Chapter Six

“So what does the tempest represent?” Helen asked her students. “Hate? Love?”

A class-full of wide-eyed faces stared back at her. She swirled her tongue across her lollipop, twisting it in her mouth with bright red nails. She savored its tartness while her students savored her.

Helen pulled the candy out of her lips with a wet pop. Then, she answered her own question.

“Desire.”

A few of the girls gasped softly. The guys grinned, and Helen shuddered in deep rapture.

In just a couple days, she’d mastered the art of holding their attention.

It became abundantly clear that she’d never do it following Henry’s rules. He didn’t understand that in this environment, doing her job correctly required keeping up with the arms race of lace, fishnets, and micro-skirts. Helen had to be hotter, sexier, and flashier than every girl in class. She had to use her body in every way she could.

She had to keep protesting.

“The desire for power, sure.” Helen started to explain. “But Shakespeare was writing to something more primal. There's a tempest in all of us. There are cravings in all of us.”

Helen prided herself on making Shakespeare relatable for her students. That hadn’t changed. In the thick of the protest, what was more topical than a story about a power struggle? But thinking like a protester, she learned to tailor her lectures to the students’ interests. Gone were the days of discussing theme, and meter, and structure. No, her lectures had to be much more INAPPROPRIATE. And that meant breaking more of Henry’s rules.

A couple of the guys groaned under their breaths. Even the girls appeared fixated on Helen’s body in a way they hadn’t been before. Helen wondered if it had something to do with the morning’s latest rule…

She swayed towards Scott’s desk. He’d been a tough nut to crack the last couple days. He always showed up looking glum, burying his head in his arms through every lecture and never participating. Worst of all, he barely looked at Helen’s ass.

Today, she was determined to get his eyes on her. She bent over his desk.

“Scott. Don't you feel like Monroe University is in a tempest of its own?” She asked, sucking her lollipop slowly. She stretched further and bent lower. "With all of us fighting for our own power. For our self-determination. For our cravings."

As she hoped, he looked down her sleeveless blouse, into the loose neckline that draped ever so deeply off her chest. And there, he saw that today, Helen wasn’t wearing a bra. He saw her naked titties, nipples hardened from a room of youthful attention.

Helen sucked in some air. “What is a tempest but a manifestation of unbridled desire. Of lust. Of our horniest, dirtiest impulses?”

Maybe she was getting a bit too graphic. But with Scott looking at her tits and the students behind looking up her micro-skirt, with them seeing her thighs and crotch, with them seeing her brand new thong pull against her mound, she was getting carried away.

Even Sheena waited with baited breath. She looked like a doll today, wearing a sheer little blue dress with white tassels and trim. She was the picture of naughty-cute, temptation wrapped in a bow. Fuck, she really did look good. And now there was that rule telling her she couldn’t…

Touch girls…

“Sometimes ignoring that storm inside of you can only make it worse.” Helen said, pushing the thought away. She shouldn’t be thinking about that right now.

She rubbed her thighs against each other for the boys behind her. They wanted to fuck her. Every guy in class would kill to get up behind her, slip her thong off, and enter her there and then. But they couldn’t have her. Just like how she couldn’t, how she really shouldn’t…

Touch girls…

“Caliban couldn't have Miranda, could he? He was not to fuck that sweet little pussy.”

She swayed her ass, where her tiny skirt did nothing but draw the eye inside, where her thong swayed with her, where her pussy hummed warmly.

“But the subservience forced upon him just made his tempest rage all the stronger, didn't it?”

“Damn right…” Sheena muttered.

The slutty little rebel was never more locked in. She sucked a finger through puckered, baby-blue lips. Helen’s lecture was probably going to inspire her to break the rules in even new, scandalous ways.

That new one, Helen could break with her…

Touch girls… Kiss girls…

But Sheena wasn’t Helen’s focus right now. The boy in front of her was.

“So Scott… what does your tempest want?” She asked, sexy sweet with a mouthful of sugar.

Scott swallowed. He didn’t need to answer her question. Helen noted with pleasure that he was hard. When she returned to the front of the class, his gaze followed her, every inch of her, her tight velvet micro-skirt and her thigh-high stockings.

Another student hooked. Take that, Henry.

Helen wasn’t the only teacher to crack the code.

After class as she strode through the halls of the English building, leaving an echo of high heel clicks in her wake, Helen was delighted to see even more of her peers participating in the protest.

Each day, more women arrived to work in sultry, attention-grabbing outfits. And why wouldn’t they? Not only did it help control the distracted students, they all wanted, like Helen, to fight back against Henry’s regime.

Once the reality of Henry’s rule had set in, they all wanted to protest.

If, like Helen’s stubborn department head Shannon, the men thought it was ridiculous for professors to protest, they certainly weren’t complaining anymore. Like the male students, they realized that it was fruitless not to look. More than that, the were coming around to the “protest” way of doing things, enjoying the scenery with salivating interest.

That scenery included their tittering honeypot students. At this point, only Craig Collins heroically resisted the call to admire the young girls, and he complained about the difficulties of that every morning to Helen. While soaking in her latest outfit, of course.

“Helen!”

Shannon approached in boots looking delectably sweet licking a massive circular lolli. Her white sweater was a teeny tiny crop top, a cloud of fluff adorning little more than her tits. Her mini-skirt matched, a frizzy squeeze of white fuzz on her hips. And she wore long white gloves that went up to her elbows.

Helen was impressed. Shannon looked super hot. Her face was done up in glossy pastels, and her newly straightened hair fell past her shoulders, silken.

“Good morning, Shannon. You look fantastic! Have you joined the protest?”

“Me? Oh, God no. Of course not.” Shannon said, adjusting her glasses. “I just thought I’d dress up a little. That’s all. Those rules are of no concern to me. No concern at all. But I can see you are still fighting this fruitless battle.”

Helen gave a twirl. She was done feeling ashamed of her participation, especially now that she was not the only one doing it.

Shannon’s eyes dropped momentarily to Helen’s legs.

“Where did you… get that skirt? No. Never mind that.” Shannon tugged at her own skirt, the short fuzzy fabric of which was reluctant to stay past her crotch. “I wanted to talk to about your referral. Colleen. I spoke with her the other day. She’s impressive.”

“I told you! Are you going to hire her?”

“Next semester. I dare say we could use more professional women on campus.” Shannon eyed a passing poetry professor whose short blouse was tied over her tits, her black lingerie bra cups fully visible around it.

“By then, this whole thing will hopefully be over.” Helen said. “Did you see the latest rule?”

The reminder of the latest rule washed over both women simultaneously. Their eyelids fluttered at the memory of it. It arrived this morning, and the gall of it had been so shocking that when she saw it, Helen nearly… nearly…

Touch girls… Kiss girls…

Well, she didn’t really remember what she nearly did, because she blacked out briefly from the rage. But the rule remained etched in her mind all the same. And in Shannon’s too, because she recited it by memory.

“GIRLS, you are getting far too TOUCHY-FEELY with each other. Please keep PHYSICAL CONTACT and public displays of affection, or PDA, to a MINIMUM.” The department head said with glassy eyes.

Her tiny little sweater looked so soft. Helen wanted to stroke it, to run her fingers through it, to feel it.

Touch girls… Kiss girls… Make girls cum…

“Quite ridiculous.” Helen said. “Once again, Henry is over-policing. Physical affection is a normal part of many female friendships. He’s just punishing them for their solidarity.”

“And now they’re making a mockery of it by, well, doing that.” Shannon said, pointing to a pair of girls making out in the corner.

Helen recognized them as a couple from one of her classes, once mild-mannered girls with a crunchy aesthetic and modest inclinations. Back then, the lesbians didn’t make a scene of their partnership.

Now they were in a full embrace, tongues down each other’s throats and hands roaming over fishnet thighs and up the backs of each other’s skirts. Helen couldn’t help but smile. They never acted like this before. But of course, Henry’s latest rule affected them most of all. It was homophobic, is what it was.

Helen was certain the behavior would spread quickly, if only because the girls were attracting quite the crowd of boys. And the more that stopped to watch, the more the girlfriends played into the show. By now, the smaller of the two was pinned against the wall, her legs wrapped around the other, and they kissed hotter and heavier.

The scene was giving the other girls ideas. As pairs of friends passed, some holding hands, others connected by the hips with their arms around each other’s waists, they’d turn to each other and giggle at the shameless display. Most of the girls were straight, but already their smoky eyes were flirting with each other’s lips.

Shannon tugged her skirt down again. It simply refused to stay stretched for long. She fixated on the Sapphic scene, sucking on her lollipop with her periwinkle lips. They looked so soft and sticky, like candy all on their own.

Kiss girls.

“And remember, this rule applies to you and me now, Shannon.” Helen said, touching Shannon’s skimpy soft sweater for emphasis.

Shannon shivered. Her little fluffy skirt rode up again, and Helen could see the very bottom of the woman’s electric blue panties at their hemline.

“As I keep saying, Helen, I don’t care about Henry’s rules. A few touches here and there are of course… acceptable. We just don’t need to make a show of it like those… little… sexy sluts.”

Some male cheers filled the halls as another two girls kissed. They paired up, experimentally bringing lips against lips for a tender peck. At the raucous approval, they went back in a second time, this time with tongue.

Look what you did now, Henry, Helen thought. She had half a mind to drag two of these girls to his office where they could make out in front of him to show him what he incited. Hell, she’d do it herself, if she could find a willing participant. Any woman would do. Most of her peers were protesting. And if none of them were interested, spunky sexy Sheena would jump at that chance. Sheena, the little short-stack in that hot little baby doll number, with those yummy plump lips and tits…

“As far as I’m concerned, we can proceed with our… our usual standards of professionalism.” Shannon continued, breaking Helen from her sudden onset of fantasy. “We certainly don’t need to start… kissing. Even if it is an… arbitrary distinction for Henry to make.”

Shannon’s sweater was so nice and fluffy, but her skin looked soft too. Helen’s hand moved to stroke her bare ribs, and Shannon closed her eyes and shuddered. Goosebumps formed beneath Helen’s fingers.

She pushed up her wiry glasses. “Like… who can even keep track of these rules, considering how arbitrary they are. I’m probably breaking a couple right now…”

“Maybe one or two…” Helen said. “There’s that one about the candy.”

“Whoopsie.” Shannon laughed. She licked her lolli again, dragging her tongue across its wide surface. “These damn rules. I don’t know how you can even protest them when there’s so many to remember…”

“You just keep doing what you’re doing, Shannon. It’s okay if you don’t want to protest.” Helen told her. “Either way, you look soooo good today.”

Shannon laughed again, this time in a small fit of giggles.

“Well if I’m already breaking some…. Do you want to feel my skirt, too?” Shannon asked in a girlish lilt. She stuck her butt out towards Helen. “It’s like, even softer.”

Ali sent Tom a great photo of her tits that morning.

She felt awful about it.

Mostly. It was a really sexy photo. It showed them naked in all of their pert glory, save for a playful arm half-across them. She wanted to at least play modester, but she intentionally did a bad job of covering her nipples. She looked coy. Her impish smile probably gave her away.

The guilt of sexting Grace’s boyfriend hadn’t gone away. In fact, it had only grown. But so had the illicit pleasure of Ali’s transgressions. Here in the dorm, this was the only outlet for male attention that she had access to, and she couldn’t give it up. Or the dirty orgasms that followed.

So, when Tom texted asking to see her tits, she barely gave it a second thought. While Danica was in the shower, Ali slipped off the ratty old shirt she’d forced herself into, let her tits fall free, and snapped that sexy shot in the mirror. It was a risky moment. Danica was only down the hall, and Ali didn’t have a lot of time to cum afterwards.

She’d succeeded easier than she thought. After finishing, it took four full minutes more before Danica returned in her towel, and Ali kicked herself for not indulging her pussy just a little longer.

At this point, it was plain that she was losing control.

The sexting was one thing. But Ali was also sneaking candies from a stash beneath her mattress when Danica wasn’t around. And even though she wore her loathsome old clothes today, a choice that Danica had been thrilled to see her make, Ali had black lace undies beneath them.

Danica’s brainwashing theory was a tempting prospect. Ali would love to know that her behavior wasn’t her fault, that she wasn’t actually a dirty, dirty slut who sexted her friend’s boyfriend, who took pictures of her naked tits and ass and pussy for him every time he asked. But brainwashing just felt like a convenient excuse for what Ali was beginning to admit.

She was a slut.

Or was she? Maybe Danica’s paranoia was warranted. Maybe Ali really was brainwashed.

Sometimes, a creeping idea of how she could know for sure crept into her scattered thoughts. And it returned now, as Ali’s roommate donned a drab pullover and wiped wet bedraggled black hair out of her face. With a little color, and maybe a bow to tidy up all that messy hair, she would look so pretty. And she had such a good body, thick and curvy in all the right places, with a fat bust and wide thighs. Why did she have to hide it under such trash?

She would look fucking delicious in stockings.

Yes, the idea was forming again, just like it always did.

It appeared as an image. The same image that lived in the back of Ali’s mind since since she first learned that Danica wasn’t participating in the protest. It was the image of Danica standing at the screen, bathed in blue light, her open eyes reading every word on it.

The image was strangely arousing. It made Ali wetter each time she returned to it. And each time, in the haze of that horny heat, the idea sounded good.

If Danica, who was so convinced that the school was brainwashed, who was militantly against the protest, who would never change for anybody, saw the screen after all this time… what would happen to her?

If after reading the screen, she changed her mind about everything, if she became a silly, horny, skirt-obsessed girly with a mouthful of bubblegum and a head full of fantasies…

Then Ali would know for sure.

What started as an idea had ballooned into an impulse, and now a need. Ali needed Danica to read the screen. It would answer so many questions. It would solve so many problems.

Show her the screen. Make her see. Convert her.

At the very least, it would scratch this nagging itch, which was becoming impossible to ignore. The itch that everybody should read the screen, no matter the reason. And the more Ali thought about it, the less the reason mattered to her.

Was it to prove the brainwashing wasn’t real? Or was it to convince Danica to get that big ass into a short skirt?

Was it purely to make that fantasy, that image of Danica’s hard face softened into a passive blank stare, a reality?

Either way, it would be so easy to make happen. But Ali would need someone’s help to do it. She could only think of one girl for the job.

Helen was surprised when she got the e-mail from Henry requesting that she come by to his office.

After last time, what more was there to talk about? They were in open conflict, with Henry demanding her obedience and Helen willfully refusing. Surely, he wasn’t going to relent. So what did he want?

Helen had to admit she was curious, and a little excited. A meeting with Henry meant rubbing his face in her body– or rather, her outfit. Her sexy outfit, that was about a million inches shy of his length requirements, and her face, painted so meticulously as to turn each of her features into erotic reflections of themselves. She could show him her legs and her ass and, if she bent over just like she did for Scott, her titties.

Yes, a meeting with Henry was the perfect opportunity to piss him off.

But Henry also had a way of getting under her skin, and the way their conversations escalated the parameters of the protest wasn’t lost on Helen. This meeting wouldn’t be productive. It would only serve to piss her off, too.

She knocked on the door anyway. What did it matter? She was already pissed off, having just seen the latest rule informing the men on campus that they were required to WAIT until they got HOME before they TOOK CARE of their NEEDS. Behind the polite language, the real message was loud and clear. Boys were not to masturbate.

What a horrible idea. With so many sexy, attention hungry teens dancing around, with girls teasing boys and flashing them their skimpy underwear, and now with the sluts freely touching and kissing each other, how were the boys supposed to get through the day without sexual release?

Henry’s latest rule was poised to create a campus full of angry, frustrated men. The guys would be even more distracted than they already were, walking around with aching hard cocks that they were forbidden from doing anything about. Meanwnile, the girls would keep on teasing them to the point of… What? With the men turned into pressure cookers of testosterone, something had to give.

The more Helen thought about it, the more she believed that not only should the guys be free to masturbate, it was essential that they did. Boys deserved to cum. Stroking themselves to her lectures would likely improve their focus.

Boys deserve to cum to my slutty, slutty body. Debase myself so boys can cum.

But of course, she would never be able to convince Henry of that. He was far too disconnected from the practical realities of managing a modern campus.

“Come iiiin!” Agatha sang through the door.

In the hot office, the University President wore a slutty parody of a Secretary’s attire, a two-piece form-fitting number with a short tie nestled between her tits. She sat across Henry’s desk, chewing a pencil and idly snapping her garter belt on her thigh, one heel dangling off her raised foot.

When she uncrossed her legs, Helen noticed the woman wasn’t wearing panties.

“Hello, Agatha. It would seem you don’t have to follow the rules. Where is Henry?”

“Mr. Hearst has moved into my office.” Agatha explained. “It’s like, a lot bigger and much more comfortable. But don’t worry, he’ll be here in a hot second. He always comes on time. Can I get you anything? Water?”

“No, thank you.”

Helen still couldn’t believe that the proud, stern Agatha Redmare rolled over for Henry like this. She looked pathetic, dressed up in this little costume and acting like his personal assistant. The sight made Helen all the prouder of her own defiance, of how hot her body looked in violation of what Henry wanted. She pulled her skirt up to her waist so Henry would be sure to see her thong.

“I’ll keep this short, Helen.” Henry said, walking briskly into his office.

He snapped, and Agatha stood at attention, her eagerness apparent in the jiggling of her tits, in the tight squeeze of her thighs.

“Yes Sir.” She sighed obediently.

She pulled his coat off of him as he passed, then hanging it on the rack, joined him behind his desk, kneeling beneath it until she was gone from Helen’s view. Unbelievable, Helen thought. She’s even removing his shoes.

Henry leaned back in his chair and started rolling a cigar beneath the open flame of his lighter.

“The faculty have lost their minds. I didn’t think it was possible to supersede the students in utter, amoral wantonness, but you have done it. I mean, look at you.”

Henry’s words incited a sexual thrill in Helen, her pussy reacting to his pearl-clutching with warm and wet gratification. While some from under Henry’s desk, warm and wet sounds emanated. God, I must be horny. Now I’m imagining things.

She was imagining lots of things. Like how she should have brought Sheena into this meeting, and then the two of them, faculty and student alike, could show him real wantonness.

Kiss girls. Make girls cum.

“As the instigator of their rebellion, I am giving you one last chance to surrender before I crack the whip even harder. Cooperate with me, or I will have no choice but to move into the final phase of my plan.”

Henry puffed his cigar and closed his eyes, savoring it.

From beneath his desk, Agatha’s made a long, slow, slurping sound with her mouth. The hypocrisy of it drove Helen wild. Despite his rules for the everybody else, sucking on candy was acceptable for Henry’s own staff?

Helen strode forward defiantly and slammed her hands on his desk. She bent over it, back arched, and waited until she was sure he was looking right at her naked tits. She licked her lips at him and smiled. His eyes were right where she wanted them. She wondered haughtily if Henry wanted the girls covering up because he knew he couldn’t control himself otherwise.

“With all due respect, get fucked.” She said simply.

She didn’t care how slutty she had to act. She wasn’t going to let him win. Up her skirt, her slick cunt swallowed her taut thong. First things first, she was going to have to take this useless, soaked thing off.

In the time since Ali last ventured into the world, things had changed.

Not only the outfits, though those had certainly gotten skimpier, more scandalous, and more titillating. The definition of “skirt” had clearly shifted, because many of the girls’ selections were no longer functional as skirts. Instead, they had become decorative strips of fabric that didn’t even cover the entirety of a girl’s panties. Tops, too, were in the playground of covering up, but mostly about exploring creative ways to show off a girl’s tits.

And it wasn’t even that the professors were wearing ensembles that were equally as provocative. Ali was prepared for that, knowing from Danica that they had joined the protest too.

No, all of this, Ali could understand. For the protest against the dress code to work, skirts had to get shorter, tops had to get skimpier, and bodies had to get sluttier. And with the sales going on in the mall, achieving that goal had never been easier.

What Ali wasn’t prepared for was how the girls playfully slapped each other’s butts, how they traded lollipops so freely from tongue to tongue, how they hung off each other’s arms and pressed their cheeks together, how every half-naked girl-body on campus was drawn, magnetically, to another.

Ali seemed to be the only girl not touching another girl.

The student center was even worse. Entering the building, a wall of pulsing club music slammed into her, and she was greeted by the sight of girls grinding into each other, of girls feeling each other up and swaying their bodies in tandem, of girls kissing, their tongues interlocked as they writhed their bodies to the beat.

Not all the girls were dancing. A few stood planted at the entrance of the student center, chests heaving while they read the screen. Ali recognized the head of her major, Shannon West, in a fluffy half-sweater and skirt, moaning lightly under her breath with drool dripping down her chin.

Ali was just about ready to succumb to her urges and see what new rules the screen possessed, until, further into the hall, beyond the crowd of entranced hotties, she noticed the guys…

They had their cocks out.

A hard cock was attached to every guy in the hall, some through their flies, and others over their undone pants, but all of them on display. To the heat of the show, and to the delight of the girls, they masturbated with easy, slow strokes.

Ali’s body thundered with arousal. Every time she sent a nude to Tom, she’d get off imagining him stroking his cock to it. How fucking good would it feel if he did it live and in front of her?

But all of this was beyond reason. With what Ali knew of the code of conduct, of the protest, she simply couldn’t square a world where the students would let their behavior get this pornographic. Or where the faculty would allow it.

Behind her, Shannon, still fixated on the screen, pushed out mantras through strained moans.

“Boys… nnhh… deserrrrve… to cuuuumm….”

Maybe, Ali thought, Danica was right. Whatever was happening to Shannon, who talked in circles about boys cumming, about making boys cum with her body, about debasing herself so boys could cum, sounded a lot like brainwashing.

Danica…

If the plan had worked, she would be on her way here, against her will, right now. And it was all because of Ali.

When Danica slipped away to the dining hall’s slow period to bring back food, Ali pulled the trigger. She texted Sheena. “My roommate Danica isn’t protesting. She’s at the dining hall now.”

Ali wondered if Sheena and her crew would be able to overpower her, if they would be able to drag the stubborn roommate all the way here. Was there even enough time for them to head her off and beat her to the dining hall? And, given how they ended things, would Sheena take Ali’s tip and run with it?

Ali was pretty sure she would.

All day, Ali went back and forth about actually going through with the plan, about betraying Danica’s wishes and revealing her movements to Sheena. But now that she’d entertained it, the gnawing need for Danica to see the screen played on loop in her mind, a fuzzy image of white text against blue that said ALL GIRLS MUST READ THE SCREEN, and obeying that impulse had become as crucial as breathing.

It didn’t matter if Ali and Sheena were fighting. Sheena was going to feel the same as Ali. She would be at the dining hall, because ALL GIRLS MUST READ THE SCREEN.

Danica needs to see it, Ali thought. She’ll be so happy to know if the brainwashing isn’t real.

But what did Ali want?

If the brainwashing was just a baseless conspiracy, that would mean Ali had no one to blame but herself. It would mean she fucked things up with Scott all on her own. It would mean, in her slutty little head, she thought it was a good idea that in wanting to fuck him, she should act like she wanted to fuck everybody else too.

And if the brainwashing was real…

That means Danica’s about to get turned slutty too, and then there’ll be nobody to stop me from backsliding.

She looked around at the girls, who made out and groped each other, who were sticking their hands up each other’s skirts and grinding their crotches into each other’s thighs, who were all but fucking to the gaze of their masturbating male counterparts.

There’ll be no one to stop me from becoming… this.

The second option made Ali really, really wet.

Helen sucked down her Bubblegum Cosmo greedily while Colleen regarded her suspiciously across the high-top.

“Okay, so I get you’re protesting. Hence… the outfit. And the make-up. But, from what you described, it doesn’t sound like it’s working. And… doesn’t that line up with what you were saying before? About the students just making things worse?”

“Nope, it’s totally working.” Helen said. “He’s on his back foot. Gave me this big threat today and everything.”

There was a piece of rock candy as garnish in her drink, so she started sucking on it. It fizzled on her tongue.

“I honestly don’t think he expected the faculty to respond so unanimously.” She said with candy in her mouth. “Only Shannon doesn’t want to protest, but she’s loosening up a lot anyway. I think it’s good for her. She was always so stuffy.”

Colleen took a sip of her dry martini. She wore one of her dark blazers and slacks, her face bareing only the subtlest application of foundation. Helen inwardly lamented how sexy her Korean friend’s lithe body would look dressed up in something a lot more frilly and tiny.

“She did seem a little distracted when I interviewed with her.” Colleen said. “She kept losing her train of thought and going off topic. She barely asked me anything at all. I felt like I was just rambling to her. Are you sure she liked me?”

“She LOVED you.” Helen assured. “Trust me, you are so in. We’re gonna have SO much fun next semester.”

An image flashed into Helen’s mind of her and Colleen on the dance floor of the student union, grinding to the music and kissing passionately while their students jacked off to them.

But that was silly. There was no way they’d still need to protest next semester.

“Sorry, I want to go back to this protest thing.” Colleen said flatly. “You said there were more rules. What were they?”

Helen was just about to launch into a tirade about how Henry was demanding that boys wait until they got home until they masturbated, about how he was inhibiting their ability to let off steam amidst a campus of hot sluts, about how boys deserved to cum, when she was interrupted.

“I have to say, you look absolutely fantastic tonight.” The man said to Helen. “You are in… Rare form.”

It was the same man that approached them at this table before. His cologne was still overwhelming, and despite his previous rejection, his smirk was as confident as ever. This time, he ignored Colleen completely, giving Helen his entire attention. She ate it up. Even after a day of teaching, she still couldn’t get enough of a man’s gaze.

Fuck, I’m horny…

“That’s a much better opener.” She said returning his smile.

Colleen coughed, but Helen ignored her. Her friend was just so boring tonight, constantly bringing the conversation back to work and chores. Here there was something interesting walking into their laps, and Helen wasn’t about to let him get away.

She held up her empty glass towards the man, the ice still tinted glistening pink.

“How about another Bubblegum Cosmo and I’ll see what I think about your closing line.”

Everything that happened after was a blur. At some point during their flirtations, Colleen left gracefully. But by then the man’s hand was near the end of its slow, teasing journey up her leg. His fingers flirted with the bottom of her short skirt, and he was about to discover that she wasn’t wearing panties. Helen would have given her bestie a good-bye kiss, but she was far too absorbed by his touch to notice her go.

It was for the best. Colleen’s departure meant it didn’t take long to invite her suitor home. And when they stumbled into Helen’s apartment, lips locking as she hastily peeled off his clothes, it took even less time for Helen to get his cock inside of her needy, horny pussy. All she had to do was DEBASE HERSELF FOR MEN, get on all fours, and show him how wet she was.

She moaned low when he took her, the last of her reason melting away into a sea of fluorescent, flickering blue. “Uuuunhh, yeeeesss…”

And as he fucked her, she couldn’t help but trade out his face for an ever shifting parade of her students, her peers, and of Henry Hearst himself.

Ali didn’t have to wait long.

Sheena and her crew barreled into the booming student center with the kicking and screaming Danica in tow.

“Let me go you BITCHES!”

Danica knocked one of the girls to the ground and made a break for the door, but Sheena, as small as she was, was fierce. She jumped onto Danica’s back and pulled her to the floor.

The rest of the student center barely noticed. Though music still blasted, the club dancing had given way to make-outs and heavy petting. Pairs of entwined girls occupied the chairs, couches, and floor space around the hall, getting more comfortable with each other’s bodies by the minute. Already, a few had progressed to rubbing each other’s pussies over their panties, and some were beginning to venture underneath.

Ali watched them from a moist seat of her own, letting the lurid sights keep her attention away from the beckoning screen above. From the NEW RULES that waited there.

Danica shrieked kicked Sheena in the stomach, but the twins, Mae and Annie, were there to pin her down. Sheena lifted Danica’s back off the ground while the taller girls kneeled on her legs, and with both hands, she forced Danica’s head to tilt up.

“You NEED to see!” She said. “Don’t you GET it? EVERY GIRL is affected by this!”

“They’re fucking controlling you!” Danica yelled, fighting to keep her neck down. But Sheena had too good a grip, and her head tilted higher. “They’re– they’re– UNNH–!”

Danica’s eyes fluttered and became wide, unblinking holes. Her whole body slackened as her mouth dropped. Mae and Annie took their knees off of her, and even Sheena let go of her head, but Danica made no moves to leave. She sat there, ass on the floor and head falling slightly to the side, staring at the code of conduct.

“They’re… controlling… you…”

Her head swayed, and for a moment Ali thought she was going to look away, but Danica’s eyes closed only for a moment as she shuddered. When they opened again, they opened wider.

“They are controlling us.” Sheena said stroking Danica’s cheek. “Telling us what we can’t wear. Telling us what we can’t do.”

“N–no…” Danica said. “I mean– yes, but–”

Sheena pulled Danica’s wild black hair behind her ear and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. “Shhh… Just read them. No short skirts. No make-up. Are you okay with that?”

“No… short skirts… But I don’t– I don’t wear them…”

“No cleavage. No butts. No FUN.”

“No… fun…” Danica pawed at her shirt, tugging fruitlessly at her neckline as if to stretch it, or tear it off, or something.

“Here, let us help you with that…” Mae tittered, and then the twins were slipping their hands up Danica’s shirt, pulling it off of her as they caressed her, so that Danica sat there in only a bra.

They moved onto her pants.

“Controlling…” Danica muttered as more girls from the tables swarmed her with fresh clothes and cosmetics. They gathered around her, pulling a sparkly pink top over her hefty tits, applying make-up to her slack-jawed face, turning it pink and bubbly and colorful with each stroke of their brush.

“Uunnnhh…” Danica moaned. A bit of drool formed at the corner of her freshly coated lips.

They put her into a skirt, a bouncy short thing with speckled colors, and with how Danica was splayed across the floor, she hardly bothered to close her legs after. They combed her hair, tying it back with huge scrunchies into two long pig tails.

As they worked they planted kisses on her, asking her to just give the protest a try.

Danica could only mutter in response. “Controlling us…” She sighed, flighty and thin. “With skirts and sex and fun…”

Already, she looked like a completely different girl. Gone were the chains and baggy pants, the unkempt hair, the hardened cracked face. In her place was a curvy sexpot, cleavage and ass spilling out of too-tight slut-wear, vacant eyes framed with shimmer.

Sheena stuck a lollipop in Danica’s lips, now delicate, inviting and pink. Passively she sucked it, her mouth full of spit.

She’s getting brainwashed, Ali thought, heart pounding in her ears. It’s real. It’s real.

What had she done? She’d just thrown her only ally to the wolves.

And the wolves were enjoying her. Even as Danica sat entranced, legs splayed to her panties while she sucked her candypop, her make-over crew continued to caress her.

Sheena took the lead. She lay down in front of her and kissed her way up Danica’s legs, sidling towards her inner thighs, and even further still.

She giggled. “We’re really not supposed to, but you don’t mind if I play a little down here, do you? I mean those rules are SO CONTROLLING, and I want to show you there’s no hard feelings.”

“Sooo controoolliinngg…” Danica sighed, and she spread her legs wider, inviting Sheena’s kissing lips even deeper in.

Ali couldn’t watch anymore. She couldn’t watch as Sheena gave moist kisses to Danica’s panties, couldn’t listen as Danica gasped in delight at their hot touch, couldn’t bear it as her roommate sunk deeper into the screen’s pull.

But the screen was pulling Ali, too, and it was the only other place she could think to look.

So, instinctively, stupidly, she did.

She’d forgotten what it felt like. Everything faded away. Sheena between Danica’s legs, the rising pitch emanating from Danica’s throat, the image of her roommate being re-made, all of it burned away against blue light.

GIRLS, you are getting far too TOUCHY-FEELY with each other. Please keep PHYSICAL CONTACT and public displays of affection, or PDA, to a MINIMUM.

BOYS. IGNORE your SLUTTY classmates and teachers. PLEASE WAIT until you are HOME before TAKING CARE of your NEEDS.

Written so plainly in white and blue, the world made sense again. Girls kissing girls, boys touching themselves, the rising tide of sex and lust, all of these things that until now felt irrational, confusing, and scary, were really anything but.

Brainwashing… She reminded herself.

But that felt so silly. Looking at the code of conduct directly, it didn’t feel like she was being brainwashed. It felt like she was protesting. It was all right there, plain as day. Horrible, evil, restrictive rules that warranted such rebellious behavior.

Boys weren’t allowed to cum at school? Boys deserved to cum. Girls weren’t allowed to kiss, to make out, to make each other feel good? Not even platonically?

The letters warped around each other, the white plain text growing and shrinking in long deep rhythms, and they swayed, almost swirling into each other, until the white and blue melded into one soupy spiral.

“Unnnhhhh…” Ali moaned.

She was so fucking horny, and getting hornier, the pleasure building to the rhythms of the screen. And it was building, she realized. Fast. She’d only just looked, or maybe it had been a minute, or five. Time was immeasurable, but her approaching climax was not. It crested on the horizon, and it would be here in just a few more joyous, wet pulses.

Touch girls. Kiss girls. Make girls cum.

Boys deserve to cum. Debase myself so boys can cum. Help boys cum.

Be a SLUT. SLUT. SLUTTY BIMBO SLUT.

The ideas washed through Ali’s mind, these perfect ways to protest, these necessary, crucial, ESSENTIAL behaviors that she’d adopt as easily as trying on a new skirt. As the orgasm took her, Ali knew she was being brainwashed. She knew she’d be unable to shake them, these degrading, awful, sexy ideas.

But she was also cumming, and that part made it sooooo worth it.