Professor Yamada was doing things to the students – to left-wing activists in particular. ssistant Lecturer Cathy Carter hadn’t actually seen Yamada do anything to anyone, but she’d done some investigating. There’d been lots of weird goings-on in the university recently, and Yamada was always hiding in the details.

Some might say Cathy was naturally suspicious of Yamada – the two were natural enemies. Yamada, the tall, big-breasted, fifty-four-year-old, was a staunch conservative; Cathy, the short, bigger-breasted, twenty-five-year-old was an up-and-coming Marxist scholar. It wasn’t just tribalism. Cathy was sure of it!

In this semester alone, the school had gone viral three times. Students from the Alliance of Young Socialists streaked buck-naked through the campus, explaining that clothes were the product of exploited labour. A counter-cultural student theatre group crawled onto stage in only diapers, going, “Wah! Wah! The world’s so unfair!” And a student journalist even went running about the school, totally naked, acting like a monkey.

In each case, Cathy found some slight or major link to Yamada. Cathy wasn’t going to let this go on. Yamada couldn’t keep playing weird tricks on left-wing students just because she disagreed with them. Whatever Yamada was doing – blackmail, threats, whatever! – Cathy would put Yamada’s feet to the fire and threaten to go public with her misdeeds.

Cathy flung open Yamada’s office door, fantasising about wiping that condescending smirk off of the milf’s face. She’d marched a good few steps into Yamada’s office when she noticed what the fuck was going on.

“Meow – hiss!”

Cathy’s shins had knocked against a… catgirl?

On all fours, on the ground, was a girl, an undergrad, naked except for the orange body paint on her arms, legs, back and face. She had fine, black whiskers drawn on her face and a long tail extending from a butt plug. The catgirl bared her teeth and hissed at Cathy again before scurrying behind a chair.

“Ribbit,” drawled a twink of a boy, his naked body painted green, his eyes wide and empty as plates. Crouching like a frog, he’d hop, hop, hop, and with each hop, his big, half-stiff cock would flop. “Ribbit…”

“Rover,” said Yamada to a dogboy behind Cathy. “Close the door.”

Rover’s cock also shook as he moved, but he was so happy to be an obedient dog that his cock was rigid as a rod. He panted and wagged his bum before pushing the office door closed with his face.

“Good boy, Rover,” said Yamada, rising from her seat. “Cathy, don’t you think they’re putting on such a lovely show.”

Yamada gestured towards the orange catgirl. The catgirl was showing off her flexibility by extending her right leg into the air and licking from her cunt all the way up her inner thigh. By the time Cathy tore her eyes away, Yamada was sitting on the front of her desk, towering a head above Cathy.

“I saw a few of their productions,” said Yamada. “I cannot believe the university funded them. There was one where they pretended they were lice in Adam Smith’s wig! Terribly left-wing, and terribly boring. After a little backstage chat with me, they’ve decided to switch to shows that even right-thinking citizens can enjoy. I’m letting them rehearse a crowd-pleasing, slapstick, *apolitical* sketch.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, Yamada,” said Cathy. “I can report you. To HR… or the police. I don’t care how you made them do… this! Blackmail, threats… Did you offer to pull a few strings on their grades?”

“Nothing so crude,” said Yamada, kicking off her high heels, revealing her stockinged feet. “I just understand the minds of young people, radical young people especially. No matter how rebellious, free-spirited, left-wing, or bratty they are, deep down all young people yearn to respect their elders, yearn to submit to authority.”

“What the fuck are you-” Cathy was cut short by Yamada’s toes invading her mouth. The shock of the sweaty, smelly foot in her mouth paralysed Cathy, as did the sight of the fifty-something woman somehow being flexible enough to raise her foot that high. Before Cathy could reorientate herself, Yamada pulled her foot from Cathy’s mouth. She swayed her foot back and forth in front of Cathy’s face, wafting their sour stench into Cathy’s crinkled nose.

“Did your mummy ever spank you, Cathy?” asked Yamada.

“Huh?” Cathy’s eyes followed the foot back and forth.

“When you were a brat, did your mummy ever give you time outs?” asked Yamada.

The weirdness of the question, the tick-tocking foot, the smell, and the lingering taste of Yamada’s foot had Cathy’s tongue tied and her head jumbled.

“Huh… Wha…”

“Permissive parenting,” said Yamada. “That’s why there are so many entitled, leftist brats like you around. I’m going to do you a favour: I’m going to fix your problem with authority.” She pressed her foot to Cathy’s face. “Kneel.”

Cathy’s legs turned to water. Her knees hit the thick carpet. For a few, brief moments, Yamada had her feet down. Cathy could breathe fresh air, and almost form a coherent thought.

“This… is… sexu… al… harass-”

But Yamada dragged her foot down Cathy’s face, starting with her heel on the top of Cathy’s forehead, ending with the tips of her toes trailing down Cathy’s lips and chin. She ran her foot down Cathy’s face over and over and over.

“Breathe deeply, Cathy.”

Cathy took a deep breath as she squeezed her eyes shut, breathing in the sweaty foot sliding down her face.

“Breathe it in. The smell is making it harder and harder to think. It’s like sleeping gas, isn’t it?”

Cathy couldn’t speak. Her head was hotter and hazier, her eyes heavier and heavier. Yamada’s foot ran down her face again and again. The smell was still sour, but now it was so relaxing. Cathy whimpered for those few seconds between the foot leaving her chin and starting again on her forehead. Her nose followed the sweaty foot like a snuffling piglet.

“Good girl,” said Yamada, watching the Marxist lecturer trying to bury her nose in the moving foot. “Finally, the puppy is learning to heel.”

The smell was clogging Cathy’s mind. Her eyes were drooping, her posture sagging. The tiniest defiance escaped her lips:

“Not… a… puppy…”

Yamada stopped her mouth with her foot. “I’m going to cure you of that bratty attitude. Soon you will never contradict your elders, you will always obey your superiors, and you will gladly submit to authority.”

With one last drag of her foot down Cathy’s face, Yamada said, “Sleep.”

Cathy crumbled on the floor.

-

“And awake.” Yamada snapped her fingers.”

Cathy creaked her eyes open. She was face down on the carpet in a puddle of her own drool. Her head felt hazy like she’d been woken up in the middle of the night. No matter how many times she shook her head or blinked her eyes, she couldn’t dispel the haze in her head.

“How is my little Marxist?” asked Yamada. She was back in her high heels, standing over Cathy. “I sent the students aways, just so you could have a nice nap.”

A nap? That wasn’t right… Cathy shouldn’t be napping in Yamada’s office. What was she doing in Yamada’s office? Cathy tried to remember but her brain felt like it was grinding against a brick wall. Cathy began to stand up but lost her balance. Yamada caught her, hugging her from behind, pressing her large breasts into Cathy’s back.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” said Yamada, whispering through a wicked grin. “I know how many all-nighters you do, how sleepy and exhausted you always are. For a socialist, you’re a very hard worker.”

“Not… a… socialist…” Leaning back against Yamada’s soft tits, Cathy’s eyes were already drooping, her jaw already slackening.

“Sweetie, I know we don’t agree on a lot of things,” said Yamada. “I’ve seen all the things you say about me on social media. What you need to understand is that I am your elder and your superior. That means, I know what you need better than you yourself.”

“Wha… You’re… I’m…” She clenched her eyes shut. “You… I came here… say…?” It was like she was running on negative-five coffees.

“You can’t even put words together. While you’re so frazzled, you should just do as I say. You don’t need to tax that little head of yours. Just do exactly what I say without question. As your elder, it is my duty to protect and guide you. Obey your elders.”

“Obey… my elders…” The words felt funny in her mouth, but they were at least solid ground. “Obey my elders.”

“Good little Marxist,” said Yamada. “Now, I have little trick to clear up that head a little. Just repeat five times: I am a know-it-all twenty-something.”

Cathy hadn’t even processed the words before she began repeating them. “I am a know-it-all twenty-something. I am a know-it-all twenty-something.” Already her head was clearing a little. Not a lot. She could understand what she was saying. “I am a know-it-all twenty-something. I am a know-it-all twenty-something. I am a know-it-all twenty-something.”

Cathy felt like a clean breeze had swept over her mind. She still felt slow and drowsy, and her eyes glazed over every few minutes, but she could at least process where she was and think in full sentences.

“Isn’t it amazing how a little self-awareness clears the head?” Yamada said.

“What? That wasn’t… self-awareness… I was just saying what you-”

“Sweetie, don’t talk back. You’re still not at top form. I can only help you if you obey me, understand?”

“Yes, mummy - ma’am!” Cathy sweated with embarrassment.

Yamada cackled with delight. “Call me ‘Mummy’. I’m old enough, aren’t I? And I’m going to tame you in all the ways your real mummy neglected to do.”

“What, mummy?” asked Cathy.

Yamada pressed her finger to Cathy’s lips. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve been napping in those clothes. They’re not very fresh, are they? Covered in sweat and drool. Take them off. I’ve got a spare set of clothes.”

It was only when she’d let her skirt drop to her ankles that Cathy questioned what she was doing. She pulled off her top. It was weird being naked with a colleague, wasn’t it? She unhooked her bra, sighing as her massive tits came free. She must obey. Yamada was almost thirty years older than the twenty-five-year-old assistant lecturer. It was really a privilege to obey someone so mature and wise. Cathy pulled off her shoes and pulled down her panties. Even if Yamada’s politics were awful…

She stood naked in front of Yamada, blushing all over. Her chest flushed and her nipples hardened as the taller, teasing disciplinarian smirked at her. Cathy tried to rationalise that she wasn’t really naked. She was just half-way through changing.

“I have your new outfit,” said Yamada.

There were only two items. On her desk, Yamada had laid a tall, conical “DUNCE” cap. Yamada held up a T-shirt, letting it unfurl in her hands. It was a long T-shirt, white except for bright red letters reading, “I’M WITH STUPID” beneath an arrow pointing upwards.

“Ever since I first met you, Cathy,” said Yamada, “ever since I saw your syllabus for your course on Marxist economics, ever since I read your book on the evils of modern conservatism – I’ve thought this outfit was perfect for you.”

It was a perfect outfit… Professor Yamada had said so… but… Cathy was sure that there was some deeper meaning, a meaning she was too dazed to think through.

“Thanks,” she said with a little smile. She took the T-shirt gratefully.

The T-shirt hugged Cathy’s large breasts, stretching out the “STUPID”. The shirt went down to the middle of her thighs, like a flimsy dress more than a T-shirt. How considerate of Yamada. Cathy wouldn’t have to go around with her bum showing. Finally, she put on the dunce cap, which fit her head snugly.

There was a flash. Cathy blinked at Yamada holding up her phone.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear,” said Yamada, pocketing her phone. “Just a snapshot for my socials – I’m not so old-fashioned that I don’t know a viral photo when I see it.”

Yamada took Cathy by the hand and pulled her along out the door. “Just follow me, dear.”

Cathy complied, letting herself trail along behind Yamada. Eventually the turned heads of the students and staff became impossible to ignore. Cathy began to feel a little embarrassed. Walking hand-in-hand behind Yamada, like a naughty schoolgirl to a punishment, wearing nothing but a T-shirt and dunce cap… Of course, Cathy knew this all had a deeper meaning…

Yamada pulled Cathy into a classroom. Cathy felt so relieved to be out of sight, sweating and blushing with embarrassment. Her skin prickled again when she saw the two men and one woman sitting behind a long table. It was the Board of the University.

There was Thomas Harker, treasurer and professor of economics; Polly West, dean of the law faculty; and Xavier Baumgardner, art historian of many accolades and allegations.

“Cathy,” Yamada tilted Cathy’s face up. “I’m going to have a little chat with the board about you and your place at the school. Don’t worry your little head about it. You know the most fascinating thing you can do is count to infinity on your toes.”

Her career… that was more important than her toes… But then she saw her toes! She plopped her bum on the ground, pulled her knees up to her chin, and pinched each toe as she counted out loud. She counted from one pinkie toe to the other, before jumping back to the start like a typewriter.

“Thirty-six, thirty-seven…”

Each of her toes had numbers in them, countless numbers, infinite numbers. Her eyes gaped and her mouth drooped at the enormities hidden in her pretty, little, pedicured toes.

“Seventy-five, seventy-six…”

Occasionally, her concentration was broken by whatever Yamada and the Board were droning on about.

“... serves her right for…”

“Delicious! And can you…”

“... as a proof of concept…”

God! Their yammering almost made her lose count. Cathy hunched forward, putting her head between her knees, pressing her legs against her ears.

“One hundred and five… One hundred and six…”

“Cathy,” said Yamada, jostling Cathy’s shoulder, “Cathy? The Board wants a little talk with you.”

Cathy needed to keep counting – maybe with a little more time she could find the pattern to infinity.

With a smirk in her voice, Yamada massaged Cathy’s scalp and said, “Feel the haze lifting, head getting clearer and clearer.”

“One-hundred and fifty-six… one-hundred and fifty-seven… one… hund…”

Cathy realised she was counting her toes. She really realised she was, in public, pinching her toes, on her bare bum, in just a T-shirt and a dunce cap. In front of the Board. This would look awful on any tenure application.

She jumped to her feet. Her legs had fallen asleep. She wobbled as her desert dry mouth yammered out incoherent excuses.

Yamada pinched Cathy’s neck. Every muscle sagged as bliss radiated from Yamada’s pinch. Cathy’s tongue lolled out, her body flooding with pleasure and relaxation.

“As you can see,” Yamada said, “I’ve put a variety of tricks in her head, tricks which will make her, and all the students and staff like her, a little more manageable.”

Cathy heard the words, but it was like listening to a podcast while drowsing in her bed with a love egg up herself.

“Certainly, we see the effects,” said Thomas. “But she looks awfully… intoxicated. I do want to curb the excesses of the school’s activists and protestors, but not at the cost of brainpower. We need students graduating and staff publishing.”

“Don’t worry,” said Yamada. “I brought her in like this because I like my sweeties all dazed and dependent. My little darling is no dumber than she usually is. Watch.”

Cathy smiled a brainless smile – Yamada had called a little darling.

Cathy felt Yamada’s full, warm, moist lips on her ear. The whisper tickled Cathy’s scalp and flowed deep into her brain, but Yamada told her to forget all about it, so… um… Why was Yamada kissing her ear?

Yamada pulled away. Cathy felt like she’d been left alone in a big, cold bed. She straightened up when she saw the Board. Oh, that’s it! She was here to beg for funding for her proposed monograph, in no more than three minutes. Cathy blushed at her “I’M WITH STUPID” T-shirt. So unprofessional! But there were no “I’M WITH STUPID” button-ups.

“The alienation of labour and the inadequate reckoning with the validity of value-creation of service work as opposed to–”

Cathy ploughed on even as the Board whispered to each other.

“Can’t understand a word of it,” whispered Polly. “Makes for cutting-edge drivel.”

“Yes, but it gets citations,” said Thomas. “You can predict citations, and this gets them.”

Xavier just leered at Cathy’s tits pushing against the T-shirt’s tight fabric.

Cathy came to the end, “And in brief, I require funding for the on-site, interview-based-”

“And what if,” said Yamada, leaning against the door. “What if we don’t think Marxist clap-trap deserves any funding or salaried time?”

Yamada had been so helpful recently, but a conservative was a conservative. What separated leftists and conservatives is that leftists like Cathy were open-minded. Why, Cathy was so open-minded that she followed Yamada’s advice to give her presentation in a dunce cap and without any trousers on. Right-wingers just didn’t have Cathy’s critical thinking skills.

“Let me show you exactly why Marxism is relevant today!” Cathy said.

She’d brought her own edition of Marx’s capital – a massive edition in the original German, containing all three volumes, oversized to account for the annotations in the margins. She heaved the tome off the desk… She couldn’t remember lugging it down here, but it was a wonder she wasn’t glistening in sweat.

“I’ve had this Marx since I was an undergraduate. I saved every extra penny for this.”

She opened it to a random page, illuminated with multi-coloured highlighters and handwritten annotations between every line. She presented it to the Board, feeling gravity pushing the book from her grasp.

“This…” She grunted with effort. “This is Marx! Let me show you why he’s still relevant.”

She lay the book on the ground, ignoring the sheen of sweat on her brow. She stood over the open book, legs spread so her bare soles were stepping on the sloped incline of pages. Already she was feeling a little nervous and panicked, fearful that this stunt wouldn’t work – but she’d come this far.

She’d show them just what a genius Marx was. She would urinate all over *Das Kapital*. Any poser could read a book – the real praxis was pissing on it!

She bunched up her T-shirt, pulling it up above her naval. Her pussy and bum were bare. She clenched her eyes and concentrated on her bladder, making little grunts and whimpering. She’d drunk three cups of tea this morning, and she hadn’t gone all day.

It was no use. She had stage fright!

Her bladder didn’t get any more relaxed when she saw the Board grinning with open contempt. It was infuriating, getting stage fright in front of three people who had all proclaimed Marxism “disproven”. These three would be yucking it up in their echo chambers, talking about the Marxist professor who couldn’t even make herself pee.

“My dear, respected, intelligent colleague.” Yamada still leant on the door, watching Cathy through her phone, filming every second. “Have you forgotten your pee-pee song?”

Gratitude overflowed from Cathy. Earlier Yamada had told her that leftists have such overactive imaginations that just by singing a song a leftist gets so swept away by the imagery that their body just starts acting on its own. It’s sort of like self-hypnosis (not that Cathy believed in hypnosis).

Yamada had been kind enough to teach her a few bars that could make any leftist, no matter where she was, no matter what she was wearing, no matter who she was with, start pissing.

Of course, “pee-pee song” was an embarrassing thing to call it… and it was an embarrassing song to begin with. And Cathy had held up so well in front of the Board!

Almost under her breath, Cathy whispered, “The incy-wincy spider-”

“Your bladder can’t hear you,” chuckled Yamada.

After a sharp inhale, and wetting her lips, Cathy restarted, but in a speaking voice, almost without a tune, “The incy-wincy spider went up the waterspout.” Her bladder felt a little tighter.

“My eminent peer,” said Yamada, “you know that the pee-pee song only works if you sing it like a silly little leftist. Don’t be embarrassed. No one here will think less of you.”

“Oh, certainly,” said Xavier, leaning forward, licking his lips, as he stared at Cathy’s cunt.

“We all know Marxists can’t even control their bladders,” said Polly.

Cathy would show them. The pee-pee song might be humiliating, but she’d show them the value of Marx!

“The incy-wincy spider,” Cathy sang in a light, sing-song lisp. “Went up the waterspout.” She was tick-tocking her head left and right. “Down came the rain.” Her eyes unfocussed as she got into the rhythm of it. “And washed the spider out.”

The pressure was building in her bladder. She felt so happy that a big dumb smile stretched her face as she kept singing like the silly little Marxist she was.

“The incy-wincy spider, Went up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out.”

She moaned at the first dribble of pee. The pitter of the pee on the aged pages of her beloved *Das Kapital* made her sing stronger and faster.

“The incy-wincy spider, Went up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out.”

Her pee was flowing. Her eyes fluttered as she kept singing, voice wavy from success and sweet release. Her clear pee was pouring down onto the pages, splashing a little onto her ankles and calves. She kept singing for as long as her pee poured out.

“The incy-wincy spider, Went up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out.”

At long last, her bladder was empty, the last few drops dripping out.

“And out came the sun and dried up all the rain…” she slurred, her eyes a little heavy and her lower lip dangling.

Her daze was broken by the cackles and claps of the Board. She remembered she was giving a presentation. She let go of her T-shirt, letting it fall and cover her moist cunt.

She put legs together, yelping as her bare feet stood in the middle of the pee-sodden pages. Stepping behind the book, wiping her feet on the floorboards, she addressed the board:

“That is what Marx means to the world!”

The Board gave her a standing ovation.

“You’ve got the grant,” said Xavier. Then beneath his voice, he said to Polly, “She could be twiddling her thumbs all year – so long as we can push her around now and then.” They both cackled.

“As you can see,” Yamada said, “she believes this is perfectly normal.”

Before Cathy could wonder what on Earth Yamada meant, Yamada pinched her neck. Ecstasy rolled through Cathy’s brain and body. Cathy checked out of the conversation as her muscles melted and her bladder uncorked the last stream of pee.

Yamada continued, “Hypnotic suggestion works especially well on ideologues and activists. They have so much practise believing two opposing things at once. Staff will keep publishing papers and students will keep taking tests, but with a few altered habits that go against their darling ideals. That awful shrew who leads the Student Vegans, I’ve had her saying ‘Meat is murder’ as she tucked into a steak.”

Thomas said to Yamada, “We accept the product has value – but not as much value as you’re charging.”

Polly said, “Yes, yes, this proposed salary, Yuko… I can get my kicks for far cheaper.”

“I have two justifications,” said Yamada. “Firstly, I need income to care for the sweethearts I’ve taken in. I’ve found two students I’ve hypnotised so adorable and amusing that I just had to keep them. (Remember that Sarah, the muckraker?) I like to pamper my pets.” Yamada kissed the dazed Cathy on her cheek. “And while I didn’t mean to, our little Cathy here… She’s as teasable as a declawed cat.” Yamada grabbed Cathy’s arse and buried her laughing face in Cathy’s hair.

“Ahem,” said Thomas. “It was your choice to expand your dependents so rapidly. I hardly see why we–”

“Secondly!” Yamada, in heels, stood at her full six feet and two inches, staring down at the Board. “Only I can do this, so I can set the price. Hypnosis requires a willing subject. Who among you has the aura that awakens the bootlicker in even the brattiest leftist.”

Yamada stopped pinching Cathy’s neck. Yamada walked over to a desk. She picked up a hard, black, plastic card.

“But don’t think you need to pull me in for every little change you make,” said Yamada, “I can delegate some power to you and whoever you see fit.”

She pulled up two chairs facing each other. She sat, crossed one leg over the other and told Cathy to sit. Cathy sat, glancing at the Board who were watching intently. She was unsure about whether she was a participant in what was going to happen or the subject.

Yamada had her arms crossed under her massive breasts, the black card dangling from her fingers, unexplained. “Cathy, dear, we’re going to have a little, respectful debate. Just like we do when we run across each other.”

Cathy had to admit that their debates weren’t exactly respectful. They were more passive-aggressive. Their best conclusion was “Agree to disagree”, their worst conclusion “No point in arguing with people like you!” The Board was watching, though, so Cathy would try to remain on best behaviour. She didn’t want them to dismiss her as a tantrum-throwing ideologue.

Yamada began, “Employees should obey their bosses without question. Do you agree?”

Cathy was a little taken aback. She searched her memory and looked around the room, certain she’d missed something. It was such an absurd, obviously false thing. What debate is there to have?

When Yamada’s grinning gaze showed no signs of speaking again, Cathy said, “No. No, I don’t agree.”

“Why?” said Yamada.

“Why?” Cathy said. “Because bosses can be wrong, and even the most authoritarian-minded person can tell you that some pushback is sometimes necessary. A person with basic common sense, moreover, could tell you that those on the ground know far more about the working environment than higher up the–”

“Cathy.” Yamada pulled out Cathy’s hand and pressed the black plastic card into her palm. “This is for you. Look at it, Cathy, focus on it.” With her middle finger Yamada traced circles on the plastic, trapping Cathy’s gaze. “This is a special device, sweetie. It short-circuits the bratty, argumentative part of your mind. When this card touches your forehead, it will feel like there is a block in your mind. The block will make it impossible to argue back, will make it impossible to even think of arguments. You may not like what you hear, you may disagree with it with every fibre of your being. Even if you don’t like it, you will know it is true.”

Yamada snapped her fingers. She closed Cathy’s finger over the card. Yamada leaned back in her chair.

Cathy looked down at the black card. She couldn’t believe the government let people make these devices. It should be illegal. Cathy could imagine all the wicked things an intolerant conservative like Yamada might do with this device. Yamada would push Cathy down the ground, pinning her under her weight, her breasts pressing against Cathy’s. Cathy would be fighting to get back up, but then the card would go on her head, and Yamada would tell her things, and she would just believe those things, no matter how humiliating and perverted, like, like, Yamada would tell Cathy to kiss her arse, like literally smooch Yamada’s arse–

“Sweetie!” said Yamada, waking Cathy from her fantasy. ““Do you know why I’ve given you that device?”

Cathy suppressed the shiver in her thighs. “Because you can’t win an argument and want me to handicap myself.”

“No,” said Yamada. “Because sometimes I can’t be bothered with your smarter-than-thou attitude. Sometimes I just want you to see sense without a fight. We’re going to have that debate again, and this time you’re going press that card to your forehead.”

Cathy was disappointed that Yamada wouldn’t try to hold her down and push the card onto her head. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am asking you politely to put that card on your forehead.”

“And I’m saying you’re-”

“Do as I say.” Yamada had none of the usual mischievousness in her voice. Her eyes were hard.

Cathy gulped. “Yes, mummy!”

Cathy stared at the black card. She fiddled with it with her clammy fingers. Her chest was thundering, and her tummy was hot. Pressing this card to her forehead was like opening a drawbridge to the enemy, entirely vulnerable, entirely helpless. She rubbed her thighs together.

Cathy straightened her back, looked up, and pressed the card to her head. She needed to keep her hand on it, or it would fall off. She looked like she was giving some weird salute.

In one instant, Yamada’s face softened, icy strictness replaced with warm mischievousness. “Good girl.”

Cathy shivered.

“You will keep that card there until I say we’re done, understand?”

“Yes, mummy.”

“Good girl,” said Yamada. “Employees should obey their bosses without question. Do you agree?”

Cathy’s mind felt just the same. “No, I don’t agree. Workers-”

“The company pays the employee, so the employee owes the company service,” said Yamada.

Oh, that was just… that was just… No, the worker was paid a fraction of what he produced, so…

Cathy’s forehead was tensing. “Um… Yes, yes… the worker does owe service… but… sometimes superiors don’t know what’s in their best interest, so the employee should disobey any order that harms the superior.” Cathy felt ashamed at this half-way retreat in position.

Yamada had her lips pursed in patronising surprise. “Oh, clever girl.”

Cathy suppressed her proud smile. She felt her brow sweating against the card.

Yamada leaned forward, “But your boss has more experience than you, so your boss knows what’s best for them, the company, and you.”

Cathy clenched her teeth. Just because… just because a boss had more experience didn’t…

“Ugh!” Cathy was panting, whimpering.

Yamada stroked Cathy’s cheek. “Good girl. You could have taken that card off your head ages ago. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable it must feel to face an alternative viewpoint without your sophistries to protect you.”

Cathy hated how proud she felt at the condescending praise.

“How does it make you feel, sweetie? Be honest.”

“Humiliated… hor… horny…” Her brain was split between resisting that admission and thinking of a way around Yamada’s arguments. “Sometimes…”

God, what angle was there? This would be so easy if she just put down the card, but… she didn’t want to disappoint Yamada. It felt so good having Yamada in her mind, knocking down and building up her beliefs and ideals.

Even before today, Cathy fantasised about Yamada having it up to here with Cathy. She fantasised about Yamada pulling her over her lap and spanking her for being an arrogant, stupid lefty. But this… this felt so much better than a spanking.

“Sometimes… your boss’ boss disagrees…” The futile struggle made her cunt ache. She was failing, and Yamada knew she was failing.

Yamada said, “Then you obey your boss’ boss without question. It’s quite simple. An employee must always obey their boss without question. Even if the employee disagrees with the boss’ order, even if the order seems silly, or embarrassing, or wrong, the employee must obey the order.”

Yamada had been playing with Cathy up to now. Stated so directly there was no way out of it.

“You can put the card down, sweetie,” said Yamada.

Cathy instantly complied. The pain in her jaw and her brow had distracted her from how tired her arm had become.

“Now, sweetie, tell me. Employees should always obey their boss without question. Do you agree?”

She half-expected all the counter-arguments she couldn’t think of to come rushing in. But no. The new belief was in her head as obvious as an inconvenient statistic. Yamada had really overturned an obvious tru… tru… falsehood. Yamada had replaced an obvious falsehood with an obvious truth.

“I don’t agree,” Cathy stared straight ahead. “Oh, yes, I do.” she huffed.

From the side, she heard Polly say, “Stand up.”

Cathy reluctantly stood up.

Polly said, “Sit down.”

Cathy sat down.

“Hop on one leg saying ‘I’m a silly socialist’.”

Cathy huffed and pouted, putting all her displeasure into everything short of disobeying. One leg raised a mere inch off the ground, she did little hops, hops so little they might well be called vigorous shrugs.

“I’m a silly socialist,” she muttered. “I’m a silly socialist.” She wasn’t even a socialist. She was a Communist. “I’m a silly socialist.”

Xavier scoffed. “Now, now! That’s hardly a damned thing. Put some energy into it.”

She made a show of rolling her eyes, but that just made the board chuckle harder.

Polly said, “She’s just like my Tony when I tell him to fill out his job applications.”

Cathy raised her leg higher and hopped real hops. Her dunce cap dropped off her head. Xavier’s eyes bounced up and down with Cathy’s boobs.

“I’m a silly socialist. I’m a silly socialist.” She tried to make it sound sarcastic, but that tone of voice just made her sound even dumber. “I’m a silly socialist.”

“She says far worse about me online,” said Polly.

“While very amusing,” said Thomas, “to business at hand. Cathy, stand over there, facing the corner, and be quiet.”

Like a child on the naughty step! Cathy clenched her teeth and trudged to the corner. She could hear them speaking behind her, but she couldn’t turn around. No, no, that wasn’t it. She could turn around. She obeyed them entirely of her own will. Deep down she knew that obeying each of their stupid orders was the best thing a mere employee could do.

Thomas said, “Yuko, I accept you have a monopoly on this service. There is a limit to what even a monopoly can demand. This cost, for what revenue?”

“There’s more to a university than money,” said Polly. “So many arrogant, protesting, holier-than-thou, smarty-pants lefties among our students – and staff. Well worth putting them in their place.”

“And with all the co-eds…” said Xavier. “Make a dress code. Make a prettier learning environment.”

Yamada slapped down a manilla folder. “All in here, my projections. (A few submissive commerce majors did it for me in their own time.) Polly and Xavier are of course right, but if you want cash flow, I’ll give you cash flow.” She pulled a dog-eared page from the folder. “The youth vote – sell it. With just our student body, we’ll have to sell to local elections, but if we expand…Anyway. A demonstration.”

Yamada snapped twice, “Cathy, come over here.”

Cathy turned around and walked over to Yamada, her chest puffed out and back straight, trying to seem as dignified as she could.

Yamada stepped out of her high heels, losing an inch or two. “Cathy, dear, which party are you voting for?”

“Socialist Forward,” Cathy said proudly. The Board scoffed, but she’d braced herself.

Yamada held her high heels up to Cathy’s face, the opening of the shoes facing Cathy and wafting the sour, sweaty smell of Yamada’s feet. Just like in Yamada’s office, the scent filled her head with warm cotton. Cathy tried to clear her head, but Yamada started slowly tracing circles in the air with her shoes. Cathy looked at one, but then the other would draw her attention, then the other would pull her back, and she forgot entirely what she was thinking of.

“There’s a snap election, Cathy. Your vote will decide who wins.” She held forward her left shoe. “Socialist Forward.” She held forward her right shoe. “Or Allied Conservatives.” She lay both shoes on the ground, facing Cathy. “And you know the only way to cast your vote is to lick your preferred party’s insole for ten whole seconds.”

Yamada clapped once. Cathy blinked. Seeing the voting shoes on the ground, she dropped to her knees. Thank God, the polls hadn’t closed. She crinkled her nose at the sour, sleepy smell of the voting shoes. Who had designed this voting system!? As much as she gagged at the thought of it, her tongue was already poking out, heading towards the left shoe. Finally! Finally! A socialist government for –

“Uh-uh-uh,” said Yamada. She pressed her moist, pantyhosed toes to Cathy’s brow, pushing her back.

Cathy looked up at Yamada. Had Cathy forgotten to get her name crossed off on the registry?

“I know you’re so very eager to do your civic duty,” said Yamada, “but don’t you think there’s someone you forgot to consult?” She pointed her thumb at the Board.

Cathy glanced at the board and then back at Yamada. “Huh?”

“An employee’s duty doesn’t stop outside of work,” said Yamada. “Ask your bosses, politely, who you should vote for?”

Cathy looked briefly at the board, before staring at the Socialist Forward shoe, licking her bone dry lips. She whimpered before asking the board, “Please, who should I vote for?”

With clear glee, they said at once, “Allied Conservatives!”

She knew that was coming, but it smarted all the same. Bending forward, eyes flicking always to the Socialist Forward shoe, her mouth got nearer and nearer the Allied Conservative shoe. The rim of the shoe against her lips, she stuck out her tongue. Even the tip of her tongue on the moist insole made her wince.

“A proper lick,” said Yamada. “For ten seconds.”

Cathy had no idea how Yamada could tell how ‘proper’ her lick was. Yamada only started counting when she was dragging as much of her tongue as she could across the insole. Like a dog clearing off a plate, Cathy licked and licked sour, leathery insole.

“Eight… Nine… Ten!” said Yamada. “Get up, get up, Cathy.” She pulled Cathy up by the shoulders. “Thanks to you, the conservatives are back in power!”

Cathy pouted, crossing her arms in a tiff. The closest thing to a far-left government this country had had in years – poof! Gone! All because of her dumb bosses! Hopefully, the conservative government would accelerate the revolution…

“Cathy,” said Yamada. “Is my illustrious colleague feeling cranky?”

That tone of voice, that patronising tone of voice! It made Cathy so angry… and horny. And horny with how pointless her anger was

“Damn right I’m pissed off!” said Cathy. “That was my vote! Like my cup in the kitchen! No one gets to use it.”

Yamada pressed her finger to Cathy’s lips. “It’s so hard to be cranky when you’re so drowsy.” She drew out and deepened the last word, draining the ire from Cathy, cooling her blood, and weighing down her eyes. “You need a nap, sweetie.”

“Wha… No…” said Cathy, lips hanging apart, head foggy. “Not…”

“You’re going to nap while I talk with the Board.” Yamada pushed Cathy down onto her knees.

“I have… lecture… teach…” Cathy stared a thousand miles through Yamada’s thighs, eyes closing for seconds at a time.

“And I’ll take care of your students,” said Yamada, stroking Cathy’s head. “Then I’ll take you home with me. You’re living with me now, my helpless, socialist pet. How does that sound? You’re too tired to lie.”

Cathy was wobbling on her knees, thoughts moving at a snail’s pace. Living with Yamada. Bossed around by Yamada. Teased by Yamada. Humiliated by Yamada. Cared for my Yamada. Her mind moulded and helpless to Yamada.

Cathy was too tired to move her hands to her cunt or tits. “Thank… you… mummy…”

Yamada guided Cathy to the ground, onto her back. In her sleepy, almost silent voice, Cathy wished Yamada luck with the Board. Cathy’s last memory before falling asleep was Yamada pulling a blanket over her and kissing her cheek.