Triggered
By Rude Boy, rudeboi66@yahoo.com
A college student is taught the importance of Trigger Warnings


Dave yawned as he slid into his seat for his first class of the new semester.
He could hardly have mustered enthusiasm for anything at eight in the morning,
but Women's Studies? What the hell was he thinking? He felt out of place as he
surveyed the class. Out of 30 students there were only two other men, and not
a hot girl to be seen. At least not until the instructor strolled in.
Professor Conley was surprisingly tall, with large, heather green eyes, fine
features and jet black, shoulder-length hair. She was young for a professor,
maybe 35, and despite her modest outfit - a loose-fitting sweater and jeans -
he could tell that she had a killer body. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after
all.

"Good morning!" she chirped, eliciting a barely audible response from the
class. "Good morning!" she repeated with cheerful emphasis, drawing a louder
rumble of feigned enthusiasm. "Welcome to Women's Studies," she continued.
"Before we get started, I do want to warn you all that this class will contain
frank discussions of sexuality and several of our readings will focus on rape
and women's stories of survival. Our conversations will always be respectful,
but if these topics are triggers for any of you, you may want to consider
whether this class is appropriate for you."

A few seats to Dave's left, one of the other men stood and excused himself
from the class, thanking the professor quietly as he exited. "Jesus Christ,"
Dave muttered, louder than he intended.

Professor Conley stared coolly in his direction. "Do you have something you
want to share, Mr..."

"White. David White."

"That seems appropriate," the pretty professor snickered. "Do you have a
problem with the content of my class, Mr. White?"

"No, I have a problem with your trigger warning."

"And what problem is that?"

"Well," Dave began, suddenly aware that all eyes in the class were on him. It
only emboldened him further. "To be honest, I think trigger warnings are
bullshit. They're for cowards who can't deal with reality. People come to
college to learn and to broaden their horizons, and it's embarrassing that we
enable people to shy away from real life. It encourages weakness."

The professor chuckled to herself. "Come up here, Mr. White." Bemused, he
complied, as she slid a chair in front of her desk and took her place behind
it. "Sit," she commanded. "Mr. White, since you seem to have a problem with
weakness, let me ask: do you think you're strong?"

"Stronger than most," he replied confidently.

"And what makes you say that?"

"Well," he smiled coyly, "I can bench almost 200 pounds."

"Almost 200? Color me impressed," she said sarcastically. "But physical
strength is only one kind. What about mental strength? What about emotional
strength?"

Dave thought about it for a moment. "I think it's all connected. I'm stronger
mentally and emotionally because I'm strong physically."

"I think you're absolutely right, Mr. White. Being physically strong can build
confidence. Having confidence bolsters mental strength. But what if one form
of strength is tied to the other, what happens when your physical strength is
taken away?"

Dave shrugged, " I dunno."

"Why don't we put your strength to the test, Mr. White?" Smiling, she placed
her elbow squarely on the desk. "I'd like to arm wrestle you."

"What?"

"You heard me. You can say no, of course. But remember, you just finished
telling the whole class how strong you are. How will it look if you back
down?"

Dave looked out over his peers, who watched with bated breath. "Yeah, sure,"
he said, feigning more confidence than he felt. "Piece of cake."

He placed his elbow on the desk and Professor Conley reached out, clasping his
hand firmly. "3, 2, 1... go!"

Dave pushed against her with all his might, but her arm did not budge. Calmly,
she addressed the class, wholly unfazed by the effort Dave exerted against
her. "Do any of you know the difference between assumptions and presumptions?"
A girl in the front called out that presumptions required evidence, while
assumptions did not. "Very good," Professor Conley replied, as she felt Dave's
effort begin to ebb. "Dave has made several assumptions today. He assumed that
he understood the experiences of one of his peers. He assumed that he was
physically stronger than me." She turned her cool gaze back to Dave, staring
all the way through him. "Right now, his assumptions are being challenged."

Dave threw every ounce of his strength into another effort to drive Professor
Conley's arm down, but still it did not move. Seeing what she had been waiting
for, the look of desperation in his eyes, she summoned her first modicum of
effort and slammed his hand down on the table as though there were no
resistance at all. An audible gasp ran pierced the room, as the beaten young
man looked in shock, first at his aching hand, and then back at his Professor.
"Tell me, Mr. White, do you still feel physically strong?"

"I...I..." David stammered, dumbfounded.

"You don't know? If you'd like you can try again." She placed her arm back on
the desk.

Dave hung his head, and whispered softly, "No."

"No what?"

"No, I don't want to try again. No, I don't feel strong."

"Of course you don't, Mr. White. How could you after I beat you so easily in
front of all of your peers? You've just had a traumatic experience, albeit a
very minor one, and each time you enter this classroom, you will be confronted
with it. Now the only questions are: do you have the fortitude to confront
your trauma, and, if you don't, does that make you weak?" She reached down and
pulled a textbook from her bag, as he stood silently before her. "You may go
back to your desk."

Dave turned and walked back towards his desk, his eyes fixed firmly on the
floor, but as he heard the whispers and titters of his classmates he felt
shame and rage swelling within him. He grabbed his bag and started towards the
door. A hush fell over the room as he scurried out the door, and he heard
Professor Conley call after him, "What were you saying about weakness, Mr.
White?" The room erupted in laughter as he raced out the door and down the
hall, struggling to fight back tears.

Furious and shaken, Dave headed straight for the administrators office and
filed a complaint. He was forced to acknowledge that he'd consented to the arm
wrestling match, but surely Professor Conley's behavior was unacceptable in a
college classroom. The school agreed, and she was immediately placed on paid
leave while they decided how best to handle the situation.

For his part, Dave could hardly stand to show his face on campus. He retreated
into himself and spent most of the next week holed up in his dorm room smoking
pot and drinking himself into a stupor. It was nine the following Saturday
night when he reached to pour another glass of Old Crow only to find the
bottle empty. He knew he should just sleep; he'd been drinking, slowly but
steadily, since before noon. But he could not shake the dour mood that plagued
him so he resolved that the only solution was to drown it. Steeling himself to
face the world, he headed for the liquor store a half-mile campus where he
knew he wouldn't be hassled for ID. As he was crossing the street to the
store, however, he saw a familiar figure leaving the bar down the block.

Professor Conley waved goodbye to an unseen friend as she stepped out of the
bar, before turning down the block. Dave froze as he watched her, the emotion
of the last week overwhelming him in his half-drunken state. By the time he
regained his faculties, he realized he was following her. He didn't remember
making the decision to trail her, and now that he was he knew he should turn
back, but, compelled by a force beyond his comprehension, he continued to put
one foot in front of the other. Dave stayed a safe distance behind her as she
walked nearly a mile to a neighboring residential street. When at last she
turned down the driveway to a modest home, Dave ducked into the bushes to
avoid being spotted. He watched as she walked to her door and placed the key
in the lock, before suddenly turning back towards where he was concealed. To
Dave's shock, she called out, "Since you followed me all this way, don't you
at least want to come in?"

Dave panicked, unsure of what to do. At she continued to stare in his
direction, he knew the game was up and he sheepishly stood. "Come over here,"
she said calmly, waiting as he made his way up the drive with his head hung in
embarrassment. "I think we need to have a talk, Mr. White." He nodded in
silent acquiescence and she opened the door, motioning him inside ahead of
her.

"Make yourself at home while I pour a drink. Would you like anything?" she
said, leading him to the living room.

"Ummm... bourbon, if you have it."

She disappeared through another door, then poked her head back in. "Can you
close that?" Her eyes drew a line to an open window across the room. "I don't
want it to get drafty in here."

Dave shut the window and plopped on the couch, but she was gone longer than
expected and, unable to quell his nervous energy, he soon stood and milled
about the living room. He heard her footsteps heading down the hall and what
sounded like the front door opening and closing, but he paid it little mind as
he perused a large bookshelf filled with volumes on social psychology and
gender studies.

Eventually she reappeared, two drinks in hand, and stepped in close. She
started to hand him a glass, then paused. "Are you even old enough to drink
this?" It felt like a pointed question. Standing toe-to-toe for the first time
with the woman who had bested him, he realized he felt like a child. Even
though he had already tasted her power, this was the first time he was fully
conscious of her size. Though her slightly baggy clothes gave little
indication of the figure beneath, they could not hide the breadth of her
shoulders or thighs. She was big, but certainly not fat, and though Dave was
reasonably muscular, by no means small, he guessed she might outweigh him by
30 or 40 pounds. And her height! Even in flats, she loomed over his 5'9" frame
- she must have been at least six feet. The effect, when combined with her
uncommon beauty and the confidence that simply oozed from her was both
intoxicating and intimidating.

"Well, I..."

"I'm just kidding," she interjected, smiling softly. With a wink she handed
him the glass. "I won't tell if you won't"

"Thanks, umm, Professor."

"Call me Maggie."

"Thanks, Maggie. You can call me Dave," he responded sheepishly.

"OK, Dave," She began, staring intently at him. "Let's start with the obvious
question. Why are you here?" As he considered her question, Dave realized he
didn't know. He didn't know why he'd follow her. He certainly didn't know why
she had invited him inside. "Even if you don't know, I do," she continued as
he stood silently. "Pride." She took a slow sip of her drink. "You saw me
tonight, that humiliation you felt in class all came flooding back, and pride
wouldn't let you turn away." Dave dropped his eyes in silent acknowledgment
and took a big swig of bourbon. "Now that pride has led you here," she
continued, "what do you want to do?"

"I... I don't know."

"Come on Dave. Do you want to fight me? Fuck me? Do you want to run away?"

He ignored her question, lifting his eyes and watching the corners of her
mouth curl into a wry smile. "Why did you invite me inside? Aren't you angry
with me?"

"For getting me suspended?" She laughed, "I could use a break. No, Dave, I'm
not angry with you. In fact, I owe you an apology. I wanted to teach you a
lesson the other day, about the challenges of living with traumatic
experiences and the folly of judging someone for the ways they choose to cope.
I think I failed."

"You didn't fail. I understand now that I was wrong."

"I know you think you do, Dave..." she trailed off, pausing for a moment. "Do
you know that more than 30% of women in the US will suffer rape or domestic
abuse at some point in their life?"

"Jesus, no, I didn't know that." Dave muttered.

"It's almost impossible for anyone to really understand the how an experience
like that can reshape someone's whole life, even if they're empathetic and
want to learn. And most people don't want to learn." She paused, nursing the
last of her drink.

"I want to learn," Dave interjected, with conviction that surprised even
himself. For all the hurt and anger she had caused him, there was something
about Maggie that compelled him, that made him yearn for her acceptance.

"That's good, Dave." She smiled, reaching out and softly caressing his cheek.
Her smile widened as she felt him shiver slightly at the electric spark of her
touch. She finished her drink and set her glass on the table and motioned for
Dave to do the same. "I'd like to show you something. Follow me."

As they walked down the main hall, Dave could see the open door to her bedroom
at the end, calling to him. For the briefest moment, he thought she was
leading him there, but she stopped a few rooms short and swung open the door
to a darkened room, motioning him inside. As lights flicked on overhead he saw
that they were in modest, windowless room, empty except for what appeared to
be rubber sheets covering the floor.

By the time he turned to find Maggie, she had shut and locked the door behind
them. Bemused, Dave wondered aloud, "What did you -"

CRACK!! With breathtaking speed and savagery, Maggie's fist scythed the air,
connecting with Dave's cheek and dropping him like a sack of potatoes. Dave
lay in a dazed heap on the ground for nearly 30 seconds before he could even
begin to process what had happened. As he struggled to all fours, spitting
blood, Maggie reached down, grabbing him by the hair and delivering another
brutal punch to the same cheek before tossing him onto his back.

Dave's whole world was spinning. Teetering on the edge of consciousness, blood
now flowing freely from his mouth, he gurgled out the only word he could
muster, "Why?"

Without a word, she calmly reared back and drove her foot into his exposed
groin. Dave howled in pain, rolling and groaning in agony as he clutched his
aching balls. "This is your lesson Dave. This is how I teach you." As she
spoke she began stripping off her clothes until she was clad only in a plain
white bra and panties. When Dave finally gathered himself enough to be aware
of anything beyond the pain, to take in the figure towering over him, his jaw
went slack.

She stood, hands on hips, as his eyes scanned slowly up her body, over her
muscular calves to gargantuan thighs, which were each larger than his head.
Her waist tapered only slightly, giving way to a thick, toned core and
pronounced abs. Large, proud breasts perched atop her defined pectorals,
framed by flared lats and shoulders as broad as a four-lane highway. Veins ran
down her arms, like raindrops tracing the arcs of her mammoth biceps. A
specimen of her proportions could hardly be called lean, but her every inch
was defined, rippling with muscle. To her stricken opponent, she was at once a
majestic and terrible sight, and he found himself trembling unconsciously.
"W-what are you going to do?" he half-whimpered, realizing how pathetic he
sounded, but unable to control his fear.

"I'm going to hurt you Dave. I'm going to break you until you think that
there's nothing left to break. I'm going to teach you."

"You can't do this. You invited me in - I saw the doorbell camera, I know
there's footage."

"I'm afraid that footage is nowhere to be found, Dave. The doorbell camera saw
me coming in alone." Horrified, he suddenly realized why he heard the front
door opening when she went to make a drink. "But my other camera saw you
hiding in the bushes, and your fingerprints are on the sill of a window I
accidentally left open." The full weight of Dave's predicament came crashing
down upon him. "Officer," she began to mock cry, "he broke into my home drunk
and threatened me. I was just defending myself."

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, instinct took hold. The door was only 5
feet away. It was his only chance. Leaping to his feet, he charged towards the
promise of freedom, but Maggie lowered a powerful shoulder into him, sending
him crashing into the wall and ending his brief attempt at escape.

She stepped close, grabbing him by the throat with one strong hand, clamping
tightly. With an awesome display of strength, she pressed him against the wall
and slowly lifted until his feet dangled helplessly in the air. His legs
thrashed wildly as she held him firm, choking the life from him. "You can't
escape. You can't overpower me. You can't do anything that I don't want you to
do. What I want you to do is learn. And you will learn by suffering." Dave's
vision began to cloud, an inky blackness threatening to overtake him. Just as
he felt himself succumbing, Maggie pulled him away from the wall and slammed
his body down powerfully onto the floor.

Instantly she mounted him, knocking the wind from him as she landed.
Instinctively he resisted, swinging a fist up and connecting weakly with her
jaw. A fire lit in Maggie's eyes and, for the first time, she let anger take
hold. She cocked her fist and slammed it into his nose, smiling as she felt it
collapse under the power of her fist and sending him flopping onto his back.
She shifted forward atop him, pinning his arms beneath her knees and hit him
with a right hook, then a left. "This is not a contest. Do not test me." she
shouted, punctuating each word with another blow. With controlled fury, she
rhythmically battered his swollen face back and forth. At last she ceased her
onslaught, standing and rolling Dave onto his side. Clinging to consciousness
and hyperventilating, he heaved a torrent of blood that carried a few loose
teeth with it. He lay motionless on his side, breathing heavily. Maggie
allowed him this brief respite, checking occasionally to make sure he was
still breathing.

When she was satisfied he would live, Maggie stirred Dave with a sharp kick to
the ribs. "I'm afraid I got a little carried away there, but you shouldn't
have tried to fight back. We'll make sure that can't happen again." She rifled
through a black duffel in the corner of the room, producing a ball gag which
she dangled over his face. "Can't have you making too much noise during this
next part," she said as she knelt over him and secured the gag in place. "Try
not to choke." Dave dared not resist.

With the gag secured, she lay atop him, holding his arms over his head.
Wrapping her legs around his, she locked him into a grapevine, gradually she
spread her legs and stretching his hips and groin brutally as he wailed into
the gag. She held him near his limit for a few moments, then released
momentarily before piling the pressure on again. This time, as she reached his
breaking point, she went further, quickly and viciously spreading her legs
wider, wrenching his hips from their sockets with a loud pop. Dave's face was
buried beneath her, and she smiled as she felt his muffled screams and fresh
tears against her breasts. She shuddered slightly, exulting in the thrill and
the sudden flood of wetness his suffering elicited in her. Channeling the rush
of sexual energy, she stood and continued her assault. She grabbed his arm,
braced her foot against his chest and began to pull and twist. Dave's eyes
went wide with horror as he felt tendons give way, but still his screams could
not escape. When at last his shoulder dislodged with a sickening squelch, she
moved on to the other arm. Mercifully, Dave had already passed out from the
pain.

He awoke in Maggie's arms. The gag had been removed, and she sat astride his
pelvis, holding him upright as his useless limbs dangled at his side. The
instant she saw his eyes flicker open, she violently snapped her meaty thighs
closed around his midsection. Clamping her legs around him and pulling his
head into her chest, she methodically began to squeeze the air from him. Dave
wanted to scream as he felt his ribs compressed to the breaking point, but his
lungs could draw no air. Slowly she constricted him into unconsciousness.
Thirty seconds later he thrashed awake, gasping for air, and again she
tightened around him, stealing his breath until he succumbed to darkness. For
nearly an hour, long after she had sapped the last of his strength, she
continued the cruel ritual, giving him a taste of life and then taking it away
with consummate ease.

By the time she relented he could not even lift his head from her chest. His
tears were spent and he yearned only for a release from the pain. "Are - are
you going to kill me?" he whispered.

Almost lovingly she leaned in closer to him, stroking his head. "If I wanted
to, could you do anything to stop me?"

"No..." he softly whispered, instinctively nuzzling against the softness of
her breast in search of solace.

"Your lesson is almost over Dave." She lowered him back to the floor where he
lay, incapable of movement, as she returned to the black duffel bag. Dave
watched helplessly as she slipped off her panties and produced a huge,
double-ended strap-on, at least nine inches on each side. "Oh Dave," she
cooed, "breaking you has made me so fucking wet." As if to prove her point she
reached down with a long finger, using it to taste her own juices. She gasped
slightly as she slid one end of the dildo inside herself before slipping a
small vibrator into the harness.

"Have you ever been fucked in the ass Dave?" she asked as she began to stroke
lube over her massive girlcock. His face contorted in a terrible grimace and a
primal squeal split his lips. "Don't worry. I'm going to make you love it."
She flipped him onto his stomach, slipping a foam wedge under his pelvis and
positioning her cockhead teasingly against his anus. Reaching around, she
clasped one strong hand over his mouth before forcing her huge dick inside
him. He screamed into her hand as she powered past the resistance of his
virgin sphincter, driving all nine inches into him in a single stroke. With
animal efficiency she reamed him, pounding his prostate again and again, until
precum dribbled from his cock as the vibrator and her own dildo drove her
closer and closer to climax.

Without ceasing her piston thrusts she placed her lips to his ear. "Thank me,"
she commanded. "Thank me for breaking you. Thank me for fucking you. Thank me
for teaching you."

"Thank you, Maggie!" he screamed as she pulled her hand away. "Thank you!
Thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou..." He cried with each thrust as Maggie
rode him into the ground bringing herself closer and closer to crescendo
before erupting in a thunderous orgasm. Maggie collapsed onto Dave, spent. She
shuddered violently atop him as the little vibrator continued to send electric
currents of pleasure coursing through her, and when, at last, the final waves
of ecstasy had passed, she drifted to sleep upon his back. Crushed under her
weight, with her mammoth member still buried deep inside him, Dave wept
softly, praying for the release of sleep or death, whichever would come
sooner.

6 MONTHS LATER:

"Everything is going to be fine honey. Just take it slow. If you need
anything, I'm only a phone call away."

"Thanks Mom."

"Good luck on your first day. I love you, David."

"I love you too." Dave opened the car door and cautiously stepped out, bracing
himself on his cane. He hoped the cane would be temporary, but the doctors
told him he would likely always walk with a limp. After all of the surgeries,
weeks of intensive care, and long months of physical therapy, they were still
mystified by what had befallen the young man who was found near death in an
empty lot a few miles from campus. But Dave maintained that he couldn't
remember a thing.

When he had finally made it home, he wrote a letter to the Dean, asking for
Maggie's reinstatement. The next day he applied for a transfer to the state
school in his home town. Now the first day of class had arrived, but after
spending months holed up in his room, he was still nervous about setting foot
on a college campus. Steeling himself, he began the long walk to his first
class, Social Psychology.

The walk was slow and agonizing, but when he finally arrived a pretty girl was
nice enough to offer him her seat in the front of the class. Dave settled in.
For all of his anxiety, he suddenly felt desperate to move forward with his
life. He was ready to learn.

A weedy, middle aged man in a tweed blazer entered the classroom as the bell
rang and stepped behind the desk. "Welcome to Social Psychology. I'm Dean
Winters. Sadly, Professor Green, who was slated to teach this class, has had
to withdraw from this semester due to a health issue, but we're fortunate to
have a new faculty member here to fill his shoes. Every please welcome
Professor Maggie Conley."

Dave instantly broke out in a cold sweat, shaking visibly as the tall brunette
stepped into the room. Immediately she locked eyes with him, smiling brightly,
and his heart felt like it would leap from his chest. "Thank you, Dean. I'm
excited to be here. Now class, before we get started I want to offer a
warning. This semester we will touch on real world and scientific examples of
abuses of power. There will be frank discussions of violence, including sexual
violence. Our conversations will always be respectful, but if these topics are
triggers for any of you, you may want to consider whether this class is
appropriate for you."

Dave leaped to his feet, or as close to a leap as he was still capable of, and
hobbled towards the door. He could not make eye contact with Maggie, but as he
passed her, almost in spite of himself, he whispered, "Thank you." Maggie
smiled as she watched him disappear into the hall.

"You've got to be kidding me," mumbled a voice in the back of the class.

Maggie locked eyes on a blonde, broad-shouldered young man. "Do you have
something you want to share, Mr..."