You head to Data Structures, brimming with ideas.

The walk to your next class isn't too awful -- less than a mile, really -- but you're baffled as to why two Computer Science classes would've been put so far away from one another. It's probably some artifact of a decision made long ago, for reasons long since forgotten and obsolete. In any case, it gives you a good chance to stretch your muscles and think about what you're going to do next. You can think of a lot of ways to apply sex to the teaching of data structures, surprisingly enough, and to say you're excited to give them a try would be a bit of an understatement.

After a few minutes you arrive at the building that houses your Data Structures class, and it's just about as nondescript as the one that Algorithms is in: a brutalist two-story brick building, probably built sometime in the 1960s. It screams "utilitarian" with its exposed, rough concrete walls, and relative dearth of windows, and what few windows it does have are simple plate glass, held in steel frames. Still, in a weird way you admire it. It is unconcerned with any frills, anything other than to tell the world that it is a building in which people congregate. Very straightforward.

You walk through the front door, down the hall, and up the stairwell to the second floor in which the class awaits. You make it just as the bell rings, and walk over to your usual spot. The room is very similar to the one Algorithms is in, in that it is rather dingy and small, hit by fluorescent troffers in a particle-board grid drop ceiling. Typical, functional utility tables are arranged in three rows of two each, and you usually sit in the back-right corner, by the door. You don't sit down today, though, since you'd just be getting up again in a second anyway.

You're surprised to see somebody else sitting in the chair next to yours, a chair that is usually empty. You've noticed her in the class previously, but never really paid her much mind -- which isn't surprising, since you rarely pay anyone much mind. She's slightly shorter and a fair bit chubbier than you, with straight, blond hair that extends down slightly past her shoulders. A vibrant streak of purple runs through her hair, just above her right eyebrow all the way down to the end behind her back. Like you, she wears glasses, but hers are more delicate, not as tall and noticeably thinner than yours. Her light blue jeans hug her hips and waist, showing off her cute and very ample bottom. Above the waist she wears a gray cami tank top, with thin shoulder straps, and a V-neck trimmed with rather elaborate lighter-gray lace that plunges down enough to reveal a remarkable amount of skin and cleavage Beneath that is a simple black bra; which you only know is there due to its visible straps, wider than those of the top. Finally, a silver chain adorns her neck, upon which hangs a gemstone pendant that sits directly between her breasts, obviously calculated to draw attention to her assets.

"Like what you see?" you hear her say, and you realize you've been staring at her breasts for a while now. You look up at her face; she's obviously toying with you and having fun with it. Well, two can play at that game, you think.

You give her a coy smile, and reply, "I do, and frankly I'd love to see a little more." Her confident, teasing manner sudden falters, and she blushes hard. She tries valiantly to keep the flirty smile on her face, but a slight raising of her eyebrows betrays her surprise -- she definitely didn't expect you to respond in such a confident manner.

"W-well, uh, thanks," she stammers, trying to figure out how to regain the upper hand, but obviously having trouble figuring out the next move. "But, uh, shouldn't you get to at least know my name first?"

You smile. "Okay, what's your name?" you ask.

"It's... um, it's Emily," she tells you. "And... I was joking. I mean, uh... you need to know more than my name for... that. Obviously." You've really flustered her, and frankly, it's adorable.

"There'll be time for that," you reply, still smiling, and now her own smile slips slightly. You look over at the TA, sitting at the front of the class. Time to begin, you think. "Hey Tom," you say, raising your voice, "didn't you get the memo? I'm teaching this class today." And all of the rest of you find this totally normal, you add silently.

Tom looks up from his work on his desk at you, and then smiles sheepishly. "Oh geez, Sam, I must have missed it, I'm sorry!" He quickly begins to pack his things into his bag.

Emily's smile is totally gone now. Her head whips over to Tom, packing his stuff, then back to you, then over to the rest of the class, none of whom seem to find it unusual in the slightest that a student is taking over the class. When she turns back to you, her eyes are wide, her brow a bit furrowed in confusion. "Wait... what... what the fuck?" she says, alarmed. "I certainly don't find this normal. What the hell is going on?"

Her words trip you up for a second. Did... did she hear my manipulation? you think. It didn't seem to do anything to her! This could be a problem. Tom walks past the two of you and out the door, and Emily watches him leave, her consternation growing by the second. Well, nothing to do now but keep going and see what happens, you think, so you look at the rest of the class, and raise your voice.

"Everyone," you say, as you trigger the Manipulator, "from now until the time the bell rings, you will all be extremely horny, and you will consider nudity and sexual activities to be a normal part of everyday life. We're going to use sex to explore various data structures. Once the final bell rings, you will all get dressed. You'll remember everything that happened, but you'll keep it a secret from anybody else you encounter. You'll retain your increased sexual appetite and lack of inhibitions, and all of this will be completely normal to you."

"Excuse me?" you hear to your left, and yep, there's Emily, her face ashen. She is literally shaking, her fists clenched. Her eyes have narrowed and her lip is curled slightly, a definite fight or flight reaction going on. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" she continues, in a low, menacing growl. "What sort of pervert says that sort of shit to people?"

Your own face is stone as you stare back at her. Careful, your inner voice warns, she looks like she's ready to injure you in some very sensitive spots. You glance over at the rest of the class, then back to her.

"Look," you say, softly, and you tilt your head slowly towards the others. She follows your lead and looks at them.

Besides yourself and Emily, there are seven other people in your class -- four women, and three men. They all sit at the tables in front of the two of you, so for the most part, all you see is their heads, arms, the backs of their chairs. So upon first glance, nothing about them today seems out of the ordinary. Directly in front of the two of you sits a somewhat plump brunette girl, wearing a white headband and ivory-colored sweater which seems pretty tight, although from this angle you can't tell much. Her long, brown hair drapes down over the back of her chair, stopping just about at the waistband of her jeans. Again, nothing out of the ordinary... except that on her computer screen is a picture of two young blonde women dressed in schoolgirl outfits, their blouses unbuttoned to reveal milky, conical breasts and their skirts pulled up and legs spread to show yellowish downy muffs. The girl's right arm sits on the desk, her hand atop the mouse; her left arm, though, appears to be in her lap.

"Paige!" Emily nearly screams. "What the fuck are you doing!?" Startled, the girl turns in her seat, but she makes no effort to hide the picture in front of her. Several others also turn to look, confused at Emily's outburst. As she faces you, you discover that her sweater is indeed tight, revealing two soft points -- not huge, but definitely noticable -- protruding from her chest. But more interesting is the fact that her jeans are unbuttoned and unzipped, uncovering a small triangle of black fabric and elastic underneath -- and peeking out from that elastic, a few curly brown hairs.

Paige looks at Emily, puzzlement mixed with a hint of worry on her face. "What do you mean?" she asks.

"What do I mean!?" Emily repeats. "What I mean is... is... that!" She gestures with her hand, vaguely, at the lewd display on her screen. "And that!" she adds, now gesturing down at Paige's crotch, zipper wide open and exposing her panties.

Paige raises one eyebrow, looking even more puzzled. "Emily..." she begins, speaking a bit more slowly as though explaining something to a child, "that is porn. Obviously. And this," she continues, pointing at her crotch, "is me getting off to the porn. I mean, we're all waiting here for Sam to start the class, so we might as well use the time wisely, right?" Around the room, everyone else laughs softly, and Emily's head darts up like a bird's at the sound. That's when she realizes that the rather fat young blond man across the aisle from Paige is doing the exact same thing as she is: his screen shows a picture of a nude redheaded woman sitting on a reclining man, his cock buried in her snatch as she rides him, cowgirl-style, and his own pants are unzipped, revealing a surprisingly large, erect penis.

Emily quickly looks away when she notices his member, blushing furiously. She looks back at you, and you can tell from her expression that she is completely lost and more than a little freaked out by the scene playing out around her. Her eyes dart past you, to the door, and you realize you'd better say something, and fast.

"Okay," you begin, "I can explain everything."

"Oh you can, huh?" she almost yells back, her voice shaking. "You can explain why one of my best friends is sitting there fingering herself and looking at porn in public? You can explain why everybody here thinks this is normal? Sam, what the fuck is going on here?"

Shit, you think, this is not what I had intended. I never wanted to scare anybody, just open them up to the world of carnal pleasures. But somehow she isn't affected by the Manipulator... how the hell was I supposed to know that could happen?

Dude, shut up with the guilt, your inner voice replies, and explain shit to her before she completely loses it.

With your right hand, you roll up your left sleeve, exposing the Manipulator on your arm. She stares at it, uncomprehendingly. "This," you say, "allows me to make anybody do or feel or believe whatever I want. No, I don't know how it works. I don't even know where it came from. I got it in the mail, one day, with a note explaining what it was, but there were no clues as to who sent it." As you talk, her mouth tightens into a thin line. Yeah, she doesn't believe a fucking word of this, you think.

She quickly confirms your suspicions. "You think I'm a fucking idiot?" she says. "Some sort of thought transmitter? Some sort of sci-fi shit?"

You sigh in frustration. "Well, what do you think is going on?" you challenge her.

"I don't know!" she explodes. "Maybe... maybe you **** them or something. Maybe you gave them all roofies, so you could have your own little harem."

You shake your head. "You saw everything that happened. Hell, you saw me walk into class. Nobody here is eating anything, nobody's drinking anything, and -- somehow -- you heard the request I made. I don't know why it didn't affect you, but for some reason you seem to be immune to it." Your mention of that seems to pique her interest somewhat. Hmmm, maybe she's starting to believe me? you think.

She stares at you for a little bit, her focus flipping back and forth between your face and your arm. "So... you just... made everybody super horny," she says quietly. "To be... what? Your sex slaves?" The change in her demeanor is curious. She's still definitely freaked out, still wary of you, but she's stopped shaking, and her voice carries more of an air of curiosity than it did before. And maybe... a little excitement? you think.

"No," you answer her question, "not slaves. Again, you heard the request. I just made them lustful, uninhibited -- that's it. I didn't tell them to do anything specific; that's all on them. I just want everybody, everywhere, to get in touch with their sexual side, to embrace it, to make it a part of their everyday lives." A small sigh escapes her as you say that, and she looks down at her lap. She doesn't say anything for what feels like forever, and you start to get a little worried. Clock's ticking, you think, and we're using up valuable class time. Finally, she looks back up at you, steadfast earnestness in her eyes.

"Okay," she says. "Prove it."

"What you just saw wasn't proof enough?" you say, slightly incredulous. She shakes her head.

"Not quite. If you really can do what you say you can do, then..." She glances around the room, until her gaze falls upon the back of a woman in the front row. She is short and round, and wears a simple gray T-shirt and denim pants. She has skin just a bit darker than you or Emily, the color of toasted almond, and her hair is gathered up into a large knot at the back of her head. "Her," Emily says, pointing discreetly. "I want you to make Karen do a striptease in front of the class, and I want you to broadcast the thought without saying anything."

"Wait, how do you know her name?" you ask.

She rolls her eyes. "Because I actually talk to other people unlike some of us." The corners of her mouth even curl up a little in a hint of a smile. Good, you think, she must be getting more comfortable if she's able to make jokes.

You stare over at the woman -- Karen, apparently -- and intone Emily's request. Karen stands up from her chair, and walks over to the front of the room, standing right in the center. As she does so, you realize that she isn't wearing pants after all -- it's actually a denim skirt that reaches down to her shins. Then she turns around to face everybody, and your breath catches in your throat. Her T-shirt absolutely strains against what must be massive breasts underneath it. You can't believe you've never noticed this before.

"Holy shit," both you and Emily say simultaneously, and you glance at each other.

"Wait, what's your 'holy shit' about," Emily asks you.

"She's fucking enormous," you reply. "I had no idea."

Emily actually smiles at that. "How the hell have you been coming to this class for two weeks and never noticed her?" she says. "Why do you think I wanted her to strip? She's the only person here larger than I am!"

Karen begins to slowly gyrate her hips as she runs her hands up and down her body, smiling seductively at the crowd. She's a bit awkward, obviously having no practice at this whatsoever, but she's doing the best she can. She sways back and forth as her hands slide under her T-shirt, then slowly move up her sides, lifting the shirt up as she goes. She pulls it up past her chest, revealing a very basic, but very large, dark blue bra. She lifts her arms higher, pulling the shirt above her head as she continues to sway -- and it gets caught on her hair knot, much to her consternation. She blushes a bit as she tries to untangle it, and a few folks in the room laugh softly, but kindly.

Emily scoots her chair over towards the middle aisle so she can get a better view, and you follow. The two of you now sit in line with the middle row of tables, right in the center. To your left, Bob is slowly pumping away at his very large member, while in front of you, Paige's left hand is back down her pants, and her right hand now absentmindedly runs up and down her chest. You can't really see the others in the front row, but you imagine they're all doing something similar as they watch. You feel your own cock straining against your pants, and really want to do something about it -- but you don't want to freak Emily out too much yet. She's still absorbed in Karen's display, and you see her shift a little in her seat as she watches.

Karen manages to get her shirt completely off, and drops it next to her. Then she tackles the offending knot itself, reaching up with both hands behind her back, and in the process squeezing her gigantic pillows together. She tugs on the knot, and it unravels... and unravels... and unravels. Her hair is amazingly long, cascading all the way down her body, nearly touching the floor. It envelops her like a silken black cloak, swishing around her with every move.

Karen's hands now move to the waistband of her denim skirt. Rather than a zipper, the skirt has three metal buttons along the front, and she sensually unbuttons each in turn, still swaying her hips from side to side, her hair following each movement. As she unbuttons the last one, she slips her hand inside, running her fingers along the soft mound underneath, closing her eyes and letting out a small sigh. Then she gently slides her thumbs under the waistband and pulls the skirt down, wiggling to free herself until the garment falls to the floor.

She now stands before everyone in her dark blue bra, panties, white socks, and gray sneakers, enveloped by a curtain of hair. You find the juxtaposition of her being in underwear, yet also wearing socks and shoes, oddly erotic. You expect her to unclasp and remove her bra next, but instead she surprises you by turning around and bending over, spreading her legs slightly. As she does so, her hair falls forward, revealing her delightfully round ass -- and you note a rather large dark patch in the center of her panties, the result of all of this excitement. She peels the underwear off, exposing that smooth, vertical cleft between her buttocks, and then two large, fuzzy labia, hanging between her legs, her wet, pink tunnel nestled between them.

You don't want to miss a thing, but you chance a quick glance back at Emily sitting next to you. She has refrained from touching herself, but you see her chest rise and fall as she breathes heavily, and she's shifting rhythmically in her seat now, rubbing her legs against one another. She's definitely aroused by this display. Or, you think, maybe it's another display... In front of you and Emily, Paige has removed her sweater entirely, and her black lace bra is pulled down below her perky tits, her tiny pink nipples standing on end. Her jeans and underwear are down around her knees, and she's furiously rubbing her wet cunt with her left hand while kneading and squeezing her breasts with her right.

You look back at Karen, who is still bent over, facing away from the class. She spreads her legs a bit more, then grabs her buttocks with both palms and pulls them apart a bit, separating the large, hanging pussy lips. She runs one finger along the slit, moaning softly as she does, and when she pulls away, a small strand of precum stretches out, before separating from her finger and hanging down between her legs. That's apparently enough for Bob to your left, who grunts a bit and shoots a load of cum up and onto his chest. Luckily he'd had the presence of mind to remove his flannel and T-shirt first.

Karen, still bent over, turns a bit so she's in profile for all who are watching. She brushes her amazing long hair across her back and over to the other side of her body, making sure to provide a good view. Then she reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, looking at her audience and smiling wickedly. The bra falls free, and her massive mammaries do as well, bouncing and jiggling a bit as they do so. They're lighter than the rest of her skin, but still darker than your own pale features, and each ends in a large nipple surrounded by an absolutely huge areola -- about the diameter of a juice glass, you think.

She stands up and faces the crowd again, her hair once again flowing around her, enveloping her sides, and performs a tiny bow. The audience responds with applause, and you join in. Karen laughs and blows a kiss to the group. Then you look at Emily again, who is panting, her head back and eyes shut, her hips frantically moving back and forth. Her right hand is on her left breast now, squeezing hard, her fingers like claws digging into it. Suddenly her legs stiffen and clamp together, and she breaths in a sharp intake of air. You watch her body convulse, silently, in tiny little spasms. Finally, after about ten seconds, she lefts out a long sigh, and just sits there, breathing in and out, quickly at first but slowing gradually. She opens her eyes, then looks over at you.

"Okay," she practically whispers, panting. "I... believe you."

"Jesus, I'll say you do," you reply, evoking a weak smile from her.

"So," she continues, still out of breath. "What... do we do... next?"

You can't help grinning widely. "Now," you say, "it's time to start the lesson."