“Harlot,” Laura said under her breath.

“Trollop,” Aisling hissed.

“Tramp.”

“Slut.”

“Tart.”

“Floozy!”

“Hussy!”

“Whore!”

“You,” Laura faltered, “you… cunt!” The waiting room was nearly empty, so even their whispers seemed unnaturally loud.

“Ladies! “ said Florence, the headmaster's secretary. “That will be quite enough!”

Laura Cross sulked, sucking on her bottom lip, her tongue playing along where it had split.

“Aw, did ya run out?” Aisiling said, her native accent creeping back in. “Bloody hoor.”

“Says the girl with the black eye,” Laura said with a smirk.

Aisling gently prodded her cheekbone. The skin around her eye was already turning a deep shade of lavender where Laura had punched her.

“By the by, Ay-sling, you have a little…” Laura brushed a finger under her own nose.

Aisling mimicked Laura's gesture, wiping away a trickle of blood. Her face darkened.

“Should've punched you in the tit,” Aisling said, looking down at Laura's breasts, straining against a bulky Christmas jumper. “Not that you'd have felt it, yeh fucken cow.”

Florence's intercom buzzed. “Miz Graham?”

“Sir?”

“Miss Halloran first, if you please.”

“Of course, sir.” She gestured to Aisling. “In you go, luv.”

Aisling grunted and stood, straightening her blazer and pulling down her skirt. “Strumpet,” she said, nodding to Laura as if saying farewell.

“Slattern,” Laura shot back, but Aisling was already closing the office door behind her. “Hmph.” Laura crossed her arms and sank down in her chair.

As she waited, Laura watched Florence Graham go about her day. Laura found Florence puzzling – she had been head girl, three years ahead of Laura, Oxbridge material from head to toe. She had taken on the role of secretary  – Florence insisted on that title, and would correct anyone who dared call her a “receptionist” – to save money for her gap year, even though she clearly didn't need to, what with who her parents were.

And so Florence's her gap year turned into three, her friends left for uni or just fell away, and she stayed at Woodhaven, fetching tea and answering phones for the headmaster. Strangest of all was how unbothered she was by it all. Florence's old life had drifted away like so much dandelion fluff, and she'd simply watched it go. And there was the way…

Buzz. “Miz Graham?”

“Sir?” Florence chirped. As Laura watched, the secretary's eyes seemed to lose focus.

“I'll need… another few minutes with Miss… Halloran.” He sounded out of breath. “Ask Lady Cross if she'd fancy a cup of tea while she waits.”

Florence glanced at Laura, raising her eyebrows. Laura shook her head.

“She declined, sir,” said Florence.

Florence blinked, the light coming back to her eyes. She shook herself a bit.

…And there the way Florence acted around the headmaster. Laura had noticed it before, in each of her many trips to the headmaster's office. The intercom would buzz, and Florence's back would go ramrod-straight, all expression leaving her face, her voice taking on lilting, almost… girlish tone. Laura had mentioned it to the other girls in her classes, but they told Laura she was being silly and chalked it up to Florence being in love with the headmaster. What other reason could there be?

The door to the headmaster's office swung open. Aisling paused in the doorway, looking flushed. Her normally pristine red hair had come undone and hung about her shoulders in wild, tangled waves. She looked down at herself, straightened her tie, refastened a button, and smoothed her rumpled blouse over her breasts. She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a lace handkerchief.

Laura scoffed. “Twat,” she muttered.

Aisling didn't respond. Her lips moved, as though she was talking to herself, so quietly that Laura couldn't make out the words. She walked past Laura without a second glance, staring straight ahead, her back impeccably straight, still whispering as she left.

“Ginger bitch,” Laura said.

Buzz. “Miz Graham?”

“Yes, sir?” That familiar blankness.

“I'll see Lady Cross now.”

The headmaster, Laura had thought upon their first meeting, was the most British person she had ever met, cartoonishly so, and subsequent encounters had not disabused her of this notion even a little. Even his name, Lord Alasdair Auberon Corvensthwick, was fairly bursting with Britishness. He was a great slab of a man, simultaneously hulking and doughy under a blocky, ill-fitting tweed jacket. His remaining hair was iron-grey, and clung to his scalp like a dying wreath. His office was forever redolent with the twin aromas of pipe smoke and gin, despite both being prohibited by Woodhaven's bylaws. He looked especially blotchy today.

“One moment,” said the headmaster, typing away. He hit the Enter key with a flourish and turned to face Laura. “And done. Now. Lady Cross,” the headmaster said, peering over his half-moon spectacles. “Kindly be seated, if you would.”

“It's just Laura,” Laura said as she sank into an overstuffed armchair. She'd been here so often that she imagined her bum had left a groove in the leather.

The headmaster tutted. “Come now. You are a lady, just as I am a lord. It is only proper that we should avail ourselves of the titles into which we–”

“It's. Just. Laura,” Laura said through gritted teeth. “Alasdair.”

“Very well. Laura it is,” he said, his voice somehow both sniveling and condescending. “What brings you to me this fine afternoon?”

“You know why.”

“Humour me.” The headmaster took a sip of what was decidedly not coffee from his mug. “How rude of me. Would you care for a drink? You are eighteen now, and it is the holidays.”

Laura considered, sucking on her split lip. “Go on then. Could use one after the day I've had.”

The headmaster produced a bottle of gin and a rocks glass from his desk. “Ah. The good stuff. My little secret,” he said, pouring Laura three fingers' worth.

“And you hide it so well,” Laura deadpanned. She held up her glass. “To?”

“To secrets. Cheers!”

“Secrets. Right. Cheers.” Laura downed her drink in one go.

“Now then. To business,” said the headmaster.

Laura sighed and pushed up her glasses. “Aisling and I got into a fight. Over a boy. He'd been seeing her behind my back. Or he was seeing me behind hers.”

“I see, and this was Mister…” He flipped over a blank sheet of paper, pretending to read.

“Callum Davies. Aisling told you all of this already.”

“She did, but I wanted to hear your side. Davies… scholarship boy, isn't he?”

“I hardly think that matters.”

“Of course it matters. Someone like that is… beneath you, Lady Cross. Now, your friend Aisling–”

“Not my friend.”

“–your friend Aisling,” he continued, “someone of her… heritage I could see with a boy like that. But you, Laura, you should–”

“Sir,” Laura said, cutting him off. “This kind of talk is highly, highly inappropriate, especially for someone in a position such as yours!”

“True enough,” said the headmaster, stroking his chin. “I do let my prejudices get the better of me sometimes. So, to continue, you and Miss Halloran thought it… appropriate to come to blows in the corridors of the Literature department. Now she I can understand, what with the famous Irish temper of hers, but you–”

“Sir! “

“–you, Laura, are a lady, and it does not become you to behave in such a way, like some common–”

“Sir! That is quite enough!”

The headmaster leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “On that, we agree. Did you know, Lady Cross, how many times you have been in this office, in that very chair, this term alone?”

“Dunno, Alasdair. I must've lost count.”

“Fifty-seven. Fifty. Seven.”

“Maybe I just enjoy your company.”

“Yes. How droll. No, young lady, I believe there is something wrong with you. With your whole generation, really, but I've never seen someone quite so headstrong as you. And yet, so aimless.”

“I am NOT aimless!” Laura said. “I just don't see the point in wasting my time in this posh shithole. I should be out in the world, going on adventures like my father! But no, he wants me to get a 'proper education', so I'm stuck here. With you.”

“You wound me, Lady Cross,” said the headmaster. Laura narrowed her eyes. “So the question remains, while you are 'stuck here', what is to be done about your behaviour?”

“Oh, yes, whatever indeed?” Laura rolled her eyes. “Is this going to take long, Al?”

“Not long at all, no. I think it's time we try something new. If you'll indulge me…” The headmaster swiveled his desktop monitor around to face her and hit a key. A new program window popped up, and the screen image dissolved into a swirl of soft colours, seafoam and cerulean and coral, pulsing, bleeding into each other. A faint, throbbing grey noise came from the speakers, underlaid with a barely perceptible music and… was that someone speaking?

“Yes, very pretty, sir, but it is… is the, uh, holidays, and I do need to… to…” Laura trailed off, lost in the shifting colours. “I need to… what was I…?”

“Shh, Laura, you just need to watch. Only five more minutes.”

“No!” Laura cried. Then it dawned on her. “You did something to Aisling! You're doing… something to… doing it… to me. I can't… why can't I…” She struggled to stand, even to turn her head, but her whole body felt like it was made of wet sand. She sagged in her chair.

“A mild paralytic in your drink, I'm afraid.” The headmaster got up from behind his massive desk and circled behind Laura, careful to avoid looking into the screen. “A drop or two of aphrodisiac. Some other additives. My own little secret. I told you it was the good stuff, pet.” He stroked her long chestnut braid. “It will all make sense soon. Just give it five more minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later, Laura stared, unable to look away from the colours. Between the drugs coursing through her and the subliminal-laced music, she could feel her defenses crumbling. Her cheeks burned and her skin glistened, sheened with sweat. A low heat grew between her legs

“Remarkable,” said the headmaster. His hands were on her her shoulders, massaging her through the thick wool. Laura let out a quiet moan. “I knew you were a stubborn one, but this is unprecedented! I must make note of this, and tell… tell…” His voice grew distant, and his eyes drifted to the screen. “I will tell no-one.”A brief lucidity flared in Laura. “Who… who will you tell, sir? Why are you… unh… why are you doing this?” she managed, before losing herself again in a pleasant haze.

“I will tell no-one,” the headmaster intoned, oblivious to Laura's words. “We do not think. We do not question. We do as we are told. We do as the master says. We will obey. We must…obey. We do not think…”

As her moment of clarity faded, Laura's last coherent thought was how… familiar those words seemed… like she had heard them before… in the music… under it, somehow… over and over… over and over…

Laura whimpered as she succumbed to the colours, sinking into a deep trance. “Do as we are told,” she echoed, taking on that same lilting emptiness she had heard in Florence's voice earlier, that same distant monotone that now spilled from the headmaster's lips. “As the master says… will obey… must obey… do not think…”

The headmaster's desk phone rang, snapping him out of his trance. Laura was still lost, whispering to herself as her enthralled mind absorbed the program's instructions. She barely registered the headmaster as he answered the call, said a few words, then hung up. Nothing mattered but the twisting… pulsating… colours…

“Lady Cross.”

“L-Laura,” she said. Her nose twitched.

“Remarkable,” said the headmaster again. “But we don't have time for that. Lady Cross. Who am I?”

“You are…” Laura frowned. “You are… my headmaster? Are you my… my master? I obey my master…”

“My master…” the headmaster repeated, then collected himself. “No, pet. I am not your master. Master commands us both. You will simply address me as sir. It feels good to obey”

“Yes, sir,” Laura said, her frown easing into a placid grin. “Master commands us both. So good to… to obey. I am hypnotised. I obey. Unghhh!” Her body spasmed.

“Lady Cross… did you just… orgasm?”

“A-almost, sir. I'm very… aroused right now. L-like the program said. It's all I can think about.”

“Tell me, pet. Tell me what the program told you.”

Yes, sir. I am hypnotised. I am v-very aroused when I am h-hypnotised. I must obey. I am very a-aroused when I… unhh… I obey. It makes me wet to–”

“Enough.” The headmaster made a dismissive gesture. “It's always the ones with the most fight who fall the hardest. You can't resist at all, can you, pet?”

“No sir,” Laura said, sounding eager, even proud through her monotone. “I can't resist at all. I don't want to fight, sir. I don't want to resist.”

The headmaster checked his watch. “Bollocks. Only five minutes. Time enough for a little fun, though. Lady Cross, I want you to stand up and remove that horrid jumper. You want to show off your body to me.”

“Yes, sir. As you command.” Laura pulled her Christmas jumper over her head. Its tiny gold bells jingled as it fell to the floor. She stood before the headmaster in her tartan skirt and a plain black bra, hands clasped behind her back. “Do I please you, sir?”

“Very much, my dear.” The headmaster adjusted himself in his slacks. “Show me your tits.”

“Of course, sir.” Laura undid the front clasp and her massive breasts came free, perky and firm despite their size.

“Ah, youth,” the headmaster sighed. “You must be very proud of your body, Laura.”

“I am, sir.” She traced her fingers down her flat stomach. “I exercise every day. Do you…” She lifted her breasts. “Sir, do you think I will please our master?”

Incredible, the headmaster mused. Even deeply hypnotised, obeying her master's will, Laura was still capable of independent thought. “My lady,” he said, “there is no doubt in my mind.”

Laura swayed her hips, smiling through her trance. “And do I please you? Do I, sir? Would you like to touch me, sir?”

“I…” the headmaster began. His face drooped, and he sank into a light trance of his own. “I would very much like to touch you. I am not permitted. You belong to the master. I must obey.”

“Mmmmm… yes,” Laura moaned, caressing her hard nipples. “I understand. I belong to the master. I must obey.”

The intercom buzzed. “Sir?” said Florence's voice through the speaker. “He called again. He said to, quote, 'wrap it up, you plonker,' unquote.”

The headmaster thumbed the talk button. “Wrap it up,” he said. “Yes. We obey.”

“We obey,” Florence repeated, tinny and monotone. “Yes, sir.”

The headmaster watched with sadness as the still-entranced Lady Cross pulled her jumper back down. Such a shame, that. She stood at attention before him, eyes unfocussed. A small smile played on her lips.

“Do you understand everything I have told, you, Laura?”

“I understand, sir. Your words are my master's words. I will do as you say.”

“In a moment I will snap my fingers, and you will come out of your trance. You will make your way to the boys' dormitory, not stopping for anything or anyone. Top floor, room B, back left corner. Your new master is there. Go to him.”

“Yes, headmaster. I will go to him.” Laura nodded.

The headmaster snapped.

As Laura headed for the exit, Florence called after, wishing her a happy Christmas. Laura barely heard her, her master's words still dancing in her mind. Her lips moved imperceptibly, chanting, repeating his commands to herself, making them her own. Laura's mind flashed back to Aisling leaving the office, and she wondered briefly if she now wore that same far-off expression. Her pussy was still achingly wet, and she considered finding the nearest loo and having a quick–

Go to him

“Go to him. I obey.” Laura resumed walking, still chanting. Her breasts swayed under her jumper. A stray thought – I could've sworn I put on a bra this morning – flitted through her mind. Her bare nipples, hardened by arousal and the December cold, brushed against the coarse wool. She shuddered, and then the thought was gone.

The headmaster leaned on Florence's desk, Laura's discarded bra clutched in his fist. Before he brought the young student out of her trance, he'd managed to convince her that she'd been in a hurry and forgotten to put it on. His master's control was strong, but he had managed to find a loophole here and there. Maybe someday he'd find a way to break out of it and–

You love serving your master

–he loved serving his master. He could not disobey.

“Souvenir?” Florence said, breaking his reverie. She pointed a pen at the bra. “You know he wouldn't like that.”

“He's a big lad. He can handle it. He gets what he wants, I get what I want.”

“Oh?” Florence said, standing and putting her arms over his shoulders. “And what is it you want, Alasdair? It is Christmas, after all.”

“Nothing much,” he said. “Just you.” He whispered something in her ear.

Florence stiffened as her trigger took hold, then melted against the headmaster's broad chest. “I love you, head…master,” she said into his shirt. “I obey. We obey.”

“We obey,” he repeated, and kissed her as his own thoughts dimmed.

Laura was panting by the time she reached the top floor. She had decided to take the stairs, figuring the exercise would help clear her head. It was all for naught, though – with each step she took down the corridor, each step toward her master's room, she found herself sinking back into that deep, blissful, thoughtless–

“Laura? Hey, Laura?”

Laura paused, her slow descent into trance broken by a familiar voice. Callum. Fucking hell. She'd forgotten he lived on this floor, and had walked past him without a second glance. He was fumbling with his keys and balancing a grocery bag in the crook of his arm. Crisps and ice cream. Bloody typical, she thought, as he finally managed to unlock–

Wait, he wasn't…was he? Laura looked at his door. Room H, thank god. The thought that someone who pronounced it 'Haich' could be her master made her ill. Her master…

“Laura? What are you doing up here? Are you alright? Your eyes… you look high or something. I heard about you and Ash, and… oh, jaysis, mate. She really got you,” Callum said, reaching out to touch her split lip.

Fury swelled in Laura, and she swatted his hand away. “Don't touch me! We're fucking through, mate.”

“Please, can we just talk–”

“No,” Laura cut him off. “We're done. Get your ice cream inside before it melts, prick.”

Laura hesitated outside of Room B, her knuckles mere centimetres from the door. That lovely trance, which that twat Callum had so rudely interrupted, was rising up around her again. Her clit throbbed. Still, the small piece of her she had regained screamed and fought against her–

Master

–her master's influence. If she could just take a moment to get her head right, to think things–

You don't need to think

–she didn't need to think, she knew in her heart what was right. She was a strong, brilliant, independent woman, and all she needed was… was to… needed to…

Obey

She needed to obey. She would obey. Laura knocked.

The door to room B swung open. Aisling stood there, wearing a dreamy smile and nothing else. The boy next to her looked roughly their own age. He was deeply tanned, which made his eyes seem unnaturally blue. His black hair  was tousled, and from what Laura could make out through his red silk dressing gown he seemed rather fit. He looked… familiar?

“Lady Cross. You're late,” said the boy. Her… master? He had one arm around Aisling's hips, lazily stroking her bare pussy with his fingertips. The tall redhead didn't react, lightly hypnotised herself, staring past Laura into the hall.

“A-Aisling?” Laura said. “What are you doing here?”

“Fucking my master,” Aisling said breezily. “Or our master now, I suppose.” She turned to her lover. “I told you she'd take a while, Master,” she said, touching her bruised eye. “She's– ngh!” The boy had found her clit. “She's quite obstinate.”

“Always has been,” he said. “Even now she's resisting. I've never seen anything quite like it. This'll be fun.”

“I… I know you,” Laura said. It was so difficult to think. “Don't I?” The program's commands tightened their grip. Her arousal spiked. “F-from secondary school.” She felt herself falling, that warm, wonderful trance surrounding her, suffusing her with warmth. Obedience. Lust.

“Almost there, luv. You know this, I know you do. Laura Cross. What's my name?”

“R-Robin…?” Laura panted. “It's Robin, isn't it?! Please, I'll obey you! Please let me cum!” Laura dropped to all fours, her glasses falling to the carpet. Her free hand slipped under the waistband of her skirt.

The boy – Robin – tsked. “Not very ladylike. And yes, that is my name, if you want to get technical about it. But it's not my real name. Tell you what. It's clear you have a lot going on, and you are making a bit of a scene here. Evening, lads!” He waved to the handful of onlookers that had gathered in the hall.

“Now Laura,” he continued, “I'll give you one more chance to get it right. Think back to your programming. You have the answer. Who am I? Say. My. Name.”

Laura's fingers moved inside her knickers, feeling her wetness, seeing the swirling colours once more. The program's words played over and over in her mind again, a litany, a mantra, a prayer. The words crashed over her, pulling her down, bringing her deeper and deeper into trance. They were her truth now, her centre, those words, tumbling through her mind like snowfall, repeating, resounding, endless, her thoughts were gone now, she was gone, only his thoughts were left, his desires, his words, her master's thoughts, desires, words… his will. Her master's will. Her master.

Laura looked up at Robin, her dark eyes empty and adoring. “Master.”

"There it is,” Robin said. Laura beamed. “Now get up, get inside. Clothes off.” He swatted Laura's arse as she went by. She yelped.

“As for you lot,” Robin said, turning to the crowd, “show's over. Usual drill. You never saw anything, yeah?”

As one, the other sixth-form boys went blank. They mumbled their assent, then headed back to their rooms. Robin ushered Aisling into his own room and closed the door behind them.

“You've outdone yourself with this one, Ash,” Robin said. He shrugged off his dressing gown. “She's quite the little trollop.”

Aisling watched dispassionately as her hypnotised former rival stripped off her knickers. Her lips curled into a tiny, triumphant smile. “I know,” she said, sounding bored. “That's exactly what I said.”