Don't Monkey Around!

by FlyingDecadent

Tags: #cw:noncon #cw:sexual_assault #dom:female #exhibitionism #f/f #humiliation #petplay #sub:female #lesbian

The buxom and hypnotic Professor Yamada makes muck-raking journalism major Sarah discredit herself. Sarah will learn never to disrespect authority ever again.

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My first post on this website 😃 It has previously been posted elsewhere, though.

All characters are over 18.

Sarah sat and scowled, waiting for the university disciplinary committee to come and start their kangaroo court against her. She crossed her arms over her ample chest, huffing for the umpteenth time. The university was putting her on trial. For what? Telling the truth!?

Only one member of the disciplinary committee had bothered to come on time: Professor Yamada, who leaned her pencil-skirted arse on the table facing Sarah. Yamada was fifty-four, but her clothing, manner, and dominatrix-smirk showed she knew — and knew everyone knew — that she’d aged like wine. Her dress-shirt, jacket and trousers were tailored to hug her bountiful curves and accentuate her hour-glass figure. Yamada radiated (what Sarah called) “respectable eroticism”. Sarah might have fantasised about the respectable Professor making her a moaning mess, had Yamada not been leading a bogus trial against her.

Yamada was reading the university newspaper, and read aloud:

“‘The Skeletons Under the Foundation Stones, by…’” Yamada smirked as she looked at Sarah. “By our naughty little rules-breaker… ‘You know how this university was founded. A classic rags to riches tale of a century ago, of how our founder Archibald Tullius Fitzmonger Jr. scraped together enough coin to found our alma mater. A classic tale. And like most classic tales — bullshit.

“‘Documents newly discovered by yours truly…’ Yah-dah, yah-dah, yah-dah… Ah. ‘Fitzmonger had less a love of learning and more a love of laundering his drug and brothel revenue.’”

Yamada lay the newspaper folded on the table.

“Don’t stop there,” said Sarah. “You’ll miss the juicy parts.”

“Did you really think the university’s centenary was a suitable for your gotcha?” Yamada grinned.

“An honest institution has nothing to fear from honesty.” Sarah grinned right back, slouching in her chair.

“The kind of holier-than-thou sophistry I’d expect from a… what? Nineteen-year-old?”

“Twenty.” Sarah sneered at Yamada. If Sarah could see herself, she’d admit that the sneering face of a fresh-faced, pixie-cutted sophomore looks more sulky than intimidating.

“Then I must apologise,” said Yamada. “I’m only thirty-four years your senior, only thirty-four years more acquainted with the ways things are and are not done.”

Sarah knew that tone of voice. Not a drop of hostility, not even passive-aggression. Yamada spoke like someone certain that she could crush you between her fingers. Yamada probably thought she was powerless, Sarah thought. Yamada would have the disciplinary committee suspend or expel her, and that’d be that — but oh, no!

Sarah prayed she’d be expelled. She’d have two bombshells for the press, the real press. Both the dark past of a prestigious university, and the university’s malicious attempts to silence a brave truth-teller. A scandal and a cover-up. That story was worth more than any journalism degree.

“The committee will not look kindly on your failure to produce the documents you claim to have discovered,” said Yamada.

“A bloody knife is safer with the detective than the murderer.” Sarah supressed her smugness. She’d have to write that line down for her expanded story.

Yamada had been leaning on the table’s edge. Now she stood, chuckling like she’d caught Sarah in a silly lie.

“That’s the problem with university students: you all think you’re qualified to be iconoclasts,” said Yamada. “You see one crack on one brick and you want to blow up the whole building.”

With a cocked head and a crooked grin, Yamada glared down on Sarah. From the way Sarah’s tummy tumbled, Sarah had to admit that, in friendlier circumstances, she’d be begging Yamada to spank her.

Sarah ignored the tingle in her pussy. “Just doing what a good journalist should, exposing the truth and bending to no vested interests.”

“Utterly predictable, putting these silly little ideals (which not even you believe in) above the gratitude you should feel towards your school.”

Yamada bent over Sarah’s desk, the cleavage of her F-cup breasts exerting a gravitational pull on Sarah’s eyes. Yamada brushed her long, black hair over her shoulders so she could pull a silver chain from under her collar, and a pendant from between her breasts.

“Your problem, young lady,” said Yamada, dangling the pendant in front of her cleavage, right in Sarah’s eyeline, “is that you don’t respect authority.”

Here it is, thought Sarah. The oldest speech in the book. She’d roll her eyes, but she couldn’t help looking down Yamada’s shirt.

“I got this pendant just last month,” said Yamada, “to celebrate thirty-five years as a professor here. That’s right, I became a professor at nineteen. I was smart. Smarter than you. Smart because I didn’t think I was smart enough to question or contradict authority. I knew I wasn’t smart enough to challenge the authority of this university.”

“Maybe you—”

“What does my pendant say?”

“That doesn’t—”

“What. Does. It. Say?”

Sarah hissed through her teeth. She’d have to play along with this soapbox.

The pendant was the university crest, plated in gold. Circling the coat of arms was the university motto in miniscule writing. If Sarah had read the motto before, it was too anodyne to stick in her head.

“It says, ‘For the… For the sake’?” Sarah trailed off.

Yamada had started swinging the pendant. It swung barely a fraction of an inch back and forth, back and forth, but Sarah couldn’t follow the tiny writing.

“‘For the sake…’”

The pendant swung just slow enough that the words were tantalisingly legible. Yet, whenever Sarah’s eyes got used to the swaying, got ready to read the next word, the gold would glisten in the light, making Sarah squint and blink and lose her place.

“Can you stop swinging…” Sarah whined.

“Aw,” said Yamada, not slowing the pendant’s undulations. “Is our hot-shot reporter having trouble reading?”

Teasing on top of a lecture!

“‘For… for… the…sake’.” Sarah was speaking from memory. Following the pendant back and forth, back and forth, made her eyes too watery to see anything but a shining, glimmering, gold pendant.

“Poor baby,” cooed Yamada. “Are your eyes tired?”

Sarah wanted to show Yamada. She tried blinking away the bleary haze, but that just made her eyes heavier.

“‘For… the… s…’.”

“Tired eyes make a tired mind. Heavy eyes make a heavy mind. Hazy eyes make a hazy mind.”

The pendant’s swing had become a smear in Sarah’s vision. Her eyelids drooped. Her neck drooped. She slurred the syllables she remembered. “‘For… fo… sa…ke’.”

“I know what you need,” said Yamada, her voice as slow and regular as the swaying of the pendant. “I’ve taught university students for over three decades. I know when a student needs a nap.”

A nap? Sarah wasn’t a fucking… fucking… pre…

“No… nap…” was the only defiance she could muster as her mouth hung open.

“You misunderstand me. I am your professor. I am your elder. When I give you advice, you will accept it, gratefully and without question. When I count from three to one, you *will* thank me for my advice, and you *will* take a nap. Three.”

Sarah’s head drooped so low she couldn’t see the pendant. But… no… she wouldn’t take a nap.


Sarah’s eyelids were so, so close to shutting. Well… she didn’t have to be grateful…

“One. Naptime.”

“Thank… you… Professor… Ya…”

“When I reach the number three, young lady, you will open your eyes but remain deeply asleep. One… two… three.”

Sarah’s eyes drifted open. All she could see was the wooden grooves in her desk.

“Sit up straight.”

Sarah pushed her back against the chair. Her head and eyeline wobbled before settling on Yamada’s chest.

“Are you having a nice nap?”

Yamada’s words strolled into Sarah’s ears, before Sarah’s response rolled out her mouth.


“Respectful students make eye contact with their professors.”

Sarah bends her neck back and stares up at the face smirking down at her.

“That’s better. So attentive and compliant. How do you feel?”

Sarah poked around her empty head. “I… dunno…”

Yamada’s grin bares her teeth. She chuckles at the back of her throat. “Is our Reporter-at-Large lost for words?” She taps the top of Sarah’s head with her knuckles. “Lost for thoughts?”


“Hardly a loss. Your thoughts just made you question and disobey authority. You were too much of a know-it-all brat to know your place. Say it. Say, ‘I am a know-it-all brat’.”

“I am a know-it-all brat…” The words drop out of her mouth, mind too empty to feel embarrassed.

Yamada quivered with laughter, arching her head back to moan with chuckles. Settling down, she said, “Take your bag and empty everything onto the floor.”

Sarah heard the command and obeyed. Like someone in a dream, it never occurred to her to question anything. She unzipped her carrier bag and shook its contents onto the ground. Books, course notes, snack bars, electronics cascaded out. If she saw the crack on her new tablet’s screen, it didn’t trouble her tranquil mind.

Yamada prodded the pile of Sarah’s things with the tip of her shoe. “Hmm… Give me the pack of gum.”

Sarah got out of her chair, legs a little wobbly, as she crouched to get the bubble gum. She held it out to Yamada, blankly staring into the professor’s eyes. Yamada plucked up the packet and tossed it to the other end of the room.

“Get the gum. Crawl over there and get me the gum.”

Sarah fell to her hands and knees and crawled to the gum. Yamada luxuriated in the tick-tocking, denim-clad bum of the hypnotised student. Sarah crawled back to Yamada’s feet. Only with permission did she stand. Yamada chewed on a stick of gum and blew a bubble in the sophomore’s face. Sarah didn’t even blink when the bubble popped.

“Take off your clothes.”

Like she was stripping off for a shower, Sarah tossed off her jacket, pulled off her T-shirt, revealing two D-cup breasts pushed together by a too-tight bra. After kicking off her boots, she shimmied out of her tight, arse-hugging jeans.

“Underwear and socks too.”

Sarah unhooked her bra, unbounding her bouncing breasts, unveiling her erect nipples. Yamada teased her nail around Sarah’s areola as Sarah dropped her panties and pulled off her socks.

Between thumb and forefinger, Yamada picked up one of Sarah’s sweaty, smelly black socks.

“Open your mouth.”

Sarah opened her jaw wide for Yamada to stuff her sock in. Despite her trance, the sour, wet sock made her gulp and made her eyes water.

“What a well-behaved girl you’ve become.” Yamada ran her hand through Sarah’s pixie-cut. “Thank me for the compliment.” She lightly slapped Sarah’s bum.

“Fang yeh fer dzhe con-pleh-men,” she said through the sock in her mouth.

Groping Sarah’s tits from behind, pressing her own tits into Sarah’s back, grinding her cunt against Sarah’s bum, Yamada said, “Good girl! We’re going to have so much fun with you.”

The undergraduates on the green started backing away, laughing, shrieking in surprise, filming it on their phones, when they saw Sarah.

“Ook! Oooook! Ah-Oook!”

Two girls were too deep in conversation to notice the commotion around them, or even notice Sarah lurching towards them on her feet and fists. They only turned their heads when Sarah tried picking tasty ticks from the blonde girl’s hair. The brunette shouted, “Holy fuck!” Sarah beat her bare breasts with her fists, bared her teeth, and howled from deep in her belly to intimidate the shouting female.

“Oook! Eeeahhh! Ooook!”

The girls scurried away, leaving their bags behind them.

Sarah the monkey-girl felt a rumble in her tummy. She ooked angrily at the picnickers who fled from her, their food in tow. She stopped, one hand dangling between her bent knees, the other arching up to scratch the top of her head as she looked about for grub.

“Oook. Hah-hah-hah. Ook.”

She scratched her bum.

“Theatre department?” said one guy who’d been watching the events through his camera.

“Nah,” said his friend. “I bet the psych department. In twenty mins, someone’s gonna give us a survey.” His stomach tensed when he saw the naked monkey-girl lope nearer to him. He was about to jog off, but then he saw where her eyes were looking: his chocolate bar.

Sarah tapped her lightly clenched fists to her tits, the inter-species signal for “Gimme!”

He held out the bar. “You want it?” When she beat her chest again, he put the bar over his crotch. “You want it?”

She grabbed the chocolate and pulled and pulled when he refused to let go. He moaned in mock pleasure as she shimmied and jimmied and yanked the chocolate, until she tore off a good chunk of it.

“You bitch!” he shrieked. “You took it! My sweet cock!” He howled with laughter as he and his filming friend fled away.

Sarah jammed the chocolate down her throat, smearing melting chocolate around her mouth. The chocolate wasn’t enough. Her tummy still grumbled. She sniffed a tasty smell in the air. The student with the plastic tub of curry fled before she could give chase, but she could guess where he got the food from.

Sarah rushed into the cafeteria as quickly as crawling on crouched legs and clenched fists would let her. She climbed onto the communal table with the strongest smell of curry. As she scooped up a fistful of aloo gobi and cammed it between her lips, the diners either backed off, doubled over with laughter, or were too shocked to move.

Sarah stepped in a bowl of palak paneer, giggling at the splash and squelch. She stamped in the palak paneer again, splashing the green curry in her face and her tits. She punched the butter chicken and squealed with joy at the orange curry bursting upwards.

“Hoo! Hoo!” She slathered the curry-soaked hands over her tits and tummy. She sucked the squashed goat’s cheese from between her toes, while she squished and squelched chickpeas with her bum, giggling all the while.

She might have gorged on curry till she fell asleep, but then she heard:

“There you are, Sarah!”

Sarah stopped licking the soles of her feet. Her eyes lit up when she saw the nice, booby lady — her keeper — Professor Yamada.

“Sarah! Sarah, off the table.”

Sarah knew that tone of voice. It meant she’d been a naughty monkey. She turned her face away from Yamada and covered her eyes with her arm as she climbed off the table.

“Sarah, a good monkey puts food in her mouth — not on the table, the floor, or her tits.”

“Oook… Oook…” said Sarah apologetically, wiping curry from her boobs.

“I know you’re sorry, Sarah. Take my hand.”

Yamada took Sarah’s hand and led her out of the cafeteria.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Sarah stood in Yamada’s shower, staring at the corner, not even trembling. She was utterly mortified. Her body only shifted as Yamada energetically shampooed Sarah’s hair. Sarah was too shell-shocked to enjoy Yamada’s sudsy F-cups pressing against her back.

“Why the fuck did I do that?” Sarah said as Yamada reached around to rub a bar of soap over and between Sarah’s tits.

Sarah remembered everything she’d done. Even though the curry had washed down the drain, the phantom sensation stuck to her skin. She had really thought she was a monkey. Didn’t matter she was hairless, big-titted, weak and being laughed at, she really thought she was a monkey.

Yamada rubbed the bar of soap over Sarah’s cunt, building a thick lather. “The answer is simple, young lady: you’re just a dumb undergrad who knows nothing about the world.”

“I’m just a dumb undergrad who knows nothing about the world,” Sarah found herself repeating, found herself believing.

“You were dumb enough to believe those forged documents you found in the university archives, so it was only a matter of time before you believed something even dumber, monkey-girl.”

Yamada rinsed the shampoo and lather from Sarah’s body, turned off the water, and started towelling down Sarah.

Sarah kept on repeating under her breath, “Forged? Forged? Forged?”

No, that couldn’t be right. She’d done everything to verify them before going to press.

“Forged? They were… real…?” Sarah said, with the wilting confidence of a girl who knows she’s going to be proved wrong.

Yamada chuckled as she led Sarah to her bedroom, both of them buck-naked and smelling of lavender.

“They were forgeries,” said Yamada with her hands on Sarah’s shoulders, looking down into her eyes. “Obvious forgeries. Only a dumb, uppity, know-it-all twenty-year-old who wanted to prove what a smarty-pants she was could have believed in them.”

Sarah tried to deny it, to marshal any counterargument, but her mouth just gaped speechlessly as she stared into Yamada’s serenely mocking eyes.

“Yes,” said Sarah, finding herself nodding. “They were obvious forgeries. I’m just a holier-than-thou, know-it-all twenty-year-old who wanted them to be real.” It hurt to admit the truth. They didn’t even sound like her own words, but she knew they were true.

“Good girl. And to think, we could have avoided this fuss if you’d just believed your professors, the dean, and me, when we told you those documents were nonsense. You should have trusted us over your silly eyes and silly beliefs. What’s the moral here?”

The words leapt from Sarah’s mouth, “I must never contradict authority.”

Yamada grinned and pulled an outfit from her closet. It was Sarah’s size. A slutty schoolgirl outfit like you’d buy on Halloween.

“Get dressed.”

“Huh?” Sarah felt weird. A sexy tartan skirt was not the sort of thing a professor should give an undergrad after showering together. Should professors and undergrads shower together?

“When you left high school, they probably told you that university would be different, that professors wouldn’t be holding your hand, that you needed to be an independent thinker.” She put her hand on Sarah’s cheek. “But I think we can see where thinking and acting all by yourself has got you. From now on, I’m going to guide you. Because I know what’s good for you, better than you yourself.”

That seemed wrong, or at least excessive, but, before she could think of a coherent rebuttal, words tumbled from her mouth: “You’re right. I’m just a dumb undergrad who needs you to think for me.”

“That’s right.” Yamada grinned. “We don’t want you doing or thinking anything silly, so you’ll have to do and think what I tell you to, without question or hesitation.” Again, this felt wrong, but rationally it followed from Yamada being her superior — her elder and her professor. Why should Sarah disobey or disagree with someone more knowledgeable and experienced than her?

“And so that I can keep an eye on you,” said Yamada, “you’ll need to live with me.”

“Of course, ma’am, I’m too silly to be out of your sight.” The right words were coming so easily. Sarah was happy she didn’t need to risk thinking about them.

“Good. Put on the uniform.”

Saah didn’t hesitate or question it. She pulled on the blue and white striped bra and panty set, put on the shirt that showed off her belly and cleavage, buttoned up the skirt that refused to cover the bottom of her bum, and pulled her black socks half-way up her thighs.

“Good girl.” She cupped and patted Sarah’s arse cheeks. “You look so cute and docile. Now for the most important part of your day.”

Sarah followed her still naked professor to the living room. On the floor, atop the rug, were brown papers, ancient diaries, decrepit ledgers, and one external hard drive. These were the documents from the archive, and her digital back up.

“How did you find them?” Sarah asked.

“Don’t worry your silly little head.”

Sarah stopped worrying.

Yamada continued, “So that you can put all your misguided iconoclasm behind you, you’re going to destroy this trash.”

Sarah gulped. Sleepless nights gathering and synthesising all those dozens of documents, and she would have to—

“Are you refusing my orders.”

“No, ma’am!”

“Oh, well, it’s to be expected. You’ve formed a silly emotional attachment to this trash. It’s like telling you to rip up the poster of your favourite popstar.” Yamada tapped her chin in mock thought. “Let’s make this so fun and easy. Pretend you are a mischievous monkey who wants to destroy all this worthless paper.”

Her afternoon rehearsal was flooding back to her. Sarah crouched down on to her fists. “Oook! Oooook!” The only difference was that now she knew was a human pretending to be a monkey. Sarah lurched to the pile, grabbed up a stack of paper and tore them all in half. She tore and tore and tore them into smithereens. She picked up a ledger and beat it against the ground, sneezing as dust exploded from it.

Yamada lounged back on the couch, rubbing her pussy, and laughing at Sarah. The laughter just made Sarah more eager to tear up the documents. She knew she was pleasing her professor.

After twenty minutes, she was surrounded by shards of paper and fragments of books. She picked up the hard drive, tried bashing it against the floor, but to no effect. She took the poker from the fireplace and started stabbing the hard drive until the circuit board shattered.

Yamada clapped. “Bravo! Bravo! Now be a cute kitten and crawl over here.”

Sarah dropped the poker, her monkey madness vanishing, kitten-like docility taking over. She crawled on her hands and knees to where Yamada was sitting.

“Now be a good kitten and lap up your milk.” Yamada spread her legs wide, the musk of her wet pussy making Sarah salivate.

Sarah propped herself up with her hands on the edge of the couch between Yamada’s spread knees. She stuck her face into Yamada’s cunt and ate her out. Yamada cackled through her moans.

“Good girl!” said Yamada, gripping the couch as her toes curled. “With those forgeries out of the way, there’s no way anyone will believe your little article. And after your little monkey-act, no one will take your word for anything.”

Sarah meowed in thanks. Thank goodness, now that everyone knew what a dumb undergrad she was, her stupidity couldn’t hurt the school.

“More good news. I’ve had a discussion with the disciplinary committee. All charges dropped — so long as you promise to respect and obey authority without question.”

Sarah purred into Yamada’s pussy. Professor Yamada had thought of everything. Sarah was so lucky to have such a kind and smart lady to think for her.


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