Chapter Seven
The low-frequency hum of the electrodes is a constant, vibrating itch that I can’t scratch.
I’ve been pinned to the headboard for two hours, my limbs stretched wide in that humiliating X-shape, my pussy and ass leaking a cocktail of the swim team’s seed and Connor’s musk-scented lube.
Every few seconds, a sharp, electric pulse snaps through my clit or deep inside my rectum, forcing my hips to jerk against the leather straps.
I am a living piece of furniture. A decorative, pulsing ornament for anyone walking down the hall of Hawthorne Hall.
The hallway is surprisingly quiet for a Tuesday afternoon, but the silence only heightens my senses.
I can hear the distant sound of a door slamming, the muffled chatter of students, and the rhythmic thump-thump of my own heart hammering against my ribs.
I’m drenched in sweat, my skin tacky, my nipples permanently peaked and aching from the air hitting them.
Then, I hear them. Not the heavy, arrogant stomps of the athletes, but the clicking of heels and the soft murmur of feminine voices.
"I'm telling you, the rumors are true," a voice whispers, sounding breathless and curious. "Connor actually processed a girl. A full-time resource."
"No way," another voice replies, sounding skeptical. "The policy is for everyone, but a dedicated asset? That’s faculty-level stuff. No undergrad is that far gone."
The footsteps stop right outside my door. I freeze, my breath hitching. I can feel the electrodes pulse—zap—and I let out a sharp, involuntary moan that echoes into the hallway.
The silence that follows is heavy. Then, the shadow of a woman falls across my thighs.
She’s tall, with sharp features and a tight ponytail, wearing a pleated skirt that barely covers her hips.
Beside her is a shorter girl, wide-eyed and flushed, clutching a textbook to her chest. They aren't just students; they're the kind of girls who run the social hierarchy of the campus—the ones who usually look down on everyone.
But right now, they're looking at me like I'm a fascinating new toy.
"Oh my god," the tall one breathes. Her eyes travel from my bound wrists down to the silver collar, then linger on the glistening, open mess of my crotch. "She's actually bound. Look at the electrodes."
The shorter girl, whose name tag reads Chloe, steps closer, her face turning a deep shade of crimson. "Is she... is she allowed to be like this? Just... out in the open?"
"The door is open, Chloe. That means she's available," the tall one says. She steps into the room, the click of her heels sounding like a countdown. She doesn't look at my face; she looks at my pussy, which is still twitching from the electric current. "I'm Sarah. And you are...?"
"Wanda," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Resource... Wanda."
Sarah smirks. She reaches out, not to comfort me, but to test the tension of the leather straps. She pulls my right wrist upward, making me gasp as the restraint bites into my skin.
"A resource. I love that. So clinical," Sarah says. She looks at Chloe. "Do you think she's still warm from the others?"
Chloe looks terrified but intrigued. "I... I don't know."
"Only one way to find out." Sarah reaches for the nightstand and finds the bottle of musk lube. She doesn't use it on herself; she pours a thick glob of it directly onto my clit, the cool liquid contrasting sharply with the heat of the electrodes.
Then, she leans down. She doesn't use her hands. She uses her tongue.
The first lick is slow, deliberate, and authoritative. I arch my back, my head slamming against the headboard—thump—as she swirls her tongue around my swollen nub. It’s a different kind of stimulation than the men; it’s precise, teasing, and cruel. She knows exactly how much I’m shaking.
"She's vibrating," Sarah whispers against my skin, her breath hot. "The electrodes are keeping her right on the edge. Look at her, Chloe. She's practically begging for it."
Chloe, emboldened by Sarah's dominance, crawls onto the bed.
She doesn't go for my pussy. Instead, she moves to my chest. She grabs my nipples, twisting them hard between her fingers, mimicking the way the swimmer had done it earlier.
I cry out, a mixture of pleasure and pain, my body straining against the X-shape.
"I've always wondered what it felt like to be the one in control," Chloe whispers, her voice trembling. She leans down and bites my shoulder, leaving a mark right next to the bruises from the athletes.
I am being consumed by them. The power dynamic has shifted; I'm no longer being used for release, but for their own curiosity and experimentation.
Sarah moves her mouth lower, her tongue sliding into my pussy, tasting the remnants of Jax and Leo.
She makes a face of disgust and fascination, her tongue flicking deeper, trying to find the source of the electric pulses.
"You're so full of them," Sarah mumbles, her voice muffled by my flesh. "You're just a vessel, aren't you, Wanda? A little hole for the whole school."
She pulls back and looks up at me, her eyes cold. "I wonder if you can take more."
Sarah reaches into her own bag—she’s come prepared. She pulls out a glass dildo, clear and cold, with a ribbed texture. She doesn't use any more lube; she just pushes it slowly into my ass, sliding it past the cum that's still leaking from me.
I scream, my body jolting. The glass is freezing, a shocking contrast to the internal heat.
As she pushes it deeper, it hits the electrode Connor left inside me.
The resulting spark is an explosion of sensation that makes my entire body seize.
I can't breathe; I can only gasp, my eyes rolling back in my head.
"Oh, look at that reaction!" Sarah laughs, her voice sounding manic. She begins to pump the glass toy in and out of my rectum, the friction creating a wet, slapping sound that fills the room. Slap. Slap. Slap.
Chloe is now focused on my mouth. She doesn't have a cock to give me, but she has a set of fingers that she shoves deep into my throat, gagging me, forcing me to swallow her scent. I am trapped—gagged by Chloe, impaled by Sarah, and electrified by Connor’s remote.
I feel a wave of total erasure. I am no longer a student, a daughter, or a person.
I am a sensory playground. The degradation is absolute, and yet, as the glass toy hammers into my ass and the electrodes continue to fire, I feel a terrifying surge of arousal.
I want them to break me. I want them to leave me so ruined that I can't even remember my own name.
"I think she's about to peak," Chloe says, pulling her fingers from my mouth.
Sarah accelerates the pace of the glass dildo, her movements becoming violent.
She’s not being gentle; she’s trying to see how much I can take.
I feel my climax building, a crushing weight in my pelvis.
I start to sob, my hips bucking wildly, the headboard banging against the wall in a frantic rhythm. Thump-thump-thump-thump!
"Do it, resource! Come for us!" Sarah commands.
I explode. It’s not a normal orgasm; it’s a violent, full-body convulsion.
My pussy clamps down on nothing, my ass grips the glass toy, and I scream into the empty room until my throat is raw.
I collapse back into the mattress, my breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps, my body still twitching from the aftershocks.
Sarah pulls the glass toy out with a wet schlick and looks at it, seeing the mixture of fluids coating the clear surface. She looks satisfied.
"You're a great toy, Wanda," she says, stepping off the bed. "I think we'll come back tomorrow. Maybe we'll bring a few more girls from the sorority."
They leave as quickly as they came, leaving me bound, leaking, and completely shattered. I lie there for what feels like hours, the silence of the room returning, save for the occasional zap of the electrodes that Connor is still controlling from wherever he is.
When the door finally opens again, I don't even have the strength to lift my head. I know the scent of leather and rain.
Connor walks in. He doesn't look surprised to see the state of me. He looks at the marks on my shoulders, the redness of my wrists, and the way my legs are still trembling.
"I see you've had some visitors," he says, his voice smooth and devoid of emotion.
He walks to the headboard and reaches for the remote. He clicks a button, and the electrodes stop instantly. The sudden silence in my nerves is almost as shocking as the electricity was. He reaches up and unclips the leather straps, one by one.
As my arms fall, I collapse forward, my muscles too weak to support me. I slump against his legs, my forehead resting on his polished shoes. I am sobbing, not from sadness, but from the sheer overload of the day.
"Look at you," Connor whispers, his hand resting on the back of my neck, his fingers gripping the silver collar. "Completely used. Drained. Broken."
He pulls me up, forcing me to stand on shaky legs. He leads me toward the bathroom, my feet dragging on the floor. He doesn't speak until we are inside. He pushes me down onto the cold tile floor and turns on the shower, letting the lukewarm water spray over my shivering body.
He doesn't wash me. He just stands there, watching the water wash away the gold lube, the musk, and the seed of a dozen different men.
"Tomorrow is a big day, Wanda," he says, his voice taking on a formal, almost academic tone. "The faculty is holding a review. They want to see the progress of the 'Hawthorne Asset.' You'll be presented in the main hall."
A surge of panic hits me. The main hall? That's public. That's not just a few students or a professor; that's the entire administration.
"Will I... will I be clothed?" I ask, my voice a mere whisper.
Connor laughs, a short, sharp sound. He reaches down and grips my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes.
"Clothed? Wanda, you've been processed. You're a resource. Resources don't wear clothes; they wear collars."
He lets go of me and walks out of the bathroom, leaving me shivering under the spray.
"Get cleaned up. Sleep if you can. But keep the door open. I've informed the night shift that you're feeling... particularly receptive tonight."
As the door clicks open behind him, I slide down the wall of the shower, the water drumming against my skin. I am terrified. I am humiliated. And as I look at the open door, I realize that I am waiting for the next person to walk through it.
The transformation is complete. I am no longer fighting the system; I am the system. I am the open door.