I didn’t mean to, but I just couldn’t help myself, I was too worked up for anything else. Even the humiliation at my lack of control was starting to turn me on. I tugged at my leash, recalling how helpless I had felt when he led me down the hallways, and just barely had time to muffle my screams of pleasure at the remembrance. I hated him. I despised everything about his smug presumption. But if he were here right this instant, I had no doubt whatsoever that I would eagerly jump him and fuck his brains out. My phone beeped, a reminder that class was only minutes away. How long had I been lost in my wild reverie? I’d come here to try and find some balance, some way to center myself and cope with these changes, but then I had turned them into some kind of perverted masturbatory fantasy. What was wrong with me? But that was the wrong question, wasn’t it? I already knew exactly what was wrong with me. The better question was: How do I fix it? There was a little bit of time just before. "If I read such things, and I'm not saying I do, mind you, but... would I have read anything by you?" she asked."I don't know. I write under the name E.Z. Riter." Now I know you're lying," she said, but her eyes said something else. "I was reading one of his stories." She blushed at her admission and looked guilty as a thief with a hand in the poor box."I always enjoy talking to a reader," I replied. I gave her my best grin. She gave me a dirty look, sat back, and then quickly lunged toward me."All right. Prove it! He wrote a story about a woman who wants her husband to impregnate her best friend on a special holiday." That's V Day," I said."Oh. Okay. He wrote a long mind control story." My Inheritance."She asked more questions about my stories. Somewhere during the grilling, I raised the seat arm and moved into the middle seat to be next to her."Move back to your own seat," she said firmly.We didn't talk for about fifteen minutes. She was as still as a statue. Finally, she turned.
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