Menagerie Dortoir [Part 1]

Manon awoke to the midday sun splashed across her face. Wherever she lay, it was peaceful and quiet. A warm fall breeze pushed in from an open window above her, mixing with a flower-scented steam rolling across the floor.

Blinking open her eyes she saw the dorm around her; a few band posters, pictures, and the same plain desk that every room had. Even half awake, she recognized she was in Paul room, her floor’s RA.

“Session Expired.” A collar wrapped around her neck chirped. “Please speak your first name and age.”

“Manon. Twenty.” She said, bemused by the device’s insistent tone. It was about as charming as a subway station’s automated announcements.

“Consciousness confirmed.” A red light turned blue and the beeping ceased. “You are overdue for return to the Student Body Rental Center. If you are danger, you may either speak the word “Help” or press the collar’s screen for three seconds. You will be prompted to confirm your safety every 300 seconds until you are returned to the Center.”

Manon felt far from endangered. Confused? Only partially. Her night before was blur, part of the intoxicating nature of BLNK; a drug that washed away a person’s mind for a few hours. It was her first time trying it. Unfortunately, her hazy drug-addled memories also held secrets. Among them was how she ended up on her crush’s bed, dressed in nothing more than a loose t-shirt pulled up over her bare breasts.
She tugged on the collar, impotently trying to undo the heavy plastic latch.

“For collar removal, please return to the Student Body Rental Center. Tampering with Troxell intellectual property is a class one offense. Local authorities will be notified if you do not cease.”

“Je vous demande pardon.” Manon slapped the collar. A blue light on the collar turned an angry red. She rolled her eyes. If she must be locked in a collar, she wished it could at least be a polite one.

“Please confirm your safety by stating your name and age.” The collar said, unfused.

“Manon. Twenty.” She sighed. This insistent machinery would need to be dealt with sooner than later. She’d never worn a collar before; a cute choker, certainly, but never a collar. It didn’t make her feel anything new, other than bemusement. If Paul preferred his women in collars, she could indulge him, as long as he was kind. She had no interest being sexually teased and tortured. Passionate, nearly feral lovemaking was her goal, the sort that inspired musicians and poets. If her and her partner weren’t breathless and feeling a rapture that only the great Renaissance masters could capture in oil and pigment after a lovemaking session, they would need keep going until they were.

Judging by the little aches between her legs, in her throat, and the slight dampness on the blanket beneath her; she hoped her partner was still a little breathless and high off experiencing her body. With a smile, she rolled to her left side, getting her bearings. Cornered up against the dorm’s front door was a sink and vanity area. Next to that was the bathroom’s door, which was ajar. Inside the shower was running full blast and flower-scented steam was rolling out.

A leather leash linked Manon’s collar to a bedpost, which she undid as she sat up. She found her skirt, underwear, and boots near the foot of the bed. That gave her some relief. Whatever she had done the night before, at least she hadn’t been paraded from the Student Body Rental Center across campus while nearly naked. Like sadism or masochism, exhibitionism stirred nothing in her. In fact, she felt quite the opposite. The idea of a clandestine rendezvous, especially an illicit one, was much more arousing than a public one. A one-on-one encounter, tucked away somewhere secret felt so delightfully intimate for her.

Manon spotted a picture on the desk. A picture of Clover, Paul’s own clandestine affair, was pinned up to a cork board above. Manon laughed uncomfortably. She didn’t know Clover personally, she’d only seen her and Paul together on their regular patrols through the dorms. Every weekend the two RA’s were tasked with ensuring students weren’t drinking or partying too loud. Their trysts were a poorly kept secret. The first time Manon heard a rumor that Clover and Paul were having secret rendezvous in the basement study room, she’d never felt more envious.

“Je suis vraiment désolé,” Manon sighed. She was truly sorry, too. She had no interest in hurting Clover but there was little denying that her and Paul had their own clandestine rendezvous last night. For a moment, Manon judged Paul as well. She’d been blanked and, yes, her feelings for Paul were an open secret on the floor too, but it didn’t mean he could cheat on Clover freely. Manon was sure she didn’t get blanked just to have sex with Paul. If that were here goal, she would have liked to be in her own mind for it, not mindless on a drug. There would have been more conversation.

She huffed and hoped that Paul wasn’t in a serious relationship with Clover. Maybe they were only friends that had sex, on occasion. Manon clung to the thought, hoping that she hadn’t mind-blanked her way into  causing Paul to cheat. BLNK was supposed to make sex less complicated. Now she was facing a complicated conversation with Paul, and likely Clover too.

She rolled to her right, looking out the open window, wondering what to do next. Another set of clothing was neatly folded on the windowsill; an FSU shirt, a pair of white jean shorts, a blue belt, and a lacy blue pair of underwear. A matching backpack was nearby on the floor.

They were certainly not Paul’s.

Pity and guilt settled into her body like a poison. That was Clover’s clothing. Her and Paul were close enough for her to leave clothing and a bag here, they were close enough for Manon’s presence to be a problem.

“Confirm Safety.” The collar chirped.

“Please. Enough.” Manon hushed it.

“Unrecognized response.” The blue light turned red again. “Please confirm safety by clearly stating your first name and age.” A ten-second counter lit up on the collar and started counting down. Manon didn’t wish to find out what would happen if it hit zero.

“Manon.” She groaned. “Twenty. Please stop.”

“Safety Confirmed. You are overdue for return to the Student Body Rental Center.”

“I know.” Manon squished her face up with her palms. Things were happening too fast and felt too messy. She was facing a small scandal on her floor as soon as the news of her and Paul’s indiscretion spread.

To her left, shower turned off.

First, she would have to have a hard talk with Paul. Her night was a mess of hazy memories. At some point she’d stopped by Sam and Samantha’s dorm. They had all played truth or dare. After that, things got blurry. She realized that she didn’t even remember when or how she got to the Center. Maybe Paul could help her piece together what happened. She hoped that he could alleviate her guilt or even grant her soothing words.

After all, she wasn’t the one that cheated.

Another soothing lie, she thought. She might not be the cheater but she was not innocent either. Mind-blanked, or not, she was there now. Even though her memories were hazy, she knew they included Paul inside of her more than once. She cursed whatever conspired to get her to this point. Awakening in Paul’s bed after a night of intimacy should have been a happy moment, not one of guilt and shame.

“Mon doux, mon tendre, mon merveilleux amant, bonjour.” Manon said, her words sultry cooes wrapped around an apology.

Paul was a tall man. He had wavy brown hair, a five-o-clock shadow that had grown a little wild over the semester, and blue eyes that Manon felt always looked happy. His shoulders and back were broad and strong, a feature that always made her want to wrap her arms around them in a big, warm hug and bury her face in his fuzzy chest.

The person facing the vanity was clearly not Paul. Instead, a tanned woman with a lithe, beach-ready body had a towel wrapped draped on her neck and she was squeezing water from her damp bleach-blonde hair into it. She wore nothing else.

“Merde.” Manon’s eyes looked up and down the beautiful woman’s backside. She was not one to feel insecure but Clover’s build was statuesque and certainly worth admiration. Manon now had a better understanding of exactly why Paul had been so hard to seduce in the past.

“Hmm?” Clover turned

“Merde!” Manon gasped and bolted for the door, hurrying nakedly into the hall, slamming the door behind her.

“What in the world?” Clover looked over her shoulder. After a confused look around the room, she confirmed she was alone. Then, returning to the mirror, she leaned forward and wiped the steam off. Her big, blue eyes stared back at her. They matched the collar around her neck. She tugged at its heavy plastic clasp.

“For collar removal, please return to the Student Body Rental Center. Tampering with Troxell intellectual property is a class one offense. Local authorities will be notified if you do not cease.” Then, after a moment.

“Please confirm your safety by stating your name and age.”

“Clover. Twenty. I’m safe. If you’re listening, or tracking me, I’m going back to the Center, just let me get dressed.” Clover said as she started digging through Paul’s closet. A heavy hoodie would be sufficient to hide the collar, at least until she could return to the Student Body Rental Center to get it removed. She wouldn’t dare let herself be seen with the Center’s collar around her neck. People couldn’t know that she indulged in such a thing.