PART II
Dahlia nibbled daintily on her little finger as she shuffled back to her office. She had just finished a tutorial class. She was confused: worry and excitement wrestled in her mind. All those dreamy guys looking at her all class. It was, like, such a turn-on.
Dahlia had given them rather a lot to look at. She was wearing one of her playful miniskirts that were rapidly becoming the foundation of her new wardrobe. This one had yellow and green checks, with a ring of floral lace around the hemline. It matched the lace on her pale green tanktop. Her lithesome legs looked exquisite in satiny nylons and snow-white platform sandals.
The sandals were not very efficient. A slow shuffle was the best way to walk. Dahlia wasn’t quite sure why she had decided to dress up. Was she presenting a mature image for her students? She had worn her lab coat to the tutorial but peeled it off the instant she noticed a guy checking out her legs.
The tutorials were not going well. It was increasingly difficult to get the students to take the course seriously. Especially the girls. One cute young thing had actually been sitting in her classmate’s lap when Dahlia came in. The guys in the class were having a great time.
Dahlia herself had not contributed to decorum in the class as much as she might have. The temptation to flirt was ever-present. She got the students settled down a bit by handing back the quiz from the previous week, on which many of them had done quite poorly. When she decided to sit on the desk at the front of the room, she immediately distracted every man in the class. It was fun to watch the guys’s eyes drop every time she crossed her knees.
Dahlia took her finger out of her mouth and scolded herself yet again for sucking on it. She would have to get a lollipop when she got back to her office. This was all so odd.
She had been concerned enough about the silly indifference of her students to go see Prof. Edmonds about it. He told her not to worry, freshmen tended to be a little wild. He had his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair and chewing gum while they chatted. Dahlia had been wearing one of her stretch pants and crop-top combos, which accounted for the professor’s roving eyes.
Dahlia couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. The freshmen in her tutorials were about five years younger than her, and decades less mature. After two hours of laughing, talking and flirting with them, she was finding herself unexpectedly... well, turned on. Curiouser and curiouser.
She noticed a student approaching down the hall. She straightened up a little. She brushed long hair away from her face, coyly watching him watching her. She knew he was admiring her legs when he disappeared behind her.
What had she been thinking about? Oh well, it was gone now. She slipped her baby finger between her lips and sucked on it gently.
Dahlia arrived at her shared office to find Krystal sitting in front of the computer. Privately, she had sort of hoped that Krystal would be in the lab, so she could use the solitude to slip a couple of fingers under her mini. A good cum or two would settle her down a little.
Dahlia had no boyfriend at the moment. She had never worried about romance, though she attracted men easily enough. She had decided years ago that relationships could wait until after her studies were done.
Lately she had begun to question the wisdom of that decision. There were like, so many totally dreamy guys around the department, guys that were constantly watching her when she went by, obviously excited by her compact, curvy body, their gaze like magic fingers lovingly stoking every nook and hollow of her skin; guys whose kisses she could almost imagine against her lips, her cheeks, her neck, her tits, while she, hot and breathless in their grasp, reached downward, to slide down a zipper, pull aside a pair of tight, masculine jeans to reveal a hot, hard.... With an effort, Dahlia clamped that line of thought closed. Any more daydreaming and she really would need to use her fingers.
There were coloured lines of blurry text flitting across Krystal’s computer screen. Probably another unreadable file from Dr. Strumm. Why did he keep sending those things, when nobody could read them?
“Hiya Krys, what’s up?” Dahlia asked cheerfully. She tossed her papers and purse on the desk.
For a moment it seemed her office-mate had not heard her. Then she shook herself a little and looked up. “Mmmm?” she mumbled.
“I was wondering, have you noticed any—what in heaven! Krystal, is that, is that a *soother*?” The dark-haired beauty giggled out loud when she saw the round, pink thing protruding from Krystal’s lips. It had a little handle on the end, connected to a pink cord encircling her neck.
Krystal pulled the soother out of her mouth in a slow, almost sensual movement. The inner part was long and also pink. “Pacifier, please,” she corrected. “And don’t sound so shocked. Surely you have seen these before, at clubs and such.”
“As a matter of record, no. But then, I don’t get out much. Are you practising to become a party girl?” She giggled again, unable to suppress her amusement. Krystal looked like she could already be a party girl, in a candy-striped crop-top of some soft, fuzzy fabric coupled with a pink denim mini with flowers stitched on the pockets. Her gaudy platform sneakers were hot pink on top, pure white on the bottom.
“I was tired of eating suckers all the time. All that sugar can’t be good for the teeth. This way I can suppress my nicotine cravings without eating anything. Pretty neat, huh?”
“Freud would say you’re transferring an oral fixation,” Dahlia replied. She sat down at her desk, pulled out a hand mirror, and carefully examined her hair. This new do was way cool, but definitely high maintenance. “Or maybe you’re reverting to your infancy. Did you have some repressed childhood stuff to work out?” She grinned into the mirror.
“Don’t you ever give Freud a rest?” Krystal rejoined.
“Not often. He’s my hero.” She pulled an errant lock of hair back into position.
“Then why didn’t you study under Strumm instead of the Shooting Star?”
“Because Strumm is... intimidating.” She had started out to say that Strumm was a dirty old man, but it sounded so disrespectful. He was like a father figure for the whole department. “Speaking of whom, isn’t that another message from Strumm on your computer?” Finally satisfied with her hair, she set the mirror down.
Krystal crossed her knees and her pink-tinged nylons glinted. Dahlia could see lace at the edge of her high-riding skirt. “Yes, something about his new research project. I was trying to read it when you came in.” She pressed a key and the illegible message disappeared. “Well, I’m bored. I’m going shopping. Wanna join me at the mall?”
“No thanks. I really have to get some work done.” Dahlia had spent too much time, and money, shopping lately. Going to the mall was dangerously addictive.
“Suit yourself. If my super calls, tell her I’m at the library, working like a dog, OK?”
“You can count on me.”
Krystal bounced to her feet and adjusted her pink mini, a gesture which made absolutely no difference. Her soother hung down between her breasts, which were pressing earnestly through the bright-coloured crop-top. She scooped up her purse, popped the soother into her mouth and sauntered out the door.
Dahlia watched her go, shaking her head. Krystal was acting less like a collegiate and more like a cheerleader every day. The pretty brunette checked her E-mail and found the same broadcast message from Strumm. All the students would be getting these messages too, she realized. The whole campus was wired. She considered deleting it. She decided instead to take a look at the attachment first. These messages must be important, since Strumm kept sending them.
She slipped a cherry sucker into her mouth. Krystal was gone, and Dahlia was still feeling revved up. Impulsively, she closed and locked the door. She got comfortable in her chair, then brought up Strumm’s message with the almost-readable, multicolored text. Maybe she could do two things at once. So, while she studied the floating lines on the screen, she let both her mind and her fingers wander. As one hand, and then the other, vanished beneath her chequered miniskirt, she drifted off happily into erotic oblivion.
There is definitely something strange going on here, Dahlia reflected, looking out over her tutorial class. She was sitting behind a table at the front, paging through a fashion magazine to pass the time. The students were relatively calm at the moment, working their way through this week’s quiz.
The quizzes weren’t supposed to be hard. They were mostly just a device to ensure the kids attended lecture. More and more of the class was failing them every week. Worse, they appeared not to care. Some of the answers Dahlia had been grading were plain silly. She and Krystal had taken to reading the best ones out loud to each other until they were both laughing so hard they could scarcely breathe.
Dahlia looked out over the class. All of the girls were wearing minis, except for a few who still preferred tight jeans or PVC pants. Festive colours and gentle pastels had completely replaced black. Wild, patterned stockings were everywhere. A slender ash-blonde in the front had coupled her yellow pullover and pleated mini with white kneesocks.
Several of the girls were sucking away on bright-coloured pacifiers. They seemed to be the latest fad. Krystal was never without hers. She had at least a half dozen, in different colours to match different outfits.
A number of the other girls were sucking on lollipops or contentedly chewing gum. Technically, there were rules against eating in the lecture rooms, but nobody seemed to be paying much attention. Dr. Flowers, who was a stickler for health and safety regulations, hadn’t said anything, so Dahlia figured it was no big deal. She decided to have a lollipop herself. She opened her purse, fished around in the abundant supply of cosmetics until she found her bag of lemon-lime suckers, and popped one into her mouth. She tossed the wrapper on the floor.
The crinkle of her candy wrapper distracted a male student, who looked up momentarily. Dahlia gave him a warm smile. She pursed her lips into a little kiss around her sucker. The student took a long moment before returning to his paper.
Dahlia suppressed the urge to giggle. She loved flirting. It made her feel so warm, so feminine. Not to mention a little superior to the other girls in the class, who were clearly not in her league when it came to attracting male attention.
She frowned for a moment. Something about all this didn’t sit right. There seemed to be an element of wrongness to it, something she should be able to comprehend but couldn’t quite reach. Lately she didn’t fully understand her own behaviour. She hadn’t acted this giddy and boy-crazy since she was a teenager.
That last thought gave her pause. Was the strange behaviour in all her tutorials consistent with the students regressing to an earlier emotional state? Young adults often see-sawed between mature and juvenile behaviour, she knew, but surely not everybody at once. Unless there were some outside influence...
Sucking on her lollipop, lost in thought, Dahlia crossed her knees casually. At once several boys looked up from their papers to study her shapely legs, completely visible beneath the table. She was wearing a daringly short red dress, high waisted and tight over the bosom, billowy and wide in the sleeves and hem. She had bought it the previous weekend, when Krystal had talked her into yet another shopping junket she couldn’t afford. Sitting down, it was short enough that she could feel the chair seat against her pantyhosed behind. She bounced her knee a little bit while she surveyed the class, letting the gawking boys know that she knew what they were doing but didn’t mind.
What was it that was troubling her? Darn, she had lost her train of thought again. She giggled shyly. One of the guys memorizing her nylons was really cute.
By the time Dahlia’s second tutorial ended that afternoon, she was feeling almost giddy. The red microdress had been every bit as effective at upsetting male hormones as Krystal had promised. Dahlia fussed with the hem a little as she made her way back toward her office. She did not succeed in convincing it to act a centimetre longer. She was wearing her black slip-ons with the cushy platform heels.
Abruptly the brunette beauty changed direction. The thought of going back to her tiny office and working for the rest of the afternoon was unbearable. She needed some relief first. This had become an almost daily habit now, especially on days when she had tutorials. Fortunately, she knew a special place where she wouldn’t be disturbed. She nibbled on her baby finger as she hurried down the hallway.
At length she arrived at a narrow door. Looking about to see if anyone was watching, she fished a key out of her purse and unlocked it. There were advantages to having the department head as one’s supervisor. She slipped inside and closed the door.
The room was very small, barely large enough for the three stuffed chairs it contained. The chairs were oriented toward a big window on the far wall, overlooking another, somewhat larger room. The window was disguised as a mirror on the far side. Dahlia was in the observation room, where scientists could watch how people behaved in the ordinary-looking lounge below her, without being detected.
She left the lights off. Settling heavily into a chair, she let out a big sigh and spread her legs lazily. I look awesome in this dress, she thought smugly. Guys can’t keep their eyes off my legs. No wonder I’m so wound up.
She lifted herself up long enough to pull down her pantyhose and bright red panties. God, I’m wet, she giggled. I gotta get myself a man. She started gently stroking with two fingers. It felt so yummy. She closed her eyes.
The room was suddenly flooded with light. Dahlia froze, horrified. After a moment she realized the light was coming from the lounge; someone had turned on the overhead lights. They wouldn’t be able to see her through the one-way mirror. She breathed a sigh of relief. She pulled up her underwear and made to slip away quietly.
There were voices coming from the other room. “...sure about this?” said a male voice, “I mean jeez, you’re a dish, but like right now? I mean...” Dahlia recognized Stan, a fellow grad student. He was a lanky, good-natured fellow.
“Why not right now? This is fun!” a female voice replied. It was Krystal. “Let me lock the door.”
Dahlia paused. She was curious now. What was her office-mate up to? She sat back down.
She could clearly see both figures now, only a few feet away. Krystal was leading Stan into the room by one arm. He wasn’t resisting very hard. It was easy to see why. Krystal was wearing a tight, royal blue pullover and a white micro-mini. Her legs were dressed in white, over-the-knee stockings and shiny blue sport shoes with blue-and-white striped platform soles.
Stan made to protest again. “But Krys, why here? Why now, I mean—” She kissed him, long, deep and thorough. The kiss was obviously intended to shut him up. It worked perfectly. When she finally let him go the young man was gaping like a floundering fish.
“Because you are a doll, Stan, and because I want you, right here, right now,” the shapely blonde replied. “You’ve got something”—she paused to draw a whimpering breath—“that I really need.” There was no question what she was talking about. As she kissed him again she ran one hand deliberately up and down his tented trousers. The last stroke pulled down his zipper.
Krystal pushed him back, gently but insistently, against a sofa. “I, I don’t believe this,” Stan babbled, as his pants came down around his ankles, “I mean, I heard some rumours; a couple of the guys said—oh man!” His ramble ended abruptly as the blonde babe slid to her knees and her mouth found what she was looking for.
Krystal’s bright blue soother bounced off her chest as she bobbed up and down on Stan’s member. In the observation room, Dahlia watched the proceedings in wide-eyed amazement. Krystal you naughty girl, she thought to herself. Mmmmm, you guys are getting me all turned on again. She slumped down in the chair. She lifted her feet and plopped her wedge heels on a little ledge beneath the two-way mirror. Without taking her eyes off the erotic spectacle in the next room, she slipped her hands downward, to pick up where they had left off. Krystal you are a naughty, naughty girl, the thought repeated. And you, Stan, are a *very* grown-up boy.
Back in the lounge, Stan was starting to breath hard as the miniskirted minx worked her magic on his cock. Her hair was pinned up by a half dozen little clips shaped like butterflies. Dahlia watched through lidded eyes as she pleasured herself.
Krystal’s red lips slipped delicately up and down Stan’s shaft, sometimes pausing to give the glans a little kiss or lick. It reminded Dahlia of how she licked her lollipops. A wild thought passed through her mind: Freud was right; she’s found a new oral fixation! A moment later all mental coherence was lost as Krystal’s talents brought both Stan and Dahlia to back-arching climaxes like two racehorses in a photo-finish.
Three days later Dahlia was sitting at her desk, frowning at the sheet of paper on the desk in front of her. There was no one else in the office except Bunny, the pink stuffed rabbit sitting on Krystal’s desk. Krystal herself was out, ostensibly teaching a tutorial, but more likely just teasing and flirting with all the men in the room.
Dahlia blew a pink bubble with her gum while she studied the list she had made. She had written “Weird Stuff in the Department” across the top of the page. Below it were three numbered items: 1. Strumm still here 2. Messages from Strumm you can’t read 3. People acting funny
She pondered the list. Three apparently unrelated things, all of them, like, not normal. Why wasn’t Strumm packing up to leave? He had made no move to clean out his laboratory even though the semester was almost over. Why hadn’t Sabrina complained about it? She could go utterly ballistic when people resisted her.
Aside from the occasional memo about routine stuff, Dahlia had hardly spoken to her supervisor in the past month or so. The truth was, Dahlia was avoiding her. She hadn’t done very much done on her thesis in the last while, what with shopping and things. She blew another big bubble and let it explode against her lips.
What about these E-mail messages from Strumm? They were always about the same thing, recruiting volunteers for his new study. The attachments were full of text, but she could never quite read them. She always tried. It would be disrespectful to Dr. Strumm not to read everything he sent. He was the grand old man of the department, a father figure for them all. Sure, Sabrina was the head in an administrative sense, but she was just a girl. Dr. Strumm had the authority that came from time and wisdom.
Still, it was spooky that she could never read the messages. When she tried, the pretty colours almost forming words distracted her. She forget what she was doing. Invariably, she came to herself about a half hour later to find her fingers down in her panties, her breath coming in short gasps, and a wonderful orgasm about three strokes away. It was, she admitted, a powerful incentive to keep reading them.
That left the third item. Everyone acting so funny. Dahlia considered for a moment. She crossed out “funny” and wrote “childish”.
That was it.
The whole department was behaving like a troupe of under-dressed, oversexed teenagers. Her tutorials were chaos. The kids treated them like a school party. They were far too busy laughing, flirting and carrying on to pay any attention to Dahlia’s lesson reviews. The party atmosphere was infectious. Too often Dahlia found herself getting swept up in the excitement, until she was giggling and joking and teasing along with everyone else. Especially teasing the boys. Showing off for the boys.
Dahlia felt a pleasant warmth. She sat for a moment, chewing her bubblegum, remembering the last tutorial. Her skirt had been real short. Everyone was staring at her. All those guys...
She shook herself out of the daydream. There was no time to let her mind wander again. This was about her students, not about her. She wasn’t some teeny tart like all those navel-bearing girls in her classes, she was—.
Her jaw stopped in mid-chew. Oh no. Was it possible that whatever was affecting everyone in the department was affecting her too?
Suddenly sobered, she considered it. Self-consciously, she threw her gum away. She had only started chewing it to keep from nibbling on her little finger all the time. She didn’t want to wear off the nail polish.
She took careful inventory of herself. She was dressed attractively, to be sure, but was it inappropriate? Her white blouse was silky and snug, just thin enough to trace the outline of her lacy bra without giving away the store. The plaid miniskirt highlighted her legs, which she considered her best feature. It was fastened in front with a big gold safety pin. She wore soft suntan nylons and stylish grey pumps with an inch of platform and 4-inch heels. True, it was a less functional outfit than what she used to wear, but what was wrong with wanting to look good?
Actually, she was trying out one new thing. In addition to her pantyhose, she was wearing metallic grey stocking-things of a slightly heavier material that ended well above the knee. The stockings were the exact same shade as her shoes, so that for a moment the eye was fooled into thinking she was wearing an impossibly tight pair of thigh-high boots.
She stretched out one leg contemplatively and admired the tights. She liked them. Combined with the rather brief skirt, they tended to generate a great many turning heads. When she walked to school that morning traffic on the street had actually slowed down as it passed her.
Dahlia had purchased the entire outfit, against her better judgement, during an impulsive shopping trip with Krystal. Dahlia hadn’t thought it wise to go shopping yet again. Sure, she had a full scholarship, but it wasn’t designed to take this sort of abuse.
Krystal had talked her into it on Friday afternoon when they were relaxing in the lounge and Dahlia already had a few beers in her. Darn but that girl could be persuasive. She had chattered on about how much fun they could have at the mall trying on different things and showing off for all the boys. Which they certainly did.
Dahlia bit her lip, remembering. As the afternoon wore on, with a little help from the beer, both she and Krystal had become quite shameless. Eventually Dahlia cornered a handsome salesclerk in a back corner of a clothing store and “thanked him for his help” with a deep, tongue-sucking kiss and a loving fondle of his crotch. She left the poor boy with an aching hard-on and her phone number. She wondered later if she should have gone down on him. Krystal certainly would have.
Oh god, she was getting hot again. The gammy grad-student plucked at her collar for a moment, trying to calm down. If she didn’t keep a lid on it she would have to go use the observation room again. She forced her attention back to the list on her desk. The question was, did these three odd but apparently unrelated things have some connection? If she could keep her mind from wandering she might...
Her computer chimed, signalling a new E-mail message. Dahlia wheeled her chair over to take a look. The message was from Dr. Strumm: “Volunteers still needed for research project.”
Dahlia hesitated. Another one. She looked back at her list of weird things: “Messages from Strumm you can’t read.” Should she delete it? What if there was something wrong with Strumm’s attachments? They always made her feel so warm and gushy. That didn’t make sense. She ran both hands through her thick brown hair, getting excited thinking about it. She twitched in her seat.
It wouldn’t do to ignore a message from Dr. Strumm. He was stern and aloof, but he demanded respect. He was like a father. She was so confused. She realized she was sucking on her baby finger and pulled it away in frustration. She needed to calm down.
Dahlia picked up her purse. She pawed through the cosmetics and candies until she found what she was looking for. She stopped, looking at it. This was so strange. It would calm her. She needed to read Strumm’s message.
After a long moment she reached in and pulled out the big pink pacifier. She flipped the cord around her neck. She looked at it again. A pink plastic heart dangled from the handle. Strumm’s message beckoned.
With a sigh of both resignation and relief Dahlia slipped the pink soother into her mouth. Krys, you are a very bad influence, she thought fondly. Suckling quietly, she opened Strumm’s message to watch the pretty coloured lines.
This is like, so frustrating, Dahlia said to herself. I’ll never get through all this. And if I do, how will I know when I’ve found what I’m looking for? It was Friday, a few days before exams were to begin, and the library was crowded. Dahlia was sitting at a big table, surrounded by stacks of books and journals. She had been there for more than an hour. She nibbled daintily on her baby finger while she scanned the psychology journal in front of her.
After thinking about it for several days, she still hadn’t found a sure connection between the three things on her list. At least now she had a hypothesis. Maybe, she reasoned, Strumm’s illegible messages had something to do with why everyone was acting funny. Maybe he was doing something to try to persuade Sabrina to let him stay. Maybe he was confident enough of success that he wasn’t packing up to leave. The idea sounded far-fetched, but it was a starting point.
She still didn’t understand how Strumm could hope to persuade anyone of anything when nobody could read the attachments on his messages. Even if the swirling colours were very... stimulating. Nevertheless, she was convinced he was up to something. She had tried to sneak into Strumm’s office and laboratory, but the doors were always locked. The only option was to plough through Strumm’s publications in the library. Maybe something he had published would provide a clue.
Strumm had been an ambitious scientist for decades. His published output was massive. Dahlia felt she would never finish. It didn’t help that she had trouble concentrating on anything for more than about five minutes. Especially when there were men in the room. There were lots of guys in the library right now, and every one of them, she was sure, was silently aware of the dark-haired graduate student with the great legs. Dahlia had her legs crossed, bouncing one black platform boot up and down on her knee.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a student covertly admiring her over top his textbook. Dahlia felt a tickle in her white satin panties.
She was horny again. It was a constant distraction. Dahlia’s social life had ramped up steeply in the past little while, as she began eagerly sampling the host of young men that her sex appeal drew like deer to a cool spring. Double dates with Krystal were practically guaranteed to lead to all-night love festivals. On their last outing, Krys had had her head over her partner’s lap in the backseat on the way *to* the movie.
In between dates, Dahlia relied on her dancing digits to bring relief. Despite a long, happy session in the observation room that morning, she was feeling remarkably frisky. Guys looking at her always turned her on. And naturally, she thought a little smugly, guys were always looking at her. She toyed with the hem of her much abbreviated jumper. The sleeveless brown dress zipped up the front to just below her cleavage. It was coupled with a see-through mesh bodyshirt that further highlighted her darling titties. Dahlia considered her legs to be her best feature, but her other features were pretty good too.
Two female undergraduates shuffled by, weighed down with books, whispering to each other about some course assignment. They were both dressed in loose jeans and T-shirts. Dahlia regarded them with barely concealed disdain. What man would want to look at a girl who didn’t even take the time to dress pretty? Well, that was why they were looking at her instead. The last time she had risen to put a book back on the shelf, at least four pairs of eyes had followed her every move. The tickle in her panties grew.
She bit her lip. She wished she had remembered to bring a sucker, or one of her soothers, from the office. Grimly, she forced herself to return to the endless pile of literature. She didn’t even notice when she began sucking on her finger again.
A few minutes later she had a bit of luck: Strumm had recently published an overview of his work in the Hartfield Review of Psychiatry. Dahlia pored over it, looking for she knew not what. Strumm had a dense, arcane writing style. In places the text was nearly impenetrable. One passage caught her eye:
“We have shown that, despite the proliferation of alternative paradigms, Freud’s concept of development remains useful. The resolution of sexual conflicts between the child and his or her parents, especially those related to the father, are crucial to the development of a mentally healthy adult. Hence, the technique we call guided redevelopment has enormous potential for therapy. By allowing the patient to re-experience puberty without the trauma (using hypnotic regression or other techniques), the clinician can bring about a happier resolution of father-son and father-daughter conflicts, leading to a more balanced individual.”
Dahlia worried her little finger while she read the passage over and over. Something about it alarmed her. Strumm had invented a whole new dimension of Freudian therapy, this “guided redevelopment.” It worked by taking the patient back through puberty again, under the doctor’s eye. But how? “...hypnotic regression or other techniques...”
“Oh my god!” Dahlia said out loud. Heads turned to look at her. The male heads kept looking. She closed the book. She had to do something about the psychology department.
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