Story: The Stepford Pattern, Part 1

It started with an intuition that Jenny was in some kind of trouble.

Harrison worked in IT support at Hedge Valley University, a second-tier tertiary educational establishment with a focus on the arts and a very high enrolment percentage of women.  (Three in every five students were women.)  It had a nation-leading reputation in history, psychology, and women’s studies.

Mostly what Harrison did was set up new users on the university IT system – or disconnect staff or students who had left – and provide tech support to users who were struggling with the network or the uni’s outdated database software.

He didn’t have his own office, just a small desk tucked into a corner of the psychology wing, directly across from Dr Jennifer Sutton, who *did* have an office.

He liked Jenny.  She was exceptionally young to hold a doctorate in psychology – only 28 years of age – and she was pretty.  Her fit, buxom body and shoulder-length blonde hair could have easily made her a model in another life.  Her specialty was in queer psychology, and she herself identified as a gold-star lesbian.  

Pop-culture may have led one to expect that a driven lesbian academic might be hostile to men, but Jenny was always polite and friendly to Harrison.  Each morning when she came to her office she showed Harrison cute pictures of her cat, and they traded commentary on the science-fiction and fantasy TV that they both enjoyed watching.  They were colleagues who got on well together.

And if Harrison sometimes fantasised about the way Jenny’s tits bulged beneath her tight sweaters, or how enjoyable it might be to kiss her, or what it might feel like to push his cock into her tight lesbian pussy, well, that was normal for a young man, and no one’s business but Harrison’s.

But for that last week – before everything changed – it seemed to Harrison like there was something *wrong* with Jenny.  She started coming to her office late, and when she *did* arrive she seemed flushed and distracted.  She didn’t talk to Harrison anymore, and in fact she seemed to blush when she looked at him.  

And she was dressing sexier.  The tight sweaters were replaced by tight white shirts, and Harrison could see the black lace of Jenny’s bra through their fabric.  Her skirts were tighter, and shorter.  And – for the first time since Harrison had met her – she was wearing high heels.

He tried to ask her, on the fourth day of this, if anything was wrong, but she just blushed deeper and ignored him, and vanished into her office, closing the door behind her.

He worried.  Was Jenny unwell?  Had something happened to her?  Had she hooked up with an abusive or controlling girlfriend?  Was she being blackmailed?

He tried to raise the question again on the sixth day, and all she said was, “Please, it’s nothing, sir.”  And again, she vanished into her office.

“Sir.”  She had never called Harrison that in all the time they had known each other.  He’d never heard her call *anyone* sir.  It felt wrong – deeply wrong.

And so on the seventh day, he did what he knew he shouldn’t – he logged into her university IT accounts, and began to search her emails, her activity, and her hard drive.

It didn’t take him long.  He was shocked.  She was looking at porn on her office computer.  And not lesbian porn.  Heterosexual porn.  *Extreme* heterosexual porn.  Naked women being slapped and spat on.  Naked women having their breasts beaten.  Naked women being kicked in the cunt.  Women treated as human cows.  Women being pissed on.  Crying women being fucked.  

Harrison was not at all sure that all the videos were consensual.  He fairly strongly suspected that a good number of them were illegal.

It took him a little while to arrive at the obvious explanation.  Jenny was researching something.  She needed to look at these for research she was doing.  Of course, it was the only explanation that made sense.  Jenny was a lesbian, and a feminist.  There was no other reason that she would access videos like this.

It could still get her into trouble, though.  Academics were supposed to submit a formal notice to IT before accessing content like this, explaining why they needed to access it and what research purpose it served.  And Jenny had submitted no such notice.

He decided to look at what Jenny was doing on her computer right now.  Maybe that would give him an idea as to what sort of research this was.  He brought up a mirror of her current computer screen.

She had a document open.  She was typing in it.  She was typing the same thing, again and again, line after line.

JENNY IS A DUMB SLUT.

JENNY IS A DUMB SLUT.

JENNY IS A DUMB SLUT.

Harrison blinked, trying to understand what he was seeing.  Was Jenny… really sitting right now in her office, doing nothing but insulting herself over and over on her computer?

The words in the document changed.  Now Jenny was typing:

LESBIANS ARE JUST CONFUSED WHORES.

LESBIANS ARE JUST CONFUSED WHORES.

LESBIANS ARE JUST CONFUSED WHORES.

Was it… an art project, maybe?  A satirical commentary on modern culture?

Desperate, Harrison checked her emails.  And it was more of the same.  Receipts showing she had bought memberships to extreme porn sites.  Receipts for sex toys to be shipped to her house – ball gags, bondage sets, nipple clamps, vibrators.  

And there among them was a receipt for a donation – over three thousand dollars donated to “Titcage, Inc.”.  

And a quick search of the web showed that Titcage was a misogynistic lobby group, dedicated to the removal of women’s rights and the recognition of women as male property.  

There was no possible explanation for this.  Research or not, art project or not, Jenny had funded an organisation that wanted to see her entire gender enslaved, to the tune of three thousand dollars.  They would use that money to further their goals.  It was hard to see what benefit Jenny might be pursuing that would outweigh the harm to women that they would do with that money.

Harrison could ignore this.  But Jenny would get caught in the next scheduled audit of her IT.  She would, without question, be discharged from the university in a public scandal, and her life and career would be ruined.

Harrison couldn’t believe that Jenny had transformed overnight from a passionate lesbian feminist into a misogynist slut who watched heterosexual rape porn.  Something was going on, and she was in trouble.

And so he went to her door, opened it without knocking, and stepped inside.

Jenny jumped at his entrance, and jerked, yanking at her clothes.  She managed to pull her shirt down over her breasts before Harrison could see much, and pull her chair up to her desk to conceal what had been going on below her waist – and yet it was transparently obvious to Harrison what had just been going on.

Jenny had been sitting at her computer, half naked, her bra pulled down and her shirt pulled up to expose her tits, her skirt pulled up to her waist, and with one hand she had been typing about how she was a confused whore, and with the other she had been masturbating.

Her face was still flushed, she was breathing heavily, her hair was in disarray, and Harrison could smell sex in the air.

She gazed at him with desperation.  He could see that part of her wanted to tell him to get out of her office, to yell at him for barging in, to threaten him with various dire consequences.  And yet… she wasn’t.  Her expression wasn’t one of a predator cornered in its den, but rather that of a prey animal, hoping for mercy.

He stepped inside her office and closed the door behind him.

“What do you want… Harrison?” asked Jenny.  

Harrison noted the delay before his name.  Had she been about to say “sir” again?

“Jenny,” he said, “clearly there is something going on with you… something you’re unhappy about… and I want to help.”

She blushed deeper than she already was.  “I’m fine, sir,” she said, quickly.  “Really.”

There was that “sir” again.

“No, Jenny, you’re not,” said Harrison.  “I’ve seen your IT logs.  I’ve seen what you’re looking at on your computer.  I saw a donation to a very dubious organisation…”

Jenny gasped, and began to tremble.

“Please,” she said.  “Please, don’t tell anyone.  I can’t help it.  Please… just keep it a secret.  I’ll… make it worth your while.”

And there could be no mistaking what Jenny meant, because she was staring deliberately at Harrison’s groin, and her lips had parted in an inviting little circle.  She hadn’t said the words, but they both understood – Jennifer Sutton, lesbian academic, was offering to suck his cock to keep him quiet.

“Jenny, I don’t want to get you in trouble,” said Harrison.  “I’m going to turn my back now.  Why don’t you take a moment to… adjust yourself, and hide whatever was on your computer screen, and tell me when I can turn around?  And then I’m going to come over and take a seat next to you, and we can talk.”

He turned to face the door.  Behind him, he heard the sounds of Jenny frantically adjusting her bra, skirt, and panties, and then some clicking and typing on her keyboard.

“Okay,” she said, after a minute.

Harrison turned back, and walked over to Jenny’s side of the office.  He pulled up a guest chair and sat down, close enough that his knees were almost touching hers.

Whatever had been on her screen was gone now.  Only an innocuous desktop was showing.

He looked at Jenny’s face.  She looked so damn pretty like this, with a little extra touch of blush on her cheeks and neck, with her hair mussed just a little – and most of all with that look of vulnerability on her face, mixed with shame and guilt and humiliation.

“What’s going on, Jenny?” he asked.

She struggled.  She didn’t seem to be able to speak.  Finally, she said, “Can you say something nasty to me?  Like, about women?  I know it’s weird, but… I need it.  Tell me I’m a dumb slut, just like all women.  Tell me I’d be fun to rape.”

Harrison was taken aback.  “Are you serious?” he said.

She nodded emphatically.  “I can’t… I can’t talk to you unless… unless I hear you say those things.  Like you mean it.”

He didn’t want to say those words.  But she seemed serious.  And if it would get her to speak…

“Jenny, you’re a dumb slut, just like all women,” he said, looking into her eyes, “and you’d be enormously fun to rape.”

Harrison couldn’t believe how *freeing* it felt, to say those forbidden words, whether he meant them or not.  They were words that it was absolutely taboo to say, to anyone, in any circumstances, and here he was saying them to the face of a sexy, vulnerable blonde.

He felt his cock harden in his pants.

“Thank you,” breathed Jenny.  “Thank you.  That feels… right.”  

She took a deep breath.

“It’s my own fault,” she said, “for being a dumb slut.  I’ve been researching far-right men’s groups, for my next paper and book.  They’re full of these theories and plans for how they’ll reduce women to domestic objects that basically just cook, clean, suck cock and make babies.  I’ve been infiltrating their forums and chat groups, and they’re just so *ridiculous*.  Half of them are just entitled virgins.”

She jumped a little as she said this – and as Harrison watched, she grabbed her left nipple, through the fabric of her bra and her shirt, and pinched it, hard enough to make herself squeal.

“They’re smarter than me, though,” she whimpered.  “I’m such a dumb slut.”

“Jenny…” protested Harrison.

“Please don’t stop me,” said Jenny.  “It won’t help, really.”

She took another deep breath.

“Anyway, I started hearing about this thing called ‘The Stepford Pattern’.  It was supposed to be a hypnotic treatment to turn difficult women into obedient domestic fucktoys.  And I thought it was ridiculous because, you know, hypnosis can’t *do* that.  Certainly not to anyone who doesn’t *want* it done to them.  But I started seeing more and more men swearing by it, saying they’d got their girlfriends to use it, and now their girlfriends hated the idea of women’s rights even more than the men did.  It wasn’t a *lot* of men, but it was… enough.”

“I started trying to get access to this Stepford Pattern, to see what it was.  It was still in the testing stages, apparently, and tightly controlled.  It took a whole weekend to work on a woman, and she had to take part willingly.  It did something with brain waves that apparently only worked on the brains of women.  The men laughed about that, because they said it proved that women had weaker brains than men.”

“I almost gave up on finding it.  I thought it was an urban myth.  And then, finally, I was chatting with a man on a forum and I said I really wanted to see this Stepford Pattern, and he told me to send him a picture of my… my cunt.  He said if I took a photo of my cunt for him, he’d give me access.”

“So I did.  It was embarrassing, but it didn’t show my face, and I felt like I needed to see this Pattern, or whatever it was, for my book.  So I could debunk it, or… I don’t know.  I knew it couldn’t *really* work, but I wanted to see what it was.”

“And after I sent the guy the picture of my pussy, he sent me a one-time link.  It logged me onto a website, and the website said that before using the pattern I should be well-hydrated, and ensure I wouldn’t be disturbed.  I should set aside 48 hours for the process, and then strip naked, and put a towel on my computer chair in case I… got wet.  I should masturbate to the edge of orgasm, and then put on my headphones, start the Pattern, and watch the screen.”

“I did all that.  I figured I had to play fair or I wouldn’t really know what the Pattern could do.  I know it sounds stupid, and it is, because I’m a stupid dumb cunt, just like all women.  But I truly thought it couldn’t possibly actually *do* anything to me, because hypnotism doesn’t work like that.”

She paused, and looked at Harrison with big, desperate, vulnerable eyes.

“Except it did,” she said.  “It worked.  I… kind of blanked out once the video started.  I lost two days of time.  I know I got up from the computer from time to time.  I have memories of drinking more water.  I went to the toilet – but not inside the house.  I think I went into the back yard, naked, and pissed in the garden like an animal.  And… there’s a video on my phone.  I recorded myself while I was under the trance.  In the video, I answer the door naked, and there’s a delivery driver there who’s very surprised to see me nude.  And he passes me a can of dog food – the gross stuff, with the jelly in it – and then I close the door and take the can to the kitchen, and I open it up with a can opener, and then I stuff the dog food up my… up my pussy…”

She took a moment to breathe heavily as Harrison stared at her, wide-eyed.

“And then I… I masturbated, with the dog food inside me, on the video, until I orgasmed, apparently.  And then I pulled it out again and… and ate it.  And then I looked at the camera, and said, ‘Women are animals.  We don’t deserve rights.’   And then the recording ended.”

She was still struggling to control herself.  She looked like she might cry.

“Harrison,” she said, “I think I *sent* that video to someone.  I have a memory that I did.  But I don’t know who.  And I don’t have a record in my phone that shows it.  I think I deleted the record.”

“Can you send that video to me?” asked Harrison.

She recoiled, looking at him as if he’d turned into a snake.  Whatever trust he might have had with her was suddenly strained.

“I want to *help* you, Jenny,” said Harrison.  “If there’s video of you under the trance, I need to see it.  And besides, just a minute ago you said you’d do anything if I kept your secrets.”

The logic of that seemed to get through to her.  And there was something else – an underlying desire to let Harrison be right, to obey his suggestions . She nodded, and picked up her phone, and a moment later there was a notification on Harrison’s phone.

He would look at that later.  A part of him hungered to see it – a part that included his rock-hard cock – but he genuinely wanted to help Jenny, and that came first.

“So what happened when you woke up from the trance?” asked Harrison.

“I immediately went and had a shower,” she said.  “I was still kind of hazy at that point.  Like I was half in the trance, half out.  But by the time I’d cleaned my body I felt better.  But then I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and I just felt… intense and sudden shame.  I was ashamed to be a *woman*.  I saw myself and I just thought, ‘What a disgusting dumb cow.’  And then my eyes started picking out particular problems.  Like… I didn’t have cum on my face.  And I should, because I would look prettier that way.  There should be a man’s cock in my mouth.  And my tits should be bigger.  And my waist should be thinner.  And when I saw that I had hair on my pussy, I just had such immediate revulsion that I got out my razors and shaving cream right then and there, and I didn’t leave the bathroom until my pussy was smooth and bald.  And all the time I was shaving I was thinking, ‘I’m such a dumb slut, I’m such a dumb slut.’”

And now she *did* start to cry, first a trickle of tears, and then deep, choking sobs.

Harrison had a sudden traitorous thought.  Some women looked ugly when they cried – but some women looked prettier, as if they had been born to shed tears.  Jenny looked very, *very* sexy when she cried.

He reached out a hand and put it on her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said.  “It’s okay.  We’re going to get you through this.  Something bad has happened to you, but we’re going to fix it, okay?”

She shook her head.  “Even if we fix it I’m always going to know… that I’m such a bitch, such a dumb slut, such a waste of space.”

“No, you’re not!” said Harrison.  “Why do you think that?”

She looked him the eyes, even though her eyes were watery with tears.

“I’ve known you for nearly a year, and I’ve dressed in pretty clothes in front of you, showing off my tits and my ass, and I’ve never once offered to let you fuck me, Harrison,” she said.  “I’m such a dumb bitch.”

“But you’re a lesbian,” objected Harrison.

“There’s no such thing as a lesbian,” said Jenny.  “I see that now.  Just confused whores.  My body is designed to please cocks and make babies, and having slutty thoughts in my head about women doesn’t change that.  It’s still my duty to serve cock.”

Harrison shook his head.  “This is all crazy, what you’re saying,” he said.

“No,” she said.  “Please.  Don’t contradict me.  If you keep contradicting me, I won’t trust you, and then you can’t help me.  You have to agree.  You have to call me an animal.  A fuckpig. A useless big-titted cunt.  Please.”

She was serious.

“You’re a useless big-titted cunt, Jenny,” he said.  And again, he was surprised by how *good* it felt to say that.

It seemed to feel good for her, too.  She relaxed a little.

“My body… my brain…” she said.  “They need to believe that you are sympathetic to what the Pattern did to me.  They need to think that you like the idea of me being a helpless little cocksleeve.  Then I can trust you. But if you try to be a feminist, or whatever… I’ll just hide from you.”

“How do I do that?” asked Harrison.

“Keep insulting me,” said Jenny.  “But also… you need to use me.”

“Use you?” asked Harrison.

“Force me to…” – she blushed – “to suck your cock.  Grab my head, or my hair, and *make* me.”

“That’s rape,” said Harrison.  “I can’t rape you.”

“It’s not,” said Jenny.  “I… I want to.  To suck your cock.  To serve you.  To serve all men.  I’ll enjoy it, honestly.  But… you have to make me.  Otherwise… I can’t tell you anything else.”

She was serious.  If he didn’t do this, she would go silent, and he would have no chance to help her.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t *want* to feel her lips on his dick.

But she was a lesbian.  She didn’t really want to suck his cock – it was just this Pattern *making* her say that.  Or making her *think* that.  It wasn’t really consent.  It was no different to if there had been a man pointing a gun at her head making her say those things.

In the end, there were three ideas that Harrison couldn’t get past, though.

One: he wanted to help her.  And she wouldn’t let him unless he did this.

Two: he was pretty sure that if he didn’t help her, she would make this same offer to another man.  Possibly a man who *was* a misogynist, who had no intention of helping her, who would delight in her humiliating submission to the Stepford Pattern.

And three: as much as he wanted to deny it, as much as he hated it, the notion of forcing pretty blonde lesbian academic Dr Jennifer Sutton to suck his cock was incredibly hot.  And the idea that she wasn’t *really* consenting – the idea that some part of her would secretly hate it – just made it hotter, as wrong and awful as that was.

“Fine,” he said.  He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and took out his hard cock.  Jenny’s eyes immediately fixed on it, like it was the only thing in the room, and her breathing started to come faster and shallower.

Taking a deep breath, Harrison reached out and grabbed a fistful of Jenny’s hair.

At this point, Jenny started to struggle.  “No, no,” she breathed.  “Please no.”

But Harrison grabbed more hair with his other hand, and then pulled her across.  She fell out of her chair, onto her knees in front of him, and slowly, inexorably, he guided her face down to his dick, as she struggled and beat ineffectually at his legs.

When the tip of his dick touched her lips, they parted instinctively, and soon his cock was inside her mouth.  She made a deep, slutty moan, and Harrison began to skullfuck her, using his grip on her hair to roughly pull her head up and down on his cock.

It felt amazing.  Harrison had had blowjobs before, but he had never *raped a girl’s face* before – and certainly not one as pretty as Jenny – and he had likewise never forced a gold-star lesbian to suck cock before.  He could feel her tears dripping off her cheeks onto his thighs, and that just made it hotter.  

He didn’t hold back at all.  He used her as a masturbation aid, with absolutely no regard to her enjoyment or comfort, and when he felt his orgasm approaching he forced her so far down on his dick that she began to gag.  He groaned as he emptied his balls down her pretty lesbian throat, and only released her once he was sure she had swallowed every last drop of cum from his cock.

She fell backwards, leaning against her office chair.

“Thank you, sir,” she gasped.

“Now,” said Harrison.  “Tell me the rest.”  And, remembering her desperate plea to be insulted, he added, “As much as a dumb bitch like you is capable of remembering, anyway.”

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You can find more red-hot hypnotic corruption in my novella Candy Girls, which tells the tale of a girl enslaved by an addictive mobile phone game.  You can get it for only $7.99 USD from AllTheseRoadworks.com!  And your purchase shows your appreciation and keeps my lights on and my medicine paid.  (Click here to view in store.)

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