* * *
“Four o’clock,” the Announcer’s voice declares loudly after I seIect 4 on the TV screens using my remote. Arcade sounds ring, and just like that, the game is underway. At the press of a button, I force the four women to begin stepping forward from their wall. Naked girls walk closer to me on delicate bare feet, each movement painfully cautious. They’re unsure whether to take big or small strides. I can practically hear all the thoughts swirling in their pretty little heads. The last thing any of them wants is to get closer to the boy waiting across the room from them. If any break away from the pack, get closer to me than the others, they run the risk of being targeted. But on the other hand, they can’t disobey, they must take clear steps forward. And they’re told safety lies at the wall opposite them. If they can just reach it…
But they have no idea just how rigged the game is. Sure, I have to start by facing my wall, but as I turn to make my seIections on a nearby TV, I can see all the girls out of the corner of my eye. I test this further, carefully looking over my shoulder at them. Nothing happens. I’m allowed to look. It’s basically impossible for me to lose. Clearly that’s by design.
A fun arcade sound dings three times throughout the cafeteria, a countdown to prepare and synchronize the girls for the next callout. “What’s the time, Mr. Wolf?” the women all shout in unison. Their voices shake, but none of them mess up.
“One o’clock,” the Announcer relays my input. Why am I toying with them? Why does it feel so good to have such control over these poor girls? I could easily go with a much higher number and they’d still be far across the room, but instead I prolong the tension. I press a button, they move. Nothing prevents me from staring at their unclothed bodies as they move closer one terrified step at a time. Another 8-bit sound surrounds us as the ladies each step closer successfully.
Mrs. Mandal’s voice cracks with anxiety, “P-please! Just let us get to the wall. They said it’s over after so many rounds. Let’s j-just end this all quickly, ok?” Even in her helpless predicament, there’s an air of entitlement to Aadya’s tone. She’s asking me to be the one to get punished instead of them. Demanding actually. The ideologically radical teacher was always terrible to the boys in her classes, punishing them while rewarding the girls. As if it was her duty to balance the inherent gender inequalities of the world. And even here, she seems to expect me to take the fall.
“One o’clock.” Mrs. Mandal’s tits jiggle ever so slightly when she walks. My hand absentmindedly caresses my dick as I patiently deliberate who I should pounce at when they get close enough.
“Two o’clock.” The Announcer sounds oddly happy. I watch as Gabrielle almost slips while taking a step. She barely regains her balance, then freezes, holding her breath. The success sound dings, and she exhales in relief. That was a close one. We all know one false move could mean punishment.
A few more presses on my remote, a few more tentative steps. The ladies are so close now. I get a good look finally. Bare breasts, exposed groins, all lined up on display. My eyes flick from one to the next, silently comparing the different sizes and shapes and colors of each woman’s privates. They’re all within easy reach. Up till now, I’ve simply followed instructions. But the game won’t tell me who to tag. I’m fully responsible for what happens next. Their fates are in my hands. It’s up to me who gets punished.
The breathy whimpers and weak sobbing would make her easy to locate even if I couldn’t see her. Madison Halpern mutters deliriously, her rapid breathing making her little tits heave up and down. She seems on the verge of a panic attack, visibly shaking. Easy prey. I press the button.
“Lunch time!” The Announcer rarely reveals any sign of humanity, her voice always cool and robotic. But even she can’t help but get a bit animated after I’d built so much suspense in the room. The chaos that follows is almost comical. Gabrielle screams. Melina falls as she whips herself around too quickly. They all flee like frightened deer.
But I bolt forward at my target. In a flash I’m already at her, reaching out as she flounders in a clumsy attempt to escape. It’s funny, they always say if a boy pulls a girl’s hair on the playground, it means he likes her. But when the girl grows up a bit, pulling her hair suddenly becomes so taboo.
Madison’s pure blonde hair is like silk on my fingers. She’s such a delicate creature. Overcome with eagerness, I yank back much too aggressively. Mid-run, the petite girl’s feet fly up in the air as she’s slammed down onto her back, her naked skin slapping the hard cafeteria floor loudly. A disturbing yelp escapes her mouth as the wind is knocked from her lungs, followed by a pained groan of agony that a sweet girl like Madison should never be made to produce. It feels so wrong. I realize how much males like me have to constantly hold back our strength when we deal with girls like Madison. Unleashing for even a moment can cause such destruction. And it feels oddly intoxicating.
The girl coughs and moans in pain, mouth agape with surprise. She tries to crawl away but then yelps again as I continue gripping her hair, keeping her in place on hands and knees at my feet. My cock flexes menacingly mere inches above the schoolgirl’s face. Fuck, am I really doing this?!
Deep ominous 8-bit tones fill the cafeteria. “Female 4 tagged. New Wolf assigned. Punishment generated. The male must now help guide the females to the serving area.” The girls are reluctant at first, but we slowly do what we’re told. As we walk, I offer helpful touches, steering the blindfolded ladies by placing my hands on their backs or hips. But this is simply an excuse to feel their sweet naked bodies at every opportunity, and the girls flinch with repulsion at the unnecessary touches.
We reach the long serving counter, where trays of food would normally be passed from lunch lady to students. But my eyes go wide at the new additions I find. Leather straps and buckles are installed sporadically all across the countertop. Cuffs and manacles meant to strap someone down! And hovering above the counter are large metal boxes. Some sort of strange machine contraptions that protrude down from the ceiling above. I notice nozzles pointing down from the underside of each box, reminding me of soft serve ice cream machines or fast food fountain drink machines. The entire counter seems sectioned into stations, each with its own group of straps and its own machine hanging from above. The girls would be freaking out if they could see all this shit, but they just stand there looking dumb and nervous.
“The male must now position Female 4 onto the counter as shown on the screen.” I ignore the fearful whining coming from the girls around me. The TV screens display instructions telling me which station along the counter to use, as well as a somewhat lewd pixel cartoons depicting the position I’m to strap Madison into. My lips curl into a smile.