Professor Hawkes is on to you

You induce the blonde to stand up, stretch, and strip off all her clothing, oblivious that there is anything odd about that. You then have her start doing a naked cheerleading routine as several students stare, amazed.

Suddenly, there is a furious pounding on your door. You start guiltily and loose conrol of the Sorority girl. You hear her scream, suddenly aware of what she's doing and who is watching, but you have more pressing concerns on your mind. Professor Hawkes is pounding on your door demanding that you speak to her.

When you open the door, her face is a shade of fury only achievable by redheads.

"You!" she said. "You....did that! Somehow you...you made me...Bastard!"

"Calm down, Tara!" you say, using the ring, and her rage disapates. "I didn't do anything to you!"

She blinks, confused and embarassed.

"I...I'm sorry, Professor Smith," she says, shame faced. "I've...not been well. A student has been tormenting me and I...it's made me paranoid."

"Well, that's all right," you say, but you know it isn't, because as soon as she leaves she'll know you were controling her again. How did she guess?

Wait a minute....

"Tell me about this student," you say.

She sighs. "His name is John Mitchell. He tried to audit one of my classes and I said no, but then his name appeared on the roles. So I took him off, but then his name was on there again. I took it off again and then he comes to my office and tells me to re-enroll him and I did! I don't know why, I just did! And he said if I took him off again, I'd be sorry. Well, I didn't take kindly to threats and took his name off the role again, of course, and then went to teach the class. I didn't notice he was sitting there until class was done. That was just before I noticed I wasn't wearing any pants."

"Oh my, Tara!" you say, struggling to keep a straight face.

"It get's worse," she says. "I started screaming at him as the rest of the class fled, but then I...I don't remember several hours after that. But every morning he sends me a picture of myself by email. Pictures I don't remember posing for. They...aren't the sort of pictures I want, um, to get out.

"Oh your poor, poor dear," you say, placing a hand on her shoulder and making her believe you're the only one in the world she can trust. "You need a good, stiff drink, don't you."

Tara pouts and nods her agreement.