Idol Hands

Professor Solino sat behind her messy desk correcting midterms from the introductory course. Nearly a hundred students had enrolled in her courses this semester, and she was exhausted. She'd felt exhausted all semester, as a matter of fact. The hen scratches in front of her blurred -- it was barely words she was reading to begin with. The scrawls of the tech-savvy students were almost as bad as the luddites with good penmanship. Who needs help saving a file? Who!

Dr. Solino took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. In addition to the heavy workload, the malfunctioning air conditioning was starting to give her a migraine. She wished she could strip off and work naked, or at least semi-nude. But it was her office hour, and though she was sure that there were a number of her students who would dearly love to see her topless, the university tended to frown on naked profs.

She smiled at that. Last year, she'd confiscated a doodle pad masquerading as a notebook. It had been filled with hentai of her. In one, her breasts burst from her top, spilling buttons everywhere. In another, she was bent over instructing, and her boobs were falling out. In another, her tits had grown so large she couldn't stand up. Clearly the student had had a thing for her tits. It was clear that many of her students had a thing for her tits. Her peers tended to have a thing for her tits. Her tits were huge, as her boyfriends reminded her on several occasions by fucking them till they -- her boyfriends -- came on her neck and chin.

She had confiscated those pictures because they'd been counterproductive. She'd kept them because they'd been inappropriate. And when she'd looked through them -- all of them -- she'd felt threatened. And aroused.

Multiple men.

Chicks with dicks.

Chicks with fangs and dicks.

All fucking her. Pussy. Ass. Mouth.

Sometimes she begged for mercy in the drawings. Sometimes she cried. Sometimes -- and she'd had to go to one of her boyfriends for the Japanese translation -- she came so hard she died. When she'd heard this, she'd creamed a little.

But what perplexed her more than the notebook was the student who'd drawn them: Oukinakumo Watanabe. Soft-spoken, tentative, alert, ostensibly attentive Oukinakumo Watanabe. Oukinakumo Watanabe was not the kind of girl anyone would ever expect to own hentai, much less produce (and possibly distribute) it.

"It's always the quiet ones," mused Angelica, smiling at the thought of the notebook resting naughtily in her desk drawer. She unbuttoned a button on her blouse, breathed down her shining cleavage, and got back to work.

No sooner had she turned the page than there came a knock on her door. It was quiet, but not timid. She looked up to find none other than the slender, timid form of Oukinakumo Watanabe. She smiled, perplexed.

"Hello, Oukinakumo."

"Hello, Doctor Solino."

"How can I help you?"

"I've come for my book."

"Your book?"

"Yes, the book that you stole from me last season?"

"Ah, Oukinakumo, I didn't steal that book. I confiscated it because it was inappropriate."

"But you still have it."

Oukinakumo stepped through the door. The look in the girl's eyes was hard and determined. It was dissimilar to her usual shy tentative demeanour; and it put Doctor Solino on edge.

"I -- didn't want to destroy it. Because—" she trailed off.

"You do. Still have it?"

"I -- do."

"And where is it?"

Angelica couldn't stop her eye shifting in the direction of the drawer in which the offensive book was kept.

"You keep it in your office? Why?"

Angelica couldn't answer. She'd never even really thought about it before. She'd shown boyfriends and kept a smattering of images in her memory on hand, but why she was keeping the sketch book -- why in her desk at her office at work -- she couldn't say. In the space, Oukinakumo answered for her.

"You can't bear the thought of destroying those images? Sometimes you think they're more you than you are? So you keep them close in case you have to rely on them to remember?"

Angelica winced at the incisiveness, and the insightfulness. "Yes," she said, mystified.

"Give me my book back."

Doctor Solino's hand reached for the drawer. She stopped it, looked at Oukinakumo.

"That book isn't yours," said Oukinakumo. "It's mine. That's my work in your desk. My pen marks. They are not yours to have. Give them to me."

Angelica couldn't disagree. The student was too right. She went into the drawer and fished out the hentai drawings.

"You know," said Angelica as she placed the notebook on her desk, "these are actually pretty good. I wish I could draw like that."

"No," said Oukinakumo, picking up the notebook, "you don't."

"I don't?"

"No. You don't at all."

Angelica smiled. "Why not?"

Oukinakumo sighed, closed her eyes. Shook her head. She opened the book and placed it on the desk.

"Get up," she said. Angelica stood. Oukinakumo searched into her eyes for a glimpse of recognition, but Angelica couldn't offer one. Miss Watanabe shook her head. "Look at those pictures."

Doctor Solino looked again at the graceful lines that comprised her face and bust, pussy, legs, ass. In the random images the book had opened to, she was squirting milk from her breasts all over her face and tummy. She was, her Japanese-speaking boyfriend had told her, supposed to be drinking it, but found that being covered in it was too much fun to take herself seriously. Angelica put her tongue between her lips. Something was beginning to dawn on her.

Oukinakumo seemed unimpressed. She sighed again. Her shoulders fell. She rolled her eyes. "Unbutton your blouse." Doctor Solino obliged. She smiled again at Oukinakumo, with her shirt hanging loosely around her hips.

Then, epiphany. "Oh my Gods!" she said, and covered her breasts, though they had remained mostly covered by her shirt.

"Remove your hands from your breasts, and take your top with them." She did. Her shirt slipped from her arms, onto the chair, and subsequently onto the floor, gathering at her heels. And before she could protest in any way, Oukinakumo had given another order. "Take off your bra." This she did with increasing curiosity. The white lace fell to the floor with her discarded blouse.

"So, wait," said Angelica, standing topless and sweaty in her too-warm office. Oukinakumo looked at her. "You draw people and gain control over them?"

"I do."

"Is it anything? Just any kind of control?"

Oukinakumo's pale skin reddened. She bowed her head. "No."

"I see. So, if you're so ashamed of this, why keep drawing?"

"If you have a passion for someone -- some thing -- would you stop it? No. All life teeters on a balance of power, and my life teeters just a little closer to death because of this. That's all."

"That's incredible. I just do it without thinking. Can we do some more?"

Oukinakumo stood aghast at Angelica's request.

"Ah, purely in the interest of science, of course."

"Of course," said Oukinakumo, unconvinced. "Remove the rest of your clothing."

Doctor Solino unzipped the pencil skirt that hung reassuringly around her hips. She let the material fall away and the silk slip caress her calves as it covered her white lace bra on the floor. With her lithe fingers she unclasped the garters from their belt and removed her nude stockings and her heels with them.

When she stood up again, she was wearing only a pair of white cotton kickers and a black garter belt. Her tits were slick with sweat, not only from the heat but from the intense desire she was feeling build in her. Here was a student -- former student -- telling her to remove her clothes and without any hint of an ethical qualm she was taking each order in stride. Like she'd been trained. Which of course she hadn't and even if she had, it would never have been by Oukinakumo Watanabe.

As she bent again to remove her panties and her garter belt, a trickle of sweat dripped from underneath her right breast and glistened on her nipple before falling to the floor to moisten the skirt she had removed. She stood at a kind of attention, waiting. Shook her head. Opened her mouth to speak.

"I didn't want you to get your panties wet," said Oukinakumo before Angelica could say anything. Instead, she stood there agape.

"Cream," instructed Oukinakumo, and Doctor Solino was happy to oblige. A shockwave of arousal jolted her core and she relaxed into the humid scent of her cunt. Her pussy lips were sluiced -- an automatic erotic response to a simple request. Then Oukinakumo's mouth turned up in a smirk. "Cream again."

Angelica gasped as the cream from her first sluice was forced to rain down her thigh by her next sluice. Her heart pounded, her mouth was dry, her knees got week. There was nothing artificial in her arousal. How could it be possible that she could come so powerfully from just having been told to?

"I could do this all day," said Oukinakumo, objectively. "And you'd be powerless to stop me, even if you had control of your body. You'd want me to."

Doctor Solino remembered the studies done on rats who could choose to activate their thalamus gland. They'd died, starved and happy. She was beginning to understand Oukinakumo's dilemma.

"Put your index finger and your ring finger on your labia, and spread them."

Angelica's hands -- perhaps the most controlled parts of her body -- acted out Oukinakumo's whim, and she felt the soft tips of her fingers against the soft lips of her cunt. They spread, allowing the hot moving air to cool them down a little.

"Now, dip your middle finger inside and get it all wet."

Angelica's finger roamed about her slit, taking cream from everywhere she could find it. She toyed with her hole, but when the finger was saturated with her juice, she turned her eye to Oukinakumo for further instructions.

"Put that middle finger in your mouth and suck on it like it's a cock."

While Angelica Solino was working the savoury treat in and out of her mouth, she began to wonder if she weren't controlling the experiment. She felt freed and accomplished by taking Oukinakumo's orders so literally, and so precisely. Had there been some kind of shift in her consciousness caused by the -- what was it? a hypnotic suggestion? -- or had she simply relieved herself subconsciously of all ethical duties because she had an implausible plausible deniability?

Whatever it was, it was tasty!

"Now, turn around and bend over your desk. Spread the cheeks of your ass and put two fingers inside."

Doctor Solino performed each act as the order was given. The motions came to her so smoothly, and she felt as though it would be just easy enough for her to relax into the girl's instructions. They would carry her body. With two fingers in her asshole, she waited for Oukinakumo's instructions. And as she waited, she relaxed. She didn't move, she didn't think. She simply waited.

Oukinakumo walked up to her, and put her face close to hers.

"Solino-sensei," she said, "you are standing naked, bent over your desk, with two long-nailed fingers inside your ass. Have you done this before?"

"No."

"Would you do this for just anyone?"

"No."

"Have you ever fantasised about it?"

"No."

"Do you have your answers?"

"Yes."

"Is this enough science for the day?"

Angelica looked at Oukinokumo. The girl had a sad expression on her thin lips. She was asking permission. Permission to be let go, released. A wave of sympathy overcame Angelica.

"Go."

"I can take my book?"

Without thinking, Angelica said, "Yes."

Miss Watanabe took the book from the desk with haste, shut it and left. Angelica took her fingers from her ass, stood up and stared at the pile of clothes on her office floor. She had a sudden sinking sensation. This was the middle of her office hour, and here she stood, amid a sea of pussy juice and sweat, naked as the day she was born, with a craving for more instruction -- more sex. If she were caught by a hapless student, she could easily be fired and never work anywhere again.

Sighing, she locked the door and sat at her desk. Still nude she put her head in her hands and tried to understand what had just happened to her.

She couldn't. She needed more information. More experimentation. She needed to know just what kind of power Oukinokumo Watanabe was capable of. And she needed to be a research subject.

Before she made too much of a mess of her chair, she stood and dressed. Then she logged on to her university account and looked up Miss Watanabe's e-mail.