Chelsea Hanover strode down the empty hallway of the main university building, the rubber soles of her fiery red Converse shoes squeaking earnestly with each light step.  No one except the social hermits would be ridiculous enough to stay in the classrooms studying on a Friday night, leaving the building almost entirely empty.  Chelsea knew and relied on this fact.

            Passing by the school’s track and field trophy case, she gazed into her reflection.  She slid her fingers easily into the lush blonde jungle that made up her meticulously maintained hair, allowing a few extra curls to descend over her forehead.  Her white top seemed to have slid its way further up her body than she wanted, so she shimmied it further down until the crevice between her bulbous breasts was more clearly visible.  She smiled cheesily, running her slender tongue over her glistening ivory teeth and using it to poke at a tiny chunk of food between her molars.  She batted her profoundly azure eyes, and almost got lost in her own stunning gaze.  Finally, puckering her hauntingly hot pink lips and blowing a kiss to her own reflection, she sauntered off again.

            As usual, even feeling somewhat worn out from a long day of classes followed by cheer practice and a debate team meeting, she looked perkily perfect enough to catch and command the attention of even the legally blind.

            Of course, it wasn’t these common people Chelsea was interested in being noticed by.  With her almost-otherworldly flawless looks and ability to project liquid sensuality with every flick of her fingers or blink of her eye, the vast majority of the population was mere chicken feed to her. 

            Sure, she could have any of them she wanted in a second.  And she had in the past, not because she returned their mad sexual desires in any measure, but just because she knew she could.  But she had gone through most of that phase as a teenager and gotten bored of it.  She had indeed inherited the masterful lawyer genes of her father.  In many ways, she was far better than he would ever hope to be at it.

            At thirteen, she had finally accepted the pleading offers of courtship from the hottest guy in her middle school.  She would not let him touch her without express spoken permission, but was able to take great delight in kicking him in the crotch through his pants.  They stayed together for a year until she dumped him.

            At fifteen, she had successfully split up twelve different couples simply by sending out a mass sext.  After they had all dumped their girlfriends and came crawling back to Chelsea, she sent them all gratefully packing with a flick on the wrist.

            At sixteen, in a class she was in danger of failing, she was propositioned by the teacher for an exchange of sex for a passing grade of a D.  However, after about half an hour of negotiation, Chelsea had rearranged the terms such that the teacher got to suck on her toes, and in return would give her an A+ and $100.  She hadn’t had to remove a single piece of clothing except for a shoe.

            At eighteen, she had gone after one of the most politically and socially conservative senior girls in the high school who had organized a number of anti-gay rallies.  It was not out of a desire for women, but simply because she knew it could be done.  After two months of subtle coaxing and coy flirtations, Chelsea had driven her classmate to a state of near psychosis over longing, and the young woman begged her love to just let her kiss her once.  Chelsea obliged and, in the privacy of a bathroom stall, had yanked her pants down and ordered the young woman to run her tongue along the deepest crevice of her ass.  The girl had complied without hesitation, and when it was over, Chelsea had slapped her toy across the face, laughed, and never spoken to her again.

            Chelsea snickeerd smugly to herself, knowing the only downside of leading the life she did was that she couldn’t write a book on her exploits.  Although even if she did, she knew most people would assume it was anything from embellishment to downright fiction.  Yet every shred of it was true.  And these only scratched the surface.

            She felt no pity for these lost souls she used and then abandoned.  Most of their names and faces were already forgotten to her.  She wouldn’t have cared one way or the other whether they ceased to exist after she was finished with them.  So many of them were desperate that she knew it was reward enough for them to have had their existence acknowledged by her.  Lately, her previous games were all so easy that she lost interest in trying again.

            The situation had changed once Chelsea got her hands on a Portable Matter Reduction Device.  She’d known about them but decided the difficulty of acquiring an unlicensed one was far too much trouble.  Once she’d made a few connections at the school, though, the doors opened up to her. 

            Hers was personally retrofitted into her iPhone by a robotics prodigy also in his sophomore year at the university.  Of course, he had spent six months working on it for her, personally footed the bill for the unlicensed PMRD, and in return, she allowed him to spend five minutes kissing her abdomen.  Nothing above the bra strap and nothing below the belt.  She didn’t slap him once he was done, knowing she might need him to fix the device in the event of a hiccup, but she didn’t look him in the eyes again either.

            That encounter was a mere five hours before.

            And now, finally, phone in hand, Chelsea was on her way toward Professor James Brandel’s office.

            While waiting for her new trinket to be completed, Chelsea had spent long hours poring over a university yearbook, searching for the perfect first one to experience it.  At first she considered choosing the school’s top jocks, most of whom were a couple years older than her, but she soon realized this was going to be far too easy.  She was going to be playing the game at a whole new level now.

            Professor Brandel was kind, generous, and caring.  His eyes never darted onto the asses and breasts of girls in the class when they thought he wasn’t looking.  He had a beautiful family at home whom he referred to often in class as his meaning for living.  Most importantly, he worked late almost every night to help students struggling with material in the class.

            Chelsea knew he was the perfect choice.

            Finally, she stopped in front of his office at the very end of the hall, darkened partially because the ceiling fluorescent was out.  The door was cracked open slight, as it always was, to welcome students in.

            “Professor Brandel?” Chelsea whispered, pushing the door open and peering in.  “Can I talk to you?”