He was determined to draw out her darkest fantasies and to use them to control her. He takes her on a grueling mental journey through the parts of her mind which have been long repressed.
When Lucy first went to university, she was aged eighteen and a virgin. Such creatures are not as rare as you might think but they do not tend to advertise the fact.
Lucy was studying Psychology and was thrilled beyond measure to have Professor Potts (fake name) as her tutor. Potts had written many respected books on the subject and his picture on the cover showed him looking younger than his years and wearing a black polo neck like a villain from a James Bond film. Fellow students had warned Lucy that the prof had a reputation concerning young female students but she pushed it to the back of her mind.
At first the prof gave tutorials to about five students at a time but then he phased in one to one meetings to give individual support. Lucy knew from his books that the prof was very interested in social conditioning and he often quoted the ideas of Friedrich Nietzshe who believed that true freedom and becoming the “Übermensch” lay in casting off the shackles of society’s artificially imposed conventions. He was exceedingly skilled in leading his subject to delve deeply into their own psyche and bring out very personal things. The prof explained that such delving was essential for self-knowledge which could then be used as a springboard into progress, development and achievement.
After quite a short time, Lucy had revealed the secrets of the fantasies produced in her mind whenever a heroine in a book or film was made helpless at the hands of some wicked villain. When Lucy was in the Sixth Form and living with her parents, she had sneaked nervously into a sex shop and bought a pair of shiny chromium handcuffs which she used in her room at night. She would slip between the sheets naked, lay face down and cuff her hands behind her back. The moment that she heard that delicious “click” she would feel an urgent need to grind her pubis into the mattress as she forced her face into the pillow to muffle her involuntary cries of ecstasy and her nipples became ever more sore and aroused.
Of course, the prof wanted to spend much time exploring these confessions and he led Lucy into an understanding that bondage is only a means to an end. Its dark heart is the thrill of being helpless, powerless and defenseless at the hands of someone whose benevolence is in no way guaranteed. He said that this had the attraction which any taboo has and that the emotional zing is rooted in the societal prohibition of the “kinky” which explains the deep and delicious feelings of shame, humiliation and embarrassment.
The prof said that Lucy was an excellent student for her openness and he encouraged her to begin work on a “shadow dissertation” to study bondage, pain and sadomasochism. Of course such a work could not be presented to the assessors who would only be shown her, “above the line” dissertation but the prof would award marks and he assured her that work in this vein would be marked very highly thus contributing to a possibly first class degree.
Several of their one to one sessions focused on these things and the prof asserted that a girl is not truly in bondage unless she is naked and gagged. Nudity is the ultimate powerlessness as one has literally nothing to hide and one’s most basic assets are on view and accessible to the bond master. In the same way, a girl who can speak is capable of expressing an opinion or even negotiating for more lenient treatment while a mute victim has no option but to absorb whatever may be inflicted upon her.
By the end of this session, Lucy had her knees pressed tightly together while being extremely aware of the moist condition of her erotic center. She was not confident of speaking lest her voice emerge as a mere croak. At the conclusion of the meeting the prof said that a watershed had been reached and they were now at the point where they either retreated or moved forwards and they could not do that without a practical experiment. Part of Lucy recognized that the master manipulator had timed his ultimatum to the precise point where his student would not be able to bear to give a negative response. A small part of her knew that she had been hooked like a salmon but she could only nod enthusiastically.
Lucy was expecting their next session to take place on a Friday afternoon as usual but the prof sent her a text message rescheduling for the following Saturday morning meaning that she would be forced to endure a further 24 hours of anxiety and expectation. What sort of practical experiment could the prof have in mind? Their discussions leading up to this point had focused on the physiological effects of humiliation and embarrassment and the reasons why lesser primates with similar physiology do not seem to experience such effects.
By this point they had established a climate of trust and academic rigor so that Lucy was confident that the prof would not suddenly fall upon her and tear her clothes off; if he had done such a thing Lucy knew that she would immediately scream and fight him off.
Humanities Building 5F where the prof had his room was eerily empty on Saturday morning. There were no students or ancillary workers and the small cafeteria was locked and in darkness. Anyone needing food had plenty of other places on campus which they could use.
Lucy was the only person in the blue carpeted corridor when she tapped on his door which, as usual, had the wooden panel slid across to reveal, “Session in progress – do not disturb”.
Once admitted, Lucy was waved into her usual place on the small leather sofa and they engaged in the usual preliminary idle greetings. Then he asked if she was ready to begin the experiment and they both stood up. She nodded in reply and made a sort of affirmative noise. He told her that it would be her assignment to write a full report of this meeting detailing her feelings and responses at every stage. By now he was standing in front of her so closely that, when she tilted her head upwards to see his face, she could see his nasal hair.
He told her to step back a little which she did and they both stood in silence for some thirty seconds while he looked at her. Then he told her to undress down to her underwear. Her response escaped of its own accord.
“Excuse me.”
His reply was gentle but authoritative.
“Lucy, you know the subject which we are studying and you had indicated a willingness to proceed. I had taken you for a serious student. Was I mistaken?”
Her eyes went of their own accord to the floor and her feet shuffled as if she were in the Headmistress’s study.
“No Sir, I’m sorry Sir.”
Still looking down, she dragged her top up over her head revealing her small bra and then kicked off her shoes. Her ankle socks were bright green.
Later, she would have no actual memory of unfastening her jeans and pulling them off. With her clothing on the sofa behind her, she stood legs together and arms at her sides, still eyes downcast. She had no way of knowing whether her little cotton briefs were hugging her shape and displaying a camel toe to his eyes.
He walked slowly all around his victim and quietly told her to move her feet further apart. Her temperature had soared and, just for an instant, she thought she might faint. He was behind her now and her whole body responded with shock as his cold hand gently brushed her naked back.
“Raise your hands above your head.”
When she obeyed, his hands were at her sides so gently as to feel like small feathers and they moved down her body as if he were frisking her.
He asked her how she was feeling and she could not recall later what she had said.
She heard the unmistakable metallic sound of what could only be handcuffs behind her and she felt a sort of electricity shoot through her body as she heard his quiet command.
“Just place your hands behind your back for me now.”
She obeyed and felt the cold metal on her skin before the cuffs, each in turn, were secured in place. Then he was in front of her with his eyes taking in her almost naked body. He told her to sit on the sofa which she did somewhat awkwardly and then he settled into his own chair just a few feet from her. Her knees were clamped together but he told her to separate them making her feel totally vulnerable and certain that he could see the shape of her labia. When we are uncomfortable it is natural to hunch over but she realized that leaning forward gave him an even more full view of her breasts so she sat up straight. This was not an improvement as her hands behind her back meant that sitting upright pushed her boobs outwards. Whatever she did, she could not improve the situation.
And then the questions began.
How often did she masturbate? Exactly what form did this take? What erotic fantasies did she have? Which of these did she most enjoy? What memories did she have of sexual experiments in growing up? Did she ever feel aroused at inappropriate times?
The questions became ever more intrusive and he always wanted more and more detail. Any slight attempt at evasion was met with harsher questions. He was leaving her with no private life at all. He was raping her mind and almost reducing her to tears as she sat exposed an helpless.
From her position she could not see a clock but, after an eternity, he was finished “For now”. Now he was very businesslike; he freed her wrists leaving very obvious weals on her skin and he watched as she dressed. He reminded her that he wanted a detailed report emailed to his private inbox and that, next time, they would explore further.
She left as soon as she possibly could, aware that her hair was a mess and that her face was scarlet and tearstained. But also knowing that she would have to return – her beast had been awakened and it would torment her until this “study” reached its conclusion.
The prof had set their next session for the following Saturday morning and all week she could not help going over what had happened that morning in his room. How could she really have stood there in just her undies? What had possessed her? It had almost been a sort of hypnotism in the way that he had spoken in a dull monotone convincing her that she really wanted what he was doing. And yet, she knew that she DID want it; it had released her deepest needs, things which she could never previously have shared with anyone. On one level she hated being so exposed, so in someone else’s power but on a much deeper level she NEEDED that release, she craved it and it hurt to have to wait a whole week for her next session.
Once again, the building had that eerie quiet. It was entirely possible that only she and the prof were in the entire building for nobody else had a reason to be there at this time. When she entered his room, he was already standing and he did not invite her to sit down.
“I think for our next stage, we need somewhere away from the trappings of comfort. Laying aside the comfortable décor of the space will help us to be rid of the similar décor of your inner Id.”
He led her down the silent passageway and downstairs to the ground floor until they stood outside the metal door marked in red, “Utilities. Authorized Persons Only.”
Of course, he had a key and the automatic lights flicked on with a buzzing of overhead neon tubes. They were in a narrow passageway with metal aircon vents on the ceiling. The walls held black cables and metal pipes of various sizes; floor, ceiling and walls were of bare, grey concrete and, at various points different sized boxes were attached to the wall marked with electrical symbols.
At the end of the passageway (having passed various doors) they came to a metal grille which he unlocked. The grille was obviously there to keep people away from some large machinery which was perhaps a pump or something to do with the heating. Between the grille and the machine was a space in which men could work.
The prof was again speaking in that dull, repetitive voice which somehow went straight into the base of her brainstem and made everything which he said seem entirely natural and reasonable.
“It is essential to plumb down to the basic psyche beneath any covering or mask; there must be no barriers, nowhere to hide from the truth.”
She could not recall any actual instruction but she knew that she pulled her white T shirt up over her head and stood just a few feet in front of him as she cast her bra down to the floor. Shoes, socks, jeans and knickers followed and he told her to turn her back.
Her hands were gently pulled backwards and the handcuffs were secured onto her.
“Kneel down and keep your knees wide apart please.”
Lucy had split into two people. One part of her knew exactly what was happening and was screaming that this was all wrong and she needed to get as far as possible away from him but that part was powerless. If he had asked, she would have lain on her back and pleaded for him to take her again and again in whatever way he chose.
He was intoning that we are driven by our fantasies and it is vital to bring those fantasies and needs to the surface.
She was speaking aloud whatever came up from the darkest swamps of her mind.
Suppose someone found her notes of these sessions on her computer. Alarm bells would sound and nobody could lay any blame on the prof. She had voluntarily come out of bounds with him and she had chosen to strip and kneel before him. Would it lead to police action? She imagined the banging on the door of her room perhaps when she was in the shower. A team of black uniforms would burst into her private space and handcuff her and she would be sat on her carpet dressed only in a towel while they searched the room. They would look under the bed and in the wardrobe and every drawer would be pulled out. All her undies would be tipped onto the bed and gone through in fine detail while she sat in miserable, silent helplessness. They would find her handcuffs and her sex toys and they would make notes. Her laptop and phone would vanish into plastic evidence bags and be taken away and then she would be led out to a car with all her neighbors watching and whispering.
She saw clearly the police station with lots of bustle and swearing drunks and hookers being brought in amid the smells of alcohol, bleach and urine. Doors would clang all around her and every sound would echo from the cream painted walls. Uniformed people who did not see her as a person would read complicated instructions which they read a hundred times each day.
“You have the right to remain silent….anything you say used against you…held in custody pending a meeting with a judge..and on and on.”
They would search her “down there” as if she were a piece of meat and then she would be alone in a cell with no way of judging the time.
In fact Lucy had never had anything illegal on any of her electronic devices and she would never do such a thing but reality had now retreated to a far distant planet.
She would be sitting in court in a grey tracksuit, not really in her size, provided by the police while the prosecutor read out every detail printed from her computer and phone. She would hear the muttering of the jury and feel their contempt on the back of her neck. The press would lap up every salacious detail and it would be read by anyone who had ever known her and then she would be ordered to stand for sentencing.
The judge would make a long speech about the depths of her depravity and corruption and then, weeping and with her head hung in shame, she would be taken out of the court and down the steps.
And then prison. Would her family desert her? Would her psychiatrist be her only visitor? Her fellow inmates would draw the obvious conclusion from psyche visits and she would hear the murmurings…pervert…animal…subhuman. Her food would be spat in and she would be “accidentally” tripped on the metal landings.
Lucy imagined being cornered in the showers by a crowd of tattooed, hardened criminals. The officers hated perverts and they would look the other way. Lucy knew that chivs could be fashioned by pushing a razor blade into a bar of soap or by sharpening the handle of a toothbrush. They would stand an inch in front of her face and force her to confess her every sin all over again.
She heard the voice of the prof distorted as if she were underwater. He was calling her back from whatever world she had sunken into and she found that she was so drained that she did not have the strength to keep upright. Her body flopped onto the concrete floor and he reached behind her to free her wrists. She had a vague idea that he might have dipped his fingers into her now soaking pussy but, later, she would struggle over whether that really happened or had she imagined it.
Her next memory was of drinking strong coffee, fully dressed and sitting on his sofa. He was all professionalism.
“I think we have made good progress this morning. Write it up in your notes for me and add any details you may have missed out. We’ll have our next session this time next week.”