Cayla

Chinese student hypnotizes her college lecturer.

Her voice seems to link directly to my mind. Her words sound ridiculous, impossible, outrageous.

I reply;

"Yes, Cayla."

I hear her fingers click. I feel like I've just woken up.

I'm in the classroom. The hard floor tells me that I am kneeling. Looking down in horror, I see my manhood standing erect. I am naked! Standing before me, Cayla laughs cruelly. Her dark eyes fix me with a sadistically knowing stare.

She knows something I don't.

"I already have photo of your peepee, photo of you naked."

Her English is accented, grammatically imperfect, but no less effective for that.

"What? What's going on! What have you done?"

My anger is real, forceful, but my desperation and helplessness are betrayed by my tone.

Cayla drops a collection of papers to the floor.

"I say I have photo of you. So, my essay pass ok!"

I recognise her writing on the paper. The situation is clear.

"Be a good boy."

She laughs and leaves the room. As I look at the distinct writing style on the paper, I begin to remember...

I usually read a student's first essay with exasperation but this one was particularly bad. Not only are the arguments shallow and superficial with no evidence of real academic research, the quality of language makes it impossible to understand sometimes.

'Very many of the global and multi-national can using these social medias peripaticaaly and resounding success from the feedback of the users instantly traditional media not have.'

Even if you can work that out try doing it over 2000 words. You begin to get dizzy trying to make sense of it all. Typing in the student's number I send a note to him or her to see me asap.

It was the end of a long, hot day and I was beginning to feel tired. The fan in my office spun relentlessly. I was not surprised when it was Cayla (not her original name of course) who appeared in my office. I like her as a student. Quite smart though not a particularly hard worker. Not what everyone would call 'beautiful', she has somewhat sharp features and even some evidence of faded acne on her forehead but her eyes and her smile have a strangely alluring vivaciousness to them.

"You want to see me teacher?"

She walks confidently into my space. Chinese students, especially female ones, are usually quite shy but I find her sense of assurance quite appealing.

"Please sit down Cayla. We need to talk about your essay."

As I go over it's problems, she keeps smiling very confidently. A strange reaction for someone who is being told their work is unintelligible. I find myself drawn to her eyes and find it difficult to concentrate on the mass of ink that is her essay in front of me.

"Sorry, teacher. I know my grammar is poor but my idea is fine. Please, you must read it carefully to find it."

"Yes, but Cayla look here. This sentence is so long, the grammar is wrong, I can't understand what you are saying."

Her eyes begin to brim with tears. I begin to feel bad despite myself.

"Please teacher just read this sentence here one more time and see if you understand."

"Ok, Cayla"

"Thank you, teacher. I know you are good."

I start reading with an open mind but by the end of the first line my mind is again swirling with confusion. I try to concentrate on the wild words in front of me.

"I know my English hard to understand."

"Mmh." I respond, trying to focus.

"My words going round and round and round."

They do go round and round and round. It's been a long day. The heat is making me sleepy and the sound of the fan doesn't help.

"You must so tired to read my essay after very long day."

I begin to yawn.

"Excuse me.," I say. "I'm tired after such a long day."

"Yes, reading the essay make you tired, maybe even sleepy, but you know my idea there and you can finding it."

"But, Cayla, where...", I begin.

"It there teacher. Thank you for your patient. I know you very tired, very sleepy and still you look for my idea. You try help me."

I yawn again. I take off my glasses and find myself pinching me eyes. This incomprehensible essay, the whir of the fan, the heat, her gentle but insistent voice.

"Your eyes heavy teacher. I'm sorry. I make you so sleepy."

My eyes do feel heavy. I yawn again

"So difficult to keep your eyes open teacher. You want to sleep."

God, yes I want to sleep. But I can't here!

"Why no take break from my essay teacher. Make you so sleepy. And it so hot. Let me turn up this fan to make you more comfortable.

My heavy eyes automatically look at the fan. It spins around faster. Much like Cayla's essay.

"Look at the fan spin round and round teacher. Like my words go round and round and round. It make you so dizzy, so sleepy. Your eyes, your head, so heavy."

I actually feel my head begin to loll forward under its increased weight. I just want to let go, to surrender to this overwhelming tiredness and sleepiness that is somehow enveloping me.

"Don't resist anymore, teacher. It ok. You can close your eyes."

My vision begins to blur. I am aware of her face, her eyes staring back at me across the table. Her dark eyes which I have always found attractive hold a different power now. I feel as if I am drowning in them.

"Sleep, sleeeeep, sleeeeeep," she coos.

I am vaguely aware of the expression on her face changing from one of respectful supplication to one of devious triumph. It goes well with her vivaciousness and I actually find it incredibly arousing. The last thing I remember seeing is a sadistic smile breaking out across her face as I surrender to sleep...

"Now, teacher, listen to me."

The voice, I recognise as Cayla's. But it seems to come from within my own head.

"When I say something to you. You will say, 'Yes, Cayla.'

'Yes, Cayla'.

'You now in my control. You do what I say.'

Ridiculous, I think to myself.

'Yes, Cayla,' I reply.

'You, my sleeve'.

I don't understand

'I say, you my sleeve.'

I still don't understand.

A pause. Sounds like she is checking something on her phone.

'Slave', the voice from the dictionary on her phone calls out.

"Oh", she laughs. "You, my slAve."

'Yes, Cayla.'

'Take off clothes.'

That's ridiculous. Here, in the office! But the voice seems to come from within my own mind. I find myself complying. Worst of all, my cock is beginning to stir.

'Oh, nice big peepee,' Cayla taunts. 'I take picture'.

If this gets out I am finished at this university, and probably any university in the country. I get the impression that Cayla is aware of this. She laughs at the power she has over me.

"On knees." she commands.

The shape of her legs under her tight skinny jeans is evident. My 'peepee' is now throbbing. Cayla laughs as she takes more photos.

'I think you understand, yes. You belong to me now. You do what I say.'

'Yes, Cayla,' I helplessly reply.

'Good boy. Now you kiss my shoes.'

Her shoes have spikes attached all over the instep and the sides. A strange Chinese fashion which I've always found amusing. As my lips touch the spikes though I find them an apt metaphor for the damage she could now do to me.

She laughs triumphantly.

'Now, I wake you up by clicking my fingers. But you are my slave now and you will always do as I say. Everytime I click my fingers you will become just like this. You understand, slave?'

'Yes, Cayla.'

She clicks her fingers...