The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Radhu leaned back in his chair, and stretched his back. On one of the screens in front of him, the latest trace he ran on the Delta Iota Kappa networks confirmed that he had identified all the machines connected to the main servers. On another screen, the cracking software he had obtained from a friend with NSA connections was whirring away, attacking the encrypted documents he had downloaded from the fraternity’s servers.

Breaking into the secured network of Delta Iota Kappa had turned out to be easy once he had figured out the firewall layering that whoever was in charge of system administration at the fraternity had implemented. Unraveling the firewalls had taken the most time, with careful probes from different directions, spaced enough in time to seem like random noise from the Internet.

The firewall layering had been effective, Radhu had to admit, and he genuinely admired the symmetric beauty of the design. Firewalls over firewalls, with port remappers sitting in between shuffling ports randomly every five minutes so that attackers would not know where to direct their attack vectors.

He had managed to uncover enough data about the random port reshuffling to determine that the pseudorandom generator that the underlying software was using was weak, and he had needed almost a week to extract the generator seed and replicate the stream of values that the pseudorandom generator was supplying to the firewall software. With this stream of values, Radhu had been able to accurately predict the pattern of port shuffling, and equipped with that information, it had been a simple matter to target an appropriate weak port for intrusion. Once he was in, the rest had been easy: mapping the network, finding the databases, extracting relevant documents. He was reasonably certain that he had covered his tracks. He had removed evidence of his intrusion from the various system logs, and had disabled whatever online monitoring systems he could find. Whomever had installed the security system had been good. Not good enough to keep him out, but Radhu was impressed.

He had grabbed everything that looked vaguely interesting—a lot of documents had to do with alumni contacts and fundraising, mind-numbingly boring and at first glance not directly relevant to what he was looking for. Especially interesting was the cache of files that had lived on an isolated encrypted storage unit. It had been mounted on a machine with a single link to the main servers. He had downloaded the raw disk images, reconstructing the unit on his own servers. He patted himself on the back at the foresight he had had of buying an array of several terabytes of external hard drives.

Cracking the encryption on those disk images had been surprisingly fast. The storage unit was off the shelf, and quite old, the encryption technology a simple unaltered DES that took the supercomputer buried deep underneath the campus and available to physics students with the right connections less than a day to crack open like a coconut dropped from an airplane.

The supercomputer was currently trying to crack the email database that Radhu had snatched from the Delta Iota Kappa network as well. That one was a tougher nut to crack. It seemed to be a homegrown system. While security in such systems was generally a complete joke—as it was whenever an amateur got it in their head to develop their own encryption system—in this instance it looked like an AES encrypted folder with what looked like an insane key length. Attacking it directly was nearly impossible, so all he could hope for was to derive the key from software accessing the database. Which was exactly what the computer was currently attempting to do, again, using specific software obtained from unmentionable sources.

While the supercomputer quietly churned away, Radhu was sweeping through the documents he had extracted from the encrypted storage unit. Much of them simply confirmed what Cindy had told Daniel, about the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity’s abduction of women, their programming, and their subsequent use by the fraternity brothers. He scanned down a list of names, spending some time on the ones he knew: Marjorie Duquesne—the girl they had searched for the previous semester; Patricia Temple—which he knew as Trish, one of Jennifer’s friends he had met at a dinner party at Daniel’s; Kyra MacKenna—Jackson’s main squeeze, according to Daniel. Most of the other girls he did not know, and a quick online search revealed very little, suggesting that the girls had not been very popular and had kept away from the spotlight.

And then, of course, there was Serena Banks. Cindy had told them that Serena had been taken by the frat, but seeing her name like that, on the screen—plain, unadorned, stark—was still more of a shock than he had expected.

He found schedules governing the use of the girls, and could infer the desirability of the individual girls based on the contention for their hours. He automatically focused on the algorithmic complexity of the resulting scheduling problem—a resource allocation problem with variables weights—as a way to distract himself from imagining what Serena was made to do during those encounters.

On a different monitor, a clip of automatically identified and spliced videos of Serena grabbed from the wireless camera feeds was playing, full screen. On it, the black beauty was going about her business, talking to people, walking, working. An analysis of these videos had established the pattern that led to finding Doctor Cargyle—also known as Snowman. Thinking of him reminded him of the NADA party, and a shiver ran through him, which Radhu almost did not notice. He stared at the monitor.

It was a clip tagged with a date from almost a week earlier. Serena was leaning against a wall in some hallways—Monroe Hall, the Journalism School—talking to two young men, which Radhu by this point was able to identify as Delta Iota Kappa brothers. The documents had included a complete roster and biographical information about the members of the fraternity, including applicants from the pledge weeks going back three years. Radhu watched the two men flirt with Serena, who flirted right back as she was wont to do. Until that moment—he had been waiting for it—where she stiffened slightly, after which the men’s demeanor changed noticeably. They leaned on the wall next to her, invading her personal space, and Serena did not resist it, and in fact ran her hand over the face of one of the men. The feed had no sound, but Radhu supplied the dialog himself—“Are you as good a lay as my bros have been telling me about?”—“Oh, sweetie, I’m the best piece of ass you’ll ever get your hands on. Wanna come back to my place so I can show you heaven?”—“What about my friend here?”—“Bring him. There’s nothing I like more than being used at both ends, if you know what I mean.” As if on cue, Serena and the two young men starting walking down the hallway, moving out of range of the camera.

Radhu moved the video player back to the point right before Serena stiffened while the young man was talking. “Serena, I am your DIK brother.” He watched Serena react on screen. He moved the video player back again. “Serena, I am your DIK brother.” Radhu mouthed the words as the young man was speaking them, watching Serena stiffen and then lean over amorously.

The trigger sentence had appeared in a few places in the documents, including a short guide to the girls that seemed to have been written by a ten-year old with a severe inability to follow basic narrative structure. Writing is not that hard, had thought Radhu when he read it, shaking his head and fighting his impulse to edit the document. But the document had—once again—confirmed what Cindy had told them, that the girls, once triggered, would feel this irresistible drive to obey the utterer of the trigger. According to the guide, each girl seemed to internalize this drive differently, but the overall effect was the same: the girl would do anything that the utterer of the trigger phase asked—and the guide emphasized, anything—and not remember a thing after the effect passed.

Radhu returned to the video player, moved it back once more to the point where the young man spoke. “Serena, I am your DIK brother.” That young man and his friend had undoubtedly taken Serena somewhere and had her way with her. Got her to do anything they wanted. And from the rest of the video, this sort of encounter was a common occurrence. No wonder she was difficult to get a hold of these days—she kept being triggered and used by the frat brothers. Doing anything they wanted.

Radhu was torn, in a way that cut so deep he was dizzy trying to contemplate those feelings. On the one hand, he was aroused—undeniably aroused. Just the thought of Serena, beautiful, sexy, alluring Serena, available for anything sexual—ready, game, enthusiastic—was overwhelming. Images came unbidden to his head, images he had toyed with before, but now had become crisper with his new-found knowledge. Of course, he had known about her sexual proclivities before—Serena had never been shy to discuss her sexual life—but somehow, seeing it on-screen, and knowing where it came from, and why, well, it added an extra layer of titillation.

On the other hand, there was something deeply shameful about those feelings. Serena was a friend, and he did care about her, and she was forced to do things against her will, in at least one sense of the word—and the intellectual part of Radhu’s brain could not help but ponder the philosophical implications of these events on the notion of free will—what became of consent when the ability to consent was wiped away? And yet here he was, aroused by thought of his friend on her knees servicing fraternity brothers that could not appreciate her for all that she was beyond a purveyor of sexual release.

Radhu sighed, pressing the palm of his hands into his eyes. He was exhausted. He had been pushing at this for the better part of the last few days, and now that he had found what he had been looking for, the adrenaline had pumped itself out and he was crashing. And it was a bittersweet victory, too. Be careful what you wish for, they always proclaim. Clichés necessarily have their genesis in veracity, do they not? One of the reasons he had insisted on hacking into the Delta Iota Kappa network in the first place—aside from seeking independent confirmation for what Cindy had been saying—was to explore and learn more about Serena. Serena, I am your DIK brother. The sentence kept ringing in Radhu’s head, like an impurity in the bosom of an oyster itching to turn into a pearl.

His head was pounding. Trying to walk as softly as he could, he went to the kitchen and reached for the bitter tea that his mother had sent him from India, the family cure for all ills. Radhu idly wondered when he would be able to go back home—how he would be able to go back home, his seeming inability to leave the apartment looming as an insurmountable obstacle. Leaving the question unanswered, he put some water to boil.

Five minutes later, a steaming mug of dark tea in hand—the acrid smell of home lifting his spirits somewhat—he dove back to search the cache of Delta Iota Kappa documents for more golden nuggets.

Twenty minutes later, his headache was lifting, and he put his head down on his desk, grateful for the reprieve.

The Student Center is eerily empty as he walks down the main walkway, the tables and chairs of the refectory lying abandoned as if the entire student body was raptured away mid-meal. Outside, a stubborn snow is falling, visible through the large glass windows. The silence is blanketing, absorbing even the sound of his shoes on the tiled floor.

Radhu heads up the main staircase, guided by instinct. He has never come this way before, at least not for real. In his fantasies, he has come this way too many times to count, of course. The hallway on the upper floor looks just like he has always imagined it would, just like the cameras told him it would.

Down the hallway lined with similar doors, he reaches the one he is looking for. He just knows it is the one, even before seeing the large sign that spells out The Darnell Daily in Times New Roman. The door is large, larger than the other doors in the hallway. He enters. There is no one inside. The room is wide, full of chairs and desks and typewriters and he discerns an odor of tobacco floating in the air. It looks like every newspaper’s editorial room he has ever seen in movies and television shows. The only thing missing is an angry editor shouting about getting the latest story to the printer before the presses are done with the current edition.

He knows exactly where to go. Further into the room, to the left, there are a few larger cubicles, for the star reporters. Around the corner, he finds the one he is looking for. The words Serena Banks, Reporter are stenciled against one of the cubicle walls, unavoidable. Without hesitation, without second thought, he approaches.

He can see Serena there, her head visible over the low wall of the cubicle. She is bent over her typewriter, the keys clacking away rapidly in the quietness of the editorial room. She looks intent, probably filing a last-minute story or writing a crushing exposé on a topic of interest to the campus at large, if not the state. Her long dark hair is pinning up and away from her face. She is beautiful.

He rounds the cubicle. “Hi Serena,” he calls out, softly. His voice is quivering. He feels stupid, a rare feeling.

Serena’s head cocks to the side, as if wondering whether she heard something real or something from a dream. She turns around and sees him there, and her face lights up. “Rad!” She pushes her chair back and takes the three steps needed to come to him and hug him tight.

Radhu is in heaven. He feels her body pressed against his, its warmth and softness making his head spin. He does not know what to do with his hands, so distracted is he by Serena’s lips in his neck. She is not kissing him, just resting her head on his shoulder. She fits into him perfectly—he can feel every single curve of her body, from her large breasts down to her thighs.

“I’m so glad you made it out! I was so worried about you! Look at you!” She steps back, her hands on his shoulders, and looks him up and down, a huge smile on her perfect face. He notices that her hair has come tumbling down. “I’m so proud of you!” She steps back up to him and kisses him on the cheek, a soft, lingering, promise-filled kiss. Again, he does not know what to do with his hands. From far away, a still remotely rational part of his brain is screaming at him to put his hands on her waist, or on her hips, or anywhere, just touch her already, but before he can act on the alien impulse, she is stepping away from him once more.

“Serena,” he is finally able to say, “you look sensational!”

Serena grins, and strikes a pose. “This old thing? I just felt like something different this morning. You like?” She is wearing what Radhu cannot help but think of as the sexiest saree he has ever seen in his life. The deep burgundy wrap clings to every curve of her body, underlining the swell of her breasts and the arch of her thighs. And somewhat atypically compared to the sarees with which he has grown up, this one has a long slit on the side, through which Serena’s flawless leg can be seen when she moves just right. The black high heels she is wearing make the resulting picture almost obscene.

“I... I find myself speechless.”

“You are way too sweet, Rad. So what brings you here? Not just to see little ol’ me, I hope?” Her smile is gentle.

Radhu knows deep in his bones that this is his one chance. “Serena... I know not how to express this... I would like... I would be honored if... I...” He takes a deep breath. “I would be delighted if you accepted to go out with me.”

Serena is still smiling gently. “You mean, a date? You and me?”

Radhu nods.

Serena gives a little laugh, her voice sparkling in the air. She is still smiling gently. “Oh, Rad, my sweet lovely Rad. I can’t go out with you, not like that. You’re my friend—my very good friend. I can’t mess it up by starting some sort of romantic relationship with you.”

Radhu feels his body start to tremble. Serena notices and moves closer. “Please, don’t be upset. I know you have a crush on me—it’s sweet, it’s kind, and you’re one of the most wonderful persons I know. I do not want to hurt you. But I just don’t love you that way. And I can’t risk losing you by giving you something that would not be good for either of us. Please? Please do not be upset?”

She looks adorable. Radhu is compelled to nod and show her he is not upset—perhaps a little bit disappointed, dismayed, heartbroken, but not upset. Serena smiles again, and kisses him on the cheek once more, holding his face in place with a hand. Her soft lips on his skin send tingles of sensations coursing through every fiber of his body. She steps back, her fingertips lingering on his other cheek. He would accuse her of being a tease if not for the fact that he knows that this is just how she is—physical, carnal, tangible.

She walks back to her desk, and Radhu only hesitates only a moment before speaking up. He wills his voice not to quaver. Do you need eye contact, he wonders? “Serena—”

She looks at him over her shoulder.

“Serena, I am your DIK brother.”

With bated breath, he sees her looking down at his hand, and he looks as well, and he sees the ring on his finger, a big ring with the greek letters delta, iota, and kappa, superimposed on each other on the upper portion. The same letters as on her silver charms bracelet, of course. He looks up just in time to see Serena stiffen, and is it his imagination playing tricks on him or is there a fog that rolls temporarily over her eyes?

She turns the rest of her body towards him, puts a leg forward, a hand on her hip. She stands straight, her chest thrust out. She is smiling still, although her smile has an edge to it now.

“Hello, Radhu.” Even her voice is different—deep, caressing, inviting.

“Huh... How... how are you feeling?”

She sighs, runs her hands up the side of her body, stretches like a cat. “I feel alive, Radhu, my sweet Radhu. Alive—and hungry!” The look she gives him would be explicit enough even without the sight of her tongue darting between her parted lips.

Radhu stares at her, unable to reconcile his mind with what he is seeing. It should not work that way. This is like... magic! And he does not believe in magic.

Serena waits a few beats before prompting him. “I am all yours, Radhu. What would you like me to do?”

Radhu swallows hard. He has fantasized about this so often, he knows exactly what he wants her to do. But somehow, it does not want to come out. That was fantasy. This is reality. Never the twain shall meet, wrote Kipling. Still, he has to say something. “You—you are beautiful.”

Serena grins. “Thank you! Would you like to see more?” She reaches up and peels off the fold of material sneaking up her shoulder, unwrapping her upper body like a present, letting the upper part of her saree fall down about her waist. Radhu is staring. Her breasts—round, large, perfect—are exposed for the world to see, two bright beacons of light in the dead of night, and he longs to reach over and touch them.

As if she is reading is mind—at this point, Radhu does not dare file anything in the impossible category—she beckons him. “Come here, my sweet Radhu. You can touch them and fondle them and kiss them to your heart’s desire. They’re all yours. My body’s all yours. I’m all yours.” She runs her hands beneath her breasts and lifts them up, offering them to his gaze and his touch.

Radhu cannot move. He is enthralled by the vision before him. While he has no experience of sex, or anything involving the female gender for that matter, he has seen many pictures of naked women, online and otherwise, and has been exposed to much pornography—some enjoyed, some less. So he is not altogether innocent. But there is a distinction, a big one, between seeing a female body in two dimensions, and a real, live, bona fide woman, half-naked, right before one’s eyes, holding her bountiful breasts in a silent oblation, caressing them, massaging them. Her nipples are large and hard, he notices, and bright red, contrasting with the darkness of her skin.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” she says, “the way you strip off my clothes whenever you see me, the hunger in your eyes. It’s very affecting—it makes me wet sometimes, and I have come to like dressing to arouse you. I realize now that it was a mean, mean thing to do. I’m sorry. What can I do to seek your forgiveness?”

Radhu cannot speak. He is paralyzed. This is what he has been wishing for all this time, and he is struck dumb, unable to move, unable to speak.

Serena takes two steps towards him. His eyes are still glued to her breasts, and she notices and presses her hands on them harder, catching her nipples in the vee of her fingers. She raises herself on her tiptoes, puts her hands on his shoulders, and speaks to him. “You can do whatever you want to me, my sweet Radhu. Whatever you want. You just need to ask me. No, better—you just need to tell me. Order me. I’ll be your good little obedient girlfriend.” The emphasis she puts on obedient makes Radhu’s skin tighten. He feels her breath on his skin when she speaks. He feels the warmth of her body before him.

“How about we start slow?” Serena says, finally noticing that he seems to be having some difficulty making decisions. “Tell me: ‘Serena, kiss me.’ Go ahead. Don’t be afraid.”

Radhu looks in her eyes—she has never been so close, has never looked at him so directly, so intently, so attentively—and swallows.

“Ser... Serena... kiss me...”

She smiles. “With pleasure.” And she locks her lips onto his as she presses her body into his, and soon Radhu is overwhelmed by the feelings rushing from everywhere on his body—from his mouth, invaded by her tongue, from his chest, assaulted by her breasts, from his crotch, mashed against her stomach. Serena pours her soul into the kiss, working her lips and her tongue furiously, holding him in a head lock while her body undulates like a snake waiting to strike.

Radhu responds as best as he can, chasing her playful tongue. Without thinking he puts his arms around her and when his hands press on her back Serena moans deeply and presses her crotch against his thigh and rubs lightly up and down, driving him crazy. He caresses her back, not daring to send his hands lower, relishing the softness of her skin.

“Your hands feel so good on me,” she groans, when she pauses to catch her breath. She presses her stomach harder against his groin, his hard cock blatant through his trousers. Before he can blush and justify himself, she grins. “You like it when I squirm against you? Certainly someone here likes it.” She sneaks a hand down to his erection, grasping it through the cotton. “Is this for me? Is it all hard for me? It’s only fair, since I’m all wet for you. You wanna see?”

Her eyes peer into his soul. He can barely nod.

“Then tell me: ‘Serena, give me your panties.’ Go on. Don’t be shy.” She leans over, whispers in his ear. “Tell me: ‘Serena, give me your panties. Show me how wet a slut gets when she’s trying to seduce her man. Show me how much your cunt wants to get pounded.’ Go on.” Her breath in his ear is driving him wild.

“Serena... give me your panties...” He cannot say more.

“Of course,” she replies, looking coy. “Anything you want, you know that.” She lifts her saree enough to slide her hands underneath and Radhu watches her pull down a wisp of material down her long legs. She steps out of her panties with perfect grace, and lifts what turns out to be tiny pair of black lace panties up to his face. “Here you go, my sweet Radhu. Feel...”

She rubs the panties softly onto his cheek. They feel like satin, and he is aware of Serena’s juices leaving a wet trail on his face. This is beyond anything he has ever hoped to experience. He lifts a hand to touch his cheek.

Serena watches him, smiling, and she lifts the panties to her mouth and gently sucks on the gusset. Radhu is shocked.

“Mmm...” she moans, closing her eyes. “I love the way I taste. That’s one reason why I love sucking a cock that’s just fucked me, you know, while it’s still wet from my own juices. Would you like a taste?”

Radhu finds his voice. “Please.”

“You don’t need to be polite with me...” She drops a hand and slips it under her saree again and he guesses she runs it between her legs—she gasps and shivers—and brings it back up, three of her fingers shiny with dew. She brings them up to his mouth, and runs them over his lips. When he opens his mouth she slides the fingers inside, and he sucks on them, appreciating the taste—the taste of her pussy, the thought of which is enough to make his head spin. She tastes... he does not know how to describe it. Unlike anything he has ever tasted before. It is a subtle taste, like an ephemeral spice with a lingering aroma. It is poetry of the palate. He sucks greedily, the flavor producing a tingling sensation on his tongue. Serena chuckles softly. She lets her panties fall to the ground.

“I want to taste you now,” she says.

“How...?”

She grabs his hand and puts two of his fingers in her mouth, sucking on them hard, all the while looking at him in the eyes. She sucks for several seconds before letting his fingers go and smacking her lips. “I think you can figure it out. Go on. Tell me: ‘Serena, suck my cock.’ You can do it. It’s easy. ‘Serena, get down on your knees and take my cock in your mouth.’ Or if you prefer, ‘Serena, kneel before me and let me fuck your mouth like a cunt.’ Don’t you want to feel my lips wrapped around you, sucking, licking, milking you? You can’t tell me that you never imagined me at your feet, worshipping you like a god?”

Radhu groans, and closes his eyes. Serena’s hand is back on his cock, rubbing it through his trousers, and he has difficulty thinking. Yes, he wants to scream, yes, I’ve wanted you to suck me since forever! She is sucking on his fingers again, while massaging his cock.

“Serena...”

She looks at him, expectant.

“... please suck me.”

“There you go with the politeness again.” She grins. “Of course—I would love to suck your cock, my sweet Radhu. How would you like it? Soft and slow, or hard and fast?”

Radhu is finding it difficult to answer because Serena has taken hold of his hand and lifted it to her breast, and the feel of the firm flesh in his palm is incredible. He squeezes lightly, and Serena moans in response. Radhu’s breath is ragged. Press, rub, squeeze, and again. He marvels at how hard her nipples are. Eventually he looks back up—Serena has a look of appreciation on her face—and answers. “Whatever you want. Do as you please.”

Serena’s grin widens. “Too bad I want to feel you spurt deep in my cunt today—or I’d suck you so hard you’d explode right in my mouth.”

Agonizingly slowly, she sinks to her knees, her hands trailing on his shirt as she does. With deft hands she unfastens his trousers and pulls them down, exposing his hard cock quite ready for her ministrations. She smiles and speaks to the erect shaft.

“Hello sweetie,” she coos. “Auntie Serena is going to gobble you up!”

She opens her mouth wide, and in one smooth motion engulf Radhu’s cock, sliding her lips over the flesh until she has almost all of it inside her mouth. Slowly, she slides it back out, sucking hard.

Radhu gasps at the sensation, unprepared for the feel of a woman’s lips on his shaft. This is nothing like pleasuring oneself, he reflects, fascinated. The hand is but a clumsy instrument compared to the subtle notes played by Serena’s mouth, lips, and tongue.

Serena opts for a slow smooth rhythm, sucking in and out deliberately and lovingly. Her hand alternates between rubbing and squeezing Radhu’s balls and kneading and toying with one of her breasts. Soft sucking noises fill the room.

It does not take long for Radhu to start shaking. His self-control is not what it ought to be, something he attributes to his lack of experience, and to the skill that Serena brings to her act.

Before he can reach orgasm, however, Serena lets his cock slide out of her mouth and strokes it gently. She is breathing hard. “God, I’d love to feel this baby pop in my mouth and fill me up with nice sticky yummy cum.” She looks up to Radhu. “It’s all up to you—whatever you want, you can have. Do you want to come in my mouth, my sweet Radhu? Or would you rather shove your cock in my cunt and fuck me hard?” Her hand is insistent, not so much that he risks exploding right then and there, but not letting him forget the pleasures that are waiting for him either.

Competing images fight it out in his mind. Serena on her knees, swallowing greedily while he unleashes a stream of sperm down her throat—versus Serena lying on her back with her perfect legs spread wide, beckoning him to come and screw her as hard as he could.

“ I want to...” He does not know how to complete the sentence. How do you tell someone you want to fuck them? He is frustrated by his inability to communicate.

Serena reads him as if she had a direct link into his brain. She stands up, running her hand on his body as she does so. His erect shaft bumps against her hip, still covered with the saree. In his ear, she half whispers: “We both know what you want, my sweet Radhu. So just tell me: ‘Serena, I want to fuck you. I want to fuck your slutty cunt. I want to pork you like a bitch in heat.’ Go on—I’m all wet for you.”

“Serena... I want... I want to fuck you.” There, he has said it.

Serena grins. “Then fuck me.” She grasps his cock, tugs on it once, making him groan. “I can’t wait to feel this bad boy slip into me. Go sit in my chair. I’m going to ride you all the way into heaven.”

He sits down. Serena straightens up before him, and slowly unwraps the rest of her saree, which falls at her feet, leaving her clad in nothing but her black high heels. Radhu drinks her body up, admiring her curves, taking in the neatly trimmed patch of hair on her pussy and the red engorged lips peeking out. Serena lets herself be watched, lightly trailing the fingers of a hand from her thigh to her breast, and back. A naughty smile on her face, she lets the hand wander to her pussy, and gently runs a finger through her slit. Radhu is mesmerized, following her finger wherever it goes, including when she brings it up to her mouth to suck on it.

She walks slowly towards him, as if she was on a catwalk. She stops right in front of him, leans over, and kisses him on the mouth. He responds eagerly, adrenaline running high with the expectation of the moment to come. Still kissing him, she crawls onto his lap, lining his cock with her pussy, and in one smooth motion sinks onto him. The feeling is unlike any he has ever experienced before—like sliding in a hot bath in the middle of winter, but a thousand—no, a million times better. Serena’s kiss gets more intense as she rocks back and forth slowly on top of him.

Radhu is lost in the moment, lost in the sensations, lost in the mind-boggling awesomeness of his first sexual experience. He wants to laugh, he wants to cry, he wants to ram into her hard—as if his cock has a mind of its own and knows exactly what it wanted. But Serena is in control, imposing a languorous rhythm, her hips prancing on his lap, her mouth breathing in his soul, her tongue dancing on his lips.

When she captures his own tongue between her lips, he lets her. And when she bites down on his tongue, he is too shocked to scream. Before he can react, before he can jerk back, before he can push her away, laughter rises up from all around him, laughter and jeers and shouts, and he has heard it all before. Serena pulls back and licks her lips, a trickle of blood dripping from one corner of her mouth. “Yum,” she says. There is no one around, but the laughter is still there, the jeers and shouts increasing in volume.

“Oops... looks like you’re making a mess, my sweet Radhu.” Serena is looking down at his lap, where his cock is still deeply embedded inside her. Blood is pooling everywhere, rapidly. He knows he is hyperventilating, his breathing shallow and fast. So much blood.

Serena straightens up and stands, and he sees that his crotch is a red-coated mess of gory tissue, the cock that was hard and erect just seconds before now a salad of sliced up strips of flesh spread all over his lower abdomen. He wants to scream, finds he cannot. He looks up in horror to see Serena with a wide grin on her face that bares her teeth, and then looks down at her pussy now gaping wide, his eyes fastening on the blades of the device from the NADA party trapped between her pussy lips, blood dripping from the razor-sharp edges and dribbling down her thighs. Around them, he can hear the chants of “Fuck him! Fuck him! Fuck him!” merging with those of “Shred him! Shred him! Shred him!” He wants to run, but he is trapped. He wants to scream, but the sound will not emerge from his throat. And Serena laughs, and the chants rise in volume. And then his screams finally start.

Radhu jerked awake so hard he fell off the chair. Stunned, confused, disoriented, he looked around—he was in his apartment, the computers on his desk cheerfully whirring away, one screen showing the cracker program he was still running. He shook his head. His breathing was shallow, and he willed himself to inhale deeply. He looked down, an irrational fear gripping him. His crotch was intact. It had all been a dream. Just a dream. Of course.

Shaken, he curled up on the floor in a fetal position, and wept.