I used to think there was nothing more infuriating than a stupid boy who thinks I can't do science because I'm a girl, but then I met Taylor. Built like a fantasy, but as simple and conforming as the storm troopers who had found the droids they were looking for. And also mean. Not all out Wrath of Khan mean, more like Q mean, messing with everyone because he can get away with it. The only letter grade he needed was a V in football. Yes, an arrogantly sexist jock is bad, but one who's totally gorgeous is so much worse. The day I showed up with my acceptance letter to college should have been the happiest day of my life, but Taylor got in, too. The same school so elite that my acceptance wasn't a given had taken him? A miserable suspicion that I'd never be rid of him settled upon me, which was almost prophetic.
College itself was great. I was Wesley Crushing it, but Taylor showed up just often enough to ruin things any time I was on a roll. I can handle most bullies, but his unnnghh-worthy maleness always threw me off. What should have been the easiest comebacks to consider, but I'd freeze up. He even revived my middle school nickname, which I shall not repeat. Just when I should have been off and floating free, liberated as ozone, he'd hydrofluorocarboned me. My first by-choice roomie, Julie (I call her Verne, and since my initials are HG, she calls me Wells), caught me crying one day after a run-in with Taylor and some of his fraternity brothers. "Enough is enough! We're freaking sophomores, Wells. We need to Hulk Smash this high school shit."
"But how?" I sobbed.
Verne didn't know, but she really gets me. "What would Neil DeGrasse Tyson do?"
So we decided to tackle the problem scientifically. I'll skip past the giggling to the good stuff: the optimal solution was for the hot jock to become our sex slave. Verne confessed a particular desire to have him chained up in something metallic and uncomfortable. "Like Princess Leia. In fact, if he likes nicknames so much, we'll call him...Princess Tayla."
Once we knew what we wanted to achieve, we just needed to work backwards and figure out how to make it happen. That's what made me go all Dr. Frankenstein for a while. We stayed on the campus through Christmas, using the old trick of both telling your parents you're spending the night at each other's house...except we hid in our dorm for three weeks. We stocked up on food before the dining halls closed. More important, we brought a ridiculous bunch of biology books back to our dorm before the libraries closed.
Verne came up with the crucial insight when joking around. "We're gonna sonic screw with him so hard when he's our little minion." This made me think of vibrators, which made me think more about pleasure and...
Only the campus was closed. The town's stores will still open. I started building, and Verne started coding. Everything began to come together like Tetris blocks. We were really doing this! Now all we needed was a way to separate the jock from his herd. We'd have to go into the belly of the beast. I didn't like it.
"Wells, there's no other way."
"I can't. They know me."
"They won't recognize you when I'm done with you..."
Huh? But Verne had a whole piece of the plan figured out herself. Eventually some frat or sorority would put on a costume-related party. The theme wouldn't matter. Girls could wear whatever sexy costume they liked. We both went to Cons, but I'd never realized how serious Verne was about her costumes, a few of which she'd brought along with her. She proposed re-purposing something nerdy and hot. The frat boys probably wouldn't recognize the references anyway.
Verne changed in the bunk bed room and came out to show me one of the options. I almost flipped sides. No, not like some Snape who'd secretly been on that one team all along. I mean like Lady Jessica leaving Dune to rejoin the Bene Gesserit, if you get what I'm saying. I am a straight woman, but Verne had mutated into a leggy, shimmering purple goddess named Psylocke, and I found myself muttering something about how we might have to Psylocke lips to get Taylor's attention. That wouldn't be terrible.
Verne went all to pieces laughing. "What makes you think I'll be wearing that one? Maybe that's for you!"
"I could never!" It wasn't even clothing. It was like fetish stuff.
"Actually, my Asuka one is made out of a red catsuit. Want to see that one next?" She didn't wait. Now, I love me some Evangelion, but Verne went straight up outrageous. How could those little red ear things be so hot? I could never, ever, ever have worn that in public. "Not for nothing," Verne said, "but your little invention is pretty fetish itself. You realize that, right?"
I hadn't. But sure enough—we checked online and discovered we'd been "inventing" a high-tech variation of something that was already a whole thing. At first I was disappointed to find a whole community out there, like we weren't as clever as we thought. After browsing a little more, though, I had some better ideas for the next iteration, so I guess it was worth it. And at some point, while I was caught in the interwebs, Verne snuck off to try on her third and final costume. Popping out of the bedroom, she said, "I think this one really might be you..."
I turned and put a hand to my heart. It was so me that I wore it a month later, when Taylor's own house threw the costume party. And much to my surprise, the dude at the door checking IDs gave me an awestruck smile and then shyly asked, “Yuna?”
Verne gave him a look up and down. “You know FFX?”
“I've played every Final Fantasy there is. Well, not the MMO stuff.” Only very reluctantly did he peel his eyes away from Yuna—er, me—and look at Verne. So that's what eyes boggling actually looks like. "Are you fucking Psylocke!?"
"Bet you wish you were fucking Psylocke..." she said with a wink, then launched us into the party before he could react. I could feel him watching us from behind. With a laugh I realized he'd forgotten to check our IDs, which was his whole purpose for being there. Maybe this could actually work.
Oh, I'd like to point out that I was Yuna from the original, and not the sad bastard sequel gun-girl short-shorts Yuna. I had the full violet skirt, the yellow bow, and the modest yet inviting white shirt thing that Verne had cut to show off more cleavage than I ever had before. It must have been an animal-themed costume party or something; most of the other girls were wearing leopard print and stuff like that. In spite of all those wild things, boys all across the room were turning our way to stare.
The popularity was weird, wild. It's heady stuff, and I felt drunk even though I hate the smell of beer too much to try it. Had I been hot all along? Nobody had told me. Or was this some weird magic I'd summoned? I kinda wished now that I'd brought Yuna's staff—Verne had made an amazing life-sized replica. Then again, I'd have blown my cover in an instant, waving it around while trying to make up Hogwarts spells. Splendidis!
Verne got right into it, dancing crazy to music I'd never heard before. Well, mostly. Duran Duran's Hungry Like the Wolf came on, and I knew that one. Guys came over to dance with us, and I confess I considered being like one of the other pretty girls and succumbing to their attentions. But I'd been alone too long to trust them now. I decided to handle things by closing my eyes as I danced, a little self-consciously, or else focused on making the skirt twirl at my feet. All the while, Verne had hands on biceps and chests, never grabbing hold. They couldn't keep her. She'd tease and reject, or tease and enjoy...then reject. Oh, and I also knew Bowie's Diamond Dogs. That's two out of...how long had we been there?
Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey, you know how it is. Verne bumped me. I opened my eyes to discover I was sorta kinda dancing with a couple hunky guys, but that wasn't why I got bumped. I followed Verne's head nod deeper into the room, and there he was, staring right back at me: Taylor. We made eye contact, and I spun away.
My cheeks burned. I wanted to run, recognizing the horrible mistake I'd made. This could only really end one way, and that was with my humiliation. It's a trap! Enjoying myself, letting my guard down, that's when he always managed to appear with his Dalek-like hatred of anyone who didn't conform to his little bro-constructed universe. He'd be stepping closer already, salivating over the chance to rip another moment from me. How could I have been so stupid? Had I really thought we'd ensnare him like we were some kind of Bond villains?
The sad part was, I really had hoped for something like that. Talking to Verne, I'd believed it could happen. When reality caught up, and I felt his presence behind me, the other hunks backing off as the alpha dog approached, it was as if all the million little hopes in my heart all cried out, and were silenced. I tried to signal my panic to Verne, and in she came, dancing up with some crazy move, soon grinding against me, forcing me back into motion. She smelled nice, heated up and shimmery-shiny in that purple Psylocke getup. She slipped and slid across me, and I tried to get into the rhythm of this strange music. Verne truly was the Sam Gamgee to my Frodo, carrying me in the moment I couldn't complete my own mission.
I didn't even notice her drawing Taylor closer, fingers playing on his wrist, until he was there. Verne spun around to face me, had a hand on me to keep me calm, then disguised her intent by leaning in and licking the very tip of my earlobe (yeah, she's like half a foot taller than I am, all the extra height in her legs). I heard a boy nearby make a gasping, almost choking sound, as they watched us making out. I dared to see Taylor's reaction. His eyes split time between my cleavage and Verne's ass.
He didn't recognize me! As much time as he'd taken to be cruel, it had been some other signifier (my walk, my clothes, my hair style) that he'd looked at, never seeing me. Whatever simple symbol he'd reduced me to, I'd shed it like an electron, and he found himself attracted to the ionized me, not comprehending the simple science of Girl. Just in case, I didn't let him see my face too long—when he did look up. I'd sway away or spin, letting the skirt whirl as I concentrated on being the brave young Yuna.
Maybe it was the way Verne kept turning to other guys, never alighting on one, that made him give up chasing her when I'd settled into orbiting him, but he stopped looking her way. In the space between one song and the next, he got close and whispered, "Come upstairs with me." He reached for my hand, but I slipped away, still dancing. You can't interrupt a summoner! I turned back to Verne, hoping she'd help me figure out how to get him back to where the contraption waited for its trial run—my dark invention, the true object of my obsession. But Verne was dancing close with just one guy for once, the one who'd been at the door, the secret nerd among the wild little lost boys. She saw me, winked, and I understood that I was on my own now.
Which was okay somehow. I wasn't just Yuna. When I took that which fantasy character are you quiz, I got Hermione, the baddest witch of them all. My eyes snapped back to Taylor's, and I let him see the hunger for him, let him think we'd go all dark crystal soon, him finding the missing piece to fill me in and finish me. I spun without waiting for a response, walked maybe a little too swiftly, but did remember to put my hips into it. The thing is, Yuna's skirt is almost conservative, but the captivating magic of Yuna makes all of feminine motion crackle with a powerful energy. When I dared one glance over my shoulder (ahh yes, the classic hair flip), he followed—summoned.
I still feared he would recognize me, and that the spell would break. In the fraternity house with the blaring music and funny lights and the press of bodies in heat I had a chance, but under the lamplight, crossing three blocks of the campus in the winter cold...would I be exposed? All the better that he had some weird stalkery thing he was playing out, following close behind like a ghost closing in on Pac-Man.
We got back to my dorm room, and he was all over me, tasting me, pulling my shirt so that it unfolded like a flower around me, and he was kissing and grabbing at my breasts. I'd gotten him far enough. Now all I needed was for his pants to come down before he recognized me. I gave him a little moan, then dropped a hint. And by hint I mean my skirt.
That got us stumbling toward the bed. Afraid he'd still be in jeans—only now did it occur to me how few of the guys had bothered wearing costumes at the party, the pigs—and find the device before I could get it onto him, I unbuttoned his jeans for him. Wow. Yeah, I did that. And unzipped his fly, which I could tell by the way he kissed me was doing something for him. So I slowly took his hands in mine, guided them down my body, and then over to his jeans, almost telepathically instructing him to push them down. I brought his boxers down with them myself. His erection sprang up at me like a Looney Tune: *sproy-yoi-yoing*.
Target acquired.
He reached for my underwear, and while I found it sweet of him to try reciprocating, I had other plans. I twisted back, grabbed the device sitting next to my pillow, and spun back around. Before he could figure out what was happening I'd wrangled hold of his manhood and jammed the metal contraption onto it. I had to fight his erection a bit, force it in there, but he was too struck stupid to understand what was happening. At first he'd liked the feel of any attention I gave his cock, then he'd tightened all up as the coldness of the metal hit him. Then I had the handcuff part back around behind his balls and sealed with a satisfying *snick* sound. The mean jock never had a chance.
Uncomprehending, he finally looked at my face as if searching for a clue. Well, there it was. We practically should have had a Scooby-Doo unmasking scene. Okay, "hot girl," let's see who you really are. *gasp* It was just Heather all along! So yeah, Taylor finally saw that I was me. He had the kind of stunned look I'd always imagined Mario would have at the end of level 1-4 upon hearing that the princess is in another castle. "Heather?" Well, not quite stunned speechless, but close.
That mystery solved, he looked back down to figure out what I'd done to him, and I stepped back to admire his captured phallus (and his abs, and his chest...). Next I got my smartphone from the window sill. With hesitant, careful motions, he tried to free himself. Nope. I'd locked it right up. He'd need a key. Before he figured that out, I opened up the app that Verne had programmed and tapped for it to begin.
Thinking back, it's kinda weird that I went through a whole steampunk phase that lasted most of my time in high school, yet I'd never attempted to build any sort of contraption until this one. It had taken Verne to push me to the zenith of my nerd power. To make me truly dork up. And now I had Taylor with his dork up...as far as he could get it in there. My crazy contraption clamped it down in a truly evil way, punishing his arousal. And now that I'd started the motor, it stimulated him so that the arousal was beyond his control. It was a mechanical reality of masculine biology, thrumming against the underside of his forcibly-shortened shaft.
Seeing it in action, I had this insane notion of improving upon my design after a series of tests. It might seem a little Pinky & the Brain, but if you start with a man's world, then figure out a way to bring men under your power...you just kind of end up with world domination, don't you? Simple math.
Not that I needed the world. Clearly my thoughts were going haywire just dominating Taylor. He was getting close, had just sorta dropped down next to me on the bed, just trying to process what was happening as his the arousal made him dumber (which I hadn't believed possible). But he'd become just an empty hunk. Er, I mean husk. Empty husk, his mind sorta switched off. A vague grin on his face had replaced whatever protest he'd been about to make before I'd hit that button.
Oh dear, I was getting wet myself. I tried to concentrate on the data coming in on the app. His pulse kept updating funny, so we'd have to figure out if that was Verne's program or a hardware issue, or maybe something relating to how I'd fit the device on him. Unfortunately for my attempt to keep focused, that was the only little thing I found. And the overwhelming feeling of power washed over me as I realized just how much I had the control of him in my hands. Men think with their dicks. Everyone knows that. Well, his dick was in my cage, the sensations it received came from signals at my command.
"Beg me," I whispered.
Taylor looked at me sideways, baffled.
"Beg me if you want to have an orgasm."
In between ragged breaths he tried to say something about me being a crazy bitch, which was hilarious. Because really, he had no idea. He'd made me crazy for years. The consequences had finally caught him, had basically bit him in the dick.
Verne and I had studied up about response rates and maybe watched a little porn. You know, research. Once I'd discovered our idea already existed, it wasn't too hard to find other things out there, all of which fell under a general category of "femdom." We were still us, so we talked about our contraption's responsiveness as something more akin to Doc Ock's appendages, but basically we wanted to find a way to bring him right to the edge, and then...
Taylor made a sound like a whinnying horse when the stimulation cut off abruptly, just before he got where he wanted to go. Between the sound and the look on his face, I couldn't help myself. I started laughing hysterically.
Still panting, he blushed a deep red, which I found oddly endearing. And arousing. Mmff, it's kinda crazy what really gets you ramped up more when you're already horny. The brain really is the most important sex organ, but I didn't point this out; Taylor's situation was bad enough without me mocking him for being ill-equipped.
Sweat-slick, frantic, and frustrated, even he could deduce how bad his predicament was. It was kinda fun watching him strain to think. I hadn't bothered to cover my breasts back up, to put a skirt back on. I didn't have any sort of feeling of exposure. I'd never been so liberated. "Now...what was it you're always saying about women not making good scientists? That's my invention. Another woman programmed the app I'm using to control it." I waved my phone at him. "You're my new test subject, and I want to see if a man can be, hmm, trained."
"H-Heather, please...I never, um, I never meant..."
"Little late to clarify your position. And I'd say lying to me is an especially bad idea. You always meant. Own it, boy. You might as well because even repenting won't save you now. Cthulu's come." And at that final word, which was a poetically cruel touch, I thought, I tapped to start another cycle. The stimulation resumed. Since he hadn't had a chance to recover from the first round, still pretty ramped up, I didn't expect this to go on for too long. Still, I pulled up a chair and sat down to watch his wonderful, bronze body move. Truly a hypnotic thing. What a waste for such a fine creature to be stuck with such a dull mind, but as I watched him pumping against the contraption, trying to get just a little more control of the motion, I thought: I can work with this.
He was so desperate to push himself over that edge that he actually roared when it cut off the second time. He shook his head to clear the confusion, looked directly at me. I actually saw his anger trying to topple his lust and losing. "You're so fucking hot," he confessed. "I never noticed that before. Fuck, until I saw you in that get-up, I wouldn't have believed it—you always dress down so much, but you're a fucking ten!"
"A ten?" I was back on my feet, offended. He jerked back away, startled. "Wait...what does your scale go to?"
"Huh?"
"A ten out of..."
"A ten! You know! Out of ten."
"Oh." I sat back down. "Good then." Too much D&D maybe, but I'd taken that as a big miss on rolling 20.
Sudden inspiration lit his eyes. "Let me go down on you," he said. Begged, really, so how was I to refuse? I waited, of course, until he started saying please, then "relented," and tapped the app to start another cycle, which made him just manic down there. It's amazing how intense an orgasm you can have when you don't let the boy have one. All that talk about coming together? Not sure I'll EVER need to bother with that nonsense.
I wondered how long I could keep this going. How long could you keep a pet boy perpetually on the edge without...pushing him off of it?
The way Taylor looked up at me from between my legs—Wow. I didn't know you could hit a second O so soon after the first. I guess the first orgasm is much like an A in organic chemistry, so much harder to achieve than all the rest of them. After you pull his hair and grind that first orgasm into a breathless slave boy, you're more in the mindset, all loose and slick and relaxed.
Honestly, I didn't have much experience, but even I could tell Taylor wasn't very good at this on his own. If it hadn't been for the utter control I had (and not letting him breathe on purpose) I don't think I'd have gotten there at all. As he kept working, though, he began to improve a little. It's as if he'd realized he needed to start paying attention to my responses, that he had to learn something and apply it. I let him up for air again and after gasping he said, "This is so fucking hot. I've never felt like this."
At this point, I'd stripped completely naked, switched over to the bed with him on his knees on the floor. I'd also stopped and started the app a couple more times and enjoyed enough orgasms to lose count of them. (Which...wow. Though to be fair, it's not that the numbers themselves were that high, just that keeping numbers in your head is hard through a really good orgasm. Still, I'm pretty obsessive about numbers. As a child I'd count primes instead of counting to ten when I was mad.) Anyway, I acted nonchalant as I picked up my phone, changed a single setting, hoping the app had gathered enough data. My arms were weak and wobbly, but I played it cool. "Yeah, I guess it is pretty hot, huh? Does this mean you want to be my sex slave?"
All the numbers on the app spiked, and the contraption shut the stimulation off immediately. It had worked! I was so excited about the app (and Taylor's immediate reaction to the sudden deactivation of his pleasure) that it took me another moment to think about Taylor and realized that I'd struck a nerve with that sex slave question. He was still shuddering, making the craziest little mewing noise as he rubbed his face against my thigh.
"What's that? I didn't hear you."
In a tiny voice: "yes." His face was bright red, humiliated by his surrender, but wanting my control to continue. Poor stupid boy. The app could read the signs of his arousal and shut itself off before giving him enough stimulation to lead to an orgasm. His cock had turned purplish, straining against the metal in there. I set him on my chair, tied him up, and left the app running while I took a little nap. The noises he made gave me the most erotic dreams I'd ever had.
By nap I guess I ended up meaning something closer to an actual sleep. Taylor was a vibrating, drooling mess when I heard our door open sometime around dawn. Verne seemed wide awake, so I shared my preliminary results. Her Psylocke outfit helped him ramp up even faster so that she could enjoy a demonstration of the automatic shut-off. "Fucking wow," Verne said as she watched him convulse and whimper with desperate need. "If I hadn't just ridden his brother's dick for an hour, just watching him suffer like that. Fuck. How have managed to resist releasing him?"
"Girl," I said, "I didn't put one of those around his tongue." We had a nice long laugh, and when Taylor dared to smile along with us, I snapped my fingers and pointed to the floor. He very nearly fell from the chair in order to obey. We continued talking about him as if he wasn't there.
The hornier we made him, the more willing Taylor was to do anything we suggested. Which made him hornier. Fun with feedback loops! Of course, in the scientific community, you don't take anything on faith, and one trial is not enough. You see if you can reproduce the results yourself. Verne asked him to crawl around on the floor and bark like a dog, which Taylor did with zest. "Well," she quip-quoted, "my days of not taking him seriously are certainly coming to a middle." Thinking about Mal always gets me hot, but I still needed some sleep. And that's when I realized that I didn't have to rush. He was mine now.
I told Verne that Taylor had agreed to be our experimental test subject, and I shared my crazy vision. "We could make a fortune with these things, Verne. We may need to start an actual business."
"True, but if we're going to have test subjects, we should protect their identities by giving him an id number instead of using a name." We'd joked about another nickname, but ultimately Verne was right, and we just gave him a number. We went with Six, after our favorite Cylon. Hmm...maybe this whole power-chick fix had been building up inside me for a while. Anyway, we never used his name again. He became just Six, an orgasm-starved sexual servant who slept on the floor beside my bed, unless I decided to have him wrap me up in his strong arms. I loved feeling that throbbing cock caged in the metal press up against my ass on a cold night.
We weren't monsters, though. Even after we fitted him with our third model (made specifically for longer-term use), we did occasionally allow him to earn an orgasm. He could only do so when having sex with me, and I easily trained him to thank me for each one. The third model also had the ability to administer electrical shocks, just in case difficult cases required stick as well as carrot.
We did start that business, too. It made us enough money that we could pursue whatever other research we wanted, and we started our own lab together, which was just awesome beyond belief. The best part of all? Never again did anyone, especially not Six, try to tell me that women can't do science. Myth busted, boys. Hypothesis firmly rejected.