A Leashed Tiger

Chapter One: An Act Of Overconfidence

by alectashadow

Tags: #cw:noncon #cw:sexual_assault #dom:female #dom:male #f/f #f/m #pov:bottom #sub:female #cock_worship #cocksucking #cw:misogyny #D/s #demotion_fetish #feminism #humiliation #mind_control #mindbreak #patriarchy #sub:feminism #turning_the_tables

In my infinite generosity, I always give my targets a second chance. An opportunity to prove they’re better than this. That I don’t need to use my powers to correct them. 

Professor Carter doesn’t really deserve a second chance, to be honest. His attitude towards the female students on campus is well-known, as is the faculty’s unwillingness to deal with it.

He always grades us girls more severely, openly ogles us, always selects a female student to intern with him as a scantily-dressed secretary for a semester… and it gets worse than that. 

Every now and then, a girl would visit him during office hours. And then, her grade would suddenly shoot up. You don’t need to be a feminist with literal mind control powers to know what’s going on. 

And yet, I’ll give him that second chance all the same. That’s why I’m in his office today, pretending to be concerned about my grade – which is, indeed, insultingly and unfairly low, but that is beside the point. 

I affect innocence as much as I can. I’m in a hoodie, jeans, and flat-heeled boots, really to do him a favor. I want him to have as few chances to ogle as possible. I want him to impress me. I want him to act like a professor, to show me my intervention isn’t needed. 

I would lie if I said that I hate using my powers. I enjoy doing it, and over the years I’ve gotten used to them. But I want to believe that people are good, that I don’t need to play vigilante so that my fellow girls on campus can feel safe. 

There’s another reason why I hesitate. Once unleashed, my power cannot be stopped. It will work over the subject until he’s ready to receive instructions. Once I make the decision to take over, there’s no going back.

“Miss Pulling,” Carter says, looking up at me with old, watery eyes behind his thick glasses. “I believe you’re here about your grade?”

“Yes, professor,” I say. Neutral. Relaxed. Trusting but not too much. I look like a normal student, relying on the propriety expected of someone in his position. A professor, a shepherd and protector of his students.

That’s the responsibility he’s been making a mockery of.

Please, Carter, don’t let me down. Rise above your reputation. 

“To be sure, to be sure. The finer intricacies of international commerce law can be hard to parse for even the most dedicated student.” 

He pauses, briefly licking his lips. “Miss Pulling – may I call you Serena?” I’m just about to object when he resumes his speech, cutting me off. “Serena, I’m sure we can work together to improve your grade. With some… private tutoring, perhaps.”

I sigh internally, the old chair groaning as I sit back in disappointment. This is taking a really bad turn already. Even so, merciful to the last, I bat my eyelids. “Sure, professor! What are you suggesting, exactly?” 

“Well,” he says, rubbing his wrinkly hands together, licking his lips again. You old fossil, why do you have to be like this? “This is a matter of dedication. You would have to take my instructions well, and follow them to the letter. Do you understand?” 

His eyes crawl up and down my legs – even in these baggy jeans! Then, he winks in the most obscene way possible. It’s astonishing that this pathetic excuse for blackmail actually works. How is he not in jail yet? 

His unabashed lecherousness makes me shiver in revulsion. I sigh internally. Why do men have to be like this? Whatever, I’ve given him a chance and he’s pissed it to the wind. He leaves me no other option but to intervene. 

So be it. 

“Yes, professor,” I say in a low voice. “I do understand.”

I lock my gaze with his, and he seems to hesitate at the sudden fire and challenge in my eyes. The stare is the first, essential step for this to work.

When our eyes are fixed upon one another, he has no defence against me. No one does. His soul is laid bare, the door to his mind is open for me to enter at my leisure. 

And so I cast away my reservations, and push my power into his mind. 

For a moment – a single, glorious and terrible moment – his mind resists me. That happens all the time. It’s like he’s trying to stand fast on the shore, against a sudden wave from the sea, threatening to sweep him under. 

But that’s the thing about this power: it endures. Like the rolling waves of the sea in storm, it batters relentlessly at its target, one strike after another.
Living beings may tire, but not the sea. Everything in its reach falls to the storm. Even the rock is slowly but relentlessly ground to dust. All resistance flails and peters out, eventually… but the waves continue to surge. 

He jumps up from the chair, recoiling as if from a strike, and I immediately rise to my feet, keeping my eyes fixed on his like a predator. I’m taller than most girls, and he’s a bent old man, so I tower over him.

I admit that the reversal on gendered expectations does please me a little. And besides… it is only fitting.

No target has been able to resist me so far, and Carter is old and weak, a man with a small spine, utterly at the mercy of his lecherous impulses. He goes under more easily than most, seeming to shrivel beneath my gaze, reduced and diminished by my mere presence.

It’s like I have him in my fist, pressuring him from all sides, his resistance trying frantically to hold me at bay.

But then, he stops resisting. He goes lax in my grip. That singular moment, that snap, the feeling of resistance being overcome… that’s the true meaning of power. 

The moment when your victim first sighs out in relaxation, accepting your mastery of them, conforming to the growing pressure of your grip… it’s a feeling for which there are no words.

I realize I’m making it sound mildly erotic, and admittedly, when I use my power on a girl, it does arouse me… very much.

But I’m not into men at all, and certainly not into old creeps like Carter. The thrill I feel is not erotic in nature – it has a much different origin. It’s the thrill of carrying out justice.

And the rush of pure, unfettered power, I suppose. Carter is mine now. I own his mind. There is nothing he would refuse me, no matter how outrageous, or terrible. He is, quite literally, at my mercy.

He’s lucky that I only have everyone’s best interest in mind. If I were as morally bankrupt as he is, this would be the end of his independence. But I’m not that kind of person.  

Once I’m confident that his mind has been bent to my will, I immediately establish my rule. My royal decrees for him, if you will. 

“You will no longer harass students, irrespective of their gender,” I say. “You will not flirt with them, manipulate them, or weaponize their grades to make them come to you. Your only concern at work will be how to be the best teacher you possibly can. An epytome of professionalism.” 

His eyes go glassy and unfocused as the new brain tries to take on such new and alien information as being a decent, professional human being. 

The human brain has a tendency to reject new information that contradicts what we already know. It’s an energy expenditure it would rather avoid. But my power makes that impossible. 
That resistance, and critical thinking with it, are shut down under the incessant hammering of my mind.

He may still refuse to absorb the lesson once, twice… but the waves keep on coming. And eventually his jaw goes slack, as my words at last break into his brain, becoming a part of his core beliefs.

“Yes…” he whispers.

“You will read up on feminist and queer theory,” I continue, smiling to myself at the very idea. “You will educate yourself, and become a proper ally, one who doesn’t cost activists even more energy by forcing them to educate or debate you themselves.”

“Yes…” Carter repeats, faster this time. And that makes me almost giggle in excitement, like I haven’t done this a thousand times before. I suppose it never gets old, the taste of victory. 

I’ve broken him. He can do nothing but accept my truth. That really does make me feel near-divine. And like a just god, I am merciful. I could tell him to do or believe anything, literally anything in the world. 

Instead, I’m making him a better person, using my powers for entirely selfless reasons.

Alright… maybe not entirely selfless. I do have one final bit I want to get into his pliable mind.

“Last but not least… I don’t need to turn in any papers for you this semester. You’ll write them yourself. And then, you’re going to push my grade all the way up. Do we understand one another?”

“Yes…” his head lolls downward and he slumps back into his chair. Being the target of my concentrated assault for the very first time always leaves people exhausted in body and mind. 
And Carter never had energy for anything beyond perving.

And now, with a guaranteed pass in his class, I won’t have to bother with him ever again. Nor will the other girls have to worry about him blackmailing them for sexual favors.

God, it’s good to be the boss. 

Yes, the… benefit at the end might have been unnecessary. I push the thought out of my mind, though. Come on. Most people in my situation would use their powers to live like literal kings, or worse. 

So what if I do nothing in his class for the rest of the semester? Thanks to me, countless students will now be safe from emotional trauma, sexual harassment, and blackmail. If you ask me, that’s worth the trade. I deserve a little thank-you present.

I smile to myself, thinking of the other ways in which I’ve been rewarding myself for my good deeds. 

Those… rewards… are currently waiting in my dorm, as instructed, and it’s time for me to go enjoy them.

After all, there’s nothing like a productive morning as a feminist vigilante to put you in the mood…


***


In my infinite magnanimity, I set limits for myself. 

For example: I never use my powers just to take something for me. I always advance my goals and what I believe to be justice, first. Only then do I allow myself to claim something in payment.

I do deserve it, I think.

It’s for everything I do.  Every morning, I wake up and make the world a better place. Or this campus, at least. I’ve single-handedly shut down more abusers of all stripes than years of half-hearted university policies. 

It’s my way to give something back to the universe, in thanks for this incredible gift I’ve received. These outstanding powers.

Of course, no amount of self-rationalization can stop me from considering that the scene before me might be a little, uhm… un-feminist. 

As I recline in my armchair, feeling like a queen sitting upon her throne, I contemplate the three girls humbly prostrating before me.

To the left is Emily, whose duty in my dorm is more or less to act as my personal maid. She always wears skirts and stockings at my instruction, and is posing as commanded: her knees divaricated, her back slightly flexed, holding a tray of drinks with her arms. 

To my right is Juliet, my… pleasure partner, dressed in simple yoga pants and a tank top. Her head rests against my thigh and she looks up at me adoringly, while I gently ruffle her hair. She’s my favorite, and she knows it. 

But the finest bit of my personal harem is Sarah, humbly on her hands and knees before the armchair, acting as a footstool for her queen. 

The flat heels of my boots are probably digging into her back by now, but she hasn’t uttered a word of complaint. She’s been obediently in this position, ever since I first stepped back into my room.

Good girl…

Now, I know how this looks, but reality is a bit more complicated than that. 

I don’t just go out and grab girls to turn into sex slaves. Like I said, limits. But all of these girls had it coming, ever since their very first day on campus.

Before my intervention, they were a terror to the meeker girls – and the nerdy guys, too – bullying and mocking, both in person and online.

People from working class backgrounds, and queer people especially, used to be their favorite targets. I qualified on both counts, and was their favorite target until I developed my powers.

No longer. 

I single-handedly ended their reign of terror over campus, my first act of carrying out justice, of using my powers to make people’s lives better. And then, I extracted my very first payment for that good deed. 

Somehow, turning the homophobic bullies into lesbian submissives, making the rich girls know what it’s like to be a maid… it felt, and still feels, like just deserts. Like delicious comeuppance. 

This is particularly true of Sarah. She used to rule her posse of bullies with an iron fist. Now, her back exists for me to step on.

I don’t take it out on them, to be honest. Comeuppance it may be, but I make sure it’s a pleasurable one. I’m a kind overlord, after all.

I make sure my girls study diligently, cultivate wholesome friendships, and I give them plenty of free time. All I demand of my harem is that they help me root out injustice… and come worship me here, after I carry out one of my interventions.

It’s just a perk of my powers. No one gets hurt. As far as harems go, this is a pretty tame, even supportive one. They’re much better people now under my care, than they used to be back when they were free to choose. 

I’m a good person. That’s why the universe awarded me this power. I deserve to be in charge.

With my small pang of guilt finally suppressed, I feel ready to enjoy my reward. To have my sapphic pets gently lick and suck, worship my toes and massage my legs and kiss my sex in reverence…

But before I give in to the pleasure, there is one thing I want to get out of the way. 

“So, what has the squad been up to for me?” I say, using my somewhat ironic name for my harem. “Have you noticed any behavior on campus that needs correcting?” 

“Your Majesty,” Sara says from beneath my boots. “It’s Kevin.”

I grimace at that. He’s mostly escaped my radar so far, but I know what kind of person he is. A real professional creep. “Go on.” 

“He’s running a new anti-feminist blog, Your Majesty,” Juliet continues from where Sara left off, rubbing her cheek against my thigh. The warmth feels so good… but the reality of her words disgusts me.

“Ugh. Of course he has a blog.” 

“He writes these endless rants about increasingly bizarre concepts,” Emily adds, not once breaking her wonderful posture, trained to perfection to be a great serving girl. “Stuff about the sexual marketplace and that whole sigma thing, how to live your life if you’re not a seven or up… you probably get the jist of it, Your Majesty.”

“I certainly do,” I say, before pronouncing what I consider my newest royal decree. “I will not suffer such incels on my campus, much less will I allow them to spread their filth, or make women feel so insecure. I think he needs his views corrected. Wouldn’t you agree, girls?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” comes the chorus in reply, and as always, it fuels the slick heat between my thighs. 

I’m a queen. A just queen, who’s going to rid the world of yet another incel whose very presence disrespects and endangers the women around him. I use my powers for the good of all. 
Even people like Kevin. 

After all, my interventions never damage anyone. My targets all become better, smarter, more professional, kinder, more compassionate.

Of course, I consider as I press my boot deeper into Sarah’s neck, sometimes they become my sex slaves… but that’s another matter entirely. 

Kevin certainly needs the intervention, I muse to myself as the girls begin to smooch my legs through my jeans. Even Sarah does her best to turn over, so she can place demure kisses on the bottom of my shoes. By training, they know that now, their first duty done, they can move on to worshipping me.

But my mind is on Kevin for the moment. I have to recognize that I hold a personal loathing for him, that I consider him to be beneath me. He’s mediocre in every capacity, utterly forgettable, except for the way he creepily ogles every girl in his line of sight.

I know he dislikes me, too. He muttered some comment about women’s supposed hypergamy in class once, and I laughed right in his face, much to the support of many other students. His face went beet-red, and I knew he hated me, then. He probably still does.

Still. My powers aren’t for settling personal scores. It’s his misogyny I aim to correct, nothing else. I shouldn’t be carried away just because we dislike one another. 

With a shake of my head, I take my mind off Kevin for the time being. I have three former bullies to dominate, first… in a pleasurable and wholesome wait, of course. 

I stand up, unzipping my boots and sliding out of my jeans. Then I unceremoniously sit on Sarah’s face.

It’s a harem. There’s no need for sophistication.

“You two,” I tell Emily and Juliet, “make out for me. Get me going.” 

I let myself sink into the heat and pleasure as I watch Emily and Juliet snog one another, their tongues wrestling for temporary dominance, while Sarah squirms and whimpers right into my pussy – through my panties, for now.

I clutch at her hair, driving her face deeper in, and watch as Juliet pins Emily to the ground. She always wins these impromptu rounds, and makes Emily her bitch for a while. I find that amusing. Back when they were a part of Sarah’s bully posse, Juliet was by far the less cruel of the girls.

That’s why she’s my favorite. Emily having gone from bossing her around to whimpering femininely under her ministrations is just the cherry on top. 

Sarah, of course, is never allowed to partake in these games. I always make sure she’s at the very bottom of this harem. In my absence, she is subject to Juliet and Emily’s supervision. The former arch-bully is nothing more than an obedient sex kitten when it comes to this room.

Kevin can wait. I have three girls here at my disposal. And as I slowly begin to hump Sarah’s face, I tell myself that I want to make sure I enjoy them very thoroughly.

***

In my infinite compassion, I extend my second-chance policy even to Kevin. I may despise him, his blog, and his opinion on women… but I will treat him like I do all my targets. 

In that same vein, I’ve made sure to wait until I’m certain we won’t be disturbed. 

It’s late in the evening, and I’m in a courtyard often used by students to drink or eat. The grass sways in the wind under my boots, feeling soft and yielding… much like Kevin’s mind will soon be. 

Hallways leading to the dorms flank the courtyard on either side. It’s usually bustling with life, lovers rolling together in the grass, or lone students poring over books on a bench.

But it’s quiet, at this hour. The stars are bright tonight, and the full moon gives the sky a vaguely eerie look, like something out of a movie. I hear crickets chirping in the long grass, as I patiently wait for Kevin to leave his room. 

He always does, well into the evening. Goes for a walk around a deserted campus and buys a soft drink from the vending machines, before coming here to contemplate who knows what. 
It’s a surprisingly thoughtful habit for an incel. But then again, even people with the most revolting views have routines, likes, and dislikes. 

Predictably, he does show up. And as soon as I see him, I immediately snort in hilarity. 

Oh my god. This doofus is actually wearing sunglasses at night. And while the courtyard is in the open, he’s only just come out of the hallway, so he’s wearing them indoors, too! 

Alright, whatever. I focus once more as Kevin turns to face me, clearly confused – my snort must have caught his attention. 

“What’s funny?” He asks me, approaching a trash bin to toss away an empty drinks can. He stands there, right underneath a streetlight, tapping his foot in irritation. 

I quickly close the distance between us, one long stride after another in my equestrian boots. That takes him by surprise, puts him off balance. I close in, taking advantage of the fact he’s clearly lacking context for my actions. 

Kevin is built like a stick, and very short, too. I don’t bodyshame, of course, but the height difference does play into my hands here, just like in Carter’s office. As I close in, he has no choice but to look up at me. 

My physical dominance clearly asserted, it’s time to put him in his place for good. With or without the aid of my powers. 

“So, Kev,” I say, feigning a casual tone. “I hear you’ve started a blog. Pretty interesting views in there.” 

His pale skin immediately reddens – whether from embarassment or anger I cannot say. He points a finger up at me. “Look, I know you don’t agree with my views, but don’t come lecture me. This is a free country. If you don’t like my blog, don’t read it.” 

“Dude,” I tell him, arching an eyebrow. “You post one misogynistic rant after another. Honestly, do you really expect no pushback at all?”

“Oh, I expect feminists like you to go after me regardless of what I do!”

Damn, that victim complex. I respond with a bitter laugh. “Do you honestly think your actions have nothing to do with this? How could I, or any other girl on campus will ever feel comfortable around you when it’s clear you don’t even see us as people?” 

“I don’t care what you think,” he says, and while it comes off a little petulant, he’s beginning to calm down now. “Just like you don’t care what I think. Maybe you would if I were six foot tall and had the right jawline, but whatever. You can be a hypocrite on your own time, I just want to be left alone. Alright?”

“I’m a lesbian, you absolute dork,” I say, rolling my eyes in exasperation. Alright. As it turns out, patience does not number among my infinite qualities. What good will I was willing to grant him has just evaporated. It’s time to finish this.

Now, thankfully glasses and sunglasses are no obstacles to my power. So when I sneer down at Kevin, and push myself into his mind, they can’t save him. 

Just like that, at a snap of fingers, the fury of the sea in storm hits him like a ton of bricks. 

He takes a step back, resisting – and this is real resistance, alright. I always learn something about my targets when I first invade their minds. Kevin may be pathetic, he may be drowning in rationalizations about why girls avoid him like the plague – but he’s no coward like Carter. 

He’s determined, fierce. Bizarrely, he feels smart to my mind’s touch. This is a person who could have been so much more than this, had he not been so emotionally maladaptive. 

That’s good. It means there is hope for him, after I break him. Thanks to my power, I can achieve the equivalent of years and years of therapy in a singular encounter.

He just needs to stop standing against the surging waves. They all do, in time, of course. While his spirit may be surprising, it will not avail him in this battle of wills against me. I will batter him into submission, and then change him into a better person.

“Kevin,” I tell him, prepping him for when I take over his mind. “You will always be honest and truthful.” 

He twitches, trying with all his strength not to absorb the impact of my command, but the waves carry it now. I don’t need to repeat it. It will be battered into his skull soon enough.

I am suddenly sorry he’s wearing his sunglasses. The eyes of my victims always provide so much information about the whole process, the stage of their readiness to receive my teachings. 

I find myself drawn closer to him, so close that he can feel my breath on his face. I gaze deep into his sunglasses, looking for a hint of his panicky eyes as he goes under. Looking for a flicker of understanding between us, or some precious insight into the kind of broken, traumatized person he is – right before I fix him for free.

Well, mostly for free. Maybe I’ll have him carry my books in class, give me rides in his car, or something. Although to be fair, taking his incel blog down is a reward in and of itself. 

Unfortunately, I get no glimpse of his eyes beneath the sunglasses. They are annoyingly polished to a high sheen, so much so that, under the glaring streetlight,  they could almost work like a mirror. 

In fact, I see my own face reflected in his sunglasses, while the rolling tide of my power engulfs his entire awareness. I can make out my flowing brown hair, the way the light accentuates the paleness of my skin.

And my own eyes.

Absurdly, it occurs to me that I’ve never seen my eyes while I use my powers. I’ve always assumed they must look the same, but apparently, I’ve been wrong all these years. Because my eyes barely look human at all. 

It’s like an eclipse is taking place inside my irises. They’re black circles, ringed by pure searing light, like a solar corona. A shiver trickles down my back as I contemplate them. 
The wrath of a raging sun, the relentlessness of the sea, the dynamism of fire…

This is a terrible power. It’s wondrous and terrifying at once. Immediately understandable, but also alien. For the first time in my life, I consider that maybe this isn’t a gift. 
That maybe the universe didn’t award me with it for any reason at all.

That maybe using it, and using it for good, are contradictions in terms. 

Its true nature may have escaped me so far. Have I been like a child toying with its dad’s gun? Where does this come from, and why do I look like that when I wield it? 

I don’t know these answers, but I feel sufficiently disquietened that I would almost recall my power… if I could. But that is impossible. It will carry out its work to completion, and nothing will stop it. 

No one can withstand it. I feel like I never really stopped to contemplate what that means.

No one can withstand it. 

And as I grow closer to the sunglasses, and my own eyes loom larger and larger in my own vision…

For the first time… I feel the roaring sea push its way into my mind. 


***


In its infinite might, my power drowns out the totality of my perception. 

It’s deafening, blinding, all-encompassing. It’s everywhere, coming at me from every side, battering at every defense, conscious and unconscious. 

Even so, I have just enough spare capacity to realize the tragic extent of my mistake.

I’m hypnotizing myself, and all because of the goddamn dorky sunglasses.

In a desperate, frantic attempt, I try to call my power back, but it’s useless, I know it is. Once unleashed, it will run its course. It will finish what it started. 

I need to break eye contact, but I can’t move a muscle. The battle against the surging sea is taking up all I have to give. But Kevin doesn’t know what’s happening, and now, with the power passing through him and hitting me as the target, he should start to regain his faculties.

I just need him to break eye contact with me. Just once. Just for a moment.

If I can hold on until then, my mind will be my own… and I’ll make sure to knock off his sunglasses before I subdue him. 

If… 

Come on, come on, you stupid incel, do something! Bloody move! I grit my teeth, willing him with all my despair to snap out of it already, but he can only stare ahead, slack-jawed, leaving me at the mercy of my own reflection.

I take a small measure of fierce pride in noticing how fanatical I am, in resisting to this onslaught. As the seconds turn into minutes, I give up ground, but not too much. Nobody’s ever held out this long. 

Whether that’s because I’m the source of the power, or my experience with it, or just my inner strength, I cannot determine. But my pride rapidly subsides when I remind myself that eventually, everyone succumbs. 

That’s when the adrenaline from the fight slows down, and fear begins to replace it.

I have no idea what will happen once the power has run its course. Will I be a slave to myself? How does that even work? 

No no no, that doesn’t make sense. I should be just like everyone else. I will be receptive to instructions, but what happens if I don’t receive any? I should snap out of it after a while, of course, but how can I wiggle out of Kevin’s presence in the meantime?

Maybe I should stop resisting. The sooner I stop, the sooner the effect will wane.

But that also carries risk. What if Kevin snaps out of it earlier than I do, and… programs me?

No! I need to resist for just a little longer. In a moment he will regain control of his own body, and break eye contact, I know he will. Then… Then I can finish the job. 

The thought alone is enough to grant me a second wind. I push like crazy, roaring at the titanic effort required to hold the storm at bay.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last.

For the first time, I experience that holiest of moments from the wrong side. The snap.

The way the walls of my mind crumble, and the steadily-building pressure can finally break through with no opposition. The way my pupils dilate, my facial features distend, and my mouth opens in a surprised oh.

I sigh in surrender, my muscles going limp, my neck offered to my own yoke. 

Like so many victims before me, I conform to the force currently busy reshaping me.

And that’s when, with dread, I hear once more the words spoken by my own voice. 

Kevin, I said earlier. You will always be honest and truthful.

I know my power. I know how it interprets semantics, so to speak. This is no longer a command directed to Kevin, not thanks to his sunglasses. Therefore, the power settles for the next best alternative.

My own voice distorts and morphs, and the words spoken back at me chill me down to the core. 

You will always be honest and truthful with Kevin. 

Then, suddenly, Kevin draws in breath in front of me. He looks around, but it’s too late to save me. I’ve been crushed by my own power. My only hope is to get out of here before he realizes I’m open to programming.

Unfortunately, I can’t just bolt. The mental and physical exhaustion, the compulsion I’ve just been placed under… it all renders me quite passive for now, just like it left him completely paralyzed earlier. 

A few minutes. I just need a few minutes of time, and then I’m free.

That’s when Kevin decides to speak at last, looking at me through his sunglasses. “What the hell just happened??” He shouts, panicking.

Damn.

I am compelled to answer his question honestly, but I bite my lip, doing my best to resist. Is there a way I can answer truthfully, while still protecting myself?

“Calm down,” I say, in a surprisingly even tone of voice. “You don’t want to draw attention to us right now.” It’s technically true, and that allows me just enough leeway to avoid blurting out the truth. Maybe. For now.

“What the hell did you do to me?” He says, but in a lower voice this time. Unfortunately, I can’t fight the compulsion a second time. I grimace in horror as my own words betray me. 

“I’ve tried to use my mind control powers to hypnotize you and reform you away from misogyny and incel ideology,” I say, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. I don’t need 
Kevin to take off his sunglasses to know his eyes are bulging out of his orbits right now. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“Nothing is wrong with me,” I say, again in perfect honesty. “I use my powers for good. Well… One thing is wrong with me. I’ve accidentally hypnotized myself, and I am now open and receptive to instructions.”

Oh, for god’s sake…

“What?” Kevin asks, taking a step back from me, as if I’ve gone crazy. Granted, it wouldn’t be surprising if he assumed that. “Elaborate, please.”

“It means I’m ready to be programmed. Moreover, I need to always be honest and truthful to you.”

The change in Kevin’s body language is subtle, but inescapable. Shock, terror, confusion – they’re all slowly replaced by curiosity. And, eventually, by something else. 

“Follow me,” he snaps. 

“What…” I say, gulping. “What are you doing?”

“I said, follow,” he says, snapping his fingers, and I hate how jerkily my body responds to the instruction. 

He hasn’t programmed any command into me, not yet. But in the pliable state induced by my power, I follow him meekly – even though my steps are halting, as I fight my own mind for control over my body.

We walk all the way back to his room, my heart pounding into my chest as dread threatens to sweep me under. 

Dread… and rage. This isn’t a game anymore, I know. I’ve tried an aggressive takeover of an incel’s mind, and now, I find myself in his hands. I… don’t know what’s going to happen to me. 

And I’m angry.

Angry at myself for making such a stupid mistake, angry at him for escaping my clutches and standing me up in such a humiliating way, angry at the world. 

Once we’re inside, I hear him ominously close his lock behind me.

This is a nightmare come true. 

Please, please let him waste time. If he waits long enough, I will regain my faculties. Please. 

It’s only as he sits on a stuffy armchair in his room that I finally stop to contemplate what a pigsty this place is. Empty energy drink cans and beer bottles litter the floor. The far corner opposite the bed is dominated by a blundering mountain of discarded pizza boxes. 

If not for the tragic impotence I find myself in, I would laugh. What a living, breathing stereotype he is.

The disgust must show on my face, because for a moment, he actually looks embarassed. He has a girl over, so to speak, and his room is revolting.

Then, he must remember why we’re here. 

“How do I program you? Tell me honestly and truthfully,” he says, modeling his instruction on my earlier words, which makes me gulp in fear.

I should not underestimate him. He may be slimy and gross, but he isn’t stupid.

“You issue statements that become true for me,” I say, betraying my most dangerous secrets like I’m just telling him what time it is. “Like I did when I tried to tell you to be honest. The way you phrase them has an impact in how tight, literal, or loose the imparted instructions are.” 

“I see,” he says. “Say you regain your powers now. What would your actions be? Tell me honestly and truthfully.”

He wants truth? He’ll have it. I still tower over him, I can still intimidate him. So I once again push into his comfort zone, looking down at him. 

“I don’t know. But if you put a single grubby finger on me? Easy,” I say, in a perfectly neutral, emotionless tone. “I will end you.”

He flinches at that, but I continue. “It wouldn’t be about your ideas anymore. This time, it would be personal. I would step on your neck so hard that you’d carry the imprint of my boots with you for the rest of your life, like it’s a bar code.”

I take a further step, until our bodies are nearly touching. “I never take men into my harem, but I’d make an exception just to have you as a bootlicker. I’d make sure you live and die a virgin for the rest of your days, and that your only interaction with women takes place with you on your knees.”

My point made, I feel confident that at least I’m not going to get molested. I cross my arms, staring daggers at him, but all Kevin does is look at me with a frown. Then, his fingers brush against my boobs.

I flinch and yelp, taking a step backwards. I open and close my mouth, wordlessly. Did my intimidation have no effect on him? It’s the first time a man has ever touched me like this, and it’s revolting.

But what’s even more humiliating is that he’s so openly defying me. He doesn’t fear me.

Not anymore.

“Harem, you said?” His lips curl into a smile. “My, my. You’re less of a feminist than I thought. And isn’t that an interesting concept?”

The barb stings, but before I can flinch or respond, he resumes speaking. “We can discuss your harem later. For now, I have two core instructions for you.”

Immediately, the jaws of my power snap shut around me again. I feel my sight lose focus, my breath coming in ragged gulps. I can’t believe that this is it, that he’s actually going to make use of this window to try and program me.

“Yes…” I say, trembling at how much I sound like Carter did earlier in his office. 

“You will never, ever try to hypnotize me again,” Kevin says. “You will always, immediately hypnotize yourself on a reflective surface when I command you to receive new instructions. And you will, at all times, recognize me as having authority over you.” 

I beat desperately against the glass of my own mind as he steps in my personal space this time. His hands rub against my jeans, cupping my ass. 

He hasn’t forbidden me from punching him in the face, and I doubt a generic reference to authority covers sexual harassment. But my defeat to my own power is still too recent. I’m too hollowed out to oppose him.

For now. 

I squint at him, gritting my teeth. I know I will be back in control. A normal person would have been fundamentally altered by these instructions, but not me. 

I am the source of this power. I can slip the yoke, eventually. He’s going to make a mistake at some point.

And when he does, he will understand what happens when you try to leash a tiger. 

“You know Serena,” he says, whispering as his lips brush against my neck. “I’m happy you tried this on me. Now we can have some real fun together. This whole situation is giving me ideas.”

I shiver in hatred, disgust, and fear as his lips nibble at my ear.

“So many ideas…” 

More chapters of A Leashed Tiger are already available on my Patreon! By subscribing, you can request commissions, read exclusive stories, get early access to new chapters, make direct fan requests, and more: http://bitly.ws/grAn 

Thanks for your support, it's the only reason why I can write these stories in the first place!

x4

Show the comments section

Back to top


Register / Log In

Stories
Authors
Tags

About
Search