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 sex-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 sexual
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
nipples, 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 nipples 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 nipples 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 pussy with one hand while with the other she dug her
jiggling little handfuls out of their lacy cups and veritably attacked those hungry
pierced nipples. 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
masturbated. 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 nipples 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 nipples 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 whore for every cock 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
fucking 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 sex-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.”
Rachel’s mouth was dry as cotton. Blinking, she swallowed uncomfortably, acutely
conscious of the eyes of all her classmates smirking down at her.
“If I recall, Rachel,” continued her professor, “you seem particularly keen to get down
on your hands and knees before the crowd of naked males, open up those pretty red lips of
yours, and get fucked on both ends at once. As anonymous hands reach in to grope and
fondle and tug at your fiercely aroused breasts, you would gulp at one swollen purple
cockhead, happily, as another mindless erection hammers beneath your upraised haunches,
until semen pours down your throat as copiously as it oozes from the dilated lips of your
overexcited cunt.”
Slowly she shook her head. “But I wouldn’t,” she whispered. “Not really…”
Professor McEvers smiled placidly into her face. “And during high school you secretly
longed to be seduced by one of your mother’s best female friends, a statuesque and always
very amiable woman who at the time would have been perhaps thirty-five or forty. She had
shining honey-blonde hair, short and spunky, and sparkling green eyes that always made you
wonder if maybe, just maybe she might be open to a little bi-curious experimentation.”
“But she was married and had kids,” Rachel tried to protest. “She was straight! I knew
she was straight—”
“Well, you were straight, too,” commented McEvers patiently, “but that didn’t mean you
wouldn’t have done just about anything to get the chance to make out with her if you
thought you could get away with it. In fact, it was your particular wish,” he reminded
her, leering, “to service this regal lady in the living room while the rest of the two
families attended a barbecue in the backyard, unknowing. In the deliciously naughty
incongruity of some languorous dream, you imagined the forbidden act taking place almost
beneath the very noses of the unconcerned revelers. Parents and siblings and friends might
laugh and cavort so close by, just on the other side of a single pane of plate glass, but
somehow no one would notice sweet little Rachel’s public depravity.”
McEvers’ eyes twinkled, and Rachel could only swallow uncomfortably.
“You would present yourself to her naked except for a collar of red ribbon tied around
your throat,” he continued, “while she would be fully dressed in an immaculate business
suit of pinstriped charcoal. As she lifted her skirts and pulled her heels up about her
hips on the couch that faced the sliding glass doors to a crowded patio, you would kneel
reverently before her, breathing deep of her salty, intimate scent. Eyes bright, you might
lick your lips without even realizing it, and perhaps run your fingertips contemplatively
along the puckered points of your virginal young nipples.”
McEvers smiled. “And yet perhaps you might pose and preen there for a moment as well,
teasing yourself just as much as you teased her as you pretended to be hesitant and shy
and suddenly uncertain. Blinking coquettishly, you might murmur some platitudinous
protest, thrilling all the while to the desire burning in your neighbor’s hungry face.
Softly, then, trying to conceal her eagerness, the woman would have to convince you all
over again, to praise your beauty, and tell you how much you excited her. On and on she
would whisper and coo, as you posed and preened and flirted, nude and desirable before
her. Smirking, you eventually would allow yourself to be seduced, and you would bury your
flushed eighteen-year-old face gratefully in her hairy wet cunt and, whimpering in your
inexpressible delight, lick her to a shrieking orgasm.”
“But I didn’t,” Rachel said softly. “I didn’t. I would never—”
“And yet you were secretly attracted to this woman, were you not?” he pressed her. “You
contrived endlessly to glance down her blouse or sneak a peek at her long smooth legs as
she bent to retrieve her keys or some such. You liked to gaze at her pretty face as she
talked, imagining how those eyes might widen at the sight of your nude young body as you
coyly exposed yourself before her, imagining what those lips would feel like as they
finally descended hungrily upon your throat, your mouth, your wildly rigid nipples.”
Wide-eyed in her shame, Rachel could only shake her head slowly with a mute, scarcely
believed denial.
“Well,” shrugged McEvers mildly, “that is what your own handwritten sex-diary claims.
You reported that during your teenaged years this particular lesbian seduction was perhaps
your favorite fantasy, one to which you masturbated countless times—and not merely during
your usual bout of bedtime self-indulgence.” He cocked an eyebrow roguishly. “In fact, if
the written testimony is to be believed, you spied upon the unsuspecting woman repeatedly
as she sunbathed on drowsy summer afternoons. You studied the long curves of her mature,
womanly body, her rounded shoulders and the fuzzy nape of her neck, the shape of those
hips that veritably begged to be grabbed, the smooth warm pillars of her thighs that
glistened with sweat. What you particularly enjoyed, however, was when she rolled over on
her belly, and as the woman’s plump bottom stuck up alluringly, she would reach behind her
back to untie her halter top, and the sides of her heavy bosoms would spill out from
beneath her, so full and jiggly and tempting. You would squat by your upstairs window,
your hairy wet pussy open and swollen and smelly beneath your feverish fingertips as you
tried to see how many times you could bring yourself closer and closer to orgasm before
you finally had to give in and bring your dirty reverie to its welcome end.”
Rachel licked her dry lips, looking slowly around the room at the eager, leering faces
that ringed her about.
“And then,” said her professor mockingly, “there is perhaps my own personal favorite of
all your many naughty fantasies. You wish to be abducted by three men in an automobile who
strip you bare, tie your hands behind your back, and masturbate you relentlessly until you
can no longer resist.”
Rachel’s eyes were wide, silently pleading, but McEvers’ voice continued
matter-of-factly. “You begin by begging with them to let you go, but they merely laugh and
chuckle to one another about how long they have gone without sex—ten, twenty, thirty
days!—just so they will be able to be particularly merciless in their demands upon this
lovely young victim. Leering, they expose themselves to you so that you may see how
desperate their fat red erections are, how hopeless is any petition for mercy. Their
organs thrust straight up in their excitation, thick and trembling, already oozing… At
the sight of those veiny shafts, those sperm-heavy balls, those swollen purple cockheads,
you fall silent. Biting your lip, you realize that you will have no option but to submit
to whatever indignities these brutes chance to imagine.” The professor smiled.
“The three drive you to some secluded trail in the woods,” he went on, “and their hands
and mouths travel all over your bare body. Soon, despite your fear and your shame and your
nagging inhibitions, you grow aroused, and you find yourself writhing in the back seat
among them, longing for ever greater intimacies.”
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