The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

College Daze

Chapter II. The Dean.

Bob and Renee went out to the quad cafeteria for breakfast, leaving Pete with Bobbi to try and bring her out of her trance. Presently they returned, bearing food: extra servings they’d gotten for “a couple of sick classmates.” When they returned, they were disappointed to find Bobbi still under.

“I can’t figure it,” Pete said, scratching his head. “I’ve tried everything.”

He sighed. “According to the books, if we just leave her alone, she’ll eventually wake up by herself, the way she did this morning—but I don’t want to leave in that suggestion to zone out whenever the clock strikes seven.” He frowned. “Supposedly, any posthypnotic suggestion will eventually fade if it’s not reinforced—but not soon enough. It could take weeks, even months.”

“Can’t you just tell her not to do that anymore?” This from Renee.

“I can,” Pete said, “and I have—but I’m afraid it might not work. I didn’t tell her to do it in the first place.”

Suddenly Bobbi spoke up, in a dazed, little-girl voice: ”Hun-gry.”

Startled, Pete glanced at her. Then he handed over one of the breakfast trays the others had brought back. “Here, Bobbi. Breakfast. Eat.”

The blonde fluttered her eyelashes at him and cooed, ”Thank you.” Then she dug into the food, going through it with enthusiasm.

“Wow,” said Renee. “She sure doesn’t eat like she’s hypnotized!”

Very soon Bobbi’s food was gone. So was Pete’s. After his exertions with Renee, he’d awakened with a considerable appetite.

After a bit, Bob and Renee left again; Bob said he was going to show the dancer the campus. And again, Pete and Bobbi stayed behind.

Another frustrating hour of unsuccessful attempts at reviving the girl followed. At last Pete said, “Okay, Bobbi baby, that’s it for now. I need to study. Just sit quietly while I do, and we’ll try again later, understand?”

“Yes, Pete,” Bobbi sighed. She was sitting in one of the dorm room’s chairs now, legs neatly crossed. Fortunately for Pete’s peace of mind, she was dressed now.

Pete sat at his desk and got to work. Finals were coming up, and although he’d been doing well in his classes, he needed to score high. There wasn’t much demand for B.A.’s in psychology out in the working world, and you couldn’t get into a graduate program with anything but the best grades.

The sudden sound of the telephone jolted him, breaking his concentration. Muttering, he picked up the handset. “Peter Nunnally here. Who’s calling?”

A feminine voice replied, “Ms. Dakers here, Dean Fredericks’ secretary. Did you forget? You have a ten o’clock with the dean, Mr. Nunnally.”

Pete snarled silently. He had forgotten! With what had been going on since Bobbi and Renee had turned up, his meeting with Dean Fredericks had just dropped right out of his head.

Gathering his wits, he spoke into the phone: “I’ll be right over, Ms. Dakers.” He hung up and headed for the door.

A thought stopped him: what about Bobbi? She shouldn’t be left alone, not when she was like this. Anything could happen.

He sighed and addressed the dancer. “Bobbi, listen to me, please.”

Bobbi’s eyes flicked to his face. “Yes, Pete.”

“I need to go out,” he said. “I need you to come with me, Bobbi.”

“Yes, Pete.” Bobbi stood up.

“We’re going to see Dean Fredericks,” Pete elaborated. “When we get there, I’ll speak with him for awhile. You need to just wait for me, Bobbi. Do you understand?”

Bobbi nodded.

Pete had an idea. “If anyone asks, you’ll say you’re my cousin, here on a visit. Do you understand? My cousin.”

“Un-der-stand,” parroted Bobbi. “If anyone asks . . . I’m your cousin. Here on . . . a visit.” She smiled a woozy smile.

Pete linked arms with the blonde and steered her out of his dorm room.

Dean Nathan Fredericks was a heavy-set man in his early sixties, almost completely bald. He projected an air of slightly befuddled sincerity which made him seem more like an eccentric uncle than like the figure of authority he was supposed to be. Actually, though, he was a highly competent administrator who had had a hand in the restructuring of the state university’s financial aid program. Among his responsibilities was dealing with undergrads who were applying to graduate programs.

The young man he was scheduled to see next fell into that category. Dean Fredericks sighed. Peter Nunnally was a good student, all told, if one ignored a certain tendency toward prankishness, but “good” wasn’t really good enough. This wasn’t the fifties. Competition for graduate slots in psychology was a lot tougher these days. If Nunnally’d been an “A” student, that would have been one thing—but he wasn’t, quite. Even if he got in somewhere, the odds were pretty good that he wouldn’t finish the degree program. Then he’d have spent—however long, and however much money—for nothing.

The dean braced himself. Best to let the boy down gently.

The buzzer sounded. “Mr. Nunnally is here, sir.”

“Fine, Stella,” Fredericks answered. “Send him on in.”

The door opened and Peter Nunnally came in, accompanied by a stunning blonde who might have been three or four years his senior. Despite the sunny, warm spring day, the blonde was wearing a long overcoat. Despite himself, Fredericks gaped.

The student noticed. “This is Bobbi,” he explained hastily. “My cousin. She dropped by for a visit. Isn’t that right, Bobbi?”

“Yes, Pete,” the blonde chirped, blinking wide blue eyes. “That’s right.”

Dean Fredericks gulped. The girl was very attractive.

“Bobbi,” directed Pete, “go out into the waiting room and take a seat. Wait until I call for you.”

“Yes, Pete.” Bobbi left the room.

Pete took a seat. After a minute, he cleared his throat and asked, “So, Dean Fredericks, what did you want to see me about?”

The dean told him. As he spoke, Peter Nunnally grew depressed.

“But sir,” he interjected, “is it really that bad? I mean, I’ve done all right here, haven’t I? Why couldn’t I stay here and work on my graduate degree?”

Dean Fredericks coughed. “You’re missing the point, Mr. Nunnally. Your grades just aren’t quite good enough. Besides, we prefer to admit to our graduate school students from other schools. It stirs the pot, you might say, academically and socially. Undergraduates from here, we feel, should move on, get their graduate credits elsewhere, for the same reason.”

That sounded less like a reason than an excuse to Pete, but he was in no position to argue. There had to be something he could do, though! Some way he could persuade Dean Fredericks.

He had a special reason. Three years ago a rich uncle had died and left him an unusual inheritance. As long as he remained in college, either as a student or as an instructor, he would receive a comfortable yearly stipend. As soon as he left the academic world, however, the money would stop coming; whatever was left in the trust fund out of which it was being paid would be donated to a list of the old man’s favorite charities. He had been looking forward to years and years of living off this bequest; he’d even looked into ways of extending his undergraduate career beyond the usual four years, by changing majors strategically. He’d given that idea up as impractical—it was a lot harder to pull off in real life than in the books and movies which had used the idea as a gag—but grad school had offered him an alternative.

Now that alternative looked to be slipping away. If he graduated without a grad school berth waiting, he’d have to find a job.

Pete Nunnally shuddered. No thanks.

He had a desperate inspiration. “Dean Fredericks, would you mind waiting here a minute? I need to speak with—er, my cousin, for a few minutes. Then, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to talk to her.” The story blossomed in his mind as he spoke. “She didn’t just come here to see me. She’s from a wealthy branch of my family, and might be interested in talking about an endowment.”

Dean Fredericks harrumphed. “Of course, of course,” he said indulgently. “What’s the harm?” His eyes had lit up at the mention of money. “But don’t think this changes anything about your situation, Mr. Nunnally.”

“Of course,” Pete returned breezily. He left his seat and exited the room.

Bobbi had sat silently all through Pete’s conference with the dean. Fredericks’ secretary would have thought the girl had fallen asleep if she hadn’t been sitting up straight with her eyes open. Perhaps she was meditating?

The door to Dean Fredericks’ office opened and Peter Nunnally emerged. He went over and sat down next to the blonde. Ms. Dakers watched as he pulled something out of one pocket—she couldn’t quite see what it was from where she was sitting—dangled it in front of the girl and spoke to her in a low voice. When he finished, the blonde nodded slowly and said something.

Nunnally turned to the secretary, pocketing whatever it was he’d been showing the blonde before Ms. Dakers could see clearly what it was. “Bobbi needs to speak with the dean for a little bit, ma’am. He knows about it.”

Ms. Dakers spoke briefly with Dean Fredericks via the intercom and confirmed what young Nunnally had said. Smiling professionally at the blonde, she said, “Go right in, dear. Dean Fredericks is waiting for you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bobbi said. She got up and went into the office, closing the door behind her.

Pete Nunnally smiled. He knew a way he could seal the deal for sure. There should be time enough—! “Ms. Dakers,” he said, “I need to go out for a little bit. I’ll be back for Bobbi soon.”

“All right, Mr. Nunnally,” responded the dean’s secretary.

Pete hurried out.

The item he needed was back in the room. It took about fifteen minutes to get there, another five to dig it out and make sure it was ready for use, and fifteen minutes again to get back to Dean Fredericks’ office in the administration building. In the meantime, Bobbi followed her instructions just as Pete had planned.

“Dean Fredericks can help me get into grad school,” Pete had explained to the hypnotized Bobbi. “It’s very important for me to get into graduate school.” As he spoke, he had pulled out the pocket watch which had put her under and begun gently swinging it before her eyes, doing his best to block Ms. Dakers’ view of what he was doing.

“Very . . . im-por-tant,” Bobbi had breathed, her eyes on the watch as she let it draw her deeper into trance.

“You can help me persuade him,” Pete had told her. “You can talk to him. When you do, you must do everything you can to be nice to him. Very, very nice to him.” Pete had smiled at Bobbi and patted her head. “You must be very, very nice to him, and persuade him to help me.”

“Yes, Pete,” Bobbi had murmured, nodding. “Understand. Talk to . . . Dean Fredericks. Do everything I can to be . . . very, very nice to him. Persuade him . . . to help you.”

Pete had nodded. He’d turned toward Ms. Dakers, pocketing the watch as he did so. Then he’d left, and Bobbi, obeying his commands, had told the secretary she had to speak with the dean. The other woman had checked with her boss and sent Bobbi on into his office.

Dean Fredericks looked up to see the blonde beauty from before standing in front of his desk. Clearing his throat and waving for her to sit, he asked, “What can I do for you, Miss?”

Bob-bi,” the blonde cooed. “Bob-bi Bub-bles.” Still wearing the overcoat she’d had on before, she sat, crossing long, shapely leg covered in seamed sheer hose. Dean Fredericks felt himself getting hard.

“That’s,” he choked, “that’s an unusual name, Bobbi.”

The blonde said nothing. She sat as if waiting for something, dangling one high-heeled foot.

Fredericks was having trouble keeping his mind on business. “It’s very warm in here,” he said, fingering his suddenly too-tight collar. “May I hang up your coat for you?” He got up and moved around the desk.

Cer-tain-ly you may, sir,” Bobbi cooed. She stood up and undulated out of the heavy garment, handing it to the administrator.

“Oh, God in heaven,” groaned the dean. His jaw dropped open. The coat fell to the floor, forgotten.

Underneath, of course, Bobbi was wearing her skimpy costume. Sweat popped out on Fredericks’ forehead as he gaped at the vision in front of him. He stumbled back, catching himself on the corner of his desk and nearly falling to the floor. He managed to find his chair and sit down, a considerable feat given that he never once took his eyes off Bobbi. For her part, knowing a man was looking at her in costume, she played it up: “Do you like me, Dean Fredericks? Do you like Bobbi?”

“Ohh, yeah,” the administrator admitted.

With a supreme effort, Fredericks, collected his wits. He swallowed and asked, “Why did you want to see me?” Peter Nunnally, of course, had said it was about a possible endowment, but it would be crude to come right out with it himself. Let her bring it up.

Bobbi leaned over the desktop, giving Dean Fredericks a point-blank view of her deep cleavage. “I want to talk to you about Pete,” she said.

It took the titty-stunned Fredericks several seconds to realize the girl meant young Nunnally. “Wha—what about him?”

“It’s very im-por-tant to him to get into . . . grad-u-ate school,” Bobbi crooned. “You can help him, can’t you?” She slithered up onto the desk, posing on hands and knees as she looked down at the Dean in his plush chair.

“Help,” Fredericks whimpered. “Oh, God, help.”

Bobbi crawled closer. Her breasts swung inches from Dean Fredericks’ face. His breathing was very fast and shallow now. “You can help him, can’t you?”

“Uhh! Nggh!” The Dean gritted his teeth. “I, I suppose—yes, I suppose I can. But Miss, ah—!”

“It’s Bobbi, remember?” The dancer’s voice was teasing. “Bobbi Bub-bles.” One hand stole up to unfasten her costume’s bodice, freeing her breasts. “You like Bobbi’s bubbles, don’t you?”

Fredericks gasped. This wasn’t supposed to be happening! But, oh, God, she was so gorgeous! “P-please, Miss. B-Bobbi,” he wheezed. “You need to . . . sit down.”

Giggling, Bobbi obliged—but not as the dean had intended. She swung herself off the desktop and into Fredericks’ lap. “There,” she soothed. “Is that better?”

It would have been easy enough for Fredericks to dump the blonde off. The idea to do so never occurred to him. Instead, he asked weakly, “What were we, nnhh! talking about?” The sensation of Bobbi squirming against him made it so hard. To think.

“Pete,” Bobbi reminded him. She ran a playful hand along his jawline. Bobbi knew how to get men to see things her way, and even in her trance, that knowledge guided her in handling Dean Fredericks. “We were talking about Pete, and . . . " she hesitated; a long word was coming up, “helping him get into grad-u-ate school.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“B-buh, but,” Fredericks stammered, “but I, I already explained to him.” He shivered as Bobbi continued to caress his cheek. “Explained. Yes. His grades, gnnnhh, weren’t, oh good God, good enough.”

“But can’t you make a little old ex-cep-tion? Just this once?” Bobbi’s skillful fingers strayed lower, toying with Fredericks’ collar.

The dean, sweat pouring down his face, tried to answer. “I-I-I-I-I—!”

Bobbi knew he was weakening. And even in her hypnotized state, she knew what to do. Wriggling on her prey’s lap, she raised her arms, easing her unfastened top off over her head. For a moment, she twirled it overhead; then she tossed it aside. Dean Fredericks squealed helplessly.

“You like Bobbi’s bubbles, don’t you?” she said. “You like to look at ‘em, you’d love to touch ‘em, wouldn’t you? Go ahead, honey, touch Bobbi’s boobies.”

Dean Fredericks’ hands came up. He couldn’t have stopped himself for anything, and he didn’t want to.

Bobbi slid in his lap until she could press her lips to his. When she pulled away, she said, “Let’s talk some more about Pete. About helping him get into grad-u-ate school.”

“Talk,” Fredericks panted. Then Bobbi’s lips locked on his again.

Pete Nunnally got back to Dean Fredericks’ office at last. He was puffing a little; he’d hurried as much as he could. The instructions he’d given Bobbi had set things up, but he wasn’t sure how long she could keep the ball—or the dean’s balls—rolling. All Fredericks had to do was call campus security; they could peel the hypnotized honey away from him easily enough. And then Pete would have some explaining to do.

He headed straight for the dean’s office door. Seeing him, Ms. Dakers called out, “Wait! You can’t go in there! He’s not finished with your lady friend yet!”

“That’s just what I’m counting on,” Pete muttered under his breath. He opened the door, vaguely aware that Ms. Dakers had gotten out of her chair and was coming up behind him.

The scene was perfect.

Fredericks’ shirt was open and his pants and underwear were down around his ankles. Bobbi, straddling him, was down to her stockings and pumps. One arm waved her tiny black G-string aloft as she bounced atop him. She was cooing, “You’ll help Pete, won’t you? If I’m very, very nice to you?” On the floor near the desk, Bobbi’s coat lay in a heap; the rest of her discarded clothing was scattered randomly around that end of the office.

The dean was jolted out of joyous obliviousness by the flash of Pete’s camera. Once, twice, three times, four, Pete pressed the button, before Fredericks cried out “No! Stop!” He surged awkwardly to his feet, pushing Bobbi off, just as a gasp of dismay came from the doorway.

It was his secretary. “Dean Fredericks!” she cried. “What’s going on?”

The dean blurted, “M-Ms. Dakers! No! I can explain everything!” The clichéd utterance wasn’t made any more credible by his state of undress—or by Bobbi, who kept trying to press herself against him again, murmuring, “Very, very nice to you . . . look at Bobbi’s boobies . . . very, very nice. . . .” as if playing an endless tape loop.

Pete stopped her. “Listen to me, Bobbi,” he said. “All done now. Get dressed and wait in the other room.”

Meekly, Bobbi obeyed. She gathered up her clothing, put it on quickly and took a seat in the reception area. Within seconds, her head nodded onto her chest and her eyes closed. Faint snores began issuing from her.

“What’s the meaning of this?” demanded Ms. Dakers. Her face was a study in fury and bafflement. “Who is that young—woman, anyway, and what was she doing here?” She scowled harder. “Never mind, I saw what she’d been doing. Why did she come—I mean, what was her purpose here?”

“I, I, I,” fumbled the dean as he struggled to pull up his pants and refasten them, “I was speaking with Mr. Nunnally here about his graduate prospects.” He mopped his forehead with the back of one hand. “Yes, that’s right. She apparently came in with him.” He frowned, trying to pull his memories together. “We were just finishing up when he mentioned that—his cousin, I think he said she was—was in a position to arrange for the school to receive a significant endowment. He suggested I speak with her for a few minutes. He ushered her in, and left.” Fredericks paused, flushing. “And then—well—I’m not quite sure what happened then, but things, ahem, got out of hand.”

“Endowment!” sniffed his secretary. “Well, she’s certainly well enough endowed herself!” She glared at her boss. “I thought you had more sense than that! What if the papers found out somehow? How would we explain something like this to he trustees, or the alumni?”

That was Pete’s cue. He cleared his throat.

“Nobody has to know anything about this,” he assured the others. “I can make sure Bobbi won’t tell,"—or even remember, he added silently—“and the pictures I just took don’t have to be seen by anyone.” He coughed, holding up the little camera. “I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“That’s blackmail!” sputtered Dean Fredericks and Ms. Dakers in unison. The dean made a desperate grab for the camera. It didn’t work. Backing away, Pete yanked it out of Fredericks’ reach and stowed it away.

“Blackmail’s such an ugly word,” the student purred. “Let’s just call it incentive, shall we?”

Fredericks sighed. “All right,” he said, defeated. “What do you want?”

Pete chuckled. It felt good to have the upper hand. “Nothing outrageous,” he answered. “Just your help in getting into graduate school. I don’t even care where, although I really do like it here.” Where I can keep right on giving you “incentive” was the unstated conclusion to his last sentence.

Fredericks sat down. “I suppose,” he mumbled, “I could do something. If I can get some of the lunkheads I handle past the admissions boards, I should be able to find you a spot. Perhaps even here.” Where I can keep an eye on you, and maybe somehow get even, he thought.

“Then we understand each other,” Pete said.

“Perfectly,” responded Dean Fredericks.

“In that case,” Pete went on, “I’ll be leaving now.” He turned and left the office.

Out in the waiting area, he sat down next to Bobbi, who was fast asleep in her chair. He shook her gently, trying to get her attention.

Her eyes opened.

“What the hell—!” Wide blue eyes blinked rapidly as Bobbi looked around. “How’d I get here? The last thing I remember, I was in some guy’s room.” She looked accusingly at Pete. “You were there, and another young guy. And Renee, my friend Renee! And I was naked!” She took a hurried inventory and gasped in relief. “At least I’m not naked now! But what the hell is going on?”

Pete was dumbfounded. All his hard work trying to wake her up, and she just snapped out of it by herself after a few minutes of genuine sleep?

Well, he consoled himself, at least she was out of it now! As soon as he rounded up Bob and Renee, they could put an end to the whole nutty business!

And he was even going to get a grad school berth out of the deal. As long as he had those pictures, Dean Fredericks would be in no position to dick around with him. He felt a moment’s unhappiness that he’d had to use such methods—he’d hoped his finals would be enough to boost his grades to where he’d have a legitimate shot, but from what Fredericks had told him, it sounded as if even all A’s wouldn’t do it—but after all, any port in a storm.

Bobbi poked him. “Hey, pal! I asked you a question! What’s going on here?”

Pete gaped at her. This was a whole new Bobbi! He’d only known her when she was zoned out, obedient and empty-minded. This girl thought for herself! It was a big adjustment.

“Okay,” he answered after a few seconds. “But you’re not going to like it.” He ran through the whole story for her, ending, “Apparently you came out of trance both times after you got a little natural sleep. This last time, your, um, activities with the dean must have tired you out enough for that.”

Bobbi stamped her foot. “You better fix this!”

“I’ve tried,” Pete confessed. “I couldn’t even bring you out of trance, until you did it yourself. You weren’t even supposed to be hypnotized, remember!”

“Well, you better figure it out, college boy, or else!” Or else what, went unsaid. Nothing had to be said; if anyone found out about this, he’d be lucky to stay out of jail.

Suddenly, Bobbi’s manner changed. “I’m hungry,” she said.

Pete nodded. Now that he thought about it, he was feeling a little peckish himself. “We can go to the quad cafeteria. I’ve got a card, and I can pay for you.” At Bobbi’s nod, he started leading her toward their new destination. “The food’s not great, but it’s good enough.”

An hour or so later, the couple were finishing their food when Bobbi spoke up. “Thanks,” she said, smiling. “I needed that. I feel ever so much better!”

“You’re welcome,” Pete said, smiling back. The two of them were sitting alone at a small corner table in the Metz Cafeteria Building. They were drawing envious stares from the other male diners. Pete grinned. The other guys would stare a lot harder if Bobbi took off her coat.

Not that it would be a good idea. The thing for them to do was keep a low profile while he tried to permanently undo the hypnotic suggestions he’d accidentally programmed into Bobbi.

“We’d better get back to the room,” he decided aloud. “If Bob and your friend aren’t there, I’ll call him on his cell and tell him to meet us ASAP. I think we should stick together as much as possible until things get straightened out.” He had a sudden thought: “I can go on line and see if the police have caught that creepy guy your girlfriend told us about. If they have, you don’t have to worry about him anymore—or about the police. They’re less likely to worry about you with a real live suspect in their hands.”

“I suppose so,” Bobbi agreed. “I just wish I was sure somebody else had seen him. If nobody did, he might get away! And then, if he figured out where we went, he might come after us!” She shivered.

Pete repressed an urge to pat her reassuringly. Under the circumstances, she was certain to take it the wrong way. Instead he answered, “Don’t worry about it. If you want, you two can hide out here until the cops catch that guy.” He frowned. “At least till after commencement, a week after the end of finals—figure two weeks from now. If this mess hasn’t been cleaned up by then, we—we’ll just have to see, that’s all.”

Bobbi nodded reluctantly.

“All right, then,” Pete said. “Let’s get back to the dorm before anything goes wrong.”

Bobbi nodded and rose from her seat. Pete got up too, and the pair left the dining hall together.