile alone was tall enough to hide a bunch of actual rabbits.

“Yasmine! There, found her,” Michael said. He grabbed Kristen’s hand, lead her over to the solitary short-haired girl thumbing through a pile of miniskirts. Yasmine had already changed her outfit to full bimbohood, her dusky skin revealed in a classic pink bustier. She had better tits then Kristen had expected, and her nipples were pert and hard. The new bimbo looked feverish, plowing through old clothes laced with seminal fluid or milk or something else.

“Welcome to life as a Command girl, Yasmine,” Michael said, a trace of gloat in his voice. “How does it feel?”

“I’m sooo horny,” Yasmine said, in her newly girlish voice. Her lip quivered. “And it’s so hard to be the biggest bimbo. I feel like I want to, I don’t know…” she wrung the pile of clothes in her hands anxiously. “fuck everyone at the same time that I try on all these clothes and suck on a lollipop. It’s so… confusing!”

“Actually, it’s not,” Michael corrected her. “Don’t think too hard. Everything is fine.”

Yasmine’s shoulders slumped, and she let out a deep breath. “Ohhh… that’s better. Thank you, sir,” her eyebrows pulled together. “Wait, am I dumber now?”

“Don’t think about that too hard either,” Michael counseled. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her away from the stacks of clothes. Around them, boys and mostly-naked girls floated through the stacks, hunting for leather and lace and frilly things that hadn’t seen too much use. “Yasmine, I want you to stop with this biggest bimbo nonsense and come with me.”

Yasmine slowly shook her head. “No.. I.. the Professor told me.”

Michael rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Of course that man overrules me. Alright, Yasmine, come with me and we’ll get you a makeover. You can’t be a proper woman without makeup.”

Kristen overheard, and checked her own lips. They were dry. Suddenly horrified, she pulled out a compact from her little purse and anxiously took a look in the mirror. Just a shade of foundation and a touch of eyeliner. What was she doing outside?

“I can’t do that either,” Yasmine said. It was her first experience with conflicting male orders, and she wavered on her feet, overcome. Michael, as ever, put a hand on her ass. “There’s this man outside, he told me to wear something sexy and then to come back out. He said I looked like a dead nun in my shirt.”

“Okay, fuck that guy. Jesus, stop. Okay, that was my fault,” Michael held on to Yasmine’s arm as she turned to leave. “Wait, are you seriously taking his orders over mine? One of those fat guys out there?”

The new bimbo gave a helpless shrug.

“Did he tell you what door you had to leave from?” Michael said, eventually.

It took them a half-hour to get Yasmine out of the Emporium. Every time she saw a scrap of clothing even marginally more sexy then her current outfit she couldn’t help but go for it. Even Michael smelled like a day of sex when they finally emerged, smuggling Yasmine through a loading garage.

Yasmine earned plenty of looks even from the jaded men they saw on the way. Four inch stilletos that she wobbled in, with black leather straps up her calves, and then a blue dress that ended just below her ass and started just midline on her tits. Each step exposed a hint of nipple. Yasmine had borrowed Kristen’s makeup, too, and outlined her lips in a dark red. No one seemed to recognize her when they brought the new bimbo back on campus. Which was good, as far as Kristen was concerned. The boys had long ago stopped being amused by Yasmine’s immunity and started to watch her with tight-lipped, predatory eyes.

Stewart paced by their rendez-vous, his hair tousled and oily, his hands balled tight. He brightened when he saw Yasmine. He barely noticed Michael or Kristen.

“Yasmine, stop what you’re doing and come with me,” he said, without ceremony. He had a pretty deep voice, but Kristen could tell it wasn’t going to be enough.

Yasmine gave a shy smile, and shrugged. “I’m sorry Stewart but… I can’t. Professor Goddard told me to go be the biggest bimbo ever and.. I haven’t even gotten fucked yet.” She moved towards him. “You can fuck me, at least.”

Stewart growled. Michael had taken the momentary hiatus from bimbo-guarding duty to slip his hand up Kristen’s dress, and was lightly fingering her. Kristen had to admit that it felt pretty good. With the Yasmine debacle she hadn’t gotten fucked all day, and as she had been told, it was vital she get in at least eight or nine orgasms before dinner.

“She promised me that, if and when she went over, she’d be mine,” Stewart explained. “We had these long talks… about respect…”

Yasmine bounced on her stilletos and gave another “what can I do?” look. She had been told to be the biggest bimbo. “I’m really sorry, Stewart, I want to be owned by you, I still remember all that stuff. It’s just… I have to go around and wear short skirts and get fingered like Kristen is. I just have to.”

“It might help if you banged her,” Michael said, cheerful. “Give you a bit more authority. Just enough to get over the hump. Oh dude, she’s wandering away, go get her.”

Yasmine had seen a group of gawky teenagers touring the campus and was ambling towards them with a hopeful look. Stewart had to guide her back around the waist. His mouth twisted.

“We had all these promises written up,” he mumbled, emotional. “Build up her resistance and stuff. And we had promise rings picked out.”

It was embarrassing for everyone. Even Michael, ordinarily immune to emotion, had the grace to take his finger out from where it had been buried in Kristen’s slit. Although he gave her the finger to lick clean.

“Look, dude, you’ve got to work with this. Here, I’ll make it easy for you. Yasmine, you want to fuck Stewart so badly you’ll cream just from touching him.”

Stewart reached out and grabbed her hand.

Her shrieks announced to the world that Yasmine was a post-command girl.

“Oh god, it’s just so good, it’s just so. Good.” Yasmine whimpered. Or something like that. The two men were each taking out their tension on a respective girl, in Michael’s dorm room. Michael was taking his usual leisurely time about fucking Kristen, sliding a long dick in and out of her with a smug grunt at the end of each thrust. A long day of unexpected conflict banged out of Kristen with each push, and she had already cum several times on his bed. She kneaded at her tits absently, out of long-grained expectation.

But it was almost hard to concentrate with the sexual froth going on at the other side of the room. Yasmine and Stewart were ferocious. It was a whole different side of the usually passive boy. He had ripped Yasmine’s cheap clothes off of her, given them a contemptuous look as the shreds splayed on the floor, and then bent her roughly over the bed. When Michael’s roommate got back, he was going to have to wash the sheets. Stewart’s fevered, almost brutal thrusts had been matched by Yasmine’s bucking, wild, braying enthusiasm. He plowed her for a good twenty minutes doggy-style, expression closed and furious, before finally thrusting deep and emptying out.

Presumably Yasmine was on birth control.

“Now stop all this biggest bimbo bullshit and get on your knees,” Stewart ordered, imperious. He glared at Yasmine. She hesitated, staring at the dripping wet dick between his legs, before falling gently to her knees. “I can do the on your knees part,” she told him, apologetically.

Stewart sagged, defeated. “That’s all the guy I’ve got,” he whispered at Michael, as Yasmine started to tongue at his softening cock. Even her facial expressions were different. They were soft, quizzical. The old, raspy Yasmine had dissolved.

“Michael?” Kristen said.

“In a minute, baby, I’m about to go over,” Michael said. For all his easygoing sexual rhythm, he was clearly enjoying himself. Kristen prided herself on being an excellent lay.

She waited exactly sixty seconds. “Michael, can you lean in for a second?”

It was very hard to do, and it felt very, very strange, but Kristen managed to wink at him. The man leaned in close, tentatively. She whispered something.

Moments later, Michael flooded her with jism, for the third time that day, or so, and she was lost in the white hot sensation of a boy cumming inside of her. So she missed Michael turning around and saying, “hey, Stewart, let me give it a go.”

“No… let me.. just let me think,” Stewart said, staring at the coquette still tonguing him softly.

“Hey,” Michael said, “bimbo. Yeah, you, of course.” He fixed Yasmine with a glare. “I own you now.”

“Hey, what the fuck?” Stewart said. He rounded on Michael. Yasmine sat between the two of them, her face still drizzled and wet.

“What? She’s up for grabs. Everyone on campus has wanted a shot at Yasmine for years. So I’m staking a claim. If you can do better, which you can’t, then man the fuck up.”

“She’s my fucking girl!” Stewart said. His face turned a bright shade of red. It highlighted old acne scars.

“Yeah, she’s gonna ditch you as soon as you’re soft and go bang some other guy. Aren’t you, bimbo?”

Yasmine nodded. “Sorry!” she whispered, to Stewart.

“Okay, so you’ll stick with me, and after I show you what an actual working penis looks like—“

Stewart took a swing at Michael. He connected, right in the eye, and sent Michael stumbling back, nearly to land on a still spasming Kristen. Yasmine inhaled and covered her mouth. Above her towered a mad, red-faced, man with a cock still covered in her juices.

The man turned and thundered at her in a deep, raging voice. “You are MINE, you slutty little bimbo.”

And Yasmine realized that it was true.

“Was that manly?” Michael asked, later. Kristen held an ice pack to his eye and tended to his wounds. It was already shading up purple and blue, despite her work to keep the swelling down. Stewart and his acquisition had marched off in a huff.

Kristen paused. “It was noble,” she offered. “Very noble. And… it wasn’t unmanly. It was generous.”

Michael sighed. “Clever,” Kristen said. “Also clever.”

“It was your idea. Still, I did manage the execution. I think Stewart believes I was doing it for real.”

“It worked, though,” Kristen offered.

“This won’t even make me popular with the other guys. They’ll think I deprived them of a shot at Yasmine. There were epic stories about what they wanted to do to her. I bet Stewart smuggles her off campus.”

Kristen kept a pair of pants around in her dorm room for boys that came in without any. Michael pulled them on. They were loose around his waist.

He looked her hard in the eyes, all playfulness gone, with dark eyes that were flint. “Kristen,” Michael said. “I own you.”

Kristen waited.

She felt nothing. It was probably obvious on her face.

“How about a blowjob?” she offered.

A smile slowly climbed across Michael’s face.

“Well, I think that’ll have to do,” he concluded.