Dark cherry wood bookshelves and cabinets bordered the ceiling, and a dome light glowed golden above me from an old fashioned filament bulb. Next to my ear and plugged into my collar, the Professor's devices whirred and chirped. I imagined how I must look laying on his desk in the middle of the study. McVoy moved around above my head taking readings and checking wires.
"Tell me immediately if you see or feel anything strange," he said. I took a deep breath, and the collar crackled to life. "Breath," said McVoy putting one bear-like hand on my stomach, "You're alright, breath." I felt my heartbeat in my ears and tried to relax. McVoy's hand weighed down on me as I exhaled. The collar was cool, metallic, and tense with charge. It was cruel, I thought, for collars to take away our autonomy as though we were dolls, but let us keep thinking and feeling like girls.
I had imagined him stripping me at this point and taking me bent over his desk, or unzipping his pants for me to suck his cock where I lay. Instead he pulled out a clipboard and with a long checklist. Each scratch of the pencil marked the beginning of a new input into my collar. First he tested his control of my muscles. My hands clenched, then my arms. And from there, as though I were a marionette, muscles twitched in my torso, neck, legs, and feet. I put my hand to my lower belly when muscles deep inside flexed that I didn't even know I had.
The exercises became stranger and more difficult to understand as he continued. In one, my chest flushed so hot it was warm to touch. For another, a tingly sensation bounced from between my legs to my neck and back until I couldn't help giggling. In quick succession, I was overwhelmed with feelings that made me laugh, squirm, and gasp.
He reached the end of his list with the same clinical detachment with which he began. McVoy said, "Thank you, Claire. You've done very well." and held out his hand to help me stand.
I realized my wiggling had bunched my skirt up above my tummy exposing my tan legs (which I was proud of) and colorful Ms Kitty panties (which I was embarrassed by), and pulled it down again. I was unsteady on my feet even with my hand on his.
The stream through the glass, the big desk, and the professor looked the same as when I lay down. But I felt the weight of my collar now and wondered what my friends were doing. Or what was being done to them.
Still supporting my hand, he said, "Today you are free to relax and explore. There are beds upstairs if you need to rest, but please the room on the left, not right..." I tried to listen attentively but I was distracted, and his list of instructions faded into a buzz at the back of my mind. His forearm mesmerized me. He had rolled up his sleeves while working on me, and the muscles and tendons flexed while I wobbled. I wondered if he would finger me and checked his fingernails, they were clean and carefully manicured.
"Claire!" said the professor, "Earth to Claire?"
"Sorry, Professor," I said wondering what was wrong with me, "What was that? I'm still a little woozy."
"I said," he said, "You will experience heightened arousal due to your increased fertility, but I forbid you from playing with yourself--you may ask to climax after servicing me." I felt the blush of embarrassment and indignation spreading across my face and looked down at his loafers.
"I didn't know you could make me more fertile with my collar," I said unable to meet his eyes.
"I've already told you that the collar is just a trifle to me," he said irritably, "I've made a few alteration to you with the machines at my desk, but that's the only one you need to know about." He switched topics, "In an hour or so, come find me and we can talk about the rest of the rules. For now, I have a call to make. You may have anything in the kitchen for lunch," And he released my hand. I fetched my phone out of my bag still feeling unsteady. He undressed me with his eyes as I left and I wondered why he didn't just make me strip.
