This is a long, multi-part series based around hypnosis with some urban-fantasy/mystery/college-story elements. I expect it to get more ridiculous as it goes; think of this as a mind-control harem story that basically charts a normal college becoming a free-use fantasy college. 

There was something different about the air in the library today. Normally, I found everything about it comforting – the smell of the books, the soft silence broken by coughs and footsteps, the sweeping lines of dark wood and metal that made up the interior – but today, there was a tension that hung in the air. I took another sip of lukewarm coffee and kept flipping through my research. What should have been a simple project for History 330 was getting a tad out of hand. 

Pravos College had a long history of urban legends; everyone knew the old building on the hill had – allegedly – been an insane asylum before the land around it was converted to a women's college. Later, in ‘88, Pravos went co-ed. 

Which was why I guess I was here now, diving down a rabbit hole of obscure books and microfiche files. I couldn't complain, as it got me more face time with the pretty red-headed librarian who seemed happy to help an enthusiastic undergrad.

The founder's name, Elias de Pravos, appeared again and again in the text. But it was the footnotes that caught my attention—odd, cryptic notes that seemed to hint at something darker, something unsaid.

I found my answer in the next folder. The title on the top had what I had to assume was Pravos’ original name: *“Pravos Correctional Institute”*.  But the articles within were something else. There was a combination of journal notes, reports, old images. Faded black-and-white photos of nude women, either exposed in provocative poses or clearly tied up in restraints. It was jarring, seeing what wouldn’t be out of place on porn sites today in the context of near archaic photography styles. There was a picture of a row of women bent over a bench, their pale asses in the air, hands bound behind them. Another had a woman clearly masturbating, her fingers deep in her exposed pussy. 

I looked over my shoulder, hoping that no one was creeping through the stacks and just so happening to come upon me looking at lewd pictures. All clear. 

I read on, undeniably intrigued. The files painted a picture of *“Pravos Correction Institute”* and its purpose: *“the correction and education of indecent women”\.* 

Someone had to be pulling a prank on me – the urban legends were famous, but Pravos was renowned as a historical bastion of feminist, intellectual thought in the states. Its reputation had lessened somewhat with the switch from only women to co-ed, sure, but really the last 30 years and change had just mixed in a reputation of “rich private school” with the enduring legends of feminist icons. There was no way that Pravos was founded upon an old center of…what, even? 

My fingers lingered on a passage: 

“Pravos’ final days at the school were shrouded in mystery. His journals were reportedly destroyed after his death. Some claim they were not burned but hidden—sealed away in a place no one would dare seek.”

My pulse quickened. Journals?

I rifled through the stack of files I’d scrounged from the corners of the library. There – an old, leather-bound book that had been sitting in a weird alcove, as if forgotten. There was no title, just an ornate emblem embossed into the center. When I cracked it open, it was like something leapt off the page – a dark shadow that rushed around me with a roar, flashes of dark energy flying towards my face – before suddenly going silent. 

I coughed, almost jumping out of my seat. I looked around again – there were a couple curious glances but not many people remained in the library, and especially not in this corner. The people who looked up gave no sign they had seen what I had seen. 

The journal remained open on the desk. I picked it back up, and started reading. 

As far as I could tell – this really was the personal diary of Elias de Pravos, founder of the original campus. Legend had it that he’d disappeared mysteriously, though no one agreed on the cause. Killed by a mistress, was the popular one. The diary didn’t have much to offer in resolving these theories, but it shed light on what Elias de Pravos intended. He had crackpot theories on women and how to “discipline” them. Half of the journal was written like an instructional guide, with theories like “orgasm denial” and “restraint therapy” for not just “curing” women of certain thoughts, but how to break their minds and bend them to your will. 

I flipped to the last page out of curiosity, finding it blank save for a couple scribbled lines: “Follow the path. Break the seals. Take it all back.”

The shadows in the corners of the library seemed to grow, and I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me. I stuffed the journal into my bag and grabbed the rest of the books. I shuffled over to a secluded row in the stacks, dropping the files off rather unceremoniously.

Footsteps echoed behind me. I spun around, an irrational mix of shame and fear crawling within me.

It was Clara, queen bee of campus and classmate from hell. She was the kind of classic beauty that made men and women alike obsessed. A Sydney Sweeney type, with long blonde hair under a pink headband and big blue eyes, which were fixed on me now, with an odd look of wariness that I’d never seen before. She was wearing a white tennis skirt that fluttered around her thick thighs, and I couldn’t help but notice that even a crewneck sweatshirt and leather jacket did little to hide her famous curves.

“You’re in a rush.” She said, breaking the silence.

“Uh-huh,” I said, smartly. 

“What are you doing?” Clara stepped closer. She was glancing at me and at the books I had just set down. Something felt off. It felt like she knew something I didn’t, or worse, that she knew what I had been looking at.

“Research,” I said. “For class, for the final project. I’m in the habit of doing my own work, you know?” 

A little bold. Her gaze became steely. 

“Something you wanna tell me, Seth?” Clara asked. She was reaching into her bag.

“Not really?” I said, genuinely baffled. “Clara, what are you-”

She interrupted me by whipping out some kind of medallion on a chain, and in a practiced motion, let it swing back and forth like a pendulum. 

“I’m saving you from making a mistake,” she said, her voice cool and commanding

I barely got a good look at it before the medallion flashed burning white, like a ray of sunlight had just bounced perfectly off it and into my retinas.

“Ah!” I flinched, covering my eyes. 

There was a piercing pain in my head – I flashed back to the shadowy force that I thought I’d seen burst off the pages of the journal – and suddenly, a deep, dark feeling of anger, fear, and lust within my chest. Something in me hated – I hated – that burst of light. I wanted to make her pay.

Clara’s voice rang out, cutting through the pain. “Forget you ever saw this. Forget everything. Go back to your boring little life-”

Her words hit me like a wave, crashing against my mind. For a moment, I almost gave in, the weight of her command unbearable. But then the shadow inside me surged, a hot, raw defiance that burned through her words like paper.

“What the hell was that?” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the spots from my vision. “What are you trying to do, Men-in-Black me?”

A look of alarm flashed over Clara’s face. 

“Shit,” She swore, raising the medallion back up. 

I didn’t think—I reacted. My hand shot out, grabbing her wrist in mid-swing. My grip was tight, unyielding.

“Let’s not,” I started. 

“Let me go,” Clara snapped, her voice sharp and cutting.  I felt that power in her voice again, and I complied, almost involuntarily. It was like my body reacted before my mind did.   

“Okay,” Clara said, exhaling. “Listen to me.” 

This time though, I felt that power hit me, then slide off like water on glass. That dark feeling within me sprang back to life, ready to fight.

“No,” I said, my voice low, unfamiliar. “You listen.”

Her whole body jerked, like I’d yanked her invisible strings. Her eyes glazed over for a moment, and then… I felt her. Not just standing in front of me, but inside me, like a sudden, vivid presence in my mind. Like I’d gained some sort of sixth sense. An explosive rush of thoughts, emotions, images – I got the idea that what I was feeling was *Clara\,* somehow – bombarded that newfound sense. My mind felt like the Fourth of July. 

Her emotions hit me first—fear, anger, a sharp spike of panic. But then, beneath it all, something darker. Warmer. My breath hitched. Lust.

“What the hell is this?” I muttered, stumbling back a step. But the connection didn’t break. It only deepened, pulling me further into her chaotic thoughts. Her fear fed into mine, her panic making my chest tighten.

“Get… out…” Clara’s voice was a whisper now, trembling with effort.

“I don’t know how!” I growled back, my frustration boiling over. That dark energy surged again – a furious instinct to make it stop. My mind shoved against hers, and suddenly, the chaos went still.

When I opened my eyes, Clara was swaying on her feet. Her face was flushed, her lips parted, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her big blue eyes—always so sharp, so cold—looked glassy, unfocused.

“Clara?” I asked. I waved a hand in front of her face. Her eyes followed it, but slowly, like she was drunk.

“Y-yes?” she murmured, her voice soft and shaky. She swayed again, catching herself on a nearby shelf.

I could see that strange dimension in my mind, where she hovered like a flickering flame. I didn’t mean to reach for it, but something in me moved instinctively, brushing against her presence.

The wave that hit me this time was overwhelming. Desire, submission, incredulity — it was a flood of emotions so raw and intense I staggered back. At the same time, a desperate moan escaped Clara’s lips. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor, clutching weakly at the shelves for support.

“What the hell?” I mumbled, trying to clear my mind.

Clara was still slumped against the shelf, breathing hard. Her eyes were fixed on me, wide and glassy, her usual brightness dulled into something almost pleading. It was like something out of my dirtiest fantasies - Clara on her knees, her eyes rolling back, moaning uncontrollably. A little too uncontrollably; I slapped my hand over her mouth. She practically convulsed.

Almost instinctively, I lightly pressed my hand down. I was pretty much just holding her head up towards me now. Her eyes met mine – where once I would have only seen disdain or indifference, I saw utter submission.

I wanted to pinch myself. This was the girl who’d never missed an opportunity to make me feel small, and now she looked… undone. 

I was hard as a rock.

“I—” She started, as I took my hand off her mouth. Her voice trembled. Her hands moved slowly, almost unconsciously, shrugging off her jacket “I feel… I can’t explain it. But I can’t stop it.”

She pulled her sweatshirt off in one fluid motion, revealing toned shoulders and a pale-pink bra that barely covered her amazing chest. My pulse spiked.

“What are you doing?” I blurted out, glancing around the aisle. The faint rustle of distant footsteps sent a jolt of panic through me. “Clara, you can’t—”

“I don’t care, I need this.” Clara whispered, her eyes never leaving mine. Her voice wasn’t defiant—it was needy, desperate. That was the strangest part. 

Her hands ran down her sides, brushing over her hips before reaching for the waistband of her skirt.

“Stop.” The word came out sharper than I intended, and I grabbed her wrist. Her skin was warm, almost too warm, under my hand.

Her lips parted in a soft gasp, and she looked up at me, her expression flickering between confusion and something I couldn’t name. Something I recognized, though, in the way her pupils were blown wide and her breath hitched whenever I touched her. Beneath the attraction was something darker, something that made me enjoy seeing her like this—off-balance, exposed, vulnerable in a way she’d never been before.

I tried to look behind me – a bit of an awkward maneuver, seeing as I was half-bent-over, trying to hold onto a half-naked girl. It seemed all clear. 

“Clara,” I hissed, standing a little straighter. The movement made her stumble back into a sitting position, her legs splayed out. She was panting, her tits heaving hypnotically. Her tongue was practically lolling out. She rocked forward, grabbing onto my waistband. Her cheek was pressed right against my crotch – I almost fell over from the impact. She was pawing at my zipper, and before I quite understood what was happening, Clara was pulling my cock out through my fly and descending upon it like it was her last meal. 

I groaned as she wrapped those lips around my shaft, her tongue tracing wonderful little circles around it. One of my hands came down on her head, resting on her little pink headband. The other grabbed the bookshelf in front of me for support. Almost unconsciously, I pushed her head into my crotch, leaning into it. Clara made a little sputtering noise, but my cock slid smoothly into her throat. 

I couldn’t say I’d had the pleasure of having a girl deepthroat me all the way before, not because I had some massive horse cock, but mostly because I’d just never had the opportunity. But it was taking all my effort to not come right there and then, as I looked down at this girl who had always been just out of reach – flaunting her body and her expensive clothes , making snide comments, flashing icy glares at me when I dared to talk to her when she didn’t need something – now swallowing my cock whole. I barely cared we were in the back rows of a library; all I wanted was to come in this girl’s mouth, to mark her as mine. 

I pulled out of her warm mouth inch by inch, reveling in the way the air felt cool on my spit-covered dick as more of it came out. My head came free with a sloppy pop, a little string of spit still connecting it to Clara’s red lips. 

“Oh my God,” She panted. “What’s happening? What did you do to me..”

I cut her off by slapping her lightly with my cock. She gasped, but her eyes were still fixated on my shaft. She was almost a little cross-eyed. That dark energy within my chest purred, and I found myself grabbing her by the hair. I could feel her lust overwhelming her, pounding within me, and I could feel more – little stray thoughts and memories that were painting the most curious picture. The more I perceived, the more that force within me grew, the more I realized what I could do.

“I didn’t do anything to you,” I whispered. She moaned around my cock as I slipped it back into her mouth. She grabbed my ass with one hand, pulling me into her. I watched as her other hand slipped beneath her skirt. 

“I didn’t do anything…” I repeated. “This is just who you are, isn’t that right?” 

Her eyes were rolling back in her head. 

“You’re on your knees for me.” I growled. It didn’t even feel like my voice was coming from me. “The more of me you suck with your little mouth, the more turned on you get, right? You feel that.”

There was a vague sound of affirmation in her moans. She was licking me now, up and down my shaft – at my balls. My breaths became heavy. 

“You’re becoming mine.” I said, my voice thrumming with power. 

“Oh…” Clara moaned, coming off of my dick to breathe. I pushed her back down.

“When I come in your mouth, you’re gonna come too. Harder than you’ve ever come. And that’s when you’ll know…” My voice was getting strained. “That’s when you’ll know you’re mine.” 

As I said that, I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I came with a grunt, biting my own lips to stop myself from making too much noise. I felt myself burst within her warm, wet mouth, filling her up with my come. Clara gagged, an ecstatic moan breaking free from her lips.

I pulled out of her and stumbled backward, zipping myself back up. 

Clara stared back up at me, still on her knees. Her hair was a mess. Her face was bright red. 

“Ugh,” She whimpered. She tried to stand, but stumbled. I caught her and pulled her up. She almost collapsed in my arms, clutching at my biceps to steady herself. 

“Ugh,” She said again.

“Clara?” I asked, some small seed of conscience springing back into my head. “Clara?”

Shit, did I break her?