Rachel's ReEducation

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

Captured

They threw the screaming girl upon a great crimson-sheeted bed, splay-limbed and vulnerable in her nakedness. Even in her terror Rachel was acutely conscious that every eye in the candlelit dungeon roamed her flushed young body at will, her professor and classmates alike all leering down at the curves and swells of her smooth creamy flesh, and at the heavy delta of raven curls suddenly exposed between her sleek thighs.

Wide-eyed and silently pleading, she looked up at the faces that ringed her about. The twenty-three-year-old graduate student found no sympathy anywhere there, however, no remorse—only a cool, smirking lust that both embarrassed and frightened her. Even the other women of the class looked down upon her nakedness in frank hunger, just as much as did the men. Clad only in perverse little costumes constructed of narrow strips of supple leather that flattered and displayed the ready flesh of man and woman alike, every member of Professor McEvers’ Psychology 669 class—nearly twenty individuals, from the middle-aged academic himself, to his two doctoral assistants, to the rest of her masters-level peers—looked upon Rachel’s lithe young body as they would upon a particularly promising piece of research.

And that, she realized all at once with a bleak certainty, was precisely what she was to them. She remembered now the professor’s explanation, given at the beginning of his renowned course in “Advanced Topics in the Psychology of Human Sexuality”, that they would pursue certain avenues of human research that, as he put it, the old-fashioned and narrow-minded might think skirted the very boundaries of informed consent. They all had chuckled at his rather self-deprecating pose of—well, of slight naughtiness, she had labeled it mentally at the time. It had seemed only natural then that she sign the release form he had incorporated into his syllabus. Dr. McEvers was well-known and highly respected in his field, after all, and she had naturally supposed that the release his graduate students all signed was merely to enable them to participate not only as researchers but also as research subjects as well if they wanted—to take a personality profile or be asked survey questions, she had assumed naively.

And yet now, though, McEvers was casually naked before them all, and she knew with a bitter surety that the sly, rather knowing older man must have read her s*x-diary. Her face blazed red as she thought about it. He had said that the very, very personal journal which he required each student write for this class was merely an exercise of s****l self-discovery for his students, one which he simply checked off in his grade book rather than actually reading. Yet clearly that had been a cheap lie, and the man had violated her privacy like some voyeuristic pervert.

Wildly she surged up, but one of McEvers’ doctoral assistants—another woman! she somehow had the presence of mind to fume—caught her by her long black hair, and, yelping, Rachel was dragged back off her feet. Still, panting and clawing, she tried to fight her way out. She could not yet admit to herself that the possibility of escape indeed might no longer exist… The idea of being completely at the mercy of these shameless people whom she had foolishly imagined were altruistic, disinterested professionals like herself was still unthinkable.

For one brief moment Rachel thought she somehow had a chance of escape and up she darted again. Just as the woman who held Rachel by her hair inexplicably loosen her grasp, however, Dr. McEvers reached calmly out and grabbed at the naked brunette’s exposed n*****s, hard, and a shockingly intimate pain seared through her body as he jerked her negligently to a stop. Rachel’s dark eyes snapped to his in panic, but he just smiled implacably back at her, silent and confident and knowing as he held her there by the gleaming silver posts that constantly teased and tormented her crinkled bundles of fire.

During her freshman year Rachel had had both of her n*****s pierced on a dare with a girlfriend, and the dark puckers now were wildly sensitive. Those sweet nubbins of erectile tissue already had been perhaps her favorite erogenous zone, but after her piercing the poor things grew almost impossibly excitable. Why, they were always erect now, of course, her tender n*****s pushed straight out from their areolas by the firm, penetrative caress of that sterling silver. She got used to it, but…well, she still felt everything, everything! She often found herself aroused by the random shifting of her shoulders that happened to draw her blouse tight, or merely by the pressure of her constantly stiffened nodules against the cups of her brassiere, and more than once over the years she had slipped out of some lecture hall, ducked into a restroom, and, biting her lip to keep from crying out in her dirty joy, had to reach down below her sweating belly and hastily satisfy herself so that she could try to put her mind back on the class.

And sometimes, of course, when the red-faced girl returned to her seat and commenced once more to taking notes, the faint fishy odor drifting up from her guilty fingertips made her heart stutter again beneath her fiercely stiff-nippled breasts. Oh, she might try to ignore that delicious reminder of her indiscretions, the intimate warmth which wafted into her helplessly dilated nostrils, but as often as not, her poor mindless flesh would surge once more with its passions. She would find herself stroking the soft hollow between her nose and her upper lip with one of those faintly sticky fingertips, idly, as if in consideration of some finer point of her professor’s argument. Eventually, the tangy tip of that slender red-nailed digit might even slip, almost unnoticed, into the corner of Rachel’s lips, and as her eyelids began to flutter in anticipation as her tongue rubbed savoringly against the naughty thing, she finally might admit to herself at last that she would have to take yet another little trip to the restroom…

When she needed a second orgasm like that, she would really let herself have it, locking herself in a bathroom stall and working herself into a frenzy. Writhing in her sweet agitation, she rubbed her poor wet p***y with one hand while with the other she dug her jiggling little handfuls out of their lacy cups and veritably attacked those hungry pierced n*****s. Oh, how she treated her ready flesh, desperately, helplessly! She pulled, she plucked, and she twisted, really making herself feel it. Other girls came and went in the stalls beside her, unknowing, and it was wildly arousing to think of how shocked they would be if they only realized what she was doing. On and on she would pleasure herself, quaking.

Professor McEvers had read all of that, she knew, blushing fiercely. He had even read about how very much she loved to toy with those wondrously excitable little peaks as she m*********d. Yes, he had read how she had learned to tease and tantalize those overexcited crinkles of tingling pink-brown flesh—sometimes, upon a particularly frustrated and self-indulgent evening, for hours on end, whimpering. Oh, it was terrible!

“You didn’t think I’d forget, did you, Ms. Aschelman?” he wondered with a faint tone of menace, his fingertips never leaving her. “You do still masturbate every single night, don’t you, Rachel—pinching those naughty pierced n*****s of yours, pulling them, twisting them, stretching them? Sometimes,” he reminded her darkly, “even smearing your vaginal lubrication on them so that you smell wet cunt close to your face, reminding you of the lesbianism about which you are so powerfully curious but which you have never yet had the nerve to try.”

She tried to glare back at him. “Those were personal things,” she hissed out. “Those weren’t for anyone else to read.”

“Oh, but read them I did,” he reminded her pointedly, giving her n*****s a slight squeeze that made her heart quicken peculiarly beneath her high young breasts. “You forfeited your right to any privacy from me when you signed the release form at the beginning of the semester.”

“I never meant to—”

“But sign you did,” Dr. McEvers explained with a patient paternalism, “thus empowering me most extraordinarily. Why, with your consent form you asked me to know you as intimately as any therapist or gynecologist, in private or in public, wherever and whenever it may be my whim to do so.”

Licking her lips uncertainly, Rachel tried to remember the exact wording of the consent form which she had with such foolish trust signed at the beginning of the semester. Could it be? she wondered. It seemed impossible that she could have granted him such power—and yet Dr. McEvers indeed was known for the meticulous thoroughness of his various writings, be they syllabi or academic articles or research contracts…

“Your supple white body,” McEvers reminded her with a calm little leer, “is, essentially, mine now just as much as it is yours—mine to do with as I see fit. How could I properly study something unless I could examine it inside and out, so to speak, and have access to it whenever and however I might desire? Yes, I certainly do have every right…thanks to your signature.” His eyes twinkled. “A suspicious person might even suggest that on some subconscious level you knew all too well what you were getting yourself into, for why else would you have empowered me so? Perhaps it was no accident that the usually thorough and yet secretly excitable Ms. Aschelman failed to read the fine print of her release form?”

Rachel blanched at this little insinuation. “That’s ridiculous,” she sputtered, trying to convince herself that his slippery logic meant nothing, that it could not possibly have any grounding in her own psychological reality.

McEvers merely shrugged faintly with his eyebrows. “In any event,” he reminded her with a faint smile of satisfaction, “what’s signed is signed. And now, with your notarized signature on my carefully drafted contract, even if I were to have you bound spread-eagled in the commons of the Student Union so that I might invite curious strangers to perform gynecological examinations upon you with their bare hands, you still would have no legal recourse against me. And to question you before this class about all the dirty little secrets of your fantasy life—why, that is a mere trifle.” He smiled briefly, smugly, as he stood so close before her. “Trust that I have read all of your fantasies, Rachel, and with great care.”

Despite her attempted bravado, she could only stare back helplessly as he spoke her innermost secrets aloud before everyone. “In your secret desires, for example, you would wish to take part in a fraternity gangbang, being paid like a w***e for every c**k you can take. Twenty or fifty dollars each was the rate you always imagined, I believe—enough to pay for a year’s worth of fancy new clothes with just one night of debauchery, but not so much that the average undergraduate male couldn’t scrape up the cash to give you the dirty f*****g your hungry flesh craved.”

“No,” Rachel whispered, wide-eyed, “no…”

“You would be used like an animal,” McEvers continued imperturbably, “pawed, penetrated, pumped, and polluted, over and over again. Through it all, dozens of naked men would mill about, breathless and eager as they watched you submit beneath one fat red phallus after another. You always imagined that these watching men, turgidly erect at the sight, the sound, the very smell of you, could not help but touch themselves absently as they wait for their turn at the slut. According to your s*x-diary, you would find their instinctive, almost helpless arousal particularly flattering to your feminine sensibilities.”

McEvers gave a faint shrug with his eyebrows. “In fact, though, first, just to get them started, you might coo and smirk at the boys, encouraging them to masturbate for you, and show you just how excited you made them. Kneeling coquettishly before half a dozen excited men, flushed and naked and receptive in your eagerness, you might hold out your cupped hands in front of your stiff-nippled little breasts and allow them to jerk out their thick squirting loads right into your bare palms.” Her professor smiled briefly. “Of course, after you lowered your smirking face and deliberately, theatrically licked up each gooey string of their sperm while all the partygoers watched in awe, then the party could truly begin—and it would not end until every drop of semen from every other man present was writhing inside of you as well.”