Chapter Three
The sensation of the razor is terrifyingly precise.
Connor doesn’t rush. He works with a clinical, detached focus that makes me feel less like a woman and more like a piece of livestock being groomed for a show.
I lie there, my legs pinned wide, my breath hitching every time the blade glides over my skin.
He’s already cleared the top of my mound, and now he’s working his way down toward my clit.
"Stay still," he commands, his voice a low warning. "If you twitch and I cut you, you'll just have to learn to enjoy the sting."
I freeze, my muscles locking. I can feel the warm water dripping from the razor onto my inner thighs, mixing with the drying remnants of Jax’s cum.
The intimacy of the act is jarring; he is so close to my most sensitive parts, yet there is no tenderness in his touch.
He is maintaining me. He is prepping me.
As the last of the hair is cleared away, Connor doesn't immediately move. He leans in, his face inches from my pussy. He takes a deep breath, smelling me.
"Better," he murmurs. "Now you look like you belong here."
He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a bottle of thick, shimmering gold lube.
It smells like vanilla and musk, a heavy, cloying scent that immediately fills the room.
He pours a generous amount onto his palm and then smears it over my newly smooth skin.
The contrast of the cool lube against my sensitized flesh makes me jump, my hips bucking instinctively.
"I didn't tell you to move," he says, his voice dropping an octave.
Before I can apologize, he reaches into my pussy and hooks his finger around the vibrating egg. He pulls it out with a wet schlick, the device still humming faintly. He doesn't put it aside; instead, he holds it up so I can see it, glistening with my juices and the gold lube.
"You've had this in you all morning," he notes. "I wonder how much more you can take before you completely break."
He tosses the egg onto the bed and suddenly lunges forward, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand.
He uses his other hand to grab my breast, squeezing it with a brutality that makes me gasp.
He rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it hard, twisting it until I’m arching my back, my chest heaving.
"You're so desperate, aren't you, Wanda?" he sneers, his face inches from mine. "You're a little pre-med student who thought she was in control of her life, and now you're lying on an RA's bed, shaved bald and dripping with lube, begging for more."
"I'm... I'm not begging," I whimper, though my body is betraying me. My pussy is throbbing, the void left by the egg feeling like a physical ache.
"Liar," he whispers.
He releases my wrists and suddenly flips me over. I’m shoved onto my stomach, my face pressed into the dark sheets. I can smell the scent of other girls on the fabric—a cocktail of perfumes and sex. Connor doesn't waste a second. He grabs my hips and hauls my ass up, forcing me into a deep arch.
He reaches for a toy on his desk—a thick, silicone plug with a flared base, coated in that same vanilla-musk lube. I see it in my peripheral vision and my heart hammers against my ribs.
"The Open Door Policy isn't just about the pussy, Wanda," Connor explains, his voice returning to that terrifyingly educational tone. "To be a truly versatile resource, you need to be open everywhere. We need to make sure your back door is just as welcoming as your front."
"Please," I moan, "I've never... I don't know if I can—"
"You can because I'm telling you that you can," he interrupts.
He presses the tip of the plug against my sphincter.
I tense up immediately, my muscles clamping shut in a reflexive panic.
Connor doesn't stop. He pushes firmly, the blunt head of the toy forcing its way past my tight ring of muscle.
I let out a sharp, strangled cry, my fingers clawing at the sheets.
"Relax, you little slut. If you fight it, it only hurts more," he commands.
He pushes deeper, the silicone stretching me open. I feel a sensation of fullness that is almost overwhelming, a pressure that radiates through my entire pelvis. He slides the plug in all the way until the flared base snaps tight against my cheeks. I'm filled, stretched, and completely exposed.
"There," he says, sounding satisfied. "Now you're properly plugged."
He doesn't let me recover. He moves around to the side of the bed and grabs my hair, pulling my head to the side.
He reaches down and finds my clit, rubbing it vigorously with his lube-slicked fingers.
The combination of the plug stretching my ass and the friction on my clit sends me spiraling. I start to sob, my body shaking.
"Now, let's see how you handle a real lesson," he says.
He pulls me off the bed and forces me to my knees. He sits back in his leather chair, spreading his legs. His cock is already hard, straining against the fabric of his boxers. He doesn't take them off; he just pulls them down enough to let his head peek out.
"Mouth," he commands.
I lean forward, my lips parting. I take him in, my tongue swirling around the head of his cock. He tastes of salt and musk. I try to be thorough, using my tongue to lick the veins, wanting to please him, wanting to erase the fear with submission.
"Deep," he grunts.
I open my throat and slide him in. He's thicker than Jax was, and as he pushes deeper, I feel him hitting the back of my throat.
I gag, my eyes watering, but he doesn't pull back.
He grabs the back of my head, his fingers digging into my scalp, and begins to fuck my mouth with a rhythmic, punishing pace.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
The sound of my own choking fills my ears. I can't breathe, but the desperation to serve him overrides the instinct to gasp for air. I wrap my arms around his thighs, pulling myself closer, trying to take every inch of him.
Suddenly, he pulls out with a wet pop. I collapse forward, coughing, a string of saliva connecting my lip to his cock.
"Get on the bed. On your back. Now," he orders.
I scramble back onto the sheets, my body trembling. He doesn't go for my pussy. Instead, he positions himself over me, but he doesn't enter. He reaches down and grabs the plug in my ass, pulling it out with a sudden, violent yank.
The sudden release leaves me feeling hollow and raw. Before I can even breathe, he replaces the plug with his own cock. He doesn't use the pussy; he drives himself straight into my ass.
I scream, a loud, piercing sound that echoes off the walls of the room. He’s huge, and the tightness of my rectum makes the entry feel like I'm being split in half.
"Take it, Wanda! Take it like the resource you are!" he roars.
He begins to hammer into me. Every thrust is a collision, slamming my hips upward. He isn't being gentle; he's using me to vent some primal frustration. I feel my internal walls stretching, the friction creating a searing heat.
He reaches down and grabs my breasts, pulling them upward as he fucks me. He’s moving faster now, his breath coming in heavy, ragged heaves. I'm lost in a blur of pain and pleasure, my mind fracturing under the intensity.
"You're... so... tight!" he pants.
He shifts his weight, flipping me over again and shoving me toward the headboard. He grabs my waist and slams me back against the wall.
Thump.
My head hits the wall, the impact jarring my brain, but the shock only adds to the arousal. He continues to rail me from behind, the rhythm becoming frantic.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The headboard bangs against the wall in a steady, violent percussion.
I can hear the noise echoing in the hallway, knowing that anyone passing by can hear exactly what is happening in the RA's room.
The thought of being heard—of being known as the girl being broken in the RA's room—makes my pussy leak even more, the gold lube mixing with my juices and his sweat.
"Who are you, Wanda?" he demands, his voice a guttural growl.
"I'm... I'm a resource!" I scream, my voice cracking.
"And what do resources do?"
"They... they get used! They get used by everyone!"
"That's right," he groans.
He reaches around and finds my clit again, his thumb grinding into it with a pressure that borders on painful. I'm caught in a storm of sensation—the brutal stretching of my ass, the rhythmic slamming of my head against the wall, and the electric friction on my clit.
I feel the orgasm building, a tidal wave that I can't stop. I start to wail, my body convulsing.
"Please, Connor! Please, I'm coming!"
"Not until I say!" he commands, though his own voice is strained.
He delivers five more massive, bone-deep thrusts, his cock bottoming out in my gut. Then, with a final, violent shove that pins me flat against the wall, he lets out a loud, guttural shout and fills my bowels with a hot, thick torrent of cum.
I slump against the wall, my legs shaking too hard to support me. I can feel him pulsing inside me, the heat of his seed spreading through my rectum. He stays there for a moment, his forehead pressed against my shoulder, both of us panting for air.
When he finally pulls out, it's with a slow, wet slide. I collapse onto the bed, my body feeling like a discarded rag. I'm covered in gold lube, sweat, and cum. I'm shaved, stretched, and utterly spent.
Connor stands up and calmly puts his boxers back on. He looks down at me, his expression returning to that cool, detached mask.
"Your first lesson is complete, Wanda," he says. "You've shown a surprising amount of aptitude for submission. But remember, this was just a private session. The real test begins tomorrow."
He walks over to the desk and picks up a small, silver collar. It's thin, elegant, and has a small ring on the front.
"This is a marker," he explains, walking back to me.
"Since you're a transfer and still learning the ropes, I'm designating you as a 'Protected Resource' for the next week.
This means you are under my direct supervision.
You will wear this at all times. It tells the other students that while you are available for use, you report to me first."
He leans over and clicks the collar around my neck. The cold metal feels like a brand.
"Now, clean yourself up. I have a meeting with the Dean in twenty minutes. Leave the door open when you leave. I want the floor to know you've been properly processed."
I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. I can feel the weight of the collar, the soreness in my ass, and the lingering scent of vanilla and musk. I should be horrified. I should be planning my escape from this madhouse of a dorm.
But as I slowly stand up and look at my reflection in the mirror—shaved, marked, and collared—all I feel is a terrifying, electric anticipation for what tomorrow will bring.
I gather my floral dress and slip it on, the fabric clinging to my damp skin. I don't bother with underwear; I don't think I'll be needing any for a long time.
As I walk toward the door, I pause. I look back at Connor, who is already back at his desk, typing away as if he hadn't just spent the last hour dismantling my dignity.
"Thank you, Connor," I whisper.
He doesn't look up, but a small, predatory smile touches his lips.
"Get out, Wanda."
I open the door wide—wide enough for anyone to see in, and for anyone to walk in—and step out into the hallway of Hawthorne Hall.
As I walk back to my room, I notice a group of guys standing near the elevators.
Their eyes lock onto the silver collar around my neck, and their expressions shift from curiosity to hunger.
I don't look away. I keep my head high, the collar glinting under the fluorescent lights, knowing that I am no longer just a student. I am a resource, and the hunt has officially begun.