She dragged my head further into her pussy, urging me to push my tongue deeper, squeezing my face between her thighs, her skirt up over my hair.

I was on my knees, desperately and hungrily eating her, licking her pearl, then sliding my tongue inside to lick her G-spot, smearing her honey over my face, thrilled by her ever-rising moans.

Meanwhile, I had my panties down around my knees – as far as they would go as I was kneeling before her, my head between her slick thighs – and I was plunging my fingers in and out of my cunt with one hand, squeezing my clit between two fingers with the other.

I was getting close, so close – and so was she. Her cries were rising in pitch, as she did as she was approaching orgasm, when the door opened and I heard a gasp.

"What on Earth is going on here! Stop that immediately!"

It was the Dean's voice, and I knew we were in deep shit – but I couldn't stop, and neither could Queenie.

Worse, it was all my fault…

It started in class, the dreamy Alistair McWhorter’s Altered States of Consciousness class. It was an elective, but very popular, partly because he was a funny and outstanding lecturer, and partly because almost 80% of the class were girls, and they were all crushing on him. Worse, he knew it.

I kinda crushed on him too – although not as strongly as I crushed on Queenie. Her full name, I had learned by peeking at McWhorter’s class register, was Querida Elizabeth Elspeth Nayeli, but as she was blonde, haughty, and aloof, everyone called her Queenie behind her back for the ice queen aura she projected.

I’m a mousy little girl, hiding behind huge glasses and books, but I had a desperate, hopeless crush on her. That’s why I had signed up for this stupid psych course instead of another of the math & computer science courses I normally take – she wouldn’t go near a science course on a dare.

I always sat two rows behind her, and one chair over, so I could gaze hopelessly at her, my heart pounding. She had to know I was there, but she scrupulously ignored me. Everyone else avoided her as she just stared down people who tried to engage her, mostly boys when they tried a line on her.

“And now,” Professor McWhorter said, “we come to the most infamous part of this course – first-hand experience. All semester long, we’ve been talking about altered states, of how the mind moves between them, and whether there is a greater meaning beyond the obvious in such states.

“Your next assignment – should you decide you want to pass this course – is to experience an altered state for a reasonable period of time, and then write down and report your experience, and how it differs from your normal state – whatever that might be. You will use the indicators we've discussed, the ones you will be tested on in the final.”

He paused, choosing his words. “I should warn you that some members of previous classes have gotten themselves – and me – in deep guacamole in this assignment by using illegal drugs, or imbibing legal, but dangerous, amounts of alcohol, then engaging in foolish pastimes. I have been called on the carpet by the Dean for commissioning such escapades – and I do not intend to experience that dubious pleasure again. Anyone who causes me to appear before the Dean will not only fail, but will receive my strong recommendation that they be expelled without appeal.”

He paused again and glared at us. “Are we clear on this?” and waited.

There were a few hesitant yeses and some nods.

“Not good enough. Each of you must acknowledge this injunction. Now, are each of you clear?”

Everyone shouted “Yes!” – except Queenie.

McWhorter, who had focused on her, said, “I need a clear ‘yes’, Miss Nayeli.”

Her face clouded, “Fine, whatever. YES,” and she slumped down, a pout on her face.

“Good. Next, you will all pair up so one can observe while the other experiences. No one is to go on an adventure into an altered state on their own. So, pair up with the person who is closest to where you’re sitting now, since most of you sit with your besties anyway. Start to discuss what kind of altered state you plan to experience. Finally,” he paused, “although you are free to choose – within the proscribed boundaries – I would recommend meditation to you. Not only is it safe, but it is both restful and actually good for you. Pair up and get to work. Once you’ve chosen, come down here and let me know what you’ve chosen so I may approve it.”

An icy chill ran down my spine, and found its way to my pussy. I was the only person sitting anywhere near Queenie.

She looked around, disdain on her face, then her gaze settled on me. I thought there was a small smirk of satisfaction at the edges of her lips, but it vanished quickly. She sighed theatrically, then waved me over to the seat next to her.

Heart pounding, I gathered up my books, smushed them all together, then, arms full and barely balancing everything, edged to the end of the row, then down two, and stood at the aisle where Queenie was sitting.

She had a smirk on her face, clearly enjoying my discomfort, but made no move to let me by her to the seat she had indicated. Sighing, I moved down another row, walked all the way along to the end, then up a row and all the way back, finally perching on the next-but-one to her, arms still full.

“Who are you?” she asked, making it clear that she really didn’t care, but had to ask.

“I’m Josphine Jones, Miss…I mean Queen…I mean, Ms. Nayeli.”

“Josphine Jones,” she repeated, then tittered. “Really.”

I blushed, “Y…yes.”

She heaved an even more theatrical sigh, then said, “Well – Josphine Jones – what are we going to do? I won’t do meditation. It seems so…pointless.”

Then she stopped. Clearly, she expected me to come up with something – and if she didn’t like it, she would shoot it down with disdain.

I sat, frozen, heart beating because of her nearness, her clear disdain for me radiating from her, leaving me unable to think.

But she just waited. Clearly, she wasn’t going to do a scintilla more than necessary – and would expect me to do the donkey work. She’d probably want me to write the report as well.

Finally, it started to make me mad. Then I thought of something that had enthralled me as a teenager, that I had fantasized about, but always been afraid to try. “Hypnosis!” I blurted before I had thought it through.

Her lips were already pursed, as if to dispel my feeble suggestion, but paused. Her eyes glittered, she appeared to think for a minute, then said, “Perfect. Hypnosis it is. Let’s go tell his nibbs,” and she got up and began to sway down the stairs towards Professor McWhorter.

I stood suddenly to follow her, and almost dropped my armful of books. Gathering them carefully to my bosom, I hustled after Queenie.

McWhorter’s eyebrows went up when Queenie informed him of our choice, but made no comment – merely looking hard at me, as if to say, Do you know what you’re getting into? All he did, though, was write something in his coursebook and nod at us.

“Good luck. And be sure to take notes on your experiences. Both of you,” he finished, look intently at Queenie.

She waved at him and paraded from the classroom.

I trailed after her.

We were seated in my room. Queenie said, dismissively, that she was not going to share her space with such as me. She took the desk chair, leaving me to sit on the bed.

“You should try to hypnotize me first. I know you’ll fail, but go ahead. Try.”

I thought it likely that I would fail as well, but moved to my dresser and picked up a locket my mother had given me. It was a golden heart with a small photo of her and Dad inside.

“O…okay, Ms. Nayeli…”

“Go ahead and call me Queenie. I know you all do.”

I swallowed, “Okay…Queenie…focus on the locket and follow it with your eyes…”

I swung it gently back and forth, turning the chain and making the locket spin slowly first one way, then the other as it swung back and forth.

Her lips curled in disdain; she followed the locket, confident nothing would happen.

“Follow the locket,” I said in a soothing voice, “Back and forth it swings, rocking to and fro, back and forth…”

To my surprise, her face started to smooth, her lips and cheeks relaxing until her expression was blank.

“You’re calm and relaxed, comfortable, feeling very good…”

The locket continued to swing back and forth, twirling…

“Your eyes are getting heavy, your eyelids are starting to droop…”

And to my surprise – they were!

I continued in this way until her eyes were fully closed, and her head was lowered onto her chest.

“Queenie, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” came the drowsy reply.

“You’re comfortable and safe, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m comfortable and safe.”

“You are safely in your own room, relaxing after classes, comfortable and safe, feeling good, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m comfortable and safe in my own room, and I’m feeling good.”

“Relax and rest, and remember how you feel and what you think, understand?”

“Yes, I’m relaxed and comfortable, and I will remember how I feel and what I think.”

“How do you feel, Querida?”

A small smile appeared on her face, “I feel horny.”

My breath caught. That was not what I expected. Swallowing quietly, I tried again, “You’re safe and comfortable in your own room, aren’t you?”

There was a minimal nod of her head, “Yes, I’m safe and comfortable in my own room.” Her hand crept down and slid along her thigh, then gathered the skirt up until her light blue panties were in evidence. There was a damp patch in the middle. She began to slowly stroke her fingers up and down along her labia through her panties, and the damp patch grew.

I knew I should stop immediately, but I felt myself caught. Here was something I had dreamed about at night, my fingers finding my own wet hole, sliding in and out, imagining Queenie with me – and here she was.

“You are enjoying yourself, and you feel safe and comfortable, don’t you, Querida?”

She nodded slightly again, and her fingers moved up to her bellyband of her panties. Lifting slightly, she slid them down to mid-thigh, exposing her – shaved! – pussy. Her fingers teased up and down her thighs, stroking her labia, but not quite reaching her pearl. Her breathing started to quicken.

I was quiet, frozen, unable to speak, fascinated by what I was seeing. Underneath that icy exterior seemed to be a horny harlot, hidden from outside view – and now I was an unexpected, and unacknowledged, witness.

The fingers of her hand started to stroke her labia, which were visibly puffing up and turning pink. Her pearl, much the largest I had ever imagined or seen in porn pictures, started to grow and peek out of its hood. She opened her mouth and lips, eyes closed. A small smile appeared on her lips, perhaps the first positive emotion I had ever seen there.

“Ohhh…”

I almost jumped, and found myself torn and feeling guilty. Should I wake her? Interrupt her? Would she be madder with me if I did that than if I waited?

Torn, I did nothing – but, as they say, not making a decision is a decision. What’s more, I felt my own pussy getting slick and slippery. I reached down, lifted my skirt, and started to rub my own panties – and wasn’t surprised at all to find they were wet. No, actually, they were soaked.

I was really getting off on watching this gorgeous woman reveal a part of herself I had never even dreamed existed – and whom I had lusted after from the first moment I had seen her.

Now her strokes reached her labia; she started to shiver. Faster and faster, she started spreading honey around her pussy, rubbing it up and around her pearl, two fingers surrounding it and pinching it rhythmically.

Her other hand moved to her chest and, without removing her clothing, she started squeezing her breasts, cupping a whole breast with one hand, then squeezing it – not hard, but definitely. Then she would pinch where her nipple was, and repeat – whole breast, then nipple.

Next, the hand playing with her pearl slid down, and two fingers moved smoothly into her pussy.

“Ohhh!” erupted from her mouth, and her face flushed pink, all the way to the roots of her blonde hair.

Her palm started mashing her pearl in time to her fingers sliding in and out of her pussy, making this exquisite squelching sound. Her aroma filled the room, and I found it intoxicating.

I slipped my fingers into my panties and started quickly rubbing my clit, which was already stiff and throbbing. I started panting in time with her, and it was clear she was getting very close to climaxing.

“Madre de DIOS!” she exclaimed, stomach heaving, fingers working hard, then her voice climbed up as she uttered a series of cries, each higher pitched than the one before.

I shuddered as my own climax hit. I doubled over, fist in my mouth to avoid making any sounds, which was difficult as I was cumming harder than I could ever remember doing before.

Finally, she stopped, her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a long, slow breath, a smile on her face, eyes still closed.

She astounded me again when she pulled her fingers out of her pussy and licked them, one by one, with very much a cat-eating-cream look on her face.

I carefully sat up, pulled my fingers out of my panties, and tried to calm my breathing. When I thought I was ready, I said – or tried to say, “You’re preparing to go outside again, so get ready.”

Unfortunately, the first syllable was more a squeak than speech, and my heart leapt into my throat. Queenie frowned, as if puzzled, then finished licking her fingers, slid her panties up, and smoothed her skirt down into place.

Gulping, knowing that I was in dangerous territory, I lowered my voice and said, “You’re going to slowly come awake now, Querida, and when you do, you will feel happy, relaxed, and peaceful.”

Then I had a thought. It was devious, and evil, and very tempting…I thought quickly, then said, “Querida, whenever you hear the word ‘transubstantiation,’ you will return to this calm, quiet state of sleep, relaxed and happy, won’t you?”

She nodded, a smile on her face, “Si, I will return to this place of sleep, relaxed and happy.”

“What word will cause you to slide back into this place of sleep?” I demanded.

“Transubstantiation,” she replied, her face calm, eyes closed.

“Very good. Now, I’m going to count backwards from ten, and when I reach one, you will be fully awake, happy, and relaxed, okay?”

“Si, lo entiendo.”

I started counting backwards, telling her that she was slowly waking up, peaceful and happy…”four…three…almost awake now…two…and waking up…one. You’re fully awake, feeling peaceful and happy.”

Her eyes opened, and there was a smile on her face. She slowly got her bearings, then started to frown, eyes darting around the unfamiliar room. Her eyes focused on me, “What are you doing here?” she demanded, disdain dripping from every syllable.

“Uh, Querida, this is my room, remember? We’re working on the assignment for the Altered States course? I was going to hypnotize you.”

Her brow furrowed for a moment, then cleared, “Oh, yes – but I cannot be hypnotized,” she said, supremely confident. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Prematurely.

Her brows furrowed again, then her face clouded over. “YOU! You tricked me, you little puta! What did you do? What did I say?

“Wait!” she cried, remembering what had happened while she was hypnotized – as I had instructed her – “You made me – defile myself! You bitch! How dare you!”

I held up my hands, “No! It wasn’t like that! I swear!”

She leapt at me and slapped me across the face, then grabbed me by the shoulders, and swung me around, throwing me into the chair hard enough to make it shudder across the floor. “Now you will be the hypnotized one, tu pequeño coño!”

I sat frozen, hands gripping the seat of the chair.

Grabbing up the locket, she swung it wildly back and forth. Fearing what she might do if I resisted, I let my head swing back and forth, eyes following the locket.

“Now you are asleep!” she declared, slapping the heel of her palm on my chest.

I snapped my eyes shut. Truthfully, I was frightened out of my mind, and thought I should play along, humor her into thinking I was asleep.

She was quiet, probably watching me. Then she stirred, “You are asleep, no?”

“I am asleep, yes,” I replied.

“Good. Now, stand up.”

I stood up slowly, arms at my side.

“Take off your clothes – all of them!”

I swallowed. Was I going to go along with this? Perhaps I was unsure, but my hands had already started to move. First, they unbuttoned my blouse and pushed it off my shoulders, dropping it to the floor. Next they moved to my skirt, unfastening it at the back, unzipping it, then letting it fall to the ground, puddled around my feet. I hesitated before my hands reached behind me and unbuttoned my plain white bra, then shucked it off.

My hands went to the band of my knickers. I won’t do this, I thought – but my hands thought otherwise, and whisked them down to puddle around my ankles, joining my skirt.

And there I stood, naked, eyes closed, arms again by my sides, fists clenched. And the odd thing was that I hadn’t decided to do any of it – but I wasn’t unhappy about it. I had been crushing on Queenie for months, since I first sat near her in the dining center. And...