The Hypnotized JK Girlfriend

The autumn breeze carried the scent of osmanthus through the campus as Zhu Xirui walked hand in hand with Xia Keke along the tree-lined path. Her pleated JK skirt swayed lightly with each step, and her laughter was like wind chimes in the afternoon sun. They had been together since their sophomore year of high school—two years of shared lunches, late-night study sessions, and stolen kisses behind the gymnasium. Now, as freshmen at the same university, everyone said they were the perfect couple.

“Xirui, are you even listening?” Xia Keke nudged him playfully, her ponytail swishing as she tilted her head.

“Huh? Yeah, of course,” he said, his eyes lingering a second too long on the hem of her skirt. “You were saying… the literature assignment?”

“I was saying we should go to the library later.” She squeezed his hand, her innocent smile masking any suspicion. “You’ve been spacing out a lot lately. Are you okay?”

“Just tired. Didn’t sleep well.” He forced a smile, his palm growing sweaty against hers. The lie came easily now, practiced over countless nights when he’d stayed up until dawn, headphones plugged in, eyes glued to the screen.

They stopped at the dormitory gate. Xia Keke rose on her tiptoes and pecked his cheek. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll text you tonight.”

He watched her skip inside, her white knee-high socks disappearing through the glass door. His heart ached with love and something darker, something that coiled in his stomach like a living serpent.

Back in his dorm room, alone, Zhu Xirui locked the door and drew the curtains. His roommate had a late class—plenty of time. He opened his laptop, fingers trembling as he typed the familiar URL into the browser. The cuckold forum loaded, its banner featuring a silhouette of a woman in a school uniform surrounded by shadowy male figures. His pulse quickened.

He scrolled through the threads, his mouth dry. Videos of girls in JK uniforms, their faces blurred, their bodies offered to strangers. Comments from men bragging about corrupting innocent girls, about turning girlfriends into playthings. Zhu Xirui’s hands hovered over the keyboard. He wasn’t like them, he told himself. He just watched. He just fantasized.

But his eyes drifted to the bottom drawer of his desk. Slowly, he pulled it open.

Inside lay a collection: three pairs of white knee-high socks, two pairs of loafers—one with a scuffed heel—and a single ribbon, the same shade of blue Xia Keke wore in her hair last week. He had stolen them one by one, slipping into the girls’ locker room after sports practice, claiming he’d left his textbook. Each time, his heart had pounded so hard he thought he’d pass out. The scent of her—the faint floral detergent mixed with the salt of her skin—drove him wild.

He took out a pair of socks, pressed them to his face, and inhaled. His breathing hitched. This was sick. He knew it. But the arousal was overpowering, a tidal wave that drowned every rational thought. He unzipped his pants, still clutching the socks, and began to touch himself while scrolling through the forum.

A new post caught his eye: a video titled “JK transformation: from innocent to slut in 30 days.” The thumbnail showed a girl in a sailor uniform, her eyes glazed, her skirt hiked up. Zhu Xirui clicked it, his hand moving faster. The girl in the video bore a passing resemblance to Xia Keke—same delicate jaw, same slight frame. He imagined it was her. His girlfriend, on her knees. His girlfriend, corrupted.

He climaxed with a strangled gasp, then slumped back in his chair, shame flooding in. He looked at the socks in his hand, now soiled, and wanted to throw them away. But he couldn’t. He never could.

After cleaning himself up, he sat back down, the forum still open. His fingers moved on their own, creating a new thread.

> **Title:** My JK girlfriend—looking for someone to help transform her

> **Location:** [University name]

> **Details:** She’s innocent, clueless, trusts me completely. I have photos and info. Willing to cooperate. Any experienced dominants interested?

He attached a few photos he’d taken secretly—Xia Keke smiling in her JK uniform, bending over to tie her shoes, laughing with her friends. Nothing too explicit, but enough. Enough to offer her up like an offering.

His thumb hovered over the “Post” button. His conscience screamed. He loved her. Loved her so much it hurt. But the fantasy was stronger. The fantasy of her being taken, twisted, remade into something that would never look at him the same way again.

He clicked.

The thread went live. Within minutes, a notification pinged. A private message from a user named “King_FeiFei.”

> *Subject: Your girlfriend.

> I’ve seen her photos. She’s perfect. Meet me at the coffee shop on East Avenue tomorrow at 3 PM. Come alone. Don’t tell her. I’ll show you what it means to truly own.*

The screen glowed in the dimly lit bedroom, casting pale blue light across Wang Feifei’s face. His fingers moved lazily over the keyboard, scrolling through the forum threads with practiced ease. The cuckold website was a goldmine—so many desperate men, so many beautiful women waiting to be taken. He clicked on a new post titled “My Innocent JK Girlfriend,” and a slow smile spread across his lips.

The photos were innocent enough: a young girl in a pleated skirt and white blouse, her hair tied in twin tails, smiling at the camera. She held a teddy bear in one photo, a cup of bubble tea in another. Pure. Naive. Perfect. The poster’s username was “IronChain77,” and his description was a confession that made Wang Feifei’s pulse quicken.

*“I can’t help myself anymore. Every time I see her in her JK uniform, I imagine other men touching her. I want to see it happen, but I’m too afraid to ask. I feel sick, but I can’t stop. I have a thing for her shoes too—the way they smell after she walks home. I hide them sometimes. I know it’s wrong. What’s wrong with me?”*

Wang Feifei chuckled, a low, cold sound. “What’s wrong with you? You’re perfect,” he murmured. He clicked on the poster’s profile, scanning for details. The account was new, barely a week old. No real name, no location. But Wang Feifei had tools—scripts, reverse image searches, IP trackers. He didn’t need permission.

Twenty minutes later, he had a name: Zhu Xirui, a freshman at City University. And from a recent campus event photo posted on the university’s social media, he had a face. A drink bottle, a shoe reflection, a background landmark—nothing escaped his filters. He cross-referenced the photo with the girl in the JK uniform. Her name was Xia Keke. Same school, same year. A couple.

Wang Feifei leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “So you’re the one who likes to hide her shoes,” he whispered. “And you don’t even know what you really want yet. Let me teach you.”

He opened a map application, pinpointed the university dormitories, and then cross-referenced the timestamps of Zhu Xirui’s forum posts. Late nights. Early mornings. That meant he lived on campus. A quick check of the student directory—publicly available through a hacked login—gave him the exact building and room number. Room 312, Dormitory 7.

“Easy,” Wang Feifei said, closing his laptop. He stood up, stretched, and grabbed his jacket. Tomorrow, he would visit the campus. He would find Zhu Xirui. He would approach him like a friend, like a confidant, like someone who understood his darkest secrets. And then he would take everything.

---

Across town, Zhu Xirui sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. The room was silent except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. Xia Keke was in the bathroom, humming a cheerful tune as she brushed her teeth. He could hear the little splashes of water, the clink of her toothbrush against the sink. Normal sounds. Innocent sounds.

He looked down at the floor. Her school shoes were neatly placed by the door, white and clean. Except he knew they weren’t clean. He had taken them yesterday, pressed them against his face, breathed in the faint odor of worn socks and campus pavement. His stomach churned with shame, but his body responded with a familiar, craving need.

“Are you okay?” Xia Keke’s voice came from the doorway. She stood there in her pajamas, a simple pink set, her hair slightly damp from a quick wash. She looked at him with concern, tilting her head. “You’ve been quiet all evening.”

Zhu Xirui forced a smile. “Just tired. A lot of homework.”

She walked over and sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “You can tell me if something’s wrong, you know? We’re a team.”

He wrapped an arm around her, feeling the warmth of her body, the gentle pressure of her trust. And all he could think about was the way her ankle looked when she crossed her legs, the way her socks left an imprint on her skin. He hated himself for it.

“I love you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. It was true. He loved her more than anything. But that love was twisted now, tangled with wires of fetish and compulsion that he couldn’t cut.

She giggled and kissed his cheek. “I love you too. Now go take a shower. You smell like you’ve been stressing out.”

He stood up numbly and walked to the bathroom. As he closed the door, his eyes fell on the laundry basket. Her white ankle socks were on top, crumpled, used. He stared at them for a long moment, his hand trembling on the doorknob. Then he turned the shower on, hot water beating against his back, and tried to wash away the guilt. But it clung to him, soaking into his skin, becoming part of him.

Later that night, after Xia Keke fell asleep, he pulled out his phone and opened the cuckold forum again. He scrolled through the comments on his post—some encouraging, some disgusted. One message caught his eye. It was from a user named “BlackGlassesKing.”

*“I understand your feelings better than anyone. I can help you explore them safely. Let’s talk privately. I’m local.”*

Zhu Xirui’s heart raced. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the reply button. He could delete it. He could block the user. He could throw his phone away and never open this site again.

But he didn’t.

He typed a reply: *“Okay. What’s your number?”*

And as the message sent, he felt a strange mix of terror and relief. Something was beginning. Something he couldn’t stop. Through the window, the streetlights cast long shadows across the dormitory building. In one of those shadows, a man stood watching, a phone glowing in his hand. Wang Feifei smiled, pocketed his phone, and walked away into the night.

The coffee shop was nearly empty at this hour, a fact that made Zhu Xirui's hands tremble as he gripped the edge of the table. He had arrived twenty minutes early, unable to sit still in his dorm room, pacing until his roommate told him to stop being so nervous. Now he sat alone at a corner booth, watching the door, his heart hammering against his ribs.

His phone buzzed. A message from Keke: *Studying at the library tonight. Miss you already!*

He typed back a quick heart emoji, then set the phone face-down on the table. Guilt churned in his stomach like spoiled food. What was he doing here? Meeting a stranger from an obscure online forum, a man who had promised to "help him realize his deepest fantasies." The words had seemed exciting at three in the morning, when his mind was foggy and his loneliness felt like a physical ache. Now, in the harsh fluorescent light of day, they sounded like a trap.

The door swung open.

Wang Feifei walked in with the casual confidence of someone who owned the place. He was older than Zhu Xirui had expected—maybe late twenties—with sharp, angular features and eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. He wore a simple black jacket, unzipped over a gray t-shirt, and carried nothing but his phone. No laptop bag, no notebook. Nothing to suggest this was anything more than a casual meetup.

"You're early," Wang Feifei said, sliding into the booth across from Zhu Xirui. His voice was smooth, unhurried. "I like that. It shows you're serious."

Zhu Xirui swallowed. "I—I wasn't sure if you'd come."

"I always keep my promises." Wang Feifei signaled to the waitress, ordered a black coffee without looking at the menu, then turned his full attention back to Zhu Xirui. The weight of that gaze was unsettling. It felt like being examined under a microscope.

"So," Wang Feifei continued, "tell me about her."

"Who?"

"Your girlfriend. Xia Keke, right? The one you can't stop thinking about." He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "The one who wears those cute little JK uniforms to class. The one whose feet you can't stop staring at when she falls asleep on your shoulder."

Zhu Xirui's face went hot. "How do you—"

"You told me. In the forum. Remember?" Wang Feifei's smile widened. "You described everything in quite a lot of detail. The way her socks smell after a long day. The way she wiggles her toes when she's studying. The way you feel sick with desire every time you help her take off her shoes."

"I didn't mean—I was just—" Zhu Xirui's words tumbled over each other, desperate and ashamed. "I love her. I really do. I don't understand why I think about these things. It's like there's something wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you." Wang Feifei's voice dropped, becoming almost a whisper. "You just haven't learned how to accept what you really want. Society tells you these desires are shameful, so you hide them. You feel guilty. You hate yourself. But none of that changes the fact that the desire is still there, does it?"

Zhu Xirui couldn't meet his eyes. He stared at the table, at the faint scratches in the wood grain, at his own trembling hands.

"I can help you," Wang Feifei said. "I can help you stop fighting yourself. I can help you find a way to satisfy those desires without losing the girl you love."

"How?" The word came out as barely a whisper.

"Trust me." Wang Feifei reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver pendant on a thin chain. The pendant was a perfect circle, polished to a mirror shine. "Look at this."

Zhu Xirui's eyes drifted to the pendant, watching it sway gently back and forth. The motion was hypnotic, rhythmic. He blinked, tried to look away, but something held his gaze.

"You're very tired," Wang Feifei said, his voice now a gentle murmur. "You've been carrying this burden for so long. The shame. The guilt. The constant, aching need. You're exhausted, aren't you?"

"Yes," Zhu Xirui heard himself say. The word felt distant, like it came from someone else's mouth.

"You want to let go. You want to stop fighting. You want to accept what you are."

"Yes."

"And you want to share Keke with me. You want to watch her blossom under my guidance. You want to see her become everything she was meant to be."

Zhu Xirui's mind screamed in protest. *No. That's not what I want. I love her. I want to protect her.* But his body didn't move. His lips didn't form the words. The pendant continued to sway, catching the light, pulling him deeper into its silver orbit.

"Keke will be happier this way," Wang Feifei continued. "She'll be free. She'll learn to embrace parts of herself she never knew existed. And you'll be there to witness it all. You'll be grateful. You'll thank me."

"I'll... be grateful," Zhu Xirui repeated. The words felt heavy, like stones dropping into still water.

"Repeat after me." Wang Feifei's voice hardened slightly, taking on an edge of command. "I will contribute my girlfriend."

"I will contribute my girlfriend."

"I will bring her to you."

"I will bring her to you."

"I will not interfere when you transform her."

"I will not interfere when you transform her."

"Good." Wang Feifei closed his hand around the pendant, cutting off its swing. "When I snap my fingers, you'll wake up. You'll remember everything we discussed, but you'll feel calm. Peaceful. You'll want to see me again tomorrow, same time, same place. And you'll bring a photo of Keke. A clear one, where I can see her eyes."

He snapped his fingers.

Zhu Xirui blinked. The world rushed back into focus—the coffee shop, the ambient noise, the lingering taste of bitterness on his tongue. He felt strange. Light. As if a weight he hadn't known he was carrying had been lifted from his shoulders.

"So," Wang Feifei said, his tone conversational again, "same time tomorrow?"

Zhu Xirui nodded. The motion felt natural, easy. "Same time tomorrow. I'll bring the photo."

"Excellent." Wang Feifei stood, dropping a few bills on the table. "Get some rest. You look like you need it."

He walked out without looking back, leaving Zhu Xirui sitting alone in the booth, staring at the empty space where the swaying pendant had been. His phone buzzed again. Another message from Keke: *Library closes at 10. Want me to bring you some snacks on my way back?*

He typed a reply: *Sure. Love you.*

The words felt hollow. Empty. But for reasons he couldn't explain, that emptiness felt wonderful.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the campus courtyard as Zhu Xirui sat on a bench, watching Xia Keke and Lin Qiqi laughing together near the fountain. His girlfriend's skirt fluttered in the breeze, her knee-high socks pristine white against her calves. But his eyes kept drifting to Lin Qiqi's feet. She wore simple canvas shoes, white with blue trim, and ankle socks that peeked out just above the laces. The fabric looked soft, worn, intimate.

He swallowed hard, a familiar heat building in his chest. For weeks now, something had been shifting inside him. The way he looked at Xia Keke—her body, her face, her voice—all of it felt distant, like watching a movie he no longer cared about. But the shoes, the socks, the scent of worn canvas and cotton—that stirred him in ways he couldn't explain. It was wrong. He knew it was wrong. But the urge had grown into a compulsion, a hunger that gnawed at him day and night.

Wang Feifei's voice echoed in his mind, soft and commanding: *You'll find true pleasure in the objects they wear. The closer to the ground, the purer the ecstasy.* He had laughed it off at first, dismissed it as nonsense. But now the words felt like prophecy.

That evening, he found himself outside Lin Qiqi's dormitory. She was at the library, he knew from Xia Keke's offhand comment. The building was quiet, the hallway empty. He had no business being there, but his legs carried him forward anyway. The door to her room was unlocked—a stroke of luck he didn't question. Inside, the space was neat, girlish, with posters of pop stars on the walls and a plush bear on the bed. And there, by the shoe rack, were the canvas shoes. White with blue trim. The laces hung loose, the insoles slightly darkened from use.

His hands trembled as he picked one up. It was still warm, faintly damp. He brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply. The smell was earthy, salty, mixed with the faint synthetic scent of the fabric. His heart pounded. He slid his hand inside, fingers pressing against the worn insole, feeling the imprint of her foot. And in the corner, a pair of white cotton socks, balled up and tossed aside. He picked them up, the fabric soft and slightly stiff from sweat. He pressed them to his face, breathing in the scent of her—the intimate, hidden scent that belonged to her alone.

Back in his own room, he locked the door and sat on the edge of his bed. The socks and shoe were in his lap. He held the sock to his nose again, then wrapped it around his hand. His breathing grew ragged. He unbuckled his belt, slid down his pants, and began to stroke himself, the sock pressed against his face. The scent filled him, drove him. He imagined Lin Qiqi walking, running, laughing—her feet inside these very socks, pressing against the canvas. The fantasy consumed him. He moaned, his body tensing, and he came into the sock, hot and thick, the fabric staining with his release.

He lay there panting, the sock now soiled and damp. Shame washed over him briefly, but it was drowned by a deeper, more profound satisfaction. He had never felt such release with Xia Keke. Her touch, her kisses—they had all felt hollow. This, this was real.

He cleaned himself up, stuffed the sock and shoe into his backpack. He would return them tomorrow, he told himself. But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn't. He wanted more. He needed more.

The next morning, Xia Keke found him in the cafeteria, his tray untouched. "You look tired," she said, sliding into the seat across from him. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah, fine," he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

She studied him, her brow furrowing. "You've been weird lately. Distracted. And you barely look at me anymore." She reached across the table, touching his hand. "Is something wrong?"

He jerked his hand back. "No. Nothing. Just exams."

"Xirui." Her voice was soft but insistent. "I saw you yesterday. Near the girls' dorm. You were coming from Qiqi's building."

His stomach dropped. "I was just... I needed to borrow a book."

"You could have asked me to get it for you." She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "And you smell different. Like... detergent? But not mine."

"Keke, it's nothing. Really." He forced a smile. "I'm just stressed. You know how it is."

She held his gaze for a long moment, then sighed. "Okay. But if something's wrong, you can tell me. I'm your girlfriend."

"Of course," he said, but the words tasted like ash. His mind was already drifting back to the sock in his backpack, the scent still clinging to his fingers. He excused himself, claiming a study session, and fled.

That night, alone again, he pulled out the other sock. He didn't return them. He couldn't. The compulsion was too strong. He buried his face in the fabric, breathing deep, and let the darkness take him.

The morning light filtered through the curtains of the small apartment, casting pale stripes across the bedroom floor. Zhu Xirui sat on the edge of the bed, his hands trembling as he stared down at his own limp body. He had tried everything—thoughts of Xia Keke in her JK uniform, memories of her soft skin, even the videos they had made together in happier times. Nothing stirred. His penis lay motionless, a dead thing between his legs, unresponsive to every stimulus that once drove him wild.

He heard Xia Keke humming in the kitchen, the sound of a knife chopping vegetables, the clatter of a pan. She was making breakfast, trying to be the perfect girlfriend she still believed she could be. Guilt and shame twisted in his stomach, but beneath that, a darker pulse of excitement throbbed when he thought of the previous night.

He had been alone in the living room, scrolling through his phone, when Lin Qiqi’s name appeared in a message from Wang Feifei: *She left them in the hall. Use them. Worship them.*

And there they were, by the shoe rack—Lin Qiqi’s white cotton socks, still slightly damp from her feet, discarded in a careless heap. He had crawled to them on his hands and knees, pressed his face into the fabric, inhaled the sour-sweet scent of her sweat. His penis had stiffened instantly, painfully, a reaction he had not achieved with Xia Keke in weeks. He had wrapped one sock around his shaft, rubbed himself raw, and come with a shuddering sob.

Now, in the morning light, the memory made him hard again. He reached under the pillow and pulled out the other sock—the one he had hidden, the one that still smelled of Lin Qiqi’s skin. He pressed it to his nose, breathing deeply, and his erection throbbed against his thigh.

The bedroom door opened.

Xia Keke stood there in her white blouse and pleated skirt, a plate of toast in her hands. She smiled, then froze as she saw what he was holding. “Xirui… is that…?”

He shoved the sock under the covers, but too late. Her face crumpled. “Is that Lin Qiqi’s sock? Why do you have her sock in our bed?”

“It’s nothing,” he stammered. “I—I was just looking for mine.”

“That’s not yours. Hers have the little lace trim, see?” She pointed, her voice cracking. “You smelled it. I saw you. You were *smelling* her sock.”

He opened his mouth to lie, but Wang Feifei’s voice echoed in his skull: *The truth will set you free, slave. Tell her. Let her hurt. It pleases me.*

“Yes,” he said, his voice flat. “I was smelling it. It makes me hard.”

Xia Keke dropped the plate. Toast scattered across the floor. Tears welled in her eyes, but she did not scream. She just stood there, trembling. “Why? I’m right here. I’m your girlfriend. I love you. We… we used to…”

“I can’t with you anymore,” he said, the words tumbling out, hollow and mechanical. “I’m impotent with you. Only with you. When I touch you, I feel nothing. But when I smell her socks, or see her shoes, I get so hard it hurts.”

She took a step back. “That’s not true. We just need to try again. Maybe you’re stressed. Maybe—”

“No.” He stood up, the sock still clenched in his fist. “I wrapped myself in her socks last night. I came in less than a minute. With you, I’ve been limp for weeks. It’s over, Keke. I’m broken for you.”

She ran out of the room, and he heard the bathroom door slam, then the sound of muffled sobbing. He stood there, feeling nothing but a vague satisfaction that he had obeyed Wang Feifei’s command. His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Wang Feifei: *Good boy. Now take the sock. Put it on your useless cock. Wear it for 24 hours. Do not remove it even to piss. Let Lin Qiqi’s scent mark you as her property.*

Zhu Xirui’s hands moved of their own accord. He pulled down his pants, took the white cotton sock, and carefully wrapped it around his flaccid penis, tying the ends in a loose knot. The fabric was soft, still carrying that intoxicating scent. Immediately, his penis began to stir, pressing against the confines of the sock. A thin line of pre-cum soaked into the cotton.

He dressed over it, the bulge obvious beneath his jeans. He did not care. He walked into the living room, where Xia Keke sat on the sofa, wiping her eyes. Her face was blotchy, her mascara smeared.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the bulge. “What did you do?”

“I’m following orders,” he said, his voice distant. “Wang Feifei told me to keep Lin Qiqi’s sock on my dick for 24 hours. So I’m doing it.”

“Wang Feifei? That creep? He hypnotized me, remember? He’s evil! Why are you listening to him?”

“Because he gave me back my pleasure,” Zhu Xirui said, and he meant it. “Without him, I couldn’t get hard for anyone. Now I can. But only for her.”

“For Lin Qiqi?”

“For her socks. Her shoes. For the idea of her feet.”

Xia Keke stood up, swaying. She walked toward him, her hand reaching out to touch his chest. “Let me try. Just let me kiss you. Hold me. Please.”

He did not move. She pressed her lips to his, soft and warm, and he felt absolutely nothing. His body remained still, his penis limp inside the sock. She kissed harder, moaning, trying to ignite something, but he might as well have been a statue.

After a long, humiliating minute, she pulled away. “Nothing? Not even a tingle?”

“Nothing,” he confirmed.

She slapped him. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. “You’re sick. You’re both sick. Wang Feifei did this to you. He turned you into a—a thing. A pervert.”

“I’m happy,” he said, his cheek stinging. “For the first time in weeks, I’m happy. I know what I need. And it’s not you.”

She stared at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and grief. Then she turned and walked to the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. He heard her crying, heard her pounding the mattress, heard her voice muffled as she called her mother, sobbing about how her boyfriend had gone crazy.

He did not follow. He sat down on the sofa, pulled out his phone, and sent a message to Wang Feifei: *It’s done. I’m wearing the sock. She’s crying. What’s next?*

The reply came instantly: *Good. Now go to the kitchen. There’s a pair of Lin Qiqi’s shoes by the back door. Lick them clean. Make a video. Send it to the group chat.*

Zhu Xirui smiled. He stood up, the sock rustling against his jeans, and walked toward the kitchen. As he passed the bedroom, he heard Xia Keke’s sobs soften into whimpers, and he felt a flicker of pity—but it was quickly drowned beneath the rising tide of his obsession. He had a purpose now. He had a master. And his girlfriend’s tears were just the price of his twisted salvation.

The evening sky outside the dormitory window had turned a deep purple, and the streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement. Xia Keke sat at her desk, textbooks open in front of her, but her eyes stared blankly at the page. A strange restlessness had been building inside her all week, an inexplicable itch that she couldn't scratch or name.

She rubbed her thighs together under the desk, feeling the smooth fabric of her school uniform skirt against her skin. The sensation was oddly satisfying, and she found herself doing it again, more deliberately this time. A faint blush crept onto her cheeks, but she didn't stop.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Wang Feifei: "Are you feeling it yet? That little tickle in your mind? Don't fight it, Keke. Let it grow."

Xia Keke's heart raced. She had no idea what he meant, but the words seemed to burrow into her skull, planting something warm and unsettling. She quickly typed back: "I don't know what you're talking about." But even as she sent it, she knew it was a lie. Something was happening to her, and she couldn't make it stop.

Three days later, during a shopping trip with Lin Qiqi, Xia Keke found herself drawn to a lingerie store they had always walked past without a second glance. The window displayed mannequins clad in sheer silk and delicate lace, but her eyes fixated on a pair of black thigh-high stockings with a subtle floral pattern at the top.

"Keke, what are you looking at?" Lin Qiqi asked, tugging at her sleeve.

"Nothing," Xia Keke replied quickly, pulling her gaze away. But later that night, alone in her room, she opened her laptop and searched for "stockings for women." She spent an hour scrolling through images, her breath quickening with each new photograph. When she finally fell asleep, her dreams were filled with the sensation of silk sliding up her legs.

The next day, she skipped lunch and went to the store alone. She bought a pair of white stockings with a delicate lace band, the kind she had seen in an online advertisement. She hid them at the bottom of her drawer beneath a pile of sweaters.

That evening, while Zhu Xirui was studying in the library, Xia Keke locked her door, slipped off her knee socks, and carefully rolled the white stockings up her calves. The fabric was cool and smooth, clinging to her skin like a second layer. She stood in front of her mirror, turning this way and that, watching the light catch the sheer material. A strange thrill coursed through her veins, and she pressed her thighs together, feeling the friction.

She didn't know why this felt so good. She only knew she wanted to feel it again.

Zhu Xirui noticed the change the following weekend. They were sitting on his couch watching a movie, and Xia Keke was wearing her usual knee socks beneath her pleated skirt, but he caught a glimpse of something different. A faint seam running up the back of her leg. His breath caught.

"Keke, what are you wearing?" he asked, his voice tight.

She looked at him with an innocent expression, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—a mischief he had never seen before. "Just socks, silly. What's wrong?"

He reached down and touched the fabric just above her shoe. It was slicker than cotton, smoother. His heart pounded. "These aren't your usual socks. They feel different."

Xia Keke blushed and pulled her leg away. "I just wanted to try something new. Is that a problem?"

"No," he said quickly, but inside his mind was spinning. He knew what those were—stockings. Why would she suddenly buy stockings? She had always been so proper, so innocent. And yet, a dark part of him, the part that Wang Feifei had already corrupted, felt a surge of excitement. His hands trembled as he imagined her legs wrapped in that silk. He wanted to touch them again, to feel that smoothness against his palms.

But then came the pain. Why was she changing? Was he losing her? The two emotions fought inside him, leaving him dizzy. He excused himself to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. When he looked in the mirror, he saw the face of a man who was both aroused and terrified.

Over the next week, Xia Keke's changes became more pronounced. She started wearing stockings more often, first only under her skirt, then even when lounging around the dorm. She bought three more pairs—black, nude, and a pale pink. She started following online accounts that posted photos of girls in hosiery, and she began to experiment with how the light played off the different fabrics.

One evening, she received another message from Wang Feifei. "You look beautiful in those stockings, Keke. I can see you even from here. Tell me, do you feel that tingle when you put them on? That little flutter in your chest?"

She should have been horrified. He was watching her. He knew. But instead, a wave of warmth spread through her body, and she typed back: "Yes. I feel it."

"Good. That's just the beginning. Keep exploring. There's so much more to discover."

She deleted the messages and went to bed, but she couldn't sleep. She lay awake, running her fingers over the lace on her newest pair of stockings, wondering what Wang Feifei meant by "so much more."

Zhu Xirui, meanwhile, was spiraling. He had started sneaking looks at Xia Keke's legs whenever she wore stockings, his mind filling with images he couldn't control. One night, after she fell asleep, he opened her drawer and found the collection. He pulled out the white pair, still carrying her scent, and held them to his face. His breath came in ragged gasps as he pressed the fabric to his lips.

But when he returned to bed and looked at her sleeping face, so peaceful and innocent, a wave of guilt crushed his chest. He hated himself. He hated what he was becoming. And yet, he couldn't stop. He wanted to see her change further, to see just how corrupt she could become, even if it broke him.

The seed Wang Feifei had planted was taking root, and both of them were helpless to stop its growth.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the campus quad as Xia Keke stepped out of the dormitory building. The JK uniform she wore had been altered overnight, the skirt hem now riding dangerously high on her thighs, the white blouse unbuttoned three buttons too many, exposing the lacy edge of a black bra beneath. The pleats of the skirt had been shortened and loosened, so that with every step, the fabric swayed and lifted, offering fleeting glimpses of white panties.

Students turned to stare. A group of boys near the bicycle rack stopped mid-conversation, their eyes trailing after her. Girls whispered behind their hands, some with disdain, others with curiosity. Xia Keke felt the weight of their gazes like a physical touch, and a warmth spread through her chest. Her heart fluttered with something that felt like excitement, though a small, distant part of her mind tried to remind her this was wrong.

But that voice was growing fainter every day.

"Keke! Over here!" Lin Qiqi waved from the bench near the central fountain, her own uniform perfectly modest, her expression bright and innocent. As Xia Keke approached, Lin Qiqi's smile faltered, her eyes widening. "Keke, your skirt... and your blouse... what happened?"

Xia Keke tilted her head, a dreamy smile on her lips. "Doesn't it look pretty? I want everyone to see me today."

"See you?" Lin Qiqi glanced around nervously. "But everyone's staring. Aren't you embarrassed?"

"Embarrassed?" Xia Keke laughed, a light, airy sound that didn't sound quite like her old self. "No, I love it. I love when they look at me. Especially the boys."

Lin Qiqi bit her lip, a flicker of unease crossing her face. She remembered what Teacher Wang had said about hypnosis, about helping Keke overcome her shyness. But this felt different. This felt wrong.

"Let's go to class," Lin Qiqi said, reaching for Keke's arm. "Maybe we can find you a jacket or something."

But Xia Keke pulled away gently, her movements fluid and certain. "I'm fine, Qiqi. You go ahead. I want to walk around a bit more."

As Lin Qiqi hesitated, torn between loyalty and unease, a familiar voice cut through the morning chatter.

"Xia Keke. Lin Qiqi. Good morning."

Wang Feifei approached with measured steps, a leather-bound notebook tucked under his arm. His eyes swept over Xia Keke's altered uniform, and a small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He stopped directly in front of her, close enough that she could smell his cologne, subtle and commanding.

"Teacher Wang," Xia Keke breathed, her eyes glazing slightly as she met his gaze.

"Let's take a walk," he said. "Both of you."

Lin Qiqi felt a chill run down her spine, but her feet followed before her mind could object. They walked together toward the less traveled path behind the science building, where cherry trees drooped low and the sound of students faded to a distant murmur.

Wang Feifei stopped beneath the shade of a large oak. He turned to face Xia Keke, his voice dropping to a hypnotic murmur. "Keke, look into my eyes."

She obeyed instantly, her pupils dilating, her posture softening.

"Tell me, how do you feel when people stare at your body?"

A shudder ran through Xia Keke. Her breath quickened. "It feels... good. I feel seen. Wanted. My skin tingles, and I feel wet between my legs."

Lin Qiqi gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

Wang Feifei's voice remained calm, almost clinical. "Good. That's natural. Your body was made to be seen. Your uniform is not a cover—it's an invitation. Every man who looks at you is worshipping you. Don't you want that worship?"

"Yes," Xia Keke whispered. "I want it."

"Then today, you will walk through the main courtyard during lunch. You will stand by the fountain and pose. Let them see your thighs. Let them see the outline of your breasts. You will smile, because you are offering them a gift."

Xia Keke nodded slowly, her face serene, her eyes empty of anything but Wang Feifei's reflected image.

Lin Qiqi took a step back, her heart pounding. "Teacher Wang, I don't think—"

"Qiqi." Wang Feifei's voice snapped toward her, sharp and melodic. "You've been a good friend. But good friends support each other. Keke needs this. You see how happy she is, don't you?"

Lin Qiqi looked at Xia Keke. Her best friend's face was radiant, peaceful, her lips curved in a beatific smile. It was the same smile Keke had worn when she first started dating Zhu Xirui, the one that meant she was truly happy.

But that wasn't right. That smile was a lie.

"She's happy," Lin Qiqi said slowly, as if trying to convince herself. "If she's happy, then..."

"Then you'll help her," Wang Feifei finished. "Zhu Xirui will take photos. You will keep watch. And tonight, we'll see just how beautiful Keke can be."

He reached out and placed a hand on Lin Qiqi's shoulder. His touch was warm, firm, and she felt a wave of calm wash over her, pushing her doubts into a dark, quiet corner.

"Let's go to the courtyard now," he said. "It's almost lunch."

---

Zhu Xirui received the text message during his third-period class. It was from Wang Feifei: *Meet us at the fountain at noon. Bring your phone. You know what to do.*

He stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. His stomach churned with a sick mixture of desire and dread. Every time he thought about watching other men stare at Keke, a part of him screamed in protest. But another part, the part Wang Feifei had cultivated and nurtured, stirred with a dark, hungry excitement.

*Yes, master,* he typed back.

At noon, the courtyard filled with students. Some sat on the grass eating lunch, others clustered around the fountain, laughing and talking. Zhu Xirui stood near the biology building, his phone held at an angle that appeared casual, ready to capture whatever Wang Feifei had planned.

Then Xia Keke walked into the courtyard.

The buzz of conversation faltered. Heads turned. The altered JK uniform clung to her body, the skirt riding up so high that the curve of her buttocks was visible with every step. Her blouse gaped open, the lacy bra now fully exposed, her nipples clearly visible through the thin fabric. She moved with a swaying, sensual gait that she had never possessed before, her hips rolling, her eyes fixed ahead with a serene, knowing smile.

She stopped at the fountain and turned slowly, making sure everyone saw. She bent over to touch the water, giving the crowd behind her a clear view of her panties, barely covering the swell of her ass. A few boys whistled. Someone laughed nervously.

Xia Keke straightened and laughed, a light, musical sound. "It's such a hot day," she said to no one in particular. "I love the sun."

Zhu Xirui's hands trembled as he raised his phone and began taking photos. Click. Click. Click. Each image burned into his memory—the curve of her thigh, the dampness of her lips, the way her skirt rode up when she leaned forward. His heart pounded in his chest, a terrible rhythm of shame and arousal.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Wang Feifei appeared beside him, his voice low. "All those eyes on her. All those thoughts in their heads. And she belongs to you, Zhu Xirui. Your girlfriend. Showing her body to the world."

"She's..." Zhu Xirui swallowed, his throat dry. "She's mine."

"She's *ours*," Wang Feifei corrected gently. "But yes, you are her boyfriend. And you love watching her, don't you? You love knowing that other men want her, that they can look but never touch. You love the jealousy, the humiliation, the power."

Zhu Xirui's fingers moved mechanically, capturing another photo of Keke as she turned, her blouse slipping off one shoulder, exposing the strap of her bra. A group of boys had gathered near her, laughing and talking, their eyes glued to her body. She smiled at them, flirtatious and open.

"I love it," Zhu Xirui whispered, and some part of him screamed at the lie, but the words felt true. They felt like the only truth he had left.

"Good." Wang Feifei patted his shoulder. "Upload them to the Cuckold Network. The one with her bent over first. Then the one where she's laughing. They need to see her. The whole world needs to see her."

Zhu Xirui opened the app, his fingers moving swiftly now. The forum loaded, filled with familiar handles—men who had commented on Keke's photos before, who had called her a slut, a whore, a perfect piece of meat. He attached the photos, his face burning, his pulse racing.

*My girlfriend, showing off at school,* he typed. *Look at what she's become.*

He hit send.

The comments came instantly, a cascade of praise and filth. *Nice fuckmeat. Wish I could bend her over that fountain. Love those thighs. More, more, more.*

Zhu Xirui felt a release, a wave of relief so profound his knees nearly buckled. He had done it. He had given Keke to them. He had shared her. And it felt good.

Wang Feifei watched him with satisfaction, then turned his gaze back to the courtyard. Xia Keke was now sitting on the edge of the fountain, her legs spread just enough to be indecent, her skirt pooled around her hips. She was talking to a boy from the basketball team, her hand resting on his arm, her laughter ringing out across the quad.

Lin Qiqi stood at the edge of the crowd, her arms crossed, her expression troubled. But she did not move to intervene. She did not call out. She simply watched, her friend's transformation unfolding before her eyes, a silent witness to a corruption she did not yet understand.

Wang Feifei's smile widened. They were all playing their parts perfectly. And this was only the beginning.

The morning sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting long rectangles of light across the desks. Lin Qiqi sat in her usual seat, notebook open, pen in hand, waiting for the first lecture to begin. The door swung open and Xia Keke walked in, but something was different. The soft thud of canvas soles was replaced by a sharp, rhythmic click-clack against the tiled floor.

Lin Qiqi looked up. Xia Keke wore a pair of black high heels—strappy, with a thin stiletto heel that made her hips sway with each step. The shoes were elegant, expensive-looking, entirely unlike the flat Mary Janes or sneakers she used to wear. Her skirt seemed shorter too, hiked up an inch or two, and her blouse was unbuttoned one button lower than normal.

“Keke?” Lin Qiqi called out, a hint of confusion in her voice.

Xia Keke did not respond. She walked to her desk, tossed her bag onto it with a careless thud, and sat down, crossing her legs with deliberate slowness. The heel of her right shoe dangled, tapping the air. She pulled out her phone and began scrolling, ignoring the stares from a few classmates.

“Nice shoes, Keke,” said a boy from the row behind. “Going somewhere fancy?”

Xia Keke did not bother looking up. “None of your business,” she said flatly. Her voice was cold, dismissive. The boy’s smile faltered. He shrugged and turned back to his desk.

Lin Qiqi frowned. She had known Xia Keke since high school—sweet, gentle, always quick to apologize even when she wasn’t at fault. This was not the girl she knew.

The lecturer entered and began the lesson. Lin Qiqi tried to focus, but she kept glancing sideways at her friend. Xia Keke was not taking notes. Instead, she was polishing one of her heels with a tissue, rubbing the patent leather until it gleamed, a faint smile playing on her lips. When the lecturer asked a question, Xia Keke raised her hand, but not to answer. She simply examined her fingernails, then let her hand drop.

At break, Lin Qiqi approached her. “Keke, are you okay? You seemed a little… off today.”

Xia Keke looked up, her eyes sharp. “Off? What do you mean?”

“You snapped at Zhang Wei earlier. That’s not like you.”

Xia Keke laughed, a short, harsh sound. “He was being nosy. I don’t have to be nice to everyone who talks to me.”

“But you used to be,” Lin Qiqi said softly. “You were always kind. Even to people you didn’t like.”

Xia Keke set down her phone and leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “People change, Lin Qiqi. Maybe I’m tired of being a doormat. Maybe I’ve learned there’s more to life than being everyone’s good little girl.” She uncrossed her legs and stood up, smoothing her skirt. The heels made her taller, more imposing. “And maybe you should mind your own business.”

Lin Qiqi felt a sting in her chest. “I’m just worried about you. You’ve been different lately. Ever since you started hanging out with that Wang Feifei…”

At the mention of the name, Xia Keke’s expression hardened. “Don’t talk about him. You don’t know anything.” She grabbed her bag and walked out of the classroom, her heels clicking loudly in the empty hallway.

Lin Qiqi stood alone by the desks, watching her friend disappear around the corner. She remembered the girl who used to lend her notes, who cried at sad movies, who blushed when her boyfriend Zhu Xirui held her hand. That girl was fading, replaced by someone cold, sharp-edged, wearing high heels that clicked like a countdown.