Chapter 2: Forced Submission
The buzzing fluorescents in Bio 301 hummed louder than Professor Rygell’s lecture. Lewis slumped in his usual middle-row seat, trying to absorb the dizzying cascade of enzymatic pathways she was sketching on the board. Her chalk snapped with every emphatic jab. She’d been… intense today. More than the usual drill sergeant routine. Her dark, usually sharp eyes seemed almost unfocused, darting erratically. Sweat beaded at her temples despite the AC cranking.
"…and this," Rygell declared, underlining a complex molecule so hard the chalk squealed, "is where the cascade fundamentally destabilizes under external stressors. Failure to comprehend this will result in catastrophic downstream effects. Fundamental."
Lewis shifted, his own notebook frustratingly blank. Catastrophic downstream effects felt uncomfortably close to describing his grade prospects. He heard a low snigger from behind him – Justin, probably doodling mutants in the margins. The sheer, simmering tension in the room, radiating almost palpably from the front, felt like it needed puncturing. As Rygell turned her back to write another equation, Lewis leaned sideways, muttering just loud enough for his neighbour, Chloe, to hear.
"Downstream effects? Yeah, like her mood cascade after that third espresso. We’re all about to face catastrophic failure."
It wasn’t even that funny. A nervous ripple of stifled laughter went through the immediate vicinity. Chloe snorted, clapping a hand over her mouth.
The scratching of chalk stopped dead.
Professor Rygell went utterly still, her back to the class. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, charged like the air before a lightning strike. Lewis’s stomach plummeted. Slowly, deliberately, she turned. Her face was alarmingly pale, save for two bright spots of hectic color high on her cheekbones. Her pupils, Lewis noticed with a jolt, weren't just dilated; they seemed… wrong. A flicker of something unnervingly vibrant, almost green, beneath the brown.
"Mr. Davies," her voice was dangerously soft, cutting through the silence like a scalpel. The usual crispness was replaced by a low, gravelly vibrato that didn’t sound entirely human. "Something you’d like to share with the entire class? Something… amusing about enzymatic cascades? Or perhaps… about me?"
The last word dripped with venom. Lewis froze. "N-no, Professor. Nothing."
"Nothing?" She took a single step forward. The air pressure in the room seemed to drop. "It sounded like something. It sounded like mockery." Her knuckles were white around the piece of chalk. It crumbled to dust in her grip. The class collectively held its breath. "The rest of you," she barked, not taking her burning gaze off Lewis, "are dismissed. Now."
Chairs scraped, bags rustled, students practically tripped over themselves in their haste to escape the suddenly toxic atmosphere. Justin shot Lewis a wide-eyed look of ‘you’re dead’ before vanishing. Chloe mouthed ‘sorry’. Within seconds, the lecture hall was empty except for Lewis and the professor. The door clicked shut with finality. The hum of the lights was deafening.
Rygell walked towards him, each step measured, predatory. Lewis shrank back instinctively. She stopped inches from his desk, looming. He could smell a strange mix of her usual crisp perfume and something else… acrid, like ozone after a storm, and beneath it, a coppery tang. Her breathing was shallow, rapid.
"You think this is a joke, Lewis?" Her voice was still low, but the unnatural gravel was more pronounced. A tremor ran through her frame, subtle but violent. "You think my class, my work, is… laughable?"
"No, Professor, never," Lewis stammered, his voice cracking. "It was stupid. I'm sorry."
"Sorry," she repeated, rolling the word around like it was bitter on her tongue. Her hand shot out, gripping the edge of his desk. The wood groaned. Her knuckles weren't just white anymore; the skin seemed stretched tight, the tendons standing out like cords. "Sorry is cheap, Lewis. Worthless." She leaned in closer. Her eyes, he saw now, definitely held a sickly green luminescence deep within the iris. "Your grade hangs by a thread. A very thin, very frayed thread."
Lewis swallowed hard. "Please, Professor. I'll do anything. Extra credit, redo the last test…"
"Anything?" A strange, unnerving smile flickered across her lips, devoid of warmth. It didn’t reach her eyes, which were fixed on him with unnerving intensity. The ozone smell thickened. "Yes. There is something." She straightened slightly, though her hand still gripped the desk vice-like. "You humiliated me. Publicly. That requires… appropriate restitution. An apology… and compensation."
Lewis blinked, confused. "Compensation?"
Her gaze dropped. Downward. Slowly, deliberately. She lingered on his lap. Lewis felt a cold sweat break out over his entire body. "You want to fix your grade?" Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, laced with that unnatural gravel. "Show me you're truly repentant. Offer me… satisfaction." She lifted her free hand, index finger extending. Not towards his face, but lower. "Right here. Right now."
Lewis recoiled as if burned. His chair screeched on the linoleum as he shoved it back, scrambling to his feet. "What? No! That's… you're insane! You can't be serious!"
Her unnatural smile vanished, replaced by a snarl of pure, unadulterated fury. The transformation wasn't gradual; it was explosive.
"FREAK? The roar that erupted from her throat wasn't human. It was guttural, primal, shaking the windows.
Her body convulsed. Bones cracked like gunshots echoing in the empty hall. Fabric ripped with sickening, tearing sounds as her frame violently expanded, shredding her blouse and skirt. Her skin flushed a deep, mottled green, swelling with terrifying speed, muscles surging and coiling beneath it like serpents. Her hair, previously neat, became a wild, dark mane. Her face… it retained a horrifying echo of Professor Rygell – the high cheekbones, the shape of the eyes – but it was stretched over a massive skull, her jaw elongating slightly, teeth visibly sharpening. Her eyes blazed with pure, incandescent emerald fury, the pupils slitted like a cat's. She stood at least eight feet tall, her massive green form towering over the desks, ragged strips of clothing hanging off her immense frame. Her chest heaved with ragged, powerful breaths, each one a growl.
"YOU CALL ME... FREAK?" The voice was a deep, grinding bass that vibrated in Lewis's bones.
Pure, animal terror seized Lewis. He stumbled back, crashing into the row of desks behind him. He had to run. Had to scream. But his limbs were leaden, locked in place by primal dread. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the monstrous figure that had replaced his professor.
The fury in those blazing green eyes flickered. Twisted. A new expression warped the monstrous face. Confusion? Raw, overwhelming hunger? Not for food. Something else. Her gaze raked over Lewis's trembling body, fixating again on his lap. An impossibly long, thick, green-black tongue snaked out, wetting lips that were now wide and dark.
"No..." she rumbled, the word thick with a terrifying mix of rage and something else… a deep, pulsing need. "Not... done."
She moved with shocking speed for her size. One massive, clawed hand shot out, not to strike, but to grasp. It closed around the waistband of Lewis's jeans and boxers. With a brutal, effortless yank, the denim and cotton shredded like tissue paper, ripped clean off him.
Cold air hit Lewis's exposed skin. He gasped, too shocked even to scream, scrambling backwards on his elbows across the desk surface, his bare legs kicking futilely. The monstrous Rygell loomed over him, blocking the fluorescent lights, casting him in shadow. Her breath was hot and smelled of that bizarre ozone and something musky. Her blazing eyes weren't on his face anymore. They were locked on his flaccid cock, lying exposed against his thigh.
A low, guttural sound vibrated from her chest, less a growl now, more like a hungry purr. "Mine... Apology..."
One enormous green hand, impossibly dexterous despite its size and claws, reached down. The rough, green skin felt hot, almost abrasive, as it closed around him. Lewis cried out – a strangled sound of terror and violation – as she began to stroke. Her grip was firm, unyielding, pulling his soft flesh with a rhythm that was brutally efficient, utterly devoid of tenderness. The friction was harsh, almost painful, yet terrifyingly effective. He felt himself responding against his will, the heat and pressure forcing blood to surge where he desperately wished it wouldn't go.
"Yes..." she rumbled, the sound thick with satisfaction and that gnawing, alien lust. Her other clawed hand braced against the desk beside his hip, denting the metal. Her breath hitched as she watched his body betray him.
Lewis squeezed his eyes shut, tears of shame and terror leaking out. He couldn't fight. He couldn't escape. His mind screamed, trapped in a nightmare. The rhythmic, rough stroking continued, relentless. He felt himself hardening fully in that monstrous grip, the sensation horrifying and perversely intense.
Then, the stroking stopped. He forced his eyes open.
The She-Hulk was lowering her massive head. Her blazing green eyes were slitted, focused entirely on his erect cock. That thick, dark tongue snaked out again, longer this time, glistening. It flicked against the tip.
Lewis whimpered.
She didn't hesitate. Her jaw opened wide – wider than should be possible – revealing rows of sharp teeth that glinted under the harsh lights. She engulfed him in one swift, shocking motion.
The heat was immediate and overwhelming. Wet, searing heat that was nothing like anything he could have imagined. The pressure was immense, her mouth stretching impossibly to accommodate him. Her tongue, thick and powerful, rasped along his length as she took him deep. It wasn't skillful, not like a human. It was primal, possessive. A deep, resonant vibration started in her throat, humming against him, sending shockwaves of unwanted, terrifying pleasure through his core. She began to move her head, pulling back slowly, then sinking down again, taking him impossibly deep each time. Her claws dug into the desk, cracking the laminate. Her other hand rested possessively on his bare thigh, pinning him in place.
Lewis arched his back, a choked gasp escaping him, caught between the abject horror of the situation and the brutal, unstoppable mechanics of his own body responding to the raw, overwhelming sensation. He was trapped. Underneath a monster. In an empty classroom. With the muffled sounds of the university corridor just beyond the door. His mind fragmented. The rhythmic sucking, the wet sounds, the deep, guttural humming vibrating through his very bones, the heat… it was a violation so complete, so bizarre, that coherent thought dissolved. He could only feel. Terror. Shame. And the terrifying, involuntary climb towards an edge he desperately didn't want to reach. Her blazing green eyes flicked up, meeting his for a second. They held no tenderness, only a feral, consuming need, reflected in the relentless rhythm of her monstrous mouth.
The wet, searing heat of her monstrous mouth consumed him, the thick, rasping tongue working his length with brutal efficiency. Lewis gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily against the impossible pressure, a strangled moan escaping his lips – a sound lost in the wet, sucking noises and the deep, guttural hum vibrating from her throat. He felt the terrifying, shameful pressure building low in his belly, unstoppable, a biological betrayal amidst the horror. "Nnngh... please... stop...!" he choked out, tears streaking his temples, his hands scrabbling uselessly against the massive green bicep pinning his thigh.
The vibration ceased abruptly. The sucking stopped. She pulled back, his slick cock popping free from her obscenely stretched lips with a lewd, wet sound. Strings of thick saliva connected him to her wide, dark mouth. Her blazing green eyes, pupils slitted vertical like a predator’s, locked onto his face. That terrifying mix of rage and consuming need burned hotter than ever. "Stop?" The word rumbled out, a bass note of pure fury that vibrated the loose screws in the desks. "You don't... dictate... terms, worm." Her massive hand, previously resting on his thigh, shot up and clamped around his throat.
Lewis gagged, air cut off, panic exploding through him. His vision spotted as she effortlessly lifted his entire body off the desk with that single hand. She held him suspended in mid-air, his legs dangling, his erection bobbing obscenely, his bare back scraping against the cold metal edge of the desk behind. Her grip tightened, cutting off his choked gasps. He clawed at her thick, green fingers, nails scraping uselessly against skin like tough hide.
Then, the transformation accelerated. A deep, sickening series of cracks and pops echoed through the hall, louder than before. Her already immense frame swelled further, muscles bulging grotesquely, rippling and knotting under her mottled green skin like living boulders straining against their confines. Her shoulders broadened, tearing the remaining scraps of her blouse. Her height surged, her head almost scraping the ceiling tiles. The air crackled with raw, unstable energy, the ozone stench overpowering, mixed with her own powerful, musky arousal. Her eyes blazed like emerald suns, pure feral hunger eclipsing the last flicker of anything resembling Professor Rygell.
"FUCKING... GO HARDER, LEWIS!" she roared, the sound wave physically painful, rattling the windows in their frames. Her grip on his neck tightened, lifting him higher, bringing his face level with hers. Spittle dotted his cheek. "HARDER! NOW!"
And, impossibly, terrifyingly, his body obeyed the monstrous command. Driven by primal instinct, sheer terror, and the overwhelming, unnatural stimulation surging through his violated system, his cock responded. It wasn't just hardening further; it was growing. Lewis cried out, a sound of pain and shock as he felt his flesh engorge beyond any possible human limit, stretching, thickening, veins standing out like cords. Within seconds, it surged to a monstrous length and girth he'd never imagined – a thick, straining 13 inches of aching, purple-headed flesh jutting obscenely upwards.
Rygell's slitted eyes widened, then narrowed with feral, triumphant lust. A guttural groan of pure, savage need erupted from her vast chest as she saw the transformation she'd commanded. "YES! THAT'S... MINE!" Without preamble, her free hand, clawed fingers splayed, reached down. She grasped his impossibly thick shaft with a grunt, her huge fist barely encircling it. Then, still holding him suspended by the neck, she positioned the swollen, leaking head of his cock against her own opening, visible beneath the ragged remains of her destroyed skirt.