The following work of fiction contains some sexually explicit content (including male-female sexual action). All depicted characters are 18 or older.
SYNOPSIS: Jenny, after spending years without revealing her sexual fantasies to anyone, is forced by a strange woman with mysterious powers to act them out in the presence of her college classmates.
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<B>"Jenny's Diary"</B>
The clock's second hand swooshed past the six again. Two thirty-nine. Jenny wasn't bored, though... she liked math, but at the moment, she was more fascinated with the motion of the hand.
Before too long, she looked back up at Gene, the grad student who was teaching the class, in order to catch up on notes. Even then it was hard not to be distracted, but considering Gene's countenance, that was understandable. He was good-looking, and she respected both his concision and his general charm. His decision to regularly wear a tie was really nice. Jenny listened and wrote, and when she was confident she was safe, she looked back at the clock and allowed her mind to drift again. Every two minutes or so, the cycle restarted.
The second hand, with its hypnotic motion, was only one of two reasons to look in that direction. The second was that the clock was located above Nick. She only knew his first name by overhearing his conversation with a friend, but she liked to think that her knowledge of him exceeded that. She had watched him. His hair always fell perfectly over his forehead, and she really liked the way he smiled when he talked to... well, anyone. He seemed insightful.
She'd heard him say, "oh, hey, Brandon!" and "oh, hey, Franny!" depending on who ended up sitting beside whom. If only he'd say "oh, hey, Jenny!" with that boyish smile of his, and that laugh that made its way into the words he spoke. She had imagined him saying that to her. Indeed, she had imagined somewhat more than that.
As she looked at him, she imagined the feeling of a feather inside her right running shoe, firmly licking itself once up the sole of her foot, and endured the sharp sexual feeling it made in her.
That would be a moment for her diary entry tonight. Maybe she would expand on it. Thank goodness she had that diary, or she would have no outlet for this kind of thought. Thank goodness, even further, that it had a lock.
"I believe this is yours," said Gene.
Jenny jumped. How long had she been staring at Nick?
Gene was looking right at her, and somehow, he was holding her diary in his hand.
"It says 'Jennifer Deluca' on the back," he indicated.
Jenny's pulse quickened. Had the diary fallen out of her bag? Thank goodness again for that lock.
"Yes, that's mine; thank you," Jenny uttered.
"Come up here, please, Jennifer," Gene requested.
Jenny's eyes surveyed the situation. She was behind a long table with a half-dozen students on either side, and Gene was standing right in front of her. He could easily have handed it to her instead of bidding her walk all the way out to one side of the room and back.
Very well. She liked the sound of his voice and the way he called her "Jennifer," even if it was only because he didn't know her well. Now she'd be fortunate enough to approach him face-to-face. That would go in her diary too.
Should she walk around the table to the left, or the right? Left would take her toward the door with the clock above it, and she would brush by Nick as she went. She wouldn't embarrass herself like that, so she sidled to the right end of the room, and met Gene at the front.
"Have you been paying attention?" Gene asked her. The room seemed unusually silent. Everybody was watching her, she discovered, as she looked over the class.
"I-- yes. I'm sorry," she said to him. "May I have that back?"
"You're sure you haven't been distracted?" Gene said, holding the diary up, pressing the latch, and swinging the book open.
Jenny was shocked; surely she hadn't forgotten to lock it.
"Hey!!" she shouted sharply and grabbed the book from him, smacking it firmly shut. "Thank you very much," she said smartly, turning back to her seat.
"Jennifer, stop," she heard Gene utter behind her, and her feet gently planted themselves on the ground.
The feeling surprised her. She was deliberately headed for her seat, but it was as though Gene was able to command her feet instead of her, and there she stood.
"Jennifer, let us please be honest," he continued gently. "It's time to share your thoughts with the class."
Jenny managed to turn back to face him in defiance. She had never imagined herself capable of rude comebacks, but she had also never been the target of such condescension. One more comment and she would leave the classroom.
"Stop it," she said, quivering. It came out softly, but the silence in the room had grown even more palpable, and no one misheard.
Gene gestured to a chair by the board. "Come and sit here, Jennifer."
Suddenly, the surprising feeling took Jenny over again. It was terrifying to feel her own feet begin to carry her to the chair. She resisted, trying to tug her legs in the opposite direction as they walked, but found herself unable to do so. She yelped in objection, saying "hey!" again out loud. There was no result.
She felt her body rest itself lightly on the chair, her hands rested palms-down on her diary, and her eyes turn to Gene softly as though seeking his approval. How this was happening, she couldn't afford to think about. She just had to stop it.
"Consider, Jennifer," Gene said. Her eyes were still staring at his, locked there, as he continued.
"You believe you write your own feelings, your own thoughts in their totality, but you don't consider the full picture, Jennifer. And now, you have found yourself here, in front of everybody."
The book, resting under her palms, felt lighter.
"With that book of yours," he said. "That... diary. Locked. What does that lock represent, Jennifer? Is it really your desire to keep those muses secret?"
Jenny's eyes had moved-- of her own will this time-- to the diary, which was now beginning to press upward against her hands. Its cover began to flutter and shake. She impulsively pressed it against her lap, but it pressed back with equal force.
"You've betrayed yourself, Jennifer. You can't keep it up any longer. You want us to know, don't you?"
The diary was so active, now, that Jennifer was hardly able to grasp the diary's cover and spine without her fingers slipping. She clasped as hard as she could. She had never been so desperate.
"Please... make this stop, Gene," she whimpered, and looked up at his eyes sincerely. He didn't move, and returned her look with expectation.
The diary shot sideways in her grasp like a magnet against its twin, then attempted to jump into the air, causing her to stand quickly in order to retain it. It forcefully whipped itself back and forth, dancing her around. Her grasping hands jutted all the way above her head, and her navel-- which she never exposed-- flashed momentarily into full view of the class. Finally, she forced the diary to the ground and held it tightly to her chest.
"Now, Jennifer," announced Gene, "it's time to reconcile."
The diary escaped her arms and zipped into the open air above her.
"No, please!!" Jenny cried. "Please don't--"
At that moment, her diary snapped wide open in mid-air and exploded into the room. Pages flew everywhere. Jenny lost control of her own body. It mimicked the explosion as her arms and legs stretched to full extension, making her a statuesque snow angel, unable to move, watching as students grasped and began to examine the pages as they floated by.
Jenny squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could.
Everything went silent.
Jenny paused, daring not to open her eyes. Seconds passed, and then a quarter of a minute, but nothing happened.
Still with her eyes closed, she felt like she was sitting at a counter, with her head resting on her arms.
Squinting and blinking, she raised her head, and saw her own face in front of her.
It was a mirror, bordered by glowing light bulbs which illuminated her visage. It looked clean, and her hair was tidily pulled behind her ears. She was dressed in a white collared shirt, unlike the one she'd worn to class.
The small dressing room was empty and silent, except for approaching footsteps. They belonged to a young girl now entering the room, wearing a black shirt and a headset with a microphone in front.
"Jenny Deluca, right? You're on in 90 seconds. Come on, now." she said with an inviting smile.
This was a pretty girl with a soft, reassuring face. Not the kind of "pretty" which she so irritated to see overused beneath female Facebook profile pictures by other girls, but genuinely attractive. She knew her. There was no time to think about that, though; she leading her down a hallway by the hand.
"Are you nervous?" the girl said gently. "The first interview is never as bad as you think. The words will come right to you. And you look very attractive."
The return compliment flattered her to the extent that she was able to concentrate on it. It wasn't a far extent. She was presently ushered toward a door marked "studio entrance."
"Oh, I'm Melanie," the girl finally said.
"I know," said Jenny pensively, trying to recall from where.
A voice came from behind the studio door, and Melanie thrust her through it easily. Everything was moving so fast.
"... To welcome our guest, Jennifer Deluca," was all Jenny heard as the examined her situation. She was walking up to what appeared to be a news anchor's desk in a full-fledged studio. A cityscape background stretched behind her back, and on the downstage side of the desk, three cameramen manned large apparatuses, interspersed with a few other headset-wearing, staffpeople.
The welcome had come from the man sitting at the desk. As Jenny stumbled to the empty seat opposite him, she recognized him as well. He reminded her of someone she had had a crush on half-a-year ago. The similarity was enough to attract her to him slightly, and she tried to harness the feeling and calm herself, if that was possible.
"Pleased to see you here, Jennifer," he said with a smile. "May I call you Jenny?"
"Um... sure," she said, smiling nervously back. She had nothing prepared, but apparently she was on the news, or a talk show. Whatever it was, she dared not ask any questions; she was still stupefied, and apparently, she was about to wing an interview.
"So, you go to school at Barberra College?"
The question came as a great relief; if she was only here to answer questions, then she wouldn't risk alluding to her own cluelessness.
"Yes, I'm a sophomore there," she said back to him.
"Are you pleased with the classes?"
"Oh, yes," she said, brightening. "I'm in Art History, Anthropology, and Calculus for general requirements. They're not related to my major, but I'm actually enjoying all three of them."
"The professors are highly-rated regionally. What do you think of them?"
"They're good. I especially like the grad student, actually, who teaches my math class, mainly because I think he's really cute. I've fantasized about him a lot."
Jenny suddenly stopped. Everything was silent. She performed a mental double-take to verify that she had truly spoken those words.
She had not imagined it was possible, but no... it was true. She looked at her interviewer momentarily, but quickly averted her gaze to one of the cameras with pressed lips.
Her cheeks burned. Never at any time would she have said anything like that, in public or in private. Her cheeks flared brightly.
"I-- I didn't mean... I mean..." she stuttered. She considered trying to rephrase her thought, but there was no synonym for "fantasized" which could possibly undo the damage.
"It's all right, Jenny," said the man gently. "That's what you're here to talk about, after all."
She looked at him.
"... What?"
"Everybody fantasizes, Jenny," he said. "You must know that."
"Well... of course, I suppose. It's just that I have some really serious sexual fetishes, and I'm really embarrassed to talk about them."
Jenny stopped again, breathless in disbelief. It was impossible that she uttered words which, until then, had only swum within the confines of her mind. And yes, she had said them with a straight face and in the most casual manner.
Jenny found herself looking directly into another of the cameras. One dark-haired woman standing beside it, with dark-rimmed glasses and a pen pressed to her lower lip, watched with intense anticipation as Jenny felt herself take another inward breath in preparation to speak. She willed herself to freeze, not to say anything. But she felt her tongue, her own tongue, press itself lazily under her front teeth as if to mock her effort to stop it, ready to form a "th" sound at its own discretion.
"The main fetish is tickling," Jenny said. "It's completely embarrassing to talk about it, like I said, but I fantasize-- I mean, I've fantasized for a long time-- about being completely helpless and having someone really understand what it feels like for me to be helpless. They would really... you know, like having me in that position, and they'd love how easily they could control me by... well, by tickling me, in this case."
No sooner had her lips formed the final sound than Jenny was once again in full control of her body. But by that time, her state had changed. She had felt her body respond to her own confession. With each word, her pulse had increased, her skin tightened. Her blushing cheeks were reflective of arousal as well as embarrassment. None of this, though, she intended to reveal. She feared that she was no longer sure what she would reveal, but she was optimistic, and redoubled her effort to stop whatever was happening to her.
And only seconds after she regained her own will, she felt the same dreaded feeling that her body was about to betray her once again. She tried as hard as she could to wrench it out of its poised position, to bite her tongue to keep it from humiliating her any further.
"I love the idea of having, for example," she explained with calm dignity directly to the face of her interviewer," my arms stretched above my head, and someone tickling them lightly. I would be able to try to resist, but they would begin tickling under my arms, making me laugh. And... I see being made to laugh as very erotic, because you'd think somebody in a helpless situation would protest, wouldn't you? So, the fact that they could make me smile and laugh, and act like I was enjoying it, really turns me on. In my fantasies I know that they really like me, so I'm trying to keep myself from looking like I enjoy it, but they're making me do it for him. It's like they're forcing me to be sexy for them."
"That's fascinating, Jenny."
Jenny thought that fascinating was not quite the right word, but her emotions had become louder than her thoughts. Her nipples were almost uncomfortably rigid, and her body was tingling. Her pelvis had contracted itself involuntarily several times while she was speaking, and she had recited that entire speech while looking directly into the eyes of her intent host.
"But most of my fantasies involve my feet," she said, looking back at a camera.
Her cheeks accommodated a fresh surge of redness as her lips intoned what, to her, was probably the most sexual word in the English language. She usually avoided saying it, even in normal conversation.
In the moment of silence that followed, Jenny became aware that the eyes of everybody in the room were on her. The woman with the dark-rimmed glasses was still observing with calm detachment and expectation.
"Would you like to explain that?" said the man.
"Well, I never show my feet to anyone, and it's because I feel like they're really sexual. I especially love the idea of someone tickling my feet, especially if they're completely helpless, because... well, a few reasons."
She winced inside, hearing herself imply an intention to elaborate. She felt herself lean back in her chair as though to take a more relaxing position, and the movement stimulated her pelvic area to another contraction. It filled her with a pulse of sexual pleasure that she tried to ignore.
She had also been trying to ignore her feet themselves, hidden behind the desk. It appeared that this would be the end of that consolation as well, as Jenny's hands methodically removed her shoes, and her bare feet placed themselves in front of her on the desk's surface, soles facing directly at one of the cameras. They began to flex systematically as she felt herself speak again.
"First of all, they're especially sensitive. They're another part of you that can be used against you to make you laugh and smile. But also, if someone's tickling your feet, the natural response is to curl your toes. It's pretty much impossible to help, and of course it's not very effective for protecting yourself. Also, I know that a lot of people are turned-on by feet, including a lot of guys, so I fantasize that whoever's tickling my feet is really interested in them sexually... my feet, I mean. So, once again, it's not just that he can make me laugh and everything, but he can also make my feet flex and move for him, even if I'm trying not to reward him at all. My body is turning him on without my consent, if that makes sense."
"All right, let's cut there," came a smooth voice. It was the lady with the dark-rimmed glasses, standing by the camera. "We'll get your sign-off later, Brad."
"Thank you," the host responded coolly. "Oh, and Jenny?"
Jenny looked over timidly, apparently stuck in her reclined position.
"You did well; good job" he said, smiled, and lightly scuttled his fingers up the soles of her feet.
Jenny was severely flustered, but his touch was too deft. She felt him draw the giggle out of her, and she ended up smiling at him, and shyly lowering her eyes, before he squeezed her shoulder and exited.
"Hey, Jenny! Good job!" said a cheerful voice from behind.
It was Melanie, doffing her headset and rubbing Jenny's shoulders with enthusiasm.
"Oh," Jenny said, with none. "Thank you."
"I asked if you were nervous on the way in, remember? I bet you were nervous by the end, weren't you?"
Jenny bit her lip, hoping the blood would drain away from her cheeks, as Melanie walked around and looked at her.
"It's over now. And you'll be glad you did it. I can tell you're not really sad. Just a little embarrassed."
Jenny nodded.
"You know what? I have a tickling fetish too."
Jenny looked at her.
"You do?"
"Yep," said Melanie. "A pretty similar one to yours, it turns out."
"You... you like to be... you mean, helpless? Too?" said Jenny with a certain touch of wonderment.
Melanie nodded slowly.
"Yes," she said. "I enjoyed watching you talk about it. It bordered on touching. I mean emotionally, not..."
"I understand," Jenny affirmed.
"Especially the feet part."
Both were silent. Jenny couldn't respond to this out of self-consciousness. Her own feet were still displaying themselves on the desk in front of her, wiggling idly. Evidently, Melanie's attention had gone there too.
"You still can't stop them, can you?"
Jenny blushed. "I'm trying."
"Valerie did the same thing to me, too, on my first interview," said Melanie.
Jenny noticed that during this conversation, the studio had been vacated by everybody except for the woman in the dark-rimmed glasses. She stood poised, smiling and still watching.
"Thank you for finally introducing me, Mel," she lilted, approaching Jenny slowly. Her face was truly angelic, but authoritative.
"What do you mean, Valerie did the same thing to you?" Jenny whispered to Melanie. "Is she the person who..."
"I'm Valerie," she said softly. "And, yes, I suppose I am, Jenny. Melanie and Brad were right. You did do very well."
Valerie placed the back of her pen firmly in the middle of Jenny's left foot, and swiped it deliberately up the sole, which scrunched reflexively. Jenny anticipated the movement and tried to suppress any response, but was lost in a loud squeal of delight, and her blush returned.
"Cute," said Valerie. "You know, I originally didn't want to have to bring you here, Jenny. Embarrass you like this."
Jenny didn't know what to say, but finally, she may have a source for answers.
"Are you doing this to me?"
"You are doing this to you, Jenny," Valerie responded gently.
"I am not!" Jenny shouted hotly. "Why would you say that? I don't even understand this!"
"You're palpably turned-on right now, Jennifer."
There was silence again. Their gazes were locked in contest, but Jenny dared not respond to that accusation. Her rate of breathing was still high, and the blush around her cheeks was still heavy.
"You are currently sitting," Valerie noted firmly, "at a desk, with your bare feet presented plainly. You have just revealed a string of sexual fetishes, and you are attracted to me. You are palpably turned-on right now."
Jenny was again silent, but the feeling was entirely different. Valerie was certainly beautiful, although Jenny had not considered the strength of any attraction. But when Valerie had said, "you are attracted to me," it had not been a question. When she said, "you are palpably turned-on right now," the same was true, and it made her feel, for the first time, that her game was up. Her clitoris felt like it had bloomed, hidden inside her pants.
Jenny couldn't speak. She felt the most she could do was whimper, but it would have been a revealingly affirmative whimper. She still had more self-control than to make that sound.
"If you didn't want me to tickle your feet, then why would you be exposing them like this, Jennifer?"
Suddenly, both of Jenny's feet sprang into full flexion. Her toes pulled themselves back as if in professional-grade restraints, and waited there. Valerie observed, and smirked.
"I'm going to tickle your bare feet now, cute little girl," she cooed.
Her fingernails slowly teased the soles like lazy fireflies. Jenny felt inebriated, and her feet remained perfectly still. Valerie's nails expanded their exploration until they danced perfectly around the entire area of their undersides. Jenny lost all composure. She sang in full involuntary glee at the sensation. All her energy was focused on tugging herself out of reach, but her feet remained planted on the desk as Valerie continued to abuse their sensitivity.
"You see, Jennifer?" Valerie spoke. "There is nothing that you want more."
"Hey, stop it, okay?! Please, please!!" Jenny managed among constant laughter.
"I know you better than you know yourself, Jennifer Deluca," Valerie said. Her nails were centralized underneath her toes, and she proceeded to stimulate the area constantly without interruption by what would normally have been the defensive reflexes of her feet.
"You are mine, Jenny. You are going to give yourself to me."
Suddenly, Jenny felt a terrifying sexual sensation. Her clitoris was being stimulated smoothly, firmly, and rapidly. Jenny gasped sharply. The gasp was cut off by her laughter and came out as more of a hiccough. Jenny tried to search for the source of the feeling, but she could feel nothing-- no hand, no object-- between her legs, but the sensation persisted. Jenny had brought herself to orgasm many times in privacy, but never in the presence of a witness.
"Please!! I beg you, stop!!" Jenny managed again before her own delighted squeals drowned the words out again. It was hopeless; Valerie had turned Jenny into an organism dedicated to the display of her own sensitivity and sexuality. Her face was controlled at one moment by Valerie's manipulation of her feet, producing broad smiles and repeated shrieks, and then quickly dominated by the sexual stimulation to her clitoris, which caused her eyebrows to tighten and forced her to inhale sharply.
Her hips ground against the chair, and when her eyes were not obfuscated by tears, she saw Valerie's gorgeous face between her own tensely splayed feet. She could only imagine how devastatingly erotic this picture looked from Valerie's perspective. This thought aroused her most of all and strengthened the effect of the stimulation to her clitoris.
She felt like she was about to orgasm, anticipating the unbearable level of humiliation that that would entail. She tried to clench her thighs together and plant her bottom into the seat, but neither had any effect.
She began to moan through her teeth as Valerie's fingernails dragged in tandem up her soles, knowing she was inches away from involuntarily displaying her full sexual response. With all her power, she tried to focus and resist. She held her eyes tightly shut.
And then... finally...
Suddenly...
... Everything left her in silence and darkness. There was no sensation, and there were no voices.
It had all stopped.
Jenny caught her breath and opened her eyes.
It was evening.
There were wooden floorboards and furniture. A diamond-shaped rug lay in the centre of the room, and a fire flickered from the wall. She, herself, was wearing her own casual clothes.
Compelled to investigate, Jenny stood slowly, approaching a window. She found what she expected: trees, stretching into the distance and highlighted by moonlight, as in a painting.
After a moment, she regained her thoughts and turned back to the empty room.
"Hello?" she said out loud, stepping into the middle of the room. The fire was the only source of light, and all exits were dark. Even the low noise of clocks or electrical appliances was not to be heard. She waited and listened for any response, but there was none.
"Valerie, I know you can hear me," she said, not sure whether it was true.
"Maybe, maybe not," said a sudden voice from behind her, making her jump and spin around quickly. It had not been Valerie's voice. It was Melanie, and the sight of her friendly face relaxed Jenny.
"Sorry," said Melanie, smiling.
"It's all right," responded Jenny with ingratiation. There was a moment of silence as they regarded each other. Neither knew what to say. So, without any words, Jenny stepped forward and hugged Melanie tightly, and Melanie hugged her back.
Ten minutes later, the two of them sat facing each other on the rug, chatting. Having been convinced that Melanie was almost as uninformed about her surroundings, Jenny had begun to question her about Valerie.
"So, she really... made me do that, all by herself?" Jenny asked with astonishment.
"Yeah," said Melanie, biting her lip afterward.
"But how does she do it? That was really..."
"Humiliating?"
"Unfair!"
"And you liked it."
"I..."
Jenny went silent in thought for a moment.
"I'm all right saying it to you," started Jenny, "because I feel like I can trust you, Mel. But I don't ever say these things to anybody. It sounds... foreign for me even to hear myself talk about... what... turns me..."
"I know," said Melanie. Her face was soft and reassuring, and she rested her hand on Jenny's knee.
"You actually came up to me while it was happening," Jenny said. "You told me you understood, and I really appreciated that. But Valerie shares nothing."
"I think it's her nature," speculated Mel, crinkling her nose. "Who needs to share their feelings when they can control everyone?"
"Does she... control you, too?" Jenny said with a sudden inner thrill. The thought of seeing Melanie in the same helpless position at the desk turned her on immensely, but she held it inside.
"I'm really myself, if that's what you mean. I'm Mel."
"I didn't mean that. I mean, has she ever... made you do things, like the way she made me put my..."
Jenny paused and blushed, thinking of how to avoid the word. But it was all right. She was with Mel.
"... my feet up on the desk, like that."
"Yes, she has," Melanie said. "That's why I know what it's like. She can do it any time she wants. To either of us."
"But how? What is this whole place?" said Jenny, raising her voice and speaking to the ceiling. "Ever since--"
Jenny stopped silent.
"What is it?" asked Melanie with concern.
"I think I might understand," said Jenny. "I got up and went to school this morning. I was in math earlier today. I had forgotten about that. But up to that point, everything seemed... normal."
Melanie regarded her closely.
"And the host of that... news show... and the staffpeople who were there... they were all from my math class. And you! You're in my class! That's where I know you from!"
Melanie blinked with astonishment.
"What do you mean?" she asked, but Jenny was still following her train of thought.
"But Valerie isn't," she said, her eyes lightening. "Maybe that's a clue to what's going on here. Doesn't that seem strange to you, that Valerie's the only one here who isn't in class with us? What if she brought us all here somehow, and now she's just manipulating us? What if she has some sort of power, and we can... find out where it's coming from?"
"I... never thought of that, Jenny," Melanie said, appearing to consider along with her.
"But you've been here longer than I have, haven't you, Mel? How long?"
"Uh..." murmured Mel, her eyes moving to one corner. "A while. It's vague, isn't it?" she said mildly.
"So, what do we do?" said Jenny with increasing energy. We can't just let her keep us here like this. We have to... beat her. Well, don't you think?"
"How can we?" said Melanie, blushing a little herself. "If we did anything to stop her, she could just... I mean, take us over. It would be risky, wouldn't it? She can make you do things that you can't even--"
Melanie stopped as Jenny noticed the fear in her eyes. But she was determined.
"I think we can do it," she said narrowly. "If she's so interested in toying with us, then she'll have to show up again sooner or later."
"She could be watching us now," said Melanie.
"... Maybe. And maybe not, Mel," said Jenny, unhindered. "What good does it do to worry about it?"
Melanie paused for a moment, then sighed.
"How can you be that brave, Jenny?" Melanie asked. "I was taking care of you not long ago."
"I know," said Jenny. "You were there for me. It helped that you told me that you like... I mean... those kinds of things too," Jenny stuttered, finding it difficult to say certain words without blushing again.
"You can say it, Jenny."
"Well, I... don't know what to say." Jenny was remembering some of the words she had been forced to say with such disregard for her own dignity, and her heart was already quickening. This time it beat in the silence of the room, broken only by the occasional crack from the fire, and it seemed almost audible.
"May I, Jenny?"
Jenny's eyes widened as she saw Melanie's hands resting on her ankle.
"May I? Do you trust me?" Melanie asked again.
Jenny nodded timidly for a second, nodding slightly faster at the end of it.
Melanie smiled slightly, and Jenny noticed how the curves of her face were beautifully accentuated by the firelight, and the rest by the moonlight, as Melanie carefully slid her shoes off her feet, and then pulled off each sock. She held both feet on her lap, examining them with caring interest.
"They're beautiful, Jenny."
Jenny blushed at the compliment. Melanie looked directly at her as if to ascertain permission to explore further, and Jenny's eyes confirmed that she had already gained Melanie's trust. Melanie smiled with that precious knowledge.
"Tickle, tickle..."
Jenny squinted feverishly, smiling with childish stupidity, as her shoulders tensed. Though her eyes were shut, she knew that she had just treated Mel to a view of her bare feet clenching involuntarily, and it thrilled her.
"Aww..." said Melanie lovingly, and Jenny felt one set of fingernails slide up the side of each foot, and her body spasmed. Her own voice produced a giddy squeak like a violin.
"Jenny..." Mel said softly.
Jenny remained silent and clenched her eyes.
"Jenny," Mel repeated.
Jenny opened her eyes and looked at her.
"I'm going to make you laugh," Mel said.
Jenny smiled nervously, feeling positively lighthearted, as Mel secured her ankles between her legs, and proceeded to stimulate the soles of Jenny's bare feet continuously.
"Aaah-haha!" Jenny started, and instinctively tried to yank at her legs.
"You like that, Jenny? If you didn't like it, you wouldn't be... smiling for me, would you?"
As her body spasmed in distress, Jenny felt in ecstasy as her cheeks tensed to their practical limit. In the therapeutic company of Melanie, she had relaxed enough that her laughter was free and goofy, but it was still embarrassing to witness it through her own ears, and there was no stopping it. The laser-like feelings of Melanie's nails on her feet were unbearable, and she was genuinely struggling to get away, but Melanie was too good.
"I told you they were beautiful, Jenny... just like you are."
Jenny was touched by her earnestness, but it almost certainly didn't show amid her profoundly surrendered state. Now, Melanie had released her ankles and hopped above her. Jenny was too weak to move, and she lost hope of relief as she felt Melanie's Machiavellian hands invading the curves of her upper body.
Jenny continued observing her own helplessness, feeling Melanie operate like a lithe weaver under her left arm and her right breast simultaneously... or, more like an unweaver, whose profession it was to pull apart defenses. What Melanie saw as she worked, Jenny tried to imagine. Her strained mouth was slightly open and wide in joy, and her lungs pulsed rapidly as though to expel air that wasn't available.
"You're such a ticklish girl, Jenny..." said Melanie, and then brought her lips so close to Jenny's ear that the warmth of her face was easily felt.
"And I know you love this."
Jenny felt as though she was dying, and did so fearlessly, as Melanie took her time using her nails to flick and lull her in and out of fits of happy reflexes, and occasionally whispering such perfect things in Jenny's ear that, had Jenny not known better, she might have suspected Melanie could read her mind.
Later that evening, after the fire had dimmed and the evening turned from twilight to stars, Melanie and Jenny lay side-by-side on the rug.
"There is something that I've wanted to tell someone," said Jenny boldly, imposing upon what had been a lilting web of idle thoughts.
"What is that?" said Melanie, looking at the ceiling.
"Nick."
Melanie raised her eyebrows and turned her head to smile at her friend with intrigue.
"Nick from class?" asked Mel, and Jenny nodded.
"He's amazing, don't you think? He's so cute. And really-- I mean, I'm not trying to be shallow."
"No, no..." reassured Mel.
"I mean, he's nice. He's a really nice guy."
Melanie examined Jenny's expression closely, narrowing her eyes while doing so.
"What?" Jenny said, smiling guiltily.
"Shhh," sounded Melanie softly.
Soon afterward, they fell asleep to the occasional crackle and the sound of cicadas, singing outside without a care.
* * * * *
Jenny began to wake up. Her arms and legs were a little stiff, but she was able to stretch out in her chair. She gripped its wooden arms tightly and squeezed her shoulders tightly before relaxing back into it.
"Jennifer Deluca?" said a voice, and she opened her eyes in surprise. Several chairs lined the walls, and a coffee table was out in its carpeted middle, covered haphazardly with magazines.
"I'm Jennifer," said Jenny to the well-dressed lady who approached her.
"This way, please," said the lady. The invitation was so natural that soon Jenny was being lead through a grey, carpeted corridor without questions. But she remembered the cabin, and Melanie, and began to look with scrutiny upon her escort, becoming was fairly certain that this lady, too, was one of her classmates.
"Have a seat in there, and the doctor will be right with you, Jennifer," said the lady gently, pointing her through one of the hallway's doors.
The door closed behind her. The room did appear to be an examination room. A scale stood in one corner, a counter stood behind her supporting a jar of tongue depressors and other objects, anatomical posters graced the walls, and she had immediately felt the crumply give of the examination table she sat on.
A taller, black-haired woman entered in a white coat, holding a clipboard, and wearing a stethoscope. Jenny could see that it was Valerie, and stood on guard.
"Good morning, Jenny," Valerie said kindly, holding her pen briefly to her lips and heading to the counter.
"Um... good morning," Jenny said in return. She was filling with anger at seeing the woman in person again, second-guessing what malevolence she might have planned. She had imagined that she would have yelled at her, but finding herself on an examination table, wearing a yellow t-shirt and denim shorts, socks and running shoes, she was suddenly overcome with the feeling that it would be inappropriate to speak harshly in the presence of a doctor.
But... why on earth not? She cursed herself for being influenced by that. Surely this was all Valerie's design.
"All right, Jenny," said Valerie, turning back around with her eyes still on her clipboard. "Go ahead and undress down to your underwear for me."
Jenny's eyes widened in surprise at the instruction. Valerie was unscrupulous, but Jenny had never imagined she would actually ask her to take her clothes off. She jumped off the examination table, and stood on the floor, straightening her spine in defiance.
"I will not do that," said Jenny firmly.
Valerie tilted her head and smiled genuinely. "Jenny, you are the sweetest thing. You really are. Do you need me to give you a hand?"
The moment Valerie said "hand," Jenny's own hand shot effortlessly into the centre of her field of vision and held itself there. The fingers wiggled dexterously in midair.
"Oh," Valerie said, "it seems like you have a perfectly good one already. In fact, I think you might even have... two."
Jenny's other hand joined the first, hovering in front of her face.
"Five, four, three..." Valerie said matter-of-factly.
"Valerie, please..." Jenny interrupted with desperation, suddenly willing to negotiate.
"Two, one!"
With no consideration for her own nervousness, Jenny's hands tucked themselves into the arms of her t-shirt, and pulled the garment off slowly. The process was theatrical. It was as though her own hands intended to tease her, elongating the moment during which her navel, and then her bra, was revealed to Valerie's observation. Once the shirt was folded and placed neatly on the floor, Jenny felt herself hop back onto the examination table. Her hands once again unlaced and removed her shoes and socks, leaving them beside the shirt. Jenny had been trying to look unenthused in continued defiance, but each hand suddenly tickled the sole of the opposite foot for a brief interval, making it flex responsively and forcing a snicker through her nose as her lips scrunched.
Finally, the shorts were unbuttoned with languor, and added to the other garments. Having completed her sequence of involuntary actions, Jenny found herself sitting in a position of obedient attention on the table, retaining nothing but her underwear.
"Thank you, Jennifer," Valerie said with a calm smile. "Now, let's check your heart," she said, raising the bell of her stethoscope.
Jenny sat still, feeling her own will once again assert itself on her body.
"I'll need you to take your bra off for this, Jennifer."
"No!" Jenny almost shouted.
There was a moment of silence between them, and Jenny's courage was coming back to her.
"I know what you think you're doing," said Jenny. "I know that you can control everyone you bring here, wherever this is. You need to stop it! It's not fair, and it's not... right!" Her face flushed with pride at her ability to finally mount a confrontation.
"You can control me if you must," Jenny continued. "I don't know how to stop it. It's not my fault I'm here. But I will resist you with all of my power, no matter what you do."
Valerie took a calm breath.
"Jennifer, don't you see?" she asked slowly. "You give me permission. Don't try to be a hero. The more you resist, the more power you give me."
"You... fucking liar," Jenny hissed quietly, genuinely surprising herself. She had never sworn at anyone before, and she realized that this must have been the truly passionate occasion for which she had been saving the word. She had said it softly, part of her hoping that Valerie wouldn't hear it.
She had. Valerie's eyes made immediate contact with hers, catching her, and Jenny was suddenly terrified of what would happen.
"I'm sorry," she said desperately.
She winced, expecting Valerie to lash out. But nothing happened, and it calmed her to see that Valerie's face had relaxed and was smiling.
"The more you resist," repeated Valerie softly, "the more power you give me."
Then, without warning, Jenny's private area was subject to a surge of deep pleasure more pronounced than anything she had ever experienced. She threw her head back and moaned loudly, which was something she never did, even while masturbating alone. Her pelvis contracted tightly and thrust itself almost off the table, clenching hard, unable to relax.
Her body held the position helplessly, tense and shuddering, as Valerie approached her closely and twiddled her fingernails under her chin, cooing her.
"Just keep it up, sweet little girl, if that's what you want."
Jenny couldn't respond. Her upper teeth were pressed firmly into her lower lip, and she was focused entirely on stifling her own cries of pleasure, which were muffled into animal-like whimpers.
"Now..." Valerie purred, tracing one finger around Jenny's ear, "let's get that bra off."
The tracing finger continued down Jenny's neck and proceeded down her back, until it met the other hand and began to help it undo the clip at the back of Jenny's garment.
Jenny couldn't even pronounce the word "no." As soon as she began to open her mouth, she became petrified that another gratuitous moan would escape her, and she was compelled to seal it shut. Her hands were tightly clamped around the edges of the table. Her toes were perpetually splayed, except between occasional spasmodic contractions.
Valerie lifted the bra from Jenny's breasts, leaving them freshly exposed and shaking in the open air, as Jenny continued to try to calm her own gyrations.
"That's better," Valerie said. "And your nipples are responding nicely too, aren't they?"
One hand to each breast, Valerie's fingernails encircled Jenny's nipples and flicked at them lightly. Jenny instantly inhaled sharply through her teeth and winced.
"Oh, Jenny..." said Valerie. "You're not going to have an orgasm in front of me, are you?"
However malevolent she was, Valerie understood what was happening to Jenny. As soon as her nipples were stimulated, Jenny had realized that orgasm was approaching. Valerie then placed one thumb and forefinger around each of Jenny's nipples and squeezed firmly.
"Unnnggh!!" Jenny moaned, unable to repress the primal sound.
"Oh, poor Jenny. It's all right. You can't help it, can you?" Valerie teased with mock sympathy, rotating Jenny's nipples.
Jenny was now in helpless sexual paralysis, gasping and grunting and spasming against the air with a face of supremely desperate exertion. She bucketed toward her orgasm, trying to deny its inevitability.
And just as she neared the precipice, Valerie lowered her hands, and everything stopped.
"Now, stand up straight," Valerie ordered. Jenny, against her will, immediately hopped off the table and stood with her legs slightly apart, her arms clasped behind her, and her chest protruding as though she was purposely displaying it. Valerie donned the stethoscope and applied the bell to it, listening carefully.
"I can hear your heart perfectly," she said, smirking, "although your heart rate is very quick. Have you been exerting yourself somehow? We're going to need to measure that heart rate properly, so we should get you on the treadmill," Valerie informed her.
In a moment, still unable to deter her body's cooperation, Jenny was lead by the hand into a circular side-room centred around a stationary treadmill. Her feet stepped onto the clean, black surface of the machine, which felt smooth and slightly cushy under them. Amid the low light level, large windows surrounded the room which were pitch dark on the other side.
"Just relax and enjoy the program," said Valerie. She then turned to exit, closing the door behind her, and leaving the room dark and quiet.
With a loud noise, the entire floor surrounding the treadmill fell away. In sudden fright, Jenny peered downward into what had already become a deep black hole all around her.
Then, the room's lights activated, and the treadmill's surface began to move. Her fear of heights took over, and in a moment she was instinctively facing forward and walking briskly to maintain her position.
The lighting level increased. It was now apparent that the circular walls of this chamber were transparent, and smartly-dressed figures were seen peruse the outer corridor. Some wore button-up shirts and ties, and some had white coats. Many had clipboards. All of them were her classmates. They strolled past, stopping to peer through the windows and observe her. None seemed to recognize her face, but their observations were intent, as though Jenny's situation was an article of some intrigue. Jenny herself, now feeling trapped and devastated, tried to cover her breasts with her arms and focus on the far wall as she walked in place.
More spectators congregated outside the windows, chatting to each other in groups while keeping an eye on Jenny, who suddenly found it necessary to jog in order to keep up with the treadmill, and soon, to run quite fast.
She tried to conserve her air, breathing with exertion, blushing from the embarrassment, realizing that each plane of her body was flashing in succession, including her feet, her stomach, and now her breasts, which she had to uncover in order to maintain balance.
Then, another figure appeared behind the spectators, pushing to get through. It wasn't long before Jenny recognized Melanie, who was pressing the palms against the glass and regarding her with sympathy.
"Mel!" shouted Jenny.
Melanie winced in frustration, but didn't respond in words. She realized it would have been useless to try.
A sudden flash of light, and the sound of a shutter. It was followed by another bright flash, and then a dozen more, none allowing Jenny the opportunity to hide herself with any success.
A photograph of her naked form in motion-- which must have been taken with one of the flashes-- was projected in front of her. Another appeared on the wall to the side, from a different angle. Several more appeared in different places, highlighting her nakedness in different ways. As the room darkened, Jenny was forced to regard each new picture merely to keep her balance while continuing to gallop on the machine.
Photos of her recent experiences were fed into the show. She saw, for the first time, a wall-sized photograph of herself on the examination table tickling her own foot, and one of her nude body standing at attention while Valerie listened for her heartbeat. Another showed the soles of her feet on the counter of the TV studio, locked in an aroused splay as Valerie teased them, and Jenny's own face distorted in laughter and sexual tension.
Then they faded, Jenny was again left in silent darkness, and the floor had returned. Jenny sought the feeling of the wall behind her for security, and pressed herself against it, widening her eyes, ready for any light source.
Then one appeared, dimly. A very soft spotlight appeared on a figure at the other end of the chamber. A tan figure, pressed against the opposite wall.
The light rose within the chamber, and Jenny froze in greater terror than she had ever experienced. She had realized that there was only one classmate that she had not encountered yet. Here he was.
Nick looked at her, seeming to have no better explanation for this encounter than she did. Not only was he shocked, but he was-- though he tried immediately to hide it-- obviously fascinated to by Jenny's naked body. He had quickly realized that he was completely naked too.
He tried to cover his genitals, which was awkward, because he also seemed to be trying to disguise the embarrassment which motivated him to cover them. His embarrassment was far too plain to be disguised, and Jenny would normally have delighted in it. But now, she was much too mortified to care. Her own naked body was in full view of the boy she considered one of the nicest people she new, and indisputably the most attractive crush she had ever filed in her mind.
She had momentarily glanced at his penis, and had immediately felt guilty for it, so she looked into his eyes. He was looking at her, and had presumably seen her looking at his genitals. She immediately glanced at the ground, wholly embarrased. One of her own hands weakly shielded her own genitalia from view, and she tried to use her other arm to cover her breasts with compromised success.
The silence weighed heavily. A few seconds became fifteen seconds, and then almost a full minute had passed without either of them daring to meet the gaze of the other. It seemed to Jenny that they might be stuck in this situation indefinitely.
Then, something happened. Jenny's eyes slowly lifted themselves, and her hands relaxed to her sides. It had happened involuntarily as before, but she had never found herself fighting so hard for control as this time.
"No! Not now!" she almost whimpered under her breath, but even that proved impossible. The relaxation of her arms was effortless, and she found herself staring directly at Nick's eyes. He was staring back at her, and his arms had relaxed too.
The room was pristinely silent and their faces serene, but Jenny's mind was swimming with panicked calculations. Her heart quickened to a frenzy. It was apparent, even below her focus on Nick's face, that his exposed testicles were lifting toward his abdomen, and his penis was swiftly rising.
Without her consent, Jenny's eyes focused directly on his penis, which was now floating above his testicles with the buoyancy of a pool toy. Her eyes locked onto Nick's eyes again. She was humiliated at the realization that Nick had seen her glancing at his genitals a second time, but she was consoled somewhat by the sudden redness in Nick's own face.
And then, Jenny (and Nick, too, it seemed,) realized that she once again controlled her own movements, and away as quickly as she could.
She breathed heavily, squinting, ignoring her surroundings and willing herself to disappear.
Then, feeling her control fall away as quickly as it had returned, she turned back to Nick. They stood again, regarding the other's nakedness in silence. Then they both began to pad toward each other, slowly. Just seeing Nick's body approach, aware that her own was so plainly exposed, was affecting her deeply. The skin around her nipples tightened, and her vagina moistened pronouncedly as her bare feet approached him. Nick's own eyes were directed down her body once, and then back up at her eyes, where they remained.
Both bodies planted themselves at attention within two feet of each other, leaving their heart rates palpably quick. Then their arms extended with seeming minds of their own, and began to caress and touch the neck and shoulders of the other. Female hands contoured the biceps and chest, and male fingertips traced underarms, breasts and nipples. Jenny would have shivered visibly-- if she had been able to move-- as her own nipples endured the friction of her counterpart's palms and firmed rapidly beneath them.
Jenny and Nick found their arms encircling the other's body, and in a moment, they were hugging. Jenny felt the head of Nick's penis press against her thigh, and it jumped upwards in response to the pressure. Noses were tucked between ears and necks, and the two bodies fit together in exploratory embrace. Finally, the girl's arms caressed down the boy's forearms and vice-versa, until the fingertips kissed and parted, and all arms were at their owner's sides once again.
Jenny moved the fingers of her right hand voluntarily, and then realized that she had done it herself, and then realized that Nick had just realized that he could move too.
They both suddenly looked at each other, breathing intensely, newly petrified, afraid to say anything as though they no longer knew the same language.
Jenny took a timid step back.
"My friend," said Valerie's voice from behind. "My best friend."
Jenny jumped at the sound, but stood her ground as Valerie walked into view, still wearing the stethoscope. The sight reminded her that she was beyond tolerance of Valerie's games. She had become less fearful of her, and might have spoken out in defiance if she wasn't self-conscious about standing in Nick's view. Nick himself had been startled by Valerie's appearance, and seemed even more flustered than Jenny did.
"I want," said Valerie directly to Jenny, ignoring Nick's confusion. "Why have you expended all your efforts to distance yourself from the phrase? I want."
Valerie clicked her fingers, and Nick's heels suddenly jumped together. His back straightened, and he stood at attention. His penis was still at equal attention, and while Jenny might have liked to dismiss it as comical, she couldn't. She was far too fascinated by the spectacle. Valerie smiled softly.
"You are more stubborn than I could ever have imagined, Jenny. I must admit I'm impressed, in a way."
Valerie examined Nick as though he were a statue. She placed her thumb and forefinger around the head of his penis, squeezing and releasing them as quickly as possible, and Jenny watched as his entire abdomen involuntarily contracted, and his penis jumped sharply on its own. Fresh colour filled Nick's cheeks. Jenny felt a pang of jealousy.
"If you have decided to resist," said Valerie, approaching Jenny lithely, "then resist."
The lights outside the chamber had raised to dim, revealing that the spectators, with their nice clothes and pencils hovering, still watched intently.
"Any last words?" asked Valerie.
Jenny regarded her carefully. Valerie's confidence was so natural and practised that it seemed impossible to damage her ego with words. "I hate you" seemed a tempting thing to spit out, but she would not have been surprised if Valerie simply smirked at that as well. But regardless of anything else, she would, indeed, resist. Always. The thought did, in fact, succeed in calming her, and she felt the pores of her cheeks relax.
"You will never have me," she finally informed Valerie.
"Have you?" Valerie asked, pausing for several seconds.
"... Have you?" she repeated slowly, pulling a torn leaf of lined paper from her coat and holding it in front of her dark-rimmed glasses.
"May twenty-third, two thousand six," she read out loud. "Dear diary--"
"Give that back!" Jenny shouted, swiping violently for the page. Valerie dodged the attack with a backward step and snapped her fingers. Jenny's clawing hand immediately changed its tack and began to stroke her own thighs, beginning above her hips and periodically teasing their insides. She thought she saw a couple of the spectators making notes peripherally. Her other hand was magnetized to her breast, caressing it sensually.
"Dear diary," Valerie continued calmly. "Boy-watching was fun after AP English today. It's sad that I'm going to be graduated soon, because I'll miss some of them, honestly, and they have no idea how much I enjoyed thinking about them."
Valerie lowered the book.
"Boy-watching?" she asked histrionically. "Jennifer Deluca, the shyest person in the class... boy-watches? Nick, were you aware of this?" she asked, turning to the statuesque male who was, if anything, even more aroused by Valerie's ministrations to Jenny.
"I'm sorry, I was distracted," Valerie said, quickly looking back to the page and continuing to read out loud.
"It would be cool if I could have another name, maybe if I moved to a new place and know one knew who I was. I like Jenny because I'm used to it, naturally, but if I wasn't Jenny, the best names would probably be... Vale. Or Valerie."
By the time Valerie had reached the end of the sentence, she had flipped the note toward Jenny, allowing her to read her own writing. Once she had read it, the note was snapped away from her face, and what Jenny saw evoked such surreal astonishment that she felt lightheaded.
Holding the note between her fingers was not the black-haired Valerie, but a person who uncannily resembled Jenny's own reflection in her bathroom mirror.
Jenny was, for the first time in her life, speechless.
"I'm sorry I waited so long to explain," said the figure that faced her. The voice was identical to hers, and it was so unexpected to hear it from outside her own head that she shrieked out loud.
"Shhh," said the figure. "You are..." she said softly, "such a loving person. But I couldn't force myself on you. Either you would decide to accept me, or you would resist until your denial of me broke down."
Jenny blinked in astonishment. The sight of her own face disarmed her, but the figure was right. Everything had started to become clear. Easily clear. Valerie's voice, the lilt of her sentences, had been Jenny's all along, disguised only by the timbre of a stranger.
"You are too weak to resist me now," the figure continued, approaching her. " 'You' and 'me' don't even mean anything anymore. You know that."
The figure waved her hand, and Jenny lost her footing and floated limply in the air like a leaf in a soft breeze. The figure caught her ankle and tickled the sole of her foot lightly. Jenny reacted perfectly, still blushing, and hiding her smile shyly. She felt like she might cry at that moment.
Jenny and Jenny began to float in the air together.
"We have been apart a long time, haven't we?"
"... Yes. For years."
"There's no use in prolonging it, I suppose. You knew this day would come. And now, it will be in the past instead of the future. Imagine what that will be like."
Jenny nodded, and her face was caressed by her counterpart, first by her hand, and then by her cheek. The forehead of one was kissed by the lips of the other, and the apex of Jenny's next breath marked a moment of decision. Her feet touched the ground, and there was silence.
Valerie was gone.
Jenny understood. Everything she had done-- letting her diary fly into the open, placing her feet on the counter in the studio, undressing in the examination room, and dancing with Nick-- she had done herself. She had never lost control of her will. It had been her will all along.
She sighed. Perhaps a minute had passed. Perhaps more, and she sighed again.
She felt serene. And excited. Calm. Empowered.
There was Nick, still standing like a statue.
Let's show him what we've learned, thought Jenny, and approached him slowly.
"Hi, Nick," she said. His pupils dilated slightly.
"I like you. I've liked you a lot, for a long time. And I've never told you," she said, circling him with great care, running her fingernails sweetly around his neck and down his chest.
"I don't compliment people often. So, please, don't take that lightly," she said, letting three fingernails congregate at the base of his penis and running them up to his frenum. The penis jumped forcefully again. If it had relaxed at all, then it quickly stiffened again. She watched it with amusement, and tickled underneath his testicles with the other hand. Unable to laugh or move, he could be seen only to shudder and sweat around his face.
"Let's see if these people would like to make any notes," she said, turning him to face the spectators through the glass wall.
"Do you have the right interests, Nick? Do you think?"
She lay on the ground in his view, lifting her feet up to display their undersides.
"Watch my feet, Nick," she said, causing his eyes to shift and regard them. She purposely flexed and splayed her toes within proximity of his penis, making him watch his own arousal simultaneously, and casually pressed the head with her big toe, eliciting the same sharp response as before.
Once Nick's visible embarrassment had satisfied her, she retracted her feet and stood behind him, ready to whisper in his ear.
"Nick, I'm going to make you have an orgasm now," she pronounced to him. Her arms reached around his body, feeling his strength, still bound by the invisible force. It thrilled her to make him watch her own pretty hand approach his penis without any contest, and caress it. It lurched of its own volition as she gripped his shaft and pulled his skin gently toward his body. That male strength, she began to harness and puppet. Her other hand teased the head of his penis and tickled lightly underneath it.
"I have very ticklish feet, Nick. You should have seen me earlier, when Valerie was tickling the soles of my feet," she whispered. "And I really like to be helpless, and have someone else control me... embarrass me. Do you have any idea what that feels like, Nick?"
Her narrative wit was not lost on Nick. He seemed already to be losing control of himself, immobile as he was, just by the amount of shuddering he exhibited. Jenny's breasts pressed into his back as she watched his penis continue to flex and strain repeatedly. She believed that Nick was still actively resisting any response at all, and she felt incredible knowing that she, through her minute movements, was in control of him.
She began to drag his foreskin up and down over the head of his penis, increasing the speed, able to interpret his responses with confidence.
"Do you want to tickle my bare feet, Nick?" she whispered.
Nick gasped under his breath involuntarily. It wasn't long before his penis, with its urgent and nervous stiffness, told Jenny that the trigger to his sexual climax rested at her whim.
She giggled by his ear, deliberately.
"You're going to ejaculate now," she said, and immediately roughened her manipulation of Nick's foreskin over the head of his penis, feeling it suddenly stiffen. It was a desperate stiffness, once which she knew he could not prevent regardless of his efforts to calm it.
"I asked you..." she cooed, "do you want... to tickle... my... bare... feet?"
The inhumanly stiff penis relaxed suddenly. She cherished the moment. She knew that he couldn't prevent the relaxation either, and it only lasted a split second. It stiffened again with great force, shooting semen directly forward, which splattered opaquely on the glass in front of him. It was augmented by five more splatters in perfect rhythm as Nick's face contorted between determined resistance and helpless ecstasy.
The spectators made several notes.
After Nick had settled down, Jenny helped lay him on the floor and shushed him softly. The floor itself was soft and comfortable as she had thought it should be. His eyes were full of awareness, but he was bewildered and took quickly to resting.
The spectators had dispersed, and Jenny stood and spoke into the quiet darkness.
"Mel."
Silence.
"Yes, Jenny?" came the reply from behind. Jenny turned to regard Melanie, dressed in her usual clothes, watching her back. Jenny might have been ashamed still to be naked, but at the moment, it didn't seem to matter anymore. Melanie regarded her with touched respect, and her lip trembled slightly.
"Thank you. For helping me," Jenny said sincerely. She felt very happy to say it, and Melanie looked truly joyful to hear it.
Jenny waved her hand, and Melanie's own clothes unravelled and fell unhindered to the floor. Melanie looked up at Jenny in surprise, and then with understanding.
"I knew you could do it all along," Melanie said. "All of this was in your mind, wasn't it?"
"I suppose so," said Jenny, smiling. "And that means that... you were in my mind too."
The room was still, but Jenny realized that her time was limited. She was a little conscious of her own eyelids, and now that she had realized it, she couldn't voluntarily ignore it.
"Jenny?" Melanie said. "What is it?"
"Mel!" Jenny said, approaching her and hugging her tightly, trying to collect her words.
"I wish we were friends in real life."
Mel looked at her eyes.
"Who says we can't be? I'm right there, in your class. You can always say hi."
"But I can't--"
"Yes you can. You've learned about that now. And don't forget about him."
Jenny looked at Nick, and then back at Melanie, and smiled slyly for a second.
"I'll miss you, Mel. Do well, all right?"
Melanie hugged her one more time as Jenny's eyes focused on her surroundings.
The second hand swooshed past the six again. The clock on the wall read two forty-one. It had taken three minutes this time; longer than usual.
She checked her bag covertly. Her diary was inside, and its lock was shut.
When Gene had finished the lecture, Jenny stood and sidled behind her classmates toward the door. She was about to pass Nick, who was adding his textbook to his bag. Jenny reflected on her experience, and made an impulsive decision.
"Tickle," she said dispassionately, digging her nails into Nick's sides and then immediately letting go. Nick's reaction was irrefutable; he suddenly twisted and tried to fling her away before he even understood what was going on.
Once she had let go, he turned to look at her. Jenny smiled, then stopped smiling, then walked out the door.
SYNOPSIS: Jenny, after spending years without revealing her sexual fantasies to anyone, is forced by a strange woman with mysterious powers to act them out in the presence of her college classmates.
--------------------
<B>"Jenny's Diary"</B>
The clock's second hand swooshed past the six again. Two thirty-nine. Jenny wasn't bored, though... she liked math, but at the moment, she was more fascinated with the motion of the hand.
Before too long, she looked back up at Gene, the grad student who was teaching the class, in order to catch up on notes. Even then it was hard not to be distracted, but considering Gene's countenance, that was understandable. He was good-looking, and she respected both his concision and his general charm. His decision to regularly wear a tie was really nice. Jenny listened and wrote, and when she was confident she was safe, she looked back at the clock and allowed her mind to drift again. Every two minutes or so, the cycle restarted.
The second hand, with its hypnotic motion, was only one of two reasons to look in that direction. The second was that the clock was located above Nick. She only knew his first name by overhearing his conversation with a friend, but she liked to think that her knowledge of him exceeded that. She had watched him. His hair always fell perfectly over his forehead, and she really liked the way he smiled when he talked to... well, anyone. He seemed insightful.
She'd heard him say, "oh, hey, Brandon!" and "oh, hey, Franny!" depending on who ended up sitting beside whom. If only he'd say "oh, hey, Jenny!" with that boyish smile of his, and that laugh that made its way into the words he spoke. She had imagined him saying that to her. Indeed, she had imagined somewhat more than that.
As she looked at him, she imagined the feeling of a feather inside her right running shoe, firmly licking itself once up the sole of her foot, and endured the sharp sexual feeling it made in her.
That would be a moment for her diary entry tonight. Maybe she would expand on it. Thank goodness she had that diary, or she would have no outlet for this kind of thought. Thank goodness, even further, that it had a lock.
"I believe this is yours," said Gene.
Jenny jumped. How long had she been staring at Nick?
Gene was looking right at her, and somehow, he was holding her diary in his hand.
"It says 'Jennifer Deluca' on the back," he indicated.
Jenny's pulse quickened. Had the diary fallen out of her bag? Thank goodness again for that lock.
"Yes, that's mine; thank you," Jenny uttered.
"Come up here, please, Jennifer," Gene requested.
Jenny's eyes surveyed the situation. She was behind a long table with a half-dozen students on either side, and Gene was standing right in front of her. He could easily have handed it to her instead of bidding her walk all the way out to one side of the room and back.
Very well. She liked the sound of his voice and the way he called her "Jennifer," even if it was only because he didn't know her well. Now she'd be fortunate enough to approach him face-to-face. That would go in her diary too.
Should she walk around the table to the left, or the right? Left would take her toward the door with the clock above it, and she would brush by Nick as she went. She wouldn't embarrass herself like that, so she sidled to the right end of the room, and met Gene at the front.
"Have you been paying attention?" Gene asked her. The room seemed unusually silent. Everybody was watching her, she discovered, as she looked over the class.
"I-- yes. I'm sorry," she said to him. "May I have that back?"
"You're sure you haven't been distracted?" Gene said, holding the diary up, pressing the latch, and swinging the book open.
Jenny was shocked; surely she hadn't forgotten to lock it.
"Hey!!" she shouted sharply and grabbed the book from him, smacking it firmly shut. "Thank you very much," she said smartly, turning back to her seat.
"Jennifer, stop," she heard Gene utter behind her, and her feet gently planted themselves on the ground.
The feeling surprised her. She was deliberately headed for her seat, but it was as though Gene was able to command her feet instead of her, and there she stood.
"Jennifer, let us please be honest," he continued gently. "It's time to share your thoughts with the class."
Jenny managed to turn back to face him in defiance. She had never imagined herself capable of rude comebacks, but she had also never been the target of such condescension. One more comment and she would leave the classroom.
"Stop it," she said, quivering. It came out softly, but the silence in the room had grown even more palpable, and no one misheard.
Gene gestured to a chair by the board. "Come and sit here, Jennifer."
Suddenly, the surprising feeling took Jenny over again. It was terrifying to feel her own feet begin to carry her to the chair. She resisted, trying to tug her legs in the opposite direction as they walked, but found herself unable to do so. She yelped in objection, saying "hey!" again out loud. There was no result.
She felt her body rest itself lightly on the chair, her hands rested palms-down on her diary, and her eyes turn to Gene softly as though seeking his approval. How this was happening, she couldn't afford to think about. She just had to stop it.
"Consider, Jennifer," Gene said. Her eyes were still staring at his, locked there, as he continued.
"You believe you write your own feelings, your own thoughts in their totality, but you don't consider the full picture, Jennifer. And now, you have found yourself here, in front of everybody."
The book, resting under her palms, felt lighter.
"With that book of yours," he said. "That... diary. Locked. What does that lock represent, Jennifer? Is it really your desire to keep those muses secret?"
Jenny's eyes had moved-- of her own will this time-- to the diary, which was now beginning to press upward against her hands. Its cover began to flutter and shake. She impulsively pressed it against her lap, but it pressed back with equal force.
"You've betrayed yourself, Jennifer. You can't keep it up any longer. You want us to know, don't you?"
The diary was so active, now, that Jennifer was hardly able to grasp the diary's cover and spine without her fingers slipping. She clasped as hard as she could. She had never been so desperate.
"Please... make this stop, Gene," she whimpered, and looked up at his eyes sincerely. He didn't move, and returned her look with expectation.
The diary shot sideways in her grasp like a magnet against its twin, then attempted to jump into the air, causing her to stand quickly in order to retain it. It forcefully whipped itself back and forth, dancing her around. Her grasping hands jutted all the way above her head, and her navel-- which she never exposed-- flashed momentarily into full view of the class. Finally, she forced the diary to the ground and held it tightly to her chest.
"Now, Jennifer," announced Gene, "it's time to reconcile."
The diary escaped her arms and zipped into the open air above her.
"No, please!!" Jenny cried. "Please don't--"
At that moment, her diary snapped wide open in mid-air and exploded into the room. Pages flew everywhere. Jenny lost control of her own body. It mimicked the explosion as her arms and legs stretched to full extension, making her a statuesque snow angel, unable to move, watching as students grasped and began to examine the pages as they floated by.
Jenny squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could.
Everything went silent.
Jenny paused, daring not to open her eyes. Seconds passed, and then a quarter of a minute, but nothing happened.
Still with her eyes closed, she felt like she was sitting at a counter, with her head resting on her arms.
Squinting and blinking, she raised her head, and saw her own face in front of her.
It was a mirror, bordered by glowing light bulbs which illuminated her visage. It looked clean, and her hair was tidily pulled behind her ears. She was dressed in a white collared shirt, unlike the one she'd worn to class.
The small dressing room was empty and silent, except for approaching footsteps. They belonged to a young girl now entering the room, wearing a black shirt and a headset with a microphone in front.
"Jenny Deluca, right? You're on in 90 seconds. Come on, now." she said with an inviting smile.
This was a pretty girl with a soft, reassuring face. Not the kind of "pretty" which she so irritated to see overused beneath female Facebook profile pictures by other girls, but genuinely attractive. She knew her. There was no time to think about that, though; she leading her down a hallway by the hand.
"Are you nervous?" the girl said gently. "The first interview is never as bad as you think. The words will come right to you. And you look very attractive."
The return compliment flattered her to the extent that she was able to concentrate on it. It wasn't a far extent. She was presently ushered toward a door marked "studio entrance."
"Oh, I'm Melanie," the girl finally said.
"I know," said Jenny pensively, trying to recall from where.
A voice came from behind the studio door, and Melanie thrust her through it easily. Everything was moving so fast.
"... To welcome our guest, Jennifer Deluca," was all Jenny heard as the examined her situation. She was walking up to what appeared to be a news anchor's desk in a full-fledged studio. A cityscape background stretched behind her back, and on the downstage side of the desk, three cameramen manned large apparatuses, interspersed with a few other headset-wearing, staffpeople.
The welcome had come from the man sitting at the desk. As Jenny stumbled to the empty seat opposite him, she recognized him as well. He reminded her of someone she had had a crush on half-a-year ago. The similarity was enough to attract her to him slightly, and she tried to harness the feeling and calm herself, if that was possible.
"Pleased to see you here, Jennifer," he said with a smile. "May I call you Jenny?"
"Um... sure," she said, smiling nervously back. She had nothing prepared, but apparently she was on the news, or a talk show. Whatever it was, she dared not ask any questions; she was still stupefied, and apparently, she was about to wing an interview.
"So, you go to school at Barberra College?"
The question came as a great relief; if she was only here to answer questions, then she wouldn't risk alluding to her own cluelessness.
"Yes, I'm a sophomore there," she said back to him.
"Are you pleased with the classes?"
"Oh, yes," she said, brightening. "I'm in Art History, Anthropology, and Calculus for general requirements. They're not related to my major, but I'm actually enjoying all three of them."
"The professors are highly-rated regionally. What do you think of them?"
"They're good. I especially like the grad student, actually, who teaches my math class, mainly because I think he's really cute. I've fantasized about him a lot."
Jenny suddenly stopped. Everything was silent. She performed a mental double-take to verify that she had truly spoken those words.
She had not imagined it was possible, but no... it was true. She looked at her interviewer momentarily, but quickly averted her gaze to one of the cameras with pressed lips.
Her cheeks burned. Never at any time would she have said anything like that, in public or in private. Her cheeks flared brightly.
"I-- I didn't mean... I mean..." she stuttered. She considered trying to rephrase her thought, but there was no synonym for "fantasized" which could possibly undo the damage.
"It's all right, Jenny," said the man gently. "That's what you're here to talk about, after all."
She looked at him.
"... What?"
"Everybody fantasizes, Jenny," he said. "You must know that."
"Well... of course, I suppose. It's just that I have some really serious sexual fetishes, and I'm really embarrassed to talk about them."
Jenny stopped again, breathless in disbelief. It was impossible that she uttered words which, until then, had only swum within the confines of her mind. And yes, she had said them with a straight face and in the most casual manner.
Jenny found herself looking directly into another of the cameras. One dark-haired woman standing beside it, with dark-rimmed glasses and a pen pressed to her lower lip, watched with intense anticipation as Jenny felt herself take another inward breath in preparation to speak. She willed herself to freeze, not to say anything. But she felt her tongue, her own tongue, press itself lazily under her front teeth as if to mock her effort to stop it, ready to form a "th" sound at its own discretion.
"The main fetish is tickling," Jenny said. "It's completely embarrassing to talk about it, like I said, but I fantasize-- I mean, I've fantasized for a long time-- about being completely helpless and having someone really understand what it feels like for me to be helpless. They would really... you know, like having me in that position, and they'd love how easily they could control me by... well, by tickling me, in this case."
No sooner had her lips formed the final sound than Jenny was once again in full control of her body. But by that time, her state had changed. She had felt her body respond to her own confession. With each word, her pulse had increased, her skin tightened. Her blushing cheeks were reflective of arousal as well as embarrassment. None of this, though, she intended to reveal. She feared that she was no longer sure what she would reveal, but she was optimistic, and redoubled her effort to stop whatever was happening to her.
And only seconds after she regained her own will, she felt the same dreaded feeling that her body was about to betray her once again. She tried as hard as she could to wrench it out of its poised position, to bite her tongue to keep it from humiliating her any further.
"I love the idea of having, for example," she explained with calm dignity directly to the face of her interviewer," my arms stretched above my head, and someone tickling them lightly. I would be able to try to resist, but they would begin tickling under my arms, making me laugh. And... I see being made to laugh as very erotic, because you'd think somebody in a helpless situation would protest, wouldn't you? So, the fact that they could make me smile and laugh, and act like I was enjoying it, really turns me on. In my fantasies I know that they really like me, so I'm trying to keep myself from looking like I enjoy it, but they're making me do it for him. It's like they're forcing me to be sexy for them."
"That's fascinating, Jenny."
Jenny thought that fascinating was not quite the right word, but her emotions had become louder than her thoughts. Her nipples were almost uncomfortably rigid, and her body was tingling. Her pelvis had contracted itself involuntarily several times while she was speaking, and she had recited that entire speech while looking directly into the eyes of her intent host.
"But most of my fantasies involve my feet," she said, looking back at a camera.
Her cheeks accommodated a fresh surge of redness as her lips intoned what, to her, was probably the most sexual word in the English language. She usually avoided saying it, even in normal conversation.
In the moment of silence that followed, Jenny became aware that the eyes of everybody in the room were on her. The woman with the dark-rimmed glasses was still observing with calm detachment and expectation.
"Would you like to explain that?" said the man.
"Well, I never show my feet to anyone, and it's because I feel like they're really sexual. I especially love the idea of someone tickling my feet, especially if they're completely helpless, because... well, a few reasons."
She winced inside, hearing herself imply an intention to elaborate. She felt herself lean back in her chair as though to take a more relaxing position, and the movement stimulated her pelvic area to another contraction. It filled her with a pulse of sexual pleasure that she tried to ignore.
She had also been trying to ignore her feet themselves, hidden behind the desk. It appeared that this would be the end of that consolation as well, as Jenny's hands methodically removed her shoes, and her bare feet placed themselves in front of her on the desk's surface, soles facing directly at one of the cameras. They began to flex systematically as she felt herself speak again.
"First of all, they're especially sensitive. They're another part of you that can be used against you to make you laugh and smile. But also, if someone's tickling your feet, the natural response is to curl your toes. It's pretty much impossible to help, and of course it's not very effective for protecting yourself. Also, I know that a lot of people are turned-on by feet, including a lot of guys, so I fantasize that whoever's tickling my feet is really interested in them sexually... my feet, I mean. So, once again, it's not just that he can make me laugh and everything, but he can also make my feet flex and move for him, even if I'm trying not to reward him at all. My body is turning him on without my consent, if that makes sense."
"All right, let's cut there," came a smooth voice. It was the lady with the dark-rimmed glasses, standing by the camera. "We'll get your sign-off later, Brad."
"Thank you," the host responded coolly. "Oh, and Jenny?"
Jenny looked over timidly, apparently stuck in her reclined position.
"You did well; good job" he said, smiled, and lightly scuttled his fingers up the soles of her feet.
Jenny was severely flustered, but his touch was too deft. She felt him draw the giggle out of her, and she ended up smiling at him, and shyly lowering her eyes, before he squeezed her shoulder and exited.
"Hey, Jenny! Good job!" said a cheerful voice from behind.
It was Melanie, doffing her headset and rubbing Jenny's shoulders with enthusiasm.
"Oh," Jenny said, with none. "Thank you."
"I asked if you were nervous on the way in, remember? I bet you were nervous by the end, weren't you?"
Jenny bit her lip, hoping the blood would drain away from her cheeks, as Melanie walked around and looked at her.
"It's over now. And you'll be glad you did it. I can tell you're not really sad. Just a little embarrassed."
Jenny nodded.
"You know what? I have a tickling fetish too."
Jenny looked at her.
"You do?"
"Yep," said Melanie. "A pretty similar one to yours, it turns out."
"You... you like to be... you mean, helpless? Too?" said Jenny with a certain touch of wonderment.
Melanie nodded slowly.
"Yes," she said. "I enjoyed watching you talk about it. It bordered on touching. I mean emotionally, not..."
"I understand," Jenny affirmed.
"Especially the feet part."
Both were silent. Jenny couldn't respond to this out of self-consciousness. Her own feet were still displaying themselves on the desk in front of her, wiggling idly. Evidently, Melanie's attention had gone there too.
"You still can't stop them, can you?"
Jenny blushed. "I'm trying."
"Valerie did the same thing to me, too, on my first interview," said Melanie.
Jenny noticed that during this conversation, the studio had been vacated by everybody except for the woman in the dark-rimmed glasses. She stood poised, smiling and still watching.
"Thank you for finally introducing me, Mel," she lilted, approaching Jenny slowly. Her face was truly angelic, but authoritative.
"What do you mean, Valerie did the same thing to you?" Jenny whispered to Melanie. "Is she the person who..."
"I'm Valerie," she said softly. "And, yes, I suppose I am, Jenny. Melanie and Brad were right. You did do very well."
Valerie placed the back of her pen firmly in the middle of Jenny's left foot, and swiped it deliberately up the sole, which scrunched reflexively. Jenny anticipated the movement and tried to suppress any response, but was lost in a loud squeal of delight, and her blush returned.
"Cute," said Valerie. "You know, I originally didn't want to have to bring you here, Jenny. Embarrass you like this."
Jenny didn't know what to say, but finally, she may have a source for answers.
"Are you doing this to me?"
"You are doing this to you, Jenny," Valerie responded gently.
"I am not!" Jenny shouted hotly. "Why would you say that? I don't even understand this!"
"You're palpably turned-on right now, Jennifer."
There was silence again. Their gazes were locked in contest, but Jenny dared not respond to that accusation. Her rate of breathing was still high, and the blush around her cheeks was still heavy.
"You are currently sitting," Valerie noted firmly, "at a desk, with your bare feet presented plainly. You have just revealed a string of sexual fetishes, and you are attracted to me. You are palpably turned-on right now."
Jenny was again silent, but the feeling was entirely different. Valerie was certainly beautiful, although Jenny had not considered the strength of any attraction. But when Valerie had said, "you are attracted to me," it had not been a question. When she said, "you are palpably turned-on right now," the same was true, and it made her feel, for the first time, that her game was up. Her clitoris felt like it had bloomed, hidden inside her pants.
Jenny couldn't speak. She felt the most she could do was whimper, but it would have been a revealingly affirmative whimper. She still had more self-control than to make that sound.
"If you didn't want me to tickle your feet, then why would you be exposing them like this, Jennifer?"
Suddenly, both of Jenny's feet sprang into full flexion. Her toes pulled themselves back as if in professional-grade restraints, and waited there. Valerie observed, and smirked.
"I'm going to tickle your bare feet now, cute little girl," she cooed.
Her fingernails slowly teased the soles like lazy fireflies. Jenny felt inebriated, and her feet remained perfectly still. Valerie's nails expanded their exploration until they danced perfectly around the entire area of their undersides. Jenny lost all composure. She sang in full involuntary glee at the sensation. All her energy was focused on tugging herself out of reach, but her feet remained planted on the desk as Valerie continued to abuse their sensitivity.
"You see, Jennifer?" Valerie spoke. "There is nothing that you want more."
"Hey, stop it, okay?! Please, please!!" Jenny managed among constant laughter.
"I know you better than you know yourself, Jennifer Deluca," Valerie said. Her nails were centralized underneath her toes, and she proceeded to stimulate the area constantly without interruption by what would normally have been the defensive reflexes of her feet.
"You are mine, Jenny. You are going to give yourself to me."
Suddenly, Jenny felt a terrifying sexual sensation. Her clitoris was being stimulated smoothly, firmly, and rapidly. Jenny gasped sharply. The gasp was cut off by her laughter and came out as more of a hiccough. Jenny tried to search for the source of the feeling, but she could feel nothing-- no hand, no object-- between her legs, but the sensation persisted. Jenny had brought herself to orgasm many times in privacy, but never in the presence of a witness.
"Please!! I beg you, stop!!" Jenny managed again before her own delighted squeals drowned the words out again. It was hopeless; Valerie had turned Jenny into an organism dedicated to the display of her own sensitivity and sexuality. Her face was controlled at one moment by Valerie's manipulation of her feet, producing broad smiles and repeated shrieks, and then quickly dominated by the sexual stimulation to her clitoris, which caused her eyebrows to tighten and forced her to inhale sharply.
Her hips ground against the chair, and when her eyes were not obfuscated by tears, she saw Valerie's gorgeous face between her own tensely splayed feet. She could only imagine how devastatingly erotic this picture looked from Valerie's perspective. This thought aroused her most of all and strengthened the effect of the stimulation to her clitoris.
She felt like she was about to orgasm, anticipating the unbearable level of humiliation that that would entail. She tried to clench her thighs together and plant her bottom into the seat, but neither had any effect.
She began to moan through her teeth as Valerie's fingernails dragged in tandem up her soles, knowing she was inches away from involuntarily displaying her full sexual response. With all her power, she tried to focus and resist. She held her eyes tightly shut.
And then... finally...
Suddenly...
... Everything left her in silence and darkness. There was no sensation, and there were no voices.
It had all stopped.
Jenny caught her breath and opened her eyes.
It was evening.
There were wooden floorboards and furniture. A diamond-shaped rug lay in the centre of the room, and a fire flickered from the wall. She, herself, was wearing her own casual clothes.
Compelled to investigate, Jenny stood slowly, approaching a window. She found what she expected: trees, stretching into the distance and highlighted by moonlight, as in a painting.
After a moment, she regained her thoughts and turned back to the empty room.
"Hello?" she said out loud, stepping into the middle of the room. The fire was the only source of light, and all exits were dark. Even the low noise of clocks or electrical appliances was not to be heard. She waited and listened for any response, but there was none.
"Valerie, I know you can hear me," she said, not sure whether it was true.
"Maybe, maybe not," said a sudden voice from behind her, making her jump and spin around quickly. It had not been Valerie's voice. It was Melanie, and the sight of her friendly face relaxed Jenny.
"Sorry," said Melanie, smiling.
"It's all right," responded Jenny with ingratiation. There was a moment of silence as they regarded each other. Neither knew what to say. So, without any words, Jenny stepped forward and hugged Melanie tightly, and Melanie hugged her back.
Ten minutes later, the two of them sat facing each other on the rug, chatting. Having been convinced that Melanie was almost as uninformed about her surroundings, Jenny had begun to question her about Valerie.
"So, she really... made me do that, all by herself?" Jenny asked with astonishment.
"Yeah," said Melanie, biting her lip afterward.
"But how does she do it? That was really..."
"Humiliating?"
"Unfair!"
"And you liked it."
"I..."
Jenny went silent in thought for a moment.
"I'm all right saying it to you," started Jenny, "because I feel like I can trust you, Mel. But I don't ever say these things to anybody. It sounds... foreign for me even to hear myself talk about... what... turns me..."
"I know," said Melanie. Her face was soft and reassuring, and she rested her hand on Jenny's knee.
"You actually came up to me while it was happening," Jenny said. "You told me you understood, and I really appreciated that. But Valerie shares nothing."
"I think it's her nature," speculated Mel, crinkling her nose. "Who needs to share their feelings when they can control everyone?"
"Does she... control you, too?" Jenny said with a sudden inner thrill. The thought of seeing Melanie in the same helpless position at the desk turned her on immensely, but she held it inside.
"I'm really myself, if that's what you mean. I'm Mel."
"I didn't mean that. I mean, has she ever... made you do things, like the way she made me put my..."
Jenny paused and blushed, thinking of how to avoid the word. But it was all right. She was with Mel.
"... my feet up on the desk, like that."
"Yes, she has," Melanie said. "That's why I know what it's like. She can do it any time she wants. To either of us."
"But how? What is this whole place?" said Jenny, raising her voice and speaking to the ceiling. "Ever since--"
Jenny stopped silent.
"What is it?" asked Melanie with concern.
"I think I might understand," said Jenny. "I got up and went to school this morning. I was in math earlier today. I had forgotten about that. But up to that point, everything seemed... normal."
Melanie regarded her closely.
"And the host of that... news show... and the staffpeople who were there... they were all from my math class. And you! You're in my class! That's where I know you from!"
Melanie blinked with astonishment.
"What do you mean?" she asked, but Jenny was still following her train of thought.
"But Valerie isn't," she said, her eyes lightening. "Maybe that's a clue to what's going on here. Doesn't that seem strange to you, that Valerie's the only one here who isn't in class with us? What if she brought us all here somehow, and now she's just manipulating us? What if she has some sort of power, and we can... find out where it's coming from?"
"I... never thought of that, Jenny," Melanie said, appearing to consider along with her.
"But you've been here longer than I have, haven't you, Mel? How long?"
"Uh..." murmured Mel, her eyes moving to one corner. "A while. It's vague, isn't it?" she said mildly.
"So, what do we do?" said Jenny with increasing energy. We can't just let her keep us here like this. We have to... beat her. Well, don't you think?"
"How can we?" said Melanie, blushing a little herself. "If we did anything to stop her, she could just... I mean, take us over. It would be risky, wouldn't it? She can make you do things that you can't even--"
Melanie stopped as Jenny noticed the fear in her eyes. But she was determined.
"I think we can do it," she said narrowly. "If she's so interested in toying with us, then she'll have to show up again sooner or later."
"She could be watching us now," said Melanie.
"... Maybe. And maybe not, Mel," said Jenny, unhindered. "What good does it do to worry about it?"
Melanie paused for a moment, then sighed.
"How can you be that brave, Jenny?" Melanie asked. "I was taking care of you not long ago."
"I know," said Jenny. "You were there for me. It helped that you told me that you like... I mean... those kinds of things too," Jenny stuttered, finding it difficult to say certain words without blushing again.
"You can say it, Jenny."
"Well, I... don't know what to say." Jenny was remembering some of the words she had been forced to say with such disregard for her own dignity, and her heart was already quickening. This time it beat in the silence of the room, broken only by the occasional crack from the fire, and it seemed almost audible.
"May I, Jenny?"
Jenny's eyes widened as she saw Melanie's hands resting on her ankle.
"May I? Do you trust me?" Melanie asked again.
Jenny nodded timidly for a second, nodding slightly faster at the end of it.
Melanie smiled slightly, and Jenny noticed how the curves of her face were beautifully accentuated by the firelight, and the rest by the moonlight, as Melanie carefully slid her shoes off her feet, and then pulled off each sock. She held both feet on her lap, examining them with caring interest.
"They're beautiful, Jenny."
Jenny blushed at the compliment. Melanie looked directly at her as if to ascertain permission to explore further, and Jenny's eyes confirmed that she had already gained Melanie's trust. Melanie smiled with that precious knowledge.
"Tickle, tickle..."
Jenny squinted feverishly, smiling with childish stupidity, as her shoulders tensed. Though her eyes were shut, she knew that she had just treated Mel to a view of her bare feet clenching involuntarily, and it thrilled her.
"Aww..." said Melanie lovingly, and Jenny felt one set of fingernails slide up the side of each foot, and her body spasmed. Her own voice produced a giddy squeak like a violin.
"Jenny..." Mel said softly.
Jenny remained silent and clenched her eyes.
"Jenny," Mel repeated.
Jenny opened her eyes and looked at her.
"I'm going to make you laugh," Mel said.
Jenny smiled nervously, feeling positively lighthearted, as Mel secured her ankles between her legs, and proceeded to stimulate the soles of Jenny's bare feet continuously.
"Aaah-haha!" Jenny started, and instinctively tried to yank at her legs.
"You like that, Jenny? If you didn't like it, you wouldn't be... smiling for me, would you?"
As her body spasmed in distress, Jenny felt in ecstasy as her cheeks tensed to their practical limit. In the therapeutic company of Melanie, she had relaxed enough that her laughter was free and goofy, but it was still embarrassing to witness it through her own ears, and there was no stopping it. The laser-like feelings of Melanie's nails on her feet were unbearable, and she was genuinely struggling to get away, but Melanie was too good.
"I told you they were beautiful, Jenny... just like you are."
Jenny was touched by her earnestness, but it almost certainly didn't show amid her profoundly surrendered state. Now, Melanie had released her ankles and hopped above her. Jenny was too weak to move, and she lost hope of relief as she felt Melanie's Machiavellian hands invading the curves of her upper body.
Jenny continued observing her own helplessness, feeling Melanie operate like a lithe weaver under her left arm and her right breast simultaneously... or, more like an unweaver, whose profession it was to pull apart defenses. What Melanie saw as she worked, Jenny tried to imagine. Her strained mouth was slightly open and wide in joy, and her lungs pulsed rapidly as though to expel air that wasn't available.
"You're such a ticklish girl, Jenny..." said Melanie, and then brought her lips so close to Jenny's ear that the warmth of her face was easily felt.
"And I know you love this."
Jenny felt as though she was dying, and did so fearlessly, as Melanie took her time using her nails to flick and lull her in and out of fits of happy reflexes, and occasionally whispering such perfect things in Jenny's ear that, had Jenny not known better, she might have suspected Melanie could read her mind.
Later that evening, after the fire had dimmed and the evening turned from twilight to stars, Melanie and Jenny lay side-by-side on the rug.
"There is something that I've wanted to tell someone," said Jenny boldly, imposing upon what had been a lilting web of idle thoughts.
"What is that?" said Melanie, looking at the ceiling.
"Nick."
Melanie raised her eyebrows and turned her head to smile at her friend with intrigue.
"Nick from class?" asked Mel, and Jenny nodded.
"He's amazing, don't you think? He's so cute. And really-- I mean, I'm not trying to be shallow."
"No, no..." reassured Mel.
"I mean, he's nice. He's a really nice guy."
Melanie examined Jenny's expression closely, narrowing her eyes while doing so.
"What?" Jenny said, smiling guiltily.
"Shhh," sounded Melanie softly.
Soon afterward, they fell asleep to the occasional crackle and the sound of cicadas, singing outside without a care.
* * * * *
Jenny began to wake up. Her arms and legs were a little stiff, but she was able to stretch out in her chair. She gripped its wooden arms tightly and squeezed her shoulders tightly before relaxing back into it.
"Jennifer Deluca?" said a voice, and she opened her eyes in surprise. Several chairs lined the walls, and a coffee table was out in its carpeted middle, covered haphazardly with magazines.
"I'm Jennifer," said Jenny to the well-dressed lady who approached her.
"This way, please," said the lady. The invitation was so natural that soon Jenny was being lead through a grey, carpeted corridor without questions. But she remembered the cabin, and Melanie, and began to look with scrutiny upon her escort, becoming was fairly certain that this lady, too, was one of her classmates.
"Have a seat in there, and the doctor will be right with you, Jennifer," said the lady gently, pointing her through one of the hallway's doors.
The door closed behind her. The room did appear to be an examination room. A scale stood in one corner, a counter stood behind her supporting a jar of tongue depressors and other objects, anatomical posters graced the walls, and she had immediately felt the crumply give of the examination table she sat on.
A taller, black-haired woman entered in a white coat, holding a clipboard, and wearing a stethoscope. Jenny could see that it was Valerie, and stood on guard.
"Good morning, Jenny," Valerie said kindly, holding her pen briefly to her lips and heading to the counter.
"Um... good morning," Jenny said in return. She was filling with anger at seeing the woman in person again, second-guessing what malevolence she might have planned. She had imagined that she would have yelled at her, but finding herself on an examination table, wearing a yellow t-shirt and denim shorts, socks and running shoes, she was suddenly overcome with the feeling that it would be inappropriate to speak harshly in the presence of a doctor.
But... why on earth not? She cursed herself for being influenced by that. Surely this was all Valerie's design.
"All right, Jenny," said Valerie, turning back around with her eyes still on her clipboard. "Go ahead and undress down to your underwear for me."
Jenny's eyes widened in surprise at the instruction. Valerie was unscrupulous, but Jenny had never imagined she would actually ask her to take her clothes off. She jumped off the examination table, and stood on the floor, straightening her spine in defiance.
"I will not do that," said Jenny firmly.
Valerie tilted her head and smiled genuinely. "Jenny, you are the sweetest thing. You really are. Do you need me to give you a hand?"
The moment Valerie said "hand," Jenny's own hand shot effortlessly into the centre of her field of vision and held itself there. The fingers wiggled dexterously in midair.
"Oh," Valerie said, "it seems like you have a perfectly good one already. In fact, I think you might even have... two."
Jenny's other hand joined the first, hovering in front of her face.
"Five, four, three..." Valerie said matter-of-factly.
"Valerie, please..." Jenny interrupted with desperation, suddenly willing to negotiate.
"Two, one!"
With no consideration for her own nervousness, Jenny's hands tucked themselves into the arms of her t-shirt, and pulled the garment off slowly. The process was theatrical. It was as though her own hands intended to tease her, elongating the moment during which her navel, and then her bra, was revealed to Valerie's observation. Once the shirt was folded and placed neatly on the floor, Jenny felt herself hop back onto the examination table. Her hands once again unlaced and removed her shoes and socks, leaving them beside the shirt. Jenny had been trying to look unenthused in continued defiance, but each hand suddenly tickled the sole of the opposite foot for a brief interval, making it flex responsively and forcing a snicker through her nose as her lips scrunched.
Finally, the shorts were unbuttoned with languor, and added to the other garments. Having completed her sequence of involuntary actions, Jenny found herself sitting in a position of obedient attention on the table, retaining nothing but her underwear.
"Thank you, Jennifer," Valerie said with a calm smile. "Now, let's check your heart," she said, raising the bell of her stethoscope.
Jenny sat still, feeling her own will once again assert itself on her body.
"I'll need you to take your bra off for this, Jennifer."
"No!" Jenny almost shouted.
There was a moment of silence between them, and Jenny's courage was coming back to her.
"I know what you think you're doing," said Jenny. "I know that you can control everyone you bring here, wherever this is. You need to stop it! It's not fair, and it's not... right!" Her face flushed with pride at her ability to finally mount a confrontation.
"You can control me if you must," Jenny continued. "I don't know how to stop it. It's not my fault I'm here. But I will resist you with all of my power, no matter what you do."
Valerie took a calm breath.
"Jennifer, don't you see?" she asked slowly. "You give me permission. Don't try to be a hero. The more you resist, the more power you give me."
"You... fucking liar," Jenny hissed quietly, genuinely surprising herself. She had never sworn at anyone before, and she realized that this must have been the truly passionate occasion for which she had been saving the word. She had said it softly, part of her hoping that Valerie wouldn't hear it.
She had. Valerie's eyes made immediate contact with hers, catching her, and Jenny was suddenly terrified of what would happen.
"I'm sorry," she said desperately.
She winced, expecting Valerie to lash out. But nothing happened, and it calmed her to see that Valerie's face had relaxed and was smiling.
"The more you resist," repeated Valerie softly, "the more power you give me."
Then, without warning, Jenny's private area was subject to a surge of deep pleasure more pronounced than anything she had ever experienced. She threw her head back and moaned loudly, which was something she never did, even while masturbating alone. Her pelvis contracted tightly and thrust itself almost off the table, clenching hard, unable to relax.
Her body held the position helplessly, tense and shuddering, as Valerie approached her closely and twiddled her fingernails under her chin, cooing her.
"Just keep it up, sweet little girl, if that's what you want."
Jenny couldn't respond. Her upper teeth were pressed firmly into her lower lip, and she was focused entirely on stifling her own cries of pleasure, which were muffled into animal-like whimpers.
"Now..." Valerie purred, tracing one finger around Jenny's ear, "let's get that bra off."
The tracing finger continued down Jenny's neck and proceeded down her back, until it met the other hand and began to help it undo the clip at the back of Jenny's garment.
Jenny couldn't even pronounce the word "no." As soon as she began to open her mouth, she became petrified that another gratuitous moan would escape her, and she was compelled to seal it shut. Her hands were tightly clamped around the edges of the table. Her toes were perpetually splayed, except between occasional spasmodic contractions.
Valerie lifted the bra from Jenny's breasts, leaving them freshly exposed and shaking in the open air, as Jenny continued to try to calm her own gyrations.
"That's better," Valerie said. "And your nipples are responding nicely too, aren't they?"
One hand to each breast, Valerie's fingernails encircled Jenny's nipples and flicked at them lightly. Jenny instantly inhaled sharply through her teeth and winced.
"Oh, Jenny..." said Valerie. "You're not going to have an orgasm in front of me, are you?"
However malevolent she was, Valerie understood what was happening to Jenny. As soon as her nipples were stimulated, Jenny had realized that orgasm was approaching. Valerie then placed one thumb and forefinger around each of Jenny's nipples and squeezed firmly.
"Unnnggh!!" Jenny moaned, unable to repress the primal sound.
"Oh, poor Jenny. It's all right. You can't help it, can you?" Valerie teased with mock sympathy, rotating Jenny's nipples.
Jenny was now in helpless sexual paralysis, gasping and grunting and spasming against the air with a face of supremely desperate exertion. She bucketed toward her orgasm, trying to deny its inevitability.
And just as she neared the precipice, Valerie lowered her hands, and everything stopped.
"Now, stand up straight," Valerie ordered. Jenny, against her will, immediately hopped off the table and stood with her legs slightly apart, her arms clasped behind her, and her chest protruding as though she was purposely displaying it. Valerie donned the stethoscope and applied the bell to it, listening carefully.
"I can hear your heart perfectly," she said, smirking, "although your heart rate is very quick. Have you been exerting yourself somehow? We're going to need to measure that heart rate properly, so we should get you on the treadmill," Valerie informed her.
In a moment, still unable to deter her body's cooperation, Jenny was lead by the hand into a circular side-room centred around a stationary treadmill. Her feet stepped onto the clean, black surface of the machine, which felt smooth and slightly cushy under them. Amid the low light level, large windows surrounded the room which were pitch dark on the other side.
"Just relax and enjoy the program," said Valerie. She then turned to exit, closing the door behind her, and leaving the room dark and quiet.
With a loud noise, the entire floor surrounding the treadmill fell away. In sudden fright, Jenny peered downward into what had already become a deep black hole all around her.
Then, the room's lights activated, and the treadmill's surface began to move. Her fear of heights took over, and in a moment she was instinctively facing forward and walking briskly to maintain her position.
The lighting level increased. It was now apparent that the circular walls of this chamber were transparent, and smartly-dressed figures were seen peruse the outer corridor. Some wore button-up shirts and ties, and some had white coats. Many had clipboards. All of them were her classmates. They strolled past, stopping to peer through the windows and observe her. None seemed to recognize her face, but their observations were intent, as though Jenny's situation was an article of some intrigue. Jenny herself, now feeling trapped and devastated, tried to cover her breasts with her arms and focus on the far wall as she walked in place.
More spectators congregated outside the windows, chatting to each other in groups while keeping an eye on Jenny, who suddenly found it necessary to jog in order to keep up with the treadmill, and soon, to run quite fast.
She tried to conserve her air, breathing with exertion, blushing from the embarrassment, realizing that each plane of her body was flashing in succession, including her feet, her stomach, and now her breasts, which she had to uncover in order to maintain balance.
Then, another figure appeared behind the spectators, pushing to get through. It wasn't long before Jenny recognized Melanie, who was pressing the palms against the glass and regarding her with sympathy.
"Mel!" shouted Jenny.
Melanie winced in frustration, but didn't respond in words. She realized it would have been useless to try.
A sudden flash of light, and the sound of a shutter. It was followed by another bright flash, and then a dozen more, none allowing Jenny the opportunity to hide herself with any success.
A photograph of her naked form in motion-- which must have been taken with one of the flashes-- was projected in front of her. Another appeared on the wall to the side, from a different angle. Several more appeared in different places, highlighting her nakedness in different ways. As the room darkened, Jenny was forced to regard each new picture merely to keep her balance while continuing to gallop on the machine.
Photos of her recent experiences were fed into the show. She saw, for the first time, a wall-sized photograph of herself on the examination table tickling her own foot, and one of her nude body standing at attention while Valerie listened for her heartbeat. Another showed the soles of her feet on the counter of the TV studio, locked in an aroused splay as Valerie teased them, and Jenny's own face distorted in laughter and sexual tension.
Then they faded, Jenny was again left in silent darkness, and the floor had returned. Jenny sought the feeling of the wall behind her for security, and pressed herself against it, widening her eyes, ready for any light source.
Then one appeared, dimly. A very soft spotlight appeared on a figure at the other end of the chamber. A tan figure, pressed against the opposite wall.
The light rose within the chamber, and Jenny froze in greater terror than she had ever experienced. She had realized that there was only one classmate that she had not encountered yet. Here he was.
Nick looked at her, seeming to have no better explanation for this encounter than she did. Not only was he shocked, but he was-- though he tried immediately to hide it-- obviously fascinated to by Jenny's naked body. He had quickly realized that he was completely naked too.
He tried to cover his genitals, which was awkward, because he also seemed to be trying to disguise the embarrassment which motivated him to cover them. His embarrassment was far too plain to be disguised, and Jenny would normally have delighted in it. But now, she was much too mortified to care. Her own naked body was in full view of the boy she considered one of the nicest people she new, and indisputably the most attractive crush she had ever filed in her mind.
She had momentarily glanced at his penis, and had immediately felt guilty for it, so she looked into his eyes. He was looking at her, and had presumably seen her looking at his genitals. She immediately glanced at the ground, wholly embarrased. One of her own hands weakly shielded her own genitalia from view, and she tried to use her other arm to cover her breasts with compromised success.
The silence weighed heavily. A few seconds became fifteen seconds, and then almost a full minute had passed without either of them daring to meet the gaze of the other. It seemed to Jenny that they might be stuck in this situation indefinitely.
Then, something happened. Jenny's eyes slowly lifted themselves, and her hands relaxed to her sides. It had happened involuntarily as before, but she had never found herself fighting so hard for control as this time.
"No! Not now!" she almost whimpered under her breath, but even that proved impossible. The relaxation of her arms was effortless, and she found herself staring directly at Nick's eyes. He was staring back at her, and his arms had relaxed too.
The room was pristinely silent and their faces serene, but Jenny's mind was swimming with panicked calculations. Her heart quickened to a frenzy. It was apparent, even below her focus on Nick's face, that his exposed testicles were lifting toward his abdomen, and his penis was swiftly rising.
Without her consent, Jenny's eyes focused directly on his penis, which was now floating above his testicles with the buoyancy of a pool toy. Her eyes locked onto Nick's eyes again. She was humiliated at the realization that Nick had seen her glancing at his genitals a second time, but she was consoled somewhat by the sudden redness in Nick's own face.
And then, Jenny (and Nick, too, it seemed,) realized that she once again controlled her own movements, and away as quickly as she could.
She breathed heavily, squinting, ignoring her surroundings and willing herself to disappear.
Then, feeling her control fall away as quickly as it had returned, she turned back to Nick. They stood again, regarding the other's nakedness in silence. Then they both began to pad toward each other, slowly. Just seeing Nick's body approach, aware that her own was so plainly exposed, was affecting her deeply. The skin around her nipples tightened, and her vagina moistened pronouncedly as her bare feet approached him. Nick's own eyes were directed down her body once, and then back up at her eyes, where they remained.
Both bodies planted themselves at attention within two feet of each other, leaving their heart rates palpably quick. Then their arms extended with seeming minds of their own, and began to caress and touch the neck and shoulders of the other. Female hands contoured the biceps and chest, and male fingertips traced underarms, breasts and nipples. Jenny would have shivered visibly-- if she had been able to move-- as her own nipples endured the friction of her counterpart's palms and firmed rapidly beneath them.
Jenny and Nick found their arms encircling the other's body, and in a moment, they were hugging. Jenny felt the head of Nick's penis press against her thigh, and it jumped upwards in response to the pressure. Noses were tucked between ears and necks, and the two bodies fit together in exploratory embrace. Finally, the girl's arms caressed down the boy's forearms and vice-versa, until the fingertips kissed and parted, and all arms were at their owner's sides once again.
Jenny moved the fingers of her right hand voluntarily, and then realized that she had done it herself, and then realized that Nick had just realized that he could move too.
They both suddenly looked at each other, breathing intensely, newly petrified, afraid to say anything as though they no longer knew the same language.
Jenny took a timid step back.
"My friend," said Valerie's voice from behind. "My best friend."
Jenny jumped at the sound, but stood her ground as Valerie walked into view, still wearing the stethoscope. The sight reminded her that she was beyond tolerance of Valerie's games. She had become less fearful of her, and might have spoken out in defiance if she wasn't self-conscious about standing in Nick's view. Nick himself had been startled by Valerie's appearance, and seemed even more flustered than Jenny did.
"I want," said Valerie directly to Jenny, ignoring Nick's confusion. "Why have you expended all your efforts to distance yourself from the phrase? I want."
Valerie clicked her fingers, and Nick's heels suddenly jumped together. His back straightened, and he stood at attention. His penis was still at equal attention, and while Jenny might have liked to dismiss it as comical, she couldn't. She was far too fascinated by the spectacle. Valerie smiled softly.
"You are more stubborn than I could ever have imagined, Jenny. I must admit I'm impressed, in a way."
Valerie examined Nick as though he were a statue. She placed her thumb and forefinger around the head of his penis, squeezing and releasing them as quickly as possible, and Jenny watched as his entire abdomen involuntarily contracted, and his penis jumped sharply on its own. Fresh colour filled Nick's cheeks. Jenny felt a pang of jealousy.
"If you have decided to resist," said Valerie, approaching Jenny lithely, "then resist."
The lights outside the chamber had raised to dim, revealing that the spectators, with their nice clothes and pencils hovering, still watched intently.
"Any last words?" asked Valerie.
Jenny regarded her carefully. Valerie's confidence was so natural and practised that it seemed impossible to damage her ego with words. "I hate you" seemed a tempting thing to spit out, but she would not have been surprised if Valerie simply smirked at that as well. But regardless of anything else, she would, indeed, resist. Always. The thought did, in fact, succeed in calming her, and she felt the pores of her cheeks relax.
"You will never have me," she finally informed Valerie.
"Have you?" Valerie asked, pausing for several seconds.
"... Have you?" she repeated slowly, pulling a torn leaf of lined paper from her coat and holding it in front of her dark-rimmed glasses.
"May twenty-third, two thousand six," she read out loud. "Dear diary--"
"Give that back!" Jenny shouted, swiping violently for the page. Valerie dodged the attack with a backward step and snapped her fingers. Jenny's clawing hand immediately changed its tack and began to stroke her own thighs, beginning above her hips and periodically teasing their insides. She thought she saw a couple of the spectators making notes peripherally. Her other hand was magnetized to her breast, caressing it sensually.
"Dear diary," Valerie continued calmly. "Boy-watching was fun after AP English today. It's sad that I'm going to be graduated soon, because I'll miss some of them, honestly, and they have no idea how much I enjoyed thinking about them."
Valerie lowered the book.
"Boy-watching?" she asked histrionically. "Jennifer Deluca, the shyest person in the class... boy-watches? Nick, were you aware of this?" she asked, turning to the statuesque male who was, if anything, even more aroused by Valerie's ministrations to Jenny.
"I'm sorry, I was distracted," Valerie said, quickly looking back to the page and continuing to read out loud.
"It would be cool if I could have another name, maybe if I moved to a new place and know one knew who I was. I like Jenny because I'm used to it, naturally, but if I wasn't Jenny, the best names would probably be... Vale. Or Valerie."
By the time Valerie had reached the end of the sentence, she had flipped the note toward Jenny, allowing her to read her own writing. Once she had read it, the note was snapped away from her face, and what Jenny saw evoked such surreal astonishment that she felt lightheaded.
Holding the note between her fingers was not the black-haired Valerie, but a person who uncannily resembled Jenny's own reflection in her bathroom mirror.
Jenny was, for the first time in her life, speechless.
"I'm sorry I waited so long to explain," said the figure that faced her. The voice was identical to hers, and it was so unexpected to hear it from outside her own head that she shrieked out loud.
"Shhh," said the figure. "You are..." she said softly, "such a loving person. But I couldn't force myself on you. Either you would decide to accept me, or you would resist until your denial of me broke down."
Jenny blinked in astonishment. The sight of her own face disarmed her, but the figure was right. Everything had started to become clear. Easily clear. Valerie's voice, the lilt of her sentences, had been Jenny's all along, disguised only by the timbre of a stranger.
"You are too weak to resist me now," the figure continued, approaching her. " 'You' and 'me' don't even mean anything anymore. You know that."
The figure waved her hand, and Jenny lost her footing and floated limply in the air like a leaf in a soft breeze. The figure caught her ankle and tickled the sole of her foot lightly. Jenny reacted perfectly, still blushing, and hiding her smile shyly. She felt like she might cry at that moment.
Jenny and Jenny began to float in the air together.
"We have been apart a long time, haven't we?"
"... Yes. For years."
"There's no use in prolonging it, I suppose. You knew this day would come. And now, it will be in the past instead of the future. Imagine what that will be like."
Jenny nodded, and her face was caressed by her counterpart, first by her hand, and then by her cheek. The forehead of one was kissed by the lips of the other, and the apex of Jenny's next breath marked a moment of decision. Her feet touched the ground, and there was silence.
Valerie was gone.
Jenny understood. Everything she had done-- letting her diary fly into the open, placing her feet on the counter in the studio, undressing in the examination room, and dancing with Nick-- she had done herself. She had never lost control of her will. It had been her will all along.
She sighed. Perhaps a minute had passed. Perhaps more, and she sighed again.
She felt serene. And excited. Calm. Empowered.
There was Nick, still standing like a statue.
Let's show him what we've learned, thought Jenny, and approached him slowly.
"Hi, Nick," she said. His pupils dilated slightly.
"I like you. I've liked you a lot, for a long time. And I've never told you," she said, circling him with great care, running her fingernails sweetly around his neck and down his chest.
"I don't compliment people often. So, please, don't take that lightly," she said, letting three fingernails congregate at the base of his penis and running them up to his frenum. The penis jumped forcefully again. If it had relaxed at all, then it quickly stiffened again. She watched it with amusement, and tickled underneath his testicles with the other hand. Unable to laugh or move, he could be seen only to shudder and sweat around his face.
"Let's see if these people would like to make any notes," she said, turning him to face the spectators through the glass wall.
"Do you have the right interests, Nick? Do you think?"
She lay on the ground in his view, lifting her feet up to display their undersides.
"Watch my feet, Nick," she said, causing his eyes to shift and regard them. She purposely flexed and splayed her toes within proximity of his penis, making him watch his own arousal simultaneously, and casually pressed the head with her big toe, eliciting the same sharp response as before.
Once Nick's visible embarrassment had satisfied her, she retracted her feet and stood behind him, ready to whisper in his ear.
"Nick, I'm going to make you have an orgasm now," she pronounced to him. Her arms reached around his body, feeling his strength, still bound by the invisible force. It thrilled her to make him watch her own pretty hand approach his penis without any contest, and caress it. It lurched of its own volition as she gripped his shaft and pulled his skin gently toward his body. That male strength, she began to harness and puppet. Her other hand teased the head of his penis and tickled lightly underneath it.
"I have very ticklish feet, Nick. You should have seen me earlier, when Valerie was tickling the soles of my feet," she whispered. "And I really like to be helpless, and have someone else control me... embarrass me. Do you have any idea what that feels like, Nick?"
Her narrative wit was not lost on Nick. He seemed already to be losing control of himself, immobile as he was, just by the amount of shuddering he exhibited. Jenny's breasts pressed into his back as she watched his penis continue to flex and strain repeatedly. She believed that Nick was still actively resisting any response at all, and she felt incredible knowing that she, through her minute movements, was in control of him.
She began to drag his foreskin up and down over the head of his penis, increasing the speed, able to interpret his responses with confidence.
"Do you want to tickle my bare feet, Nick?" she whispered.
Nick gasped under his breath involuntarily. It wasn't long before his penis, with its urgent and nervous stiffness, told Jenny that the trigger to his sexual climax rested at her whim.
She giggled by his ear, deliberately.
"You're going to ejaculate now," she said, and immediately roughened her manipulation of Nick's foreskin over the head of his penis, feeling it suddenly stiffen. It was a desperate stiffness, once which she knew he could not prevent regardless of his efforts to calm it.
"I asked you..." she cooed, "do you want... to tickle... my... bare... feet?"
The inhumanly stiff penis relaxed suddenly. She cherished the moment. She knew that he couldn't prevent the relaxation either, and it only lasted a split second. It stiffened again with great force, shooting semen directly forward, which splattered opaquely on the glass in front of him. It was augmented by five more splatters in perfect rhythm as Nick's face contorted between determined resistance and helpless ecstasy.
The spectators made several notes.
After Nick had settled down, Jenny helped lay him on the floor and shushed him softly. The floor itself was soft and comfortable as she had thought it should be. His eyes were full of awareness, but he was bewildered and took quickly to resting.
The spectators had dispersed, and Jenny stood and spoke into the quiet darkness.
"Mel."
Silence.
"Yes, Jenny?" came the reply from behind. Jenny turned to regard Melanie, dressed in her usual clothes, watching her back. Jenny might have been ashamed still to be naked, but at the moment, it didn't seem to matter anymore. Melanie regarded her with touched respect, and her lip trembled slightly.
"Thank you. For helping me," Jenny said sincerely. She felt very happy to say it, and Melanie looked truly joyful to hear it.
Jenny waved her hand, and Melanie's own clothes unravelled and fell unhindered to the floor. Melanie looked up at Jenny in surprise, and then with understanding.
"I knew you could do it all along," Melanie said. "All of this was in your mind, wasn't it?"
"I suppose so," said Jenny, smiling. "And that means that... you were in my mind too."
The room was still, but Jenny realized that her time was limited. She was a little conscious of her own eyelids, and now that she had realized it, she couldn't voluntarily ignore it.
"Jenny?" Melanie said. "What is it?"
"Mel!" Jenny said, approaching her and hugging her tightly, trying to collect her words.
"I wish we were friends in real life."
Mel looked at her eyes.
"Who says we can't be? I'm right there, in your class. You can always say hi."
"But I can't--"
"Yes you can. You've learned about that now. And don't forget about him."
Jenny looked at Nick, and then back at Melanie, and smiled slyly for a second.
"I'll miss you, Mel. Do well, all right?"
Melanie hugged her one more time as Jenny's eyes focused on her surroundings.
The second hand swooshed past the six again. The clock on the wall read two forty-one. It had taken three minutes this time; longer than usual.
She checked her bag covertly. Her diary was inside, and its lock was shut.
When Gene had finished the lecture, Jenny stood and sidled behind her classmates toward the door. She was about to pass Nick, who was adding his textbook to his bag. Jenny reflected on her experience, and made an impulsive decision.
"Tickle," she said dispassionately, digging her nails into Nick's sides and then immediately letting go. Nick's reaction was irrefutable; he suddenly twisted and tried to fling her away before he even understood what was going on.
Once she had let go, he turned to look at her. Jenny smiled, then stopped smiling, then walked out the door.
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Oh my goodness, I love it. You have a real creative flair Coda...I have read a few of your other stories and they are...unorthodox (wc)?? in the subject and the interest of being different. Much thanks for it, thank you 
