Chapter Four
The walk back to my room feels like a victory lap in a race I didn't know I was running.
Every step I take, the friction of my floral dress against my shaved mound and the lingering soreness in my ass remind me of exactly what Connor did to me.
I can still feel the ghost of that silver collar tightening around my throat, a constant, cold reminder that I belong to the RA.
As I pass the elevators, the group of guys I noticed earlier doesn't just stare; they track me. One of them, a broad-shouldered athlete with a backward cap, lets out a low whistle.
"New meat looks properly tagged," he grunts, his eyes scanning the curve of my hips. "Connor’s really putting her through the paces."
I don't answer. I don't even smile. I just keep walking, my heart hammering against my ribs. The power dynamic has shifted. I was the shy transfer student terrified of the open doors; now, I am a marked object. The fear is still there, but it’s mutated into something hungry, a desperate need to see just how far this 'resource' status goes.
When I enter my room, Priya is lounging on her bed, scrolling through her phone. She looks up, her eyes immediately landing on the silver collar. A smirk plays on her lips.
"Took you long enough," she says, her voice dripping with amusement. "I wondered if Connor decided to keep you for the night. You look... different. More vacant. I love it."
I collapse onto my own bed, the sheets feeling rough against my sensitized skin. "He... he processed me," I whisper.
Priya laughs, sitting up and sliding off the bed.
She walks over to me, her own nakedness a casual fact of life in this room.
She reaches out, her fingers grazing the metal of the collar.
"Processed is a good word for it. He doesn't just break you in; he recalibrates you. You’re not a person here, Wanda. You’re a utility.
A tool for pleasure. The more you accept that, the more you'll actually enjoy it. "
She leans down, her breath warm against my ear. "Did he shave you? You smell like that gold lube he uses. Vanilla and musk. It’s a signal, you know. Anyone who smells that knows you've been handled by the RA. It makes you a prime target for the rest of us."
I shiver, the thought of being 'targeted' sending a jolt of heat straight to my pussy. "I don't know if I can handle more," I lie.
Priya pulls back, her expression mocking. "Liar. Your nipples are poking through that dress, and you're leaking through the fabric. You're practically begging for it."
She doesn't wait for a response. She reaches down and bunches up my dress, hiking it up to my waist. She stares at the smooth, hairless skin of my crotch, the gold lube still shimmering faintly.
"Perfect," she whispers. "Connor has a great eye for aesthetics."
She reaches into her bedside drawer and pulls out a small, handheld massager—a sleek, purple device with a bulbous head. She doesn't ask. She just presses it firmly against my clit.
I scream, my hips bucking off the bed. The vibration is intense, a high-frequency buzz that cuts through the lingering ache of the anal penetration from earlier.
"Shhh," Priya commands, leaning her weight onto me, pinning my shoulders. "This is just a maintenance check. We have to make sure you're staying reactive."
She moves the massager in slow, grinding circles, while her other hand reaches down to find the entrance to my ass.
She slides two fingers inside, testing the stretch Connor left behind.
I moan, my head tossing from side to side.
The combination of the vibration and the internal pressure is almost too much.
"You're still wide open," she notes, her voice clinical. "He really did a number on you. You're practically a void."
She pulls her fingers out and replaces them with the massager, shoving the vibrating head against my perineum, right between my pussy and my ass. The sensation is electric, sending sparks through my entire pelvic floor. I'm sobbing now, not from pain, but from the sheer sensory overload.
"Please, Priya... I can't..."
"You can," she whispers. "And you will."
She pulls the device away suddenly, leaving me shivering and empty.
She stands up and looks at the clock. "Get dressed.
Properly. We have a 'Study Group' in the common room.
Since you're a Protected Resource, you're expected to attend.
It's basically an orientation for the students to see what the new gear looks like. "
"A study group?" I ask, blinking back tears.
"In Hawthorne Hall, 'studying' involves a lot less reading and a lot more sucking," she smirks.
I dress slowly, choosing a tight, white ribbed dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.
I don't wear a bra; I want them to see how hard my nipples are.
I leave the collar visible, the silver glinting against my skin.
As I walk out of the room, I make sure to leave the door wide open, just as Connor instructed.
The common room is a den of organized chaos.
There are beanbags, oversized couches, and a few strategically placed mats on the floor.
About a dozen students are there, most of them in various states of undress.
Some are kissing, some are fingering each other, and in one corner, a guy is receiving a blowjob from two girls at once.
The moment I step into the room, the conversation dies down. A dozen pairs of eyes lock onto me—and the collar.
"The new resource has arrived," a voice booms.
I look toward the center of the room. Connor is sitting in a large leather armchair, looking every bit the authority figure. He’s wearing a button-down shirt with the top three buttons undone, his eyes dark and predatory.
"Come here, Wanda," he commands.
I walk toward him, my legs trembling. Every eye is on me, tracing the line of my dress, imagining what's underneath. I stop in front of him, my head bowed.
"Kneel," he says.
I drop to my knees instantly. The hard floor bites into my skin, but I don't care. I look up at him, my expression one of total submission.
"As I told you, Wanda is a Protected Resource," Connor announces to the room, his voice echoing.
"She has been processed and vetted. She is available for use, provided the request is logged through me.
However, for the next hour, I am opening her up for 'communal testing.
' I want to see how she handles multiple inputs. "
A low murmur of excitement ripples through the group. The guys stand up, their cocks already straining against their clothes.
"Who wants first?" Connor asks, his voice casual, as if he were assigning a group project.
A tall, lean guy with glasses and a smirk steps forward. "I'll take the lead, Connor. I've always wondered how a pre-med student handles a real anatomy lesson."
Connor nods. "Proceed. But remember, she is my resource. If you break her, you answer to me."
The guy, whose name I later learn is Elias, doesn't waste time. He reaches down and grabs my hair, pulling my head back so I have to look at him. He doesn't say a word; he just unzips his pants and lets his cock spring free. It's long and slightly curved, the head glistening.
"Mouth," he orders.
I open my mouth, taking him in. He doesn't let me set the pace; he pushes deep, his cock hitting the back of my throat. I gag, my eyes watering, but I remember Connor's lesson. I wrap my lips tight around him, using my tongue to swirl around the head, trying to be the perfect tool.
While Elias fucks my mouth, another student—a girl with short, dyed blue hair—approaches from behind. She doesn't ask for permission. She reaches under my dress, her fingers slick with some kind of scented lube—this one smells like strawberries.
She finds my clit and begins to rub it with a brutal intensity. At the same time, she slides three fingers deep into my pussy, stretching me wide. I moan into Elias's cock, the sound muffled and guttural.
"She's so wet," the blue-haired girl, Maya, whispers. "Connor really prepped her. She's like a sponge."
I'm caught in a vice of pleasure. Elias is hammering into my throat, and Maya is ravaging my pussy. I feel my mind starting to slip, the boundaries of my identity blurring. I'm not Wanda anymore; I'm just a collection of holes and nerves, reacting to the stimuli.
"Switch," Connor commands.
Elias pulls out with a wet pop. Maya doesn't stop; she just shifts her focus. She pulls her fingers out of my pussy and slides them straight into my ass, hitting the spot Connor had sensitized earlier. I arch my back, a loud, piercing moan escaping me.
"Now, let's try a 69," Connor suggests, gesturing to Elias.
Elias flips me over. I'm now lying on my back, my legs pushed back toward my head. Elias positions himself above me, his head between my thighs and my head between his.
The position is intimate and degrading all at once. I dive into him, my tongue exploring his cock, licking the veins and the base, while he buries his face in my pussy. He doesn't just lick; he sucks my clit into his mouth, creating a vacuum that sends electric shocks through my body.
I'm losing control. I'm sucking him frantically, wanting to please him, wanting to be the best resource in the room. The scent of strawberries and vanilla mixes in the air, a cloying, erotic perfume.
"She's peaking," Elias grunts, his voice vibrating against my thighs.
He increases the suction, his tongue flicking rapidly against my clit. I feel the orgasm building—a massive, crashing wave. I wrap my legs around his head, pulling him closer, my mouth working on his cock with a desperate hunger.
I explode. My pussy clamps down on his face, my entire body convulsing in a violent orgasm. I scream into his cock, my voice echoing through the common room.
As I slump back, gasping for air, Elias pulls away, a string of my juices clinging to his chin. He looks satisfied, almost bored.
"Aptitude: High," he notes, looking toward Connor.
Connor smiles, a cold, predatory expression. "I told you she was a quick learner."
He stands up and walks over to me. He doesn't offer a hand to help me up. Instead, he looks down at me, lying there exposed and shaking in the middle of the room.
"The session is over for now," Connor announces. "Wanda, go back to your room and clean yourself. You have a 9 AM lecture tomorrow. I expect you to wear the collar under your scarf. If I find out you've tried to hide it, the punishment will be... significant."
I scramble to my feet, my dress ruined, my body humming with a residual electricity. I look around the room. The other students are already returning to their own activities, their interest in me having been sated for the moment.
As I walk toward the exit, I feel a strange sense of belonging. I am the resource. I am the tool. And as I touch the silver ring of the collar around my neck, I realize that I don't want to be anything else.
But as I reach the door, a hand grabs my arm. It's a woman I haven't seen before—older, dressed in a sharp professional blazer and glasses. She has an air of authority that rivals Connor's.
"You must be the new transfer," she says, her voice smooth and commanding. "I'm Professor Sterling. I've heard a lot about your... integration into the dorm."
I freeze. A professor? In the common room?
She looks me up and down, her gaze lingering on the collar. A small, knowing smile touches her lips.
"I think you and I are going to get along very well, Wanda. Come to my office tomorrow after your lecture. I have some 'extra credit' assignments that require a resource of your specific... talents."
She lets go of my arm and walks away, leaving me standing in the doorway, my heart racing. The Open Door Policy wasn't just for the students. The rabbit hole went much deeper than I ever imagined.