A Leashed Tiger Ch 05

Chapter Five: A Look In The Mirror

In all the history of psychological torture, human torturers have had to contend with one fundamental limitation: their guesswork. After all, you can never truly know another's mind. It is a vast, dark chamber, and the ways it will react to any given stimulus is always a mystery.

But not this time.

Kevin has something no other captor has ever had, an incredibly potent weapon at his disposal, a weapon that used to be mine. His intent to punish me is informed, aided and abetted by my own powers.

I've been compelled to share, in lengthy and disturbing detail, which scenarios would devastate me the most as an individual, and as a woman. What would make me feel most personally defeated, and above all, as he put it, a traitor to my own gender.

It isn't easy to wrap my mind around what this means, exactly. Kevin doesn't need to guess how to hurt me: he has perfect information. I can't delude myself that it's going to be fine, or that I can take it, because what awaits me is literally tailor-made to be my absolutely worst nightmare, made manifest.

Kevin has turned me into the architect of my own destruction.

For the longest time, as I walked the halls and grounds of campus, I used to feel untouchable, a special girl with a special secret. Everyone and everything here was in the palm of my hand. If I didn't like something, I could correct it. There was great power in that, and I realise it all the more, now that I've lost it.

The power to right injustices, the power to stop bullying, the power to free women and girls from the oppression of the patriarchy... and yes, the power to claim some side benefits, though I was always so restrained in my indulgence.

But now...

After discovering me, Kevin has systematically removed my ability to hypnotise anyone without his full, prior and explicit consent. My loophole is gone, my chance at freedom reduced. But worst of all is that this makes me feel like I've been utterly declawed and defanged, a harmless kitty rather than a tiger.

Now, I walk through campus as a mere mortal among mortals.

How do normal people do this? Hell, how did I do it, before my power first manifested itself? I know for sure that I was unhappy then, and I'm unhappy now. Being human is a miserable experience, and I miss feeling like a goddess.

But apparently, goddesses, too, can be subjugated.

I know it's not entirely rational, but I feel that if Kevin could subdue me when I still had control of my powers, then now I must be fair game to everyone I meet. I could be at the mercy of anyone who might wish to take advantage of me.

Like in olden days, what's to stop a bully like Sarah from putting me in ny place? Or a male student with more libido than sense from pushing me against the wall, and having his way with me?

This is trauma speaking, I realise. Being subjugated by an incel intent on revoking my feminist and lesbian status has shaken me to my core, and now I'm jumping at shadows, but can you blame me? I'm just as vulnerable as all the girls I used to protect, and now there's no protector anymore. My powers will be used at Kevin's behest, and no one else's.

I've created a monster.

Of course, Kevin has done far, far worse than just bring my power under his full control. My libido has been increased, so that I find myself panting and squirming with desperate, needy arousal, and I immediately understand why so many doms resort to chastity as an instrument of control. There's nothing quite like your very pleasure, your sex being mastered by someone, to put you in a submissive mindset.

Even someone you hate.

If possible, things get even worse. The new limitations on my powers were to be expected after my defeat, and I suppose to a degree so was the libido control, but I've done so much more to make Kevin's job of taming me easier.

I've obediently supplied him with all the tools he needs to start undoing me, piece by piece, until there's nothing left of the person I used to be. And that's why my feet take me to my destination, quite literally against my will.

I've spent the entire day paying visit to girl after girl, here on campus. Most of them are girls I've changed in some way or other over the past couple of years. Making them more confident and assertive, nudging their sexuality away from men, helping to end abusive relationships.

I've also taken a few privileges here and there, of course--help with homework, stuff like that. Kevin, of course, wants them changed back, and I've gone through the entire list. One by one, I've used my power on each and every girl, telling her to never like or respect me again, to consider me as little more than a hypocritical slut, and that's for starters.

I've lowered their confidence, convinced them that they crave the validation and approval of a man, and that they should start looking to Kevin's blog for guidance in life, which would almost be pathetically amusing, if it wasn't so fucking horrifying.

I'm creating a cult, I realise with a shudder. A cult of male supremacy and feminine meekness, enforced through supernatural powers, with a dorky loser as its centre of gravity.

As our master.

The members of the campus feminist collective have been the hardest to change, so far. They don't know how much they owe me, to what length I've gone over the years to make sure campus would conform to our vision. From Professor Carter to chauvinistic jocks, I've kept them safe, asking for nothing in return.

And now, they never will know. In the fullness of time, there won't be a feminist collective on campus anymore. Thanks to the poison I've slipped into their minds, each girl will naturally reach the conclusion that a woman's place in life is at a man's feet, and that Kevin is the hottest guy they're likely to meet in their lives.

All of this is horrible, and worst of all, stems directly from my subconscious. Apparently this is what my psyche considers as the ultimate defeat, and the supreme gesture of betrayal towards my fellow women. Systematically undoing every single one of my accomplishments. Rolling back every progress, every advancement. Feeding feminists to man's yoke. My work of years, dismantled and lying all in ruins, at Kevin's feet, alongside the growing ranks of followers I'm recruiting for him.

It makes my heart squeeze to think about it--but the worst task is yet to come. Perhaps that's why I've left it for last...

I can hear the thunderous roar of my own heart as, full of anticipation, I knock on the door. When it opens, the face that greets me is a friendly face, an innocent face. Sandra is the friendliest, most trustworthy person I know, one I've never seen the slightest need to change.

The warmth I see in her brown eyes makes my guts twist at the horrible, unspeakable betrayal I'm about to commit against her.

"Hey, come on in!" She says, tying her hazel locks into a bun, and making way for me to enter her room. I'm uncomfortably aware of the fullness of her breasts under her sweater, and the way her tight jeans round her curvy thighs--I've always known she's pretty, intellectually, but with Kevin's tampering with my libido, my sex-starved imagination is beginning to wander...

"So, what did you want to talk about? What's been up with you lately anyway?"

Her questions snap me back to reality. I sit on the chair by her desk, as she mirrors me on the bed, draping one magnificent leg over the other, her socked foot bobbing up and down.

I gulp, both in distracting arousal, and in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable. Sandra has been incredibly trusting with me. She's left me space when I recently cut off all my social commitments, never inquiring too much about what was on my plate. She couldn't know I was fighting for my very freedom, and losing.

So of course, when I told her that I wanted to talk, she immediately let me in. She probably assumed that I was finally about to share whatever issue I was facing with her, and in a way I suppose that was true... Just not the way she imagined.

"My dear friend," I manage to say at last, in a trembling voice that doesn't quite sound like my own. "Please forgive me, I'm so sorry..."

Sandra arches an eyebrow, and I swear her puzzled, inquisitive expression makes her look even more beautiful. "Sorry? About what?"

I try to warn her, then. In a last ditch of defiance and desperation, I try to scream that she should run away from me, or cover her eyes, or wear a pair of well-polished sunglasses... but of course, the words die in my throat, and Kevin's instructions take over my motor functions, my will.

And so, inevitably, I push my power into her mind.

What really, finally and completely breaks my heart is the look on my friend's face, as the surging power of the sea slams against her with a mighty roar. She can't know what's happening of course, not really, and yet it's as if some primitive part of her understands that she's being taken over.

It lasts only a split second, but I can see it flicker across her face. Confusion, hurt, betrayal. She doesn't deserve this. She's a smart girl, a pretty girl, with dreams and loves and fears. A true feminist, and fiercely independent, but so sweet and caring, a person with no enemies, who's never hurt anyone.

Her only fault? Being my friend. Being turned into an instrument of my punishment. I don't care how many times he forces me into self-hypnosis, I will never forgive Kevin for this... nor will I forgive myself, either.

The surging of my power used to be a moment of affirmation, empowerment, supreme validation. No longer. Now, I feel dissociated and detached from it, a passenger in my own body. The energy coursing through my veins and pouring out of my eyes feels alien and wrong, uncontrollable like fire, scary like the sea, distant like the stars.

Whatever it was before, there's no doubt about what my power is now: a tool to spread patriarchal evil throughout the land.

Much like all the other girls today, Sandra goes under easily, and I hate the way my pussy squirms when I see the look of surrender wash over her face, distend every one of her muscles into a sexy vision of helplessness and defeat.

Strength, reduced to weakness. Independence, replaced by domesticity. Equality, replaced by submission. The way her lips spread softly, as if ready to accept a cock, the way her eyes glaze over, giving up intelligence, the way her head starts lolling this way and that, neck curved, ready for a collar or a yoke...

In mere minutes, Sandra is putty in my hands... except she is, in fact, putty in Kevin's hands. I'm nothing but an agent.

"Women deserve to be subjugated," I say, hating every word, and how decisive I sound in uttering them. This is not a mere statement: it's a decree. While caught in the grasp of the power, Sandra cannot resist the new information I push into her mind.

"Yes..." she says, in a monotone, hypnotised voice that makes my heart beat faster in desperate arousal.

"It's silly to think we are men's equals," I continue. "Their needs come first, always. A division of tasks is only natural and efficient, we do it in every field of life, why not gender roles too? Men's place is to rule, and ours is to serve."

"Serve..." she whispers, and oh god, it sounds so hot, and I hate myself for sexualising the betrayal of my own friend. If only I had permission to rub myself right now...

Slowly and systematically, I dismantle Sandra's feminism, alter her sexuality to give her a strong preference for men--lesbianism, as Kevin puts it, is best used to entertain men anyway. I instill her with the unshakeable belief that in order for society to function, us women must once more be relegated to second-class citizens, stripped of the right to vote, deprived of control over our own bodies and bank accounts.

That once a man acquires the whip hand over us, we submit, because of course we do, it's in our nature. That nothing will ever make her feel more womanly than kissing Kevin's shoes. That the reason why women are so easy to tame is that we respond naturally to authority: obedience comes as natural to us as breathing. We just need a firm hand to make us behave.

I make sure she's "secretly" ashamed about how hot this makes her feel. I give her a weak, but conquerable impulse to deny how she feels... because it wouldn't be as fun if they just agreed with Kevin, would it? He said he finds it a lot more delicious if they have to struggle each time, and end up defeated, each time.

A shiver crawls down my spine, as I have a dreadful realisation: Kevin is starting to re-create his experience with me, to turn it into a fantasy he can re-experience over and over. Much like me, Sandra will "oppose" Kevin, only to give way, and fall to her knees before him.

That makes me shudder. If his fantasies are developing and radicalising in this direction and at this speed... then what the hell will he do to me next?

I don't have time to ponder on this any longer, because the next set of instructions embedded into my brain takes over. Sandra's rework is finished, and a different girl now stands before me, one whose quiet and wholesome confidence has been replaced by insecurity, by the craving of male approval.

One who daydreams of a man who will stake his claim to her, strip her of her career as he would her clothes, and reduce her to little more than a footstool and a warm holster for his cock.

I take this new girl, who looks like a dumber and hornier version of my friend, by the hand, and lead her out of her room and into the hallway, towards the rest of her life.

* * *

"Today, we welcome a new addition to the harem."

God. This really sounds like the beginning of a mad cult. And yet, seen from the outside, no one could ever guess my displeasure. In my humiliation and defeat, I look like a willing participant in all of this: dressed in my maid uniform, kneeling submissively on the floor, with Sandra kneeling beside me.

My new sister-slave, holding my hand, is as supremely confused by this sudden turn of events as she is excited. As per my instructions, she is clearly torn about what is happening, to the point that I can't tell if she's hyperventilating out of anxiety, or arousal.

Me, I'm mostly devastated by my betrayal, and by the scene set out before me.

My former harem, who now stand above me in metaphorical and literal terms, drape Kevin like they're decorations, which I suppose is all the use Kevin has for female flesh. Even so, the imagery of it all is... oddly powerful. Sitting in the armchair that used to be mine, he doesn't look like a harmless incel anymore. Not with three hot girls pressing their bodies against his, folding themselves over the chair just to have as much physical contact with him as humanly possible.

I'm... not indifferent to the spectacle. To my overstimulated brain, Emily, Juliet, and Sarah look so hot as they writhe and twist seductively around Kevin. All three, and Sarah above all, seem endlessly amused by my betrayal of my own close friend, and her induction into the harem.

I can see that Kevin is starting to take a liking to Sarah. He makes free use of all his harem of course, myself included, but his eyes are drawn to her more and more, and I know he's been spending more time with her in the bedroom, which... should really relieve me.

Except it doesn't, because my self-sabotaging, hypnotised brain finds new ways to twist everything into something hot and sadistic and painful to torture myself with. After usurping my position and effectively becoming Kevin's subdomme, Sarah is basically now... cuckqueaning me with my own master?

That's ridiculous. I know it is. I have zero sexual interest in men in general, and Kevin in particular, especially in the context of our great game. I tell myself this, over and over and over.

Unfortunately, that doesn't make my newest defeat at Sarah's hands any less hot...

"Girls, girls," Kevin says, shooing his lesbian slaves away. "You're lovely as usual, but I think I want to take my new toy out for a spin."

"I'm... not a toy. That's horribly sexist!" Sandra says, in a failed attempt at sounding angry and indignant. The reddening of her cheeks could be fury... but also arousal, and maybe a little bit of both. Unfortunately, she might be programmed to offer feeble resistance, but she's also programmed to fail, every time.

I've seen to that.

"Shut up and crawl here," Kevin says with a snap of his fingers, and I swear it's as loud as thunder, to the point that it makes me jump and start forward before I check myself.

I'm not even sure Kev's noticed. Happy as he must be at my progressive downfall, he's just a guy after all, and right now, he only has eyes for the new, beautiful girl I've delivered at his feet.

Reluctantly at first, then with increasing obedience, Sandra crawls over to him, sitting back on her haunches to look up at her new master. As if by instinct, he presents one hand to her, knuckles turned towards her, and also as if by instinct, she leans forward to plant one small, timid kiss on the back of his hand.

"There," he says, cooing. "That's a good girl. See? That wasn't so difficult. Things are so much easier when you just do as you're told."

The little whimper that escapes Sandra's lips at that--half a rebuttal, half an admission--makes me squirm in place. There's something so terrifying about this scene--this clever, talented girl, folding herself into a slavish position in the shadow of this lowlife. And all of it at my doing. I am Serena, a lesbian feminist with mind control powers, and I have become both a servant and an agent of the patriarchy.

I wish the ground would just open and swallow me up, together with my shame.

The sound of a zipper fills the air, making me tremble, and a heartbeat later, the hand that Sandra was busy kissing lifts in the air, to rest upon the top of her head. She tries to shy away from his touch and its humiliating implications, but Kevin just presses harder, bringing her back in line. A gesture of physical mastery that elicits a desperate, throaty moan from Sandra.

The moan of a girl who's already on the verge of breaking.

"A woman's mouth isn't meant to be heard," Kevin says, pulling Sandra's face closer to his crotch. "It's meant to be felt..."

There's no mistaking the wet, worshipful sounds that fill the air next, hesitant at first, then increasingly daring. I look away, lost in a maelstrom of conflicting emotions--repulsion, hatred, guilt, shame, and that cursed heat between my thighs that just won't go away. Unfortunately, closing my eyes doesn't block out the sounds.

So sloppy and needy. I've programmed Sandra myself, so I know what she must be feeling, how every fibre of her being is stretching to better attune itself to her master's cock. How she is striving to learn his requirements, attend to his needs. Her own pleasure forgotten as irrelevant, her position as a woman relegated to his little sex object.

She feels like she's having an epiphany. Because I made her into a self-hating, man-serving, spineless misogynist of a girl. The same kind of girl Kevin wants to mould me into, I'm sure.

Is this what Sandra represents? My future?

"Well done, Froggy," a voice whispers right next to my ear, startling me. Sarah... she sounds desperately sultry and aroused, no doubt as stimulated by the spectacle as disappointed that she doesn't get first dibs on Kevin tonight. Her hand runs possessively through my hair as she crouches behind me.

"Closer," she says, and suddenly she pulls. I hate how meekly I follow her, still on my knees, letting her grab me close enough to Sandra and Kevin that I could reach out and touch them. Sandra's head is bobbing obscenely up and down Kevin's cock, but it's Sarah's fist holding my hair like a set of makeshift reins that's making my heart go crazy.