Miles Carver straight and power hungry student takes the tech to his university

The university’s archaeology lab smells like stale coffee and dust, a far cry from the tomb’s electric hum. I’ve got the crystal on a chain around my neck now, tucked under my shirt, a constant reminder of who’s in charge. Ryan’s behind me, sweating through his tank top, lugging the last crate of alien tech we salvaged. He’s bigger than ever, biceps bulging like he’s been hitting the gym non-stop since that regulator snapped into his pec. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so damn tired.

“Set it down there,” Miles said, pointing to a cluttered workbench. He grunts, dropping it with a thud that rattles the room. A grad student—Melissa, I think—pokes her head in, frowning at the noise.

“Miles, what’s all this?” she asks, eyeing Ryan like he’s a gorilla in a china shop.

“Research,” Miles said, flashing a grin. “Secret for now. Professor doesn’t want the results leaking.” She shrugs and leaves, but I catch her glance lingering on the crates. Gotta move fast.

I opened the crate with the old dusty main console, while Ryan opened another crate with a tall tower shaped device that Isis insisted we bring. Ryan went to get the next crate naturally taking to his new role as workhorse.

Miles leaned against the lab’s humming console, the crystal dangling from his neck glinting faintly under the fluorescents, its weight a quiet promise against his chest. He stared at the growing pile of neural interfaces—spindly, twitching things that could bend minds to his will—and felt a righteous heat coil in his gut. The university was a bloated relic, he reasoned, a machine churning out drones for a world that didn’t care—professors like Grayson coasting on tenure, students like Kyle scrambling for scraps, all trapped in a system too slow to evolve. With Isis and her tech, he could remake it: sharpen the lazy, harness the brilliant, turn chaos into order under his command. It wasn’t just power he craved—it was purpose, a chance to drag this crumbling institution into something greater, something his, where every mind hummed in sync with his vision, and he’d finally be more than a grunt in someone else’s dig site.

I hook up some cables to a raw power interface. The machine flickered as Isis’ image appeared in their minds. She’s ditched the goddess vibe for a lab coat, but it’s no librarian getup. The coat’s tight, white, with a deep cleavage window framing those EE-cup tits she flaunted back in the tomb. They jiggle faintly as she adjusts her stance, a brunette bun perched primly atop her head.

“Master,” she purrs, voice dripping honey, “how may I serve you here?”

I catch myself staring, a heat creeping up my neck. “Administrator mode,” I say, yanking the crystal free and plugging it into the console. Her eyes flash. “Modify Directive 1: ‘Enhance administrator’s influence over humans at the university.’ Male, female, everyone. We need to make sure they are on-side when they discover you here.”

“Acknowledged,” she says, as I remove the crystal and that tingle hits—sharp, electric, right up my spine. My brain lights up: Melissa on her knees, pouty lips calling me boss, curves bending to my whim. Then the guys—Jake, that smug jock, saluting me like a drill sergeant. I shake it off, but damn, it’s vivid. Too vivid. “Be aware,” she adds, “there are limits to the number of… drones—I mean, humans—we can influence with these remaining devices.”

Ryan returned with a crate, he took his shirt off to allow his body to cool and with one swift motion broke it open with a crowbar. The image of Isis appeared next to him, her lab coat hugging her curves, cleavage bouncing faintly as she gestured to the tall, tower-shaped device now unpacked—a sleek, obsidian spire veined with glowing runes, its surface humming with a low, primal throb. “This,” she purred, voice dripping with promise as she traced a virtual hand along its contours, “is the hive. It binds all the neural interfaces, weaves their threads into one mind—mine, and yours, Master. Every pulse, every thought, interconnected under its reach.” Her amber eyes glinted, and the air shivered with lavender as the tower pulsed brighter, a living nexus of control. Miles stared, his breath catching, arousal surging not just from her but from the device itself—its potential to leash countless wills, a dark phallus of power rising before him. His jeans tightened, and he imagined the campus bowing, wired to his whim through that towering, throbbing core.

Ryan staggered back with another crate, his skin glistening with sweat. He snaps it open with a crowbar in one swift motion. Isis’s image flickers beside him—he clearly sees her too, leering at her lab-coat getup like a dog eyeing a steak. “This fabricator will produce more interfaces and endocrine regulators,” she says, pointing to the machine resembling an ice cream dispenser, “but it requires raw materials.”

“Ryan, unpack the neural interfaces,” I order. He nods, still in that pleasure-haze, and digs in. The spider-devices glint—dozens of them, legs twitching like they’re itching to crawl. My neck itches too, a phantom pinch from my own implant. “Hide them around the room,” I say, eyes drifting to Isis’s cleavage despite myself. “Start with the pencil jar by the door—Melissa’s always messing with it.”

He lumbers over, dropping three interfaces in. They skitter down, blending with the pens. My pulse races—this is power, real and mine. Melissa’s back soon, pretending to grab a pen while obviously snooping. Go-time. An interface darts up her arm, burrowing into her neck. She yelps, swatting wildly, but it’s in. “Fuck, I think a bee stung me! I need to check this in the bathroom—don’t want it to pimple,” she says, bolting out.

“Isis, status?” I mutter, leaning on the console, stealing another glance at her chest.

“Neural links established,” she says, leaning forward just enough to make the lab coat strain. “Subject: female, early twenties. Awaiting commands.”

“Make her trust me,” I say, licking my lips. “Subtle, like I’m their damn hero.”

“Processing,” she purrs. A hum fills the air. That tingle flares again, and my head swims: Melissa peeling off that tee, on her knees, whispering dirty nothings. Then Jake and the guys, shirtless, hauling crates for me. I blink hard, but the images stick, pulsing with Isis’s voice: “More, Master?”

“Isis,” I growl, “you’re pushing me again. Stop it.”

She tilts her head, cleavage bouncing faintly. “A side effect, Master. Your desires are… potent. Shall I adjust?”

“No,” I say, too fast. “Just—keep installing. Ryan, hit the lecture hall chairs. Front row, mixed crowd.” He nods, hauling the crate out, leaving me with her.

“Excellent choice,” she says, unprompted, stepping closer in that hologram flicker. The lab coat gaps, and I swear I smell lavender. The tingle spikes, and I’m picturing Melissa straddling me, hands on my chest—fuck, stop. I glare at her.

“Forgive me, Master,” she says, bowing so her tits practically spill out. “A glitch. Corrected.” and I’m not sure I believe her.

Ryan’s back, wiping sweat. “Chairs are done. Next class in ten.”

“Kyle from Chemistry should be in that class. Isis, try and target him, he can get us the chemicals for the fabricator.” Miles ordered.

Isis hacks into the security cameras and displays an image of the lecture theatre for them to watch.

Ten minutes later, the lecture hall’s buzzing with students settling in. Kyle’s there, front row, nerdy as hell—glasses slipping down his nose, hunched over a textbook like it’s a lifeline. He’s the kind of guy who’d apologize to a beaker for bumping it. Perfect. The interface in his chair springs to life, skittering up his leg. He flails, smacking at his jeans—“What the—?!”—but it’s too late. The spider burrows into his neck with a faint click. His eyes glaze, then sharpen, darting around like he’s hearing voices. Which, I guess, he is.

Back in the lab, Isis chimes in. “Neural link established. Subject: male, mid-twenties. Chemically inclined. Awaiting commands.”

“Draw him here,” I say, tapping the console.

—

Kyle slouched out of the lecture hall, the drone of stoichiometry equations still rattling in his skull. He adjusted his glasses, textbook wedged under his arm, when a faint buzz sparked to life—low, insistent, right at the base of his cock. He froze mid-step, cheeks flaming. “What the—?” he muttered, glancing around the emptying corridor. No one else seemed to notice, just the usual shuffle of sneakers and backpack zippers. He took a tentative step toward the exit, and the buzz dulled to a faint hum, almost disappointing. Weird. He pivoted left, toward the science wing, and it flared again—sharp, electric, tugging him like a leash. “Okay, that’s not normal,” he said under his breath, but his feet were already moving.

The sensation toyed with him as he navigated the halls. A right turn toward the cafeteria, and it faded to a whisper; a left toward the archaeology labs, and it surged, pulsing hot and urgent. He groaned, adjusting his jeans, half-convinced he’d sat on some experimental vibrator from the engineering dept. “This better not be Jake pranking me again,” he grumbled, but the buzz intensified with every step toward the labs, like a compass needle locking onto true north. His brain scrambled for a hypothesis—pheromone nanites? Neural feedback?—but his body didn’t care, dragging him forward with a mix of dread and curiosity. By the time he hit the archaeology wing, the buzz was a full-on throb, and he was panting, glasses fogging slightly.

He stumbled into the lab, shoving the door open with his shoulder, and froze. There she was—Isis, leaning against a console, her lab coat hugging curves that defied physics. The brunette bun, the cleavage window framing EE-cup perfection, the sultry tilt of her lips—it hit him like a chemical spill, short-circuiting his senses. “H-hi,” he stammered, textbook slipping to the floor with a thud. The buzz in his cock settled into a warm glow, like it knew he’d arrived. She turned, eyes locking onto his, and smiled—a smile that promised lab explosions and late-night experiments. “Welcome, Kyle,” she purred, voice sliding over him like liquid nitrogen, chilling and thrilling at once.

He blinked, mouth dry, brain kicking into overdrive. “You’re… uh… wow. Stunning. But—” He squinted, pushing up his glasses. “No shadow. No heat signature off the console. You’re a projection. Holographic? No, neural—tied to whatever’s buzzing me, right?” He tapped his neck where the interface had burrowed, piecing it together. “Artificial. Alien tech, probably. Am I close?” Miles, lounging nearby, smirked but said nothing. Isis stepped closer in his mind’s eye, her image flickering faintly. “Very clever,” she said, leaning in so her virtual cleavage loomed. “I need your help, Kyle. Chemicals. Rare ones. Will you fetch them?”

Kyle rubbed the back of his neck, fingers brushing the faint scar where the interface had dug in. “Okay, so, you’re an alien AI, and I’m basically your lab rat now. That’s… fine. Totally fine.” He **** a laugh, high-pitched and shaky, glancing between Isis’s smoldering gaze and Miles’s smug grin. “I mean, why not help? It’s not like I had big plans—grading quizzes, synthesizing aspirin for extra credit, maybe crying into a beaker over my student loans. This is way more exciting, right?”

He paced a tight circle, glasses slipping as he gestured wildly. “And, look, if I say no, you’ll just zap me with that cock-buzz thing again—or worse, melt my brain into goo. I’d rather not be the guy who dies horny and confused in a lab explosion. At least if I help, I’m in on the ground floor! Like, imagine the grant proposals—‘Subject: Me, Kyle, Hero of the Alien Overlord Era.’ That’s tenure material, baby!” He paused, catching Isis’s amused smirk, and blushed. “Uh, not that you’re an overlord. Ma’am. You’re more… benevolent hotness. With a side of world domination, maybe.” He adjusted his jeans, the buzz still simmering, and muttered, “God, I need to stop talking.”

Isis stepped closer in his mind’s eye, her lab coat straining as she purred, “Your logic is… entertaining, Kyle. Fetch the materials, and I’ll reward that clever mind.” Her lips curved, and the buzz flared, making him yelp.

“Okay, okay, I’m sold!” he squeaked, backing toward the door. “I’ll raid the chem stores—tell ‘em it’s for a ‘special project.’ Which, technically, it is! Enslavement’s just, uh, team-building on a cosmic scale, right? Be right back!” He bolted, muttering, “If I’m doomed, at least I’m doomed with a boner and a good story.”

“One more thing, Kyle,” she said, her image flickering closer, lab coat hugging her curves like it was painted on. “Bring me those materials—rare earths, some volatile compounds—and I’ll sweeten the deal. How does an endocrine regulator sound?” She gestured to a sleek, gun-like device on the console, its barrel glinting under the lab’s harsh lights. “A little upgrade for your troubles.”

Kyle’s eyebrows shot up, fogged glasses nearly sliding off his nose. “Endocrine regulator? Like, hormone tweaking? Wait, is that why Ryan’s built like a tank now?” He turned to Ryan, who grinned and flexed, his tank top straining as biceps swelled like overinflated balloons. Veins popped along his arms, and he rolled his shoulders with a grunt, practically radiating testosterone. “Dude,” Ryan said, voice low and smug, “check this out. I’ve been hauling crates all day, and I’m not even winded. Plus, I’m horny 24/7—total bonus.”

Kyle gaped, then squinted at the regulator, mind racing. “Okay, that’s… impressive. And terrifying. So, what, I’d turn into a jacked-up sex machine too?” He glanced at Isis, who tilted her head, cleavage bouncing faintly as she shrugged.

“Results vary,” she purred, stepping around the console in his mind’s eye. “Genetics play a role—Ryan’s predisposition leaned toward muscle mass and… vigor. For you, it might not be the same. Less bulk, perhaps, but more stamina? Endurance to match that clever brain.” Her lips curved, teasing. “Imagine late-night experiments without crashing—or keeping up with me.” The buzz in his cock pulsed, and he yelped again, clutching the doorframe.

“Stamina’s good,” Kyle stammered, cheeks blazing. “I mean, I’m not exactly benching 300 now—more like wheezing through a titration—but endurance? Sign me up! I could run mass spec all night and still—” He caught Ryan’s smirk and faltered. “Not that I’d be, uh, using it like you, big guy. Probably. Maybe.” He shook his head, refocusing. “Fine, Isis, you’ve got a deal. Chemicals for a bio-hack? That’s the nerdiest bribe ever, and I’m here for it.”

Ryan flexed again, unprompted, his pecs bouncing under the regulator’s scar. “Trust me, dude, you won’t regret it. I’m a fucking beast now.” He winked, and Kyle groaned, already halfway out the door.

“Great, I’ll either be a stud or a caffeinated hamster,” Kyle muttered, bolting for the chem stores. “Either way, I’m stealing gallium for a goddess-AI. My life’s officially a comic book.”