The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Olivia’s House

Chapter 12 — Paperwork, and Playing Doctor

Once the queue started moving, it didn’t take long at all before I was standing in front of Professor Bellawney—a surprisingly young man to have such a prestigious title—explaining that I wanted to study American English because I believed the evolution and divergence of language in the present multicultural environment was a fascinating field. He gave a smile that managed to convey in just a couple of seconds that he was already tired of hearing the same kind of prepared speech from all of his students, but he could at least see a flicker of genuine enthusiasm in my eyes. He signed off on my proposed class list, but pointed out that I was 7 credits short due to having rushed the arithmetic.

I emerged from the large seminar room back into the foyer just as Jules came in. I flashed them a quick smile and gave a thumbs up as we passed each other in the doorway, but this was Jules in business mode and I didn’t even see a sign they’d recognised me. Or maybe Jules was just too stressed out to be aware of what was going on around them. I’d never been there myself, but I’d been caught up in other emotions enough times to be oblivious to the whole world. I hadn’t even known Jules was doing any language courses, but I realised we hadn’t spoken about academic ambitions, beyond our first introductions.

Outside in the hall, Alex gave me a warm smile. “How did it go?”

“Pretty quick, to be honest, not sure what’s holding everyone up. Now I need to go pick some other classes.”

“You haven’t chosen them yet?” she seemed concerned. Maybe worried that I was reverting to the girl I’d been a year or two before: disorganised and unconcerned.

“I got the numbers wrong,” I glanced down at my hands, twiddling my thumbs so I didn’t have to meet her eyes. “I picked out my classes, but I need one more.”

“How about Theatre Arts?” She sounded genuinely enthusiastic, though I’d never heard her even mention the theatre before, “There’s all kinds of different things you can do, like makeup, or set design, or making props, or writing. I figured I could make costumes, get a chance to dress up all the cute people. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I can just imagine you wrapping any cute girls on that course in PVC and faux fur,” I grinned, “And making costumes for them, too. You’ll have so much fun, I don’t think it’s really my thing, though.”

Then after a second of thought, “Does that mean you’re in a class with Jules? Aren’t you going to be in any of mine?”

“Are you doing lit? I picked English and French in the end.” I didn’t even need to answer that; Alex knew that literature was the only subject I’d almost failed in high school, even after Jim tried to help reprogram my brain to understand it better.

“You know, I might just try that. But really, do you have any courses focused in week 12-19 that are worth 7 credits? I can’t miss out on the chance to discreetly molest you under the desk when you’re getting too far ahead of the curve.”

“Visual arts? I only picked it as a top-up really, I was 2 credits short and didn’t want to commit to anything I’d have to put effort into.”

For all the day was pretty hectic, I spent most of it chatting with my friends. We got on all of the classes we wanted, which was something of a rarity. I ran into that Mark guy again, while he was fuming about being rejected from Polish 101. He swore in Polish, too, which would probably have been more ironic if I knew whether he got it right or not. I was just trying to be sympathetic, but somehow he took my friendliness as an invitation to join me on the Amerenglish class. He was hitting on Alex, too, but she responded to his macho camaraderie with a punch on the arm that made him wince and stagger back.

He shrugged it off. I’d just noticed Jules emerging from their latest class signup, punching the air and giving me a big thumbs up, so I didn’t quite catch what he said next. I did get Alex’s wordless response, though, as she leaned in close to kiss me. I guess he joked about her sexuality or something, and she wanted to make a point. Or she just wanted a deep, passionate embrace, which I couldn’t fault her for. The cane marks across my back burned as she held me tight, but I didn’t allow myself to flinch. I was so wrapped up in my lover that after a second I forgot where we were. The only things that mattered were strong arms, a forceful tongue, and perfectly toned muscles under my hands.

Someone coughed, and we separated, embarrassed. It was that security guy again, Eddie. I guess we were proving something of a distraction, maybe slowing the queues. Certainly some people had felt no qualms about watching, a small chorus of cheers let me know.

“I get the point,” Mark muttered in disappointment. I wondered if he’d missed the point entirely, and if he’d be capable of flirting without the whole alpha-male aggressive superiority show once he got used to hanging around with mature people.

“Don’t get carried away, ladies,” Eddie wagged a finger at us, like the stern teacher in some last-century sitcom. I don’t think I’d ever seen somebody do that in the real world before. “I’d tell you to get a room, but they’re all full of tutors and I…” his voice trailed off and I furrowed my brow, wondering what was wrong.

“You’re coming with me,” Eddie said firmly, and grasped my wrist. I squawked an objection, but the big man wasn’t listening. I didn’t know what I’d done to upset him, but his objective was to get me out of the big hall as quickly as possible. Jules managed to catch up just as we reached the door of the security office—no idea how they managed to move so fast in a room rapidly becoming too crowded.

“Geez, Liv!” they exclaimed, “You need to be more careful.”

“Sorry if that’s rude,” Eddie released his grip and turned to close the door behind us, “Wanted to get you out of sight for a second. You might think college is a place of liberal open-mindedness, but there’s some folks will do their best to make your life hell if they find out you’re into certain things. Take your shirt off.”

He opened a first aid box, a huge battered green thing with a scarred and scored white cross on the top. I was still oblivious, so it was down to Jules to explain: “You’re bleeding, need to replace those bandages.”

“And you, mister, are a perv,” Jules turned to poke Eddie in the chest, “Is there a female first-aider around?”

I bit my lip, thinking deeply but also trying to think quickly, “I don’t want anyone else to see this if I can avoid it. But I’m not taking my shirt off in front of a stranger, sorry Eddie. Can you strap me up, Jules?”

Eddie shrugged and went back into the main hall, closing the door behind him. I guess we’d struck lucky there, if the locker decorated with a magic-marker triskele was his. I wondered how many of the security people here would recognise a symbol commonly but discreetly associated with fetish pride, but was glad he understood enough to let me deal with my own troubles. I peeled off my shirt, feeling it stick just a little. I must have bled again; and enough to soak through the bandages to my clothes.

“Wow,” Jules let a single word carry a whole sentence’s amazement, and it was only then I realised they hadn’t seen me topless before. I wasn’t wearing a bra today, the straps on my shoulders had hurt more than I could believe, so they must have a good view.

“Okay, your turn,” I turned around to give Jules a full frontal, and only then saw just how many livid red streaks there were across the back of my shirt. “Woah…”

Thankfully, they seemed to be confident and gentle about wrapping my wounds in fresh bandages. It stung, but not nearly as much as it could have done.

“You do this a lot?” I asked, “You’ve got awfully steady hands.”

“I took a first aid course in school. Was worried what would happen if the bullying went further than bruises and scrapes, so I threw myself into it as far as I could.” There was a pause, and I wondered if I should say something to keep the conversation from going in such a melancholy direction. I needn’t have worried. Jules brightened up, and said: “Someone’s pretty good with a cane, I guess. This is going to hurt like hell for a week, but you’re safe from any permanent marks or damage.”

“That’s good to hear,” I smiled, though slightly shocked to realise I hadn’t even thought about the possibility. “Though a mark that lasts, a sign of ownership, I think that’s kind of an exciting thought.”

“Oh, now you’re talking my language. I always dreamed about getting master’s name as a tattoo, really small, right where it would hurt the most. I’m not really into pain, but I think as a sign of commitment it could mean a lot. Scars could be the same thing, though less incriminating if someone else sees them. ’Course, I don’t have a master now, and I’m kind of grateful I never went that far.”

I tried to keep my breathing steady, deny the body language that would show off how much those words had managed to turn me on. Jules’s hands were on my ravaged shoulders now, wrapping a kind of halter top of bandages to keep numerous dressing pads in place.

“Is it your Master who’s so expert at inflicting pain? Or is that too personal a question?” Not as personal, I thought, as a thumbnail gently flicking my hard nipples as Jules secured their handiwork with enough tight loops of bandage, it was like an under-bust corset.

“Yeah,” I muttered at last, “I used to be into it a lot, but could never do much because dad or Hanne might find out. First time I actually got with someone who really cares about doing it safely, so I’m glad we could finally ohhhh…”

“Sorry, should I stop doing that?” Jules smirked in my ear, more confident now. Those little flicks, brushes of nails on skin, had slowly progressed to the point where there was no way to pretend it was accidental, and I certainly wasn’t going to object.

“Uhh…no, please,” I my hand over theirs, held it cupping my breast for a moment, then moved it to my crotch. I hadn’t expected this today, but now it seemed unavoidable.

One firm caress brought a huge smile to my face. Another made me moan with anticipation. I hadn’t even known just how horny I was getting. A third touch had me bucking my hips, pressing into their hand as hard as I could. The fourth washed away any concern for being disturbed, and I clumsily tried to unfasten my belt, needing to be naked right now.

Five, and a voice in my ear cautioning, “You know, there’s a game I think we should be playing.”

“Uhuh,” I nodded, not really understanding and a large part of me not caring. Six strokes, seven. How many would it take to make me explode? Right now, I’d guess a lot less than any other time.

“You have to find my magic words before you’re allowed to seduce me,” Jules reminded, “So I’m afraid all I can do today is tease you.” They underscored the word with a rough tweak, a hand that had slipped under my belt while I wasn’t paying attention easily finding my clit through the soft cotton of my underpants.

“I think I… I know something about the magic words,” I whimpered, begging for more. I didn’t know if I wanted to wait or not, if the game was more important than an orgasm right now. But I thought that if this kept on just a few moments longer, I might be cumming even before Jules realised what they were doing to me.

“It’s weird, like, I had this urge to try and find out who you are,” I could just about control myself enough to shape the words, even as Jules expertly brought me right to the edge.

“Oh, I know that one. If you say my name, I can’t resist you. That’s one my last master left me with, so you only have to find out my name.” I knew I’d been on the right track, I knew it.

“Real name, or your Controlspace one, or something else?” I tried to balance the urgent need to feel and not think against the potential rewards of deciphering this mystery.

Jules withdrew so suddenly, just when I was sure I was within a heartbeat of climax.

“We really should go, before anyone wonders what’s taking so long and comes in to check.” Jules was all businesslike again. I promised myself I’d be the tease next time, taking Jules right to the edge and leaving them hanging for an hour, just as soon as I found that secret.

I caught my breath with difficulty, and rushed to get dressed. I hadn’t thought to bring a spare shirt, but Jules had a thick black sweater in their bag, “Just in case it gets cold, or your shirt gets unexpected stains.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, both to Jules and to defuse Eddie’s knowing leer as we left the room.

“Oh, I need to go sign up for American Culture,” Jules glanced with panic around the now emptying hall, “I’m way behind on pop culture after my hermit period, so figured I should do that one too.”

“Cool, that’s one of my classes. Guess we all got something in common now.”

“More than one thing,” Jules had to have the last word, “And either name works if you say it in the real world. How’s your detective skills?”